The Arrest
How hard was it then, to gather the mob?
Did not the law require
that those who accuse
to go forth and arrest
the one they accused?
But with time, they were gathered,
and there they went,
across the valley and up the hill,
with torches and swords,
some with fear,
some with envy,
some for the excitement.
Some no doubt believed they were right,
but he came, though,
because he had to,
having tested the truth of his Master,
then turned away
into the darkness.
What did they expect to find there
when they reached the garden,
besides an olive press
and trees
under the full moon?
Were they looking for outlaws,
armed with swords and knives,
plotters of inssurrection,
or theft, or
rebellion?
He thought he knew what they would find,
sleepy men, maybe,
or praying, keeping vigil in the night,
men who thought that he was their friend,
unaware of the moment of truth he was bringing,
sitting with their teacher.
Perhaps the thought of His face
gave him a twinge,
but he walked on.
How hard was it then, to enter that garden?
The gates were unlocked, and the crowd
pushed through with ease.
He came through first,
with a soldier behind him,
stepping around the sleepy forms of men he knew so well.
Andrew wiping the sleep from his eyes,
Matthew and James,
who started to call his name in greeting,
then noticed the crowd behind,
Thomas who became instantly alert,
Peter and John, standing in front of the man he had come to see.
Pushing them aside, then he found Jesus.
Was this the man he left, just a few hours ago?
His clothes were damp, like sweat, on this cool spring night,
but there was the smell of iron in the air,
a smell like blood.
So tired and haggard he had grown in just half an evening,
reddish rivulets had trickled across his face,
pale harbingers of what would come in the morning,
blood like sweat.
Looking at Him there,
Perhaps he wondered at his own audacity,
wondered why he had found it worth following Him,
wondered what he would think tomorrow,
wondered if he could change his mind.
With a sigh, Jesus looked up, and met his gaze.
No anger there, nor fear, but awareness of it all,
Love and a sad determination.
Perhaps it felt like a knife going through him.
"Master," said Judas, and moved forward to seal his fate.
Peter in the Courtyard
A nightmare night,
a night of shadows,
he sat there by the fire,
cold,
alone,
afraid,
yet drawn to this place of danger
by a desperate desire to do something.
The darkness of his soul
how it matched the darkness of the night
as he sat by the fire
not listening to the jibes
of those who sat near him.
He stared into the fire
and waited.
His world falling apart,
he thought there was nothing left but fear.
"No, I don't know him," he said,
the words escaping his lips
in an unstoppable reflex
of self preservation.
Fear and anger and anguish,
the darkness of the night,
the pain of waiting,
"No, you are mistaken!"
he chokes on the words, perhaps,
torn in two.
The third time with curses,
and then he sees
the eyes that know,
the eyes so tired, so sad,
the eyes touch his
with loving forgivness
and his soul plunges into the final darkness
as the cock crows.