Everything happened just like Jesus said it would. When we came into Jerusalem, John and I saw an older man carrying a pitcher of water. We followed him to a two-story house, where Mark's mother was already waiting for us. She waved us upstairs to a place where we could prepare everything to celebrate the Passover.

Jesus and the other apostles arrived as night fell. He stayed downstairs for a few minutes longer than the others, thanking the family for lending us the upper room. Then he came up and we all took our places at the table. The mood was bittersweet. We were happy to be with Jesus, of course, but we all sensed that something was amiss.

We were afraid. Tensions in the city had escalated and we all knew that we were in danger. Above all, we knew that Jesus’s life was in danger. I looked at him. His expression was serene, but then, it was always serene. The dark circles under his eyes proved that he hadn’t slept enough the past few days.

“I have longed to celebrate this Passover with you,” he said as the food was served, but, like me, he didn’t seem to have much of an appetite and he ate very little. Beside him, John searched his face, seemingly trying to guess Jesus’s thoughts.

James elbowed me and hissed, “Peter, eat something!” but I ignored him. I was mad and I felt my anger rising inside of me. I crossed my arms.

“Peter,” Jesus said gently, “who is the greatest among my apostles?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but you do. Why do you ask me?”

Jesus smiled, but everyone else seemed to freeze. John’s eyes widened and Nathaniel started toying with a frayed strand of his tunic.

Jesus stood, took a towel, tied it around his waist, and filled a basin with water. Then he knelt down beside Thomas and waved for him to put out his feet. Jesus untied Thomas’s sandals and started washing his feet.

James looked at me, confused, but I didn’t know what to do. Jesus went through the room, washing everyone’s feet, one by one. The only sound in the room was that of water splashing and the friction of leather on leather and Jesus re-tied each sandal.

Then Jesus knelt in front of me and put out his hand. I couldn’t take it.

“What are you doing? Are you going to wash my feet? Why… Why…?” I stuttered. “Why, when you can do anything you want with a wave of the hand, are you allowing others to threaten you? How can you permit them to put your life in danger?”

“Peter,” he said, “what I am doing you do not understand now. But afterward, I promise you will understand.”

I shook my head. “You will never wash my feet.”

The Lord looked at me and memories washed over me: when he first called me, when he named me “Peter,” when he taught the children, when he was transfigured on Mount Tabor, when he wept for Lazarus, and when he celebrated the wedding at Cana. His gaze pierced me completely. I knew I was insignificant, weak, and flawed, but he had chosen me. God loved me and trusted me.

“If I do not wash you,” Jesus said, “you have no part in me.”

My anger evaporated, and tears filled my eyes.

“Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and head!”

Jesus laughed. “No, don’t worry. The one who is clean only needs to wash his feet.” He looked at all of us and added, “You are clean, but not all of you.”

When he finished, he stood up, left the damp towel in a corner of the room and sat back at the table.

“Do you understand what I have done? You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. I have set you an example. You also should do as I have done to you.”

Supper went on. At one point Jesus looked around at us. His eyes were sadder than I had ever seen them. “One of you will betray me,” he said. I glanced sideways at my brother Andrew, whose mouth was hanging half-open in shock. I was afraid. Was I the one who would hand him over to those who sought to arrest him? I didn't feel capable of doing any such thing, and I was determined to show Jesus my unconditional loyalty.

I sought John's gaze, and without anyone else noticing, I gestured for him to ask Jesus who he meant when he said that one of us would betray him. I saw John asking him quietly, and Jesus answered in an equally low voice. It was a short answer because immediately after, Jesus dipped a piece of bread and passed it to Judas, who was sitting opposite him. I tried to catch John's attention again, so he could tell me what Jesus's response had been, but the boy was frozen, staring at his plate.

Frustrated, I tried to eat something. A few minutes later, Judas got up and hurriedly left the room.

"Where is Judas going?” I asked. “We haven't sung the hymn yet.”

James shrugged. “Jesus must have given him a task, maybe to give some alms to the poor. He told him to hurry and do what he had to. I don’t know.”

I didn't have much time to ponder this, because Jesus called my name again and everyone fell silent.

“Soon,” Jesus said, “Satan will shake you all as if you were wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

“I will not have to turn back,” I said. “I will never fail you, Lord. I am ready to go with you to prison, and even to death.”

“Peter, before the cock crows today, you will deny that you know me three times.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was embarrassed and hurt. Jesus must not trust me. But no… I pushed the thought away. Jesus knew me and my weaknesses, and even so, he had chosen me. He chose me to be the rock of the Church. Now I would have to trust Jesus.

So much happened that night, and John remembers it better than I do. The image that remains with me is that of Jesus passing the bread for all of us to eat. He was always so joyful, such a true friend, and he spoke to us with the same calm simplicity as always.

After we sang the hymn of the feast, we left the house for the olive grove. The full moon shone bright in the sky.