The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ

by Frank G. Slaughter

  Ashar appeared in the doorway of his house, wearing a fresh robe, his beard carefully combed. “Stack it carefully,” he said impatiently. “Here is the money.” From the purse hanging at his belt, he counted out a few coins and tossed them toward Jonas. The little woodseller got down painfully on his old knees to retrieve the money from the dirt.

  “The Most High will bless you, Ashar,” Jonas said as he hobbled with the mule over to the kiln and began to stack the thornwood carefully. “Even if you did get the wood at half price,” he added, but under his breath, for Ashar was a good customer and he did not wish to offend him.

  The street of the potters lay just ahead and when Jonas had finished unloading, he led Eleazar along it, hoping that someone wishing to fire his kiln that night would commission him to bring in a load of thornwood before dark. But the potters’ kilns were cold too. It seemed that what Ashar said was true; everyone in Jerusalem had gone to hear the prophet of Nazareth.

  Near the end of the street, in the shadow of the great aqueduct which Pontius Pilate had built with the temple monies to bring water to Jerusalem, was the pottery yard of Abijah, Veronica’s father. Abijah’s wheels were stilled too, and his kilns cold this morning. Veronica, however, sat in her customary place beneath the great spreading limbs of an aloes tree (more familiarly known as the “Shoot of Paradise” or “Paradise Wood” because it was believed to be the only tree originally in the Garden of Eden which had not been lost).

  Veronica had finished painting the small vases she had brought from Bethany yesterday, and the colors had been fired during the night. Now the vases were arranged on a bench beside her, delicate and lovely. Some of the painted scenes were of thornwood blooming on the hillsides, others represented the flowers that grew so luxuriously in the well-cared-for garden of her rich kinsman, the merchant Joseph of Arimathea.

  Veronica had put down the paints and the tiny brushes she used in decorating the vases. Now her slender fingers were busy sewing a head veil of fine transparent cloth that lay upon her lap. With her full skirts spread out, no one would have known she was crippled. When she saw Jonas plodding along leading the mule, she called to him. “You and Eleazar must be thirsty, Jonas. Come and drink.”

  From its resting place between the roots of the great tree, Veronica took up an olla, or water jar, made of porous pottery which allowed a little of the fluid to seep through and evaporate, thus cooling the rest.

  “I see you sold your wood,” she said as she poured a cup of water for the old man.

  “To Ashar”—Jonas gulped down the cold water gratefully—“for half price.”

  “Bring me the bowl.” Veronica pointed to a shallow pottery vessel among those for sale. “I will pour some for Eleazar. Poor beast, he looks thirsty.”

  “At least he will not be hungry now,” Jonas said as he placed the bowl so the mule could dip his muzzle into it.

  “But if you got only half price for your wood, you will have nothing for yourself.”

  “It is no matter,” the little woodseller told her. “I can get along.”

  “Miriam,” Veronica called over her shoulder to the door of the house behind her. When a serving woman appeared, she said, “Bring out a loaf and some cheese and wrap it so Jonas can take it with him.”

  “But you mustn’t—” the woodseller started to protest.

  Veronica shook her head. “Jonathan heard the Nazarene Teacher in the temple. He says those of us who are favored by the Most High must share with others.”

  “I—what have I to share?”

  “You gave your love to Eleazar when he had been cast out,” Veronica reminded him.

  “Have all your family gone to listen to the Nazarene?’’ Jonas asked.

  “I sent them,” Veronica said. “He has a wonderful message. For all of us.”

  “I have no time.”

  “I saw how painful it was just now when you stooped to get the bowl,” the girl said. “Jesus has healed many. Perhaps He might heal you.”

  “First I must buy grain for Eleazar,” Jonas temporized, not wishing to admit that he was too proud to beg for help. “Perhaps later I will go to hear the Nazarene.”

  Veronica put her hand on the old man’s arm. “Please go, Jonas,” she begged. “I know how much you suffer.”

  The mule had finished drinking and the old man stowed away in his robe the package of bread and cheese. Painfully he hobbled out of the yard and down the street toward the gate and his hovel against the wall.

  Veronica picked up her needlework again. Busy at it, she did not notice she had a visitor until a warm, pleasant voice said, “May I drink from your water jar?”

  Veronica looked up quickly and saw a lovely woman, with dark masses of lustrous hair the color of deeply burnished copper, standing beside her. The woman’s face seemed vaguely familiar, though at the moment Veronica did not know where she had seen her before.

  “Of course,” she answered, and reached for the olla, but Jonas had placed it just out of her reach and she could not quite touch it.

  A quick flush stained Veronica’s cheeks. “Will you pour for yourself, please?” she said. “I cannot walk.”

  The woman moved gracefully and filled the cup. “I should have known you were crippled when I saw you riding on the mule beside the road.”

  Now Veronica knew where she had seen her before. “You were with Him,” she said. “With Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “I am called Mary of Magdala,” the woman said. “I serve Jesus and help care for those who follow Him.”

  She seated herself on one of the gigantic spreading roots of the aloes tree and picked up one of the small vases. “You paint beautifully, my dear,” she said. “Some day you must come to Galilee and paint the flowers there.”

  “My uncle, the merchant Joseph of Arimathea, has promised to take me to Galilee,” Veronica said eagerly. “I hear it is beautiful.”

  “More beautiful even than Joseph’s own garden,” Mary agreed.

  “Do you know him?

  “We are old friends.”

  “Is He really the Messiah?” Veronica asked.

  “Yes, Veronica, He is the Messiah.”

  “Then He will rule over all Israel, and drive the Romans out.”

  Mary did not speak for a moment and Veronica saw a faraway look in her eyes. “Many who follow Jesus think He will be king,” she said finally. “Perhaps some follow Him for that reason. But His real kingdom is in the hearts of those who love Him. Can you understand what I mean?”

  “I think so,” Veronica said. “It must be something like Jonas, the little man you saw here just now. He loves his mule, Eleazar. He often goes hungry so the mule can have grain to eat, and I know he would give his own life for EIeazar.”

  “As young as you are, my dear,” Mary said, and now her voice was infinitely sad, “I think you are wiser than any of us.” Then her voice changed. “How long have you been crippled?”

  “For many years,” Veronica said. “At first it was painful; my leg was inflamed. Lately there has been only a little pain.”

  “But you cannot walk?”

  Veronica shook her head. “No.”

  “Doesn’t it make you sad?”

  “It did at first, but not anymore. You see, I sit here and all the world passes by, so I really have no need to go anywhere. I have my painting and my family. The Most High has blessed me beyond what I deserve.”

  “Jesus will heal you if you have your brother take you to Him,” Mary said.

  For a moment Veronica’s eyes glowed at the thought of being whole again, then she shook her head gently. “So many others need Him more than I do; it would be selfish of me to trouble Him. Jonas’s hump gives him pain all the time and Zadok the cripple can use only half his body. I know hundreds who are far worse off than I am.”

>   Mary’s eyes were bright with tears as she put her hand on Veronica’s arm. “You are such as Jesus would have make up His kingdom, Veronica,” she said. “I was greedy and vain until the Master forgave me for my many sins, but the things He teaches you have found out for yourself. God will surely bless you.”

  As the beautiful woman with the red hair rose to her feet, Veronica said eagerly, “You will come to see me again, won’t you?”

  Mary nodded. “I suspect we shall all be busy here in Jerusalem before long,” she said. “I may need your faith to guide me when the time of trial comes.”

  Alone now, beneath the aloes tree, Veronica sat and pondered the strange words of the beautiful woman from Galilee, her needlework for the moment forgotten.

  IV

  The Jews were not the only ones to visit Jerusalem at the Passover season. With so many people thronging the city from all parts of the Roman Empire, a great deal of business was transacted during the week of the religious festival. Merchants from various cities congregated at this time, to buy, sell, and contract for each other’s products. It was for this purpose that a group of Greeks from the Decapolis cities beyond the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan had come to Jerusalem. Jesus had not taught long in that area, but the healing of the demoniac in Gadara, when the swine had rushed into the lake, together with His words on His brief appearances there had aroused considerable interest.

  To the Greeks, the teachings of Jesus had a natural appeal. In many ways they were distillations of the ideas propounded by the old Greek philosophers, describing a way of life that represented an ideal approach to the relations between men and men, as well as between men and their God—by whatever name they called Him.

  Since Bethsaida was on the border of the Decapolis area and not far from Hippos, one of its leading cities, the disciple Philip was known to some of the Greeks visiting Jerusalem at this time. These sought him out while Jesus was teaching in the temple and requested that they be allowed to see the Master personally and speak with Him.

  The question posed a problem for Philip. Jesus had on several occasions stated publicly that His primary mission was to “the lost sheep of Israel,” yet He had healed the daughter of a Syro-Phoenician woman, the servant of a centurion in Capernaum, and others who were not Jews. Outside Jerusalem, Philip would hardly have hesitated to bring to Jesus what the Jews considered heathens. But with Caiaphas seeking a way to destroy Jesus, any traffic with Greeks might be seized upon and built up into a structure of false accusations. The Greek merchants were so obviously sincere in their desire to talk to Jesus, however, that Philip finally sought out Andrew and told him of their request. Since Jesus was just finishing His discourse and preparing to leave Solomon’s Porch for the day, the two brought the Greeks to Him there.

  The petition of the Greeks was simple and flattering. They had been listening to Jesus teach and now they wanted Him to come into the Decapolis cities and remain there for some time, making that region His headquarters. Jesus heard their request thoughtfully. When they finished speaking, He did not answer for a moment but looked out across the broad, many-columned portico and the city beyond with the shadows of a waning sun falling upon it.

  He was deeply moved by this invitation. He had not been misled by the clamorous welcome of the crowd ushering Him into Jerusalem. He knew the attitude of the city’s leaders had not changed. He was still under sentence of death by the Sanhedrin, and the agents of Caiaphas followed Him constantly, seeking to arrest Him the moment He was not surrounded by a crowd. He had no illusion about how quickly the fickle acclaim of the masses could turn into denunciation; He had had an example of that in His own city, Nazareth, and again in Capernaum when He had refused to let Himself be crowned king after feeding the multitude.

  The offer of the Greek ambassadors represented a way out of His present danger. The Decapolis cities belonged neither to the domain of Herod Antipas nor to that of Pontius Pilate, but ruled themselves with a considerable degree of independence, though under the control of Rome. In the Decapolis Jesus would be free of the constant nagging of the Pharisees and scribes, and the ever-present threat of death at the sentence of the Sanhedrin. From there He could go on to teach in the great centers of the Roman Empire where His words were certain to bear fruit, for the Greeks, having put aside the old mythical gods, were actively seeking a new faith now.

  In a way, then, the presence of the Greeks represented for Jesus a chance to begin His mission anew. Yet He never seriously considered accepting the offer, grateful though He was to those who made it. His mission had been stated with complete clarity in this very temple when He was twelve years old. He was about “His Father’s business,” the task to which He had devoted His life.

  When He spoke, there was a light of dedication in His eyes that even the disciples could not remember seeing there before. “The hour is come that the Son of Man should be glorified,” He said, speaking not only to the waiting Greeks but to the disciples and the crowd which still gathered around them. “Truly I say to you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abides alone. But if it dies, it brings forth much fruit. He that loves his life shall lose it; and he that hates his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.

  “If any man serves Me,” He continued, speaking more directly to the disciples, “let him follow Me and where I am, there also shall My servant be. If any man serves Me, him will My Father honor.”

  Now, for the first time, He admitted His own very human reluctance for what lay ahead; He acknowledged the temptation posed by the offer to escape that fate by carrying His mission into the country of the Greeks. “Now My soul is troubled and what shall I say? Father, save Me from this hour? But for this cause I came into the world.” He bowed His head then, as if in submission to a will higher than His own and His next words were barely audible, spoken only for Himself and His Father in heaven. “Father, glorify Your name.”

  Later some said a clap of thunder shook the temple at just that moment. Others claimed they heard a voice from heaven say, “I have both glorified it and will glorify it again,” as if Jesus were being answered. That He heard something, perhaps intended for His ears alone, seemed certain, for He spoke again, still softly, “This voice came not because of Me but for your sakes.” Then His own voice rose so that all could hear. “Now is the judgment of the world. Now shall the prince of this world be cast out. And I, if I be lifted up from earth, will draw all men to Me.”

  It was a prophecy of His own death, but the people who heard it, even the disciples, did not yet understand.

  Jesus said no more but left the temple and once again, as was His custom every evening, took the road to Bethany. The people who had listened to Him scattered through the city, but already their first burst of enthusiasm was beginning to cool. Jesus had entered Jerusalem in the manner of a king, but two days had passed and He had not proclaimed Himself king. The dramatic clash expected between Him and the temple authorities had not taken place, though He had dared to overturn the tables of the sellers and the chests of the money-changers.

  Expecting excitement and conflict, the people were disappointed, and being disappointed, they began to lose interest in the one who, for the moment, at least, had captured their allegiance on His triumphal entry. Like the disciples, they could not understand His talk of being lifted up, and as they discussed it with neighbors and friends that evening, some voiced the conviction that the Nazarene prophet could not be the Messiah for He had not taken His rightful place by force as leader of the people.

  Chapter 30

  Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.

  Mark 12:17

  Jesus ate the evening meal at the house in Bethany and retired early to His pallet. Judas and Simon Zelotes asked Simon Peter to join them in the yard and several of the other disciples followed them. The night was cool so they gathered in a
nearby stable, with the smell of hay and the warm aroma of the animals rich in their nostrils. Judas was the first to speak.

  “When will the Master proclaim Himself?” he demanded.

  “When He is ready,” Peter said. “We can only wait.”

  “What if He leaves again without taking over the reins of power?” Simon the Zealot asked.

  “We can only obey and follow Him,” said Peter.

  But he was troubled. The doubts raised in his mind by Mary of MagdaIa had been largely dispelled by Jesus’ eagerness to reach Jerusalem and His allowing Himself to be acclaimed as the Son of David (another term for the Messiah) on the day of His triumphal entry into the city. Two days had passed without any further action on Jesus’ part, however, and Peter’s old doubts had begun to return.

  In his heart, Peter was close to Jesus, but he was a vigorous man and his nature rebelled against believing what his instinctive kinship with the Master told him was true. Like the other disciples, he expected Jesus to establish a temporal rule in Jerusalem that would lead inevitably to His being proclaimed in all of Israel. He believed that the Master could maintain that rule, even against Rome, through the power He wielded as the Son of God. Yet deep in Peter’s mind there was the uneasy doubt that Jesus had not been referring to a temporal kingdom.

  “Obey!” Judas repeated angrily the word that Peter had used. “Must we obey when He lets the temple guards take us all prisoner? And when the Romans nail us to crosses?”

  “Surely the Master has revealed His plans to you, Peter,” Simon the Zealot said. “He selected you as our leader after Him.”

  “I have not asked Him about His plans,” Peter admitted. “And He has not told me.”

  “But you will ask Him?” Judas insisted.

  “When the Lord wants us to know the future, He will reveal it to us,” Peter said stubbornly. “You must have faith in Him.”