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Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Sermon In Bethany

One more time, this time in Bethany, Jesus would rely on his most successful way of communicating with a crowd: the sermon. He would also, during his discussion with Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents, give his adversaries parables, one of his best methods of making a point. Such carefully crafted stories were also intended for anyone within earshot, serving the purpose to enlighten the crowd. Though parables were not always easy to understand, people often preferred them over sermons and lectures and, whether this was one reason why he chose this method or not, it was less controversial to Jesus’ critics and enemies. Today, Jesus’ skeptics—Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents—would nevertheless surface, searching for heresy and blasphemy in his words. Fortunately for him, Simon could always point out the agents, and Pharisees and scribes were easy to spot. Jesus finally had success with Judeans—an achievement in itself, but from now on he would face continual harassment from these men.

According to Elias, a merchant converted in Bethany, Caiaphas had stepped up his efforts against Jesus. The source of this information surprised us very much. Elias was told by his friend Nicodemus a few weeks ago that Jesus must steer clear of Jerusalem. The high priest had gathered his priests, Pharisees, and scribes together to decide what to do about him. Having written down the words heard from Nicodemus, he quoted to Jesus what the counsel said. With great concern, he reported the sentiment of the religious leaders. Almost unanimously, with the exception of Nicodemus and a few other men (who let Nicodemus do most of the talking), the counsel members believe Jesus was corrupting the faith of their fathers, perverting the belief of the masses, and causing concern among magistrates who feared that the Romans would step in if there was another revolt. Nicodemus had argued that Jesus wasn’t a revolutionary like the Messiah predicted by Isaiah but was, in fact, another version of the Messiah presented by this prophet: a man of peace, whose message, based upon our sacred scrolls, was for the spiritual welfare of his people. Though Jesus’ importance had been watered down greatly by Nicodemus, the old Pharisee had attempted, with little success, to make him seem harmless. This, of course, wasn’t true. Jesus might be a man of peace, but he was anything but harmless. His good news was a direct threat against the old system, and Caiaphas knew it. After Nicodemus appeared to convince a handful of Pharisees and scribes of Jesus harmlessness, the high priest scolded them, saying, “You know nothing at all. This man is dangerous. He must be destroyed.” When Nicodemus and his small faction protested, Caiaphas replied, “It is better for one man to die than our nation perish!” From that day forward, as Nicodemus had explained to Elias, Caiaphas and his minions had begun plotting against Jesus.

Jesus was glad that Nicodemus took his side, but Elias made it plain that Jesus’ supporters in the Sanhedrin were few and not very brave.

“You must stay away from Jerusalem,” he advised grimly. “They won’t dare touch you outside its walls. The Romans have little sympathy for temple business or religious squabbles. The magistrates will please the prefects before bowing to the priests.”

“Will this blow over?” Peter asked bluntly.

“I don’t know,” Elias shrugged. “Caiaphas will only be high priest for one year and then he’ll be replaced by someone new. The previous high priest didn’t have a problem with you. It only takes one assassin to kill you, Jesus. One thing I found out from Nicodemus was encouraging, though: Caiaphas and most of the Jerusalem’s counsel haven’t seen you. They don’t know what you look like. They’ve just heard about you from their temple spies.”

“What about those Pharisees and scribes we encountered in the past?” John frowned. “They would recognize him. And what about the temple spies?”

“Those spies are a low life element, not part of the counsel.” Elias said with contempt.

Simon bristled at this slander. “Elias.” He looked at the man with suspicion. “How do we know you’re not a spy?”

Jesus, who I’m certain, knew exactly the threat he faced, reined Simon in. I didn’t hear what he whispered to him, but Simon laughed as if Jesus just told him a joke.

“Elias.” Jesus studied the corpulent little man. “Why didn’t you tell me this the last time I was in Bethany?”

For a brief moment, Elias had a cornered look.

“Ah hah!” Simon pointed accusingly. “Just as I thought. He’s one of Caiaphas’ men!”

“Simon, shut up!” Jesus waved impatiently. “Go ahead—explain,” he directed Elias.

“… I didn’t like you then,” Elias confessed finally. “I believed what Pharisee friends told me. I still should have warned you, but I was afraid of what they might say…. Now I know you’re him—the one we have waited for.”

“And what one is that?” Jesus asked slyly. “There are two versions of that man: a man of peace, who brings salvation and man of war, who restores Israel to its previous greatness.”

Once again Elias fidgeted and looked helplessly at the ground. As he stood there surrounded by Jesus, the disciples, and several new converts who gave the merchant suspicious and hostile looks, he formed his words carefully.

“…. I don’t know that they’re not the same.” He avoided Jesus’ eyes. “From what I gather from the other converts, many of them believe they will be saved and have eternal life as you promised but they also think when you enter Jerusalem you’ll come as a conqueror.” “Frankly, master, I’m confused. Why did Isaiah promise two different Messiahs? Please explain this to me.”

That moment we were reminded that, unlike many people who joined the Way, Elias understood the problem Jesus was having with our people. Like other Jews, some converts expected a king, not a savior, while others sought both. Several converts had gathered around us. Like he had done before Lazarus’ resurrection, Jesus took this opportunity to remind them of who he was.

“Who do you think I am?” he asked, glancing at Peter.

“Once again we heard the words the disciples gave Jesus when asked that question.

“Some have said you’re a great teacher or prophet,” Elias answered carefully, “… Some say you’re the Messiah… Today I heard a young woman call you the Son of God.”

“But what about you, Elias?” Jesus studied him with great intensity. “Who do you say I am?”

“I know you’re man of peace,” Elias seemed to equivocate. “You’re not a man of war. That’s why I agree with Nicodemus: you’re not the conquering Messiah. That’s why I’m worried Jesus. Unless you use your powers to protect yourself, they might kill you.”

Jesus winced. Judas had said this very same thing.

“Don’t change the subject, Elias,” he pressed the merchant, “who am I?”

Looking unwaveringly into his eyes, Elias heaved a sigh and exclaimed unequivocally now: “You are him—the other Messiah—the right one. Against everything I’ve been taught, against our tradition and sound reason, I believe this, Jesus. Never have I seen and heard such things. My eyes and ears don’t lie. Though my mind was stubborn, my heart knows the truth. So it’s settled. I agree with that woman: not only are you the Promised One, you’re the Son of God!”

“Elias, you have proven your faith,” Jesus said, patting his back. “Like my disciples, however, you must understand one thing: I follow the wishes of my Father, not men. I appreciate your warning from Nicodemus, but my path is set. At the end of this week, I must enter Jerusalem. My whole life was aimed at this destination, but I will return to Bethany one more time. I’m not finished here. Nothing will happen to me that’s not predestined to happen. You, like Judas, want me to use my power to save myself, but that is up to my Father. If this is what my Father wants, I shall use it.”

“In other words, you might use it!” Judas rubbed his hands with expectation.

“Yes.” Jesus frowned at him. “If God wills it.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Peter placed a hand on his shoulder. “If I were you Jesus, I’d smite those Pharisees and scribes like you did Barabbas. Teach them not to fool with the Son of God!”

“Yes-yes,” John said happily. “You once explained to us about constant revelation. I feel much better now. Your fate isn’t sealed. I agree with Peter; don’t take any nonsense from those graybeards and priests. Give them the treatment you gave Barabbas and his gang!”

The other disciples and the converts agreed wholeheartedly with Peter and John. I wanted to share their enthusiasm, but I found it ludicrous considering what Jesus had told us before. Twice now he had foretold his death. Nevertheless, as James reminded me later, Jesus obeyed his father. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, God would change his mind.

Elias, who understood the mind of the Pharisees and priests, gave Jesus a dubious smile. Jesus had warned us about his death before, but at least it would be postponed when he returned to Lazarus’ house. For a third time, after entering Jerusalem, he would warn us of his death (that time giving us the dreadful details), but now in the company of Elias and other converts, he had been deliberately vague about his fate. We were just happy to learn we would, after Jesus grand entry, return to Bethany. As he once counseled us, we must live each day at a time.

“Don’t worry about what the prophets say,” Jesus said in passing to Elias. “Believe what’s in your heart.

“If you say so, master.” The merchant shrugged his shoulders.

To end this discussion, Jesus gave us a prayer in which he asked his father to bolster our courage for the days ahead. Afterwards, he led all of us to a hill on the edge of town. Looking down on the plain below, we could see the road to Jerusalem, a reminder of our ultimate destination. In a loud voice that startled us half out of our wits, he cried, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!”

“Whoa,” Peter laughed, “I didn’t expect that!”

“Yes, master,” John said good-naturedly, “warn us first!”

“It’s true, though,” James informed us, “our people killed most of our prophets. We’re a stiff-necked people.”

Jesus outburst of anger was replaced by mirth. Embracing James that moment, he exclaimed loudly again, “James, my brother—our scholar, you have come a long way!”

Turning his attention back to the multitude, Jesus stood on the summit, gathering his thoughts. Other than Elias and his disciples, the crowd was ignorant of his fate. Not even Lazarus and his sisters understood the dangers ahead, and it was clear that the disciples were in denial. Today, unlike past meetings with the multitudes, the Pharisees, scribes, and priests were out in force. It was easy to pick them out from the crowd. They didn’t try to hide. For the spies in the crowd, however, Simon was our spotter. It made no difference, of course; Jesus wouldn’t be intimidated.

As in the past, the audience was spread below the crest of the hill. No one had sat down yet. Unlike Galilee, the ground was rough, strewn with gravel and bristly weeds. Jesus stood appraising the audience. Sprinkled here and there in the audience, his critics waited for their chance. Before giving the people a sermon—his favorite method of sharing the truth, Jesus was interrupted by a young man, who elbowed his way up the hillside, his servants trailing nervously behind. With glistening turban and fine raiment, he looked out of place in the multitude. Though wearing fine clothes, himself, Elias wasn’t dressed as well as even the young man’s servants. Always taking advantage of each situation, Jesus made this another defining moment in his ministry.

“Teacher,” the man called out excitedly, “what good must I do to have eternal life?”

^“Why do you ask me about what’s good?” replied Jesus. ”As a god-fearer, you know what’s good. If you want eternal life, keep the commandments.”

“Which ones?” asked the man.

Heaving a sigh, Jesus answered patiently, “You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, honor your father and mother, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

“All these I’ve kept,” chimed the youth. “What else must I do?”

And then came the answer that caused Elias and all the other wealthy men in the audience great dismay: “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give them to the poor, and you’ll have treasure in heaven. Afterwards come and follow me.”

The young man groaned. “Who can do such a thing?” He looked around the crowd for understanding. “Shall I forsake the inheritance my father gave me and become a pauper?”

Naturally disdainful of rich people, most of the audience snarled or shook their heads. Several of the wealthy men on the hillside took their leave, too, as the youth departed from the crest.

Then Jesus said to the multitude and his disciples, “This is a lesson for you all: it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”

Troubled by his words, Elias stepped forth, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’m a merchant with sickly parents and a family. Everyone tries to get ahead in this world: the sellers, cooks, bakers, weavers, and farmers. By your standards, who can be saved?”

“God won’t beggar you, Elias. It is the mooring of wealth to its owner, not the gold itself, that makes people captive to their riches. That youth spoke of his inheritance. He couldn’t forsake it, even for his soul. You must understand what inheritance will guide you: men’s or God’s.” “Remember one thing—all of you,” he looked around at his disciples and the crowd, “With a man, having little faith, this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Peter spoke for the disciples then: “We have left everything to follow you, master. What then will there be for us?”

Speaking first to his disciples and then to the multitude, Jesus raised his arms as if to embrace the world. “Listen and watch the signs. At the End Times, when I sit on my throne, you, my disciples, will sit on twelve other thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.  And for you out there—my followers, everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life.” “But remember this,” he added, probably with John and his brother James, in mind, “many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first… All of you, who make theses sacrifices, merit paradise, however little you own. Once, when I visited a synagogue, a widow dropped in a single mite. What she gave was equal to the rich man’s bag of gold, for it was all she had!”

The audience cheered Jesus speech, and, despite the rough ground, began settling enthusiastically on the hillside, as he continued to speak.

“Wealth isn’t evil,” he continued. “Loving wealth more than God is. One must be prepared to give it up if He wills it. You can’t serve two masters; one must win out in the end. If you do have money, use it wisely and generously. The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard.  He agreed to pay them a denarius for the day and sent them into his vineyard. In the morning he went out and saw others standing in the marketplace doing nothing, and he told them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard, and I’ll pay you whatever is right.’ So they went away. About noon, he went out again and, in the afternoon, he did the same thing.  Late in the afternoon he returned and found still more men standing around. He grew testy, asking them, ‘Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?’ ‘Because no one has hired us,’ they answered. He said to them, ‘You also go and work in my vineyard,’ he replied to them. When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Call the workers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last ones hired and going on to the first.’ The workers who were hired late in the afternoon came and each received a denarius.  So when those came who were hired first, they expected to receive more, and yet each one of them also received a denarius. When they received it, they began to grumble against the landowner.  ^‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they complained, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’ But, like my father, the landowner answered, ‘I’m not being unfair to you. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius?  Take your pay and go. I will give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. I have the right to do what I want with my own money. Are you envious because I am generous?’” “So you see,” Jesus summed it up, “the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Once again, Jesus was cheered. Because of his raising Lazarus from the dead and the resulting baptisms, he had an enthusiastic and inspired audience. After his first parable, however, we expected Jesus critics to begin sounding off. There were more of them in Bethany than any of towns we visited. During the pause, a finely dressed man, in a turban similar to the young man’s, approached Jesus. Unlike the other rich men, who retreated from the scene, he had lingered in the foreground, listening intently to Jesus speak. At first, as he hiked up the hill, we thought he might be another critic or a temple agent, but, as he stood their listening in his fine clothes, it was plain he wasn’t a Pharisee or scribe. To blend into the population, Simon had told us, temple agents often dressed like everyone else.

“Rabbi,” he said, bowing deferentially, “I am Malachi, a dealer in perfume, myrrh, and herbs. You quoted the Ten Commandments most excellently, but where in the commandments does it condemn wealth? Weren’t King Solomon and King David rich? Many great men of the Torah were rich, and yet they served God.”

“That’s true,” Jesus answered him. “The commandments given to us by Moses are right and fair, but if you remember correctly, God punished sinners for their love of gold. Did you not hear what I said to that rich young man?”

“Yes, it upset me very much,” an edge came to his tone. “I know that youth. I’ve done business with his father. They’re both good men. They give to charity, as it is required in the Torah, and are faithful servants of the Lord. What more can you ask?”

“Malachi,” Jesus raised a finger, “it isn’t enough to appear good on the outside, like the Pharisees and priests, puffed up by refinements of the law. There must be charity for the lowest in our sight, each and every day. To overlook even one is contemptible in the eyes of God.” “I will tell all of you another parable,” he looked out at the multitude:

“There was a certain rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and ate sumptuously every day. At his gate there was beggar full of sores, desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from that man’s table. The beggar was so bad off the dogs came and licked his sores, and then he died and was carried by the angels to heaven. Afterwards, the rich man also died and was buried. When he was in the torments of hell, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham faraway, and the beggar in his bosom. Crying out, he said, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and let that man, whom I spurned dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I’m tormented in this flame. Abraham replied sadly to him, ‘My son, remember that in your lifetime you received good things, and likewise this poor man received evil things. Now he is comforted and you are tormented. Between you and us there is a great gulf, which is fixed for eternity. One can’t pass from here to hell or from hell to heaven.’ ‘Very well, Father Abraham,’ replied the rich man. ‘I therefore beg of you that you would send that righteous man to my father’s house to testify to my five brothers, to prevent them from winding up here.’ ‘No,’ Abraham answered, ‘they have Moses and the prophets. Let them hear it from them.’ ‘Please Father Abraham,” the rich man implored, ‘They might not listen to the Torah. If one goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ ‘No,’ Abraham insisted, shaking his head, ‘If your brothers didn’t hearken to Moses and the prophets on earth, neither will they be persuaded from one rising from the dead.’” “The moral of this story is plain,” Jesus added, looking squarely at Malachi. “A man’s riches can be a millstone around your neck—the passage paid to hell. At the moment you die, your riches are worthless, all the power you’ve sought is for naught, and the overtures made to show your greatness are vain exercises unworthy of the Lord.”

“You are a hard judge!” Malachi uttered a bitter laugh.

“Perhaps,” Jesus pursed his lips, “but for what I offer you, the price is cheap.”

“Poof! You wish me to give it all away?” Malachi spread his palms.

“It’s as I’ve said,” Jesus restated, “it’s not having wealth that damns you; it’s the hold riches have on your soul. Unfortunately, it’s in a rich man’s nature to love his gold.”

“Lord,” Malachi’s voice cracked, “like many of my kind, I’m a sinful man, but unlike my peers, I’m dying. I would give you all that I have for what you offer, but I have a wife, sons, and grandchildren, who would be impoverished by such a move. What shall I do?”

“All right,” Jesus thought a moment. “…. Here’s what you can do. Go home to your estate, sign half of what you own to your family equally, and give the rest to the poor.”

A silence fell over the hill. I looked out to see the faces of the Pharisees, scribes, and priests, wondering why they hadn’t challenged Jesus by now. He had once again made light of the law. There were countless issues that could be raised by Jesus many heresies. And yet Jesus’ adversaries seemed as interested as everyone else to hear how this conversation turned out.

“Yes, master.” Malachi bowed his head. “I’ll go at once!”

“And when you return,” Jesus directed him, “bring you household and servants, so that they may be offered the same.”

“What if my sons refuse?” Malachi ventured delicately. “…. They may not want to part with their riches. I have pampered my wife and grandchildren too.”

“Each one is responsible for his actions,” Jesus quoted an old proverb. “You, Malachi, will speak on my behalf. You’ve heard the message and the reward. Remember what I told you about the rich man’s sons. Unlike him, you have a chance to make things right before you die. If your family doesn’t listen, it’s their own fault. Let no man or woman stand between you and salvation. You have but one chance!”

On that note, the Pharisees, scribes, and priests shuffled forth with a series of unrelated issues that had plagued them throughout Jesus’ ministry. This time in Bethany, unlike times before, these men had not skirted the shadows but, so close to Jerusalem, had stood in the audience boldly, strutting forth arrogantly now to challenge his words.

“Jesus,” announced a graybeard, stroking his whiskers, “I’m Jessie bar Samuel, advisor to the temple’s high priest. For a blasphemer and heretic, you’re a remarkable man. It’s one thing to ask people to give up their wealth, but one of your converts told me that you told them they must first give up their husbands and wives and even their children in order to join. Is this not destructive to the our families and way of life?”

There was a collective intake of breath among Jesus disciples and those listeners closest to the crest, for this appeared to strike at the core of our tradition. Instead of denying outright what the Pharisee implied, Jesus explained the requirement for being a disciple and follower: “To follow the Lord with your whole heart requires complete submission. However, knowing the weakness of people, my Father is merciful. The most steadfast, my disciples, have had to forsake their families. This is also true for the Seventy, but for the other converts, who return to their families and friends, there is no such requirement.”

“You speak lightly of family bonds,” Jessie tried setting a trap. “Is the family not sacred to you?”

“Yes, of course,” Jesus frowned.

“What about adultery?” Jessie grew feisty. “Ho-ho, I heard you have an adulteress in your midst.”

“That’s a lie,” cried Jesus. “Mary was a victim of abuse and neglect. She’s a changed woman!”

“So you say,” the priest gave him a crafty look. “What about the law on wifely obedience? I’ve heard about that wench. Aren’t woman supposed to be silent and serve men?”

“Jessie!” Jesus waved irritably. “The Torah was written by men, prejudiced like yourself. Have you forgotten Deborah and the great woman of those scrolls? Eve was the wife of Adam, not his slave!”

“Jesus!” An unidentified Pharisee stepped forth. “If we followed your example, women would rule their men like Jezebel!”

Jesus shook his bead. “I never said woman shouldn’t obey their husbands, but the husband must respect his wife.”

“But what if his wife becomes like Jezebel,” he insisted. “Shall he not divorce her?”

Jesus studied the Pharisee a few seconds. “Jezebel was an evil woman,” he replied, “…. I know what you trying to do, sir. You and Jessie are trying to make a case against me. That’s what your kind always do…. Listen carefully, you sly fellow: Is it not written, ‘God made them man and woman?’ For this reason, a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, so that they shall be one flesh. What God had joined together, let no man put asunder.”

A second man, a young scribe, who identified himself as Zedekiah, now came forward: “You ignore are holy scrolls, rabbi. Why did Moses command men to give wives a certificate of divorce and allow them to put them away?”

“Listen carefully, scribe.” Jesus gave him a look of disdain. “Because of the hardness of our people’s hearts, Moses permitted our people to divorce their wives, but in the beginning it wasn’t so. So I say to you that whoever divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another, commits adultery; and whoever marries her who is divorced commits adultery, too!”

Andrew, who had no wife, commented in the background, “To simplify our lives, it’s better not to marry.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” muttered Peter, “you’re not married.”

Perhaps with Andrew and Peter in mind, Jesus responded for the benefit of the multitude: “As I explained to Jessie, not everyone can forsake their families, especially their wives, to follow the Lord, but it’s difficult to have two loves: Love of the Lord and love of family and wife. To place wife, family, and God in the right order is sometimes not easy for men; that’s why celibacy is still a matter of choice.”

“Did he say choice?” I asked myself. “Had I heard him correctly?” Another question popped into my head then: had Jesus just given us the okay to be men again? Just as quickly, I recalled Jesus original expectations of us, which Jessie had made an issue of. For all practical purposes, it occurred to me, we had been like eunuchs. At this point, after daydreaming that moment, I heard several other men take issue with Jesus on controversial things he said the past.

“Rabbi.” A second Pharisee waddled up. “Nicodemus, a friend of mine, said the most ridiculous thing to me the other day. According to him, you said that a person has to be born again to enter heaven. You explained to him that one must be born of the spirit, not the flesh—a spiritual rebirth, he called it. That man was never the same after you told him that, but then Nicodemus has always been soft in the head. For me, this is nonsense. You’re born once, rabbi. You have but one life to prove your worthiness to God.”

“You know the words but you don’t understand what they mean,” Jesus chided him. “If Nicodemus, my friend, can’t convince you, your mind is set. This is the problem with men like you. You’re predisposed against the truth!”

“Is it true,” a second, older scribe, called out, “that you desecrated the temple? That you turned over tables and abused the priests?”

“It’s the priests who desecrated my Father’s house,” Jesus answered boldly. Turning to the audience, who despised these nit-picking and quarrelsome men, Jesus said in a disdainful voice, “The Pharisees, scribes, and priests think they own the truth, but they don’t. They fear the truth, because it would unmask what they really are: fakes, mean-spirited, hypocrites. They believe they have the keys to the kingdom, but they don’t. For those of them who don’t repent, it’s a place they won’t even enter. Hell is filled with men who thought they had good intentions. How wrong are the Pharisees, scribes, and priests who are trying to trap me with the truth!

A man, who Simon identified as a temple agent, now stepped forth shaking his fist “For shame, Jesus!” he snarled, “You’re telling the ignorant masses to forsake their faith for your so-called truth! We know all about you Jesus of Nazareth. You’re a sorcerer and perverter of the truth!”

Jesus’ adversaries, many of whom hadn’t spoken out, now lost their heads, spewing out all manner of charges and insults. Among their number were temple scribes, doctors of the law, and several priests, but also temple agents, who breaking their cover, joined in the dissent. It was overwhelming at first. I’ve never seen such pent-up hate flung at one person. Jesus many advocates, however, now sprang into action, a scene, Simon said was balm for the soul. Jesus’ enemies didn’t stand a chance as the mob rushed upon them. After they were dragged from the hillside, the magistrates of Bethany, now followers of Jesus, ordered them to leave town. Because of the heightened Roman presence so near Jerusalem, the men evidently thought it prudent to comply. Undoubtedly, as Peter believed, what these men had done was merely a formality before reporting back to the high priest. Looking back at this milestone in Jesus’ ministry, I still shudder at the outcome. These men had already made up their minds about Jesus in order to confirm Caiaphas’ original suspicions. Now an angry group of witnesses was returning to Jerusalem with damning evidence, just the kind of information Caiaphas needed to make his case.

With his opponents removed from Bethany, Jesus gave a speech similar to his first sermon to the multitude, which included new parables and ended with his familiar prayer. I have no idea what he said after most of his sermon. While he repeated, with embellishments, his original sermon, as Peter, John, and James, his innermost circle, stood guard beside him, I saw Andrew and Philip slip away and move quickly down the opposite side of the hill. Curious to see what they were up to, James and I followed discreetly behind. Back in town, as we hid behind a wall and peeked out onto the street, we heard Andrew, Philip, and four of the new members talking with a corpulent fellow, we identified as Moshe, also a convert to the way.

“I don’t have any horses,” Moshe informed Andrew. “I have donkeys and a few mules”

“Mules?” Andrew scratched his jaw. “What shape are they in?”

“Good shape—all of them.” Moshe rubbed his hands. “A white one, gray one, and a fine-looking spotted fellow—my best mule.”

“What about the donkeys?” asked Jehu. “What color are they?”

“What difference does it make?” snorted Moshe. “My best donkey and mule are both spotted. Why don’t you use Bartholomew’s beast; he’s a solid color and sturdy-looking too.”

Andrew and Philip went into conference with the converts, who probably put them up to this meeting. The four new members, whom James and I recognized, were the most zealous of the converts: Jehu and his wife Leah, Obid, a blacksmith, and Zadok, a man Jesus once cured of palsy.

“Bartholomew can keep his mule,” Jehu way saying. “I’ve seen the beast; he’s worn out. He’s earned his retirement, at least a long rest. But when we enter Jerusalem, Bartholomew must be on foot like everyone else. Jesus must follow prophecy. He must ride in on a donkey, not a mule. It must be without blemish, like the temple lamb.”

“A donkey?” Philip looked at him in disbelief. “Moshe has two mules of solid color, no spots, which makes them unblemished. They would meet temple requirements. Jesus is too big a man to ride on a donkey. It would make him look silly. Bartholomew’s mule has carried his massive weight many Roman miles. Jesus needs such a beast!”

“No,” Leah replied, shaking her head, “Jehu’s right. According to prophecy, Jesus must ride into Jerusalem on a donkey, not a mule. How would it look if he rode in on a mule? That’s a Roman animal—a Gentile beast!”

“There’s no such thing as a Gentile mule!” grumbled Andrew.

“Yes there are,” She said, folding her arms. “Roman horses are tainted too.”

“That’s absurd!” he huffed. “That would make me a heretic!”

“Me too!” Philip frowned.

“That would make you a heretic a hundred times over!” James said in my ear.

“The point is,” I fumed, “Andrew and Philip are disciples. Jehu and Leah are just converts. Who put them in charge?”

“They think they’re following God’s will,” whispered James. “That stuff about mules and horses is nonsense, of course. The prophets Samuel and Ezekiel mention mules as beasts of burden, and without the horse, none of our kings could have taken much ground. As far as the donkey is concerned, however, Jehu and Leah are correct. Zechariah wrote that one. Apparently Andrew and Philip are ignorant of his scroll, which places the Messiah on a donkey, but does not make plain just what Messiah he will be: a warrior king or man of peace.”

“So, Moshe,” Jehu was saying that moment, “show us your best donkeys.”

“All right.” He waved a pudgy hand. “But they’re all good. I agree with Andrew, though; there’s no such thing as a Gentile mule.”

Holding my tongue, as I listened to this transaction, I considered James’ words. Two things rankled me that moment: Jehu and Leah’s resolve that Jesus must ride a donkey into Jerusalem and their insistence that Bartholomew be deprived of his mule. Both of these demands were based upon Jehu and Leah’s interpretation of scripture—an obscure passage few people read. Bartholomew could barely walk on his own, and Jesus would look silly riding a donkey through Jerusalem’s gate. Philip was right: a donkey was too small for a big man like Jesus. His long legs would touch the ground. A mule on the other hand, and better yet a horse, would be more dignified for such an occasion, beasts suitable for the Messiah and Son of God. Despite this logic, however, there was, as James pointed out, a prophecy from Zechariah’s scroll clearly supporting Jehu’s and Leah’s claim: “Rejoice greatly, Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, and yet lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt—a donkey’s foal!”

In Zechariah’s prophecy the beast wasn’t’ even a full fledged donkey but a foal, which seemed, when I thought about it, even greater proof of Jehu’s and Leah’s claim. Nowhere in the prophecy did it say that it had to be unblemished, though. That was an echo from the old faith where the sacrifice had to be pure and unblemished, a chilling reminder of one of John the Baptist’s titles for Jesus: the Lamb of God. How ironic it was that, after John tied together the old and new religion with those words, a rustic Judean couple, using prophecy, would specify such a beast?

As we followed this group, it was clear to James and I that Moshe wasn’t interested in making a profit. Otherwise he would argue in favor of them renting a mule, which would cost much more. Such was the effect of Jesus’ sermon against hoarding wealth. Looking from a copse of myrtles very close to Moshe’s stables, we watched him parade four beasts from his herd into the enclosure—all solid colors: three brown and one white donkey. Almost immediately after an intake of breath, the three men and one woman selected the white donkey.

“Oh yes,” Leah clasped her hands, “white is for purity.”

“Are you sure?” Moshe raised an eyebrow. “That brown fellow’s bigger. You picked the smallest of the four.”

“He’s perfect!” Jehu and Zadok both agreed.

“What do you think?” Obid turned to Andrew. “With Jesus’ white robe wouldn’t that suit him well?”

“Yes,” Andrew nodded with resolution. “He’s white as snow. We all know what this means, but what about the crowd? What will they think?”

“Yeah,” Philip nodded. “What kind of king rides a donkey?”

“He’s got a point,” I mumbled to James.

“Don’t worry,” Leah waved airily, “we’ll explain it to everyone. It’ll be a grand affair!”

“I wish Jesus didn’t have to follow scripture,” Andrew appeared to be having second thoughts. “Considering what Elias told us, maybe he should enter Jerusalem on the sly.”

“No,” Jehu said stubbornly, “he must follow prophecy. Hasn’t that been what he’s been doing all along?”

Before there was much more discussion, James and I prudently slipped away with the intention to warn Jesus of their plans. Based upon the remarkable intuition he had always demonstrated, I suspected that he already knew. The question was, ‘Would he appreciate being kept out of the loop?’ It was as if the converts, with Andrew and Philip’s collaboration, wanted to force his hand. As we made our way back to the hill, we could hear Jesus’ booming voice. There was no way we could interrupt him now. By the time he had finished, the conspirators would have brought the donkey to him, and Jesus would feel obliged to fulfill Zechariah’s prophecy. If the prophecies about Isaiah’s second Messiah were all true, he must have dreaded this part of the story. In the scope of Jesus’ ministry on earth, it might not have been, in a historical sense, the end, but it was, we would find out, the beginning of the end.

******

When Andrew and Philip, with their cohorts standing eagerly behind them, presented Jesus with the donkey, Peter, James, and John, scolded them for not talking to Jesus first. In fact, all of the disciples, including Andrew and Philip, found the appearance of the donkey unsettling and resented the high-handedness of the new members. We were, of course, completely mistaken in our criticism. To our great surprise, Jesus clasped his hands with delight, walked over and congratulated Andrew, Philip, and the converts. As it turned out, Jesus, though not privy to their plans, approved of their enterprise.

“Ah yes,” he exclaimed, studying the beast, “Zechariah would approve. He’s perfect!”

“White as snow,” Andrew chimed.

“Yes, indeed,” Jesus stroked the beast, “a proper beast!”

Taking him by his reins, he led the donkey off a ways and stood there quietly as he munched the grass.

“When have you ever seen snow?” Philip teased Andrew

“… Not often,” he admitted. “It’s the whitest thing I can think of.”

“The donkey isn’t pure white,” I observed, as Jesus stroked him, “but it’s close enough. What I’m worried about is whether it can carry your weight. He’s awfully small. So what if he’s white? I’m aware of Zechariah’s prophecy, too, and there’s nothing in it about blemishes or color. Our prophets said a lot of strange things we take on faith. Look at Isaiah, who offers us two completely different messiahs: a conqueror and a savior. Nowhere in Isaiah’s prophecy does he mention riding into Jerusalem on a donkey; that was left for Zechariah who strangely enough refers to the rider as a righteous and victorious king. How much more confusing is that?” “A donkey is what our mother rode to Bethlehem,” I reminded Jesus. “You would be better served, Jesus, on a horse, which is more fitting for a king.”

“Or a mule,” said James.

“This beast is pure,” Jesus replied, laying his face on its cheek. “White isn’t always pure. The priests wear white linen. Are they pure?” “Listen to the Psalmist,” he remarked airily. “Sprinkle me with hyssop and I am pure. Wash me in it and I shall be whiter than snow!”

“What is hyssop?” Philip wrinkled his nose.

“It’s what our ancestors used to wipe away sin,” explained James. “The rite of our faith, however, has replaced such superstition. Baptism using water is used in place of hyssop oil to symbolically cleanse people of sin.”

Jesus smiled at him with approval, “No one could have said it better!” he exclaimed.

In later years, James, in his knowledge of the Torah, would be the archivist and link to our to our past. Who but James would know that obscure passage? James had, by connecting the ancient rite using hyssop oil to baptism by water (the cleansing away of sin), tied the old and new religions together, much as had John the Baptist tied them together when he introduced Jesus to the world. It also occurred to me how significant a white donkey was for Jesus entry into Jerusalem. Though Zechariah never specified such a color and I doubt the converts had that in mind, white symbolized, as the converts understood, purity. No one wanted to entertain dark thoughts, especially those dreaded words ‘blood of the lamb,’ but John the Baptist had implied this sacrifice long ago when he cried, “Behold, the Lamb of God.”

******

That hour, as we walked back to Lazarus’ house, Jesus led the donkey solemnly, his eyes looking into the future. Though James and I had been critical of Andrew, Philip, and the four converts actions, riding on a donkey had been Jesus’ idea. They had unwittingly followed his instructions. Despite the misgivings and apprehension that must have been swirling in Jesus’ mind, he shared in the festive mood in Lazarus’ house. There wasn’t enough room in the house for very many converts. While the other new members celebrated today in their respective homes, Jehu, Leah, Obid, and Zadok, who organized the coming event, joined Jesus, his disciples, Elias, the merchant, and Lazarus household at a sumptuous table, which included fine wine supplied by the merchant and delicacies sent over by well-wishing converts of the Way. Everyone was excited about the coming event.

As Mary resumed her pose that evening at Jesus’ feet, listening to every thing he said, Martha continued, with the help of a servant, to cook, serve, and clean up after our meal. In my mind, she, not Mary, had taken the best part. That night as we settled onto our pallets, I heard Jesus personally thank Martha for her dedication. “You have served us well, steadfastly, with little thanks,” I heard him say, as he took her hands. “Ages from now, your words will be spoken in quiet circles. Your fidelity will be remembered. They will know, because of your faith, that Martha was an instrument of the Lord!”
Had I not remembered Jesus’ promise to return tomorrow after his entry into Jerusalem, his words to Martha would have sounded like a farewell. With everything I heard and seen today weighing heavily in my mind, I lie there in the darkness staring at the ceiling. The shadows above me suited my mood. As my lifelong companions fell asleep one-by-one and I listened to the room erupt into night coughs and snores, I felt very alone. How was it that the other men accepted the dangers that Jesus faced? Despite his promise that he would return to Bethany, would our procession to Jerusalem be a one-way trip? Was I the only one who understood the ultimate meaning: death at the hands of his enemies? The upcoming event had distracted the other disciples from the dangers facing Jesus,…but not me. I could remember every prediction, clue, and subtle forewarning Jesus had given his disciples to prepare them for what lie ahead. My nearly perfect memory, which Jesus once told me was a blessing, had become a curse.

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