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Chapter Forty-Four

The Appearances of Jesus

When Lazarus and his sisters decided to return home and share the good news with their friends and neighbors in Bethany, we decided it was time to leave the upper room, too, our unanimous decision being to shift our refuge to Bethany in Lazarus’ house. Drawn by our fellowship, Mark and his mother decided to come along, leaving their servant to oversee their house. Breaking up into pairs and threesomes, we made our getaway, each hour slipping piecemeal through Jerusalem’s main gate, until that evening we were assembled as a group in Lazarus’ home.

James, Bartholomew astride his mule, and I were the last group to arrive at his house.

Fleetingly, during the dark time, I had thought about Micah, my dog, waiting there in Ashira’s care. Now, on a leash she had made for him, he broke away from the servant, almost vaulting into my arms.

“He remembers you!” James laughed.

“Of course!” I said, nearly falling down. “After Jesus cured him, he became mine forever. It was as if he knew me all his life.” “Easy does it Micah,” I tried calming him. “we’ve had long walk!”

Ashira raised her hand in salutation. “Greetings Jude, James, and Bartholomew!”

“Thanks for taking care of my dog.” I grinned happily “You don’t have to he so formal, Ashira. You’re one of us now!”

“It’s true, Ashira,” Bartholomew said, peering down from his mule. “There’s no masters or servants in the kingdom.”

“Yes,” nodded James agreed, “we’re all servants of the Lord.”

During these platitudes, I reached out warmly to her. “Now that Micah’s staying here,” I took her hands, “he’s partly yours.”

“That seems only fair,” James agreed. “Jesus gave him to Jude, but he’s like our mascot. Who couldn’t love this special dog.”

“I certainly do!” She reached down and ruffled his head. “Watch this!” she exclaimed. Micah’s really smart. I taught him some tricks.”

At that point, she signaled to him with her hands. Responding to each signal, he sat up, barked, rolled over, played dead, and, for his final trick, chased his tail.

“That’s amazing!” James slapped his forehead.

“It’s not natural,” marveled Bartholomew.

“It’s true.” I sighed with satisfaction. “Your both right. Because Jesus cured him, Micah is unnatural. He’ll never be a normal dog!”

As Micah trotted behind Ashira, James, and I, his leash dragging uselessly on the ground, I felt great pride. Here, in a very real way, was a part of Jesus, who had placed him in my care. Yet, despite being such an amazing creature, he was still a dog, scampering playfully around Bartholomew and his mule, barking at a low flying bird, and romping up alongside of me to lick my hand.

******

Though giving us a break from the upper room, our shift of residence proved problematic for Lazarus’ household. Now that our numbers included, not only eleven disciples but Mary Magdalene, Mark, and his mother, as well as Micah, my dog, there simply wasn’t enough room. Also disappointing to us was the reception we received the next day from townsfolk who had once appeared to be Jesus’ followers. When Lazarus sent his servant with word of Jesus resurrection to townsfolk, only a few these fair-weather followers paid us a visit. The very air seemed charged with discontent after word of the crucifixion reached the town. No one, not even Jared and his wife, who had joined the Way when Jesus was alive, believed he survived such a death. During a conversation during our evening meal, the subject of returning to Jerusalem was brought up by James, who felt our flight was a cowardly act. There wasn’t enough room in Lazarus’ house, I joined the argument. We were persona non gratis here. No one had believed Lazarus’ servant. Our reception in Bethany was almost as bad as that in Jerusalem. It was time to return. James looked around the table for everyone’s support. Peter, who had tried to play the part of Rock and failed, joined James and I in our vote, as did Mary Magdalene, Lazarus’ sisters, Mark and his mother, and, after a pause, most of the disciples at the table. Lazarus and his sisters would stay in Bethany, as well as Thomas, who had not been convinced. Thomas complained of an ailment of his bowels, but we weren’t fooled. Had Peter not stepped forth, I’m certain Bartholomew, Philip, and Andrew might have bowed out, too.

James’ pep talk, had given the majority courage. Also bolstering their resolve, brought up during dinner, was how easily we had walked down Jerusalem’s main street in plain sight and slipped unnoticed out the gate. A strong presence of Roman legionnaires in town, which we noticed immediately upon returning to Jerusalem, was yet another factor bolstering our resolve. Now, if we felt hemmed in, James assured us, we could stretch our legs in town. We might, if we were vigilant, even pay Nicodemus a visit. The old Pharisee might not even know that Jesus rose from the dead.

At dawn the next morning we began our trek back to Jerusalem. Giving Micah a hug, I once more left him in Ashira’s capable, caring hands. In spite of our resolve there was an unspoken anxiety in our ranks. What if all James’ and my fine words was wishful thinking and even delusional and Caiaphas’ henchmen pounced on us as soon as we entered the gate? As Andrew put it, “No one can predict what that reptile might do!” Despite such lingering doubts, however, our return to the city, as James predicted, proved to be uneventful. After a short pause in which we ate lunch in Mark’s house, James and I paid Nicodemus a visit. As is turned out, both he and Joseph of Arimathea, his guest, appeared to believe our story. Nathan, Nicodemus’ chamberlain, likewise seemed receptive. So hopeful were they that this was true, however, it could be the same kind of reception the fishermen gave the news: a wait and see vigil requiring more proof, which came for most of us when Mary Magdalene claimed to have seen the risen Lord.

When we left Nicodemus’ house, we saw a familiar rider trotting down the street. On his great black stead, the old centurion looked down at us as he rode up, a faint smile cracking his chiseled fact.

“Ave Jude and James!” he greeted us, raising one hand.

“Longinus!” I called. “The tomb was empty. Jesus has risen from the dead!”

“The dead don’t rise,” he replied bluntly, “even the Son of God!”

“But if you believe he’s a god, he’s immortal,” I played his game.

“Ho-ho, point taken!” he said with a nod. “Tell me,” he said, climbing off his horse, “how did his father manage this? I heard the guards were bewitched or fell asleep. The stone rolled away was quite heavy, and yet the rumor is your king was stolen by the priests. Thanks to your Jewish God, the guards got into big trouble. They might even lose their heads.”

“Jesus wouldn’t have wanted that.” I shook my head. “They were doing God’s will.”

“Or they were drunk.” Longinus laughed sourly. “Those temple guards are a shiftless lot. They’ll probably just get whipped.”

“Sir,” James replied belatedly. “You referred Jesus’ father as the Jewish God. He’s not the Jewish god. He is God!”

“Hah!” The centurion shrugged. “Thanks to Roman policy, we have hundreds. The Jewish god is just one more added to our pantheon.” “The truth is,” he added more seriously,

“ Our gods—Roman and foreign—are stone. I’ve never met someone like Jesus. He didn’t claim to be a god; he claimed to be the Son of God, but that would still make him a god. The Egyptian god Osiris had a son and so did Rome’s Jupiter, but none of our gods claimed to the Christ. They weren’t interested in men’s souls and their salvation. You offered sacrifices to them. You didn’t have to live a good life or even pray. We have priests for that. I heard Jesus forgave his tormentors as he was nailed on the cross. Jupiter, if he ever existed, would have struck them all dead.” “I also heard something else,” he added, stroking his horse. “…. There were two men on each side of Jesus, both of whom were members of Barabbas’ gang. Can you believe it? Jesus, the Son of God, was hung between two criminals. It sickened me when that rabble chose Barabbas over him. Barabbas is a murderer and insurrectionist. He should have been the one nailed on a cross…. When I looked up at your king, I was filled with great rage… Then I heard Gestus, the criminal crucified on Jesus’ left side, taunt him: Why didn’t he save himself and also them, if he was King of the Jews, as the plaque over his head stated? The second man, Dismus, crucified on Jesus right side, scolded his cohort, saying, ‘We deserved our punishment, but Jesus is innocent.’ Looking over at him, Dismus, pleaded, ‘Jesus, when you enter your kingdom, remember me!’ Jesus, in great agony, who had forgiven his enemies, exclaimed to Dismus, “Today you shall be with me in Paradise!” “Suddenly,” Longinus said after a pause, “the rage I felt—like a shadow on my mind—disappeared. I wondered that moment if a man like Dismus, who had been a murderer and thief all his life, only moments or hours before he died, could merit eternal life, why not me? I have killed men who tried to kill me and only done my duty for Rome, but I have never believed in the gods. What happened yesterday sullied me. I heard about Jesus’ miracles and heard him speak, so I knew we were killing a god—”

“Longinus, you are part of God’s plan,” I interrupted, patting his arm. “You acknowledged him. I heard you. If you believe and repent, you, too, are saved.”

“Ho-ho,” Longinus laughed self-consciously. “You preach to me? I’m not a Jew. What does you king need of another sword?”

“You think Jesus came for only Jews?” James looked at him in disbelief.

“Yes,” Longinus nodded. “That’s what I’ve gathered.”

“That’s not true.” James frowned. “Jesus has converted Gentiles. I know of a few.”

“A few, you say,” he replied dismissively. “I know of none. I would be cashiered out of the legions if I joined your sect.”

“Ah hah!” I cried. “You must be thinking about it. No one has to know. Jesus doesn’t expect people to give up what they do for a living. You can serve both Caesar and Christ.”

Longinus, who must have been thinking about this since the crucifixion, sighed deeply, climbed back on his horse, and sat there in silence, as a squad of soldiers walked passed. Saluting the centurion and receiving a nod, they continued on their way without a backward glance. Peace had been restored to Jerusalem. For the most part, the holy city was the same. Ordinary Roman soldiers didn’t care that Jesus had been crucified or that the veil in the temple was rent asunder. Only Longinus and probably Pilate, who knew he had crucified an innocent man, felt pangs of guilt.

“One thing I don’t understand.” Longinus looked down with a troubled expression. “If Jesus was the Christ and Son of God, why did your people turn against him? I saw very few sympathizers in that crowd?”

“They were there,” James reassured him, “and they’re the ones that count. I saw a few Gentiles there too.”

“Yes,… Claudia, Pilate’s wife.” Longinus stared into space. “I saw her below the cross. She believe s like some of my men that we killed a god. She’ll never forgive her husband for that.”

“We learned from a scribe what Jesus told Pilate.” I explained consolingly. “He told the procurator that the Sanhedrin had the greater blame. You like Judas, even Barabbas, were part of God’s plan, but unlike them you believe.”

He gave me a questioning look. “I do?… If that’s true, why don’t I feel it? I’ve gained nothing in life but my service to Rome: no family, no permanent home, and hardly any true friends. Suddenly, because of one crucified man, I regret it all. Did you know that my reassignment to Jerusalem was punishment for my association with Cornelius? Why did I waste my life in this thankless job?”

“Listen my friend,” I said greatly moved. “If you hadn’t of been sent here, you might not ever have believed. You, like James and I, witnessed a terrible and glorious event. We are a chosen few. We heard his words on the cross and saw him take his last breath. Now we know that he’s risen. That’s the most important thing you have to believe, Longinus. Jesus is alive. The king is back!”

“That’s what I heard,” he confessed, taking a hold of his reins. “A legend was born. Those two men guarding the tomb swore they were bewitched. In a sense that’s true. I don’t believe they were drunk. They know what would happen if they got caught drunk on duty. It occurred to me also how unreasonable it would be for the priests to steal Jesus’ body, which would prove he rose from the dead. It could, as Pilate suggested, be his disciples who moved him, but if that’s so, why would they leave his shroud—a disrespectful act for someone they called the Christ. His disciples weren’t very brave. They wouldn’t have dared show their faces near the tomb.”

Giving his horse a gentle kick, he looked back as he trotted away, raising his free hand in salute, his final words, affirming what I thought: “…. I don’t know where this will lead me. Soon I will retire and get a plot land in Galilee somewhere or I might even return with my bag of coins to Rome…. No matter where I go, that day below the cross will haunt me…. It’s true, my friends,… Jesus has bewitched me, too…. He’ll haunt me the rest of my days!”

******

What still seemed like a risky and unnecessary stroll in Jerusalem proved to be worthwhile. I couldn’t wait to tell the others about our conversation with Longinus. Though he scarcely would admit it, Longinus now believed. When we returned to Mark’s house, however, there were visitors in the upper room. The report on our meeting with Longinus would have to wait. As James and I entered the room, Cleopas and Matthias greeted us with uncharacteristic hugs and backslapping. Both men grinned continually, eager to relate their story. Someone must have purchased spirits in town, for everyone clutched a mug of wine. Everyone, in fact, including the women, appeared to already have made a few toasts. Our mother had a look of illumination on her face. It appeared as if they must have let most of the story slip, and yet the group had waited excitedly for James and I to return before so they could share with us the extraordinary news. Cleopas and Matthias, who had been there at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry but gone their own ways, had been on their way to Emmaus when, according to Cleopas, a stranger approached them on the road. As they talked about the news of Jesus’ crucifixion and apparent resurrection, which both of them wanted to believe, the stranger, whose face was almost hidden in his hood, broke into conversation with them.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Emmaus,” replied Cleopas, looking suspiciously at the man.

“I can tell,” noted the man. “that something has made you sad.”

“I would say so,” grumbled Matthias. “Haven’t you heard, sir?”

“Heard what?” the stranger pressed. “Did something happen when I was gone?”

“You must have just returned,” Cleopas replied, “or you’d know what happened.”

“All right.” The man shrugged. “Tell me what happened.”

“Very well,” Cleopas looked over at him, as they walked, “Jesus of Nazareth, our prophet, was arrested by the priests, condemned by the Romans, and nailed to a cross. We had hoped that he was the Christ, who would redeem Israel. We heard a rumor that he had risen on the third day. Though his tomb was empty, no one has seen him. That’s why we’re sad. That’s why all of Israel should be sad!”

That moment, as Cleopas repeated his glowing report, I sensed what came next.

“Oh, you foolish men!” the stranger cried. “Don’t you believe what the prophets have written. Everything that happened—his suffering and crucifixion—were meant for his glory, so the world, not merely Israel, will be saved!”

Already James and I exchanged knowing looks. According to Cleopas, in what struck me as incredibly dense, neither he nor Matthias knew who the stranger was. They never bothered to even ask him his name. Even when the man went on to espouse passages from the scriptures, beginning with Moses and ending with Isaiah, that strongly hinted as to who he was, they remained ignorant. Perhaps, they were just tired or just too thickheaded to comprehend, but their lack of perception served to create a memorable account. As the three men approached an inn, Cleopas invited the stranger to sup with them, still totally unaware of his identity. Then, as they sat together eating their meal, the stranger took the bread, blessed and broke it into three pieces, and, taking one for himself, gave each of the men a piece. At that point, he pulled back his hood and sat there waiting for their response. Suddenly, as Matthias put it with misty eyes, “Our eyes were opened and we knew who it was: Jesus of Nazareth, the risen Christ.”

After this announcement, Jesus told Cleopas and Matthias to return to Jerusalem and join the eleven disciples in the upper room, and here they were. Because James and I got an abbreviated version of the first telling, I’m certain Cleopas and Matthias left out a few details. But we heard the most important portions of it: Cleopas and Matthias claimed to have seen and talked to the risen Lord. Years later, Luke’s scroll would fill in the gaps.

Not one of the disciples, including James and I, questioned their account because of the satisfaction it gave our mother, but I could still see doubt on most of their faces. I felt it myself. It seemed strange to me, and I’m certain to everyone else, that Jesus would appear to two men who had been inactive in his mission and not appear to his mother and disciples—those people closest to him in life. Peter, John, and Lazarus’ sisters were there at the tomb, but, with the exception of the empty crypt and grave clothes they found, saw nothing. Among those in the upper room, only Mary Magdalene had seen the risen Lord. Now two men, who had been away for years and hadn’t served the Lord, became the second and third witnesses of the Resurrection.

While we ate our evening meal with our visitors, Mark’s mother not too subtly asked Cleopas and Matthias if they were staying for the night. This should have been obvious to her. After all, they wouldn’t travel to Emmaus at night. When they offered to find an inn in town, an impossible venture this time of year, Mark frowned at his mother, insisting that they stay. Despite the dubious nature of it, their report of Jesus second appearance had filled us with hope. It was not merely Mary Magdalene who saw Jesus in the flesh; two men, who were practically strangers, had seen him too. Mother Mary, as everyone had come to call her, was jubilant now. She had adopted Mary Magdalene and, to James and my dismay, also John. John had ingratiated himself into both our mother and Mary Magdalene’s affection. I still don’t understand why Jesus designated John as our mother’s son. This grievance, of course, I kept to myself. James and I were just happy to see her smile again. Perhaps, looking at it from Mary’s perspective now that she had been adopted, I had another sister, which would make my thoughts of her improper—a state of affairs that also affected John. We were, in fact, that night, one big, happy family and, in a very real sense, I understand now, the founders of the ecclesia that would incorporate the Seventy in Galilee and the other converts who hadn’t fallen away.

******

Just when everyone had begun to yawn and look longingly at their pallets, we heard footsteps in the room below and feet clomping up the stairs. Our greatest fear, which we demonstrated with frightened looks and gasps, was that Caiaphas’ men were coming to arrest us. Who else could it be at this hour?

“You left the door unlocked!” Mark exclaimed to his mother.

“I did no such thing,” she said, her hand flying to her mouth. “The door was locked!”

“Wait!” James looked around wildly. “I didn’t hear the door slam. How is that possible?”

Suddenly, to our wondrous shock, emerging calmly from the staircase as if he had just been out for a stroll, Jesus appeared in the upper room.

James and I raced to him, breaking into sobs.

“My son! My son!” cried our mother, rising shakily to her feet.

The other witnesses stood in shock, as if they had just seen a ghost.

Jesus embraced his mother. Looking passed her, he said, “Why are you all so surprised. You have heard the prophecy. It’s me, your shepherd. Touch the wounds on my hands and feet. A spirit doesn’t have flesh and bones. I’m alive!”

The men and women formed a circle around Jesus, the risen Christ. Everyone tried to hug him at once, but Jesus, who had been cradled in death by his mother now reciprocated, lifting her frail body up and holding her in his arms a moment, as she clung to him like a little child. We were all his children now. As he sat there with his mother on his lap, who refused to let go of his neck, he laughed with embarrassment or amusement. Everyone touched him just to make sure. No one dare speak, as if it would break the spell, until finally Jesus looked around the room, sighed, and asked, “Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s sick,” Mary Magdalene answered naively

“No, not sick,” James shook his head, “afraid. He’s staying at Lazarus’ house. I wish Lazarus and sisters were here. If you had come earlier, they would have been here, too.”

“…And Judas?” Jesus murmured.

No one spoke. Because of his great gifts, Jesus must already have known about Thomas’ cowardice and what happened to Judas. The truth about Judas, despite what Jeremiah had told us, was that we couldn’t be sure. For all we knew, he was out there still alive. James and I had tried to explain to the others Jesus thoughts on this man, but, prophecy or not, the disciples minds were set. Now, with few comment from us, Jesus looked around the group again, knowing all our minds. “My Father decided the issue, not Judas. If he had not betrayed me, someone else would have. His sacrifice was great and tragic. He was, as all us, my father’s instrument.”

“He betrayed you, master!” Peter protested.

“And he never understood you!” replied John. “Judas wanted a conqueror—a King David. He thought you would vanquish the Romans, returning Israel to its glory.”

“That day will come,” Jesus said enigmatically, “in a latter day. I came this time for the sinners.” “One day you’ll understand this!” He looked squarely at John.

“What’s that mean?” John muttered.

John, who would one day record his revelations, gave him a puzzled look, but Jesus held up his hand as if to say, “Enough. This subject has ended.” In deed, Jesus miraculous presence was enough for us to mentally digest. Grinning self-consciously, Mother Mary climbed off Jesus’ lap and, in a most motherly fashion, asked him if wanted something to eat.

“All right,” Jesus said, sitting down at the table, “how about a piece of cheese, bread or broiled fish?”

Mark ran down to the kitchen. His mother poured Jesus a mug of juice. “I’m sorry we drank all the wine?” she apologized. “You deserve a fine feast!”

“I came late to the feast,” Jesus prophesized. “So it shall be for the Gentiles. I didn’t just come for the Jews. Do you remember what’s written about me by the prophets and in the Psalms? According to our scriptures, the Messiah will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day. You are witnesses to my return. Because of my resurrection, repentance for forgiveness of sins will be preached in my name to all nations, beginning here in Jerusalem.” “…. But not yet!” he added after a pause. “Until you’ve been clothed with power from my Father, stay in the city. When Thomas is among you, I shall return!”

No sooner had Jesus said those words, than he vanished before our eyes. Everyone gasped, taken back by the suddenness. His mother, however, recovered quickly, asking us, “Where did he go? Did he go back to his father?”

“No, he didn’t say that.” James shook his head in wonder. “He said he’d be back.”

“When Thomas returns.” Simon frowned thoughtfully. “He was disappointed Thomas wasn’t here. What concerns me is what he said about Judas.” “Tell me the truth.” He looked at James and me. “Is he really dead?”

“We dunno.” I shrugged. “We just can’t be sure.”

“Surely someone has an opinion,” replied Matthew. “Jeremiah found a rope tied on a tree near a cliff. As he said: ‘One moment he was there, and the next moment he was gone’. It therefore seems reasonable Judas jumped or hung himself.”

“If someone, in fact, was attached to the rope.” James raised an eyebrow. “Below the cliff was a mountain of trash and human garbage. He should have been lying on that pile.”

“That’s enough!” Peter slammed the table. “We just had a visit from our Lord, who vanished in thin air. Let’s not spoil it with this talk. Judas is dead—period! End of subject!”

“I agree,” Mary Magdalene nodded pertly. “These were blessed moments!”

“Truly, blessed,” Philip said, looking into his mug. “Too bad we don’t have more wine. We could make another toast!”

“We’ve had enough toasts,” grumbled Peter. “We have serious business ahead!”

“I don’t know about you people,” Bartholomew said with a yawn, “but I’m ready to turn in.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, “me too. This is gonna be an eventful week.”

“Right!” Simon nodded. “One of us should bring that slacker Thomas back to Jerusalem. He’s holding things up!”

“And we should tell Lazarus, Martha, and Mary,” said Mark. “They deserve to know.”

“Oh they’ll know,” I reassured him, “if they don’t know already. Jesus will make the rounds. Who knows where he will go next. Surely he’ll visit Lazarus’ house!”

******

As you might already suspect, Thomas wasn’t my favorite disciple. At least Judas was consistent. We sensed from the beginning he was bad news. But Thomas vacillated between support of Jesus and his hesitancy and fearfulness when he wasn’t sure. The scrolls he would one day write and send home by messenger shortly before his death, showed us a brave but misinformed man, who wrote nonsense about Jesus’ childhood and made preposterous claims. There wasn’t a whisper in the days following the resurrection that he would one day suffer such a heroic death. When James and I went to inform Lazarus and his sisters that Jesus had risen, Thomas was, in fact, silent. Though his hosts clasped their hands with joy and continued uttering praise for our Lord, he said nothing on our journey back to Jerusalem. James and I were so irritated with him by then, we didn’t care, but when we entered the upper room, the other eight disciples erupted in condemnation, scolding him severely.

“Stop it!” Mother Mary cried. “Jesus loves Thomas, too. Did he not ask for him?”

“Jesus forgives everyone!” Simon grumbled. “I bet he even forgave Judas. Thomas is a coward. He proved it when he refused to come.”

“Well, I’m here now!” Thomas said petulantly. “I told you I was sick. I was unable to come.”

“He was ill.” Lazarus spoke on his behalf. “I saw him vomit and turn white. Martha made a potion for him that seemed to make him better.”

“He was sick with fear!” Philip glared at him. “The only potion we needed was a little wine.”

Mark’s mother raised an eyebrow. “A little? How about a lot? You men got blind drunk!”

“Well, I didn’t need wine,” Thomas stuck to his story. “I had Martha’s potion.”

“It was just a few herbs.” Martha shrugged.

“Everyone shut up!” Mary Magdalene waved her hands. “Let’s tell them about Jesus!”

For several moments, as Mark and his mother prepared an afternoon meal, we expanded upon what James and I already told Lazarus and his sisters about Jesus appearance and what he said, including his promise to send us out into the world.

“He wants us to stay in Jerusalem awhile,” Mark added eagerly. “He said God would empower us, whatever that means.”

“Empower?…Empower?” Thomas mulled over the words. “That’s a strange thing to say.”

“Everything you can’t see and touch is strange to you,” scolded Mary Magdalene. “Jesus told us to see with our hearts.”

“See with our hearts?” Thomas made a face. “How do you see with your heart? What rubbish is this? That doesn’t make sense! You tell me Jesus rose from the dead, but the dead don’t rise until Judgment Day. Unless I see him for myself, I won’t believe.”

“Thomas, you fool!” Peter chastised him. “He was here. We saw the marks in his hands and feet. They were there where the Romans drove in the nails, and yet he arose from death as good as new!”

“No, better than new!” I cried. “He’s the risen Christ, you numbskull. Do you believe we made this up. Count us, Thomas. Are nineteen people, who saw the same wondrous miracle, liars? Cleopas and Matthias, who were on their way to Emmaus, saw him first, and reported it to us. We had our doubts too, until we saw him for ourselves.”

“Humph.” Thomas blew out a puff of air. “You required hard evidence too.”

“No, not like you,” James wrung his finger. “Even when Jude tells you how many people saw him—more than once, no less, you still shake your head. We thought Judas might be addled, but you’re much worse. Judas, though misguided by Isaiah, would have been greatly impressed with such news. What fool doesn’t accept a consensus?”

Thomas appeared to equivocate. “… I didn’t say that I didn’t accept who he was or that you saw him. I just want to see him for myself.”

That moment, as we encircled Thomas, the doubter, we heard footsteps on the stairs again. Whirling around in time to see him emerge from the top of the stairwell, we once again saw our master, radiant in his white tunic and robe.

“Peace be with you!” he raised a hand, as if in blessing. “Thomas,” he now beckoned, “come here. Let’s test out Peter’s words.”

“My Lord!” Thomas fell to his knees before him.

“Stand up, Thomas,” Jesus reached down to take his hands. “You, like the others, have a great task ahead of you.” “Put your finger here.” He directed him gently. “Feel the nail marks on my hand. They’re the same as the marks on my feet.” “Now reach and touch my side,” he added, lowering his tunic down a ways. That’s were a Roman drove in his spear. Dead men do live again, Thomas, if they believe in me and accept the gift of eternal life! Now stop doubting and believe!”

“My Lord, my God!” Thomas wept. “My eyes are open. I believe! I believe!”

“Blessed are those who believe and have not seen!” Jesus exclaimed.

******

From that day forward, Thomas seemed to be a changed man. He was still outspoken and irritating at times, but he was now as convinced as the rest of us that Jesus had risen from the tomb. After Jesus first three appearances, two of which were witnessed in the upper room and one on the road to Emmaus, the remaining sightings by other witnesses were less credible than Cleopas, Matthias, and ourselves. Why would Jesus appear to just anyone, who made such a claim? Jesus was as mysterious after his resurrection as he was before his death.

On a day following his third appearance, this time in the upper room, Peter had a dream in which Jesus told him to leave Jerusalem and lead his disciples back to Galilee. That same day, to James and my surprise, our brothers and sisters arrived unexpectedly to take our mother home. The ordeal of the crucifixion had aged her, and yet she was happy and at peace. One day her remaining children would join the Way, but they gave little indication of this then. On the Jerusalem road, Cleopas and Matthias departed for Emmaus, promising to join us the following week. Before turning north, we stopped briefly in Bethany to drop off Lazarus and his sisters. While resting a spell, I spent time with Micah, entertaining everyone with the tricks Ashira taught him. I would have loved to take him along this time, but suspecting how Peter’s wife and mother-in-law might react if he accompanied us to Capernaum, I left him once more in Ashira’s care. After reporting his dream to us, Peter had said nothing about Lazarus and his sisters coming along nor did he include Mark and his mother, Mary Magdalene, Cleopas, or Matthias on the list. Despite the specific command given to Peter in his dream, however, neither Mary Magdalene, Mark, or Mark’s mother would stay behind. They would remain with us, increasing the seventy chosen in Galilee to seventy-four. The truth was, of course, the original number was only intended for the missions made during Jesus’ lifetime. Now that he had died and been resurrected, all of the converts throughout Galilee and Judea would be gathered one day to become a growing ecclesia. For now, of course, we were very small, hardly a threat to established order once we left Jerusalem.

Our return to Capernaum was festive—one of the high points for us following Jesus return. While we chatted excitedly about the great adventure ahead, the two remaining Mary’s walked arm-in-arm in a daze. James, Simon, Matthew, Thomas, and I walked apart from the fishermen as before. Bartholomew was once more seated in a mule cart laden with provisions provided by Nicodemus. Until Jesus appeared again to us, it seemed natural that the fishermen return to their occupation of fishing, which left the rest of us idle, until Peter decided to teach us how to fish. The women would have no part of this, but James, Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Bartholomew and I agreed to give it a try. For the first few days, Peter showed us the basics of lake fishing: throwing out the net, gathering it in, and hauling it aboard the boat. Our lessons began in the morning, lasting for most of each day. Little actual fishing was done during our training.

One day, after our group had been in Capernaum for awhile, waiting for Jesus to reappear, two faithful followers, Azariah and his wife, Yoshabel, who had heard about the appearances but hadn’t seen it for themselves, listened with the other converts assembled by the lake, asking us questions about Jesus’ last days days and resurrection. The fishermen left their boats to attend the reunion. It was reassuring to see other members of the Way gathered again, but it was a far cry from the multitudes Jesus had preached to before. Azariah and Yoshabel, and many of the other followers, unlike Thomas, appeared to believe without seeing. Others in the Seventy-Four, who needed solid proof Jesus rose from the dead, listened awhile then walked away shaking their heads. Though James believed they would return, our numbers had temporarily shrunk. Of course membership was somewhat greater when the converts in Judea, Decapolis, Perea, and Samaria were considered, but, after the arrest, trial, and death of Jesus, there was no proof that people in these provinces and, for that matter, followers in Galilee, had stayed the course. Many lukewarm converts, who were ignorant of the resurrection, had probably fallen away. Offsetting our happiness and illumination therefore was our reduced numbers and the absence of representatives from congregations in other provinces, who must have gotten the word by now.

Because there were several families in Capernaum at least sympathetic to our cause, visiting members from other towns were given lodging in their homes. It was important at this time, as we awaited further instructions, that we remained together in solidarity. Thanks to Azariah’s leadership among the original Seventy, we still had what the Greeks would call an ecclesia or congregation. Peter’s wife, mother, and daughter, now that Jesus had risen, were more patient and cooperative. Together with some of their neighbors, they organized communal meals, which since the weather was still mild, were served on tables outside—festive occasions that attracted residents of Capernaum that had fallen away. We knew that we would soon be sent out into the world as missionaries. Bringing back those who had lost faith was a missionary act in itself and helped sharpen our skills. This time Peter and the other disciples accepted Mary Magdalene as one of the preachers, but insisted, for appearances sake, that Mary pair off with his daughter Bernice rather than John or me. In the near future Lazarus and his sisters would join our ecclesia. To our surprise, Jonas, a man Jesus once cured of leprosy, arrived at Peter’s door. Those also trickling in one-by-one in the days ahead, would include Cleopas, Matthias, Barnabas, and Justus (also known as Joseph Barsabbas), an early convert to the Way.

Compared to our detractors, the supporters were few, and yet we all had a vision now, bolstered by Jesus’ appearances. I can’t speak for Barnabas, Justus, and those other followers absent during this period of time, but it’s my opinion that those converts who believed unquestionably, without seeing Jesus again, were in many ways superior to the rest of us, who had required solid proof that Jesus rose from the dead.

So far, if we counted Jesus appearance on the road to Emmaus, Jesus had appeared four times: the first time to Mary Magdalene, the second time to Cleopas and Matthias, and the third and fourth times to those gathered in the upper room. As we waited for his fifth appearance in Capernaum, we were anxious and filled with expectation, impatient to begin service for our Lord. To get our minds off the wait, Peter kept us busy practicing with his nets, afterwards teaching us how to clean and repair them, then sand and paint his work-worn boats. One morning, after breakfast, he gathered Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Bartholomew, James, and I together to inform us it was time to put our training to the test. Mary Magdalene stood with Mark’s mother, watching from the shore. Climbing into Peter’s boats, still unsure of ourselves, the apprentice fishermen were once again separated from the fishermen, who sat in the first boat, as Peter sat among the recruits barking orders, watching our every move.

Rowing parallel to the shore toward Peter’s favorite fishing spot, we listened to his criticism of our handling of the oars. Looking back I watched the two women fade from view, wondering if Mary Magdalene still thought of me. Had her devotion to Jesus wiped away her affection toward me? Had John (who didn’t fool me one bit), who Jesus singled out, gained her fancy? Taking a sharp turn, by dropping our oars downward then shifting right, we entered a secluded cove most of Capernaum’s fishermen ignored. Often, as Peter admitted before, all sorts of outcasts, including criminals and lepers, hid here to avoid the public. At night, he and his men could see their fires along the shoreline, but in the day, they hid in the woods nearby, fearful of being seen. This morning, as we stopped and dropped our nets, then, after waiting awhile, pulled them up, hoping we had caught some fish, there was no one about. After each boat performed this procedure for nearly an hour, dropping, waiting, pulling up the nets, and then moving on to a different spot in the lake, not one fish appeared in the nets. Peter shook his head, puzzled by this turn of events.

“Moses beard!” he grumbled. “Even, during a bad day, we usually get a few. This is the first time, we came up without any fish!”

“Let’s try a different spot,” I suggested.

Nodding his head, Peter cupped his hands around his mouth, calling to Andrew in the other boat, “We’ll have to go deep today. All the other fishermen are out there. This time we’ll have to compete!”

“The last time we did that, we came up light,” Andrew shouted back.

“I remember.” Peter replied. “Soon it’ll be played out. We’ll wait awhile. It’s still early.”

“We could move in closer to shore,” Philip recommended. “They could be crowded in the shallows.”

“It’s worth a try,” Peter shrugged. “Back to your oars men!”

“I gotta make water,” Bartholomew groaned.

“Go ahead.” Peter pointed to the lake. “Just don’t break wind!”

Bartholomew, embarrassed by his situation, stood up awkwardly and did his business. Though the boat rocked to and fro, everyone, in both boats, broke into laughter. When we had manned the oars and began approaching the shore, we heard Peter gasp. Suddenly, as we glanced up from the oars, we looked out across the water, and saw a figure standing on the shore. A hood fell over his face and his hands were drawn into his sleeves, a pose that immediately made us suspicious.

Matthew looked back at me, saying breathlessly, “Look at him. He’s hiding his face and hands. That man’s a leper!”

“What do think, Peter?” Andrew called over. “You think he’s a leper?”

“Maybe” Peter replied. “This side of the lake is filled with them.”

In a booming voice, the stranger asked, “Friends, have you caught any fish?”

“No,” Peter frowned, “not so much as a minnow.”

“Throw your nets from the left side of the boat this time,” he advised us. “Give it another chance!”

“What’s the difference which side we throw it at?” Simon scowled.

“Just do it!” Peter ordered us.

After the two nets were thrown as the stranger directed, we waited for only a moment. This time when we yanked our nets they were heavy with fish. It took all our strength to bring them alongside our boats. Because there was so many men in each boat, there wasn’t enough room to stow the nets aboard, so we had to secure them to the rails. It was, Peter would later declare, the biggest catch they had ever had. Those moments, as we sat in the boat wondering if we might capsize, Peter ordered us to set some of the fish free.

“Thank you, stranger!” Peter hollered. “When we dump this load, we’ll return to this spot. We’ll be lucky to get his haul back.”

That moment, as our boats sat motionless, drifting inexplicably toward the bank, the stranger dropped his hood, and brought his hands out from his sleeves. Instantly recognizing our Lord and, even from a short distance, seeing the nail marks in his hands, we all shouted, “Jesus! Jesus! He’s back!”

“Come.” He motioned to us. “Let us eat.”

“You want me to bring some fish?” asked Peter, as we rowed to the shore.

“Yes, of course,” Jesus laughed softly, “the fire is ready.”

Soon, after hopping out of our boats and securing them on the bank and then approaching Jesus, we looked passed him and saw a fire burning near the edge of the woods. To our surprise, there was not only a spit waiting for us between two forked limbs, but bread, cheese, and skins of wine—our favorite beverage, sitting beside the fire. While the fish, mercifully killed with Peter’s knife, were cooked, Jesus reached down and took one of the loaves. As he had during supper in the upper room, he broke the bread, an action we followed, until all of us had a piece. This time he merely said a prayer, thanking his father for his bounty and such faithful men. While we sat around the fire ring eating our bread, fish, and cheese, taking turns with the skins of wine, he chatted with us. It was just like old times. The thought made me both happy and sad. After today, I thought, we might not ever see him again. When he had finished our meal, we lapsed into silence. I was certain the others shared my thoughts. Buoying our spirits was the knowledge we carried. We had been chosen by the Son of God—the Christ… We had been the first to know.

“Remember when I said to you, ‘Come and I’ll make you fishers of men?” he asked Peter.

“Oh yes.” Peter gave a nod. “I thought you were mad at first. Now we have eleven fishermen—all good men.”

“That’s right Peter.” He looked across the fire at him. “You are the shepherd now.”

“Simon, son of Jonah,” he called him by his old name, “do you love me?”

“Of course, Lord,” Peter raised an eyebrow. “You know I do!”

“Then, feed my lambs!” he commanded.

Looking self-consciously around at us, he nodded again. “Very well, Lord.”

Again Jesus asked, “Simon son of Jonah, do you love me?”

Once more Peter replied, “Yes, Lord. You know I do!”

When Jesus asked the question again, Peter gave him a hurt expression, as he answered, “Lord, how many times do I have to tell you: I love you. You are the Christ, the Son of God and my friend!”

“Feed my sheep!” came Jesus refrain. “When you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted, but when you are old you’ll stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you don’t want to go.” 

None of us understood that Jesus was prophesizing how Peter would die to glorify the Lord. Turning his attention to John, who sat beside him, slightly tipsy from his wine, he said enigmatically, “You shall remain until I return!”

John recorded these words differently in his first scroll, but that’s what I heard. All he said was that John would tarry until he returned, and yet it might be understood that John wouldn’t die, meeting the Lord on Judgment Day or, at the very least, have a special visitation from Jesus some time in the future. At that moment, however, as John sat listening with the rest of us, this didn’t impress him very much. After all, thinking in terms of days, not years or centuries, this could mean anytime. So none of us commented on Jesus’ words. Neither his command to Peter to ‘feed his sheep’ or declaration to John made much sense. He had singled John out from the cross, making him our mother’s son. That didn’t make sense either. Jesus was always saying strange things. After we gave it some thought later, though, Jesus command to Peter, the most important thing he said that hour, was interpreted simply as ‘Peter must lead us bravely now, and, as our shepherd, must help us spread the word.’

That, of course, was only part of it. Implicit in his words, which we didn’t understand that day, was a prediction of the persecutions to come. Jesus was warning Peter of that day in the future when he would, as leader of the ecclesias, suffer for the Way. If he would suffer, all of Jesus’ followers would suffer. On the other hand, Jesus was, I’m convinced now, especially after my last visit to John, telling the apostle, now in his seventies, he won’t taste death at the hands of men.

For a short spell after his chat with us, we thought about Jesus’ strange words. No one saw him disappear. One moment, as I looked through the smoke of the fire at Jesus, he was there, and the next moment he was gone. John, who sat next to him, and was looking straight at him, shook his head in wonder. “Poof!” he muttered. “It was faster than the blink of an eye!”

“Now what?” Andrew looked over at Peter.

“We continue to wait.” Peter sighed wistfully. “What else can we do?” “Come on men!” his tone changed abruptly. “Grab your oars, we got work to do. Let’s get our fish back to Capernaum!”

******

For a while, our days in Capernaum were precious, for they were untroubled by complex demands and hidden threats. Our time in Galilee was a simple life without the prying eyes of Pharisees, scribes, or priests. One day our enemies would return, but for a while we felt safe and at peace. We weren’t lions for god; we were still his lambs. And yet our days here were also tedious. Like James, Simon, Matthew, Thomas, and Bartholomew, I wasn’t a fisherman. In their boats, Peter, Andrew, Philip, John, and James reverted back to coarse fisherman again, who looked down on anyone not working with their hands. All of us, during our idle times, shared an almost excruciating sense of expectation that often made us testy, even quarrelsome. Peter, who must have sensed we had grown tired of our simple life and the confinement of Capernaum, decided we should return to Bethany to spend time with Lazarus and his sisters. Whether or not his decision was based upon another dream, Peter never said. Since Bethany was in Judea and Jesus had wanted us to stay in Galilee, it seemed like an illogical move, but we could care less. At least we were doing something other than fishing and waiting for Jesus to return. Just to be on the road to visit our friends was enough to raise our spirits.

******

It had been nearly forty days sense Jesus’ first appearance. Where was he? We wondered. Was he appearing to other believers? Is that what was causing the delay? Perhaps, James suggested half-seriously, he had returned to his father to plan his entrance—a grand finale of angels, as he loomed above the earth. Why was he taking so long?

When we arrived at Lazarus’ house, Peter, in high spirits, called out, in imitation of Jesus great miracle, “Lazarus, come forth!” Everyone, except Lazarus who thought it was in bad taste, broke into laughter. Dashing out the door ahead of Lazarus and his sisters, yapping excitedly at our heels, Micah was the first one to reach us. As before, with Ashira’s magic touch, I was able to calm him down so he could sit between us in the house. Without delay, as we stroked the dog, Lazarus and his sisters were told about Jesus’ appearance in Capernaum. Our host could make no sense out of most of Jesus’ strange words, yet he gave us his opinion on what Jesus said to John.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he said to him. “I’m sorry, John, there’s no mystery here. You told me that Jesus is going to appear again and give his disciples instructions. If he said you would tarry until he returned, that could mean but one thing—”

“Don’t say it,” I cut him off. “Jesus loves John!”

We all knew what he meant. His hand on his throat, John shook his head. “I never thought that.”

“Perhaps he’s just going to take you with him,” Bartholomew tried putting a good face on it.

Ironically, though it seems more understandable to me today, especially after John’s long life in exile, no one, including myself, believed that day that Jesus meant John wouldn’t die. Though it was a fantastic notion, however, I know now that this is exactly what Jesus said. His words merely required interpretation. After visiting this hermit in Patmos, I had begun thinking Jesus might be right. Jesus had given his beloved disciple immunity from death. After being arrested and repeatedly beaten by the Romans during Nero’s reign, he was spared execution, the punishment happening to all of the disciples except John and myself. John was a living testament to divine will. He boasted that he hadn’t been sick since childhood, claimed that his wounds never got infected, and had survived perfectly well after insect stings and the bite of snakes. Though his beard stretched almost to his knees, and his hair was white as snow, he was spry and only slightly mad after his long exile in Patmos. I’m certain John will outlive Luke and me.

I know now what Jesus meant. Implicit in his many talks with us, were predictions of his second coming, which would be marked by signs and portents. Mankind would suffer from famine, pestilence, and natural disasters. False prophets who claim to be the Messiah will deceive and mislead people, nations will wage war against each other, and one day the Lord would return to judge our sinful world—a scenario greatly expanded in the revelations of John. But Jesus reappearance to John has nothing to do with that dreadful time. As difficult as it would have been for others to accept, I now believe John will, in the not too distant future, be taken up by the Lord as had been Elijah and Enoch, without dying, without a personal return from our Lord. Of course, none of this could have been imagined by any or us that day in Lazarus’ house. During our visit with Lazarus and his sisters, Peter and John ignored Jesus’ prophecies about themselves. They were just two more fishermen and disciples, waiting for instructions. Most of the disciples were simple men. Jesus’ words were, as was the case many times, too abstract even for James and me. Our discussion was centered on one topic: Jesus’ final return. What did it mean for us? Would he commission only the remaining disciples or would he include all of the followers, including the Seventy (now Seventy-Four), to preach the word? Again, we asked each other, “Why was Jesus waiting so long to return?

As we continued chatting with Lazarus in one corner of the house, the three Mary’s assisted the servant Ashira in the preparation of our dinner, once again assuming the role traditional Jewish households assigned to them. During our dinner, we half expected Jesus to finally show up as he had in the upper room and share our meal, but it never happened. Nor, after dinner when the disciples left the house to wander expectantly through Bethany, did he suddenly appear. Looking to the sky, our heads filled with James’ words, we wondered if he might make one last grand entrance. Soon the sun would set, it would be night, and another day would dawn. But then, on the outskirts of Bethany on the crest of a hill overlooking the plain, a distant figure appeared, his shadow stretching toward the east, the sun at his back.

“It’s him!” John said excitedly. “It must be him. Who would be walking from that direction at this hour?”

“I suppose,” Peter muttered. “… Our Lord is mysterious. Come, my brothers, let’s go down to meet him!”

The hooded stranger could have been anyone—a vagabond or evil specter for all we knew, but Peter wouldn’t be upstaged by John. With reluctant feet we followed the two. The closer we came the more the stranger reminded us of the man near Peter’s favorite fishing spot, which could mean only one thing. Dropping his hood, he waved at us in a nonchalant manner, as if he was just out for a stroll. There was no fanfare in heaven or lightning in the sky. We followed him back up the hill to a meadow near the edge of town.

“Listen, my children,” he spoke gently. “You’re my prophets, leaders of the faithful. Return to Jerusalem where it began, wait in the upper room. In but a few days you’ll be baptized with the Holy Spirit.”

Perhaps, because he wanted us to return to Jerusalem, Thomas asked, “Does this mean you’re going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”

“No,” Jesus answered, shaking his head. “That kingdom had its day. My kingdom is not of this world. What my Father does in the far future is written in heaven. When you receive the gift my Father promised, which you have heard me speak about, you’ll be transformed. John, my cousin, baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit. After this you’ll be my witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria—everywhere, to the ends of the earth!”

Suddenly the air was filled with a strange unearthly drumming and, breaking through the clouds, shafts of light appeared, as if the gates of heaven had opened. A chorus hummed a melody alien to our ears. A multitude of angels descended in the beams of light. That moment, this time before our very eyes, as they loomed close, Jesus was gathered up by the angels, his face radiant and white robe and tunic shimmering with light. Two men in white, who John later claimed were the archangels Gabriel and Michael, now spoke simultaneously on Jesus’ behalf—deep booming voices not heard from mortal men: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky. This same Jesus, now taken from you to heaven, will come back in the same way he has ascended…. Tell the world to watch for the signs!” “Now go,” they commanded, pointing to the horizon, “take the faithful and preach his message to the world!”

******

Overwhelmed by what our eyes and hears witnessed at Jesus ascension into heaven our minds were too dazzled for us to speak. Remaining mute those moments, as we returned to Lazarus’ house, we glanced back to where the firmament had opened to allow the spectacle. Jesus had been lifted to heaven in the grandest fashion. Mere words couldn’t describe what we saw. It was more than we could ever have imagined. Now, as Peter would later say, we had our orders. Our work as messengers—to tell the world about the Risen Lord—had officially begun.

At first, Lazarus, his sisters, Mary Magdalene, Mark, and Mark’s mother could scarcely believe our account. By our joyful, light-headed actions we appeared drunk to them, which, in deed, we were: drunk on the Spirit of the Lord. I can only explain my own experience, which was similar to my brother James. It was in deed an intoxicating feeling, but unlike the effects of wine. I felt light as a leaf—a strange weightless sensation that made me want to take flight. I was giddy, as if I had lost my wits, and yet I was filled with unnamed purpose, and suddenly, gaining control of my tongue, I began to talk rapidly, stuttering and slurring my words. All of us jabbered back and forth like this, filled with awe, attempting as quickly as possible to compare our accounts as if our version might be special and unique. None of us understood then that this was but a foretaste of the Holy Spirit we would receive in the upper room.

That night, as Lazarus and his sisters listened intently, when we had settled down and our minds were sober and clear, we were able to explain more clearly what we had seen. One by one for our hosts, we relived Jesus’ final appearance, also discussing what the angels command meant to our lives. We had been given special commissions to spread the word, but this time as witnesses of the Risen Christ, who would spearhead a much greater venture, not merely to Galilee, Judea, and Perea, but to the world. By telling us to take the faithful and preach the Lord’s message, the angels had included the converts as emissaries, who would follow our lead. We had seen the gate of heaven open for our Lord. More than all those blessed with Jesus visitations, we understood the meaning of Christ’s resurrection. We had been his disciples from the beginning…. We had been the first to know!

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