I

	The teacher confuses me.  The others look to me and think I
understand; they don't know I'm as lost as they are.  He loves us.
	This year's Passover has been strange.  He's been under pressure
lately, and being in the city wears on him, I can tell.  There are so many
things he's told us this past week -- some have taken to writing it down
because he's so urgent, he's always saying his time is near to leave us. 
He told us, though, that we must follow him, and go where he goes.  I
can't see what he means now, though I've tried to talk to him about it. 
He can't be leaving us, he's the one to save our people. . .  Tonight he
said we would all desert him.  He scares me sometimes, that's just all
there is to it.  Maybe he was a little drunk on the Passover wine, or
maybe he's right, or maybe he was exaggerating.  I will die before I
abandon him.  I tried to tell him, but he told me I will deny him three
times before the rooster crows.  Doesn't he know how I love him?  He sees
my heart so clearly, but this time he has to be wrong. . .
	It's so dark tonight.  This garden is affected by his mood, tense,
expectant, sad and weary.  We've disturbed that bird; she sits and watches
warily.
	I'm sleepy.  I should be praying.
	"O Lord, you are my God.  Thank you for this garden, the smells of
spring and the hosts of stars.  Please help Jesus, O my God, ease his
spirit and quiet his mind.  Thank you for teaching us through him, for
sending him.  Lord please protect us from evil, let us always serve him. 
You know my heart, O God, which loves him.  You know my thoughts, my soul,
my all. . .
	"O Lord keep me awake. . ." 

II

	He's shaking me again, urgent now.
	"Are you still sleeping?  Look-- the hour is at hand when the Son
of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."
	I fumble awake, my mouth is mealy.  Judas Iscariot is here,
greeting the teacher with a kiss.  Who are these others?  Pharisees,
soldiers and servants with clubs and torches and swords.  I somehow draw
my sword-- they can't threaten my lord like that.  They're grabbing him,
and my clumsy, fisherman's attack glances off this servant's club and
slices off his ear.  He swings at me in fear and then backs off, the blood
running down his neck.  The guards are looking greedily at me now, but
James and I are ready.  We will die before they take him, here in the
dark, our king who they will not acknowledge.
	But then he looks at me, calm in their twisting grip, and I know
this is not how he wants us to fight.
	"Put your sword away, for all those who draw the sword will die by
the sword.  Do you not think I could call on my Father, and he will put at
my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?  But how then would the
Scriptures be fulfilled which say it must happen this way?"
	Then he is touching the man's ear and restoring it.  James looks
at me.  We lower our swords, their points cut the ground and we are
defenseless before the mob.
	"Am I leading a rebellion, that you have come to capture me with
swords and clubs?  I was in the temple every day and you did not arrest
me.  But this happened so that the words of the prophets are fulfilled."
	Someone behind me runs.  The soldiers move to take us but Jesus
halts them.
	James is gone too now, everyone.  I leave my sword and run into
the darkness of the garden. . .
	Thank God I didn't kill that servant, although I guess he would
have been healed just as easily. 

III

	The fire here feels good.  The crowd of torches were easy to
follow, both triumphant and cowardly as they carried one man to the high
priest's house.  I didn't see where the others went, but I had to follow. 
What does he mean by the fulfilling of prophecy?  Perhaps he has known
for a long time, perhaps this is the end he's been speaking of.
	The fire is drying out my dew-dampened clothes, and the servants
and guards of the Sanhedrin are standing with me.  They are talking about
the teacher; the events have brought character to their early morning.
	"Hey, weren't you one of this man's disciples?"
	"What?  No, I never knew him!"
	They bring him into the courtyard and I can withdraw from the too
curious fire.  The trial is a farce; they have convicted him of blasphemy,
and given him to the guards to mistreat for a while.
	I am standing now in the entry-way, and another servant girl asks
me, "Were you not one of his disciples?"
	"No," I say, "I never knew him."  The lie is easier this time. 
They won't catch me.  "I don't even know what you're talking about."
	They beat him, slap him, spit on him.  I find myself adding, "This
man is a heretic and a blasphemer, is he not?"  I wonder how I will be
punished.
	They're on to me, they say, "Surely you were with him, for your
accent is Galilean also."
	"As surely as the Lord lives, I do not know him!"
	Then he looks at me, the cock crows, and I am engulfed with shame. 
His face has blood and spit on it and he watches me run out the gate.  I'm
sure he can still see me as I clench myself next to a wall far away and
weep bitterly. 

IV

	I told him last night, "Lord, even if all these others fall away
from you, I will die before I do."  Maybe I have died, then.  I've been
praying I'm sorry, I need mercy and forgiveness.  I know he forgives me, I
know his love cannot hold it against us.
	I denied him three times.  Why?  I might not even have been
arrested.  Was it out of shame for following a mocked teacher?  Was it
simply fear of getting caught?  Was it belief that I could save him if I
waited?  I pray for forgiveness, I'm sorry I did it.  My prayers seem
hollow to me, though-- how can even the repentance of a traitor be
trusted?  I feel incapable of authenticity.  I am numb.
	I wrap my shawl around me like a shell and fall asleep too
innocently. 

V

	All the last three years are wasted now.  What is he doing up
there in so much agony?
	The light is so dim now, and I know John and the women are the
only ones with him.
	How can he have named me the Rock?  I wish I was more repentant
even.  How could I ever deny him?  I love him.
	Just last night he was telling us that he had the key to eternal
life now.  What does that mean now? 

VI

	I saw him up there for a while.  I asked him why he didn't ask for
the legions of angels now.  I think if ever it was time to disobey the
authorities and strike back at our enemies it is now, when their judgment
is unjust, their victim innocent.  And who else can set the people free
who they enslave?  No one will believe us after this.  I tried to talk to
him, but he was delirious with pain.  He was praying and struggling to
breathe.  I went and got some bread for him and the others waiting for
him, but he couldn't eat.  I prayed for an angel to rescue him, I prayed
for an end to his suffering.  I couldn't stay anymore and I left and I
tried to find the other disciples and let them know what had happened. 
	I've broken the Sabbath already tonight by walking all over the
city.  Lord, this city is the dwelling place for your name.  Why have you
done this?  His cross is empty now, his body dead and taken away.  I knew
it when he died-- the whole land cried out for him.
	I pray for life and repentance.

VII

	Today the Pharisees were smug.  I walked out of the service.  I
can't worship God in the face of their hypocrisy, especially today.  I
remember my own guilt and feel hypocritical too.  How could I, the strong
one, have been so shallow, so treacherous?  The others would not believe
it, I'm sure.  It would hurt them if the knew, too.  I did a good job of
hiding it yesterday, and no one knows of my betrayal except maybe John,
too broken-hearted over his beloved teacher to worry about my rebellion.
	I prayed today on the mountain and felt like I could be authentic
in it at last.  I remembered King David's psalm of repentance when caught
in adultery, and it described my feelings perfectly.  How I hate who I am,
the wretch who would callously betray God and my teacher!  David sings of
cleansing; maybe there is hope in that.  I don't want to be cleansed,
though, only destroyed. . . 

Psalm 51

For the director of music.  A psalm of David.  When the prophet Nathan
came to him after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba. 

Have mercy on me, O God, 
	according to your unfailing love; 
according to your great compassion 
	blot out my transgressions. 
Wash away all my iniquity 
	and cleanse me from my sin. 

For I know my transgressions, 
	and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned 
	and done what is evil in your sight, 
so that you are proved right when you speak 
	and justified when you judge.
Surely I was sinful at birth, 
	sinful from the time my mother conceived me.
Surely you desire truth in the inner parts; 
	you teach me wisdom in the inmost place.

Cleanse me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; 
	wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness; 
	let the bones you have crushed rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins 
	and blot out all my iniquity.

Create in me a pure heart, O God, 
	and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence 
	or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation 
	and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways, 
	and sinners will turn back to you.
Save me from bloodguilt, O God, 
	the God who saves me, 
	and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips, 
	and my mouth will declare your praise.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; 
	you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; 
	a broken and contrite heart, 
	O God, you will not despise.

In your good pleasure make Zion prosper; 
	build up the walls of Jerusalem.
Then there will be righteous sacrifices, 
	whole burnt offerings to delight you; 
	then bulls will be offered on your altar.

VIII

	He is gone.  I saw the burial clothes myself.  They have taken
him, determined to mutilate him or remove all trace of him.  What
atrocity!  Mary Magdalene says he is alive and an angel told her so.  John
thinks he is alive too, he says the morning is too bright for it to be
otherwise.
	I heard Judas hanged himself in remorse.  Maybe I should do the same.

IX

	He is alive!
	What joy it brought me to know it, when he first showed himself to
us.  He explained it to us from the Scriptures and now we understand-- our
teacher is our Savior, One with the Father, begotten by him and residing
in him.  It's much harder to doubt anything now that we've seen him.
	Now we are eating fish with him, by his pile of coals, our
tremendous catch still in the net.  He is lighthearted now, no longer
burdened with the sorrow he had the last night he was with us.  I know he
loves us.  John is happy by his side, he can't even eat his fish.  Jesus
looks at me and asks,
	"Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?"
	"Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
	"Feed my lambs."

	He asks again and I see the hurt in his eyes this time:
	"Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
	Now I am lost-- how can I tell him?  I love him with all I am, and
yet I have denied him, disgraced my love.  How can I tell him and be
believable?
	"Lord, you know that I love you."
	"Take care of my sheep."

	How can he believe me?  He asks me again, simply:
	"Simon son of John, do you love me?"
	I hate myself, my weak, detestable being that is capable of
hurting him, denying him so nonchalantly, that rebels against him not
because of a heavy burden but for the slightest shade of an excuse.  I am
a traitor, abandoner, and I know it is obvious that I cannot really love
him.  But I do love him, somehow, and it is my deepest yearning, my core,
my soul.  I cry out, I don't know what to say, I can't possibly claim to
love him, I can't truthfully say I don't.
	"Lord, you know all things!  You know that I love you."
	He knows his questioning has cut me and he embraces me, his eyes,
too, bitter with my pain.
	"Feed my sheep."

	And I know that he knows me and loves me, loves even that part of
me which I hate so strongly.  He has forgiven me and cleanses me, and I am
astonished that he loves that which I only want destroyed.