The Sea of Galilee was calm that morning, its surface reflecting the soft glow of the rising sun. The air was cool, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the olive trees nearby. I stood on the shore, watching as my disciples gathered around me, eager to hear what I would say. They were a diverse group, drawn from different walks of life—fishermen, a tax collector, zealots—and yet, they had all left everything to follow me. Each of them had their own hopes, their own dreams of what my mission would bring, but none of them fully understood.
I loved them. Each one was precious to me, their faith, even in its infancy, was something beautiful. They had heard my call, and they had responded, leaving their nets, their livelihoods, their families to follow me into the unknown. But as I looked at their faces—Peter's bold determination, John's quiet devotion, Thomas's cautious curiosity—I felt a sadness settle deep within me. I knew them more intimately than they knew themselves, knew the doubts that would arise, the fears that would grip them. I knew that in the hour of my greatest need, they would abandon me.
But for now, they were here, gathered around me, listening intently as I began to teach.
"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed," I said, holding a small seed between my fingers, "which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it becomes the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches."
Their eyes followed my movements, but I could see the confusion flicker across their faces. The kingdom I spoke of was not what they expected. They still dreamed of a Messiah who would restore Israel's political power, who would overthrow the Roman oppressors. But the kingdom I spoke of was not one of earthly might or glory. It was something deeper, something that would grow quietly and steadily, transforming the hearts of those who embraced it.
I glanced at Peter, who sat closest to me, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was quick to speak, quick to act, his heart full of passion, but there was still so much he didn't understand. I loved him for his zeal, but I knew that his confidence would one day falter. He would deny me, not once but three times, in the dark hours before my crucifixion. And though he would weep bitterly afterward, the memory of that betrayal would scar his soul.
John, sitting beside Peter, looked up at me with eyes full of love. He was the youngest, but his heart was tender, open to the mysteries of the kingdom. He would come closest to grasping the depth of my love, but even he could not yet understand the full measure of the sacrifice I would make. He, too, would flee when the soldiers came for me in the garden, fear driving him away in the dead of night.
I continued to teach, speaking in parables, stories that contained the truths of the kingdom. The sower and the seeds, the treasure hidden in a field, the pearl of great price. Each one was a reflection of the reality I had come to reveal—a kingdom that was not of this world, a kingdom that required everything, even one's life, to gain.
As I spoke, I could feel the weight of their expectations pressing on me. They wanted to understand, but their hearts were not yet ready for the full truth. They were still bound by the limitations of their human understanding, still hoping for a kingdom of power and glory. And I, knowing what lay ahead, felt the ache of their coming disillusionment.
After the teaching, I took them aside, away from the crowds, and sat with them under the shade of a large tree. The sun was higher now, the heat of the day beginning to settle in. They were quiet, thoughtful, perhaps wrestling with the meaning of my words.
"Rabbi," Peter finally spoke, breaking the silence, "these parables... what do they mean? We believe you are the Messiah, the one who will restore Israel. But these stories, they speak of something different."
I looked at him, my heart heavy with the knowledge of what I had to say. "Peter, you are right in believing that I am the Messiah. But the kingdom I have come to establish is not one of earthly power. It is a kingdom of the heart, a kingdom that begins with the smallest of seeds and grows into something greater than you can imagine."
Peter's face fell slightly, and I could see the frustration brewing within him. He longed for action, for revolution, for a Messiah who would lead with a sword. But that was not my mission.
"The Son of Man must suffer many things," I continued, "and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the teachers of the law. He must be killed and, after three days, rise again."
There was a stunned silence. The words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I could see the disbelief in their eyes.
"No, Lord!" Peter exclaimed, standing abruptly. "This shall never happen to you!"
I turned to him, my voice firm but filled with sorrow. "Get behind me, Satan! You do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns."
Peter sank back, his face pale with shock. I had not spoken those words in anger, but in love. I needed him to understand that my mission was not about earthly power, but about sacrifice. But how could he understand? How could any of them grasp the full weight of what I had come to do?
I felt a deep sadness then, a sadness that pierced through my soul. These twelve men, whom I had chosen, whom I loved with all my heart, would walk with me for only a short time. They would hear my words, see my miracles, but in the end, they would abandon me. The weight of my mission would be too much for them to bear. They would flee in fear when I was arrested, hide in shame when I was crucified.
But I also felt a profound love for them, a love that transcended their failings. I knew they would not understand now, but one day they would. One day, after I had risen from the dead, they would look back on these moments and see with clarity what I had been teaching them. They would be filled with the Holy Spirit, and they would carry my message to the ends of the earth.
For now, I could only prepare them, plant the seeds of the kingdom in their hearts, and trust that in time, those seeds would grow.
I looked at them, each one of them, and felt the depth of my love for them. They were imperfect, flawed, filled with doubt and fear, but they were mine. And though they would abandon me in my hour of need, I would never abandon them. Even in their weakness, I saw the potential for greatness. They would be the foundation of the church, the ones who would carry my message of love and redemption to the world.
But for now, I sat with them, my heart both full and heavy. I loved them, but I knew what lay ahead. The path to the cross was one I would walk alone. And though they did not yet understand, I prayed that one day they would. One day, they would see the depth of my love, not just for them, but for all humanity.
I looked out over the sea, the horizon stretching endlessly before us, and I knew that the journey was just beginning.