***
Mary, the Magdalan, seemed less concerned with Rehab’s presence than the men, but she kept her distance as well. I took her to task for that. It was a cowardly thing for me to do, as I reflect on it. The truly bad-mannered responses came from the men, and I should have gone after them, not her. But I suppose I thought she should have been softer in her response; given what we all assumed had been her lot before.
“You do not know what you are talking about,” she said with some heat. “There are differences in these things.”
I suppose she meant that women like Rehab who stepped over the Torah’s moral boundaries were to be held to a different standard than women who maintained occasional lapses, those not marked by the exchange of denarii. Mary accepted her restoration at the hands of Jesus and her role of renewed righteousness. But neither she nor any of the others granted the same to Rehab. It remains a great mystery to me how we come to believe these things. If I understand anything about the mind of God, it is this: There is no hierarchy of sins. You either miss the mark or you do not. Matthew, our tax gatherer, exploited his countrymen for years—a great sin. Yet Jesus forgave him and except for some minor annoyance on the part of the disciples who had been injured by him, his forgiveness was accepted.
Chapter Thirty
Sukkoth arrived, and we were to go to Jerusalem. Jesus sent for me. I found him sitting in the deepening evening shadows. He asked me to walk with him so that he could give me some instructions. “Your marching orders,” he said with a smile. I was to go to Jerusalem and make arrangements for our stay. Jesus gave me names of people to visit on the way south—women, mostly, who would provide us with funds. Jesus and the others would follow in a few days.
We were quiet for a while, and I waited. It is the way with student and teacher. He seemed to have something on his mind that troubled him. Finally he turned to me and said, “The Baptizer is dead.”
We all knew he would be martyred. It was only a matter of time, a prophet’s destiny. Still I felt the loss.
“It is the way with our people.” He sounded bitter and resigned.
“Teacher, may I speak plainly?”
“Of course, you may.”
I nodded, took a breath, and began, “The Baptizer is dead. That leaves only you. When will you declare yourself and strike out at Rome?”
“Strike out?”
“Yes. Strike out. Raise an army, whatever it takes to free us from them. You have the power and the people will rise up—”
He raised his hand to silence me, but I could not stop.
“No, you must listen. I have seen your power. We all have. You can do whatever you wish. If we were more careful with the resources we have, with our money…you allowed that woman to squander over a hundred denarii on your feet…you feed the poor and we have to forage for food…we needn’t do that. There is no reason for anyone to go hungry or wanting. Rabbi, if you wanted to, you could turn stones to bread. You could feed the world.”
“Stones? I should turn stones to bread? That is not the bread they need, Judas. We do not live on bread only. They need to feast on the Word. When they do that, the bread will be there, as much as they require.”
“But, people look for, no, need signs. You could give them one.”
“It’s signs now, is it? What have I done these last months? Must I go through this again?”
“Of course, they should believe. You raised that boy from the dead and—”
“And in the face of all that, have the people, as you say, risen up? You know they haven’t.”
“It does not seem to be enough. Listen, if we stood on the top of that mountain over there to the west, we could see the world. You could rule all those kingdoms and empires if you wanted to. You could just step in and do it.”
“To do what, impose an Israelite king in the place of a Roman Caesar? We have done that many times before and look at what it brought us. Judas, to rule over a worldly kingdom, I would have to be a worldly ruler, manipulating circumstances, collecting taxes, marshalling an army, worrying about plots and schemes from other ambitious men. To hold it together, I would one day fall at the feet of the Prince of Darkness. It is the inherent nature of temporal power and there is no escaping it. I cannot do it. I can only serve the Lord.”
“Then give the people one great sign. Something they cannot pass off as just the act of one more miracle worker.”
“And what do you suggest? Should I jump off the pinnacle of the temple and float to the ground? The psalmist says, ‘The angels will bear me up so I may not dash my feet against the stones.’ Is that what you had in mind, my friend?”
“Why not? Then there would be no doubt. Everyone, even those self-righteous, officious donkeys that dog our heels day and night, even they would have to admit you are the One. Imagine what that could mean.”
“Judas, you are the most resilient of all who walk with me. You were not raised in the faith and what faith you do have, you acquired through study, prayer, and struggle. It will serve you well when things are dark and you are a long way from this place. But you know it is also written ‘we are not to put God to the test.’”
“But the Lord is deaf to the cries of his people. Look around you. If the Romans are not rolling over us, the ‘keepers of the Law’ are. The Lord cannot want us to suffer so. Children are left fatherless and that is the least of the ills they have to face. Widows are left to die and these priests, these presumed, strutting, heirs of Aaron, grow fat on the sacrifices of the very people they are charged with helping. Why would God want that?”
“Do you remember from your studies, the story of Gideon?”
“Yes, I think so. He had a wine press or something, and the Midianites were in the land.”
“He was on the way to his little store of grain which he was threshing out in an old wine press when the messenger of the Lord met him. Remember? The angel greeted him as a ‘man of valor’ and said the Lord God was with him. Gideon was a man much like you. He wanted to know why, if God stood with him, people had to suffer.”
“Master, I don’t see how—”
“Listen. Do you remember what the angel said to Gideon?”
“Yes. No. I’m not sure.”
“Well, he did not say, ‘Be patient, the Lord has a plan,’ and he did not say, ‘It’s all a great mystery.’ He did not say, ‘Wait for a sign,’ either. The angel said, ‘Go and free your people.’ Do you see?”
I did not.
“The Lord expects his people to do it. He put his creation in their hands and he expects them to use the gifts he gives to do what needs to be done. We are to believe, to obey, and to act in his name. And we are not to wait for him to come and do the work for us, as the Greek gods and goddess do in their stories.”
“But, if we are to do it ourselves, shouldn’t we be raising an army?”
“The Kingdom of God will come when the hearts of men are changed. It is not of the world. Our history tells us anything else is doomed to fail. You will see in time, Judas. Trust me. What I say will come to pass, and you will play a role in it.”
“I don’t think that likely, Lord. One of the others, perhaps, but not I. I carry the purse. I am your ‘thief’ and I am happy in that. I expect no more.”
I meant those words. I was content to do the one thing I did well and walk with the rest. I left it to quicker minds than mine to discern the complexities of the kingdom. But I still could not see how it would ever come about without force.
“I will see you in Bethany,” he said and walked away.
I felt like a bean pod that had been shelled. What did it mean? No army, no assault on the Roman beast, nothing? Why did I stay in this man’s service? He had a power about him that drew you in the way the sea’s strong currents pull you into their depths. He gripped me in exactly that way.
***
Rehab sat away from the rest of us, alone, as was her custom. She seemed very sad. The other women did not welcome her, even though Jesus said, on
more than one occasion, words to the effect, “Don’t be hasty in judging others, unless you would likewise be judged.” I went to her and sat with my bowl of stew and bread. We sat in silence. I could feel the others’ eyes, men and women, boring holes in my tunic, but I stayed. I knew this Rehab, as they did not, could not.
“I must leave you,” she said finally.
“Leave us? Why?”
“It looks bad to others, to those whom your Master wishes to teach.”
“He said this?”
“No, of course not. He would not. But I think he worries.”
I thought she was probably right in that, but it was not my place to say so.
“He has forgiven you. He said your sins were forgiven. What else is there?”
“Only The Lord on High can forgive sins. Is your Jesus able to do this, too?”
People like Rehab and me, who struggled at the dirty edges of society, needed to believe it. No one else would have us.
“I believe he can,” I said, with more certainty than I felt. “You can change your life. Reclaim it and return to the world new.”
She gave me a long sideways look that stirred something in me that I would not describe as holy.
“All that remains for me is the life I have now or to take up gleaning in the corn fields like Ruth in the hopes of finding my Boaz. Shall I do that, Judas? Shall I risk starvation and worse at the hands of the men in the fields? Or shall I stay with the only life I know? You tell me how, Judas, keeper of the purse? How does a woman like me ‘return to the world new?’ Can I go back to my family? Will they kill a fatted calf for me? You know I cannot and they will not. What advice can I have from the clever man from Corinth?”
Her outburst caught me off guard. I should have known better, of course. People assume that women in brothels and in the profession of pleasure are slow. But it is not so. Many of the women I knew in the House of Darcas spoke with the accents of the refined and educated. They all had their reasons for being where they were and most had stories like my mother’s. Though a few willingly chose the life.
“There is the other thing as well,” she said.
“The other thing?” I said, uncomfortable.
“It is the way some of you look at me.”
I said nothing but I knew what she meant. I had not lived as long as I had in the presence of men seeking the pleasures of the flesh not to recognize the glances sent her way, not just by those we met on our journeys, but from some of our number as well.
“You see how it is?”
“I will miss you,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-one
Pilgrims flocked to the temple from all over the world, bringing their sacrifices to the altar. Bellowing bulls, bleating sheep, smoke, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Crowds pushed and shoved their way in and out of the courts. The din was unbelievable.
Around the periphery of the largest court, Herod had built low-hanging roofs supported by pillars, much like a narrow cardo. Rabbis and teachers from all over the countryside and, indeed, from all over the world, took places in the shade of these arches and called out to the crowds. Passersby stopped to listen. Some lingered, caught up in the particular topic or harangue, but most moved on, listening first to one, then another. Jesus took his place a distance from the more popular rabbis and began his teaching. Soon a large crowd gathered around him. It was usual for one to dispute with the teachers, and that day was no exception. Jesus had just finished speaking about the Kingdom and urging his listeners to live beyond the burdens of this world when a lawyer interrupted him.
“Teacher, that is all well and good, but what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“What is the Law? How do you read it?”
The lawyer recited: “Love the Lord with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with your entire mind, and also, love your neighbor as yourself.”
“Yes, that is so. Do it and you will live.”
“And who, exactly, is my neighbor?” he asked, his eyebrows arched.
Jesus gazed patiently at this upstart and then, giving me a fleeting smile, said, “There was a certain man who was traveling on the Jericho road. On the way, bandits attacked him. They beat him, stripped him of his clothes and money, and left him for dead. A short time later, a priest from the temple, traveling down to Jericho, saw the man. When he did, he crossed the road so as to pass by on the other side.
“A little later a Levite came along. He saw him and passed by on the other side as well. Then, a third man, a Samaritan, came by. When he got to the man, he took pity on him. He attended to him and bandaged his wounds. He put him on his own donkey and took him to an inn. The next day he gave the innkeeper money and said, ‘Look after him. If there are any other charges, I will repay you when I return.’ You tell me, which of the three do you think was a neighbor to the man who was left in the road for dead?”
The lawyer said, “I guess the Samaritan who gave him aid.”
Jesus said to him, “If the misguided Samaritan can do something like that, then surely you can do the same.”
The young lawyer’s face reddened, and he seemed about to say something when a group elbowed their way into our midst and shoved a woman to the ground. She looked terrified. The men appeared to be officials, or Pharisees, or both, and they were on a mission. They hoisted the woman to her feet, spun her around, and turned to Jesus.
“Teacher, we caught this woman in the very act of adultery. Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say we should do?”
They stood close to Jesus, hands on hips. The moment moved like honey in winter. The woman could have been my mother. My heart ached for her. I felt rage begin to well up in me. I was back in Caesarea. I opened my mouth to say something when I felt Jesus’ hand on my arm, a brief touch, but it brought me back to the present.
Jesus stared at the ground, then leaned forward and seemed to write in the dust with his finger.
Impatient, they asked him. “Well? Have you no answer?”
Jesus straightened up and gazed wearily at their leader.
“If one of you can claim to be without sin, throw the first stone. Be very sure that you understand…anyone without any sin…cast a stone.”
Then he leaned forward and scribbled on the ground again. The woman’s accusers shuffled their feet and muttered and then, one by one, drifted away. Jesus straightened up and looked at the woman.
“Woman, where were your accusers?” He looked at the rest of the crowd. “Will no one condemn her?” They lowered their eyes. He looked back at the woman. “Has no one condemned you?”
“No, Teacher,” she said nervously.
“Nor shall I. Go and leave your life of sin.”
There was a stirring among the crowd. Many seemed pleased with Jesus’ response. Others looked worried or offended. And again the words, “Who does he think he is?”
I had to leave to pay our temple taxes. As I made my way toward an exit, I sensed someone close on my heels. When I turned to look, I saw several men moving toward me. Had Leonides’ people found me again? I ducked through the temple’s passageways and burst into the street. If they wanted me, they would have to catch me.
Chapter Thirty-two
The men worked their way through the crowd toward me. I quickened my steps, dodged down a side street, cut though a shop, and dashed out its back door and into an adjoining street. I pressed against a wall in the shadow of some hanging carpets and waited—no one. I eased back onto the street and retraced my steps. They burst through a doorway ten paces in front of me. I dashed off again. They closed in. I increased my efforts to lose them, wiggling through the mass of humanity crowding the street. Either they knew these streets very well or they were experts at tracking. I picked up the pace, but these were determined men and I did not dare run. That would have been the surest way to lose them, but running in the streets of Jerusalem on a High Holy Day would attract the notice of every Roman soldier in my path.
If any one of my pursuers were to yell “murderer,” I would be done for. Of course, any inappropriate move on their part and they might feel the heavy hand of a legionnaire as well. Realizing then, that what works against me also works for me, I turned to face them.
Three men pulled up in front of me. One stepped forward, a fat man, heavy from too much good living and not enough sweating. He stretched out his arm, palm toward me. They did not look like the stony men who pursued me before, my nemeses. So who were these men? The fat one removed a perfumed linen cloth from his sleeve and wiped his brow. Only soft Pharisees seemed to have them, or something else, up their sleeve, not hard men, not men from Athens.
“We would have a word with you.” the fat one said, panting.
We stepped out of the crowd and into a small space between two shops.
“We have listened with great attentiveness to your master’s teaching, and we are impressed. Some even say he is the Messiah, do they not?”
I did not trust these men. They seemed too well turned out to be genuinely interested in Jesus. But I could see no harm in agreeing with such an open remark. I shrugged and waited.
“You are Judas, sometimes known as Iscariot. You have been a follower of Jesus of Nazareth, his trusted disciple. We know this and that is why we sought you out.” He paused, letting that sink in.
“He trusts all his friends.”
“Perhaps, but only you are trusted with the purse. Only you may be found far away from the others when there are important negotiations to be made and tasks to be done. We could easily have approached any of the others, but because of your special position, we thought it best to come to you.”
I said nothing.
“Let me speak plainly,” he continued, with a quick, worried glance over his shoulder. “We represent a small but growing number of men in Jerusalem and elsewhere who also seek the Messiah. We have studied the prophets and are certain that the time is near for the Lord to act. We have position and influence. We want to believe, as you do, that this man is the ‘Coming One,’ but we have reservations. Our colleagues are not willing to commit to him or his cause. For us to do so and then discover we were in error would do irreparable damage to us personally and to any future hopes we may have. You see our predicament?”
Judas Page 13
