Mark's Story (4 page)

B
reathless and still weeping, Mark quieted himself as he slipped into his room and quickly shed the woolen covering. He replaced it with a nightshirt and curled up on his mat. But the lad did not even try to close his eyes. He should have been drowsy, exhausted even. But he was able to comprehend nothing of what he had seen this fateful night, and his mind whirled.

Mark’s knew his mother would sense that something deeply troubled him. What would he tell her at daybreak? Dare he tell about Peter? Was it fair to influence his mother’s thinking about a friend? And yet it was the truth! Peter had proven a coward and a liar.

Mark was not aware of finally having drifted off, but at the crack of dawn he roused, still sick in his soul. He smelled breakfast cooking and knew his mother would be up. She never slept while her servants were working. He could not imagine eating, but knew he should and that his mother would likely insist on it.

When he returned from relieving himself, Mark found her in his room. She looked worse than he felt. “I have bad news for you,” she said. “Jesus has been arrested and faces sentencing today.”

Mark fought to hold his tongue but failed. “Where did you hear this?”

“A messenger arrived this morning. Jesus’ disciples are asking if they may hide out in our upper room.”

“Hide out? What are they afraid of?”

“The Romans and the Pharisees, of course.”

The young man sank onto his cot and sighed. “Why are they not standing with Him, testifying for Him, defending Him?”

“And how do you know they are not?”

“You said yourself they seek a hiding place.”

His mother’s gaze had fallen upon his woolen covering, bunched up in the corner. She raised it and spread it wide. “What is this?” she said. “And where is your tunic from yesterday?”

“Oh, mother!” Mark said, dissolving into tears. He held his head in his hands as he recounted the events from the night before. “I know you must punish me for being away without your knowledge. But I felt I just had to.”

His mother turned ashen, her lips quivering as she sat next to him. “You were foolhardy,” she said in a monotone, her eyes far away. “But I am grateful you are safe.”

Had she heard a word he’d said? And when she returned to herself, would he still be punished? His transgression seemed to inconsequential compared with what he had reported.

“I confess I would have been hard-pressed to keep from following them myself,” she said.

“Verily?” he said.

His mother nodded. “And Jesus foretold all that happened?”

“Yes! Mother, I would not have believed it had I not seen and heard it for myself! And Peter! I hate him!”

His mother’s gaze returned to him. She laid a shaky hand on his. “You mustn’t be so hard on him. Put yourself in his place.”

“I wish I could! If I believed in Jesus the way he claims to, I would never have forsaken Him!”

She seemed to study him until he had to look away. “May you forever retain such passion. I would like to believe I too would have stood by my Lord.”

“Mother, when Peter denied knowing Jesus, he was so angry he cursed. I hope he—”

She held up a hand and shook her head. “I cannot imagine his fear.”

“Fear is right. I have lost all respect for him.”

Mark stood and gathered the scratchy covering, bundling it to discard it. “I don’t care to ever see him again, let alone speak to him.”

“Jesus must be our concern now, son. But remember, Peter is your elder, due your respect.”

“Respect for what? Cowardice? Disloyalty?”

“You maintain he should not have deserted his friend.”

“Of course!”

“And yet you are doing the same to him.”

“But Jesus did not deserve what Peter did to him!”

She stood and embraced the boy and he was struck that her frail frame seemed to shudder uncontrollably. “And if I were you,” she said, “I would take care not to put myself in a position to say who deserves your wrath.”

Mark’s mother was called away by a servant with news that some of the disciples had arrived. Mark was hardly in a mood to see them, for fear that Peter might be among them and he would be unable to hide his disgust. He busied himself with chores, only to learn that Peter was not among the few who soon sat retelling his mother everything of the night before.

To Mark, John was the only disciple not worthy of reproof, and indeed he heard from a servant that John was still in the city. More than once Mark had heard John referred to as the disciple Jesus loved, and now he could see why.

Soon Mark’s curiosity got the better of him and he made his way to the great room, where James, the son of Zebedee and brother of John, was telling his mother more of the story. The four who had accompanied him looked pale and stunned, as if still afraid and uncertain about their future.

“In the early morning they bound the Teacher and led Him from the high priest Caiaphas’s to the Praetorium to face Governor Pilate. It seemed all the chief priests and elders of the people were plotting to put Jesus to death.”

“To death?” Mark’s mother said, covering her mouth. “Whatever for?”

“They claim all kinds of charges, from blasphemy to insurrection—crimes against the Jews
and
the Romans. The chief priests and all the council sought testimony against Jesus to put Him to death, but found none, because while many bore false witness against Him, their testimonies did not agree. But some rose up and said, ‘We heard Him say, “I will destroy this temple made with hands, and within three days I will build another made without hands.’” But not even then did their testimony agree.

“The high priest himself asked Jesus, ‘Do You answer nothing? What is it these men testify against You?’ But Jesus kept silent. Again the high priest asked Him, ‘Are You the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?’

“Jesus said, ‘I am. And you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven.’”

“He said that?” Mark’s mother said, eyes wide.

“He did. And the high priest tore his own clothes and said, ‘What further need do we have of witnesses? You have heard the blasphemy! What do you think?’ And they all condemned Him to be deserving of death. Some spat on Him and others blindfolded Him and beat Him, saying, ‘Prophesy!’”

Mark’s mother stared at the floor and shook her head. “And what has become of Judas?”

The disciples looked at one another, and Bartholomew spoke. “Word is that he tried to return to the chief priests and elders his payment, saying, ‘I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.’ They would have none of it and said, ‘What is that to us? You see to it!’ Some say he threw the coins in the temple and went and hanged himself.”

“Oh, no!”

“Madam,” Thomas said, “the man betrayed our Lord for thirty pieces of silver.”

Mary spied her son in the corner. “Mark, I’d rather you not hear all this.”

“I could have seen it all last night!” he said. “Nothing could shock me now! To have seen Peter deny Jesus with curses…”

James held up a hand. “Mark, my brother assures me that Peter is abject with sorrow and remorse. We must be sympathetic and—”

“Sympathetic! He
should
be abject!”

“Son, like all of us, he fears for his life.”

“John doesn’t!”

“But John and I know the high priest, Mark. That is the only reason he and I were able to move about freely in that company.”

“So John was there the whole night?”

“He is still there, son.”

“And?”

“He reports that as the Master stood before the governor, Pilate asked Him directly, ‘Are You the King of the Jews?’”

“Did Jesus deny it?” Mark said. “I would wager He is not afraid for His life.”

“You are correct. Jesus said, ‘It is as you say.’”

“That’s courage!” Mark said.

“Indeed. And it is why we put our trust in the Lord, and not in mere men. While Jesus was being accused of all manner of sin by the chief priests and elders, He answered nothing more. Pilate said, ‘Do You not hear how many things they testify against You?’ But He answered him not one word, so that the governor marveled greatly.”

“What does Pilate care about this discord among the Jews?” Mark’s mother said. “Why does he not just return to Caesarea and leave us to our own troubles?”

“I’m sure he would prefer nothing more. But the people cried out for Jesus’ execution. Then Pilate entered the Praetorium again, called Jesus, and said to Him, ‘Are You the King of the Jews?’

“Jesus said, ‘Are you speaking for yourself about this, or did others tell you this?’

“Pilate said, ‘Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered You to me. What have You done?’

“Jesus said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world. If My kingdom were of this world, My servants would fight so that I should not be delivered to the Jews; but now My kingdom is not from here.’”

Mark was stunned to remember that Jesus had predicted His friends would not defend Him. “Tell me the rest.”

“Pilate said, ‘Are You a king then?’

“Jesus said, ‘You say rightly that I am a king. For this cause I was born, and for this cause I have come into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears My voice.’

“Pilate said, ‘What is truth?’ And he went out again to the Jews and said, ‘I find no fault in Him at all.’”

“So why didn’t he let Jesus go?”

James glanced at the others. “As you know, at the feast the governor is accustomed to releasing to the multitude one prisoner whom they wish.”

“Had you all been there,” Mark said, “you could have insisted it be Jesus.”

“Did
anyone
call for His release?” his mother said.

James looked away. “You are familiar with Barabbas?”

“Of course,” she said. “The notorious prisoner. Surely the people did not—”

“They did, ma’am. Pilate said, ‘Whom do you want me to release to you? Barabbas, or Jesus, who is called Christ?’ I believe he knew they had handed Him over because of envy. But somehow the chief priests and elders persuaded the multitudes that they should ask for Barabbas and destroy Jesus. They cried out, ‘Release Barabbas!’

“Pilate said, ‘What then shall I do with Jesus?’

“They all said, ‘Let Him be crucified!’

“The governor said, ‘Why, what evil has He done?’

“But they cried out all the more, saying, ‘Let Him be crucified!’

“Finally Pilate shrugged and took water and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, ‘I am innocent of the blood of this just Person. You see to it.’

“The people responded, ‘His blood be on us and on our children!’”

Thomas and Bartholomew leaned to peer out the window as others arrived. “The other James and Peter,” Thomas said, and Mark stood and rushed from the room before they were welcomed. But he could not force himself far enough away to be unable to hear their account. Indeed, Peter sounded like a defeated man.

“Tell us,” John’s brother said.

Peter recited the latest news in a flat tone, and Mark found himself angrier with the man than before.

“After Pilate released Barabbas to the crowd—and to much cheering, I might add—he scourged Jesus and delivered Him to be crucified.”

“And what did you do about that?” Mark demanded, reentering.

Peter looked up, stricken. “What could I do?” he said, voice thick with emotion. “The soldiers took Jesus into the Praetorium and gathered the whole garrison around Him. They stripped Him and put a scarlet robe on Him.”

“Peter, please,” Mark’s mother said. “Not in front of the boy.”

“He denied his friend in front of me, Mother! Do you think this could be worse? I want to hear it all!”

Peter hung his head. “It’s true. I denied my Lord three times, just as He said I would. I am ashamed unto death.”

“And yet it is not you who are to die, is it?” Mark said.

Peter shook his head miserably. John’s brother put a hand on his shoulder. “We must hear the rest, Simon.”

Peter cleared his throat, his voice now weak and raspy. “They twisted a crown from thorns and pressed it on His head, putting a reed in His right hand. And they bowed before Him and mocked Him, saying, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’ They spat on Him and took the reed and struck Him on the head. And when they had mocked Him, they took the robe off Him, put His own clothes on Him, and led Him away.”

“To be crucified?” Mark said.

Peter nodded, still averting his eyes. “As they dragged him out, they found a man of Cyrene—some said his name was also Simon—and compelled him to bear Jesus’ cross. They were on their way to Golgotha, the Place of a Skull, when we fled.”

“You fled yet again,” Mark said, tears streaming. “You might as well have been the one carrying His cross! Who is with Him now? Anyone who cares for Him?”

Peter rubbed his face. “John is there, with Jesus’ mother and Mary of Magdala. And several women from Galilee.”

“I must go!” Mark’s mother said, standing. “Someone take me!”

But the disciples sat unmoving.

“Is my son right? Are you all cowards? I shall go myself then!” She grabbed a shawl and ran from the house.

“None of you?” Mark said, glaring at them. “Hide in the upper room then! Learn from John, the youngest among you, and from the women, what has become of your Teacher, your Master, your Lord.”

And he ran to escort his mother to the place of death, less than half a mile to the north of their home.

When he caught her just past Herod’s Palace, she stopped and turned to face him. “Only you,” she said, seeming to grasp what he had been trying to tell her about the disciples and their weakness.

“Only me, and I will not be turned away.”

“You are a man today, Mark, but I will allow you to come only on your solemn promise that you keep your distance. The authorities do not care about me, but men who go there will be subject to arrest.”

“I am not afraid.”

She looked at him with such earnestness that he could not look away or deny her. “Your solemn promise, John Mark.”

“I promise.”