“Was it not said of old that man is like the dust?”
“That was said of the body, not the spirit. Repent and be saved, for even the rich man can find an abode in heaven if he cares for his neighbor as himself.”
Nicodemus’ concern was still with the earth.
“Do we have any choice as to what we become?”
I saw the flicker of a smile on the Master’s lips.
“Let me say again,” said the Master, “that no man, unless he has already ascended from the earth, descends from heaven. Even the Son of Man must be lifted up so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
Nicodemus at length departed satisfied, having found somewhere in what the Master said a definition of eternity that suited him. But Jesus’ constant allusion to his own death, however he lived on elsewhere in perpetuity, bothered all the disciples, but none more than me. For if he were to die prematurely, who would lead the insurrection?
His appeal was to all classes. Some considered him another David, the giant killer. Others were drawn by his healing powers, or by his promise of eternal life. Still others by the hypnotic spell he seemed capable of spinning at any time. Whatever it was, there was the common desire to follow him.
Nicodemus had eventually been so impressed that he impressed his son by merely telling him of the Master. Boaz came to me, and with a glad heart I took him to Jesus, for with the upper classes we recruited the flower of Jerusalem.
The Master was in a garden, caressing the flowers and speaking tenderly to them, as if they were living creatures. He rose from his knees with a smile, offered me his cheek, and then gave Boaz his hand.
Boaz affected a tone of great humility. “My father has told me of his conviction that you are truly a teacher come from God, and that you preach a doctrine of eternal life. How, Lord and Master, may I partake of this life?”
Jesus regarded him with his enigmatic smile.
“How much do you desire this life?”
“With all my heart.” Boaz’s brown eyes kindled with emotion, and he tossed his fair head. “I would do anything you ask.”
Jesus’ smile deepened. “You call me Lord and Master. Know you not there is only one Lord and Master, and that is the Lord God of Israel?”
“I meant no offense to the Holy One,” said Boaz, “only honor to his messenger.”
“I come from him,” said Jesus, “but he exists apart from me, whereas I cannot exist without him.”
“Some call you the Son of God.”
“The Son is not as great as the Father, though in time some will unwisely call me God. You are ready to do anything, you say?”
“Anything.” Boaz’s head bobbed eagerly.
“You must keep the commandments.”
“Is one more important than the other?”
“You shall worship the Lord God with all your heart. From this others will naturally follow. For then you cannot lie or steal, and it becomes easy to love your neighbor and honor your parents.”
Boaz’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “I have kept all these commandments from the time I was a boy.”
“Have you a wife or a maiden you fancy?”
“I am unwed, and there is none I cannot leave.”
“And your occupation?”
“I have helped my father with his estates.”
“And he has rewarded you well?”
“He has already given me my inheritance.”
“It is considerable?”
“Yes, for I am his only son.”
“Those who follow me have no family but the company of man.”
Boaz nodded quickly. “I am ready.”
Jesus paused. “Are you ready to dispose of the possessions given you by your earthly father?”
Boaz hesitated.
“I do not take my property with me.”
“You cannot travel without taking all that you are with you. Give what you possess to the poor, then follow me, and you shall enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”
I saw the doubt in Boaz’s eyes. “I cannot give away that which is my birthright.”
Jesus sighed. “Your inheritance shall be of this world alone. Only he that forsakes all for my name’s sake shall inherit everlasting life.”
With a downcast face, Boaz turned and trudged slowly away.
“There is a lesson here,” said Jesus sadly, “for even those who have thrown in with me.” His eyes looked through me. “Rome was not built in a day, neither shall it fall in a day.”
I looked up eagerly. “Then it shall fall?”
“All shall come to pass as prophesied, and Rome shall be as a footstool of the Lord.”
Chapter Nine
COMING EVENTS…
NOT UNDERSTANDING MY PATRIOTISM, most of the disciples considered me an unbeliever. But Jesus himself turned aside their barbs and let me know that he held me as good as the others.
“You, Judah, have your mission like the rest, and will be remembered long after many are forgotten.”
“My mission,” I said, “is to free my people.”
His eyebrows arched delicately. “Your people, Judah? And, pray, who are they?”
“The Jews throughout Israel and the Diaspora who would be free of Rome.”
“And the other people? Are not the people of Rome, whom you despise, also the victims of this tyranny?”
He was forever complicating things.
“Is it not clearly spoken by the Prophets that the Messiah shall deliver Israel, so that it shall triumph over the seventy nations?”
“So you would replace the Roman tyranny with another?”
“I care not about the others,” and then more boldly, “nor should the Messiah.”
“Judah, Judah,” he reproved me gently, “how often must you be told that only God’s will is important. All else is vanity.”
Even in his faded robe and worn sandals, he had the look of a King. And that he surely was, even though he spumed the scepter many would have given him. In the face of his indecision, the faith of the disciples, and the people, often flagged. Then he would perform some new wonder which made all realize that he was truly the Deliverer of Isaiah and the Son of Man.
On the road from Jericho we passed through the Valley of Kedron, intending to enter the Holy City by the Fountain Gate. There was a goodly company at our backs when the Master turned toward the Siloam Pool, just southeast of the city.
Normally, he avoided the shrines where the ailing gathered, for he healed publicly, with few exceptions, only to reveal his relationship to the Father. And so I had the feeling he was up to something again. Now, as he approached the pool, he was predictably mobbed by the sick waiting their turn in the water.
Hearing the excited murmur of the crowd, a Wind man raised his hands imploringly, crying out in a quaking voice: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on this son of Israel.” For so Jesus was known to many who were not sure yet that he was the Promised One but who wanted not to offend him if he did prove himself the Deliverer.
Others in the multitude, hoping themselves to be healed, called on Josiah-bar-Timaeus to hold his peace. But Jesus peered over their heads and bade Andrew bring the man forward. Josiah threw away his cup and prostrated himself before the Lord.
“Son of David,” he cried, tears streaming from his sightless eyes, “my eyes would see the bright flowers and the blue skies, the beloved faces of my aging mother and father. For I have been blind from birth and have seen no man, nor in my mind can I fathom how I myself look, though my hands have gone over this countenance endless times.”
Peter had his usual question.
“Who did sin, Master, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
This was not the first time Jesus had been asked to help somebody born blind, only the first time publicly.
The Sadducees in the crowd turned up their noses in disgust, for they believed in no life but the present. But the Master replied, without affirming or denying reincarnation:
“Neither has this man sinned, nor his parents, that he should have been born thus, but that the works of God at the appointed time should be made manifest through him.”
Since Josiah was now thirty years old, it seemed to me cruel that he should have gone sightless all these years just so the Master could use him as a sign.
“Josiah-bar-Timaeus,” said the Master, as if divining my mind, “shall bear witness before all of the power of the Lord.”
The light of the world was about to deliver light to the blind. I saw the sneers of the Sadducees and Pharisees and Scribes, They would see and still not believe, for to do so would overturn their comfortable world.
Usually Jesus healed with a word or a touch. But now he spat on the ground, made a clay of the spittle, and applied the moist mass to the eyes of the blind man. Josiah stood as still as a post.
“Do you feel,” said the Master, “that you will be cured?”
“I have no doubts, Son of David.”
“Good, wash then in the pool, and be healed.”
Andrew and Peter helped Josiah into the pool, empty now because all the sick had crowded about Jesus, praying to be next.
Josiah kneeled and laved his eyes with the water. And then, rubbing his eyes, he let out a jubilant cry: “I see, I see.” In his excitement, he began jumping up and down, until I thought he might fall and do himself damage. But Andrew and Peter got him out of the pool, and took him to the Master.
Jesus’ aura was strong that day, and his eyes piercing.
“You were healed, Josiah-bar-Timaeus, because you had faith. All the clay in the world, without faith, will not heal the bite of a mosquito.”
Josiah’s hungry eyes drank in every sight, “I bear witness that I was blind all my years, until I was healed here today.”
The Pharisee Ezra, self-styled the Truth Watcher, said coldly, out of the crowd: “And who bears witness to you?”
Josiah’s face clouded. “I know not what you mean. I have sat by the pool twenty years and none questioned my blindness. Why would I lie, sir?”
“You have a devil in you, and we know well who put it there. For this healing, if it is such, has been done on the Sabbath day, when there is a ban on public activity.”
Jesus’ eyes flashed.
“Ezra, if your ox fell into a pit and was suffocating, would you extricate him on the Sabbath?”
“The Sabbath is God’s, and it is blasphemous to work on this day.”
“God is more merciful than the Pharisees. For he made the Sabbath for man, not man for the Sabbath.”
The Pharisee shot out his lip, but the Master coolly turned away, followed, as usual, by the crowd.
“What shall I do now?” called Josiah, running after him.
“Enjoy your sight,” said he, “and deny me to no man.”
Two days later, as we camped on the Mount of Olives above the Garden of Gethsemane, word came that the Pharisees planned to put the blind man on trial and reveal Jesus as a charlatan.
Somewhat troubled, I went to the Rabbi Gamaliel’s home in the afternoon. He was praying in the garden but looked up with pleasure when he saw me.
“I am glad to see you,” said he, holding out his cheek, “not only for yourself but so that you can tell me more about this Galilean whom they whisper is the Messiah.”
“He is the Messiah,” I said. “He fits the prophecies perfectly, except that he dallies about Rome.”
“He is wise there,” laughed the rabbi, “or you firebrands would have him on the same cross as Judah the Galilean.”
“There is no cross that can hold him. He shall reign forever, for he fits all the requirements of the King of Kings.”
“We have enough Kings,” said Gamaliel drily. He took me by the elbow. “But excuse me for being a negligent host. Let us go to the study, where we can sip of Persian wine and sit privately and talk.” He led me from the flowered atrium to a small room with windows overlooking the splendid palace of Caiaphas and the palace of Herod.
“You have fine neighbors,” I said.
He smiled. “Your father’s house is but a short distance.” He coughed. “Which reminds me that your mother is back. I think you should call on her.”
I looked up eagerly. “Did she ask after me?”
“No, but her coming back suggests that she would mend the wounds. You are younger, Judah, swallow your pride.”
“But she is my mother.” My sense of grievance asserted itself.
He smiled. “Even so, does not your Master preach that to forgive is to be forgiven?”
I looked at him closely. “You have been following him?”
His head inclined slowly. “Since he was twelve, it would appear. But go to your mother, promise me that.”
I promised.
We reclined comfortably, facing each other over a table laden with wines from many countries. “I would prefer a Judean wine,” I said.
“Always the patriot, Judah? Well, that is one request I can readily fulfill.” He looked up slowly, the decanter poised over my cup. “Is there any other request?”
“Why,” I asked, “does the Sanhedrin concern itself with so slight a matter as a healing at a healing pool?”
He frowned. “It is not slight when you consider how sacred the Pharisees hold the Sabbath.”
“But he saved a man’s sight. It was like restoring a life.”
“According to the law he had no right on the Holy Sabbath even to pick a plum from a tree.”
“But it was God’s work.”
“The Temple decides what is God’s work, and”—his eyes twinkled—“the Sanhedrin decides the Temple’s work.”
“Annas’ family runs the Temple, and the Sanhedrin.”
I had spoken too quickly, and his red face reminded me soon enough of his position. He went on quickly before I could apologize.
“The Sanhedrin is evenly divided between the Sadducees and the Pharisees, and they are not quick to do Annas’ bidding in all things.”
“They have convened at his request to question the blind man and his parents.”
He held out a long finger. “But they have not called your Jesus.”
My curiosity was piqued. “And why is that?”
“Because he has friends even in the Sanhedrin, Pharisees who have an honest curiosity about this Son of David and would know more about him before they pass judgment.”
My eyes studied that shrewd, jovial face. Not for naught did they call him the Owl. “And they fear the thousands that follow him like the Messiah,” I finished his thought. “Who would, if he gave the word, take over the Temple and the Fortress Antonia.”
He chuckled in his beard. “He will never give the word, for he thinks too much of Israel.”
I looked at him questioningly.
“From all I hear he is a very wise man, and wise men know there is a time and place for everything.”
There was no point in discussing Roman arms and Roman might.
“May any but the blind attend this hearing of Josiah-bar-Timaeus?” I asked.
He did not laugh.
“With your credentials that should not be difficult.”
“My credentials are my secret.”
“True, so observe as Gamaliel’s guest, as one whose father was an elder of the Court.”
“Good. Then Jesus will not be summoned.”
“Not if the healing is deemed valid. For it would be foolhardy to make an issue of the Sabbath at this time against a popular hero. He must be discredited first, and that has not happened.”
I was chilled by his cold logic, so calculating it seemed evil.
“I am just looking at the situation through Annas’ eyes, Judah. To achieve success, one must concern himself not so much with what people say or do, but with what they want. Now ask yourself what the old High Priest wants.”
“To stay in power. Everybody knows that.”
“Exactly. So ask yourself what would undermine this power?”
“A rival power
.”
“Precisely, and what else?”
“Trouble with the Romans?”
He gave me an embrace. “You are indeed your father’s son, Judah.”
I had only mentioned the obvious.
“But it is the obvious that eludes people. You should adopt the same approach to your Master. I am sure it would be illuminating. But of course you are too close to him to be dispassionate, and too influenced by wishful thinking.”
He waved aside my objections.
“I shall see you in the morning. Remember,” he cautioned, “you are but an observer.”
As I left I realized that I had not touched my wine.
The Court of the Hewn Stone, where the Sanhedrin met, was nearly filled. Only a quorum of twenty-three was necessary in lesser trials, whereas in capital cases a majority of the seventy’ was usually required. Sessions were customarily held on two successive days to assure the accused the fullest opportunity to reverse the outcome of the first hearing. As always, the law was more merciful than man.
I saw many familiar faces in the chamber. Annas sat on a raised platform facing the tribunal, and slightly below sat the Nasi, the Reb Gamaliel. I took a seat in a back row of the windowless room, first showing a guard a pass signed by the Nasi. Near the prisoner’s dock, I noticed Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, quietly waiting for the proceedings to begin.
The charges were brought by the Rabbi Ezra, but as the accuser he could not be a witness. Caiaphas, the Prosecutor, took his place at the head of a long table. Two witnesses were necessary, and since the accused was hardly a bona fide witness against himself, I wondered who the others might be. With a start I recognized the disciple Cestus, who I remembered now had been in the company that day.
He was my responsibility, since I had named him, and Dysmas and Joshua-bar-Abbas as well, after they had shown some interest in using this cloak to cover their activities for the cause.
From time to time, I received reports of their forays and wondered whether I had done the right thing. I comforted myself with the thought that they were toiling in the vineyard of the Lord, spreading Christ’s word, even as they were collecting weapons and other material for the final judgment. But now I was not so sure, seeing the recklessness in Cestus.
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