This was not a good day two thousand-ish years ago, and that is grossly understated. It was certainly not a Good Friday.
Their world had just been blown apart.
Everything they knew for the last three years has lost its hinge-pin. Death can do that, brutal death will do that more, it has a way of destroying every hope in you; it will strip you of your ‘why-a-bouts’ and void your reason without asking your permission or giving you advance warning.
Their reason for being, hoping, dreaming, future, for winning, was just gone. Gone. Gone!
They were terrorized. So, as friends, were trying to regroup and had gotten back together, loosely together, but now what? Would they be next? Who… would be next?
Peter, who usually had all the answers, was uncommonly silent, vacantly silent.
What in the world just happened? How could this happen?
Someone had provided some food, but nobody wanted to eat. Their system couldn’t consume one more thing.
Previously they thought. No, they knew things were going to change. They knew things would soon be very different, but this different? Not this kind of different.
Confidence and excitement were now just a blur replaced by angst and fear. They could vaguely recollect some things said, but it was mumbled in their heads with far-off interior voices.
Who, what, when, why, how? These cycling questions wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop queuing in their brains.
As they looked over at each other, the ‘connection line’ began to thin. Their reason for being ‘with him’ ‘with her’ was gone. Common ground was now starting to have the appearance of foreign soil. Would they still be friends? Could they get through this? Did they even care anymore? Was being here with ‘them’ even safe?
Phrases like; ‘I hoped,’ ‘I knew,’ ‘I couldn’t wait,’ ‘did you see it when?’ ‘He healed him,’ ‘Oh and look. Lazarus, back from the grave!’ These phrases exited their mouths with almost every exhale.
This was a house of confusion, a house of mourning.
This was Friday, but it didn’t feel Good.