by Ted Dekker
His question echoed to silence. I might have heard a pebble drop.
“You have no answer for me?”
I pushed through a tangle of humanity and pulled up next to several armed guards. The lay of court came to me in a single glance.
Perhaps a hundred had congregated before Herod—soldiers and aristocrats and servants, lining the walls and crowding into the center where twenty or more religious leaders stood in an arc, several deep. These were dressed in formal apparel with square hats and long, richly woven robes, black and white with golden tassels.
There was no sign of his disciples.
There on the rise stood Herod, staring at Yeshua, who wore a torn white tunic. Rope bound his hands. His hair was tangled and his lower lip was bleeding.
If Herod acknowledged our sudden appearance, I didn’t notice. My eyes were fixed on Yeshua.
He stood with his head bowed, eyes closed, his breathing unlabored and steady. The room felt like a distant abstraction to me in that moment. Someone began to speak—one of the religious, deeply agitated—but my mind was consumed with the image before my eyes.
With Yeshua.
He looked utterly innocent and frail, yet he stood at ease, as if oblivious to the number and strength of his enemies. He was only biding his time. Herod would see. At any moment he would understand the power of the man standing before him. The man who would not bow to any kingdom on earth.
I glanced up to see Herod looking my way. Our eyes met briefly before he faced Yeshua, who hadn’t moved.
“Why do you refuse to speak to me?”
Silence.
The man I took to be the elder of their Sanhedrin extended an accusing finger. “He is silent before you because he fears you. Before us and before all men he claims to be the Son of God. He says he will tear down the temple and rebuild it in three days. That he—”
“Silence!” Herod snapped. “You bring him to my court for me, not you, to judge. You’ve had your say. He will speak.”
The leader lowered his arm, face red.
Yeshua would speak. He would speak because he always spoke. How I longed for the sound of his voice to bring peace.
Herod paced with hands on his hips, a lion before cubs. “They say you have power to bring sight to the blind, and to cast out devils. Is this true?”
Silence.
“Hmmm? That you can control the sea like Moses and raise the dead. Yes?”
Yeshua stood like a statue with his head hung. I could hear the sound of Saba’s breathing to my right, and my own, silently begging Yeshua to open his mouth. Only one word…A single word and they would know…
But he said nothing.
“Do you know who I am?” Herod demanded. “I have the power to save you. You’ve shown all of Galilee this power, so then show me, your king.”
Still Yeshua refused to speak or move.
A chill washed down my back. Show him! I wanted to cry. Show them all what you’ve shown me…Speak to Herod, who is a king far below you!
“Are you deaf?” Herod demanded, eyes glaring in the face of such defiance. “Speak to me!”
Yeshua’s silence extended, crushing hope.
Someone grunted. A soft chuckle. Heat flooded my face.
Three more times, Herod questioned Yeshua, each time with increasing frustration, demanding he speak something, or show some power, or at the very least offer respect.
Three more times, Yeshua did not even acknowledge him.
Herod threw his arms wide, now livid. “Are you mad, man?” His voice echoed through the chamber. “I am the king! Speak to me!”
And yet Yeshua stood in silence, a lamb before that lion.
“He claims to be king of the Jews,” the chief of the Sanhedrin sneered. “This is—”
“Silence!” Herod thundered. “Are you deaf as well? If an outcast without a sword claims to be king, then so be it! Insanity is not a crime in Galilee. If it were, our prisons would be full.”
He paced, face red, watching Yeshua again.
“You refuse to show me your power. You refuse to speak to me. So then you must be mad. Tell me at least that much. Are you?”
Confusion and fear smothered me; I could no longer bear such humiliation.
“Yeshua…” My voice was weak and strained, but I knew he could hear me. “Please…”
Yeshua remained still, head down.
Herod glared, jaw set. “You are a king?” He snapped, turning for his throne. “Then of fools.” He snatched a long purple robe draped over the back and flung it at the closest guard. “Show me how a king of fools looks.”
Laughter broke out. The guard tossed his spear to another and approached, wearing a grin. He draped the robe over Yeshua’s shoulders, then stepped back.
“Behold,” Herod cried out, arms spread wide. “Yeshua, king of the Jews, who brings sight to the blind!”
The room erupted with delighted mocking.
Still Yeshua did not move.
Tears filled my eyes and slipped down cheeks.
“Here then is the mad king who threatens all of Israel!” Herod thundered.
“Yeshua…”
I felt Saba’s hand close around my elbow.
“Yeshua!”
Only then did Yeshua lift his head. Slowly. Not toward Herod, but toward me. His eyes—now open—met mine. The same brown eyes that had always reached into my soul and filled me with deep assurance.
My heart stilled with that look. He wasn’t smiling, but I saw a calm in him, defying even this storm.
But then I saw that there was more than calm and I blinked.
His eyes were misted, betraying a terrible sorrow that he could not hide. A tear slipped down his cheek and my fingers began to tremble.
Herod was saying something, but I couldn’t hear his words. The guard who’d dressed Yeshua spit on his face, then slapped the back of his head to the uproarious approval of all those gathered.
Still Yeshua held me in his gaze, now filled with tears that leaked down both cheeks.
Without thinking, I started to move toward him—to rush out and defend him—but Saba’s firm grasp pulled me back. And then away, through the throng fixated on the spectacle.
“Wait!” I cried out.
But he would not.
I tried to pull away, terrified to leave Yeshua in such a state, but Saba would not loosen his grip. By my elbow, he hurried me into the outer court.
Laughter erupted behind us. They weren’t done. I started to turn back, but Saba took my face in his hands, focusing my attention on his eyes.
“Hear me, Maviah.”
More laughter…
“Listen to my words.”
“Saba—”
“Listen to me!”
He was being strong, but his eyes too were misted. I nodded, pushing down my panic.
“He is Yeshua. He will find a way.”
The words cut through my fear.
“Do not allow darkness to blind you. Find your faith. Promise me.”
I hesitated, then nodded.
He stared at me for a moment, then took a calming breath and lowered his hands to my shoulders.
“You have to go to Bethany. The others—”
“Bethany? No! I can’t leave him.”
He touched his finger to my lips. “I will stay. Stephen and Lazarus, his mother, they’re all there. Tell them. Bring them.”
“Why?”
“They must be told. There’s no more you can do here without putting yourself in danger.”
“Danger? He’s in danger! I can’t just—”
“He is Yeshua!” Saba thundered, releasing me. Then again, with eyes blazing, thrusting his trembling finger toward the inner court, “Yeshua! Have you forgotten his Way?”
I swallowed. Then settled. Saba lowered his hand.
“Bring them,” he said. “They must be here when he is released.”
My mind filled with images of Stephen plunging into the Sea of Galilee at the sound o
f Yeshua’s voice. Of Yeshua’s mother holding me as I wept in Nazareth. Of Mary anointing Yeshua’s feet with nard.
I nodded.
“Find the camels. Take both.”
Another nod.
He took my hands into his own and held them for a moment, then squeezed them. “Run.”
I ran.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE SUN had risen but the sky was encased in billowing gray clouds as I rushed through Jerusalem on my camel, leading the other by its rope. I don’t remember passing through the streets, nor the faces of those yelling at me when I galloped by, nor the nature of the guard’s warning as I crashed through the gates. I don’t remember the path leading up the mountain, urging the camel to run faster.
There was only one Way to find salvation from the troubles of this world, and he had gone silent. Once again, I was lost.
Mounted and at a full run, I must have made the journey to Bethany in less than half an hour, but it seemed endless.
Stephen would know what to do.
His mother, Miriam, would offer comfort.
Yeshua would save us all. He had to. Talya depended upon him as much as I did. The world depended upon him.
If any in Bethany had heard of Yeshua’s arrest, his followers would be rushing to Jerusalem already. But I met no one on the path over the Mount of Olives.
And when I reached the village and drove the camels toward Martha’s house, I saw only smoke there, drifting up lazily from the courtyard, as on any other morning.
I dismounted before the camels came to a halt and I ran for the courtyard. Gentle laughter reached my ears. I crashed into the gate and flung it wide.
There: Mary, eyebrow raised at Arim. And Martha, holding a bowl with one hand on her hip, ready to scold. Stephen was bent over the fire, blowing at the coals. Lazarus reclined against the wall, one knee hooked in his elbow.
And Miriam, the mother of Yeshua, turning from the table with a smile on her face. The laughter had been hers.
One glance at my disheveled hair and distressed face and they all stopped.
“Maviah?” Mary stood. “What is it?”
Miriam’s smile began to fade.
“Tell us,” Martha snapped. “What is it?”
I held Miriam’s gaze, afraid to speak her son’s name, because in that moment she became me, receiving news about my little lamb.
“Yeshua,” I said.
Only that. Only his name, and yet she knew the rest already. For a moment her eyes looked dead to the world, as if she’d always known this day would come.
“He’s been arrested,” I said. “Only arrested.”
“By whom?” Stephen demanded, on his feet now. Lazarus stood behind him, watching me without expression.
“The religious leaders.” My words tumbled out. “I was there, in Herod’s court, when they brought him. It was your Sanhedrin. And Saba sent me. He’s there with him…”
“Take a breath, Daughter,” Miriam said quietly.
And with those words all of the emotion I’d battled crossing the Mount of Olives overwhelmed me. I lowered my face into my hands as gentle sobs shook my shoulders.
I felt a hand on the back of my neck, then an arm, pulling me close.
“Hush, my dear Maviah.” It was Miriam, whom I should be comforting. “Do not fear. My son knows what he’s doing.”
I wrapped my arms around her and held her even as she held me.
“I’m so sorry. Forgive me.” I sniffed, determined to be strong. Yeshua was mocked, but he wasn’t hurt. “I saw him. He’s fine.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so strong,” I said, pulling back.
Tears had filled her eyes. “No one,” she said.
Then she took a breath and nodded. “So we must go to him.”
She gathered her dress, turned from me, and spoke to Martha as she crossed the courtyard.
“Bread, Martha. And a clean tunic, if you have one.”
“I do,” Stephen said, heading for his bag.
Lazarus stopped him. “Mine. It will fit him.” He stepped into the house.
“Ointment,” Miriam said to no one in particular. “And bandages.”
She was being his mother. Only that.
Arim approached me, full of courage. “Do not worry, my queen. Yeshua cannot be harmed. He will need none of these things.”
“Some clean cloth, Mary,” Miriam said. “And water. Hurry.”
They moved quickly under the direction of Miriam. The urgency was palpable, as was a haunting dread, but they’d all grown accustomed to threats and danger, and none offered their thoughts beyond what had already been said.
We four women mounted the camels and were led away from Bethany by Stephen, Lazarus, and Arim, who hurried before us. When we were halfway up the Mount of Olives, Stephen spoke.
“Whatever happens, you can be sure that with Yeshua, all is well,” he said. “You have no reason to fear for your son, Miriam. None.”
She nodded once. Seated behind her, Mary had wrapped her arms around Miriam and pressed her head against her back, perhaps both drawing and offering courage.
We pushed the camels, who might have objected after the hard ride from Jerusalem. But they were quiet. The towering clouds over our heads drew only passing comments from Arim who, being from the deep desert, regarded them as a great promise of rain.
“You must remember,” Stephen said, “we see the storm, but Yeshua sees only peace in the place of this storm. To him, all that threatens in this world is like a ghoul without power.”
Miriam was silent. As were the rest of us.
We urged the camels onward, trotting where the road leveled, leaning into the steeper sections.
“You will see,” Stephen pressed. “There’s nothing to fear. Tell them, Lazarus.”
“There’s nothing to fear,” Lazarus returned after a moment.
“You see, Miriam?” Stephen clapped his hands once to make certain the point wasn’t lost. “Not even death!”
Miriam said nothing.
Neither did I. I had looked into Yeshua’s eyes and watched tears trailing down his cheeks. I knew that his inner circle had fled. I had seen Yeshua’s fear in the garden and heard his cry of anguish, as if all the world’s troubles were heaped upon him. How could I face any storm without fear if he, the master of storms, couldn’t?
All of this I kept to myself. I couldn’t speak my concern in front of his mother. Nor the others. Nor hear them voiced aloud myself.
All I knew was that Saba had to be right. Yeshua had to make a way because Yeshua was that Way.
So I clung to this promise and I rode in silence, casting occasional glances at Miriam, who kept her thoughts to herself and her eyes on the road ahead.
We did not stop until we crested the knoll from which we could see across the Kidron Valley. There Miriam slowed and then brought her camel to a halt. As one we looked at the great city ahead of us. Jerusalem, crowning glory of the Jewish world. Jerusalem, with her towering white walls and majestic temple.
There was no sign of trouble. No sign of any uprising or impending doom. No sign that the city was even awake.
“It was here that Yeshua wept for Jerusalem,” Stephen said, voice subdued. “He did not weep for himself, because this world holds no power over him. Isn’t this what Yeshua has shown us?”
He didn’t wait for our response.
“And if he claims he will tear down the temple and rebuild it in three days, though symbolic, who will do it if he cannot?” He turned back to us, eyes bright. “No one but Yeshua! You see? His work isn’t finished!”
He was right, I thought. And Stephen wasn’t finished either.
“Hasn’t he shown us his power before?”
“Many times,” Martha said.
“Many times. You, Mary, with our own eyes, saw your brother walk from his tomb.”
A grin crept onto her face. “I did.”
“And you, Lazarus
! You were that dead man and yet here you stand, breathing!”
There was a far-off look in Lazarus’s eyes as he smiled there beside Stephen. “Yeshua has overcome death,” he said.
“As have we!” Stephen thrust both of his index fingers into the air now, marching with great courage. “Do we not have that same power even now? Will we not do what he has done and even more? Will we not ask what we will in his name and see it done? Will the mountains not tremble before us and the storms run in hiding before our voice?”
“Yes,” I said. All that I had forgotten crept back into my mind.
“Will we not calm the storm and heal the sick and raise the dead and handle those vipers who would sink their fangs into our flesh?”
“Yes,” Martha said, staring at Jerusalem.
Stephen spun to her sister. “Yes, Mary?”
Her grin now split her face. “Yes!”
“Yes, yes, and yes!” Arim cried, both fingers lifted like his teacher’s. “Before all the gods and unlike any other, Yeshua would make us gods on this earth!”
Stephen lowered his hands and looked at him. Blinked.
Seeing the question on his teacher’s face, Arim quickly corrected himself. “No, we will not be gods. Only have the power of this god.”
“Close enough.” Stephen faced us. “You must not bring your fear into Jerusalem. It only mocks all that he has shown us! See peace instead of this storm; see light instead of darkness; see his power in the face of death, because Yeshua will not be harmed. In this way we will follow him. If the leaders mock him, they will also mock us, but we, like him, have overcome even death!”
His excitement had winded him.
“None of his teaching will have any power if he is taken from us now.”
Yes, I thought. So then, I should let all my fear fall away and put my faith in Yeshua instead.
“Let us enter Jerusalem as Yeshua did, with cries in our hearts for the coming king!” Stephen said. “We don’t have the crowds, but all the angels rejoice even now. Yes, Miriam?”
Miriam hadn’t removed her eyes from the city. Neither had she smiled. But she was his mother.
She hesitated, then offered a single nod. “Yes,” she said softly. “We must hurry.”
