Where were you when they crucified my lord? (In a Bubble of Time.)

“Then why didn’t you?”  John stepped in. “I’ll tell you why; because you believed the Master. We all did.... That's why we chose to stay.”

“But what good has that done us now, boy?” Matthew who had been brooding in silence now joined in. “We left all to follow him. And now he is dead. I don’t even know if I have a profession to go back to. It’ll be easier for you, Sons of Zebedee; your father will allow you back into his boat. But will the authorities re-employ me?  I am considered a rebel, along with the Master. I cannot hold another public office. I have given away much of my wealth - that which I had saved before I met the Master - I have nothing to go back to, no security.

“No future” he moaned. “Don’t look at me like that; think of yourselves,” he said sharply, “what have you go to go back to?  Will our lives ever be the same again? And for what?” with that, he lapsed back into his dark silence. And infectious silence. The others looked at each other.

“The Master promised us much.... In his kingdom we would have had a hundred times as much of all that we have given up - and eternal life in the age to come.” John remembered.

“What will your mother say to that now, John?” Simon the Zealot asked, watching as the younger man cringed in embarrassment.

“Leave him alone,” Andrew warned.

“Do you still want to sit, one on the Master’s right and the other on his left?” Simon taunted, encouraged by the others’ laughter.

“We weren’t the only ones who wanted a position in his kingdom,” John defended, angry, “you were all equally interested or you wouldn’t have been arguing about who was the greatest. What did you expect to be, Simon? Commander in chief of his army?”

Simon sprang to his feet, his dagger drawn. He had always carried it with him though well concealed from the Master. Simon knew Jesus wouldn’t have approved of his physical violence. He had almost used it at the Garden but skillful as he was with it, he knew he was no match alone against the soldiers, their swords and the Pharisees and their sticks and clubs and slaves. He had put it out of sight again then, and had regretted it ever since. He should have tried, done something. Given Jesus a chance to escape; at least he could have died trying. His moment of cowardice would always haunt him and now it goaded him into drawing it against the fisherman.

There was a gasp from the others as John got to his feet too. Simeon hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He wished he hadn’t been so rash but he wasn’t going to be a coward a second time.

John, Son of Thunder, faced him. John’s eyes blazed. There was no fear in them. He who had wanted fire from heaven to come down and burn up a whole Samaritan village in his anger, now was itching for a fight. All the pent up anger and pain at having to stand by and watch helplessly as his friend had died - was now seeking release.

It was to John as if he had been in agony too. Yet he hadn’t been able to leave the foot of the cross. Couldn't leave Jesus. And in the darkness that had strangely enveloped the land, John had stood vigil in the flickering torch light. With nothing else to do, he had remembered. Remembered other days when he had leaned on those shoulders now stretched out so cruelly. Those hands that had reached out to those no one else would; picked up those children who couldn’t walk his pace and yet who wanted to walk the distance with him. Jesus.....

John had heard Peter’s declaration to the Master that he, Jesus, was the Son of God, and John, in his heart had believed it too.

Those hands that had flung the stars across the sky, shaped the mountains, painted the wings of a butterfly, now were outstretched, bleeding. Why didn’t he unleash his power?  What kept it in check, why was he allowing Man, whom He had created, to humiliate Him?

John couldn’t understand it. Couldn't accept that Jesus’ death was part of some great, mysterious plan of God. What good could possibly come out of it?

And young John, had allowed himself to cry. Who would notice anyway?  Who cared?

And now these men talked. Where had they been, he would have liked to ask. It was only his love for Jesus that had kept a control on his tongue. He had to force himself to remember that Jesus had loved them too. So for his master’s sake.....Till now.

But Simon had goaded him beyond control.

 “Oh stop it, the both of you.” Matthew commanded. “Start a fight and you won’t have to wait in suspense for the authorities to arrest you. Now sit down! And calm down. There is nothing to be done till the Sabbath is over. The Master is dead; The Kingdom is never to be - at least not in this generation and we had all better be thinking of our future plans.”

The moment was diffused. Simon put away the weapon and sat down. Cautiously, John did too, but never taking his eyes off the other man. It had taken him by surprise and he wasn’t sure if Simon could be trusted again. The others too shifted nervously, sure of only one fact - something was happening to what they had always thought was an unbreakable bond between them - a brotherhood - more than mere blood-ties between natural siblings; they were falling apart, coming undone at the seams. Their common thread, it was now obvious, had been Jesus.

____l-----------l___

“Mary, Susanna and I are waiting out the Sabbath. But where were you when the Master needed you?  Where was your loyalty to your ‘King?  You ran away when they arrested him in the Garden, and have been hiding ever since. You,” Joanna's pointed finger swept over the men. “You weren’t there when they brought him out to Herod. If your loyalty to him was as you boast, that was when you should have tried to free him. The people were all there - your loyal subjects. They had seen the signs and miracles - they would have followed you, surely.

“You fought over who was the greatest, who should sit at the Master’s right hand, but which one of your tried to set him free?  What happened to the Promises of the Kingdom?  Wasn’t it enough to prompt you to defend your king?  And you were expecting to be ministers in his kingdom?  Matthew, you a High Priest, maybe?  Being of the lineage of Levi?” her tone, scathing.

“Where were you, ‘soldiers of Christ’, when they brought him out bloodied and torn?-   his eyes trying to blink away the blood that ran down his forehead and caked on his lashes?  Did you wipe them away for him?  Did you help him to carry that heavy crossbeam?  Did you help him to ease its load, lift its rough wood off his back and shoulders where it rubbed into his torn and tattered back?  Did you even see it?  His flesh was ripped to ribbons where the bones on the whips’ tips had dug in.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control her voice through the threat of tears..

“Bartholomew”, her anger had not yet abated, “you have moaned and grumbled . Where were you when Jesus stumbled on the stones, his legs weak; did you pick him up, steady him?  Did you try to offer him a cup of water?  Did you notice how parched his lips were?”  Her tears flowed freely,  “How…  How dare any of you even think of how much you have lost!. What have you lost?  Jesus gave you the best three years of your lives but he lost his life. What have you ever done for him, that you should boast?”

“Where were you when they crucified my lord?” she beat her chest with a bunched fist, her agony evident. Joanna stood there trembling, her eyes blazing with fury, with frustration at the disciples, at the unjust authorities, at her own great loss.

She finally sat down, her legs weak. She sat close to Mary, and put an arm around her friend who was yet to say a word. Surely Mary’s loss was much greater.

The men looked sheepish, uncomfortable. 
The knock on the door made them all jump.The knock repeated, persistent, authoritatively.

Simeon drew his dagger out and moved forward cautiously.

“Don’t.”  Suzanah pushed him aside. “I’ll open the door. We don’t know who it is. It may not be trouble.”  but she didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.

She lifted the latch, and opened the door a fraction; Simeon hid directly behind it, ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.