The Pentecost Diaries: Re-entry  

A return to Jerusalem results in an unexpected guest making a startling promise: the second of four creative and immersive pieces which chart the journey from Easter to Pentecost. By Jonathan Vaughan-Davies

Read below, and listen to the story here: 

Gaining Re-entry…

The City of Jerusalem is like a rabbit warren of narrow, overlapping streets. To relative newcomers like us, her high-walled houses and ever-winding routes make it almost impossible to navigate her maze. In daylight the huge temple that seems to dominate her skyline gives you at least some sense of your location – but at this late hour of the night, our tired torches made for a poor substitute. 

By now, back in the very city where Jesus had been condemned and crucified, the sense of danger we had left behind us started to stalk our steps once more. The cover of darkness provided some comfort, but also meant we might have to explain ourselves should our presence be reported… and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that…

These claustrophobic streets weren’t the only thing that stifled us – by now our torches did little against the suffocating cold night air that enclosed all around about us. Our faces felt the warmth of the flames – but that seemed to only serve to make the rest of our bodies feel the sting of the chill even sharper.

Earlier tonight, as we had been hastily leaving the guesthouse, my aunt had insisted we each take an extra tunic and robe from my uncle’s closet. He was a kind man who quickly agreed that we must – but it was my aunt who thought of it. Our thoughts, our hearts, were already back in Jerusalem… “But no, I really must insist,” she had declared over our urgency, “You don’t think I can send you out so ill-equipped against the night!” 

There were times when you could mistake her concern for bossiness, but right now I couldn’t have appreciated her persistence more. And so, robed in her kindness, and armed with their love, we pressed on – feeling all the more stronger for it. 

The longer we searched the streets for the Upper Room that had housed us these past few days, the more I wondered what kind of reception we’d receive. I remembered my response to the women’s story… and our own story was all the more outlandish. Cleopas and I had talked long and hard on the road back about why we had been so slow to believe them – and the painful truth had been exposed: our pride had been too high a price to pay…

Like an intruder prowling through the darkness of our hearts, the question had crept in: “Why would Jesus appear to them first… and not to us?” Not that that thought had fully presented itself, but it snuck in through our feelings, disguising itself as reason … or caution. But now unveiled in the light of the truth it now stood clear for me to see: lurking behind my disbelief was an ugly jealousy that was nudging the other forward, poking its pain and making it dance to its desperate desires.

And would we now face the same? Strangely, my mind started to spin with reasons why bursting in on the disciples with our story was perhaps not such a good idea after all. Clearly Cleopas had good reason to find Mary – there was much to be resolved there, and rightly so – but did I really need to be here too?

The confidence I had thirstily scooped up, was fast beginning to slip away like water through my fingers.

Cleopas came to an abrupt stop at the end of the street we had swept along. A wide road cut across our path and formed a crossroads in front of us. He looked down the road, and then up to the right where the street narrowed and stretched upwards towards the Zion Gate. Cleopas seemed to recognise one of the houses; its outer staircase leading up to a large guest room above. There was a warm glow flickering behind its still curtain, and a murmur of voices that grew in familiarity the longer we strained our ears to catch them.

Cleopas looked back at me, his nodding face visibly relaxing… yes, we were close now, so close.

The thought of getting off Jerusalem’s imposing streets overtook any other concerns, and my heavy legs found new strength at the thought of seeing everyone again. 

We extinguished our torches in the roadside manger at the foot of the stone stairs. The sound of our flames turning to steam caused an eerie hush to descend and the voices inside quickly vanished beneath its fading hiss. The smoke from our torches flooded our darkened vision, giving us pause before attempting the steep staircase… 

As the grey fog cleared, we saw the upper door pry itself open and the silhouette of a head dart out cautiously into view. “It’s Cleopas!” a whisper said warmly, “They’re back!!”

The silhouette morphed out to the shape of a man running down the stairs towards us. His voice, though lowered, told me this was Simon Peter. He threw his arms over our shoulders and hurried us up out of the darkness and into the familiar surroundings of the Upper Room…

We had barely been ushered through the door before we were surrounded by the brothers – all blurting out at once… “It’s true!” “It’s absolutely true – it’s actually happened!” “We’ve been so slow to see it, so… stupid given all the women saw – but the Lord is risen!” 

It seemed the news had travelled back here even quicker than we had! But before we could wonder why, John (who had been carefully securing the door behind us with chains), placed his hands on our shoulders. I turned to look into his eyes, where wonder soared like a young bird who had found its wings: “He’s appeared to Simon!” he said beaming. 

There were long hugs, warm greetings, and very welcome cups of wine. Cleopas’ head was scanning the scene. It was Levi who noticed Cleopas’ aching eyes and gestured towards the door at the back of the room. “She’s through there Cleopas,” said Levi, “Mary. She’s with the other women, but I think they’re sleeping…” My anxious friend wasted no time at all, and soon through the wall we heard the healing sounds of laughter, tears and of broken hearts finding peace in each other once more. 

 

The Intruder…

It was so good to be back – the feeling of sheer relief began to wash over me. I raised my hands to wipe my tired eyes and it was only then I realised that my hand was trembling. I wasn’t surprised at all - I’d travelled the full range of human emotions from here to Emmaus and back again, and now a potent combination of shock… tiredness… anxiety… excitement was all needing to escape my system.

Sensing this, Phillip – who was sat at my left, took my shaking hand in his and pulled it close to his chest. “My friend, you must have been out walking all day,” he said gently “but… I’m so glad you’re here! I wasn’t sure we’d get to speak again…” 

Sat on my other side was Peter. Leaning into my side he refilled the cup, asking. “What brings you back to us so soon brother?”

The volume of Peter’s voice was lower than I was used to. Despite the excitement of being together, the sense of needing to remain in hiding was abundantly clear. The chains locked tightly across the door, the hushed tones in which everyone spoke, the anxious glances at the shadows that occasionally danced across the curtain told me that fear was still an unwelcome guest in our otherwise glad company.

“Well…” I began, “It’s been quite a journey…” 

The quiet room fell even quieter as I began to recount our story of The Stranger, the Scriptures He opened up to us (or rather, opened us up to), and the simple meal we had shared together that had ended in the most unlikely of reunions.

Try as they might, their ecstasy would not easily be contained – breaking out into occasional gasps, followed by laughter and tears. 

Reliving it with them, retracing the steps of our journey, the reality of it all hit me again and again. A group came in from the other room, Cleopas and Mary among them. Cleopas and I took turns to share each twist and turn of our tale; each taking over from the other when we needed to stop and allow the awe to resurface in moments of silence, or sobs, or smiles so firmly fixed our lips could no longer form the words.

The conversation was the feast our hearts were hungry for, and as everyone shared their stories heads darted around the room not wanting to miss a morsel of it… 

Turning to catch someone else talking, I caught a glimpse of someone who had obviously suddenly stood in the middle of our group. I looked up to see what they wanted… every hair on my arms stood rigid. There, in the centre of the room, was Jesus Himself. Just standing there. Not there one second, and then present the next - smiling at us calmly, lovingly, knowingly...

“Shalom!” He said, in the normal everyday way He always greeted us! His voice was unmistakable: compassionate and sure, truth and grace in perfect balance. 

My shaking hands rose instinctively to my face, one covering my open mouth, the other steadying my giddy forehead. He was here! My Jesus! Here!? The same Jesus who had met us in Emmaus, was now stood with us here in Jerusalem! 

I looked over at the door – which remained firmly shut, the locks and chains still hanging where John had left them… I shook my head at the stupidity of wondering how He had got in. “Clearly, the normal rules that restrict us don’t apply to the Resurrected…” A lesson my head still needed to learn.
“Shalom!” He said again, breaking the stunned silence that had stolen our very breath away. 

“There’s no need for dread… There’s no need for doubts… Come,” He said, extending out His arms towards us, “Come, see the holes in my hands… and in my feet… once held down by nails, by hate, by judgement… but now free once more!” 

As some moved forward to look, Jesus stepped towards them. Sensing their nervousness, He said: “Yes, you can touch me! Go on - it’s really me! I’m really here! See, the wound in my side – I was dead, but look for yourself – I’m alive!”

The sight was taking a long time to process, most were too overwhelmed by shock to move, trying to force what was right there before our eyes into what our minds had previously believed to be possible… 

Smiling over at the table, still covered in plates from the meal, He chuckled: “Pass me some food!” I reached over and grabbed a plate of fish, “Look - I’m no ghost!” said Jesus, tucking heartily into the meal, “I’m fully me, I’m fully here …just I like I always said I would be…” 

“It’s really you…!” “You’re really here…!” The voices began overlapping, cascading into this crescendo of voices finally untethered from terror… And once again the room was filled with the healing sounds of laughter, tears and broken hearts finding peace in each other once more.

 

The Promise 

Sitting there with Jesus, and listening to Him speak was wonderfully surreal… at times, you had to remind yourself who you were listening to, of what He had been through, of the place of despair we had been in only hours ago… Sometimes, as He was talking, you’d catch a glimpse of the nail pierced holes in His hands – and it would wash over again in wave upon wave of wonder…

In the Upper Room’s gentle warmth, Jesus was now walking the disciples through the same journey we had undertaken along the Emmaus Way. Prophecy after prophecy, promise after promise; going step by step, line by line through His Father’s plan in His suffering, death and now resurrection. 
Eyes were wide with wonder, minds expanding in possibilities, hearts dancing in delight.
But the promises were far from over yet… 

“This life-changing message of Grace,” Jesus continued, “it’s going to be preached - in my name - to every single nation on the face of the earth! And it’s going to start here - right here - in Jerusalem…”



I looked over at the door, still bolted tightly shut and chained in its place. I thought back to the strange fear that gripped me out on the night streets, the fear that had almost clasped my lips together more tightly than any lock ever could. If we were going to leave this room and go tell the world… I was going to need something big to shift this shadow hanging over my spirit. Was He really expecting us to do this?

“And you…!” He continued, meeting our gaze with a gratitude blazing in His eyes… “You are witnesses of all these things!”

Witnesses?? Us?!

He was expecting us to do this – to tell others… others, out there…

We, who had had a hard enough time believing it ourselves! We, who had in fact actually walked away - and not just physically… this very morning this whole thing was over as far as I was concerned, and to my shame my soul had packed its bags and run for home.

But now? I really wanted to be able to sign up here and now, to vow it all to His Global Vision… but in my heart of hearts, I already knew the truth. I was not strong enough, and to be honest I wasn’t entirely sure if any of us really were. 

The weight of what Jesus was asking, and the weakness I had shown, were two embarrassingly large obstacles my heart couldn’t shift. The thought of even unlocking the door made me shudder. In the sheer scale of it all, I felt so insignificant, so small, so powerless, so naked…

I tried to catch the eyes of others to see how they felt too, but no-one met my gaze. Faces were suddenly serious; deep in thought, wrestling with worries…
Perhaps sensing this anxious fog that had swept over us, Jesus leant in. He let the silence linger a moment… until our eyes to returned to His.

“But first… I need you to wait.” He said, “Just wait right here… I am going to send you the Promise of the Father…” 

Another promise? What did He mean this time?

Jesus had moved closer to where I was standing, He placed His hand on my arm. His eyes sparkled with yet more excitement, He was positively beaming as He continued:
“You’ve heard me talk about Him – the Holy Spirit – but just wait, just you wait… because when He comes you will be clothed with power from on high! Just you wait and see.” 

Yet again Jesus words were perfectly timed and perfectly fitting: 

Power! Yes, please – it was going to take something extremely powerful to move me, to move us, up and out into the open. Power from on high… clothing us, like a mother would instinctively throw a blanket over shivering child, this power - wrapping itself around our weaknesses, our worries, our wounds… yes, yes please.

For a moment I was lost in thought… but I suddenly realised that Jesus hand had been gently stroking my arm as He spoke to me. I looked down at His hand – it was still resting on the extra robe I was wearing, my uncle’s robe that my aunt had insisted I take. My eyes darted back up at Jesus who was patiently waiting for me to grasp the point…

Her words came flooding back to me: “You didn’t think I would send you out so ill equipped against the night!” 

A memory resurfaced: “If you, though sinful, know how to give good gifts to your children…” Jesus had once told us, many months before, “how much more will your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him?” 

Somewhere in the distance the sound of birdsong was beginning to break the silence of the night, and the pitch-black sky was beginning to give way to a rising orange glow of the morning. A canvas of new colours, the wonder of a new day.

I stretched my arms high over my head, only now remembering how tired I was. I turned to look for somewhere to lie down and rest, over in the corner there was a bed laid waiting. An inviting sight.

Without thinking, I began to slide the robe off from over my shoulders, but then stopped myself. Grabbing the sides of it, and holding it around my face, I thought of the kindness that clothed me. It still smelled of my grandmother’s guest house – a home where these Promises of God were more like residents than visitors, more like family than strangers.

“Clothed with power …from on high…?”

What if we could be clothed in God’s robes? I wondered, what if we could wrap His confidence, His strength around us? Would we smell of the atmosphere of His home? Would we spread the aroma of heaven?

My body might have been exhausted, but it now housed something new, the bubbling of a new hope… So many questions, so many longings, but they too would have to wait until another day. I didn’t have to wait long however for sleep to swallow me up, safe within the upper room walls I drifted happily into a deep sleep… 

Jonathan Vaughan-Davies is the minister at Bethel Baptist Church in Whitchurch, Cardiff, and is also seconded to the Association Team in South Wales to explore Digital Communication and Digital Mission.

He has a particular passion for all things creative in mission and ministry, and blogs regularly at bethelcardiff.org.uk/blog. 

This is the second of four creative and immersive pieces which chart the journey from Easter to Pentecost.

• Read and listen to part one of The Pentecost Diaries: The Road Home here. 

• Read and listen to part two of The Pentecost Diaries: Re-entry here. 

• Read and listen to part three of The Pentecost Diaries: Uprising here

• Read and listen to part four of The Pentecost Diaries: Renewed here.