The disciples have gone into hiding. John shares what he saw; Jesus is dead. They crucified him and put his body behind Roman soldiers and a really big rock. This Jesus that these twelve have devoted three years to following, to believing. This Jesus they've seen heal the blind, make the lame walk, bring a dead man to life. Gone. Just like that. All their hopes buried in the grave.
I would not want to be Peter during those awful three days. He had abandoned the One he loved in His last hours. Denied knowing Him. I blew it, were probably Peter's thoughts. Guilt weighed on his shoulders. He had walked on water with Jesus. Sure, he'd made a fool of himself more than once, but he took risks and did things the others never got to do. In the garden he had even tried to defend Jesus, cutting off one man's ear, which Jesus had healed immediately after. Now it was too late. He had failed when it really counted. I should have been with Him.
John had been faithful. He watched helpless as the One who loved him hung, bleeding. Heard those words spoken with anguish as His strength faded. "Woman, behold, your son!" and then "Behold, your mother!" He had obeyed, taking His fragile, grieving mother home with him to care for her. Mary was interesting, though. She cried and mourned like any mother could be expected to do, but she seemed almost like she knew this was coming. Like she knew He'd been born to die. It still hurt, though. John and Mary both loved Jesus with everything in them. All John could do was care for her now. I'll do what He's asked of me.
All of Jerusalem was in an uproar. Jesus was something of a celebrity in the area. People had seen His miracles, followed Him around. Everyone knew what He'd done. A few knew who He was. He was seen as everything from a teacher to a revolutionary to a mad man. Some had seen His death and all the strange occurrences surrounding it: the earthquake, the black sky, the tearing of the veil. But it was quiet now. He was gone, and it seemed as if His disciples were gone with Him.
But then Sunday came.
The rest is history.
Sometimes it feels like from the moment He ascended we entered into a thousands-of-years-long three days. We keep waiting and waiting. It seems dark and lonely and terrifying. We're holding our breath wondering if we'll ever get to exhale.
But, unlike these disciples, we have hope. Wonderful, glorious, hope. A promise of His return and a guide of sorts in the Bible telling us how to make it until then.
Will we be Peter, and fail when it really counts? Can we stand firm when things get hard? Will we lose hope? Will we stay with Him?
Will we be John, working earnestly and in this period of waiting? Will we be faithful until the end? Will we do what He has asked of us?
The rest of the world is in for a shock when He returns. Will we come out of hiding and shine the Light for those still in darkness? Will we tell them the Good News of His return?
He's coming soon, brothers and sisters. We must be ready. We must keep fighting. This darkness will end. He will come back to take us home. Until then, we must do His work on earth, serving His people and advancing His Kingdom until He collects the harvest.
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