Or consider this. Matthew tells us that after Jesus was arrested, the rest of the twelve “forsook him, and fled” (Matthew 26:56). But Peter and John followed after Jesus, even though he was under armed guard. That surely wasn’t the safest course of action. If Peter was so petrified with fright, as some would have us believe, why would he go inside the courtyard at all? Why not just stay away and hope things would work out?
Yes, Peter did three times deny knowing Christ. There is no doubt of that. Yes, he did weep bitterly over his denials. But should we not be a little cautious about imputing motive and mental state to Peter when the Gospel writers themselves do not do so?
There is another possibility we should consider. Several months before, when Jesus had told the apostles of his approaching death, Peter tried to dissuade him from that course. In a stinging rebuke, Jesus chastised Peter for what he was trying to do (see Matthew 16:21–23). Then, just hours before the three-fold denial, Peter took up the sword in Jesus’ defense. Was Jesus pleased with this show of courage? No. Again Peter was rebuked and was specifically commanded to stop interfering. Did not Jesus tell Peter that if he needed help, he could call down twelve legions of angels? Isn’t it possible that Peter backed down that night, not because of fright, but through reluctant obedience to what was clearly the Master’s will?
True, it does say that after the third denial Jesus turned and looked on him, and then Peter went out and wept bitterly (Luke 22:61–62). “Isn’t that proof of his shame and remorse,” some would say? But why must we assume that the look Jesus gave Peter was one of condemnation? The scriptural record gives no such description. Perhaps Jesus looked at his apostle with approval. Perhaps it was his way of acknowledging that Peter was doing what he wanted him to do. Wouldn’t Peter weep just as bitterly knowing that Jesus was going to die and that he was prevented from doing anything to try to stop it?
The author is not taking the position that these possibilities are what really happened, only that there may be other explanations for the denials than fear and cowardice. If Peter turned coward that night, it was a strange contradiction in his character. Let us not rush to judgment based on a limited account of what happened. The Gospel writers make no attempt to explain the whys of Peter’s behavior that night. If they do not, perhaps we too should be a little more cautious before doing so. (For a more extensive presentation of this issue, see Kimball, pp. 1–8.)
Chapter 32
Already it is time to depart, for me to die, for you to go on living. Which of us takes the better course, is not known to anyone but God.
—Socrates, Plato’s Apology, 42a
I
Jerusalem, Upper City, Palace of Caiaphas 4 April, a.d. 33
A great sense of euphoria filled the judgment hall. The sound was deafening. Everyone was shouting and laughing raucously, fueled largely by a huge sense of relief. It was done. The many contradictory witnesses had pretty much subdued the watching crowd. It appeared that Jesus was going to slip out of their hands. Then the unexpected occurred before their eyes. The fool had blurted out his own condemnation. The high priest had put it exactly right. What need was there for further testimony? They had three dozen eyewitnesses. Four dozen maybe. The man had sealed his own fate.
Caleb leaned over and whispered something to Azariah, who was still seated at the table with Mordechai and Caiaphas. The old Pharisee looked up, then nodded curtly. Caleb turned to the man standing just behind him and whispered again. He gave a momentary look of surprise, then grinned fiendishly. Motioning for others to follow, the man moved around the table, his eyes fixed on Jesus.
The Galilean still stood quietly. His head was up, but his eyes were focused somewhere other than in the room. It was if he stood alone in a quiet forest.
The approaching men slowed as they reached the prisoner. They had hoped he would turn and cower at the sight of them. The lead one, whose name was Eliad, stopped directly in front of Jesus. Finally, Jesus’ eyes focused on him, but Jesus offered no change of expression.
Several in the crowd noticed what was going on and began shushing the others. In a moment, the room was quiet. “Heretic!” the man suddenly screamed into Jesus face. “Blasphemer!” He made a hawking sound in his throat, then lunged forward. The spittle caught Jesus squarely on the left cheek just below the eye. It slid slowly downward, leaving a wet streak that glistened in the lamplight.
A roar went up, and people pounded their hands together in approval.
A second man followed suit, this time hitting Jesus’ beard. The phlegm hung there like an accidental spill of food not yet seen.
“Death to the blasphemer!” Eliad shouted. Spinning around, he lifted his arms. “Death to the blasphemer!” He waved at the people, much like a choral director. “Death to the blasphemer!”
“Death to the blasphemer!” It was ragged, but the crowd quickly caught the rhythm. “Death to the blasphemer! Death to the blasphemer.”
Mordechai watched from beneath hooded eyes. The crowd was loving it. The chant made the very floor tremble.
He motioned to his two associates, and they leaned in closer to him. Annas, who stood discreetly behind his son-in-law, came forward as well. “We have a problem,” Mordechai said.
“What?” said Caiaphas.
Azariah didn’t need to ask. He just said, “The Romans, right?”
“That’s right,” agreed Annas. “We cannot carry out a sentence of death without their approval.”
“After what happened at the Feast of Tabernacles,” Caiaphas snorted, “Pilate and his Roman tribune owe us a favor. They’d better give us license to do whatever we need to do.”
Mordechai nodded, but it was only a thin courtesy. He saw a touch of disgust in Annas’s eyes as well. Caiaphas had so much to learn about how the power game was played. Mordechai spoke to Azariah, but he was loud enough for the other two to hear. “You know what they’ll say if we come to them with a charge of blasphemy.”
Azariah jeered at the very idea. “Those heathen dogs have no concept of the word. Their gods are so twisted and corrupt, blasphemy would be a joke to them.”
Annas was nodding, and Caiaphas finally understood as well. “Do we have to tell them what our ruling is?” he asked. “Can’t we just tell them that we have just cause for putting him to death?”
Turning, trying to hold his patience, Mordechai started to explain, but the chant filling the room stopped abruptly, turning into applause. They turned to look. Another man had come up to Jesus. His name was Johanan. He placed both hands on Jesus’ shoulders. He straightened him as if he were a clay statue, then took a scarf, quickly rolled it into a narrow strip, and blindfolded Jesus. The applause quieted as the crowd watched.
Johanan finished securing the blindfold. It didn’t hide the angry red mark on Jesus’ cheek. It still glowed a dull red from when Caleb had struck him at Annas’s palace. Mordechai watched with curiosity, not sure why they wanted the prisoner’s eyes covered.
He quickly found out. The crowd was completely quiet. It was Eliad who came forward, moving with exaggerated slowness. He crouched down, peering up into the face of Jesus to determine whether he could see out from beneath the blindfold. He lunged forward, his fist clenched, stopping just a hair’s breadth from Jesus’ face. Jesus didn’t flinch at all. The blindfold was doing its work. Laughter rippled through the appreciative group. Eliad was playing to his audience.
Then, quick as a cat, he again lunged forward, and again there was a sharp crack. This time the back of his hand caught Jesus squarely in the face. Johanan cackled in delight. “If you are the Christ, tell us who it is that struck you.”
“Yes!” cried the crowd.
A third man jumped in. Crack! Jesus’ head rocked back again. When his head came up, Mordechai saw that his nose was starting to bleed. “Prophesy unto us,” the man shrilled. “If you are the Messiah, prophesy. Tell us who strikes you.”
“Prophesy! Prophesy!” screamed the crowd.
Mordechai turned
back to his associates, raising his voice to be heard over the bedlam. “There are too many followers of this man,” he explained. “Even if Pilate gives us permission to kill him, the people will blame us for his death.”
Annas grunted his agreement. “The Romans have to take the blame.”
Mordechai turned and looked behind him, toward the hallway that led to the upper floor of the palace. “You haven’t seen Menachem yet?”
Azariah shook his head. “No. Where did he go?”
“I sent him on some errands, but he should have been back by now.”
“He’s over there.” Caleb, still hovering behind Azariah, was pointing. Just inside one of the shuttered doors open to the courtyard, Mordechai’s aide was watching the proceedings.
Exasperated that Menachem hadn’t come immediately to report, Mordechai half stood, waving an arm. Menachem jumped when he saw him and started pushing his way through the crowd towards them.
“Well,” Mordechai snapped when his assistant reached him.
“Done, sire,” Menachem said, flushing a little. “The men you requested are awaiting our signal.”
“Very well. We need you to go to the Antonia Fortress as quickly as possible. Tribune Marcus Didius is there. You must speak to him directly. Tell him we are bringing a prisoner to them.”
One eyebrow arched slightly in response, but Menachem nodded. “How soon shall I tell him to expect you?”
“We won’t be far behind you. Ask him to alert Pilate. We’ll need a hearing.”
“He’ll want to know who and what the charges are.”
“Oh,” Mordechai said slowly, “my guess is that Tribune Didius already knows who we have in custody. The charges will be treason against the empire.”
Caiaphas came around with a jerk. “Treason?”
Azariah was staring at him too, but then a slow grin stole across his face.
Annas nodded in admiration. “Treason,” he mused. “Of course. What else?”
Mordechai snapped his fingers, and Menachem darted away. He turned back to watch the crowd making sport of the prisoner but felt a tap on his shoulder. To Mordechai’s instant annoyance, Menachem was back. “The assignment I sent you on is urgent, Menachem,” he barked. “What are you—”
“Sire,” he said in a low voice. “He’s here. He wants to see you.”
“Who’s here?”
“The betrayer. Judas of Iscariot.”
“Here?”
“He says he has made a terrible mistake. He wants to give the money back.”
The other three men were listening intently. “Send him away,” Caiaphas said flatly. “The matter is done.”
Menachem didn’t even glance at the high priest. “He’s very insistent. He could make trouble.”
“Where is he?”
“In the main entry hall upstairs.”
“Go! Find the tribune,” he said. “We’ll take care of this.”
II
Judas looked gray. There was a sheen of perspiration on his face, which only added to his pallid complexion. In one hand, he held the leather purse he had been given earlier that night. His eyes flicked back and forth among the four men but finally stopped on Mordechai.
“What do you want?” Mordechai made no attempt to disguise his utter contempt.
The disciple of Jesus held out his hand, letting the purse dangle from it. “I have made a terrible mistake. I have sinned in that I have betrayed innocent blood.”
“What is that to us?” Annas sneered. “That is your affair, not ours.”
“I didn’t know you planned to kill him.” It came out almost as a whisper.
“Then you’re a fool!” Azariah exclaimed. “Out, before we arrest you too.”
Like a deer trapped in a thicket, Judas looked back and forth, eyes wide and haunted, seeking some mercy, searching for any sign of softness in their faces. There was none. With a strangled cry of pain, he dropped the purse, letting it hit the floor with a heavy clunk; then, hunched over as if in terrible pain, he turned and plunged out the door.
“Prophesy, O Jesus of Nazareth!” someone below them shouted.
“Death to the blasphemer,” the crowd roared back. “Death to the false Messiah!”
III
As the gate to the courtyard of Caiaphas’s palace swung open, James and Andrew and the men who waited with them a short distance up the street jerked to attention. It was still a quarter of an hour or more before full daylight, but there was enough light that they could see clearly.
James leaned forward, staring. Then he called out. “Judas?”
The man spun around, looking like he had been struck with a well-aimed shaft.
James stepped out fully into the street. “Judas! It’s me, James. And Andrew!”
“No!” The cry was muffled but clearly audible. Then the figure turned and broke into a stumbling run in the opposite direction.
James took a few steps, then stopped. He turned back to look at the others, his expression grim. “It’s Judas.”
Andrew was shaking his head. “So he’s still here working his treachery. This is not good, brethren.”
Thomas shook his head. “Where is Peter? And John?” He looked up at the walls to the sumptuous building across from them. “What is happening in there?”
IV
Azariah bent down and picked up the purse. He hefted it in his hand thoughtfully, then looked at the others. “I think it’s all here, the full thirty pieces.”
“What do we do with it?” Caiaphas asked. He didn’t like this turn of affairs, none of it. It was complicating things just when they were finally moving forward.
“Put it back in the treasury,” Mordechai answered, not really caring.
Azariah reacted strongly to that. “We can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Annas asked.
“Because this money was paid as the price of blood. It would pollute the treasury.”
Mordechai scoffed loudly. “You didn’t blanch at paying out blood money,” he said derisively. “Why the scruples all of a sudden?”
Azariah shook his head stubbornly. “We can’t pollute the treasury with blood money.”
“Then use it somewhere else,” Annas snapped, done with the matter.
“Where?” Caiaphas wondered. On this matter, he was in agreement with the Pharisee. The temple funds were sacred.
Ever the one to worry over details, Azariah was thinking hard. “Legally, the money still belongs to this man. If he gives it back, then it has to be used to foster the public good somehow.”
Mordechai couldn’t believe it, but he knew that the old goat wasn’t going to let it go until he had a solution. “We’ve been talking about the need to extend the alcedama.” Alcedama was the Aramaic word for field of blood, a euphemism for a place of burial. “We’ve talked about purchasing that potter’s field in the Hinnom Valley.” He looked at Azariah, barely hiding his scorn. “Would it offend your tender sensibilities if we used the money for that?”
Azariah flushed, but nodded. “That would be an appropriate way to deal with this matter.”
“Then let’s get back down there. We need to call the council to order and ratify the verdict.” He turned as the noise coming from the stairwell surged up again. “I hate to spoil their fun, but it’s time we got on with this.”
V
“Here they come.” Simeon saw the approaching group, stepped back out into the street, and waved his arm. “Father, we’re over here.”
The group of waiting disciples moved out into the street to welcome their comrades. On seeing Simeon, Miriam broke free and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. Between the traveling and her worry, she had not slept the entire night. “What’s happening?” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her face was lined with concern.
He shook his head. “We’re not sure. They have Jesus inside. Evidently they’re trying him before the Great Council.”
The other family members had come up in time to hear his
answer. “But no verdict yet?” David asked.
Simeon shook his head. “They’re not letting anyone inside, so we don’t know.” He told them briefly about seeing Judas a few minutes before.
They joined the waiting disciples. Andrew immediately faced David. “We’re also waiting for a group to come in from Bethany. I suppose you didn’t see any of them?”
Simeon’s father shook his head, but it was Ephraim who answered. “No, we watched for them, but we came in through Zion’s Gate. If they’re coming from Bethany, they’ll be coming from the east, from the Temple Mount.”
Benjamin stepped forward. “I can go look for them if you’d like.”
Andrew immediately shook his head. “We sent Philip off about a quarter of an hour ago to take a look. He’ll come back here to report.” He looked around nervously. “Let’s get out of the street. We don’t want to call too much attention to ourselves. So far the streets are quiet, but let’s not take any chances.”
Simeon watched his family as they began to move toward the trees. They were all in shock. His mother had been crying. Rachel hung on Ephraim’s arm heavily. Leah was pale as a sheet of papyrus. His younger sister had always been especially sensitive to the pain of others. Aunt Esther was—and then it hit Simeon. He turned to his wife. “Where’s Livia?”
Miriam sighed. “She didn’t come.”
His mother moved up beside them. “She was deeply disturbed by the news,” Deborah explained. “After what happened to Yehuda the last time we were here, the talk of arrest and soldiers was too much for her.” She made a soft sound of distress. “She was almost physically sick. We felt it best if she stayed home.”
“Good,” Simeon said. He had not thought of Livia until this moment, but he knew instantly that this would be especially hard on her. He was glad they had prevailed on her. She was only a few weeks from bringing her child into the world. No one wanted the shock of this night and what yet may lay ahead to bring that child before its time.
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