I, Judas

by Taylor Caldwell

  Before our very eyes an eerie figure swaddled in the white wrappings of the dead began to rise slowly in the coffin. Andrew and John moved swiftly to its assistance, and the figure, bound hand and foot in grave clothes, with a towel about its face, sat up in the coffin. They removed the towel, and we saw the clear features of Lazarus, the friend we had thought lost, and lo and behold, his flesh was as sound as when I saw him last.

  With Andrew’s help, he now stepped out of the coffin. His eyes lighted first on Jesus, and then on Martha and Mary and the mourners at his funeral.

  “What do you all do here?” he asked, surveying the cave with wonder.

  “We are here,” said Jesus, “to manifest the glory of God. For that you became ill and passed through the door of death. And for that, you were made to live again.”

  If not for the smell, I would have thought it entirely possible that we had imagined it all. Miraculously now, the stench had disappeared, and the air was clean and pure. Lazarus embraced his sisters, then turned to the Master, and his eyes gleamed with gratitude.

  “I was sick unto death, and you made me alive.”

  “And how did you know you were dead?”

  “I remembered at first my sisters crying over me, as I lay expiring in my bed, sorrowing that you were not here. Then there was total darkness, and I seemed carried to a great height while my lifeless body lay as it was in my house in Bethany. I saw a million lights, like huge stars, flickering in the distance, and then great banks of clouds, and shadowy figures beginning to emerge. There were hazy faces and forms, and yet when I reached out, my fingers combed the empty air.”

  Mary and Martha, like the rest, had been listening enthralled.

  “And were these fingers and faces like any you knew?” the Master asked.

  Lazarus hesitated, and a look of wonder came into his eyes. “I saw my own dear mother, and my father, who had preceded her by many years, and they seemed content, saying how pleased they were the family was reconciled.”

  The sisters turned marveling to the Master. “Was our brother truly in heaven as he thinks?”

  Jesus looked as though he would again weep. But instead he replied in a solemn voice: “To live truly one must die and be reborn again. Poor Lazarus would have known all the blessings of heaven, but he was recalled to confirm the Lord’s message and so has served God.”

  Many of the Apostles were astounded that Lazarus was brought back to the living.

  “How was this done?” asked Thomas.

  Andrew frowned. “Did not the Master explain that it was done of God?”

  “Everything is God’s,” said Thomas with a grimace.

  Philip nodded his head in assent. “This is no explanation, for we do not see God’s hand at work.”

  For myself it was all crystal clear. “How many times must he tell you that his power comes of God? Since God has the power to create life, and end it, which none question, then Jesus can do as much, as God’s channel on earth.”

  “Well said, Judah,” Simon Zelotes boomed approvingly.

  It was obvious that Jesus had deliberately allowed Lazarus to die so that he could prove his own power.

  “Why else,” I said, “did he not come to him at once when told he was ill? It was to show the multitude that he could triumph over any adversary, including the most unquenchable of all.”

  “Which,” Zelotes finished for me, “is death itself.”

  “And if he can do it for another,” I said, “then he can do it for himself as well.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE PLOT

  THE SUMMONS CAME FROM ANNAS, which I thought odd, since Caiaphas usually arranged the Temple audiences. The courier, a Levite, found me at Lazarus’ house in Bethany, for I was on my way to smooth things over with my mother.

  “Come without delay,” said the courier, a young man with bushy hair, “for it is of supreme importance.”

  “I will be there tomorrow,” I said, quickly going over my vulnerable areas and finding them well covered. I had already explained my becoming a disciple to their apparent satisfaction.

  After the messenger left, Mary and Martha looked at me with concern.

  “Are you in any difficulty?” Martha inquired.

  “None that I know of,” I replied with more assurance than I felt.

  “It is about the Master,” cried Mary. “They plot to kill him, I know it. I could see it in the face of the High Priest that day in the Temple.”

  Her voice trembled the least bit, “They hate him because the people follow him.”

  “As long as the people support him,” I said, “we have nothing to fear.”

  Lazarus had walked in and, seeing the faces of the two women, quickly asked: “What is wrong? Have I stumbled onto another funeral procession?”

  I made an attempt at heartiness. “You know how women are, always fretting about things that never happen.”

  Mary stood in the center of the room, her eyes closed as if she were praying. “Ever since he came into my life I have felt a close community with him, knowing when he suffered and when he rejoiced. I know that of late his heart has been heavy.”

  Lazarus’ face mirrored her own concern, but his ready humor and good spirits, for which Jesus loved him, soon came to the fore.

  “We stand around and moon, and for all we know they only wish to borrow money from Judah, knowing how frugal he is. Let us sit down to our supper, partake of a little wine, and chase away our errant fears.”

  As we broke bread, saying the “Our Father” prayer that Jesus had taught us, I couldn’t help but think, looking at Lazarus, that the Master truly seemed capable of anything. Lazarus had been dead four days. And yet here he was, alive and well, a living reminder of the Master’s power.

  Mary did not touch her food. “I would go to him if he needs me,” she said.

  “He is on the road from Capernaum,” I said, “but your fears are unfounded. The Temple priests would have acted long ago if they meant him harm.”

  “They only dare now,” said she, “because the militants are not as much for him as they were.”

  “And how is that?” I asked, wondering how she knew.

  “They do not realize that his message is essentially spiritual, and they stew about taxation, and the Romans, and his being a light to the Gentiles as well. They do not understand his liking for the heathen.”

  “They want a Messiah who is a Messiah,” I acknowledged, “one who has come to deliver the Jews, and not be concerned about their captors.”

  She sighed. “I have variously known Romans and Jews, Judah, and I have seen little difference in them, except that the Romans enjoyed wholeheartedly what they did, and the Jews lowered their eyes as if committing some great sin.”

  Lazarus regarded her glumly. “I thought these matters were forgiven and forgotten, and not to be discussed in this house.”

  For a moment there was a devilish gleam in her eyes.

  “Lazarus hides his head, and thinks he is not seen.”

  “I know now what you talk about.”

  “I talk about sin, which the Master forgives, but not so with hypocritical Israel, which can find no reason but tradition for God preferring it above other nations,”

  Martha gave her sister an affirming nod. “He is for all people, regardless of race or creed, for he has healed Syrians and Samaritans, and even the Romans and their servants.”

  Lazarus wiped his lips and said gruffly: “We sit around and speak loosely like women, without having the slightest idea of the problem or whether there is a problem. Let Judah go first to Jerusalem, and we will know soon enough what is astir.”

  Mary did not seem at all encouraged.

  “In a land held captive none can feel any certainty of the morrow.”

  I pounced on her words. “You see the importance of our being free and independent.”

  “The Master says that freedom is of the spirit.”

  Lazarus had tired of the discussion, as could be e
xpected of a man of affairs, an owner of many businesses, respected even by the Romans.

  He turned to me. “I hear that things are seething in Rome. They say that Tiberius has hurried back from his self-imposed exile in Capri and that Sejanus’ position is threatened by his own plotting.”

  I shrugged. “What does it matter which monster rules?”

  “You forget,” he said, “that Pilate is Sejanus’ creature, and if the master goes, the servant may not be far behind.”

  “So before Pilate it was Valerius Gratus, and before that Coponius and Vitellius. Was Israel any better off?”

  “At least we did not harbor an ambitious tyrant who sought preferment by indulging the anti-Jewish sentiments of his overseer in Rome.”

  “One Roman looks like another.” I scowled. “The important thing is to get rid of them all.”

  He gave me a curious look. “As a disciple you are committed to the teachings of Jesus, and Jesus makes no distinction in his kingdom between Jew and Roman. You are aware of that, are you not?”

  “It was not always like that,” I said. “The change came over him when he went into the mountain, and the visions of Moses and Elijah faded before his eyes.”

  “Is not that enough for you?”

  “It is a matter of interpretation. I question not what he saw, but to what purpose. Simon Zelotes argued that by their presence the visions indicate that God still smiles on the people of Moses and Elijah.”

  Lazarus snorted. “And if every disciple is to set himself above the Master, who then is the Master?”

  I had never been overly fond of Lazarus. He gave himself airs because of the special favor shown by Jesus in stopping at his house whenever in Jerusalem. If he loved the Master, why had he not followed him like the rest? He was no more than a transplanted Galilean, and Magdala, whence the family came, was hardly a resort by the sea.

  “How can you judge the Twelve,” I said, “when you have not given up everything as we have?”

  He looked at me with a sardonic eye. “Everything, Judah? Be frank, have you not relinquished only that which was not dear to you?”

  I flushed. “Does a host quiz a guest under his roof?”

  He took my hand impulsively. “We are not guest and host. We speak as friends. I could not leave my affairs, and he understood. ‘You will win more converts as an outsider,’ he told me. I did not know what he meant, but later I understood. One day you also shall understand that we are all in places where he wants us to be, so that the unseen skein of his life can be spun out to the end.”

  Mary and Martha had followed the conversation with frowns, neither quite comprehending the issues that had been unexpectedly injected. “He saved your life,” said Mary accusingly. “You should go with Judah and make sure they mean the Master no harm.”

  “You make a river out of a brook,” he cried. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for the friend who saved my life.”

  “He did more,” she went on relentlessly. “Your life was gone, for we buried and wept over you, and he brought you back from the dead.”

  “This is the same,” I said, “that he did with Jairus’ daughter, who was only twelve when Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue on the other side of Galilee, came to him, saying his only daughter was dying. And when Jesus came to the house the family and friends were sobbing because she had expired. He told them to desist, since the maid was only sleeping. They laughed him to scorn and would have ejected him from the house had not Jairus taken him into the room where the damsel lay. He took her by the hand and said: ‘Arise and be weir and straightway she rose and walked.”

  Martha had heard it in greater detail. “I had the story from Peter and John, and they described how Jesus told the spirit to go back into her again. And then, showing the bond between body and spirit, he commanded her parents to give her food immediately, so she would rise and shine.”

  It was hard to believe he could raise the dead, but then nearly everything he did was equally incredible. Although I had witnessed Lazarus’ experience, I had wondered, as had others, how dead he was. Had it not been for the corruption of the flesh, I would have had more reservations, for it was not unusual for people to be in a somnolent state akin to death in its aspects. Jesus was even accused by some of putting a devil in Lazarus so that he could then, like a conjurer, remove this devil by the power of his mind, with what the Greeks called suggestion or hypnosis. Indeed, there were many who said that he had done this at Cana and again with the fishes and loaves, claiming that all he had done was hypnotize the multitude into thinking they were imbibing wine in one case, and eating manna from heaven in another. This was said to be a common occurrence in Egypt, where he had spent some years as a boy.

  It seemed unlikely, since I myself was a witness on these occasions and had no feeling of being under another’s influence. But some said that the hypnotized person was the last to know.

  In any event, I saw no harm in questioning Lazarus about his experience after death, for that might well throw some additional light on the kingdom the Master spoke of so casually.

  “Can you say again what you recalled after you were put in the tomb?” I inquired.

  He gave me a shrewd glance. “So you doubt as Thomas did? One must acknowledge that the Master is surrounded by doubting Thomases.”

  “I do not question his powers, only their extent.”

  I did not like his smile. “You shall know, and Matthew shall know as well, for he is the Apostle to the Jews. But is it not ironic that our own people demand more proof than the heathen?”

  He looked around as if inviting Martha and Mary to leave the room. But they appeared not to notice and settled themselves comfortably in their chairs.

  I saw little change in the Magdalen, for all the noise that was made of her redemption. She was frequently brusque and offensive, for she had seen more vileness and chicanery than honesty and honor and had little regard for the most virtuous.

  “He was dead all right,” said she with a turned-up nose, “for he stank like a fish after three days.”

  She appeared oblivious to Lazarus’ frown of annoyance. “The weather had turned warm, otherwise he might have kept better.”

  It was obvious that she enjoyed mocking her brother, for what reason I cannot venture, except that she still had the devil in her.

  “I am not so much interested in the state of his corpse as in that of his spirit.”

  Lazarus gave me a grateful glance, and now hastened to satisfy my curiosity.

  “I saw my own body, as though I were standing next to it, and then I saw a white ethereal substance leave the body, forming a luminous envelope of corresponding shape from head to toe, which eventually moved upward into space and disappeared.”

  “And was there any impression of what this could be?”

  “I had the feeling it was the Holy Spirit, and that it lived on as an energy form after my body had succumbed to the fever.”

  “So you were not then dead in reality?”

  “If I had not been awakened I would still be in the tomb, and you would be conversing with my ghost.”

  This misplaced humor of Lazarus’ flared forth in disconcerting fashion, and for the life of me, I could not comprehend how the Master relished his company.

  “You might only have been in a coma, in a catatonic state, in which people are often mistakenly thought to be dead, but which is in reality a state of suspended animation characterized by a trance-like absence of normal consciousness.”

  “He did not breathe,” said Martha, “for I held a mirror against his mouth and there was no answering vapor or mist.”

  Actually, there was little doubt in my mind that he had been brought from the dead, but it was vital that there be no doubt at all.

  “Do you believe Jesus when he says the last enemy to be destroyed is death itself?”

  Lazarus smiled smugly. “What more proof do you need than myself, or Jairus’ daughter for that matter?”

  Martha nodded, her a
ssent echoing my own thoughts. “If he can do it for one, then he can do it for all.”

  “Then why do you worry about his welfare, if he has this ultimate control over death?”

  Mary gave me a scornful eye.

  “They cannot do anything to him unless he permits, but lately have you not heard him talking about joining his Father in heaven? It gives me a feeling of desolation.”

  “But how can they take his life when he can bring life to the dead? It does not make sense.”

  Lazarus would have shut off the conversation, but Mary was not easily silenced.

  “How often has he said that his Father sent him to show that life is everlasting, and so how else can he manifest this to Israel?”

  “But then all dies with him.”

  Her dark eyes had taken on a tragic look.

  “If it is as I fear, who knows how much he will suffer?”

  My mind went back over the two years and more I had served him. “I have never seen him fail in anything. Do you not know that he once walked on water?”

  “So they say.” She shrugged. “But of what matter is that?”

  I was incredulous. “He does what no man has done since the beginning of time, and you do not even marvel.”

  Into Lazarus’ deep-set eyes had come a reflective look. “There is only one of him, and no man can do for him what he can do for others.”

  “He says the Apostles can do whatever he does with faith in the Father.”

  “There is not that much faith in all of Israel, for only he knows what the Father knows, and only the Father knows what he knows.”

  “You say yourself that he is invincible, and I have seen such proof myself.”

  Martha was the quiet one, but there was invariably a good deal of wisdom in her words. “We all thought the Baptist protected by God, and yet Herod was able to slay this prince of the world and lay his head on a platter.”

  “It was his spirit that was unquenchable. I saw this for myself.”

  “And so also is Jesus’, but more so, for he is wholly of the spirit.”