As I look back, upon my travels with Him, every time I cannot help but feel a hinge of regret. Regret that I traveled with Him? Not at all. Traveling with him changed my life. Regret that I didn’t see, that I didn’t fully believe sooner. Regret that I wasn’t all the more faithful when he was still with me. I am also not the same from when he called me.
From the beginning it was like nothing else. Here is this Rabbi with crowds upon crowds following him. At that time he already had a following, those who were interested. I was interested. We had heard all about him down by the shores, but we were lowly fishermen. Even though we hear of news, we keep to ourselves. Like a dog longing to enter into the home, but having to stay outside because he is a dog, so we were when we saw the crowds speak such excitement of this up-and-coming Rabbi.
But what does he do? He comes down to the sea. He walks along and speaks to us fishermen, “Come follow me” he says. He chose us. We were the lowly of the low. Dirty, despised, looked down upon. And yet this great teacher chose me. He chose us, Simon and Andrew, James and John and I, the fisherman of the twelve who were called to follow Him.
There was excitement at first; I felt a peace at heart when he called me. But soon I found my self skeptical. Who was this man?
We followed him closely for three years. There were times when I longed to go back fishing, during the trying times I dreamed of the sea. But my teacher showed me such grace. During the times when my heart be came skeptical and critical, my teacher reassured me. He would look me in the eyes, and in his eyes I could see the peace of the universe, and he would speak to me in such a reassuring way, speaking what he first spoke to me “follow me.” There were times when it was as if he was reading my mind, or even more, my heart, and he would say in the most loving and reassuring way “follow me., As if saying that his way, that He was the right way to follow. How could I have doubted? How could I have been skeptical, critical for a moment? So many miracles followed this man, and yet he found time to work on my heart, to disciple me with his unending mercy and grace, reassuring me every time the thought of doubt entered my mind.
There was a time when we traveled up through Judea. The other eleven seemed dismayed, uneasy. I realize their uneasiness was much attributed to the growing hatred by the Pharisees, which in turn caused hatred among the people. Many feared death. Many feared the death of our Lord. This seemed to be one of the few times that my heart did not fail me. “Let us go, that we may die with him.” How could I leave such reassurance? Such forgiveness? Such mercy? Such grace? I felt as though I would leave this life for him.
It was not long after this that we were in the Garden. They came, brought to us by one of our own. A deceiver. The guards surrounded and took our Lord, though he went willingly. And we scattered. One moment speaking of our never-abandoning faithfulness, the next we were gone. He was in the hands of the religious system. They beat him. They tormented him. They lifted him up, high above the ground, like a common criminal, this man, my Lord. And they killed him. I was broken. They killed my Lord. How could they do such? It was not after that I remembered my Lord speaking of such that was to come, in the past of the future.
The apostle banded back together, but I was still torn, numb. I kept to myself. But then there was talk that he wasn’t in the tomb. That he had arisen. I couldn’t believe this, was this true? I didn’t have my Lord with me to reassure me. There was even greater cry amongst the other eleven when they claim that our Lord appeared to them, even with all the doors and windows shut up. I was jealous and hurt that he had not appeared to me. “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” They called me the ‘doubting one.’ But like my Lord, my savior, constantly reassuring me, he appeared once again, more than a week later. We were all together in the house, locked up once more, and the Lord came to us. “Peace be with you” he spoke so beautifully. Then he turned to me, and with that loving, merciful, graceful and gentle look; “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” With this revelation to me, I was only able to spill out five words. “My Lord and my God.” For this truly was my Lord, and this truly was God. My God. “Have you believed because you have seen? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe” he spoke to me.
He showed me such mercy and grace, such love and patience. When I questioned, he comforted, when I doubted, he reassured in life and in resurrection. I am not the same as I was when I began my journey with my Lord. I once lived and doubted; now I have died unto myself, and believed.