Journey into the Garden

Grandkid during communion at front of church yesterday as his grandfather (Me) began to offer him bread: "I don't need any; I got gum."

Makes me wonder how many of us say to Jesus? "I don't need any; I got ..."

I don't need any peace; I've got my own.
I don't need any salvation; I've lived a long life as it is.
I don't need any deliverance; Nothing could do that anyway.
I don't need any bill help; I work. I'll figure it out.
I don't need any help with my joints, or my hips or my back. I've got pain pills.

Thank you all the same.

This week I want to take a few minutes of your time to look at Holy Week through the eyes of some who usually don't get much attention, those who didn't need any Jesus because they had Caesar. Let's look at what happened through the eyes of certain Roman soldiers. Those who simply drew assignments that would have them part of the New Testament throughout time.

We begin with Malchus.

He tells us: A group of us, an entire battalion in fact, went with this Jew, Judas, across the Kidron valley from the city that night, a Thursday I believe. Our oders were to arrest this Jesus. We believed him to be in one of his common spots, the Mount of Olives, and we had taken one of his disciples, this Judas, with us to mark the rebel. Despite all he supposedly had done, none of us knew what he looked like.

My name is Malchus, and I am the high priest's servant, a job I am ashamed of. I should be with the 10th Legion fighting in Asia. Instead, I serve under Pilate here in this hole and even worse, he appointed me to work under (I do not serve under him; I would not, I simply would not) the high priest Caiaphas.

It took half a day to walk out of the gates of the city, across the valley (which was filled with the graves of both gentile and Jew) up the side of the mount. The night came upon us as we journeyed. By the time we walked into the Garden they call Gethsemane, it was dark. We lit torches to give us light as we walked among the large Olive trees that looked almost human in their strangling roots and their seemingly moveable faces.

His followers were separated. We figured that out quickly. Judas greeted some of them and asked where Jesus was. At first, his disciples didn't want to give up that information, but they did under pressure.

We walked farther, and there in among the thickest of the trees, were three men. Judas walked tentatively up to one of them, the smallest interestlingly enough, and he kissed him on the cheek.

This man moved forward and asked us straight on, "Whom are you looking for?"

I answered, looking at my note given to me by Pilate himself, "Jesus of Nazareth."

He didn't hide at all. "I am he," the man said. As he said that, for reasons none could explain to me later on threat of death even, my battalion of men fell to the ground as if struck by flaming arrows.One moment they were standing, the next they were on the ground, embarrassed and shcoked.

Once more he asked us, as if the previous conversation had not taken place, "Whom are you looking for?"

I answered the same way, though much softer as if I didn't want the same thing to happen to my men (and myself I admit) again. "Jesus of Nazareth."

He said, "I told you I am he. And since I am the one you want, let these others go." I looked round for the first time and saw that all the disciples had joined us. I was even more uncomfortable. Some had weapons, and they all were rugged and tanned and in good shape. I didn't care for the way this was going. It needed to be ended quickly.

I quickly moved to take the wrist of this rebel, but amazingly one of his disciples -- before I could move -- lashed out with a sword. I had been in battle across the world and never been injured. Here in a garden of Olive trees, in a soundless, dark night, suddenly my right ear was gone. I was in instant pain as I grabbed the side of my head. Blood gushed. I looked for the culprit but he was being held by three soldiers. He was a strong one.

Then this Jesus did the most stunning thing. "Peter," he said. "Put your sword back into its sheath. Shall I not drink from the cup the Fther has given me?"

As this Peter did so, Jesus walked up to me. I was hesitant. What was he going to do to me? Jesus raised his hand and gently placed in on the side of my head. I felt sick to my stomach for a moment, then I felt, uh, what? I felt strong. Stronger. I felt, well, healed.

My battalion still was in chaos. The force that had knocked them down still was unknown. They had seen their commander, me, attacked and yet had done nothing. Now they watched as I was healed by the very one we had come to arrest.

They were frightened, stunned and breathless.

What would happen next?

What did was not what we thought. This Jesus simply surrendered and asked us to leave, with no harm coming to any of his men, including this Peter.

In the face of such power, I allowed this to happen.

We marched back across the Kidron, coming into the Sheep Gate late in the evening on the night before Passover was to begin. I was totally unsure what was going to happen to this man, this Jesus of Nazareth, but I was completely sure that he was more than a man. Much more. My ear was testimony to that. It was gone; then it was found and re-attached to my head. With power such as this, maybe this man was what they said he was.

I had heard whispers all day that this man was the Messiah, the one who would deliver these Jews out of slavery. I thought that laughable, right up to the moment my ear rejoined my flesh.