=
His Kingdom Come A
Biblical Novel by Margaret Montreuil
Part I
The Brethren
Chapter One
This Passover in
If everything were good a= nd right, today I’d stand and pray before the Presence of Ha-Shem in the temple court. Instead, I pushed through a crowd of pilgrims and made my way towards the sound of a single, hollering voice.
The echo came from
Solomon’s Colonnade near the Court of Gentiles. Also called
Solomon’s Porch, it was the largest sheltered space in the temple
complex. The area, with its grand high ceiling supported by rows of stately
columns, was the place the scribes and rabbis liked to teach. During festiv=
al
weeks, pilgrims could choose from a number of teachers each day. But so far
this week, the only rabbi to draw listeners to him was Jesus, even though he
had been officially banned from the temple by the Great Sanhedrin
When I broke through the = front line of listeners, my first glimpse of him was a blur of a man rushing by. = With his right arm raised and his prayer mantle slipping down from his head, his eyes were intensely fixed on a group of priests, scribes, and other officia= ls. They made up a sizable group and I assumed they’d gathered together to either hear him or confront him. I guessed it was the latter.
They were Sadducees and P= harisees, opposing groups in their theology about the resurrection of the dead, among other doctrines. But one thing they all agreed on was the official ban agai= nst Jesus which gave power to the Council to excommunicate anyone fraternizing = with him.
But what could they do wh= en a multitude praised him so? The crowds of people were all that stood between = him and retribution. Who did he think he was to draw such acclaim towards himse= lf? I couldn’t imagine what had so changed him in the last three years.
I cringed when he shouted: “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You s= hut the kingdom of heaven in men’s faces. You yourselves do not enter, nor will you let those enter who are trying to.”
His voice cracked repeate= dly and I wondered how long he’d been at it.=
“Woe to you, teache= rs of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are.”
He turned and walked in m= y direction although our eyes didn’t meet. My face was one of many that stared at him. The vein in his forehead stuck out. Usually this happened when he laug= hed hard.
He shouted at the chief priests, who were easy to pick out by their religious garb. They stood in a group. “Woe to you, blind guides! You say, ‘If anyone swears by= the temple, it means nothing; but if anyone swears by the gold on the temple, h= e is bound by his oath.’”
I’d never seen him = like this. Wildly insulting the men in authority, what did he hope to gain? Why = such imprudence? What I feared now was how this would end. I looked around for temple guards—surely he’d be arrested at any moment.
He shook his head despair= ingly: “You blind fools! Which is greater: the gold, or the temple that make= s the gold sacred? You say, ‘If anyone swears by the altar, it means nothin= g; but if anyone swears by the gift on it, he is bound by his oath.’ You blind men! Which is greater: the gift, or the altar that makes the gift sacred?”
He pointed towards the altar. “Therefore, he w= ho swears by the altar swears by it and by everything on it. And he who swears= by the temple swears by it and by the one who dwells in it. And he who swears = by heaven swears by God’s throne and by the one who sits on it.”
He turned and walked to t= he center of the open area and stood still; eyes cast down. After a few moment= s of complete silence, he looked up and saw several rulers walking away. He went after them and began shouting at their backs: “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You build tombs for the prophets and decorate the graves of the righteous. And you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our forefathers, we would not have taken part with them in shed= ding the blood of the prophets.’
“So you testify aga= inst yourselves that you are the descendants of those who murdered the prophets.”
The men turned around and stared at him completely stunned. These were several chief priests. Then, at the top of his voice, he yelled: “Fill up then!—the measure of = the sin of your forefathers!”
His voice was nearly gone= but he continued on. “You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell?”
He pulled two of his disc= iples, the fishermen Simon and John, into the open space to stand right beside him. “Therefore, I am sending you prophets . . .”
He pointed to a scribe, a=
man
I’d met before by the name of
“And so upon you wi= ll come all the righteous blood that has been shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah son of Berekiah, whom you murdered between the temple and the altar.”
“I tell you the tru= th, all this will come upon this generation.
“O Jerusalem,
Why would he say such a t= hing? He was delusional. He spoke as though he were God—“I will send = you prophets . . . I longed to gather your children together ...”—no wonder the rulers had banned him from the temple and were trying to get rid= of him somehow. Why the multitudes hung on his words I couldn’t guess. W= hy were people so easily deceived? My heart ached—my brother was not onl= y in peril, he deceived himself and everyone who believed his ravings.
I turned to leave. I couldn’t bear to listen any more. Behind me, I heard him say: “Look, your house is left to you desolate. For I tell you, you will n= ot see me again until you learn to say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the = name of the Lord.’”
We both left the temple t= hen, in opposite directions. From my viewpoint at a higher elevation, I watched = his disciples trail behind him out of the eastern gate.
His words and actions wou= ld never be forgiven, no never, not by the Sanhedrin, not by me. Would Heaven forgive? There was no reasoning with him, no stopping him. I’d tried.= And now he’d gone way too far.
This was a fraction of wh= at he’d done this week. On the first day of the week, he had welcomed the praise of a huge crowd, he had accepted their songs—the great Psalms meant for the ears of the Son of David, the Messiah. The next day, he storm= ed through the temple marketplace, overturning tables and scattering coins and merchandise. Moneychangers made it possible to convert our coins into temple currency—the only acceptable money for temple use. And as for buying birds and animals necessary for sacrifice—this was a convenience for every pilgrim.
What drove him to do such things? He thinks he’s a prophet. But are these the deeds of a prophe= t or of a wild mad man?
He’d been in
In the morning, I went to=
see
our mother. She was staying in
“We should all go
home,” I said. “Jesus is no longer himself. Whoever he is now, =
who
can say? I only know this: because of him, none of us are safe here in
I could have said worse t= hings. I could have told her he had joined forces with Satan. I nearly did say that except she stopped my mouth with her hand. And with that tender, sad look on her face, she silenced me with one word. “James.”
“We should leave,&#= 8221; I pressed.
“Go to him. Talk to him,” she said. Her eyes pleaded with me.
I shook my head. Did she = think we could force the waterfall back up the mountain?
I walked away from her th=
en,
ready to leave her behind, and I returned to our tent in despair. That nigh=
t I
told my three younger brothers we would leave for
And so we struck camp when nearly everyone else busied themselves with preparations. This was the eve = of the Day of Passover, and the rituals would begin this afternoon and on into= the evening’s meal.
We took the shortest rout=
e to
Because we left
At daybreak, we were on o=
ur way
and by mid-morning we reached
We had the monotony
ahead—a few days of it. I welcomed this part of the journey, glad to =
let
my mind wander. Normally, I would be holding the reins of
Nothing was normal about =
this
trek home. Alone with my thoughts, my eyes were stayed on
Joses was mute beside me.=
He
hadn’t agreed to leave
A vivid memory flashed th=
rough
my mind and I laughed under my breath. A few years ago, Jesus had been the =
one
to name
“And, so, every man=
of
“How can we stop th= is noise?” I said. Joses looked away.
I longed for nightfall= 212;to fall into the forgetfulness of sleep. But, God of my fathers, don’t l= et me dream. Dreams can exaggerate what is most dreaded or feared. I had enoug= h to contend with while I was awake.
A sudden gust of wind swi=
rled
about us, blowing sand in my eyes. I hoped the sky would stay clear; there =
was
nothing worse than this tramp through foul weather. The early spring rains =
were
welcome, but not during the festivals when we had to travel on foot so far.=
It
took a week for us to travel to
“We shouldn’t= have left without her,” he said sharply.
I had wondered when this conversion would come up and here it was.
“We had no choice,&= #8221; I replied.
“We should have at = least told her we were leaving. Now she’ll have to return with Salome, and Cleopas always stays longer than she likes.” After a pause, he added, “By now, she must know we’re gone.”
“I tried to convinc= e her to come home with us.”
“So you are assumin= g she knows we’ve left without her?”
“Joses, it was obvi= ous to her that we planned to leave. Now stop this, will you?”=
The sound of hooves crunc= hing ground was the only sound for a couple of minutes, even the lamb had quiete= d. This suddenly amazed me—the lamb was silent.
I i=
gnored
Joses even though he stared at me. “You shouldn’t have said so =
many
things against Jesus. You drove her to him. She isn’t safe in
= 220;The Blessed One will protect her,” I said.
Jos= es shook his head. “It’s easy for you to say, but if you believe in the Lord’s protection, why have we run away like cowards?”
=
220;Say
what you will.” I reached for the water bag I had strapped to
Jos= es was so much like our father. Named after him, Joses was a nickname for Joseph. = Like him, Joses was a quiet man for the most part, but when he did say something= , it was something worth hearing.
My = wife didn’t mind when I decided we should move out of the sprawling old house of my fat= her Joseph and into a small place of our own. I couldn’t afford to hire help for= my own project, and so Jesus and I spent back breaking months hewing out the stones ourselves, often working together under torchlight late into the nights. He= understood my need to have a quiet house, a place to think. The descendants of Joseph = had grown large, along with the house.
Lat= e one afternoon, we sat down for a break and I noticed blood on the rag he used to wipe sweat off of his face. His right forefinger was bleeding. While I had = been lifting rocks out of the wagon, he had been breaking them down with his ham= mer and chisel. Appreciating all of his help, I began to feel sorry for him. He worked hard all the time and had little time for himself. He had nothing to call his own. No wife, no children.
I b= rought up a worn topic; one that would end as it always did before.<= /p>
= 220;I don’t understand you,” I had said. “Why won’t you marry and have children of your own? Don’t you want to have the same joy that you se= e I have?”
= 220;No, James. Don’t start this again,” he replied.
= 220;Why can’t I convince you? . . . ‘It is not good . . .’”
= 220;You should train up your own children; not everyone else’s in the househo= ld. You deserve to know that most wonderful blessing—that of lying with a woman you love in your arms.”
= 220;I deserve to be left alone about it.”
= 220;That’s the problem, you are too alone.”
= 220;Yes, I am alone and free to help you build this house.” He smiled. =
= 220;Jesus, what a wonder it is to hold a new born babe, your own son or daughter, and = to look into the perfect little face . . . These are the greatest joys, gifts = from Heaven. You are missing the best in life.”
= 220;James, listen. I do what my Father asks of me.”
= 220;So Ha-Shem is the one to blame?”
= 220;Blame?” Jesus laughed softly, rose up and walked away from me.
I f= ollowed him to the pile of rocks; he picked up his tools.
= 220;Why are you so stubborn? How long do you intend to wait?”
He = ignored me and began hammering chisel to stone. I put my hand on his arm to stop him and he dropped the tools and turned to face me, arms folded across chest. S= ilent, stern, he looked at me.
= 220;When will be the right time?”
= 220;Time has nothing to do with it. I do whatever the Father wants me to do.”<= /span>
= 220;What—toiling every day to provide food for the many mouths and keep the tax collectors at bay? Putting up with a house full of relatives?”
He = looked at the ground and took a deep breath. Thinking I was making headway, I pres= sed on. “It could be wrong of you to wait. What of passion, what of that = kind of desire? You should marry.”
He = shook his head and looked up. “With my heart and mind I have made a covenant with my eyes not to look at the virgins.”
I l=
aughed
at him. “Then look at the widows. You are the right age now for a cou=
ple of
them in
Now=
he was
a rabbi traipsing around the country with disciples. A rabbi. What a surpri=
se.
Between the two of us, I would be the one to do such things. If I’d h=
ad
the chance, I’d study in
Wha= t had come over him? Looking back on our last conversation about marriage, I wond= ered if he knew he’d one day become a rabbi. Why didn’t he tell me t= eaching was his desire and the reason to not marry anyone? Even so, he could have married. Either way, I would have understood. Why couldn’t we be true= to each other? Why couldn’t we talk now about the strange claims he was making, about the impossible things he was doing and saying? I no longer kn= ew him. He was someone I no longer wanted to know. He had become dangerous to = our people and our temple.
I w=
ondered,
if our father were still alive, what would he do about Jesus? What would he
have done in
Jos= es interrupted my thoughts, pressing me again, “What is worse than runni= ng away when so much might depend on you?”
I h= ad never heard Joses speak so harshly to me before and he had become relentless.
= 220;You know full well we are not running away,” I replied.
=
220;You
couldn’t get us out of
“We’re taking= a stand, that’s what we’re doing.” I felt my face flush.
“No, no we are not,= ” Joses said. “We’re abandoning our own flesh and blood.” He coughed and spat on the ground, and then he shook his head and looked away = from me.
=
220;Mother
will be all right. No harm will come to her.” I didn’t believe =
my
own words, though; we had no idea what Mother was dealing with in
= 220;I don’t mean her,” Joses said.
= 220;We’ll catch up!” I called out to them.
I l= ooked again at Joses. I saw fresh tracks of tears on dusty cheeks. He said, “You know how she feels about Jesus. And Lazarus’ house is bein= g so closely watched. We shouldn’t have left her there. We shouldn’t have left Jesus either. I fear for his life. Don’t you?”=
= 220;No one can talk to him,” I replied. “He’s set on making enem= ies.”
I s= huddered. I remembered what I’d seen and heard of Jesus in the temple courts. I looked at Joses knowing the unwanted tears were brimming in my eyes. In a s= trangled voice, I said, “He’s brought this upon himself, and on us. Why,= we could be arrested just for talking to him.” With the words, tears spi= lled down my face.
Jos= es drew closer and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed. This gesture caused more sorrow to rise in me. I tried to talk but found it difficult. “He must be either out of his mind or wholly deceived by the devil. E= ach time we’ve tried to help him, he’s put us off. And, now, Mother= must be upset with me. ”
I
stiffened, making a conscious effort to suppress the emotional flood. My throat tightened to the point t=
hat I couldn’t
speak. I stepped away and put my hands on my hips, then drew in a couple of
deep breaths to get control. I glanced up at
My =
thoughts
went back to the two days in
Jes= us had looked so pleased to see all four of his brothers and his mother when he arrived. = We soon caught the excitement that many people felt. I couldn’t sort everythi= ng out, but I was willing to try. But later, he continued to do things that di= sturbed me until the final blow, his tirade in the temple. I couldn’t bear ho= w I felt around him another day.
= 220;Joses, if only someone could stop him from what he’s doing.”
= 220;I am so afraid for him,” Joses said with a cracking voice. “James, aren’t you?”
I s=
lowed my
pace and turned. Looking into his eyes, I saw the truth; my own truth. I
hadn’t realized it until this moment. Our brother Jesus was on a reck=
less
course and I had left
Cat= ching up with our two younger brothers, we turned around and began to hurry. But, in less than an hour, at mid-day, the sky grew terribly dark, so dark we could= no longer see enough to continue on. We set up camp and stayed in our tent the rest of the day and that night. It was unlike any weather I’d ever experienced. The strange darkness lasted awhile and slowly returned to norm= al. But by the time we could see well enough to travel, it was nearly sunset an= d it would do no good to tear down the tent and set it up again only a little further.
The=
next
day was the Shabbat. None of us had ever walked more than a handful of mile=
s on
our day of rest because to do so would break the law. We pushed it—we
walked to the edge of the mountain range and then stopped. I could not bring
myself to break the Lord’s commandment to rest in the treacherous Wadi
Kelt; and, so, we stayed at a place just beyond
I m=
editated
on Scriptures memorized since childhood and drew encouragement from the Psa=
lms
about how King David found mercy and protection from Ha-Shem in the wildern=
ess.
My heart and mind clung in faith and hope for Jesus, along with David’=
;s
prayers and praises. As David once cried out to the God of my fathers, I cr=
ied
out for my brother. And I also prayed for the temple, for the Great Sanhedr=
in—that
the rulers would find a way to deal mercifully with my brother. I knew the =
legal
ban against him was based on our law—and I knew the penalty for his
claims and rebellion. It would be death by stoning; at the very least, it w=
ould
be imprisonment in the bowels of the earth where he would rot in chains unt=
il
death. Oh, Elohim! Save him; protect my brother for the harm he’s
bringing upon himself and take care of those who follow him. Protect our
freedom to worship you in
I p= rayed all through the Shabbat, fasting and weeping, and my brothers prayed with me. In the early morning, I gave our Passover lamb to tent dwellers, a family of shepherds who lived by the road.
We =
arrived
in
Mar=
tha
opened the door to me, while Joses and Simon were tending to
Whe= n Martha saw me she said, “Oh, James, my dear, are you looking for your mother= ? She is not here.”
= 220;Do you know where I can find her?”
= 220;No, but, please come in. Wait a moment, I need to fetch water and a towel for y= our feet.”
Mar= tha usually had these things ready at the door. I noticed how dark the home was inside, there were no lamps burning, not anywhere that I could see.<= /span>
I s= tood by the door and waited. I heard weeping coming from the back of the home where= the family slept. Martha returned with a towel draped over her arm and a bowl of water.
I s= at on the stool and she stooped to wash my feet. “James, I am so sorry abou= t Jesus.” She started to cry.
=
220;I am
as well, and also afraid. Has he been staying with you these last nights? I=
s he
in
She= looked up at me and asked, “Where have you just come from?”
=
220;We
were near
She= stood up abruptly. “Wait here,” she said.
I f= inished wiping my feet. Then I stood to wait for her. I heard voices in the back of= the home. A man’s voice. Then Lazarus was walking toward me.
= 220;James, Martha told me you . . . James.”
He = fell silent when he came to me. We exchanged kisses to our cheeks. He held my shoulders. He said, “James, Martha said you might not know about Jesu= s.”
= 220;What about him?” With the words, I knew, he had been arrested.
= 220;I am sorry to tell you this. He is dead. He was arrested, brought to trial, and = he is dead.”
I p= ushed Lazarus away and stepped back. “No!” I hollered, “No! I am too late!” I tore at my robe and I bent over and wept.<= /p>
As =
Martha
and Miriam lit lamps in the home, my brothers joined me and they also heard=
the
news. Our mother was no longer here in
Tha= t night, in the somewhat isolated, quiet guestroom in the home of Lazarus and his sisters, where Jesus had so often slept, the four of us fell on each other&= #8217;s necks and wept bitterly until utter exhaustion and sorrow gave way to sleep= .
Bef= ore sunrise, I awoke with a start. Was Jesus really dead? In the darkness, I tr= ied to see the sleeping forms of my brothers—and then, fully aware of the truth, I rolled over and wept.
The=
day
before, when Lazarus told me what had happened to Jesus, I wanted to see wh=
ere
they had laid him but Lazarus insisted it would be too dangerous to go ther=
e. A
member of the Sanhedrin, by the name of Nicodemus, had come and told the
relatives and friends of our brother, those who were still staying in
Gua= rds had been posted at the grave day and night. Nicodemus and three others had wrap= ped the body in a burial cloth and had laid him in a dug-out sepulcher, which w= as surrounded by a garden. It was on the other side of the mount where they had taken him down from the cross. The guards came to the tomb at sunset, just = as Shabbat had begun and the men had finished caring for the body.
Thi= ngs were uncertain. Jesus’ followers were afraid there would be more arrests. = And because he had to be buried quickly, before Shabbat began, there could be no ceremony, no gathering of mourners. But I wanted to say goodbye somehow.
Aga=
in, I
felt helpless. I decided to think about my brother when things were good. I
remembered when we were boys and how we used to climb the rocks of a steep =
wadi
in
=
=
=
=
=
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Chapter
Two
Joses
I w=
ondered
if James had just left. The same as me, he’d been tossing in bed thro=
ugh
the night. The shutting of the door woke me from a dream—of being cru=
shed
by shadows from which I couldn’t get away. In the dimness, I looked to my left=
and
saw a crumpled blanket. I stretched my arm across James’ pallet and f=
elt
for him. Empty. I wondered who else might have gone out with him. I saw
Simon’s tangle of hair against his white wool bedding. Moonlight from=
the
window shone in. In the daytime, one could look out of this window to the
family’s courtyard and, beyond the property, to a view of the hills s=
outh
of
At = the foot of my pallet I heard Jude’s breathing. He was still asleep.
It =
hadn’t
been my idea to leave
God=
knows I
would have done anything for Jesus. It was good James took us away from
Wha=
t relief
to be in
Jes= us had told me many times that we mustn’t blame God for bad things that happ= en to people. No, the blame lies in the choices of men.
How=
could
our leaders want one of their own to be stripped, beaten by the scourge, and
nailed to a cross until death? Crucifixions are part of the injustice of our
life under
Wha=
t had Jesus
done to deserve such wrath? H=
e was
a good man. He lived according to the commandments. There lived no better m=
an
in all of
I s= tared at the ceiling. There was enough light to see the underside of the roof. This = room was of lesser quality than the home, but it served the family’s guests well.
I p=
ushed
back the thoughts of Jesus’ death and how it had come about. Instead,=
I
pictured how he had looked when I caught sight of him with his disciples wh=
en
he first arrived in
We =
had
traveled from
Alt= ogether, Jesus had been away for about three years. I missed how we used to tease ea= ch other at work—when Jesus was just my brother, not a famous teacher and healer. Jesus had gone to see our cousin John, as were crowds of people from all over the country. When he left, he gave me the kind of instructions that only a man would give if he planned not to return to work.
Wor=
king
side by side on most projects, we took jobs in villages nearby—and in=
the
city of
But= Jesus preferred to work closer to home whenever we could. I had grown to miss even his reprimands. On ladders, I had a tendency to forget how high up I was and lean too far over. He preferred scaffolding, but it took so long to build i= t, as well as to disassemble it. Often, I would grow impatient and use a ladder instead. I would be two stories high without a thought that the ladder bene= ath me did not sit sound enough.
I m= issed the bantering that sometimes went on. Tears filled my eyes. I rolled over a= nd faced the door. Moonlight shone through the crack between the door and its frame. The door hung crooked. I shut my eyes. Jesus would never have allowed that crack. The rain would get in.
Aft=
er he
left
I l= iked the idea I could do projects my own way. But then no one praised my handiwork or congratulated me when the job was done, no one to exclaim, “Now that = will hold for a long time.” I sorely missed Jesus.
He =
had
given up his to join our cousin John ben-Zacharias in
Wor=
d came
to us in
I d=
idn’t
understand him.
Mon=
ths
later, our family traveled to
We = grew accustomed to strangers suddenly appearing at our house. We saw the poorest= of people, many of them crippled or diseased, even lepers—everyone despe= rate to find him. These things disturbed us. Who was this new Jesus? Who was this notorious man dividing the country with differing opinions about him? Some wanted to kill him; most of those who came to our village claimed he was the promised prophet, and not a few of them thought he was the Messiah. =
On =
the
first day of the week of Passover, nine days ago, James, Jude, Simon, and I=
had
waited for Jesus in this same guestroom, hoping to be alone with him. He ha=
d come
in late in the evening, ready to retire. He was tired, so we didn’t t=
alk
much. It didn’t matter to me, I was glad to see him and stay with him.
James planned to sleep in our tent in
The=
Whe= n Jesus opened the first scroll he was moved by what he saw. He sat down with it; a smile brightened his face while he read. Without a word, he unrolled each scroll and read them, nodding and smiling the entire time. Afterwards, he carefully rolled them up, retied the blue strings around them, and handed t= hem back to me. He said, “The scribe, Judah, who copied these Scriptures,= he is to be your brother. Truly, he will be a gift to you.”
At = that time, I thought Jesus’ words seemed strange. But, now, I suddenly remembered—I had packed two of these scrolls in our belongings, mine = and the one the scribe had given to James. I had kept them both since James had left his behind the night Jesus had read them. Daniel must have taken the t= hird one home with him.
Wha=
t were
written on our scrolls? I had forgotten about them, what with the busy week=
and
our hasty departure from
I c= rept without a sound to the sacks we’d put in the corner of the room. I fo= und two bags that were likely to have the scrolls in them. I took them and slip= ped outside to the courtyard. The air was chilly at the crack of dawn; it was still not light enough to read. I went = back inside and threw my blanket around me and returned to the benches and sat d= own. I felt around inside the first sack and found both scrolls. I curled up on = the bench, the rolls of papyrus clutched to my chest, blanket tucked under my f= eet and wrapped around me. I waited to warm up and somehow, in this uncomfortab= le position, I fell asleep.
James
Fro=
m
I k= ept my eyes from looking upward where the executions had taken place. The sun had = fully risen and I could see the way I needed to take. It was a narrow footpath th= at led around the hillside and down to an area of trees and lush vegetation. C= olorful flowers were everywhere—red ones, several shades of gold and yellow; = delicate white ones lined the path. Cascading from rock walls, I saw thick vines wit= h purple flowers. This was a rich man’s cemetery, with a garden paradise surrounding it. Spring flowering trees especially filled the air with soft scents. Dew clung to the leaves and grass and had soaked my feet and the lo= wer part of my robe. The scent in the air was beautiful. I caught a whiff of frankincense—its exceptional fragrance mingled with the smell of flow= ers. I slowed my pace, and drew in a deep breath.
I remembered the guards and I purposefully made noise then, coughing, brushin= g my hands along tall grasses and branches; I wanted them to hear me coming and = not think I was an enemy sneaking up on them. When I came into the opening, I s= aw where sepulchers had been built into the face of the rock wall, which was of the same hillside I’d just skirted around. I didn’t see anyone,= not one soldier. I looked further to be sure. I wondered if the guards had been called off. I relaxed a little and then looked for the entrance to the sepulcher. I saw that the giant stone, the seal for the tomb, was rolled to= the side, leaving the tomb open. I was at once afraid and relieved; I would be = able to see the body. I would kiss the wrapped forehead, even if it meant becomi= ng unclean by the law. I was already imagining that I would stand close to my brother’s dead body. I braced myself. I would say goodbye.
I b= ent down and looked in. I took a few steps and stopped just inside, in the area of t= he sepulcher where the family was meant to gather. A half wall divided the spa= ce from where the body would be laid. I stood still to allow my eyes to adjust= to the dimness, and then I stepped further in, to the smaller space. Beside the earthen wall, I saw the shelf of rock to hold the width and length of a man. But there was no body. I stepped closer to it. There, lying on the smooth surface of rock, I saw burial cloths—a long one and a napkin for the head. It was neatly folded and set apart from the larger piece. The heady s= cent of frankincense mixed with myrrh from the burial cloth permeated the cavern= . I gathered Jesus’ grave clothes up into my hands—flowers and spic= es fell from the linen onto the stone slab, the ground, and the top of my feet= . I groaned and sobbed while bringing the cloth to my chest. I buried my face in it. Then nausea began to rise up inside me and I quickly turned and left the tomb.
Eve= ry road was becoming busy with carts coming and going through the gates and streets= of the city, but I barely noticed them, my mind was so full of questions and sorrow. When I arrived at Lazarus’ front gate, the burial cloth held tightly in the crook of my arm, I went directly into the main house, having decided to say nothing yet to my brothers. They were in the guest cottage w= hich was separated from the main building by the courtyard. Knowing the front do= or was bolted shut, I walked past the courtyard and stable and entered through= the side door into the house. I called out, “Lazarus! Lazarus!”
A s= leepy man came out from one of the rooms. Within moments both of his sisters peer= ed from around the wall of the hallway that led to their bedchamber.
= 220;What? What is it? Lord, is it you?”
= 220;Lazarus, it’s me, James!”
= 220;Blessed be Ha-Shem, James, you sounded like Jesus. It was like before when he calle= d me from my grave.”
= 220;Look at this.” I held out the wadded up burial cloth to the approaching ma= n.
Laz= arus recognized what I held out to him, not only because of the odor now filling the room, = but the linen cloth—it was like the one he had been buried in—only a few weeks ago. He looked up but came no closer. “James, what’s happened?”
Joses
The= sun was bright when I awoke to James’ voice shouting for Lazarus in the main house. I gathered the blanket around myself and went in. I stood behind Jam= es and watched him as he and Lazarus examined a linen cloth, the one that had = been wrapped around Jesus.
= 220;James,” I said, too dazed to move closer. I knew what they were holding by what they were saying about it.
Jam= es turned around and saw me. “Joseph, I found this in the sepulcher, but= no body.” I couldn’t remember the last time James had called me Joseph.
I s= tepped closer and looked at the cloth. It was covered with the remnant of burial spices. His words and the sight of it took my breath away. “What?R= 21;
= 220;I went to the grave and found only this.”
= 220;Are you sure you found the right grave?” I asked.
= 220;This has burial cloth has blood on it. The sepulcher was where Lazarus said it w= ould be but it was wide open, and there were no guards.”
= 220;That was a rich man’s tomb; I doubt if there would be a better one anywhere else. Besides, it was close to where they killed him.”<= /p>
I s= tared at the cloth.
= 220;We must find his disciples, today if we can,” James said.<= /p>
Laz= arus’ two sisters were busying themselves in the same room, listening, but not intruding. Miriam drew up to us. Tears streamed down her face. “May I= see it?” she asked.
Jam= es handed the burial cloth to her. She held it in her hands and stared at it. =
=
220;Miriam,
do you know where the women from Galilee stay when they are in
Laz= arus touched her shoulder and she looked up at him. Lazarus repeated the questio= n.
= 220;No,” she said quietly, shaking her head.
= 220;Will you take care of this for us?” James asked, meaning the burial cloth.= “Put it in a safe, dry place.”
She= nodded to James and said, “Yes, of course.” She left the room and Mart= ha went with her, wrapping her arm around Miriam’s shoulders.
Laz= arus followed them with his eyes and then said to James, “Most everyone we know has gone home by now.”
Jam=
es’
face lit up. “Zebedee from
At = that moment, James noticed the two scrolls in my hands. Lazarus also looked at t= hem.
= 220;I do now—I must have left it here that night,” James said.
= 220;I remember him,” Lazarus said. “He was a changed man, that fellow= ; he had been one of Jesus’ most powerful enemies—a scribe and teach= er of the Law, an official of the Sanhedrin. He was responsible for the report that was used against Jesus that helped form the decision to ban him and his followers from the temple. I believe he and Jesus became friends.”
= 220;Jesus read all three scrolls that night,” I said. “They pleased him.”
Jam= es looked at them and at me. I added, “About Judah, Jesus said he’= d be our brother, a gift to us.”
= 220;Let’s have a look,” James said.
Laz=
arus stepped
to the living area and motioned for us to follow him and be seated. He said,
“Perhaps my sisters know where Zebedee sells his fish in
Aft= er James and I were seated, I handed one of the scrolls to him and I examined the on= e I held. The blue cord on the scroll was made of a fine braiding of knots, with tass= els of a darker color blue. The papyrus was a fine quality with narrow rods of polished olive wood fastened at its ends. The two scrolls looked identical = on the outside.
James
“For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon
His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor,
Mighty God, Everlasting Father,
Prince of Peace.
Of the increase of His government and<= o:p>
peace there will be no end.
Upon the throne of David and over
His kingdom,
to order it and establish it with
judgment and justice
from that time forward, even forever.<= o:p>
The zeal of the Lord of hosts
will perform this.”
At =
the end
of the quotation,
According to (here Judah cited the pla=
ce of
recordation as contained in the books of registration in the temple), I, Ju=
dah
ben-Avram, scribe of the Sanhedrin, do hereby testify that Jesus ben-Joseph,
first born to Miriam, the wife of Joseph ben-Jacob, was born legally from t=
he
line of King David in the city of Bethlehem, in the 33rd regnal year of King
Herod the Great, the year of the Roman census of Augustus, under the govern=
ment
of the Roman Empire.
The=
n
‘But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, t=
hough
you are little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of you shall come fort=
h to
Me the One to be Ruler in Israel, whose goings forth are from of old, from
everlasting.’”[3]<=
/span>
I k=
new that
the records in the temple for documenting the births of
Eye= s still fixed on the scroll, I knew one thing only: I must find my mother.<= /p>
At = the same moment, I realized Joses towered over me, filled with excitement, the other scroll being shaken. He was practically shouting. “This is about Jesus! It is; it is!”
“Nevertheless, there will be no =
more
gloom for those who were in distress. In the past He humbled the land of
Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the future He will honor Galilee of
the Gentiles, by the way of the sea, along the Jordan—The people walk=
ing
in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the sha=
dow
of death a light has dawned. You have enlarged the nation and increased the=
ir
joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as men rejoi=
ce
when dividing the plunder. For as in the day of Midian’s defeat, you =
have
scattered the yoke that burdens them, the bar across their shoulders, the r=
od
of their oppressor. Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every gar=
ment
rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire.=
221;
As = it turned out, my scroll was the second part of Isaiah’s prophecy, and Joses’ scroll was the first part. For the oracle continued from ̶= 0;fuel for the fire” to “For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government will be on His shoulder. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace,” and so on.
I r= ead the words of the scrolls over again slowly.
I m=
ust talk
to my mother. I must find her today, no matter the danger, no matter what. =
But,
first, I wanted to read the scroll
= 220;We must ask Lazarus . . .” I said, looking up and saw that he had come b= ack to us and was sitting beside Joses on the cushions. “Lazarus, donR= 17;t you know someone who can lead us to Mother and the disciples? What about Zebedee, can we find him?
= 220;I can’t think of anyone. My associates do not know the disciples. Miriam and Martha know many of the women, but they don’t know where they are staying now. They know where Zebedee’s fish market is.” He lean= ed forward and looked at the scroll in my hands. “What words have so mov= ed you, James?”
His= question sobered me. I replied, “It could be that the scribe, Judah, has blasphemed by writing such things, by tying these words of holy writ to our brother.”
I h= anded him the scrolls. “Read this after you read that one.” Lazarus b= egan to unroll the first one. I asked, “Have you seen another scroll that looks like these?”
= 220;He was a friend of Jesus then,” James said.
= 220;I don’t know if they were,” he replied.
= 220;Daniel must have taken his scroll home,” Joses said.
Laz= arus finished reading and stood up. “I tell you, your brother was no ordin= ary man. I was dead for four days! He had power over death; look at me! Here I = am! Jesus said he would rise again, on the third day. It isn’t over. This proves who he is.”
Laz= arus searched our faces for acceptance. But I was still so puzzled that I didn’t know what to say. He continued, “Did you hear what he sa= id to Martha only minutes before he brought me back to life?”
Laz= arus wasn’t interested in what either of us answered; he was caught up in = the moment. “Martha,” he said, “had met Jesus on the road bel= ow our house and she scolded him for not coming in time to heal me. But he answered her by saying, ‘Your brother will rise again.’<= /span>
= 220;She agreed with him, saying that I would rise one day, in the resurrection of t= he dead at the last day.
= 220;Then, lifting his voice loud enough for everyone standing around them to hear, Je= sus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life, the one who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will n= ever die.’
= 220;Think. Think about the burial cloth you found this morning. He is alive, I tell yo= u, just as I am.”
We = looked at Lazarus with stunned expressions. These were impossible words.
Laz= arus continued, “What do you think his words about being the resurrection = and the life mean, James?—Joses?”
= 220;I couldn’t say,” Joses replied.
= 220;His claim is either blasphemy or true,” I said.
= 220;James, you must believe me—it is true.”
= 220;Only a god could say such things, and there is only One true and living God.R= 21; I said this as a rebuke.
= 220;Only that Jesus asked her, ‘Do you believe me?’”
Jos= es tilted his head to the side. “Did she?”
= 220;She told him that she believed he was the Messiah that was to come into the wor= ld, that he was God’s own son.”
= 220;Lazarus, did he deny those things?” I asked.
= 220;No, in fact he told her to bring our sister, Miriam, to him. He waited for her bec= ause he had planned all along to come to the place where I was buried, and going= to the house would have taken him out of the way. And now here I stand before = you.”
= 220;This is why so many people believe in him,” Joses said.
= 220;We are all sons of God,” I replied. I closed my eyes for a moment and to= ok a deep breath. I said, “It is possible that Satan has given him power, too—great power to deceive.”
I f= elt my face flush. “I am like a bird lost at sea with no land in sight. I donR= 17;t know what to believe.” I stood now too, and I began to pace. “T= hese Scriptures of Isaiah the prophet are about the Promised One, the eternal Messiah, and the scribe claims, according to law and heredity, it is Jesus.= ”
I t= ook the scroll Lazarus still held in his hand. “In here are words from Isaiah, the prophet, ‘Unto us a Son is given . . . His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. . . . And from Micah who says, ‘whose goings forth are from of old, from ev= erlasting.’ . . . but how could it be our brother?” I looked at Joses. His face w= as pale and blank. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
= 220;James,” Lazarus said, “do you know why, or should I say, how, Jesus raised me from the dead?”
= 220;I’m sure you will tell me what I don’t know.”
= 220;Consider it. You know Jesus like no one else. No evil could possibly be done by him.”
I t= hought about the names on the scroll . . . Except for the claims and things he was doing in the temple lately, = Jesus had always been faithful and law-abiding in all matters of the commandments= and scriptures. How did Jesus walk on top of water, across a storm-tossed sea? = More than two witnesses had seen this—which meant it could very well be tr= ue. I had heard that account from several of the disciples the night of the banqu= et. If true, then where did that power come from?
I f= elt desperate to know. I walked out into the courtyard. I went to the bench and sat down, face in hands. I prayed. I wept. Lazarus and Joses came out to me, I felt t= hem standing on either side of the bench.
In = between sobs, I repeated the words, “Blessed be Ha-Shem, Blessed be Ha-Shem. = Then I brought to mind a Psalm of David and prayed it aloud as my own prayer: &#= 8220;In you, O LORD, I have taken refuge; let me never be put to shame; deliver me = in your righteousness. Turn your ear to me; come quickly to my rescue; be my r= ock of refuge, a strong fortress to save me. Since you are my rock and my fortr= ess, for the sake of your name lead and guide me.” I repeated the phrase, “… let me never be put to shame.”
I f= elt shame because of what had happened to Jesus. I felt shame that my brother d= ied before we had patched up our relationship—waves of regret and grief m= ixed together. I felt sorrow one minute, anger the next, but mostly the regret a= nd shame. I groaned and thought to myself, Jesus, Jesus, what were you trying = to accomplish? And, by whose power did you do wonders? See, now you have been killed. If the Almighty were with you, this wouldn’t have happened!
Laz=
arus sat
down beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I welcomed this. If =
only
I could see Jesus again—and talk to him. I groaned and said, “I
should not have left
Laz= arus squeezed me, while sitting beside me now. He said, “Almighty One, sho= w James the meaning of these scrolls.”
Aft= er this, I told Simon and Jude, who were rolling up their bedding, to come outside a= nd talk with Joses, Lazarus and me. I did not feel the presence of mind to exp= lain anything to them about the scrolls or the empty tomb and burial cloth. All I wanted to do was find the disciples and, especially, our mother.
I s=
aid,
“Joses, Lazarus, and I are going to the city to find Mother. While we=
are
looking, I want you to see if you can find a certain scribe by the name of =
= 220;No one will bother with them.” I meant this because of their youth.
Jud= e seemed pleased to have an important errand. He said, “You can count on us. B= ut we don’t know the man. How will we find him?”
= 220;He was here last week,” I said, “Remember, he came to see Jesus be= fore he arrived with his disciples.”
= 220;James,” Joses said, “the scribe only sat with us for a brief time. Jude and S= imon never met him.”
=
220;If
his disciples are still in
= 220;Shouldn’t we stay together?” Joses pressed.
= 220;No we need to split up. It will be far safer for Simon and Jude to be in the t= emple area and the parts of the city where the scribe would be. But, as for us, I think wherever Jesus’ disciples are, it will be dangerous.”
= 220;Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am certain.”
I t= urned to Jude and said, “We’ll meet you both later. Here, before sundown. How much money do you have?”
Jude shrugged. “None.”
= 220;Here,” I gave him enough coins to buy food for the day.
We =
set off
for
Chapter Three
Slouched on a low cushion=
ed
chair, legs stretched out in front of me, hands clasped beneath my chin, I =
sat
alone with my thoughts. Normally, this was my seat whenever I entertained
guests. It was one of four chairs that sat close to a white-stone table. I
liked to lay open a scroll on the smooth, polished table, and discuss matte=
rs
of the Law with my visitors. At this time, it served as a footstool.
I guessed that my oil lam= p had gone out after I had drifted off to sleep, some time before dawn. If Samuel= had known I was still in my study, he certainly would have thrown open the shuttered windows for me and then scolded me for not retiring to bed. I kne= w I should wash and dress but I had no desire for it.
The moment I had awakened, grief struck again. Jesus, the one I had come to know as a friend, and the Messiah, was dead. And ever since that horrific day, the Day of Passover, I= had not returned to the temple. The place meant nothing to me now, even though I had spent most of my life there as a teacher of the law, a scribe, and, for= the last few years, a leading official in the Sanhedrin. Now, my work and studies, everythi= ng I valued, seemed far from me; and I couldn’t think of a single thing to= do about it.
How could I ever go back =
there?
And, what did it mean that the veil in the
And how could anyone explain away t= he earthquake and the eerie darkness when Jesus died? My closest peers and mentors, some of them priests, closed themselves off to the obvious. How co= uld I face any of them again? They had turned into bloodthirsty murderers set against a man who walked in the compassion and wisdom of God. But they just couldn’t see w= hat I had come to see in him.
Jesus said it took faith = to believe the truth that comes from God. Faith. He spoke of it more than any = man I’d known. It was important to him that one believes—not only in the Scriptures and the commandments of God, but that one believes in him. This infuriated many of us= ; yes, even me. I had thought the same way as everyone else for a long time.
It was a wonder how one’s heart could swing so fully from one
extreme to the other. I had hated him. Then, just over a week ago, I
remember clearly how I felt when Jesus came to
The crowd had laid their =
cloaks
on the ground before the young colt while it carried Jesus inside the easte=
rn
gate. Amidst their celebratio=
n and
proclamations, he had accepted his role as
Several times that week, I
joined the crowds in the temple to hear him teach, while hope for
I had recently uncovered
predictions about a Messiah, which I had begun to see pointed to Jesus, the
carpenter from a village in the
I picked my cloak up from= the floor, where I had left it in a heap beside me. I used it now to cover my l= ap. I tucked its ends around my legs and feet for warmth against the chilly air. I hadn’t believed in Jesus for very long. As it was, I had been one of = the strongest voices in the Sanhedrin to oppose him. Besides, what did it matter? Jesus had been found guilty of blasphemy, was beaten, stripped of all dignity, and was nailed to a cross u= ntil death. I had helped to bury him. And the days since then followed one after another.
How dare the sun rise and=
set,
rise and set, as if nothing had happened? The Messiah was cut off from the =
land
of the living. It was impossible according to the Scriptures. And yet, to t=
he
outrage deep in my heart, some Scriptures had predicted it. Yes, this was t=
he
mystery: I knew that Jesus had willingly come to
I shook my head. I shudde= red realizing that I, too, had been party to what had been done to him, because= of what I had reported against him. I’d written eyewitness statements against Jesus before believing in him. My own efforts against him, months a= go, had helped pave the way to his final outcome. I had come to care so much ab= out the man I had despised. Yes, people could easily swing in opposite ways whe= n it came to Jesus ben-Joseph.
I thought I heard voices = from the street and wondered what time it was—or, for that matter, what da= y. I drew a deep breath. The silence and gloom in my study reminded me of how I = had felt in the sepulcher when I and three others laid the lifeless form of Jes= us upon the stone slab in the grave. Only words pertinent to our task had been spoken there as each man struggled with his own inner turmoil. However, tea= rs flowed without restraint from all of us.&n= bsp; Nicodemus and Joseph, and a close disciple of Jesus’, and I, h= ad worked quickly with the help of a dutiful lantern. Since then I had enterta= ined the thought that even the lantern, if alive, would have refused to give its light had it understood its impossible, sorrowful task. I would never forget what I saw by= the lantern’s soft glow. And it was that same close-up image of JesusR= 17; battered face and body with which I’d fallen asleep.
I had stared at the face.= His face had become so dear to me—so full of life and expression—so full of God’s love towards me. Seeing it dead and swollen, caked in places by dried blood, was too much to bear. And yet he had the look of pea= ce. Surrendered peace.
I had not watched him suf= fer and die and for that I was glad. Seeing the corpse still attached to the cr= oss was horror enough. Handling his remains and seeing him so closely was what I just could not shake from my mind. How could I escape the lifeless face of the man who had shown me God’s go= odness and power? Where was that now? Where were my other memories of Jesus—= Jesus the powerful prophet and healer? They were hidden from me behind this dark veil of death. Shrouded from me like the body in the tomb.
I could still smell the h=
eavy
odor of burial spices. Nicodemus had brought pounds of powdered myrrh and
crushed, leafy aloes, and frankincense which we poured into and over the bu=
rial
wrappings. Women had picked flowers in the garden and asked us to lay them =
on
the body. I wondered if some of the heady-smelling mixture had fallen into =
the
fabric of my own clothes. But, no, I had different clothes on now than I=
217;d
worn that day. Then I remembered my cloak. The spices were in my woolen clo=
ak,
now spread across my lap. In the dimness, I saw dark splotches. Blood. My c=
loak
had his blood stains on it. I pulled it off and neatly folded it and placed=
it
on the stone table. I buried my face into my hands. Death is too final!
Simon and I scoured the t=
emple searching
for the scribe who had given scrolls to our brothers. We were afraid to
approach any of the temple guards, for that would be foolhardy. The guards
could arrest any follower of Jesus, and what might they do with his brother=
s? We
were discreet in asking men about the scribe, but a guard had taken notice =
of us.
I saw him behind a column, our eyes met as he peered around it, looking
straight at us. I had just asked a priest if he knew the whereabouts of the
scribe,
I was careful not to act
alarmed and showed interest in the guard’s offer; not to do so would =
have
raised suspicion. All I wanted was to return to
I quickly nodded and said, “You are kind. Yes, thank you.”
He took us through a neat= grid of streets in a neighborhood of white stone buildings, built closely togeth= er, row after row, many of them shared common walls. Odd, there wasn’t a sing= le stable in the area. I wondered where they kept their animals. Gates and fro= nt doors set the homes apart from each other. Stone walks in front of the properties connected them. Outer staircases indicated when there were apart= ments on the upper floors. The way to the scribe’s home involved a few turn= s. Close to the temple, the leaders, scribes, and hundreds of priests and thei= r families lived in this area. We saw a few of priests, dressed in their distinctive garments walking about. The blocks of buildings looked the same. Without a guide we would have gone in circles; not that I would have tried to find the place on our own.
“I have seen you be= fore,” the guard said, as we walked along. “Weren’t you with the Nazar= ene, the teacher that was executed by the Romans the other day?”
Simon glanced nervously t=
o me, not
aware that I purposefully ignored him. But, too late, Simon had, by his sim=
ple
reaction directed to me, given it away that the rabbi from
The guard pointed to the = door of a house, one building down. “That’s it, there—the one = with the taller gate with the vines.”
Then he said, “The Teacher was a good man. His miracles proved it so. But he shouldn’t h= ave …” Casting a wary look to the buildings, the guard stopped spea= king as though spies were listening to his every word. The two-story homes, and their windows, towered close to the street. He looked around nervously and = bid Simon and me farewell. He turned to leave, but then he turned back. He look= ed tentative, as though he had something further to say. We looked at him and waited.
He stepped closer and spo= ke in a hushed voice. “Where is his body? Have you moved it to some other grave?”
Astonished expressions mu= st have convinced the guard that neither of us knew what he was talking about.=
He said, “It’= s hard to know what is true, what isn’t. It’s harder still to know who= you can trust.”
“Why do you ask whe= re his body is?”
The man looked to the doo=
r he
had pointed out to us, and then he looked at me with eyebrows pinched toget=
her.
“Why are you looking for
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m interest= ed in the Nazarene and what his followers have to say about him.”
The nervous twitch by my = right eye started up. I hoped the man didn’t notice it. I wasn’t sure what to say. This could be a trap to arrest us. In a mocking tone, I said, “Does the teacher still have followers when he’s dead?” T= he moment the words left my mouth, I wished for them back. Even though I was acting, how could I talk about my own, dear brother in such a heartless way= ? I would give anything to see him, to embrace him, to talk to him. Unbidden so= rrow rose up. I looked away. I would give myself away any moment.
“I know that
These last words surprise= d me so much that Simon and I stared blankly at each other, shock evident on our faces. “You said his body is missing?” I asked. <= /p>
“Stolen, is what th= e high priest said—by his followers—because he had claimed he’d = rise again.”
Simon wrinkled his face in confusion. I softly replied, “That’s madness.”
“A lot of this is b= ased on hearsay, but the high priest knows how dangerous rumors are.” He leaned closer to me. “Listen,” his eyes glanced back and forth,= and he looked past us, “we can’t have this conversation here. Where= can I find you, later? I know something that should interest you, if you are followers of Jesus.”
“We are staying in =
The guard leaned closer a=
nd
said, “My name is Timon ben-Justin. You ask
“He was not our rabbi,” Simon blurted out.
“Your faces and rea= ctions say otherwise,” the guard said.
“No, not his discip= les,” I replied, “his brothers.”
The man’s eyes grew= wide, and his expression softened. He said nothing further.
“So, what else do y= ou know? Why should we trust you?” I asked, suddenly feeling brave in th= e face of such mysteries about my brother, and more at ease with the man, Timon.
“I am most concerne= d about something that has happened that is not a rumor,” he said.
“What?” I ask= ed.
“My friend, a temple
guard like me, has locked himself inside his home and refuses to come out a=
nd I
think I know why.” Timon looked around nervously, and said, “I =
will
tell you everything I know. Not here. Where in
I told him the way to Lazarus’s house and invited him to come after sunset the next evening= .
“May the Holy One&#= 8217;s angels go with you,” Timon said.
Since Simon and I felt too emotional to call on the scribe, we retreated a little way on the same stre= et and found a place to sit beneath a branching out olive tree that stood behi= nd a walled-in courtyard.
“I hope Jesus’= ; body is somewhere safe.” Simon said after we’d sat together in silen= ce for awhile.
“It makes me sick,&= #8221; I answered, adding, “I want to see him, just one more time. Even dead—it’s better than to never see him again.”
“Maybe it’s a= good thing his body is missing,” Simon said. “If Mother is with his disciples, I hope they will bury him where she wants him.” We sat quietly. Then Simon voiced my own thoughts, “Do you remember his disg= ust for funeral wailers?”
I nodded. Neither of us s= aid another word for several minutes while the reality set in that there would be no funeral for our dear brother, our beloved Jesus. Since he had been excommunicated and put to death for blasphemy, he was a man cursed, which m= eant that he could not have a proper, traditional funeral—unless, we wonde= red, that is why his disciples had stolen his body.
The sound of the metal kn= ocker would surely bring someone to the door. I’d never used one as ornate and he= avy as this one. As we waited, Simon ran his fingers along the carved sections = of the door’s front panels, which left his hand in mid-air at eye level, when suddenly the door opened, and there stood a man in response to our kno= ck.
To explain himself, Simon= said, “This is a fine door. Beautiful. We make doors like this. Well, we ma= de one like this once . . . only a lot smaller, and not all one piece.” =
Because of the questionin= g look on the man’s face, I nervously cleared my throat and moved Simon asid= e.
“Shalom to you, Sir= . Jude ben-Joseph is my name. This is my brother, Simon. Forgive him. We’re carpenters. And, this, this is a beautiful door.”
The man raised an eyebrow= and then his eyes narrowed. “What do you seek?”
By his look and tone of v= oice, I realized immediately that we did not belong in this neighborhood, where scribes, priests, students, and the learned and rich lived. These houses we= re close to the temple and were socially considered off-limits to the public. =
The man who opened the do= or to us did not hide his discomfort. And I easily read his mind: Carpenters would n= ot dare to come here looking for work, would they?
“Sir, are you
At this, he frowned and s= hook his head. “This is his residence. He teaches this time of day in the = temple. You can find him there.”
At once I realized I̵= 7;d managed to insult the man’s master by my assumption, which made me fe= el even more foolish in the eyes of the servant.
“We already looked = for him in the place where he teaches,” I said.
Simon leaned closer to me= and said in a low voice, “We can leave a message, can’t we?”<= /span>
I voiced the idea. “Will you tell him that our
brother, James ben-Joseph, from
I had taken a chance by b=
eing
honest in giving our names and where we could be found, but it seemed like =
the
best thing to do. If
The servant’s eyes = flew open with alarm and he quickly scanned the street to see if anyone was abou= t. “Are you also the brothers of Jesus, the Nazarene?” he asked wh= ile shutting the door only wide enough to frame his face.
Simon and I exchanged qui= ck glances and I repeated, “Will you tell him?”
The servant said, “=
James.
James of
“Samuel, who is here?” another man’s voice called to the servant from inside the house.
“It appears I can t= ell him now. I didn’t know he was home. Wait here.” The servant clo= sed the door.
When Samuel came to me, I= was leaning against the doorway of my study. He did not hide his shock at the sight of = me. I don’t believe he had never seen me unkempt in any way before this.
“Master, how long h= ave you been in there?”
“What day is it?= 221; I replied while peering down the corridor in the direction Samuel had come fr= om. “Who is here?” I added.
“Two carpenters. Br= others of that Jesus, the Nazarene.”
I am quite sure Samuel wa= s too overcome with my condition to attempt to answer my first question. He cared= for me more like a father than a servant would, even though he was only eight y= ears my senior. Concern for me lined my dear servant’s face.
“Master, what is wrong?” he asked.
“No time to explain= . Oh, Samuel, praise Ha-Shem. Their faces will surely brighten my soul. But hurry; bring the two brothers of Jesus inside. They could be in danger.”
After the three of us were seated, and we finished introducing ourselves, the oldest, Jude, said, “Rabbi Judah, our brother, James, would like to meet with you regardi= ng the scrolls you gave them.”
“Yes, I would like that,” I replied.
Jude continued, “Si= r, please forgive us if we ask too much of you, but on our way here, a man tol= d us something . . . upsetting. He said you might be of assistance because you h= elped to bury Jesus’ body.”
“Yes, I did. How ca= n I help ease your hearts? Your brother was an amazing, wonderful man. I am grieving for him, as a brother would grieve, believe me.” I had assum= ed they needed comfort; perhaps they wanted to know more about their brother’s death and burial. I determined to console them as much as I could. I did not, however, want to discuss the manner in which he died. I surely would not have to do that, I had not witnessed the torture Jesus had endured.
Jude said, “The tem= ple guard who guided us here said we should ask you concerning our brother’s to= mb.”
“He has been laid in a beauti= ful garden tomb that belonged to Joseph of Aramethea. I can tell you where it i= s if you’d like.”
“We know where it i= s,” Jude replied. He continued, “The temple guard wanted to know if we kn= ew where Jesus’ body had been moved because it is missing. He said the priests are saying that his disciples have stolen it because they want to c= laim that he rose from the dead.”
Hearing this, I sat strai= ght up and then leaned over the table, to get closer to Jude, to look him in the e= ye. “What!? His body is gone?”
“That’s what = the temple guard said. His name is Timon ben-Justin.”
“Yes, Timon. What else did he say?”
“Tomorrow night he =
is
coming to
I laughed with amazement = and joy. I was beside myself. “I know Timon,” I said, “and tw= o of Timon’s friends were the temple guards the priests sent with the Roman soldiers. I saw them just after we finished caring for Jesus’ body in= the sepulcher.”
Jude’s face filled = with emotion. He said, “If the followers of Jesus had taken him away, surely, Lazar= us would know. He is a close friend to Jesus, everyone knows this. And we have just = come from him. He knows nothing about these rumors.”
“I know Lazarus and have been= to his home on two occasions,” I said.
“Lazarus thinks Jesus’ =
closest
disciples are still in
Samuel came in with a tra= y of food and drinks for all of us. My thoughts began to wander. I had already b= egun the mental exercise of going through Scriptures, searching for a clue to wh= at these things could mean.
I tried to remember what = Jesus had said about himself, because, I had come to learn, his words carried the same weight as the Scriptures. My mind jumped to a scene—the memory of Jes= us at his trial, hands and feet bound, face bruised, yet standing so sure of himself, in front of the high priest. Jesus had full knowledge of his own d= eath looming before him, the death he had told me he would suffer. At that time,= my heart had soared because of the answer Jesus had given the high priest, the words that had sent him to crucifixion. But the words were a statement of f= act. Caiaphas had asked him for the truth, and Jesus gave it to him. He claimed = to be the Son of the Living God, the Messiah. He boldly went further to say th= at he would one day come in the clouds of Heaven’s glory. By saying these w= ords of prophetic Scripture, which everyone knew were meant for the Messiah, he = claimed to be that man.
A dead Messiah was someth= ing I had been trying to come to terms with; but, if his body was no longer in the tomb, then he was alive. He claimed he would rise from the dead, and he had= ! I had thought he had meant that his spirit would rise from the dead. I am a Pharisee, and we believe in life after death. With more thought, Jesus had specifically said “on the third day”—of course—he bodily rose!
What, I wondered, had the guards seen? What did Pilate and Caiaphas know? Surely, the temple and Roman guards would have reported to them. Most of all, where was Jesus now?
I looked across to the two young men sitting with me. What did they know and not know about their brot= her? I realized that neither of them could have possibly heard what Jesus had sa= id about himself during his trial. I burned inside to tell them.
“Jude, what do you know about= Jesus, in terms of his power and claims?”
“He was a carpenter= and became a miracle worker and a teacher. He held crowds spellbound, if that is a pow= er. He called himself the Son of Man. James thinks he was ill, not in his right mind. He said so many strange things.”
“Simon, what do you= say?”
“He wasn’t cr= azy. Not a lawbreaker. Once he turned water into wine at a wedding when they ran out. It was the best wine I ever drank. He never lied. He forgave people, no matter what they said or did to him. I don’t know much about his claims.”
I knew far more about Jes= us than they did. This saddened me. Jesus had lived in quiet disguise for most= of his lifetime.
Jude and Simon looked at = one another and I realized they felt nervous, my questions didn’t help. I wanted to put them at ease. I said, “Your brother was more than a prophet. Do either of you know what happened at his trial?”
“No,” Jude sa= id. Simon shook his head.
“I think Jesus woul= d want you to know some things about him that you do not know. Do you want me to t= ell you?”
Each of them nodded for m= e to continue.
“Your brother,̶=
1; I
said, “was being closely watched here in
“How do you know th= is?” Jude asked.
“Because your broth= er confided in me,” I replied softy. “And he walked into their trap knowing full well what the outcome would be.”
“Well, I don’t believe you,” Jude muttered.
“These are hard say= ings. But, please bear with me; I have good things to say as well.<= /p>
“I spoke to Jesus i=
n
“‘One manR= 17; was causing trouble, and that man should die; otherwise, many others would = die because of him. Nearly all seventy elders of the Great Sanhedrin agreed tha= t he was the ‘one man.’ There was very little debate. Jesus was dist= urbing the peace.
“He would never do that,” Simon said.
“He brought
division,” I explained. “The leaders felt they could bring stab=
ility
back to the city by silencing him. Everyone fears stirring up trouble with =
the
Romans. Our freedom to worship at the temple is tenuous. Your brother’=
;s
claims and his great following threatened to upset the balance and bring
“Jesus?” Simo= n exclaimed.
“Yes, he died for t= his claim.”
Jude said, “Are you saying our brother cared so little for his life that he would let people misjudge him and kill him?”
This young man had a quic= k mind and a succinct way of putting things, I thought.
“I can prove Jesus = knew he would die, but why I cannot guess. I know your brother could escape them= , if he chose to do so. I am convinced Jesus could have brought the armies of He= aven to fight for him by one word of command from his mouth.”
The young men’s fac= es looked back with such surprised, hopeful expressions; I let the moment ling= er a bit before I continued.
“Let me finish tell= ing you about his trial. When he was arrested and came before the Sanhedrin eld= ers, witnesses were found to speak against him. But none of them could agree on their testimonies. The high priest grew tired of this because the process w= as going nowhere and he wanted the assembly to condemn Jesus that night, on the spot. And, so, Caiaphas, the high priest, arose from his seat and stood in front of your brother. He looked him in the eye and said, ‘I charge y= ou under oath by the living God: Tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God.’
“Your brother answe= red, ‘I am. But I say to all of you: In the future you will see the Son of= Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
Simon and Jude cringed, a= nd I saw on their faces they thought Jesus had blasphemed. I insisted, at once, that= their brother was the one he claimed to be. It took me the rest of the day to ans= wer the questions that flew at me, until both of them began to see that Jesus, = indeed, fulfilled prophecies that had been written about him long ago. In fact, they were privy to the same ones I had copied down for Joses and James, plus the ones I’d written down for Daniel.
I would have given anythi=
ng to
have gone with them to the house of Lazarus that night. I would have enjoyed
seeing the faces of the other two brothers when these two described our time
together. But, as it was, this was the evening of the second day of the week
and I had hardly moved from my chair for days. Except to care for bodily
functions, I hadn’t left my study since I’d helped bury Jesus. =
And
now I knew he had walked out of the grave where I had helped to put him.
Laz=
arus led
us through a tangle of streets in lower
Thi=
s clue
is what brought Joses and I to our mother at last. Having found the fisherm=
an,
we asked him if he knew the whereabouts of our mother, and he did. He took =
us
directly to her. And, so, while Jude and Simon were off in search of
It = was late morning or early afternoon, I don’t know which, when we set off to se= e her.
The=
house
was on
Zeb= edee introduced us to the servant and then excused himself to return to the fish market. Be= fore he left, the fisherman suggested to the servant that Lazarus be shown the w= ay to the second floor. Then a young man by the name of John Mark joined us an= d escorted Joses and I to a room further inside of the home. When we came to an open doorway, he said, “Mother, these two men are Jesus’ brothers. T= hey’re looking for their mother.”
= 220;Come in, come in!” A well-set woman called to us. We saw a small group of women seated at a table below an arched window. One of the women was Mother= and she was with our Aunts Salome and Miriam. John Mark’s mother said something to us; I don’t know what because both my mother and I interrupted her. Upon first sight of each other, our words flew from opposi= te directions at once.
My = words became a torrent: “Forgive me. . . Mother . . . Lazarus told us . . .= Are you all right?” But my broken confession was interrupted by an ecstat= ic woman crying out words while rushing toward Joses and me. “He’s alive! I’ve seen him. I’ve kissed him!”
Jos= es froze as still as a statue of salt having clearly heard Mother’s words. I d= id not. I reached for her, a man crying like a child.
By = the time she came into my arms, while pulling on Joses, she was sobbing and unable to put any more words together. And, so, it was Joses who repeated the wonderf= ul news she’d said.
= 220;He’s alive and she’s kissed him!”
The= words hit home. I pulled away from her. “What?”
She= nodded. Through sobs, she said, “Not dead. He has … much to say to us .= . . he appears to us . . . he is wonderful.”
Mot= her asked, in a weepy voice, “Has he appeared to Lazarus, too?”
A h= alf cry, half grown escaped me. Was she delirious?
Our= aunts came up to us. Aunt Salome smoothed the back of my head with her hand. She patted Mother’s shoulder. Aunt Miriam gave her a cloth to wipe her te= ars and nose. She gave another one to me and one to Joses. The five of us then became a family of wrapping arms and strained voices.”<= /p>
= 220;James, Miriam, please, come to the cushions and sit down.” It was big Miriam, the owner of the house, and she was prodding us to move.
We = obeyed her. After we were seated, I asked Mother, “What do you mean, ‘= he appeared?’”
= 220;He held me tightly in his arms. I cried for joy against his chest. He isn̵= 7;t . . . .”
= 220;Mother, what do you mean, ‘he appeared?’” I repeated.
=
220;Yes,
he appears and disappears; like a spirit, only he is not a spirit. It is Je=
sus,
and he looks good, very good. He isn’t thin, or pale. He is . . . I can’t describe=
how
he seems. Even his garments—the fabric was like an angel’s garm=
ent,
yes, like an angel’s, and they were fragrant, like a king’s, wi=
th frankincense
and myrrh and I don’t know what else. He is a king
= 220;Where is he now?”
= 220;I only know he is alive. There are things about Jesus I never told you. He . . .”
= 220;I don’t know, but nearly everyone who is staying in the room above us.”
I l=
ooked up
at the ceiling. I listened. Not a sound. The home was a solid one, built of=
= 220;Please, James,” she said.
I r= ose and stepped away from Mother and the others. I began to pace. I ran my fingers through the hair on the top of my head, grabbing a fistful, releasing, it, pulling on another fistful.
= 220;Who is he?!” I cried out.
= 220;Joses took hold of my arm. “J= ames, come and sit down. For the sake of Heaven, let Mother speak. She’s be= en trying to tell us something.”
I t= ook a deep breath. I sat down.
= 220;All right,” I said.
= 220;I know this is terrible for you. Of course you are upset. But there are thing= s I have never told you.”
= 220;First tell me everything you can about what happened to him. You were there. I wa= nt to know everything you saw and everything you know.”
Mot=
her
nodded. She told us of the events of what had happened to Jesus since I and=
my
three brothers had left
= 220;He was so brave,” she said. “His humiliation and his execution had= not been hidden from him beforehand. He knew everything that would come upon hi= m. He told his disciples what would happen, and he told me.”<= /p>
= 220;When did he tell you?” I asked.
= 220;The night before he was arrested.”
=
220;We
were alone when he told me. But his disciples had been with him up until th=
en.
We were all in
= 220;This took place the evening before the night of Passover?”
= 220;Yes.”
=
220;He
said nothing to me. Why didn’t he send someone to his own brothers, to
tell me? Why am I hearing all of this now? Why did he abandon me?” I
realized then that Jesus had spoken to her the same evening I had been in o=
ur
tent preparing to leave
= 220;I should have listened to you,” I said.
She= leaned closer to me. “He is alive, James. And, because he is alive, this cha= nges everything.”
= 220;Why did he suffer and die? It was from a curse from God that he died such a death.”
She= said, “He will fulfill everything written about him. But, first, he had to = die to give Life. This is what he told me.”
= 220;What things have been written about him?”
= 220;In the Prophets, he quoted some of them to me.”
= 220;Do you remember the words of those Scriptures?” I asked.
= 220;Not the exact wording.”
= 220;Please, try to remember. This is important.”
=
220;Yes,
I think I can recall most of what he said. He said that in the book of the
Prophet Isaiah it is written: ‘A light for revelation to the Gentiles=
and
for the glory of
= 220;James, he told me he was that One despised by the nation, a Servant, but also the = Holy One of Israel. He tried to make me see those things were written about him = and that the things about to happen to him were written about in Scripture. <= /span>
= 220;He explained to me that he was the Lamb of God and that all the Passover feasts before this one pointed to his mission—to ‘die for the sins of = the world—to redeem God’s children from the power of Sin and Death.= ’ He said those exact words, James.”
Oh, Ha-Shem. Ha-Shem I saw the connection—Jesus ha= d been killed on the Day of Passover.
= 220;He said that because death could not hold him, he would be able to give life to all those who trust in him. He said he would rise on the third day and no longer live among us as a man but will return to the Father in heaven and t= hat he would send the Holy Spirit to us. He promised that, one day, we would be together again in heaven.”
Her= testimony gave evidence that Jesus was alive, and if another witness had seen him, th= en by law I should accept it as true.
But=
all of
this seemed too fantastic and didn’t make sense to me, not according =
to
what I had learned. No, the Messiah would conquer and reign—the Right=
eous
One—the redeemer of
I didn’t share my misgivings. Instead, I said, “I went to the gra= ve and it was empty. I found his burial clothes only. His body was not there.&= #8221;
= 220;He is alive, James. Do you believe me now?”
I l= ooked at Joses. He believed. He hadn’t stopped weeping the entire time, all the while nodding his head, and murmuring “God be praised,” over and over.
Eas= y for him, he wasn’t the one who had deserted Jesus, at least not willingly= .
I l= ooked into Mother’s eyes and said, “I need to talk to those who have = actually seen him alive, besides you.”
Sal= ome, from her place on the couches, made a loud disgruntled noise. “We have all seen him.”
Mot= her turned to both women and smiled shyly and said, “Upstairs. We saw him when he appeared to the disciples. All three of us have seen him.”
Big= Miriam added, “Watched him eat the fish my servant and I broiled for the disciples’ supper; the fresh fish Zebedee brought us.”
Her= e we were—talking about the Holy One being a light to the nations, my brot= her possibly being the eternal Messiah, and broiled fish.
Jos= es took hold of my satchel and pulled the scrolls out and handed them to me. He sai= d, “James, tell them about these.”
=
220;Yes,
all right.” I untied one and it was the one I wanted. I said, “=
These
scrolls were given to us by a
My
mother’s eyes were fixed on my hands, which held open the scroll I ha=
d just
read from. And then I asked her this question, which, to me, would convince=
me
of
=
220;Tell
me, Mother, was Jesus born in
Miriam
Suc= h beautiful words in the scroll and I’d rarely heard them spoken aloud. I had sto= pped thinking about the angel many years ago, the angel who had come to me befor= e Jesus. In the early years, so much had happened. Even so, I could recall every det= ail at will. I had pondered these things so much but there came a time when, for the sake of sanity, I had stored them safely away like a treasure deep in my heart.
It = was time to take out the treasure for James and Joses; even Salome, my sister, knew = very little; nor did Joseph’s sister, Miriam. It was, after all, their inheritance, too; the gift of God’s Son to our family. =
I s=
miled
and said, “Yes, he was born
Jam= es’ eyes welled with tears again. He pulled on his beard. A nervous habit he’d had for years.
He = said, “All right, yes, blessed be Ha-Shem.” He rolled up the scroll and carefully retied it while I began my story.
= 220;I was fifteen years old, betrothed to your father, when an angel from heaven appeared to me.”
Jam= es threw his head back in exasperation. He said, “An angel and you never told us.”
= 220;Let me speak and do not interrupt. I have so much to tell you and it has been stored up for a long time.”
= 220;Forgive me. I am undone by this, undone. This is too much for any man to take in—all in one day.”
Jos= es agreed, daying, “Yesterday the world ended. Today is full of wonder.”
= 220;I know,” I replied. “God knows. Now, just listen.”
= 220;One day my mother sent me on an errand. I carried goat milk to the rabbi’s wife. They had company in their home and they needed more milk than their g= oat could provide for their guests, one of whom was a young child.
= 220;I had just returned home and felt someone behind me, even though I hadn’= ;t heard a sound. I turned around and saw him in the doorway, which I had left open because my hands held the empty pitchers.
= 220;The moment I saw him, I knew he was an angel. Light shone from him. His beardle= ss, angular face was handsome. He said, ‘Rejoice, highly favored one, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women!’
His= voice was kind. I stepped backwards into the room and he came inside. I knelt, and set the pitchers down on the floor beside me. I clasped my hands to my ches= t and trembled with fear.
= 220;The angel stood up and said, ‘He will be great, and will be called the So= n of the Highest; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David.= And He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there wil= l be no end.’
= 220;I asked, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin?’
= 220;‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Highest will overshadow you; therefore, also, that Holy One who is to be born will be called the So= n of God.’
My = vision blurred with tears as I looked at James and Joses, both of them were leaning toward= s me. James’ face had grown pale; Joses was sniffling. My sister-in-law and sister were as well.
I h= ad memorized every word the angel said.
I t= ook a deep breath. “The angel went on to say, ‘Now indeed, Elizabeth = your relative has also conceived a son in her old age; and this is now the sixth month for her who was called barren. For with God nothing will be impossibl= e.’
= 220;I believed him. I was filled with joy. I said, ‘Behold the maidservant = of the Lord! Let it be to me according to your word.’
=
220;When
I visited
= 220;Elizabeth and Zacharias believed me because the Holy Spirit told them when I arrived, before I had a chance to tell them, about my child. I was in the early mont= hs of my pregnancy.”
My = sister said, “I remember when you went there. You traveled with Mother’= ;s permission, but she and father had argued. You had gone with people from another village, I remember.”
= 220;Yes,” I replied. “Both joy and sorrow. The astounding news, an angel from heaven! I was relieved when M= other and Father finally believed me. It was my excitement that convinced them and the fact that I had always been open and honest.”
= 220;When I told Joseph, I mean, your father, he didn’t believe me and wanted to end our betrothal agreement.”
I r= eached for my goblet. My mouth had gone terribly dry. I swallowed three gulps in a= row. I continued, “Heaven had mercy on me and saw my trouble. An angel cam= e to your father in a dream and told him that the unborn child was of the Holy Spirit, and then he believed. I will never forget the hour he came to me and told me about his visit from an angel in his dreams.”
Sal= ome said, “I remember the day. Joseph was transformed one morning and that evening announced he would bring Miriam home to us very soon. I was relieved for both of you.”
Jos= es said, “Father used to tell us, nearly every night, that angels were with us, always watching and helping u= s. Do you remember, James?”
= 220;May Ha-Shem’s angels take care of you,” was the blessing every night,” James said.
= 220;We moved into your grandfather’s house then, our dear father Jacob; you = were too small to remember him,” I said. “The house was smaller then= .”
= 220;It was,” Salome agreed. “I was glad to leave it. And then I watche= d your sons add on to it—your house climbed up the hillside, sprawled one wa= y, then another way, and always upwards.”
Jos= es said, “We used the earth behind us to our advantage.”
Jam= es shifted in his chair. He said, “How soon after Father believed you were you married?”
=
220;Soon
after. Because I had been away about three months in Judea with
Jos=
es
asked, “How then did you end up in
= 220;Before my time had come, we were required to return to the birthplace of our ances= tors. At that time, we had to be in King David’s home town to register for = the Roman census. Both your father and I are from the line of David, as are both of y= ou.
=
220;It
was what people call ‘
= 220;When we arrived there, none of the inns would have us, and my birth pains began.=
= 220;Finally, we found an innkeeper who said we could use his stable; it was where the inn’s guests kept their animals. It was a large meandering cave. We h= ad privacy and more room than the guests in the crowded inn. We were so gratef= ul for the way God provided for us.
=
220;I
gave birth to him that night. Your father and I didn’t see the angels,
but others had, and many who lived in
= 220;Mother, I can’t believe you never told us any of these things,” Joses s= aid.
Jam= es shook his head in disbelief; he seemed hurt and angry. I touched his arm. “James, you don’t know how fearful I was. You will understand i= n a moment. Our lives were in great danger.”
= 220;With angels everywhere to protect you?” he asked.
= 220;Just listen, if you will. You see, the angels did not protect many innocent chil= dren, and you will hear of it soon enough.”
=
220;The
same night they had visited us, your father was warned in a dream by an ang=
el saying
he should rise up and take us immediately to
= 220;Now listen. This is why we hid from everyone all these things: We escaped the t= error that took place the next day—when all the young boys two years old and younger were killed without mercy by Herod’s soldiers.”<= /span>
= 220;Herod murdered babies hoping to kill Jesus?” James asked.
=
220;The eastern
men that had come to see us had first inquired in
= 220;We escaped, but when the tragic news reached us within days, we learned a grav= e lesson. Our Son was vulnerable and had strong enemies—enemies that could rise= up and kill him at any time during his life. We hid his identity. One word to = one person could mean his death. We never took that chance. Never. Not even lat= ely when he rose up to become a well known teacher, even more so.=
= 220;Do you understand now?”
I s=
aw by
their faces that they did. I continued, “Just as the angel had promis=
ed
your father, he told him in another dream two years later, that it was safe=
to
return to
=
220;We
were filled with awe those first months and years, grateful to be chosen to
raise the Son that was conceived by the Holy Spirit, the Son that would ful=
fill
God’s promises to
= 220;Yes, righteous. Always,” Joses said.
Jam=
es
asked, “Surely, our relatives in
I l= ooked to my sister. She shook her head. “No, everything is as she said. I am younger and didn’t know.”
= 220;It was Satan you hid Jesus from;” Joses said, “that man Herod was possessed, as are all the other tyrants in this country.”
= 220;For that reason we kept everything secret. Even as an adult, Jesus was so meek,= I saw no particular ambition in him apart from his work and life with us. How he’d ever rise up to fill the role of the Messiah, I couldn’t imagine it—not, that is, until these last three years. After he was twelve, we told him of his miraculous birth, and what was prophesied about = him by the prophets in the temple when he was a baby, and about your cousin Joh= n; but Jesus knew who he was on his own. It was obvious to us in many ways. He even said so occasionally.
= 220;I don’t know what your father would say about him concerning his actions these last few years. I must say, Jesus has done the opposite of what I expected of him and, like you, I have doubted him.”
Jos= es and James sat motionless. So much had been said to them, we all needed to pause= and think. James looked dazed through most of my speech. Amazingly, as though Miriam’s servant waited in queue from Heaven, she came in with a stac= k of bread, lentils, figs, and dipping sauce, enough food for all six of us. It = was well past time to eat. We gave thanks to God for our meal. Miriam picked up= the large pieces of flatbread one at a time, broke them, and handed out half-si= zed pieces to each of us. Joses immediately began to pile lentils on his piece, folding it and then dipping it into the bowl. He swallowed and reached for a cup, which Miriam had just filled with watered down wine. He ate like he wa= s a starving man.
Bes=
ides the
sound of people enjoying a meal, we were quiet. James seemed far away while=
the
rest of us ate. He arose from his place and began to pace again. After seve=
ral
passes back and forth, he stopped and faced us. He said, “The prophet=
ic
Scriptures were fulfilled by his birth in
= 220;James, when was the last time you ate?” I asked.
= 220;Does this mean he wasn’t our full-blooded brother?”
The= reality finally sunk in. I replied, “He is fully my son, and fully God’s son, as the angel explained to me.”
He = stepped close to the table.
= 220;He is the eternal Messiah! He is from Heaven and from Earth. He is the Son of = Man, and the Son of God! Jesus, is our brother—which makes him ours and God’s!”
He = picked up his piece of bread from the table and said, “And, I swear to you, I w= ill not eat bread again until I see him, as you have, not until I myself see hi= m risen from the dead.”
He = put the bread down. He looked at Joses and said, “Are you finished? Come, let’s see his disciples. Let’s go upstairs. Perhaps Jesus will appear to them again and we will see him.”
And= , within moments, my two sons were climbing the stairs to join Jesus’ disciple= s.
Chapter Five
Pee= ring out from a small window on the second floor of my house, I squinted in the suns= hine as it streaked across the city’s landscape from the horizon, brighten= ing the sides and tops of buildings. I stretched out my neck a little further to look overhead, then back towards the sun. Within minutes, the rising ball of fire would disappear behind thick cloud. A good shower would help cleanse t= he city. There had been no rainfall since Jesus had suffered and died. Today marked five days since the tragedy.
The= warmth from the sun felt good on my face. I couldn’t understand why Jesus had died, Ha-Shem had not intervened, and his execution was such a horrible one= .
I m= ust stop dwelling on these thoughts now. I remembered what Jesus had said to me in t= he home of Lazarus, after just having raised the man from the dead. Jesus had urged me then to follow my heart more than my mind, in matters I couldnR= 17;t understand regarding him, and so that is what I must do now. My heart had b= een lifted by the news of his missing body. I had met two of his brothers, such= a favor from Heaven. Perhaps I could be of some use to Jesus, wherever he was= .
And= so, I washed and dressed in my finest clothes and set off for the temple. Without= a thought of food, I hurried to the room where I usually taught. As a teacher= in the Pharisaic School of Hillel, I realized I had dropped out of life for a = few days and I’d need to report to my master, Rabbi Gamaliel, to explain = my absence. But, more, I wanted to open my heart to the rabbi who had, for for= ty years, been my mentor. I could no longer contain myself about Jesus and wha= t I knew about him. I was ready to reveal my discoveries about prophetic Script= ures concerning him.
I m=
ust
focus on research and study. I would record what I knew about Jesus until he
was ready to rule. Why I thought it would be awhile, I wasn’t sure.
Perhaps it was because of the things Jesus had not said—he never spoke
about himself beyond Passover; he spoke of my future, but not his own. I sm=
iled
at the memory of Jesus standing in my study holding my reed pen in his hand.
What he had said to me had stayed with me all these weeks since then. He had
said, “
I w=
ondered
at this as I stepped along, my stride had a joyful bounce to it this mornin=
g.
The two young brothers of Jesus had been like healing balm from
Whe=
n I was
a young, promising student, I had met the school’s namesake, the amaz=
ing
elder, Rabbi Hillel, who was Rabbi Gamaliel’s grandfather. To me, Rab=
bi
Hillel had seemed like an ancient man then, which only added to the mystique
about him. Rabbi Hillel was the most holy and revered man in all of
By =
the time
I was of age to attend the school and become a disciple, it was the great
rabbi’s grandson, Rabbi Gamaliel, who became my master. Gamaliel was =
now
a highly respected elder himself, about twenty-five years my senior. And his
mind was still, in my opinion, the wisest and sharpest in all of
Rab= bi Gamaliel had been the head of the school for many years and his love for me= was both strict and forgiving. Because he was given the revered name Rabban, a = new title given for a most honored rabbi, what a privilege it was to sit at his foots= tool. But I feared him as well.
I w= ondered how he’d react to learn I’d gone over to Jesus. I could prove w= hy with overwhelming evidence that Jesus was the one he claimed to be.<= /span>
Kno= wing Rabban Gamaliel had not been party to condemning Jesus, I hoped he would ac= cept my stance. I believed that if he had been summoned that late night to Jesus= ’ trial, he would likely have stopped the process. Everyone knew how corrupt = Annas and Caiaphas were—always with their hidden agendas—always playi= ng the pious yet living lives of opulence. Gamaliel had more patience than I h= ad. He respected their positions for that sake alone. He was always gracious towards them, at least in their presence.
Ove= r the last couple of years, Gamaliel had known of my disgust for Jesus. There had been occasions when I had expressed my outrage about the things Jesus was doing. I had been one of the most outspoken scribes against him. My master = had told me to be temperate in my handling of the Nazarene matter—“Do un= to others as you would have them do unto you” was the driving principle = of my rabbi and he taught to do the same to our enemies. Something Jesus also tau= ght. They had similar philosophies. But what had made Jesus my enemy was his cla= ims about himself. And, now, I believed in them—with my entire heart.
I w= ondered how different things might be if Jesus had become a student at the school. There was a time when he would have been welcomed there. Rabbi Gamaliel had met h= im, too—over twenty years ago.
As = I walked along Solomon’s Colonnade, my mind recalled that long-ago day I had leisurely walked here with young Jesus at my side. A twelve-year-old youth = at the time, the boy had surprised me earlier with his questions and knowledge= of Scripture. I had taken him to Rabbi Gamaliel. As I expected, the young Jesus had impressed him. But, unfortunately for us, his parents had taken him away from us before we could discuss his future.
Bec=
ause
there were two schools in
I s= hould have followed up with the family. If I had, things might have gone differen= tly. The child had been brilliant with an uncanny grasp of Scripture.
I g=
lanced
over to the high and main building of the temple. Priests were coming in an=
d going
out through the golden doors. Only those few on duty should be entering the
place. At once I remembered—the Veil! They must be repairing the great
Veil that separated the
Rab= bi Gamaliel was being readied for his day when I arrived at his home. I waited= for him in the front entry room where guests would normally meet with him. Seve= ral disciples came out carrying their rabbi’s clothing; they had assisted= him in dressing for the day and he was in his study eating breakfast. Another disciple greeted me and escorted me to our master.
= 220;Shalom, I pray you are well?” I said, stepping inside the dim room; it smelled stale and needed air to blow through the place.
= 220;Shalom to you, my Son.” The elder set his food down and looked at me. Normal= ly, I would have addressed him with ‘Rabban,’ or ‘Father.’= ;”
Gam= aliel answered, “I am indeed well. Are you?”
= 220;I must ask your forgiveness for my absence the last few days,” I said.<= /span>
= 220;Have you been sick? There has been no message from Samuel concerning you.”=
= 220;No, Samuel didn’t know.”
= 220;Didn’t know what?”
I p= ulled a stool up to my master and sat on it. “Eat. You’ve stopped eating,” I said.
= 220;Why should I eat when my son has a burden his heart cannot bear alone?”
= 220;How do you know?”
=
220;I
have eyes. And over the last few months, your eyes have avoided mine. I have
seen pain in your soul, in your step. Have you fallen into some sin,
= 220;I have not, Sir.”
His= eyes narrowed at being called “Sir,” not at all typical from any of = his disciples. But I had taken to heart the words of Jesus, spoken in the templ= e, ‘Do not be called Rabbi, for One is your Teacher, and you are all brothers. Do not call anyone on earth your father; for only One is your spi= ritual Father, He who is in heaven.’
I r= emained silent and hoped the tension that had just arisen between us might diminish= . I wondered if I would be able to say what I wanted to say to my beloved rabbi after all.
= 220;Tell me, Judah, are you unsettled about Jesus, the one crucified?”<= /span>
I f= elt immediate relief; my master was wise and perceptive.
I f= elt humbled and smiled meekly. “I cannot hide anything from you.”
= 220;No, it is impossible. The many years we’ve known each other make us experts.”
I f= elt brave. I said, “I am convinced Jesus is the Messiah.”
= 220;Is the Messiah? Your tongue did not slip?”
= 220;I think he is alive.”
= 220;What has convinced you of these things—one, that he is the Messiah and, tw= o, that he is alive?” The elder pushed his food tray away.=
= 220;I have so much to tell you. I hardly know where to start,” I said.
= 220;Start at the beginning.”
I b=
egan
with the twelve-year old Jesus. The rabbi remembered him, but this wasnR=
17;t
new, we had discussed the young Jesus since then, even recently. To me, it =
was
important to show the way our lives had crossed at important junctures̵=
2;that
is, Jesus’ and mine. But it wasn’t until I saw Jesus at the Jor=
dan
River, three years ago, that I had been much affected by the young man from=
At = this point, Gamaliel interrupted me. “Here, now, is your first offense aga= inst me. If this man, John, moved your heart closer to God, why did you keep suc= h a gift as this from your dear master?”
= 220;Because I was afraid you would not approve.”
= 220;I might not have, but you did not give me the chance. For this, you have wron= ged me.”
= 220;Yes, you are right. Forgive me.”
= 220;I do. Continue.”
=
220;I
met Jesus the same day I was baptized. He wanted me to talk with him but I =
had
duties to perform here and so I left him. He must have joined with the Bapt=
ist
but I don’t know what he did after that. The next time I saw him was =
in
Gam= aliel said, “Yes, we’ve talked about this before. You were disgusted = by him, driven by your hate at times. I warned you about it.”
= 220;‘We must love our enemies,’ you said. Do you know, Jesus taught the same?”
=
220;Yes,
I have heard that about him, and about his works of healing. You knew I had=
not
judged the man—neither for nor against him. So,
= 220;Scriptures about the Promised One may be describing him, fulfilling them with amazing detail and accuracy. And his love for people—the common people, sinne= rs, the poor. His power. His passion. He is the Messiah.”
= 220;Winning people over for selfish gain, as well as power and passion can be straight = from hell. You know this, as well as I do.”
I a= greed, nodding my head. I’d thought along those same lines for more than two years.
=
220;Tell
me,
= 220;I cannot. I have reason to believe he has more for us, through his disciples, perhaps.” That idea had just occurred to me.
Gam= aliel rose and walked to a table where there were several scrolls piled up. He pi= cked one up and used it to point at me. “We will start with the first Scripture you think he fulfilled and do this systematically. You will not c= ome in here with such ideas and not be obligated to prove them.”
I s= tood and bowed. “Sir,” I said, “I am eager to be about such a priv= ileged task.”
= 220;Sit down. We must discuss the second matter.”
I o= beyed and sat down. I wondered if I should speak next, or wait for my master to a= sk another question. I decided to wait.
Aft= er a long silence, Gamaliel said, “You will be excused from your teaching responsibilities.”
= 220;It is to be expected,” I replied, quite relieved.
= 220;Now, tell me, on the second matter: What do you mean by calling the Nazarene the Messiah since we both know the man is dead?”
= 220;I have hope, Sir, and it has driven me here to you now.”<= /p>
= 220;Are you party to the rumors about his body?”
= 220;I have only heard of them, nothing more.”
= 220;Your dreams for the Nazarene could fool you. Surely rumors about a missing body would not make him the Messiah to your thinking. Or, is there some other se= cret you’ve kept from me?”
= 220;Do you remember when Caiaphas prophesied that one man should perish this year = so that many, the nation, would be spared, bringing them together as one for God?”
= 220;I do.”
= 220;And, do you recall how Caiaphas used it to turn every member of the Sanhedrin against Jesus after he had raised a dead man back to life?”
= 220;Yes, yes. Do you believe Caiaphas put words into God’s mouth, prophesying a lie?”
= 220;No, he spoke for God. That’s my whole point,” I replied.
He = studied me. “You agree then that God ordained him to be killed?”=
= 220;Yes, according to what Jesus told me himself.”
= 220;Jesus is crazy then, and why have you believed such nonsense? God would not allow= the Messiah to die—his purpose is to restore all things on earth and to r= eign forever on David’s throne.”
= 220;I thought the same as you, my Lord. But now I’ve changed my mind.”= ;
=
220;Explain
how you see it,
= 220;I don’t know if I can explain it except I’ve found Scriptures that describe the crucifixion and death of God’s Servant—as atonement for sin.” I was about to quote from the prophet Isaiah, but Gamaliel raised his voice and pressed me further about what I had embraced as truth about Jesus.
= 220;First, we have atonement through the rituals and sacrifices in the temple. Secondl= y, I must ask you, Do you believe Jesus raised a dead man, or was it a well-plan= ned story?”
= 220;I know he raised the man, Lazarus, with no doubt,” I answered.
Gam=
aliel
pinched his eyebrows together and waited for me to explain. “I warned=
Jesus,”
I said, “after the Sanhedrin meeting, and told him what Caiaphas had =
said
through the prophecy. Jesus t=
old me
that he would leave
I w= as about to speak further, but Rabbi held his hand up to silence me. He said, “= ;We have two more matters of concern.”
I l= istened, and questioned my master with only a look.
= 220;The first matter is this: Was the prophecy Caiaphas gave from the Almighty One?” Then leaning forward, he said, “The second is this: Was t= he man, Jesus, sent to us from the Almighty One, as he claimed?”<= /span>
Tea= rs welled in my eyes. Perhaps both were true; but, if so, who could comprehend such paradox?
Rab=
bi
arranged the scrolls on the table, making them neater. “We have much =
to
do. Before you leave, tell me, is there anything further,
= 220;The veil in the temple, it should be left alone, or removed, and not repaired.”
Gam= aliel looked up, startled. He said, “How do you know this? I was called to a highly secret council meeting to discuss how to repair it and how to handle such a delicate situation. The way to the Holy of Holies was opened during = the earthquake, and what eyes are allowed to look therein? Workmen? No, certain= ly not. Only a chosen number of priests will be allowed to repair it. But it w= ill take three hundred men to lift it and replace the torn one. They will wear blindfolds. How did you learn of it?”
= 220;The veil was torn upon the death of the Messiah. It was his doing.”
= 220;Judah, Judah, you are flying far above me. How dare you so easily conclude such meaning?”
=
220;It
is what I know.” I hid from Gamaliel what God had shown me through the
angel Michael just after the earthquake. I had been prostrate in the temple
praying for
Gam= aliel waited for me to speak further. I no longer felt like this man’s disc= iple and that revelation was of such import to me, it silenced me. These non-ver= bal moments with my rabbi grieved me. Here was a man I had revered and loved mo= re than any other man on earth and now I didn’t know what I could or couldn’t say to him. I realized that, in believing in Jesus, I had stepped across an invisible but palpable border. Looking into the face of my beloved rabbi, I knew my life wasn’t the same as before. And, yet, I = felt peace. I was no longer tossed by confusion and the wrestling of my soul. I = was free and on the verge of something extraordinary. It had everything to do with J= esus and my studies and being a scribe for Ha-Shem.
Gam= aliel stepped close to me and took hold of me, making me rise up and stand. Placi= ng his hands on my shoulders, he said, “May God grant us his unfailing m= ercy and may we not fight against his designs, whatever they may be.”
I returned home to find J= ames, Joses, Jude, and Simon waiting for me in my study. Samuel had invited them = to come inside and wait, at least for an hour or so, he had said. It was my cu= stom to be home by early afternoon and then return later in the day to the templ= e.
My study was now fully ai= red out, bright with sunshine pouring in through opened shutters, and birdsong could be heard as the background to the sound of men’s voices in conversation. The room was so crowded that when I stepped across the thresh= old from the hall into my private quarters and saw the four of them, I exclaime= d, “Blessed be Ha-Shem the Almighty One. I am delighted to see you.̶= 1;
The brothers were eating = honey and cinnamon cakes that Samuel had set out for them. Although, I found out later, James was fasting and not eating.
Simon was seated in my fa= vorite chair; the stone table was covered with their sacks. And by the look of them they probably hadn’t had baths since the beginning of Passover. It had been the same for myself; I had never enjoyed a bath so much as the last on= e.
James rose to his feet an= d greeted me; I was still standing in the doorway.
“Rabbi
“
“James. We met a wh= ile ago, do your remember? At the home of Lazarus. You gave a scroll to me, as = well as one to Joses.”
“Yes, of course. I =
am
afraid I don’t remember your names with your faces. I do remember your
accents—from
Looking past James, I gre= eted Simon and Jude, whom I’d seen the day before. “Shalom to you, so good see you again.”
I then nodded a greeting = to Joses.
“You kept us up lat= e last night, even though you were not present,” James said, smiling.=
I felt humbled.
“Jude and Simon tol= d us so many wonders about our brother, because you are a man of Scripture . . .= and learning . . . you knew things about our brother none of us could have imagined,” James said. “I study the Torah as well, but without = the discernment in choosing Scripture to match events and such.”
“I am only a new fr= iend of your brother’s,” I said. “I spent the better part of t= he last three years trying to stop him and shut his mouth.”
“An impossible task,” James said. He l= aughed softly.
I grew serious. I said, “I don’t believe he has been silenced even now.”
“No?”<= /span>
I shook my head. <= /span>
“We are on our way = to meet with his closest disciples,” James said.
“Are they still in =
“Yes, and so is Jes= us,” he said with a grin.
My heart leapt to my thro= at. “Have you seen him?”
“No, but many others have.”
“Truly?” I le=
aned my
weight against the door frame. I was in awe. I said, “He is in
“Quite a few eye witnesses say so.”
“Is he with his disciples? May I join you and see him too?” I asked.
“It isn’t like that,” James replied. “He appears and disappears. One second he= is there then he is gone.”
“He is a spirit, then.”
“According to what = he said about himself, he is not. He ate with his disciples; in fact, he expre= ssly told them to touch him. His words were, ‘Touch me. I am not a spirit;= it is really me, myself. A spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have.’”
I stared at James in astonishment.
Joses spoke up and said, “Our mother said she kissed him and he embraced her for a long time.”
“Truly? Oh, glory t= o Ha-Shem, glory…” I looked off into space, awe overcame me. After a few moments, I said, “You know that I helped to bury him, don’t you?”
“Yes, Jude and Simo= n told us.”
“We prepared his bo= dy as best we could.”
“I know. I saw the = tomb and found the burial cloth.”
“When?”
“Yesterday, at dawn= . The shroud was left behind.”
“I wonder if the gu= ards saw whatever happened there,” I said.
“I would like to kn= ow, too,” James said. He added, “The word being spread is that the = high priest was told by the guards at the tomb that Jesus’ body was stolen= and hidden away by his disciples. Of course, that is not true. We know firsthand from the disciples themselves. And, tonight, a temple guard, by the name of= Timon ben-Justin is coming to see us. He says that his friend was on duty at the = sepulcher with the Roman soldiers.”
“Yes, Jude told me,= ” I said. “Timon is a young man you can trust; I know him. During his l= ast week, we stood close to each other and listened to Jesus teach in the templ= e.”
“All four of us were there as well,” James said.
I nodded.
Jude said, “That= 217;s why Timon recognized Simon and me and spoke to us about Jesus’ missing body. He had remembered us being there.”
“He is trained to be observant,” I said. “And regarding what the priests said the gu= ards reported to them, I will find out by speaking to Caiaphas myself.”
James made a rather loud hooting noise. “You will? Now we know a man in high places.”
I wrinkled up my face and= said, “We do, indeed—can’t get much higher than Jesus.”
This made James laugh.
I explained, “Jesus= is much higher than me and Caiaphas, you know.”
“This is such a wonder,” he said, “I am afraid it will take awhile for me to comprehend it, if I ever will. My mind won’t cooperate with me on this matter. I’m working on it.”
Then, with a changed expr= ession on his face, James said, “I’m not alone with this problem. Isn’t it amazing, the disciples of Jesus are hiding but those who condemned him to death heeded his claim that he would rise up on the third = day. They posted a guard, ready for trouble. So, why didn’t his disciples = line up outside the sepulcher the morning of the third day and wait for him to c= ome back to life?”
I liked this man, James. I said, “You’re right; but, to be fair to them, one of them helped carry Jesus’ body to the tomb and saw the soldiers posted there. He w= ould have told the others and, knowing that, they were afraid to go there.”= ;
Joses shook his head, = 220;If we had known of Jesus’ claim, as his men did, we would have been ther= e, guards or no guards.”
James said, “I wond= er what Timon will have to tell us tonight.”
“I’d like to = talk to him, too. Better yet, I will go to Caiaphas directly.”
Joses said, “I am s= o glad you supported my brother.”
I replied, “I am gl= ad I came around. But you need not thank me. I feel like part of your family.= 221;
James took hold of my sle=
eve
and gently pulled me to step outside of the room with him. Once we were in =
the
hallway, he said, “
“Of course.”<= /span>
“I have a burning question.”
“What is it?”=
“Do you say Jesus i=
s the
one, by holy writ, that is called, ‘Wonderful
Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace?’
“As recorded in the scroll I gave you,” I replied.
“Yes, from Isaiah t= he prophet.”
I said, “Jesus is t= hat Holy One, yes.”
“Do you realize wha= t you are saying?”
“I do.”
“I surely believe i= t now. I have heard of his birth from my mother. You, a scribe, will want to talk = with her. She has kept secrets about his birth, signs and wonders accompanied it, and she has kept these things to herself all of these years. Her account ne= eds to be recorded.”
“James, this is wonderful.”
“But,
Drawing up to me he said, “When can we talk again?”
“You are welcome to= visit me here or in the temple.” I put my arm around James as we walked to = the door. Joses, Jude, and Simon followed us. In a lowered voice for James̵= 7; ears, I said, “I have wrestled so much with Jesus’ identity and have always ended with the same conclusion: he is who he is, whether I can understand him or not. And that is even more reason to believe in him. If t= he Holy One were not a mystery to us, he would not be Ha-Shem. I feel the same about Jesus.”
James nodded. This was th= e best reasoning of all, and I saw on his face that he knew it too. We embraced as brothers and made plans to meet the next day.
Chapter Six
Peter
It was a week since= Jesus had risen and we’d last seen him. Sunlight flooded across the floor w= here more than a dozen of us slept. I welcomed the morning and went outside to t= he only place I could find to be alone. I sat on dead branches I found in a pi= le. Away from eyes, it was a small space in the garden area between the house a= nd the stone wall that enclosed the property. It was here that Jesus had appea= red to me on the day he had risen, a few hours after John and I had discovered = his body missing from the sepulcher. We had seen his burial cloth, empty of his body, like a shell left behind. We had believed the women then.
There had been no e= nd to my tears since his death—remembering what I had done and not done, reliv= ing his prediction to me the night he was arrested. I hadn’t seen his torture, but couldn’t stop imagining it. But on the day John and I had discovered the empty tomb, I had returned here to this corner of the garden= . It was late afternoon when long shadows fall across the ground when the Lord’s fell across my hideaway. I looked up. He was no more than ten = feet away and he was looking at me. I gasped. It was at once fright and joy. He = said, “Shalom, Peter.”
He had smiled and t= hen was gone. The last time I’d looked into his eyes before that moment had b= een when I denied knowing him. It pleased me that he did not call me Simon̵= 2;it meant he had forgiven me. He was alive and he had found me. After seeing hi= m, I had run up the stairs two at a time and blurted out to everyone: “I s= aw him! He is alive. He is really alive!” And, from that moment on, ever= yone in that room knew it was true.
Since then, I often= returned to this secret place, hoping he might appear to me once more. I touched the leaves of a meandering vine as it climbed the wall. New buds were forming on it. I whispered, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” Everyth= ing reminded me of him. He had also said, “You can do nothing apart from me.”= ;
It was true. He was= gone now and, without him, we, his disciples, could do nothing. It was as though our lives had ended with his. But why did he appear and disappear? We were more like shadows of men now. Why didn’t he stay with us as before?
I had enough of the= se weary days of waiting. Day after day with no further sign of the Master made us irritable. Some of us ventured out at various times. It was usually for foo= d. It was dangerous bringing in the amount we needed. Our host’s family would come under suspicion if they provided for all of our needs—we h= ad to be careful. Some of the women did what they could and they stayed with u= s until they could leave under the cover of dark.
I missed Susanna= 217;s songs. Oftentimes, when we had been traveling and staying out in the open, = she would sing ancient Jewish melodies with her lyre and sing to us as we sat beside a campfire.
Last night I heard =
the
Master singing. I dreamt we were at the table, ending our Passover meal.
I wanted so much to= get far from here—far from the agony of the last weeks. I yearned for the wat= er, the sails, and the nets.
I wondered what the= Master would say to us today if he were here. I don’t think he would want us= to be hiding inside a room. But, then, look where his fearlessness got him? Wi= th that thought, I groaned and raised my eyes to the windows of the Upper Room. Men’s voices were louder now. Everyone was up and moving about.
I went into the hou= se and joined them. Loaves of bread were in baskets on the table; fruit juice in o= ne pitcher and milk in another. Someone had brought out the cups and napkins f= rom the pantry. Eggs were peeled and cut in halves, arranged on a couple of trays—one for each section of table. Two bowls of dried figs. Bless Ha-Shem. I was hungry. Men were finding their places. At the sight of the f= ood, I felt encouraged. With all of us gathered at the table, I gave thanks as J= esus used to do.
The Master’s = four brothers came after we had finished eating. For hours we discussed that Jesus had the power of Heaven at his disposal, retelling events to one another. We believ= ed nothing could stop him now, but because the days followed one after another, with no further sign of him, we wondered what we should do.
My brother Andrew a=
nd I
were discussing our thoughts about whether we should return to
Philip voiced his c= oncerns. “Do you think the Master has returned to his Father, as he said he wo= uld? Do you remember, he said he was going away to a place where we cannot go? He said he would go there to prepare a place for us.”
Matthew answered, &= #8220;The Master’s words are becoming a blur of conflicting promises and warnin= gs. Our conversations have ranged from ‘sitting on twelve thrones’ to ‘being pursued from town to town.’ We all know him as a man of contrasts, including his predictions. We cannot look at what he has said in= the past to guide us in this moment. We need to know directly from him what he wants us to do in these days.”
John said, “I= f only he would come to us again and answer all our questions. I miss listening to= him tell us what he is thinking. He said he would not leave us as orphans. What= did he mean by that?”
Thomas said, “= ;I think you have all lost your minds from grief.”
Because Thomas was = gone when Jesus had appeared to us, he didn’t believe he was alive. In fac= t, he had said, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my fin= ger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.”
Matthew replied, &#= 8220;Perhaps it is time for us to leave.”
Nathanael nodded in agreement and then added his own opinion. “Don’t you remember t= hat Jesus told us, ‘The Son of Man will be handed over to his enemies, and all = of you will be scattered.’? I think he expected us to go our own ways.”
“No!” J= ohn shouted. He cleared his throat. “Jesus said he would come to us. If we scatter, he may not come again. We have seen him here.”
“Yes, he came= to us, but now he is gone. John, it’s been over a week.” Nathanael said this with the voice of grief.
Thomas glanced at A= ndrew then me. “We shouldn’t stay together here or anywhere else; it’s too dangerous. We’re better off splitting up.”
Murmuring filled th=
e room
until a woman’s voice raised up over the din. “I cannot believe
that Jesus would want his chosen, closest men to disband.” It was Mir=
iam
from Magdala. She’d been with us for a long time, often traveling with
us. But because there were several Miriams in our acquaintance, we called h=
er
“the Magdalene.” She was a woman of courage and spunk, with a g=
ood
heart, and had been delivered of several evil spirits by Jesus. She had been
devoted to him—and he had only recently denied her desires to be with=
us.
For her own safety, he had sent her away during the winter months preceding
this Passover. She had rarely left his side the entire time we were back in=
John quickly added = to her opinion, “One of us has already betrayed him, and now he’s dead.”
We had heard the ne= ws of Judas’ suicide through one of the high priest’s own servants who had told one of our women. Caiaphas had held an official meeting to discuss what to do with the thirty pieces of silver, the betrayer’s coins, af= ter Judas had thrown them back, out of his remorse, into the temple area where they’d finalized the deal with him. The leaders had decided on what t= o do with Judas’ bodily remains as well. They bought a small field with the blood money and buried Judas there.
Nathanael said, = 220;If each of us were to go our own way now, it wouldn’t be the same as betrayal. What Judas did to Jesus . . .” his voice trailed off audibl= e, “is unforgivable.”
“What’s more,” Philip added, “Jesus predicted there was a betrayer at t= he table. Remember?” He placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “No, Nathanael, if we all run away now, it would be the same as betrayal. We don’t know what Jesus wants of us. We must wait until he returns to s= how us where we go from here.”
I spoke up, raising= my voice, “You’re right. If we run away, we could very well disapp= oint the Lord.”
M= any faces looked with compassion at me, because of my regret from having denied= Jesus. An awkward silence hung now.
James, the brother = of Jesus, arose from where he was seated with his mother and brothers. He slowly walk= ed to the front of the room, where the risen Master had last addressed us.
He lifted his voice= so as to be heard by everyone. “As you know, I have not been with Jesus as = you have been with him these last few . . . what, three years now, isn’t = it? Yes, for about three years. I neve= r knew him in the way you did. But, from what I can tell, you do not know him as I= do.
“Up until he =
left
For the first time,= I saw how much James resembled the Master. His build was the same; his features w= ere that of a brother, not identical, but similar. The long narrow nose; the large ins= et eyes. One particular mannerism was recognizable. It was the way Jesus held = his head a little to the side when he talked; James did the same. And when James raised his voice to speak, he sounded like him.
“With respect= , I am honored to be here. I have seen the empty tomb, held his grave clothes. I’ve been so slow to believe.”
Many of us nodded in understanding.
“I miss him .= . .” James looked at the ceiling, as though seeking Heaven for strength. “Ha-Shem, I don’t know how to put my words together,” he prayed softly.
He looked at us, on= e after another, while saying, “At first, when I discovered the burial cloth,= I thought you had moved his body or hidden it somewhere, or that the soldiers= had done something shameful so that they wouldn’t have to stand guard over him. I even imagined that perhaps some deranged men had taken the body and destroyed it out of hatred.”
James looked at his= mother, she’d put her hand to her mouth, and then he looked straight at me. I= had wrinkled up my face with sorrow. My heart went out to James.
He continued, still= holding his eyes with mine: “Peter, my denial of him was far worse than yours.”
My face flushed red= and I let the tears flow.
James cleared his t= hroat and looked around the room. He didn’t speak for a few moments. I knew= he was trying to keep from crying.
When he felt more c=
omposed
and the room had remained silent, he said, “I must tell you, Jesus is=
not
the same person with whom I grew up. I never saw him perform miracles as you
have. He changed after he left
“I’d he=
ard
about his miracles and sayings from people passing through
“You’ve= seen him alive again. You’ve touched him. Is he the same? I hear he passes through walls as easily as he walked on water.
“These past t= hree years, Jesus knew I didn’t approve of him. I saw but didn’t acc= ept. Was I jealous? Was I just so dull I couldn’t see Ha-Shem’s powe= r shining through his life? When I saw crowds of people hanging on his every wordR= 12;I no longer knew him. I’d lost him. Now, you all are feeling as though you’ve lost him.
“But have we = lost him? If so, nothing makes sense about his life. And, tell me, how much has = he changed? The risen Jesus, is he the same person he was before? How has he changed?”
Several made commen= ts to each other. I sat quietly, rapt in attention.
James crossed his a= rms over his chest. He looked at John. He said, “John, you were devoted to you= r rabbi. You followed close behind him after he was arrested. You witnessed the Sanhedrin’s verdict against him. You stayed close by when the chief priests beat him. You took care of our mother, and even stood with her besi= de his cross of suffering hell. You are the only man I know, including those in th= is room, who watched him die. You helped bury him. You heard news of his missi= ng body and so went there to see for yourself. You’ve seen him alive, al= ong with these others. Tell me, you who have been more a brother to him than any man here, tell me, is my brother the same man you helped to bury?”
This brother of Jes= us was not only a man of learning; he was a reader of people. In less than a week,= he had studied us.
“He looks som= ewhat different,” John replied.
“What do you = mean?” James asked.
“His appearan= ce has changed a little. He looks like a brother to himself—similar, but not exactly= the same. He’s better to look at than he was,” John smiled sheepish= ly when he said this.
Philip spoke up. &#= 8220;His voice is the same, his manner, the way he gestures, those kinds of things a= re the same. His face had been so marred; perhaps his own healing has made him look different.
James made a face a= s though what they’d said about his brother’s appearance intrigued him. = He paced a little and pulled on his beard. “I am interested in something= far more vital.” He looked from face to face, the way Jesus used to do. He said, “What is more obvious? What is the biggest change you’ve = all seen?”
“He bears the scars of torture.”
James looked toward= s the voice who had spoken. It was John.
“I didn’= ;t know,” James replied. He stood still and looked at the floor.
No one added anythi= ng else. James said, “That only proves what I am about to say. Think about the= fact that Jesus has overcome death. Death couldn’t hold him. There is now a person who walks about and can appear and disappear. He is no longer a norm= al man, is he? Not a ghost, as he declared and you all agreed after touching him and eating with him. Not an angel—he was born from that woman sitting over there.”
Our eyes found Miri= am, his mother.
“Who is he ex= actly? Do you know?” James paced as he spoke; he put his hands behind his ba= ck.
At this, I glanced = at Andrew. He returned my look. We both knew what the other was thinking. When= speaking to a group of listeners, James’ mannerisms and way of speaking were l= ike Jesus’.
“Listen carefully,” he = said. “Jesus conquered death. Death! He raised dead people, you say. But who raised him? Jesus was dead—his broken body was laid out on a stone sl= ab until the third day after he succumbed to death. Again, who raised him? Who healed his body so that his appearance was better than he’s ever looked befo= re? Tell me, what happened that Life returned to him, when he wasn’t aliv= e to make it happen? Have any of you thought this thing through? Think! Words fr= om Jesus’ mouth brought life and health to people. Whose words brought him to life?”
None of us answered= . He waited a few moments. Then he raised his voice and said, “D= o not be like the enemies of God who put Jesus to death! Look with your eyes, open them! Open your ears now.” He glanced over to his three brothers and = then to the room of eyes glued to him.
Silence filled the = place. He walked over to the table and picked up a leftover piece of bread. He hel= d it up and said, “There is glory in Jesus, the Jesus we have all known. Y= ou have seen glimpses of his glory through his words and miracles. Once he tur= ned this much bread into enough to feed a multitude. Once he claimed to be Bread from heaven. What kind of words are these? I had thought he was crazy. I kn= ow better now. Do you?”
He put the piece of= bread down and took a deep breath, and exhaled. He said, “I myself will not= eat bread again until I see him alive. Now, he has become my Bread from heaven.= I pray he knows this or I will die of starvation. You see, I am depending upon his knowledge of this.
“I have come = to a vital conclusion. You see, I have been listening to you talk about him. I h= ave searched Heaven to understand, to really accept what I need to accept. I believe now= . I don’t understand, but I believe. I believe in him, and that he is bot= h my brother and my Lord.”
Slowly, he took a f= ew steps back and forth in front of us. “There is a scribe in this ci= ty who knows who he is,” James said. “We have been searching the Scriptures together. We’ve discussed what we know and what we donR= 17;t know. Like me, he wasn’t with Jesus as all of you were. And, believe = me, I know how unworthy I am to make judgments here. I have not seen the things you’ve seen, nor have I witnessed his many, amazing miracles as you h= ave. I never saw my brother speak to a raging storm and then watch wind and waves obey him. I never saw dead people come to life because of his word, or see demons flee at his command. I wish I had seen these things. Believe me, with all my heart, I wish I had seen . . .”
James quit pacing a= nd crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at the floor. We could see that = he was fighting back emotions.
He looked up at me. “I didn’t know who he was. My new friend, Simon, the one Jesus surely believes in so much he’s renamed you Peter, the rock—ple= ase, you must realize—we have all let him down. Many of you are ready to go home; many of you have wondered what Jesus has accomplished. He taught you things regarding the future. I’ve been listening to you. But you are = at a loss as to what to do now.
“When he retu= rns, will it be in the clouds of Heaven? His words, right? Yet, he lives; he app= ears and disappears. What does this mean? He should be dead, but he is not. How = is that possible? You believe he is the Messiah, but the Messiah sets up his kingdom forever. Was he the Messiah or not? Better to say, Is he the Messia= h?
Several voices shou= ted out: “He is!” and “Yes!”
He looked around th= e room. “You must remember something important. You are here because he arranged it. Thi= s is not what it seems. This is not a place in which to hide, nor is it a place = you should all be hoping to flee from. This place was hand picked by Jesus for = you, for his purposes; just as each one of you were hand picked by him, for his purposes. You talk like you know him. I wonder, do you? We are all in this together, but you do not truly know him.”
Shaking his head, J= ames returned to his place and settled himself on the floor beside his brothers.= The other James, the son of Zebedee, said to him, “Tell us why you think = we don’t know him. He is the Messiah, you’ve heard us say so. We k= now him and we love him; we will do whatever he asks of us.”
“No, no you d= o not know him. You do not know what you need to know.”
“We know enough!” Nathanael said.
James looked at him. “Then tell me why I haven’t heard any of you pray to him.”= ;
Silence.
I remembered that J= esus had said, in this room, that whenever we would pray to him, he would answer. Ja= mes had never heard him say that. But, it was true; Jesus had told us that we should pray to him.
Raising his voice, = Philip said, “We have prayed to the God of our Fathers.”
James went to his k= nees and said, “Jesus is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The name of Jesu= s is the same name of the One we call ‘Ha-Shem’ – The-Name.
“He is the on= e of whom Isaiah called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Pri= nce of Peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end. Upon the throne of David and over His kingdom, to order it and establish it with judgment and justice from that time forward, even forever. The zeal of= the Lord of hosts will perform this.”
All of us now looke= d at James with shock and respect. His words, if true, held astounding ramifications. It was hard not to think his words were blasphemous. Hadn’t Jesus been crucified because of blasphemy? He had paid the pri= ce for telling the truth about himself. How could we deny what he had died for= ? If we did, we would deny him. We would be living a lie.
But could we really= say these things about Jesus, our own beloved Rabbi? We lived with him, ate with him, and experienced the base things humans face when thrown together. Jesu= s was just like us, a man who felt the same things we felt; but he was unlike us, too. James was right.
Philip exclaimed, &= #8220;Jesus said, ‘Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father i= s in me.’ On the night of our Passover meal, Jesus had said this to me aft= er I had asked him, ‘Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.’”
John said, “H= e told us that he would not leave us as orphans—and that he would come to us. And he has come, in a body that was changed. Jesus does not need a door to = come into our midst! He is the Lord!”
Miriam, Jesus’ mother, knelt on the floor beside James, her son. Soon, the entire room knelt—all except Thomas who sat on the floor.
Then the place was =
filled
with voices at prayer, voices speaking directly to Jesus, voices praying to=
the
Father in Jesus’ name. We asked Jesus what we should do. We asked him=
to
show us whether we should leave or stay in
Susanna began to si= ng. We joined her and we worshipped and our hearts began to fill with joy. I thoug= ht I heard the Lord’s voice, but then, it must have been James’. Jes= us had surely answered our prayers; we all felt hope.
After Jesus’ =
brothers
and a few others had left us early that evening, while we were preparing to=
eat
the little food we had left, Zebedee came to the door, having used the outer
staircase from the street. Andrew quickly brought him in and locked the bol=
t in
place behind him. Once inside, Zebedee began handing out loaves of bread and
wrapped packages of fish and other foods. He asked for his two sons. When t=
hey
joined him, he said, “Have you eaten? Eat now, but tomorrow, you must
leave
James, the brother = of John, threw his arms around his father.
Zebedee kissed both= of his sons on their cheeks and said, “We can hide many of you in a caravan = that leaves tomorrow. Come home. The sea will help heal your hearts.”
I jumped at the wor= ds. Zebedee’s suggestion to his own sons was just what I longed to hear. I invited my former fishing partne= r to come all the way inside, and to sit at table with us. When seated, Zebedee began to unfold his plan of escape that would certainly work. I said, ̶= 0;If only we knew what Jesus would tell us to do. I long to be on my boat at sea, but that’s hardly what the Lord wants I’m sure.”
Miriam, the mother = of Jesus, overheard this. She leaned over me, while pouring wine in our cups, and sai= d, “Perhaps your heart wants the same thing that Jesus’ heart wants.”
I shrugged my shoul= ders, unsure of how to answer her. Miriam smiled at me, and softly added, “Even the smallest of things that delight God’s creatures, delight him as well.= Jesus said this to me often, from the time that he was quite young.”
John looked at his = father. “Do you remember Jesus’ mother? She is to come into our home no= w, because of his dying wish.”
Miriam, with a surp= rised look at first, nodded at John. “This was what Jesus wanted,” she said. Her face clouded over; likely it was from the memory of her dying son’s words being spoken from the cross.
Even though Jesus&#=
8217;
four brothers had returned to
One of the women wh=
o had
seen the angels in the tomb, overhearing the conversation between myself, Z=
ebedee,
and Miriam, said, “When the angels appeared to us, they told us to gi=
ve
you this message: ‘Tell his disciples and Peter, “Jesus is going
ahead of you into
Then Miriam, the Ma=
gdalene,
perked up and said, “Yes, he said something to me about his going to =
Of course, I though= t, I hadn’t even realized this. Had grief blinded us all?
Just then Jesus app= eared in our midst.
“Shalom be wi= th you,” he said. Raising = his hands in half greeting, half blessing, he glanced happily around at us. = 220;His eyes seemed like seas of love but almost playful. I’d seen that look = many times before.
His garment was a s= oft, brilliant white that fell short at the ankles; it was not the course weave = but some other unearthly one. He wore no sandals. His feet were bare and scarre= d. His reaching hand was also scarred= . It was him! It was Jesus, our beloved Master and friend. And, he was glorious = in our eyes.
We froze in our pla= ces and many gasped or cried out in gladness. And as we adjusted to his presence, J= esus found a man with his eyes; he said, “Thomas.”
With the man’= s name on his lips, Jesus’ smile had disappeared, replaced by a look of compassion. As he moved toward Thomas, he held out his right hand, saying, “Put your finger here; see my hands.”
“Oh!” T= homas croaked, while covering his mouth with both of his hands.
“Here, reach = out your hand and put it into my side.”
Thomas fell to his = knees and watched Jesus draw closer to him. Everyone in the room watched, touched= in our hearts by what was unfolding.
Jesus stood in fron= t of our stricken friend, opened his garment to the sash tied at his waist, and reve= aled a large, pinkish mark—it was a scar over his heart. “Stop doubt= ing and believe,” he said firmly.
Thomas cried out, &= #8220;My Lord and my God!”
With love, Jesus to= uched the top of his head, a gentle hand, a loving gesture. As he covered himself again, he said, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed= are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”
He turned and many = of us parted as he walked through our group. He looked with love at certain ones while he passed by, touching a head, a shoulder, grasping a hand, kissing a cheek. <= /p>
At this sight, I dr= opped to my knees with Thomas. And, again, that same day, all of us in the room knel= t to him—only this time, he stood in our midst.
Jesus loved us with= the warmest expression. His eyes stayed on his mother for some time, even though her head was bowed. He said, “Blessed one.” She looked up. He smiled and said to her, “I will.” Her face beamed in response.<= /p>
Then to the others,= he said, “You all know me. But soon the Holy Spirit will write my words = on your hearts; he will take what is mine and he will give it to you. In that = day, you will understand that I abide in you, and you abide in me. Remember the things I have already told you.”
He looked at Zebede=
e and
his sons, James and John, who were on either side of their father. He smile=
d at
them and said, “I will see you in
John reached out and touched Jesus on his arm. Jesus leaned towards him and kissed his cheek, he= said, “Remember the mountain, John.”
And then he found m= e and kissed my cheek. I was trembling. He whispered in my ear, “Peter, go fishing.”
Looking around, he = said, “Love one another, just as I love you. Shalom to you all.”
A moment later, he = was gone.
We became small chi= ldren, full of excitement. Our Master’s tender knowledge and even his reprim= and directed at one of us did nothing but make us giddy with amazement.
The mystery of our =
risen
Master burned passionately in our hearts. No, we could not grasp the reality
involved. We knew only this: Jesus told us to leave
Early the next morn=
ing, I
went to
I knew he wanted to= see the Lord, and why Jesus had come to us shortly after he had left, I couldn̵= 7;t guess.
When we reached
Lazarus’ property, we found him alone in the stable, the double doors
opened. He was arranging things on their donkey. I exclaimed, “James,=
are
you leaving
He turned to me. I hadn’t come all the way inside yet. We weren’t close enough to greet one another with kisses. He saw his mother beside me and exclaimed, “Do you want to come with us?” He began pulling off sacks he’d just attached to the beast.
“Where are yo= u going, Son?” she asked.
“Home,”= he answered. He turned to me. “Where are you going?”
“Home,”=
I
answered, adding, “
“Of course,&#=
8221; he
said. “We are going to
He looked at his mo=
ther then
and said, “Mother, are you going to
She replied, “= ;Have you seen Jesus?”
He dropped the clut= ched sacks in his hands to the ground. “No. Have you?”
“Yes, he came= to us after you left.”
He looked at me the= n. “You are not telling me this. No, you are not.” He shook his he= ad. “I can’t believe it.” His voice had an edge to it. “= ;When did he come to you? What did he say?”
I felt sorry for hi= m, but I couldn’t help myself, I grinned and said, “He told me to go fis= hing.”
James’ eyes n= arrowed. “He did?”
“He said many= other things to us. But to me, he said what I longed to hear.”
Miriam said, “= ;My dear, don’t lose heart. He promised me something about you.”
“What?”=
She smiled. “= Jesus said, ‘I will’ in reply to my prayer.”
“And what was= your prayer?”
“That he will= appear to you.”
“I haven̵= 7;t seen him, but thank you.”
“James, it wa= s as though he’d been in the room with us all day long. I think he was, in fact. We just can’t see him.”
James nodded though= tfully.
“He heard our prayers,” I added.
“I believe th= at,” James replied. “He is Ha-Shem.”
“What made yo= u decide to return home at this time?” Miriam asked.
“I think it’s for the
best,” he said. “I have so much I want to learn and
“I will have =
to find a
way to support us. I don’t know, I believe everything will work out. I
want to be here in
“I planned to= stop and tell you all of this, on our way out of the city.”
“The opposite=
way
home,” Miriam said, “unless you are planning to go through “No. Do you want to come with=
us or
stay with Jesus’ disciples?” Miriam smiled and s=
aid,
“I will go to “Truly?”=
; James
replied, looking at her and then at me. I nodded and said, =
“Yes,
according to his words. Now then, will you travel with us as far as you can=
?” “Of course, b=
ut first
I must go to Judah, the It was agreed then.=
James and
his brothers would travel with us until they took to the northwest road fro=
m Beth
Shean in the direction of James I rushed to “ “I need to sp=
eak to
him,” I said. “This matter is urgent. What should I do?”<=
/p>
“Knock.” His expression
mocked me. I’d hoped the young man would help me. He walked away. I knocked. Nothing.=
I
knocked again. Finally, the door opened. It was “James, is so=
mething
wrong?” He asked softly. “We are all l=
eaving He leaned his head =
towards
me. “Lower your voice.” I did so, but it wa=
s hard.
I was out of my element: I felt rushed and nervous. “I plan to return
with my family for the Feast. I want to live here and will be glad to work =
with
you upon my return.” “I am blessed=
to hear
this,” he said. “Listen,̶=
1; I
said, “I knew you would want to know something important: Jesus has
appeared again to the disciples and has instructed them to go to “All of the d=
isciples
are going?” “Yes, I will =
meet
them at Lazarus’ house within the hour. We leave from I heard his voice i=
n the
room: “Forgive me. I cannot explain fully just now. A matter of great
concern has arisen, about what we’ve been discussing. Rabban, Sir, fo=
rgive
me. I will return with information, before the next feast. I will work as I
promised while I’m gone. Do I have your permission to leave?”
“This is high=
ly
unlike you, Judah. But, go, yes, go.” The old man’s voice was l=
oud
and stern. I laughed. “Y=
es, but
do I have a choice? And, He laughed louder t=
han me
but then abruptly stopped and said, “What made you say such an astoun=
ding
thing?” “I will tell =
you
later, when we have more time and privacy.” We had drawn severa=
l stares
from men in the temple courts, I said, “We can stop by your house for=
a
few of your things. We have just enough time.” “I have a
camel,” he said. “But he is stabled away from here. Or, I could
borrow a horse.” I shook my head.
“It’s a long trek to “I will walk =
then,”
he replied. “This is my redemption—my chance to see Jesus and h=
is
disciples. I hadn’t dreamed of this possibility. James, you have no i=
dea
how elated I am. There were other chances for me before, with Jesus, but I =
wasn’t
ready. I regretted that I’d not gone with him a couple of times. I sw=
ore
to myself that I would be ready the next time the opportunity arose. But it
never did, James, it never did. Except once, but it was too late for me the=
n. Jesus
told me to stay in We walked briskly a=
long.
When we arrived at his door, he said, “I want so much to see him
again.” I replied, “Y=
es, so do
I.” We were in I spied some figs a=
nd
helped myself to them. They were in one of the boxes being loaded. “M=
ay
I?” I asked Miriam, Lazarus’ sister. They were theirs and they =
were
going with us as well. “Yes, here, take this too.” She handed me
two cooked eggs and bread. I refused the bread=
and
thanked her for the other food. My mother watched us and came up to me. She
said, “Good, you are eating. I prayed for you to break your fast.R=
21; I replied, “I=
t seems
wrong to fast right now. And, besides, I won’t make it in those hills=
if
I don’t eat something. But I will not break my oath—I will not =
eat
bread—not until I myself see Jesus risen from the dead.” Other disciples arr=
ived
with a second group, those with my uncle Cleopas, and his wagons. Altogethe=
r,
the number, including women, and our relatives, were well over forty.
Considering the happenings of the previous weeks, our traveling group was an
exuberant one, filled with hope and expectation. Part II The Commissi=
on Chapter Seven John After an early brea=
kfast in
Beth Shean we blessed the brothers of Jesus and Cleopas, his wife, and their
other aunt, as they parted from our company. Joses and I had figured
they’d arrive in I looked up to her =
and
said, “Mother, do you need anything?” She smiled at me.
“No, Son. Don’t worry about me now. Talk to your new brother, go
away from this noise.” She was right. It w=
as hard
to talk to someone when walking near the wagon. I noticed she called me
“Son” and Judah my “brother” and I had just called =
her
“Mother”— it felt good, it felt right. Jesus had said his
Kingdom was a family—with spiritual brothers, sisters, mothers; yes, =
now
I truly felt it. Judah and I slowed our pace and fou=
nd
space to walk where it was much quieter. He said, “John, James has to=
ld
me so much about you.” “Which James,=
my
brother or the Master’s brother?” “Jesus’
brother.” “Is that so? =
I would
have guessed you meant my brother—now that man really knows me!”=
; I
laughed. “Besides, “I do, and I =
will
write things down about him.” “You are a sc=
ribe, a “I am.”=
“You have a b=
ig job
ahead of you. Jesus taught during a lot his waking hours it seemed, and he =
did
many signs and wonders. Our heads and hearts couldn’t grasp it all. He
would sometimes get impatient with us—we were slow to understand him.=
We
often thought literally when he spoke symbolically and we thought symbolica=
lly
when he spoke literally. He should have chosen scribes like you, not fisher=
men
and the likes of us. ” “I used to th=
ink the
same. It was one of the many reasons I thought so little of him. In my view=
, he
was no rabbi at all. He had no formal training, no one he could say taught =
him.
To be a rabbi, you must have been someone’s disciple. Who had been his
mentor?” “He went to s=
chool in
“Not enough. =
I was
shocked by the disciples he chose—they were far from the kind of stud=
ents
we have in We both laughed. I said, “I=
217;m
glad to be away from “As time pass=
es,
you’ll feel differently.” “Those words =
give me
no comfort,” I replied with a frown. “I understand=
,”
“Yes,” =
I said,
“In fact, I thought that a few minutes ago. You are a brother to me
because of Rabbi Jesus, now we have a spiritual bond—you and
I—because of him.” “I know the p=
lace.
Andrew and I spent a few days with him there.” “When was
that?” “After we met=
him; a
month or so after John baptized him. About three years ago. What about
you?” “It was before Jesus had disc=
iples;
right before his baptism.” Looking off in the distance, he continued,
“What if I would have been his first one? No, no, it would never have
worked. I was too proud. And, he was too outspoken. We clashed like fire and
ice.” Then I remembered. =
“I
was there!” I exclaimed, “Yes, I remember you. You’d come=
on
a camel. After you spoke to John I watched you take off your Sanhedrin mant=
le
and headpiece and strip down to undergarments. I was amazed to see someone =
like
you baptized—quite unusual. I was John’s disciple then.” =
“You were?=
221; “Yes, and so =
was Simon
and Andrew.” “Perhaps that=
’s
why Jesus chose you.” “Andrew and I=
were
the first to follow the Master months before he asked us to be his
disciples.” “I see. Where=
were
you when you first followed him?” “I was at the=
“He did?” “Tell me what
happened on the night of Passover? Specifically, did Jesus tell you he was a
‘Passover lamb?’ This was what Jesus’ mother said he call=
ed
himself when he prepared her for what would happen to him.” “The Passover lamb, not =
a
Passover lamb,” I said. “There’s a difference.” “Well noted,&=
#8221; “Tell me ever=
ything
about that night,” he said. “If I were to=
tell
you everything, and if you were to write it all down, I wonder how many boo=
ks
would be written. “He held me. =
“It was his l=
ast
night with us. He was only a couple of hours away from his sufferings and I
leaned on him for comfort. And he held me.” We walked on. Perhaps Jesus would=
come
soon, and then no books would need to be written. Jesus would set up his
kingdom and reign, the eternal Messiah, the Son of David. Would it be soon?=
My heart refused to=
accept
the truth, but my mind knew better. Jesus had said so many things to us abo=
ut
the future. He spoke often of his “return” and he gave us signs=
to
watch for, signs in the earth and in the heavens. But how long would we hav=
e to
wait? Over and over he had told us that he was going away. But he always
comforted us, always, he comforted us. I missed him. I couldn’t wait =
to
get to our mountain. Our mountain! When =
he last
appeared to us in the Upper Room, he had mysteriously said to me, “Re=
member
the mountain, John.” Surely, he wanted t=
o come
to us there. Our mountain was “our place”—of course! He
missed not only us, but that beautiful hill. It was our favorite place in t=
he world.
We’d hike high above the pressing crowds for he allowed the people to
come up the slope only so far. The summit was ours=
alone.
We sat at his feet, like all disciples do—he on a boulder and we on t=
he
grass or on blankets during the cold months. It was a heavenly school room,
where the sun shone brightly; and on hot days, the breeze there was coolest=
than
anywhere else. On rainy or frigid days, we’d pack into Simon’s
house, but those days were not as peaceful as our days on the mount. And, then, there we=
re the countless
miles of travel, talking and listening to him the entire time. So many desp=
erate
people would stop him, and he would always comply—healing and teachin=
g anyone
who came to him. He belonged to everyone—he wasn’t just our rab=
bi.
This set him apart from all other rabbis we’d known. Like John the
Baptist, Jesus drew But, like the mountaintop, some thi=
ngs
were for us only. It was where he taught us the ways of the Kingdom. On that
summit, he called the twelve of us by name, chosen especially to be his clo=
sest
companions, his apostles—which meant ‘messengers’. On that summit, he =
prayed
alone, sometimes all night. We would stay near him and wait. He often wante=
d us
to be near him, unless we had a mission to do. One day, on that su=
mmit, he
called us to gather before him and he gave unique words of blessings to each
man. On that summit, mon=
ths
later, he acted the part of a commander before his troops. He gave us instr=
uction,
warning, and encouragement—for he sent us out then—to minister =
without
him. He paired us up—“John and Philip,” he said, “y=
ou
two go to Sepphoris. Nathanael and Judas, you two go to Nain.” And so=
on.
Then, he raised his hands over us and he gave us authority to drive out dem=
ons,
to preach in his name, and to do the works he did. Many days later, when we=
reunited
with him, it was on that summit. Oh, we had stories to report—healings
performed, demons driven out, our words had the same power as his. And he
rejoiced. He laughed and cried out and wept. He was delighted in us. And, here we were n=
ow, on
our way home to
Judah and I had been
stepping along without speaking for some time. I suddenly turned to him and
blurted out, “Oh, bless Ha-Shem for that mountain!
That night, under a= clear heaven bright with stars, we set up our camp next to the lake. I missed Jes= us so much, especially now that we’d come to the shoreline. I was one of= the first to crawl into my blankets, while others were still mulling around. I wanted to be alone, alone with my thoughts about Jesus.
I decided to pray t= o him, just as we had done as a group in the Upper Room. Why not? Would he hear me? Did I need to speak the words loud enough, as though he were beside me? Or, could I let the words be as thoughts towards him? I didn’t know. He o= ften prayed without speaking. I watched him close his eyes. I would see his face change expressions—as though in a conversation. Yet his lips wouldn’t move.
Jesus, Lord, can you hear me? I never told this to your face. I love
you. I love you as a brother. I love you as a disciple, like
Lord? If you heard me, give me a sign. But don’t be angry tha=
t I
asked you for a sign. I know how you sometimes despised that. I need to kno=
w,
Lord, can you hear me?
Just then I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. I jumped. It was Miriam, Jesus’ mother. I truly had thought for that instant, it was Jesus. My heart raced.=
She said, “Jo= hn, I startled you and didn’t mean to do that. But I’ve come to you n= ow because when Jesus was a boy, even sometimes during his adult years, he wou= ld let me bless him before he went to sleep. I would recite a Scripture to him= and then bless him. May I do that for you?”
Stunned, I whispere= d, “Yes.”
Her hand was still = on my shoulder and, from memory, she recited:
“O Lord, You have searched me and
known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thou=
ght
afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with=
all
my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue, but behold, O Lord, You know=
it
altogether. You have hedged me behind and before. And laid Your hand on me.=
“Such knowledge is too wonderful=
for
me; it is high, I cannot attain it. Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or whe=
re
can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there. If I
take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me.̶=
1;[10]=
“John, I bles= s you in the name of your Father in heaven, and in the beauty of that love, I bless = you and this night. Amen.”
Then she leaned dow= n and kissed my forehead and said, “I love you and Jesus does, too. Good ni= ght, Son.”
I could hardly spea= k but somehow I managed to say, “Bless you. Good night.”
Miriam smiled at me= and left.
I looked up to Heav= en, into the black expanse filled with stars and I whispered, “Good night, Lor= d.”
Joses
As we passed throug= h the village before ours, an amazing thing happened. It wasn’t so surprisi= ng that now people recognized us and turned away with scowls. It wasn’t so st= range to watch a man quickly dodge away or step behind something so as not to meet any of our eyes. It wasn’t so odd to see people bend and whisper in e= ach other’s ears. It wasn’t the shaking heads or pointing fingers. = No, it was James.
At every encounter,= and nearly without stopping, once we entered that village, James shouted to one, and to all:
“My brother, =
Jesus,
my brother, the prophet—the holy man, the Son of Man, he lives! Yes,
it’s true. He was hung on a cross to die, and buried in a tomb—=
and
he has risen! He’s alive! The Son of God, my brother, he lives! Do not
pity us! He has overcome death! Come to
And then he would r=
epeat
the chant. “My brother, Jesus, my brother, the prophet, he’s the
Son of Man. He lives. He is the Son of David. Jesus has overcome the grave!=
Do
no pity us! He was dead but now he is alive. Come to
At first Cleopas tr= ied to stop him, but it was too late. The horse was a runaway. Simon and Jude took= up with the proclamations and so James let up a little, but only to answer questions being thrown at him as we continued on.
Who was this new Ja= mes? I couldn’t help it, I began to laugh. Not out loud, I worked hard to suppress it. But then Salome and Miriam saw me, and they started to laugh. Cleopas chided us.
But then a man came= up to Cleopas and said, “You are mad! Your family is crazy! Beelzebub has adopted the house of Joseph! And Cleopas called out, “I have seen Jes= us myself and broke bread with him on the very day he walked out of his tomb! = And, you say that is the work of Beelzebub. Man, I pity you!”
Then he turned arou= nd and saw his wife and me staring at him wide-eyed, and he returned a huge toothl= ess grin, and began to laugh with us and to shout along with James.
People followed us.=
They pulled
on our clothes to get our attention. Everyone was shouting. There began to =
be a
riot. By the time we came to
When we first arriv= ed, James went directly to the rabbi’s house and then gave him a thirty-minute = talk about some of what had happened since Passover. Because our old Rabbi knew James and that he was a man of his word, the Rabbi was convinced that somet= hing miraculous had happened. While they talked, a crowd of people surrounded the house and waited for James to come out.
Someone had thought= to ring the alarm bells and others blew shofars.
There was no time, = no quiet place, to find out how our sisters, Anna and Elise, had learned the news or what they knew. In the midst of all the excitement, Simon and Jude took the lead in setting things up. Our wives, children, cousins, and relations came with everyone else to the synagogue to hear what James had to say.
Our own children we=
re
glassy-eyed and our older women of the village took care of them for us, but
not in the home of Joseph, not in James’ home, no, because what this
meant is that our dreaded reunion happened here, out in the open, close to =
the
synagogue. Our own wives and children came with the others in the village. =
There
had been no time to talk with them before this, no opportunity to go home.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> When I first saw my wife, I embrac=
ed her
in front of neighbors and strangers. It was not the sad greeting she had ex=
pected,
knowing I’d be coming home from
“What did you= hear about Jesus?” I asked her. I had to speak close to her ear because of= the noisy crowd.
“That he was arrested, tried, tortured and crucified.”
“How are the = children taking the news?”
“Not good; th= is has been the worse time in our lives. Without you here, it has been . . . ”
But then I interrup= ted her. “Jesus is alive!” I exclaimed. “I will tell you everything soon. I have so much to tell you.” She was dazed by my news, which I’d grown more accustomed to—and she looked at James and our Ra= bbi to hear more.
James started the m= eeting. People were sitting, and many were standing, but all were waiting. The crow= d hushed. New arrivals had become a trickle and our Rabbi stood up in front of everyo= ne; James stood at his side. Cleopas was seated in the front until James motioned for= him to stand up right beside him and face the gathering.
“As you all k=
now by
now,” James began, “Justice in
They quieted. ̶= 0;Like many of you, I also questioned my brother’s claims—claims that have = now killed him. But that was not the end—his claims were justified. He has risen from the dead! Many have seen him. Our mother has seen him.”
“Where is she= , that we may hear her testimony?!” a man shouted.
“She is with = his disciples. But Cleopas here, my uncle, whom you know, has seen him and has spoken with him.”
Cleopas nodded vehe= mently. James said, “Uncle, tell these people what happened on the day after = the Sabbath, the third day after Jesus was killed and buried.”
Cleopas looked at J= ames, mortified to be chosen to give the news in detail.
“Go on,”= ; James encouraged him, “but speak loud enough for everyone to hear. Just remember Jesus and his words. Do this for him.”
Cleopas glanced at = his wife, who nodded a gesture of her support, and then he began.
“What James h= as said is true. Many have seen him, not just me; all of his disciples have seen hi= m. My wife has seen him.”
Someone called out, “Maybe he wasn’t dead!”
But after hearing t= he man’s suggestion, Cleopas grew in front of us. He straightened up. His old chest = came forward, his chin lifted. He raised his right arm to the crowd. “How = many here were at the crucifixion? How many saw our Son, the son of our village, endure the tortures of hell that were thrust upon him?”
A few hands went up= . A youth, perhaps a boy of thirteen, wept and clung to his father.
“To be sure, = he was dead. Eyewitnesses watched a soldier thrust his spear into his heart to make sure.”
Someone called out, “Spare the children!”
Another shouted, &#= 8220;We know he died. Tell us, if he is alive, where is he?”
Another shouted, &#= 8220;Is he a spirit?”
The Rabbi called ou= t, “Quiet!”
James answered them. “I found the burial linen that had been wrapped around him. His body = was gone. Therefore, he is no spirit. Please, Uncle, tell these good people what you’ve seen and heard.”
Cleopas said, ̶=
0;A fellow
merchant I knew asked if I would accompany him to Emmaus, seven miles west =
of
The crowd murmured.= But my uncle only raised his voice, “My wife was with Miriam, Jesus’ mother. The house where we stayed was full of sorrow. I was with Jesus̵= 7; disciples, she was with Miriam. I longed to escape. And so, I agreed, we wo= uld leave the next morning.
“But on the d= ay I was to travel to Emmaus, before I left the house, our women came to us with the news they’d seen angels in Jesus’ sepulcher and that his body w= as gone. The angels told them that Jesus had risen on the third day, just as he had told them he would. Two of his disciples ran to the grave and found the tomb empty. They returned to us saying so. The women left us after telling = us their news. Except for my wife, she stayed with our Miriam.
Then I left for Emm= aus with my friend. As we were discussing all these things I’ve described, a stranger drew near and, overhearing us, asked, “What kind of conversa= tion is this between you and why are you so sad?”
“I couldnR=
17;t
believe he hadn’t heard about all that had happened in
“Then the man= said, ‘O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken! Ought not the Messiah to have suffered these things and to ent= er into his glory?’ And beginning at Moses and all the Prophets, he expounded to us in all the Scriptures the things concerning the Messiah.
“When we came= to Emmaus, he acted as if he would continue further down the road. We didnR= 17;t want to leave him and so we told him not to go on for it was too late. We a= sked him if he would stay with us and he agreed.
“When we sat = together at the table for our evening meal, he took the bread in his hands and bless= ed and broke it, then gave it to us. At that moment we recognized him, and just when we did, he vanished.”
This created a stir= among the people and we could see that some thought Cleopas was telling a far-fet= ched tale, but some also believed.
Our Rabbi raised hi= s hand and quieted everyone again. Cleopas said, “I’ve told you the tr= uth. What’s more, my heart burned within me while Jesus spoke to us along = the way. It was as though the Scriptures were opened to me like never before. E= ven though he had changed somewhat in appearance, he bears the scars from his torture. When he reached out to us, to give us the bread, we saw the marks = from the nails, and the way he blessed and broke the bread, we knew without doub= t, it was him.
“We rushed ba= ck to tell the disciples. And when we arrived there, we heard that Jesus had also appeared to Simon, one of his closest men. As we were excitedly discussing these things, suddenly, Jesus appeared in the room. We all touched him. And= he ate the leftovers of their meal. He is alive, I tell you.”
At this last testim= ony of Cleopas’, nearly everyone believed. The passion in his voice and the = way his eyes filled with tears when he told of how they touched Jesus, it would= be hard not to believe him.
James
We answered the
people’s questions for nearly three hours after my uncle’s
testimony. I explained to them that Jesus had told his disciples he would s=
ee
them in
When it had grown l=
ate, I
stood up and announced: “The day after tomorrow we will travel to
“If you go to=
The night ended and=
only a
few doubted our news. I was relieved the rabbi believed. I led
In the stable, I sa=
w the heap
of our things in a pile. Simon and Jude had probably brought them here. I
quickly found the scrolls from
Upon our arrival, m=
ost of
our things had been scattered on the ground by the synagogue—the tents
had been hastily pulled out and laid down. After the meeting ended, people =
from
the other village went home or found shelter in
As for the family of
Joseph, even before our return, they had reunited in the old house. Since a=
ll of
our men had gone from it to the feast of Passover, only our women and child=
ren
had remained behind and they were together when they received the news abou=
t Jesus.
My sisters’ husbands were away on a job, having been hired by
I found Rebekkah in= our old bedchamber, which, after we had moved out, had become Jesus’ room, and after he left, had been empty. It was far into the house, two stories up. We embraced and whispered for awhile, but I was too tired to stay awake. Her a= rms and my bed brought on such peace, I passed out within minutes.
The next day was fu= ll of preparations. Bekkah and I walked away from all the activity and found a qu= iet place to talk. We went to the winepress. We sat down on the flat rocks of t= hat hillside and found peace. The area was off limits for the hewing of stones = and people rarely went there except during the wine-pressing festivities. It had been agreed upon by our forefathers long ago that the area be left for the production of wine-making and for the better good of our village.
I knew Bekkah was a= nxious to hear what had happened in more detail, especially what pertained to me. = But I didn’t know how to begin. So much had happened. I’d learned my brother was equal to Ha-Shem and this was all mystery to me. He wasn’t with us or far from us, but where he was I couldn’t say.
Then there was the =
heavy regret
I still felt from deserting him, and how could I explain my hope for someth=
ing
new and perfect that surely awaited us in
“They will go= away disappointed,” I replied, “as will I.”
I wondered if she d= oubted most of what I’d said. If I were her, I would have put up a fit. I re= plied, “If he doesn’t choose to show himself to the people, then it is= his problem. I believe he will. I want to see him there, too! It is my strongest desire right now.
“Bekkah, some= thing took over me when I saw the looks on people’s faces in that village&#= 8212;their rejection hurt. That’s how Jesus must have felt here in his own home town. I wanted to make it up to him. I wanted to make up for my own rejecti= on of him, for everyone’s rejection of him. Suddenly, knowing these were= his people, I started to shout. The words that came out of my mouth surprised m= e as much as anyone.”
She replied, “=
;So
after
I looked at her the=
n, my
beautiful Bekkah, and I said, “How would you like to live in
She smiled. “= All right then.”
I told her about
Many people in
At the end of the d=
ay, I
returned to a quiet house. Everyone had gone to bed. How do you act normal =
when
the Messiah was at hand? All of
I remembered I hadn=
’t
packed any tools. I would need them in
Before I knew it, i= t was the middle of the night. I felt extremely hungry and crept quietly into the main rooms—I looked in the pantry, searching for a root vegetable—we always had something, but there was nothing. Everything edible had been pac= ked. I sighed and sat down at the table. Still not ready for bed, still not fully cried out, I laid my head down on folded arms.
I must have been as= leep when Jesus came. I stirred, raised my head, and there he was. He sat beside= me at the table. I don’t know how long he’d been there. I hadnR= 17;t felt his presence—but when I opened my eyes, I was looking into his. = He held the old hammer in his hands. Bread was on the table. He reached for the flat loaf and broke it. He took a morsel in his hand and said, “My brother, eat your bread, because the Son of Man has risen from the dead.= 221;
Numbly, I opened my= mouth and he gave it to me. I chewed and swallowed. He smiled, enjoying the momen= t. Then I reached for him and he reached for me. We kissed each other’s cheeks. We embraced. Clinging to each other, we wept. I don’t know wh= y we didn’t wake everyone.
My nose ran like a = gutter of rainwater pouring down. He handed me a cloth. I don’t know where it came from. It appeared in his hand.
“Jesus,”= ; I said, “will you forgive me?”
“Brother, I f= orgave you before you were born. Besides, your words and deeds of late have stolen= my entire heart.”
“Don’t = leave me, Jesus. Please, don’t go away. Stay.”
“I will never= go away. I will be closer to you than ever before—in a whole new way. Tr= ust me, hmm?”
He put his arm arou= nd me and squeezed, he said, “In Jerusalem, you will understand.”
He picked up his ha= mmer from the table and handed it to me. “Here, take and use this, it’s yours. Join my disciples. You are one of them now. Help them to build my Ki= ngdom. Hmm? Will you do that?”
I nodded. We grinne= d at each other. He looked at the hammer in my hands and I followed his gaze. Wh= en I looked up, he was gone.
Ready to explode wi= th amazement, I wanted to run through the entire house and shout to everyone that Jesus h= ad appeared to me—here, in his own house! Instead, I took the bread he’d given me and I ate it. I cried, and I chewed, and I swallowed. I= had never in my life felt such joy.
Chapter Eight
Daniel
A crowd descended u=
pon Cana
while on their way to
Considering what had
happened to Jesus, whom I’d grown up with in
Our children Jacob = and little Abigail, who had so adored Jesus, felt the pain of grief in palpable ways. Abigail’s bouncy personality changed. Before Jesus’ death, she had been a lamb in the spring, romping, always full of energy, but, sin= ce Passover, she clung to Esther as does a sick child. Jacob questioned me continually about God’s sovereignty. We had our hands full. Esther an= d I mourned for Jesus in our own way—we threw ourselves into work.
It wasn’t onl=
y to
numb ourselves to the pain of such great loss, it was because our family and
business had steadily grown to the point that we had more than we could han=
dle.
Esther’s time was divided with our new child, already two years old, =
whom
we had named Joshua, another Hebrew form of Jesus, and what with Jacob and
Abigail, ages six and ten, our days were filled with activity. After Joshua=
’s
birth, I took over most of Esther’s work with the shop in
Even before we marr=
ied, I
knew she could do amazing things with fabrics. Her efforts at bringing in e=
xtra
income for our family had turned into a trade. Other families in
James found me in t= he shop while the rest of his family waited with Esther at our home. The sound of J= ames’ voice was an arrow of sudden grief; he sounded like Jesus.
“Daniel! Dani= el, where are you? Daniel!” he called to me as he passed the threshold of= the shop and made his way inside through the aisles of piled-up, folded fabric.=
I threw back the cu= rtain that divided the front room from the back. “James! . . . James, I am = . . . I can’t believe what happened . . . Oh, James.” We kissed each other’s cheeks and embraced.
James released me, = nearly pushing me away in excitement. “Daniel, have you heard anything regar= ding Jesus’ body being stolen by the disciples?”
“No! What? Wh= at do you mean?”
“It is a rumo=
r being
spread in
“No, James . . .” At that moment, I heard a crowd passing by the shop. It was the so= und of carts and wagons, quite a few. I peered around James to get a better loo= k. The door was open, and I heard voices shouting. “Come with us! Come a= nd see Jesus, the Messiah!”
“What’s= happening?” I asked.
“It’s a= ll about him, Daniel. Jesus. He has risen from the dead and he is alive. I’ve = seen him!”
“What!?”= ; My heart jumped and I stopped breathing.
“Yes, yes. Co= me, we have no time to spare. Jesus is meeting us, and his disciples expect to see him. He has risen and appeared to them. Angels have appeared to women. Ther= e is so much to tell you. We need to go! I will tell you on the way.”
“What about E= sther and the children?”
“My entire cl= an is with them as we speak. Esther is probably packing up your things. Come, let’s go.” He started walking towards the door, motioning for m= e to hurry. I must have looked a little reluctant but, actually, I was in shock = from the news about Jesus.
He said, “Man=
y from
I locked the door a= nd we set off for my house. On our way, James said, “Daniel, do you remember the scribe who gave you a scroll at the home of Lazarus? It was the day bef= ore Jesus arrived there.”
“Yes, I remem= ber him.”
“Do you have it?”
“Yes, of cour= se. I treasure it. The words the scribe recorded are surely about Jesus. The scri= be cited Scripture, words written by a man I’ve never heard of before. H= e must have been an obscure prophet of historical record. The verses are from the collection of Proverbs with the writings of Solomon. If they are about Jesu= s—then he is not only the Son of Man but also the Son of God. And, James, I had re= ally hoped the words were true. But, then, Jesus was killed.”
“You can be s= ure of it still,” James said.
“You said Jes= us appeared to you. When?”
“Last night, = or, actually, it was this morning—in the middle of the night.”
James said nothing = further, he only smiled. I waited to hear more, but he remained quiet about it.
“What did he = say to you, James?”
“He forgave m= e—which, to me, was the most important thing he said.”
“Please, Jame= s, tell me everything. How did he seem? This is amazing.”
James suddenly lean= ed towards me as we stepped long. He took hold of me around my shoulders as we walked. He said, “Jesus and I . . . it is like this . . . ” He squeezed my shoulders hard, held me close in his arm and said, “We are brothers again.”
He released me. A f=
ew
moments later, he said, “Bless Ha-Shem, Jesus is the Promised One. He=
is
the Son of David, born in
I believed him. Jam= es was a transformed man—touched by the passion of God.
By the time we reac= hed my house, Esther was giving instructions to old Benjamin, our neighbor, about when to feed our goat and chickens. She told him to help himself to the milk and eg= gs.
Abigail was seated = on our donkey, her face alight and ready to go. Jacob was stocking a cart. When we= were nearly ready to leave, James pulled on my sleeve and said, “Daniel, f= ind your scroll quickly, before we leave. I want to set my eyes upon it.”=
With James right on= my heels, I went immediately to the place where I had stored it safely away. I handed it to him and watched him open and read the words on the rolled up p= apyrus.
“The words of Agur the son of Ja= keh, his utterance—this man declared to Ithiel—to Ithiel and Ucal: <= o:p>
&#=
8216;Surely I am more stupid than any man, =
and do
not have the understanding of a man. I neither learned wisdom nor have know=
ledge
of the Holy One.’
“Who has ascended into heaven, or
descended?
Who has gathered the wind in His fists=
?
Who has bound the waters in a garment?=
Who has established all the ends of th=
e earth?
What is His name, and what is His
Son’s name,
If you know?”[11]=
Words penned in a p= lainer hand were in a space below the words of Scripture, which read:
&#= 8220;Ha-Shem, THE NAME, is Jehovah, and means I AM.
Th= e Son’s name is JESUS, and means JEHOVAH SAVES
To= gether, they are: I AM JEHOVAH SAVES”
&#=
8220;This
Son grew up a tender shoot from among his people. He was, as prophecy foret=
old,
a man like Moses—a savior. He came from
&#=
8220;As recorded
here by
James looked up and=
said,
“This is astounding. This is absolutely the most amazing . . . I wond=
er
why
“But these wo= rds, Daniel, are like no other; it is as though Ha-Shem is playing with us, but playing with the wonder of it all—yes, yes, that’s how it seems.”
“It is.”= ; I agreed. “It is as though he waited many generations before anyone wou= ld know the answer to his riddle.”
James looked at me = very seriously and said, “According to the prophet Isaiah, his name is als= o ‘Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, Prince of Peace.’”
For the second time= this morning, I felt my breath leave me.
“James, did y=
ou
notice the scribe wrote his own name as,
“No, I didn&#= 8217;t.”
“I have had m= uch time to consider this scroll,” I said.
James said, “=
This is
“He must be a= learned and wise man,” I said. “Did you say you have been meeting with = him?”
“Yes, a few h= ours spread over a week’s time; although, our meetings pass by too quickly= .”
“I would like= to talk with him some day,” I said.
“God willing,=
you
will see
“Listen,̶= 1; I said, “that is Abigail calling me to hurry. She has been sitting on t= hat donkey ready to go for awhile now.”
James rolled up the= scroll and said, “Daniel, may I borrow this? I want to copy it word for word= and will return it when I am finished.”
“Yes, of course.”
We set off for
I remembered the wa=
y Jesus looked
at me when I, like the scribe, finally believed in him. Jesus and I had been
sitting alone together on a dock in
I missed my friend.= It was that man I wanted to grasp to my chest and hold in a vice grip and lift off= of his feet—the way I used to do before he grew stronger than me from his carpentry work. I would never be brave enough to go near the other one, the= one the scribe wrote about in the scroll. My heart was divided by desire and fe= ar.
Peter
Our first night bac=
k was by
far my best night’s rest in many months, possibly in over a year. The
next day I was asked to dine in the house of Jairus, the chief ruler of
It was early evenin= g when I joined a circle of scholars made up of three members of Capernaum’s s= mall Sanhedrin, a priest, Judah, and, of course, Jairus. While we seated ourselv= es at the table, Jairus took the lead in our conversation. “Simon, Jesus= was without any doubt a prophet. His miracles attested to that fact. My daughter lives because of his power. Now we are told he rose from the grave and is prepared to show himself to you here.”
“Yes, Sir,= 221; I replied.
A servant came in a= nd placed a goblet of wine on the table in front of each of us. He had carried them in on a tray. The goblets were glass—the color of blue and rust = in a swirling design—like polished marble. I’d never touched anything made of glass before.
“Who else has= seen him?” Jairus asked.
“His mother a= nd many of us who followed him,” I replied.
“Has he appea=
red to
people only in
“Yes.”<= /p>
“Has he shown= himself to any of the rulers there—to any of his enemies?” he asked.
“I don’= t know, Sir.”
It had been a warm = day but now the air coming in off the sea began to chill the room. The servant clos= ed several sets of shutters before he left.
“What will yo=
u do if
you can prove it?” Jairus asked. “Prove to his=
enemies
in the Sanhedrin that they were wrong about him. They will then accept him =
as
our Messiah and, of course, acknowledge to him that ‘he has come in t=
he
name of the Lord.’” I said, “Oh, =
you must
have heard Jesus say he would not return to the temple until they acknowled=
ged
this.” Now I understood where they were heading with this. Jairus asked, ̶=
0;What
is his purpose in coming to I swallowed some wi=
ne and
set the goblet down. I said, “Jesus told us he would come here ahead =
of
us and that we would see him. That’s all I know myself.” The priest said, &#=
8220;What
does he plan to do next? Will he begin to reign, form an army, what? When a=
ll of
our people who are scattered throughout the world hear of him, they will co=
me.
It will be like in the days of King David. You are one of his closest men. =
Surely
he confided his plans to you, did he not?” “No. He has n=
o such
plans,” I said quietly. Two servants came i=
n with
platters of food. The aroma of roasted meat made me nauseous. It reminded m=
e of
my last night with Jesus—our Passover lamb had been the last time
I’d eaten meat. “He made no
plans?” Jairus looked at me with a puzzled expression. He said, ̶=
0;No
one has ever heard of a person raising himself from the dead. Ha-Shem raised
him up. He will take his place on David’s throne. He will show himsel=
f to
all. “I don’=
t know
about these things,” I said. For more than an ho=
ur, they
discussed quotations of prophetic Scriptures about the Messiah. I listened =
but
had nothing to say. At one point Judah =
recited
the words of Isaiah, the prophet: “There shall come forth a =
Rod
from the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots. The Spiri=
t of
the LORD shall rest upon Him, the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the
Spirit of counsel and might, the Spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the
LORD. His delight is in the fear of the LORD, and He shall not judge by the=
sight
of His eyes, nor decide by the hearing of His ears; but with righteousness =
He
shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he
shall strike the earth with the rod of His mouth, and with the breath of His
lips He shall slay the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt of His loins, and faithfulness the =
belt
of His waist. The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard shall lie
down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling toget=
her;
and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their
young ones shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the
ox. The nursing child shall p=
lay by
the cobra’s hole, and the weaned child shall put his hand in the
viper’s den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain,=
for
the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the
sea. “And in that day there shall be a Root of Jesse, who shall st=
and
as a banner to the people; for the Gentiles shall seek Him, and His resting
place shall be glorious.”[13]=
I remembered Jesus&=
#8217;
words: “Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not c=
ome
to bring peace but a sword.” I didn’t tell them of this, I want=
ed
more time to sort things out. Now then,” Ja=
irus
said, “tell us more about Jesus. You have listened to his teachings, =
seen
him perform many signs and wonders—what can you tell us about him? Is=
he
the one on whom the Spirit of God rests—is he the one to reign on the
throne of David, the Rod from the root of Jesse?” I looked around at =
their faces,
so intent to hear what I had to say. Who was I to speak to these men? Jesus=
was
my rabbi—but about his reign, he had spoken very little. I replied,
“The Spirit of the Most High rests on him—he is the Anointed On=
e.
But I don’t know more than that.” “He predicted=
that
the temple buildings would be leveled and not one stone would be left upon =
another
and that all would be torn down.” Four of the men grew
agitated and began to murmur among themselves. “He told us h=
e would return
to reign at the end of the age.” In my mind I rememb=
ered Jesus
then—the sight of him sitting on the I trembled, afraid =
to speak
of that incident. I said, “ “He said noth=
ing of
his reign, I’m afraid,” I swallowed. “=
;His
anger and words frightened us. We couldn’t imagine not returning with=
him
to the temple. It made no sense.