Note: For Easter Week, based on the canonical gospel accounts and, particularly John 20, my imagined journal entries in an equally imaginary recently discovered mid-first century manuscript, translated from the original Aramaic, of a previously unknown and yet unnamed follower of Jesus of Nazareth.
At first, I was stunned. Numbed. I did not…I could not feel anything. I did not believe it.
Then, anguish. Unlike anything I e’er had known. A heartache. A retching pang in my bowels.
Then, anger. At the Romans. At the Pharisees. At the crowd. At Jesus!
Angry with myself! I gave up my former life. Abandoned, threw away my olden self. Everything! All to follow Jesus and the promise, his promise of the kingdom of God. Never I did I think, never could I have imagined it would come to this! Nothing!
Jesus is dead! We, his disciples, all marked men and women, are terrified! All know we were with Jesus! As they killed Jesus, they will kill us!
The only people I can trust are my fellow disciples. Yet how can I be sure? One of our own, Judas Iscariot, betrayed Jesus to the authorities. Peter, the chiefest among us, denied that he knew Jesus! And we all ran away, leaving Jesus alone to face his fate.
Who can I trust when there is no one to trust? Not even…least of all me…
© 2021 PRA