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Chapter Forty-Nine

Solomon’s Porch

Peter decided we would begin early the next day. Evening was already approaching, and he wanted a fresh start when people were going to the market or temple or were out for a stroll. That evening we ate cheese, cured fish, olives, and sweetmeats brought by Nicodemus. Because there wasn’t enough room for so many people in Mark’s house, Nicodemus, his chamberlain, and coachmen returned to the Pharisee’s estate before sundown. James’ disciples and the few members that hadn’t already left to join their families at home, also slipped away. James was ashamed of his fainthearted and fair-weather congregation. It was plain to all of us, despite our fears, that Jerusalem required our attention. “How would it be,” Peter asked us, “if our holiest city remained locked in the past?”

The next morning, with the usual smattering of grumbles and sighs, we followed Peter out of the house and into the city. James accompanied us, as did the disciples, Barnabas, Justus, Jonas, Cleopas, and Mark. Tapping his staff on the cobblestones below, our Shepherd couldn’t be anymore conspicuous. Once again he had the air of patriarch or prophet. His scraggly graying beard, striped homespun robe, and staff made him resemble someone like Moses or Elijah. To melt into the population and not be obvious was simply impossible for Peter. Occasionally stopping to give us encouragement or greet someone in his path, his gruff, authoritarian voice also gave him away. Before he was even visible in the crowd, they knew he was coming. Because of his presence, there was no way for us to escape notice on Jerusalem’s busy streets.

We were at the mercy of our leader. He was leading us to a place for us to spread the word and bring converts into the Way. Where that would be was anyone’s guess. To add to my personal discomfort, I was forced to watch over Bartholomew, now forced to walk on his own two feet. After leaving his mule and cart in Nicodemus’ stables, he too, cane in hand, hobbled with my assistance at the end of the procession, a frown frozen on his face.

Even without Peter’s appearance and conduct, there was nothing ordinary about our group. Added to the fact that we were dressed as Galileans, were the anxious and fearful expressions of the apostles and disciples, our self-conscious and guilty demeanor making us stand out that much more. Reinforcing our fears were the hostile stares of passersby. Using Moses’ words for himself, after his flight from Egypt, we were strangers in a strange land. We had, considering our revolutionary message, entered enemy territory. Almost immediately, as we made our way through town, we attracted glares, startled looks, and even a few jeers.

Then quite suddenly and explicably, as we approached the temple, Peter stopped in front of Solomon’s Porch, located on the eastern side of the women’s court. Their curiosity already prickled by our procession, a group of citizens surrounded us on the steps. Except for our brave leader, we were terrified, expecting temple agents to arrive any moment to challenge us or, at the very least, a volley of protests from the crowd. When Peter began recounting, as he had before, his life wife Jesus, giving testimony of Jesus’ miracles, and offered the formula for salvation now that He’s risen, we tried being brave, ourselves, but Peter’s words began to sound more and more controversial with each breath. He compared the Lord’s gift of salvation and simplicity of achieving eternal life with what the old religion offered, which sounded like heresy when he went on to attack the Sadducee priest’s disbelief in heaven and the Pharisees narrow-minded view of the law. The worst part in the eyes of the Pharisees and priests, of course, is when Peter explained the differences in this revised version with the last presentation Jesus gave listeners: that, in his crucifixion, he replaced the temple sacrifice, as the Lamb of God, whose blood wiped away the sins of penitents accepting him as the Christ and Son of God; and that when he rose from the dead he proved that all believers could also have eternal life. Everything else—the basic words spoken and rites of baptism were mere formality compared to the acceptance of these two claims. These claims, plus his censure of the high priest and Sanhedrin that included criticism for their criminal actions against the Christ and their desire to persecute the faithful, were being spoken in the temple, not in the town square or the street. So far, however, Peter was still within the framework of Jesus’ message. Once again, I prayed he wouldn’t venture, in fishermen’s jargon, into deeper water. Those dreadful things Jesus, himself, predicted might be too much for this crowd.

More and more people arrived at Solomon’s Porch, including priests, Pharisees and scribes, until, as Peter stood with the apostles and disciples on the highest step, we looked out at a large mob encircling the steps. I tried acting brave for Bartholomew’s sake, but he wasn’t fooled. Like the other men, I was filled with dread. It seemed as though Peter was daring the authorities to arrest us. Suddenly, however, just as the voices of graybeards and temple officials were raised in protest, something remarkable occurred.

“It’s him again!” Pharisee pointed accusingly. “Look at him. Now he’s blaspheming the temple!”

“We missed our chance to nab him!” A priest socked his fist. We should’ve arrested the lot of them!”

“That’s Peter, the one they call the Rock,” a scribe identified him. “He’s their leader now. All this fuss over a crucified Jew!”

“He was more than a crucified Jew!” argued a man. “Did you hear him speak? Were you listening to Peter? Jesus isn’t dead; he’s risen. We, citizens of Jerusalem, turned our backs on him.” “No more!” he cried, shaking his head. “This time I won’t turn my back. I’ve seen his miracles and heard his words. I’ve been a fool and coward.” “No more!” he repeated, rushing forward, up the steps.

Peter reached out to him. Several more voices rang out. “No more! No more!” they chanted. A few people even asked to be baptized then and there, and one woman arrived with an unconscious child in her arms. Quickly, as their numbers grew and they rushed upon us, Peter counseled us to keep our heads and, if they weren’t converts yet, say the words to them.

“I’ll tend to that child!” Peter motioned for the distraught woman to come forward. “You men start circulating—now!”

“But we don’t have enough water!” Thomas held up his water skin.

“Here’s what we do,” Peter instructed us. “We’ll lead them back to the well were we baptized the three thousand. Tell those who haven’t received the rites to meet us at the square in town. I recognize some of these folks: backsliders who returned home. Many of these people who already received the rites merely need confirmation in their faith. Find this out when you mingle. Tell those who were fainthearted that the Lord is still with them. Pray with them. Let them know, though, that they must be strong. Life is cruel and unjust. After the sting of death, they’ll live in heaven and have eternal peace!” “Go!” He made scooting motions.

I wasn’t sure the other men would remember his exact words, but I would say them verbatim. I could have worded it differently, but I was in no mood to be creative. As numerous citizens—men and women, old and young, surged forward, the rage of the religious leaders worsened.

“Stop, you blasphemers!” A second priest shook his fist. “This is our sacred temple. This is an unholy rite!”

“Don’t just stand there!” a Pharisee said indignantly to the priests. “Arrest these men. The Romans gave us this right in such matters. What’re you waiting for; take custody of these men!”

Though several more Pharisees and scribes made similar demands, calling us everything from heretics to Satan’s spawn, the temple officials were hesitant to act. In the words of an elder priest, “This was a matter for the Sanhedrin and high priest,” which was, in fact, the requirement for making such arrests. Taking advantage of this requirement, we continued to mingle in the crowd. Already, though numb with fear, I had spoken the words to one man and given him directions to the well and then reaffirmed a woman slacker in her faith. Bartholomew stayed by my side, talking to people nearby. The other apostles and disciples did the same, once again moving out in pairs for protection, no one stopping until we heard someone call out, “Follow the Shepherd to the well!” There was too much commotion for me see Peter bring the unconscious child back to life (if she was, in deed, dead), but there was a batch of oohs and awes and a woman shouted, “She’s back. My daughter’s back!”

Trying our best to ignore our enemies, we moved through the crowd, reassuring fainthearted believers or saying the words preceding baptism to those people wanting to be saved. Finally, after growing almost hoarse, we arrived at the town square. Many members of the crowd had cursed us and a few of them had even spat on us, but a larger number of citizens who shied away from confronting us were simply curious. I had no idea how many backsliders were brought back into the Way, but I counted roughly four hundred people lined up for baptism. Now that the preamble had been spoken all that we had to do now was sprinkle well water on each one of them and say the final words, now altered by Jesus’ resurrection. Following Peter’s example, the apostles and disciples, recited to each convert sprinkled: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!”

While these rites were conducted on each line of citizens, an apostles and disciple presiding over each column, Peter was forced to forgo assisting us in order to cure a line of men, women, and children that were sick or lame. How it was possible that there were that many people suddenly requiring a cure, we couldn’t imagine. The word must have gone out soon after we arrived at the temple. This, more than even Peter’s preaching, riled the Pharisees, scribes, and priests. At one point, when it appeared as though there would be no more people requiring baptism, we joined Peter in his efforts. I had, through the Holy Spirit, cured Nicodemus, but I was still uncomfortable performing this rite. Nevertheless, a blind girl approached me, led by a small boy. It was quite likely that many of the people requiring cures might even be converts. Regardless of their status, there would be no baptism for this group due to lack of time. Very soon, Peter warned us, the temple guards might be arriving if the Sanhedrin was assembled. So quickly, though reverently, I asked the girl if she believed Jesus was her savior, repented of her sins, and wished to have eternal life, after which, she replied passionately, “Yes!,” at which time I mumbled swiftly, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!” Instantly, the glaze on the girl’s eyes vanished to expose bright blue eyes. She thanked me profusely as did her brother, but there was no time to waste. Right afterwards, I was forced to perform a variation of the rite for an old man, who appeared addled in the head.

Assuming he had a demon, I recalled the exorcism ritual, saying expeditiously, “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I cast out your demon. Demon be gone!” Unlike the girl, the old man said nothing at first. I thought I had failed, until a woman, probably his wife, arrived with arms outstretched.

“Atarah!” The old man exclaimed. “Is that you?”

“He speaks! He speaks!” she rejoiced, giving me a hug. “He lost his voice for cursing God, but you gave it back!”

“The Lord did that.” I frowned, shaking my head. “I thought your husband was possessed.”

Feeling silly, as the couple walked away, I laughed hysterically at myself. The Lord knew what I meant even though I didn’t. A citizen with a paralyzed arm and then another with a gangrenous sore followed the old man, each one, after I performed the rite of healing, were miraculously healed. Looking askance, I could see the other men fumble with their words, and yet achieve similar success. James, who must have done this before, cured a deaf man and lame woman expertly with dispatch, but not all of the apostles and disciples had our polish. Beside me, Bartholomew, barely audible, muttered under his breath, yet managed to cure a man of palsy. John and his brother were given the awful task of curing a pair of men, who had leprous spots all over them, and the other fisherman brought back to health an old man, youth, and young boy. Not able to discern what diseases, maladies, or malformations the other apostles and four disciples had undertaken, I assumed they had as many cures as myself. Peter, of course, had worked Jesus’ ‘magic the most’, and, because he moved much more slowly than us, Bartholomew had done the least, but, as a separate count from the baptisms, Peter and I agreed we had, through the Holy Spirit, cured at least a hundred people that day.

By the grace of our Lord, perhaps, there were no more people needing cures and no more asking for baptism. So far, so good! I thought. I was proud of Bartholomew for persevering without his mule and cart. All of us were miracle-workers now, after forgoing our safety for the Lord, including even Thomas, who was the most frightened of us all. Standing around the well as the crowd gradually dispersed, we drank water, splashing it onto our heads and necks, listening to a few detractors express their disapproval of our use of the well, too exhausted almost to think, until inevitably, as we expected, a crew of temple guards finally appeared.

“In the name of Caiaphas, the high priest,” bellowed a familiar guard, “we arrest you for profaning the temple with blasphemies.” “Take them!” he ordered, waving his sword.

It was, we recognized immediately, Malchus the captain of the guards whose ear Jesus healed in the garden after Peter cut it off. With a conflicted look on his bearded face, he murmured discreetly to us, “I’m sorry men: orders are orders!”

“You’re just doing your duty,” Peter consoled him, as they placed shackles on our wrists.

“Speak for yourself!” grumbled Simon. “I worked for the temple. This is considered a serious crime.”

“Yes,” Thomas groaned. “This isn’t good!”

Peter turned to us as they led us off, with the words, “Be brave soldiers of Christ! The Lord is our shield!”

“Your Jesus couldn’t protect himself,” a guard taunted. “Where was his shield!”

“Shut up!” Malchus rapped him with his rod. “You’re unworthy to speak his name!”

Laughing hysterically at this irony—the chief temple guard taking our part, I tried not to suffer the other men’s fear. Of all of Caiaphas’ men, Malchus who had been in charge of Jesus’ arrest, had been picked for this chore. Peter was actually cheerful about all this, chatting with Malchus about that fateful night.

“I’m sorry about that incident,” Peter said contritely. “You’re no worse for it, though. I can’t even see a scar.”

“Oh it hurt like the furies!” Malchus laughed. “Then—praise the Most High, Jesus stuck it back on and it stopped. I had my ear back and a story to tell. My men thought he might be a sorcerer.”

“That’s what we call a testimony,” Peter began to preach. “You know he wasn’t a sorcerer, Malchus. You were a witness to a miracle, my friend: the work of our Lord. For that you’re truly blessed. All those cured now by the Holy Spirit are blessed!”

“Careful,” quipped Malchus, “you might convert me too.”

“Would that be so bad?” asked Peter. “…You’re not far from the Kingdom, Malchus. I saw it in your face that night. I see it now.”

Looking back at his men and the prisoners, Malchus barked, “Watch those chains. Don’t pull them along. Let them walk on their own!”

Because I was right behind Peter and Malchus, I heard everything they said. Peter had just preached to the captain of the temple guard! This incredible conversation, which is recorded nowhere else, gave me a degree of courage. I’m not sure if Bartholomew, who was shackled beside me, overhead their muted conversation, but I had perked up my ears. If the captain of the guards was on our side, I reasoned, how bad could it be?

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