“If you were a Roman, knowing the uncertainty of the times, you would not call them invulnerable.”
“But at least they call their souls their own.”
“They do not acknowledge the soul, but they will, and what a resurrection that will be.”
How could he be as concerned about the pagan as his own?
“Freedom is the same for all,” he observed.
I looked at him incredulously. “You have seen Jews hanging upside down on crosses because they offended Rome. Are they as free as their executioners?”
“Only if they know salvation through the Son of Man.”
“If not born to be free, to what purpose is our life?”
“We grow through pain, and even though the circumstances are buried deep within the soul consciousness, we do remember, and in remembering, even dimly, improve on our condition, if refraining from the mistakes once made.”
“May I ask when this resurrection of man shall take place?”
He regarded me with an enigmatic smile.
“You know of Jonah and the whale?”
“A fine fairy tale,” I said.
“More of a parable, really, for its kernel of truth. Do you recall how long Jonah remained in the belly of the whale?”
“Three days, but of what matter?”
“And so shall the Son of Man remain three days in the belly of the earth.”
He would not elaborate.
“It will all be unveiled in time. But remember that I come not for myself but to show what all men can do, with the Father’s help.”
His lids drooped with fatigue, but I knew no more than before.
“One thing would convince people of God’s power more than any other,” I hastened to say.
“And what is that?”
“If you were to show God’s power greater than Rome’s.”
He gave me an almost pitying glance.
“But do we not already know that?”
“Not only Israel would know it then, but the Roman world.
Wherever the eagle soared, it would still be no match for the legions of the Lord.”
He nodded drowsily. “You paint a stirring picture, Judah. Now let us retire and cultivate peace with thoughts of God.” He leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “Peace to you, Judah, who knows so little peace.”
I slept fitfully and was up and about early. Of late we were nearly always on the move. For after the crowds gathered the Temple spies would come, and then the agents of Rome. I could visualize the horror in Annas’ crafty face—or was it glee?—at their reports. For there was nothing better he could carry to Pilate. There could be High Priests and prophets, inquisitors and tetrarchs, but for the Romans there was only one Deliverer in Israel, and that was Caesar, and Pilate was his emissary. I confided my misgivings to Matthew.
“As much could be made of the shadow as the substance,” he said darkly.
“Annas,” I said, “has never meant him well, especially since that day in the Temple. Were it not for the liberal Pharisee leadership, Gamaliel, Nicodemus, and Joseph of Arimathea, he would have been in chains long ago.”
“He almost seems to court danger,” said Matthew thoughtfully.
“He is not safe in Judea, and I would sound out the Holy City before he moves out of Galilee.”
Matthew shook his head. “He will go where he wishes, thinking his steps guided by the Father.”
I gave Matthew a quick glance. “Have you doubts?”
“How can you witness what he does and doubt him?”
“I only wondered about your beliefs.”
“I have no divided allegiance.”
I shrugged off the implied rebuke. “I seek what is best for Israel.”
Matthew, without a word, turned and walked away. Tax collectors are a pretentious lot.
It was good to see Jesus relax. He seemed to know every mountain trail and stretch of seashore in Galilee. He particularly enjoyed his camp overlooking the Galilean Sea, where he had swum as a boy. The purple mountains, green fields, and bright flowers appeared to lighten the sad face he increasingly wore. Yet, for the sick and needy, he always had a smile and a kind word. He never failed to stop and talk to the children, saying they were closest to God because they had not yet become prisoner to the fears and ambitions that make liars and hypocrites of men.
By some strange telepathy through which they divined our movements, the multitudes were at every little crossing long before we arrived. In some cases they gave up their jobs and left their homes to follow him. This excess of popularity, ironically, was a factor in the eventual decline of his fortunes. There were always new and greater demands on him. We had camped on a hillside overlooking the sea, and he could see that many hungered, for they had followed us for three days and had no food. He seemed especially concerned about the poor, I suppose because they could not help themselves. As always, in an emergency, he turned to his treasurer. I carried a money bag hidden on my person, along with a dagger. And so it was perfectly natural for him to ask of me first: “Judah, have you money enough to buy all these bread?”
I groaned, thinking to what good use this money might be put. “But there are not enough markets nearby for such a throng.”
He laughed drily. “I see I have your answer, Judah.”
“And you, Philip, know you where we might buy bread, that these people might eat?”
“Even if they took whatever money we had, it would not be enough to feed all.”
He turned now to his favorite. “And you, John, what would you do?”
John invariably said the right thing. “Moses brought down manna for the hungry of Israel.”
“True,” said Jesus, “and what say you, Andrew?”
Andrew could only shrug. “There is a boy here with five loaves of bread and two small fishes, but what is that among five thousand?”
He glanced now at Matthew and said: “I cannot send them away hungry lest they faint on the way.”
I could understand his concern, for many looked pale from their fasting and the heat.
I saw the boy sitting on the grass between his parents, holding a basket with the food in it. Then my eyes traveled through the crowd. It was a motley group, chiefly of the Amharetzin, in Galilee rough tillers of the fields who looked for much because they had so little. They had become restive, desiring to witness the healings which now marked his mission.
Fully half the multitude was made up of the ailing and their friends or relatives. The disciples moved among them, listening to their plaints, while the Apostles clustered about Jesus as usual, I noted with surprise the disciples Cestus and Dysmas in the throng speaking to Joshua-bar-Abbas. They had traveled ahead of the company, preaching the word, and were not to meet up with the rest until Capernaum. But now they actively mingled in the crowd, and I assumed they were comforting the people, for so they made their converts. Jesus saw them as well, but his mind was on the multitude.
Andrew, privileged to approach him at any time, said with concern : “Shall we send them away so that they may go into the villages and buy themselves some bread?”
Jesus shook his head. “Andrew, they are like sheep without a shepherd. I would bring them into my flock. For the good shepherd gives his life for the sheep. Before me have come thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not hear them, for they came quietly to steal and destroy. But I come so they may have abundant life. I am the door by which any man may enter and be saved, and where he may graze and find pasture. And there are other sheep I have as well, which are not of this fold. They also I must bring into the pasture of the Lord. They shall hear my voice, and there shall be one fold and one shepherd.”
His eyes were clear and untroubled now. “Moses, with God’s help, guided his flock safely through the Red Sea and into the Promised Land. The same God who helped the Israelites in the desert, providing food when there was none, still would show his people that he is their God. For there are no other gods before him, whatever their name be an
d whatever their cause be called.”
His eyes rested on mine for a moment, and then he commanded the disciples to divide the crowd into groups of a hundred. As they sat expectantly, Andrew brought him the basket with its five loaves and two fishes, freely given by the boy and his parents.
Taking the basket, Jesus looked into the sky. “Dear Father, give us this day our daily bread, as you blessed your son Moses, invoking the same forces which caused all things in the beginning.”
I had seen the sick healed, and water made wine, but I would not have believed what followed had I not seen it for myself. As Jesus broke the loaves and gave them to his disciples to distribute, new fragments kept multiplying before our eyes. There was no trick, no sleight of hand. He uttered no incantation and had nothing up the sleeve of his robe. The crowd sat as if hypnotized, barely able to believe what it saw, until it ate of the bread and the fish, which had also multiplied of itself. Some quantities still remained as Andrew returned the five loaves and two fishes to the delighted lad.
I could see Cestus and Dysmas haranguing the people, telling them that never before had there been such a leader. “He is the Messiah sent by God to deliver us from our enemies,” cried Cestus.
“Let this Son of David be our King greater than David,” Dysmas shouted, standing on a rise, the better to be seen and heard.
He held up a laurel wreath. “Let us crown this Son of David here and now, and all Israel shall march with him against the Pharaohs of Rome.”
Joshua-bar-Abbas, a fiery speaker, capable of stirring the masses, joined Dysmas on the mound and turned an impassioned face to Christ.
“By the miracles you have performed,” he cried, “you have shown yourself the Promised One of the Prophets. All Israel has waited for this moment. For with the Messiah comes an end to persecution and oppression. You have no choice but to assume the mantle of your illustrious forebear and, as King of the Jews, to carry the word of God triumphantly to the seventy nations.”
Even I, knowing his design, felt the throb of his oratory. And into the tired faces of the multitude, particularly the Amharetzin, had come a gleam of forgotten pride.
I stole a look at Jesus. His face was rigid, his lips pressed tightly together. He looked like a man who had come to a sudden and shattering realization.
“Andrew,” he cried almost in despair, “they don’t understand. They have never understood.”
“They mean well,” said Andrew soothingly. “But, like all people, they accept only what they know. And all they know is a sovereign, whether he be Judean or Roman.”
Jesus’ eyes turned to the sky. There was a new resolve in his face, and he took a determined step forward, causing those in the forefront to step back hastily.
He spoke in a clear voice. “Have you not wondered about this bread that you have just eaten? Have you not asked how it appeared out of thin air? Have you not thought that it was not only to be eaten but to be instructed by? Your fathers also did eat manna from heaven, and they are now dead. But a man could eat of this bread and not die. This is the true bread of heaven, and for this reason God shone on you today. But you have witnessed what has been done and still believe not in the heavenly message. For I came down from heaven not to do my will but the will of him that sent me, so that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have everlasting life and will be raised on the last day.”
The crowd, keyed for an entirely different response, did not take well to his reproach. I heard the rumblings of discontent.
“Bar-Abbas is right,” cried a young militant, “for if he is the Messiah, then he should act the Messiah, and lead us like David against the Philistines of Rome.”
It was incredible that the tide should turn on so slim an issue, but the passion for freedom burned brightest in the hearts of those with a tradition of freedom.
Simon Zelotes was clearly outraged by the pressure on Jesus from his own Zealots. For he had learned to love the Master and believe in him, hoping, as I was, that he would one day see the merit of our cause and take a stand out of his own conviction.
We exchanged glances, and both drew closer to the Master.
The grumbling continued, and the well-fed grumbled most.
“Who is he,” complained a little man with a sly smile, “to say that he came down from the heavens? If he is God, he is not flesh, and all know that this carpenter is the son of a carpenter.”
“Maybe,” said another with a wink. “For the father was thoroughly surprised.”
What a mockery of human nature. A moment before, excited by the miracle of the loaves, they were ready to enthrone him, and now that he would not do their bidding, they were ready to pull him down.
Only the boy with the basket spoke up for him.
“Only God could have done it,” he said in a piping voice. “I put the five loaves and two fishes in the basket myself, and there was no way they could have become hundreds of loaves but for God.”
Some were impressed, but others knew not what to think. Taking advantage of this uncertainty, Joshua-bar-Abbas again confronted the Master.
“We know nothing of the Kingdom of Heaven who suffer tyranny on this kingdom of earth. This is where we live, not in the clouds, and here we take the bread of life, not in heaven. If you are the Messiah, take up the challenge, or put all pretensions aside.”
In the flush of his own oratory, he came bounding off the mound, and the impressionable crowd made way for him as he approached Jesus.
Jesus peered over bar-Abbas’ head, as if he didn’t exist.
“You ask for little who could have so much,” he cried scornfully. “I give you everlasting life, for the bread I give is my flesh, and this I offer from the life of the world.”
As the crowd stood chastened, bar-Abbas would have placed the wreath on the Master’s head.
“Any man who touches him answers to me,” I cried, drawing my dagger.
There was a startled murmur in the crowd, for these people had no stomach for violence.
Bar-Abbas gave me a murderous glance. But by this time Andrew, Peter, John, and the rest had formed a protective barrier around the Master.
“Have no fear for me,” he said. “I could vanish in a moment, but it is not necessary, for my time is not come.”
Bar-Abbas again challenged him. “If you are the Messiah, take up this crown. If not, sink back into the obscurity from which you came, for you only confuse the way for the true Messiah.”
“Since when,” said Jesus, “does God take counsel from his servants? Your mission is ended, as is that of Cestus and Dysmas, for your cause speaks more of your own natures than it does of God.”
Some lingering awe of the miracle worker still clung to the crowd, but when they defied the Christ and were left unsmitten, they echoed the cries of bar-Abbas.
“If you are not our King, stand not then in the King’s way.”
Jesus gave them a wrathful eye. “And who is this King you speak of? Some mindless fool for whom you shall suffer disasters, which I see now you richly deserve.”
If not for bar-Abbas the crowd might have fallen away. But bar-Abbas seemed intent now on thoroughly discrediting a leader he had never given more than lip service.
“Bar-Abbas, bar-Abbas,” the crowd shouted, and I marveled anew at the stupidity of man.
Jesus gave them a withering look.
“There is no reason for the Son of Man to receive better of you than Moses received. Moses gave you the law, but none of you keep it. I have done one work, and you marvel. And then you ask for another work, for your hearts are closed to understanding God.”
“We understand,” said bar-Abbas boldly, “that you will do nothing about the Romans while our people hang from the trees because they refuse tribute to Rome. We expected a Maccabean, and we have a soothsayer.”
“You see what you want to see,” said Jesus, “but no man traces my course for me.”
Bar-Abbas’ body shook with emotion.
“You come to s
ave Israel and yet lift not a hand in its defense.”
Jesus’ hands were calmly folded in front of him.
“You have your generals and your lieutenants, your bands of armed men, why ask this of me?”
“Without the Messiah, they have no faith to stand up against the myth of Roman invincibility.”
Jesus gave him a mocking look. “And so you would manufacture a Messiah if you have none.”
Bar-Abbas started as his half-forgotten words were flung back at him. But he soon recovered. “Pilate massacred your Galileans, and yet you have no reproach, but say render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s.”
“And what is Caesar’s, any more than yours, or this man’s or that’s? It is all of God, and he is the same God for all.”
Bar-Abbas flushed angrily. “You hold yourself greater than Moses, but Moses led his people against the Egyptians and others who would destroy his flock. But you say when the Romans smite us, turn the other cheek. How many battles will be won thus? How many hearts are shattered in a land once filled with hope and now cast down?”
Jesus silenced the applauding crowd with a glance. “You speak of Moses, but you forget the warning to a generation no better than this:
“‘Because you served not the Lord your God with joyousness, and with gladness of heart, therefore shall you serve your enemies which the Lord shall send against you, and he shall put a yoke of iron upon your neck, until he has destroyed you. He shall bring a nation against you from afar, as swift as the eagle flies, a nation whose tongue you shall not understand. A nation of fierce countenance, which shall not regard the person of the old, nor show favor to the young, and he shall eat the fruit of your cattle and the fruit of your land until you be destroyed.’”
He paused dramatically. “This scourge of iron you all know. It is here, sent by God.”
He cast his eyes over the assembly. “And just as this generation is paying for the sins of the other, so will future generations suffer for the transgressions here today.”
Many looked abashed. But bar-Abbas was undaunted.
“So you would have us believe that the Romans are the scourge of God and their shackles should be worn gracefully around our necks like a string of pearls. But why should God so persecute his own people?”
I, Judas Page 25
