Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Nicodemus rose again.

  “No!” Mordechai bellowed. “Hear me out. Pilate won’t hesitate for one moment. If he thinks there’s going to be a rebellion, this council will be disbanded in the snap of a finger. Maybe you want to rot in a Roman jail, Nicodemus, but I do not.”

  No one spoke.

  Mordechai didn’t look at Caiaphas to get his approval for what he said next. He swung on the captain of the guard. “Have you ever seen the pit prison in the palace of our high priest?” he demanded, his voice suddenly icy.

  The man blanched. “Yes, sire.”

  “If you ever want to see your wife again, then you find this man, and you bring him to us. Someone is going to occupy that cell before this feast is over. Either it will be this imposter who threatens our very nation, or it will be the clumsy fools who don’t have the courage to take him. Do you understand me?”

  The man was already backing up, as were the other guards with him. “Yes, sire.”

  “Then get out of here, and don’t come back here empty-handed again.”

  II

  Mordechai flicked a finger at Menachem of Bethphage as the council broke up and emptied back out into the Court of the Gentiles. Menachem, a fellow Sadducee, was Mordechai’s protégé and staunchest supporter on the council.

  Mordechai waited until it was just the three of them—Caiaphas, himself, and Menachem—then leaned forward. Even though Caiaphas was the high priest and titular head of the Great Sanhedrin, everyone, including Caiaphas, understood who really controlled the council. As Menachem sat down with them at the table that stood at the head of the council chambers, Caiaphas leaned back, clearly content to let Mordechai lead out.

  “Brethren,” Mordechai said, speaking low in case anyone was lurking behind the pillars, “though it infuriates me, I fear the captain is right. You saw the reaction tonight. If we try to take him during the festival, we may cause an eruption that will do our cause irreparable harm.”

  “But—” Caiaphas started. Then he thought better of it and shook his head.

  “There are other things stirring,” Mordechai said. “This goes no further than this circle. Not under any circumstances. Understood?”

  Their nods reflected deep gravity. Mordechai didn’t tell them about the visit of Marcus Didius to his palace. He spoke in generalities. He told them that there were rumors of trouble, that the governor might use this opportunity to try to take some of the Zealot leaders. They were instantly concerned. He went on swiftly.

  “I have quietly sent word to the Romans that the greatest source of rebellion is Jesus of Nazareth. If the Romans take him, the people won’t dare try to stop them.” He smiled tightly. “And if we lose a few hundred Zealots in the process, that won’t break our hearts either, will it.”

  “The Romans have a way of letting things get very messy,” Caiaphas said darkly.

  “Yes, they do, but unless our bold and fearless captain of the guard”—that was said in utter contempt—“is wise enough to take Jesus when there are not a lot of people around, it could get very messy for us.”

  “True,” Menachem said. “If the Romans take Jesus, then we can’t be held responsible.”

  Mordechai pulled at his lip. “I’m going to try to find out more about what’s going on. But—” He looked around again and dropped his voice even more. “I am going to station the temple guards somewhere away from the Temple Mount for the next day or two. If there are any questions, I need your support.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Caiaphas asked. Then understanding dawned. “Ah,” he said.

  “The farther away we are from what happens, the better it will be for us.”

  “Very good,” Menachem said.

  Mordechai leaned forward. “Brethren, you saw what happened tonight. I don’t have to tell you, it sent chills up and down my spine. This man could raise an army of ten thousand with a single word. He has got to be stopped.” He sighed. “And when it is over, it must be the Romans who take the blame.”

  III

  Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount

  Almost an hour had passed since Jesus had been at the Gate Beautiful. Miriam, Simeon, Yehuda, and Livia were seated on one of the many low benches scattered around the edges of the Court of the Gentiles. The crowds had thinned somewhat, but many people were still walking around. The four friends had not spoken of what had happened with Jesus. Miriam was dying to know what Yehuda was thinking about it all, but didn’t dare ask. Nor did Simeon seem inclined to broach the subject.

  “Will you be leaving after the Sabbath then?” Miriam asked.

  Yehuda nodded. “Yes, in two days. And you? Will you stay here for a while with Jesus?”

  Simeon answered. “We’re going to stay a few days longer to help Uncle Benjamin and to strengthen some of our trading relationships. We’ll be heading back to Capernaum after that.”

  “But not with Jesus?” Livia said.

  Simeon shook his head. “Father talked to Peter yesterday. Jesus is thinking of going into Perea again, maybe even staying until Passover next spring.”

  “Wise move,” Yehuda said.

  Miriam was surprised. “Why do you say that?”

  Yehuda was very sober. “When Jesus started talking about the Pharisees trying to kill him, I thought perhaps he had been out in the sun a little long. Azariah is a pompous old fool, but he’s about as dangerous as a setting hen kicked off her nest. Or so I thought. But when Jesus accused him and the rest of the Pharisees of being children of the devil . . .” He shook his head in awe. “It’s a wonder they didn’t kill him on the spot.”

  “I’ve watched old Azariah many times in the council,” Miriam agreed. “I’ve never seen him as incensed, as totally livid as he was today.” She bit her lip. “It’s true that as an individual Azariah is not a threat. But he is a powerful voice on the council, and the council can be very dangerous.”

  “Either way,” Yehuda went on, “Jesus had better get out of Jerusalem, or he won’t last until the end of the month.”

  Miriam found this conversation very depressing and decided to change the subject. “Will you be coming up to the temple again, after the Sabbath but before you leave?” she asked Livia.

  Livia looked to her husband. He shrugged. “I promised Samuel to go and look at some new vines for the vineyard. You don’t have to go.”

  “Then, yes,” Livia said, answering Miriam. “I would like to hear Jesus again if he’s still here.”

  “As would I,” Miriam said, pleased. “The men have promised to help Uncle Benjamin mend some rock walls in the pasture before we leave, so I’m free. Let’s meet at the Gate Beautiful. Shall we say about the third hour?”

  “Wonderful. I’ll see you then.”

  They all stood, but before they could say their farewells, someone called out. “Simeon!”

  They turned to see who it was, but Simeon had already recognized Aaron’s voice. Feeling a spurt of anxiety, he and the others turned. Aaron came bustling up. This time his demeanor was not one of perplexity or distraction, but open irritation and anger.

  “Where’s your mother?” he demanded before he even reached them.

  “They left right after the lighting,” Simeon answered. “Mother was tired.”

  He muttered something, clearly disappointed. “So she didn’t hear any of that?”

  “Any of what?” Simeon said wearily, already knowing exactly what he referred to.

  “Did you hear it?” he said. “Were you there?”

  “Yes, Aaron, we were there.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  He stared at his nephew in astonishment. “What more do you need? Surely you cannot follow a man who commits open and public blasphemy.”

  “It is only blasphemy,” Simeon retorted tartly, “if Jesus is not the Messiah.”

  It was as if something poisonous had crawled inside Aaron’s robe. He had a look of horror as he shuddered and fell back. �
��You, too!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, Aaron, me too.”

  “Careful, nephew,” he said tightly. “The penalty for blasphemy is death. The council has already called an emergency session. They will not hesitate to take action against anyone who dares to violate the Law.”

  Miriam was thinking of her father. She had sat in on council meetings many times, taking notes for him. She knew how that body worked. And suddenly she understood something. “The council really does want to kill him, don’t they.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I wasn’t,” she shot right back. “What Jesus said to Azariah is true. They want to kill him because he speaks the truth.”

  He raised a fist above his head, not to strike her, but to emphasize how deeply he was shaken. “A woman is not exempt from the demands of the Law,” he hissed. “Take care, Miriam, daughter of Mordechai. Even your father cannot protect you from a charge of blasphemy.”

  “My father is the last one who would try to protect me,” Miriam answered slowly.

  “And what of your Grandma Huldah?” Livia suddenly asked.

  Aaron half turned, rocking back. “What?”

  “I’ve been told how you spoke of the healing of the woman named Huldah. Doesn’t that suggest that Jesus may indeed be the Messiah, as he claims to be?”

  Aaron raised his hands, as if warding off an attack. “You, too?” he cried hoarsely. He started backing away. “Take care, Simeon,” he warned. “You are climbing a very slippery slope. And the rest of you, too. This has got to be stopped.”

  With that, he turned and plunged into the crowd again, disappearing from their sight.

  IV

  As they moved slowly across the great courtyard, heading for the western gate that would take them off the Temple Mount, the four friends did not speak. Aaron’s diatribe had left them all with a sour taste in their mouth.

  “Did you know that Jesus has talked about dying here in Jerusalem?” Simeon said unexpectedly.

  “I know. That’s why he must go,” Livia said. “You have to tell him that, Simeon. He has to leave.”

  “And have Jesus rebuke me like he did Peter? No, thank you.” And then, even more seriously, he added. “He’s the Messiah, Livia. Don’t forget that. No one is going to kill him.”

  Yehuda snorted softly but said nothing.

  Livia ignored her husband’s skepticism. “Yes,” she said, suddenly relieved. “We have to remember that, don’t we.”

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean God can’t use us as instruments to help protect him. Either way, we can’t lose hope.”

  Yehuda began a retort, but once again they were interrupted by a voice calling out to them. “There you are. Good!”

  They turned to see Luke the Physician coming swiftly toward them. “What is it, Luke?” Simeon asked.

  “Peter asked that I find as many disciples as possible and have them come to Jesus.”

  “He’s still here?” Simeon exclaimed.

  “Yes. He’s back near the Gate Beautiful again.”

  “Have the temple guards—”

  “We haven’t seen them,” Luke cut in, “but Peter’s worried. He’s convinced the only hope is to have enough people around that they won’t dare to arrest him.”

  “All right,” Simeon said without hesitation. Luke raised a hand, then hurried away to find others.

  Simeon turned. “Miriam, perhaps you’d better go with Yehuda and Livia. I can come and get you when this is over.”

  To his surprise, it was Yehuda who shook his head as vigorously as Miriam did. When he saw Simeon’s expression, he spoke in clipped words. “I don’t agree with what Jesus teaches,” he said, “but he has a right to speak his mind. He’s done nothing worthy of being arrested by those frogs on their lily pads who pass themselves off as our rulers. I’m coming with you.”

  “We’re coming too,” Miriam said, her voice brooking no disagreement. “As Luke said, the more people who are there to support Jesus, the less chance the guards will try something.”

  V

  Jerusalem, at the Gate Beautiful on the Temple Mount

  Luke was right. Jesus was standing in almost the same place where he had been when Azariah and Caleb faced him. The crowd had become smaller, but it still ran into the hundreds. Simeon angled in from one side, pushing his way forward until he was close enough to act swiftly, if needed. Jesus was speaking quietly with a group of men standing on the steps. Peter was behind him but turned at seeing movement and saw Simeon. He smiled and walked swiftly over to them.

  “Luke found you?”

  “Yes,” Simeon answered. “Is everything all right?”

  Peter shook his head, frowning deeply. “For now, I suppose. But frankly I’m worried. As you saw tonight, Jesus has some powerful enemies.”

  “At least one,” Yehuda observed dryly. “That old lizard Azariah.”

  Peter stuck out his hand. “Agreed. How are you, Yehuda? And Livia? It’s good to see you again. How is life as the wife of a vineyard keeper?”

  “Absolutely wonderful,” Livia answered.

  “And how are you two old married people doing?” Peter asked Miriam.

  She smiled as broadly as Livia had. “Wonderful.”

  “How is Jesus, Peter?” Livia asked anxiously. “Is he being careful? I’m sure the whole Sanhedrin is up in arms tonight.”

  “He’s . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right word. “Determined. We’ve stopped trying to get him to be careful. He just gives us that look.”

  “You’re staying in Bethany?” Simeon asked.

  “Yes, at Mary’s house. Which is good. Jesus is completely comfortable there. He can have time alone, if he wants. And Lazarus has been good to protect us from too many of the inquisitive.”

  Simeon turned and looked around at the crowd. He was pleased to see many faces he recognized, some from Capernaum, some from the Upper Galilee that he had gotten to know during his years as a Zealot.

  Peter saw what he was doing and did the same. “It should be all right. Most of these are friends, or at least sympathizers.”

  “That’s good,” Simeon said with a nod. This was not a crowd that would shrink away from any sign of trouble.

  “Master?”

  They all turned. Jesus was still standing on one of the lower stairs. He too turned to see who had spoken.

  “I’d better go,” Peter said. “Thank you for coming.”

  As Peter moved off, Simeon and the others followed, pressing in closer to where Jesus stood. Meanwhile, there was a disturbance in the crowd, and people began to fall back. Then two men appeared. The first was slightly ahead of the other, leading him by the hand. Then, in the light from the great lamps, Simeon saw why. The man was obviously blind. His head was turned upward at a slight angle, and sightless eyes peered from beneath half-closed lids.

  Miriam caught her breath, and Simeon turned to look at her. “I know this man,” she said.

  “The blind one?”

  “Yes.” She looked at Livia. “We used to see him when we came up to the Temple Mount. He would sit at one of the gates, asking for alms.”

  “Of course,” Livia said. “I remember now. We gave him money once or twice.”

  Miriam nodded.

  As the two men came up to Jesus, the crowd quieted. Were they about to witness another miracle?

  The first man bowed low in respect. “Master,” he said. “We would ask a question of you.”

  Jesus’ head bobbed slightly. “Yes?”

  Simeon was expecting a request for help for the man, so their question surprised him. “Who did sin? This man, or his parents, that he was born blind?”

  Jesus looked at the man who stood before him. The blind man’s head tipped back, as if he were trying to look at Jesus, but other than that he didn’t speak or move.

  Then Jesus answered. “Neither has this man sinned, nor his parents. This has come upon him that the works of God should be made manifest in him.”

>   The blind man’s companion looked puzzled.

  Jesus went on. “While it is day, I must work the works of him that sent me. The night is coming when no man can work.” He looked around, as if looking for the darkness that was currently being held back by the four great menorahs. “As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

  Miriam leaned forward. She felt a sudden thrill shoot through her. Horrified at the thought that this man had never had sight, she had just been wondering what it would be like to have known only darkness. A whole life of darkness. She felt a shiver ripple through her body, a shiver of anticipation. Now, at this very moment, the man stood before the Light of the World.

  To everyone’s surprise, Jesus stepped down from the stair to the main level of the court and dropped to one knee. His head bowed, and he spat on the ground. He spat again, then reached down and seemed to be picking something up.

  “What is he doing?” Yehuda whispered.

  No one answered, because no one could see for sure. Then he stood, and they saw what he had been doing. Though they were on the Temple Mount and everything was paved with stone, here and there, especially in the corners or around the base of the stairs where the wind would eddy, were small piles of dirt and debris. Jesus had found such a place. He had spit into the dirt, then scooped the muddy mixture into the palm of his left hand. Heads craned as people tried to see better what was happening.

  Jesus turned to the blind man. “Come forward,” he said quietly.

  The man shuffled forward one step. Jesus reached out and took his hand, squeezing it with a slight pressure. The man knelt before him, bowing his head. Jesus reached out with his right hand and lifted the man’s head to fully face him. Gently, he touched the eyes with his fingertips, closing the lids as though he were bidding him to sleep. Then with great tenderness, Jesus dipped his forefinger in the muddy paste and smeared it over one of the man’s eyes. The man jumped slightly at that first touch but immediately steadied again. Jesus repeated the process for the other eye.

  The blind man looked as if he wore two eye patches. Jesus examined his handiwork for a moment, then stepped back. “Go,” he said, speaking to the man’s companion. “Have him wash in the Pool of Siloam.”