Now the flutes were barely discernible, and the priests had to almost shout the chants to make themselves heard. Once again there was a shrill blast of trumpets. Once. Twice. Thrice.
“This is the day which the Lord has made,” shouted the priests, continuing the Hallel. “We will rejoice and be glad in it. Thou art my God, and I will praise thee. Thou art my God, and I shall exalt thee. O give thanks unto Jehovah, for he is good, and his mercy endureth forever.”
From beneath the waving mass of palm, willow, and myrtle, ten thousand voices rose in one mighty hymn of praise and petition.
“Hallelujah! Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!”
As the sound died away, echoing off the walls of the courtyard, no one moved. The lulavs slowed, then stopped, held at the vertical.
In that moment of silence, a single voice rang out, as piercing and compelling as if a trumpet had sounded. “People of Israel, listen to me.”
Every head turned. Simeon drew in his breath sharply, but a much greater sound of shock swept the crowd. Jesus was standing just inside the Court of Israel.
“It’s the prophet from Nazareth,” someone called.
“It’s the Messiah!” a woman shouted, her voice shrill. “Look, the Messiah has come!”
Caiaphas stiffened, his face going a deep scarlet.
“Hallelujah! Praise God. The Messiah has come.”
It was an electrifying moment. Whenever Jesus appeared, it caused a stir, but stepping forth at the very moment the hallelujah shout echoed in the temple courts stunned everyone.
Jesus raised his hands. The noise stopped almost instantly.
“If any man thirst,” he called out, his voice loud enough to be heard by all, but strangely calm, “let him come to me and drink.”
Everyone began shouting at once. There was no mistaking his meaning. They had just witnessed the “pouring out,” the bringing of water from the Pool of Siloam. Even the older children understood that those waters symbolized the pouring out of the Spirit. God’s Spirit! That could come from only one source: God himself, who could minister his Spirit through the Holy Messiah. If Jesus had stepped forward and declared, “I am the Messiah,” his intent couldn’t have been any clearer.
“What is the meaning of this!” It was the voice of Caiaphas. He had come to the edge of the altar and was peering down at Jesus, his face as red as the bloodstains on the tables of sacrifice.
Jesus looked up at him with no change of his expression. If he had heard the high priest it did not show on his face. There was such a regal majesty in his bearing that gradually the crowd became quiet again. No one moved. Every eye was on him.
Finally Jesus turned away from the altar and looked around at the sea of faces staring at him. A man standing directly in front of him raised an imploring hand. “Tell us, good sir. Art thou the Messiah?”
Again there was no change in his expression. Jesus did not look directly at the man, only at the faces around him. “He that believeth on me, as the scriptures saith, ‘From deep within him shall flow rivers of living water.’”
At the citation of the passage from Isaiah, there was a strangled cry from Caiaphas. He turned and, robes flying, raced down the ramp. He disappeared from Simeon’s view for a moment, then reappeared flanked by five priests, all of them looking very angry. Caiaphas then snarled something at the temple guards who lined the back wall, as mesmerized as everyone else by what was happening. They jumped guiltily and, spears lowering, started moving toward Jesus. At that same moment, perhaps because they saw what was happening, Peter, Andrew, and the rest of the Twelve pushed out of the crowd. They formed a protective half circle between Jesus and the oncoming guards.
“He blasphemes!” cried one of the priests.
Whether it was the words of Jesus, his calm majesty, or the fact that he now had several very determined-looking men in front of him was not clear, but the guards stopped, their spears lifting again. They looked at each other in consternation, but no one took a further step toward the man from Nazareth.
“Seize him!” Caiaphas roared at them. “He blasphemes the name of God.”
“No!” shouted a voice from somewhere beyond Jesus. “Leave him alone. This is the great prophet promised by Moses.”
“Yes!” It came from a dozen voices.
“He is the Messiah!” It was the same woman as before.
“Hallelujah!” went up the cry. A few palm fronds began to wave back and forth.
Caiaphas stopped, shocked to the core.
In an instant, the crowd took up the chant. “Hosanna! Hosanna!” The whole courtyard filled with waving lulavs. If this was the Messiah, it was the most stunning moment in Israelite history. The King had come and was here, in the flesh, standing right before their very eyes.
In seconds the hallelujahs and hosannas crescendoed to a thunderous ovation.
“Cease this!” a voice roared when there was a momentary break. “Cease this madness this instant!”
Miriam’s hand shot out and grabbed Simeon’s arm. Her fingers dug into his flesh. Simeon didn’t have to ask why. Even as he recognized that bull voice, his eyes picked out Mordechai ben Uzziel pushing his way through the circle of priests. Dressed in white robes of the priesthood, signifying the role of the Sadducees as supervisors of the priestly function, he had not stood out before. This was the moment Miriam had been dreading for a week. They had not yet seen her father in the crowds. But here he was, his face bristling with rage.
Surprised by this new development, the crowd noise dropped quickly but did not cease entirely. Palm fronds fluttered and slowed.
“This man is from Nazareth,” Mordechai shouted. “He is from the Galilee. How can you say that he is the Messiah? Does the Christ come out of Galilee?”
“No!” Caiaphas answered loudly, recovering quickly enough to see the brilliance of what Mordechai was doing.
“Of course he doesn’t,” Mordechai shot right back. “The prophet Micah tells us that the Messiah comes of the seed of David and will come out of Bethlehem, the city of David.”
“But he is from Bethlehem,” Deborah said, looking at her husband, knowing of the experience he and Benjamin had shared in the shepherd fields some thirty or more years before.
David nodded. “But very few people know that.”
The question had its effect on the crowd. The prophecy of Micah was one of the best known of all promises concerning the coming of the Messiah. “The Messiah cannot come from Nazareth,” a woman standing near the priests called out. She was probably a wife of one of those in the circle. “How can this Jesus be the Promised One?”
“Listen to him speak,” another person shouted from the crowd. “Look at the mighty works that he performs. Surely he is that prophet.” The expression was significant. Moses had prophesied that a great prophet would be raised up and that he would be like unto Moses. The rabbis universally interpreted that prophet to be the Messiah.
But Mordechai’s intervention had its effect, throwing the people into confusion. While some started to shout and wave their plumes again, many others were shaking their heads doubtfully. People began to turn to each other, putting forth one view or the other. The courtyard was bedlam.
“Seize him!” Simeon heard Mordechai hiss to the waiting guards. Simeon’s hand dropped to his belt, where he kept his dagger. If Jesus needed help . . .
Even as he saw the guards straighten and grasp their spears again, he swung around, poised to sprint to Jesus’ side. But before he could move, he pulled up, gaping. Jesus was gone! He had melted into the crowds, and the Twelve had evidently followed after him.
Simeon turned slowly to Miriam. The man who had just publicly announced that he was the source of the true living water, the man who had all but directly proclaimed himself as the Messiah, was gone.
Chapter Notes
The Feast of Sukkot, or Tabernacles, is still celebrated by Jews around the world today. The practice of constructing small booths, or tabernacles (sukkot in Hebrew), serv
ed as a reminder of Israel’s wandering in the wilderness for forty years. Small booths made of palm, willow, and myrtle branches were erected on the flat roofs of the houses. During the festival week, families took their meals in the sukkot and slept in them unless the weather became extremely bad. This festival began on the first full moon of autumn when the olive, wine, and vegetable harvests were completed. It lasted one full week. Because it celebrated the harvest, it was also known as the Feast of Ingathering, a holiday similar to our Thanksgiving. Since it was one of the three pilgrimage festivals, all Jews were expected to celebrate the holy days in Jerusalem, if possible. (See Edersheim, The Temple, pp. 176–87; Buttrick, s.v., “Booths, Feast of,” 1:455–57; Backhouse, pp. 16–21).
The various scriptures connected to the Feast of Tabernacles referred to in this section include Deuteronomy 1:32–33; Leviticus 23:39; Psalm 113:1–2; and Isaiah 12:3–4; 9:3.
Though we have explained the use of the name of God in an earlier volume, it may be helpful to review that information here. Since Hebrew was not originally written with vowels, it is not certain how the sacred name of God (made up of four consonants, JHVH) was pronounced anciently. (Since the Y and J were similar sounds, the four consonants are sometimes shown as YHVH.) The King James Version of the Bible wrote it JeHoVaH. Modern scholars often make it YaHVeH or YaHWeH. Since this series uses the King James text of the Bible, we have used Jehovah as it is found there.
The name became so sacred to the Jews anciently that they chose not to pronounce or write it. Instead they substituted the word Adonai, or Lord, whenever they came upon the name. Out of respect for that tradition, the King James translators translated the name as “Jehovah” in only four places in the Old Testament (plus three additional instances where Jehovah is used in a compound word), even though it is used thousands of times in the Hebrew. In all other cases, they, too, substituted the word Lord. However, to distinguish it from the conventional use of “lord” (for example, “My lord, the king”), they rendered it with small capital letters: Lord. (An example of both uses of Lord can be seen in Psalm 110:1.) So while the first part of the Hallel (the entirety of which is drawn from Psalms 113 to 118) is rendered in the King James Version as “Praise ye the Lord” (Psalm 113:1), in Hebrew it is “Praise ye Jehovah,” or Hallelujah.
It is John who tells us that it was on the “last day, that great day of the feast” that Jesus stepped forward and declared himself to be the living water (John 7:37–44). Edersheim believes he stepped forward at the very moment the ceremony of the “pouring out” of the waters of Siloam was concluded and that it was this that had such a profound impact on the crowd (Edersheim, The Temple, pp. 183–84).
We are not told who raised the objections and cited the prophecy about the Messiah coming from Bethlehem (see Micah 5:2), but it did result in a “division among the people.” Then, John tells us, “And some of them would have taken him; but no man laid hands on him” (John 7:43–44).
As explained in an earlier volume, the title of “Christ” (from the Greek Christos) and “Messiah” (from the Hebrew Meshiach) have an identical meaning, viz., “the Anointed One.” So when the crowd cried out, “This is the Christ” (John 7:41), they were saying that Jesus was the Messiah.
Chapter 12
I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
—John 8:12
I
Jerusalem, in the Court of the Women on the Temple Mount 14 October, a.d. 32
Normally, the lighting of the four great menorahs immediately followed the “pouring out” of the waters of Siloam. But on this night, half an hour passed before things got underway again. People milled about, still talking of the electrifying experience they had just witnessed. The name of Jesus was on every tongue.
While they waited, Rachel told Ephraim she was going to take the children home. She and Lilly had left their babies—now almost fifteen months old—with a young woman in Bethlehem. If they stayed through all of the festivities associated with the lighting of the lamps, it would be well after midnight before they would get back.
But Simeon sensed there was more to their desire than just wanting to get back to care for their babies. After the near miss between the temple guards and Jesus, Rachel was afraid there was a chance there would be trouble. Ephraim agreed, coming to the same conclusion, and said he would go with her and the children. Joseph, Simeon’s younger brother, surprised them all by saying he would go with Esther and Boaz. Then Lilly decided she would go too. She had waited too long for little Miriam to risk having something happen to her mother, she said. For all the joy, for all the festive spirit of the feast, history suggested that things had a way of getting out of hand very rapidly. The riot that followed Pilate’s attempt to finance an aqueduct from the temple treasury was still fresh in everyone’s memory.
Aunt Esther and Uncle Benjamin (Simeon always called them that, even though they were his cousins) went too. Since they were the hosts in Bethlehem, Esther felt an obligation to be there if everyone else was returning to her home. In the end everyone left except David and Deborah, Leah, Miriam, and Simeon. Deborah tried to convince Leah to go too, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
As they said their good-byes and moved away, David looked around. Since this next rite took place in the Court of the Women and not the Court of Israel, the top of the staircase—which was fifteen steps higher than the Court of the Women—provided a perfect vantage point. David saw an available place there, and they moved to that location. As they waited, they said little. Full darkness had settled over Jerusalem. Small oil lamps mounted on the inside of the walls provided some light, but only in a limited circle right around each lamp.
Simeon watched sadly as Miriam restlessly scanned the crowd. Her face was lined with pain. Simeon reached out and took her hand. “He won’t be here yet,” he said gently. “If he is still around, he’ll come in with the procession of the priests.”
“I know,” she said. Her voice was flat and lifeless. What had happened just minutes before had left her deeply shaken. She was almost positive that her father had seen her, and yet he had not given her the slightest acknowledgment. She had not seen him for a year and a half, and she had hoped at least for some small sign of softening. But any hopes of that were now dashed. Worse, the pure hatred she had seen in his eyes when he was looking at Jesus left her with no hope of any future reconciliation.
David, watching the interchange between his son and daughter-in-law, decided to change the subject. “I hope Jesus has left the Temple Mount completely. I don’t see the guards back yet. They’re probably still out looking for him, and that’s a good sign.”
Leah was clearly worried. “Surely Peter and the others will take him to safety.”
Simeon was tempted to say something, but he thought better of it when he remembered Peter’s account of how Jesus had rebuked him when he tried to protest any mention of possible trouble.
All around them, people had formed into small groups. They talked quietly as they waited for the next stage of the celebration. The Court of the Women was filled to capacity, and the overall sound was like a muted roar of anticipation. Here and there snippets of words rose above the noise: “Messiah.” “Blasphemy.” “Pharisees.” “King.” “Prophet.” “Arrest him.”
“Father!” It was a sharp whisper from Leah. They all turned to look at her, but her head was turned away. She was looking intently toward the gate that led into the Court of Israel. Instantly they saw what she was looking at. Uncle Aaron was coming toward them, pushing his way through the crowds.
“Oh, oh,” Leah said softly.
“No fights,” Deborah said quickly. “Not here.”
Simeon nearly quipped that Aaron might have a say in that, but Aaron was nearly on them, so Simeon bit back his retort.
“Shalom, Aaron,” Deborah said. “I expected you to be here somewhere.”
“Deborah. David. I’m glad I found you.”
To Simeon’s surprise, Aaron’s face showed great distraction but not necessarily anger. Simeon had expected him to be incensed over what had just happened.
Then Aaron seemed to realize that his sister and brother-in-law were not alone. “Oh,” he said, almost startled. “Shalom, Leah. Shalom, Simeon. Miriam.” He inclined his head slightly toward them.
“Good evening, Uncle Aaron,” Miriam responded.
“Are Hava and the children with you?” Deborah asked.
His eyes had already moved away, and only after a moment did he look back. “What was that?”
“Hava,” David said. “Is she here tonight?”
“Oh.” He half turned, waving one arm in the direction from which he had come.
Deborah peered at him. “Are you all right, Aaron?”
He started to nod, then looked around anxiously, as if fearing someone might be watching. “There’s not much time. The lighting ceremony is about to begin.” One hand shot out, and he clasped Deborah’s arm. “I have to ask you a question.”
“Aaron,” Deborah started, “if it’s about what just happened with Jesus, I—”
He gave an impatient flutter of his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that. I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
“You came up to Jerusalem with Jesus?”
“Yes.”
“You were with him the whole time?”
David was puzzled. “Not every moment, but each day, yes.”
“Were you in Jericho with him?”
Simeon was curious too. Something was eating at his fastidious uncle. “We were, Uncle Aaron. Why do you ask?”
Again he looked around furtively. Then, still holding onto Deborah’s arm, he turned her so they were no longer facing the crowd, but inward to the wall separating the two courts.
“Hava has a brother there,” he said after a moment, as though he had suddenly come awake.
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