The Thirteenth Seat

The extra chair at the Last Supper

The Thirteenth Seat

Chapter One: The Boy with the Jug

I was just a servant, barely fifteen. They called me Elior, and my job was simple. Keep the water jugs filled and the bread warm for those who could afford to forget hunger. That spring evening in Jerusalem was like any other, until my master told me a man would come looking for a room. “He’ll say the Teacher needs a place,” he said. “Follow his lead. Show him the upper room.”

And so I waited, standing at the edge of the market with a clay jug tucked against my ribs. I didn’t know who the Teacher was, only that he had followers and stirred talk in every corner. When the man finally approached; bearded, calm, eyes like steady wind. I recognized something in him I couldn’t name. I led him through the narrow alleys and past lantern lit windows until we reached the house.

He inspected the room quietly, nodded once, and smiled at me. “You have done well,” he said. “What is your name?”

“Elior,” I muttered, not used to such kindness from guests.

“Then tonight, Elior,” he said, “you will stay and help.”

Chapter Two: Preparing the Table

I swept the floor, laid the cushions, and arranged the table under his direction. He had a way of turning silence into something holy. By sunset, the room was glowing with oil lamps and the sweet scent of roasted lamb. When his friends arrived, they came in twos and threes, laughing softly, worn from travel. They treated him with deep respect, though he spoke to them like brothers.

I was invisible to them, but I watched everything. There was tension beneath their smiles. Some of them looked at each other with questions they didn’t voice. Only the Teacher seemed at peace, though even his eyes carried something heavy. Like he knew what the night would bring.

Chapter Three: The Man with No Smile

Among the men, one stood out. He wore his worry like a cloak. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, it was sharp. He didn’t look the Teacher in the eye, not really. Once, I caught him counting something in his pouch while no one watched. Silver, I think.

That man made my skin crawl, but the Teacher treated him no differently. He washed his feet too. He handed him the bread just like the others. It didn’t make sense to me.

Chapter Four: Feet Washed, Hearts Stirred

What happened next stunned me. The Teacher wrapped a cloth around his waist, knelt down, and began washing their feet; dusty, cracked, unclean. I froze. That was a job even I didn’t do unless ordered. Some tried to stop him. One man, Peter, I think, refused at first.

“Unless I wash you,” the Teacher said, “you have no part with me.”

I didn’t understand what he meant, but the room grew still after that. Each man seemed more serious now. I watched their faces as he poured water over their feet. Some looked ashamed, others grateful. One looked guilty. He kept avoiding the Teacher’s gaze.

Chapter Five: The Supper Begins

We brought out the bread and wine. The Teacher broke the bread in half and handed pieces around the table. “Take it,” he said. “This is my body.”

They passed the bread slowly. No one spoke. When the wine came, he lifted the cup and looked around at them.

“This is my blood, poured out for many.”

There was a pause; a long, aching silence. I felt something cold pass through the room. I didn’t understand why he was saying these things, but the men around him looked stricken, like they were hearing a goodbye wrapped in poetry.

Then he said, “One of you will betray me.”

They all looked around, shocked. One man, sitting close to him, John, leaned in and whispered something. The Teacher replied quietly, and though I didn’t hear the words, I noticed the man across from him stiffen. He dipped his bread into the bowl and left the table.

Chapter Six: The Quiet Hour

After that, no one spoke much. The food sat untouched. The Teacher prayed aloud. His words weren’t for show; they were honest, heavy. He asked for strength. He asked for his friends to stay strong too. I realized then that he wasn’t just a teacher. He was something more.

I wanted to say something. To ask what would happen next. But I stayed quiet.

Chapter Seven: The Garden Plan

Before they left, I saw him speak quietly with Peter and James. He gave instructions. There was a plan, but it wasn’t about escape. He knew something was coming and chose to walk straight into it. He hugged each of them.

To me, he simply said, “Elior, thank you. Remember this night. Not just the bread, or the wine, or the sorrow. Remember the love.”

And then they left.

Chapter Eight: Whispers in the Dark

After they disappeared into the night, I stayed behind to clean. Then I heard whispers outside the window. Roman sandals. A voice I recognized from the table. Orders being given. My heart pounded.

Had it already begun?

Chapter Nine: The Morning After

I didn’t sleep. The city woke to rumors. The Teacher had been taken, arrested in the garden where he used to pray. Some said it was one of his own who turned him in. I didn’t speak a word. Who would believe a servant?

The upper room was still. A few drops of wine on the table. The basin still half full.

Chapter Ten: The Echo That Remains

Years passed. I grew up. Worked many homes. But I never forgot that night.

They say the Teacher died. Some say he rose again. I never saw him after that night, but sometimes, when the world grows still and lamps flicker low, I hear his voice in my heart.

“Remember the love.”

And I do.

Even as a boy with a jug, I had been given a seat at the table.