A First, a Second, and Even a Third

A young slave girl came towards my cell, bringing water and the meager ration they gave me. I figured it was their way of being cruel. Just enough to keep me going. Just enough to make me hungry. But cruel had only just begun.

I rose up from the cold, stone floor and reached through the iron bars to accept the cup of water and the bowl of food. 

She looked both ways and began to talk quietly. "You know they are planning to crucify you!" She whispered shrilly.  

I guzzled down the water. "I know," I replied. "How soon?"

She turned her head sharply, looking me straight in the eye. I smiled in spite of things. Her mouth hanging ajar, she said nothing. 

"I don't know, not exactly," she finally replied. 

I shoveled down the bread quickly, by the mouthfuls. It wasn't too hard. Eating fast, that is. 

The soldier who was standing guard stalked away, out of earshot.

"What's your plan?"

"Well, there isn't anyone I expect to bail me out, if that's what you mean. My plan is, if I perish, I perish. If God does not wish to deliver me, I shall join in the sufferings of my Lord."

"How can you even say that?" She was a little terse, but I also sensed empathy. Concern. 

"I--"

The guard walked further away, and I heard the door clang behind him. I knew this was the time. 

"Do you know why I am here?" I asked.

"They say you have been wanted for a long time. Preaching about some Jesus of Nazareth all over the place," She waved.

"I am one of his disciples. For some reason, He chose me. I tried to tell him that I was a sinful man, and I didn't deserve anything good from Him, but he chose me anyway. Even if I didn't always choose him."

"I don't think I--"

"I'll explain," I interrupted; time was of the essence.

---

Silence pervaded the table. For some time, Jesus had been saying that his time was at hand. I felt sick just thinking it. Tonight was Passover night, the one he had predicted. The air only became heavier and our spirits more anxious when he said, 

"One of you will betray me." 

I felt like I was breathing underwater, suffocating. 

"Lord, nobody here would do that to you," one of us voiced.

I swallowed hard. Each of us felt our guilty, apprehensive hearts ask us if we were the betrayer and tell us we were liars when we tried to clear the air and our consciences with our words. 

"Is it I, Lord?" One asked. "Is it I?" Another asked. 

"He is here, I am telling you."

I saw Jesus whisper into Judas' ear. I watched Judas get up and leave, donning his dark cloak. I felt a sense of helplessness. Fogginess. Confusion. Yet, under the surface, I knew exactly what was happening.

Not long after that, Jesus began leading us in a Passover hymn, and we sang. It all seemed a bit ironic. Unreal.

We left for the Mount of Olives. Walking, my mind was somewhere beyond my eyes--past the emerald leaves that shone in the moonlight and the dry twigs that broke beneath my feet--aware, yet...

"Do not let your hearts be troubled," Jesus said. 

"Lord, how can you even say that?" I asked incredulously.

"You believe in God, believe also in me..."

Something inside me clicked, and I started fighting the current.

"None, of us. Will leave you alone."

Jesus looked at me, with sorrowful tears in his eyes. "No, Peter, you will. Three times, even."

I forced the words to pass my lips, "No."  

Jesus swallowed the tears back. "Before the night is over, you will say you don't even know me." 

It seemed there was no point in trying to talk him out of it. To convince him otherwise. I was hurt, but this all seemed bigger than me. 

We reached the Garden of Gethsemane. "Come with Me," he called. I obeyed. I figured all I could do was try to show him my loyalty. I have to say, I didn't get Jesus. He just got done telling me that I was going to betray him, and now he was telling me to come with him, as if nothing had happened. For some reason, his gentle ways gave me a small amount of peace, though.

"Stay here and pray." He squeezed my shoulder and left us there to pray. 

I wanted to pray, yet I felt defeated. Weak. I just wanted to escape this anxious state. If I could just sleep...And I gave in impulsively.

A little while later I was aroused by Jesus, and he whispered to us, telling us to pray. 

"Watch and pray so as not to fall into temptation. I know: the Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. Pray," He urged us.

I tried. But slumber soon conquered me.

The second time, it was too late. Jesus came and woke me, James, and John. 

"The betrayer is here."

As the mob surrounded me, their torches shone in my face, revealing my shame. I knew I had failed. I had to compensate.

"Rabbi," Judas kissed Him.

Jesus, in all his gentleness replied, "My friend, why are you here?"

My friend. Nausea and disgust overcame me. I subconsciously recognized my own hypocritical failure. Jesus gave me multiple chances, but what had I done? Jesus was pure...something I could never...

I launched into action, and adrenaline kicked in as I unsheathed my sword and deployed it. Within seconds I began to cringe at the sound of tearing flesh. 

"AAAUGGGGHH!!" My victim screamed, shrieking in pain.

"Put your sword away, Peter! Don't you know those who live by the sword will die by it?"

His words shook me. What am I doing?

They bound Jesus and carried Him away, and all the disciples fled. I only ran to just past the trees. My back to a rustling sycamore, I breathed heavily; I felt horrible. At least I didn't desert him like he said I would. Not really, anyway. After all, I only ran a little so I could throw the mob and the soldiers off. Then, in the safety of their oblivion, I would pursue.

--

I warmed my hands by the fire. The coldness of the night was not by any means mild, but my resolve was stronger. What will happen to my Lord?

"I saw you!" My eyes swung up from the amber coals towards a young girl's accusing lips. "You are one of the disciples! I saw you!"

"I am afraid you are wrong," I stated emphatically. Looking back down, preoccupying myself with the warming of my hands. 

"Are you the Christ, the Son of the Living God??" I heard an obnoxious voice crescendo. 

A pregnant pause, and the house erupted. "BLASPHEMYY!" Caiaphas bellowed.

"You are a Galilean. You are one of his, aren't you?" Another lady asked me. 

I turned my eyes back towards the fire. I raised my voice, "No, I'm not!"

Walking away, I went to a different fire, which also happened to be closer to the hearing.

"You are one of them!" A young man provoked, the two girls following him. 

"I swear by my--," I hissed. "I don't know him!" I screamed.

I began to walk away quickly, but I stopped dead in my tracks. A rooster crowed. As surely as morning had come, so had Jesus' words come true: "Before the night is over, you will say you don't even know me."

I wept for foolish recognition. "What is wrong with me??" I screamed aloud, weeping for my own destitute humanity. 

Somewhere in me I had known I wasn't that strong. And I had felt the guilt. The weight. The self-doubt. But I denied it, just like I had denied him. 

I let my guilty memories wash over me again and again. I could not stand myself. It was as if I had denied him a thousand times. Maybe if I was stronger. If I wasn't so proud and hadn't been so absorbed in my thoughts that I wasn't even listening to him. What was I doing? If I really loved him...

---

"Don't you understand?" I asked. "Jesus gave me a second chance so many times when I did not deserve it. At the shore when I told him I was a sinful man. In the garden, when I fell asleep. And then, after his resurrection--"

"Resurrection?" The girl asked, bewildered.

"Yes. He came back to the same shore where we had met. My heart was so joyous to see him I practically swam the one hundred feet back to shore to get to him...He asked me that day, 'Peter, do you love me?' Once. Then twice. Then a third time. Each time I told him, 'Yes, you know I do.' I could hardly believe it. For each time I had failed him, Jesus gave me a chance to be his. To be restored. And you know what he told me? He said, 'Feed my sheep.'"

"Feed my sheep?" 

"He gave me that responsibility, the trust that I never could give myself even if I tried...even though I had failed him. I had denied him, but he still gave me a second chance to give my whole life to him. Now, so help me, God, it is my turn to do things right this time."

Stomp. Stomp. Roman boots were coming back down the corridor.

Her eyes locked with mine for a sacred moment, and I knew there was a connection. She turned away quickly, moving down to the next prisoner cell, and I scurried back to my place on the floor. 

A different guard entered to begin his shift. I was relieved; I had never seen him before. He probably had no idea of how much farther along the girl should have been in her job, so I breathed a little easier. 

When she did finish giving all the rations and was on her way out, she came by the cell with the cart and paused. I turned my eyes upwards. She picked up the handles and continued pushing the wheelbarrow, its noisy wheels covering her quiet words as she passed: "I thought you were crazy." 

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Disclaimer: Some of this content is inspired by or similar, if not the same, to the New Testament words of Christ and the Gospel account. See Matthew 26, and John 14.