So we twelve and Jesus continued in this manner, the travelling, the teaching, the healing, for the better part of a further year, but rarely straying from the Tetrachy of Antipas, save for an excursion along the coast, beyond Serepta, where I remember being shocked that Jesus ignored a woman who cried to him for help, because her daughter was deranged.
Finally he answered that his children were not of this place, but of Galilee, and that the children’s bread should not be thrown to the dogs.
“True, Master” she replied, “but even the dogs may eat of the scraps dropped under the table”.
“You are right” said Jesus.” Your faith has saved your daughter. Go home now, and in peace”.
Shortly after this we progressed south, through Galilee, south of the lake, and came up through Gergesa, near where was the miraculous feeding of the five thousand people, through Bethsaida where a blind man was given back his sight, and then we struck north again, but this time with a strange urgency.
Until this time we had been wandering almost aimlessly, but now we seemed to be going somewhere. As we pressed on into the foothills of Mount Hermon, drawing closer to Caesarea Philippi, Jesus’ mood became more intense. We skirted round the city, leaving it to the east, and began to travel along the ridge that runs north east, into the Mount itself- a dry barren region of sandy stone, thinning air, and keen night winds, but above all, the long empty vistas to Mount Lebanon in the north west, and south to the northern borders of Galilee.
I realised that we had simply come to high ground. We had come to a lonely place. Whenever Jesus was at a turning point within himself, he always sought out high ground, even to the last night on the Mount of Olives. A strangely human foible for such as he, or perhaps it was for us? And we did not see it? No matter. We were come to our high ground, and Jesus left us to go among the higher rocks to pray alone.
Eventually, he returned to the twelve who were waiting for him, and after a pause he asked –
“Who do people say that I am?”
Of curse, Peter, big open Peter immediately answered-
“Some say you are Elijah reborn, some say you are John the Baptist, who did not die, or one of the old prophets of the kings”.
“And who do you think I am?” Jesus asked of Peter. Peter looked shamefacedly round the group, and then with surprising courage, he said in a firm voice-
“You are the Messiah who was promised to Israel- the Son of God made Man”.
Jesus clasped him warmly and said-
“Peter, those are not the words of man but the words of God. My Father has told you this but you must tell no one, not yet. Your time will come. When I have conquered death, then I will charge you to tell all men all that you know of me, for you are Peter, the rock, and on this rock I will build my church, and then you will tell all you know. You will govern my legacy until you are called upon to tread my path of sorrow, through pain and suffering, and so to join me in Paradise”.
That night as the company sat huddled around fires in groups of two or three, I sat not by a fire, but alone in a hollow of rock, away from the others. Jesus came and sat by me, and asked-
“Why were you so troubled today when I spoke to Peter?”
“On two counts” I replied. “First- why Peter? He is oafish, a brute, he lacks reasoning, he is untutored, he is…”
“Unworthy?”
“Yes!”
Jesus paused, then smiling gently, he said-
“Now you know my answer to that, Judas?”
And I did. Reluctantly, I murmured-
“We are all completely unworthy”.
“Yes Judas, but Peter has one saving grace in particular- there is no guile in him; his simplicity lies about him like an innocence, which is his shield against corruption.
Remember, I once told you that most men perpetrate evil out of fear- of poverty, of hunger, of manipulation by the powerful. Well Peter fears almost nothing. In fact his one fear is of shame, and overcoming that will be a most painful lesson. However, he will survive it, and knowing it, he will be completely ready for his appointed task”.
“And what of my appointed task?” I asked in a hard voice.
“Poor Judas. How you bridle so for an answer. Well tonight you shall have one”.
“You will tell me?” I asked, incredulously.
“No. You will tell me”.
Seeing the exasperation welling up in me yet again, he quickly continued-
“You said you were uneasy on two counts, and the answer lies in the second, as yet, unspoken one. Tell me first of that”.
I thought for a moment, and then I said-
“If you are- all that Peter said, then the scriptures say that you must-will be-slain”.
“Yes, Judas”.
“No, no, no!” I moaned with grief. “Why? Is there no other way?”
Jesus put his arm round me, and said-
“Judas, there is no ‘why’ to be found outside my Father’s will. It is not a thing to be justified. I do not die to prove who I am, but to rise again, but you will learn more of that when I speak of it to the twelve. We must consider where is your task in this”.
“Yes. My task. Again, I have a terrible foreboding. Tell me.”
“Judas, consider that I cannot just present myself at the Governor’s court and announce that, being the Messiah, it is necessary that I be slain. No one would listen. The authorities must decide it for themselves, and when they have decided, well.. they will need- help”.
“No! You are mad! Do you think I have followed you and listened to you all this time to- No! You do not know me! You have never known me!”
“I know your strength, Judas, and I tell you no other of the twelve is capable of doing what I ask of you. Though as yet I know not exactly what it is that I require of you. I only know that it will break your heart”.
There was a long silence. I could not speak. There were no words in me. I was a hollow shell with no life- only a detached yet grievous awareness. After a while-
“Judas, do you remember, I once said ‘no matter how low you fall-“
“- it is because God requires it of you”.
The words had come from me like an echo of thought.
“And do you also remember, that once you said you would die for me?”
“Yes”.
“Well I do not ask you to die, but what I must ask is this:”
I looked up at him and there were tears on his face. My Lord was weeping for me, as he asked-
“- will you….will you give me your heart…to break?”
I could not speak, but just managed to bow my head in assent, before I collapsed into uncontrollable sobbing, on his breast. There I stayed for a long time, wanting to give and to receive comfort, and not being capable of either in the smallest degree, until, in the exhaustion of my grief and despair, I slept.