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Chapter Fifty

The Sanhedrin

After being led to the court where members of the Sanhedrin were gathered, we were lined up in front of the grand inquisitor. Sitting on his throne, with Annas, his father-in-law and previous high priest, standing beside him, Caiaphas had a look of satisfaction on his serpentine face. One expected a forked tongue to pop out of his mouth as he spoke. To me, even more than the cowardly Pilate, this man was the incarnation of evil. Sitting in back of us, as his lickspittles and sycophants, were only a handful of graybeards. Undoubtedly it had been impossible to gather the entire Sanhedrin at this hour.

“Do you speak for these men?” Caiaphas looked squarely at Peter.

“Yes.” Peter nodded his head.

“Then tell me, Peter,” the high priest cocked an eyebrow. “Why were you practicing the black arts of that crucified teacher in Israel’s most sacred shrine? Don’t you know this is the greatest blasphemy. In olden times you would be stoned for such practice or lose your head, but doing this in the temple was much more serious. You’d be burned at the stake!”

“You don’t have that kind of power,” Peter reminded him. “Only Rome can execute criminals. What happened to Jesus was possible because of Pilate’s fear. The Romans see us as just another Jewish sect. What happened to our Lord was illegal. You know it—all of Jerusalem knows it. These proceedings have as much to do with your fear of his words as this so-called blasphemy in the temple.” “The fact is,” he reiterated, “you can’t put us to death!”

Caiaphas began to rant: “Jesus is dead. You’re faith is dead. So you’re invoking the magic of a dead man. The very nature of your belief is therefore suspect. Clearly, you heal in the name of Satan or Beelzebub, king of the demons. Some of those people, it was reported to me, were, in fact, possessed by demons. Most of them were inflicted because of their sins. Who are you to undo the Lord’s punishment to sinners? This time you people have gone too far!”

Peter replied boldly, “What I preached is based upon the words of Jesus whom you put on a cross and rose from the dead. Nothing what he said and what I repeat is an affront to our temple or faith. That we cure in His name, as He did, is a demonstration of God’s grace, for surely, as God’s Son, his miracles and words have proven who He is. It is my right, as any Jew, to preach at Solomon’s Porch. I would think that you knew this. Doctors of the law and priests discuss matters of the law and words of the prophets in the temple. How much more deserving are apostles and disciples of the Risen Lord?”

Caiaphas let loose a stream of oaths under his breath that Annas must have overheard. To Peter, after jumping to his feet angrily, he shouted, “Enough! Take these men to the dungeon. Give them all thirty-nine lashes, then let them sit in the darkness dwelling on their sins.”

“You can’t have them whipped,” Annas murmured to his son-in-law, “not without a full vote. There aren’t enough men here. You know Roman rules. Let them sit it out awhile, until the others arrive.”

“Oh very well!” Caiaphas grumbled. “I can wait. What’s taking them so long?” “Malchus,” he interrupted himself, “get them out of my sight! When all of the members are here, we’ll take a vote. Then I’ll have them whipped!”

As Malchus and his men led us away in chains, he shook his head in dismay. Everyone had heard about temple whippings. This action would probably kill Bartholomew and make convalescents out of the rest of us for several weeks, if, in fact, we ever got out of jail. This time, we despaired, it seemed our luck had run out, and we expected the worst as Malchus and his men placed us in a stinking dungeon crawling with roaches and rats. That hour, as Peter led us in a prayer, we waited for the footfall of guards, who would return to drag us to a place of punishment for our beatings. Though my mouth moved, I scarcely recalled our prayer. Then, as we huddled together in the darkness, we heard the door of our prison creek at the hinges. Light streamed into the chamber, and the silhouette of two men stood there momentarily, then vanished before our eyes.

“Malchus set us free!” I cried.

“Really? Thomas replied. “I saw two shadows, men without helmets. They didn’t look like guards to me.”

“What does it matter!” Peter prodded us. “This is our chance. Go-go-go!”

“Thank you Lord!” John spoke on our behalf. “Peter was right. The Lord is our shield!”

“Our protector and guiding light!” his brother James added with great inspiration

Soon, Thomas’ opinion proved to be correct. Looking ahead we saw two white clad men, beckoning us to follow them down a corridor of the prison, through an open side door, and into the light of day.

“Now return to the square!” one of the angels commanded. “A great multitude awaits you. Your work isn’t done!”

“That’s insane!” cried Matthew. “We’re free. Let’s get out of this town!”

“No,” insisted Peter, “you heard them. They speak for the Lord!”

“Oh yeah,” grumbled Andrew, “why doesn’t he speak for himself!”

Andrew had a good point. Why didn’t Jesus give us such a command? Why did he send two angels? Though thankful and spiritually moved, I was annoyed with Peter for dragging us back into harm’s way. This time, when we showed up at Solomon’s Porch, there were hundreds of citizens, all eager for admission to our fellowship. News had obviously traveled fast. Peter explained to us that there was no time to give all these people the rite. To say the words and baptize them all would take many hours. By then the temple authorities would have arrived, blazing angry. Following Jesus example of planting the seed and moving on when the audience was too immense, he would preach to this large crowd as we stood on each side of him in support, waiting for the guards to arrive.

Raising his arms as if in blessing, a rush of impassioned words flew out of Peter’s mouth.

“Citizens of Jerusalem,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “you’re fortunate to live in this age. The priests, Pharisees and scribes, who look for a conqueror, instead of a man of peace, have mislead you with false hope. They want you to believe in a Messiah who’ll restore Israel to its former glory—a man in a flaming chariot who’ll swoop down and sweep the Romans from our land. But they have forgotten our greatest prophecy. The Christ foretold by Isaiah came with a message of peace and salvation, Zechariah, who followed this great prophet, predicted he would ride in a donkey as Jesus did, and Micah even foretold his birth. Yet following the wisdom of errant priests and their agents, you rejected him. Our people who murdered most of its prophets, once more, in the City of David, struck down a righteous messenger—this time the Son of God. Despite this crime against a God, Jesus, who was crucified at the bidding of the high priest, forgave Jerusalem. As he was dying, he asked God to forgive you from the cross, but now that he has risen from the dead you must take the next step. All you have to is close your eyes, ask him to forgive you for your private sins, accept him as your savior, and he will grant you eternal life. You’ll be born again as a believer of the Risen Christ. It’s that simple!

“Many of you have been misled by Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin into thinking Jesus was a heretic and blasphemer. That’s what they want you to believe, but they’re wrong. They’re out of touch with you. Someone has come along to offer you something much better. Jesus, the Redeemer, came with a simple message: repent and be saved. The priests ask you for money for sacrifices. For what? Surely not for salvation. They don’t believe in heaven. They want you to believe that the Messiah will come and restore Israel to its glory, but that will happen only when Jesus returns. Until then, you can have his kingdom within yourselves: peace and satisfaction knowing that when you die you’ll not rot in the grave, as the priests would have you believe. The priests have made a slaughterhouse of the temple, where animals are bought and sacrificed to propitiate sins, but only the Lord, because of your personal prayers, can do this. Jesus, who was crucified, was our sacrifice. John, the Baptist, upon seeing Him at the River Jordan cried out, “Behold the Lamb of God!”, in those words tying the old and new halves of our religion together, making them one. This way you can have both: the Torah, written by the prophets, and the words of God’s Son. Because Jesus is the fulfillment of the Torah his portion is, of course, the best half. Those who choose only the Torah receive their reward for faithfulness only on earth, but for those believing in the Christ, their reward is eternal life. What does it matter what you get in this world? Despite the looming shadow of death, the priests look to a new Israel, rather than everlasting life. They would have you believe the same!

“…. But the priests aren’t the only ones to blame,” Peter added, after a pause. “While they offer nothing but blood sacrifices in the temple, which change nothing in your life, the Pharisees and scribes have placed stumbling blocks before you: rules for every fabric of your life, some of which make no sense at all. Who can figure out the complexities of the law? Whereas Jesus offers you an easy path to eternity, these men quarrel over every jot and tittle of the law, instead of offering a path of righteousness to follow. They don’t preach the good news. They would rather confuse you with rules for every aspect of your lives. The law, when not tempered with goodness and love, is like flour without yeast. As bread rises in the oven, Jesus came as the yeast, to raise our expectations, giving us a gift greater than any riches a restored Israel can bring to earth. No matter how long you live in such a kingdom, you shall die one day and face judgment. All people perish—the rich and the poor alike, but those saved by the Risen Christ shall be born again and live forevermore!”

“Go home my friends,” Peter told his audience, “kneel before the Lord and say these words, ‘Lord I’m a sinner, forgive me, fill me with your grace, and grant me eternal life!’”

In anticipation of our imminent arrest Peter raised his arms once more, crying out, “Go in peace, children of Israel. The Lord will come into your heart. All you have to do is ask!”

No sooner had he finished his blessing, than we heard Caiaphas, bellowing in the distance, “There they are, those fools, right back on Solomon’s Porch. Grab them, and place them in shackles. This time they’ll pay the price!”

Though I was trembling with fear, my first thought was, ‘Where’s Malchus, the captain of the guards?’ Had he been blamed for our escape? For such an offense, he would surely be punished. During our miraculous release, he and his men were nowhere in sight. He might even be in worse trouble than us. My thoughts turned to Bartholomew as we were shackled and pulled through the crowd. If we would be beaten with whips as Caiaphas promised, he wouldn’t survive. Even if he lived, he might not last through a prolonged stay in jail. A thought came to me then, giving me a glimmer of hope. The angels had saved us before. It stood to reason they would do so again. After all, it was their idea that we return to Solomon’s Porch.

“What harm have they done?” asked an elderly woman. “The preacher gave us hope. What has the temple given us? Nothing! Let him go! Let them all go!”

“Citizens, listen to me,” a young man stood on the steps and shouted. “Peter spoke the truth! I believe everything he said. Jerusalem kills its prophets. Every time, a new voice is raised, you priests have him killed!”

“Shut up, you!” barked the new captain of the guard. “All of you people—move! Get out of the way!”

“Move them along quickly,” Caiaphas ordered the captain. “If that young man persists, arrest him too!”

Peter looked back at us as we began our trek, consoling us with brave words. “Be strong soldiers of Christ! Remember the Lord is our shield!”

“What kind of shield is he now?” groaned Thomas.

“Yeah,” Simon grumbled. “We should’ve kept going when we had a chance.”

“Are you all right, Bartholomew?” I asked, as he staggered in his chains. “Here, hold onto my shoulder. Don’t look down. Whatever you do, don’t fall. Their leader isn’t like Malchus; he’ll beat you with his rod.”

To our surprise, the crowd had awakened to our dilemma with protests, but it didn’t prevent our arrest and capture. Though countless people spoke up for us, we were dragged swiftly and successfully to the Sanhedrin’s court within moments after being caught. As we entered the chamber, I was filled with trepidation, and yet my first concern was for Bartholomew, who could barely stand on his feet. The room around us reminded me of some of the circular lecture chambers of the Greeks I had seen in my travels. On second glance, as I noted dozens of Pharisees, scribes, and priests surrounding us in row after row of seats, it also reminded me of a Roman amphitheater I saw in Caesarea. Below their imperious stares, we, Jesus’ apostles and disciples, stood in the arena at the mercy of these men. Before us sat Caiaphas on his throne and next to him stood his father-in-law Annas, this time standing a few paces forward, as if he was ready to speak. Caiaphas had a snarl on his reptilian face, but Annas studied us with curiosity, smiling faintly as if amused by what he saw.

“Are you mad?” Caiaphas asked Peter. “For whatever reason, you somehow escaped. You might even have made it through the gate, but you didn’t. You returned to Solomon’s Porch. You and your men corrupted hundreds of our citizens with your blasphemy, sprinkling water over them in your unholy rite, and yet you had to have one last word, Peter… Why?”

“We serve the Risen Lord, as you serve the temple,” Peter answered calmly. “Our people have been looking for a savior for centuries. The prophets spoke of him. In our scriptures it was quite clear—a redeemer was coming, and yet when he came, you rejected him. You crucified him, and now you’re trying to bury his name…. But he’s back. I saw him.” “We all did.” He glanced back at us. “Jesus, the Son of God, the Promised One, rose from the dead!”

“Enough!” Annas raised his hand. “You’re fortunate we’re bound by laws. Caiaphas was right. That’s what you spouted before at the temple. You realize how blasphemous that statement is, Peter? You’re lucky we’re just going to have you whipped and thrown in jail. If you had done this before our oppressors came, you’d all lose your heads!”

“Your laws didn’t protect Jesus,” Peter said boldly. “I must remind you: what you did to him was illegal. Jesus, however, was the Christ—a threat to the priests. We are merely his followers. Pilate dismissed us as another sect. You’re not bound by our laws in this matter. You’re bound by Roman laws and by fear. In spite of your fear, you can’t put us to death. You say that we blasphemed the temple. That’s a lie—an excuse to shut us up. Now, after crucifying a righteous man, the Promised One, you’re afraid we might have been right. But you can’t bury the truth, Annas. The truth will set our people free!”

Caiaphas jumped to his feet then, waving his hands. “I let you speak for the Sanhedrin, Annas,” he exclaimed. “Your time is up. Words don’t impress these reprobates. They’re beyond redemption and hope. I’m going to make an example out of them. It’s time to take a vote!”

“We haven’t heard arguments,” Anna reminded him. “I thought you wanted to do this properly. We have the full Sanhedrin now. Let’s do this right.”

“I let you speak, father-in-law,” Caiaphas replied sarcastically, “and you gave that heretic a chance to spew his blasphemy. This isn’t a sophist’s game. I’ve heard enough.” Looking confidently out at the Sanhedrin, he called out loudly, “Everyone voting for punishment raise their hands!”

To our dismay, it seemed unanimous. Hands shot up eagerly around the amphitheater. One of the graybeards, who summed up their sentiment, rasped, “Whip them to shreds! Make them bleed!” Already the guards were moving forward to take us to the whipping posts. During those dark moment, however, one of the Pharisees in the topmost row, a short man with a black beard frosted with gray, rose from his seat, walked down the side steps, shouting, “Stop! Stop!”

“Gamaliel?” Caiaphas frowned. “How do you vote?”

“For the sake of justice,” replied Gamaliel, “I vote no.”

“No matter.” Caiaphas motioned impatiently. “The vote’s almost unanimous, nearly a hundred percent. Go back to your seat.”

“Just a minute, high priest,” the Pharisee pointed his finger. “My colleagues may have lost their voices, but I know my rights. I was in this room listening to Peter. I heard from a servant about his sermon in the temple, too. He said nothing against the Most High. Other men have criticized the priests and the temple; that’s nothing new. You priests don’t believe in heaven, but we Pharisees do. The burden your temple sacrifice place upon poor men and women is well known. As far as Peter’s message to those people is concerned, it had many of them spellbound. He and his cohorts didn’t attack the temple. They seem to pose no threat. I remember a man name Theudas, who also claimed to be the Messiah. He was a lunatic, however, not a harmless teacher like Jesus. Hundreds rallied around him, until he was killed and his followers were dispersed. Nothing came of his efforts. After him came Judah, the Galilean, leading a band of men in revolt. He too was killed and his followers were scattered. So I say to you Men of Israel, consider carefully what you do to Peter and his followers.  Especially, after the last illegal act performed by the Sanhedrin, I advise you to be prudent. Peter doesn’t claim to be another messiah, like Theudas. His men aren’t revolutionaries following another Judah the Galilean. Peter was right: most of your concern is based upon fear. Rome doesn’t care about another Jewish sect. Why do you?” “Leave these men alone!” his voice rose a notch. “Let them go! If their purpose is of human origin, it will fail, but if it is from the Lord, as Peter says, you won’t be able to stop it. You’ll find yourself fighting against God!”

Gamaliel, obviously a man of great importance to the Sanhedrin, had impressed the other Pharisees greatly. His words had an immediate effect. From agitated graybeards and hothead young men, who frowned severely, muttering amongst themselves, their faces became uniformly placid. Absorbed in his dark thoughts, Caiaphas failed to see the change. I would learn later that Caiaphas hated Gamaliel almost as much as Nicodemus. Staring at the Pharisee with undisguised loathing, he curled his lip. His predator eyes flashed with mounting rage.

“You’ve always been one for words.” He spat angrily. “You’re turning your back on our religion and its holy scrolls. One would think you were a follower of the crucified Jew!”

Growing impatient with the proceedings, Annas took the initiative. “What do you say?” He scanned the room filled with Pharisees, scribes, and priests. “Those who want Jesus followers punished raise your hands!”

Gamaliel turned and gave his colleagues a hard stare. “Think carefully at what you do!” he reminded them. After this statement, the high priest waited anxiously for their response. For untold heartbeats we waited for the tally, and not one hand was raised to condemn, even among the scribes and priests. Annas, with a look of resignation, turned to his son-in-law, murmuring, “The Sanhedrin has spoken.”

“What?” Caiaphas cried in disbelief. “They said nothing, Annas, except that traitor, Gamaliel…. They just sat there. Did he place a spell over them? Not one hand was raised.” Unable to grasp what this meant, he cried out in a strangled voice, “What’s wrong with you men? These heretics blasphemed the temple. They want to destroy what we believe and replace it with distortion and lies. Jesus wasn’t our Messiah. Our Messiah will come in glory, not nailed to a cross. They preach the words of a dead man. They worship a ghost. Purest sorcery cured those people. Gamaliel has fallen for their lies. Are you men bewitched too?” “Our God must be testing me to allow this to happen.” He gripped his forehead. “…. Not one of you voted to condemn them… Not one!”

“My son,” Annas took on a paternal tone, “Gamaliel may be right. I never approved of that trial. Jesus had committed no crime. When he was crucified a legend was born.” “Come,” he said motioning to the entrance, “let us adjourn. There’s no point in belaboring the issue. The Sanhedrin has made up its mind.”

Without another word, the high priest left the dais, and, looking straight ahead as if in shock, exited the room.

“Peter.” Annas turned to our leader. “Take your men and leave. If you wish to stay in Jerusalem, preach somewhere else in the city, not in the temple. You have made an impressive case for your Jesus, but you’ll never convince the priests, Pharisees, and scribes.”

“Thank you.” Peter reached out to shake his hand. “I’m glad you believed Jesus was innocent. He died a terrible death, but he rose from the dead. Believe me, Annas, he’s risen. I saw him. Many people have seen him. He brings salvation to the world!”

Annas seemed to recoil at the thought. After hesitating a moment as if afraid to contaminate himself, he shook Peter hand. “Well, I haven’t seen him,” he replied thoughtfully. “I heard rumors about those sightings. One of our scribes even claimed to have seen him. I doubt very much he would appear to me.” “It’s a nasty business crucifixion,” he added with bitterness. Only the Romans would think of such a death. Pilate should have turned the Sanhedrin down. He could have stopped Jesus’ execution. I was hoping he would. Instead he let that murderer Barabbas go free!”

After these final words, Annas joined the Pharisees and scribes leaving the chambers. Peter waited for them to file out, an expression of wonder on his face. Looking across the amphitheater at Gamaliel, our deliverer, as the last of his associates filed out of the room, he met his gaze, giving him a nod.

“I wasn’t there during the trial.” Gamaliel sighed heavily. “As providence would have it, I was away on a trip. I scarcely remember where; I travel so often. I regret it deeply now. I would have voted against condemning Jesus, but then I would suffer the ridicule of Nicodemus, my friend, who voted no. Now that I’m back in Jerusalem, I would like to hear more about this miracle worker.”

“We would love to share his story with you,” replied Peter.

“Perhaps later, my friend.” Gamaliel shrugged. “You still have enemies in Jerusalem. Caiaphas is a devious man. The Sanhedrin failed to side with the high priest. He won’t forget this slight. In his mind, it was all because of a crucified Jew…. We know it was much more than that!”

“In deed it is!” Peter clapped his shoulder.

“I live in Jerusalem now.” James announced eagerly. “I’m Jesus’ brother. Not only could I share with you Jesus sayings, but his entire life. I knew him as a child. Our parents told us all about his birth and early childhood. His birth, life, and death were foretold by the prophets.”

“All right,” Gamaliel nodded, “if your leader Peter agrees.”

“I think that’s a great idea!” Peter nodded. “James would be considered an expert on Jesus, and Jerusalem, after all, is his home.”

“Very good.” Gamaliel grinned warmly. “Until this matter dies down, though, be cautious—all of you. Caiaphas is not only devious, he’s vindictive.” “Because of this, James,” he advised my brother, “you must all lay low for awhile. In a short while, I’ll send my carriage for you under guard.”

James gave the Pharisee directions to Mark’s house. True to his nature as a scribe, James scribbled them down on a wax tablet he brought with him. Gamaliel was impressed with his enthusiasm, as he took the tablet. Stuffing it into a pocket in his robe, he exclaimed, “Excellent, my young friend. Nicodemus has spoke well of you. He said you were his best student!”

******

James beamed with pride. Suddenly, after being set aside in this difficult city with only a handful of disciples and followers, he had, after our success at Solomon’s Porch, a huge congregation to lead, and he now had the esteem of a great Pharisee. I didn’t begrudge his new status. I was proud of my older brother. He had come a long way from the hesitant, conventional disciple in the early years of Jesus mission to become, after the resurrection, the apostle and shepherd of Jerusalem.

For the rest of us, our future was not so well known. We knew that when we left Jerusalem, we would be going off on our own. This is what Jesus wanted. It had become our purpose in the world. Walking with Gamaliel to his carriage, we listened to his comments on the Sanhedrin. It was, he said confidentially, a mere shell of what it once was, having little real authority because of Roman rule and too often influenced by the bias of the high priest. Considering that Pharisees had different interpretations of the law and the nature of our faith from the priests, including the belief in heaven, which the priests rejected, Gamaliel believed their differences were at times insurmountable.

“We are,” he confessed, as he climbed into his coach, “much more like you than we are to the priests. The followers of Jesus and the Pharisees share the expectation of heaven and pray directly to God. Like the rabbis, we found the rituals of the temple simply not enough. Unfortunately, we have two things that keep us apart: our interpretation of Isaiah’s Messiah and Jesus claim to be the Son of God. In the first instance, this great prophet gave us two separate Messiahs—a conqueror that would set things right for our people and a man of peace, bringing not the restoration of Israel, but, as you see it, a new faith. We, the Pharisees, scribes, and priests look for restoration, not a savior. In the second instance, this notion that Jesus is the Son of God will be unacceptable to most Jewish people not merely its religious leaders and priests. There is nothing in the scrolls of the law or prophets to support this claim. To the Jews, who worship Yahweh, this sounds like two gods. In fact, with the addition of your Holy Spirit, it might be interpreted as three.”

“Well, that’s just too bad.” Peter spoke politely. “The reason Jesus’ claim of being the Son of God isn’t in written down is because this it’s a new religion. There aren’t three gods, Gamaliel, but three natures of God, combined into the Godhead: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.”

Looking out from his coach, he gave Peter a look of horror, but then, just as quickly, smiled tolerantly at this blasphemy. He must have been aware of our beliefs. Jesus’ claims and what we believed was common knowledge in Palestine. Hearing them for himself, however, was obviously a shock to this Pharisee’s mind. In his thinking, Peter had just said the most outlandish heresy. Despite this, he didn’t rebuke this latest claim. I would have thought that the addition of the Holy Spirit to the Godhead would have shocked him even more, but instead he bobbed his head cordially and signaled for his coachman to proceed. It occurred to me then that Gamaliel had been deeply affected by the crucifixion, which he considered illegal and unjust. Though he believed we were a heretical sect, his very words of caution to the Sanhedrin, implied he wasn’t sure. Even if this were not true, the fact remained: the incident at the temple, which resulted in our arrest a second time, could have had dire consequences if it hadn’t been for him.

******

After seeing Gamaliel off, we went straight to Mark’s house for our final night in the city. It was now evening, too late for planning our next moves. James’ timid disciples, Asa and Benjamin, made up for their cowardice in not accompanying us, by offering their wives’ services assisting Lois, Mark’s servant, preparing our evening meal. When we entered the upper room our supper was waiting for us, piping hot. Though a disciple now, Lois dutifully cooked the meat and vegetables. In addition to helping her serve the food, the two disciples’ wives managed to bring us a barrel of wine, that had been donated by converts. Needless to say, considering the road ahead, we gorged ourselves on fine food and got thoroughly tipsy before dropping onto our pallets. Seen through Jesus’ eyes, this might have seemed like an inauspicious beginning, but Jesus was no longer with us…. We would, when we finally went forth, be on our own.

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