Meditation of a listener to the Sermon on the Mount Can you believe what he told us? ‘Love your enemies’, that’s what he said! Pray for those who abuse you, and if someone slaps you in the face, turn the other check! Well, I ask you, what sort of talk is that? He's on another planet, this fellow — cloud-cuckoo land! Oh, it sounds wonderful, granted, but can you see it working? Tcan’t. No, we have to be sensible about these things, realistic. We'd all like the world to be different, but it’s no use pretending, is it? ‘Love your enemies’ ~ where will that get us? They'll see us coming a mile off! ‘And as for ‘turn the other cheek’ well, you can if you want to, but not me; ll give them one back with interest ~ either that or run for it! Tl tell you what, though, we listened to him, all of us, just about the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen, hanging on to his every word, listening like I've rarely known people listen before. Why? Well, you could see he meant what he was saying for one thing - the way he dealt with the hecklers and cynics: never losing his cool, never lashing out in frustration, ready to suffer for his convictions if that’s what it took. He practised what he preached, and there aren’t many you can say that about, are there? But it was more than that. Like it or not it was his message itself; that crazy message, so different from any we'd ever heard before — impractical, unworkable, yet irresistible. It gave us a glimpse of the way life could be, the way it should be - and he actually made us feel that one day it might be! No, I'm not convinced, sad to say ~ life's just not like that — but I wish it was. Iwish I had the courage to try his way, the faith to give ita go, for we've been trying the way of the world for as long as I can remember, and look where that’s got us!Meditation of Judas “Do what you have to do,’ he told me. And I realised then, as he looked at me, from the expression in his eyes, that he knew full well what I'd been up to, and understood precisely what I had planned for later that evening, Call me a fool, but I thought until then I'd covered my tracks, played the part of doting disciple to a tee. And I was right to a point, for my fellow apostles fell for it hook, line and sinker. You should have seen their faces when Jesus suddenly turned during supper and solemnly announced that one of us would betray him. ‘Who is it, Lord?’ they gasped. ‘Surely not I?” But they actually believed it might be — as much one of them as me. Not Jesus though - Irealised the moment he looked at me that there was no pulling the wool over his eyes. He saw through the charade, behind the lamb to the wolf, beneath the dove to the serpent, and suddenly I was ashamed, . sickened by what I was doing, disgusted at what I'd become. I should have stopped it there and then, confessed everything before them all and begged for mercy. But I didn’t. Iwas too proud, afraid of losing face, terrified of what Caiaphas might do to me if I failed to deliver the goods. So I slithered out of the room, leaving the rest of them wide-eyed in disbelief. It still wasn’t too late, even then — I could have called a halt to the whole business, and I only wish Thad.Sodas pa But I didn’t- [led the soldiers into the garden, and greeted Jesus with a kiss — the last revolting act of a repulsive evening. It was bad enough betraying a friend, but what made it worse was that we'd eaten together such a short time before. He’d washed my feet, shared bread and wine, kept faith with me to the very last, despite everything, Ifhe’d cursed me, accused me, rebuked me, it would have made it easier. If he’d only shown some sign of resentment, maybe then I could have lived with myself, knowing he wasn't so perfect after all. But there was none of that. Ahint of sorrow, perhaps, but apart from that, only love, compassion, forgiveness. He knew what was happening, yet it made no difference. He knew I was leading him to his death, and he carried on regardless. Why? You tell me! only hope he had more idea what he was doing than I had.Meditation 2 Meditation of Peter. He was bleeding, my friend Jesus, skewered to that cross lke a piece of meat, great drops of blood trickling slowly to the ground, from his head, from his hands, from his feet, | watched , stricken with horror, numbed with grief, as the life seeped away. And | asked myself tearfully, angrily “why?” Why had God let it happen? Why didn’t he step in and do something? What was he thinking of? It seemed criminal, a stupid, senseless waste to let such a wonderful man die —let alone to die like that! And for a moment my faith was shattered, in myself, in God, in everything. But then | remembered his words, ust the night before when we had broken bread together; “this is my blood, shed for you and for many, for the forgiveness of sins” But suddenly, there beneath that cross, | began to understand just alittle, only the merest fraction, yet enough to help me realise that wasn’t all in vain: that somehow Jesus was hanging, there for me, for you, for everyone. | still as why, mind you and | think | always will, for I'll never get that picture out of my mind; that picture of Jesus broken on a cross Why that way God and not another? Why not something less brutal, less awful, less messy? Yet the strange thing is that he never asked why, not once in all the days | knew him, Oh, he’d have liked there to be another way of course; he didn’t want to die any more than the next man. But he offered his life, freely, willingly, lovingly, in the conviction that through his dying, we might truly live Nick FawcettMeditation of Mary Magdalene They’re not going to listen, Ican tell you that now, They've always been suspicious of me, right from the start, wondering what Jesus was thinking of, getting mixed up with someone like me. I know what they'll say, you mark my words — ‘Making it all up.’ “Wanting to be the centre of attention as usual.’ “Alovesick fool.’ Not that I can blame them; it didn’t do his cause any good, after all, when I came along. A few tax-collectors those Pharisees could stomach, but me, I really put the cat among the pigeons. I know how the tongues wagged, how easy it became to criticise. Maybe I should have stayed away, kept my distance, but I loved him. No, not in the sense they meant with their sly, dark innuendo, but deeper, with everything Iam, everything I’ve got, in a way that I've never loved before. Yet not even the disciples really trusted me, I know that. They found it hard to accept, hard to forgive what I’d been. And I can understand that — let’s face it, I’m finding it hard to forgive them for running away, failing him when he needed them most. But what | hold on to is those words from the cross: ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” He understood we all fail him, that we're all unworthy, none of us perfect, yet he forgave us and loved us despite that. I thought I’d lost him, the only one who ever truly accepted me, and I was reconciled to struggling on alone, no one to understand, no one to offer their support. But I was wrong, for he came to me. There in the garden, overwhelmed by my grief, he came to me, and hope was born again, Not that I could believe it at first. The voice was familiar, They won't listen, | can tell you that now, ee but then I'm used to that, aren’t 1? the eyes, And it doesn’t matter any more, but I told myself it couldn’t be, for he’s accepted me that it had to be the gardener, as he’s accepted them, Am anyone but Jesus. as he accepts everyone who's ready to respond toh And they'll do the same, I'm sure of it, and receive his forgiveness, tell me I got it wrong, that I'm overwrought, ready to believe anything.