Joseph of Arimathea made one of his rare interruptions. “Matthias, try to imagine that small band of men, crushed by events, leaderless and frightened, hiding here behind locked doors. They were, every one of them, uneducated and penniless and, for all they knew, fugitives in a city where the authorities had already nailed their leader to a cross. For many months they had followed Jesus back and forth across the land, enduring abuse and privation and threats. And now, this sorry lot—having lost everything at Gethsemane, including faith in their master and hope of sharing his promised kingdom—were preparing to flee forever from this city of danger and broken dreams.”

John took up the story line. “None of us ate the food that had been prepared for us. We sat around the table, as we had done on that last night with the Lord, and many cried in self-pity despite everything that Peter and I tried to say to convince them that there was more to celebrate than there was to grieve. Some even blamed Jesus for their predicament, saying he had deceived them with his promises and his miracles and they had sacrificed everything to go with him and now they had nothing. Others agreed he was a good man and had brought relief to many, but certainly he was not the Messiah, as Peter had announced at Caesarea Philippi, for no Messiah of the Jews would have allowed himself to be humbled and shamed as the Romans and the high priest had done to him. Peter, stubborn Peter, continued to remind them of the empty tomb until Thomas, in a fit of anger, rushed from the chamber saying that he intended to borrow a lamp from the widow Mary and go to the grave, that moment, to see for himself. After he was gone, I locked the door again and the words continued to fly back and forth until several of the men wearied of the bickering and prepared to leave, saying they would travel north, in the dark so they could avoid all patrols.”

“Wait!” Joseph cried, rising from the table.

He beckoned to John and the two of them went out the door. The old man returned alone and sat opposite me, his eyes burning with an intensity I had not seen before.

“Matthias, can you truly visualize the defeat and despair that hung over this room on that night? Can you see those frightened men of the earth and the sea, their weary faces streaked with tears of sorrow and disappointment, their shocked minds thinking only of their own safety—cringing here just as they had done in the woods for two days?”

“Joseph, I am a writer, you know. Of course I can.”