Posted by: Postordinandy | November 7, 2014

John 18 (pt 7)

So recently declaring a messiah present,

So confident he would follow to beyond the ends of the earth,

So certain of his faithfulness,

Hands still speckled with blood hewn from violent defence,

Ears ringing with the echoes of his initial denial…

.

Creeping into the flickering darkness,

A chance to redeem his cowardice rises with the flames,

But once again the cold water of self-preservation,

Extinguishes such bravado with three short words:

I. Am. Not.

.

The servant brushes his own ear gingerly,

Remembering a cousin’s tale of brutality and restoration,

Questions the shadows again.

And treason in triplicate flows from the troubled tongue:

You are mistaken, it was not me.

.

Even as the last syllable is leaving his fearful lips,

The opening cough of the cockerel breaks through the darkness,

Closing the evening where everything changed,

Ushering the new morning, where the world will stand still.

Holding its’ breath, waiting for redemption.

.

“Meanwhile, Simon Peter was still standing there warming himself. So they asked him, “You aren’t one of his disciples too, are you?” He denied it, saying, “I am not.” One of the high priest’s servants, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, challenged him, “Didn’t I see you with him in the garden?” Again Peter denied it, and at that moment a rooster began to crow”. [John 18:25-27]

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