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Chapter Forty-Eight

Return to Jerusalem

With much fewer stops than normal for such a journey, we trudged in single file, Bartholomew, his mule, and cart, bringing up the rear. At times, Peter walked back, ordering us to bunch up or at least walk in twos.

“Come on men,” he shouted, waving his staff. “It’s not safe to lag behind. You Jude, keep on eye on Bartholomew. Take his reins. He looks like he’s asleep in his cart. You there Matthew, Simon, and Thomas fall in with Jude. The rest of you do the same. Keep up, and walk together. No more single files!”

“What’s the hurry?” grumbled Andrew. “Why’re we moving so fast?”

“Because I said so!” Peter snapped. “You men are dragging your feet. The sooner we get to Jerusalem, the sooner we get started. We’re not staying men. We’ll be there just long enough to whip those fainthearted, fair-weather, slackers into shape!”

“I still don’t understand,” complained Thomas. “All Ananias and Sapphira did was hold back a few coins. Those people in Jerusalem are cowards. They ran off like frightened sheep. Why didn’t the Lord strike them dead?”

“You’re not only a doubter, Thomas,” Peter scolded, “You’re dense. I thought I explained this very clearly. Our Lord isn’t the same person he was before he rose from the dead. He was transformed. Do you blame God for the Flood? There, except for Noah’s family and those animals on the ark, the inhabitants of the earth were destroyed. All the Lord did this time was strike two people dead.”

“In that case,” Philip replied thoughtfully. “The Lord made an example of them.”

“Humph!” Thomas grunted. “Maybe so.”

“The Flood wasn’t an example,” Peter shook his head. “That was God’s wrath.”

“What about Egypt?” asked Simon. “Was that God’s wrath? The Lord killed the first born in Egypt, including the Pharaoh’s son. What harm did the first-born do? The Pharaoh’s stubbornness to let the Israelites leave Egypt was his fault, not theirs.”

“Moses warned the Pharaoh,” Peter reminded, “but the Lord hardened his heart. I can’t explain why he kills the innocent with the guilty, but that time it was wasn’t wrath. God had to show the Pharaoh that he meant business.” “You see now.” He turned to Thomas. “Considering the God of our old religion, I was, as the instrument, merely following His will.”

“His or Jesus?” Thomas stared stupidly at him.

Peter was speechless. Thomas had asked an important question. It was plain to most of us that the Godhead—God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, might be confusing to converts, if it still mystified members of the twelve. Two things loomed in my mind, as I considered the implications of Thomas’ question. How would we convince believers that there weren’t two or even three gods? And how could we separate for them the wrathful God from the savior they had come to love? If even their savior struck people dead for offenses, how was he any different than his father, whom Thomas separated as God? One of the heresies in my heart early in Jesus’ ministry, which had surfaced during his arrest, trial, and crucifixion, was the thought that Jesus had, in fact, been talking about a different God. Because the God of the old religion was so different from the God Jesus portrayed, it seemed this had to be true. Now that Jesus was part of the Godhead, however, this notion had to be wrong, and yet I was troubled by Jesus duality: the loving Christ and the Christ dispensing the punishment of death.

After an overnight stop at Cana where we ate the snacks prepared for us by Esther and Dinah, rested, and, at the break of dawn, filled our water skins, we managed, after many Roman miles, to reach Bethany. As we approached Lazarus’ house, Ashira was playing with Micah in front. I was both touched by and envious of this scene. What a fine dog and exceptional young woman! I told myself. Had my affections not been captured by Mary Magdalene, I might have fallen for Ashira. How fortunate, I thought, was she not be weighed down with our burden. Her only cares were to wait on Lazarus, her master, assist his sisters in the house, and play with my dog. A flicker of jealousy mingled with my fondness for her. When Ashira ran inside to announce our arrival, Micah scampered toward us as we approached. Barking happily as he yapped at our heels, he allowed each of the men to pat and tousle his neck and head.

Lazarus and his sisters, who would have to accommodate this bunch again, were less friendly, and yet proved once more to be attentive hosts. As soon as we settled down in the house, Peter gave them a report on the ecclesia. After this, while Martha, Mary, and Ashira prepared our dinner, Peter also told Lazarus are plans in Jerusalem. Lazarus was impressed with our success in Capernaum. The three women paused in their labors to hear this glowing account.

When they heard about our decision to return to Jerusalem, however, they were alarmed and tried talking us out of this foolishness. Why do you want to push your luck? Lazarus asked Peter. Martha and Mary heartily agreed. After keeping he and his sisters safe in Bethany, Lazarus was also amazed when he heard that James was left behind to act as shepherd in Jerusalem.

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head. “Why bother with that city? They hate us there. I talked to Elam, a merchant passing through. From what he told me, there isn’t a community of believers in his town. He’s a secret believer himself like the other members who refused to leave. When he visited James during the Sabbath, he found a mere handful in the upper room, fearful of leaving the house. Just yesterday, Nicodemus also paid me a visit. He’s certain it’s just a matter of time before James and his small flock are arrested. Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin are just biding their time. After being coerced by them into crucifying our Messiah, Pilate has left the believers alone, but this won’t prevent them from being punished on religious grounds. For Roman magistrates, its none of their business. As long as we don’t revolt, we’re tolerated as just another Jewish sect.” “This means,” Lazarus reminded Peter, “Rome won’t interfere in the trial and punishment of religious criminals as long as they aren’t put to death, but that punishment includes thirty-nine lashes and a long period in jail!” “In other words,” he stressed the point, “after being beaten half to death, you’ll rot in jail for as long as they want!”

“Lazarus.” Peter waved dismissively. “Let me remind you as I reminded my thick-skulled men. We had no problem the last time we were there. The Lord protected us. Moses Beard! In plain sight, we baptized three thousand people that day, then Sosthenes led them safely out the gate. If something was going to happen, it would have happened then, not when a mere dozen or so enters town.”

“But Peter,” Martha spoke up. “Didn’t Jesus once say, ‘You mustn’t tempt the Lord!’?”

“Yes, I remember.” Mary beamed foolishly. “Jesus was always saying strange things.”

“I’m sick and tired of that being quoted to me,” snapped Peter. “I’m not tempting the Lord. I’m doing his will.” “Tell me, Mary—no all three of you,” he frowned at Lazarus and the women. “Do you truly understand our Christ?”

Lazarus scratched his beard. Mary thought a moment. “Well, he was the Messiah, wasn’t he?” she answered. “Sent to save the world.”

“And God’s son,” Martha piped.

“Not was, Mary and Martha, is.” Peter stared at them in disbelief. “He is the Messiah, whom we call the Christ. He is the Son of God. As you must know he rose from the dead. What you don’t seem to understand is the Godhead: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Holding up three fingers then turning them to the side so it appeared as if he was holding only one finger up, he added, “Three natures of God. So you see, my friends, Jesus is God!”

The two women looked at Peter as if were speaking Egyptian. Lazarus, who should have known better, shook his head in puzzlement. “But Jesus prayed to his father,” he finally uttered. “How can you pray to yourself?”

“Good grief!” I blurted. “You of all people, Lazarus! He prayed to his father and you rose from the dead, resurrected just like him. Even then I knew my brother was divine. It’s not important how it’s possible. All that matters is that it’s true. You think it was easy for me to have a brother like that. When you grow up like I did with someone like Jesus, you’d think it would be harder to accept his divinity. I knew him as a flesh and blood child. But Jesus was always singled out by God. He was born his son, with powers even as a child. He was and is without sin or flaw—a perfect man and now, after his transformation, he’s our Lord. When you pray, you are praying to him, God, and the Spirit at the same time. Forget trying to understand this. Just accept it for what it is. If I, Jesus brother, can do it, so can you!”

Lazarus, Martha, and Mary’s eyes were filled with tears. Peter came forward, grinning with pride. “There, did you hear that?” He looked back at the threesome. “Jude,” he then whispered to me, “you’ve come a long way!”

Suddenly, the lingering animosity I felt for Peter vanished. Everyone gathered around him after our meal. As I sat there in Lazarus’ house, with Micah on one side of me and Ashira on the other, feeling great peace and satisfaction, listening to him recount Jesus exploits, I was reminded of his growth as our leader and what he had become. This was Peter, the Rock, our Shepherd. I understood why Jesus had chosen him. He had inspired me to give testimony to my belief. Looking ahead to our return to Jerusalem, I would need such inspiration and Peter’s abiding strength.

******

Tomorrow, when we entered the holy city, would be a big day. The other men still thought it was a bad idea. Secretly, in spite of my speech, I agreed with them, but I tried to bolster their spirits, especially Bartholomew, who would stick out like a scarecrow with his cart and mule. That night, before we found our pallets, after a discussion with Lazarus on the membership remaining in Bethany, we were disheartened to discover the same pattern here as in most of the towns: a tepid, tight-lipped group of believers without a shepherd to guide them, ignorant of Christ’s full nature and, in some cases, still clinging to the old religion, instead of practicing the new. An exception was, of course, Capernaum, and, though hardly a success story, Jerusalem did in fact have a shepherd. Finally, with Capernaum and Jerusalem leaders in mind, Peter made a move he should have done in the first place, ordaining Lazarus as Bethany’s shepherd.

To make it sound special, Peter tapped him with his staff, and said a prayer, something he hadn’t done for James, Azariah, and Yoshabel. Lazarus recoiled at the thought. Judging by our latest reception from the citizens of Bethany this would be no easy task. The ordeal of the three thousand from Jerusalem had soured Bethany’s citizens, making us persona non gratis to them. The very notion of controlling these fickle converts filled him with dread. As Peter performed the ceremony, a look of horror fell over Lazarus’ face. He wasn’t well, Martha offered her objection. Lazarus couldn’t stand the strain. Peter disagreed, however, citing something Jesus told to me about Micah and everyone else he cured. Lazarus was, thanks to his own resurrection, practically immortal, Peter explained to him. Like it or not, he would, he insisted, bring these timid, fair-weather slackers into line. Playing on Lazarus’ conscience, he reminded him that Jesus could have let him rot in his tomb, but he raised him from the dead. He did so for a purpose! Peter wrung his finger. That purpose was here!

With that said, Peter dismissed his hosts, who retired with troubled expressions to their chambers. The apostles and disciples also retired to our pallets in the main room, filled with expectation and misgivings. Before retiring, I whispered my thanks to Ashira for taking care of my dog, then settled down with Micah by my side. Staring up into the dark ceiling, as I stroked his head, my mind swirled with imagery, from my first moments as a disciple to my days as an apostle of the risen Lord. I also thought of the women who had become important in my life: Deborah and then Mary Magdalene, who had captured my fancy, and now Ashira, who I admired very much. Though feeling those old yearnings, I no longer doubted my destiny. I had chosen my path. Where the Lord would lead me, I didn’t know. I had confidence in his shepherd, and I would, with more effort, have confidence in myself. After contemplating my future awhile, I managed finally to fall asleep.

The next morning, as I awakened, I drifted back through flashes of dreamscape: voices shrieking, frightened, disembodied faces looming out at me, and fragments of that familiar nightmare of the three crosses, this time empty of victims and set against a background of flames. In the inferno, I could see the black silhouettes of men and women—a panorama of judgment against the wicked. Even as a dreamer I understood the meaning of my dream. As Peter had implied, Jesus would come back to reward the faithful but also send sinners to hell.

When the nightmare ended, I bolted upright, staring fearfully around the room. What a dreadful dream! I thought, shuddering at the thought. The entire house was still asleep. Satisfied that all was well, I sighed with relief, lay back down, and tried banishing the images from my head. The duality that Pete saw in Jesus had left an impact on me. Jesus was my brother, then the Messiah or Christ, and now he was God’s Son, who would come back to judge the world. As shafts of sunlight streamed through the window, I watched the motes drift in the glow, recalling more bits and pieces of my dream. I saw Caiaphas’ and Judas’ faces looming among dozens of screaming heads and other images that made less sense. Always during times of crises, I had troublesome dreams, either fearful or seemingly prophetic in some way. This one was the worst of them all.

Today we would return to Jerusalem. Considering the things Lazarus told us, this seemed like a fool’s errand. Concern for this enterprise, quickly replaced the memory of my dream. Soon, if we made it through town without being waylaid by Caiaphas’ agents, I would see my brother James again. Finding out that James was all right, was the one good point in this venture. From this point, I dare not imagine.

When we had eaten breakfast, filled our water skins, and bid farewell to Lazarus and his sisters, we found ourselves on the road again, mere hours from Jerusalem’s gate. I sat beside Bartholomew in the mule cart, holding the reins as he groaned with discomfort. He was, I was reminded, much too old for this. Looking around at the other men, it occurred to me that Mark, barely out of his teens, was too young. While Bartholomew should be retired somewhere enjoying his last years, Mark was still at the beginning of his life. Instead of being saddled as Peter’s scribe, he should experience life and then get married and have children, after finding work in a trade that didn’t require such sacrifice. All of these men, except me, had given up their livelihoods and futures to become apostles and disciples for the Lord. Before I decided to follow Jesus, I had been a shiftless, unemployed hanger-on, and yet even I missed being just an ordinary man…. We, the chosen few, weren’t ordinary men. Not even Thomas doubted this.

******

As we entered Jerusalem, and looked ahead at the looming temple and Antonia Fortress in the distance, Peter counseled us to keep our mouths shut and act like any other pilgrim entering the city. This however wasn’t the Sabbath or the Passover. Few other travelers were arriving in Jerusalem in the late morning. With Bartholomew’s hulking body in his mule cart trailing our procession and Peter striding ahead with his staff, we attracted attention as we passed through the gate. Our shepherd looked very much like a patriarch or prophet, especially with his striped Galilean tunic and robe, which Lazarus had advised him not to wear. All of us, dressed as we were, looked like Galileans, not Judeans, who most likely wouldn’t be visiting Jerusalem this time of the week and year. I had a bad feeling about this. Almost immediately, in fact, we were challenged by a Pharisee who recognized Peter strutting down the street.

“You there!” the graybeard shrilled. “I know you. You’re that fellow causing so much trouble!”

“Perhaps,” Peter replied good-naturedly. “If by trouble you mean spreading the good news, I’m he!”

“Well, you better watch your step!” warned the man. “They won’t sit idly next time. Caiaphas got the Sanhedrin all stirred up. Take my advise—all of you, go back whence you came!”

It occurred to us, because of our own doubts, that he might be telling the truth. Peter inquired, after studying his nervous composure, “Are you a well-wisher or critic? What do you care what happens to a band of Galileans?”

“My name’s Othniel,” he introduced himself. “I’m a friend of Nicodemus. I wasn’t there during Jesus trial. I was away on business. If I had been there, I would have stood with my friend. What happened that day was a crime—an insult to our faith. What they did to your teacher was illegal. Because Nicodemus stood up to the high priest, he has few friends in Jerusalem. I’m not one of your converts; I’m too old to change, but I wish I could’ve known your teacher. Nicodemus told me all about him. He’s one of you now…. I saw it in his face.”

“Listen, my friend,” Peter reached out to grip his frail shoulders. “You’re not to old to change, and you can know our teacher. He’s not dead, sir. He rose from the tomb. He’s the Christ and Son of God. All you have to do is believe that and open your heart and the change will begin. You’ll be reborn!”

“It’s too late, I tell you,” Othniel raised a trembling hand. “All my life I’ve lived by the law of our fathers. Nicodemus tried explaining what this rebirth was. I just don’t understand. In a few years, maybe months, I’ll be in my grave. What happens after that has never been clear!”

“And that’s the trouble,” Peter jumped on his words. “The Pharisees and rabbis are seeped in the law and can’t see the Lord’s grace. Common people don’t understand their interpretation of our religion. They understand priests, who offer no afterlife, even less, but the new religion we bring is a clear message of salvation and eternal life. I can see the resistance in your eyes, Othniel. You don’t understand, but you can. Just open your heart. Jesus taught me that sacrifice is basic to our people’s covenant with God. Priests sacrifice lambs to please Him, because this is what our ancestors have done since Abraham. Recall now, Othniel, when God told Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac, but withdrew his command. That great patriarch would have done it, however, just like, in a much greater since, God allowed his son to be sacrificed on the cross. For you see, Othniel, Jesus was the sacrifice. John the Baptist first words to Him when he saw him at the River Jordan were ‘Behold the Lamb of God!’ because Jesus is the fulfillment of scriptures, replacing the temple’s sacrificial lamb. You won’t be giving up your faith, Othniel; you’ll be fulfilling it by accepting His Son!”

It was a brilliant speech, but the old faith was rooted in Othniel’s mind. Worried because of Peter’s impulsiveness, we looked around expecting temple agents to arrive any moment, brandishing spears. The old Pharisee wrung his hands at Peter’s heresy, turned and began ambling away, stricken yet fearful with Peter’s words. “No, never!” he cried in a warbling voice. “Two thousand summers of history can’t be wiped away with words!” Turning back fleetingly, though, we could see tears in his eyes. Peter had preached to the first potential convert in Jerusalem after our return—a Pharisee no less, and he did it near the temple within earshot of the priests.

“We’ll see him again,” he assured us. “That was one of them, and yet he took a risk warning us. He listened, as seeker, not a critic. His faith has failed him. I saw it in his eyes!”

“It’s always the eyes,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “I saw it in many people, that burning look of hope.”

“Or a look of peace,” suggested Philip.

“Oh really,” Thomas wrinkled his forehead. “That’s not true for everyone. What if they’re blind?”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed. “How many blind people did Jesus heal? Before being cured, he made sure they believed. It’s true, though, after being baptized, they look around like children, born again into the world.”

“I’ve baptized people with shifty eyes.” Matthew shrugged. “Some of them wouldn’t even look me in the face.”

“Hah!” John sneered. “Jesus never said anything about eyes. Judas had searching, burning eyes. Look what he did. I’m sorry Peter, many of our so-called converts, who claimed they received the Holy Spirit and talked in tongues ran back to Jerusalem like frightened lambs.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Peter replied over his shoulder. “That’s why we’re here—to shore up their faith.”

“Where are we going now?” asked Bartholomew from his cart. “I’m worried about my mule.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter called back, “we’ll take care of him.”

“He can’t stay on the street,” Bartholomew fretted. “He needs food, water, and rest.”

“We can take him to Nicodemus’ stables,” recommended John.

“We?” His brother scowled. “That’s on the other side of town.”

“Uh…. I’ll take him over there,” Mark offered hesitantly. “They won’t notice me if I pull down my hood.”

“That’s ridiculous!” James shook his head. “This is your town, Mark, not ours. If anyone stands out more than Peter, it’s you!”

“How about Lois, your mother’s servant?” proposed Philip. “They’re not after her.”

“No,” Mark shook his head. “She’s a convert now. James won’t let her risk her neck.”

Peter reeled around. “Enough!” he shouted. “Why are you men so jumpy? If you’re so worried, I’ll take him over there, myself!”

“No, I’ll do it!” I called out reluctantly. “…. You men head over to James. I know where Nicodemus lives.” “Bartholomew,” I directed boldly, “climb out of your cart. I’ll take over from here.”

Like the other men, I was frightened of being in Jerusalem, and yet I found myself volunteering to place myself in harm’s way. Already, after what I said to Lazarus, I had gained Peter’s respect. Now, as I traded places with Bartholomew in the cart, Peter reached up to pat my shoulder, murmuring, “Jesus would be proud of you. Go quickly, my friend. Tell Nicodemus about what has happened since we last met. When the mule and cart are safely in his stables, return to Mark’s house with Nicodemus’ chamberlain if he’ll lend him. Don’t pull down your hood or avoid eye-contact with citizens. That looks suspicious. Most people don’t know who you are, so be calm. The Lord is with you!”

After climbing onto the cart, gripping the reins, and looking down at Bartholomew and the others, I saw a mixture of respect and resentment in their eyes. Here was Jesus’ little brother trying to be brave, some of them might have thought, when they must have suspected, by the expression on my face, that I was terrified of traveling through town. Matthew, Simon, and Thomas gave a nod of approval and Bartholomew, of course, was thankful I would take care of his mule. In truth, it was for Bartholomew, not Peter, that I risked my neck. Unlike the times before, when I rode on such a beast during my travels, I felt conspicuous and foolish sitting in the mule cart, and yet Bartholomew would have been much more conspicuous than me.

A strange calm filled me as I considered what I was doing. There was a simple logic to this situation: I was small and less likely to attract attention. As I considered this uncharacteristic bravery, however, I felt His presence. Like a warm blanket of reassurance the Spirit fell over me. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. On the way to Nicodemus’ house, trying not to look scared or nervous, I encountered Roman legionnaires riding or walking the opposite way, who occasionally waved or nodded their heads, a Pharisees, and a few scribes in the street, and, standing on the sidelines, watching me pass, stood an old a priest, but it was mostly just ordinary souls about, displaying nothing more serious than a scowl or frown.

When I arrived at Nicodemus house, Nathan, his chamberlain greeted me warmly, explaining that Nicodemus was bed ridden but would have a servant take care of the mule and cart. When I visited the old man in his chambers I was shocked at his deteriorated condition. Surely, I told myself, this was more than a mere cold. After his frail, rasping greeting, I related to him all that had happened since the resurrection. He was greatly impressed with the success of the community of believers, which Peter sometimes called the Ecclesia instead of the Way. Just as Lazarus had in Bethany, however, he showed concern that we were here in Jerusalem.

“Jude,” he said, reaching out for my hand, “it took courage for you to come. What Jesus’ followers did in Jerusalem last time was a great miracle, more so because you were unharmed. As you reported, Peter preached in the town square and your men brought thousands into the faith. Not one hand was raised against you. When many of those people became fainthearted and returned to Jerusalem, Peter sent James, your brother, to find those lost sheep. Now, because of James’ bravery, there is, despite such defections, a presence here of members of the Way. But that was yesterday. Today, I have it on good authority, that they’re looking for a reason to attack, with a vengeance, believers in the city. Just because the Romans won’t allow them to execute criminals, doesn’t mean Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin won’t met out dreadful punishments. Many people considered heretics and blasphemers have died in their prison after their beatings, hidden away from Pilate’s eyes. All they need to arrest you men now is the merest excuse!”

“My dear friend,” I replied, holding his hand, “we are here because of Jesus, the risen Christ. Peter told us not to worry. We have work to do. The Lord will watch over us and let us finish our task. As I traveled through the city, no one bothered me. They didn’t bother us today when we passed through the gate. Frankly, I’m amazed sometimes at how easily we pass through Galilee and Judea without problems. I fear that one day, perhaps soon, that may change, but so far we’ve had good fortune.” “Nathan told me that you have a cold,” I suddenly changed the subject. “That’s not true, is it Nicodemus?”

“No.” he shook his head faintly. “I’ve never felt so weak. I think I may be dying. I can barely walk. I have no appetite and find it difficult to pass water. My time is near.”

A flash of illumination in my head told me otherwise. “You’re wrong Nicodemus,” I said patting his knuckles. “It’s not your time. You too have work to do!”

“Ho-ho,” he laughed thinly. “What work can a broken down old Pharisee do for the Lord?”

“That’s for Him to decide,” I replied with great anticipation. Praying silently for guidance now, I felt warm and light-headed, as the Holy Spirit arrived. Everything around me, including Nicodemus small, withered frame, loomed toward me brighter, with more meaning, until a voice came into my head, “Jude, bid him to rise!” Without hesitation, as the Lord instructed, I cried out, “Nicodemus, in the name of our Savior, get out of that bed! All your life, you’ve held on to the old religion. You’ve been cured by the blood of the Lamb!”

At first, the old man just lay there staring at me in disbelief. Then, as Nathan entered the room, obviously having heard my prayer, both the chamberlain and I coaxed him to climb out of his bed and stand on his feet. His wheezing had stopped. The glassy look in his eyes had disappeared and his limbs no longer shook.

“He cured you master!” Nathan cried. “It’s true! It’s all true. Jesus has risen. Through Jude, He made you well!”

“Thank you,” Nicodemus murmured, in a momentary daze. “…. You’ve changed my life, Jude. I thought all was lost those dark days. Even after he rose from the tomb, cast off from friends because of my support of Jesus, I was held in shackles to the law…. Now the scales have fallen from my eyes. More than my health was failing, I was blind, but now I see. I’ve been a stubborn, self-absorbed fool!”

“Come with me Nicodemus!” I replied. “I want Peter and the others to share this miracle with us. Why the Lord let the least of his apostles to do such a thing, I don’t know. There’s a reason why Jesus wanted you whole again. He wants you to be a disciple now. Come, join us. What do you need with fair-weather friends who abandoned you for what you believed? Fearful of the truth and the fact they murdered God’s Son, they’re more afraid now that he’s risen.”

“Nathan.” Nicodemus turned to the chamberlain. “Help me get dressed, get my carriage ready, and get my money chest. We shall pay the apostles and disciples a visit. Won’t they be surprised!”

Nicodemus soon reappeared, after quick preparation, without his phylacteries or Pharisee’s cap. The symbolism of this gesture was not lost on me, as he swaggered cheerfully, with purpose in his eyes, out the door. Nathan accompanied us down the walkway, beaming with happiness. Until this hour, his master’s fate looked glum. Now Nicodemus was his old self, with a spring to his step he hadn’t seen in years. After having his servants load the carriage with a chest of coins, Nicodemus insisted on donating to our cause, he invited Nathan to come along. Looking out of the carriage at the people on the street, I wondered how many of them might secretly support the Way. The three of us, including the driver, Ozimandis, emerged from the carriage, which was left unattended on the street. Nicodemus insisted on his coachmen attending the meeting in the upper room. The apostles, disciples, James, and a handful of Jerusalem followers, listened to Nicodemus’ account of the miracle performed at his sick bed. The respect I earned that hour, tinged I’m sure with a measure of envy, appeared to elevate me in everyone’s eyes. All of us had performed miracles to cure the sick, but not on someone as renowned as Nicodemus. Even Peter hadn’t done that.

******

Though Nicodemus wanted to accompany us in town as we sought out fair-weather believers and attempted to bring in additional converts into the Way, Peter wanted to begin our efforts less conspicuously. This well known Pharisee had already angered the Sanhedrin during Jesus’ trial. The religious conservatives and temple priests would spot him immediately. Because of his standing in the city, in spite of his loss of prestige, his defection to our community would be seen as a great victory for us and as a grave insult to the Sanhedrin and priests. These reasons made sense to everyone except Nicodemus. After his miraculous cure, he was pumped up with energy and fearlessness, insisting that he must go to the Sanhedrin directly and give testimony to his faith. This, of course, was insanity. In deference to his status and age, Peter strengthened his argument with Nicodemus’ own words. Had he forgotten his warnings to Lazarus? Everyone with him would be arrested immediately when the temple guards went after him. On the subject of danger, however, we were already at risk. According to Peter, an admission that alarmed us very much, we must expect trouble, maybe even arrest. And yet, as he reassured us earlier, we had nothing to fear. The purpose of coming to Jerusalem was to shore up fainthearted members’ faith, not to stir things up again. I now sensed, and I’m certain the others sensed, that Peter also wanted to make as many converts as possible before leaving town.

“Uh, pardon me,” Philip tried sounding calm, “you told us not to worry. Are you saying we might be arrested? I thought the Lord was watching over us.”

“Yes, Peter,” Andrew sighed heavily, “that’s what you said.”

“I never said there wasn’t a threat,” Peter seemed to equivocate. “I meant He’ll protect us.”

“How can He protect us in the temple dungeon?” challenged Simon.

“Or shield us from rocks?” Matthew asked. “All it takes is a few malcontents and we might be stoned!”

“No,” James disagreed, “you won’t be stoned. There are Romans patrolling the streets. Don’t forget their control of temple punishment. The Sanhedrin can’t execute you without a trial that’s sanctioned by the procurator. Though he hates all Jews, Pilate would view us as a bunch of troublemakers only if we defied Rome. This is just another religious matter, far less serious to them than the incident with our Lord. None of our people have been molested yet. If you go out, preach only Jesus’ message. Caiaphas might try to make the case he made before that we’re a threat to peace. Make no controversial statements or claims, and the Romans will leave you alone.”

“Oh really.” Thomas scowled. “The Romans didn’t stop Caiaphas’ ruffians from roughing up Peter, Jude and you after the trial. We’re just pushing our luck now. What if temple agents murder us on the sly?”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Matthias finally spoke. “We’re shielded by the Lord.”

“Right!” I gave my approval.

“No, it’s true,” Nathan gave his opinion. “I know those men in the Sanhedrin. They follow Caiaphas’ lead. They’ve just been waiting for the moment. The Romans might not act, but the high priest and Sanhedrin will, if threatened enough.” “Sir,” he added, turning to Nicodemus. “I’m happy that you’re well and in good spirits, but Peter’s right. This could be dangerous. You’re appearance in their company would be like a bright yellow banner. It would be a battle cry against the temple and their way of life.”

“Then it’s settled,” Peter smiled consolingly at Nicodemus. “We welcome Jesus’ friend into our ecclesia but it would be better if he stayed put. You have, like me, made yourself a marked man. Thomas is partly right this time. Let’s not push our good fortune unnecessarily. Ho-ho! Our purpose is to preach the word, not get thrown in jail!”

“Very well,” shrugged Nicodemus. “I bow to the majority, but I still want to help. I brought my money chest to the upper room. Please use it for our members and for the poor.”
“Nicodemus!” Peter exclaimed, embracing him in gratitude. “Your generosity is beyond our greatest expectations. Jesus looks down this moment with a special blessing for his disciple. As you wish, we’ll divide your gift among our congregations and the poor!”

As I listened to Peter voice his appreciation, I thought of Ananias and Sapphira who had been struck dead for holding back their wealth. Here was Nicodemus who turned over a chest of money, but who still had untold riches in his investments and estate. Though I had decided to accept Peter’s explanation for his behavior, it was one of the few matters that tested my confidence in him. It was my curse to dwell unnecessarily upon such matters. Thomas might be called the doubter, but I was a doubter too. I had always had problems with resolving the God of the Hebrews with the loving Lord Jesus brought into the world. Countless people and nations had been destroyed by our Hebrew god. Now, he was back, at least in the case of Ananias and his wife. After being the prince of peace, as Isaiah called the suffering servant version of the Messiah, a side of him has surfaced, reminiscent of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. According to Peter, who has had revelations from the Lord, He might come back at anytime, but this time to judge our sinful world. Jerusalem wasn’t ready for such news. I prayed that Peter would keep this message to himself.

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