And today my Lenten series comes to a close. This is the 40th image of windows I’ve photographed through many years of pointing my camera at places near and far. I’ll post one more photo tomorrow, without words; but today, a few lines.

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The Phelps Mansion, Binghamton, NY

Maundy Thursday. Good Friday. Easter Sunday. But today? I know of no universal code word for today, this day between the days. And I won’t accept one. It is just empty.

In a sermon many years ago, I tried to imagine how Jesus’ disciples dealt with the events of the days before. I thought of how high their hopes were on what we now call Palm Sunday. And how very low emotions ran the night Jesus had had that last meal with his friends. Later that night: betrayal, arrest, terror. And hiding. I recalled that one of the first sermons I wrote while in seminary was based on the short phrase in Matthew 26:58 — “Peter was following him at a distance.” At a distance. I couldn’t blame Peter for his lack of rock-like courage. I too would have been fearful of arrest and conviction and execution.

I would have hidden out. Or, in. I’d be holed up in one of the dark rooms pictured here, staying away from the windows for the most part. Maybe risking peeking out, to be sure I was not followed. Jesus dead and buried. Along with his movement. Along with the hosannas, the Kingdom promises, the teachings and sermons and prophetic vision. Love embodied. Now dead. How long before dashed hopes are forgotten altogether? This was not only an admired teacher or spiritual mentor who suffered and died before their eyes; it was a beloved friend. He had assured them of that many times with quiet words in intimate settings.

He was hero, mystery, truth-teller, healer, companion along the Way, one who had shown no caution in crossing boundaries and touching the untouchables. Past tense. But now, now love nailed down, pulled away, and buried. Who’s next? We must hide. Did you see a curtain move in that upstairs window? It’s me…just checking. And then back to cower in a corner, almost shivering with fear. I do not have his courage, if that’s what it was. Nor, his faith — that’s what it was. Peter denied him three times. I’ll deny him more. To save my skin.

And, look, I can rationalize my hiding a thousand ways. I have to stay alive to keep his message alive. If we all die for this cause, doesn’t the cause die too? Someone has to keep the flame lit. Right? Follow me, he said. But he didn’t mean all the way, did he? What would be the point? Since last night it’s been wise to follow at a distance. A very safe distance. So, we’re up there now, in that darkened upper room. When this all blows over, we’ll reconvene, say our prayers, eat something, and decide what to do next. Maybe we’ll cast lots or something if we can’t agree where to go, what to do.

In the meantime, has anybody seen Judas recently?