The courtyard paving stones are damp with denial. Betrayal hangs heavy like a choking mist in the cold night air. Within Peter’s heart, fear uncoils as a snake stretches itself out on a warm rock. Peter looks past the fire toward his master. Then the words begin to come back to him. Each one a burning truth that he dare not acknowledge:
“I am the vine and you are the branches,” Jesus said.
Wincing, Peter denies it, and says, “I am not.”
Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd; I know my own sheep and my sheep know me. I lay down my life for my sheep.”
But Peter denies it and says, “I know him not.”
Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life.”
And we say: “Yeah, right. Resurrection and life. Sure. Let me know how that works out for ya. Man, it’s cold out tonight. I’m going inside.”
Imagine a wild dog tied to a stake, a short rope around its neck. Starved for days, so hungry it would devour itself if it could. Don’t get too close to those powerful jaws thick with dried saliva yellow teeth. This rabid beast would like nothing better than to sink its yellowed teeth into fresh, bloodied meat. Like yours. Or like the man with the crown of thorns.
Snap! “Away with him!” the crowd howls.
Grrrrr! Snap! Crucify him! Crucify him! the wild dog howls. The scent of blood fills his nostrils.
Yet in the presence of its brutal master, the dog is unwilling to bite the hand that beats it: It whimpers “We have no King but the emperor.”
But just loose that dog, sic the crowd on their Messiah, and we’ll see who is king.
Fortune smiles on the soldiers at the foot of the cross. “Luck be a lady today,” each Roman says as he casts his lot. Gathering up the tunic and the other clothes, they turn their backs on the cross. Mary’s son is now a corpse, a trickle of sour wine drying in the corner of his mouth. Even his Spirit is gone. Who knew where it went for sure?
Even Mary didn’t know, how her baby boy had come to such an end. Mary didn’t know. why her new son seemed a stranger. But she knew. That every image of him, the mere memory of the manger that strange winter night -- each thought was a thorn that pierced her heart. Where are the angels now? What of the promises they sang to the stars and to men. Mary didn’t know. Mary didn’t know. It was finished, indeed.