The Disciples (Holy Week Devotional)

*Note: In honor of Holy Week, I will be sending a daily devotional each day this week, with the final one coming on Saturday. Each devotional will focus on a different individual or group who features prominently in the story of Jesus's crucifixion. I hope these daily devotionals will help you as you fix your eyes on the cross and eagerly anticipate the joy of Easter Sunday.*

“All of them deserted him and fled.”

- Mark 14:50

What a week it had been for the Twelve. From a victorious processional into Jerusalem on Sunday to a controversial purging of the temple on Monday to an enigmatic, sacred supper earlier that Thursday night, the disciples were by Jesus’s side for seemingly every moment of that week in the Holy City. They were his right-hand men, his loyal followers, his closest friends. Wherever Jesus was going next, they were sure to be close behind.

And then, suddenly, they weren’t.

When Jesus had emerged from a moment of private prayer in the garden, they had yawned and sheepishly accepted his scolding—instructed to pray themselves, they had instead drifted off to sleep, weary from the eventful week and the late night. But their tired eyes had quickly grown wide with fear when they saw who was approaching: their companion Judas Iscariot, leading a small regiment of temple guards. Simon Peter had drawn a sword in defense, striking one of the guards, but was once again scolded by his master. There would be no battle tonight, only a long walk to the high priest, a false trial, and a hasty conviction—and Jesus would have to endure it all alone. At the moment of greatest testing, with their Lord being led away to an uncertain fate, the disciples deserted him and fled.

I’d like to think I’d have done better. I’d like to think I’d have shown the bravery of the women who came to the foot of the cross, that I’d have stood by Jesus to the end. I’d like to think that my love for the Lord would have overridden my fear of his accusers, that I’d have valued my relationship with him more than my own skin. I’d like to think I’m a better disciple than the ones who fled that night.

But I can’t know for sure. I’ve had too many moments of spiritual weakness, made too many moral compromises, and turned my back on God too many times to be sure. I’ve behaved like a sinner too many times to assume that, if I’d been in the garden that night, I’d have acted like a saint. I hope I would have stood by Jesus—but I just don’t know.

What I do know is this: while we were still sinners—while we were fleeing his punishment in terror, while we were cowering in the upper room, while we were denying we even knew him—Christ died for us. The disciples deserted Jesus and fled, and we do the same today more often than we care to admit. But he never leaves us.