The Book of God: The Bible as a Novel

by Wangerin Jr. , Walter

  The black interior of the tomb now filled with a dim white shadow. The shadow grew thick and moved, then the dead man emerged, his hands and his feet still bound in linen strips, his face still hidden by the white cloth.

  Jesus walked to Martha and put his hand on her shoulder. “Unbind him,” he said, “and let him go.”

  V

  Joseph of Arimathea

  AS SOON AS THE MEN in the Chamber of Hewn Stones came to order, the high priest announced his reason for convening the council again under unusual circumstances.

  “Jesus of Nazareth,” he said. “This Jesus of Nazareth is seizing the imaginations of the people. Tens of thousands say they belong to him. Actually, they say they believe in him. They love the signs, they marvel at his wonders, and now it is reported that he has raised a man from the dead. Dead for four days, his soul surely gone from the body, yet—so these enthusiasts say—Jesus of Nazareth gave him life again. He is here, sirs. Right now the dead man is walking the streets of Bethany, and people can go and see the proof for themselves.”

  “So, then,” said a member of the council, “what are we going to do?”

  Another man, a Pharisee, said, “It isn’t these signs only. It’s his rhetoric, too. Jesus of Nazareth denounces us wherever he goes. Not the Romans, but us, his own people.”

  “He’s a Galilean, isn’t he?” said a third. “How many messiahs have come out of Galilee in the last years? It’s a cauldron of revolution.”

  “But this one damns us in public and the people love it! His language is fiery. His effect is frightening.”

  “What are we going to do about him?”

  “If we let him go on like this, soon the whole country will be chasing after him.”

  “And if he appears at Passover this year, he could tear the city apart with riot.”

  “Yes, and then what? Why, the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I think we should murder the fellow he raised from the dead.”

  “Where is Jesus now? Is he still in Bethany?”

  “No. We checked. Even before rumors of this resurrection hit Jerusalem, he and his followers had vanished.”

  “So we don’t know where he is.”

  “Maybe we want him at the Passover so we can find him.”

  “Well, surely we should give orders that anyone who knows where he is must tell us immediately.”

  “It’s done. We’ve already done that.”

  “Do you know that Passover pilgrims are even now arriving in Jerusalem? People are coming early because they want to see this Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “What are we going to do about him?”

  Caiaphas the high priest now rose to speak. He had allowed the chatter to go on long enough.

  “Listen carefully,” he said, “and take the full meaning of my words. It is expedient for us that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation should not perish.”

  All the men fell silent. Someone whispered, “Ah—like Barabbas!”

  The huge room in which the council met had vaulted hallways thirty feet high, resting on eighty-eight pillars of massive stone, above which were the Temple courtyards.

  By one of these pillars sat a man in expensive robes, his dark beard neatly trimmed.

  While others delivered themselves of various opinions, this man leaned back and held his peace. He was not given to sudden judgments, nor to changing the judgment once he had expressed it. He was, therefore, much respected by the rest of the council. He had built his own fortune by business acumen, by public honor and private honesty. He was a genuine seeker of the kingdom of God. His name was Joseph of Arimathea, and he felt within himself deep stirrings of admiration for this Jesus of Nazareth.

  When Caiaphas pronounced it “expedient“ that one man should die for the people, Joseph took the full meaning indeed—and more, perhaps, than Caiaphas himself had meant thereby.

  Leaning back by his pillar of huge stone, Joseph believed he had heard a prophecy: One man shall die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but for the children of God scattered everywhere in the world.

  At the same time, the rest of the council rose up and declared in passionate unanimity, “Then he must die! To save us from riots and the Romans, Jesus of Nazareth must be put to death!”

  VI

  Judas

  FOR SEVERAL WEEKS Jesus had secluded himself and his disciples in a small town east of the Jordan at the very edge of the desert.

  Then, early one Sabbath, he said, “Let’s go.”

  Simon Peter said, “Go where, Lord?”

  Jesus said, “To Jerusalem. For the Feast of the Passover.”

  Judas Iscariot let out a squawk of joy, and his stomach went into spasms. The time was at hand! Jesus and he: they had a plan together, and now they were about to execute it.

  Every disciple suffered a private response to Jesus’ announcement. They walked in silence the morning long. The women drew near to other women. They walked in tight company together. No one was happy but Judas. But then, neither did anyone know what Judas knew.

  By the time they came near to Jericho, a crowd had attached itself to him again.

  There was a blind man sitting by the road, begging.

  Suddenly he reached out and grabbed the hem of Andrew’s robe. “Who’s passing?” he asked. “It sounds like someone important is passing.”

  Poor Andrew was caught by surprise. He stammered, “Jesus. It’s, um, Jesus of Nazareth—”

  Immediately the blind man began to wave his arms and shout, “Jesus! Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!”

  People everywhere turned to look. “Jesus? Jesus is here?”

  Simon Peter, clearly tense, bellowed at the beggar, “Shut up!”

  But he only shouted the louder, “Jesus! Jesus!”

  Simon lunged at the man.

  Judas burst out laughing. “No use to threaten him, Simon,” he laughed. “The fellow is blind!”

  Simon glowered. Judas went into a fit of giggling, and the beggar kept shouting, “Son of David!”

  “Andrew,” Jesus called, “bring the man to me.”

  Andrew did.

  And when the blind man stood before him, Jesus said, “What do you want me to do for you.”

  “Lord,” he said, “let me receive my sight.”

  Jesus said, “Receive your sight. Your faith has made you well.”

  Immediately sight illumined the man’s eyes, his whole face and posture. He was suffused with joy, and in the same loud voice that had been begging, he began to praise God for the good thing done. Then he, too, joined the multitude following Jesus.

  Down Jericho streets the people moved, past pools and parks and gardens and great villas. Jericho had been a city built by Herod the Great. He had wintered here. He had perished here. He left behind a rich municipality—and especially rich for those who gathered taxes here.

  Jesus stopped beside a gracious garden. The whole congregation behind him also stopped.

  Then he threw back his head and called out: “Zacchaeus! Zacchaeus, come down!”

  There was a man in the tree above him. A little man. When he dropped from the branches and stood self-consciously in front of Jesus, everyone was surprised that he was also a rich little man! A tax collector! This fellow owned the most lavish villa in all Jericho.

  Jesus said, “I must stay in your house tonight.”

  Little Zacchaeus beamed. He said, “You, O Lord, and your disciples, too!”

  Judas nearly burst with admiration for his Master. Lo, there wasn’t a level of society which he had not touched and bound to himself.

  A beggar and a rich man, both in a single day—and the rich man would be most helpful for the cause!

  On the following day they drew near Bethany at the Mount of Olives, no more than a mile and a half from Jerusalem. Jesus called to himself the sons of Zebedee and pointed toward a tiny village oppos
ite, Bethphage.

  This, for Judas, was the only disappointment in an otherwise perfect day: that Jesus had not chosen him.

  “Go into that village,” Jesus said to James and John, “and you will find a colt tied on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks why you’re taking it, simply say, ‘The Lord has need of it.’”

  Judas watched them walk into town. Even at that distance, he saw the colt that they untied. Some people stopped them and asked a question, but when the brothers pointed uphill toward Jesus, they let them go again.

  Then here they came, leading the colt.

  Judas knew exactly what was going to happen. Therefore he was the one who showed the disciples—no, he showed the entire multitude!—what sort of demonstration should now erupt around his Master. He tore off his robe and threw it over the back of the colt. Simon saw that. He grinned and did the same. So did Matthew and Mary Magdalene—they heaped the colt with a humble saddling. Then James and John lifted Jesus himself and set him on the animal, and Jesus began to ride. The King!—he was riding toward Jerusalem.

  As he went, more and more people threw their garments down in the road before him. It became a carpet of clothing and praise. People ran back to groves of trees and cut branches, then rushed forward and spread them also in the way. A vast, laughing multitude surrounded him now, some running ahead, some following. Excitement raced from heart to heart like fire in a dry field. They shouted and sang songs.

  Then, as they were descending the mount to the gates of Jerusalem, the voices of thousands of people all became one voice, one massive music, singing, Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!

  Judas was delirious. The city gates began to pour forth another mass of people equal to the first. Those who came out converged with those who were coming in, so the singing was doubled and the roar of it cracked the high blue vaults of heaven. It seemed that all Judea was spiraling down to this sole place for the praise of Jesus of Nazareth. Oh, what a mighty army! Now truly, the very legions of Rome must tear off their greaves and beg for mercy.

  Certain rulers with bright red faces had also come out of the city. They fought their way to Jesus on the colt.

  “Teacher!” they screamed, “control your disciples! Tell them to shut up!”

  But Jesus shouted, “I tell you, if these were silent the very stones would cry out!”

  Judas laughed with magnificent glee. He couldn’t help himself. He was sailing on a sea of victory, surely, surely! And the water was the people, and the ship was his Lord, and the wind was behind them, surely!

  Shaking with laughter, seeking quick camaraderie, he glanced up at Jesus—and suddenly there descended to the earth a horrible silence! Or so it seemed. Judas felt as if he and Jesus were alone beneath a green sea where there was no sound but the voice of Jesus only.

  Because Jesus was crying!

  He was not rejoicing in the public acclaim nor glorying in the advent of his kingdom now. He was crying! He was gazing at the stones of the city and allowing tears to run down his face.

  Was Judas the only one who could hear the tragic sobbings of the Master? He wanted to grab Jesus and shake him. Don’t lose heart now! Judas howled in his heart.

  Jerusalem, he heard Jesus saying, O Jerusalem, would that even today you knew the things that make for peace. But they are hid from your eyes. For the days shall come when your enemies will surround you and dash you to the ground, you and your children within you. They will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not recognize the time of your visitation.

  For just a moment Judas suffered a stark panic. The words might be words of a defiant messiah, but the tone was defeat. The tone was melancholy. Judas screamed out loud, “The kingdoms of the world, Master! The jewels of creation! Their power and their glory all are yours, if you will fight for them!”

  Immediately it broke the spell: the thunderous song of the people rushed in again, and Judas heard roarings on every side. He and Jesus once more were riding the great surge of royal power through the city itself! They were at the very gates of the Temple.

  Jesus dismounted. The Lord went afoot, now, majestic and wrathful, through the Triple Huldah Gate in the southern wall of the Temple, his golden eyes fixed and flaming. The disciples could scarcely keep up with him.

  Then Judas saw where Jesus was going. The booths. The hundred shops in the southern portico. The tables, the selling of animals for sacrifice, the money exchange, commerce in the precincts of the Temple.

  As he approached the busy marketplace, Jesus twisted three cords into a whip. Then he cried in a piercing voice, “Away! Away!” and began to crack his furious whip over the heads of merchants.

  Judas trembled with pleasure. Now it was starting. This was Messiah! Jesus, hurling fire to earth! Jesus, the howl of God, whose voice is a rod of iron: Judgment has come, O you people! For look how the Master flings to the pavement the coins of the money changers! How he tips their tables over! And those who sell sheep and oxen and pigeons—them he drives out of the Temple, crying accusations like a Zealot: “Away with these things! Away! It is written, My house shall be a house of prayer. But you have made it a den of thieves! Away!”

  All these things took place on the first day of the week, the Sunday before the Feast of Passover. On that day Judas said in his soul, This is he whose coming is a refiner’s fire—and who shall endure it now? Who shall be standing when this week is done?

  All the way back to Bethany, Judas wiped tears from his eyes and sighed with excitement.

  But that was the last time he felt such joy. That was the last time Judas Iscariot was glad, for the rest of his life.

  EVEN BEFORE DAWN the following day, when no one else was stirring, Jesus woke John, left Bethany, and slipped into the old part of Jerusalem through the Potsherd Gate. Judas, filled with a high anticipation for the glory of this day, followed.

  The Potsherd Gate gives into the Tyropoeon valley, which transects Jerusalem from north to south. Jesus and John walked north a while, their heads bowed down, then they climbed the ancient steps which led up the west slope of the valley to the upper city. Here were the houses of wealthier people and narrow streets between them.

  Judas had to draw nearer in order to keep them in view. It nagged him that he was reduced to the role of a spy: but no one else knew the mind of the Messiah as well as he. Judas had to be always available.

  Jesus and John walked past the ritual baths of the Essenes on the southwestern side of the city, then turned north and ascended Mount Zion in the direction of Herod’s palace. Pontius Pilate was in residence there till the end of Passover, he and his legions. Judas nodded sagely. The Master was about to rise up and lead a mighty rebellion of the people: of course he would first scout the Praetorium, that seat of Roman power.

  But Jesus never got that far.

  Certain Essenes lived on the southwestern corner of Mount Zion, members of the same community that dwelt in the desert, obeying the laws of Moses and looking for the coming of the kingdom of God. These are the people who thought that John the Baptizer was the Priest at the end of the ages—just as others thought Jesus was that other figure, the King at the end of the ages.

  Now Jesus and John stopped before one of the Essene houses, an elaborate structure of white stone and iron lattices. He knocked lightly on a door which faced down the mount to the west. A man stepped out. There was a rich mosaic on the pavement of the vestibule and, behind the first building, a higher house, an upper room well protected by the rest of the compound.

  The three men bent their heads together for a brief exchange of words, then separated.

  So here was Judas’ second irritation: the brief meeting had looked very much like an assignation. Strategizing. Some kind of planning in which he, Judas, had no part!

  Swiftly, now, Jesus was striding back the way he had come.

  He turned a corner and shocked them
both by suddenly appearing face-to-face with Judas.

  “What are you doing here?” Jesus said.

  For a moment Judas was dumbfounded. He could feel his eyebrows twitching. “Someone,” he said, “someone had to watch your back.”

  “Why?” said Jesus.

  Why?

  The answer was so obvious to Judas that the question astonished him. Unless Jesus was testing him. Or unless he was speaking cryptically to conceal from John the secrets that existed between them.

  Judas smiled and whispered, “Lord, you know.”

  Jesus did not smile. He frowned. “I know that you have purchased swords,” he said. “Judas, you should know that I have no need of swords.”

  Messiah has no need of swords! The saying excited Judas, but that excitement became the measure of his disappointment in the rest of that day, Monday. Every indication of strength and purpose and rebellion stopped right here. Jesus sighed. His face sagged. The melancholy mood fell upon him again, and Judas became confused.

  “Master? Master, what are we going to do?”

  But Jesus and John were already retracing their route to the Tyropoeon valley.

  Just at the bottom of the ancient steps to the lower city, they met Philip and Andrew and the beginnings of a morning crowd.

  “Lord,” said Philip, “there are several Greeks here, who came to the feast especially to see you.”

  Jesus heaved another crushing sigh and then, for no reason that Judas could discern, delivered a little lesson on death. “The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified,” he said. “Truly, I say to you: unless a grain of wheat falls to the earth and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat. But if it dies, it will bear much fruit.”

  Jesus looked directly at Judas and said, “Those who love their lives will lose them. But those who hate their lives in this world will keep them hereafter, eternally—”

  All at once the Master groaned and sank to his knees. He folded his arms across his stomach and bent forward. The people became a sepulcher for silence. And Judas felt his face grow hot with distress. He was embarrassed for the Lord, suddenly revealing such pain! Such weakness.