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Chapter Thirty-Two
That very hour on the road to Jericho,
a man approached us with his demon-possessed son. To test his disciples, Jesus turned the demoniac boy over to John
and his brother James, who had been acting high and mighty. Peter, trying to hide his smugness, then
tried his hand at it. When the three
men failed and asked Jesus why, he rebuked them: “Because you have so little
faith. Truly I tell you, if you have
faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to a mountain, ‘Move
from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for
you.” Though Jesus didn’t say so, it was, I believe, a lesson in
humility. The rest of us, particularly
Judas, had to stifle our mirth.
Not long after this episode, during
the late afternoon, we approached the walled city of Jericho. Recalling the story of Joshua, I tried to
picture its one time glory before Joshua’s army breached its walls and laid
waste to its inhabitants. According to
an unknown prophet who wrote about Joshua’s exploits, the conquest was made
possible by the information the harlot Rehab supplied Joshua’s spies. With this information, Joshua was able to
conquer Jericho and put it to the torch.
I’ve often wondered why our ancestors had to kill all nonbelievers. Every man, woman, child, and animal was
slaughtered in Jericho—the first Canaanite city to be destroyed by Joshua and
his men. Why is it that a lowly harlot,
who betrayed her people and is responsibility for their extermination, is
honored by the prophets? With these
thoughts in my head, I was happy to see its ‘resurrection’ into the great and
lavish city (second only to Jerusalem) it now was. Unlike our entrance into Bethabara, where we were greeted by a
proportionately larger groups of Jews, we found ourselves surrounded by a
mixture of Gentile and Jewish citizens similar to the cities of Decapolis, who
paid us little mind. As we appeared on
the main thoroughfare, we were just one more dusty band of travelers passing
through Jericho’s east gate.
There was, as in Hippo, Roman
architecture in all quarters of the city, but on a greater and more numerous
scale. According to my own knowledge,
which I shared with them, King Herod built his summer palace here during the
reign of Emperor Augustus. There were
villas for rich merchants, both Gentile and Jew, scattered throughout the city,
as well as temples to Roman and Greek gods.
Why Jesus would want to visit this city, none of us dared ask. Added to its pagan artwork and shrines,
which offended most of us, was the unfriendly attitude of its citizens we had
encountered so far. They weren’t
actually rude, as Jesus pointed out.
They just didn’t care.
As Jesus led us down the street, Peter
exclaimed, “Master, this city is too big.
How are we going to manage this busy town?”
“We managed Jerusalem.” Jesus
shrugged. “We can manage Jericho as well.”
“What is your plan?” asked the Rock.
“Plan?” Jesus raised an eyebrow.
“There you go again Peter, thinking like a Pharisee. I have no plan, only God’s words in my head.”
“Oh yes, I forgot.” He heaved a sigh.
“Constant revelation.”
“But master,” John ventured this time,
“were shall we sleep tonight. When
shall we eat?”
“You of little faith,” Jesus replied irritably.
“Jericho is on the way to Judea. We’re
just passing through. Like the wayfarer
passing through an orchard—the fruit will be at hand. What we glean here will come easily. There will be no multitude or idling crowds.”
“Uh Jesus,” Judas mumbled, tapping his
shoulder, “what about food?”
“Your packs are filled with bread and
cheese,” he waved dismissively. “Tonight you shall have a proper feast.”
“We will?” Philip wrinkled his nose.
“Where? We have little money. Who will feed strangers in this town?”
“Philip,” Jesus raised a finger.
“Remember the mustard seed. Have
faith!”
By the way he looked around now, it
appeared as if Jesus was looking for someone.
It was encouraging to hear that we would eat well tonight, but where in
this crowded, bustling town were we going to be fed?
******
The disciples followed Jesus protectively—behind him
and on each side of him in a half-circle,
as he wandered among the people.
Then
suddenly, when were about midway through town, Jesus was accosted by another
batch of Pharisees and scribes. Twelve
groans, including my own, were uttered that moment. Not one of the towns we had visited was free of these
self-righteous men. Just when we
expected another unpleasant series of insults from our adversaries, however,
these religious men gave Jesus a friendly greeting, the friendliest reception
we had receive so far in this town.
Jesus returned the greeting of peace.
A young Pharisee from the crowd
stepped forth and asked him a soul-jarring question: “Teacher, what must I do
to inherit eternal life?”
There had been sarcasm in the Pharisee’s voice, but
nothing like some of Jesus’ antagonists before. Jesus turned to the
speaker, pausing only a moment as he thought of a reply. “In our
scriptures,” he asked the Pharisee, “what is the essence of our belief. Though a man of the law, how would you read
this?”
“Do not sin, and obey the commandments,” the
Pharisee answered quickly.
“Wrong.” Jesus shook his head.
“Love God and shun evil,” the Pharisee tried again.
“Wrong again.” He laughed softly.
“Your question is too general,” complained the
Pharisee. “I could recite our laws and traditions. I have even remembered
scriptures word for word. Teacher, what exactly do you mean? What does
this have to do with eternal life?”
Forbearingly Jesus replied, “It has everything to do
with it. Look around at your people, whom you serve. Think about
your loved ones. What are your feelings toward God? Your thoughts
are lost in the law. One word escapes you. The answer is written in
your heart, not in the law.”
The audience that had gathered, which had been
mumbling amongst themselves, became deathly silent as the Pharisee
responded. His cynical tone had vanished entirely. “I remember
now,” his voice was filled with emotion.
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and
with all your strength and with all your mind.”
“And what else?” Jesus prodded him. “What is the
second half?”
Without hesitation, the Pharisee declared, “Love
your neighbor as yourself.”
“You have answered correctly,” Jesus said with
great conviction. “Do this and you will have eternal life!”
The Pharisee stepped back, with bowed head as if in
thought. In his place, recognized
by his clothes, a scribe asked in a mocking tone, “Who is my neighbor? We
have many races in Jericho: Jews, Greeks, Syrians, Egyptians, and Romans.”
“All men and women are your neighbors,” Jesus
explained, looking out at the crowd. “All people are children of God.”
That very moment after this statement, which caused
a collective gasp, he seemed to look over the heads of the listeners directly
at someone in a tree. I saw the little
man immediately and silently pointed him out to Bartholomew, as he stood there
by his mule. How he climbed up that
large oak I couldn’t imagine. It was
several cubits from the ground to the first large limb where he sat. Looking back at the spectators gathering in
the town square, I had shared my fellow disciples’ misgivings about this latest
encounter with Pharisees and scribes, but now, after a brief introduction of
preaching, he was doing what he did best: telling stories. He was, I believe, a master story teller as
well as preacher, and sometimes, as it happened now, the parable worked better
than lecturing to such a crowd.
Instead of preaching the good news to the crowd this
time, Jesus gave them a parable, one of the greatest given by our Lord.
Glancing up at the man in the tree again, he walked
among the people, toward the oak, speaking to the crowd in a light-hearted
conversational tone:
“A man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho, when
he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him, and
then went away, thinking he was dead. A priest happened to be going down
the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side.
So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other
side. And yet a Samaritan, whom the Jews considered unclean,
happened to be traveling that way, arriving at the location where the man
was. Unlike the priest and Levite, who, like the victim, were Jews, the
Samaritan took pity upon him when he saw him, and he went immediately to him,
bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own
donkey, brought him to an inn and left him in the care of the innkeeper.
The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Continue
to look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any
extra expense you may have.’”
Turning to the scribe now, he asked, “Which of these
three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of
robbers?” The scribe remained silent, pondering the meaning of his story
but said nothing. The young Pharisee, however, looked up and said, in a
solemn voice, “The one who had mercy on him—the Samarian.”
Reaching out to grip his shoulders, Jesus replied in
a loud voice, “Go and do likewise!”
******
As he paused below the tree, we followed his gaze up
to the first limb. The little man sat
up there, staring with illumination at the preacher. At times, I noted,
it was as if Jesus was speaking directly to him, not merely the Pharisee and
scribe. What made it directly and
suddenly personal was when Jesus called up in a loud voice, “Zacchaeus, come
down!”
“Teacher.” Zacchaeus broke into tears. “I’m a
sinner—a publican. What do you want of
me?”
“You are rich man, Zacchaeus,” Jesus said, raising
his arms as though he might just pluck him from his precarious position. “The
Spirit of the Lord brought you here. My disciples are weary. I am
weary. Would you give us supper and lodging tonight?
“Yes, Teacher, I am honored,” Zacchaeus sputtered.
“My house is your house. I’m your servant. I shall run home and alert my cook, who’ll make you a fine
feast!”
The Pharisees and scribes in the crowd reacted as we
expected. At this point, many other
people in the audience, who had been silent, were also outraged. It had been the same reaction Jesus received
for singling out Matthew. The very
thought that a Jew, let alone a religious teacher, would eat in the house of a
tax collector, caused them to grumble and shake their heads. Zacchaeus
knew very well what this meant, but it didn’t matter to him. The first
Pharisee and first scribe we encountered had disappeared into the crowd, but
there were many other men in religious raiment, including, for the first time,
priests, who pushed forward to protest and shake their fists.
“This Jesus is supposed to be a righteous man, and
yet he will be the guest of a sinner!” exclaimed a priest.
“This man isn’t righteous,” a portly Pharisee
shouted. “He consorts with Zacchaeus, a bloodsucking tax collector—an agent of
Rome!”
“All people are sinners,” Jesus began preaching
again. “All fall short as Adam. They who rejected the Samaritan, are not
righteous. No one is saved by the law!”
This last insult to the old order rankled the
Pharisees, scribes, and priests the most. Zacchaeus must have been fearful of leaving the safety of his
tree. To make matters worse for us,
Simon pointed out two temple agents standing in the background. Right at that moment many of the disciples,
including myself, wished we could join Zacchaeus on his limb. Would they stone Jesus now? We asked each other. Once again Jesus had hit a religious nerve.
“You dare challenge our laws!” a third Pharisees
cried out in a wounded voice. “All of
you heard it; he claims that no one is saved by the law. That’s heresy and
blasphemy. You arrive off the desert with your unwashed band as if you’re
a prophet and great teacher. No prophet of our faith would say such a
thing!”
The accusation having shifted from Jesus association
with sinners to his attitude on the law, several other men shouted similar
charges. One man, we identified as a priest, even tore his raiment and
shook his fists. The disciples, as poor Zacchaeus, were encircled now by
the crowd. Most people in the crowd appeared to be simple folk—a mixed
crowd of Jews and Gentiles of all ages, including young children.
Rising above the noise of dissenters in the crowd,
Jesus deep, resonant voice now drowned out the loudest critic.
“I haven’t come to abolish the Law or the Prophets,”
he argued. ”I’ve come to fulfill them. Until heaven and earth
disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any
means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who
breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same
will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and
teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.”
This rebuttal by Jesus seemed somewhat conciliatory,
and yet it had little effect on the hardliners in the crowd. Inspired by his tone, a second scribe called
out spitefully, “You can’t fool us, teacher. Your honeyed words belie your
intent to corrupt these good people. Who are you to speak for God?”
“It’s doublespeak—that’s what it is!” A finely
dressed merchant stepped forth. “In one breath he tears down our law and in the
next, to regain our trust, he raises it up, but this can’t fool our
people. We love our tradition and the
faith of our fathers. In time, the
people will see through this rogue!”
Today wasn’t the day Jesus would chastise the
Pharisees and scribes. Ignoring the
last outbursts, he turned to the crowds and asked them what they thought.
“I agree with you, rabbi,” an old woman shouted,
“you’re indeed a prophet.”
“Yes,” a young man agreed, “and one of us!”
“I’ve heard of this fellow.” An elder now came
forward. “This is Jesus, the miracle worker from Nazareth, who restored sight
and hearing, made bodies whole, and raised up the dead. As you can see, Jesus is more than just a
preacher, prophet or healer. I’ve never
heard such authority in a voice. No one ever spoke like this man. He’s the spokesman for our God!”
“Yes, he’s God’s voice.” A young woman nodded
enthusiastically. “None but the Messiah could speak such words!”
Jesus’ supporters silenced the hardliners. Inspired and appreciated as the elder’s
observation was, the young woman’s claim outshone his words. The number of critics here in Jericho was
small for a city of this size. Our
fears for Jesus’ safety was replaced with joy.
Hands reached out to touch him and a few people stopped briefly to
express their approval of him, but most passed by quietly with looks of respect
and awe. Finally, as the crowd
dispersed, Peter and Andrew, with Jesus coaxing, reached up to Zacchaeus, who
beamed down with relief.
“I’m Peter, a disciple of Jesus,” said the Rock.
“We’re Jesus’ disciples. Step on my
shoulders and Andrew will lift you down.
Lowering himself down, clutching adjoining branches,
trembling with expectation and fatigue, he stepped down upon Peter’s shoulders,
and then found his small frame cradled in the arms of Andrew, who spoke gently
to him, as if he was a child, “Come, join us.
We’re on our way to Jerusalem. Don’t be afraid, Zacchaeus, we were
all frightened once. Jesus is guarded by the Most High…. He’s the Messiah
and Son of God!”
******
That evening in the home of Zacchaeus, Jesus and his
twelve disciples sat around a sumptuous table of lamb, lentils, savory soup,
and sweet meats. Looking around the table after the Shema had been spoken
and the food blessed, Jesus focused upon his host, speaking to all, “Today
salvation has come to this house, because this man, Zacchaeus, too, is a son of
Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
I listened to Zacchaeus tell his story
that night. After following the trade
of his father, he had grown rich as a publican but he had never felt close to
God. Tax collectors, by the definition
of our people, were outside the fold—lost sheep beyond redemption. So Zacchaeus lived like a Gentile, most of
whom cared little for their gods. Now
he knew his life would never be the same, and yet he didn’t know what to make
of the strange man at his table. I understand his wonder. Many converts, including myself, had found
it hard to accept. How could any mortal
be the Messiah, let alone the Son of God? How could anyone be God’s son?
As Jesus and his disciples slumbered in Zacchaeus’
house, I had trouble falling asleep.
Rising up from my pallet, I walked into Zacchaeus’ verdant garden and
saw him staring up at the sky
Turning to me, he asked the question we all had
asked. “Where will Jesus lead me now?”
“Jesus is going to pick seventy more followers,” I
quickly answered. “I’m certain he’ll pick you.
Like his disciples, he plans to send them out to spread the word. Your life will never be the same!”
“I know one thing for certain.” He looked up at me.
“I must follow him. His words gave me
peace and a new purpose. The
magistrates in Jericho will have to find someone else to fleece the
citizens. In the morning I’ll ask
Glaucus, the prefect, to dismiss my guards.
I’ll sell my house and goods and give a bag of gold to Jesus for the
disciples and the poor. This should
please Jesus and help make up for all those years I served Rome.”
In the morning, as his guests rested up and Jesus
chatted with a friendly delegation of townsmen, Zacchaeus excused himself
quietly and left to take care of his affairs. I would learn later from
him that the prefect was quite upset with his decision to quit his post.
As Zacchaeus explained afterward while accompanying us on the road to
Jerusalem, he told Glaucus that he must leave Jericho and return to Alexandria
to care for his ailing mother. It was, of course, an outright lie, he
admitted, but he wouldn’t dare tell the prefect the truth. The long
checkered road leading to his role as a publican had ended when he climbed that
tree and heard Jesus’ shout. Satisfied with himself, as he joined our
procession, he looked back once more at Jericho, heaved a sigh, and stepped on
the path to a new life.
******
We had in our company of followers after
Zacchaeus joined the Way, two ex-publicans, an ex-prostitute, a onetime temple
spy, and a disciple who was once a highwayman and thief. Though we didn’t know it yet, we also had a
betrayer in our midst. Despite what I
sensed when I watched and listened to Judas, I realized that he loved
Jesus. That evening, when he heard
Jesus dreadful prediction, he refused to accept it.
After we set up camp, ate a snack, and sat in
reflection around the fire, Jesus spoke about his death again: “The Son of Man
is going to be delivered into the hands of men, who will kill him, but on the
third day he will be raised from the dead.”
Peter, the first disciple to jump to his feet,
questioned these dreadful words
“Master,” he cried out, “why tell us this? How could God’s son be killed by mortal men? Do you think we’ll standby and let that
happen?”
“You have no control over this,”
explained Jesus gloomily, “neither do I?”
“Will I can’t believe it!” Judas
sneered. “You’re tired and worn down Jesus.
You mustn’t let those Pharisees, scribes, and priests get you down.”
Judas, having spoken our minds, was
nevertheless rebuked by Jesus. “What
would you have me do?” He waved irritably. “Turn from God? You and the others who counsel retreat don’t
understand the Lamb of God.” “I-have-no-choice!”
he added succinctly.
“Jesus!” I cried out. “What do you
mean ‘you have no choice?’ God gave us
free choice. Why would He let you be
killed?”
“Enough!” Jesus held up his hand.
Rising angrily to his feet, he stormed
away from the campfire and disappeared into the night. The impression left upon us was that Jesus
was being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. We understood his desire to follow
scripture. Isaiah’s suffering servant
appeared to be his model. That it was
God’s will made no difference to us that moment. All that mattered was Jesus’ frame of mind. With each passing day, his mood
worsened. Two questions remained
unanswered. Why would a merciful God
want his son killed? More specifically,
why did Jesus think He wanted him killed? It made no sense to any of us.
We hadn’t fully grasped the significance of the two halves of our
religion: the old faith where animals were sacrificed in the temple and the new
faith where the Lamb of God would be sacrificed for our sins. The notion of such a blood sacrifice was
almost too barbaric to imagine.
“It reminds me of those pagan
Canaanites who sacrificed their children,” I said reflectively.
“Not quite,” James frowned. “They burned
them alive to satisfy the whim of their gods.”
“Oh that’s dreadful!” Zacchaeus
groaned.
“I know it’s not the same,” I replied,
“but it’s still a form of sacrifice.
How else can you explain the fact that he’s the Lamb of God?”
“The whole thing is barbaric,”
Bartholomew made a face. “I avoided that slaughterhouse of a temple all my
life.”
“I never liked it,” I snarled. “That’s
what makes this all the worse.”
“Well, we can’t change his mind,”
Peter shrugged. “He seems dead set on it.”
“Yes, dead is the key word,”
James nodded, “but I don’t agree. There
has to be someway we can stop him.”
“How?” asked Philip. “We’ve never been
able to stop him before!”
“That’s true,” John grumbled, “he just
gets angry. “What did he say to Peter,
when you tried to stop him?”
“Get thee behind me Satan!” said Peter. “That upset
me very much. It’s no use trying to
change his mind. When you do, you’re
tempting him. In his mind, you’re doing
the work of Satan.”
“He doesn’t like that.” John’s brother shook his
head.
“His course is set,” Andrew concluded, “right into a
storm!”
“Yeah.” Simon looked thoughtfully into the dark.
“He’s bound and determined. I’ve been
around the priests and their Levite agents. They’re constantly on the lookout
for heresy. In their minds’ eye Jesus
is the biggest heretic of them all.”
“They had it in for him from the very beginning,”
observed Thomas. “Everywhere we go they’re waiting for him—those graybeards and
scribes. Why does he have to confront
them at every turn?”
“He does it on purpose,” I said, staring into the
flames. “I’ve never seen him so reckless.
You had it right, Andrew. It’s
as if he’s deliberately sailing into a storm.
Much of it is his own making.”
Peter looked around the group. “We mustn’t forget whose sailing the boat. As much as we don’t like it, Jesus’ mind is
set. In his thinking, if we try to stop
him, we’re defying God.”
******
Though it was blackest night so far
for us, no one left the camp to find Jesus.
We were tempted to go after him, but Peter’s memory of Jesus’ admonition
stopped us cold. No one wanted to be a
tool of Satan. Jesus had slipped away
like this before, Peter reminded us.
Usually, however, the moon was out to light his path. Tonight there was only cold, distant
starlight. Along with all of his other
gifts, Jesus must have bee able to see in the dark.
Finally, after lying on my pallet between James and
Bartholomew pondering on Jesus’ fate, I fell into a troubled sleep. In the past I usually had silly, meaningless
dreams, but every once in awhile, I was beset by nightmares, some too hideous
to describe. After such black
contemplation, tonight was one of those times.
I found myself in a lonely barren place. The sky was strangely tranquil.
A full moon peeked through the clouds, allowing subdued light on the
scene below. I had dreamed something
similar to this before when Jesus and I were youths but Jesus had downplayed
this nightmare. Now, as I recalled the
earlier dream, I was filled with great dread.
In the distance there were three shadowy crosses. Below them, a handful of people stood vigil
beneath the middle cross. The dark
outlines of men hung from the crossbeams.
Romans stood by looking up at the middle cross. One of the soldiers, who turned to face me,
had a familiar face. It was Longinus….
I knew at once who the middle man was.
“No,” I cried out, “this can’t
be! They can’t crucify the Son of
God!”
Shaken awake by James, I lie there
staring up into the face of Jesus.
“That-that was awful!” I stammered
Upon hearing those terrible words, James eyes were
wide with shock.
“Did you hear that, Jesus?” he sputtered. “Why would
he say such a thing?”
“Shush!” Jesus clamped his hands on
both of our mouths. “Jude dreamed this before.
It’s a forewarning. Only God will
decide my fate.”
Jerking away from his hand, I asked,
“Can a forewarning be changed? You
can’t lie Jesus. Why would I dream this
again?”
“Again?” James mumbled. “What did you
dream?”
“You dreamed this because you’re
worried,” Jesus explained calmly. “How many times in our lives have we seen men
hanging from crosses? Too many. Nightmares, as is their nature, bring out
our worst fears.”
“Why me?” I groaned. “Why can’t I
dream normal nightmares of monsters and fiends? I’ve worried about you so much, Jesus. Now I have this in my head.”
“You must stop worrying,” Jesus
insisted. “I’m just glad you didn’t shout this out. Fortunately, Bartholomew sleeps like the dead. I’m sorry you dreamed that, Jude, and you heard
those words James, but I don’t want the others alarmed. They’ll see it as a bad omen. They have enough on their minds.” “Promise
me, both of you.” He placed his hands on both of our heads. “You mustn’t bring
this subject up around the others.
Discuss with it with each other, but keep this to yourselves!”
When Jesus slipped away again, James
and I broke into excited murmurs.
“What did Jesus mean by ‘hanging on
crosses’?” he shook my arm. “Tell me about your nightmare,” he demanded. “I
have a right to know!”
“What you heard was nothing,” I
shuddered. “It gets much worse.”
James listened intently, whistling
under his breath and shaking his head.
After sharing my nightmare with him, he lie there silently a moment.
“…We must trust Jesus,” he whispered
hesitantly. “…. It’s obvious why we have to keep this to ourselves. Let’s hope and pray that Jesus’ fears have
been unfounded and your nightmare is a forewarning, not prophecy.”
“… What if it is prophecy?” I
murmured fretfully. “What if he will be killed? Jesus appears to deliberately provoke his
enemies. It’s as if he’s encouraging
and inviting his destruction!”
James repeated his refrain, “We must
trust Jesus,” and, like Jesus tried to downplay my dream, but nothing could
wipe away the thoughts in my mind…. I had the same dream twice: once as a child
and once as an adult. If this was
merely a warning, then I must do everything in my power to prevent it from
happening. How I might do this alone, I
couldn’t yet imagine, but I must try!
******
Though I would obey Jesus demand that I keep my
nightmare secret, I decided to enlist the support of three men, I knew would
agree with my decision to prevent his death: Bartholomew, Matthew, and
Simon. Judas would join such a pact,
but he was too unstable and might run amuck.
My notion sounded insane to Bartholomew and Matthew, but Simon
immediately agreed.
“How do you plan on stopping Jesus?” challenged
Bartholomew. “He’ll interpret this as mutiny, an attempt to spoil his purpose
on earth!”
“I don’t care,” I said, folding my arms, “Jesus is
following the prophecy of Isaiah, not God.
I read that scroll. God doesn’t
want his son dead. I never liked
Isaiah’s passages about the suffering servant.
It’s gloomy and unreasonable.
Isaiah’s was contradictory in giving us two separate Messiahs. It’s because of his prophecy about the
conquering Messiah, in fact, that Jesus has so many enemies. I blame this entire mess on him, not
God. God is merciful. He wouldn’t allow him to be killed!”
“You’ve convinced me,” Simon nodded. “At first I
thought it exciting to hear him attack the Pharisees, scribes, and
priests. Now, I think he’s going too
far. We were lucky that the people
sided with us in Jericho. If we go to
Jerusalem, as he plans on doing, he might not be so fortunate.’
“How are you going to stop Jesus?” Matthew raised an
eyebrow. “Unless, we physically restrain him, which is impossible with those
fishermen at his side, we have to change his mind.”
“He said he wanted to see Capernaum one more time.”
I suddenly recalled. “That was a week ago.
I didn’t like the sound of ‘one more time,’ but I’ll remind him of that
goal. The problem is we’re on the
Jerusalem road.”
“Is he really thinking of going back to the holy
city?” muttered Simon. “With all those priests in Jerusalem, that’s crazy!”
“Wait a minute!” I snapped my fingers. “We have
relatives on the way—in Bethany: Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. That might be his destination this
time. If we can forestall his plans to
revisit Jerusalem long enough and get him back to Galilee where he had so much
success, maybe he’ll see his folly.”
“Hah!” Matthew tossed his head. “You sound
desperate, Jude. You really think you
can change Jesus’ mind?”
With that awful nightmare branded in my mind, I nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes. I have to try!”
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