My
name is Herut, it means freedom or liberty, I think my parents named me with
hope, for I was born into a time of oppression, a time when the Romans held our
city and the religious rulers seemed so often to collude with them in an attempt
to keep the peace. I guess that is why Jesus and his followers were so
exciting, there was something free about them something almost wild, wild yet
gentle, and strong; Jesus was strong and confident. I was there as the
remarkable events unfolded, I saw him break bread and pour wine, I saw his
followers confusion at his words; but I wasn’t one of them at the start, you
see my father owned the room, and I was sent to clean it, to make sure they
were all comfortable, that they had everything they needed.
There was something about them, something that exuded hope even in the darkest times, that
is why following his death my father allowed them to stay in the room they’d
rented; they had stayed in our room much longer than we’d expected, usually Passover
pilgrims came and went, but this group had stayed much longer, in fact they’d
been with us for more than 50 days now. We felt for them at first, saw their
devastation at Jesus trial and crucifixion, heard their sobs and silences watched
that first Sabbath as hope left them, knowing we could do nothing to comfort
them.
Then
slowly things began to change, news started trickling back that death had not
held him, and like Lazarus, only a short time before him, he had left the tomb
empty for he was alive. But Jesus had called Lazarus out, and we had seen God’s
power at work in him, could it be that his Spirit was so strong, so powerful
that death didn’t stand a chance?
He
came to them on a number of occasions meeting them in the room, teaching them
dispelling their fears, he appeared and disappeared at will, even locked doors
were not a barrier to him. I watched as his disciples struggled with all that
was happening, though their despair was eased, their confusion continued, when
he was with them they were filled with joy, when he left questions were raised
and hope struggled with the enormity of it all.
One
day they returned to us quiet and thoughtful, as I waited on them I heard them
talk of Jesus returned to heaven, swallowed up in the clouds. He was gone, Jesus
was gone. They spoke of angels, and of his command to wait, to watch and to
pray, they encouraged one another with whispered promises of a gift to come
upon them, of power from heaven, of a Spirit who would be comforter, counsellor,
and guide; and so the waiting began.
They
prayed, morning, noon, and night they prayed, hardly pausing to eat, they
watched and waited, waited and waited, their prayer was sometimes fervent,
sometimes silent, sometimes they wept, and others they praised, hope rose and
fell in them like the tide…
Then
one day just after dawn, when hope was at its lowest ebb, when all their
waiting had seemed in vain, the Spirit came; tongues of fire danced above our
heads and the wind wrapped itself gently around us weaving its song into our
souls. Hope was reborn. As the desert drinks in rain and flowers at its touch
so our souls flowered that morning, and I was not excluded from the gift, all
those present were filled to overflowing with joy, and assurance and a power I
cannot begin to describe, strong but gentle…
At
first we were stunned into silence, collectively holding out breath which was
expelled all at once in an awe filled sigh. Then we began singing and praising,
laughing and shouting, tears were rolling down our cheeks and our hearts were
filled to bursting with love.
As
we sang we realised that we were all singing in different tongues, but strangely
we understood one another…
Then
stranger still, the doors to our room burst open as if the room itself were
praising, and we accepted the implicit invitation to go and to sing our praise
through the streets of the city. A crowd soon gathered of course, gathered to
see what this crazy group were doing….
Some
shook their heads and declared us drunk, and we were drunk, drunk with joy and
renewed hope…
Then
Peter stood and spoke, his voice commanded a silence, and as he continued he
exuded truth, real truth, and there was power in his words. He spoke of Jesus,
of his death and resurrection, of God’s plan come to pass, of the Spirit given
for all who would dare to change, and believe…
And
they came, a trickle at first and then a torrent of people pouring through the
streets to find Peter, to embrace life in a new way, they came some in tears,
some in silent awe, some rejoicing….they came, and there was no end, no limit
to the Spirit, and new life was given to all who would receive it…
As for me, I finally grew into my name, I was filled with hope, even when persecution came that hope did not abandon me, for there was always more to life than the eye could see and the mind could contain...
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