I had watched as my son-in-law, Simon gave up fishing and his boats, and even his wife, my daughter, to go and follow him.
We thought he was mad, stopping what he’d dome since he could walk, catching fish, to go and catch men.
Excuse me, but what on earth did that mean, my daughter and I wondered. And we weren’t the only ones either.
And how would we be looked after, if there was no man to provide for us?
We were looked after, though I often as not couldn’t for the life of me figure out how, when we needed something, be it clothes for the growing children or bread for the table, it would sort of just arrive.
I can’t explain it, but if anyone ever asked, I said it was through God’s grace.
Then one day, Simon came back home, with the man who he’d went off to follow a few weeks earlier. By then, everyone was calling Simon Peter.
Peter, a rock. Mmmhhh….the less I say about that the better.
But when Simon returned, it was with that man, and a group of 11 others who the man had also called to follow, came to the house, I was seriously ill.
Maybe even dying. My daughter had tried to get word to Simon, but we had no idea where he was.
As soon as the man heard I was so ill, he came and took me by the hand and told the fever to leave me alone and it went.
I was totally back to my usual self, and having guests in the house, I went and served them their meal.
It was a joy to have Simon back. It was a joy to see my daughter and grandchildren so happy.
But you know what, the biggest joy was seeing that man.
What sort of man could do what he did?
Cure me for illness and make that group of men, who I think wouldn’t stand the sight of one another in other circumstances, follow him and work together.
So I began to follow to.
I couldn’t do what the men did, be with him all the time, but I knew, just knew that he was the one.
The one who would save God’s people from the oppression of the Roman Empire.
I knew he was the Messiah.
I knew until today, when I was in Jerusalem, watching with that crowd as he carried his cross up the hill to the place of execution.
I, along with other women who’d come to know and love him. Follow him, even, were wailing. Crying in despair that this was happening to him.
He’d never done anything wrong. He’d only taught love and peace.
But he’d become too much of a threat to those in charge, so it had come to this.
We needed a miracle today. A greater sign of God’s grace than my daughter and I had received to clothe the children and put bread on the tabe.
But it didn’t come. God was nowhere to be seen.
And all we could see was this man, this good man being led to his death.
Some Messiah, eh?