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Chapter Thirty

Bethabara

At a small hamlet near the eastern shore of Lake Gennesaret, we stopped to fill our water skins. As was his custom, Jesus took this opportunity to preach to villagers at the well. After he said the words and sprinkled water on an old man and a young girl, he sent them away with his blessing. In my frame of mind, it seemed hardly worth the effort. When we found a small grove of trees afterwards, we ate snacks provided by Peter’s wife, then rested in the shade. Jesus was not the same now. He was filled with an awful purpose. By now Judas had caught up with us yet sat away from the group brooding on his plight. As Jesus confided to me, Judas was part of God’s plan. I felt this strongly now. Everyone else just thought he was unhinged or possessed. Was I the only one to see the threat in this man?

That same hour, by all appearances refreshed and ready for the harvest, we entered Perea, a region of mixed Greek and Jewish cities, similar to Decapolis. Our introduction to this province had been encouraging. Hippos, in fact, where Jesus feed four thousand people had been especially fruitful. Between Hippos and the border of Perea, however, much less seed was planted. The harvest proved to be poor.

This hour, a short ways into Perea, we arrived in Bethabara, a city on the River Jordan that had a large Jewish population that John the Baptist had preached to and where he first confronted the Pharisees and agents of the priests. In spite of the fact that Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan River not far from this province and fasted in the wilderness of Judea nearby, it would contain, Jesus warned us, dissention, similar to some of the Galilean and Judean towns.

Sure enough, just as we approached the city limits, we were confronted with what seemed like an army of Pharisees, scribes, and, as Simon pointed out fearfully, agents of the temple. Where had they come from? We asked ourselves. How could one single city have so many of Jesus’ enemies? Peter’s first instinct in order to protect Jesus was to discourage him from entering this town, but Jesus was undaunted and, in fact, downright belligerent. The Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents were nothing more than a nameless rabble.

Shouts rang out—a myriad of accusations, insults and threats: “There he is—that blasphemer and perverter of the law!” “You rabble-rouser—stay away out of our town!” “Beelzebub!” “Spawn of Satan!” “How dare you challenge out faith!”, and many more foul and redundant outcries momentarily stunned us. Only Jesus kept his head.

“No, Jesus,” Peter insisted, “this is one of those occasions where we dust off our sandals!”

“Be brave!” he instructed us. “Ignore this rabble!” Looking out at his adversaries, he exclaimed loudly for the benefit of the mob. “White sepulchers full of dead men’s bones. They don’t represent this town. They have a dark agenda, their own warped sense of justice. By attacking the Lamb, they serve Satan, not God.” “Don’t worry men.” He looked back at our frightened faces. “There’s a Roman presence in this town. They dare not harm us. Follow behind me, say nothing, and brace yourselves for the breath of God!”

Recalling the gust of wind that swept away Barabbas and his men, I elbowed James.

“Watch this!” I snickered. “This is going to be good!”

“He’s gonna give it to them,” James said gleefully, “just like he did with Barabbas gang!”

Suddenly, as it had before near Bethlehem, the space between Jesus antagonists and us was filled with a swirling column of dust, that grew and grew until it was many cubits high. While we were left untouched by the choking mix of dirt and sand, the cloud virtually swept the Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents off the road. Blown to each side by the column, they coughed, hacked, and gagged. Their robes were disheveled, faces were blackened, and they were momentarily blinded by the dust. Following obediently behind Jesus through a corridor of enraged and terrified men, we were once again reminded of his power. There could be no question in any of our minds, with exception of Judas, that he was the Son of God.

Almost immediately, we saw two familiar sights typical for a city such as Bethabara: a detail of Romans soldiers rode passed us and then, after a short while, spectators began gathering on the side of the road, drawn to the arrival of strangers in their town. Because John the Baptist had preached to the townsfolk here and, as the Forerunner, prepared them for the arrival of the Promised One, many of the local citizens must have guessed who Jesus was, for quite suddenly the trickle of spectators grew to a sizable crowd. In times past this meant to his disciples that we would be rolling up our sleeves for a round of baptisms. After all, as Jesus might say, ‘the pickings were good,’ and we were near a body of water. But Jesus stuck to his recent decision not to attempt the rite on such a large volume of people. As at Capernaum and Hippo, the exceptions would include those healed or those insisting on experiencing the rite.

As it turned out, he was forced to heal people on the spot. At first there was a blind man, a woman with sores on her face, a deaf girl, and a boy with a withered arm. Because Jesus was leading the crowd to a hill overlooking the river, this stop created a jam of bodies as we exited the town.

“What’s the hold up?” a man shouted from the rear of the crowd.

“He’s going to heal them!” a woman squealed. “There’s Samuel. He’s been blind since birth!”

“He’s lining them up at the side of the road,” reported an elder to his friend. “Four… five… now six in line. This man is a sorcerer; why can’t the people see that?”

It was an awkward hour, especially for Bartholomew, who stood out conspicuously on his mule. The sick and lame had forced Jesus hand, leaving his disciples to face another mob.

Judas was beside himself with irritation. “I thought he did this at the end of the sermon,” he complained. “This can really get out of hand!”

“Well,” muttered Simon, “he can’t very well say no.”

“I wished he could,” whined Thomas. “I gotta pee!”

“There’s an alley,” Peter said sympathetically. “…Make it quick!”

Not knowing when the opportunity would arise again, Andrew, Philip, James, and I followed Thomas’ example. When we were back in the crowd, the other disciples took their turns. (Strangely enough, I don’t remember Jesus ever relieving himself.) After returning to the road, I looked over at the line.

“I counted ten people,” I tallied. “I hope that’s all and he doesn’t get mobbed.”

“He’s already mobbed!” Matthew groaned. “Here comes some more!”

At least a dozen people with various maladies, including a demoniac spouting

blasphemies joined Jesus column of patients. In later years a believer would refer to Jesus as the Great Physician. I’m certain some of the Gentiles in the crowd probably thought he was a god. Standing closest to the healer, Peter looked around protectively for malcontents, especially graybeards lurking in the crowd.

“Poor Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “Sick folks come streaming up everywhere he goes with all kinds of ailments, from leprosy to being stone cold dead.”

“He has to learn to say no!” grumbled Judas. “By the time he’s finished here, he’ll be too tired to preach!”

I thought Judas was insensitive, but this time he was speaking most of our minds. As I stood there stewing in my thoughts, an old woman tapped my arm.

“You’re one of the preacher’s men, aren’t you?” she cackled. “I was there at the river. Remember my face?”

“Why yes,” I beamed, “you’re Anna. I’m Jude. We baptized you, Deborah, Barnabas, and Marcus at the river. Do you live here in Bethabara?”

She grinned almost toothlessly. “Yes, I live here.” She wheezed. “This is my town. It was also the Baptist’s town.” “Too bad about John,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I saw him arrested. I heard his last sermon. He told us the Promised One would come, and here he is!”

“Are you all right?” I reached out to steady her. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m not,” she sighed raggedly. “I wanted to hear Jesus one more time. I wish he could do his healing later. My legs might give out.”

“Go stand in line, Anna.” I pointed eagerly. “Let him heal you too. You should be at the head of the line. You’re one of the first members of the Way.”

“No, Jude.” She shook her head. “I’m just old. My time’s almost up. Just to hear him again is enough!”

“Anna,” I insisted, “he can heal you. I saw him heal dead people. There’s no one he can’t heal!”

“Uh-uh.” She held up a gnarled hand. “I’m tired, just plain worn out… I’ve had my life… I’m ready for that heaven Jesus promised…. Would you rob me of that?”

“Are you sure?” I said, feeling helpless and sad. “If Jesus can bring dead people back to life, he can restore you!”

“Go to your master.” She pushed gently. “I’ll be just fine!”

“All right, Anna,” I shrugged. “You have great faith. I hope I see you again.”

“Someday, in His kingdom.” She waved farewell.

That very moment, as I backed away, there was a surge of bodies, as the crowd continued to grow. I would never see Ann again in this life. Her final words ‘Someday, in His kingdom,’ made me wonder if she already knew whom Jesus really was. How was it possible, without being told, that a believer knew he was the Son of God?

******

By the time the last person was healed and we had ushered Jesus away, the crowd had grown impatient and dwindled in numbers. The vast majority of the lingering multitude was still eager to hear Jesus speak, but there were also hecklers and critics in the crowd. So far, we heard their voices in the distance and, thanks to other townsfolk, they were shouted down. Unruffled, Jesus found the desired place to give his sermon: a hill, similar to the one in Hippo, facing a field near the River Jordan. Fearful he would loose his mule, Bartholomew rode up the hill on his beast before dismounting. As Jesus prayed and then gathered his thoughts, all twelve disciples encircled him. At one point, on the crest, however, just as the circle broke and we settled down to hear Jesus speak, an unstable youth ran up and spit in the Jesus’ face. With great fury, Simon hit the man squarely in the mouth and then, with malicious delight Judas broke his nose. Afterwards, Peter, Andrew, and Philip stomped on the half-unconscious man. I was so incensed by the youth’s action I gave him a kick myself, as did everyone else, even Bartholomew who smacked him with his cane. After wiping off his face, Jesus looked on in shock. Rebuking us for our retaliation, he bent down to the broken and bruised body, and healed him on the spot.

“Go and remember this day!” He pointed down the hill.

“You heard him!” Peter gave him a shove.

Though we apologized for our lapse of judgment, none of us were truly contrite. Judas, in fact, had thought this was great fun. Those townsfolk closest to the scene had witnessed another healing. If Jesus hadn’t come to his rescue, the man might very well have died. A current of emotion and murmurs traveled down the hill on all sides, now that the people witnessed more proof of Jesus’ power.

A moment more passed before Jesus spoke, and then he asked the audience three questions: “Have you lived a good life? Are you ready to die? When you leave this earth, where will you go?”

The multitude stirred. I studied the faces of those in the crowd closest to me. I saw surprise and dismay. Jesus had caught them off guard.

When he continued, the message became clear: “These are the questions you ask yourself when you contemplate death if you’re unprepared to die. But if you’re prepared—saved by God’s grace, death is welcomed, for you’ll be in paradise. Don’t be fearful of death; death is the gate to paradise—the beginning. The plan for your salvation is so simple: believe in the Father through the Son, repent of your sins, and live righteously until that day of comes.”

Jesus had avoided pointing himself out as the Son of God, and yet he implanted a revision of his earlier message in the audience’s minds. Now God had a son, an intermediary like the priests—the Lamb foretold by John. Anything more might have caused confusion and outrage among the crowd. After his introduction, he gave what began like a variation of his Sermon on the Mount, as he had in Hippo, but with parables sprinkled in here and there. As I began listening to the sum of his thoughts, something happened that distracted me. I looked out passed the crowd nearest me and saw a darkly clad, hooded figure sitting below us on the hill. I knew at once, when its eyes flashed, who it was. The specter we saw in Bethlehem had transformed into various forms. This time, however, it remained in a shadowy disguise and just sat there gazing up at Jesus, the face inside the hood dark except for two glowing coals. Filled with great dread, I elbowed James and Matthew on each side of me.

“Look!” I whispered excitedly.

Following my trembling finger, James and Matthew gasped. Apparently spooked, himself, by the specter, the mule snorted and whinnied. Rising up awkwardly to restrain the beast, Bartholomew gripped its reins and led him down the hill, unaware of the man. Before the other disciples were awakened to my discovery, Jesus paused momentarily, bent down discreetly and said, “Shut up!”

“But it’s here,” replied Matthew, “Satan!”

“I’ll deal with it shortly!” He waved irritably. “Don’t alarm Simon and the others.”

More fearful that the hothead Simon might rush down incite the others to violence as he had with the youth who spit in his face, he had singled him out. So far, I noted as I glanced around at the faces of the other disciples, only James and Matthew had seen what I had seen. From that point on, my heart beat so loudly I could scarcely hear the remainder of Jesus’ sermon.

After a prayer and benediction, Jesus stood there staring at the thing. Unlike the last two sermons, portions of the crowd took the cue when it was finished, rose up on their legs, and began to depart, while others lounged on the grass as if waiting for something more. No one approached Jesus to ask questions, yet they looked on with curiosity. Where they puzzled or dissatisfied? I wondered. Though their tepid response was unfortunate, ironically the fact that they departed slowly or remained on the grass at least indicated that Jesus’ sermon had made an impact on them and, coupled with the last miracle, made them want more. Now, after the recent incident, the lingering crowd waited expectantly, unaware of the visitor. As Jesus stood motionless, focused on the intruder, James, Matthew, and I looked on anxiously with bated breath. Below us, less than a stone’s throw away, the darkly clad stranger sat unnoticed by everyone except us, and yet Jesus’ greatest adversary was about to challenge him, this time in front of hundreds of witnesses. So far, none of the other disciples were aware of its presence. We knew this creature would provide a greater spectacle than our encounter with the berserk young man. As we waited for Jesus response, a few spectators turned to stare at the intruder in their midst.

That moment, as we studied the stranger, Jesus just stood there staring at his foe. Competing with Jesus attention those moments were the whispered comments of the other disciples. It was the first time that his disciples had criticized his words. Looking back at them, he said crisply, “Speak up. Don’t talk behind my back!”

“Well,” John frowned with concern, “they’re more subdued this time. Last time they hung on your every word.”

“It was those words about the Son,” his brother suggested. “John the Baptist never mentioned this. You’ve spoken only of God—not the Son—in the past.”

“And your introduction,” Philip offered gently. “This seemed to upset some of them. The people of Bethabara heard enough preaching from John.”

If I hadn’t been so focused on that creature, I might have taken issue with their criticism. The audience’s reaction was more basic than this. Most residents of Palestine had heard of Jesus and expected a message of salvation, and, as far as James comment was concerned, Jesus had said many strange things. Perhaps John the Baptist, who preached in Bethabara, had soured their mood or made them indifferent to preaching. I believe that most of them, however, were idlers, here for Jesus’ miracles, more than his message. We had seen this reaction before. With the exception of our welcoming committee of Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents, our reception was, compared to Nazareth and Bethlehem, really not so bad. Despite this lack of enthusiasm so far, a new milestone in Jesus ministry was about to occur.

Standing motionless, his mind focused on the intruder, Jesus shook his head faintly in response to the criticism. “Sermons and parables don’t replace the message,” he replied in a deadpan voice. “When seeds are planted, some will die, some will live, and some are carried in the wind.”

“Ah yes, the harvest.” Peter placed his hand on Jesus’ shoulder. “Capernaum was our best crowd, but this might not be fertile soil.”

“Well,” exclaimed Thomas, “at least you don’t have to feed them.”

“Wait and see!” Jesus said to Peter.

Crooking a finger, he beckoned it to come forth. Once again, a dark, misbegotten creature in black, with a hump on his back, two glowing red eyes inside its hood, and clawed hands, approached. When he was close enough, the hump became two folded wings—the trademark of a fallen angel, the only part remaining after his war with God. The scaly skin visible on his arms and hands, like polished bronze, glistened lizard-like in the sun. As before, we shrank back momentarily in terror. Several women and small children screamed. Those people that had caught sight of it fled hysterically down the hill. Having been introduced to this creature in Bethlehem, though, we quickly got a hold of ourselves and presented a united front beside Jesus. We had seen this hideous thing and were prepared for the worst, but just when Jesus was ready to denounce him in front to the remaining crowd, the creature withdrew into its black robe and, dropping the hood, emerged afterwards as one our twin sisters.

“Look!” James pointed, “It looks like our sister Abigail!”

“It could be Martha,” I shrugged. “What next?”

“It’s a shape-shifter,” Jesus reminded us, “it’s just warming up.” “State your business, Satan,” he shouted through cupped hands.

The fair-headed Abigail/Martha-look-a-like shouted in a lilting voice, “This is my brother, Jesus, who calls himself the Son of God. Our mother disowned him for his blasphemy. Everywhere he goes he spreads heresy and lies against our Lord. He’s a sorcerer, masquerading as a demigod. His power comes from his real Lord, Satan, from whom comes his power to heal.”

His blue eyes flashing with righteous anger, Jesus wasted no time in returning insults: “Behold!” he pointed to the architect of evil. “This is your enemy. Since his fall, he has masqueraded in many disguises. It matters not. The world knows him as the Tempter, the Devil, Satan, Prince of Darkness, and as a corruptor of souls, but I know him as a onetime servant of God, who rebelled with his minions who now serve him as demons on earth and in hell. Now, after failing to tempt me and turn me from my task, he comes to attack my very name.” “Be gone, hermit!” he cried, raising his hands and twirling his fingers. “Go back to tempting the innocent, you wretched fellow. You have no power here!”

Spewing a stream of blasphemies worse than any Syrian mule trader, Satan rose up several cubits from the ground, sporting cloven hoof, horns, cat-like eyes, and a pointed beard. Almost clearing the hills of the remaining spectators, he sent them fleeing into town to tell this tale. We knew that it would come out sooner or later. Jesus had implied that he had a special time in mind for disclosing his full identity to the multitude. It appeared to me that this audience, compared to friendlier crowds in places such as Capernaum, was the worst time for such a disclosure. That it came from Jesus’ great adversary made it all the worse.

To our great surprise, however, Jesus laughed heartily, at this parody of evil. “Come now, hermit,” he mocked Satan, “that is a Greek and Roman god, not a Hebrew god. The body of a fallen angel is much more believable. After all, that’s what you once were. You never got over that loss, have you? How pitiful it is that your one and only job is to tempt and corrupt sinners. God, my Father, let you live to test men and women, nothing more!”

Perhaps in infernal anger the hermit swelled up even higher off the ground, this time sporting great, outstretched wings, its devilish eyes rolling crazily in its warty head. Without further delay then, he flapped his wings, rose up off the ground, and, spewing more blasphemies, flew away.

No sooner than it had taken flight than Jesus barked, “Let’s go!” and off we tramped down the hill. There would be no dallying today. Because hundreds of people had ran down to shores of the river to watch safely from afar, as well as a few brave souls who stayed put listening to this exchange, we knew the story of Jesus confrontation with Satan would spread throughout Bethabara, along with the claim that he was the Son of God. Strangely enough, perhaps due to shock, fear, or awe of Jesus, no one asked him questions or commented on the event. For that matter, not one detractor stepped forth this time.

For a few minutes, no one spoke. All of us were shaken and emotionally drained. As usual, Judas was the first to break the silence.

“Well, Pandora’s box is open!” he remarked giddily.

“What did you say?” Peter looked back with a frown. “Pandora? What box is that?”

“The box she opened—big mistake,” he explained airily. “I heard it from a Greek merchant. Can’t shut the lid now!”

“You knowing nothing of Greek mythology,” I corrected scornfully. “Pandora’s box was filled with evil, not good. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because he’s a moron!” said Peter.

“No.” Matthew glanced back disdainfully. “He knows what he’s doing. He’s a stubborn, opinionated fool!”

Judas grinned foolishly. “All I meant was that the news is out. Those Pharisees, scribes, and agents have more ammunition.” “I’m worried about Jesus,” he added defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re worried about Judas!” James spat.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jesus called back from the procession, “worry about yourself. You must decide once and for all what you believe in, Judas: the old or the new.”

“I believe in you!” Judas replied quickly.

“What version do you believe,” Jesus asked challenging, “the old version or the new?”

****

The question Jesus asked Judas, which he failed to answer, was the same question confronting all of his listeners. Would his words sway them from the old religion to the new faith? Or were most of them more dazzled by his miracles and compelling presence? Did the majority of them even understand his parables and sermons? Why did so many of them that I saw looking up the hill have deadpan or dumbfounded looks?

Matthew, who had been among the rabble and understood them better than most us, scratched his beard thoughtfully, as we followed Jesus. “Most of those listening were simple people,” he said thoughtfully. “After seeing what they saw here today, what do you think they’re going to run home and tell their family and friends: that Jesus is the Son of God or that Jesus put Satan in his place?”

“It could be both,” replied John. “They might just say, ‘the Son of God put Satan in his place.”

“I don’t think so,” his brother made a sour face. “Matthew’s right. I remember us discussing those words once. Aren’t we all, in a sense, sons of God?”

“James has a point,” Jesus admitted. “Even the prophets used that definition. I wasn’t ready for it to come out. The picture is unclear and unfinished, but we mustn’t be ashamed of what it really means.”

“Hey Jesus,” I called through cupped hands, “What did you mean ‘the picture is unclear and unfinished’?”

“Yeah!” Peter said light-heartedly. “How can it be unclear or unfinished? You can see the future!”

“Dear Peter,” Jesus scolded gently. “My Father constantly speaks to me, guiding my steps. I’ve explained this—many times. Please Peter, Jude—all of you, trust in the Father… and trust His Son!”

******

As we passed through Bethabara, a graybeard, who heard the commotion earlier, stopped Jesus. As we expected there were countless other people who also fled the scene, excited about the verbal duel between Jesus and Satan, but only the graybeard was interested in the substance of the exchange.

“Is it true?” he began in a crackling voice. “Do you claim to be the Son of God?”

Jesus eyes narrowed to slits. “You have said it!” he answered with forced calm.

“I’ve heard all about you, Jesus.” The man waved dismissively. “Some of these people believe your claim. All this nonsense about you arguing with the Devil—hah! I think you bewitched them. You’re certainly not our Messiah. Look at you and those vagabonds trailing behind you. Where is your army Jesus? Where is your flaming sword? Our Deliverer comes in glory not at the head of a ragged band!” “If you’re who you say you are, give us a real sign—wipe our land of foreigners and pagans. Make us a great nation again!”

Jesus gave him an enigmatic answer, later recorded by Matthew, “When evening comes, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red,’ and in the morning, ‘Today it will be stormy, for the sky is red and overcast.’ You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. A wicked and adulterous generation looks for a sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah.” 

None of us understood why he referred to Jonah. Now, after returning to the writings of the prophets, I recall that Jonah was in the belly of the whale for three days. Jesus, of course, after the crucifixion, was in the tomb for three days. Like Jonah, who came out whole and alive afterwards, Jesus was resurrected. It was a blessing for us, his disciples, that we failed to comprehend. Inexplicable clouds of denial filled our heads until those terrible days. Our only concern that trying day was to find our camp, eat some of the snacks Esther prepared for us, and sleep until dawn.

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