Son of God

by Roma Downey

  Jesus and two of his disciples dine with the Pharisees inside a small room at Simon’s home. Jesus sits by the door, listening as Simon expounds on his latest religious theories. On the other side of the table sit a small group of Pharisees. Their faces are a study in rapt attention as they give Simon their complete respect.

  Mary Magdalene slips quietly into the room, doing her best to be unobtrusive. The last thing she wants to do is interrupt Simon or to become the center of attention. But that’s precisely what she does, for Mary is not alone. She leads a young woman, who is a sinner, into the room. The woman carries a small stone jar. Its contents are a gift for Jesus, and her eyes instantly seek him out in the soft light of the room.

  When Simon sees the woman with Mary, he thunders, “You have no business here! Go and offer your body elsewhere!”

  Utterly humiliated, the woman moves toward the door. She desperately wants to leave. Her shame is complete. But before she can leave, Jesus reaches out a hand and gently touches her arm. She stops. “Please,” Jesus tells her. “Do what you have come here to do.”

  The words of Jesus give her courage to endure the torment of social scorn. What she planned to do won’t take long. She will get it done and then hurry off. Kneeling in front of Jesus, she removes his sandals. A tear falls onto his bare, dirty feet. She uncovers her long dark hair and wipes her tear away with it. Then, hands shaking, she reaches for the small jar and unstops the lid. The scent of perfume, fragrant and delicate, blossoms in the air. The woman pours a few drops of the precious liquid on Jesus’ feet, and rubs it in with her bare hands.

  Simon can barely believe what he is seeing. His first instinct is to throw these heretics from his home, but then he realizes that this is the perfect moment to lecture Jesus on his impudence. “They say you are a prophet,” Simon sneers. “Your friends certainly treat you like one. Well, let me tell you this: if you were a real prophet, you would never let a woman such as this touch you.”

  Jesus doesn’t respond. He has been moved by the woman’s kindness and humble servitude, and he knows that this moment means everything to her.

  Simon continues: “Look at her. She’s a sinner!”

  Jesus gently lays his hand atop her head. “Whatever sins she has committed, she is forgiven.”

  Simon puffs himself up and points a long finger at Jesus. “This is my house. Do you understand? And in my house what matters is God’s law. We are devoted to it.”

  Jesus smiles at Simon and turns back to the woman. “Thank you,” he says as she picks up her jar and leaves. The woman is consumed with joy and a sense of peace, but just as eager to flee from Simon and his angry tirade about her character.

  “Cursed is anyone who does not uphold the law,” blusters Simon, but now his words are intended for Jesus. “To this,” he concludes, “all people should say, ‘Amen.’ ”

  Incense rises in a thin wisp, spreading its sickly sweet aroma slowly over the dimly lit interior of the synagogue. The congregation bow their heads in attendant worship as Simon stands before them, teaching. The Torah rests before him, and his fingers slide slowly across each line as he reads.

  Simon is at peace in his synagogue. It is more than just the meeting place where he can preach to the community, but also a spiritual home. A place where he can lead his followers in devotion to the law—a gift from God. That tranquility is interrupted as Jesus and his disciples step through the door. Simon keeps teaching, even as he carefully tracks Jesus’ movement toward the congregation. The bearded carpenter seeks out a man with a withered hand, and leans close to have a word with him.

  Peter, always pragmatic, moans to himself, for he knows what is coming. “Surely,” he mumbles, “he wouldn’t dare. Not here. Not today.”

  This is the Sabbath, a time God has prescribed for rest and spiritual reflection. Absolutely no work or other exertion can take place on this holy day. Peter looks toward Simon, the Pharisee, who is staring at Jesus. The synagogue has grown silent. All teaching has stopped. All are eyes on Jesus and the man with the deformed hand.

  “Today is the Sabbath,” Jesus says to no one in particular, though his words are quite clearly aimed at Simon and the Pharisees. “Tell me: is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the Sabbath—to save a life or to kill?”

  Simon’s face is beet red. His eyes bore into Jesus. “Neither,” Simon says under his breath.

  Jesus asks the man to stand. Slowly, the man rises. He looks uncertain and self-conscious.

  “Most of you have sheep,” Jesus says to the congregation. “If on your way here, you saw that one had fallen into a ditch, would you not reach down and pull it out?”

  He then takes the man’s hand in full view of the entire room. “Then is this man worth less than a sheep?”

  The crowd gasps as the man’s hand is no longer a withered claw. Instead, he is completely healed. His work done, Jesus immediately turns and heads for the door.

  “How dare you!” Simon roars, grasping hold of his robe with two hands and ripping it open in full view of the congregation. The Pharisees standing nearby do the same, making it clear that they have seen something unclean and wish God’s forgiveness.

  Jesus doesn’t see any of this. Only Peter who realizes he’s been left behind and races to catch up.

  Simon isn’t far behind. Enraged by Jesus’ behavior, he races into the street and grabs the healed man’s hand. He jerks the man to a halt and then raises the new hand into the air. There is no escaping Simon’s grip, particularly when other Pharisees come to gather around, so the man is soon paraded through the streets like a trophy. He is evidence to one and all that Jesus has violated the scripture.

  Or worse. “This healing is the work of demons,” screeches Simon.

  Those standing nearby are in awe. They have known this man their whole lives. How is it possible that his hand is completely healed? This is a source of wonder, not shame.

  Simon ignores their looks and pleads his case. He knows his audience.

  “He’s never studied the law, but he’s happy to break it,” adds Simon.

  Despite their amazement about the healing, the crowd is now aghast.

  Simon presses on. “He recruits tax collectors and sinful women to do his bidding. He defiles God’s law, and His synagogue—your synagogue.”

  The crowd becomes agitated and unruly. It begins to feel dangerous. Jesus is unruffled and as calm as ever. “Love your enemies,” he cautions Peter. “Love those who persecute you.”

  “We’re just supposed to take it?” Peter asks incredulously.

  Jesus, the disciples, and Mary Magdalene battle their way through the mob. The city’s streets are now in a state of unrest. Roman soldiers wade into the fracas, grabbing the Pharisees and dragging them back toward the synagogue. The Romans are only too happy to mete out punishment with fists and clubs. Jesus goes one way, leading his followers to safety. The Pharisees go another. In the streets, it escalates into a bloody scuffle between the oppressed Jews and the Roman legionnaires. Afterward, as tensions continues to mount, the Pharisees plot how they might kill Jesus.

  Jesus has no intention of waging a battle for religious power. But as his ministry grows, he finds himself wading into a complex quagmire of political and religious movements. God, Rome, and religion are intertwined throughout Israel, and two rival factions fight for control. Accepting only the written word of Moses as law and rejecting all other subsequent revelations, the Sadducees think of themselves as the Old Believers. The Pharisees additionally believe in the resurrection of the dead, as well as an afterlife of either heavenly rewards or eternal damnation, taking the Mosaic tradition and the remainder of the Torah as their authoritative text. Politically the Sadducees are a stronger, more powerful force. They represent the priestly aristocracy and the power structure of Israel. Their religious duties are focused on the Temple. The Pharisees represent the common man. The Sadducees view worship in the Temple as the main focus of the law.

  The most powerfully religi
ous in Israel make up the Sanhedrin. This council is the supreme court for all Jewish disputes, and it even has the power to hand down death sentences. Despite the Sanhedrin’s power, the Romans are still their masters. It is led by a high priest appointed by the Romans, and Rome can just as easily remove him. Caiaphas, the middle-aged high priest, is in the awkward position of balancing the material demands of his Roman masters with the spiritual demands of the Jewish people.

  At the moment, Caiaphas is faced with an even greater dilemma. Military banners bearing the Roman eagle have been hung overnight in the great Temple. They brazenly and publicly flaunt God’s ban on the use of idolatrous images in the Temple’s precinct. All Jews know this is an invasion of their sacred place.

  What is Caiaphas to do? If he makes a stand against the Romans he will be stripped of his power. If he does not, his own people will see him as a puppet and a figurehead—a man who pretends to have power but lacks authority. He knows he must make a stand, and to only one man—Pontius Pilate.

  Since the breakup of Israel following the death of Herod the Great, Roman prefects have governed the province of Judea. In Rome, Judea is seen as nothing more than the graveyard of ambition. Four prefects have come and gone within twenty years. Pilate is the latest to attempt to control this fractious, troubled backwater. Feeling the need to make a name for himself and stamp his authority on the region, Pilate has moved a new squadron of troops to Jerusalem. As is common practice within the Roman Empire, the arrival of a new group of soldiers also means the arrival of their unit’s standard. Hence the eagle banners.

  Caiaphas is afraid of Pilate, and with good reason: the new prefect is known for his tough demeanor. He has no trouble oppressing the Jewish people, for he believes the full force of Roman power is sometimes necessary to keep the peace.

  But the longer Caiaphas delays his confrontation with Pilate, the more dire the situation becomes. Word of the idolatrous banners, and of the defiling of the Temple, spreads like wildfire throughout Judea. Thousands soon gather in the main square of Caesarea, Pilate’s home, to protest.

  Caesarea is fifty miles from Jerusalem, on a coastal plain caressed each day by cool Mediterranean breezes. It is the hub of Rome’s government in Judea, built by Herod the Great but now the home of Pontius Pilate. He can live anywhere in Israel he wants, but Pilate prefers the tranquility of Caesarea and smell of those ocean breezes to the crowded, manic pace of Jerusalem.

  Pilate looks down on the mob from his marbled residence. His well-muscled chest is bare and covered in sweat. As a Roman soldier himself, Pilate knows the value of physical conditioning, and he’s spent the last hour sparring with wooden practice swords. Though smaller than a war sword, they are just as heavy, and Pilate can feel the heaviness in his forearms and shoulders from the exertion.

  An aide hands Pilate a tunic. Outside, the crowd’s roaring and chanting is deafening, as if they have the privilege of saying and doing anything they like without punishment. Perhaps they are unaware that the Roman Empire operates through a mix of enlightened self-interest and overwhelming force. Pilate must put an end to this. He wraps the tunic around his chest and steps into the window so that the crowd can see him. In an instant, the noise stops. Pilate turns to his aide. “Have the men seal the square. Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” says the aide, rushing off to deliver the order.

  The crowd gazes up at their prefect, waiting for him to speak. But Pilate says nothing, preferring to watch the lines of soldiers assembling in the streets just off the square. A second group of soldiers is now working its way into the front of the crowd, separating the leaders of the protest from the rest.

  Only then does Pilate speak: “Go home. In the name of the Emperor, I order you to go home. Leave now and no harm will come to you.”

  The crowd is still.

  Up front, its leaders kneel.

  The officer in charge of the soldiers glances up to Pilate for instruction. Pilate responds with a simple nod of his head.

  The officer draws his sword, and his men immediately do the same.

  The leaders of the protest, still on their knees, pull their robes off their shoulders to expose their necks. They are willing to be beheaded.

  Roman intimidation relies upon fear. The soldiers are clearly uncomfortable slaughtering these protesters. Word of this will get back to Rome, if he murders this crowd. It will reflect poorly on his job performance, for Pilate has been sent to govern the Jews, not butcher them.

  He steps back from the window, knowing that today the Jews have gotten the best of him. Pilate tastes the bile of humiliation in his throat, and longs to run out into the crowd and run a sword through each of those protesters. Even better, he should have them crucified. That’s how the Romans deal with troublemakers: nail them to the cross. Maybe next time. Pilate retreats into the privacy of his home and orders the removal of all banners from the temple.

  Far out in the countryside, miles from Caesarea and the Mediterranean, Jesus and his disciples clean up after their afternoon meal. They lounge next to a stream, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their faces and the tickle of fresh green grass against their bare feet. It is a wondrous day, and despite their meager possessions and the possibility of yet another run-in with the Pharisees when they get to the next town, they revel in these simple pleasures.

  Peter spies a young man approaching the group. He bears an offering of fruit. The man’s clothes mark him as a city boy—too bright, too new, not rugged enough for long days in the fields or on a fishing boat.

  But they have no reason to doubt his sincerity, so Matthew gratefully accepts the fruit and leads the young man to Jesus.

  “I’d like to learn from you,” the young man stammers. “To follow you, if you will let me. And to serve in any way that I can.”

  Jesus has already shouldered his bag and is beginning to move on down the road. But he invites the young man to walk with him.

  Peter eyes the man with suspicion. “We went through all sorts of trials to become disciples,” he mutters to Matthew. “Now this guy just walks in from who knows where and gets to join?”

  Jesus calls Matthew, former tax collector and professional bookkeeper, to walk with him and the new disciple. With just a few words and the transfer of a money bag from Matthew’s hand into those of the stranger, Jesus makes the new disciple the group treasurer.

  Peter is outraged. His instinct is to rely on logic, not faith. But what Jesus has done is clearly an act of reckless and rather spontaneous faith.

  “What’s his name?” Peter asks Andrew.

  “Judas,” he answers. “Judas Iscariot.”

  It’s dusk as Jesus and the disciples walk up a long hill that leads to the next town. Children run to greet them, but otherwise it appears that they are in for an ordinary evening. They’ll find a place to sleep and get a meal. Perhaps Jesus will teach, or maybe he won’t. All in all, they’re just glad to be sleeping with a roof over their heads after many a night sleeping outdoors.

  But as Jesus leads the way up and over the top of the hill, the apostles gasp in shock. Thousands upon thousands of people fill the valley below. They stand on the shores of a silvery sea, waiting anxiously to hear the words of Jesus.

  The instant the crowds catch sight of him, they rush up the hillside, all trying to get a spot in front when Jesus begins teaching.

  “Would you look at all those people?” gasps Peter.

  “Yes,” Jesus answers. “How are we going to feed them all?”

  “Do what?”

  “Feed them. It’s late. I don’t see any cooking fires. They must be famished,” Jesus replies.

  Judas, trying to show his practical nature, shakes the money bag, and a small handful of coins clank inside. “You’ll need a bit more than this,” he tells Jesus.

  Peter shoots Judas a look.

  “Go out into the crowd,” Jesus tells his disciples. “And bring back as much food as you can.”

  They come back with almost nothing
: five loaves of bread and two fish. There’s not enough to feed the disciples themselves, let alone roughly five thousand. The crowd consumed the contents of their food baskets hours ago, as they waited patiently for Jesus. Now those baskets are quite empty.

  Jesus seems unbothered. “Thank You, Father,” he prays over the little food they have gathered. “Thank You for what You bring us.”

  The disciples begin to distribute the food, and the empty baskets overflow with bread and fish—so much that the crowd has seconds, and then thirds.

  Peter, that practical man, is once again humbled by Jesus’ greatness. As he watches the people eat, he remembers his own miraculous first meeting with Jesus, and how his boat soon groaned from the weight of all that fish.

  Jesus comes to Peter and looks him in the eye. There is a loving warmth in Jesus’ gaze, once again reminding Peter to let go of his practical nature to put all his trust in God.

  The crowd is soon demanding more food, and clamoring to proclaim Jesus as the new King of the Jews. But he sends them away, knowing that the miracle they observed will be more than enough to fortify their faith for some time to come.

  In the morning, when it comes time to sail across the sea to their next destination, Jesus is nowhere to be seen. He has told them to go to the far side without him, so that he can go alone into the mountains and pray. Led by Peter, the disciples take their boat and begin the long sail across the vast sea. The small boat is packed to the gunwales with disciples and their small bags of belongings. Peter is the man of the sea, so he commands the helm. His eyes scan the darkening sky anxiously, for he knows a coming storm when he sees one. The wind blows hard and cold. Waves smash against the hull, forcing the small boat to pitch wildly.

  “Where are you?” Peter mutters as sea spray covers his face. His eyes scan the horizon, brows knitted into a frown. The weather is only getting worse. The gusts have grown to gale force, making it almost impossible for Peter to look forward into the wind. He has reefed the small sail to ensure that the boat won’t capsize, but that also means the boat can’t be steered. The disciples row furiously, and Peter has one hand on the tiller, but it’s no use: the tiny boat bobs like a cork atop the furious seas, as directionless as a sinner who doesn’t know God.