As I sit here this morning, contemplating this Christian holy day of Good Friday, I find myself in the shoes of the disciples as all their plans are being dashed before their eyes.
Guilty… I’m guilty. I’ve left my dear friend, the one who showed me what living was all about. The one who performed miracles of the like I have never seen before. The last three years come racing through my mind. The crowds, the healing, the once demon-possessed breathing freely and peacefully, the storms… walking on WATER!! It all comes back to me and I am overwhelmed with guilt for I’ve run away.
Yet my fear is even greater. Jesus was supposed to be the Messiah. But he didn’t pull it off. We were all chasing a pipe dream. I guess to the very end I thought he would save us from the Romans. I thought there would be some rule, some display of power. I guess now that I think about it, he did warn us that this isn’t what he was about. But yet, he was still talking about being the messiah. For all his miracles, and for all his healings, he couldn’t heal me of my perceptions of what a messiah is. I don’t see now how he could really be the messiah. He’s DEAD! And now what?!?
What am I left with now? I mean, I spent the last five years following this guy who we thought was going to rise up with power. He got the wrong people angry… and now I can only assume that they are going to come looking for me. Oh yah, it’s dark alright. Not just from Jesus’ grand finale, with the storm and the darkness… that was weird. But my future is dark, too. I really have nothing left… at least not any hope for a revolution or from being saved from the mess we have been in for the last few hundred years. On top of all that is the overwhelming guilt of leaving behind the one who found ME!