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On the Outside Looking In?
by William Howden

A meditation on Domenico Ghirlandaio's "Last Supper" (1480s), San Marco, Florence--

Well, now we know.  There was a cat at the Last Supper, striking a pose in the foreground as though she were the point of the whole gathering.  One description of Ghirlandaio’s painting says the cat “lends a touch of intimacy and domesticity” to the scene.  I am not sure the cat is so benign.

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Notice how evil seems to be externalized, set apart.  Just as in the old Western movies, where the good guys always wore white hats and the bad guys black hats, Judas, in this painting, is clearly the bad guy.  Judas is the only one who forgot to wear his halo to dinner.   Not only that, he alone has not removed his sandals.  The bare feet of the other disciples are visible underneath the tablecloth – not a sandal to be seen, except on the feet of Judas.  Judas, apparently, came too late for the foot-washing.  According to the gospel of John, Jesus, as they gathered for supper, washed all the disciples’ feet.  When Peter protested that Jesus should not perform such a lowly task, Jesus answered, “If I do not wash you, you have no part with me” (John 13:8).  Judas, apparently, has no part with Jesus.  Even as he prepares to dip his bread into the dish with Jesus, Judas has his sandals on.  He is ready to leave, ready to betray Jesus. 

Judas also seems to have no place at the table.  So far as I can see, there is no place setting for Judas.  Each of the others has a wine-glass before him, but there is none for Judas.  One wonders if Judas was even invited.  The other disciples, and Jesus, sit on an ornately carved bench.  Judas makes do with a stool.  The others sit enthroned, one is tempted to say – note the platform, raised one step, on which the table rests.  Judas is, literally, lower than all the rest.  In the visual space of the painting, the long table with its elegant cloth unites all the other figures.  The same table that unites the others separates Judas from the rest. 

Which brings us back to the cat.  The cat is the only figure in the painting on the same side of the table as Judas.  The cat, long associated with fickleness, associates with the betrayer.  The cat, often held in folklore to be a consort of demons, keeps consort with Judas.  On the other side of the table, in the windows above Jesus and the disciples, there is a veritable aviary – doves, goldfinches, a peacock and other birds.  All the birds are symbols of blessing, the peacock a symbol of royalty and plenty, the doves symbols of peace, and so on.  At the risk of over-interpreting, it seems that Judas has, as the saying goes, set the cat among the canaries.  Just as the cat is a threat to the well-being  represented by the birds, Judas is a threat to all the righteous holiness gathered on the other side of the table.

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Ghirlandaio, apparently, paints what many feel. We like to keep things simple. We want all the evil to be kept on one side of the table – the far side from where we sit.

The other disciples certainly seem confident of their own righteousness.  In the gospel accounts of the Last Supper, when Jesus announces that one of his disciples will betray him, the announcement prompts a round of anxious questioning among his companions:  “They became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, ‘Surely, not I, Lord?” (Matthew 26:22; cf. Mark 14:19; Luke 22:23).  Ghirlandaio shows us none of that anxious self-examination.  These disciples have no doubt that all evil is found on the other side of the table.  In the Fourth Gospel, John, the beloved disciple who reclines next to Jesus, is the one who gives voice to the disciples’ uneasy question, “Lord, who is it?” (John 13:25).  Here, John is sound asleep, his head resting peacefully on his folded arms on the table.  On the other side of Jesus, Peter scowls at Judas, his right hand clenched into a fist.  The disciple in the left corner points an accusing finger at Judas.  It is as clear as the missing halo:  They know Judas is the bad guy.  Only the disciple at the viewer’s far right, with open hands raised to his chest, appears to be questioning himself.  But the disciple next to him quickly raises a restraining and reassuring hand:  No way!

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Yet Ghirlandaio’s work is more subtle than it first appears.  While these disciples entertain no question that they might be complicit in Judas’ betrayal, what about the viewers?  We are, after all, on the same side of the table as Judas.

Two figures in the painting look directly at us.  The first is the cat, with its penetrating feline stare.  The other is the disciple on our far left, his arms folded across his chest, looking disgusted.  But he does not look at Judas; he looks at us.

Does he look at us to convey what he thinks of Judas?  Or does he look at us wondering what we think of Judas?  Does he look at us, wondering on which side of the table we stand?

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And what does Jesus think of Judas?  Ghirlandaio portrays Jesus with his eyes on the sleeping John, with Jesus’ hand raised in blessing above John’s head.  At first, Jesus appears to be totally focused on John, not Judas.  Yet the artist portrays Christ’s hand raised to the same level as Judas’ hand.  When Judas reaches forward to dip the bread, their hands will almost touch.  Will Jesus pull back from Judas, as the disciples seem to do?  Will Jesus maintain the gesture of blessing, even in the face of betrayal?  Or will he reach out to stop the hand of Judas from ever reaching the dish, from ever reaching the point of no return?

How will Jesus respond to Judas?  How will he respond to all the fickleness, duplicity and greed that are found on Judas’ side of the table, on our side of the table?  The cat stares at us intently, as if to say, “Don’t think for a minute that you are not part of this picture.” 

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Are we really on the outside of this picture, looking in?  Or can we see ourselves in Peter’s scowling face, so quick to judge others, so slow to recognize our own denials?  Might you or I truly be on the same side of the table as Judas, ready to turn away from Jesus to go our own way? Perhaps we can be found among the dutiful disciples who set an elegant table for Jesus, but neglected to set a place for Judas, for the one who is different, the one whom we do not trust?

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Wherever we may find ourselves, we are not the center of the picture. Neither is the cat, nor Judas, nor the other disciples with their carefully-burnished haloes. At the center of the picture is Jesus – Jesus with his hand raised in blessing, Jesus who humbly washes his disciples’ smelly feet, Jesus who offers himself for others, for everyone, on both sides of the table.

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