There are those who speak now with authority of the great abandonment, as if they were there, as if they know without doubt's shadow. My question for them is 'Were you there when they crucified my lord? Were you?' I was and I believe it was divine bewilderment: 'My God, how could you have done this to me? I cannot be allowed to die so young and so close to the top!' He was courage struggling for oxygen.
Then he was finished.
Afterwards, it was strange, for most of the visible disciples scattered while the secret ones walked into view. Moments like that remind you of the folly of judging the follower's heart. Joseph, Nicodemus, and those fierce women performed a necessary, valiant compassion. Later, I found myself walking, searching the heaven and earth of my mind, trying in some way to restore the arch to the sky, desperately measuring the grains of time that might transform catastrophe into tragedy. But death's pall was too thick, it was too soon. I had followed him into the smoke and fire, and I was left bearing the witness: 'My God, how did this happen? What on earth was he doing?'