The Rock

By Samantha Coon
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"Oh why did we leave Him?" Peter whispered quietly as he moved to the warmth of the fire. "Why did we have to let him go with the mob?"

The burly fisherman's face depicted the inward battle of the disciple's momentary weakness as the master was taken from the garden of Gethsemane. The mob that had come to take Jesus had been frightening and all 11 of Jesus' disciples had run for their lives. As they were running to save themselves, Peter and John turned back and followed the mob. They were headed to the palace of the high priest. But what would they do to him there?

Craning his neck, Peter listened to the conversation around him. He tried to enter into it, but his ability to communicate seemed to leave him. A longing look was in the eyes of the fisherman.

"Jesus never did anything wrong," he reasoned to himself in whispered conversation. "Why did this have to happen to Him?" He glanced over at the window to the room that held the object of his whispered thoughts. Jesus stood looking toward the right side of the room. He had a calm look of peace on his face and stood unashamed before the high priest. Peter could not see the pompous prelate but he craned his neck in effort to do so. He wanted to know what was going on in that room!

"Hey you," a young servant girl pointed an accusing finger at him. "Aren't you one of his followers?"

Fear briefly crossed the burly fisherman's countenance.

"I know him not!" he growled as he assumed a haughty face and turned away from her.

He went to a different area of the front court, far away from the piercing eyes of the servant girl. As he neared another fire, he again looked toward the window. Just as He was before, the look of calm serenity was over that beloved face. Peter's eyes told of the longing in his heart to be near Jesus again.

Earlier in the evening as the mob crowded in to seize Jesus, Peter had drawn his own sword in defense. He had succeeded in slicing off the ear of one of the High Priest's servants, only to have Jesus heal it right then and there. The quiet, gentle rebuke that came from the lips of that beloved man made Peter's body sag under the weight of shame and conviction. Looking into the eyes of Jesus at the time, he saw that look of loving patience. That look, so firm and yet so loving had drawn the heart of His wayward disciple to him.

"But why did he give himself up to be taken then?" Peter's question startled some of the people around him and wondering eyes were turned to him.

"What was that you said?" A man in the crowd asked gruffly. As more people turned to see who was talking so loudly, Peter squirmed under the piercing eyes of his questioner.

"Oh, its nothing. I was just wondering what my wife must be thinking right now. I left her at home this year." Peter's feeble attempts to cover himself satisfied the man and he turned to speak to someone else.

"Look there at that man," another woman's voice broke into his thoughts and sent his gaze flashing to it's owner. Another servant had spotted him. "Were you not also with Jesus of Nazareth?" The accusation shook the disciple as he tried to cover himself.

"Woman, I know Him not!" He seemed as though he were spitting out the words to make himself believed. Others were now looking at him and all began to question him at the same time.

"Surely you are one of them," one said. "Your speech betrays you."

"I DO NOT KNOW THAT MAN!" A stream of vile oaths proceeded from the mouth of Peter.

The crowd, satisfied that this man was not one of the followers, moved away. As Peter finished his rampage, he once again turned to look through the window. Jesus was no longer facing the High Priest, but his gentle eyes were on Peter. The look of pitying love broke over the wayward disciple. Just a few hours ago Jesus had warned him of this very event.

His eyes filled with tears and he turned and ran. Bursting into great sobs, he gave way to sorrow, as he stumbled blindly along. As he brushed his hand over his eyes, his foot caught an unseen object and he fell to the ground in a quaking heap. Leaping back to his feet, he continued to run, trying to clear his tear filled eyes all the way. All through the quiet streets of Jerusalem he ran, never slowing his pace. He reached the wall and went out the gate, all the while shedding great drops of sweat and streaming tears onto his coarse fisherman's garb.

Peter ran back to the garden. He found himself at the spot where Jesus had agonized, where he had seen the great drops of blood that were seeping out of His skin, where he, Simon Peter, had slept instead of prayed.

"Oh God!" Peter cried into the darkness. "How could I have been so blind! How could I do that to Him! Oh God!" Falling to his knees, he pled for forgiveness. He prayed that Jesus would be spared.

As his cries continued, Peter fell face down on the very spot where Jesus had been. It was his turn to agonize. A weight seemed to press him to the ground as he laid there, his form molding the soft earth beneath him.

"Peter, what is the matter." The startled disciple looked up into the eyes of one of his fellow disciples. Worry creased his brow as he asked, "What has become of the master?"

At the mention of Jesus, Peter burst into a fresh outpouring of tears.

"I denied Him!" he cried. "Just as He said, I denied Him. Three times! How could I do that when I love Him! All I can picture is His face, looking at me with pity and love that I have never seen before." At this, Peter buried his face in his arm and continued to sob uncontrollably.

The other disciple shook his head and hurried away, leaving Peter again to himself.

As his sobs subsided, Peter pushed himself to his knees. Wiping his eyes dry, he took a deep breath and looked up to the twinkling night skies.

"God," he said, "No more. Forgive me, Father."

Peter's voice broke for a moment with emotion.

"I don't want to be Simon anymore. Take me Father! Change me to be just that. Change me into Peter, the man for the Master."