Go into the city where you will see a man carrying a water jar... from Sunday School lessons to sermons, the incongruity of this sight is stressed.  Some suggest it was a secret code.  But surely if it was that odd a sight the powers-that-be would have spotted it too?  I wonder how the story looked from the perspective of the unnamed man, possibly, probably, a servant, who may have been a regular fetcher of water or who may have been sent back and forth just this one day wishing those who knew the code would hurry up and arrive?

Go and fetch some water, in fact, keep going and fetching water all day long until a couple of northerners come and ask you to show them the guest room, then bring them here.  It sounds a strange command, I suppose, looking back on it, but at the time I didn't question it.  In our household there were often strange commands, and you simply got on and obeyed them.  It was a good household, the master was a gentle and fair man, we were treated well and rarely were voices rasied against us.  Yes, a good man, but an odd man - he was always hosting this or that group who wanted somewhere for a meal and a conversation.  People undoubtedly whispered about us, wondered just what was going on in a house where men fetched water, but we were content.

It must have been the second or third trip to the well that day when they approached me.  They looked sheepish, embarrassed as they asked me to show them the guest room.  I set down the jar, and we climbed the stairs to the room.  I showed them the long, central table, the couches - how many did they need?  Thirteen?  Yes, we could do that no problem.  We dragged the furniture across the floor and exchanged pleasantries, then a few jokes.. but we'll just pass over that... pass over, Passover... oh, never mind, you had to be there.  We discussed the seating plan.  They asked where they could buy the bread and wine needed for the meal; we were supplying the roast lamb, the herbs, the bitter water.  So, with banter on their lips they set off to the market...

Towards evening they returned to make final preparations.  The atmosphere was different now, as the light dimmed, quietly I lit the lamps on the ledges around the room.  Another servant carried in the utensils and arranged them on the table.  The men returned.  'Do you think we have enough bread?' He looked worried, not sure how much food thirteen hungry men would need for a festival supper.  'Is this wine good enough?' another wondered, 'you recall what happened a Cana!'

Time passed, and they all arrived a few at a time: Peter and John, Thomas, Judas, Andrew... I can't recall all the names.  Somewhere in the middle of them was Jesus.  The conversation was light; they looked forward to a delicious meal, the smell of the roast already wafting up the stairs...  With my fellow servants I stepped back into the shadows, our work now complete.  I paused at the top of the stairs... something told me that even by the standards of our household, something unusual was happening.  So I waited...

I wonder how our Easter preparations have gone?  Did we make it to the special services?  Did we remember to listen to the special online meditations?  Did it all seem very normal or was there a sense of something just a bit different?  Are we willing to do things that look daft, or attract attention, if they are required by our service of Christ?  Are we prepared to traipse back and forth to the well, carrying jar after jar of unecessary water as we wait for the code word?  Dare we creep up the stairs to the upper room and peep from the shadows?

Maundy Thursday - the day of the mandate to mutual service.  Where in the story are we to be found?