The others sat at a distance, chatting quietly, stealing glances at the two of them. The two sat huddled by the breakfast fire, the morning sun warming up to the day. He glanced upon the face of his friend, who was looking out upon the sea. Haunting guilt lingered like a shadow in his chest, and when his friend looked him in the eyes, he quickly cast them down at the sand. His friend’s gaze, however, remained.
The fire cracked, and the waves cast a hush upon the shore.
“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Jesus said.
Peter’s eyes shifted from the sand to the fire and down again. It had been a long time since his friend had called him that. He’d gotten used to his nickname. He only dared a brief look into his friend’s eyes. “You mean more than the others? More than these fish? More than my old life?”
Jesus was silent, and answered his question.
“Yes, Lord. Yes,” Peter said. “You know I love you.”
“Feed my lambs.” said Jesus. “They’ll need a shepherd. I want it to be you.”
Peter protested. “Oh, Jesus. Thank-you, but, I couldn’t do that. I think you want someone like John.”
“No, Peter. I want you.”
Peter kept his eyes everywhere but upon his friend. “I really couldn’t. I’m just not equipped.”
“Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
“Yes! You know I do! I just...”
“Tend my sheep.”
Simon Peter, the son of John, looked to his friend. “Jesus... Please. You don’t want me for this. I can’t! Please!”
Jesus spoke again. “Look at me, Peter.”
Peter felt like gravity itself fought against his gaze, and strained to raise his eyes.
Jesus placed a hand on his shoulder. “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
The surf broke upon the beach as the tears broke from his eyes. “You know everything!” he cried. “You know I love you!”
“Do you know you love me?”
Peter was silent, but for his sniffling nose and the stifled grunts of a sob.
“I denied you! I denied you!” he wept. “I’m sorry! I’m no better than him. I’m so sorry! I don’t want you to love me like this. Please!”
Jesus held the weeping man. “Too late, Peter. You’ve welcomed me three times.”
Showing posts with label betrayal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label betrayal. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Betrayed, Abandoned
The weight of his betrayal was crushing him.
He had been the one who had felt abandoned, forced into the background of friendship by the others. He thought he could force his hand, and somehow return himself to his place of honour at his friend’s side. He thought his friend would finally rise up, finally fight back and show his strength. He didn’t.
The moment after he kissed his friend’s cheek, he knew it wasn’t going to go that way.
Despair was now a strangely comforting blanket he wrapped tightly around himself. He walked out into the night, numb, and cold, the thirty silver coins shaking in the purse held by his trembling hand.
---
The weight of his friend’s betrayal sunk his heart like ballast. Forgiveness was here, waiting, if he would only come and receive it. He hung there, high above the gawking crowd who had gathered for the execution, and searched each face for the face of his friend.
If only he would come, I could tell him.
---
His betrayal might have gone unnoticed, had a rooster not crowed. He might have justified it to himself, told himself he was only trying to lay low so that he could be near. The rooster told him otherwise. Clear and shrill, it sang the coarse and cutting song. Denial. Betrayal. It stole the breath from his throat, and he ran away, and wept bitterly.
---
If only he would only come, I could tell him.
He looked upon the faces of the ones gathered here before him, like the sheep and the goats awaiting their judgement. He saw the faces of his friends in his mind’s eye, and loved them. He saw the faces of his accusers, of the ones who had condemned him. An ocean of broken people broke upon his heart, each one condemned to death by a billion separate judges. Peter and Judas stood out.
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
If only they would come, I could tell them.
---
He looked upon the field below him, standing on the branch of the lone tree which he had climbed. The rope scratched his neck, and his hand played at it without thought. He stood carefully upon the limb, steadying himself by another branch. The grass is tall, he thought absently. It’ll be a long time before anyone finds me.
He pronounced himself Judge of his own soul, and found it guilty, punishable by death. He stepped out from the limb, and the weight of his guilt doubled gravity.
He had been the one who had felt abandoned, forced into the background of friendship by the others. He thought he could force his hand, and somehow return himself to his place of honour at his friend’s side. He thought his friend would finally rise up, finally fight back and show his strength. He didn’t.
The moment after he kissed his friend’s cheek, he knew it wasn’t going to go that way.
Despair was now a strangely comforting blanket he wrapped tightly around himself. He walked out into the night, numb, and cold, the thirty silver coins shaking in the purse held by his trembling hand.
---
The weight of his friend’s betrayal sunk his heart like ballast. Forgiveness was here, waiting, if he would only come and receive it. He hung there, high above the gawking crowd who had gathered for the execution, and searched each face for the face of his friend.
If only he would come, I could tell him.
---
His betrayal might have gone unnoticed, had a rooster not crowed. He might have justified it to himself, told himself he was only trying to lay low so that he could be near. The rooster told him otherwise. Clear and shrill, it sang the coarse and cutting song. Denial. Betrayal. It stole the breath from his throat, and he ran away, and wept bitterly.
---
If only he would only come, I could tell him.
He looked upon the faces of the ones gathered here before him, like the sheep and the goats awaiting their judgement. He saw the faces of his friends in his mind’s eye, and loved them. He saw the faces of his accusers, of the ones who had condemned him. An ocean of broken people broke upon his heart, each one condemned to death by a billion separate judges. Peter and Judas stood out.
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they’re doing.”
If only they would come, I could tell them.
---
He looked upon the field below him, standing on the branch of the lone tree which he had climbed. The rope scratched his neck, and his hand played at it without thought. He stood carefully upon the limb, steadying himself by another branch. The grass is tall, he thought absently. It’ll be a long time before anyone finds me.
He pronounced himself Judge of his own soul, and found it guilty, punishable by death. He stepped out from the limb, and the weight of his guilt doubled gravity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)