Holy Week Portraits: Peter (part 1)

Peter slammed his fist into the wall around a window that faced the Jerusalem street. James called to him from the other room, but he ignored the man. He needed time alone, time to think.

They had been so close. Roman overthrow had felt within reach. When all those people had hailed Jesus as they entered Jerusalem, it had seemed a sure thing. Next stop, Jesus on the throne and Peter at his right hand.

What had gone wrong?

Peter started pacing. He wanted to go for a walk, but it was the Sabbath, and they were all concerned about what would happen if the religious leaders found them. So they were hiding like common criminals. Peter clenched and unclenched his fists. He hated hiding. He had been ready to kill to protect Jesus and free his people from oppression.

Jesus’ words echoed in his mind, “Those who live by the sword die by the sword.” But what did that matter? He was ready to give his life for the cause.

Then other words paraded into his mind. “Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.” He squeezed shut his eyes and tried to block out the memories, but it was no use. The look on Jesus’ face after Peter had done exactly what Jesus had predicted flashed through his mind over and over.

Tears slipped from his still closed eyes, and he bent his head in shame. Some rabbi’s disciple he’d turned out to be. He’d been so confident that nothing would make him deny his Lord, but then all it had taken was a little fear. A tiny threat of the death he’d thought he was ready to endure for the cause had made him lose his nerve altogether.

What an incompetent, sorry excuse for a man he was.

And now it was all over. No more preaching; no more miracles; no more rebellion. Everything was over.

He opened his eyes and looked out the window again. As soon as he could, he would return to Bethsaida, to his wife and to fishing. He’d try to forget this ever happened and hope everyone else could, too.