John/Galilee Bridge

The road kept carrying them north.

Behind them lay Jerusalem.

Ahead lay Galilee.

Between the two, the disciples had too much time to think.

The genealogy conversation spread only in fragments. Joanna did not turn Mary’s family into public entertainment. Nicodemus, despite his excitement, understood the difference between discovery and gossip. The women stayed together for a while afterward, and the old teacher eventually moved ahead to Joseph, still muttering names under his breath.

Thomas found Matthew sometime later.

Simon the Zealot was several paces ahead.

The road narrowed, and the three gradually found themselves close enough that one conversation became unavoidable.

Thomas kicked a loose stone.

“They are still there.”

Matthew knew who he meant.

“Rome?”

Thomas nodded.

“The council too.”

Matthew looked toward him.

“And?”

Thomas stopped walking.

“What does resurrection mean if the men who killed Him still have power?”

Simon slowed.

Then turned.

“That is what I want to know.”

Matthew’s eyes moved between them.

Simon folded his arms.

“We thought redemption meant Israel free.”

“Free from Rome,” Matthew said.

Simon gave him a look.

“What else would it mean?”

Matthew did not answer immediately.

He had once collected Rome’s money.

He knew what imperial authority looked like when it entered a village.

A soldier did not need to explain power.

A tax table did not need a parable.

Men knew.

Thomas looked north.

“He is alive.”

“Yes,” Matthew said.

“Pilate is still governor.”

“Yes.”

“Caiaphas did not vanish.”

“No.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened.

“Then something about the victory is not what we thought.”

Simon exhaled through his nose.

“I thought the Son of David would break the oppressor.”

Matthew looked at him.

“You thought that very loudly.”

Simon almost smiled.

“And you helped collect for the oppressor.”

“I did that loudly too.”

Thomas laughed.

For a moment the political tension loosened.

Then Matthew’s expression became serious.

“When Rome says it has authority, everybody understands.”

Simon nodded.

“Soldiers.”

“Taxes.”

“Courts.”

“Execution,” Thomas added.

The word quieted all three.

They had seen what Rome did to Jesus.

Not as an idea.

Not as something written in a report.

They had seen the result on His body.

Simon looked toward the hills.

“If He has won, I want to know what He won.”

Thomas nodded.

“And why the people who killed Him are still standing.”

Matthew resumed walking.

“Apparently that is what Galilee is for.”

Simon followed.

“He had better explain it.”

Matthew glanced at him.

“You always did know how to phrase a respectful question.”

Simon looked back.

“Former publicans should not lecture anyone about manners.”

Thomas laughed again.

They walked on.

The question remained.

Jesus was alive.

Rome still stood.

How could both be true if Messiah had won?

* * *

The conversation did not stay with those three.

Questions rarely did on that road.

By evening James had heard part of it.

Andrew heard another part.

Peter heard enough to become irritated without anyone being certain whether the irritation was directed at Rome, the question, himself, or all three.

They camped where travelers could rest safely enough.

Food was divided.

Water passed from hand to hand.

The road’s dust settled into clothing, hair, sandals, and every fold of fabric.

Simon sat near Matthew again.

That alone would once have seemed unlikely.

James lowered himself nearby.

“So what did you expect?” he asked Simon.

Simon looked at him.

“From Messiah?”

James nodded.

Simon stared at the small fire.

“Israel restored.”

“That is not strange.”

“No.”

“The kingdom of David?”

“Yes.”

“Justice?”

“Yes.”

“Enemies judged?”

Simon looked at him.

“Yes.”

James glanced toward Matthew.

“And you?”

Matthew’s mouth shifted.

“I expected to survive my occupation long enough to become respectable.”

Simon snorted.

Matthew smiled.

Then he answered seriously.

“I knew what Israel hoped.”

“But?”

“I had spent too much time serving Rome to imagine Rome would simply agree to leave.”

Simon’s face hardened.

“I did not expect them to agree.”

“No,” Matthew said. “I gathered that.”

James looked between them.

“Neither of you expected Messiah to die.”

Silence.

“No,” Simon said.

Matthew shook his head.

James looked toward Thomas.

Thomas was listening from the other side of the fire.

“You?”

“I expected Him not to die.”

Thomas’s answer was immediate.

“After Lazarus, I thought death had become something He did to other people.”

John, sitting nearby, looked over.

Thomas continued.

“He called a man out of a tomb.”

“He walked into danger knowing exactly what they wanted.”

“He told us He had power.”

Simon nodded.

“He could have stopped them.”

John remembered the garden.

The soldiers falling backward.

Power without a sword.

“He did not lack the power,” John said.

Everyone looked toward him.

“He stepped forward.”

The torchlight returned in his memory.

“Whom seek ye?”

Jesus had not been discovered hiding.

He had gone out to meet them.

Simon stared into the fire.

“Then that makes the question worse.”

John understood.

If Jesus had been helpless, the cross could be explained as defeat.

But He had not been helpless.

He had allowed the road to Golgotha to continue.

Thomas spoke quietly.

“He told us it was coming.”

Nobody answered.

That was another problem.

Jesus had spoken about suffering and death before Jerusalem.

They had heard Him.

They had not understood.

Peter, a short distance away, went very still.

James saw him.

John saw James see him.

No one mentioned Caesarea Philippi.

Not yet.

No one repeated Peter rebuking Jesus for speaking about death.

The wound was still too close.

Simon finally said:

“Then maybe the question is not only why Rome is still standing.”

Matthew looked toward him.

“What is it?”

Simon’s eyes moved toward John.

“Why did He choose that kind of victory?”

John had no answer.

The fire snapped.

Somewhere beyond the travelers, an animal moved in the dark.

The question joined the others.

* * *

The next morning Peter walked alone.

John let him.

For a while.

Then Peter slowed just enough that John caught up without making the decision obvious.

Neither spoke.

Peter’s hands opened and closed at his sides.

After several minutes John noticed the right thumb move slowly across the left palm.

Once.

Again.

Like a man feeling a rope that was not there.

John knew the motion.

Net.

Work.

Boat.

Something a fisherman’s hands knew before his mind had to explain it.

“You miss the lake,” John said.

Peter did not look at him.

“I miss knowing what to do.”

John waited.

Peter’s jaw shifted.

“I knew what to do before.”

“You followed Him.”

“Yes.”

“That did not always mean you knew what you were doing.”

Peter finally looked at him.

“That is unhelpfully accurate.”

John smiled.

Peter did not.

“I left the boat because He said follow.”

“Yes.”

“I followed.”

“Yes.”

“I said I would die with Him.”

John’s smile disappeared.

Peter’s eyes remained on the road.

“I said everybody else could be offended and I would not.”

John said nothing.

Peter’s voice became flatter.

“He told me what I would do.”

“You did not believe Him.”

“No.”

Peter swallowed.

“Then I did exactly what He said.”

John could hear the courtyard without Peter describing it.

The fear.

The denial.

The rooster.

Jesus turning.

Peter looked away.

“And then He came to me.”

The private appearance.

Peter had never told John the details.

John would not ask now.

“He came to me,” Peter repeated.

His voice roughened.

“He is alive.”

“Yes.”

“He spoke to me.”

John waited.

Peter’s throat moved.

“And I still do not know what I am.”

John turned toward him.

Peter laughed once, bitterly.

“That is impressive, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“To know Messiah is alive and still not know what to do with yourself.”

John walked beside him.

Peter’s thumb crossed his palm again.

“I know what a net feels like.”

John looked toward his hand.

“I know how weight changes when the fish turn.”

“I know how a boat leans when men pull from one side.”

“I know when weather is changing.”

“I know what rope does when it is wet.”

He looked north.

“I know how to fish.”

John heard the ache beneath the ordinary words.

Fishing was not merely occupation.

It was an identity Peter could still locate.

Jesus had called him away from it.

Jesus was alive.

But Peter did not yet know what resurrection meant for the man who had denied Him.

John did not tell him.

He could not.

That answer belonged farther ahead.

* * *