Peter's Wife's Tale

My name is Judith, and I am 30 years old. I have worked hard all my life, keeping house for my family, and helping my husband Peter with his fishing job. He brings in a big catch, and it is up to me to gut the fish, and salt it, and sell it. He thinks his job is the harder, but that is all he does. I do all my fish related work and also look after our five children, clean my house, do all the cooking, and
still have time to pray to God. If I do say so myself, I do the best job possible under the circumstances.

So that is why I am now so very annoyed. Peter came home yesterday, hardly having caught any fish at all, and his face shone. "I have met the most wonderful man," he said. "He looked at John and me as if he could see straight through us and knew all our thoughts and deeds. He made us feel special and full of energy and wanting to throw out our arms and embrace the world."

"He sounds very nice and interesting," I said. "Why don't you invite him over for supper tomorrow?" so he said he would.

Now, I have already told you how hard I work, but since Peter was so excited about this new friend of his, I made a very special effort and went out and bought the costliest ingredients and made the best
casserole that I could. I wanted to honour our guest and show him how much we appreciated his presence with us.

But all the time he was at the house, he kept talking to Peter about his mission, and how he wanted and needed Peter to help him. "I will make you fishers of men," he kept saying. What is that
supposed to mean? Peter was a fisher of fish, and a very good one, but that was all that he was. Jesus ate my meal, and thanked me kindly for my hospitality, and then left.

But the next morning, when I awoke, Peter was gone. Not just gone fishing, as his boat was in the yard as usual. And Jesus had gone with him. He had stolen my husband. He lured him away - leaving all this responsibility behind. Who is going to catch the fish to keep up our livelihood? Who is going to buy the necessary things for raising our children? Who is going to do all the odd jobs around the house that men do so much better? Who is going to comfort me in bed? I was
so angry I could spit. What kind of husband was it, who was so mesmerised by a fancy speaker that he instantly overthrows his years of commitment. I think this Jesus has a lot to answer for.

I had no choice but to get on with my life, husbandless. But I didn't miss any opportunity to tell my friends and neighbours and relatives just exactly what I thought of the situation. And I found out I
wasn't the only one this had happened to. Not only had Jesus lured Peter away, but also John and Andrew and Philip and Thomas and almost all the able bodied men in the neighbourhood. But I was the only one left husbandless. The other men were all younger and single - so they only left mothers and sisters and girlfriends behind. I became more and more angry the more I thought about it. Why had he chosen Peter? And more importantly, why had Peter gone?

We muddled through those years. I did see Peter and his cronies occasionally, and, of course, I heard stories about them. They apparently travelled all over the countryside with Jesus preaching
and healing the sick and lame. Hundreds flocked to the meetings to see him and hear what he had to say. And his faithful friends waited on him hand and foot. Everyone seemed to love this Jesus. All you heard about him was the good he had done. Nobody said, "Here is a man who ruins marriages. Here is a man who steals fathers from their children. Here is a man who tells men to run away from all their responsibilities."

But we coped. We had friends who gave us food when we were desperate. I managed to do some fish gutting for neighbours who had more work than they could cope with and they paid me for it. The children were very good and undemanding and did what they could to help as well. So we got on, and survived, no thanks to that good for nothing husband of mine and his friend, who became more famous by the day.

Then one day I had the experience that mothers dread. One of my children, Monica, my youngest, became suddenly sick, and quickly collapsed in a heap and died. I was beside myself with grief. I cried until there were no tears left. I couldn't get on and do anything. The other children were upset too, of course, and tried to comfort me, but I just blamed it all on the bad luck of Jesus' arrival in the
area all those years ago.

And then, just as I was cursing him, there he was. He looked at me, and smiled, and somehow I too was mesmerised by his eyes. He went into Monica's room where she was laid out, and he picked up her hand and said, "Child, arise," and she did. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was hugging her and crying. "But she was dead," I said, "and you have raised her to life. How can I thank you?" I asked him.

"I do have my uses," he said, in a joking way. "There is a reason and purpose for everything I do, and everything that your husband does for me and with me. It is all part of God's plan, and
you are part of it too. Keep well," he said, and chucking Monica under the chin, he said as he left, "I think this girl looks hungry. You should feed her."

So now I am still alone, still without a husband, the children without a father, but my bitterness is gone. I can now gladly share my husband with Jesus, because I have discovered that we each have
our own work to do. Peter needs to help Jesus in his ministry, and I have to take care of my family as best I can. I can now think of him and bless him, and wish him well. And maybe, some day when my load is lighter, I might join up with him too. At least that way, I could see what I have been missing all these years.