Brother

I have lost people to the chilled bloodstained hands of death and it never felt good. When my father died, I cried. I still remember how my tears tasted - salty and warm.
But I did not cry as I walked away. I was angry and my mouth tasted like vinegar.


I told him. I warned him about our people - the Jews - about how hard we were, yet he did not listen. He was obviously a Jew too.


Like a rose, he blossomed and withered at his prime. I expected it though. When you call the Pharisees vipers, they certainly will bite.
I never understood his message or I just did not care to listen. The Messiah we expected was one who would chase the Romans out and establish the throne of David. But he walked around with an insane bunch of twelve that could not start any uprising.
I never bothered to go for any of his large meetings - I was not interested. Maybe I was bitter that he left home without a care and how mother was still bothered about her "favourite son".
She dragged me and my younger ones on a certain day to one of his meetings. He refused to meet us, saying that only those that listen and do what he says are his real family. He was that arrogant and proud and all the high things you could think of.

***
I got to the outskirts of the city and saw him - hanged like a common thief. I had ran all the way from Galilee when I heard of his arrest. I told him. I warned him about our people - the Jews - about how hard we were, yet he did not listen. He was obviously a Jew too. I have heard of his miracles and claims but what was he still doing on a cross and dying slowly. I walked closer and saw mother. I avoided her eyes and looked up the stake. For a second, I felt an ache in my chest. I don't even know why I am here. 
His face looked like one that carries the weight of the world and when he finally looked my way, I quickly moved my gaze.

"John, behold your mother - mother, behold your son"

I was here yet he handed over mother to another. I don't even know what I am doing here. He was still arrogant at death. I walked away as a strange cloud began to cover the sun.
I have lost people to the chilled bloodstained hands of death and it never felt good. When my father died, I cried. I still remember how my tears tasted - salty and warm.
But I did not cry as I walked away. I was angry and my mouth tasted like vinegar.

***
At the Shavuot (what they also call Pentecost), I was in Jerusalem for the feast when my brother's followers put up a spectacle. They gathered in the city's center and then spoke in other languages. Mother was there too, acting insane with the others and I felt embarrassed.
The entire city were perplexed but I personally thought they were drunk. The same way they spread rumours that he had risen - maybe they drank to forget and mourn their leader's death and the wine altered their sense of reality. One stood up amongst them and began saying a lot of things - in Aramaic that we all understood.

***
As he spoke, it felt like fire and then ice. My heart almost left my chest. I began to see my brother all over again. The way he looked at me in his final moments. I miss him despite my opinions about him. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I should have listened to him when he was alive. I walked up to one of the men that spoke in other tongues.

"Tell me about Jesus"
He replied with an assured tone,
"He is alive, we saw him rise above the clouds"
"Tell me more"
"He loves you"
I cried.

Is this not the carpenter, the son of Mary, and the brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? Are His sisters not here with us?” And they were [deeply] offended by Him [and their disapproval blinded them to the fact that He was anointed by God as the Messiah].
MARK 6:3 (AMP)
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