The Last Night.

I got home quite late last night, and realised that this would've been about the time that Jesus was on trial with the Sanhedrin. It got me thinking about the events of that evening. Below are three little snippets, of a similar space in time, but each from a different point of view.
NB: these are completely fictionalised, and not meant to be an accurate representation of what happened, nor will they necessarily perfectly align with what is written in the gospels. Give me a little creative license. They're meant to provoke thought and to see this in a different light.

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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I knew that I needed to do something. Jesus was - out of control. Driving people out of the temple? Saying that it would be destroyed? Even coming back to Jerusalem - when the people here had tried to stone him before. Something had to be done.
So I talked to the priests, and they said they could help me. I didn't want them to hurt him....I didn't want them to hurt him....
I told them not to send soldiers with me. I said it was pointless, we never had any weapons. But they insisted. I should have left then. But instead, I led them to him, a wolf in amongst the sheep....
And a kiss. Betraying him - with a kiss. I can't forget how he looked at me. Like he knew. He knew. But how? How?
It all went so wrong from there. They took him and beat him, imprisoned him - this isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I meant to happen! But then, what did I expect?
I threw their dirty money back at them. It felt like a dead weight in my hands. Each footstep felt like a struggle. I wept openly. What had I done?
I couldn't bear it. I couldn't look at him. He....he saw right through me. I had to escape. To escape this anguish and misery. To give myself what I deserved for this. I knew where they would take him now. To his death. It will be mine as well.

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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

We had just marched victoriously into Jerusalem, triumphant, secret no more, people finally seeing Jesus for who he was. They finally got it. We had been hiding and running from town to town for so long - but now, we were here, in Jerusalem, announcing our arrival! We felt like kings. We did feel a little scared at first, because we knew that the people hadn't received Jesus so well there before - but we didn't need to be. They were laying down their cloaks, waving palm branches, shouting praises to Jesus.
And then we celebrated the Passover with him - and he said it was going to be our last meal together. We didn't understand - where was he going? And then he said that one of us would betray him - and that we would all leave him. I told him emphatically, that I never would. That I would stand by him until the end. How could I have known what was going to happen?
Later that evening, everything changed. Men came in with swords and clubs, led by that dog Judas, and arrested Jesus. We ran. All of us. We feared for our lives. But I tried to follow them at a distance, to see what would happen to Jesus. They took him into the house of the high priest, and a few others started a fire outside to keep themselves warm. It seemed it would be a long night. It was quite cold, and so I drew a little closer to the fire. One of the serving girls spotted me, and declared, "You were with that man Jesus!" They had just arrested him. I still feared for my life. The response was instinctual. "I don't know him." I tried to hide myself. A little while later, someone else accused me, but I was again too scared. I denied it. A third time, just as Jesus was coming out, another spoke to me, saying, "Certainly, you were with him. You are from Galilee." I exclaimed in panic, "I don't know what you are talking about!" The rooster crowed. Jesus turned and looked at me. Or rather, looked through me. How could he have known?
I ran, and I wept. I had abandoned my closest friend. How could I look on his face? How could I stand his gaze?

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It happened just as my Father said.

I drew my brothers together for a final meal. They still did not understand, but they could sense the importance of the occasion. I shared the bread and wine with them for the last time. I sent Judas, whom I loved, to do what he must. Then I told them what I had known since I first saw them - that they would leave me, at the end. Peter, of course, headstrong as he is, said that he would always stand with me, even if everyone left. I looked at him sadly, for I knew the truth. "You will deny me three times, Peter."
We went to Gethsemane. I have always loved the place, and I needed some time to be with my Father. I knew what I must do - but I needed his strength, that night. They were many long hours. I was glad of the company of the three beside me, even if they could barely keep their eyes open. I prayed fervently, for my flesh was weak. I knew what lay before me, and part of me was scared. But my Father gave me strength.
Then he came, with the crowd. So much noise. I think they expected a fight, with all the weapons they brought. Everyone else ran when I went with them.
They took me to the high priest, who questioned me, and insulted me. I stayed silent. Everything was already decided. I knew that, even as he was speaking, Peter was just outside, denying me; Judas, running away. My heart ached for them.
They led me back outside, and I saw Peter for the last time. It broke him. Forgive him, Father. He does not yet understand. But soon, he will.

It is only Friday. And the sun has not yet risen.