by Ted Dekker
A hundred questions spun through my mind, and still I ran.
ONLY WHEN we reached the section of road where we’d heard the voice of the Father in the thunder did Saba veer from the path and slow to a walk.
“He’s there?” I whispered, staring at the garden ahead of us.
Saba surged ahead, offering no response.
Slowly, my breathing settled. Large olive trees rose about us and Saba led me through them, picking his way easily, eyes ahead…always ahead.
“Saba.”
He lifted his hand and absently shook his finger to silence me, leaning into the darkness. Then he pulled up short, listening.
I heard nothing but the sound of crickets. But Saba had ears to hear a ghost in the night.
He shifted his gaze to where the trees edged a shallow basin. Then, in the stillest moment, I heard what he heard, however faint.
A gentle, deeply anguished sob.
The sound drained me of life. I knew immediately, without thought, who the sob belonged to.
It seemed the whole world was weeping in that single sound, for it came from one who could not possibly utter such a terrible cry.
Saba stood frozen. And then it came again, very soft, but filled with agony.
Alarmed, Saba cut straight for the cry beyond the trees, forgetting that I existed. But I too had to reach the man crying in the garden.
And then I saw him, between two trees. I knew his cloak. I knew his blue-and-white mantle, now drawn off his head. I knew the sound of his voice.
Yeshua lay at the base of large tree, facedown with both arms extended over his head. His body was trembling.
And now I heard the guttural words he uttered.
“Abba…Abba…”
Neither Saba nor I could move. How could this be? How could the Son of the Father who knew no death be so undone? Hadn’t his Father promised to glorify his name even here, in this very garden?
“Abba…Father…” He drew a deep breath, then another, begging through a trembling groan. “All things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me…”
Confusion swallowed me. I could not breathe. My eyes flowed with an ancient sorrow they could not contain.
“I beg you…remove this cup from me…”
What cup, I did not know. The reason for his pain was unfathomable. But in that moment, I became only a mother like his own, Miriam, who had offered me compassion.
I wanted to rush out to him. To comfort him. To wipe his tears and hold him close and tell him that he did not need to be afraid.
I wanted to, but his dread immobilized me. I had never imagined him in such a place.
“Abba…Abba…” Each desperate cry crushed me. “Remove this cup…”
Then it struck me: Yeshua knew that he would be betrayed.
He knew.
I tore my eyes from his lament and saw that Saba’s face streamed with tears.
Yeshua wept with heaving sobs now, body hitching with each cry, fingers dug into the earth as he lay, forehead pressed into the dirt.
I could rush out and tell him. There will be no cup! Please, Yeshua, please. Do not be afraid. Only have faith.
But I could not move.
Yeshua began to settle. And when he did, hope flooded my heart. Now it was over. Now he would gather his faith and rise. It’s over, my son. It’s over and now you will be safe. Now let me hold you and wipe away all of your tears.
But it wasn’t over. His sobbing overtook his body again with even greater torment, until I believed he bore the suffering of all the world upon his shoulders.
Now Saba sank slowly to his knees, arms spread by his thighs, tearful eyes fixed upon Yeshua as silent sobs began to shake his body. Saba, whom I had never seen broken, breaking from the inside out.
Now I was mother to him as well. And to Talya and to all who suffered in this world.
I was mother, and so I put my hand on Saba’s shoulder, but I had no further courage to offer, for I was lost in my own anguish.
And yet, something unseen was happening, I thought. Here, in this garden, something greater than my understanding. I knew it like a gentle whisper of solace from beyond time.
He learned obedience through what he suffered…
Right now Yeshua was like me. He too suffered without advantage, and this truth drew me to him as I had never been. There, the one who calmed the storm wept in its presence, even as I wept for Talya.
Yeshua drew his hands under his chest and pushed himself to his knees, and I thought, now…now it’s over.
Then he spread his arms with fists clenched, lifted his face to the sky, and settled back on his heels, arms now spread by his side. By the light of the stars in the west, I could see the long trails of dark tears on his face.
“Not what I will, but what you will, Father.”
Not his will…In this moment, the will of his mind and the Father’s will were not one.
Then I understood. He was surrendering his will. He was overcoming the ancient call of man’s will to be God.
Yeshua’s expression began to settle. For a long time, he remained still on his knees, facing the heavens, eyes closed. His breathing became steady and deep, his body relaxed to some unseen balm that seemed to wash over him from head to foot. He did not smile, but his face was at perfect peace.
His body was overtaken by a brief tremble. I believed it to be one of power and love, not fear.
For a long time I stood numb, unable to move. I could feel the presence of his newfound peace, as if an angel had come to offer him comfort and I had been touched by the wind of its wings.
Then Yeshua lowered his head and let out a long breath, and finally pushed himself to his feet. He stared into the darkness for a moment, then walked toward another small grove close by.
Saba sank back on his heels and hung his head. I settled down beside him, watching the night into which Yeshua had vanished. My hands were shaking and a terrible knot had seized my throat.
“Saba?” I whispered.
His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.
I put my hand on his back. “Saba—”
“He knows that they come for him,” he said. “He knows and he allows it.”
I nodded. “And this cup he speaks of?”
Saba looked at the grove where Yeshua had gone. “I don’t know. But he overcame his fear. You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“He overcame and will show his power now. No man can touch him.”
Again, I nodded. Then I asked the question I hardly dared to ask.
“Why was he so filled with fear, Saba?”
He gave no reply. He had none.
Yeshua’s distant voice carried to us, speaking calmly. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Then more regarding sleep, and what sounded like Peter in reply, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Saba suddenly turned his head to the west, and I too heard the sound of running feet approaching.
“It is enough,” I heard Yeshua say, speaking with more authority now. “The hour has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into…”
And then I heard no more, because both Saba and I were jumping to our feet as the runners passed us, just north of where we crouched.
I started to run toward the grove where Yeshua waited, but Saba grabbed my arm.
“No!” He hurried past me. “They must not see a woman here.”
“I can’t stay—”
“Wait!” he snapped. Then he gave a curt nod and ducked into the darkness, leaving me alone.
I understood. There was no telling what the indignant religious would do to a woman caught with men so late. I drew behind the closest tree, trying to calm my breath so that I could listen. But there were many voices now, some soft, some angry—Peter, the one I thought might be Judas, others from those who’d descended on the grove. But I couldn’t make sense of them except to know that Nicodemus had been right.
They’d come to arrest him. The
y had, but they could not succeed in this, surely. Yeshua had overcome his anguish. I’d seen him with my own eyes find that great peace.
A cry cut through the night and I jumped. Then a scuffle with loud shouts. Then more calm words, these from Yeshua, though I still couldn’t make them out.
And then they scattered. Feet were running in different directions. Confusion overtook the garden and I withdrew further behind the tree.
Wild imaginations flashed through my mind of soldiers trying to bind up Yeshua and failing. Or succeeding and hauling him away in chains, however impossible it seemed to me.
I had flashes of Saba crushing all of Yeshua’s enemies. He could do it easily.
Then the sounds faded and I was alone with the pounding of my own heart.
Twigs cracked to my right and I spun. Saba rushed in from the darkness, eyes wide. Alone.
“What happened?”
“They’ve taken him.” A breath. “He’s arrested.”
I blinked. “He’s arrested? To what end?” And then harshly, before he could answer. “Why didn’t you stop them?”
“He went willingly!” Saba snapped. “Peter drew a sword and stuck one of them, and Yeshua rebuked him.”
“Peter, who slept while Yeshua wept? How could they allow this?”
I clenched my hands to still their trembling. I knew it wasn’t Saba or Peter or the others who’d allowed any of this. Yeshua himself had allowed it.
Yeshua, who had intentionally poked his finger into the religious leaders’ eye by riding into Jerusalem as their Messiah. Yeshua, who had poked a finger into their other eye by cleansing the temple. Yeshua, who had come here at night, so close to the city, knowing they would come for him. Yeshua, who had handed himself over to them.
This was the cup he’d begged his Father to remove. And now he was giving himself over to it.
A moment of deep anger welled up within me. I didn’t understand that wrath; I only felt it as one who has been betrayed even as Yeshua had been betrayed. Betrayed by life…
Betrayed by Yeshua.
But I immediately cast the anger aside. A way will be made even now. Yeshua will not die, even as your Talya will not die. He promised it.
“We must speak to Herod again,” Saba said, turning already. The warrior in him was emerging.
“Who took him?” I demanded.
“The religious leaders. Judas brought them.”
“Judas?” Yeshua had been betrayed by one of his inner circle? How could any of them turn their backs now? The heat of rage burned my face.
“Then we must run again,” I said, rushing past him. “We have to turn Herod!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
IT WAS STILL dark when we reached Herod’s palace, winded.
Still dark when we demanded entrance. Still dark when a stiff-lipped steward ushered us into his court.
That darkness was as much in my heart as in the sky. A terrible confusion had blinded me. I could see no reason to explain what Yeshua had done.
Yes, he had spoken much about danger and even death, but his were symbolic teachings, not predictions of his own troubles. He was bread and comfort to orphans and outcasts; he was calm in the face of storms and death; he was life to the dead. He would surely show his power again.
But his agony in the garden disturbed me deeply. In seeing his fear, I found my own, fully alive. So I took it upon myself to intercede. I could not allow his demise, for his sake as much as for Talya’s. And my own.
I stormed into Herod’s court with my jaw firm. And when I saw that he was dressed in a purple robe and adorned with silver chains and many rings, seated upon his ornate chair of power, displaying all of his majesty, my dark mood only deepened.
I stopped with Saba by my side. Scanned the room now lit by ten torches. A dozen of his guard were stationed to our right and our left, all watching us with keen eyes. So then, the moment he heard of our return, he’d called warriors.
Why?
“What’s the meaning of this?” I snapped, striding forward. “Am I now your enemy?”
Two guards bearing spears stepped toward us, one from each side.
“Maviah, Maviah…” Herod said. “Always the impetuous one. Enemy, no. How can a mere Bedu woman from the wastelands be considered an enemy? But you come to me with anger in your eyes. What is a king to do?”
“He’s been taken,” I bit off.
“So I heard. Pity.”
His guards were close now, spears half-lowered. They feared nothing from an unarmed woman. My mind, dark already, lost itself.
I flew at the nearest guard in two long steps, even as his eyes opened wide with surprise. Deflecting his spear with my right arm, I stepped under him, grabbed that same spear arm, and threw him to his back using my shoulder for leverage.
The other guard rushed at me with a grunt, but Saba was already there. His palm struck the man in the chin, knocking him up and back, clean off his feet. The guard landed on the step at Herod’s feet, unconscious.
“Stop!” Saba spun and held his palm out to several other warriors who were already running for us. “She will restrain herself.”
The man I’d thrown was clambering to his feet, but I paid him no mind. My eyes were set on Herod, who appeared both stunned and impressed. My mind began to settle.
“Forgive me, I had no right,” I said. “But you aren’t seeing clearly. The fate of the world is at stake and you sit, a king as blind as I once was. I beg you pay me heed.”
Stillness filled the court. The torches’ flames licked the air like thirsty tongues. A thin smile slowly edged onto Herod’s face.
“I’ve paid you more heed than any woman from the desert. And I’ve already given you my answer. The fate of this prophet is in his own hands. If he is who you say he is, no one can stand in his way.”
“Are you so powerless in the face of these religious leaders who’ve taken him?” I demanded.
“But you miss the point, Queen. The question is, is he powerless?”
I balked. Yes. I knew this. But I had seen Yeshua’s struggle, and fear had worked its long teeth into my mind.
“Your conduct doesn’t speak of one who believes her own words,” he said. “If he has such power, why are you so afraid?”
I had no answer for him.
“Let me be clear again. Since Yeshua is from Galilee, he may well end up in my court. If so, and if he proves himself, I will give him his just reward. Either way, I am not one to condemn him.”
It was all I could ask.
“When?” I demanded.
“When he is brought to me. If he is brought to me. And for the record, I hope he is. I would like to see what all the fuss is about. These wonders of his have certainly terrified the Sanhedrin and the rest. I can’t imagine they fear him for blasphemy alone.”
“Where do they have him?”
“The house of Caiaphas, the high priest. But I can’t have you storming their courtyard, now can I?” He eyed Saba. “You’ve proven that much.”
“You have my word.” I turned to leave.
“Your word will no longer do.” He motioned to his chief. “Put them under guard. If this Yeshua is brought to me, I will call for them.” Then to me, with smug satisfaction: “Or will you object to this as well?”
“We will not,” Saba said, answering for me.
Herod’s right brow cocked. “Your slave speaks for you?”
I glanced at Saba, who stood tall, an unbreakable tower. But there were cracks even in his foundation, I thought.
“He’s not my slave,” I said, watching him. Then to Herod: “If they don’t bring Yeshua to you?”
“Then you will be free to go. You and I have unfinished business with King Aretas.”
I DON’T KNOW how long Saba and I paced in the small holding chamber under heavy guard, waiting—begging—to be called. It felt like a lifetime but could not have been more than an hour.
Saba kept to himself, sitting on a wooden bench or standing by a
small window. Our mood was heavy, like those black billows hidden from sight by darkness, but still present. Neither of us was able to speak.
And yet my mind spoke always, pummeling me with questions and doubts and fears.
Where was Yeshua now? What was he saying to the leaders, whom he’d always foiled with the cleverest words? Was he even now speaking calm to the storms in their hearts? What had happened to his inner circle?
This was Yeshua’s Way, I kept telling myself. To put himself in the middle of the storm and there rise above it, unscathed, shining with light and power. Even as I had trusted the Father in Petra’s arena, so he would stand in the den of wolves only to emerge the victor. Not by sword, but by love and word alone.
Slowly, his assurance returned to me.
Slowly, my fear ebbed.
“They cannot hurt him, Saba,” I said, staring at the gray dawn light. “They can’t even threaten him.”
“No.” His voice sounded distant.
I swallowed and turned to him, arms crossed. “I allowed fear to blind me.”
Saba was slow to respond. “I as well.”
“There’s nothing as blinding as fear.”
“Nothing.”
I approached him, arms still folded, seeking comfort in his expression. Then I leaned my head against his chest and closed my eyes.
“I’m still afraid, Saba…”
I felt his hand settle on the back of my neck. “He will take our fear away and give us rest.”
They came for us only a moment later, while I was still close to Saba. I spun to the sound of the opening latch. Four guards stood outside the door, eyeing us with distrust. When they saw no threat in us, the closest nodded.
“He is here.”
My heart jumped. I hurried out of the chamber, mind on Yeshua alone. I had to see him. I had to know that he was safe. To look into his eyes and find comfort in the bottomless gaze that had always swallowed me with love.
Ignoring the guards, I rushed past them and strode down the passageway with Saba close on my heels. One of them grunted a warning. Herod’s distant voice had reached me from his grand chamber ahead.
“…Yeshua of Nazareth. So close to where my own palace rises by the sea. And yet not once have I seen you.” Many crowded the side entrance at the end of the hall, blocking my sight of the chamber. “Why have you avoided me all these years?”