A [fictional] journal entry from one of the twelve on the night Jesus was betrayed.
Three years, Jesus. THREE YEARS.
I gave up EVERYTHING I KNEW for you. For this idea that you were the ONE.
And now you’re gone. And I have nothing. No home. No place to live. No job. And you’re dead and I’m left here wondering if everything I hoped for – everything I believed about you – was a lie.
I’m kind of angry at you right now, actually. I feel scared. And alone.
Peter, with his big fat mouth just about got us all killed the other night, trying to defend you. And we’re all being jerks to each other now because we’re really sad. We’re lost without you. You were our rock. And how you’re gone.
WHY’D YOU HAVE TO LEAVE US?!
What am I supposed to do with all this?! The stuff we saw. How they treated you. What they did to you. I will never, ever get those images out of my mind. I’m afraid to sleep now because I’m afraid of my dreams.
You were so different. You talked about love. You talked about Who you were. You talked about how we should live. You told a lot of stories and asked a LOT of questions. You weren’t afraid of the Pharisees and their stupid rules. (I wish I could be that way.) You turned everything we knew upside down and somehow it all made sense.
Enemy? Love him. Women? Treat them as equals. Children? Welcome them. Put others ahead of yourself, but also believe you are worthy of love. Mourn, but not without hope.
You didn’t care about regular stuff – money or food or clothes – you didn’t stress about that stuff. You were so chill. Except when you were angry. Dude … that time in the temple? THAT. WAS. AWESOME. (And a little scary. I’m glad we were on your side.)
But where was that anger tonight?! Why did you let them kill you, Jesus? When they beat you, you just stood there. WHY? They taunted you and spit on you and made fools of all of us AND YOU LET THEM.
I don’t get it.
What are we supposed to do now?? The Romans are still in power and now they’re gloating because they think they won. The Pharisees still think they’ve got it all figured out and now there’s no one to tell them how it really is. And we are now just a group of homeless followers – SHEEP – lost, sad and afraid.
We are all in shock, Jesus. We’re really, really sad. We need you here. WHY’D YOU LEAVE US?
There’s a tiny part of me that wants to believe that this isn’t the end of the story and that’s the only thing I’m holding onto right now.
I don’t know how that’s possible. We saw you die. (John stayed all the way to the end … I couldn’t do it.) But I know they killed you.
So how I can have this hope that there’s more, I have no idea. It doesn’t make any sense.
Maybe I’m crazy. (Okay … I am a little bit. ) Maybe I’m in denial. (Definitely.) But there HAS to be more.
This CAN’T BE the end.
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