John 18:1-11

Those eyes. They will never leave me…

I still can’t really explain it. It had been ordinary night orders, something reserved for rowdy criminals we wanted to catch by surprise, or ones whose arrest might lead to a public scene. This was the latter.

We had all heard the stories, even a few within our ranks claiming this man had benefitted them with miracles. If he really was doing what people said he was, why bother him? I mean, I get it. Civil unrest, peace between our subjects and our empire, potential militarization of the masses. But keeping me from bed for a craftsman from nowhere?!

Still, armor was donned, torches were lit, weapons made ready, and we marched. No activity in the streets, no sound save our foot falls, no light except ours and those through the distant trees growing larger and larger.

Then they were before us, only ten or so men all looking tired, anxious, frightened. All except for one. The money-loving traitor received a push in the back from our commander, then shuffled forward toward one, who stepped confidently toward him. A kiss was exchanged, our signal, as well as some words. We were ready to act swiftly, but before our orders were given, the man stepped forward again, past the traitor and towards us.

His was a face at rest, as content as though he were in his home, enjoying his family having just shared a delicious meal.

“Who are you looking for?”

His words filled the silent space around us, a presence to them that was claustrophobic and comforting at the same time.

After a significant hesitation, our commander replied, “Jesus of Nazareth.” His voice never seemed so small.

That’s when it happened. This man, Jesus, calmly spoke three words, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, trying to catch my breath. As I squirmed in the dirt, I assessed. No one was behind or above me. His people hadn’t moved either, but seemed as shocked as we were. I rose to my knees, then to my feet, completely unsure of what to do next. I looked in the direction of my commander, but again Jesus spoke first.

“Who are you looking for?”

Every one of our company tensed, ready for the force behind his words, whatever it was, to knock us down again. We braced as our commander again said, “Jesus of Nazareth.” We were ready this time, gripping our weapons tightly and standing as though we were about to be charged by an oncoming army.

“I am He.” Jesus said it again, same as before, but nothing happened this time. I looked to my peers, but they were still on their feet, exchanging glances as their muscles lost some of their tension. Jesus continued, “I already told you that. If I’m who you’re after let these men go.” As he said that last statement, he gestured behind him, indicating that he was speaking of his men.

The image from that night that has stuck with me all of these years was not Jesus’ face, nor my view from the ground when mere words forced me to it. It is that moment when Jesus stood between us and his followers. Jesus walked calmly towards us, allowing himself to be restrained and led away by a Roman army. Our company began to move, but I was still frozen, staring intently into those eyes. They were still wide, having frozen the moment Jesus demanded he be let free, the hand of the leader sweeping across all of those standing behind him, protected by his presence, and not stopping before it came to rest on him, the traitor.

Those eyes, frozen in shock over their unbearable freedom. They’re still with me.