I happened to glance at Joseph. The old man was watching and waiting—waiting with obvious trepidation for me to abandon the reporter’s role and assume the part of a probing Roman tribune bent on discovering the truth for his Christ Commission. Joseph’s waiting was over.

“Peter, you were undoubtedly the closest to Jesus of all the apostles, were you not?”

He nodded.

“But Jesus had never told even you, in so many words, that he was the Messiah, before you spoke up at Caesarea Philippi, isn’t that true?”

“That is true,” he admitted, sitting back in his chair as if he suddenly felt a need to increase the space between us. As he retreated, I moved forward and planted my elbows on the tabletop.

“Peter, I think I can understand why Jesus would not want the people to be told that he was the Messiah. His life was already in jeopardy, and such an announcement from any of you would have surely hastened his end. But why didn’t he tell you, his closest and most trusted friend, who he was? Why did it finally fall upon you to tell him?”

He didn’t reply. I tried again.

“Just as important, how did you know he was the Christ since he had never told you so? Obviously none of the other apostles thought he was, or they would have spoken when he asked them. How did you know, Peter—or were you just speaking words of flattery that you thought would please him and lift his spirits?”

“I knew!”

“How?”

“Had you heard him speak or seen his miracles, Matthias, you too would have believed. Had you been witness when he cured the man with leprosy and the centurion’s servant with palsy and the woman who suffered twelve years with an issue of blood and the daughter of Jairus and the man with the withered hand and so many others that their names would fill your book—then you too would have known that he was the Messiah!”

“And the others who accompanied him and observed the same deeds and works that you did: why did they not know what you professed to know?”

“In time, all their eyes were opened to the truth,” he said.

“Including Judas?”

His shoulders sagged. No answer. But he was hanging tough and I couldn’t help admiring his patience. Careful, I thought. Remember why you’re here. I said, “Throughout the history of the Jewish people there have been many unusual tricks of magic performed that were called miracles by the people. Tell me, how do you describe a miracle?”