He is Risen Indeed! (the week started out so well part 3)

A couple of days passed and I found myself in the upper room with what was left of the Twelve (Judas was gone and there were rumors he had hung himself). I don't know why we gathered. There was nothing left to do, but sit and hope that those in charge didn't want his followers as well.

Then the women burst into the room and began to talk about angels and stones, and how they had gone to put spices on the body, only the body wasn't there, and they didn't know how they were going to move the stone, but it didn't matter cause the stone was gone and there was an angel and...

I didn't catch most of what they were saying, they were pretty excited and it was hard to catch it all. Then Mary Magdalene said something I did understand. "Jesus is alive!"

I took off running toward the tomb. Peter was right behind me. I must admit that Peter is in better shape than I am and made it to the tomb first. He stopped at the entrance. I bolted past him and went straight in. There were the linens and the head cloth, but there was no Jesus! He was alive!

All of us who saw him after that (and there were more than you might think) all have our favorite story of meeting him. The two chaps from Emaus tell the tale of how they met Jesus on the road home, but didn't recognize him until after he left. Thomas tells his tale of disbelief and being invited to touch the wounds. My story is about the time he made us breakfast on the beach.

Those of us who fish were out in the boats. It was a horrible night. We weren't able to catch a single thing. We fished through the night and not a single fish came into our nets. At one point I think we kept fishing just cause it was personal. We weren't going to let the Sea win.

Sometime around dawn we heard a voice from the shore. "Caught anything yet?" When told him that we hadn't, the stranger told us to cast our nets on the other side of the boat. Confused, we were desperate enough to try anything. We cast our nets on the other side of the boat. We had to strain to pull the net it in it was so full of fish. At once we all recognized who it was that spoke to us from the shore. It was Jesus!

Of course I jumped from the boat and swam ashore. The guys still give me a hard time about that. Not so much that I jumped from the boat to get to Jesus sooner, but that I didn't stay in the boat to help them unload the catch.

We sat and talked and ate fish. Everything was back to normal. It was better than normal. As the meal wound down Jesus got up and began to walk down the beach. He asked John to walk with him.

As they were gone, the rest of us speculated as to what they could be talking about. We decided that it would be funny if Jesus was going to talk with each one of us and reveal our future and tell us how we were going die. John came back to the group just as we offered this hypothesis. "That isn't funny!" he said. Then he turned to me and said, "You're Next." I walked down the beach and caught up with Jesus.

"Peter, do you love me?"
"Of course I love you!" I was hurt that he would even ask.
"Then feed my sheep." I had completely forgotten about that night. I had forgotten that I had disowned him. Feed his sheep. Who I am to do such a thing? I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Do you love me?"
"You know that I do." I said without looking up.
"Then feed my sheep."

"Do you love me?" he asked a third time.

One for each denial.

What was he trying to accomplish here? "You know that I do."
"Then feed my sheep."

I said nothing. Eyes down, feet kicking at the sand. Jesus reached out and placed his finger under my chin.

He lifted my head.

Our eyes met.

Again the look in his eyes was unlike any I had ever witnessed before.

Compassion. Mercy. Justice. Love. Peace.


Forgiveness.

Restoration.

He had called me home. He had called me to feed his sheep. He had forgiven me and restored me. All without words. All with a simple look.

As we turned to walk back to the others I looked up at Jesus and asked him what he talked about with John. He put is arm around my shoulder and laughed.

"Don't worry about him." he chuckled. "Maybe he'll stick around for all eternity."

The week started out so well...Friday

Part One

After they took him from the garden, panic and confusion broke out. Those of us left standing there didn't know what to do. I decided to follow (from a safe distance of course).

Eventually we wound up at the palace of Pilate. I was able to make my way to the courtyard. I did my best to blend in, hoping to hear some snippet of news, some idea of what they were doing to him. Some idea of what we should do next.

It was cold that night as the sun began to set, and I soon found myself sitting around one of the many fires that was lit. Those gathered around me said nothing. The silence was unbearable. I began to make small talk, but all that I could think of was Jesus and what they had done to him. I tried to act nonchalant as I asked for any news of the prisoners that had been brought to the temple that night. I guess I wasn't too subtle.

Another man at the fire accused me of being a follower of that "Jesus character." I denied that I was. I tried to insist that I was simply in town for the Festival. Seeing that they weren't believing my story, I got up slowly and moved away.

"How could I do that?" I thought to myself. Moments ago I was willing to risk everything for him and now I was denying that I was his follower.

Moving to a new fire, I sat down. This time I was sure that I wouldn't have anything say. The time pasted and I was able to hold my tongue. then one of those gathered looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Didn't I see you come into the city with Jesus of Nazereth? Yeah I am sure of it. Are you one of his disciples?" I assured him that I wasn't. A little servant girl was standing behind us. She was sure that I was one of the disciples of Jesus, the one the crowds were calling the Christ. She too had seen me enter in the gates on Sunday. Besides she could tell by y accent that I was from Galilee.

I swore (in every sense of the word, I am ashamed to say) to her that I didn't know this Jesus that everyone seemed so interested in talking about. I didn't care about this teacher or his followers, I just came into the courtyard to get warm. As I rose to leave, I saw them bring him out and walk him across the yard.

Our eyes met. This was not a look that said, "you are missing the point" or "you have gone too far." This was something new. It wasn't sadness, and it wasn't quite disappointment, but it wasn't a look I care to ever see in his eyes again.

After that, I don't remember much of the rest of the night, or of the weekend really. I guess I was just numb. I heard that he had been crucified and was buried in a tomb near the hill where he died.

Died.

Dead.

Jesus was dead.

Gone.

Buried.

It was all over. No more denials, no more swords, no more dinners with cryptic talk about bread and blood. No more teachings. Or healings. Or travels. Or talks along the road. No more storms calmed, or fish with coins for the Temple Tax. No more walking on water. No more looks. It was all over.

The week had started out so well.

to fall into God's grace

To become like a child is to open ones' eyes again to the violence that surrounds us, but also to fall into the arm of God's grace, The God who experiences the violence that scars the earth and announces the final word of peace. --Jensen