Fifth Gospel: A Novel (Rosicrucian Quartet) Paperback

by Adriana Koulias

  The disciples looked about them again, not knowing whom he meant.

  ‘He is the one who shall betray me.’

  ‘Whom do you speak of, Lord?’ Simon-Peter asked anxiously.

  Lazarus had taken a seat beside Christ Jesus and was inclining his soul to his master’s words and listening with his heart. It seemed to John that his master had answered the question, for he heard these words:

  He is the one, whom I shall give a sop when I have dipped it.

  His master dipped a portion of bread into his wine then and handed it to Judas, and this, being a most intimate and honoured act, made Judas hesitate.

  Judas looked at him.

  ‘You have been given your wages, do it quickly,’ Christ Jesus said.

  With eyes round and strange Judas took the sop and put it in his mouth and in a flicker John saw the deathly vision of Satan reflected in his eyes. Judas took his bag then and was gone into the night.

  The others thought that because Judas held a bag full of money, Christ Jesus had either asked him to buy something for the feast or had sent him to give something to the poor. John knew the truth, however. In his heart he knew it, though he did not know how. Judas had already been paid for his betrayal!

  When Judas left the upper room Christ Jesus said, ‘Now the circle is made pure for all that is selfish and full of passion has left it.’

  After that, they ate the bread and wine without appetite and gave thanks by singing a Pascal hymn from the second portion of the Hallel. John’s heart was low. He did not wish to think on how the betrayal would come or when.

  After the Hallel, Christ Jesus stood, and having found his mother said some words to her and kissed her on the cheek. John saw how his Lord’s mother near lost her footing for it. When she was consoled he returned to his disciples and he said, ‘We go.’

  Taking some torches they went out into the darkness of night. Above the hiding moon gave scant light and they were afraid.

  It was a strict observance of the Passover to remain inside the safety of the home, for in the open no man was protected from the avenging angel of death. But John loved his master and trusted him, and despite his fear he fell in with the others and followed him into the chilly air.

  When they passed by the gate north of the Temple and descended into a desolate part of the valley of Kidron John realised how tired he was. The long week had made inroads into his body and weariness now caused him to feel breathless. Even so he followed the others as they walked on until they crossed the swollen brook and took the road that led toward Olivet, to the garden of Gethsemane.

  His master told them, ‘Soon you will not see me…I will be delivered to the Levites and they will take me to the Gentiles and I will be crucified.’

  The wind sang in his ears and John felt wilted with terror for these words.

  ‘I will follow you!’ said Simon-Peter, stumbling in the darkness, ‘I will fight cheek and jowl with your enemies. You see how I have brought my filleting knife? It is sharp too and no mistake! I am ready to go to prison and to march into death with you!’

  Christ Jesus looked at him in the mysterious blue light of that spring moon, ‘Put your knife away, brother…you say you will lay down your life for my sake and yet I say to you, you will all desert me.’

  There were gasps.

  ‘All,’ he said significantly.

  ‘Not I!’ Simon-Peter said, ‘This lot may, but not I!’

  He stopped to look at Peter, ‘Before the cock crows you will have denied me three times.’

  Simon-Peter howled then, like a wounded wolf. ‘Not I! Tell me it is not so!’

  Jesus was grim-faced and stern, ‘Satan desires to have you and take the best of you for himself as he has taken Judas, but I know that in your heart you are full of faith and for this reason I have prayed that your faith will not fail…I have prayed that you will stay with me, to help me carry my cross!’

  ‘I will carry it!’ said Andrew.

  Looking to Andrew he said, ‘Yours shall be a different cross, Andrew, and for this reason it shall be remembered by all men…I tell all of you, this night, none of you will remain with me, you will scatter, every man to his own, and you will leave me alone for fear. But I will not be alone, because Christ is with me and through Him I will overcome the world!’

  Christ Jesus walked on breathing heavily, as if all things were now an effort for him.

  Simon-Peter, who would have fallen to his knees after those words from his master, were it not for Philip and Andrew beside him, trailed behind, sorrowing, ‘Why did you say that you would carry the cross, Andrew? Do you always have to better me…? I will carry it, by God! I will not fail you, master! I will not fail you!’ Simon-Peter called out.

  Some of the disciples began to mourn. John’s eyes filled with tears.

  Christ Jesus said, from his position ahead of them, ‘You are sad now, I know it, and I tell you that you shall be even more sad later, but your distress will be turned into elation. Have courage! Do not let yourselves be afraid, for fear will make you sleep and I need you awake! Is it not true that when a woman labours she is full of sorrow because her hour is come, and then as soon as the child is born she is full of joy? I will die, that is certain, but what is death if not a spirit birth? Death, my brothers, is only semblance. I say to you, I was born from the spirit and again I shall leave the world, through death, and I shall return to the spirit and I will live again!’

  John had known it all along, but only now did the others understand that their master was indeed going to his death. To this was added the understanding that his death would bring forth new life.

  ‘What do you wish us to do?’ asked Bartholomew, between tears. ‘Tell us, and we will do it because we love you!’

  ‘As I have told you, I am like a man taking a long journey. I leave my house and I command the porter to watch the gates until I return.’ He paused now to say to them, ‘You are my porters…if you love me keep watch! Do not let me find you sleeping…do not be tempted to sleep!’ his voice seemed full of exhaustion.

  Joseph of Arimathea had given them the key to his garden, which was full of olive trees and roses and fruit trees, and they had often come here for contemplation, rest, and prayer during the last week. His master used the key now, to open the lock and they entered into the garden where all seemed strangely evil.

  Simon-Peter said, ‘Lock it again Lord, it will buy us time.’

  ‘Why should I buy time? The Wheel of destiny is set in motion and all will be as it will be, you cannot change it…’ He took Simon-Peter’s face gently into his hands and looked deep into his eyes. ‘When will you understand, my little rock, why I have come to this earth? When will you see that I have not come to teach, or to heal, or to cause miracles? I have come to die!’

  This last word took all of his breath and he let go of Simon-Peter’s face and continued walking. ‘The hour of darkness is at hand, the people, the guards, the priests, they all have their parts.’

  ‘Does no man have a choice?’ Philip said to him catching up. ‘What of the freedom you have told us about...are all things foreordained so that nothing can be changed? What of those who will persecute you, do they not stand a chance, or will they be condemned forever to pay for it?’

  He said, ‘Until now you have all been bound to necessity and you have not been free. You have not been free but you have believed that you are free because you are trapped in illusion. What is to befall me soon is still necessary, Philip, but after my death you will have freedom and the possibility of salvation.’

  ‘Freedom from what?’ Philip asked.

  ‘Freedom from the illusion of death,’ Jesus answered. ‘I will die and overcome death to save the world from illusion, to show all of mankind that after death there is life. Then salvation may come for all, not only for those who love me, but also for those who are against me, those who raise their hands to strike me, and those who come this night to take me to my death. Rest assured, although th
ese men do not know me, although they may spit upon me and call abuse and wound me, they shall remember me even after death, and this will prepare the way for them to come to me freely in their coming lives.’

  ‘What did he say?’ said Andrew.

  Simon-Peter, stunned by his master’s words, now lost his composure entirely. ‘Why don’t you listen Andrew! Must I always be your ears? He says that everything that happens to him is destined to be, but that after he dies his death will bring about freedom so that even those who do not love him now, may choose to love him in the future!’

  When they reached a clearing bordered by trees their master said to them, ‘John, Peter, James, come with me, the rest may remain here…pray that you do not fall asleep, that you are not tempted to lose yourselves. Through you the world will know how I have fought to wrest men’s souls from the clutches of death.’

  John followed full of gloom as Christ Jesus took them to a different place, deeper into the garden.

  Here he left them while he went to a copse not far off. John looked around to the shadowed corners, to the sky above and the moon that came and went behind clouds. A damp, frozen wind swept the trees and wound around the shivering group.

  What would they do without him?

  Where would they go?

  They huddled together, those who had walked with him, broken bread with him and suffered with him all the deprivations of the last three years. They looked at one another with dread-filled faces for they understood with clarity that the hour had come. Had they not been warned of it time and again? And yet their eyes were matched in their un-readiness for it. Fear made a longing for the oblivion of sleep, a longing for the comfort of nothingness. Above, winged shadows menaced the moon and the wind was full of voices.

  John’s exhaustion was deep. He remembered that such a feeling had come over him before, upon the mountain of spirit, when he had not endured the vision of his master’s glory. He would not sleep again. No. But his eyes were heavy. He could feel a dullness rise upwards to wipe away his thoughts, like a dreadful guardian who bars the mysteries from the undeserving. Perhaps his will was not equal to sleep’s unstoppable force? He looked at the others. They were already asleep. He pinched his skin and rubbed his eyes but the sounds of their regular breathing lulled him. He made a prayer in his heart for strength to withstand it, since he did not want to fail his master again. He told himself that he must ‘watch’ and yet, how blissful the others seemed to him in their numb peace! Perhaps he could close his eyes for a moment…surely a moment would scarcely matter? How consoling it would be to rest, to forget the unpleasant and dreadful events that he knew would soon come. Time enough to worry about everything on the morrow.

  He blinked. It was only one blink, and then came the sound of his brother calling through the darkness of the garden,

  ‘Get up! They come!’

  Standing among his fellows now, with his mind in a fog and his mouth dry, he rubbed his eyes and saw a great number of torches, striking a path through the garden. He realised that with a blink fear had drawn a frozen hand over his eyes and he had failed his Lord.

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  GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL

  The shame of it would live with him many years, pairé, until a fateful day in Jerusalem, when those who opposed his preaching began to pelt him with stones. In that far off time, little John, now a full grown man, would stand erect, with his head held high and he would remain wide-awake…until the very last stone found its mark.’

  ‘Oh my! Poor little John, I see now what you meant when you said that Lazarus-John took his place in the circle. But Lea, what happens to Christ Jesus in the garden?’

  ‘When Christ Jesus left Peter, John and James, he sensed the footsteps of Satan and trembling from the weight of his body, he walked to a nearby clearing bordered by olive trees, and knelt to pray.’

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  His heart was full of woe, for he did not know if any of his followers, even his chosen ones, would be capable of remaining awake with him during his tempestuous struggle with death.

  He looked to heaven, the wolf was biting at the moon and clouds were covering her face. He remembered that temptation in the wilderness those years ago and recognised the feeling of dread that was upon him.

  The wind paused – a reprieve.

  It was a moment stolen from out of the stream of time. Soon his agony would begin but not yet. For now the part of him that was a man took in the smells of the night and the aroma of wild roses. It recalled to his mind a tale spoken with his mother’s voice of a Nightingale that loved a white rose and sang the most beautiful songs to it, but only from afar, for fear of its thorns. One night, beneath the swollen moon, having drunk her fill of song and emboldened by love, the Nightingale resolved to embrace the rose. Clasping it to her breast, she was pierced through by a thorn, and yet she sung the most beautiful song she had ever sung; a song of sacrifice and true love found, pressing the thorn closer and closer to her heart. When she died the rose mourned, and stained with her heart’s blood, it forever bloomed red.

  He thought on his mother, dead so many years and yet so alive in his stepmother. He thought of Yeshua, dead and yet hovering over him always. He reflected on the mystery of love and leaned his heart toward Jerusalem, which stood deathly pale and shivering in the scant moonlight. He had embraced her and sung his love-song to her and still she did not love him. Soon, she would pierce him with her thorn and he would stain the world with his blood.

  His sadness was a deep well and yet lofty was his love, which was higher than life. For what was the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man? And what was the passion of a man compared to the passion of a god? He looked up. The cold moon died away and the man’s thoughts became the thoughts of the God.

  ‘The hour is come,’ he said to himself, and prayed for strength.

  The wind began its stirring. Time established its dominion over the world. His body resumed its work, dissolving in pain. He knelt on the ground in what he knew were death throws. He felt the cold breath of death near his cheek and he shivered.

  ‘Father in heaven help them to remain awake!’

  But they were faltering. He knew this because the Holy Spirit was loosening from him. Soon he would be alone and he did not know if he would be strong enough to hold back the tide of his godhood beyond this hour.

  ‘Simon-Peter!’ he cried. ‘Watch with me!’

  There was no answer.

  And yet…he was not alone.

  From the wind came a whisper. It was the blue Archangel, Satan.

  ‘Greetings, Son of God! You have lasted longer than I expected in that wretched temple. But rejoice! I have come to unlock the door and to let you out!’

  ‘You mean you have come to ensnare me in your prison!’ he said to him.

  The God of Death seized him tenderly by the head to peer into his eyes. ‘Son of God, Alpha and Omega, Lamb of Lambs! You are deluded! Do you not see how much I love you? Look around you, where are your disciples? The moon herself hides her face and leaves you in darkness. Even the Holy Ghost is taking to its heels without so much as a god-speed! I alone have remained at your side in this dark hour, and I come to bring you sleep, rest and comfort!’

  Satan’s blue, claw-like wings made to enfold him but he prised them away. ‘Leave me be! I will die in freedom!’

  ‘Stop joking, for God’s sake! There is no freedom in dying, only the necessity of the Father and I am his master craftsman! You might be His son by name, but you are a son to me by nature! You are stubborn and full of longing…like I am! Come then, give your father a kiss...now or later, what does it matter?’

  His breath drew near.

  ‘Get away! If this body is to pass from me before my task is accomplished then let it be God’s will, not yours!’

  The angel sighed, filling the whole world with shadows. ‘You wanted earthly life, you stooped to drink from my fountain – and you have drunk it dry! Now your flesh is drunk and your soul is drunk a
nd you must succumb to my will! Let me take you home before you hurt yourself. Forget those fools you love, they have already forgotten you, for they do not love you like I do. The truth is that when I come into a room, memory goes out the door. You see, memory is a whore, she loves the man who pays her the most, and my purse is always full!’

  Christ Jesus took in a breath and Satan slipped into it, filling the span of his lungs. Satan would have him breathe out, but he would not. When he could stand it no more his out-breath gave wings to Satan’s words,

  ‘I die!’

  At that moment, the moon’s dark spectres floated away from her. Demons and ghosts and phantoms were drawn to him like vultures to dead meat. They came down in a gust of wind to encircle and enfold him in their shadows, called forth by Satan’s words in him.

  Stripped bare of the living forces of the Holy Spirit by that creature’s power over his disciples, he could not prevent the mighty force of Christ from entering to the very bones. This was Satan’s realm, the bones, and here death would seize him too soon, before the performance of his sacrifice.

  An ice-like pain tore through him now. He could feel the heavenly power of divinity invade his organs, it began to macerate his liver and spleen, burning holes in his lungs, erupting into his heart and bladder and brain. It broke through the walls of those earthly veins with such power that it flooded the cup of his tissues, making blood seep through the pores of his skin and from his eyes.

  He was knocked down by it and fell with his face in the dirt.

  The world turned.

  The wind dropped.

  A sudden quiet fell over the grotto.

  How could he die now?

  Upon the midnight hour in the garden of good and evil, the struggle of life with death made a pause.

  A sublime effulgence, a subtle warmth descended melting away the coldness of death. This gold-giving radiance gathered into the sparkling, shimmer-glowing form of an angel, the angel of John the Baptist. He bent life’s cup to Christ Jesus’ lips and let him drink the nectar that would bring strength and life and vigour to his wasted body.