"...
it was evening on the day of Resurrection, and the doors of the house
where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews..."
It's
a throw-away line, one that we slough off so lightly. Of course they
were afraid of the Jewish authorities. Who wouldn't be? After all,
a crowd of them had just turned into a raging mob, demanding and achieving
the death of the disciple's beloved master.
After
all, it was the Jewish authorities that had thrown Jesus to the Roman
lions, promising the Romans peace in the Jewish community if only
the Romans got rid of this would-be rebel, neophyte "king" and all-round
trouble-maker. Who's
to say the disciples wouldn't be next?
But
that's too easy, because they themselves were Jews.
And
one of their own number, one of Jesus' closest disciples, had been
the one to betray him. Every single one of them had abandoned Jesus
in the end.
So
they clung together in that room, afraid to look into their own hearts,
afraid to look each other in the eyes, afraid that they might see
the seeds of the same betrayal there, afraid that if Judas had succombed
to the temptation, any one of them might be tempted next. They were
Jews.
Of
course they were afraid of the Jews.
But
that's also too easy. Because, you see, they had traveled and ministered
among the Jews, among their own people; promising hope, bringing healing.
Had they gone out of that locked room, they would have had to face
those faces.
They
would have had to admit to their own helplessness. They would have
had to admit they had been wrong. They would have had to turn away
from all the pain in the eyes of the people knowing they had no healing
to bring.
All
the other followers of Jesus, their own flock, were left starving
for God, and they had nothing to offer. They couldn't face that kind
of naked agony.
Of
course they were afraid of the Jews.
But even that is too easy because they had proclaimed Jesus as the
Jewish Messiah and the Messiah was DEAD. And some of the Jews had
ridiculed Jesus and scorned and harassed him. They said that he spoke
nonsense; that he was deluded; that he was a false messiah, a heretic
and a destroyer of the faith. Had the disciples gone out of that
closed room, they would have had to meet those Jews.
They would have had to swallow their pride, and their certainty, and
their joy of God, and admit that they and Jesus had been wrong.
Of
course they were afraid of the Jews.
Yet
even that doesn't get to the crux of the matter because, you see,
Jesus himself was a Jew. And they had come to love him more deeply
than they ever believed it was possible to love. Through him, they
had come to love GOD more deeply than they had ever believed it possible
to love ... and love had died.
Love
had betrayed them and gone away. Jesus had abandoned them. God had
betrayed them and in the depths of their grieving, they didn't ever
want to risk loving ever again. Not ever. Not anybody. And especially
not God. Had they gone out of that closed room, they would have met
Jews.
People
whose faces reminded them of Jesus. People whose gestures, whose language,
whose every way of life, reminded them of Jesus. People like themselves. People
who called them back to love and life.
Of
course they were afraid of the Jews.
Had
they gone out of that closed room, they might have found themselves
tempted to risk loving again. Tempted to risk loving people and God.
That
was the worst terror of all.
Jesus
came and stood among them. The one who had died, stood among them.
Jesus, praise be to God, stood among them and said, "Peace be with
you."
And
the fear was gone.
Andee
Zetterbaum
