Miriam’s eyes flew open. “I think I know the man that you mean,” she cried. “He is a beggar there. Lies on his bed all the time. Gray hair, scraggly beard.”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“They told me he has been there for years. I saw him trying to crawl down to the water once. It was pitiful. He kept asking some of the men there to help him, but no one would. I wanted to cry.”
Livia reached out and took hold of Miriam’s wrist. “Well, listen to this. He said he was lying there this morning as he did every day, waiting for the water to be stirred. Suddenly a man was standing beside him.”
“Jesus?” Miriam blurted.
“Yes, though the impotent man didn’t know who he was. He said this man looked down on him and asked, ‘Would you be made whole?’ The beggar thought the man was asking if he wanted help getting down to the water. He told Jesus that he had no man to help him, that when the water was troubled, he would start for the pool, but someone else was always quicker.”
Miriam was partially holding her breath now. The entire land was filled with rumors of this Jesus of Nazareth and the great wonders he performed wherever he went. “Yes?”
“When Jesus heard that, he looked on him and said, ‘Arise! Take up your bed and walk.’” Livia’s eyes were like two great pools of blue water. “And he did.”
“Oh, Livia! Then it’s true. Everything they say about him is true.”
“I didn’t see it, so I cannot say for sure.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I believed this man as he spoke. His clothes were filthy. His face was gaunt and sallow. He looked as though he had been lying on his bed for years. And yet . . . ” There was a look of amazement on her face. “In spite of that, he was strong and full of life as he spoke to his questioners.”
They had to step aside as a cart filled with cages of mourning doves rattled past them. They had reached the bridge and were starting across now, and the people were far more numerous.
“The scribes and Pharisees were very angry. They wanted to know who it was that told him to carry his bed. But the man didn’t know. Evidently, after Jesus had healed him, he disappeared into the crowds.”
“It has to be Jesus, Livia. It just has to be.”
“That’s what I decided too.”
“Let’s hurry.” She dropped her hands, her face anxious. “Oh, I hope he is still there.”
III
It was approaching midday by the time they came onto the Temple Mount, and the summer heat was already shimmering off the marble and limestone of the great complex. Miriam didn’t hesitate. There were only a few people in the Court of the Gentiles, and these were only crossing on their way to somewhere else. The crowds were in the great porticos that lined the courtyard and provided welcome shade from the sun.
She headed directly for Solomon’s Porches, which occupied the entire south end of the mount and provided the greatest space to accommodate crowds of people out of the sun. Five minutes later they found him. He was sitting on a stone bench with people crowding around him. It took another five minutes for Miriam and Livia to work their way close enough to see and hear.
A man, another Pharisee by the look of him, was standing before him. “Tell us,” the man demanded. “How do you do the works that you do?” Miriam started, wondering if he referred to the impotent man.
Jesus looked at him steadily. “Truly, I say unto you, the Son can do nothing of himself, but what he sees the Father do. For the Father loves the Son, and shows him all things that he himself does. And the Father will show him greater works than these, that ye may marvel.”
“What could be better than raising up a man from his bed after so many years of impotency?” someone behind them called out. “What could be greater than that?”
Jesus turned. “As the Father raises up the dead, and quickens them, even so the Son quickens whom he will.”
Livia looked at Miriam, not sure exactly what that meant. “I think he’s talking about the resurrection,” she whispered.
“I thought you didn’t believe in the resurrection,” Livia whispered back.
“My father doesn’t,” she said in surprise. “I always have.”
“Make way!” someone called out. “Make a path.”
Every head turned. For a moment all they could see were two poles with cloth around them, held vertically in the air. They were moving toward them. Then suddenly Livia grabbed Miriam’s shoulder. “That’s the man who was healed.”
The crowd fell back as the word leaped from lip to lip of who it was that was coming. Miriam inhaled sharply. There he was. The man she had seen at the Pool of Bethesda the last time she was there. In an instant she saw that Livia was right. His clothing looked as if he were ready to be buried. His face was dirty, the cheeks beneath his beard sunken, his neck so scrawny that the cords in them stood out like ropes. And yet he did not walk like a man who was sick or infirm. He moved forward confidently and with a sure step.
“There you are,” he cried when he saw Jesus.
“Yes.” Jesus seemed not at all surprised at this appearance.
“The Jewish leaders are very upset because they found me carrying my bed on the Sabbath. When I told them I did so because you told me to, they asked who you were.”
“I am Jesus of Nazareth.”
There was a curt nod. “Some thought that might be the case.” Then his face softened. “I had no chance to thank you. When I realized that—” His voice caught, and he looked away. “When I realized I could walk, I was stunned. It was shameful of me not to return thanks to you.”
“You have been made whole. Go your way and sin no more, lest a worse thing than this come upon you.”
The man was obviously caught by surprise by that declaration, but finally nodded. He turned and shuffled away a few steps, then stopped. “Jesus?”
“Yes?”
“Take care. The leaders are raging. Some even talk of putting you to death. They see the people who follow you and fear an uprising.”
The expression on Jesus’ face did not change. “Are there not twelve hours in the day?” he said. “If any man walks in the day, he does not stumble, because he walks in the light. If he walks in the night, he stumbles, because there is no light in him.”
Again Livia turned to Miriam, a questioning look on her face. What did that enigmatic statement mean? Miriam wasn’t positive, but she thought she had understood. “He’s saying that he’s not going to try to hide his work in the darkness just because it makes the leaders of the people angry.”
“Oh.”
The man with the bed moved away, and the crowd quickly closed in again.
Jesus watched them for a long moment before he spoke again. “Truly I say unto you, the hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God. And they that hear shall live, for as the Father hath life in himself, so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself.”
“How can the dead hear the Son’s voice? The Sadducees say that Moses did not teach that there is any life after this one.” Miriam was startled to realize that she was the one who had spoken.
He turned and found her face in the crowd. For a moment his eyes held hers, and then he went on, speaking calmly yet earnestly. “Marvel not at this, for the hour is coming in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice and shall come forth. They that have done good shall come forth unto the resurrection of life. They that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.”
Miriam nodded, feeling his words settle into her heart like a healing balm. So her father and the others were wrong, just as she had felt all these years.
“You bear witness of yourself,” a voice called out sharply. “Why should we believe you?”
Again every head in the crowd turned. Azariah, head of the Pharisees in Jerusalem and a member of the Great Sanhedrin, shoved aside the last of the people and stood before Jesus. When his eyes fell on Miriam, he gave a quick start; then he frowned. But then she was forgotten. Oth
er men moved in around him, forming a phalanx confronting Jesus.
Again Jesus seemed as unruffled as if he were having a conversation with a friend. “But I am not the only witness of my words. If that were so, my witness would not be true. But what of John the Baptist? He was a burning and shining light that many of you went out to see. He bore witness of me. But there is an even greater witness than that of John. The works which the Father has given me to finish, the same works that I do, bear witness of me, that the Father hath sent me.”
“What works are those?” Azariah sneered. “Show us your works.”
There was an angry murmur from the crowd now. They clearly were in sympathy with Jesus and not with the Pharisees. “What about the miracle he just worked at Bethesda?” an older man asked.
Azariah whirled, his face a mask of fury. “He had a man violate the sacred laws of the Sabbath. That’s what he did at Bethesda.”
Jesus went on as if neither had spoken. “If you wish yet another witness, then search the scriptures. In them you think you have eternal life, but these are they which testify of me. But you do not know that, because you have not the love of God in you.”
The rage in Azariah exploded. “I have spent a lifetime devoted to God. How dare you say I have no love for him.”
Jesus stood now, rising to his full height. In that instant, Miriam remembered the majesty he had carried when he took the whip to the moneychangers. Even Azariah took a step back as Jesus faced him. “Do you think I will accuse you to the Father? No. There is one that will accuse you, even Moses, in whom you supposedly trust. If you truly believed Moses, you would believe me, for Moses wrote of me.”
Azariah was so utterly shocked that for a moment he could not speak. His mouth worked and his beard twitched, but no words came out. Then finally they poured out of him in a stream of invective. “Infidel! Blasphemer! You dare to invoke the name of Moses? You are not yet forty years old. How could Moses have written of you?”
Jesus shrugged. “If you believe not the writings of Moses, it is no surprise that you don’t believe my words.” Now Jesus turned away from him and spoke to the crowd. His eyes touched Miriam’s briefly as he did so. “My doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me. If you would know if my doctrine is true, then do the Father’s will. Then you can know whether I speak of myself or whether it be of God.”
To that point Miriam had been caught up in the intensity of the conflict in front of her. Now his words seemed to be aimed directly at her and Livia.
He paused, looking directly at her now. “I say again, if anyone will do my Father’s will, then they shall know of the doctrine, whether it be true.”
Azariah was seething like a pot left too long on the fire, but Miriam was barely aware of him. It hit her with perfect clarity that this was what had been troubling her. For years she had been searching for something, looking for something deeper in her faith than what she had thus far found. She had never thought of it as doctrine, but that was exactly what it was. Her father and his associates denied the resurrection and a life after this one. In the core of her being, she could not accept that. The Pharisees had much that she found appealing, but they had turned the worship of God into a worship of the Law and all of its minutia. Surely there was something more important than that. But Jesus had just given her the key. There it was, simple and straightforward. If you want to know for yourself, then live as God would have you live. Then you will know. How could anything be more plain than that?
A movement caught Miriam’s eye. Azariah and his fellow believers had moved back a few steps and were in an urgent huddle. Then Azariah raised a hand, beckoning to someone behind them, someone out of Miriam’s sight.
The crowd saw that too and turned to see what was happening. For a moment nothing happened; then a path began to open. In a moment, two men appeared. They held firmly onto the arms of a woman, half dragging her between them. The crowd went silent. Here was a completely new development.
Miriam looked at Livia, who shrugged, as puzzled as Miriam was. Then they pushed forward a little, so as to see better. The woman was obviously being brought against her will. Her dress was of common cloth and hand-stitched. Though it was clean, it had clearly seen much service. Her hair was tangled and matted, as though she had not brushed it when she had awakened that morning. Her head was down, but Miriam could see that her face was flaming red with humiliation. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her hands were clenched in tight balls.
Jesus had sat down again, but now as he saw them approaching, he got to his feet slowly. Eyes glittering with triumph, Azariah moved closer to Jesus, motioning for the men to bring the woman to him. When they reached him, they gave her a contemptuous shove. It was not hard enough to make her lose her balance, but she dropped to her knees anyway, lowering her face and covering it with her hands.
“What is this?” Jesus asked.
Azariah looked down at the woman in complete disgust, then turned to Jesus. “You say that we have no regard for the Law of Moses. Well, let us see who accepts the Law and who does not.” He half turned, flinging one hand in the direction of the figure on her knees before him. “This woman was taken in adultery—in the very act!” His voice rose sharply. “Moses in the Law commanded that such should be stoned.” There was another disdainful sneer. “What do you say?”
In a flash Miriam saw the brilliant cunning of Azariah and felt her stomach drop. He had just laid a most clever trap. If Jesus said she should not be stoned, then he was contradicting one of the most clearly understood and important conditions of the Law given at Sinai. That would turn the people against him. But under Roman rule, though the Jewish Council had the right to pronounce a death sentence, only the Romans could actually carry it out. If Jesus said to stone her, then Azariah would be at the gate of the Antonia Fortress in less time than it took to say it, accusing Jesus of flaunting the laws of Rome. There weren’t many surer ways to get oneself arrested than that.
She turned to Livia, stricken. To her surprise Livia had gone as white as bleached linen. She looked as though she were going to pass out. And then Miriam understood. Livia’s mother had been sold off when their Roman master in Alexandria had gone bankrupt. Though she had never said so directly, Livia had hinted that her mother may have been sold into prostitution, a fate that awaited some female slaves. She had no way of knowing that, but feared the worst.
Livia saw Miriam looking at her, and her chin came up defiantly. “If she was taken in the very act,” she hissed, “where is the man? Doesn’t your law hold him guilty as well?”
Miriam just stared at her. She was right. She was absolutely right. The law of Moses was clear in that regard. Where was the other partner in this “terrible crime” that Azariah was presenting to Jesus?
Feeling light-headed, as though the heat had gotten to her, Miriam turned back to see how this would play out. Jesus had not moved. His eyes were on the woman, who was in a heap at his feet now. Then to Miriam’s surprise, Jesus stooped down. He reached out a hand and began to trace something on the marble floor of the portico. It almost looked as though he might be writing something on the stone, but she couldn’t tell from where she was.
Azariah was glaring at him. “Well,” he demanded after a moment. “What say you? Shall she be stoned or nay?”
Jesus looked up. The woman’s head had lifted slightly, and she was watching him through anxious eyes that were red and swollen.
Finally Jesus straightened. His eyes met and held those of Azariah and his colleagues. Miriam could not see the face of the chief Pharisee now, but Jesus was facing directly toward her. She could see great indignation smouldering in his eyes. “Let him who is without this sin be the one to cast the first stone.” And with that he stooped back down again and began tracing with his finger once more.
Azariah flinched as though he had been struck a blow. He stared down at Jesus, then turned to look at those who were with him. Once again his mouth was working, but no sound came out. Miriam wanted to s
hout aloud. The word Jesus had used did not refer to sin in general but to the same kind of sin before them—adultery, fornication, or other forms of immorality. For years she had heard whispers and rumors about mistresses and the “little indiscretions” engaged in by the powerful men of Jerusalem, including her own father since her mother’s death. That had made her sick, and she had pushed the stories aside, not wanting to think about them. But something down inside her guessed that it was true.
Then she stiffened as a revelation hit her. If the woman had been taken in the very act, as Azariah said, how did these men know of it? It was midday. Had they gone from house to house hoping to find a couple in violation of the Law so they could trap Jesus, or . . . Now the outrage in her flared into something really quite terrible. It was a deliberate trap, and this poor woman was being used as the bait.
It was one of the men who had dragged the woman forward who turned away first. He mumbled something to Azariah and slunk away. A moment later his companion followed, eyes fastened on the ground as he pushed his way through the crowd. Miriam watched in utter astonishment as, one by one, the others were shamed by that simple invitation. In Jewish law the witness whose testimony was responsible for bringing about a conviction in a capital crime was required to cast the first stone during the execution. It was a grim way to discourage bearing false witness. Now the power of his words struck her even more forcefully. “If you wish to execute the Law, then let him who is without this sin cast that first stone upon her.”
During it all Jesus never looked up. He just continued to trace patterns on the stone with his finger. The woman’s head was up now, her eyes wide and wondering as she saw her accusers melt away into the crowd. Finally, Azariah, fuming at the desertion of his associates, turned and walked away, muttering angrily under his breath at this sudden reversal of his careful planning.
At last Jesus looked up. He seemed surprised that the circle of men were no longer there. He stood, looking down at the woman now, whose face was turned toward him. “Woman,” he said, his voice gentle and soft, “Where are those who were your accusers? Does no man accuse you now?”
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