Christ's Journal

by Paul Alexander Bartlett

  “Master...let me follow you... I believe...let me be one of yourchosen...let me tell others what you have done for me. I know aboutyour ministry.” He kissed my robe. “When I heard you speak yesterdayI tried to reach you.”

  He urged me to stay at his home; perhaps he had heard me say that foxhave holes and birds have nests but the man of God has no home. Iwarned Bartimaeus not to look back if he put his hand to the plough.

  Lately I have not seen much of Judas. He refuses to visit me atClibus’ home. I hear that Judas has quarrelled with the daughter ofPilate. Faithful to our group, he collects and disperses funds. Ourgroup is increasing in number—committed to everyone. Some of usprovide food, clothing and shelter.

  A nomad group is famine stricken. The babies need sugar and salt andwe have provided packets by way of a caravan.

  Clibus’

  Through Clibus I have written a letter home. Mother will find someoneto read it aloud. I don’t want Mother and Father to come here. Theydislike the city. Father has been unable to work and needs to husbandhis strength. He must avoid danger.

  Getting up at dawn I have been able to memorize lines from Horace,lines that help. The tiny garden helps. The children help. But whenJohn’s cousin, Elihu, came, distortion returned as we talked ofJohn’s imprisonment, torture, death. Elihu is a frail soul, so unlikeJohn. He is so in need of encouragement. He tells me that a stormflooded homes in Nazareth. They did the best they could with shovelsand baskets.

  Jerusalem

  Nisan 8

  I

  look forward to resurrection. The promise of resurrection sustains mealthough I am, at times, confused, confused because resurrectionmeans a blurring of the future, perhaps a cessation of the future. Ican not plan a sabbath. I can not say “We shall meet together atSamaria.” Since the beyond is truly incomprehensible today isdistorted as well.

  I must warn myself of the onslaught of pain that will crush me duringthe crucifixion. How to bear it? Gird my loins, perhaps. It will notbe easy to die for my fellowmen. Will my ascension help others risefrom their tragic lives?

  Dread eats away at me.

  Hate undermines me.

  Broken covenants...Golgotha, place of skulls...rocky Judea... CaesarAugustus, your crimes are everywhere...imperator...killer!

  I need to be baptized with love.

  With wisdom.

  Yesterday, in this city of rocks, I noticed straw in a stable, yellowstraw, fresh, clean, glistening in the sun. I took a few. Straw issimplicity. Simplicity points to a balanced way.

  Bethany

  Nisan 12

  Yesterday I walked to Bethany. Martha and Mary said that Lazarus haddied. Among graves and stunted trees, in a stinging wind, I becamekeenly aware of the days I spent at their home, with the three ofthem. How often Lazarus and I had done carpentering under histhatched shed.

  Here, with his sisters, friends and relatives, here at the tombs, Iknew death was not the answer. I walked to the crypt where Lazaruslay. Loose rocks tumbled underfoot. Wind whipped. A boulder blockedthe crypt and I asked Martha to have her friends help me drag itaside. Men consulted and argued that it was useless; they glared atme savagely as they pushed and dragged the stone.

  At the opening I bent over and cried:

  “Lazarus...come... I am the resurrection and the life...come...thisis Jesus!”

  I needed him. His family needed him. Mary and Martha. Death did notneed him, surely.

  Men jeered and howled. But I knelt and shouted as the wind spat onall of us.

  Ah, sorrowing women, yellow rocks, death, a man in his crypt, coldstone, a hawk screaming...

  I called again and again.

  “Lazarus, this is Jesus. Arise! Come with us! Remember us, remember Iam the resurrection and the life. Come unto me...believe...God ishere...”

  It was late afternoon: the sun was behind the yellow cliff.

  Martha clutched my arm and said:

  “Lord, let us leave. Lazarus has been dead four days. He stinks.”

  A funeral procession passed by—men and women—the men carrying achild’s coffin.

  “God, our Father, help us. Give this man life again!” I beseechedwith passion. I knew, as I prayed, that Lazarus would respond.

  Swaying, wrapped in burial clothes, Lazarus appeared, a scarf acrosshis face. He could not see or move his hands. I went to him andMartha uncovered his eyes. Mary ran to help. We unwrapped his legsand arms.

  “Jesus has given you life,” Martha said. “You are going home withus...you are one of us again.”

  Stumbling over rocks, Mary guiding him, Lazarus found a place to sitdown. We unbound him and someone gave him a robe. Someone offered hima piece of bread. He shook his head, stared at us, turned from one tothe other, his face birdlike, hawklike, white. He peered at hiscrypt. Martha hugged him, laughing. People gathered. Some kneltaround us.

  “Mary, what happened?” Lazarus began, speaking his first words.

  “Why am I here in this place? Why am I wearing a robe? And thesepeople... and Jesus! Was I sick? Where are my clothes?”

  I longed to leave this place of death: it was closing in on me. Thewind blew harder and a hawk leaped upward.

  With Martha I walked away, listening to her happiness, her praise.

  “We must have supper. What shall we eat? Will he be hungry, able toeat? Jesus, you have saved him. I love you. It’s wonderful! He’sback...think of it, after four days. Then, then there is no death forus who believe...”

  At supper Lazarus was unable to talk; he drank a little and soon hadbread wet with olive oil. No one had much to say. Lazarus sat next tome. Bending over his plate he gave me a few boyish grins—like oldtimes. He had gotten into his work clothes. Putting his hand into apocket he pulled out a small chisel and laid it on the table. But hesaid nothing. I urged him to eat Martha’s fish or lamb, delicatelyprepared. Every face at the table expressed a wonderment and rapture.The candles burned down. The women ate. Suddenly there was chatterand then laughter—rejoicing.

  It was difficult to return to Jerusalem, leave my friends. I lingereda day for the fields of barley, the paths that were peaceful paths. Ihad to have time to be with Lazarus, be with Mary and Martha, writemy journal. Alongside the carpentry bench I have a table. I preferwriting outdoors. There is a vine on the thatched shed and it is inflower. As I write Lazarus is sleeping on the ground, in the sun.

  Caretakers at the graveyard claim that one of the crypts has beenrobbed.

  Jerusalem

  I keep hearing the words of an old hymn as I go about; it was John’sfavorite, one we learned while at Qumran. Was it solace while he wasimprisoned? I hope it was. It is a comfort to me—so gracious.

  I give thanks unto Thee, O Lord,

  For Thou has wrought a wonder with dust.

  Thou hast made me know Thy deep, deep truth,

  Thou hast given me a voice;

  I continually bless Thy name.

  I seem to hear John’s commanding voice, his loving benediction as Ileft his prison:

  The Lord bless thee and keep thee,

  the Lord make His face to shine upon thee

  and be gracious unto thee...

  Ephraim

  Nisan 14

  I am staying at a beautiful old stone house in nearby Ephraim. I haveallowed myself a respite, among pomegranate, olives, roses. Heronsfly at dawn and evening. Children run in and out. A boy with shaggyhead has a pet dove. A girl with almond eyes is learning to weave. Mydisciples are here, the new and the old. We have met in a low room,plain and bearded men, clothes new and disheveled; Ezra shows me hisinjured leg; Luke works over it; Lamech (a strong youth) is fromCasarea, an expert swimmer, he said.

  “I will walk to Jerusalem tomorrow. I’ll remain there. The highpriests will accost me. They may mock and scourge me, as they havemany others...but I will return.” I tried to speak calmly. I couldnot be forthright...

  Calling me “Rabboni,” a pretty girl knelt in the jammed room andanointed me with fragrant oil.
It was a moment of calm, a moment ofbeauty.

  Nisan 15

  Holy Week has begun.

  I walk accompanied by my disciples.

  As we pass a tall wooden cross I remembered that the Romans havecrucified as many as two thousand men at one time because ofreligious dedication. Almost every single one of us has witnessed acrucifixion.

  Hail Caesar!

  Ours was a solemn path on a clear morning, larks singing, the airbrisk.

  Carrying fronds, waving, hoping to speak to us, hundreds filled thepaths and streets, wanting the miracle of love and life.

  Our path crooked upward to the “House of the Figs,” where I was givena donkey, a tall, white one. Children shouted joyously. For me, hewas my donkey of peace. I waved as I rode along. Some women cutbranches and tossed them in front of me. Others threw flowers andshouted “Hosanna.”

  Jerusalem spread around me, blocks of stone, yellow walls, piles ofancient masonry, new porticos, towers, shops... It was my city, myhated city; I esteemed the meaning it has for my forefathers, men whoslept in the valley, with peaked cypresses above their graves.

  Dust fanned over us as we followed a narrow way. Romans turned on meand turned on the crowd but I warned them to desist.

  At the temple I found more money changers. The courtyard wascattleyard; waiting rooms were storerooms. Animals bellowed. I struckagain at the vendors, toppling tables, hurling money trays. The crowdscreamed, cheered. In the midst of this bedlam strangers, travelers,stopped Philip and Andrew. They insisted upon being presented to me.The four men offered me sanctuary in the kingdom of Edessa.

  Priests, soldiers, young and old crammed around me as I explained thelife eternal, the image of redemption, eternal salvation and theprice we must pay.

  God is our Father...the world of nature proclaims His goodness...menmust share His divine harmony...you reach God from within...reborn,you recognize the light.

  Children sang.

  My love went to them.

  Astride my donkey I preached to them in simple words.

  As the sun slipped behind the city towers there were scores listeningand we lingered on the terrace:

  “There is light for you for a little while longer...walk while thereis light... darkness will come...he who walks in darkness cannot tellwhere he is going... believe in the light...”

  The evening air was becoming chilly; a wind was blowing in from thedesert.

  With my twelve I walked through the Golden Gate, passing great herdsof sheep and goats, grey pastoral sheep and black mountain goats. Iwas proud of my men, proud of their courage and love, proud of theirhumility.

  Jerusalem

  Nisan 29

  We met in an upper room—a white-walled room. Centering it was a longtable and we sat around it, sharing bread and wine...below us roseswere in flower.

  God was with me as I told them, my legatees, that I must die.

  “Tonight you are entrusted with the keys of the kingdom. Two at atime you are to go about the world, preaching the gospel. Faith isour church.”

  I loved each man. Such faces! Bartholomew, Matthew, Luke, James,Simon, Peter, Thaddeus, Judas, John, Phillip. I gazed at one and thenthe other, fisherman, cobbler, farmer, physician, lawyer...brothers.

  “Your task is to save mankind!”

  The lamps on our table shaped shadows on the walls, on the floor, farmore than shadows. The white walls enshrined each of us. When thewind puffed our lamps blinked. Ours was an aura that may never recur.

  “Soon my enemies will crucify me...one of you will betray me...”

  What consternation! What hysterical exclamations! What accusations!Then the pleas began: you must escape! Let us help you! We can!Listen...flee...tonight.

  “Faith is the miracle for everyone,” I said. “Heal the sick. RememberCana... Galilee...Lazarus...the lepers on the roadway...”

  I reminded them that we are samaritans. Mercy is ours, ours to give.We are to help the heavy laden. Love our children. We are to teach byexample.

  Israel, I told myself, you are to nurture goodwill, tolerance, peace,hope.

  So it was in that white room, at that hour.

  Clibus’

  By the light of candles I write, to shepherd words, to commune oncemore. There is little time for writing, little time for thinking. Ifeel that I must endure. By the flickering lights I commune withFather, Mother, earth.

  I would like to go on healing the sick, alleviating pain, the body’spain, the soul’s. To be a good shepherd, yes. Will my disciplespersevere?

  I can write no more tonight.

  Peter’s

  Iyyar 2

  O

  h, Jerusalem, you killer of prophets, stoner of those sent to helpyou! How I have wanted to care for your children as a hen cares forher chicks under her wings. You would not have me!

  Plotters have attempted to trap me. A group cornered me near thetemple. Is it lawful to pay tribute to Caesar? they asked. I askedfor a coin. I called their attention to the face on the coin, theface of Caesar Augustus.

  “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and unto God thethings that are God’s.”

  Not to be defeated, men queried me, as I sat in the court of thetemple, old, old questions. It seemed to me they were stunned when Ireminded them that God is not the god of the dead but of the living.Other interrogators appeared at noon. A huge grey-bearded priestdemanded:

  “Master, which is the greatest commandment of the law?”

  I deliberated, wanting to impose on his arrogance.

  “You shall love the Lord will all your heart and with your soul andwith your mind...this is the first and greatest commandment,” I said.“The second commandment is similar,” I pointed out. “You shall loveyour neighbor as yourself.”

  By now I was angry and left these idlers and when I was alone with mydisciples I shamed the trouble-makers who clean the outside of thecup and leave the inside dirty... I called them a generation ofvipers...they are the ones who will persecute the faithful from townto town...crucify them...

  Grief overcame me. I could talk no longer.

  Disgusted with the day, Matthew asked if the world would come to anend soon. That question had to be left unanswered. Inventors ofquestions are everywhere. I wanted to add, watch, be on guard, prayceaselessly, work... Don’t be careless while your master is away. Youcan’t tell when he may return.

  Mother came to visit me, she arrived in the night, afraid. Rumors hadreached her that I was ill. She was ill. It is a long, long walk,from Nazareth. Peter gave us melon and though it was long pastmidnight we sat at a little table under the stars and ate.

  It is impossible to go on writing.

  I see what is to take place. I am frightened. I must wait until Ihave risen from the dead to continue writing. I have spoken toMatthew. I will entrust my journal to him.

  Judas, in a drunken rage, has gone to the authorities and haspromised to deliver me to them for a sum. He ridiculed me when Irefused to ask God’s protection.

  Here are my final thoughts:

  I beg You, dear Lord, hear me. Be attentive to my last supplications.

  I wait, my soul waits. My soul waits for You more than any who waitfor the morning. I say, more than those who watch for the morning.

  Peter’s

  Iyyar 10

  I am alive.

  A tremor roused me and I slowly unwound my grave clothes, noticinghow beautiful they were. I looked at my left hand. I looked at myright hand. They had healed. The stone that blocked my crypt had beenrolled aside. It was dawn when I went out. Outside I found adiscarded robe.

  The sky was grey but sun slanted across spring hills. I walked towardthe sun on a path that led away from the tombs. Perhaps no one cangrasp my bewilderment and my happiness. I tasted the air. My brainrushed about, rebounded from a bush, crashed against rocks. Light wassplintering around me; inside that light was the realization that mysuffering is over. I need not die. Life was living in me like a seed,but a perpetual seed.
<
br />   Following a path across flowering fields I picked flowers; then,across the field, I saw Mary Magdalene. She was sobbing, crying. Icalled her and she ran to me, saying “Rabboni” over and over.“Dearest...”

  Mary and Martha appeared. The women surrounded me, laughing, touchingme, kissing my robe, my hands. Later in the day we set out forNazareth, for my home, Mother and Father. Halfway Mother met us andthrew her arms around me—no words were necessary.

  That evening, as we ate together, Mother described Father’simprisonment. He had sold the gifts of the Magi to obtain bribemoney: he planned to bribe the soldiers to free me. The merchant whobought the gifts summoned officials. By lying he got Father jailedfor theft.

  It required four days to free him, our Nazarene priests testifying...

  Liberated from death I see life as a singular continuity, acontinuity embodying my imperfections, many hopes. I find a new calmin all that I experience: as I project into tomorrow I sense thisserenity. Simplicity itself wears an aura of riches.