“Hear! Hear!” Caleb yelled. “Cast him out of the synagogue. He reviles the Law.”
Menachem was up too. “Excommunicate him! Away with this sinner.”
Mordechai sat back. There were a few shouts of protest, but they were feeble. The man had played right into their hands. He let it roll on for several moments, then stood. Gradually the council quieted. “Charges have been laid against this man,” he said. “Charges of a most serious nature. Charges worthy of having him cast out of the synagogue.”
Asa the Beggar said nothing. His parents stood back, faces torn with pain, but the man stood with his head high.
“Do you wish to recant?” Mordechai asked. “Do you wish to renounce the words you have spoken which revile the Law?”
“I have spoken only the truth,” Asa said. “I did not speak against the Law.”
Mordechai shook his head sadly. He looked up and down the council. “You have heard it from his own mouth. All who would speak for excommunication, let it be known now.”
All but two or three hands shot upward. There was no need to call for those against. It was an overwhelming majority. “Done!” said Mordechai.
II
Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount
It was nearing midnight, and the crowds on the Temple Mount had thinned considerably. Asa the Beggar walked slowly along with his mother and father. They had come out of the Hall of the Council, stung by the injustice of what had transpired and the swiftness with which their lives had changed. To be cast out of the synagogue in the homeland of the Jews, a society dominated by religious life, was a bitter blow and would have far-reaching effects.
But it was more than that. Asa had made his living—a meager one to be sure, but one that allowed him to survive—by begging. But he was no longer blind. Now even that was taken from him. What would he do? He was the sole support of his aged parents. What would they do?
Their step slowed. A group of men was angling across the courtyard, still lit by the flames of the great lampstands, directly towards them. Asa felt himself tense. Had the council already determined to take further action?
“It’s all right,” his father said in a low voice. “They are Galileans.”
Asa had noted that they were dressed far differently than the men who had just confronted him, but he had no basis for judging a man from his dress or appearance.
The group stopped a few feet away, except for the man in the lead. He came forward and stood before Asa. Asa searched his face, wondering who he was.
“We have heard that the council has cast you out of the synagogue,” the man said.
Asa started. He did not know the face, but he had heard that voice before, on this very night. “You have heard the truth,” he answered sadly.
“Do you believe on the Son of God?” was the next question.
“Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him?” His heart had started to race, for he knew that this was the man who had covered his eyes with mud, then sent him to the Pool of Siloam.
Jesus answered in a low voice, filled with warmth. “You have both seen him and heard him. It is he that is talking with you now.”
A cry of joy rose from his throat, and Asa dropped to his knees. “Lord, I believe! Thank you.” He bowed down, his face touching the ground in front of the Master’s feet.
Jesus reached down and lifted him up. He turned and smiled at the man’s parents, who were looking on in wonder. “For judgment I am come into this world,” he said, speaking to Asa again, “that they which see not, might see, and that they which see, might be made blind.”
“Are we blind then?”
Jesus turned. A single Pharisee, previously unnoticed, had been following Asa and his parents. He came forward. Jesus looked more closely at him. “You are Aaron, brother of Deborah, wife of David ben Joseph.”
Aaron started guiltily. He had hoped to remain anonymous. “Yes.”
“And your question?”
“You seem to speak of the Pharisees. Are we blind also? Is that what you meant by what you just said?”
When Jesus spoke it was in a voice heavy with sorrow. “If you were blind, you would have no sin. But you say, ‘We see.’ Therefore your sin remains.”
Aaron stared at him. This man was such an outrage. And such a wonder. “I—”
But Jesus had already turned away. His disciples moved in around him, and they walked off, the blind man and his parents in the midst of them.
For a long time, Aaron watched the disappearing backs. His face was expressionless, and yet inside he was filled with turmoil. Some time before, he had witnessed Jesus restore a man’s withered hand. Though incensed that it had been done on the Sabbath, Aaron had been deeply shaken by it. As time went on, though, he pushed it out of his mind. Then came the healing of Grandma Huldah’s misshapen back. How did he ignore that? Now a man who had been born blind had full vision. He didn’t agree with Azariah, much as he would have liked to. The evidence was incontrovertible. This man who had never been able to see, now saw. And it was Jesus who had done this for him.
Then anger flooded back in again. Jesus had declared himself to be the I AM. Aaron shuddered. All of his life, he had studied the Law. He could close his eyes and cite page after page of the Torah without the slightest error. Of the more than six hundred commandments laid down by Moses, the gravest of them all was to honor God and give him reverence. This man, this nobody from Nazareth, had taken the most sacred and solemn of all titles upon himself. Even now, it filled Aaron with an inexpressible horror to think of it.
Then suddenly, the words of Asa the Beggar rose in Aaron’s mind. They had struck him like a blow in the council meeting. They struck him like a blow again now. “Since the world began it has not been heard that any man opened the eyes of one that was born blind. If this man were not of God, he could do nothing.”
Aaron turned. With head down, he walked slowly back the way he had come.
III
Jerusalem, Antonia Fortress 16 October, a.d. 32
Marcus looked up as a knock sounded on the door. He motioned at the slave who was scraping him down with the strigil, and the young man leaped to answer the door. Marcus felt a flash of irritation. It was a standing order that no one was to bother him while he was in the baths.
The baths were part of a strict regimen with him, especially when he was in Jerusalem and constantly battling boredom. Each morning he arose with the sun, went to the small gymnasium normally used by the legionnaires for wrestling matches or other games of physical prowess, and worked himself into a hard sweat for half an hour or more. The gymnasium was small, as were the baths that were part of the same complex, but he made do with both.
Once he was perspiring heavily, Marcus would undress and enter one of the rooms adjacent to the calderium, or hot baths, where the surrounding steam heated the cubicles to high temperatures. This process was called the dry bath because he didn’t actually immerse himself in water. He stayed there until the sweat poured out from his body even more copiously than during his exercises.
From there he moved into the calderium itself, sprinkling almost scalding hot water from a large tub onto his body and having it scraped with the strigil, a tool with a curved, blunt blade shaped to fit the contours of the body. This not only cleansed the pores, but it also scraped off any dry, dead layers of skin. Using the strigil required skill and so Marcus always brought his personal slave from Caesarea to perform that function.
Once the scraping was complete, he would move into the tepidarium, a small pool where the water temperature was about the same as his body’s. Here he would lie motionless, allowing himself to gradually cool down. Finally, he would take a quick plunge in the frigidarium, an experience that always left him gasping but thoroughly refreshed physically, mentally, and emotionally. After that—the whole ritual took about an hour—he was ready for the day. Interruptions were not appreciated.
Steam was rising off the calderium in great cl
ouds, and it took a moment for Marcus to see the figure standing at the door. “Yes, yes,” he snapped. “What is it?”
There was movement; then Sextus appeared. Immediately, Marcus waved the slave away. The man exited quickly, shutting the door behind him. “The news had better be good, Sextus,” Marcus grumped. “The feast is over. The birds are going to fly the nest tomorrow or the next day.”
“It is good news, sire,” Sextus said. “A runner just came in. The report is proving to be accurate. After spending a quiet Sabbath yesterday, Yehuda and his brother-in-law left the house early and headed east toward Bethany or Bethphage. They were overheard talking about new grapevines, sire. Livia seems to be preparing to depart the city tomorrow or the next day. As arranged with Miriam, today she will be going to the Gate Beautiful for the two of them to have one last visit before leaving.”
“There’s no mistake about that?” he said, relaxing a little. This was the news he was looking for.
“No, sire. The young man we had watching them was only a few feet away when Livia and Miriam made the arrangements.”
“And they are to meet at midday?”
“That is what they said. We still have two watchers at the house. If the woman goes anywhere else, we shall know it immediately.”
Marcus picked up the strigil and began scraping down his thighs. They had trailed Livia to a small house in the quarter of the city near the Damascus Gate. If worse came to worst, he could have soldiers there in a quarter of an hour or less. Finally, he looked up. “We’ll use Miriam to take the word to Simeon, but she cannot be anywhere around when we first take Livia. Mordechai, for all his bitterness about his ‘dead’ daughter, would never forgive us if something should happen to her.”
“I have given instructions that she is to be detained, sire.”
The tribune considered that as he wiped the instrument on a towel, then began scraping his other leg. “Well done, Sextus. Keep me informed. And have the men ready.”
“Yes, sire.” Sextus saluted, turned on his heel, and started away. Then he stopped, half turning. “Sire?”
“Yes?”
“Sire, as you know, I have spent many years in Capernaum since coming here. In that time I have become friends with the family of David ben Joseph.”
“Yes?” Marcus’s voice now carried an edge.
“I will do as you command, sire, but I would appreciate it if another could take this woman.”
For a moment, Marcus wanted to throw the strigil at him. What did he care about such things? Since when did a Roman officer put friendship above duty? “It’s that, or I’ll have you lead the squad that goes after the Zealots. That could prove far worse.”
“With your permission, sire, I would prefer the latter.”
Marcus muttered something indistinguishable, then finally nodded. Sextus was a loyal soldier. He had even saved Marcus’s life once. “All right then,” he snapped. “Permission granted. But you will see to the detaining of Miriam. I don’t want anything to go wrong there.”
There was no expression on the older man’s face, but Marcus sensed his dismay.
“Very good, sire,” Sextus said. He touched his chest with his right fist, disappeared into the clouds of steam, and shut the door behind him.
Chapter Notes
John, whose Gospel has over 90 percent of its content unique to him, is the only one who gives the account of the man born blind (see John 9). Though some details had to be added to make the novel flow, these were minimal. The elements of the story, including the making of the clay, the washing in Siloam, being brought before the Sanhedrin, and his later meeting with the Savior, are all as given in the Gospel record.
While we know that the Sanhedrin operated within some restrictions, there is some evidence that proper procedures were not always followed.
Gymnasium was a Greek word taken from gymnos, which meant “naked.” The Greeks had glorified the human body and thus often raced or wrestled or threw the javelin in the nude in special buildings created for just that purpose. Though Rome had borrowed the name, they had not made it a practice to follow the same customs.
Chapter 15
Those whom the gods love die young.
—Menander, Dis Exapaton, frag. 4
I
Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount, near the Gate Beautiful 15 October, a.d. 32
Livia walked slowly back and forth along the soreg, or Wall of Partition. She stopped as she reached one of the marble plaques mounted to one of the stone panels. She knew what it said almost by heart but read it again. It was in written in Greek: “No stranger is to enter within this wall around the temple and enclosure. Whoever is caught will be responsible for his own death, which will ensue.” Similar plaques could be found about every twenty paces, next to every opening in the wall. The soreg ran completely around the temple.
Though Livia had been a Jewess for several months, it still bothered her. Yes, the temple precincts were holy, but why should only Gentiles be targeted for exclusion? Why should only they risk capital punishment if they walked on that sacred ground? Though Livia had never personally witnessed it herself, Miriam had told her that there was no quicker way to start a riot on the Temple Mount than to take a Gentile past the soreg.
And what about the Jew who is unholy? She blew out her breath. These people and their exclusiveness. She was a convert to their religion and thus no longer under the ban, but she was Greek. She was, by blood, one of the goyim, or Gentiles. Why should blood be the basis for exclusion from the Lord’s house? If the signs read: “Let all who are unholy not pass beyond this wall,” then she would have no quarrel with the practice. But they did not.
Realizing she was only being petulant, she turned, walked quickly down to the first opening in the partitions, and passed through. When she reached the steps that led up into the Gate Beautiful, she stopped and looked around. Still no Miriam. She glanced up at the sun. It was halfway up in the sky, signifying it was close to the third hour. She might be a little early, but not that much. Well, Bethlehem was much farther away than the Damascus Gate. Miriam would naturally take longer to arrive.
II
Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount
“Is that the woman?”
Sextus nodded. “She is not to be harmed. Not even touched. Understood? Just delayed.”
The sergeant nodded curtly. “Yes, centurion.”
Motioning for the other men to follow, the sergeant straightened his spear and started off, cutting at an angle so he would intercept the woman the officer had pointed out to him.
Miriam was not paying attention to the crowds around her. She was drinking in the wonder of the marvelous temple complex. Tomorrow she and the family would start back north. They would not return to Jerusalem until Passover, roughly six months away. She missed the city. She loved the Galilee, but this was her city. From the time she could walk, she had made her way through it. She loved the crowded markets, the streets jammed with vendors with every imaginable thing for sale. She loved the way the stone walls of every building turned to gold when the sun lowered in the sky. She loved the hills, rising and falling sharply wherever one walked. And most of all, she loved the magnificence of the Temple Mount and its splendor. She could walk in its courts for hours and be totally enthralled. She marveled anew each time she went there, and now she was drinking it all in again so the memory would last her for the next six months.
She stopped as she suddenly realized someone was blocking her way. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw it was a squad of eight soldiers in full uniform. Looking away quickly, she turned aside.
“Hold!” the lead man called.
She stopped. His voice had been commanding, but not angry. “Me?” she asked in surprise.
The man gave a quick nod. “I would ask you some questions, m’lady,” he said politely. He was not much older than Miriam and spoke in rough Aramaic. She experienced a momentary sense of fear, but the
n pushed it aside. His face showed no hostility. In fact, for a Roman soldier, he was being especially polite.
“Yes?” was all she could think of to say. Without realizing it, she answered him in Latin.
A little surprised, he went on in Latin himself. “You are a resident of Jerusalem?”
“I used to be. Now I live in the Galilee. In Capernaum.”
“So you know this city well?”
“Of course. I lived here most of my life.”
“Then we have need of your services for a short time.” The man seemed to have become more hesitant.
“What do you mean?”
“We are from Caesarea and do not know Jerusalem. Our commander has asked that we inspect the arched bridge that leads to the Temple Mount. There is a report of possible damage to the arch. Could you be so kind as to show us where that might be?”
She turned and pointed. “See the arched doorway at the west end of the Royal Portico? You go through there, then down some steps, and it takes you right to the gate that leads to the bridge.”
He shifted his weight, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m sorry, m’lady, but our commander is anxious for our report. Could you show us the way?”
Miriam shook her head. “I have an appointment. I’m already late.”
The man’s eyes never left her. “I must insist,” he said, “otherwise, we would come into disfavor with our commander, who is a surly and mean-spirited man.”
Some of the other soldiers chuckled at that.
Miriam’s mind worked quickly. By law a legionnaire could stop any citizen of the country where they were stationed and ask him or her to carry his pack for up to one Roman mile. Taking them there would cost her another five minutes, but was it worth the risk of angering them if she refused? So far they had been a model of courtesy.
“Once I show you, may I go?”
“Of course. We can find our own way back.”
She nodded and started to turn. Just then the young soldier turned his head and looked back, as if seeking some kind of approval. Miriam started. There, fifteen or twenty paces away, stood a Roman officer. He turned away quickly when he saw her looking at him, but it wasn’t quickly enough. She had already recognized him. It was Sextus Rubrius.
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