Peter on Easter Morning

"Do this in remembrance of me."

He said those words only a few days ago. He held the bread and the wine and made them significant. His life poured out, His body broken. And He said to remember. Now, I'll never forget.

It wasn't long after that He took us to the garden and asked us to pray for Him. I didn't know why. It was the Passover, the third one we had shared. He'd been looking to the future, speaking about His death. But surely that was still a ways off. He hadn't even begun to deal with the Romans. The only people mad at Him were some of the Jews, Pharisees and leaders. Surely they wouldn't do anything to Him, not during the Passover? I didn't feel the urgency of it at all. Even when He pleaded with us to stay alert and pray, I couldn't keep my eyes open. "Simon…could you not keep watch for one hour." My first failure. If only that had been my greatest.

"Do this in remembrance of me."

It's Sunday morning, early. None of us have been sleeping well. Haunted by the last time we saw Him, our leader, our teacher. There is not much to eat but no one is particularly hungry. Just some left over bread and wine. No one has much to say, just the occasional glance at each other. And the two seats left empty.

When I saw Judas come up, I was surprised. My thoughts were still a little hazy from sleepiness. I didn't know where he had gone. I didn't know that he had gone. But I looked over at Jesus and he wasn't surprised at all…just sad. No, not sad…disappointed. And then there were soldiers and I wasn't sleepy anymore. We scattered, but I stayed nearby along with John. Part of me wishes we hadn't.

"Do this in remembrance of me."

John looks at me, like he is about to say something. Not for the first time. Everyone keeps waiting for me to lead, to give a speech, to do something, anything. But I don't have anything to say. I just keep waiting. And thinking.

John and I followed as close as we dared to see where the soldiers would take Him. As I went inside the courtyard, I was asked, "Are you one of His disciples?" Such a simple question. Just a few hours earlier, I would have puffed up my chest and answered with pride. But I was so scared. I just shrugged and mumbled no. But that didn't settle it. Another person asked, so I told him, "You've got the wrong guy." And then one more, till I cursed and screamed, "I don't know Him!" And then the rooster crowed and Jesus looked right at me. Even with the scream, He was too far away to have heard me. But He knew. The shame was too much for me. So I ran. And I wept.

"Do this in remembrance of me."

I've stopped weeping, but it feels like I'm still running. Or at least waiting to run again. Eventually, the Pharisees will look for us. Eventually, we will all have to get out of Jerusalem. We all know it. And everyone is waiting for me to say it's time. No one pressed yesterday, because of the Sabbath. Strange to care about that still. I betrayed my friend. What would God want to have to do with me now?

I wasn't there when He was found guilty, when he was beaten nearly to death. I wasn't there to cry for His release instead of Barabbas or to help Him carry that cross he bore on His bloodied back. I wasn't there to see Him suffer on that cross. I wasn't there to see Him die. I wasn't there.

But I saw the sky darken for three hours and I heard about the curtain in the temple being torn. And so I wait, but I don't know why.

Until the door flies open:

"The Tomb is empty! Jesus is risen!"

"What? Empty? Risen? Oh. Oh!"

And then I remembered. I remembered that He said He would suffer. He said he would be rejected. That He would die. And that He would rise.

And so I rose. And I ran. I ran as hard and as fast as I could to the tomb. I had to see it. I had to see Him. And the stone was rolled away. And the linens were empty. The Tomb is empty. My Lord is Risen.