Christian Liberals & Progressive People of Faith

ColesCountyDem

(6,944 posts) Sat Apr 4, 2015, 09:24 PM Apr 2015

My name is Yonatan, and I am so sad and afraid...

Last edited Sat Apr 4, 2015, 10:06 PM - Edit history (1)

These last two days have been a nightmare, my life turned upside down and inside out! Just two nights ago, my master, Reb Yeshua, my friends and I were sharing the Passover meal, relaxing after a difficult but triumphal week here in Jerusalem. There we were, all of us relaxing at the table, enjoying each other's company and listening to Reb Yeshua teach, something he could never resist doing, even at celebrations.

As the evening wore on, Reb Yeshua's demeanor changed, becoming quite solemn. As he spoke to us, he reminded us that he had offended the religious authorities, making them feel threatened. Seemingly out of nowhere, he said that one of us had betrayed him to the authorities. I still can't say if I was more shocked, saddened or outraged at hearing him say that, and perhaps I was all three of those. None of us could believe that one of us would do such a vile thing, yet he assured us that it was so, so we had to believe him-- he had never said an untrue word for so long as any of us had known him.

I was the youngest of all of us, and the one my master loved best. I say this not to boast, but as a simple truth, a truth Reb Yeshua made no attempt to hide from my brothers. My brothers understood this, and were not jealous of it. Indeed, did he not lay my head in his lap and say that very night, "Yonatan, of all who are here tonight, I have always loved you best"? I don't why he loved me best, but the memory of those words are all that has sustained me these last two days.

Reb Yeshua seemed troubled, and having finished the meal, he told us that he needed to pray, to be alone for a bit. Shimon, who my master calls Petros, his 'rock', and my brother James and I were invited to accompany Reb Yeshua to his favorite place to pray, the garden at the foot of the Mount of Olives, the garden being called Gethsemane by those who live in this city. When we arrived, my master told us to stay a distance away from him, and to pray while he himself prayed. I am ashamed to tell you that with our bellies full of good food and wine, we prayed for but a short time before falling asleep. Having finished his own prayers, my master discovered us asleep, and gently rebuked us, asking Shimon, "Could you men not keep watch with me, even for an hour?".

Suddenly, and seeming to simply materialize out of thin air, a group of Roman soldiers, some servants of the High Priest and the Pharisees, and our brother, Judas, all appeared. Between my shock and the confusion of the crowd, I cannot remember everything that happened, but I clearly remember Judas stepping forward and kissing my master, and some of the men then trying to seize and arrest him. As I have said, my brother and I were stunned at that moment, but our brother Shimon was not, because he drew his sword and attacked one of the High Priest's servants, wounding him. Seeing this, Reb Yeshua ordered Shimon to control himself and to put away his sword, saying that there must be no further violence. He then reached out and touched the wounded servant, a man named Malchus, and healed his wound. He was then led away.

So much has happened since then, and I am overwhelmed, sad and afraid. It still seems so unreal, like a bad dream from which I will awaken, and yet I know it is not. There were my master's trials, the jeering crowds, the flogging, the humiliating trip to Golgotha and, finally, Reb Yeshua's agonizing death, crucified like a common criminal. As awful as my own experience was and continues to be, it is as nothing compared to the women's agony, most particularly that of Reb Yeshua's mother, not only widowed, but cruelly deprived of her eldest son.

As frightened as we all were, we could not permit the women to go alone to Golgotha, so we accompanied them-- Mary, Reb Yeshua's mother, her sister and the other two. I have never been so afraid, nor felt so helpless! Almost crazed with grief and fear myself, I could not force myself to draw away, or make the women come with me. In a fog, and not knowing what else to do, I comforted Mary as best I could. Suddenly, my master's voice was calling out my name, and I turned toward him, forcing myself to look up at him where he hung. He then spoke to me, charging me to care for his mother when he was dead. Me! Why me? I can barely take care of myself! Still, how could I refuse him, he who has been my beloved teacher and friend? Someone must care for Mary, of course, and how can I refuse his dying request? At present, Mary is lodged with friends, but I will honor my master's wish and care for her for the remainder of her life. I can do no less.

After the thing was done, the soldiers took down Reb Yeshua's body and gave it into the care of the women. One of our dear friends, Joseph, has given own tomb for my master's burial, as neither my master nor his family have one of their own in which he may be laid. The women saw to the body as best they could, in the short time before the Sabbath began, and in the morning they will complete their work.

Hmmm, the morning, tomorrow. I cannot bear to think of tomorrow, the third day since my master died. I can scarcely remember how I've managed to stumble through the last two days, let alone think or plan a day, a week or a month ahead! I do not think I will ever be happy again, because my master is dead, and I have no idea what to do now.

My name is Yonatan, and I am so sad and afraid.

Happy Easter, all!

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