One Disciple on Crucifixion Friday: A Soliloquy
I wasn’t there—when the sky cracked open and the earth groaned beneath the weight of what it witnessed that violent day. I wasn’t there. I ran. I hid. I let fear throttle the breath from my chest while the one I swore to follow was nailed to splintered wood like an animal, his body a ragged ruin of torn flesh and exposed bone. Say what you will about loyalty—I lost mine somewhere between the first lash of the whip and the moment they rammed that cursed thorn crown onto his head. I should have been there. But I wasn’t there. Fear, not faith, took control of my steps.
Today, they tell stories about the foot of the cross, but don’t let them soften it with sentiment. There was no holy glow, not there, only blood, thick and clotting, soaking the dirt in a congealed pool. On that ground were bent nails, implements of torture, and Roman butchery. If you’ve ever smelled death, the experience will never leave you. I wasn’t there, but I can smell it even now.
They said when the end was near, he screamed. A sound so raw, so wretched, it pierced the air with pain.
“It is finished.”
Finished. Do you understand what that meant? It wasn’t just his life that ended when those words left his cracked lips. It was ours. Our dream. Our misguided hope was that he was the one—that finally, after centuries of prayers, God had sent the Deliverer. But Rome still stood, arrogant in dominating power. The temple still stood, ruled by religious leaders who manipulated their laws to get the rogue Messiah executed.
And Jesus? Jesus was dead. He hung there like any other man crucified by the Empire. You don’t come back from such torture.
I had paid for my belief with everything. I walked away from my trade, my security, and even my home. I staked my life on a man who said the kingdom of God was breaking into the world—and now he was a muted, silent corpse, speared in his side and discarded like refuse. What do you do when you realize you’ve been so completely wrong? When the thing you clung to with every fiber of your soul is hauled away to the graveyard of death?
You run.
I ran. Through the choking darkness, through the aftershocks of an earth that trembled as he spoke his final words. I ran to the only place my broken mind could conjure—the past. The sea. The boats, my boat, and nets. The simple, predictable life I abandoned for a Messiah who couldn’t even save himself. I would buy back my old life, take up my nets again, and pretend none of this ever happened.
But memory remains in the heart, mind, and soul. His words lingered with the authority of truth, his hands that just the night before washed my dirty feet. His words haunted me. The look in his eyes before that fateful Friday—such kindness, gentleness, and grace. The memories lingered.
And then the women. Their fantastical stories of an empty tomb, of angels, and whispered names in the garden.
I wanted to believe. Oh, God, I wanted to still believe. But if you’ve ever seen death up close and watched as the light leaves a person’s eyes, you know the truth of his own words: “It is finished.” He was gone. And I was, too. I returned long enough to see them pull him down and saw the spear go thrust deep enough into his side to pierce whatever lingering hope I had left.
And yet…
Days later, on the shore, the scent of roasting fish curled through the dawn air. A figure stood by the fire, his hands—scarred, but unmistakably his—breaking bread. A voice I never thought I’d hear again calling my name just as the women testified to us.
Make of it what you will. Call me mad, call me desperate. But I know this: Jesus’ story wasn’t finished. It had only just begun. And mine? As always, he embraced us, each one, and welcomed us home. “Your identity is with me. Your belonging is with me. Your life of sacred purpose is with me.” And then he said the words once again, as if he didn’t notice the betrayal of Peter and every one of us. Words we had heard before. Words that returned the fire of life all over again:
“Follow me.”
Keith Anderson, D.Min., is a Faculty Associate for Spirituality and Vocation at VantagePoint3 and President Emeritus of Seattle School of Theology and Psychology and is the author of several books, including Reading Your Life’s Story (IVP, 2016), A Spirituality of Listening (IVP, 2016), and Spiritual Mentoring (IVP, 1999). Keith’s newest book, On Holy Ground: Your Story of Identity, Belonging and Sacred Purpose, will soon be released from Wipf & Stock Publishers. In his writing, teaching, and mentoring, Keith seeks to set a table for people looking to enter the “amazing inner sanctuary of the soul” in the most ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.