Now Judas saw his hopes crumbling, destroyed by Jesus’ refusal to assume His rightful place as ruler of Israel. After the way Jesus had humiliated the chief priests, the scribes, and the leading Pharisees before the people that day, it was a foregone conclusion that the anger of Caiaphas and his followers would be vented not upon Jesus alone but also upon His followers, including Judas himself.
To the small-souled man of Kerioth, there was only one logical course: to divorce himself from Jesus in such a way that he could be sure at least of saving his own life.
Still Judas hesitated, held by a small thread of loyalty to the leader who had lifted him from obscurity. He knew that the whole party was to dine that evening in Bethany at the home of a man called Simon who had been a leper until cleansed by Jesus. Judas had yet to hear from Jesus’ own lips that He would not become King of the Jews. Sometime during the evening, the man of Kerioth determined he would demand an avowal of this, or its denial.
The guests had already gathered when Judas reached Simon’s house in Bethany, but a place had been held for him at the table where Jesus, as the honored guest, reclined with the other disciples, His host, and Lazarus. The house was filled, for Simon was wealthy and had invited many guests. Most of those present believed they were taking part in a coronation feast for the next King of the Jews and it was a joyous and festive occasion.
Sensitive always to Jesus’ thoughts and feelings because of her great love for Him and her instinctive womanly understanding, Mary of Bethany did not join the other women who, with her sister Martha, were serving at the feast. She had brought with her her most treasured possession—a jar of fine pottery such as the potters of Jerusalem fashioned, filled with an ointment made of spikenard, a rare and precious essence. Lazarus had brought it for her on his return from a journey some time ago, and she had treasured it ever since.
The disciples and Lazarus were seated together around one table with the other guests occupying tables in other parts of the large room. The women were constantly going and coming as they served, and Mary went unnoticed as she approached Jesus with the jar of ointment in her hand. But when Mary opened the jar and, pouring the ointment into her hand, knelt and anointed Jesus’ feet, the rich fragrance quickly filled the room, calling attention to the scene.
Kneeling before Jesus, Mary let down the lustrous masses of her hair to wipe His feet. At the startling act, a sudden silence filled the room. The fragrance of the precious spikenard now spread to the kitchen and the women within crowded to the door to see what had happened. The silence was broken by the angry voice of Judas of Kerioth.
“Why was this ointment not sold for three hundred pence and given to the poor?” he demanded sharply.
A murmur of agreement came from some of the disciples, and even Lazarus looked at his sister in amazement, unable to understand why she had used such a rare jar of ointment to anoint Jesus’ feet.
“Let her alone,” Jesus said sharply. “She has kept this against the day of My burial. The poor you have with you always, but Me you will not always have.”
Jesus’ eyes were fixed upon Judas as He spoke. The man of Kerioth was sure now that Jesus knew of his small thefts from the common purse. He dropped his eyes to hide his guilt while a deep sense of shame and a rising anger at being publicly reprimanded burned within him.
Judas said no more, but his anger had burned away the slender thread of loyalty that held him to Jesus, and his active mind began devising a way in which to make sure that his own life would be saved when Caiaphas and his agents took Jesus to destroy Him. Two courses were open. One was to leave Jerusalem at once, but Judea was his home and as a known follower of Jesus he would certainly be hunted down and arrested. The other appealed both to his greed and his consuming desire to repay Jesus for the public reprimand. Judas chose the second course.
IV
Caiaphas had called a meeting of the Priestly Council in the private audience chamber of his palace for the morning after Jesus had dined with Simon, he who had been a leper. The higher temple officials were there, together with the heads of the various courses of priests then serving in the ritual of worship. Jochai represented the rabbis, Elam the Pharisees. Neither Nicodemus nor Joseph of Arimathea had been invited to this meeting, since Caiaphas wished no one to cast doubt upon the wisdom of the course he had decided to follow. Abiathar was not present, having been sent to watch for the coming of Jesus and His party to the temple.
Surprisingly, Caiaphas came into the chamber with a pleased look on his face and rapped upon the table for order. At the sight of his obvious satisfaction, the others turned to him eagerly to hear what had caused it.
“The Nazarene has condemned Himself at last,” Caiaphas announced. “Yesterday, when He was leaving the temple, Jesus was heard to say of it, ‘Do you see these great buildings? There shall not be left one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down.’”
“He did blaspheme against the temple!” Elam cried. “I heard it myself as I was coming down the steps.”
“Many others heard Him, too,” Caiaphas confirmed. “And will swear to it!”
“To blaspheme against the temple is the same as blaspheming against the Most High,” Jochai agreed. “The man has condemned Himself out of His own mouth.”
There was a chorus of assent and the room buzzed with excited conversation until Caiaphas held up his hand for silence. “I have called you here to decide how best to take the Nazarene prisoner,” he said.
“Why not announce publicly that He blasphemed against the temple and said it would be destroyed?” Elam suggested.
“The merchants will surely be against Him when they hear of it.”
“And the artisans,” another agreed. “There is hardly a person in Jerusalem whose welfare is not closely connected in some way with the temple.”
“We can depend upon the Jerusalem Jews to denounce the Nazarene,” Caiaphas said. “They have already suffered loss because of the way He has stirred up the crowd, but we must first take Him by stealth somewhere outside the temple.”
“If the Galileans are with Him, blood will be shed,” Jochai warned. “It must not be in the temple.”
“Why not when He leaves the city?” one of the priests asked. “It is known that He spends each night at Bethany.”
‘That would seem to be the best course,” Caiaphas agreed, “except for one thing. He must be taken quickly. Tomorrow is the day of unleavened bread and tomorrow night the Passover will be eaten. We are pressed for time.”
“Send guards to arrest Him at Bethany,” Elam suggested. “Pilate will surely give you whatever Romans you need.”
“The Galileans surround Him there,” Caiaphas objected. “Some of them probably hold Roman citizenship and Pontius Pilate must be kept out of this matter until the Sanhedrin formally asks him to approve the sentence of death. It will be better to take Lazarus, as we had planned before. I believe Jesus will give Himself up when we do that.”
There was a knock upon the door of the room and the guard stationed there opened it to admit Abiathar. The burly guard’s face wore a pleased look and the high priest’s face took on a similar expression as Abiathar whispered into his ear.
“Our problem is solved!” Caiaphas announced triumphantly. “One of the Nazarene’s own disciples is outside. He has offered to betray Him!”
“It may be a trick,” Elam warned.
“This man is a Judean, of Kerioth,” Caiaphas said. “I spoke of him before, you will remember. I have had my eye on this man for some time.”
Abiathar ushered Judas into the room. The traitor tried to appear completely at ease, even in the presence of the high officials of Jerusalem, but there was a wary look in his eyes. “Who are you?” Caiaphas demanded brusquely.
“Judas of Kerioth. Formerly a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth.”
“Why are you not wi
th Him in Bethany then?”
“I can no longer follow a false prophet and a blasphemer,” Judas said in a tone of unctuous self-righteousness.
“You followed Him until today.” Caiaphas’s voice was scornful. “Why do you want to leave Him now?”
“I want no part of a blasphemer.”
“Or of His punishment?” Caiaphas shot at him.
Judas weighed his words carefully, conscious that if he did not drive the hardest bargain now, he might condemn himself. “You wish to seize Jesus,” he said boldly. “But you fear the crowds. I can tell you where to take Him when only a few will be with Him.”
“Where?”
“There are some details to be considered first.”
“Your price?” Caiaphas suggested.
“My price, yes,” Judas said, more sure of himself now.
“What do you ask?”
“Amnesty for myself,” Judas said. “And whatever such a service is worth to you.”
Elam started to speak, but Caiaphas forestalled him. “The Nazarene has blasphemed against the temple. That alone is enough to insure His death.”
“If you can take Him without stirring up a revolt, and bringing in the Romans,” Judas agreed.
“Very well,” Caiaphas told him. “Betray the Nazarene to us so we can take Him easily and you will be spared whatever punishment His followers receive.”
Judas breathed more easily. At first Caiaphas’s manner had made him feel he could not hope to win that much. Now he took courage and determined to try for more.
“Such a service deserves a greater reward,” he suggested. Caiaphas looked at him contemptuously and for a moment Judas quaked with an inner fear, sure he had pushed the cruel high priest too far. Then Caiaphas turned to the clerk at the table beside him. “Give this man thirty pieces of silver, the price of a slave,” he said. ‘But no more.”
“But—” Judas began.
“I said no more,” Caiaphas told him sharply. “The Galilean is losing favor with the crowd and we could soon have taken Him whenever we wished. Thirty pieces of silver or nothing.”
Inwardly seething at the cheapness of the price and at Caiaphas’s scorn, Judas nevertheless recognized that the high priest could be bargained with no more. “I will do as you ask,” he said and added righteously, “After all, it is right to bring a blasphemer to judgment.”
“And right for a traitor to be paid no more than what he is worth,” Caiaphas agreed sarcastically. “When can we take the Nazarene?”
“Tomorrow. Jesus will eat the Passover somewhere in Jerusalem, I do not know where yet. It will be late when He leaves and only a few will be with Him. I will bring you word myself.”
“See that you do,” Caiaphas said. “And if you betray us, you will die beside your false Messiah. Be sure of that.”
Chapter 32
A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another.
John 13:34
Zadok was bursting with news when he reached home that night. “They say Caiaphas is sure of destroying the Nazarene now,” he told Jonas. “One of His own disciples has betrayed Him.”
“If they love Him, how could they do that?”
“Men love many things, hunchback,” the cripple said philosophically. “But most of all money. Caiaphas paid the fellow well, of course.”
“I could never betray a man who has been kind to me.”
“That’s why your ribs are showing, my friend,” Zadok said. “If you would steal and beg as I do, you would not have to work.” He crunched a date and spat out the seed. “By the way, have you done anything wrong lately?”
“No. Why?”
“I saw Abiathar as I was leaving the temple area. He asked about you.”
Jonas paled a little. His conscience was clear but that meant little. The captain of the temple guards was a cruel man who made the beggars pay him well for the best places near the temple. But he could have no reason to trouble Jonas, or so the woodseller tried to assure himself.
“Abiathar is coming to see you in the morning,” Zadok added. “He said to tell you not to go up to gather thornwood before he comes.”
“Why would he want to see me?”
“You’ve done something wrong. What else? If I were you, I would take Eleazar and run away to Emmaus for a few days. Or to Bethany.”
Jonas straightened himself painfully. “I’ve broken no law. I will not run away.”
“Whatever happens is your own fault then,” Zadok said virtuously. “I warned you.”
Jonas did not sleep well that night. In his dreams a giant Abiathar pursued him and brutally beat Eleazar. By morning he was fully expecting the worst, but when the captain of the temple guards appeared, he held himself as proudly erect as his painful back would let him.
“So?” Abiathar said heavily. “Even beggars like you dare to look your betters in the eye now, Jonas. You must have been listening to the Nazarene.”
“I have no time for anything but work,” Jonas said. “With the lime burners and the potters no longer firing their kilns.”
“They’ll fire them again soon enough. You are the one who gathers the thorn bushes on the hillside outside the gate, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But I have paid the tribute—”
“Be silent and listen,” Abiathar said, “I have a mission for you:”
“A mission?” Jonas repeated, startled.
“Gather an armful of green thorns on the hillside outside the gates for me today and I will pay you a shekel.” A shekel was considerably more than Jonas ordinarily earned in a day.
“The green ones will not burn,” he protested.
“Did I say anything about burning?” Abiathar laughed at the blank look on the little woodseller’s face. “Bring the thorns to the palace of the high priest before midnight. There will be another shekel for you if you are prompt.”
“But why green thorns?”
“For a crown,” Abiathar said and laughed hugely again at the little man’s mystification. “A crown of thorns—for a king of Israel!”
II
John Mark had been busy ever since Peter and John had come to tell his mother that Jesus would eat the Passover supper that evening in the upper room of their house on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Mark’s days were usually spent at the scribes’ school where he was a brilliant and promising student, but since this was the day of the unleavened bread at the end of which the Passover meal would be eaten, there had been no school.
Instead of coming into the city on the day after His dramatic denunciation of the scribes and Pharisees, Jesus had remained at Bethany with His disciples. Jerusalem buzzed with rumors all day long. Some said Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin had a definite plan for taking Jesus; others that His followers would use up in revolt if Abiathar attempted to arrest Him. On one point there was general agreement now. Some sort of clash between Jesus and the authorities was inevitable; things had gone too far.
Mark, his mother, Mary, and his Uncle Barnabas had become followers of Jesus during His first visit to Jerusalem as a Teacher. They had many friends and relatives in Galilee and so had known of Him before He had appeared in the city. Since then they had been staunch believers in Jesus as the Messiah, and awaited the coming of the kingdom of God which He would inaugurate on earth. Barnabas was not one of the Twelve, but he had been one of the seventy and was particularly close to Simon Peter.
There had been errands for Mark to run all afternoon. The task of preparing the Passover feast for such a large company was not an easy one and the neighboring women had been called in to help Mary. Many things still had to be purchased at the last moment, though, and Mark had been busy running back and forth between his house and the shops. He did not mind, for it was a great honor ind
eed that Jesus had chosen to celebrate the Passover in their home in Jerusalem rather than the luxurious one of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus at Bethany. Besides, Simon Peter had asked him that morning to keep watch outside the house during the supper lest the agents of the high priest learn where Jesus was and try to arrest Him.
One rumor had been particularly rampant in Jerusalem that day, and Mark had heard it at several of the shops. It was said that one of Jesus’ own disciples had betrayed Him to the high priest, but this Mark found hard to believe. It was incredible that any of the Twelve who were closest to Jesus would betray Him to Caiaphas and thus insure the Master’s death.
Barnabas had gone with Peter and John to the temple to purchase the paschal lamb early that morning. After it had been slaughtered on the altar there, they had brought the carcass home and it had been roasting all afternoon. Now the savory smell of the meat and the fragrant herbs and other delicacies which his mother was preparing filled the house and drifted out into the yard where John Mark watched for the arrival of the honored guest.
The youth had bathed and put on a new robe, one he had been saving for the ceremony when he would complete the year at the scribes’ school and go on to another level of study. Now he waited in the shadows of a large sycamore tree beside the house, which was on a secluded side street. He was to warn his mother when the guests appeared so that she could be ready to greet them.
It was dark when, from his vantage point in the shadow of the large tree, Mark heard the voices of people approaching. He did not call out yet, for it might be only a group of neighbors returning home for the feast or even the temple guards who, if it were true that Jesus had been betrayed by one of His disciples, might have learned where He was to eat the Passover and be coming to take Him.
The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ Page 37