In the boiling-pot of Passover,
the radical preaching of Jesus was dangerous;
unacceptable to the authorities tasked with promoting peace on the streets;
with protecting the tourists and common visitors gathered for the festival.
This was a situation that was soon to morph into open rebellion,
whence the people fell victim to the edge of Roman swords,
or hung in thousands from roadside crosses.
The elders attempted to negotiate, set up a meeting in the dark of night,
sent an escort to lead Jesus from Gethsemane to the council chamber
where he refused to compromise with inevitable results.
Perhaps he thought that the people would rally to his support.
Perhaps he misjudged his impact on the capital city
after his successes in the countryside;
for they did not back him up;
he was left to his fate;
deserted.
Left to Roman justice,
to crucifixion and ignominious death;
But his tale had been told, his work done.
The world would never be the same again.
It was only later that the disciples reviewed their actions;
reimagined that bloody pain-filled death into heroic mode
put dramatic speech in place of screaming agony;
sacrificed reality in
the pit of sacrament.
In fact, they knew little of the deed.
They fled back to Galillean poverty,
in terror of a similar fate.
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