“I am Simon-Peter.. .. ….. A fisher of men;….. or so I was told. . . . .
Having traveled throughout the land with my master, Jesus the Galalean, as he spread the good word, I’ve witnessed many things miraculous, and mysterious. His message is so profound yet so obtuse and abstract that every time his words of love and hope were repeated they were heard in different ways by each of the many; His use of parables and fish stories was a plus, and a minus. His love of diffuse meanings, and multiple messages was so clever that his tales meant many things to many minds. Most often I was awed by the power of his speech, but sometimes I thought them just the fancy riddles of a showman, until I saw a dead man walk, yet later I began to consider them again in the same light as the tricks of the shaman. Until I blind man saw and it made me shamed.
What was taken up from it though, what you might say was inhaled and absorbed by the enthralled crowds, was the scent of liberation from the Roman dominators and brutalisers, by the oft-prophesied arrival of a great leader. Jesus had raised many people’s spirits, but mostly he’d awoken a martial spirit amongst men willing to die for their freedom; and obviously they saw in him the leader they yearned for.
But when men were many, and those men were ready, and there were plenty of them, what did their psuedo-savior do? He ran away. Behaved as a fool. Surrendered without a fight and allowed himself to be incarcerated, humiliated, and finally crucified when he could have done so much for so many.
The first incident, when I almost raised my eyebrows, was the way Jesus was so quick to leave town after the beheading of John the Baptiser. Admittedly, we all scurried away, but being led by him taking long strides across the plain, striking out with his cane, dodging the prickles. And then we picked our way through the low and scabby hills until we arrived at the shores of the lake where we rested amongst the rocks; not hiding, but keeping a very low profile nonetheless, waiting for the others to arrive with the boat from across the lake.
Two hours before nightfall we were roused by the arriving sounds of a veritable multitude. An unruly rabble of several thousand men and boys who had got together and followed us out of town. My first impression was of a small army, and by the chorus of their cries they made it clear they were expressing allegiance to Jesus, as leader, as the Messiah, and the man for whom they had been waiting so long, to instruct them, to inspire them, to redeem Israel.
Jesus stood there, all erect, with his garments and cape catching the breeze beneath his outstretched arms. He acknowledged them in a way I thought reeked of patronism and what he spoke to them about was vague and uninspiring. The way he deflected their core concerns and totally ignored using the word Israel Israel
After the sermon they were very quiet, although a low frequency hum of discontent could be heard if you listened with your feet. “We are hungry Master and we have no food! “ one impatient follower called from the crowd. “Yes Master. We have no bread and the hour is late.” Twenty others added on.
“There is more to life than bread,” replied Jesus, “but be patient and I shall feed you.
Jesus turned to ask Judas and me to bring some baskets of fish from the boat that had recently arrived. “There are fish there, I know because Samuel told me,” spoke Judas timidly, “but Master, they have only caught five fish, and we have such little bread, there is no way to feed that crowd which no doubt numbers upwards of five thou.“
“Worry not Peter, the man I love more than any, for surely each of them has a little something stashed away in their inside pockets.” And sure enough, the multitude was fed, before they settled down to sleep right where they were.
By first light we were pushing off with oars on our way to Bethsaida
Soon as the sun started sliding up the skirt of sky that shining shallow sea started showing ruffled signs of the rising wind. I felt apprehensive. I knew they would feel abandoned and have a long and empty-handed walk home to mutter and confer on the meaning of meek, and not like it.
By the time we were in the middle of the lake dark clouds were all about us and within the time it took to shorten sail a squall of such intensity was upon us, and though the hearty sailors we all were, we were soon huddling beneath the fore-deck keeping sight of the lashing gaff that had broken way with the tearing of the sail. Confused waves were slapping the sides amidship and splashing and spilling over the gunwales. We were shitting ourselves but Jesus leaned back in the stern, in mortal danger of being pierced by the windsane rigging, but appeared to be asleep. I could never quite figure him out. Was he really asleep, or awake, simply waiting for our fear to reach a certain pitch. As he may have been waiting until the mood for insurrection had rising to a particularly pregnant point before making best advantage of the drama, or was he just a megalomaniac who thought delaying it might ensure his place in paradise. And then! He rose from his place by the untended tiller, spread his hands to arms length and calmed the sea. We felt ridiculous; and he just smirked.
I’ll rush through this bit because it gets me depressed, and I’ll take it up at the census. That was a very important element in the control of us Jews. That census. So it was that Sunday when many people thought that Jesus might kick things along, hence the palm fronds. Well he did, but right from the start, entering the plaza on the back of an ass you wouldn’t feel right putting your kids on, put a weird spin on things that didn’t really show up until the day after, when Jesus had been sentenced and all. Them crying out Barrabas, Barrrabas!” I knew he’d pay for not living up to their expectations. He wanted to play god but kept being seduced by his inherent masochism.
Anyway, we were scared, you can understand why. And that’s why I’d denied knowing Jesus those times I had. It was a disappointed mob. And we were his arms and legs that the rich Jews wanted to chop off. We’d all abandoned him when Judas came with the centurions, we’d all scurried off while Judas kissed him.
Anyway, so now that he is dead, I can’t help but think that we have all been involved in some weird suicide contrived by jc himself for his own perverse reasons. That is the thought that lingers but what really upset me was when I went looking for Judas. It made sense that we all leave town and I knew he had some money, but to my horror I found him dead. Killed by his own hand, but surely as a result of playing a part in jc’s main game.
When I found the others they were hiding in a cave huddling together damp and cold. None of us had eaten since the morning before. I told them I had found Judas hanging in a tree. From above the cave we could see the place so we all spent some time sitting there watching our sweet Judas swinging in the wind, silhouetted against the four a.m. sky, like a draped goat. We all shed private tears in the dimness of dawn.
“He had it all planned out in advance. He just used us; and didn’t care. All those fancy speeches about compassion and charity. And yet he was so indifferent and cruel! He acted as though the whole thing was predestined.”
“What are you saying Peter?” Samuel asked, sounding truly shocked. “That Jesus was responsible for Judas, and the agony he must have gone through in those final hours!”
“Yes, that is what I am saying! And more. He was ingenuous, and deceitful; and didn’t really care. Remember the scene with the courtesan, the oil and the foot kissing, and the bit about the poor will always be there, no matter what deeds? What are we to make of that? And the cock crowing thing! That’s what really tells it to me!
He did the same to me as he did to Judas, except Judas is dead; may he rest in peace. We were the gophers, the scapegoats and the stooges, and when the cock did crow that third time, believe me, I’d felt a wave of guilt flow through my body like poisoned moon-shadow. A shame so deep that I too could have harmed myself as well; from sheer remorse.”
“I don’t think so.” Chipped in Michael. “Why would he go through with such an elaborate, and grotesque, suicide when he could have done so much more good!?”
“Yes. I agree. He could have done so much. But what did he achieve? What did he leave us but all those words? And such indefinite words. Those frickin parables. What did the guy really mean? “…relax, we’ll always have poor people. The sinner is more important to god. A prostitute is more important than you or me. How are we to take such things?”
“Peter, you’re distraught, as we all are, but everything that is happening is a direct expression of gods will. Jesus told us that. In all your lives we must search for fresh occasions to submit, as though we are already in god’s mouth. Undaunted and striving to do right. No begetter and no begotten….
“Cut it out will you. Trying to take his place or something are you? Forget it, unless you want to get nailed too.”
“Are you saying he wanted to get crucified? Are you?” chipped in Thomas. “I doubt it!”
“Face it Thomas, we’ve been conned. Dragged out of normal lives and taken for a ride! Bit players in a human auto-sacrifice. That guy Jesus, what did he come to? An agonizing death above three weeping women. To leave us alienated and scared for good reason. Where is the leadership? What can we do now?
“Jesus instructed us to be ready to be crushed the very next instant. He said the meek shall inherit the earth.” Stated Andrew, not wanting to be left out.
“Are you pulling my leg?” queried Steven. “Are you seriously suggesting….” But Simon, who had been standing there silently since the debate began suddenly stated, “So that’s why he had to die. We couldn’t eat him while he was alive!”
“Hey. Yes! Now, that makes sense!” a few voices …. In unison.
We stepped cautiously amongst the trees and rocks but it wasn’t far to the cemetery so soon we were milling about outside the shining new tomb that some rich guy had put the body of Jesus in. There was a very large stone across the entrance, but it was round, so between the lot of us it was no problem to roll away, and as Jesus was being carried out he was placed on the ground again so that the stone could be rolled back and forth with ease until he was tenderly ready to barbecue. The discarded cross was leaning on the wall outside the tomb so it was soon sawn and split into kindling to start a hearty blaze while Jesus was stripped and spread-eagled on the ground.
“Look into my heart” one of the group chuckled as he helped to dismember Jesus. Soon his pieces were spread out all over the grill, with the legs and arms on separate rotisseries. A bold young red wine had been procured, no-one seemed ready for the blood at such an early hour, and we all stood around talking about the events of the last few days. Thomas, more than usual was carrying on in his exaggerated manner, “…. more significant than an apocalypse, an event to eclipse time!”
What was he on about? Was he referring to the miracles, the trial, the crucifixion, or, without realizing it, the disappearance of the body.
“Pass me the fork,” please Simon, “I’d like to turn that other cheek.”
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