A Man with a Water Jar

Our weekly study group has been looking at the meaning of the Eucharist, in particular at the Last Supper, its spiritual and biblical roots in the Jewish Passover in the Book of Genesis.

As we delved into these links, we read the details in St. Luke’s Gospel, Chapter 22 and about the preparations Jesus had made for the Passover meal. We are told that Jesus sent Peter and John to get the meal ready. In answer to their question as to where they might eat it, Jesus told them : When you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you’ follow him into the house he enters”  and there they were to meet the master of the house who would show them where the meal was to happen.
In our discussion we needed the signal Jesus had given them ~ a man with a water jar.    We never hear of him again but as he was at the right place at the right time we can assume that he was known to Jesus and an arrangement had been made both with him and with the master of the house. Without giving much thought to it we have been in the company of two others with a role in the Gospel story and clearly, friends of Jesus.
We thought of how often this happens in the New Testament; people are encountered who simply appear and disappear, given but a sentence or two, yet were signs of a Gospel friendship that was extended to so many.
As we discussed; Pete, one of our group took the moment further and later he sent me the following poem.

Did you know?

Did you know, O man with the jug,
when you lifted water to your shoulder,
that heaven was in your step,
and the Teacher’s eyes were upon you?
Did you sense the whisper of eternity
in the clay’s cool weight?
Did you feel the river of life
passing through your humble task?

Did you know, O master of the house,
that your upper room would cradle God?
That bread would be broken,
wine poured as covenant and blood?
Did your heart stir as they entered,
those weary men, so calm yet trembling,
while the Lord of all
took the servant’s towel?

Did you know, O silent room,
how still the air would grow,
how words eternal would hang like oil lamps
in your wooden beams?
“This is my body… this is my blood.”
Did the walls remember the sound?
Did they shiver again
when the Spirit came like wind?

Three mysteries in one night:
a man with a jug,
a host with a home,
a room with an open door.
None named, none praised,
yet through them the world was readied
for grace poured out like water,
for bread shared among friends,
for love that would not die.

O Lord,
teach us to be like them:
to carry what is needed,
to open what we have,
to hold what is holy,
and to let it all be Yours.
Amen

[Pete Hellard-Malt]