Jesus says many things without saying them. He shows rather than says; he is a simple man. Zen people can understand what he did, Christians cannot understand. They go on saying, “Our Father who is in heaven…” but that is wrong. “Our father, Aristotle,” they should say. Aristotle is their father: the mind that divides, the mind that makes clear-cut distinctions, the mind that categorizes, puts things into pigeon-holes. A very neat and clean job Aristotle has made of life. He has classified; he is the greatest classifier. But whenever you divide, something which cannot be divided disappears. You can dissect a flower and you can come to know of what it is constituted – the matter part – but the spirit part will disappear. You will never come to catch hold of beauty. In dissection, the beauty will disappear. You can dissect a man in an operating theater table, you can dissect minutely, you can take tremendous care in dissection and analysis, but only body will be left in your hands. The soul will disappear, because in fact the soul exists in a very deep synthesis where opposites meet.
Life is a dialectical process where opposites go on meeting and go on creating a higher synthesis, a symphony, a harmony. And every moment it is happening – the day becomes night every evening, and every morning the night again becomes the day. But you are blind and you cannot see it. Everywhere you can see opposites meeting: the earth is reaching to the sky in the trees and touching it, and the sky is every moment boring into the earth, penetrating it. That love affair continues between the earth and the sky; they are always meeting in deep embrace, infinitely one. The separation is only on the surface.
Now the sutras:
And supper being ended…
It is the last supper with Jesus, and only Jesus knows it is the last. The disciples are absolutely ignorant. They cannot even feel what is going to happen, they cannot hear the footsteps of the future. Jesus is already going towards his crucifixion, Jesus is already ready, moving. The moment, the momentous moment is arriving – every moment closer and closer – but they are, in a way, blissfully unaware. Remember, that’s what is happening to everybody. Death is coming closer and closer, and you are blissfully unaware. You go on making arrangements to live as if you were going to live forever. Your mind goes on planning for the future, not knowing that death is coming. Death is hiding in every bush; death can jump from anywhere.
On that night of celebration, the last supper with the master, who could have thought that this would be the last? Who could have thought that the next day Jesus would be gone? This unique man would be no more. There would no longer be this unique opportunity to touch God on earth. There would no longer be any possibility to look through his door, to have a glimpse of the divine from his window. Eating, drinking, they were happy. That’s how life goes on: eating, drinking; and every moment death comes closer and closer, and you go on preparing to live as if you were going to live forever.
The man who becomes aware of death becomes a totally different man. Then he is not always wasting his time in preparing for the future. Rather, he starts living in the present. Alas, the disciples didn’t know. Later on they would repent, and they would cry and weep their hearts out. They would think again and again, and they would move again and again into the nostalgia of the past: Jesus was so close and they went on missing him.