Peter's Account

     Blood. Blood I tell you. I've never seen such a sight. His anguish, his dread, seeping from his pores. No, not sweat. Blood.  And we were sleeping. What excuse did we have? None. We were blind. He asked us to watch for him while he prayed, but we slept.  We didn't know, we didn't understand.  He told us this day was coming, but we didn't believe him.  Yet, here it was.  I heard the footsteps before I saw the light of the torches.  Soldiers.  Romans.  How I despised them.  And there, showing them the way was the traitor, the coward. Judas. 

     They confronted us there in Gethsemane. Judas betrayed him with a kiss. With a kiss. Can you believe that? As they went to arrest him, my anger welled up inside of me, or maybe it was fear and sheer adrenaline. I don't know; it doesn't matter.  I drew my sword and swung with all my might.  I cut off the ear of one of the soldiers. No. It wasn't my intent to remove his ear; I wanted to remove his head.  I would have done it too, but he commanded me to stop. Then he healed him. Right there, he healed his captor. Sense? No, it didn't make sense, but then again, a lot of things don't make sense to our feeble minds, do they?

     When he didn't resist, we fled. Yes, we ran. I am ashamed of myself. I abandoned him in that hour.  But I followed them at a distance.  I joined in with a crowd outside, warming myself by a fire and not knowing what to do. I tried to blend in, but someone recognized me. They called me out as a follower, and I lied. I told them I didn't know him. Three times I told them, then the rooster crowed. It was too much. I was miserable, alone, and scared. I saw him then, through the window. He met my gaze, and I knew. I knew that he knew, and I couldn't bear it anymore. I had denied him. The Son of God, and I had denied him. I wanted then to die.

     They put him on trial. It was a corrupt affair to be sure. Then they scourged him, and crucified him. They treated him like a thief, like trash, like dung. The Son of God, and they treated him like dung.  A man from Arimathea took his body and laid it in his own tomb. Buried, forgotten by the world.  

     The next day was the Sabbath, but I found no joy. Nor the morning next. He was gone. What joy was left to be found? Then came the screaming! Not anguish or pain, but joy. Mary was here and she was jubilant. It took me a few minutes to calm her down enough to explain her condition. Not there! He's not there! No, not stolen; risen. How did she know? Angels. She said angels met her at the tomb. And then she saw him. Did I doubt her? Of course I did! Who ever heard of such? I ran to have a look myself, and sure enough. An empty tomb. How? I don't know how, and does it matter? 

    She said he told us to go to Galilee, so we did. I was fishing when he met us there. It was true! He was alive. He welcomed us with breakfast, but I couldn't look at him. My shame overwhelmed me, but then I heard him ask me, "Do you love me?" I could barely whisper in answer, "Yes." Once again, "Do you love me?" Yes. And again, "Do you love me?" I could take it no longer. Yes, Lord, yes. You know I love you. You know everything. You know this anguish of my heart. You know how I long for death's embrace. I am so ashamed! I am so unworthy! I am so wretched! Oh, Lord, I cannot take anymore! 

     Simon, my beloved one. Feed my sheep. Follow my lead. Tell them, Simon. Go, into all the world, and tell them. Tell them I love them. Tell them I've paid the price. Tell them I'm waiting, with anticipation. Will you do that for me, Simon? I love you; I love them. Tell them.......tell them.