by Adam Winn
Judah’s head sank. “How could I have been so careless? This is all my fault.”
“You don’t know the truth yet, Cousin,” Caleb replied. “Be careful not to jump to rash conclusions. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Perhaps,” Judah said. “We must warn the others, and quickly. They must have time to either flee the city or hide. Could you warn Nathaniel and Jacob for me? Both should be at their father’s home.”
Caleb knew the danger in this request, but he could not deny it. “Yes, Cousin, I will warn them. But you must think of yourself as well. Do not return home. Warn the others and hide yourself.”
Judah embraced him. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” The words stabbed Caleb’s heart like a dagger as he watched the cousin he had betrayed depart into the alleyway behind the shop.
Caleb stood dumbfounded in the doorway. The happiness, confidence, and renewed faith he had been feeling moments ago had vanished, replaced by a sickening feeling of dread, guilt, and treachery. He didn’t know how, but he knew it was his report that had resulted in the arrests.
How could I have been so foolish? How could I have thought I could filter information to protect my kin and friends? He didn’t know what other information the authorities already possessed or how they might combine that information with his to deduce the identities of the conspirators. He had played a dangerous game and lost.
But as he was contemplating these questions, competing thoughts arose in his mind. He was not to blame for these arrests. He was not the one who attacked Roman soldiers. He did not engage in violent resistance that was bound to have violent consequences. These men had made their choice, and he had only passed on the basic origins of their plan. How could he be held responsible for what was to happen next?
With these thoughts he tried to push down his raging guilt, but he was not sure it was working. After a few moments, he told his sister he had to run a quick errand and headed to the home of Nathaniel and Jacob. Warning them was the least he could do.
PILATE
Pilate was already in a bad mood as he sat down to read his most recent correspondence. He had just come from the hippodrome in Caesarea, where he had failed miserably with his bets for the day. He was particularly angry because he had received tips on two races—one a two-horse chariot race and another the day’s final four-horse race. Because he had done so poorly on the previous races, he had doubled down on the final race, only to see his chariot blow a late lead when one of its wheels came off. Although losing the money was painful, losing it to his arrogant friend Jason made it even worse. He wouldn’t hear the end of it until next week’s races.
He first read a report from one of his informants who was following the Galilean prophet, Jesus. Jesus had indeed headed south and was taking the eastern route, along the Jordan River. He had left Capernaum three days before and had made his way to the villages near the city of Pella, where this correspondence had been sent from. Pilate calculated that he was covering approximately ten miles a day. At that rate, he would cover the remaining distance in about four days, putting him near Jerusalem about a week and half before Passover. But if he decided to stay in certain cities longer than one night, his arrival would be delayed.
If Pilate was going to arrest this prophet, he was going to have to act quickly. The best plan would be to send soldiers to Jericho and have Jesus arrested there. It would be his last chance to arrest him outside Jerusalem, as most travelers would cover the distance between the two cities in one day.
“Lucien!” Pilate called for his chief aide, who appeared from around the corner and dutifully replied, “Yes, my lord, how can I be of assistance?”
“I would like you to send for Commander Cornelius,” said Pilate. “I have an assignment I must discuss with him.” Cornelius was the centurion responsible for the single cohort of soldiers stationed in Caesarea.
“Of course, my lord.”
In less than twenty minutes, he had returned with Cornelius. Cornelius was thirty-five, only a few years younger than Pilate. He was an accomplished soldier and a well-respected commander. During his time in Judea, he had become quite enamored with the god of the Jews and had recently spoken to Pilate of his growing devotion. Pilate found this strange, but respected Cornelius enough to not interject his own opinion on the matter. Since Pilate’s appointment to the region, he had established a good working relationship with Cornelius, and perhaps even a friendship. They dined together regularly and would often discuss both the political and military climate of the region.
“My lord, you called for me?” said Cornelius.
“Yes, Cornelius. There is an assignment I need to discuss with you. Not long ago, we spoke of the Galilean prophet, Jesus, and the potential threat he posed to the region.”
“Yes, I know of the man,” Cornelius replied. “At the time, you were watching him and had sent a request to Herod to look into the matter. Has the situation changed?”
“I am afraid it has,” Pilate said gravely. “As you might have guessed, Herod gave lip service to my request but did nothing—the coward. Now this prophet has left Galilee and is headed south. All indications are that he intends to visit Jerusalem for Passover. If he indeed has revolutionary ambitions, his presence in Jerusalem could be disastrous. Arresting him in the city during Passover might create as much trouble as he might cause on his own. Thus, he should never make it to Jerusalem. I want you to send soldiers to Jericho to intercept and arrest him there.”
Cornelius hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Such arrangements can be made. A small cavalry unit could travel to Jericho within a day.”
The centurion’s hesitation was not lost on Pilate. “Why are you uncertain of my plan, Cornelius? Please speak freely. I count you a friend and have always respected your insights.”
“My lord,” Cornelius said cautiously, uncertain whether to trust the permission Pilate had granted. “You said if he has revolutionary ambitions his presence in Jerusalem would be disastrous. But how certain are you that he has such ambitions? From the reports I have heard, he has not endorsed violence, nor has he publicly proclaimed himself a messiah of any sort.”
Pilate paused thoughtfully. “Yes, that is correct, Cornelius, but it is quite clear that he proclaims a new and coming kingdom of god to this region, and the people love him and are enraptured by this teaching. Such talk of a new kingdom is inherently subversive, as it implies the fall of our beloved Roman Empire. We cannot be ignorant of this. And while no talk of violence has made its way into his public teaching, he could no doubt rally these desperate people in revolt at a moment’s notice. The threat is real, and we must not ignore it. I was reluctant to arrest the prophet John, and that reluctance was almost costly. I promised myself not to make the same mistake twice.”
Cornelius nodded, paused a moment as if composing his thoughts, and said, “These are valid concerns, my lord. But if we arrest a popular prophet mere days before Passover, do we not ourselves risk retaliation? You are set to leave for Jerusalem in a matter of days. How will the city receive you with the shadow of this prophet’s arrest hanging over you? It would raise the tension in the city even higher, making the situation extremely dangerous. This is a very difficult decision, my lord—one I do not envy having to make. Both courses of action come with risk, and I will faithfully execute the duty you give me. Of this you can be sure.”
“I have no doubts about that, Cornelius, and I appreciate your counsel,” said Pilate. “I will need to think on these things. For now, prepare for the mission. I leave the details to you. You will hear from me on this matter within the day.”
“Consider it done, my lord.” Cornelius quickly left the room to make the necessary preparations.
Pilate turned to his aid, Lucien. Lucien was fifty-five years of age, a true Roman, born in the great city itself and deeply committed to it and the empire it had built. “What is your opinion in this matter, Lucien?” Pilate already knew well what he would say but wanted to hear him say it a
nyway.
“Permission to speak freely, my lord?” Lucien replied.
“Of course, Lucien, speak your mind.”
Lucien straightened himself. A strong, defiant look appeared on his face. “Rome is the greatest empire this world has ever known, my lord. It has brought peace and prosperity to the entire world, even to this ungrateful region of Judea. Any threat of sedition, any attempt to subvert this great work of our people, no matter how great or small, ought to be utterly destroyed. If this man speaks of a new kingdom, then he is clearly not a friend of the current one—and if not a friend, then an enemy. In my estimation, you cannot put him on a cross fast enough, along with any who follow him. Yes, I know this might disrupt the peace of Jerusalem and perhaps the entire region. The people might riot and revolt. But what of it? Why should we fear this result? Such actions are only the manifestation of the truth in their hearts—the hate and ungratefulness they harbor within. Let it be revealed openly to the world, and then let the legions of Rome come and crucify them all! Let their city and their temple burn! Why should we step cautiously around them, always concerned about offending them? We are Rome and they are not! I say arrest this Jesus and let the chips fall where they may.” It was clear that the freedom to voice these thoughts brought Lucien deep satisfaction.
And Pilate admired the speech, particularly its passion. Lucien’s words resonated with many of Pilate’s own feelings and justified his own plan of action, which was why Pilate asked to hear from Lucien; a little self-indulgence is good for the soul every now and then. This was the response of a true Roman, the same that Pilate would have received from many patriots back in Italy.
But unfortunately, its sentiment did not reflect the will of the imperial family. They desired peace and stability in the region. While Lucien might have been right about Rome winning any war against Jewish revolutionaries, it would come at a high cost. War was expensive, and war in one part of the empire meant vulnerability in another. And what if a rebel state of Judea allied with the Parthians? Such an alliance would prove troublesome indeed.
For all these reasons, Pilate could not fully embrace his aid’s advice. “I share many of these sentiments, Lucien, and appreciate your honesty. It did my soul good to hear the deep convictions of a Roman patriot. And that is what you are.” He could see the pride rise in his aid’s eyes. “Unfortunately, the cause of peace is a priority for our great imperial family. I am afraid we must follow a different course of action.”
“Indeed, my lord,” replied Lucien, nodding firmly. With that, he took his leave.
The next piece of correspondence on Pilate’s desk was from Caiaphas. Perhaps it would prove useful in making his decision. He read the letter carefully and was once again struck by what an excellent politician this high priest was. Two objectives emerged from the letter, the first more subtle than the second. Caiaphas implied that Pilate’s idea of bringing three hundred additional soldiers to Jerusalem might be misguided. Would the presence of these soldiers ensure greater peace given the tension their entrance and presence would create? Caiaphas claimed to be unsure, though it was clear to Pilate he was quite sure. But Pilate was quite sure as well—the additional show of force was necessary and nonnegotiable. Any deterrent to violent resistance was necessary, and the additional soldiers would accompany him to Jerusalem. Case closed.
On the second objective, Caiaphas was far more direct. He argued strongly, though respectfully, that arresting this prophet would be a mistake that would cast a dark and dangerous shadow over the coming Passover celebration. He shared many of the concerns already expressed by Cornelius, but perhaps his strongest argument was that the best possible outcome would be Jesus coming to Jerusalem as a peaceful prophet seeking to celebrate this great festival. They could not yet rule out this outcome, and as it was the best opportunity for peace, they should take no action against Jesus until it became clear he was a threat. The greatest mistake would be creating a threat to peace where no threat exists. If Jesus did turn out to be a revolutionary, arresting him in Jerusalem might prove more challenging, but the risk of violent retaliation was not that much greater than it would be if they arrested him prior to his arrival.
Pilate found all these arguments compelling, save the last one. He did not believe the danger of arresting Jesus prior to his arrival in the city was about the same as that of arresting him in the city. The latter brought far greater danger. At Passover the city would be a tinderbox, only needing a spark to set it ablaze. Arresting Jesus in the city could be just such a spark. While arresting him prior to his arrival might bring anger, Pilate did not believe it carried with it the danger of arresting him in Jerusalem.
But Pilate kept coming back to Caiaphas’s claim that the greatest mistake would be creating a threat to peace where no threat exists. Pilate had created such a threat in the past and vowed never to do it again. It was Caiaphas who had helped him see clearly then. Would he not listen to the wisdom of this priest again? Just recently, Caiaphas had advised a light touch in the investigation of the death of five Roman soldiers. In the end, he had been right. They had made arrests, with no apparent threat to peace.
This tipped the scales. Pilate would not prevent Jesus from coming to Jerusalem. He drafted a note to Cornelius telling him not to send soldiers to Jericho.
This priest had better be right, he thought.
CALEB
It had been almost a week since the arrests of Joseph, Simeon, and Samuel. Caleb had not seen Judah again. According to Judah’s sister, he had left Jerusalem on an urgent family matter, and it was uncertain when he would return. Caleb knew this was untrue, though he did not know if Judah’s sister knew this or if Judah had actually left the city. As far as Caleb knew, there had been no additional arrests, and he had not heard any rumors of soldiers looking around for additional conspirators. The people expected Roman authorities to punish these men soon, though most believed they would not do so until after the Passover.
The arrests had increased the tension in the city. People claimed that such seemingly insignificant men with no history of violence could not actually be responsible for the deaths of five Roman soldiers. Most believed that these men were peripheral at best to the attack, and that Roman authorities had arrested them in an attempt to find the true culprits.
Since the day of the arrests, Caleb’s soul had been conflicted. At times he felt extreme guilt, but at other times he was able to justify his actions and assuage his conscience. Today—at least for this moment—he was living in the latter. No doubt this first day of the Passover week, a beautiful spring day, helped. The city streets were bustling with activity, and excitement was in the air. While some pilgrims had arrived earlier, this was generally the day of arrival for most traveling to the city to celebrate the festival. The city with a population of approximately sixty thousand people would swell to almost three hundred thousand. While this influx of people certainly caused headaches for the city rulers and officials, it brought great energy and excitement for the common people. A majority of those making pilgrimage had family and friends in the city, and therefore this was a time of reunion and celebration.
Caleb himself had many friends arriving whom he was eager to see again. He also had family that he would be hosting in his own home: his aunt, Elizabeth, along with her son, Jacob, and daughter, Mary. Jacob was a year older than Caleb, and Mary was a year younger than his sister Miriam. Their families had been extremely close, but Elizabeth and her children moved to Damascus when she remarried after the death of her first husband. They always returned to Jerusalem for the Passover and stayed through the Feast of Weeks, a celebration of firstfruits and the giving of the Torah, held fifty days later. Because of his responsibilities in Damascus, Elizabeth’s second husband rarely made the trip with them.
Jacob and Caleb had grown up like brothers and were inseparable throughout their youth. They both worked in the pottery shop, and Caleb’s father took care of his sister’s family up until her remarriage. When they mo
ved it was hard on Caleb, who lost his closest friend. It also made the death of Caleb’s father, only one year later, much harder. Though the distance had been difficult, the two regularly corresponded and usually saw each other at least twice a year. Their relationship was one on which time and distance seemed to have no effect. With this reunion in front of him, he couldn’t allow himself to be mired in guilt.
He closed the shop at noon. After a quick lunch with Miriam, they headed out to greet their family. The march of pilgrims into the city was exciting. Many pilgrims would sing and dance, and those at the gates waiting for family usually joined in as a group approached the city entrance—whether they knew them or not! Even for those who did not join in, the sight of family and friends reuniting was a joyous one.
As was their tradition, Caleb would meet Jacob and his family at the Shushan Gate on the eastern side of the city, across from the Mount of Olives. Travelers from the north would usually come south along the Jordan River to Jericho before turning west toward Jerusalem. They would pass through the village of Bethany, come down the Mount of Olives into the Kidron Valley, and then ascend Mount Zion, where Jerusalem’s glorious temple sat.
The current temple was the result of a massive remodeling of the one originally built by the Jewish leader Zerubbabel after the return from Babylonian exile five hundred years earlier. The remodel was undertaken by the late Roman client king, Herod “the Great,” whose sons, Herod Antipas and Philip, still ruled on Rome’s behalf in northern Israel. While he was a paranoid despot, Herod’s acumen for building was undeniable. The remodeling of the Jerusalem temple was, without question, his magnum opus. Before Rome granted Herod power in the region, Zerubbabel’s temple was nothing special to behold. It was a shell of the earlier temple built by King Solomon on the same site, Mount Zion (at times called Mount Moriah). Both had occupied only a fraction of the mountaintop. But in order to gain favor with the people and recognition for himself, Herod began a massive building program, turning the entire mountain into a platform for the temple to stand on.