by Bodie Thoene
With a cry of joy, the girl began to speak: “Mama! Oh, Mama! I can hear! I can hear!”
The cheers of the people drowned out the girl’s voice. Her mother fell at the feet of Jesus and wept for joy.
“Hallelujah!”
“Praise God!”
“Blessed is our Messiah, who comes in the name of the Lord!”
I spotted the scowling Herodians mingling with sour-faced priests in the back of the porch.
“What happened?” Hallelujah grasped my leg.
I answered, “He is healing people! One after another.”
He pleaded, “I must go to him. Please, find a way!”
But the crowd between the column and Jesus was so dense I could not see any way through.
And then I spotted Red and Timothy and the brothers standing on the base of a column near Jesus. I shouted, “Red!”
I saw him look up as he heard my voice. His head turned as he searched for me.
“Here! On the pillar! Red!”
He saw me, and his face broke into a broad grin. He waved and nudged Timothy, Jesse, and Obed. I saw his lips form the words, “There’s Nehemiah.”
Others turned to glance at me. I waved broadly and cupped my hands around my mouth. “I’ve got Hallelujah!” I called.
We were all participants in a great drama unfolding before our eyes.
“I . . . NEED . . . HELP!” I shouted.
Then I reached down and grasped the fabric of Hallelujah’s ragged tunic. “Come on!” I commanded as, with all my strength, I pulled and hefted him up beside me.
“Hold on!” I positioned his arms, then indicated to Red and the boys the situation. How to get one blind boy through the human sea and near enough for Jesus to touch and heal?
My friends grasped the situation instantly. Timothy pantomimed a boat sailing over the sea.
“Yes!” I agreed.
Red shouted to the crowd, “People, help us! We must pass our friend Hallelujah over your heads. He is blind and must be healed this very day!”
Hands reached out to receive the blind boy. Hallelujah fell into their arms, sailed over the human sea, bobbed like a little ship headed toward the far shore, where Jesus waited to receive him. Jesus stood and waded down among the sick to take him.
My mother sat on the steps at Jesus’ feet. Taking Hallelujah onto his shoulder, Jesus smiled and waved at me. Then he placed his hand on my mother’s head and spoke quietly to her. She grasped the fringe of the prayer shawl that she had made so many months before.
Jesus swung Hallelujah down to the ground beside him, then spoke to my mother once more.
I saw her lips move. “Yes! Yes! Thank you, Lord!”
What had happened? Something was instantly changed. She wiped away tears and tested her lame leg. Then she took one step and another, climbing the stairs with ease.
The crowd roared, “Hallelujah!”
Jesus’ lips were curved in a smile as he pointed toward me.
I saw her look up. She squinted, trying to find me, and nodded slowly. She laughed as she spotted me hanging from the pillar like a monkey.
“Nehemiah!” she cried and then turned to descend the steps without fear. “That’s my boy!” That’s when I knew for certain something miraculous had transpired. Her gait was strong and steady. There was no trace of pain in her expression.
And then, Jesus, Son of David, took the face of the blind Sparrow in his hands. His eyes searched the eyes of the boy, and then he kissed each eye with the tenderness of a father saying good night to his son.
I did not hear the words Jesus spoke to the boy, but in an instant, the eyes of Hallelujah were opened, and the people went wild with joy.
A strong man grasped me, and I found myself being passed from hand to hand above the heads of the people. My mother embraced me when I reached the steps. “Oh, Nehemiah! My leg is healed! Oh, look what he has done!”
From every corner of the Temple Mount children were passed hand over hand until a chorus surrounded Jesus. Timothy, Red, Jesse, and Obed joined Ha-or Tov, Avel, and Emet. My friends embraced me. A hundred other children joined us as Jesus touched and healed everyone who had come to the steps.
“Hosanna to the Son of David!”
“Hallelujah! Sing praises to our King!”
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”
There was no silencing the crowd.
Moments later the chief priests and teachers of the law, with the Temple guards around them, elbowed their way to the platform where Jesus stood.
Caiaphas, the chief priest, raised his arms, demanding silence. The people obeyed and a hush fell over us, not because anyone was afraid, but rather because we did not know how anyone could object to the miracles happening before our eyes.
Caiaphas’s face was hard and cruel as he challenged Jesus, “Do you hear what these children are saying?”
Jesus’ voice was clear and pleasant as he replied, “Yes. I hear them. And have you never read, ‘From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise’?”1
The captain of the guard stepped forward and demanded, “All right, the show is over. Break it up and go back to your places. By order of the Sanhedrin, the Temple gates will be closed until morning.”
Jesus was surrounded by his disciples and escorted out before I had a chance to thank him.
Papa and Rabbi Kagba found us. My mother walked from the Temple that day without a limp and without pain for the first time. Red, Timothy, Jesse, Obed, and Hallelujah came home with us to the Street of the Weavers.
Over dinner my mother asked Hallelujah, now that he could see, if he might like to become a weaver of prayer shawls. And that is how there came to be five apprentices.
It was Rabbi Kagba who brought the chatter of excitement back to reality that evening.
“When I was a young man and saw the signs in the heavens that foretold the birth of a King in Israel, I came here from afar with other men who had also read the signs. What we found at the news of the newborn King was not joy among the rulers of this city and this nation, but envy and murder in their hearts. Can we believe that anything has changed?”
My father leaned forward and searched Kagba’s face for an answer. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. Jesus gave every miraculous sign today—from the healing of my Sarah and giving sight to this boy, Hallelujah—but it wasn’t enough for the high priest or the Herodians.”
The rabbi answered, “They will try to kill him, just as they did when he was a baby.”
Mama gasped, “Oh no! Please say it can’t be!”
Rabbi Kagba replied, “Even though Jesus has done all these miraculous signs in their presence, they still will not believe in him. This fulfills the word of the prophet Isaiah, ‘Who has believed our message and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?’2 For this reason they won’t believe because, as Isaiah says elsewhere, ‘He has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, so they can neither see with their eyes, nor understand with their hearts, nor turn—and I would heal them.’ ”3
I asked, “Please tell me why. What does it mean? Every good thing that happened today, and every day with Jesus!”
The rabbi addressed me patiently. “Isaiah saw Jesus’ glory and spoke about him. Even now, I have heard that many among the leaders believe in Jesus. But, because of the Pharisees, they won’t admit their faith, for fear they’ll be put out of the synagogue.”
“Like they did with Peniel, who was born blind,” I said.
Mama added, “They love the praise of men more than praise from God.”
“True,” agreed the rabbi. “So true.”
My father, a man of action, asked, “What can we do? How can we help him?”
It was Timothy who came up with the answer. “Jesus needs spies who can tell him what they are planning.”
Red had an idea. “Link boys? Us Sparrows are nothing but poor beggars in the eyes of the rich rulers.”
“They think we d
on’t have ears to hear their plots,” Jesse agreed.
Hallelujah added, “They talk in front of me about important matters as if I am made of stone. I might have been blind, but I still had ears.”
Obed agreed. “When we carry the torches and lead them through the city, they continue discussing whatever the council discussed in privacy.”
My father snapped his fingers. “Of course! You boys! You can do it. Information—this is the way we can help protect Jesus.”
After supper, I went out with the five Sparrows, hopefully to carry torches for exalted rulers who traveled the city after dark.
We waited on a corner just outside the Chamber of Hewn Stone, where the religious rulers met to discuss the matter of Jesus and his followers. Lamps burned within. Their meeting continued for long hours.
By and by the door opened and light pooled on the pavement. A solitary figure slipped out. For a moment, I thought I recognized him as one of the twelve close friends of Jesus, the disciple called Judas Iscariot.
A voice from within the hall addressed him. “You should at least think about it . . . as a patriot, eh? We know you are a patriot above all. Remember what was said tonight. It is better for one man to perish for the sake of our entire nation.”
“I will,” the man answered. “Yes, I promise I will . . . at least think about it.”
I hoped that the fellow would hire us to link for him so we could learn more, but he deliberately turned away from the light of our torches and vanished into the shadows.
We had heard that Jesus and his band had returned to stay at the home of Lazarus in Bethany. I decided it was impossible that one of Jesus’ closest friends would be here tonight, so I put Judas Iscariot out of my thoughts.
Timothy hissed to Red and Hallelujah, “You two, follow him! See where he goes. Report back to Nehemiah’s house.”
They sprinted into the darkness in pursuit.
Minutes passed. Suddenly the great doors gaped wide, illuminating the square with light as pompous men and their servants and scribes flooded out.
“Here they come.” Timothy clutched his torch and thrust one into my hand. “A link, sirs?”
I followed his script. “A link?”
“A torch to light your way home?”
Two pompous, red-faced men hailed us. And three others called for Jesse and Obed. We had struck gold!
Timothy whispered eagerly, “We’ve got Caiaphas and his father-in-law, Annas! High priest. Hold your torch high and forward. He likes the shadows pushed back.”
The two men barely acknowledged us. They spoke to one another as though we had no brains or ears to hear them and no voices to repeat what they said.
Caiaphas declared, “Herod Antipas is as eager as we are.” Then he commanded us, “Guide us to the palace of Herod Antipas.”
Annas said, “This is getting us nowhere. Look how the whole world has gone after Jesus.”
Caiaphas snorted. “They’ll be a rabble. Murder us in our beds if we don’t put a stop to them.”
I held my torch high in imitation of Timothy. He knew the route to the palace by heart. He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows as the conversation of our customers spilled out a treasure of information.
Caiaphas tugged his beard. “It was Lazarus. The last straw. There will be no stopping Jesus unless Lazarus is dead. They all come to see Lazarus!”
“As much as Jesus, I think.”
“Our assassins have failed. Time and again. No one can get near him.”
“I say we start with Lazarus. Silence him and all the glory fades. Then we discredit Jesus. Say it was all a great hoax.”
“Gamaliel and Nicodemus oppose us.”
“We question Jesus in matters of the law, and he manages to outsmart us every time. A clever fellow.”
“He turns every point back on us—a verbal sword in the heart.”
“A real sword would put an end to his clever talk.”
“We can’t get anyone near enough. He is surrounded by bodyguards. Fanatics. His disciples would die for him.”
“Die with him, you mean.”
“We’ll have to arrest him by night. When the people are asleep and unaware.”
“A trial. With judges in attendance whom we know will vote with us.”
“We can bribe witnesses. We will see to it that those in the council who favor Jesus are delayed . . . distracted . . . prevented . . . from attending our next meeting.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Caiaphas smile. “And then there’s the traitor in Jesus’ own camp.”
“We can’t be sure of him.”
“I think we can. He will turn. He is disillusioned already. Not well liked by the others, I hear. I tell you, he will do whatever we tell him.”
Timothy nudged me as we reached the steps of Herod’s estate.
Silently I put out my hand to receive our payment. The coins dropped in my palm. Neither of the rulers looked at our faces. They continued to talk over us as they pulled the bellrope.
Annas declared, “Lazarus is a problem. He must die and remain a dead man.”
“Herod can see to that. His court is filled with assassins.”
The gates swung open for the conspirators. We stood rooted with our torches high as the two gained entry, and the portal slammed shut.
Timothy and I pivoted on our heels and jogged to the next street. “Don’t say anything,” Timothy warned. “Every shadow hides an informant.”
And so we hurried home to the Weavers’ Street. One by one the others returned. We gathered in the lower room with my parents and Rabbi Kagba, and each of us gave our report of the murderous treachery that grew more fierce as the hours passed.
That night I heard Rabbi Kagba’s footsteps pacing on the rooftop above the little room where I slept with five Sparrows. From north to south and back again the old man tramped. I knew he was worried about what was coming. So was I. I remembered the stories of the old man who had once been young.
Thirty-three years before, Rabbi Kagba had lain awake beneath the stars of Jerusalem with a dozen other great men from the East. The worry of imminent doom had raced through his mind and made him rise and pace and wonder what was to be done.
The slaughter of all the baby boys in Bethlehem and the escape of only one to Egypt had taught him something. The nightmare of murder had not been mere imagination to be brushed away with the morning light. Though the death of only one was the goal, the lives of many might be lost in the battle. It was indeed possible that men could accomplish evil so profound that the human heart could hardly comprehend it.
In Ramah, the cry of Rachel weeping for her children resounded even now. Jesus, sole survivor of the wrath of demon kings and princes, had grown up to become the Redeemer they hated and feared. He had returned to banish them from their dark thrones. The murderous creatures that ruled the hearts of rulers now made plans to finish what the soldiers of Herod the Great Butcher King had begun. “Jesus must die,” they hissed. “And all those who follow him.”
A vision of massacre played in my mind.
The moon shone through our window, bathing the sleeping Sparrows in silver monochrome.
I sat up as Rabbi Kagba descended the stairs and called softly to my father from the landing, “Lamsa! Wake up, Lamsa.”
I heard the padding of my father’s bare feet toward the rabbi. “You too?” he asked. “I can’t get it out of my mind either. What shall we do, Rabbi?”
“I’m certain tomorrow they’ll kill Lazarus to prove Jesus is a charlatan. That’s their plan, Lamsa.”
“Yes,” Papa agreed. “I am sure of it. Murder, perhaps on the road tomorrow.”
I sat up and untangled myself from the blankets. Standing, I carefully picked my way through the heap of legs and arms and slack-jawed faces.
Poking my head out the door, I croaked, “Papa? Rabbi Kagba? I’m awake too. Dreaming, but awake. A nightmare, really. We should go. Bethany. Go right now, I mean. Tonight. Ride to the house of Lazarus
in Bethany. Warn Lazarus he should not return to Jerusalem in the morning.”
Kagba studied me from the shadows for a long moment. “Yes, Nehemiah, my thoughts exactly. What do you say, Lamsa? I think your boy has summed it up.”
My father clasped my arm. “There’s treachery in the camp, I think. Red and Hallelujah followed their man as far as the city gates. The Eastern Gate. The road to Bethany. Nehi, would you recognize the fellow if you saw him again? I mean, if he is one of the disciples of Jesus?”
“It was dark, Papa. I think so. But I can’t say for sure.”
Kagba interrupted. “The point is Lazarus. A good man. They will kill him first. His life, returned from the land of the dead, is a cause for them. They want Lazarus back in his tomb to stay. I say we ride to Bethany tonight. And Nehemiah must come with us.”
Papa nodded. “The moon is almost full. The road will be illuminated. All right, then. Dress quickly. If we leave now, we’ll be in Bethany before sunrise.”
Chapter 33
As the Sparrows slept, I dressed quickly. My father saddled the horses below in the courtyard. I removed Joseph’s cup from beneath my pillow and held it in the light. Gleaming silver seemed to glow from within.
For a moment I considered carrying it with me to Bethany, then thought better of it. Hadn’t Jesus told me I must carry the cup for him until he was ready to take it from me in Jerusalem?
I held the cup close to my cheek, remembering the righteous men who had drunk from it. With a kiss I rolled it in its protective fleece, then returned the bundle to its hiding place beneath my pillow.
Mama’s sleepy voice called to me from her bedchamber. “Nehemiah?”
I stood in the doorway of her room. “Yes, Mama.”
“From the beginning I knew God had some special task for your life.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And so you are in God’s hands. You are the light in my life. Please—after what you boys saw tonight—be careful of wolves in the flock.”
Wolves. Did she mean the man I had seen leave the council who looked so much like Judas? “Yes, Mama, I will. I don’t think the fellow is a follower of Jesus. I’m almost sure. None of those men could betray him.”
