I find myself wondering what I would’ve done. If the man I’d followed for three years, watching with respect, love and awe, had hung from a tree like a criminal and died. Murdered by my own people, my fellow countrymen. If I had walked the countryside, spreading the word of love and forgiveness, of being the “good neighbor” and being a person of peace, only to stand helpless while my own religious leaders made him an example of blasphemy and rebellion against authority in order to silence him. Would I have raised a sword to the religious police that came to the garden? Would I have spoken out in protest? Would I have shouted in anger and begged for his release? Or would I have faded into the crowd and tried to watch from afar, as He was marched to His fate? I like to imagine I would’ve tried to do something, to say something, anything. In truth, I know I wouldn’t have. I would’ve waited to see what Jesus would do. Just like they did.
Jesus knew what would happen to Him. He knew. He asked His Father to take it from Him, but He knew what had to happen. He walked, as a lamb to slaughter, to His fate. He knew that there was no other way. He’d taught us all that we needed to know, in His stories, His parables, and His sermons. Love your enemies. Be the good neighbor. Love God. Forgive those who sin against you. Turn the other cheek. Be humble. Let God judge. Be at peace with man and God. A few listened. They told others. His followers grew. They saw the miracles with their own eyes. He turned water into wine. He walked upon the waters. He healed the lame, the blind, the crippled, and the lepers. He raised the dead. Still, they did nothing when it came time for Him to taken away. They waited to see what Jesus would do.
In the upper room, they mourned. They worried. They were afraid. Some decided to go fishing. It was what they knew. He wasn’t there to guide them, and they felt lost. Until He entered the room. Alive. In person. The man they’d seen tortured, nailed to a tree, until His last breath passed from His lips and they saw Him die, had come back from the dead. Their eyes were opened and He gave them instructions, before He left this world, to tell the world. The stories, the parables and the scripture came alive in their souls, and they acted upon it. They knew that He’d had a plan all along. And He knew that they wouldn’t have been able to stop what He had to go through. No armed rebellion, no act of protest, not a word of argument against the authorities, could’ve stopped God’s plan of salvation for a sinful world. He had to give His life for His friends. All of us. Because He loves us.
It humbles me to know that Peter, John and all the rest were just like me. I would’ve been just as scared. I would’ve been just as silent. I would have never gathered up the courage to say “no!” to the soldiers and the corrupt leaders. But Peter, John, Matthew, Philip, Thomas, Bartholomew, Andrew, Simon, Jude, James, and the two James didn’t stay silent after the resurrected Jesus went home to His Father in Heaven. They went and told the world about it. All of it. Just as He told them to. That’s why we know all about it now. I hope I can find it in me to be like those men who took it seriously to “go and tell”. Those same simple men who cowered in fear. Those same simple men who spent the rest of their lives telling the world about Jesus, whose life, death and resurrection saved us all from eternal death. I hope I don’t have to wonder about what I would do now. He is risen. Now, go and tell.
Happy Easter, and God bless y’all.
Rolling Stones 