by Ted Dekker
I stood in awe. In awe of Yeshua, who could do such a thing. In awe of Mary, who was like Yeshua’s sister, a small woman more powerful than a thousand men. And in awe of my own failure, for I’d forgotten his power, once so plain to me in Petra.
“How foolish I was to doubt him after the life he gave me,” Mary said. “Today will be the first time he returns to us since those days. I am the lowest in all of Judea, scorned by all but the lowest man.” Her soft voice trembled with emotion. “And yet Yeshua wept for me.”
Her shame had been as deep as my own, as a slave.
“This is what he does, Maviah. He makes us all queens, like you. And yet I have nothing to offer him.”
“Your life,” I said.
“Yes. He has it already. But still…”
I thought of Shaquilath’s gift to me before leaving Petra.
“I brought something you might offer him.”
“A gift?”
“A vessel of nard given to me by the queen of Petra. I offer it as a token of appreciation for inviting us into your home.”
Her eyes lit up. “Nard…Fitting for a burial.”
“Even more so for new life.”
“Yes.” She beamed at the idea of offering this precious perfume to Yeshua. “You are most kind, sister.”
“It is the very least I can do.”
She gazed past me, lost in thought. “Nard…” she whispered. “It is perfect.”
My mind was still on the resurrection of Lazarus. I could not imagine the man I’d just met, now with such bright and peaceful eyes, being in the grave for four days.
“Does your brother remember being dead?”
She blinked and looked back at me. “Lazarus? He’s changed. He was always close to Yeshua, but now they seem to share something words cannot express. At times I think he cannot truly understand what happened to him.”
“What does he say?”
She hesitated.
“He has no fear of death now. None. Truly, I believe he longs to be absent of body once again. He saw much but can explain little. But more, Lazarus knows only love for others now. It seems he has become a child once again.”
Talya came to my mind, but now my fear for his safety had subsided. Yeshua would surely save my son, even as he’d saved Mary and her brother. Even as he’d saved me.
“Maybe Lazarus saw Eden,” I said.
“Eden?”
“The garden. My son once said he saw it. In a vision.”
“Eden. The garden of perfection. Perhaps this is the kingdom of heaven on earth.”
“Where death cannot touch us,” I said.
“And shame is no more.”
Mary smiled and stepped up to me.
“Well then, Maviah…We will believe that your son is in Eden, and we will have no fear. Death will not come to him. Yeshua will save him, you will see.”
She took my hand in hers.
“Now we must return to help Martha prepare before she scolds me. Yeshua comes to dinner tonight!”
Chapter Fifteen
TALYA DIDN’T know how long he and the others had been in the dungeon. Twice each day they were brought food—heaps of flatbread, dates and other fruits—and water. Never enough, so he took only a little. Once each day, Kahil, the one his mother had called a viper, came to check on them. A perfect hush came over all of the children when the gate at the end of the passage opened.
Talya was sure that Kahil came only to look at him, which he did with dark eyes before leaving without saying a word.
Salim’s wound had festered, then finally started to heal, but hatred had come into his eyes, and he did his part to make as many of the children as miserable as himself. As the oldest he demanded their food and shoved them away if they asked for some of his straw.
Many of them had developed running noses and coughs. Many of them were growing skinny. Many of them came to Talya to ask what they should do, even though he was the youngest, for he was the queen’s son. But he didn’t know what to say except that Saba would come. That the queen would rescue them.
After a while they stopped asking. And soon he forgot to tell himself that story as well. He was only a small boy full of fear.
When night came, the guards put out the lamps and left the children in darkness. Soft crying would fill the large stone cell, and Talya would curl up in the corner to keep warm, covering his ears with his hands.
It was then that he tried to remember the Way. Then that he tried to find Eden as he dreamed of walking in the dark desert, alone. But although he could still remember some of Saba’s teaching, the light never came.
And then it did.
He was asleep in the cell, but in his dreams he was there again in the desert, standing and looking at the stars, lost in the darkness and full of fear. Suddenly, a star streaked from the black sky, like a falling star, only larger.
He blinked, thinking it would vanish. Instead it grew bigger. Like a ball of fire streaking straight toward him.
Barely able to breathe, he watched it hit the sand a hundred paces away. A blinding flash lit the entire desert, and faster than possible the light spread.
The moment the light hit him, he felt its power blow through his hair. Through his chest, through his heart. And with it, a song. Only one note, the same note he’d heard and sung in the desert before. The light itself was like a song!
Suddenly it was day. Not a day with a sun, but day by the light of that star. As if by magic.
But there was more. Much more.
He gasped, sucking in the air, which seemed to be the light itself. And with that breath his arms began to tremble. Peace and joy as he’d never known them filled him from the inside out.
But there was more. Much more.
Immediately grass began to grow from the parched sand, and vines became full of grapes, and small trees grew into large ones heavy with green leaves. A clear blue pool sprang out of the ground, and many birds flew through the sky. On the rolling hills he saw camels and lions and lambs and foxes and many wonderful creatures that he didn’t know.
All of it happened quickly, in the space of only ten or fifteen breaths.
And with each of those breaths, Talya inhaled the light, knowing that it was the light of the world. This was the Father’s sovereign realm, surely.
This was Yeshua, creating the world. Eden.
This was what he had seen in the distance from the high ledge. But now…now he was in it. He spun around with arms spread wide, singing that song in a pure voice that joined with the light.
Only then did he see the large black serpent with green and yellow and red stripes sliding into the meadow, not ten paces from him. He stopped and stared, captivated by its beauty.
The serpent slipped slowly through the grass, flicking its tongue, eyeing him with golden eyes. It hissed in one long sound that grew, overwhelming the pure song that had filled the air.
Talya felt his pulse quicken. The hissing was at once beautiful and cutting, drawing him and repulsing him at the same time.
The serpent suddenly coiled. Then opened its jaw wide. Talya watched, stunned, as a round fruit rolled out of the serpent’s mouth and onto the grass. The fruit was half-white and half-black—not just white like the sand, but white like the sun. And not just black like the shale, but black like a hole that had no bottom.
The hissing grew louder.
As Talya watched, a woman who looked like his mother stepped out from behind a tree, eyeing that fruit.
The snake hissed at her, and she watched it for a while, as if listening. She didn’t seem afraid, only curious.
Then the woman walked up to the fruit, picked it up, and stared at it in her hand. She surveyed the garden for a moment as if undecided about what to do.
Looking at the snake one more time, she gave a slight nod, then lifted the fruit to her mouth and took a bite.
Immediately, the light winked off and the garden disappeared, leaving only the woman on desert sand at night. The song a
nd the hissing stopped.
Talya stood with his mouth open, filled with fear.
The woman crouched and spun around with the fruit still in her hand, trying to see, terrified. The serpent darted out from the darkness, fangs flashing, and bit her heel. She screamed and dropped the fruit, grasping at her leg.
She staggered to the edge of the meadow and then collapsed.
Talya spun to see the serpent still there, coiled, watching him with beady eyes. Surely the viper would bite him as well.
“Who are you?”
The gentle voice spoke from deep within Talya and also from the sky, like a soft wind drifting through him. He blinked in the darkness, straining to see.
“What is your name, my son?”
He swallowed and spoke in a thin, ragged voice.
“Talya.”
“And what does Talya mean?”
“A…a lamb.”
“And what does lamb mean?”
An image of his mother stroking his hair filled his mind. Was the voice his mother speaking? No, it was more. Far more…
“It means innocent child,” he whispered.
The darkness was silent for a moment, and then the voice came again.
“I have given you power over the deceiver, who brings the knowledge of good and evil to blind you. I have given you authority to trample on serpents and overcome all the power of the enemy. Nothing will harm you.”
Talya trembled.
The serpent was still there, tasting the air with its tongue, eyeing him.
“Crush the serpent,” the voice said.
“The serpent?” Talya said, still shaking.
“Yes. Crush the serpent, then you will see.”
Still full of fear, but desperate for the light to return, Talya slowly walked up to the serpent, amazed that it did not slither away. He lifted his foot and stomped on its head with all of his might.
Thunder boomed overhead. Immediately the darkness rolled back like a scroll, revealing the garden exactly as it had been before.
Once again the light flooded Talya’s body, and the song his mind.
“Ha!” Talya cried, jumping, smiling wide. “I did it!”
Somewhere far away, a door squealed and then shut, like the door in the dungeon, pulling him from the dream.
He jerked up, gasping. Torches were lit and many of the children were already sitting up, leaning against the walls or sitting cross-legged, faces flat or strained with dread.
Truth came to Talya then—he was to bring light into this dark world. This is what Saba had meant when he’d said a child would lead them! This was his place here, to help them see what they couldn’t see.
Eden was here, beyond the darkness, he was sure of it!
He jumped to his feet filled with courage and spoke without thinking.
“We will be saved!” he cried.
They turned to him with dumb stares.
He stepped forward and lifted one hand. “It’s dark in here, but I have seen the light. It’s here if we only look. It’s always been here, everywhere, we are only blind to it!”
“Be quiet, you spoiled little dog,” Salim spat from his corner. A couple of the others who were eager to impress the older boy snickered.
But this meant nothing to Talya. He took another step, eager to be heard.
“I had a vision, and in this dream I saw the serpent blind the world with a fruit of darkness. The fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. But that serpent is powerless against us! If we be like Yeshua. If we only open our eyes to see the light!”
“Quiet before I knock your teeth out!”
“No, Salim! This is the light you seek!” He glanced around. None of them seemed to care. How could it be?
“No one will listen? All of you would rather remain in this darkness, weeping for your mothers? Please…I beg you—”
“I will listen,” a soft voice said.
Talya turned to his left and saw that Mona had risen to her feet. Her eyes were wide with wonder.
“Tell me about the light.”
He stepped toward her. “I will. I’ll tell you everything.”
A chuckle echoed through the room, and Talya twisted to the bars that caged them in. There, in the dim light beyond the cell, stood Kahil, grinning. The sound he’d heard in his dream…The door…
“So…the little prince has found his courage once again.”
Talya blinked. “This is the serpent,” he said, stretching out his arm. “But he has no power over us.”
The room was deathly quiet. Kahil’s smile flattened. The courage in Talya’s blood began to leak away and he lowered his arm, caught in the man’s glare.
Kahil nodded at him once, as if accepting the challenge. Then he stepped to one side and spoke to two guards behind.
“Bring him.”
Chapter Sixteen
WORD THAT Yeshua was coming to Bethany had filtered through the village—the air was filled with great expectancy. But nowhere more so than in Martha’s house, where Mary and I joined her in preparing food, while Saba spoke in quiet tones with Stephen, Lazarus, Simon, and Arim.
They spoke of the kingdom; they spoke of the wonders of Yeshua. Of the time he’d healed a deeply fractured man with many demons, who went by the name Legion. Yeshua had cast these demons into a herd of swine, and the man immediately found a sane mind.
I listened, and my mind was on Yeshua. If he could save such a broken mind, Yeshua could surely protect Talya.
They spoke of death and of resurrection. Lazarus declared that Saba, who had no religion, could accept the mysteries more easily than those steeped in religious tradition. What he’d experienced while being dead and then coming back to life defied all common reason. In this, he knew what Yeshua meant by his repeated use of children as an example for all who want to enter his kingdom.
“He speaks of being born yet again,” Lazarus said in a gentle voice. “Of the Father revealing himself to infants and hiding himself from minds of reason. ‘The kingdom of God belongs to such as these,’ he says of the babes when they are brought to him.” He glanced at me, a mother. “And ‘anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’”
“You experienced this rebirth, upon waking?” Saba asked. “As an infant?”
“I can only say that nothing looks the same to me now,” Lazarus said. “There are no words for it. All that I saw before has grown strangely dim.” His eyes twinkled. “I feel as though I am just now alive. As though reborn into the light.”
“You see, Saba?” Stephen said, smiling. “Reborn, like infants. Are you then an infant?”
Saba only stared. He knew of this teaching but was now knowing it again with Stephen and Lazarus. My tower was indeed like a small child among them, I thought. And I loved him for it.
They spoke of many other wonders and healings and casting out of devils. There was surely no end to the power Yeshua had shown all through the villages and towns.
But his teachings had become too hard for many to follow, and so many had abandoned him. “They wanted to see the wonders, but they could not follow this narrow way, which defies all common sense,” Stephen said.
The old man Simon lifted his finger to make a rare point. “But this too has changed. Hearing of Lazarus, many are returning. All of Bethany saw him dead and buried. All knew that he was in the tomb for four days. And now all see him alive.” He chuckled, baring what few teeth he still had. “Word has spread like a fire through the field. Every street in Jerusalem whispers of this news.”
After the sun set, under Martha’s continuous direction, we took baskets filled with warm loaves of flatbread along with dates and honey and wine to Simon’s home. Two other women arrived with portions of a small lamb they’d slaughtered, and together we laid out a humble feast.
“Put the fruit back on the small table,” Martha said to Mary. “This table is too cluttered.” To me: “Maviah, dear, did you sweep the floor?” I had done so twice. She e
ven lorded over the men so familiar to her. “Must you leave your cloak on the chair, Lazarus? You would make this house a barn?”
None of us minded. This was her way of honoring Yeshua.
Simon’s house was larger than he could have possibly purchased or inherited. It had been offered to him by a wealthy man in Jerusalem named Zacharias, whose sister had been healed of leprosy a year earlier.
The dinner was to be a small gathering in Yeshua’s honor. The lamps were lit; the long table set just so, fit for a humble king; ten of us were gathered. There was room only for ten around the table, and these seats were reserved for Yeshua and the disciples who had traveled. The rest of us would recline on couches set along the walls.
All was prepared.
The time grew late, but still they had not come.
“Are you certain he said tonight, Simon?” Martha asked.
“Tonight,” the old man said, grinning. “You will see.”
“Not tomorrow but tonight—you are sure this is what Bartholomew said?”
“I am old, but not deaf. Tonight.”
“You are absolutely positive, Simon?” Stephen said, standing in the corner.
“They will be here!” Simon croaked. “Do you think my mind is gone?”
Arim was at the window, peering out. “Perhaps he has fallen into the hands of the enemy.” He turned back. “I would help Stephen search the path for him.”
“Don’t say such things,” Mary said, hurrying toward the door. “You must not even think—”
A knock on the door stopped her. She gasped. And with that gasp we all went perfectly still.
“He’s here!” Martha whispered. Then she was moving, rearranging food that was already perfectly set, smoothing her dress.
I was standing beside a bench in one corner as Simon hurried to the door, pulled it open, and stepped back.
The first in was Peter, whom I recognized immediately, though he’d lost some weight. Then Levi, at whose home I had first met Yeshua. Then John and James and one named Judas—all whom I’d seen in Bethsaida. Did they remember me?
