“Jesus is missing!”

Everyone said it. There was a sense of panic in the crowd on that overcast evening. It seemed as if the wind blew people past me as they ran here and there speaking of the Master. I, too, was anxious and just as others huddled in small groups to discuss the matter, I found myself in the company of Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, and the zealot. Young women ran behind us chasing shawls the wind had snapped up. Philip, who was the last to join our group, ran to us holding his chest and breathing heavily. He spoke over the den of the multitude.

“I searched above,” he said, with a hand on Bartholomew's shoulder to steady himself. “He wasn't there. I thought about the hills beyond but it was getting dark. I ran back.”

“You should have climbed up and looked,” I said. “There's still time. I'll go.”

As I turned to go, Thomas took my arm and said, “Just you stop. You haven't thought this through.”

I answered, “But we need to find him.”

“All of us know,” said Thomas, “that the Master takes time alone.”

Bartholomew added, “You are young still, not as salted as some of us older men.”

I shot back in the heat of the moment. “I may not be as salted but some of you older men stand as still as Lot's wife.”

We fell quiet and the swell of the crowd overwhelmed us. I looked around at the many people and soon found that Simon was pulling us away from a larger group toward the tent that Peter slept in. My foot caught on the nail that held the cord in place. The tent flapped in the wind and my cloak was blown into my face. The zealot pulled us close and spoke in his usual conspiratorial manner.

“I overheard some elders,” he said with an exaggerated tilt of the head. “They spoke of taking the Master by force to make him their king.”

“You see,” I told Thomas. “We have to find him.”

Philip got our attention and said, “Let's wake Peter.”

We pulled back the loose tent cover and found Peter asleep among our supplies. He was wrapped in our things like a cat in a coiled rope. With his snoring, it was no wonder the den of the crowd had no effect on him. Philip stooped and shook Peter's arm as the rest of us stood in the opening. Philip shook him again and Peter came to like an old drunk. He rubbed his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting position. He coughed and looked up between us gauging our faces.

He asked, “What is it?”

Philip, kneeling beside him, answered. “The Lord is missing.”

Peter looked past us. He understood it was late. He cleared his throat and his mind. He said, “Praying most likely.”

Philip answered, “I went into the hills and looked but could not find him.”

Simon added, “There has been talk among the people of taking him by force. I overheard them.”

Peter took Philip's arm and struggled to his feet. He pushed past us into the evening gloom. He stretched and shook his head. He looked around at the milling people. Some of them noticed his glare and fell quiet. Peter looked to the hills then, after a moment, he turned and looked at the lake. He turned himself next toward Capernaum and we could sense his thoughts were coming to bear. The thing we loved about Peter was he thought through his problems. He made no snap decisions so all of us just stood and waited for him to think. At last, he turned to us and nodded for us to follow him to the ship.

Peter called us in close and spoke. “The Master would have known their hearts,” he said to us. “I think he may be walking back. This is what we'll do. Thomas, gather the rest of us. Simon, go among the people. Say the Master prays in the hills and will return soon. The rest of us will ready the ship.”

Among the twelve of us, there were only eight oars. I sat on one side rowing with Thomas, Simon, and Andrew. Across from us was Bartholomew, my brother James, the other James, and Philip. Peter gripped the mast gauging the lights on the shore. Judas, Levi, and Matthias sat in the back. The winds that had crouched on the shore, stood fully on their feet in the lake. They kicked up waves and drenched us to the bone. The howling deafened me. I could hear nothing else save Peter when he yelled at us.

“You row like old women,” he snapped. “Put your backs into it. The lights are just ahead.”