And in the Days After...

Peter's Encounter

Peter's Encounter

All right, he'd stayed there long enough. It was time to leave. He just needed to get up and tell them...

"Peter."

He glanced up and John. "What?"

"You haven't responded in some time."

"I'm thinking."

John stared at him, suspicion etched on his face.

Peter figured he better head out before they knew his real plan. They would already protest him leaving.

He stood. "I'm going to go look for places where we can hide."

Philip stood, baffled. "Did you not just hear this entire conversation we'd had?"

Peter honestly hadn't, but they didn't need to know that. "Doesn't matter. I'm going to go walk around then. Scout out places, see what the Romans are doing."

"You're just going to go and see what they're doing? Ask them their hobbies...chores maybe? Why don't you join them, then?"

"Philip!" John shouted.

"I'm going," Peter insisted. "I'll be back in a bit."

Philip marched over to Peter and grabbed his arm tightly, preventing Peter from going anywhere. "You're not going. And if you do, you can plan on not coming back."

At the moment when Peter wondered why he should come back, the door flung open, and everybody gasped as Mary of Magdala and Mary the Mother were hurried inside.

"Mother!' John called out, agape. "What are you doing here? Mah karah?"

As the Blessed Mother began explaining that she was well, Peter noticed Philip's grip no longer on his arm, and he seized the opportunity and rushed out the door before anyone noticed.

Outside, he quickly covered his head with a scarf, so at least no one should recognize him directly if they walked by. He shouldn't be gone long, though. Just long enough to search the appropriate places for his Lord and figure out exactly what the Romans were doing.

With those thoughts in mind, Peter rushed down the stairs and into the streets, trying to hurry but not enough so that someone drew suspicion of him. But it didn't really matter, since every other person was running through the streets, most likely trying to hide from the Romans that occasionally prowled about and bust open doors.

Peter made himself to the side of the road, not wishing to be caught in the middle of the crowd. He fingered each house as he passed it by, hiding his face.

But wait...why exactly was he hiding his face? He didn't need to. And didn't want to. He wouldn't, not after what he'd done...that Friday night. No, he didn't even want to think about it. But he was, and the more he tried not to think about it, the more he did. Isn't that how it was?

Oh, how he'd felt awful. He couldn't even quite comprehend the pain and hurt he'd felt those two days ago, because it was just so bad for someone to think about without directly experiencing it again, but he no way wanted to experience such feelings again. Why had he—dare he say it?—betray Jesus? His Lord? Out of fear? Most likely. Why? What was to fear?

"Oh, you of little faith. Why do you doubt?"

His thoughts always came back to those two sentences. "Why do you doubt?" Why did he? Why did he doubt while walking on water as well? Why did he fear? Jesus had been there, both times present, but he had still be afraid. And hadn't Jesus made him his Rock? If Jesus knew Peter would do such an awful thing, why did he give him such an important role?