Peter was surprised and a little mystified when Jesus instructed them to return back across the Sea of Galilee and leave Him here. The crowd took almost a full hour to disperse. Hundreds pressed forward for a last word, to see Jesus or to grasp His forearm and reconfirm their willingness to start the march then and there.

Finally Jesus turned to Peter and instructed him to take the others and return across to Bethsaida without Him.

"But, Lord!" Peter began to protest. "Surely we can't all go and leave You here alone . . . "

Jesus stopped him with a raised hand and reminded him that He would not be alone, glancing upward. Involuntarily, Peter's eyes followed Jesus' glance, but he didn't see anything except the dying purplish hues of the sun's last rays tingeing some of the highest clouds. But he knew what Jesus meant. He meant angels. Peter knew that Jesus relished spending time alone in wilderness or mountain areas praying. Peter had become accustomed to Jesus' early morning disappearances by now, but he was genuinely concerned about leaving Him over here in these rugged lands of crude villages.

He knew the people were not all as civilized and friendly as those who were even now trudging toward their homes, supposing Jesus would be leaving with the boats.

What if a few of them returned to make sure?

But Jesus insisted, so Peter and the others returned to the shore, and, after giving a small tip to their youthful boat watcher, they poled away from the shore to catch the night breeze that would force them to lie closely to the wind, tacking their way across. Peter's lifelong experience with the sea had conditioned him to this daily phenomenon. And, though he couldn't explain how the cooling air descending over the lake would be drawn toward the ovenlike heat and dryness of the Arabah to the east in a daily cycle of thermals, he was wary enough to know that sometimes those late afternoon and early evening breezes could whip up dangerous whitecaps.

With Peter at one tiller and Andrew at the other, the journey began.

Only a few minutes from shore Peter lit their shielded light and hoisted it on the mainmast, where Andrew, tacking along behind, could catch sight of it.

Some of the others immediately lay down to sleep, and Peter was content to man the tiller, bracing his elbow against it to steady himself as the boat began rearing to meet the oncoming waves like a spirited horse. Before long it appeared another full gale would soon be blowing.

Everyone had left the bow and foredeck and was either in the tiny cabin or below right before Peter's feet, where the hatchway shone dully with flickering orange light as someone moved in front of the oil lamp he had lit.

Peter always worried about some lubber casting about with a lamp below decks lest a fire occur.

The growing shriek of the wind made Peter reluctantly decide to heave to. His mind went back to that other time when he had been severely frightened and he flushed with embarrassment at the recollection. But Jesus was not aboard to calm the winds this time, and, with the quartering waves already beginning to come aboard as green water smashing against the coamings and hissing along the scuppers, it was time to heave to.

The sail was like a living thing. It obstinately tried to throw them into the sea or smash them against the mast as they struggled to quiet its wild flappings. But in due time they had it furled and lashed in place, and there was nothing left but to keep anxious eyes on the wind and check their leeway to make sure they weren't pushed aground against rocks that would pound holes in the bottom. The big sea anchor was out, and Peter guessed they weren't making more than two knots to leeward, if that.

Andrew had followed his example when he saw the dull whiteness of Peter's lugsail disappear, and Peter could see the faint outlines of the other boat about a hundred yards to port, the bows coming almost clear of the water as it rose up each crest, the wave passing amidship to pitch the boat sickeningly into the trough. The wave, passing under the stern, caused the boat to pitch steeply forward, and then another would burst against the bow, forcing it up steeply again like a bucking horse.

Peter felt cold water splattering across his ankles. Looking down, he was just in time to see water coming out of the hatchway. John, or someone down there, had opened the lower hatch to the bilges then and had organized a three man bucket brigade.

The working of the seams in these rough waters would have added several inches to the bilge.

Peter thought of growling at someone to send another man to the top of the hatch, handing the bucket free of the hatchway before slopping it along the deck like that, but his feet were thoroughly soaked anyway, so he said nothing.

Instead, he lashed the tiller, knowing it was practically useless with their heavy sea anchor out, and climbed atop the cabin to lean back against the mainmast. He listened to the creaking sounds, felt the hum of the lines transmitted to the mast, gently throbbing at his back. When the rising bows met each larger wave, the boat was suddenly snubbed short by the drag of the sea anchor. Much of the wave top crashed over the bow, flinging spray against Peter's back even at this height.

His thoughts turned back to the scene on the heights, and he felt stirrings of doubt and discouragement again. It would have been a marvelous thing, he thought, if the Lord had acquiesced to the suggestions of the leaders over there; they could have made six or eight miles before dark, and in the days ahead they could have grown larger in each town or village they passed. They could have been twenty thousand strong by the time they reached Jerusalem!

Peter's mind whirled with conflicting thoughts.

Sometimes, guiltily, he found himself wondering if he were a part of some mad dream. The familiar sights, sounds and smells of his own fishing boat probably did that to him, and spending some time with Beth and the children at home. In a way, his anticipation dulled by reality, his hungers satisfied and a new experience under way, Peter could vaguely berate himself for enjoying these brief visits home, for he found himself with the same mental conflicts that had torn him before.

He would say the most outrageous things to himself. "Is He who He really says He is?" "What am I doing here?" and, "Why me, of all people? Why does everything always have to happen to me?" Then, perversely, his mind would say, "Shut up, you fool. Haven't you seen the miracles with your own eyes" (it was positively puzzling how a fabulous miracle could lose its luster with the passing of weeks or months, but it happened), "and haven't you seen a consistency in the Lord's behavior, a determination and dedication that would shame any lesser man?"

Peter found himself going back over his entire life now and then, nostalgically reaching back to his youth.

He had not been a particularly happy youngster, though there were the moments of excitement or triumph which came along to counter the times of sickness, grinding poverty and disappointment.

He fancied this wind blowing his hair, rattling the lines, creaking the mast and causing the boat to plunge like this was blowing unimpeded clear across the great sea, all the way from Italy.

Out there, on that great sea back about the time Peter's father had been a small boy, the greatest naval battle of all history had occurred.

Peter had seen relics in the homes of coast dwellers who claimed this or that piece of wood or portion of sweep or oar had come floating ashore months after the galleys of Antony's and Cleopatra's fleets had suffered defeat at Actium.

His father had told him of the great battle, how it was said there were at least two hundred ships on each side and how the ships of Octavian, lighter and far handier than the ponderous battleships of Antony, had made use of quick skirmishing tactics, avoiding closing with the huge ships whose heavy artillery could have crushed them, and had won a great victory.

It had been on the second day of the Roman ninth month, Peter remembered—it was a date his history teacher insisted he remember—when the great naval battle had been fought and Cleopatra suddenly withdrew her squadron of vessels when she saw how the battle was going. The historians claimed Antony was shocked and outraged and slipped off behind her, leaving his fleet, which was subsequently set on fire and mainly destroyed. Thousands of men had died with the ponderous hulks. Many, laden with the huge throwing stones, had sunk to the bottom, taking their hapless galley slaves with them still chained to their seats.

Would there ever be a time of peace?

Wars were being fought here and there even now, Peter knew. Scarcely a ship arrived from Rome or Africa that did not bring news of some new conflagration somewhere.

Out there at the very source of this wind that whipped up these waves, Peter imagined, there might even now be some great naval battle occurring, or perhaps the ships of Roman trade were plunging along, carrying cargo or fighting men to some distant shore.

Peter felt movement below him and heard John grunting with exertion as he climbed up to seat himself beside Peter, leaning partly against Peter's shoulder and partly against the mast.

'Another windy night," John said.

"It'll die down in another hour or so. It always does," Peter said, and then wondered why he had added the thought.

"How do you think Jesus will come back to Bethsaida?" John asked.

"Do you worry about Him?"

"Yes, I do, although I guess I shouldn't," John admitted.

"John," began Peter, "do you believe the Lord is really going to carry through with His plans to set up His kingdom?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Yes, I guess so, but it seems He is always hesitant just when the time is ripe. Like only hours ago that crowd was ready to take Him on their shoulders and begin marching to the streets of Jerusalem," Peter said, not without chagrin.

"You heard what He said," John chided. "He has some greater plans that He gets from His Father in heaven. He is on some time schedule He says we can't understand yet.

"I know, but I wish I could understand it, then perhaps I wouldn't be so anxious."

"Well, you know what He says about patience."

"Are you patient, John?"

"Oh, I find myself growing impatient for something dramatic to happen just like everyone else, I suppose, but I have seen so many astounding miracles by now I guess I have learned to wait on Him to decide. Besides, He keeps saying it is not for us to know the times and seasons, and even hints that He might not know exactly. It's like He is waiting for some sign from above. "

"But it seems such a waste," Peter countered, "to allow that enthusiastic crowd to disperse when there wasn't a single Pharisee among them. We could have grown into four or five times that number by the time we reached Jerusalem."

"Peter," John said with a touch of irony, "remember David's sin? He numbered Israel." And then, to avoid seeming overly critical, "Don't you believe that a man who has the power of raising the dead, of changing water into wine and even calming the winds and waves, could do anything He wants to do without the support of a screaming mob?"

"You're right, John," Peter answered, shifting position so as to ease his back against the mast.

The two fell quiet, for it was an effort to speak above the howl of the wind through the rigging and the splashing of the waves against the bows.

What was that? Peter thought he heard a thin, piercing sound, almost like a scream from a vast distance. Looking toward the other boat, he thought he saw a pair of wildly gesticulating men. They were yelling thinly, the wind distorting the sounds, and pointing. Just then a loud yell sent the hair along his neck rising when someone right aft by the tiller screamed out, "It is a spirit! A spirit! A spirit walking on the water!" said John, right in his ear.

Peter's eyes followed the pointing arm and there, ghostlike in the dim light, was a human form gliding slowly across the waves toward them.

Peter felt his sharp intake of breath, the quickening of his pulse, as he grasped the mast and rose to his feet for a better look.

What would Jesus do if He were here? What would He expect them to do?

Rebuke this creature? Drive it away? He found himself passionately wishing Jesus were here, or hoping James or John, or someone, would stand by him and help.

It was coming closer and closer, and Peter found his palms sweating (even though the breeze was cold) and his scalp prickling. What would Jesus expect him to do? Well, He's expecting you to handle the situation like He would, Peter answered himself.

Some of the others were babbling excitedly and pointing, and, as if hearing their voices, the figure turned toward them and said loudly, "Cheer up! Don't be afraid! It's Me!"

They all recognized the voice instantly. "It's Jesus! someone said.

Peter wondered. What if they had made a mistake? Was it really Him? He thought he knew a way to make sure if it were really Jesus. He called out, "Lord, if it is really You, then bid me to walk out there to You on the waters, just like You are!"

"Come ahead!" Jesus called.

Peter lowered himself over the thwart, stepped on the water, and, seeing Jesus' robe faintly shining in the darkness, actually began to walk on the water toward Jesus. But, as the wind blew harder and Peter began to look around him in amazement at the waves that were splashing over his feet, dumbfounded that he was able to actually walk on liquid, he began to sink!

Frightened, for though he was a strong swimmer he was fully clothed and he knew he might drown in this heavy chop, he began to shout at the top of his lungs, "Lord! Save me! Save me."'

Immediately Jesus walked to Peter and, stretching forth His hand, grasped him and said, "Oh, you of little faith, why did you doubt?"

Holding Peter by the arm, He strode directly to the boat and, climbing up over the thwart, went into the boat. Immediately the wind ceased.

Peter and the disciples, seeing this utterly fantastic occurrence, all knelt, bowed their heads and said, "Truly You are the very Son of God! "

Excited babble broke out among them as Jesus descended into the ship and seated Himself.

John looked at Peter, strode aft to unlash the tiller while Peter struggled to get the sea anchor in.

Peter got the message in the look.

It was as if John were saying, "See, didn't I tell you not to worry?"

With the sea anchor gotten in, sails hoisted and both boats slowly under way again, Peter had time to ponder this remarkable experience. He looked overboard there at the waves and water he had known all his life and thought, "Did I really do that? It was incredible."

He tried to recapture what had gone through his mind when he had first taken that foolish, daring, frightened, courageous step (for it had been all those things, he guessed) and actually stood, right back there about a hundred yards or so, and walked. And it had felt just like walking on some solid yet gently fluid or moving substance, a strange sensation indeed!

Strange that as long as his mind kept saying, "He's doing it—we're both doing it," he was getting along fine, taking step after step. But the moment his mind told him to look down into the water itself, see the slosh of waves over his feet and wonder how this could be possible, he felt himself being engulfed, like the water was slowly admitting his body as if he had stepped into a pool of quicksand. With his mind on Christ, he admitted, he had accomplished (or God had, rather, he corrected himself) an absolute miracle, and with his mind on himself he had canceled out the miraculous power.

Peter was embarrassed. He had let Jesus down again.

When the Lord had said, "Why did you doubt?" He had said it with a smile, almost as if He had been disappointed too, and like He might have enjoyed a walk out there with Peter on the waves. The weirdest thoughts that suddenly came made Peter involuntarily chuckle out loud. He could almost see, in his mind's eye, what might have happened if he hadn't gotten frightened and had to cry out to be rescued. Why, the whole two shiploads of them would have probably followed suit, and he could imagine how incredible it might have looked to some poor fisherman in a passing boat to see about thirteen grown men cavorting about on the water. Thaddeus would have probably tried handsprings, Peter thought, and the unfortunate fisherman would have probably never touched another drop of the grape for the rest of his life.

It could have been quite a story, but now Peter hoped they wouldn't bother telling it.

Jesus had said He wanted to go to Capernaum this time instead of Bethsaida, so Peter changed course. Some of the others could return the boats so Jona and Zebedee wouldn't have to send servants after them or come themselves.

It was graying in the east, the marbled columns of the Public buildings near the bay in Capernaum faintly gleaming in the half light. Peter and Andrew warped their boats alongside as John and Simon leaped ashore with the hawsers to tie up.

They unloaded their packs and sent two men ahead to inform the servants in the Lord's house He would arrive within a few minutes.

Peter hoped they didn't have to face some large crowds this morning, for his legs had long ago reminded him how many hours it had been since he had last lain abed. Strange that it seemed like a week or more since he had wakened out of warm, deep sleep alongside Beth and then began the journey across the sea, but it had been only yesterday.

They trudged through the lightening streets, their footfalls echoing faintly from the walls as a curious face peered out of an upper window now and then.

Twice they passed small groups of people leading their donkeys laden with foods from the countryside, farmers heading to the marketplace, intent on arranging for a choice stall to sell their food.

Little could Peter know that the next few hours would bring another of these emotion-charged, heated confrontations—and, of all unbelievable things, with some of the very people who had only yesterday been ready to hoist Jesus upon their shoulders and march on Jerusalem!

The women were busily preparing food as the men arrived, stowing their dunnage in various rooms, washing up and expecting a good breakfast and perhaps a nap before noon.

Peter ate with Jesus, James and John, while some of the others dispersed on errands of their own or retired to the sleeping quarters to snooze.

Peter's mind seemed to hear, from a vast distance, a dim voice in his ear. He thought for a moment he was back on the boat with the rocking motion he felt. But then he came fully awake and here was Mary gently pushing on his shoulders and saying, "Peter! Wake up! There is a large crowd gathering outside. Some of them are saying they came all the way around the north shore from a meeting the Lord had yesterday. They have asked around the docks and in the streets, and they say they know He is here."

Peter sat up, ruefully regarded the sun's shadows that told him it was barely midday, scratched his hair, ran his hands over his beard to smooth it and stood, hating the smell of his own clothes after several soakings, for he hadn't bothered to change.

"Where's Jesus?" He asked.

"He's sleeping upstairs," she answered.

"Well, you'd better wake Him while I go see what's happening," he instructed, and then turned toward the door at the end of the main court. Halfway there he thought he had better answer another even more urgent business first, so turned aside, Went out through the kitchen, and stood against the back wall of the old building adjacent to the house.

Peter returned to the door, hearing the noisy crowd outside, and was opening the door when here came Jesus behind him, and the people who were noisily calling to each other and talking loudly, catching sight of Him, let up a cheer.

Oh! Peter thought, Mary was right. Some of these men are the same people who were over there yesterday.

About that time one of their number stepped forward and said he had rowed clear across the lake in the early morning stillness. He said, "Master" (calling Jesus "Rabbi," or "Teacher"), "when did You come over here? "

At this, Jesus said a positively astonishing thing, making Peter's eyes involuntarily blink in total surprise.

He said, "You're not looking for Me but because you are hungry again. Don't seek for the bread that fails! You're not here because you saw signs and wonders, but because you think I'll feed you! Don't labor so hard for the bread that will perish, but labor for the meat that will never perish, unto eternal life, which the Son of Man will give unto you, because Him has the Father sealed.

Peter was shocked.

Why was He insulting these people who had worked so hard to catch up with Him? Many of them had puzzled, almost hurt expressions, and the man who had been admonished about being more interested in getting a free meal than the spiritual things was positively furious.

Why did Jesus insist on making people suddenly come face to face with themselves? Peter knew the feeling; it hurt like a whip. And he guessed the man who had been brought up short was miserable just now, having been soundly rebuked in front of his peers.

". . . Bread from heaven," Jesus was saying, as Peter noticed Luke scribbling away at his ever present slate, and there was Matthew, and even John, all doing the same thing, as if all of them expected this would develop into something they would want to record.

Peter listened attentively. Some kind of argument was developing over "bread," probably because the man had been stung by Jesus' words about the "bread that perishes" and the admonition to seek for "eternal bread." Jesus was speaking in similes again, using analogous representations, knowing full well that most of the people wouldn't understand what He was saying.

"Well, Moses gave our fathers bread from heaven, and yet they are all dead . . ." countered one.

"No, it wasn't Moses who gave your fathers that bread, but My Father, who gives you the true bread out of heaven. The bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven and gives life unto the world."

Puzzled, the spokesman for the crowd said, "Then, please, Lord, give us of that kind of bread. We would like to eat only that bread from now on!"

Was there sarcasm in that statement?

Jesus said, "I am the bread of life. He that comes to Me will not hunger, and he that believes on Me shall never thirst. But I said unto you that you have seen Me and yet believed not. All which the Father has given Me shall come unto Me, and him that comes to Me I will in no wise cast out. For I am come down from heaven, not to accomplish My own will, but to do the will of Him that sent Me. And this is the will of Him that sent Me, that of all which He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day!

"For this is the will of My Father, that everyone that beholds the Son, and believes on Him, should have eternal life; I will raise him up at the last day."

Peter heard how the leaders of the religious sects grabbed this opportunity and began to murmur and gossip among the crowd concerning Jesus because He claimed, "I am the bread which came down out of heaven." One of their leaders said, "Isn't this that Jesus, the one who came from Nazareth, Joseph's boy, whose own father and mother we know?

"Since we know of His boyhood and background, and the town in which He lives, how in the world can He now claim, 'I am come down out of heaven'?"

Jesus said, "Don't bother wondering and spreading doubt among yourselves. No man can come to Me except the Father which has sent Me draw him, and I will raise him up at the last day!

"Sure, your fathers ate manna in the wilderness, and nevertheless they all died! This is the bread which comes down out of heaven that a man can eat of and never die! I am the living bread which came down out of heaven; if any man eat of this bread he will live forever. Yes, and the bread which I will give is My very own flesh which I will give for the life of the world!"

Immediately following this powerful discourse, a hubbub of shouting arguments broke out among the spiritual leaders' caucus. Some in outrage and amazement said, "How can this Man give us the very flesh of His own body to eat?" Others were saying, "Now He is advocating cannibalism! Well, I never heard of such a thing! Did you hear that?" Other such complaints were rumbling through the crowd.

Jesus said, "Truly, truly, I am telling you this: Except you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life in yourselves!

"He that eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For My flesh is meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He that eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him. As the Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he that eats of Me, he also shall live through Me, because of Me.

"This, meaning Me, My life, My body, is the bread which came down out of heaven, not as the fathers did eat manna in the wilderness and still died, but he that eats this bread will live for all eternity! "

At this Peter and many of the disciples were dumbfounded. They did not understand the saying any more than did the religious leaders. Judas seized the opportunity to attempt to disaffect others of the disciples, and one of them was heard to say, "This is a really tough thing to say. Who in the world can listen to such words and understand them?"

But Jesus, knowing that His disciples were murmuring, answered, "Does this cause you to stumble? What then if you should see the Son of Man ascending up to where He came from? It is the Spirit that quickens, that makes alive; the flesh profits absolutely nothing! The words that I have spoken unto you are spirit and are life! But there are some of you" (casting His eyes over Judas and some of the others) "that believe not!"

Jesus knew from the very beginning who they were who would not believe, and which one of the disciples would betray Him. He said, "For this cause have I said unto you that no man can come unto Me except it be given him of the Father!"

Peter was shaken to his boot soles. What was Jesus doing? Why, with only a few words it seemed the Messiah would wipe out all these months of hard labor!

The rumble of male voices rose to a cacophony of sound as dozens broke up into argument and vehement protest.

"What is this, anyway?" Peter heard one say. "Who ever heard of someone eating the very flesh and drinking the blood of another man?"

"Yeah! What a violation of the law itself! " chimed in another. "How can He be saying such things?"

"No surer way to turn the people away," said a small swarthy fellow from the Negev beyond Jordan, identified by his dress. "The people won't support foolish talk like 'drinking blood' and 'eating flesh' from a leader." His voice was drowned by dozens of other similarly outraged as snatches of protest reached Peter's smarting ears.

Peter tried to stop some who were disgustedly making as if to leave. Shaking off his grasp, one hawk-faced fellow, an obvious leader of a sizable group, said, "Go away, Simon. Maybe you don't care about your wife and children, but the rest of us are sick and tired of waiting for the revolution! We came out here for action, and at no small cost to ourselves, not to be harangued with strange sounded words about drinking human blood! "

Peter's frantic gaze saw how James, John and even Bartholomew and Simon, the dark Canaanite, had surrounded Jesus, thinking He might be in danger.

He worked his way closer to the Teacher, wanting to speak to Him about all this, when Jesus, looking straight through him, it seemed, said, "Well, Peter are you going to leave Me too?"

The shame of Nazareth came back to Peter. The racing thoughts tumbled through his mind in quick succession as he remembered the incomprehensible miracles, the magic basket of fish and bread, walking on water, the changing of water into wine and even the raising of the dead!

It was as if his whole life flashed in front of his eyes in only moments.

He was torn with indecision for what seemed like an interminable period of time. Here was the very cream of their future officer corps; the trained, experienced, loyal, hard-working, dedicated cadre of their future government disintegrating right before their eyes! Why, it was mutiny! Yet Jesus stood there like a captain on the quarterdeck with his crew jumping aboard his cutter, bailing out, leaving the ship and yet doing nothing!

Why didn't He raise His voice and rebuke them? Why didn't He somehow correct the misunderstandings? Surely there must be some way to modify the hard words He had used; surely He didn't literally mean there would be some bizarre ceremony in which they would have to partake of His own blood?

The steady eyes were unnerving and calming at the same time. Peter thought about returning to the tedious boredom of his nets. He thought longingly of whiling away the time when the lake was too rough for fishing in front of his own fire with Beth and the children, or sitting in the door of one of his favorite shops in Bethsaida, exchanging the latest news from the Persian caravans or travelers from Greece or Rome. He thought of that moment when his brother Andrew had found Peter working on his nets and had said breathlessly, "We have found the Messiah!" The scene at Nain flashed through his mind when Jesus had stopped the men carrying a wrapped body on a bier and the young man had been raised from the dead! The resolve Peter had made after Jesus found him in his boat and used it as a speaking platform came back suddenly.

He had made a commitment. He had decided he would follow this Man to the death. This was disaster. It was a major setback, but it wasn't as if all was lost. There were, Peter had learned on many an occasion when half a catch had been lost through the ripping of a net, "other fish in the sea." He would stay. No matter what. Besides, Jesus was more than just an ordinary human being, Peter knew that! Somehow Peter knew, he wanted to know, that Jesus was really who He said He was! He could re-gather those men in an instant, probably! He could raise up another group! Why, perhaps He intended letting them go back to where they came from knowing they would be replaced by another force their same size with the rest of the disciples, and the ones who were even now noisily leaving their company would become unwitting recruiters for yet additional hundreds. After all, they couldn't forget, nor could they deny, the experiences they had shared!

No, he would not leave!

He met the level eyes. The question had been put squarely to him, and a number of others were waiting for his answer.

He said, "Lord, where shall we go? You have the words of truth about living forever, and we have believed, and we know that You are the Holy One of God!" Peter hadn't intended to say it just exactly like that, but somehow the words had come tumbling out. He had felt like he was being guided by an unseen force, like he had been intended to say those words. Besides, the ones on the fence needed to hear some encouragement!

"Wasn't I the One who chose all of you, all twelve of you, and yet one of you is a demon?" said Jesus. John was writing hastily, recording the whole scene, Peter knew.

Well, not all of them had left, but too many, Peter thought. Still, he got the point. Jesus reminded them that "many were called, but few were chosen" The twelve had been chosen, hand-picked, specially selected.

If Jesus had chosen the twelve with such deliberate care, and even after an all-night prayer (which Peter knew about), and yet had intentionally allowed Himself to include a thief like Judas among the twelve and even allowed Judas to handle the money when He knew Judas was a thief, then Jesus must have foreknown His strong words about His body and blood would drive many away.

He never did anything without a purpose in mind, Peter supposed. So maybe He even knew which ones would leave and why and which would stay and why.

Probably.

The days that followed were sober times.

Peter's doubts came up like bile in his throat time and time again when he thought back to the scene. The group had been like a tightly knit cadre of brothers commonly bound together by the deepest commitments.

Their fireside talks had been punctuated by the rough good humor of co-conspirators, men of the land and of the sea who would seek to right the wrongs, overthrow the profligate, pot-gutted pompous asses of the Romish puppet governments, and restore the Jewish state to its rightful greatness.

Hadn't each one of them heard the prayers of their elders?

Hadn't they listened by the timeless hours to the reading of Isaiah or another of the prophets, and the cantors of the synagogues or the scribes in the marketplace talking of the promises to "the daughter of Zion" or the great promises of the prophets directed to the "cities of Judah"? Surely it was time. Surely Jesus, the very Messiah, the miracle worker from Galilee, was the One! Or was He?

Peter found himself retracing his thoughts back to the beginnings of his acquaintance with Jesus. He had completely mystified Peter on more than one occasion when He didn't measure up to Peter's idea of what the Messiah should be like.

Peter's memories sawed at his conscience when he thought of his many mistakes in harshly speaking to Jesus because he misunderstood. Like that time when he had said without thinking, "Lord, save us—we're about to drown. Don't You care?"

But each time Peter went through this exercise he progressed quickly through all the experiences with Jesus, all the incredible miracles, and came up with the same answer.

"He really is the very Son of God –I mean, the real One—the very divine One who came from a miracle from God, the Redeemer, the Savior, the Messiah! " Peter knew it, and still the lingering doubts assailed his mind.

Days passed without any major events.

Soon some of the leading Pharisees from Jerusalem were said to be finding lodgings in Capernaum, and Peter heard rumors in the shops that they were preparing questions about the disciples' eating habits. Judas had bought some supplies, and several of the others had heard loose talk about the casual manner of the disciples, that of simply wiping off the outer dirt from fruits, or scraping a choice vegetable with a knife, or brushing a succulent grape against their garments before popping it into their mouths.

No doubt they were here because of the rumors of dissidents having left Jesus and they hoped to find His popularity on the wane. Well, they were due to bitter disappointment, Peter thought.

The disciples carried the tales to the Lord, and He seemed willing enough to meet these Jerusalem Pharisees and their scribes over the issue of "defiled bread," or ceremonially unclean food.

Peter was told that the Pharisees were gathering outside His house and that they had been talking up His alleged infraction of law—the encouragement of His followers to ignore the ceremonial washings—and that a large crowd had collected, waiting to see what Jesus would say. The disciples told Jesus about it, and Jesus went out to listen to their complaints. The Pharisees and scribes asked Him, "How come Your disciples do not live according to the tradition of their elders, but eat their food with ceremonially defiled hands?"

Jesus retorted, "Well did Isaiah prophesy of you hypocrites. As it is written, 'This people honors Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me. But in vain do they worship Me, teaching as their doctrines the precepts of men.'

"You wholly reject the commandment of God and cling to your traditions.

"Listen to Me, everybody, and understand this! There is nothing from without the man that going into his body can 'defile' him! But the things which proceed from within the man, those are the things that defile the man! "

Jesus went back into the house and Peter and His disciples gathered around Him, asking Him what He meant by the parable and telling Him that "of course you know the Pharisees were terribly offended when they heard this saying!"

Jesus said, "Every plant which my heavenly Father has not planted will be rooted up. Don't bother with them, let them alone! They are blind guides, and if the blind guide the blind both will stumble into a pit!"

Peter spoke up and said, "Explain to us the parable, will You, Lord?"

Jesus, looking at Peter in gentle rebuke, said, "Are you also without any understanding?

"Don't you understand that whatever it is from the outside environment that goes into a man cannot defile him, because it doesn't enter into his heart—that is, his spirit, his mind or his character—but it enters into his belly and eventually passes out of the body through the elimination tract?

"But the things which proceed out of the mouth of the Man stem from the innermost thoughts of his heart, his Mind, his conscience and his character.

"For from within, from the heart of man, proceed evil thoughts: fornication, thefts, murders, adulteries, covetings, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness and evil interpretation of things, rantings and railings, pride, foolishness, false witnessing and every assorted form of evil!

"All these things come from deeply within the man, and these defile the man. But to eat with hands which have not been ceremonially scrubbed time and again can never defile a man!"

Peter's ears burned, and he felt his neck warming, supposing it was flushing and giving away his embarrassment before all the others. Of course. He should have seen the analogy before he opened his big mouth again, but somehow his impetuous nature seemed determined to make him plunge on like a madly galloping horse stumbling straight into the midst of a snarling pack of she-lions.

He felt like a fool.

But he understood.

With his usual incisive logic, Jesus had made it clear that no amount of ceremonial washings, scrubbings, pourings, launderings or soapings could make a man truly clean. The freshly washed Pharisee was still a murder—plotting, conniving, lusting, greedy, backbiting, self-righteous, thieving son of a . . . –no, he shouldn't say that—who was black dirty inside.

Peter supposed it was a good thing God hadn't made evil thoughts as obvious as dirt or disease. Lounging around the kitchen long after the others had gone to bed that night, Peter sipped meditatively at a skin of Galilean wine and tried to sooth his injured pride.

Jesus was asleep upstairs, and the others were in various rooms; some had decided to remain out in the courtyard since the night was balmy.

Thinking over what the Lord had said, Peter allowed his thoughts to stray to Judas again. Judas seemed very careful when it came to washings and ablutions, and he was always making some comment that seemed to Peter critical of the Lord, complaining when Jesus would instruct him to go into the shambles and buy a choice leg of lamb, that perhaps they could have gone without meat on this day (since the Pharisees fasted twice in the week, and the disciples almost never did) and saved the money, or, better yet, give some small offering to the poor.

Peter wondered at that. Of all their number, Judas was the one most like a Pharisee. He spoke continually of generosity toward the poor and harped on paying strict attention to religious custom as if he were afraid to offend the religious leaders. Why?

Peter had never known a person any more sensitive to his personal reputation than Judas was. Yet Peter knew John suspected Judas had been possessed of sticky fingers now and again. Did Jesus know? Of course He did. Hadn't He said one of them had a demon? The Lord seemed to have some sixth sense; He could virtually read their minds, so Peter suspected that Jesus knew whatever it was Judas was doing.

Tilting his head back, he raised the wineskin to his lips and allowed another small sip to trickle down his throat. The Pharisees had tried to be "astonished" at Jesus' doctrine again, and an angry muttering had ensued when some of them tried to take special exception to Jesus' calling their myriad laws and regulations the "commandments of men" and their own "traditions."

Peter was learning. The ultimate in hypocrisy, he guessed, was a simpering, holier-than-thou, posturing, pretending, busily scrubbing Pharisee half-drowning himself in ceremonial ablutions. Thinking back to Jesus' rebuke and His strong words about the thoughts of the heart, Peter guessed those Pharisees' hearts were about as slimy and black as Peter's own hands after cleaning a whole catch of fish. He knew it was inevitable that a man ingested some "honest dirt" in his lifetime, and had wondered about it. But Jesus had made it plain that honest dirt that might find its way down an unsuspecting gullet as a part of a meal, or from unwashed hands, didn't "defile" that man spiritually. It might make him sick, Peter guessed, if he ate enough dirt, but it didn't defile him in God's sight.

And here were the Pharisees (and Judas, some of the time) scrubbing away, washing, dipping, pouring and trying to remain spotlessly clean, all the while thinking thoughts of avarice, greed, hatred, lust, vanity, plotting how to trap Jesus. Well, Peter thought, closing up the wineskin and returning it to its peg on the wall, he wasn't the only one whose ears had burned today; a whole flock of Pharisees had gotten it worse than he had.

He'd better get to sleep, he supposed, for, judging by the sonorous sounds coming from the common court through the door, the others were oblivious by now.

He had heard the others saying Jesus was thinking about a trip to the northern seacoast soon. Peter could relish that possibility; they would be in the Syro-Phoenician seacoast and completely away from the Pharisees who trailed along after them, probably. Maybe it would be a vacation of sorts.

Peter's mind grew sluggishly tired with thoughts of miles of white beach, bright sun dancing on a crashing green and white surf, and some interesting talks with some of the saltwater fishermen in the area.