John Mark

He should be in bed. Should have been in bed for some time. But he wasn't. He was clambering over the roof and sliding down the wall, onto the ground. Jesus and three of His friends were just a few feet away as he drew himself into the shadow, realising just what a mistake being wrapped in a white, highly visible, sheet was. He really should be in bed. He loved his parents and wanted to honour them, and bed was where they believed him to be. For a moment he hesitated, almost beginning the climb back onto the roof and then to his space next to the upper room. But that brought back the flood of memories from the extraordinary evening. The pride he saw in his Father as Jesus invited him, as the youngest child present, to ask the age-old question: "Why this night, why this way?", the moving interruption of Mary as she broke the alabaster jar and the extraordinary changes Jesus had made to the formal prayers: "This is my body..."

And now it was too late, with these memories swirling around, he couldn't go back, he had to see how this ended. He kept a safe distance, even though in his heart, he knew that Jesus knew. He had caught a glimpse of Jesus' eyes as they reflected in the moonlight, there was a twinkle in them as He looked in his direction. He couldn't have seen him, and yet... Finally, they were here. Gethsemane, the old Olive grove, a secluded place to pray and a good place to hide.

He watched and listened as Jesus prayed - which was more than His friends did. Twice, Jesus went to wake them, He seemed desperate for company and was clearly distressed. But a combination of tiredness and the wine they had drunk seemed to conspire to make it impossible.  Almost, he had come out from his hiding place to comfort Jesus. Almost, but he had remained, sharing Jesus' anguish at a distance.

In truth, he had no idea what could be causing such pain - tonight was a night of victory - the people were ready, Passover had been celebrated, Jesus was about to be the new Moses, leading the people out from Roman oppression. And yet He cried out to God that He might be saved from the trial to come, prayed for Peter and the others that they would be protected. Suddenly, the night felt chill and the sheet seemed an impossible defence against the cold. He should be in bed.

As he shivered, lights began to dance in the distance. People carrying torches, perhaps the beginning of the uprising his parents had been whispering about. Carefully, he edged closer as Jesus gathered His friends and headed towards the lights. He saw that Judas was with the soldiers and leaned forward to see him greet Jesus - it must be an uprising - fear and excitement ran down his spine, only to be replaced by something much worse. The soldiers weren't following Jesus, they were arresting Him. Judas wasn't greeting Jesus, but accusing Him. Now, barely hidden at all, he watched as Peter swung a sword, catching one of the torch bearers - for a moment it seemed as if it might be an uprising anyway, but Jesus said something to Peter and bent to touch the injured man.

It would be days before he could understand what had happened, so much to take in all at once. Jesus grabbed and dragged into the centre of the mob, Peter and the others running away, a man shouting that he had been healed, soldiers trying to stop Jesus' friends escaping... He just stood, completely in the open now, utterly transfixed. Until one of the soldiers pointed at him and others began to see that there was at least one person they could catch.

He should have been in bed. He ran for his life, sprinting as hard as he could, fearing every moment the agony of a spear in his back. But it never came. Instead, as he ran, he felt something, or someone catch the trailing bit of his sheet. For a moment he held on to it, partly to protect his dignity, but mostly out of fear of what his Mother would say if he lost it. Then he realised the wrath of his parents was far better than being caught and after once last tug, let go of the sheet, causing his pursuer to trip.

He was in bed. But not his own bed. Far from his home. Yet the similarity struck him. Here he was again, wrapped in just a sheet, listening to others arguing, wishing he was anywhere but here, longing for home. And that of course was the problem. He wanted to go home. The adventure had been great, at first. The opportunity to travel with Paul, to be in the centre of the action rather than on the edge of it. And it had been extraordinary. The miracles he had seen, the people they had reached, the places he had visited. But Paul demanded more, more of himself, more of those who would work with him. And unlike Barnabas or Silas or Timothy, he didn't have what it took. He wanted to go home. It felt like failure, it felt like a betrayal - of Paul and worse, of Jesus. Just like that first night when he had longed to be home, in bed.

He had kept busy of course, writing it all down, telling anyone who would listen, and being home meant sharing in all the family business. He heard snatches of news about Paul's mission, had even seen a copy of one of his letters - and such glimpses both warmed him and killed him all at the same time. He longed to be the sort of man who was heedless of his own comfort and safety, who was willing to pay whatever price was required. Because he did love Jesus, but apparently, not enough. And so, he curled up in his own bed and wept. He woke to an insistent banging on the door. Fear turned to astonishment as Barnabas walked in and started speaking.

"You saw a pattern - the enemy highlighted it to you. And you interpreted everything else in that light: A boy, not quite a man, who set out on a path and instead of following it through, ran home. And now a young man, in awe of his hero, setting out to change the world, but when things got tough, ran home instead.

He cringed inwardly at the pinpoint accuracy of what Barnabas said, but before he could muster a response, he continued:

“But that's not who I see, it isn't who Jesus saw. I see a young boy who should have been in bed, but who instead, followed the man he loved. A young boy who courageously stayed when the famous ones ran away. I see a young man who left the safety of home and was undaunted by the perils and persecution that we faced. I see a man who loves his family and longed to be with them, to honour them as well.

And you’ve done the same with your heroes. In, you see a man who refused to include someone, you, who had left his side. You see an uncompromising, single focused zealot who you want to be like, but fall short of. I see a man who, like you, is torn - torn between the bigger call that demands his allegiance, and the needs of those he has served. I see a man who is supposed to be on his way to Rome but who allows himself to stay elsewhere for years - because it has become home to him. The irony is Mark, Paul longs to be able to be like you.

So, it's time to stop trying to be someone else, time to stop seeing yourself through the enemy's eyes. Time to see yourself as Jesus sees you. Come on, get up, it's time to step into the centre - out of the shadows, out of hiding who you are in favour of who you would like to be. I need John Mark with me, not someone trying to be another Paul - are you ready?"

  

He should be in bed. But the prison floor was fine. No doors had flung open as they had when Silas and Paul had been here. But then, he wasn't them, he was him. And Barnabas was there too, still encouraging, still looking at the good in him and in their God. He laughed, and Barnabas smiled. "When we get out of here you need to go somewhere by yourself." In times past, such a comment would have induced fear, now with a new confidence in who he was, he was merely intrigued. "If we get out of here, where do you want me to go?"

"Not me, Paul has asked for you, apparently, to use his words, you are very useful to him"