This was the day for the Passover meal. Jesus sent His disciples to prepare for the meal, even though the air is so thick with tension it makes my hair rise.
The meal must be finished, because all the disciples but one who left earlier are filing out of the house where they had their meal. I can hear some of them talking about what happened there. Some said it was the strangest and saddest Passover dinner they'd ever had. Jesus had talked as though His death was imminent. He took off His cloak, and He washed their feet as though He were their servant, and then He told them to love one another as He had loved them.
Now He and three of the disciples have gone on to the place where He loves to go pray, the Mount of Olives. I guess I'll follow them rather than the other disciples.
He told the three men to wait for Him and to pray, and then He went on to a place by Himself. I could hear Him, though not what He was praying. It sounded like a lament. The men He left behind to pray went to sleep instead. Jesus came back and woke them, again asking them to pray. They must have been awfully tired, because He wasn't a dozen steps away before they fell asleep again. Still--it looked like someone was there with Him where he prayed.
Oh, no! Someone is coming--several someones! Loud voices, stomping feet, clanking armor. I was afraid of this--the temple guards have come to arrest Him. Wake up! Wake up, sleeping disciples! We need to go protect Him! We run toward the Lord. Peter is the only one with a weapon, and he draws his sword, lopping off and ear of one of the guards. He lets out screech that would wake the dead. Peter's lifting his sword again when the Master holds up His hand to stop Peter, then turns to the wounded man and touches the bleeding wound. It stopped bleeding, but apparently the temple guards don't feel all that grateful. They arrest the Master anyway. They grab me too, but I slip out of my oversized tunic and run away.
My fear is greater than my desire to protect Him. I'm ashamed, but I'm still hidden.
No comments:
Post a Comment