[After Jesus' arrest] the disciples all deserted [Jesus] and ran away. Among those who had followed Jesus was a young man with nothing on but a linen cloth. [The soldiers] tried to seize [the young man]; but he slipped out of the linen cloth and ran away naked.
At my wife's first church, there was a woman who, every Holy Week, defended the Apostles' cowardice, Peter's in particular when he denied Jesus, as part of God's providential plan. After all, had they stood by Jesus, they most likely would have been lined up with Jesus on crosses, rather than a couple failed bandits/revolutionaries. Lisa would attempt to argue a theological point, but this woman would not budge. "He who fights and runs away . . ." and all that. Of course, Peter ended up on a Roman cross, upside down, according to legend, so it was a matter of time before he shared his Lord's fate.
Attention is often focused on Judas as the betrayer, yet how are the actions of the Apostles any different? They run in fear for their lives, even though they had just promised Jesus they would stick with him to the bitter end (verse 31, same chapter). Indeed, how is Judas' betrayal of Jesus in any way substantively different from our own betrayal of Jesus? How often do we "Christians" promise ourselves, our lives, our fortunes, to the service of God's work, only to run when it becomes a threat? There are many examples of martyrs in history; I am sure there are many untold tales of failed martyrs, those who simply ran away when the main chance arrived, that one crucial moment when to act, to decide, forced them to forswear their promised commitments.
We often identify with Jesus in the story as it unfolds, wishing things were different, wishing that he had done more to save himself. We weep at the beatings, the crown of thorns, the feel of the nails pounded into his wrists and feet, because it all seems such a waste. That it was only ever to be this way and no ever only enters our minds when we remember that Easter follows Good Friday; from Thursday evening until Sunday morning, we wallow in our feelings of sorrow.
How much are we like the Apostles that way, using our grief over what happened to Jesus to shield us from the uncomfortable truth that we are as responsible for these acts as those who actually performed them? We rail against the disciples' perfidy, yet forget our own compromised discipleship, our own running away when the going gets tough. As the disciples cower over the next few days, let us not go to the foot of the cross and weep; let us hide in fear and trembling, forgetting all he told us until that moment when he appears within the locked rooms of our lives to remind us, again, of all that he taught us.
