Silence
I can only muster silence given all that I have
seen and heard.
He is gone. It started in the temple. Jesus
had kept to himself except to talk to Peter and Judas. We went with him to the
temple to pray, and that is where it all changed. At first he was just quiet,
sat down just inside and stared into the distance. We were not sure what to do.
I went and stood out of the way. There were people everywhere. There is so
much you can do in the temple these days as well as pray. Music, dancers,
things to buy, exchange your coins to make offerings. He just sat right in the
middle where people had to walk around him. The others mingled and looked
around. It seemed like days were
passing.
Then he stood. I had seen that
look in his eyes before. I saw it at Lazarus tomb. A calm determination that
gave way to a rage as one after another Jesus turned over tables and shouted,
"What are you doing? Get out." We went running to shield him from the people
trying to stop him. I wanted to stop him. The Romans watched with curiously to
make sure the skirmish didn’t get too out of control, and as the pushing
escalated to fists with swords drawn the guards waded into this sea of
struggling Jews to stop the fight. We found a way out as the Romans herded
people to either side of the temple. Anger begat fear and fear turned to hate.
And the people had every right to hate. Some died that day in the temple, and
Jesus knew it was because of what he
did.
Around the Passover table there was
talk of what had happened. Those that had been reading the prophets and
chanting the Psalms continued to argue about what was happening and tried to
include me. I want no part of it. Trying to make prophecy fit this situation
seems pointless. There are times when Jesus quotes a prophet, but it is to make
a point about our misunderstandings not as a fulfillment. They know better or
have I not been listening? Have I been listening. The others are trying to
advance their importance in the group, playing for Jesus’
attention.
Now, around the table Jesus is
still quiet, and only talks to Judas, Peter, and Magdalene. After a while a
hush breezes across the room. I am at the far end when I see Jesus washing
feet. What is he doing? Some refuse, he whispers in their ears, and they allow
it. Most are so stunned they just go along. I am embarrassed when he gets to
me. My feet stink. “Must you, Jesus?’ He just goes about the
washing. Some question him. When he finishes he reminds us, ‘You call me
master, Lord. That is true. So, if I your master have washed your feet, you
should do the same. For the last time I have set you an
example.’
He asks to have all the
bread passed to him. He gives thanks to the Lord for it and sends it around the
group. “When you share bread together remember me.’ We all eat
with asking questions. He fills a large cup with wine, gives thanks to the Lord
for it and sends it around the group. “When you eat bread together also
share a cup together and remember me. I will not be with you much
longer.’ Should we be writing this down? Now there is shouts, “No,
Jesus. Where are you going? What do you mean?” “Soon, you will
understand,” he says. Again, he whispers to Judas and then to Peter. It
is chaotic conversation now as we try to process everything. Jesus asks us to
go with him to pray. Somewhere along the way I realized that Judas is no longer
with the group. Who knows what errand Jesus sent him on
now.
The garden is a quiet place. We
have been here many times before, but this time it is late and even as Jesus
sits quietly twenty or so yards away from us my eyes are heavy. I nod off. My
dreams are frightening. I awake to loud voices. Judas is here. He greets
Jesus as we have all done with a kiss. Roman solders are near and Jesus is
taken from us. We follow, and along the way to see where they are taking Jesus,
Peter denies knowing Jesus. How can our rock do that? But it is not just
Peter. All of us do, eventually, as we near the city. I don’t really
know what happened next. Everything from here to his crucifixion is what I have
head. There are many stories.
I’m
told that the Pharisees questioned Jesus and he told them nothing. I find it
hard to believe that he didn’t give them a verbal slapping or at least a
good debate. I did catch a glimpse of him with Roman guards. They could only
be taking him to Pilate. People tell us that Jesus talked with him a long time.
Pilate is cruel, but curious about the people Rome rules. Jesus often talked
about the kingdom of God. If Pilate asked him about this then there is no hope
that we will see him again. Jews live in occupied territory. I don’t
share their belief, but do share a homeland. If Jesus is seen as a threat to
stability by any leader he is
terminated.
It is Friday. I’m
hiding among the people hoping to not be seen or recognized as a follower.
Jesus is carrying a cross. He is beaten. That is what they do before
crucifixion. I follow along with my head covered. I can hear the hammer in the
distance and make out the silhouette of the crosses being stood up. There are
many that day. I can see Magdalene, and Jesus’ mother in the distance.
That cross is where Jesus hangs. I can see a Roman guard stabbing those
crucified. It is an act of mercy. I dare not be
seen.
We have a safe house. I walked the
streets of the city most of the night. I spoke to no one and luckily no one
spoke to me. I don’t know how I got to the safe house. A few are reading
the prophets and chanting the Psalms. I find a place to sit next to Peter. I
wonder if I look as bad as he does? I looked worse when I was a leper. Jesus
could have gotten away to the mountains. Why didn't he go? What did he know
about God that I don't?
There are quiet
sniffles and tears. I can only muster silence. No more words.
Filed Sat - April 11, 2009, 01:46 PM in
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