Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “So? Were you sleeping?”

  “Absolutely not, sire. The four of us were sitting around a small fire, talking. We had heard that the governor was going back to Caesarea soon, and we were wondering if we might be assigned to go with him.”

  “Come on, man!” Azariah growled. “Get to the point!”

  “Sorry, sire.” He looked directly at Mordechai. “Suddenly there was an earthquake, sire.”

  “An earthquake?” Mordechai asked incredulously. He looked to the others. “Did you feel another earthquake in the night?”

  They shook their heads.

  The man stubbornly refused to budge. “It shook the ground something fierce,” he went on. “I was knocked back. One of the men cracked his head on a stone when he was thrown to one side. You can see the knot he got. It’s a bad one.”

  “What happened?” Mordechai’s exasperation had vanished. He had been expecting some fantastic excuse for falling asleep on duty, but this had completely taken him by surprise.

  The man was fumbling for words. “You won’t believe this, sire, but—” He took a quick breath and let it out noisily again. “I was lying there on my back, trying to figure out what had just happened.” He looked away. “Suddenly, there was this brilliant light above me in the air. It was like the sun had suddenly appeared, only it was white, pure white. It was descending towards me—towards us. I screamed; I couldn’t help myself. The other men were scrambling too, trying to get out of the way.”

  “A light? What kind of a light?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, sire, but it was a man.”

  Mordechai shot forward. “What did you say?”

  “There was a man in the light, sire. He was coming down from heaven.” His eyes got a faraway look in them. “I never saw such a thing before, sire. His face was like lightning. His robes glistened like a snow field in the sun. The night was suddenly brighter than noonday. It was—I had to put my arm up to stop from being blinded.”

  Mordechai just stared at him. An angel? He was describing an angel?

  “Go on,” Annas urged, more kindly now. “Tell him the rest.”

  “We were terrified, of course,” the man continued. “I was trying to get my sword out. But the man didn’t come to us. He floated to the ground in front of the tomb, sire. Then—” He stopped, shaking his head, still incredulous. “He lifted one hand. There was a tremendous crack, and the ground shook again. The sealing stone rolled back, revealing the opening to the tomb.”

  “And?” Mordechai said roughly when he didn’t continue. “What happened next?”

  “I don’t know, sire,” he said sheepishly. “The next thing I knew, we found ourselves on the ground again. We had, each of us, fallen like dead men. It was all dark again, and everything was quiet. I grabbed a torch and ran to the tomb to look inside. That’s when we saw that the body was gone.”

  Mordechai sat back and closed his eyes. This was unbelievable, so fantastic as to be ludicrous. Except for one thing. This man was telling them the truth. There was no question in Mordechai’s mind. You could see the terror in his eyes as he relived the experience. You could hear the absolute awe in his voice.

  “Why did you come here?” Azariah finally asked.

  Relieved to be on safer ground, the man turned. “We’d heard the detail had originally been requested by the Sanhedrin. And to be honest, sire, we didn’t know what else to do. If we go back and tell this story to the centurion, or to Tribune Didius, we’re dead men. We’ll be the next ones to go to the cross. We decided that maybe you could help us.” Suddenly he was pleading. “You’ve got to believe us. I’ve told you the absolute truth.”

  Mordechai’s voice was very low. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said. “We appreciate that. Now, could you give us a few minutes? We need to talk about this.”

  “Of course, sire.”

  III

  It was a full ten minutes before Azariah called the soldiers back, this time motioning for all four to come. By unanimous agreement, it was decided that Mordechai would be their spokesman.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sire?”

  “This story is too fantastic for anyone to believe. You know that, don’t you?”

  The head dropped a little. “Aye.” Then it came up again, and the eyes were defiant. “But that is exactly what happened. You can question us individually if you’d like, even put us under the lash, but—”

  Mordechai held up a hand. “We believe you. But no one else will.”

  “Aye, sire.” It came out very forlorn.

  Mordechai reached for the sack of coins Caiaphas had fetched from the strongbox in his office. He tossed it, and the man deftly caught it. He stared at it in disbelief.

  “Here is what you are going to do,” Mordechai said evenly. “If you don’t, you will end up on the cross. We’ll see to that. Understood?”

  “Yes, sire.” The other three soldiers were nodding vigorously as well.

  “Here is what you’re going to say. You are going to say that you were very tired, that your eyes grew heavy.”

  “But, sire,” one of the others blurted, “that is punishable by—”

  The sergeant cuffed him sharply. “Just listen!”

  “Your eyes grew heavy, and you fell into a deep sleep. Perhaps you had too much wine. But while you were asleep, someone came—the disciples of Jesus surely. They rolled back the stone, and they took the body of Jesus.”

  The man was nodding, relief evident in his eyes. “What about Pilate, sire?”

  “We’ll see to it that there are no reprisals against you. But only if you all tell the same story and never change it.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  The others bowed their heads in acknowledgment. “Never,” they murmured.

  “All right. Make sure no one sees you leaving here. Go directly back to the Praetorium and report what happened.” He pulled out the letter they had hastily drafted. “Give this directly to Tribune Didius.”

  “Thank you, sire.” The sergeant took it, tucking it into his tunic, then stepped back.

  Azariah moved to the door and opened it. Without another word, the four men disappeared into the night. As he closed it again, he turned, staring at the others. None of them spoke.

  Finally Caiaphas raised his head. “Do you really believe them?” he asked anxiously.

  Mordechai was brooding, his lips pursed and his fingers pressed together, forming a steeple.

  “Well?” Caiaphas cried, almost in a panic. “Tell me. Could it be true?”

  Mordechai looked up. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. Then, forestalling any further discussion, he rose and quickly went up the stairs.

  IV

  Jerusalem, Upper City, House of Jephunah ben Asa

  Mary Magdalene suddenly stood up. “I’m sorry,” she said in a strained voice, “I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”

  “But it’s barely coming light,” Martha answered. “The others will be here shortly.”

  “I know, but—” She pulled her shawl up around her head, reached out for one of the jars of myrrh that had been purchased the previous evening. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you there.”

  Miriam started to rise. “I’ll go with you,” she volunteered, but Deborah quickly pulled her back again, shaking her head.

  “She needs to be alone,” she whispered.

  Mary, overhearing Deborah’s comment, gave her a grateful smile and hurried out. It wasn’t two minutes later when the door opened again and Philip and Bartholomew entered. They had been with the group of men assigned to sleep in the courtyard. Seeing the women standing there, they went over. “Mary just left,” Martha said.

  “Yes, we talked to her for a moment.” Philip looked around. “Are all of you going?”

  They looked at each other, not sure how to answer.

  Bartholomew, who was an older man with a kind face and gentle personality, smiled. “I’d say no more than four or fiv
e of you.”

  Anna, Peter’s wife, stepped forward. “I agree that we shouldn’t take so many that the guards get nervous, but we may need to lift the body to make sure the linen is properly wrapped. Perhaps seven or eight would be ideal.”

  Both apostles accepted that. Philip made the decision. “Mary has already gone, so Joanna, it might be well if you went too. She’s still pretty distraught, and you’re closest to her.”

  Joanna nodded without comment. She had been worried about Mary’s precipitous departure, so this relieved her mind somewhat.

  “Anna, I think you should go.” He was still searching their faces. “Martha and Mary, you helped yesterday, so why don’t you go again.”

  “So did Deborah and Miriam,” Anna said.

  “Good, the two of you as well then.” He counted quickly. “That would be seven.”

  Leah raised her hand just enough to catch his eye. “I can go.”

  Philip smiled kindly. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay here with the others and help prepare a meal? We’ve got many mouths to feed.”

  Leah, trying not to show her disappointment, accepted with a nod. Livia and Rachel were just behind her, but neither of them volunteered in her place. Rachel already had too many horrible images in her mind from the crucifixion. She would go if asked, but she didn’t feel a need to volunteer. Livia, for all her determination to make restitution for having stayed home two days before, could not face the prospect of actually being in the tomb with Jesus’ dead body.

  Philip looked around at the women once more, then selected Salome, wife of Zebedee and mother of James and John, to go as well. As the two brethren left and the seven women prepared to depart, Deborah noted that except for Mary, sister of Martha, and Miriam, the others were all older, more mature women. She suspected that was not simply by accident. Philip understood full well the toll this would take on their already fragile emotions.

  They gathered up the purchases from the night, then looked at each other. “All right, then,” Anna said, looking a little wan. “Let’s get started.”

  V

  The Garden Tomb

  As Mary of Magdala made her way slowly along the rocky path, she began to have second thoughts. Perhaps she should have waited for the others. And she hadn’t even thought to bring a torch or a lamp. The eastern sky was showing the first glow of dawn, but here in the trees and undergrowth it was still so dark she wasn’t even sure she was on the right path. She stopped, debating about whether to wait here for the rest of the women to catch up with her.

  What would she say to the guards? Could she, being alone, convince them to let her in? She felt a quick chill. She knew that she was not an unattractive woman. Would they, seeing that she was alone, feel free to make unseemly advances?

  She stepped off the path, fear clutching at her heart, and felt the branches of a tree brush against her face. She jumped and let out a low cry. Then, realizing what it was, she felt like such a fool that it brought her back to reality. The other women wouldn’t be far behind her, but she didn’t want to wait any more now than she did back at the house. She wanted this over with. Only then could she begin the long process of healing.

  Clutching the jar she carried more tightly to her body, she stepped back out onto the path and started moving again.

  Five minutes later she was relieved to realize that the dark shapes around her looked familiar. Here was a rock wall and, a little farther on, a small outbuilding. Farther back and to the right, the dark roundness of the hill that rose behind Golgotha was barely discernible against the sky. Then she heard the soft splash of a fountain and turned towards it. This was it. She passed through a stone arch and was in the garden of Joseph of Arimathea.

  Cautiously, placing her feet with great care, straining to hear every morning sound, she moved to the left, down the path that led to the tomb. She stopped again, her eyes searching carefully for any movement, her ears listening for any voices.

  There was nothing. Feeling a growing sense of uneasiness, she moved forward a few more steps. She could barely make out the lighter hues of the rock face into which Joseph had cut his tomb. Then she made out the shape of the great circular stone that sealed the tomb. There was no movement of any kind.

  Suddenly her heart plummeted. The stone? How was she supposed to roll back that massive stone? It had taken four men to put it into place. Greatly dismayed, she took a few more steps in the near darkness. She could make out the stone track in which the stone rolled back and forth, but something didn’t seem right. It wasn’t where she had remembered it should be. Then, just beyond the stone, she could just make out a deeper patch of darkness, oblong and slightly less than the height of a man. She drew in a breath sharply as she realized that the stone was already rolled back. She was staring at the opening of the tomb.

  With her heart pounding so hard she felt like she was going to be sick, she set the jar of myrrh to one side and moved forward slowly. When she reached the opening, she remembered how it had been constructed when they had been there before. She stepped carefully over the lip of the track, and then again over the threshold to the tomb, which formed part of the back side of the trough, and entered the tomb.

  Instantly she realized her mistake. It was dark inside. She stepped to one side, letting the faint light from outside come in. Gradually her eyes began to adjust a little. She was surprised to discern something white to her left. She moved closer, bending down a little. When she realized what she was seeing, she gasped again. With a low cry, she backed hurriedly outside, nearly tripping on the track for the sealing stone. She stared numbly at the opening for several seconds; then, with a cry of anguish, she turned and started running.

  VI

  Near Golgotha

  Anna and Salome were in the lead. Suddenly Salome held up a hand. “Shhh!”

  The other five women stopped abruptly. Then they heard it too, the sound of running footsteps on gravel, coming towards them. “Quickly!” Anna hissed. “Into the trees.”

  Anna’s heart beat wildly as she stepped into the deeper shadows of a small olive grove, gathering in tightly with the other women for courage and defense. And then, with a huge sigh of relief, she heard the footsteps fading again. They were passing them on the left, some distance away now, and growing more muffled by the moment. In less than a minute, they had died away completely.

  “Whoever it was, they took another path,” Miriam said. “I remember from last night, the path splits somewhere just ahead of us.”

  Anna started forward again. “Let’s go, but be careful.”

  VII

  Jerusalem, Upper City, House of Jephunah ben Asa

  The morning dawned bright and clear. Though the air was still quite chilly, it was going to be a beautiful day. Peter stood in the courtyard. He tipped his head back and breathed deeply, then let it out slowly, savoring the moment. It felt good. He filled his lungs again. After the last forty-eight hours, anything clean and fresh was a welcome relief.

  Then he swung around. This was not a time for savoring life. “Jephunah!”

  The master of the house appeared at the door.

  “Let’s eat out here in the courtyard. We’ll keep it simple so we can get to the tomb and get this done.”

  Then, before Jephunah could answer, a sharp banging was heard from the direction of the gate. Those who were outside all turned. Men froze, hands resting on daggers and swords. The women paled and moved quickly toward the house.

  “Let me in. It’s me. Open the gate.”

  With a rush of relief, Peter recognized the voice. He waved a hand at the servant stationed as a guard there. “It’s Mary Magdalene,” he called. “Let her in.”

  The man lifted the heavy bar and pulled the gate open a foot or two. In a moment Mary was inside, and he slammed it shut again. A few of the women started toward her, then stopped again as they saw the look on her face. The men moved in closer as she ran up to Peter. Her chest was heaving as she gasped for air. Her hair was tousled
and her face flushed.

  “Mary! What’s wrong? What happened?”

  She straightened, still drawing in huge breaths. Her mouth was pinched into a tight, hard line. “He’s gone, Peter.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Jesus. His body. Gone.”

  “What?” He was aghast.

  “I saw inside. Burial clothes, but no body.” She bent over, holding her side. “The tomb has been opened.” She burst into tears. “They stole his body, Peter. He’s gone!”

  Peter swung about. “John! James!”

  John was right behind him. “James isn’t here yet.”

  “We can’t wait. Let’s go.” In three steps, Peter had reached the gate. He flung the bar back and jerked it open. Then he turned back. “Simeon, David, Thomas. Stay here until we find out what has happened.” He started away, then turned back again. “Have everyone get ready in case we have to leave immediately.” Then he was gone, with John following behind.

  “Peter, wait!” Mary darted forward, still holding her side. “I’m coming too.”

  The guard had started to close the gate again but stepped back when he saw her coming. She cupped her hand to her mouth as she stumbled forward. “Take the path to the left. It’s much shorter.” Then, between breaths: “Wait for me. I’m coming.”

  VIII

  The Garden Tomb

  John was three years younger than Peter. Not only was he lighter in build, but he hadn’t had the “benefit” of eight or nine years of being fed solid meals every day by a wife. He was lean as a willow and lithe as a cat. By the time he passed beneath the arched gateway and saw the fountain, Peter was so far behind he was no longer in sight. Slowing to a walk, John moved forward more cautiously, searching through the trees for any signs of movement. There was nothing. As he came out into the open area in front of the tomb, his eyes took in the scene quickly. No one was there, but off to one side wisps of smoke rose from a pile of ashes, and there were chicken bones scattered on the ground. A few feet farther on he saw a burned-out torch, and beyond that, a Roman helmet on its side. So there had been a guard. But where were they now? Judging from the smoldering ashes, they had been gone for several hours.