Where did He go, and Why
As noon approached, the people outside Jerusalem were virtually non-existent, so I did what they must have done and made my way back into the city.
Folks and their commotions were everywhere, the crowds were large, packed in tight as the whole mob worked its’ way down a street as if one single organism.
Tired from the doings of the morning, I was now coherent enough, and back in this world enough to realize something big was happening. Still afraid, I wasn’t going to make myself available for any would-be evil-doer, so I kept my distance. What was happening, I didn’t have a clue, but from the signs of the reactions of the crowd, it was a sizable situation. Whatever the event was, it was making some people dance, and some were in lamentation with great wails and sobbing. Not willing to be discovered, I stayed a distance and watched to maybe gain some clue of what was proceeding.
Jesus had spoken several weeks earlier that He was to destroy the Temple and build it back in three days, so my thoughts went to: Could this be what’s happening?
Like I said before, this was the High Sabbath, and this occurrence was celebrated by the Jews but once a year, for in two days they again had their regular Sabbath, and it all begins tonight. The get-togethers of last night were nothing in comparison to the events that were to come together tonight.
I had seen John a couple of times but not the others, that is, until now. Crowds were gathered every place that had room enough to accommodate a family or group of people that came to the city to celebrate this event with their own like-minded company. It wasn’t hard to hide yourself in plain sight, as the activities were too many for most to notice. I saw Philip, and he saw another, until the biggest part of us were collected where we could sit and talk about all that was going on.
Still no one knew what had truly happened to Jesus, but John thought he had a pretty good idea, he was known to the high priest, therefore could get much closer in the temple, and he had seen the Sanhedrin leading a procession out of the Temple with Jesus carrying what looked to be a heavy piece of lumber.
Spending little time together the disciples split up as John wanted to follow them to find out if what seemed to be happening was truly what he thought, a crucifixion. Not wanting to be out of the sorts, and still with my shame firmly implanted, I followed, but at a distance. They took Him to the hill that had somewhat of a look of a human skull.
The sky was overcast with many different shades of gray, the sun not seen; something in the weather was going on as these clouds had streaks of green hanging around and under them. The wind was blowing; the sand swirled around and between the many boulders and trees that were scattered about the plain that set before us.
Not all the folks in the city followed, but what did had a look of a mob, with many Roman soldiers, with numerous jeers and jesters coming from every direction, and all focused toward the Lord.
I was still afraid and numb at this point, as shame and guilt were eating me from the inside, not at all coherent, I shadowed the crowd as it moved slowly toward the hill. Walking beside the mob, and now many more Romans, staying what I thought was out of easy sight, I followed along the down-hill flank.
I stood watching the whole scene, as it encompassed the entire hill, and could from my vantage point, from the next ridge over, see that what was happening wasn’t good. Of a truth, they surely nailed Jesus to a cross, standing upright and pitted deep in a dug hole. His body had the look of a torso that had fallen victim to a stampede of horses, He was bloody from the top of His head downward and shredded as if beaten severally, as every inch of His body was a cut up and a bloody mass. Being this distance away, it was difficult to see the individual cuts, but easily could ascertain that His flesh was ripped from what we knew was the Christ. This was a hard moment and time in my life, watching as now the soldiers made sport of Him. I could now see that John and Jesus’ mother, and another called Mary were at His feet, and uncontrolled sobs coming from each as they held each other. My knees buckled and I also wept out of control, for the loss of the Love that came from this man, my friend. It’s hard enough to watch a man die, but to spend as much time with Jesus as we did these past three years, this was more than my finite life could take.
As they laughed and mocked Him, and shook each other’s hand, the soldiers’ hung a wooden sign above His head, that at this place, I couldn’t read. Words were spoken between Jesus and the three before Him, but I couldn’t hear, but when said, the wailing progressed ever so much louder. Why are they doing this? I asked myself, as I too felt responsible, as the guilt and shame encompassed every inch of my being, but all I could do was watch, or turn my head to look off at some unknown distance.
As I sat sobbing, my head between my knees, noticed that night was coming, but it was much too early for that. The clouds were thick as a spring storm, but even much thicker than thick. There were no more shadows being cast, and all was taken over by an eerie calm, without warning the earth shook and a moment later a thunderous sound erupted from what seemed to be the whole universe. Looking back up toward the crowd on the other hill, I could tell that it was finished. Ten minutes later the sky was blue, a calm wind blowing, and shadows returned, but the sun was now low in the western sky.
Soon two men that I thought looked familiar came and took Jesus down, and gingerly carried Him to where I did not know, but not a long distance, as they also returned just as last twilight of the evening melted.
Why did all this happen? I was thinking to myself, why did the man that had power and authority and the words of Life have to die? Especially why did He die this kind of death? My legs wouldn’t work, arms limp, and my head was spinning with every sort of gloomy thought, as I sat in the puddle of my shame and fear; many thoughts raced through my mind and brought a numbness all about my body. The pool of pity that I sat in, for what they had done to my Lord, was terrifying; but the self-pity I had for my own life, was shameful.
I sat there for how many hours, I know not. Trying to remember the things taught, and the people healed, but most were escaping my mind, but a small amount of strength was returning to my limbs, as now I could move about a little more freely. Getting up, I could see the city flickering of the many torches and camp fires scattered throughout. A whippoorwill sang with his one note, followed by two more stretched out ones, the stars were so bright that the narrow band of the Milky Way looked more like a cloud than it did of many stars that were grouped together. The air still chilled as it had been the night before, I walked toward Jerusalem, and there met three more of the disciples that said that they had gathered, all ten, in a house just outside of the city.
A fire was built in the corner as we entered the door way, and the seven other disciples were standing looking out a slit of a window, talking amongst themselves, and little greeting was exchanged between us. We loved each other, but the mood in the air was not that of a cheerful nature.
Eventually all of us gathered close to the fire and slowly began talking about our feelings of Christ, the day just finished, and what we were to do from here on. No one really knew all the particulars of what happened, but all understood that our Lord was taken from us; gone, and not to be returned.
It wasn’t long before four of the women showed up, and they were giving us the ins and outs of the tomb, and all that went on. The wailing and sobbing started all over again, but it wasn’t long before all got quieter again, as each of us sobbed in our own pity. It was a somber time, as I sat back against the wall, mostly watching, as once in a while someone would give a eulogy. The women later left the group of us men, as we grieved with one another.
I sat in this two story house for several days, my mind racing, going over and over the events of the latter days past, and not once did I leave for food, nor water. Word had spread that the Roman soldiers had been ordered to
hunt down the remaining bunch of us followers, and I was sorely afraid. Every noise in the street below sounded louder than a bray of a donkey, I would jump as if I myself was speared. Jittery would not suffice to explain the turmoil that was going on in my mind and body, not even to mention the things of the heart. I was scared. No telling how many times I’d ran to that window, looking down and thinking the soldiers had found us out, to only see that it was all in my head. Once a small group of camels were coming up the street, and the sound their hoofs made on the hard packed ground, reverberated the same as marching soldiers. This was the one time I knew, in my head, that it wasn’t my imagination, but it was. My fear had spread somewhat to the other disciple’s, but it was obvious that all were much more relaxed, and could somehow talk about Jesus and His powerful words, but I could not. Fear and shame had a grip on me, and the actuality of denial that I knew Jesus, and then getting caught at it, was more than this man Peter could bear. Maybe I should have slept, but I couldn’t, the visions going on inside me were more than I thought I could bear awake, and wouldn’t risk the dreams of sleep.
It was early in the morning of the first day of the week, when all were still asleep; when a sound, sort of like thunder, had awaked me, and immediately my thoughts went once again to the Romans, their chains and swords, coming to carry us away. Looking ever so stealthy through the corner slit of the window, I could see it was Mary banging on the lintel with the edge of her basket that contained jars of who knows what. Going down, I let her in. She was out of breath and couldn’t speak because of it. I held her arm, and with my still wobbled legs, led her to the pallet that just a minute earlier I was laying in. She rested, trying to speak, but still as yet couldn’t get the words out, as the others were stirring out of their sleep also.
I went to Mary, not knowing what to do. It was hard to tell, at this point, whether she was crying, mad, or excited, for apparently she had been running so hard that she had completely exhausted herself. John went to her side, held her hand and waited until she had caught her breath.
“John, He’s gone,” Mary spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Who’s gone?”
“Jesus, Jesus is gone, someone has come and taken Him in the night, He’s not there. We were taking spices to the tomb to make preparation, but He was gone.”
I jumped up, yelled something to the effect that I was going to see, started toward the door, but before I could get through it, John had passed me and on his way out of the door. We ran, and I ran as hard as my weakened legs could carry me, thinking this time I wasn’t going to let another calamity pull me further down. I loved Jesus, and it might have been because of me that He was crucified, and with all my might, the Romans weren’t going to get away with this.
The sun had not fully risen. The town was silent; the path plainly in view, my determination was focused. Johns’ younger legs and quieter demeanor, was not going to qualify as a deterrent, to make up for my pass failures. As he ran by me through the doorway, he turned, not quite making eye contact and said; “Peter, don’t just stand there, let’s go.”
I was but slightly behind John when we reached the rolled away stone, John fell to one knee, held his hands skyward as if to pray, but I ran pass him and straight inside the opened tomb. I saw the linen cloths lying there, and then to the side, not with the cloth, was a kerchief folded and laying by itself. The folding of it was a deliberate act, but what, I wasn’t sure.
For as yet we did not know the scriptures, that He must be raise from the dead.
Not realizing how tired I was, for last night was the first time that I’d slept in days, and it wasn’t much; I sat on the ground of what was supposed to be the burial chamber of our Lord, the Christ. Elbows on my knees, the palms of my hands on both cheeks, eyes wide open in amazement and fear; I saw John then enter in with me. John believed immediately, when he looked over the arrangements of the empty tomb; me, not so much. To me Jesus was dead; a friend lost forever, the true Quality of my life was lost to the selfish ambitions of me, of the Romans and the Sanhedrin that took Him from us.
Reflections
Maybe I’d better stop here for a few moments and tell you how and why I, Peter, wanted to write this down, therefore giving the whole story of the pertinent measures of my life.
I am now near four and sixty years old, and at this place in my life, I’m looking back at more than thirty something years. For the past short while, I’ve been living in this small crevice, for lack of a better term, and most likely will for the rest of my days be content in here.
I wanted to share the evolution of my life as a young man; to show that in my flesh I was like everyone else is, carnal. What I mean to say is, that I thought like a man of the world thinks, I saw only that of the three dimensional world, and I heard only that which the outer ears could hear. In other words, I was dumb, blind and deaf.
When one looks back, he can see the foolish mistakes that were made in life and learn from them. We were not given the empowering of the Holy Spirit at this point, and had to, therefore, evaluate circumstances with whatever faculties we had at the time. It was, and is still an opportunity to grow. Let me continue sharing, as life decreases and increases to the depth of a man, in which I very much was, that is; flesh and blood only.
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Now looking in and around that tomb, all I could see was emptiness, a total of lost hope, and a failure on my part to keep Jesus alive, and now the theft of His body. The sorrow that was eating me before seem pale to the agony that now encompasses my being. Without saying a word, and not even looking toward John, I left to go back and ponder in my pity, I was hopeless.
Mary Magdalene had a story to tell about a risen Christ, but none listened to her, except maybe John, for it didn’t make sense. She said that she was to specifically tell the story to me, but in truth, I didn’t really hear what was said. My mind was elsewhere, and not on some fable of an overly excited woman…So I smoldered like the last burning embers of a fire before it is all but a vapor in the air.
We talked that day, that is most of the others’ talked, and the one that we call ‘the twin’ wasn’t there, but many a theory was passed around, with each adding his own view to it, John still believed that Christ had risen.
It was the same day, the first day of the week, in late evening, with the door shut tight, for we all feared that they would come and arrest us also. As I sat in the far corner, for the other nine talked between themselves; the twin called Thomas was not amongst us, for he went to acquire vittles, when suddenly there was a light that encompassed the room. A man standing there said peace unto you. All were a little startled, but I hardly noticed as my mind was deep in the thoughts of the day. This man showed all of us His hands and His side, and they then knew that it was Jesus. As a movement perceived, I began noticing, but only as one would glimpse a shadow or reflection from far away, and out of the corner of his eye; looking up and directly at him, I also saw that this new visitor was Jesus.
I ran stumbling across the room, fell prostrate before Him and with both hands grabbed both of His ankles and wept. Could it be that Jesus had risen? And in an instant I knew that Jesus is alive, truly alive, and alive with us right now. It was as if light was coming from everywhere, out of the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the room was filled with a glorious light that emitted a sweet floral smell of a desert flower. He was ALIVE. Jesus, standing as I held His feet, bent down to lift me to mine, but as far as my weak legs could get me, was to my knees. I sat there a few moments, sitting on the back on the calves of my legs, and looked Him in the sweetness of His face, focusing on my Lords’ eyes, and worshipped. It was then that every fear, every piece of shame, every chunk of guilt
that had flooded in me evaporated into love and peace. My Lord is not dead, He’s ALIVE.
As great as it was when I first began following Christ, as much hope as I had then, was as nothing compared to the release that entered into me as I looked into and through His eyes. All the emptiness melted, and l was filled with the fragrance of His Love.
Not more than a few hours after Jesus had appeared unto us and left, the missing twin, the one we call Thomas, showed up. It was not an easy task to explain to him what had just happened. No matter how much we explained in detail the phenomenon that only hours ago occurred, Thomas wouldn’t hear of it. He was dead-set on the idea of Him just being dead.
It wasn’t but a few days since we heard the news about Judas. He was a good man, and as far as I know, he loved the Lord, for each time that he was asked to do something, Judas made sure it was done. All of us grieved; and all spent many-a-hour speaking well of him in our grief. But what actually happened, no one really knew.
Some week or so later, as all were gathered together in the same room, again something strange materialized. It was late afternoon, a mist of rain had fallen most of the day, and the light within the room was dim, a dreary composite of the thick clouds that hung over the rolling hills of Galilee. All were doing nothing, except the other disciple called Judas, the brother of the Lord, he busied himself with cleaning, and when the room again was flooded with a light so bright that none of us could see. Jesus appeared once more; again somehow He entered without the door being opened, the brightness of His joy was unmistakable. Nathanael asked if He could quiet the light that emanated from Him, that we may be able to see. So Jesus turned the light much brighter and the air cleared and all could see as never before.
Thomas rushed to Him, mouth wide open, hands held out, and asked; is it really you Lord? Jesus opened His robe, and held out His hand and told Thomas to survey the wounds.
In an instant, Thomas lifting his head toward heaven with his hands following said; “My Lord and my God.” It was then that Didymus, the one called Thomas, the twin believed. It was a glorious reunion, not just for Thomas, but for all.