The Upper Room Story – “I Carried Water For Jesus”

City of Jerusalem with Jesus was crucified

Man Carrying Water Jug Opens Up About Fateful Passover

After the events of the last several weeks, I felt like I had to state my case, to tell my story. Let me be clear, I originally had nothing to do with this Jesus that held the Passover with his friends in my upper room. I just want a chance to give my side of the story…the complete story.

Let me state categorically that the only reason I was carrying water, like a woman, was because I had not married, nor have I hired a servant girl yet. I inherited my home, a fine home mind you…a large home, in a highly coveted area of Jerusalem, from my parents. It’s too big for me, so much home as it were that I could live in the upper room alone. I planned to sell it, or rent it…and did not think it necessary to hire a woman yet.

Most who saw me toiling did not realize that in fact, I was the master of the house, presuming me to be a servant. It was a charade I enjoyed in a strange way…almost living invisibly in plain site. For that reason, and for that reason alone was I carrying water. Well, in truth, there may have been another reason…the man Jesus.

Approached by Jesus to use Upper Room

Previously…during Purim, I was approached by the man Jesus. I had heard of him…savior, prophet, rebel, devil…he has been called many things. To me he seemed like just a man, except for the eyes. His eyes burned with fire, and something else, love perhaps. A love that was deeper than any other I had seen, and a fire…a determination, a purpose that was more resolute than I could imagine.

This Jesus, he stopped me one day as I was carrying water into my house. He asked if I had a room he could use to celebrate the coming Passover. As he said it, he glanced towards the upstairs room that sat furnished but unused since my parents had passed, as if he knew the room was there, and available.

As he looked into my eyes, I could think of no excuse, or reason to prevent him from using the room. He asked me if I always carried water, but it was not in that sneering, demeaning way my “friends” asked, it was simply inquisitive. “Yes”, I said, “Always at the 6th hour”. His confirmation was a simple nod, as he pressed 5 shekels into my hand and walked away.

Jewish items used during the passover celebration.

Jesus Takes the Passover at my House

As the weeks went by, I kind of forgot about the incident. As Passover drew near, there was much talk of this Jesus on the streets of Jerusalem. In my younger days, I would have bragged of knowing him and let those in earshot know that he was celebrating the Passover at my house!

Today however, something in me was restrained in sharing that information, a spirit perhaps. Something in me was telling my heart…my soul even, that I should not speak of this. I did not understand these thoughts or feelings, but I did heed them.

As the days of Passover arrived, I prepared my upper room for Jesus and his friends. I heard they were his disciples. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but if they were friends of Jesus, they must be important too. On the day of Passover, I began to worry, as my “guests” had not arrived, and here it was already the 4th hour. Still, he had paid 5 shekels…surely he would show up.

Men Ask About the Upper Room

I stuck to my routine and began to fill the water, and as I arrived back at my home with a large jar, two men approached me. The men’s names were Peter and John, and they followed me right into my house! I had to remember that they too would have presumed me to be the servant, so I played my part. Then one of them spoke, saying: “The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”

I was happy they had come, and I showed them the room. They seemed satisfied, and began to plan and prepare the Passover meal. I found myself longing to see this Jesus again. It didn’t occur to me until later that they had arrived while I was carrying water, just as the man Jesus had questioned…or planned.

The Passover Meal

I ate my own Passover meal alone, doing my best to adhere to rules set forth by Moses. Knowing that Jesus must certainly be there by now, I stole glances into the room throughout the evening, staying in the shadows so as not to intrude. At first it seemed like a normal Passover among friends. Once however, this Jesus was washing his disciples feet! I could not hear what was being said, but his eyes, they still held that love, but something else…sadness.

Still later, one of his disciples left and did not return. I watched him leave…he seemed to be in great haste. Jesus seemed to be teaching his disciples many things, perhaps explaining the passover to them, though men of that age should have known it well already. He spoke a great many more things after the hasty one left.

Jesus and the Disciples Leave

After the meal, all of the men left. I took my time cleaning up the room after them. I noticed the wash basin where the man Jesus had washed their feet. A large wine cup stood at the end of the table, I had seen them sharing it at one point. I did not understand this…I had provided enough cups for everyone, which they clearly used, yet they had all shared this one as well.

I felt a sadness in my own heart, yet without knowing why. I think seeing the sadness in the man Jesus, had affected me more than I realized, or understood. I finished my tasks and tried to sleep for the evening.

Awakened Early to Shocking News

The next day I awoke early. The whole city in fact seemed to be buzzing, restless. I went to market and to the gate, and learned that Jesus had been arrested in the middle of the night! This news was shocking to me, so much so I had to sit. Just hours before, the most popular man in the city had been dining in my home, yet even now he was before the Jewish Council. I could not understand this, but I resolved to learn more.

As I headed toward the neighborhood of the high priest, not knowing what I might do…if anything, suddenly they were all coming in my direction! Murmurs on the street indicated they were taking Jesus to Pilate. I moved aside and followed the crowd, hoping to get a glimpse of Jesus. When I finally did, I could tell that he had been roughed up a bit. The Jews would do this to him? It did not make sense. Yet here these same Jews were taking him to Pilate.

The Death of Jesus

Rumors were flying around as fast as the birds of the air. Already there was talk of death and crucifixion. What could he have possibly done? The Jews took him to Herod, then back to Pilate again. It seems the charge against him was that in some way he had claimed to be God. He was accused of blasphemy. While in my head that made sense, no one can make that claim, in my heart…in my spirit, I suddenly knew it to be true!

At that moment, fighting the tears, I began to move away from the crowd and withdraw…in fear. I saw none of the disciples of this Jesus anywhere either. Perhaps they too were hiding in fear of being associated with this man who claimed to be God.

The man Jesus was crucified. It seemed impossible, but there he was. I saw him…or what was left of him. I did not get too close…again in fear. I did see one of his disciples too, the one called John. He was at the cross, with some women. One was weeping much, perhaps the mother.

I headed back to my home, and sat in my upper room alone…and wept. I did not understand my own feelings. I felt as if I had lost a great friend. Could this man have been God? It seems less likely now that he is hanging on a cross, surrounded by Roman Soldiers. The day grew even stranger, when a haunting darkness overcame the land until the ninth hour.

He is Alive!

The next day passed uneventfully, as it was the Shabbat. The following day, with no servant girl available, it was back to work for me, working the property and the small bit of land my parents had left me.

I finished quite early, and went to market for bread and lamb, perhaps some wine. It was said that Jesus had died quickly, and had been taken from the cross and buried in a nearby tomb, donated by a member of the council…and all of this before the Shabbat even began.

I walked around Jerusalem that morning; watching, listening…hoping. For what exactly, I did not know. I just felt I needed to be there, near others. At one point, I swear I saw one of the women that were near the cross of Jesus running by. She was running, so I could not be certain who it was.

Not much later however, I know I saw the one called Peter running towards the direction the woman came. I followed him a short way, learning that it was the path to the tombs. Within a few hours, the city was buzzing again. This man Jesus is alive, they said. Most scoffed at this, but I did not. I know how I felt. I know I saw Peter running toward the tombs. I had heard about the temple veil being split in half…from the top down. I had seen the eyes of Jesus, with a love and a resolve only a God could possess.

This empty tomb is indicative of a resurrected Jesus

I Saw Jesus

I will close my story with this…I saw him. I saw Jesus! Alive! Yes, this is true, let me explain. I began to seek out those that believed, those that favored Jesus. I would gather where his disciples gathered, trying to learn more. Unofficially, I even considered myself a disciple, of sorts. One day, many of us followers were gathered to hear the story and the teaching of the two that had walked many miles to Emmaus, talking directly to Jesus after he had been resurrected. They did not even realize it was him!

He explained many things to them, explaining that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory, and beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself. Anyway, these men were retelling the story again and teaching to a group of us, perhaps 500 or so, and Jesus appeared in our midst!

I did not speak with him, or touch him…but I saw the resurrected Christ with my own eyes. I also saw his eyes. Not only did they once again burn with fire and love, but something else. The sadness was gone, there was also…victory, or triumph. Yes…triumph like the success of fighter or runner that has proven themselves supreme.


Yes, I am a man and I was carrying a jug of water. Somehow, this felt like an important task at the time. Important to Jesus, my Lord and Savior. I don’t need servant girl now…I don’t even have the home anymore. I travel with others that are telling the story of Jesus, and I tell my story.

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy this bit of Biblical Fan Fiction. I hope to do more of it.

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