Just recently, I have been putting the finishing touches to a detailed account of the life of Jesus, based in part on my own limited experience, chiefly around his last Passover, but also on the much greater knowledge of various followers of Jesus who saw so much more of him than I did, particularly Peter[1].

A lot of things can change in forty years.  And as I look back over my life, I’m glad that’s true.  At the same time, some things don’t change, even after 40 years.  And I’m glad about that too.

That may sound a bit like a riddle, but I’ll try to explain what I mean.  When I was young – about 14 years old – I heard of Jesus and I immediately wanted to know more.  That hasn’t ever changed!

And then, a couple of years later, I got involved in some undercover operations, trying to make sure that the chief priests and Pharisees couldn’t attack Jesus, but it didn’t work.  I was young, and not very wise.  I hope that that has changed.

By the time of Jesus’ last Passover in Jerusalem, I was 16 years old.  And my mother Mary[2] was a follower of Jesus.  We had a house in Jerusalem, three stories high, with a large room on the second storey and sleeping chambers on the third floor.  My mother had heard that Jesus wanted to keep the Passover in Jerusalem, so she had immediately spoken to my father to see whether our upper room would be available[3].  And my father agreed that Jesus could use the room.  You might think that everything was settled then, but no, there was also a need to keep Jesus’ movements quiet.  The leading Jews were wanting to kill him, so it was best to spend the evening in a place that wouldn’t be known to the Pharisees or high priests.  And our place fitted the bill exactly.

But how could we keep it secret when his disciples didn’t know the place either?  That was where the “undercover operations” came in.  And I was the one to carry them out.

Because of my mother’s belief in Jesus and my own interest, I knew some of the disciples by sight, and my mother arranged for me to meet them and lead them to the house.  Now, I was afraid that they wouldn’t recognise me and that it would draw attention to us all if I had to go up and talk to them, so we arranged a special signal.  And when it was all arranged it seemed very clever to me – and exciting.

I was to go to the place to meet them carrying a clay jar of water.  And since that was normally a woman’s work[4], I would be easily recognisable by the disciples and they could follow me without us needing to speak at all.

It worked, and Peter and John immediately followed me quietly back to our house and up to the upper room[5].

So far, so good.

It was evening when Jesus came with the rest of the twelve.  I was watching out of a window, and saw them arrive and troop upstairs.  I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse through the evening to go into the room, but I kept watching and listening for any opportunity that might arise.  And I saw Judas leave.  Of course, now we all know why he left, but at the time I could only wonder.

After that, my mother began insisting that I get ready for bed, so I was bathing when I heard singing from the upper room, followed immediately by the sound of many feet descending the stairs leading to the street.  And there was I with no clothes on.  I desperately wanted to see where Jesus and his disciples were going, and here came my second bit of “undercover work”.  I quickly dried myself a little, slipped on my sandals and urgently wrapped a linen cloth around myself to be decent.  And then I slipped out into the night.  Just in time, too: the last few of them were just disappearing around the corner at the end of our street, and I had to run.  As I reached the corner I could see them up ahead, and from then on I followed at a more leisurely pace, trying to keep them in sight, but myself out of sight.

Out of the city gates and down into the valley they went, seeming surprisingly subdued.  I followed them across the Kidron and up the Mount of Olives until we came to Gethsemane, by which time I was starting to feel a bit cool in my hastily seized makeshift clothing.  Early spring can be cold in and around Jerusalem.  And it was clear that this night was going to be cold[6].  They entered the garden, but I continued to walk along the path past the place so that if any of them happened to notice me, they would think I was just another casual traveller in the night, rather than an excited youth trying to follow them and watch their every move.

After walking a short distance further, I stepped off the track into the garden and made my way slowly and silently back towards the group.  The full moon made startling contrasts between light and darkness under the trees and I tried to stay in the absolute blackness of the shadows.  I restrained my urge to hurry and inched my way along, guided by the quiet sounds the group were making.  By the time I arrived nearby, hiding behind the trunk and branches of a tree, they were all making themselves comfortable – prepared for quite a wait, by the look of things.  The dappled light made it hard to know exactly how many were there, but their comments made it clear that Jesus was no longer with them.  He had gone on further to pray.  For once, I waited patiently and watched.  And listened.  Soon I discovered that Jesus had taken three of the disciples with him.  At once, I knew I must try to find them, but where had they gone?  I didn’t want to trip over them while searching.  So once again, I was patient and watched.  A real victory, that was.  The disciples had settled down to rest, but they kept looking beyond them, and after a while I became sure that Jesus and the other 3 must have gone that way.

Slowly I scanned the blackness in the direction they were looking, but could see nothing.  If I wanted to know what Jesus was doing, I would have to risk the possibility of getting caught.  Immediately I turned around, preparing to move as noiselessly as I could, but my very first step let me down: a stick cracked under my foot while the dry leaves around it rustled.  And I froze, still hidden behind the tree.

“What’s that?” asked one of the disciples, sharply.

“It’s probably just some small animal,” answered another.  “Don’t worry.  You’re too edgy, Simon.  Just relax.”
“It didn’t sound like an animal,” replied Simon.  “I’m worried about the chief priests’ men.  In the past, I would have known how to deal with them!”  He laughed a grim laugh – or so it seemed to me.

And I stayed frozen.  For as long as I could stay unmoving, I stood completely still.  One of those men talking was Simon.  And I had heard of Simon the Zealot.  There were terrible tales about the Zealots; tales of cloaks and daggers, and sudden, silent violence.  So I didn’t move at all for a long time, and when I did, it was only to try to find a way to sit down without making any noise.

As it happened, the stick I had trodden on was about the only one nearby and there were actually very few leaves around, so it was quite easy to sit down silently.  And so I sat, too afraid to try to find Jesus, and too afraid to return to the city in case Simon the ex-Zealot forgot his calling by Jesus.  I got to know Simon later, and was never afraid of that most gentle of men again – but that was later.  As I sat huddled against the tree, the immediate fear of a knife in the dark made breathing difficult.  And so time passed and I gradually relaxed.

All of a sudden, I woke to the sound of a scream, instantly drowned by shouts, and then Jesus’ voice, loud and clear: “Put your sword away!”  There were flickering lights amongst the dark shadows of the garden, and the shouts were suddenly silenced, replaced by a collective gasp.  I learned later that this was when Jesus re-placed the ear of Malchus which Peter had cut off.  But at the time, I was too befuddled by my sudden waking, and sleep still slowed my thoughts to a crawl.

Shortly afterwards, while I still sat leaning against the tree, there was a sudden rush, and several men ran past my tree and stumbled off into the darkness, running where no-one pursued.

And I finally began to wake up properly, so that when the noise of the crowd began to diminish, I stood up and peered around the side of the tree.  A large crowd, with Jesus in the middle, was moving away from me, back toward the path that led down to the Kidron.  On impulse, I stepped out from behind the tree and began to follow.  And as I followed, I found to my consternation that four guards had been left behind, probably to make sure that Jesus’ disciples didn’t regroup and try to rescue him.

Two of them grabbed me, and if I had been wearing ordinary clothes, they would have caught me.  As it was, I was able to yank myself free and they were left holding my linen cloth, while I ran away naked in the dark[7].

I’m glad it was dark!  In the darkness, I was able to get back into the city without too much trouble, but what would have happened if it had been light?

[1] 1 Peter 5:13 suggests that by the time Peter wrote the letter, a close relationship existed between him and John Mark, believed to be the writer of the gospel of Mark.
[2] Acts 12:12.
[3] There is no proof that the “large upper room” in the gospels belonged to John Mark’s family, but in Acts 12:12, Peter went to this house and found many gathered there praying.
[4] No proof, but supporting examples: Genesis 24:14-15; John 4:7, 15; and a probable example of demeaning the deceptive Gibeonites by giving them “women’s work” in Joshua 9:16-23.
[5] Mark 14:12-16; Luke 22:10-13.
[6] John 18:18.
[7] Mark 14:51-52.