Good Friday Poem: Peter

My first thought was, “It’s not going to be me.”

Jesus, in a voice barely audible,

told us we would all become deserters.

When I protested, he looked at me,

singling me out,

and said that I would deny him too.

 

After everything we’d gone through together,

after all I’d left behind, these three years of ministry…

how could he doubt me?

Was I not the only one who stepped out of the boat,

waves raging, my one thought to be at his side? 

With all my heart, I’d told him what I knew to be true,

that he was the Christ, the son of the Living God.

Me desert him?  Never!

Then and there I vowed,

“I will not leave this man.”

I am going to stick with Jesus

whatever the cost…prison, death…

nothing will stop me.

And I am a man of my word.

 

We heard the soldiers coming,

but Jesus didn’t move, he only waited.

And then the betrayer was at hand,

Judas, armed only with a kiss.

When they went to seize our Lord,

I drew my sword to defend him.

No one else came prepared to fight,

but Jesus refused my protection,

meagre as it was.

I would have died fighting at his side,

but he would not have it.

I don’t know where the other disciples went

but I never lost sight of Jesus,

I was there with him,

walking in the shadows.

 

I can hardly say what I was expecting…

Moses or Elijah, a voice from heaven,

a storm from him whom the winds obeyed,

bonds broken in pieces like bread on a hillside,

something, anything to end that unthinkable captivity.

Instead there was only a quiet night,

the clink of chains,

the darkness broken by fires.

I could see him with the soldiers.

I went as close as I could,

cautious, as I knew that I was out of place.

And sure enough, a girl picked me out of the crowd.

She would have had me thrown out of the courtyard,

but I was determined to stay close to Jesus.

I said anything to keep my vow to not leave his side.

If I admitted I knew him, they would send me away.

Three times I was challenged

and at the third time, I turned and looked at Jesus,

saying with my eyes, “I am still here, I won’t leave you.”

He lifts his head, and his gaze locks on mine

even as the crazy cry of the rooster announces the dawn.

The sound recalls his words that I would deny him three times…

But I am still here!  I have not left your side!

I will not desert you!

His eyes reach inside me like the shock of a desert dawn.

I had missed something essential.

I had paid too dearly for the sight of him.

 

I stumbled from that place

stung from the terrible choice of being with or being true.

I left his side,

wildly weeping for a lost saviour.

I could not save him with my presence,

even with a truer word spoken.