Malchus Mortified

Brother Peter was a torn man. 

After attempting to remove my head with his sword, and succeeding only in slicing through my right ear, and then scattering with the rest of the eleven disciples, he could not fully acquiesce to either the compulsion to flee or to fight. 

His immortal soul (for I now knew he possessed one, as do we all whether we like it or not) was urging him to stay close to the One who was his Master. His flesh desired nothing more than to hide in a cave until his terror had passed. Or to rampage through the gathering of his enemies committing mayhem.

His soul was ascendant for the moment, so like me, he followed the mob of priests, officers and soldiers, but from a distance.

I confess I never liked Annas as High Priest, or as a person for that matter. He is arrogant and his sense of entitlement is exceeded only by his conviction of self-importance. His son-in-law Caiaphas, a product of an arranged marriage, is obviously poured from the same ambitious and self-serving mold. These men are without real morals, hypocrites, and ruthless beyond reckoning; willing to undertake any action to preserve their own self-interests.

Deception, extortion, murder, and any other vile and evil strategy come as naturally to them as decay to a corpse.

I was thus more than a little sympathetic when Peter began his trifold denial of Jesus. After all, when in a pit of vipers it is understandable to tread carefully so as not to receive a fatal bite. And burly, towering Peter was anything but inconspicuous and could hardly remain unnoticed.

Yet, I was also mortified by the fact that it was my cousin who was the last straw in the Apostle's moral and ethical downfall. First the servant girl, Rhoda, then those gathered around the fire against the night's eery coldness, and finally my own relative, all challenged the Galilean's allegiance to this Criminal.

Each time, Peter became more vociferous and emphatic in his betrayal, his panic rising with every confrontation.

He was tested in this way, I have come to believe, precisely because he was hard to ignore, and because he was the only one who had raised sword in defiance of authority. Having taken such a stand, it is hard to fade again into the background. And as the singular victim of his attempted resistance, I was hardly unknown in the High Priest's household.

I was only later informed of the added divine irony of this episode - Peter's equally vociferous and emphatic boasting of loyalty and commitment to the Christ only hours before, even declaring his desire to die rather than deny his Lord.

But Jesus knew what would happen, and loved him anyway.

In all this, I was very thankful that I was not the one in Peter's shoes. What would I have done?

Would I have betrayed the One who had shown me such compassion and miraculously healed me?

Would I have tried to save my own life at the expense of denying Him?

I do not know, but I suspect my courage would have failed me, just as Peter's did during that chaotic and horrible night when Goodness itself was subjected to the rampant evil of mankind - subjected to it in order to defeat it finally on the Cross of Death.

And herein lies my deepest mortification - that we humans are so far fallen that God Himself had to suffer at our hands to redeem us from the curse of our own depravity.

I say this having seen Him, and been touched by Him, the Man who took upon Himself our own flesh and blood in an act of such selfless and humble condescension that no mere human imagination could have conceived of such a plan. 

In that brief and violent encounter in the Garden of Gethsemane, I was shown both the depths of Christ's love and the vastness of His power. It was strange beyond anything that words could possibly describe, and it ripped open my heart even as my ear was healed.

I saw Him, and in His kindness, I saw that I was his diametric opposite.

His absolute purity against my defiled and corrupt uncleanness.

His all-encompassing love against my small-minded and vile hatred.

His power against my delusional weakness.

And I was undone.

Never again will I be able to look at myself as other than completely unworthy in the face of His unspeakable worthiness.

In the years since, I have been asked what I thought about Judas in relation to Peter. Both men betrayed their Lord, why was one forgiven and the other condemned to Perdition?

My answer is simple. Peter repented and sought forgiveness. Judas regretted and sought release. Judas wanted his mortification over. Peter wanted his made right, and was humbly willing to do whatever it took.

Judas denied Christ in unbelief. Peter did so out of fear, but then confessed his evil in dust and ashes.

The difference between them is as large as the difference between eternal life and eternal condemnation.

Malchus Mystified

I come from a family of servants. Many of my relatives serve the priesthood, and some even the High Priest himself, sharing my duties.

It has been said that there is nothing more disillusioning than to come to know the personal habits, thoughts, and unguarded words of those in authority whose very role requires holiness.

Not wishing to speak ill of the damned, I will say only this about Annas and Caiaphas, they were not worse than our brutal Roman conquerors.

Nonetheless, I was still mystified.

Temporarily ear-less, I had contemplated the mystery of godliness and God's plan of redemption through His Son, but as I followed the One who healed me, watching Him dragged harshly back into the city and the temple precincts, I began to see the unbridled irrationality of the soldiers' and officers' hatred of this Man. And I was astonished.

What had He done? Many of these same men, despite their high calling, were cynically ambitious, using our ancient religion as a means to personal ends. They were human chameleons and sponges, adapting their outward appearance to their audience at any given time.

When it suited, they were diligently pious. When the circumstance demanded otherwise, their craftiness enabled them to put on various other cloaks of pretense. And the best of them, the most facile deceivers, were also the most dispassionate and cunning beneath the surface. Intense emotion, other than for the benefit of their spectators, was something they rarely displayed.

But here and now, these same men were growling, cursing and spitting like demons. It was night, and only their trusted cohorts and some rabble-rousers were present, and yet they spewed poisonous venom from their hearts and mouths with a depth of evil sincerity that took my feeble breath away.

In turn, one or another high-ranking officer would purposely yank on my Lord's bindings, or shove Him roughly down the hillside, so that He stumbled without benefit of being able to break His fall with His bound hands. And there was a deadly intent behind their actions that went beyond all reason and human sense.

It was their proximity to Jesus that changed them.

Why such hatred?

Unlike many other enemies of our people and faith, this Man had injured no one. While it is true His teachings could be seen as a threat to the established religious authorities, and His popularity a potential cause for disruption, other more threatening and more disrupting criminals guilty of actual violence had been treated, if not humanely, at least not in this debased manner.

Murderers and thieves, even zealots, were demonstrably held in less vile contempt.

Why?

I myself had seen the vituperation and invective belch forth from the usually aloof ruling Sadducees in regard to this Jesus, and was more than a little bemused by it all. 

But this? This went beyond all human explanation.

Having been raised under the tutelage of my masters, philosophical materialists all, who routinely and privately mocked the superstitious thinking of the masses who held belief in angels, miracles, and divine mysteries dear to their uneducated hearts, I, too, was unconvinced that anything beyond what could be seen and heard existed.

But this had all the eery trappings of a supernatural event. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright, similar to a rainless summer thunderstorm. And it made my skin crawl with a cold-hot clamminess, as if I were walking across the unclean burial places of the dead.

Looking back, even my description of it here lacks clarity, for in truth, it was not animal hatred being displayed, but something far worse.

Up until this very night, I did not believe in the afterlife, or angels… or demons.

But having encountered this Man, and been healed by Him, I now knew my conception of reality was infantile in its materialistic simplicity. There were things and beings beyond what could be seen with the eye of man.

And they were here, now, turning these soldiers into something unrelenting and immortal in their hatred.

I was shaken to the very core of my soul, for I now understood that I indeed had one, and she was trembling in abject fear.

Then my Healer turned at the silent cry of my despair and I swear He looked right into my heart even in the midst of the murderous crowd.

And my fear was transformed into love and adoration.

I now understood that I was witness to the undisguised enmity between God and rebellious man, augmented on man's part by the unclean spirits of lore and tradition.

This was a culminating battle in the long war against God, and in anticipation of victory, the veil between the worlds had been ripped aside and I was glimpsing the maelstrom of ancient hatred.

I found it difficult to breathe, until I again looked into the eyes of the One who had touched my face, and healed both my body and spirit.

And in the midst of what appeared to be His utter defeat, I saw the glory of ultimate victory, and I was convinced beyond shadow or turning that these events were unfolding just as He purposed.

Malchus Transformed

I had seen miscreants arrested before, especially those in whom the High Priest had taken a special interest.

The rough hemp cords bound tightly around the wrists after the forearms were positioned forcibly behind the offender's back, the noose around the neck, almost strangle-tight, like the draw cord around an ox being led to the slaughter - these things I had seen and become inured to over my years as a Temple servant, particularly under Caiaphas' rule, but only slightly less prevalent with Annas, his father-in-law.

Yet to see this Man treated so, vanquished all other thoughts from my mind. I was asked years later, sometimes by believers, but most often by skeptics, if Yeshua gave me a new ear, or put the old severed one back?

I can honestly say I do not know. As He was led away like a common criminal, my attention was not on me, but on Him. 

If my severed appendage remained on the ground, it would have been crushed into the trampled dirt in very little time. If it had been reattached, rather than made new, as he had done with the eyes of the man born blind, then that is how He had healed me. As I said, I do not know. Nor do I care.

I did not consider these details important at the time, or even now for that matter, because my Savior was being treated like an animal. And even more heart-breaking, Yeshua was being torn from me without consent, and my sudden selfish grief at being so bereft knew no bounds.

Who was this Man to affect me like this in so brief an encounter in such bizarre and unprecedented circumstances?

Was He a magician or sorcerer, as some claimed? Was He a blasphemer possessed by a demon as the Temple authorities accused? Or was He, as His followers declared, the Son and Lamb of God, Messiah, come to save the world from sin?

Some have also asked whether I held Brother Peter in any resentment for trying to decapitate me that night so long ago? In truth, his attempt to separate my head from my body was the best thing to have ever happened to me. It brought me face to face with my King, and Yeshua used it to make me new, as He said.

I could not help but follow the soldiers as they took Him away. 

In doing so, I saw His disciples scatter, and the young man, Mark, run naked into the night, frantically trying to escape capture themselves.

I especially noted the exploits of my assailant, Peter, as he barreled his way inexplicably through the detachment of troops. He was let through almost as if he did not exist.

Not surprisingly, all paid little attention to me, wounded though I had been; the only casualty of that dark night, save the Lord Yeshua, Himself. 

I was after all, largely expendable to all concerned, being a mere servant.

To all, that is, except my Savior, who, even in the midst of His own betrayal and downfall, healed me and showed me His surpassing love.

As I stumbled along behind the crowd, more from emotional shock that physical weakness, I could make very little sense of what had transpired.

One moment I was Malchus, ambitious servant to the High Priest, the next I was someone very different.

Although made whole in body, I was broken in spirit.

One moment I was arrayed with the evil powers that sought His death, the next I was a partaker of His life.

I have come to know this is how an honest encounter with Messiah always proceeds; revealed darkness replaced by His light, human brokenness supplanted by His wholeness, self-deceit and the delusions of the world overwhelmed by His truth.

I entered that Garden of the Olive Press as Malchus, a dead man walking in sin.

I left a new man, infused with His righteousness.

I did not know it, but I was transformed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Malchus Sliced

Yeshua answered, “I have told you that I AM. Therefore, if you seek Me, let these go their way!”

These are the last words I heard in my right ear before Brother Peter attempted to cut off my head.

Somehow, although I did not see the sword strike coming in all the confusion, I bowed my head just enough to save my neck, but alas! my ear was sliced cleanly from my face.

They say that time slows when mortality approaches. They are right.

I did not feel the pain at that instant, and fortunately, the blade was sufficiently sharp, and Peter's stroke sufficiently powerful, so that there was no collateral bruising or crushing. For I fear our burly Fisherman would have collapsed my skull with a duller weapon.

As it was, I saw, as if in a dream, my own blood erupt in the air past my eyes, and my fully intact ear fall slowly to the ground. I had not realized how intensely fond of it I was until faced with its loss forevermore.

The sounds of energized and fearful men, of blood-curdling yells, and the growls of soldiers about to do battle were drowned out by the rising tide of bees buzzing deafeningly inside my own skull. I saw a rush of white blurriness, like the blizzards of Mount Hebron, encompass me from both sides, as my knees began to buckle, and the rest of me began to follow my orphaned ear to the trammeled dirt.

Strong arms reached out and caught me as I fell, lowering me gently to the ground.

Through the cacophony of noise both inside and outside my head, I heard the owner of these arms speak in a gently powerful rebuke, as Yeshua said to Peter, “Put your sword into the sheath. Shall I not drink the cup which My Father has given Me? Permit even this.”

And He touched where my ear had been and healed me.

So few and meager words on a wrinkled parchment can not begin to convey this thing that happened to me.

To say that my head cleared and the suddenly erupting agony on the side of my face ceased, is to say nothing at all.

To say that the restored sense of hearing on my right side was as if I was hearing the very first sounds of Creation, is as empty of the real meaning as anything else my paltry mind can think to write.

But this I do know - when my Savior touched me to heal me, without my asking or even being aware that He could, I felt the unapproachable light of His life, and the vastness of His love and my soul was overwhelmed with the enrapturing glory of His Presence.

In that timeless moment, I wanted nothing more, or else, than to remain with Him, and to know His life. I was changed instantly and forever.

Again words fail me. You must forgive this mere servant's lack of training and education, since I am both unworthy of such a show of His love, and incapable of conveying the depths of its meaning to me.

How can I describe what it was to be close to the Source of all things, and to feel the power of His divine love focused solely upon me, as if I were the only other being in existence?

Me, who was an eager member of the very mob that sought to kill Him, thinking to advance my career in the Temple by my demonstration of loyalty and my eagerness to obey.

At the moment of this encounter my eyes, as well as my severed ear, were healed and I saw myself for the evil sinner I have been since birth, despite my outward show of piety and religious zeal. And often because of those very things.

He said nothing to me, but only looked at me for a moment more with an understanding so profound and a knowledge so deep that that I have no doubt that He saw all I was, and had been, and ever would be.

I wanted to crawl into a cave and die, to hide my face in the most abject shame and despair.

Until He inclined His head ever so slightly, as if to say, I know all this and love you anyway. Old things have passed. I make all things new.

Then He allowed Himself to be wrenched roughly away from me, and the detachment of troops and the captain and the officers of the Jews arrested Yeshua and bound Him. And they led Him away to Annas first, for he was the father-in-law of Caiaphas who was high priest that year.

Malchus Flattened

"I AM!"

The voice was loud in a way that went beyond sound, into the realm of primal physical force.

It blew us backward and knocked us all to the ground like a sudden invisible storm off the Galil.

The clatter of shields and bucklers and the startled cries of officers, soldiers and priests briefly filled the night only erratically lit from the floundering torches.

Our cohort had approached Gethsemane boldly, confident that we would finally be able to rid the city of this blasphemous rabble-rouser.

But now we were flattened on the ground like the early rain beetles trampled under the farmer's foot.

Then He asked them again, “Whom are you seeking?” And they said, “Yeshua of Nazareth.”

Why did He ask that second time? Why did the officers respond?

In all the years since, I have guessed but still do not know for sure.

That we were supposed to arrest Him in fulfillment of His plan from before the foundation of the world is clear. That He would submit voluntarily to all that would follow in glorious and unfathomable collaboration with the Father is also clear.

But why the second question? Didn't the first establish His identity forever afterward, recorded in the holy writings for all eternity?

Didn't His display of divine power testify that He could have destroyed us all right there, in the twinkling of an eye, by a mere thought or word, and that His subsequent acquiescence to the forthcoming horrors prove infallibly that His surrender was, above all else, according to His devotion to His Father?

Destroy us? Indeed, He could have destroyed the whole city, the world, the very Heavens with the word of His mouth!

I, Malchus, have come to believe that His asking that second time was a wondrous display of mercy in the midst of inconceivable power.

He asked again to give us all - those arrayed against Him in hatred, violence and unbelief - a second chance to acknowledge who He was, and thereby be saved from our condemnation.

And it was that second question that did me in, and transformed me from a servant of the human High Priest, to a devoted follower of the Great High Priest.

“Whom are you seeking?” infiltrated my befuddled brain like a sonorous Temple chorus intoning the Hallel. It undid me more than being flattened to the ground.

“Yeshua of Nazareth.” It was an officer of the Guard who spoke the answer first, and loudest. It was he who would later slap this Yeshua across the face during His interrogation by Annas, my former human master.

God Is Salvation is what His name meant. I knew that, being a good and devout Jew. And I had heard the rumors and mutterings that this Man's followers thought He came from above, that He Himself had said as much, and that His works proved it.

Some even thought He was the very Son of God, a concept and declaration of utter blasphemy.

But His answer, I AM, the very name of the Eternal One Who Shall Not Be Named, was either confession of this same blasphemy… or something else.

And suddenly, like an irresistible wave of the Great Sea, the import of His second question carried me along, compelling me to know, truly, who was this Yeshua of Nazareth we were seeking to arrest and kill.

I NEEDED to know, and I sought to move closer to Him in the ensuing advance of the cohort to determine as much as I could NOW! The compulsion was inescapable.

In my heart I knew my approach was fraught with danger and the wordless possibility of great reward.

I scrambled frantically toward my destiny in the clamor and chaos of that dark and momentous night.

To my utter astonishment, I was able to come near to the One whom I sought, as if a path through the melee was miraculously opened up for my passage alone.

But my encounter was not without cost.