by Paul L Maier
“So? Does that mean that you, too, are joining the growing ranks of Joshua groupies, Kevin?”
“Not quite!” He laughed. “But the Vatican simply has to be in the innermost loop when it comes to something like this, for over-obvious reasons. The Holy Father now wants me to report to him whenever anything new develops in this thing. When he heard that you were on the scene there in Israel, he smiled and said, ‘Then I know that this whole affair is in good hands.’ He well remembers our crucial contacts during the Rama crisis.”
“That was very kind of him. By the way, Kev, how’s Benedict doing on the medical front? I heard he was in poor health. What was it—cardiovascular complications? Heart?”
“Was is the operative verb, I’m glad to say. He’s watching his diet now, getting more exercise, and taking statins. His HDL/LDL cholesterol count shows a big improvement.”
“That’s great news! Do give him my best!”
“I will indeed—if, that is, you promise to stay in close touch.”
“You bet.”
“Do you still have my private phone number at the Vatican? And my cell phone?”
“Yes, but best to give me both of them again.”
A group of newspaper editors once speculated over what the biggest story of all time would be, and the Second Coming of Jesus Christ won by a landslide. And it seemed as if a media landslide was indeed developing across the world after U.S. News provided the first in-depth coverage. Magazines in both hemispheres ditched the cover stories they had planned and switched to Ben-Yosef. Newspapers that had previously covered his doings on page four of section B now regularly accorded him front-page treatment. The broadcast networks sent a small army of cameramen to Israel in hopes of securing fresh footage or at least some strategic sound bites. CNN had a “Joshua Update” every day at noon, while the BBC did the same every evening at five. The coverage was considerably less, however, in areas without a sizable Christian population, such as the Middle East, India, China, and Japan.
USA Today commissioned one of its many polls, this one asking people if they believed Joshua Ben-Yosef was the returned Jesus Christ. Almost a third said yes. The prophecy sector of Christendom was ecstatic. Sales of the Left Behind series boomed once again, and even Hal Lindsey’s aging titles took on new life. Airlines started scheduling extra flights to Israel for pilgrims who wanted to see and hear Ben-Yosef, or just catch a glimpse of him—the largest upturn in tourism since the El-Aqsa Intifada nearly terminated the Israel tour industry in A.D. 2000.
No one, of course, felt more triumphantly vindicated than Melvin Morris Merton and his associates. The latest newsletter of his Points of Prophecy television show, sent to all the faithful (with contribution envelopes, of course), featured a large photo of Jon on the front page under a header, bannered WRONG AGAIN! Marylou Kaiser sent him a copy with a cheery note attached, “Congratulations, Chief. Now you’ve really made the big time!”
Jon read the article aloud to Shannon. It began:
Throughout Holy Scripture, those who attacked the true prophets of God came to a disastrous end. Who can forget what King Ahab did to the prophet Elijah, or how the other wicked kings of Israel mistreated Elisha and the other prophets? God smote them all mightily!
Sad to say, the prophets are still being attacked—not by wicked kings, but by equally reprehensible scholars so-called, such as Professor Jonathan Weber, who libeled me some months ago and ridiculed my inspired predictions. In view of God’s record against such, if I were a life insurance company, I would not sell Dr. Weber a policy! (He need not phone his lawyers: this is not a threat, but merely a prediction of perdition to those who “stone the prophets.”) Mark my words and read my lips: the returning Jesus will vindicate me! But I shiver to think what He has in store for Professor Weber.
“Well, you get the drift,” he told Shannon. “You can read the rest for yourself.”
“Jon, this buffoon is threatening you! I would call a lawyer!”
He laughed off her concern and said, “But one thing about the article does surprise me . . .”
“What’s that?”
“Merton was able to spell ‘reprehensible’ correctly.”
A week later came another envelope from Cambridge, with another issue of Merton’s newsletter and Marylou’s note attached, “I really think you should subscribe to this exciting journal!” This edition declared that Merton Ministries was now busily at work planning a great, international celebration in Israel to greet the returned Lord.
“Count on it,” Jon commented to Shannon wryly. “If there’s a trouble spot anywhere in the world . . . or an opportunity for public exposure . . . Melvin Morris Merton will certainly be there.”
“Promise you won’t let Merton use us as parade trophies again, Jon?”
“I do solemnly swear and affirm. But this whole international reaction to Ben-Yosef is ridiculously premature. There’s just too much more that we have to do by way of checking the man out. We haven’t even had a chance to interview him yet.”
“I tell you, Jon, we should have followed up with his twelve disciples that day in Gethsemane. Why in the world didn’t we?”
“As I recall, we were both a little stunned by their claims at the time. But I’m sure we’ll run into them again. Or him.”
“I really hope so.”
Jon shook his head. “I don’t know. I just feel it in my bones,” he said. “This has all the marks of big hype, big expectations, big letdown. If Jesus truly were returning, it just wouldn’t happen this way, would it?”
“I don’t know, Jon. Didn’t they say the very same thing about Jesus the first time around? What if you were a nice modern parallel to the scribes, Pharisees, and other opponents of Jesus who couldn’t believe that the Messiah actually had arrived?”
“Thanks a heap, Shannon! Sounds as though Merton is getting to you!”
“And you can bite your tongue on that one!” she shot back, with a slight scowl—or was it a slight grin? Jon wasn’t quite sure how to decipher it.
Marylou sent Jon all press clippings and published responses regarding the Ben-Yosef phenomenon that reached his office at Harvard. Some of the most interesting reactions fell into a file called “Non-Christian Opinion.” The chief orthodox rabbi in Jerusalem called the excitement over Ben-Yosef “vastly overdone” and added, “Judaism does not recognize Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah predicted in the Hebrew Bible, and certainly does not recognize the Israeli citizen, one Joshua Ben-Yosef, either as Messiah or as any reincarnation of Jesus of Nazareth.”
Jon was surprised to see that the world of Islam was giving some unanticipated attention to questions about Joshua Ben-Yosef. In fact, a number of Muslim scholars were discussing the possibility that Joshua could indeed be the returned Jesus, whom Muslims call Isa. The Qur’an has a high opinion of Jesus as a great prophet— though not the Son of God—who is indeed expected to return to earth before the Final Judgment. The Ben-Yosef phenomenon, then, was starting to provoke unusual debate in Cairo, Baghdad, Tehran, Karachi, and other Islamic centers across the world. The mullahs in charge, however, carefully monitored the growing speculation, lest the Islamic faithful pay too much attention to one solitary Jew, whoever he might be.
“The Far East doesn’t seem as interested,” said Shannon. “But I suppose you can’t blame a Hindu for failing to wonder if one Jew might be identical to another Jew twenty centuries earlier!”
“Yeah, although I’ll bet it is a curiosity that’ll intrigue some of them,” Jon replied. “The same goes for Buddhists, the Dalai Lama for one.”
“Jon, have you really tried to get through to Joshua? I mean, here we are in Israel—his own backyard. Why is it so difficult for us to find him?”
“Well, the newspapers don’t publish his daily schedule or whereabouts, after all. And I’m sure that the Israelis aren’t even sure how to handle Ben-Yosef. His last known address was somewhere in the Sea of Galilee area—near where we first heard him, I think. But Josh
ua and his following always seem to be moving from place to place, and the authorities apparently know his location only after he and his Twelve have been there the day before.”
“Oh, come on, Jon: the Israelis aren’t stupid, you know. I’ll bet their secret police have tracked him for months!”
Shannon’s comment caught him off guard. Jon cupped his chin for several moments, then replied, “You know, you may have a point there, Shannon. Good girl!”
“Hey, don’t patronize me, chum! I’m not a girl, but a magnificent and ever-so-desirable woman, in case you hadn’t noticed!”
Jon pulled her close. “Believe me. I’ve noticed.”
At Hebrew University the next morning, Jon went to Mordecai Feldman’s office and found the great man at his desk.
“Jon,” Feldman said, before Jon could even say why he had come, “I’ve been meaning to call you. How goes your work on the Sepphoris mosaic?”
Jon’s face took on a rosy hue. “If it’s any consolation to you, Mort, my conscience has been throbbing on that one. The Ben-Yosef thing has completely sidetracked the work I should have been doing on the mosaic. But here’s a promise: I’ll be on it next week for sure.” “Good!” Feldman smiled.
“On another matter, Mort, I know you shun politics as the living plague it often is. But do you know anyone at the Mossad? Or Shin Bet?”
Feldman was taken aback. “Our Israeli secret police? Are you spoofing, Jon? Not a soul!”
“Thought as much,” said Jon sheepishly. Then he brightened. “Wait a minute . . . I just recalled another contact, so please disregard my question. And don’t worry, friend, it has nothing to do with the security of the State of Israel!”
“Well, that’s reassuring!” Feldman replied, in mock relief.
The name of Gideon Ben-Yaakov had flashed into Jon’s mind. Gideon was the director of the Israel Antiquities Authority and had been of major assistance in the Rama affair. In fact, it was a sad commentary on Jon’s preoccupation with the Joshua phenomenon that he had not contacted Ben-Yaakov much earlier.
Planning to act as if they had arrived very recently, Jon called Gideon at the Israel Antiquities Authority.
“Shalom, Jon,” his cheerful tenor voice responded. “At last you call! Naomi and I heard that you and Shannon were in Jerusalem. Why didn’t you call us earlier?”
So much for pretense. “I really feel awful about that, Gideon: I no sooner arrived in Israel than I got caught up in this Joshua Ben-Yosef thing. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Of course!” he laughed. “But only if you and Shannon come over for dinner before the week is out.”
“Great! I’ll—”
“No, that’s too late. Let’s make it tomorrow evening. Can you?” “How could we resist so warm an invitation?”
At six-thirty the following evening, Jon and Shannon arrived at Gideon’s condo at Givat Ha-Mivtar in northeast Jerusalem. Jon rang the bell at their apartment and brushed the mezuzah on the right door frame out of habit rather than conviction.
The lovely, even sultry, tanned figure of Naomi Ben-Yaakov opened the door. She flew into Jon’s arms as if she were his dearest sister, and then offered a similarly warm greeting to Shannon. Gideon, a natty, well-groomed fashion plate of medium size with ash-blond hair, joined the trio in a festival of reunion.
“So how is the world’s most beautiful ceramicist?” asked Jon, holding both hands with Naomi. “Is that lucky husband of yours treating you properly?”
“He’s still on probation,” she chirped. “But I think he’ll pass.”
“And when are you coming back to Eretz Israel to dig, Jon?” asked Gideon. “Surely that’s more fun than teaching! And you, Shannon! I’ve never quite forgiven Jon for taking you away from me!” He bent down to kiss her hand.
“Maybe I haven’t either,” she flirted. “But with so gorgeous a consolation prize as Naomi, I knew you’d never be lonely!”
“It’s an honor to be your surrogate, Shannon!” Naomi said with a broad, incandescent smile. “But sit down, dear friends. We haven’t seen you since that ‘greatest of all weddings’ in Hanna-bell.”
Cocktails were followed by a dinner that Naomi prepared in a tasty fashion. Jon and Shannon exchanged glances. We really should have visited them before this, his wide eyes told her, and her slight nod replied, Yes, what took us so long?
As the four enjoyed dessert and brandy—no cigars, out of deference to the ladies—Jon casually broached the subject of Joshua Ben-Yosef.
“Oh yes, our twenty-first century Jesus!” Gideon responded with a smile. “It seems he’s come back from the dead—again!” Gideon was not a Christian, so both Jon and Shannon took it as the innocent, jovial comment Gideon had intended.
“But what do you make of him, Gideon?” asked Shannon.
Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “Another Billy Graham, I suppose: Israeli version.”
“Know anything more about him?” Jon pressed.
Gideon shook his head. “I really haven’t followed him that much. How about you?”
Although he hadn’t planned to do so, Jon now dumped a truckload of data about Joshua without first asking his hosts if they wanted so great a pile in front of them. Both Gideon and Naomi seemed interested, however, and Jon’s apology for having gone into such detail was brushed aside.
“So that’s our general information on Ben-Yosef,” Jon concluded, “except for this post-script. Gideon . . . this may seem like a dumb question, but do you know anyone at Shin Bet?”
He nodded. “Sure. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’ve just got to get in touch with Ben-Yosef—there’s special interest at the Vatican also. But no one seems to know where to find him.”
“You mean, you’d like to know where he is now?”
Jon nodded.
Gideon reached into his pocket for his cell phone, punched in a number, and then spoke in rapid Hebrew. “Ken . . . ken . . . ken,” he responded, nodding repeatedly.
Even with her limited knowledge of Hebrew, Shannon translated this as “Yes . . . yes . . . yes.”
When he had finished, Gideon reported, “They do have a file on Ben-Yosef, although they’re not very concerned about him. None of his mass meetings have been unruly, and he doesn’t seem to be preaching against the government or leading any sort of radical movement. If he were some sort of prototerrorist, it would be a different story, of course. They had a tail on him for a while, but took it off in the name of boredom.”
Gideon paused, took a sip of brandy, and said, “According to Shin Bet, here’s the bottom line, as you Americans put it: the Israeli government doesn’t like to get involved in religious issues. It’s all we can do to keep peace between our religious parties as it is. But if Ben-Yosef’s following gets any bigger—and reports are that a huge influx of his followers is expected—then the tail goes back on. But meanwhile, in answer to your question, Joshua and his men were spotted on the Jericho-Jerusalem road several days ago, heading uphill. They’re probably here in Jerusalem even as we speak.”
“All that in one phone call?” Shannon enthused. “What a man you are, Gideon!”
“But not quite man enough, my dear, as you yourself demonstrated several years ago!”
Chuckling, Jon and Shannon took their leave with copious thanks.
NINE
One morning, after Jon’s public symposium at Hebrew University, a student came up to the dais with a letter in hand. “Excuse me, Professor Weber,” he said, “but I was instructed to hand you this.”
Jon looked at the envelope, which was addressed to Professor Jonathan P. Weber, Hebrew University, with no return address. “Who gave you this?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir. I was sitting in the back of the hall, taking notes, when a tall, bearded fellow leaned over my desk and asked me to give you this at the end of the lecture.”
“Fine. And thank you, Mr. . . . sorry, I should know your name, but I don’t call roll.”
“No proble
m, sir. It’s Schmidt, George Schmidt.”
“You’re an American, aren’t you? Where are you from?”
“Topeka, Kansas, sir.”
Jon took a good look at the lanky young man with the distinctive red hair. “Aren’t you the one who spoke up during my opening lecture? The Christian?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s our symposium going for you, George? Have I shaken your faith in any way?”
“Well . . .” He hesitated. “You’ve certainly given me a new appreciation of how fascinatingly complex Jesus studies can be. But no, you haven’t shaken my faith.”
“I couldn’t ask for more.” Lifting the envelope, Jon said, “Thanks for delivering the mail, George.”
“No problem, Professor Weber.”
Jon tore open the envelope and read the following message in attractive, flowing script:
Dear Professor Weber,
I understand from my colleagues that you would like to converse with me while I am in Jerusalem. I would be delighted to have such an opportunity. Lately, as you may be aware, it has become difficult for me to appear in public without attracting undue attention, so if you don’t mind, I would be glad to welcome you to our abode in Bethany at 8:00 tomorrow evening. The address and directions are enclosed, as well as our phone number in case you are unable to come. The peace of God be with you!
Joshua Ben-Yosef
Smiling broadly, Jon read the letter again to make sure he had it right, and then almost sang a Te Deum for joy: his elusive target had zeroed in on him instead!
Shannon badly wanted to go with him the next evening, but since she had not been included in the invitation, Jon thought it best to go alone. Driving around the Mount of Olives to Bethany, Jerusalem’s southeastern suburb, Jon muttered wryly, “Of course it would be Bethany: whenever Jesus stayed in Jerusalem, it was at the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus in Bethany!”
