From the Sanhedrin police records

I am sitting in this cell. Until yesterday, I was the one to put people here. But I’m a fugitive now – at least I was for a few hours.

On the eve of the feast, my master’s lieutenant came to me. He told me to find and watch a certain house in town.

I’m not quite sure what this feast is about. Some spirit or god passing over, or something. I was born far away and my master’s lieutenant bought me off the street in Hebron years ago. Mind you, I don’t even know how old I am.

I know that the feast starts with a big dinner. The people I was told to watch came to this house to have that dinner. There were thirteen of them, and a woman.

They were dressed poorly, even the one who seemed to be their leader. Much like I was found in Hebron all those years ago. I’m much better off now. Well, I was, until yesterday.

I was curious and climbed up on the wall of the house. There was a large crack in the wall. I could see almost everything they were doing.

There was this man, their leader. They addressed him as master, they even said Lord at times. He went around and started washing their feet. It was shocking and gross. I mean, we had to wash our hands and feet on great days, but our lieutenant never did it for us.

Even the other men were shocked and started protesting. But he insisted and said they must allow him to serve them, and that they should do the same to others.

Then I fell to the ground and lay there for hours. I saw them leave – where they went, I didn’t know. I know now.

This whole sight was so unnatural and so unbelievable that I thought I wouldn’t tell the lieutenant about it. For fear they wouldn’t believe me anyway. So I just walked back and told the lieutenant that I saw people go in, and then I saw the same people come out and go somewhere. We left it at that.

But then the lieutenant told us not to go to sleep but gear up. We had to apprehend a group of very dangerous criminals. We gathered and set out in the dead of night. I could see they were upset and these people could be serious criminals because my master the high priest was with us.

We rushed to a place they called Getsemane. They told us to beware of the hostiles. They turned out to be the same people that were dining in the house I watched. They must have had someone else to tell them.

It seemed my master was after their leader. But the others were trying to protect him, and there was commotion. They were really clumsy with their swords. A great burly one slashed at me. I felt pain like never before and I saw my right ear fall to the ground.

Their leader then… he jumped at me, did something that felt like he slapped me, and my ear was back… like nothing happened.

I froze. Then I ran, the gods know where. I don’t know what happened to everyone else. I ran till the sun came up and I hid behind a rock. I must have fallen asleep. My master’s other men woke me and brought me here.

I heard someone say they will give me to the soldiers, the Romans they call them, and they will put me on a cross. Someone even said that the man they caught will be put on a cross, too.

Truth? I don’t care much. I have nothing and I have no one – never had – and now the rest of the world doesn’t make sense either.

They say people get answers the moment they die. So if I’ll be put on a cross, just let them. Maybe I’ll get some answers that make sense. Maybe he will give me answers that make sense.

Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, pulled it out and struck the high priest’s slave, cutting off his right ear. (Now the slave’s name was Malchus.) But Jesus said to Peter, “Put your sword back into its sheath! Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?”

(John 18:10-11)