It was. It was really, really quiet. Jesus spread his fingers wide on the dirt.
Steady.
He felt the muscles in his forearms tighten and adjust to the new burden; he leaned forward, relieving the pressure on his knees. He’d been praying for a couple hours.
His bones creaked as he straightened out his legs, and he almost chuckled, nearly remembering something his father used to say, but not quite – remembering more the spirit of the sentiment than the words themselves – something about freedom.
The freedom that comes with acceptance…
The thing is, bodies change, and if you’re going to get old and fall down, at least try to roll with it.
Slowly his father’s words came back to him, and he could still feel the impressions of the older man’s hands clasped upon his shoulders; a little squeeze and a smirk. Or after a hard day’s work in the quarry, a gentle tap at Jesus’ knees with his staff, and feigned helplessness, pretending his own ligaments and joints were already disintegrating. No wonder, he would say. And Jesus whispered back into the past.
No wonder, the knees go first after years of pious intercession for rascal sons.
Like father like son, Jesus would say. He felt his throat catch, and he let the emotion ride for a moment. Just a moment. He breathed in the air of the trees.
Acceptance.
Another whisper. “Father…”
And on the breeze he heard an echo of home. He kept his body poised, channeling the adrenaline: Eyes jammed shut so the sounds might just feel real again. Fingers dug below the shifting crumbs of earth itching to find anchors. Knees buried too.
He heard the rhythm of heavenly communion as it drifted around him, rustling leaves and rattling spear heads gathered in ambush. His body stiffened, tensed.
And then it was really, really quiet.
Do you know what it sounds like, the congregated and hushed tones of stillness? They reverberate invitation. They build anticipation.
Above and beside and behind Jesus, plants and scurrying creatures paused. The reddish clay settled deeper into itself, and the plethora of insects looked up expectantly. Roots crept skywards. A brightness was beginning to emanate from somewhere above the olive trees. Even the leaves looked up, craning their stems for a better view. Everything frozen in time except Jesus, who slowly stood.
And the soldiers marched in dispassionate rows.
Peter could see them in his nightmares. Asleep though he was, the clatter of their steel pierced his consciousness. So, when Jesus woke him, he immediately reached for his sword.
They’re coming.
I know.
I will fight.
Accept this.
No.
Blood. Jesus doesn’t flinch when he touches it. The man’s head is mangled; he won’t live without medical attention. His amputated ear is drying in the dust, along with matted hair and bits of scalp. The rough edge of a sword hewn by amateurs leaves a mark; Peter wheezes hysterically, knowing he can’t stop the enemy from taking Jesus.
Knowing he missed his only chance when Judas dodged the blow. And the snake now stands even taller, grinning as the soldiers maintain their formation, responsible for neither the blood of the Jewish traitor nor this crumpled slave on the ground. They have their orders after all. Malchus sways on his knees, involuntarily imitating prayer. And Peter shudders, contemplating the red stain on his hands.
The soldiers look to their commander, and he looks to Judas, who shrugs and winks at Peter, who trembles in his rage.
But then Jesus looks at Malchus, drawing his face upward with his hand, still holding the wound with the other, lifting his eyes. The light has grown since Jesus first noticed it in his solitude. Now Malchus sees it too, in fact they all do; it’s consuming the garden. It’s spreading, uncontained in its unfolding. Judas’ wink turns into a frenetic blinking, and his mouth turns downward in disgust. The centurion stares into the light, and it’s always the moment he tells first in his testimonies around future campfires. Peter is finally still – sobbing, but still.
Malchus is rising, raised by Jesus into the ocean of light above.
And no one can remember later what it looked like to see Jesus reach toward the dirt and bring the ear back into life.
And it is really, really quiet when the light goes out.
Matthew 26:36-56 • John 18:10-11