Saviour

by Christopher Gallagher

  'Cages of pigeons.'

  Jesus nodded. 'Jamie?'

  Jamie looked around, considered. 'Money changers.'

  'Jim?'

  'Lots of noise, confusion.'

  'John?'

  'A market, it's a market.'

  'Jude?'

  Jude's face lit up with a big smile. 'An opportunity.'

  'An opportunity?' Jesus replied, nodding in agreement. 'You're right, and I intend to make the most of it.' He looked at them in turn. 'Watch.'

  Jesus moved to the centre of the courtyard, held up his hands. 'STOP.' He shouted. 'STOP RIGHT NOW.'

  A few traders looked, shrugged, continued with their transactions. Some people pointed, sniggered. The vast majority ignored him.

  That was never going to work, Peter decided, these people didn’t understand sweet reason.

  The disciples watched in stunned disbelief as Jesus ran across to a moneychanger’s booth, pushed it over. Shouts of anger came from within as the structure toppled to the floor. Pigeons flapped. Coins from the booth, rolled across the ground, people stooped, picked them up, slipped them in pockets, and carried on, one fluid movement. Jesus moved on to the sheep pens, unlatched the gates, urged the animals out, and did the same with the oxen.

  In a few minutes, what had been a chaotic but peaceful trading area, was transformed into a scene of utter confusion. Animals bellowing, bleating. Men shouting, swearing, screaming, while Jesus ran round the entire area, knocking over stalls, ordering people to leave, take their goods with them.

  Whoa!

  Peter took a deep breath, looked at Jim in stunned silence. This was definitely a different Jesus to the lad he'd known at school.

  Jim looked round the other disciples, most of who were looking on open mouthed, apart from Jude who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. 'Get like this often, does he?' Peter asked Jim, who shook his head, his cheeks red, from embarrassment or anger.

  '"The Lord whom you seek, shall come to His Temple without warning,' John said, the others looked at him in surprise, 'and He will purify the sons of...” sorry, I forget the rest.'

  'You what mate?' Peter scratched his head.

  'Ancient scripture,' John explained, 'Jesus is fulfilling ancient scripture.'

  'Oh, right,' Andrew remarked dryly, 'and there's me thinking he's totally lost it.'

  'No, not lost it,' John said, 'you can see he's angry, but controlled. He isn't striking out indiscriminately.'

  'He's right.' Jamie affirmed. 'Just watch.'

  Together they stood, watched as Jesus, using a cattle prod he'd acquired, drove the animals towards the gates. He picked up a tin of change from a stall, poured the coins out. He handed a cage full of flapping pigeons to its owner, pointed to the exit. Startled animals defecated everywhere. The noise, heat, stench overwhelming.

  '"The zeal of thy house has consumed me."' John said.

  The others exchanged glances.

  When the trading area had cleared, a small huddle of angry merchants gathered by the door moaning and groaning. Jesus stopped, his breathing heavy, straw and faeces clinging to his shoes. The others joined him. They formed a protective circle around him and watched in apprehension as a group of priests, robes flapping behind, made their way to the disciples. 'What is this outrage?' The high priest, Caiaphas, tall, thin faced, righteousness bubbling up, 'That you come into the Holy Temple, and...' he flung his arms wide. 'Why?’ he demanded. ‘On whose authority?'

  'Destroy this Temple,' Jesus, mirrored the priest's arm movement, 'and in three days I will raise it up.'

  'It has taken centuries to build this Temple,' Caiaphas retorted, derision evident, 'and you will raise it up in three days?'

  Jesus ignored the high priest, looked at his followers, 'Come on lads, let's go.'

  There was silence on the way out. Nobody stood in their way, preventing them from leaving. Once outside, the tension relieved, a babble of voices broke out.

  Jesus raised his voice. 'One at a time, please.'

  They looked at each other, looked at Peter.

  'Why now?' Peter said. 'That circus has been happening for years.'

  'Everything has a time, no matter how long it's been happening.' Jesus replied. 'As you know, once a year, every Jewish male has to come to this Temple, pay a tax. That tax can't be paid in the normal currency of the land. It has to be paid using a special coin that is obtained from the Temple money changers.'

  'And,' Jamie interrupted, 'it's a rip off. It costs ten times what you should be paying.'

  'That’s right.' Andrew agreed.'

  'Sounds like a good business to be in.' Jude smiled, half joking.

  Jesus wrapped his arms round the Dude, hugged him, 'I've much to teach you Jude.' He released him, and looked at the others, 'I've much to teach you all.'

  'What about the oxen, the sheep, where's the scam there?' Andrew asked.

  'What happens to the oxen and the sheep?' Jesus asked.

  'They're sacrificed.’ Jim replied.

  'Why?'

  They all shrugged, this was simple stuff. All Jews knew the answer.

  'It’s part of the ritual required to atone for our sins.' John said. 'It requires a blood sacrifice.'

  'From?' Jesus prompted.

  'A perfect animal without blemish.' Peter replied.

  'Correct.' Jesus smiled. 'Has anyone ever tried taking along their own animal for the sacrifice?'

  'Aye.' Jamie growled.

  'What happened?'

  'It was found to have a minor blemish that my eye couldn't detect.' Jamie shrugged. 'I had to surrender it. I'm sure they took it inside, sold it back to me at an inflated price.'

  The others laughed, but Jesus had made his point.

  ✝

  Leeds, Northumbria.

  Mercer, the sweaty, overweight Head Teacher pulled Beaumont to one side of the staff room, invited him into the office, a quick word.

  'Now?' Beaumont, surprised, but not concerned.

  'If you don't mind.'

  And if I do?

  'There's been a complaint.' Mercer said, wedged safe behind his desk. 'I thought it best to have a quiet word.'

  Beaumont looked into the eyes of the Head and as usual, had no indication of what the man was thinking.

  'You know I've no intrinsic objection to thrashing the boys,' Mercer continued, 'however, you seem to be concentrating your efforts on the Schulz boy. Nothing wrong in that if it can be justified on the grounds of punishment or keeping order.'

  Mercer paused, seeking comment. Beaumont shrugged. 'He's not the sole recipient.' I thrash them all in turn.

  'Seven times in a week seems rather excessive.' Mercer raised an eyebrow. 'The boy's father is not happy. He’s wondering if you've got some antipathy towards Saxons. I assured him you hadn't, and that his son deserved every stroke that you'd delivered.'

  'Thank you.' Beaumont said, surprised at the show of support from the usually spineless Head Teacher.

  Mercer waved his hand dismissively. 'We have to stick together. All the same...'

  Beaumont nodded, an off-hand dismissive gesture, half rose to go. That wasn't too bad, he decided. He wondered idly whether it might be pushing it to thrash Schulz again before home time. He smiled at the thought.

  'There was something else.'

  'Oh?' Beaumont sank back on the seat.

  Mercer regarded him with interest. 'How long have you been here now?'

  'Ten years.'

  Mercer nodded in confirmation. 'Quite a while. Have you given any thought to the next stage of your career? You're an excellent teacher. Head of Department in another school would be the logical move.'

  Beaumont stared at the Head. You fat bastard.

  Anyway,' Mercer stood, opened the door, 'you'd best get back to your class.'

  Beaumont squeezed past his sweating Head Teacher, resisted the temptation to plant one on him.

  'Give it some thought.' Mercer's voice floated down the corridor after him.

 
✝

  Whitby, Northumbria.

  In the kitchen, O'Deamus watched as Jesus made tea, took the mug when it was offered. The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment. 'Thanks for seeing me, Jesus.’ O’Deamus said.

  Jesus shrugged. 'Are you here seeking God?'

  'I came to see you.' O'Deamus replied, toying with his mug, 'Tell me Jesus, what are you doing now you've packed in the building?'

  'You could have picked up the phone to ask me that,' Jesus smiled, 'but instead, you come at night, in secret to see me.'

  O'Deamus nodded in acknowledgment, ignored the comment. 'What will you do for money, now you're longer working with your brother, Jim?'

  'Is that why you're here? Concern for my welfare?'

  'In a way, yes. It's a harsh world for those without money.'

  'Don't worry about tomorrow,' Jesus said, broad smile, 'tomorrow will worry about itself.'

  O'Deamus shook his head in frustration. 'Jesus, it's obvious to even the most casual observer that you're performing powerful signs. That business at Sinead's wedding. That could have been very embarrassing for me. I tasted that wine. It was the finest wine I've ever tasted. I don't know what happened, what you did, but thank you.'

  Jesus nodded. 'It was done for my Father's glory.'

  O'Deamus continued, 'We on the Sanhedrin believe that you're a teacher sent by God...'

  'Are you representing them,' Jesus interrupted, 'or is this a private visit?' The council of seventy Pharisees who made up the Sanhedrin ran the religious affairs of the Jews.

  'Well,' O'Deamus hedged, 'it's not that simple.' He paused, set his mug down. 'Let me be straight with you Jesus. Nobody can do the things you do unless God is with him. We can't do them. There are some of us who'd like you to come and teach us all you know about the kingdom of God.'

  Jesus smiled, said, 'I tell you now. Unless you're born again, you will not enter the kingdom of God.'

  O'Deamus laughed, 'And they say we Irish talk a lot of auld nonsense. Be serious Jesus, how on earth can a man be born again? How can a man be born again when he's old and grey like me? Once a man or woman has popped out the womb, there's no way on earth they'll get back in again.'

  'I understand your puzzlement,' Jesus replied, 'but unless you are born of water and the spirit, you cannot enter the kingdom of God. That which is born of flesh is flesh, and that which is born of spirit is spirit. Don't be surprised that I say you must be born again.' He broke off. 'Listen.'

  'What is it?' O'Deamus asked, puzzled, all he could hear was a faint breeze.

  'The wind blows where it will,' Jesus continued, 'you hear the sound of it, see the effect, but you don't know where it comes from, or where it goes. It’s the same with everyone born of the spirit.'

  O'Deamus frowned. 'When you say water, you mean the immersing that Baptiste has been doing?'

  'That's right, but don't be confused by the water.' Jesus paused, smiled at the obvious puzzlement on his visitor's face. 'The water is purely symbolic. You need to repent, but first you need to realise your need, and then admit it.' Jesus continued. 'This is the problem of you Pharisees. You’re living by the law. By your own efforts, you tie yourself in knots. Your own efforts will never be good enough no matter how hard you try.'

  'How can this be?' O'Deamus asked, frustrated.

  'You're a teacher, a most diligent adherent of the ancient faith,’ Jesus said, ‘and yet you don’t understand? I am astonished. If I tell you earthly things and you don’t believe, then how can you believe heavenly things? You have given your life to studying the ancient scriptures and you do not understand what I say. The prophet Isaiah spoke of a new life from God. Jeremiah predicted a new creation would be given. Ezekiel said that God would take out the old heart of stone and give a new heart of flesh.' Jesus smiled in wonderment, 'All through the ancient scriptures there are passages that tell of, a new birth, a new beginning, a new creation, a new life that will come as a gift of God, to those who would humbly, without pride, receive it.'

  They spoke for a while longer, until O'Deamus stood to go. 'You seem sincere in all you say, but I can't help feeling you're on the wrong track with this born again business. I would urge caution Jesus, there are others on the council who won't listen as I do, or,' he paused, 'be as sympathetic.'

  ✝

  Gretna Green, Scotland.

  Andrew knew he was being a pain. Quiet, morose, hardly the life and soul. Fed up of living a nomadic campfire lifestyle, he was missing home, missing the sea.

  It was the fifth week of their tour and he was thinking of packing it in, returning to Marje and the kids. He would have done, had she not encouraged him to stick it out, telling him he was in on something big, something important. She'd met Jesus, been impressed, told Andrew, without a doubt, this was the Messiah.

  But still, seven blokes in a minibus, camping in farmer's fields, washing and crapping in pub toilets, was no life for a grown man. The fine weather helped. It was good for early summer in Northumbria, no rain for weeks, farmers watching the sky. TV people forecasting a long dry spell. Climate change deniers gone to ground.

  He thought Peter would have cracked long before now, but no, his brother seemed to have shrugged off his former lifestyle of drink and debauchery, had even embraced the open-air existence. For Andrew though, the constant travelling, stopping, starting, meeting people, glad-handing, was wearing him down. Truth was the one thing keeping him going was one man.

  Jesus.

  Couldn't say no to the guy, none of them could. He was amazing.

  He had time for everybody, but seemed to spend most of his time with the dregs of society. The dropouts, the alkies, the druggies, the prozzies. The very people that Andrew would cross the road to avoid, apart from prostitutes he thought guiltily. He'd decided his visits to NorPro had to end, could do without them.

  Everywhere they went. Crowds of people would flock to hear Jesus speak. Like a magnet for the masses, they were drawn to him. He'd lay hands on them, absolve them of sin, cure their ailments, straighten broken limbs. He gave sight to the blind, a voice to the dumb, and hearing to the deaf. He'd cast out more demons than Andrew had thought existed.

  Not everybody was happy though. The Polizei kept a close eye, albeit from a distance, but they were there, watching. The Pharisees seemed unsure of Jesus, who he was, what he represented. They were always about, on the fringes, asking awkward questions, testing Jesus, looking for a weak link. Jesus though was magnificent, he handled everything with ease. Didn’t suffer fools though. He'd answer the questions and move on.

  They passed a road sign that read, Welcome to Scotland, the land of the free. Andrew called back, 'Watch out for marauding jocks.'

  Laughter from the back. The sun broke through the wispy cloud, another glorious day. Andrew's spirits lifted. He came to a fork in the road, slowed down, looked at the finger signpost, neither name meant anything, called out, 'Which way?'

  'Left.' Jesus said, from his seat near the back.

  Andrew flicked the indicator, turned left, trundled down another country lane. Apart from being just over the border he hadn't a clue where he was, heading towards another God forsaken village, where the people would turn out, lining the streets, anxious for a sight of Jesus, cameras poised, all wanting selfies with the main man. The Boss, as Peter had started calling him.

  'Could you pull over?' Jesus called out above the clamour of the guys playing poker for cents, squabbling like children.'

  Andrew cruised to a halt, waited. The side door opened, Jesus got out, the others prepared to follow, but he gestured them back inside.

  He came round to the driver's door. 'Carry on into the village, stock up on provisions, meet me back here in an hour or so, okay?'

  'Okay Boss.' Andrew saluted, let out the clutch. Watched in the rear view mirror as Jesus sat on the low wall of an old well, then he rounded the corner, heading for the village, feeling strangely empty.

  ✝

  Sophia didn’t g
ive the minibus a lot of attention as it swept by. She was too busy covering her eyes from the cloud of dust it kicked up, but was conscious of men staring from the windows, assessing. She knew she looked good with her slim, elegant figure. Her long brown hair gathered in a ponytail. Her long legs encased in faded blue jeans were always a magnet for male eyes.

  'Bastards.' She muttered, trudged on, pulling the round water barrel behind. Shouldn't have to be using an old well, in this day and age, but when the water company had declared drought conditions, put standpipes in the village, she'd had little choice. The other women had made it clear that her presence was unwelcome, crowded her out, actions just this side of hostile. She'd tried going at different times of day, but there was always some woman there, giving her the evils, muttering about slags.

  Well, stuff ‘em.

  Her choice. Pay the exorbitant price the village shop charged for bottled, or use the old well. It was just her and Dennis, their needs weren't great, so the well it was. The water perfectly drinkable, if a little brackish. She turned the corner, stopped abruptly. There was a man sitting by the well, almost, Sophia thought, as if he was expecting her. He looked respectable, clean, and tidy. Not a threat she decided, carried on, lowered the bucket into the water, the man watching her.

  He didn't speak until she'd lifted the first bucketful, was using the funnel to fill her barrel.

  'Could I have a drink, please?' He had a polite deferential tone with a slight Northumbrian burr.

  Sophia looked at him warily. Was this the prelude to a proposition? Well, what if it was, she was lonely, needed cheering up. 'Bit of a turn up isn't it,' Sophia said, giving him her look. The one that made men melt. 'A Jew from Northumbria asks a Scottish woman for a drink.'

  'If you knew about the gift of God,' Jesus said, 'and who it was that asked for a drink, you would have asked me for living water.'

  'Well, now,' Sophia replied in a flirtatious tone, 'You have no cup, and I have control of the water, so where would you get this living water?'

  'Everyone who drinks water from the well will get thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water I give will never thirst.' The man looked at her and despite the warmth of the day, Sophia shivered. Who was this man? 'The water that I give will become a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'