Passover. Or at least that's how it began. Gathering together, just the twelve of us with him, and Mary and the others preparing the food.

Passover. Remembering all Israel's history, God's guidance and salvation … mercy … love.
"What makes this night different from any other night" … that traditional question … but the way Jesus told the story, so different from before, as if all the pieces suddenly fell into place, all the history had a purpose. It was almost as if he'd been there at each crucial point.

What made this night different from any other – well he did of course. We didn't really understand then, but as he told the story it all led back to him really, it all led up to him, what he was about to do just hours away – I shudder even to think of it.

But that night – well I suppose we knew it would be different when he started washing our feet. I could hardly stand it, Jesus, bent at my feet washing off the dirt and grime, the smell of the streets, what I should have been doing for him; had I even thought of it? You know me, I mouthed off as usual not even noticing what he was really doing, what he was teaching us too – why can't I keep my mouth shut? But like the bread and wine later, that symbolic washing, making us clean of the world's dirt, clean for God, for him – holy he called it – everything he did was so much deeper than it first appeared.

And the bread and wine. Such simple things, yet in his hands, transformed, suddenly embracing all the history, the deliverance, the promise, the covenant and then making it part of him – not that we understood then – but now … I still can't fathom the mystery of it, the wonder of God's kingdom revealed in those few moments, the whole of his purposes bound up in Jesus, in what was to come, in what had been.

Do this in remembrance of me, he'd said. Not just of his death, or the miracle after, but in remembrance of his life – all the things he said and did, all the love he showed, even in the smallest touch or gesture, that look in his eyes as he caught yours, the silence around the fire at night, the prayers in the hills, the miracles, the healings, and yes even in washing my filthy feet.
So what makes this night different from any other night … he's still here you know, sat with us like on that night. Did you notice him wash your feet as you came in and sat around his table? Are you listening for each word that falls from his lips, even in the silence, as he tries to tell you of the mystery of his grace, his love? Will you taste of him as we share his body and blood; really remember him as he asked?

He makes this night different from any other night – and he's here for you.

David Stolton