Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “He’s at the palace of Annas,” he snapped. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Two houses up from that of Caiaphas?”

  “That’s right.” Levi started to shut the gate, then stopped. “You’d better have something more than promises. The group my master is with tonight includes some of Jerusalem’s most powerful and important men. They will not appreciate being disturbed in the midst of the feast.”

  Judas glared at him, seemed about to make some kind of retort, but then spun on his heel and trotted away.

  IV

  Jerusalem, Upper City, Palace of Annas

  A look of annoyance flashed across Mordechai’s face, and the girl serving the wine shrank back a little in the face of his irritation. “The man said you left word that you wanted to see him, sire.”

  Mordechai took a sip of wine, fighting back a temptation to swear at the girl and send her running. “What is his name?”

  “He wouldn’t give it, sire,” she said. “But he said—” She stopped, turning her head. “There he is, sire. By the side door. You can see for yourself.”

  In an instant, Mordechai was up. “Take him into the library.” He whirled, snapping his fingers at Menachem, who sat across the table from him, laughing gaily with a woman half his age. Menachem’s smile froze, and he scrambled to his feet, cutting the woman off in mid-sentence, making no apology.

  “Get Annas,” Mordechai hissed. “And Azariah. Bring them into the library.”

  “What about Caiaphas?”

  “Of course, Caiaphas, you fool. Move!”

  V

  Jerusalem, Upper City, an Upper Room

  Around the banquet table in the upper room, Jesus had fallen silent. He seemed far away from them for a moment. Then he turned and looked at them and smiled softly. After a moment or two, the disciples realized that they had interrupted Jesus’ instructions. They fell silent again and turned back to face him. As they did so, they sensed that he had not been displeased with their reaction.

  “If ye love me, keep my commandments,” Jesus began again, “and I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you forever, even the Spirit of truth. This Spirit of truth the world cannot receive, because it sees him not, neither knows him. But you know him, for he dwells with you, and shall be in you.”

  John turned to Peter, nodding. They had talked about this just a few nights before, about this feeling of inner power and enlightenment that had come upon them since they had left their nets and followed Jesus, especially in the last few months.

  “I will not leave you comfortless,” Jesus explained. “I will come to you.”

  Judas, a member of the Twelve with the same name as Judas Iscariot, raised a tentative hand. Jesus nodded for him to speak.

  “Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself unto us, but not unto the world?”

  “If a man love me, he will keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him and make our abode with him. The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things and bring all things to your remembrance.”

  Once again the men around the table began to nod their heads. This was beginning to make sense to them.

  “Peace I leave with you,” Jesus said quietly. “My peace I give unto you—not as the world gives, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Hereafter, I will not talk much with you, for the prince of this world comes.” He took a quick breath, as though struck with a sudden pain. Then he sighed softly. “But he has nothing in me.”

  VI

  Jerusalem, House of Mordechai ben Uzziel

  Levi, chief steward of Mordechai ben Uzziel’s house, jerked the courtyard gate open with a vicious yank. He wanted no more to do with the feral-looking man who was selling out his master for a purse full of money. “What is it?” he snarled. Then he stopped, his mouth dropping, his eyes flying open. “Mistress Miriam?”

  “Shalom, Levi.”

  He threw back the gate and did something that was most unlike the staid and somber chief servant of that great household. With a cry of joy, he threw his arms around her. “Oh, child!” he cried. “I can’t believe my eyes.”

  He pulled back, realizing what he had just done. His face flamed as he fought to regain the outward aloofness that he had practiced for so many years. Miriam smiled, watching it happen, understanding exactly what was going on his mind. But she didn’t care. His first reaction had told her all that she needed to know.

  “It is so good to see you again, Levi. Is everything well with you and your wife?”

  “It is,” he said. “We just recently had our third grandchild.”

  “Wonderful!” Miriam exclaimed. “Tell Naomi how much I have missed her, will you?”

  “I will. She will be so happy to know that you came. Are things well with you?”

  “They are.” Miriam turned, took Simeon by the arm, and pulled him forward. “This is my husband, Levi. Simeon ben David of Capernaum.”

  Levi bowed his head respectfully. “We have met before,” he said.

  Miriam seemed surprised.

  Simeon explained quickly. “Remember? Yehuda and I came to the house to meet with your father before the whole Joknean Pass debacle.”

  “Ah,” Miriam said. “That’s right.”

  Levi was suddenly uncomfortable. “We would have you know, sir,” he said to Simeon, choosing his words carefully, “that not all in this household received the news of your marriage with . . . uh . . . regret.”

  Simeon was touched by the sincerity in the man’s words. “Thank you, Levi. That means much to Miriam and me.”

  Miriam’s eyes filled. She reached out and touched the arm of this man who had seen her come into the house as an infant and had been with her to adulthood. “Yes, Levi. Thank you very much for that.” She took a quick breath, looking past him toward the house. “Is he here?” she murmured.

  Levi shook his head. “He is at the palace of Annas, for the Passover.”

  Miriam’s shoulders sagged a little. She had been afraid of that.

  Simeon touched her arm. “Do you know where that is?”

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “I’m not sure going there would be wise,” Levi cut in, anxious. “He—” He shook his head. “Your father will not even allow us to speak your name here, Miriam.”

  “I know.” She looked up at him through her tears. “But he is going to be a grandfather, Levi.”

  Again Levi’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Miriam laughed, touched by his joy. “In September. I think he should know, don’t you?”

  Putting aside all reserve, he took her in his arms again and held her tightly to him. “Of course,” he said huskily. “Bless you, my child. I am so relieved to know that you are all right.”

  “And happier than I’ve ever been,” Miriam added.

  “Then go to him,” Levi said, pulling back. “Don’t let him turn you away.” Then he looked at Simeon. “But take care. There are—” He broke off, unable to say more without betraying confidences with which he had been entrusted. “Take care.”

  Miriam took Simeon’s hand, still looking at the servant. “We shall, Levi. Good-bye, dear friend. Thank you for all you have meant in my life.”

  “Good-bye, my child,” he managed, fighting back a great lump in his throat. “Go with God.”

  VII

  Jerusalem, Upper City, Palace of Annas

  “Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty!” Mordechai let the last coin drop into the small leather purse. It clinked softly. He pulled the string tight, hefted the purse for a moment, then placed it in the outstretched hand.

  “Thank you,” came the murmured reply.

  Azariah was almost gleeful. “All right. Where is he?”

  “He’s not more than a ten-minute walk from here. He’s in the upper room of a house just three streets down from here.”

&n
bsp; Caiaphas looked horrified. “Here? In the Upper City?” How did a Cretan like that come into their neighborhood without being noticed?

  Mordechai frowned. “Whose house?”

  Judas shrugged. “I do not know his name. Evidently the Master knows the man and made prior arrangements for us to have Passover there.”

  “Describe it!” Mordechai snapped.

  “As I said, it is three streets below us, fourth house on the left as you go up the hill toward Herod’s Palace. There are several tall cypress trees in the courtyard.”

  “The house of Jephunah ben Asa,” Azariah muttered. “I had heard he might be a sympathizer to Jesus.”

  “This is not good,” Annas said half to himself.

  Mordechai nodded, having already reached the same conclusion himself.

  “Why not?” Judas asked in bewilderment. It was so close. It could be done in a matter of minutes.

  “We can’t risk an uproar right here in our own precincts,” Annas replied. “We are only a few streets from the palace of Herod. The last thing we need is to have that old meddler learn of this.”

  “It has to be done somewhere else,” Mordechai agreed. “And with the least amount of notice.”

  “Is he going to spend the night there?” Azariah asked Judas.

  He shook his head. “No. I heard Peter tell our hostess in Bethany that we would be back tonight, though it might be late.”

  “If he’s going back there, we could take him in the Kidron Valley,” Caiaphas mused. “That will be isolated enough.”

  Mordechai considered that idea. Being Passover, the moon was full, but it wouldn’t reach its zenith until close to midnight, so at the bottom of the ravine, it would not get full light until much later. On the other hand, if Jesus was on the main road between Jerusalem and Bethany there would be other people returning to their homes as well. During the holiday there were always people about.

  Judas jerked up. “I know just the place. It is a favorite of Jesus’. There is an olive grove with an olive press near the bottom of the Kidron Valley. I’m sure you know it. It’s off to the left of the road, not far from where the road begins to rise again.”

  “Gethsemane?” Mordechai asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. We often stop there to rest as we pass back and forth to the city. I would wager a shekel that we will stop there again tonight, if only for a moment.”

  Mordechai wanted to hoot in derision. He was willing to wager a whole shekel? How daring! The man had just received thirty shekels. But he said nothing. He turned to Azariah. “How soon can we have a contingent of our temple guards gathered?”

  The old Pharisee pulled at his beard. “This is a feast night. Perhaps an hour. Maybe a little longer.”

  Judas slipped the purse into the bag he carried over his shoulder. “If you know where it is, then I will wait for you there. I’d better get back.”

  “Oh, no,” Mordechai cut in sharply. “You’re staying right here until the guards come.”

  “What? But I’ve already been gone half an hour. They’ll—”

  “Part of that thirty shekels was to have you lead us to him. Even with the full moon, we could pass right by him or take the wrong man by mistake. No, you’re going to lead the contingent.”

  Judas shrunk back, looking slightly sick. “The Master might suspect something. He already—” He shook his head and looked away.

  “While you’re waiting, you might consider how exactly to do this,” Mordechai went on, completely ignoring what he had heard. “We don’t want him being spooked before we’re sure we’ve got him.” He turned to Azariah. “Tell your guards to stay back until this man tells them to come.” Then to Judas, he went on. “You have to remember, these Galileans all look alike, especially in the dark. Work out some kind of signal once everything is in readiness so they’ll know exactly which man is Jesus.”

  “But—” Judas’s face was gray.

  Mordechai had started to turn away. Now he came back around slowly, his eyes glacial. “But what?” he asked coldly.

  Judas licked his lips once, then just shook his head.

  VIII

  Jerusalem, Upper City, an Upper Room

  The gladness that had been with Jesus as he spoke of his Father slowly died away. He looked around on these faces that he loved. His eyes became troubled. “This is my commandment to you, that you love one another, as I have loved you,” he repeated. “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” He had to stop, and his eyes were glistening in the lamplight. “You are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.

  “You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you and ordained you, that you should go and bring forth fruit.”

  He stopped, his eyes dropping to look at his hands. A sigh sounded from deep within him. It was a sound of immense pain. Finally he looked up. “If the world hate you, know that it hated me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love its own. But because you are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.”

  There it was again, Peter thought. He felt the darkness and gloom settling in again.

  “Remember the word that I said unto you: The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also. But all these things will they do unto you for my name’s sake, because they know not him that sent me.”

  Peter wanted to blurt out the question he knew everyone wanted to ask. What, Lord? What will they do to us? But he said nothing, holding his peace, half afraid that Jesus was going to tell them anyway.

  “If I had not come and spoken to them, they would have no sin. But now they have no cloak for their sin. He that hates me, hates my Father also. These things have I spoken unto you, that ye should not be offended. But know this.” He raised a hand, one finger pointing at them to emphasize what he was saying. “They shall put you out of the synagogues. Yea, the time is coming that whosoever puts you to death will think that he is doing God a service.”

  A chill shot through every man around the table. Jesus had used a plural form of “you.” He had not been looking at anyone in particular when he said it. That single choice of words hit them with tremendous force. “Whosoever puts you—any or all of you—to death.”

  Jesus’ eyes dropped again. Barely audible, he added one last thing. “And these things will they do unto you, because they have not known the Father or me.”

  The silence in the room deepened. Finally, after almost a full minute had passed, Jesus looked up. “Let us sing a hymn together, and then we shall depart.”

  IX

  Jerusalem, Upper City, Palace of Annas

  The servant who opened the heavy gate to them was surly at first, but when Miriam told him she needed to see Mordechai ben Uzziel on an urgent matter, a flash of recognition crossed his eyes, and he motioned them inside. The courtyard was large, probably twice the size of most people’s entire property. The garden was immaculate, with not one but three different fountains that splashed softly in the night air.

  “Wait here,” the man said deferentially. “I will inform my master of your presence.”

  As the servant moved away, Simeon looked around and whistled softly. “So this is what our temple tax buys,” he drawled.

  “Simeon,” Miriam said with mock severity. “How dare you? You know that those are sacred funds and are to be used only for God’s purposes.”

  He laughed softly, remembering that while he might be surprised with all of this, his wife was not. She had grown up in this neighborhood, had eaten banquets in these lavish palaces. She knew firsthand how wealth could corrupt. That was one of the reasons she had been attracted to Jesus—he clearly knew the same. Further, her early life had been filled with guilt because she knew from whence much of the money that supported her luxurious life had come.

  “Do you think the servant recognized me?” Miriam asked anxiously.
“If he tells Father it is me, perhaps he won’t even come out.”

  “Then we will go in,” Simeon retorted. “But no, I think he recognized that you were someone he should know, and someone of importance, but he’s not sure who you are.”

  “Oh, Simeon, is this a mistake?”

  He took her hand. “It is not. It could turn out to be very painful, but no, your father has the right to—”

  He stopped, his attention taken by something behind Miriam.

  She turned, surprised at the startled look on his face. “What is it?” All she could see was a cluster of men near the front entrance to the great house.

  “I thought I just saw—” He shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision. “No, it couldn’t be,” he said, shrugging it aside. But in a moment, he was looking past her again. “Wait here,” he said after a moment. “I’ll be back.”

  In surprise she watched him move away. He didn’t head directly for the cluster of men. He angled off to the left, past the largest of the fountains. And then she realized what he was doing. He was getting a closer look while keeping himself unobtrusive. She saw him stiffen, lean forward even further, then finally turn and hurry back to her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I can’t believe it. Judas is here.”

  “Judas?”

  “Yes, Judas Iscariot.”

  Her lips parted, registering her shock. “Here?”

  “Yes. He’s talking with Caleb and a couple of other men.”

  “Caleb?” The name didn’t register. Miriam was still whirling a little with the news. What would one of Jesus’ apostles be doing here?

  “Yes, Caleb. You remember him. He’s Azariah’s chief assistant on the Sanhedrin.”

  “But—” Her eyes searched his, troubled. “But why would one of the Twelve be here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said grimly. “And I’m going to find out.”

  But before he could follow up on that promise, the servant returned. He faced Miriam. “Follow me, please.”