The three disciples leave Yeshua, as he requested, and return to the other eight who are sleeping underneath the olive trees.
As the protective angel evaporates into the dense evening air, we watch as Yeshua again kneels to pray, though this time his prayers are silent ones. As he contemplates his fate and prays to God for his salvation, the moon rises over a nearby hillside, and the lunar light highlights the lines of his solemn face. Here in this garden, the minutes are like hours, the hours like days, and the days as everlasting as eternity. Whatever favor he might enjoy in Heaven, the role he must shortly play here on earth carries with it neither preference nor sympathy. It is the thankless and brutal responsibility of sacrifice, with the finality of the grave its only reward.
At a respectful distance, we follow the rabbi from his sanctuary to the grove where all eleven disciples lay sleeping underneath the olive trees. “Wake up and pray to the Father to deliver you from temptation,” he commands his most loyal followers, and all arise to bend their knees as their Master has commanded them.
“None of us would ever betray you, Master,” says Simon Peter.
The Lord regards the rock upon which his church shall one day be built. “Before the cock crows, you shall deny me three times,” he reveals.
Aghast, the disciples recite in unison, “Never, My Lord!”
Yet even before the declaration has escaped upon the ephemeral breeze, the advance of heavy steps disrupts the fragile tranquility of Gethsemane. Included in the assemblage is a force of policemen from the Sanhedrin, the supreme judicial and ecclesiastical council of Jerusalem, as well as a small detail of Roman soldiers enlisted to carry out the arrest.
“We seek the Nazarene called Yeshua ben Yosef,” the leader of the posse announces. The remaining disciple of the Christ, Judas Iscariot, steps out of the horde and approaches the accused. He places a firm kiss upon the rabbi’s cheek, the mark of identification.
“As you can plainly see, I am he,” says Yeshua.
A Roman soldier steps forward to take the prisoner into custody. Simon Peter reaches for his sword to defend his Master, but a single glance from the Son of Man directs him to replace it in its scabbard. Without protest or resistance, the rabbi is led away to face trial, and the band of disciples scatters to the four corners of the city and beyond.
Even though we cannot be seen, Sir Harold and I follow the arrest detail and the accused at a safe distance to the home of Annas, the powerful father-in-law of Caiaphas, the acting High Priest of the Sanhedrin. It is very late now, but apparently Annas has been waiting for them to bring Yeshua to him for questioning.
As Yeshua stands before the oligarch, Annas tells him, “The disruption you instigated in the Temple with the bankers is quite troubling not only to the Sadducees, but to the Roman authorities as well. It is also troubling to me, personally. And to Caiaphas as well! We in the Sanhedrin are entrusted by our people with keeping the Romans at a respectful distance—at least where it comes to our faith and our territory. Both are in jeopardy. But perhaps the rabbi has too simple a mind to understand such things. And perhaps the Son of Man does not know when to hold his tongue.”
Yeshua offers no explanation and no apology. Annas grows noticeably more irritated with the situation and with the prisoner. He is not accustomed to dealing so directly with the bucolic masses.
“Yet,” he continues, “it would seem that your following grows larger by the day—tradesmen and merchants and farmers, no doubt. Your entry into the city on the Sunday before the Passover feast was quite triumphal, was it not?”
“The multitudes laid palm fronds before him as he entered Jerusalem on the back of an ass, Your Excellency,” Annas is told by a man in the arrest detail.
“As it were,” says Annas with disgust in his voice.
“He claims to be the Messiah,” informs another accuser.
“Which is certainly an act of blasphemy,” Annas concludes. “Surely the rabbi is not so simple that he cannot understand the Law of Yahweh!”
“Any child understands God’s Law,” informs one of the Sanhedrin enforcers.
“As it were,” says Annas again. He drinks water from a chalice then turns again to Yeshua. “So… Now I have seen the one who calls himself the Messiah. A man of few words, apparently. At least few in the presence of this council!” Annas steps forward and speaks to Yeshua face to face: “What say you, rabbi? Are you the Messiah sent by God to deliver our people?”
“What I teach, I teach not in private but for all with ears to hear. Perhaps Your Excellency should ask those who hear my words?”
“I have waited my entire life for the Messiah who would come from God to deliver our people from this insipid occupation—a great leader, a soldier, a king!” Annas says not to Yeshua but to the detail. “Yet this dirty, ragged man—certainly not a soldier or like any king I have ever known—presents himself to our people as The One. What am I to think? Indeed, what am I to do?”
“Condemn him, Your Excellency!” calls one of the loyalists. Others voice their agreement.
“Even as I might wish to do as you ask,” says Annas, “it is not my place to render judgment on the infidel. Take him to Caiaphas: it is he who is High Priest of the Sanhedrin, and only he can decide the rabbi’s guilt or innocence. Leave my house now. And go in the knowledge that you have done your duty!”
Those in the detail closest to Yeshua push him out the door and into the street. They march him back toward the Mount of Olives, where Caiaphas lives in a palatial estate. Arriving at the residence of the High Priest, they are admitted into a courtyard where a quorum of Sanhedrin members has assembled. Shortly, Caiaphas appears, and it is at once obvious that he is expecting the arrest party. Yeshua is again pushed to the fore to face the High Priest of the Sanhedrin.
Caiaphas speaks: “The reason you have been brought here, Yeshua ben Yosef, is because of the disruption you caused in the Temple. Have you no respect for the Temple, Rabbi?”
“The Temple is the House of the Lord,” Yeshua replies.
“Your Excellency, the troublemaker has said publicly that he would destroy the Temple made by men and erect a new Temple made by God three days later,” testifies a witness.
The absurdity of the claim brings a sardonic smile to the face of Caiaphas. He walks round and round Yeshua, assessing him from all sides. “Three days only for the destruction and reconstruction of a Temple more than a thousand years in the making,” he mocks. “Now that is quite a claim indeed!” The other members of the council laugh out loud at the High Priest’s belittlement of the hearsay evidence.
“My body is my only Temple,” Yeshua states in response.
“Then you deny your allegiance to the Temple and to Our People, Rabbi?” Caiaphas baits him.
The Nazarene remains silent. His face glows in the light of oil lamps and torches. His expression shows resignation, not tension.
“I am told that you call yourself the King of the Jews,” says Caiaphas the inquisitor. “Is this true, Rabbi?”
“It is you who says it,” Yeshua replies.
“And that you claim to be God!” Caiaphas accuses.
“I am the Son of Man,” the prisoner answers almost inaudibly.
“If you claim to be King of the Jews, then where is your crown?” asks Caiaphas.
Yeshua remains silent.
“King of the Jews… I wonder how our Roman occupiers would feel about such a claim.” The members of the Sanhedrin mumble their dismay as Caiaphas continues to question Yeshua. “Neither kindly nor with charity, I suspect,” he answers his own rhetorical question.
“This is no god!” shouts another anonymous witness.
“He is but another false messiah, like a hundred others who roam the desert and speak in tongues. He is delusional, a misfit, a danger to Our People!”
“If it is true that you claim to be God, then you have defiled the Law of Moses and committed the worst kind of blasphemy. Do you know the punishment for such a crime, Rabbi?�
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Yeshua bows his head. Is he praying silently? Or has he already reconciled himself to the ultimate punishment of stoning? Beads of sweat dampen his brow; his lips are parched; his hand trembles ever so slightly in its binding.
“What witness will step forward to confirm that this man has claimed to be God?” Caiaphas asks.
Strangely, none step forward.
“Come now!” Caiaphas encourages. “Surely one of you has heard the rabbi preach his sermons. Has he claimed to be God, or not?”
No confirmation comes from the assemblage.
“Without corroboration, how am I to convict him then?” Caiaphas asks in frustration.
When no one has a satisfactory answer to his question, Caiaphas proclaims, “I am going to my bed. Take this blasphemer to Pontius Pilate. Maybe he will know what to do with him. Take him at once!”
Pilate is different. He is not a Jew, and he has no axe to grind with Yeshua. In fact, he finds the self-proclaimed king (or was it others who had anointed him as the Messiah?) to be rather comical, a farce. All this talk of Messiahs and Hebrew Kings—it seems only to annoy the governor. “These Jews are a curious tribe,” he declares to one of his aids. “They are a people in bondage, yet they remain full of themselves, as if they have a claim on this land, or as if they will be around when the stars fall from the heavens!” He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he assesses the prisoner that has been brought to him by his own people.
“Why have you brought this man before me?” he asks a member of the Sanhedrin who has accompanied the arrest detail to the governor’s headquarters.
“This man is a blasphemer!” the Sadducee replies.
“A blasphemer?” Pilate inquires as he chews a mouthful of savory pie. “But blasphemy is a violation of Hebrew law, not of Roman law. Why has the Sanhedrin not dealt with him according to your laws?”
“He stood before Caiaphas after midnight,” the spokesman responds. “The High Priest found him to be most uncooperative, so he told us to bring him to you, Governor.”
“I see,” says Pilate with mild interest. “And has he committed any other crime?”
“Five days before the Passover, he created a disturbance in the Temple.”
“What sort of disturbance?” the governor inquires with a smirk on his face.
“He drove out the money-changers,” he is told.
Pilate laughs out loud. “Truly?”
“It is not a laughing matter,” replies the Sadducee, irritated with the Roman Governor.
“Nevertheless, these are internal matters not worthy of a hearing by the prelate.”
“He says he is King of the Jews,” the Sadducee informs trying to evoke a bit more interest from the Roman, if not a rebuke, or better yet, a condemnation.
Pilate looks directly at Yeshua, who has yet to speak a single word in his own defense. “This man says you claim to be a king: is it true?”
“The only kingdom I know is the Kingdom of Heaven,” answers Yeshua.
“Do you not acknowledge the divine countenance of the Roman Emperor?” he asks.
Yeshua offers no reply.
“He seems harmless enough to me,” Pilate assesses with disinterest.
“Truly, Your Excellency, Yeshua ben Yosef is neither harmless to our community nor to Rome. He has substantial support among the common people—tradesmen and merchants, beggars and paupers!”
“And you are telling me you fear that the Roman protectorate is in danger from beggars and paupers…”
“This man is not to be underestimated,” concludes the Sadducee gravely.
“True or not, Rome is an empire built on laws, and I find no infraction on which to convict this man. He may be a troublemaker, but that is something with which the Sanhedrin must deal. He may be a charlatan, or delusional—like that other one, the Baptist—or maybe he is just a pathetic fool, but none of those conditions—unfortunate though they might be for the one in question—is an infraction of Roman law.”
“The Hebrew people demand swift justice, Your Excellency. Even as we speak, they are gathered in the street in great numbers. They call for his crucifixion.”
“Since when do the Jews execute their prisoners on the High Holidays?” Pilate asks.
“This is a unique circumstance, Your Excellency,” explains the Sadducee. “It is crucial that justice be swift and final.”
“But if blasphemy is his offense, then why not stone him according to your laws and be done with him?” Pilate asks.
“The High Priest Caiaphas begs your indulgence in this matter, Prelate,” argues the Sadducee.
Again Pilate looks directly at Yeshua. “What do you have to offer in your defense?” he asks. “They claim you call yourself King of the Jews. Are you a king?” he demands.
“It is you who call me king,” says Yeshua. “I am the Son of Man.”
Supremely irritated, Pilate laments, “Kings dressed in rags! Messiahs! It is all nonsense to me. Tell me directly, Son of Man, are you the Messiah your people are incessantly speaking about?”
“I am…” says Yeshua.
“Then a king should have a crown,” proclaims Pilate, and he directs a crown of thorns to be placed on the head of the accused. Once the crown is in place, the prelate smiles and pronounces, “There it is! A crown fit for the King of the Jews!”
“But what of his fate, Prelate?” asks the Sadducee.
“He has committed no crime,” Pilate insists. “How can I condemn him for being an insolent idiot?”
“Prelate, go to the window and behold the crowd in the street. Ask them, if you will, what should be done with this blasphemer.”
In disgust, Pilate goes to the window and throws open the sash. Just as the Sadducee has described, an angry mob has gathered outside the governor’s residence. “I have here the man Yeshua ben Yosef, and he says he is the Son of Man, the Messiah. Is he the one for whom you wait to deliver you from your Roman overlords?”
“No!” screams the mob in unison. “Crucify him, Your Excellency!”
“But he has committed no crime against Rome,” Pilate insists.
“His crime is against Yahweh,” they proclaim. “He must die!”
“I will give you a choice,” says the prelate. “I offer you Yeshua ben Yosef… Or I will give you Barabbas, a known thief. I will spare only one. Which do you choose?”
“Give us Barabbas!” they call out.
“Very well! As you wish, I give you Barabbas!”
Returning to the assemblage, Pilate coughs from the dust that has entered his chambers as a result of the unruly crowd out in the street. “What a stinking, filthy place full of stinking, filthy people,” he mutters in disgust, then washes his hands in the clear water of a bathing trough.
So it is done. The Son of Man is found guilty of sedition against Rome and sentenced to death by crucifixion, to be carried out immediately so that the whole ugly business will be finished before the onset of the Jewish Sabbath. The arrest detail disperses, Yeshua is led away by Roman soldiers, and Pilate returns to his breakfast, giving the matter not another thought and wishing only that he were back in Rome, delivered from this squalid society of Jews.
Sir Harold and I are in the street as the Son of Man is brought forth to bear his cross. He has been stripped to the waist and his back shows the bloody marks of nineteen lashes. On his head is the crown of thorns that Pilate ordered made for the King of the Jews.
The street known as the Via Dolorosa is thronged with people ready to follow the condemned man to Gûlgâlta, the Place of the Skull. Some taunt him as he drags the heavy wooden cross along the cobbled street. Others spit at him. Behind him follow three Jewish women, each one weeping openly.
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the
hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”
The Son of Man stumbles from exhaustion and from the weight of his burden, and a hearty man, Simon of Cyrene, steps forward to bear the cross part of the way to Calvary. The procession continues slowly with Roman soldiers periodically whipping the condemned as they proceed toward a low hillside just outside the city walls. Reaching the mount, the site of countless executions, the crowd disperses, now confident that their bidding will be done by the detail of Roman soldiers enlisted to carry out the sentence. The three women, each one called Mary, watch the horrifying scene from a distance.
Already upon their crosses, two common criminals relive their own agony as nails are driven into Yeshua’s hands and feet to secure him to the cross. He is stripped naked, and his clothes are divided among the centurions. As the cross is raised the Son of Man calls out, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Quite aware of the identity of the newly condemned man, one of the thieves upon a cross says to Yeshua, “Is what they say about you true, Rabbi? If it is true, save yourself, and save us too.”
Yeshua, nearly blind with exhaustion and pain turns to the thief and says, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be in Paradise with me.”
And seeing his blessed mother watching from a distance, he proclaims, “Woman, behold, your son!”
As the sun reaches its meridian and the horror continues, the Son of Man, now delirious implores, “E′li, E′li, la′ma sa bach tha′ni?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Then, almost replete of breath, he says simply, “I thirst.” A Roman centurion offers the dying man sour wine poured over a dried branch, and as he tastes the fruit of the vine gone rancid, the soldier pierces his side with a spear, and liquid pours out of the body of the King of the Jews.
“It is finished,” he pronounces, and bows his head.
The three women rush forward, hoping to suspend time, to interrupt the inevitable. Yet they know it is not possible. Their beloved is dying quickly now. The sky darkens, the wind swirls, and a rumbling is heard in the distance.
The Virtual Life of Fizzy Oceans Page 26
