T
hey came to an inn. The sky had turned gold, the sun dipping into silver western clouds. A calm touch of vesper hours fell upon them. The exquisite aroma of roasting meat adorned the air. Jesus said simply, “I must eat.”
John, one of the two that were with him and a man of means said, “Teacher, let us stay in this inn and take food.” Before Jesus could respond he said, “I will pay the innkeeper, Master. It will be my honor.” Teacher? Master? So much had happened in so short a time.
Simon (now Peter) and John went back a long time. John owned the commercial fishing business where they both worked, but Peter was the professional. He captained John’s boats. Peter generated the product, John reaped the profits and compensated Peter and his men for their labor. While Peter was unlettered, the distance usually maintained by employer and employee had long since disappeared between these men. Their families dined together. Their children played together. Their wives chatted together. Both were men of faith. Both were men who looked to God for the water’s bounty. Both had been told of the events in Bethlehem thirty years ago and both had sought the baptism of John.
The talk around the table flowed slowly, each man taciturn and lost in thought. Peter and John wondered about Jesus. In some measure afraid of him, in awe of him, in another measure calmed and in peace for being with him. An odd mixture of apprehension and security. No one felt chatty. For all of his hunger, Jesus ate modestly. Still weak from his ordeal and travel, he spoke few words. To observe him you might conclude that he thought he was alone. He chewed his food at length and washed it down with red wine. Nominal conversation drifted into long periods of contemplative silence — and yawns.
