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The Last Supper: A Disciple’s Reflection The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of oil lamps casting long shadows on the walls. The table was set, the smell of unleavened bread and wine hanging in the air. The disciples sat around the table, murmuring among themselves, unaware that this meal would change everything. The weight of the evening pressed down on them, though none of them yet understood the full gravity of what was to come. I, a humble follower, sat in quiet anticipation, my heart heavy but filled with a strange hope. Jesus, our teacher, our Master, sat at the center, His presence commanding the room without a word. He had been speaking for some time, His voice gentle yet filled with authority. I couldn’t help but admire Him, this man who had healed the sick, fed the hungry, and shared wisdom like no one else. He was the Messiah, and yet, in that moment, I felt a growing unease in my chest. Suddenly, His words broke through the quiet. “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” A chill ran through me, and I froze. Betrayal? How could this be? How could any of us turn against Him? The question echoed in my mind, unanswered. My fellow disciples looked around at one another, shock and confusion painted on their faces. I could feel the tension in the air. Everyone murmured nervously, eyes shifting, wondering who among us would be the one to betray our beloved Teacher. I watched Jesus closely, trying to read His face. There was no anger, no hatred—only a deep sadness, a knowing sorrow that seemed to transcend time itself. “Is it I, Lord?” I whispered, my voice trembling. I couldn’t bear the thought of being the one He spoke of. Jesus looked at me, His gaze both kind and pained. “The one who dips his hand with me in the bowl will betray me,” He replied softly. The room fell silent. I glanced down at the bowl in front of me, unsure what to say, what to think. Could one of us really do such a thing? The thought twisted my insides. My mind raced, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask again. Instead, I focused on the words He had just spoken, the quiet strength in His voice. He had known this moment would come. He knew who would betray Him, and yet, He did not lash out. He didn’t condemn us. He simply… continued. As the meal continued, my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, unexpected act. Jesus rose from the table and, without a word, began to wash the feet of each disciple. I watched, bewildered, as He knelt before each of us, His hands gentle and sure as He washed the dirt and dust from our feet. When it was my turn, I felt my heart swell with an overwhelming mixture of humility and guilt. How could He—our Teacher, our Savior—perform such a humble task? I had never seen anything like it. My hands shook as He washed my feet, and I wanted to pull away, to stop Him, to tell Him He shouldn’t have to do this. But He simply smiled and said, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.” The words hit me hard. I had followed Him, I had witnessed His miracles, but in that moment, I realized how little I truly understood. His actions spoke louder than anything He could say. In that humble act of service, He showed us what true love meant—what true leadership meant. It was not about power or prestige; it was about serving one another, loving one another, no matter the cost. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” Jesus asked, His voice soft but piercing. I could only nod, my throat tight with emotion. How could I fully grasp it? How could any of us? But I knew this: He was showing us the way. He was teaching us to love as He had loved us, to serve as He had served us. As the meal went on, Jesus spoke of the new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.” His words were clear, but my mind struggled to fully comprehend them. How could I love with such depth, such selflessness? How could I serve others, knowing the cost, knowing the sacrifice? But in His presence, everything felt possible. The fear that had gripped me earlier began to fade, replaced by a sense of peace. I didn’t know what lay ahead, but I knew that I would follow Him, no matter where the path led. He was the light, and I was but a disciple, a servant. The weight of that thought was heavy, but it was also freeing. The night ended too soon, and we left the room in quiet contemplation. I didn’t know then what was coming, the trials, the pain, the cross. But in that moment, I understood what it meant to follow Jesus. It meant love, it meant sacrifice, it meant serving others, even when the cost was great. And as I walked away from that meal, I knew one thing with certainty: I would never be the same again.