I, Judas

by Taylor Caldwell

  “No man,” he cried, “can serve two masters. For either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will hold to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and Mammon.”

  Under the auspices of holiness, the Amharetzin began to break things for the pleasure it gave them.

  “Down with the High Priests,” shouted a drunken Adam the Tanner, and his small legion of Solomons, Isaacs, and Jacobs added their ribald voices to the chorus.

  Jesus pointed an accusing finger at the tanner. “Sin not with the others. I do what I have to do because it is written. God’s house is a house of prayer, but the priests have made it a den of thieves. Be not as they.”

  Annas, with a face the color of parchment, confronted the Master.

  “Is this the law you preach, Nazarene?”

  Jesus faced him calmly. “Do you not read in Scripture that the stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the cornerstone? Therefore I say unto you that the Kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof. And whoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken, but on whomever it shall fall, it will grind him to powder.”

  Without understanding, the crowd took up the adoring chant “Hosanna to the Son of David,” and would have laid hands on the High Priests had Jesus not restrained them with a glance.

  I had never seen Annas so moved.

  “Beware, Rabbi,” said he in a voice of suppressed fury, “lest you be ground into bits.”

  Jesus gave him a pitying look. “My Father has already made that decision. You do nothing with me that is not of his will.”

  At the prospect of violence I had nervously watched the terrace above the Portico of Solomon, where the Roman soldiers customarily stood guard during the holy feasts. They were looking on cheerfully, enjoying the smashing of the shops and the turning over of the tables. And like their master, Pilate, laughing uproariously at the antics of these strange Jews.

  Annas was loath to precipitate a confrontation which could only result in Roman intervention. He whispered to Caiaphas, and I could see the change immediately in the son-in-law, in the slight shrug of the shoulders and the cool mask that fell over his face. There was always another day.

  After this some feared for Jesus’ life, for he had made it clear there was no room in the land for both him and the priests. I would have preferred that he picked a better time. But still, he had shown a fire that could set all Israel aflame.

  “In another six months we will be ready to seize every garrison in Palestine,” Simon Zelotes exulted. “All we need is his blessing.”

  “He still scowls,” said I, “when the people proclaim him King of the Jews.”

  Simon shook his head ruefully. “If he is the Deliverer, then he must deliver us. Otherwise we take this chance for naught.”

  “He can do anything he wants.”

  Simon flexed his brawny arms. “So you say, Judah.”

  “If God is all-powerful, which we all grant, and Jesus is as one with God, then he is equally powerful.”

  Simon shook his fist under my nose. “Words, words, and more words, Judah, while the Romans speak with steel.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THE MAN WHO

  WOULDN’T

  BE KING

  IT BECAME COMMONPLACE for the sick to follow Jesus like sheep. They moved in companies, prostrating themselves in the highway, moaning and groaning so that he could not ignore them. He had said his healings were but for a sign, which was to bring closer communion with God and show that life was everlasting.

  “I heal,” said he, “only so people will believe in the Father who sent me.”

  But how could he so love all people, particularly the oppressed, and not stir a finger in their behalf when that was all that was required?

  At dusk Jesus had already healed a number of people, delivering his little homilies about God and life eternal, in this vague kingdom of his. He was weary and planned no more miracles that day. And so he drew back as the leper stumbled forward, the stench from his sores clearing a path through the crowd. As Jesus shook his head a murmur of disappointment ran through the crowd. John, standing by the Master’s side, whispered in his ear.

  “Blessed are the merciful”—he used Jesus’ own words—“for they shall obtain mercy.”

  And had he not also said: “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted”?

  He gave a deep sigh. ‘The Son of Man has no place to hide his head. His days are numbered, and yet this generation comprehends not why he came. The sick you will always have with you, but me for a short time.”

  Andrew and Peter looked with pity at the misshapen leper, now on his knees, holding out his arms in his wretched helplessness.

  I could see the indecision in the Master’s face.

  “The sick become sick,” he told John, “because they have not lived properly, but in the eternity which I offer, they shall dwell happily in the Father’s kingdom.”

  He turned now to the leper and again shook his head.

  “Rejoice in God and be gone. For great will be your reward in heaven.”

  There was an angry rustling in the crowd.

  “If you be the Son of God,” they cried, “then do what God would do.”

  “How say any of you what God would do, when you speak to him sent of God?”

  He faced them fearlessly, his blue eyes flashing fire. “You have no faith, you generation of vipers, for you will not heed the truth unless it be wrapped in a package you know.”

  I moved closer to the Master, not liking the look of the crowd.

  “Show this leper mercy. Lord, for have you not said that the poor and the meek shall inherit the earth?”

  He gave me a peculiar look. “You speak out of your time, Judah.”

  Mary Magdalen had taken to following him of late, and she too gave him a look of entreaty.

  His eyes turned from her to the leper, who was groveling in his misery, and his face quickened with decision.

  “Come forward,” he said gently.

  The leper crawled forward on his stomach, making hideous guttural noises. “If I but touch you,” he cried, “I will be saved.”

  Jesus regarded him compassionately. “You show more faith than my disciples, and for this you shall be made whole.”

  He touched him lightly and said a little prayer.

  Before our very eyes the sores fell off in clusters and the skin resumed its normal texture.

  The fickle crowd set up a clamor, and many rushed forward to kiss his hand.

  “Hail to the Son of David,” they cried. And this time there was a more insistent cry: “Hail to the King of Israel, hail to the King of the Jews.”

  He stood quietly with his arms folded, and the look on his face stilled their cries. “There is but one King and one kingdom. And this King has anointed me to preach to the poor, to heal the oppressed, and to set at liberty whoever is captive.”

  He had altered his course, for the first time healing for the sake of healing. The inflexible man might be more flexible than he thought. For what was it to liberate a captive but to free Israel, since the entire land lay captive to Rome?

  Even as the leper ran off, shouting Jesus’ praises, the Master saw that many of us were rightly confused. “I have only widened the path to heaven,” he said. “Since God made the physical man as well as the spiritual, it becomes proper when necessary to reach one through the other.”

  Thomas had been eyeing him skeptically.

  “Now Thomas there has a limpid eye, which casts back a reflection of everything as it is, shape and color, even texture. And his ear warns him of the approaching storm, and of the footpad, or the preying animal.”

  His eye had a merry twinkle. “Now what man could fashion such an eye or ear? And if any says he can father a child with these attributes, I say he is only an instrument. The creative power is God’s and still remains a mystery to man, though man applies the principle of creativity
in this elemental function because of the instinct planted in him by God.”

  Not understanding the creative force, the disciples were dismayed that they could not heal as effectively as he.

  “You have no faith in God and so no faith in the God in each of you. The body is a living temple created by God, as is everything else, from the boundless energy of the universe. And so is subject to God’s laws.”

  “But so many people who are helped,” said doubting Thomas, “only become ill again.”

  “It would be strange if it were otherwise, for the body is sensitive to the attitudes which produce illness, hate, resentment, rancor. To heal and stay healed, body and mind must be attuned to the God force that created this temple.”

  “And how,” said Thomas, “is this done?”

  “God is love.”

  He made no effort now to limit his healings. The multitudes besieged him even on his pallet of straw. The lame, blind, dumb, and demented threw themselves at his feet, and he raised them whole. When the crowd saw his power, they glorified the God from whom this power came.

  Matthew scrambled about in the crowds to record the people’s reactions. As long as he satisfied their desires, they worshipped him.

  “He can be the undisputed ruler of Israel any time he gives the word,” Matthew observed.

  “And would they revolt against Rome because of him?”

  “In their present mood, Judah, they would jump off a cliff for him. But who knows about tomorrow?”

  “You have influence with him, Matthew. Would you urge him to commit himself to the cause? Even Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea look on the Zealots favorably, and this may influence him.”

  Matthew looked at me in surprise. “You do not know him if you think he can be diverted by anybody short of God.”

  “We have just seen him heal whoever asks, instead of using this power only as a sign.”

  Matthew shook his head. “He merely redoubled his efforts when he saw that the people readily accepted this sign as proof of God’s power.”

  I looked at him doubtfully. “Was this his explanation?”

  Matthew laughed. “Believe me, he has not changed his view in the least. He told me clearly: The man who has faith in him who sent me possesses eternal life.’ It is only more of the same.”

  Matthew spoke truly, for Jesus in his healings made no distinction between Gentile and Jew. Indeed, he chose not only to heal the servant of a Roman centurion, but used the occasion to praise this pagan for his faith. Andrew had come to him, saying that the centurion, Cornelius by name, had helped the Jewish community in Capernaum by building them a synagogue because he was entranced of the one God. And now his body servant, who had once saved his life in battle was gravely ill and none could help.

  Jesus listened for a moment, and said: “Send this Cornelius to me, for surely he is a goodly man.”

  “He comes after me,” said Andrew, and we could see the thick figure of the Roman officer coming up the road.

  He kneeled before Jesus, and the Master raised him, saying: “Rise, for in many ways I am a man like yourself.”

  The centurion looked at Jesus as if he were a god.

  “Master,” he said, “my servant lies at home, sick of the palsy, and is terribly tormented. I fear for his life.”

  Jesus’ eyes went from disciple to disciple, noting the disapproval by some, then he said quickly: “I will go to your house at once and heal him.”

  Cornelius bowed low, and with that look of awe still in his eye, said: “I am not so worthy that Your Lordship should honor me by coming under my roof. And indeed it is not necessary; only that you should speak the word, and my servant shall be healed.”

  I saw a smile come to Jesus’ eye.

  “You are a Roman, and you speak thus?”

  “I have seen your works,” said the Roman, “and heard you speak, even at the wedding of Ephraim’s daughter in Cana.”

  Of course, the dull Roman had become persuaded of the Master’s magic by his turning the water into wine. He saw him as a magician, nothing more.

  “What makes you so sure of my power?” asked Jesus.

  “I have many soldiers under me,” said the centurion, whose company numbered a hundred or more, “and when I tell them to come and go, they do as I tell them, for they recognize my authority.”

  “And whose authority am I under?” Jesus pursued.

  “I have seen the light from you as you speak, and I know that you come as a light to the world.”

  Jesus’ eyes fell almost mockingly on his disciples.

  “You hear this man, surely I have not found such great faith in Israel.”

  “The Roman flatters you,” I said.

  “How does one flatter God? For when he speaks of my power, he speaks not of me but who sent me, or he would not have helped the Jews to build a synagogue to the one God.”

  The centurion looked at Jesus gratefully. “You speak with God’s tongue. Lordship.”

  “And you speak with such faith that your faith shall not only make you free, but shall free your faithful servant whom you love. Go your way, and as you have believed, so will it be done unto you and yours.”

  Some time after the centurion had departed a great number of people came unto the Master and sang his praises, for the servant had been healed in that selfsame hour. After them came the centurion and a younger Roman.

  “This is he,” said this Cornelius, “whom you made well.”

  Jesus, contrary to custom, leaned forward and kissed the Gentile.

  “One day,” said he, “you shall be baptized and enter the Kingdom of God. For I tell you that many shall come from the east and the west, the north and the south, and shall sit down in this kingdom with the fathers of Israel. But many that traditionally belong in this kingdom shall be cast out because they had not your faith.”

  My own faith had become suspect because I had made no considerable bequest to the cause. But I only bided my time to accommodate my mother’s needs and to ascertain what I could safely divert from my estates into the coffers of the Zealots for the arms buildup now going on. Just because I was in charge of the funds was no reason for my giving any more than any other. But I begrudged the Master nothing and gave generously for alms to the poor, knowing how he felt about those with much giving much.

  My own interest in the poor had provided me with a useful platform for discussing diverse matters with the Master, and since I was confused by his even treatment of Gentile and Jew at this time, I sought a private meeting, with the excuse that I would like to discuss alms for the poor. We had a gift from Joseph of Arimathea for the Master’s comfort alone, but the Master wanted it returned unless Joseph removed this restriction.

  He never questioned me about money, for once he delegated authority it seemed to pass from his mind. He looked up at my approach but appeared preoccupied, staring into the fire.

  I mentioned that Arimathea had withdrawn his stipulation.

  “Give it to the neediest,” he said, the flickering flames giving his face a ghostly look. “I know you care not where the money goes except to achieve your fondest hope,”

  His remark gave me pause. “And what. Master, is this hope?”

  “You know as well as I, Judah. You will not rest until you subdue Rome single-handed.”

  “Not of myself, Master, but with your help.”

  “That chestnut will not roast any longer. In the family of man there is no difference between Roman and Jew.”

  Never before had he been so precise about what it meant to be a light to the Gentiles.

  “But they are our captors. You came, you said yourself, to release those who are captive.”

  “And so I have.”

  “But how can this be accomplished without force when it is force alone that imposes this captivity?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Do not think I have come to impose peace by force, Judah. I have come neither to impose peace nor yet to declare war.”

 
He smiled at my bewilderment.

  “Someday you will understand.”

  “Must you not take a stand? The Essenes say that John the Baptist would have rallied Israel long ago had you not taken the leadership from him.”

  “I took nothing from John, but added to him. He lives now with the Holy Spirit. And when the Son of Man returns one day, John will precede him as well, caring for the dying all over the quaking earth.”

  I was struck by his gloomy forebodings. “Is there any happiness for man?”

  “Not till he is penitent.”

  “And will these dying enter the Kingdom of Heaven?”

  “Only with faith in the Father, doing his work.”

  “But still the good perish with the wicked.”

  “With the holocaust God finally tells man that he permits him to sin no more.”

  “Then what good was it for the Baptist to die in Herod’s dungeon if nothing is gained of it?”

  “As God measures time, a lifetime is only a moment in infinity.”

  “But the injustices, the inequities, the crimes against man, how long must these continue before God intervenes?”

  “He has already intervened, but his word must be repeated, for man’s memory is short.”

  All my frustration burst forth. “If you preach his word, then you are surely the Messiah.”

  “I am not your Messiah, nor bar-Abbas’, nor Ezra’s, nor Sadoc’s, but the Lord’s. For it is not for any man’s vanity that I am sent.”

  “But how long, and to what end, must we bear Daniel’s iron men with the feet of clay?”

  “AH things right themselves, if not in this lifetime, then in another.”

  “If this life does not count, why should any other?”

  “With death ultimately destroyed, man will become aware of the power God has given him to develop his nature with right thinking.”

  “You speak of Israel’s suffering for its sins, but what of the Romans? Are they invulnerable because they are pagans and have no God to fear?”