Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Caiaphas got to his feet. He was almost ten years older than Mordechai. Through his office, which held tremendous prestige, he wielded considerable power, but sometimes he could be little more than a doddering old fool. Mordechai tensed a little as he deferred to him.

  But this time, Caiaphas fully understood the gravity of the situation. “Brethren,” he began, “on this council we seldom have to deal with matters of life and death. But when the very existence of our nation is at risk, we cannot shrink from our duty.” His eyes swept around the half circle of men. “Even if it means someone has to die.”

  No one stirred. And no one wondered who he was talking about.

  “If you think this is not a serious matter, you know nothing at all. We must take action. It is expedient that one man should die to save the people so that the whole nation does not perish.”

  That did it. Joseph and Nicodemus leaped to their feet, along with several others. Men were waving their hands wildly, shouting for recognition. Caiaphas sat back down again, and Mordechai leaned over and whispered something to him. Then Mordechai straightened, looking up and down the clamoring circle. He ignored those who were the moderates, especially those who would surely speak in favor of Jesus. Instead he pointed to Menachem, a fellow Sadducee and Mordechai’s protégé and strongest ally in the Sanhedrin. “Menachem of Bethphage. You may speak.”

  Menachem made no effort to hide his fury. “Things have progressed beyond the point of debate. As our high priest has said, Jesus must die. It is the only way to save ourselves.”

  “Hear, hear!” Azariah cried out.

  “Fortunately for us, Jesus knows he is in danger,” Menachem continued. “We learned just this morning that he left Bethany at dawn. Reportedly, he has gone into the wilderness of Judea where he will be safe from any attempts on our part to seize him.”

  The council responded with cries of dismay. This was news even to Caiaphas and Azariah. “Why do I say ‘fortunately’?” Menachem went on smoothly. “Because this will give the council time to lay careful plans. Jesus will be back for Passover.”

  “How can you be sure?” another of the Sadducees called out.

  “Because we know,” he shot back. “His followers are trying to convince him to stay away, but he will not. He will be back.”

  “Menachem is right,” Mordechai said. He was feeling smug, because Menachem had said only what Mordechai had carefully coached him to say. “We must plan carefully. The people are against us. We can’t risk an uprising. We have to take the man by stealth, seize him when the crowds are not with him.”

  “The Romans do not allow us to put a man to death,” another of Azariah’s colleagues said, “even if we say he is worthy of death.”

  “This is true,” Mordechai said grimly, “but there are ways around that obstacle. If we plan very carefully. We must find a way to take the man without starting a riot. And yet we must convince Pilate that he is a direct threat to the peace. This is our task. How can we accomplish this without creating greater problems for ourselves?”

  “Objection!” It was Joseph of Arimathea. “Our law does not condemn a man without a trial.”

  “Oh,” Mordechai sneered, “he shall have a trial.”

  “I wish my objection to be registered,” Joseph persisted. “I demand a hearing from the council.”

  “The council’s will has been made clear by our high priest. Anyone who cannot sustain our esteemed leader is excused from further deliberation. If you have no stomach for what must be done, then go!”

  As one, five or six men stood up, Joseph and Nicodemus among them. So was Aaron, Mordechai noted. He started to turn to see if Azariah was watching. After all, it was he who had nominated Aaron for the recent vacancy on the Great Council.

  But Azariah was already on his feet. “President of the council,” he shouted, “before these dissenters leave, I have another matter for us to deal with. It is the matter of Aaron of Sepphoris.”

  As Caiaphas waved at him to proceed, the departing men stopped. Aaron turned slowly, suspecting what was about to happen.

  “I publicly declare before this council that Aaron of Sepphoris has turned against the very body on which he sits, that he has turned traitor and is an enemy of the council.”

  This was really not much of a surprise to anyone. As testimony was being given about the raising of Lazarus, Aaron had calmly declared his own witness to the reality of the miracle. But he had done more than that, even more than the sympathizers and moderate voices were doing. Azariah, shocked at the unexpected change in him, had blurted out, “You speak as if you believe he is the Messiah.” Aaron had straightened slowly. “No,” he said, “I don’t believe. I know.”

  Caiaphas was pleased with Azariah’s accusation of Aaron and spoke up sharply. “Bring him forward and let us hear the charges.”

  Mordechai gave Azariah a long look. He had planned to use Aaron’s defection to embarrass Azariah. But now? He sat down, motioning for the chief of the Pharisees to proceed.

  “Aaron of Sepphoris, you are charged with actions disloyal and contrary to the will of the council. You have publicly stated your full support for the rebel and false teacher, Jesus of Nazareth. Come forward.”

  Aaron made his way through the seats and benches until he stood in front of the table where the three men sat. Those who had started to leave hung back, watching the events helplessly.

  Azariah went on coldly. “As head of the party of the Pharisees, I am charged with maintaining order and discipline in our ranks. I would ask you some questions.”

  “Let me save this august body the effort it will take to do what you are already committed to do,” Aaron said wearily. “I hereby publicly declare that I was witness yesterday to the raising of Lazarus from the dead.”

  Mordechai shot to his feet. “The ‘so-called’ raising of a dead man,” he corrected.

  “I was there, not ten paces away,” Aaron went on calmly. “When the men rolled back the stone, I was close enough to catch a whiff of the smell of death. Before that moment, I had closely questioned people in the village about this man. I talked with men and women who helped wrap his cold and lifeless form for burial. I listened to the men who carried his body to the tomb. That was four days before Jesus came to Bethany.”

  He directed a scornful look at Mordechai. “This is no hoax. No switch was made. I have no doubt of that.” He stopped, the awe that he had felt the day before sweeping over him again. “I saw with my own eyes a dead man come forth from his tomb. I saw him wrapped in his burial clothes—alive, healthy, walking. And it was Jesus of Nazareth who made it happen.”

  “Enough!” roared Azariah. “You will speak only to answer the questions you are asked.”

  “Yes,” Aaron went on, knowing what the next question would be. “I am a follower of Jesus. Yes, I believe him to be the promised Messiah. I love Pharisaism and all that it stands for. It has been my life, and no one can question my dedication to it. I have not, as you say, been unfaithful to my commitments in any way, nor have I done anything contrary to the laws which this council is sworn to uphold.”

  “Away with him!” Menachem yelled. “He speaks heresy. Silence the man.”

  Aaron went on quickly, knowing his time was short. “But I believe Jesus to be the Christ. If that makes me unworthy to sit with this group—” he smiled faintly, thinking of the irony in those words—“then so be it.”

  “You have heard for yourself this outrage,” Azariah said, spitting out his words like stones from a sling. “I hereby propose that this man be stripped of his seat on the Great Council and that all income derived therefrom be instantly halted. Further, the council demands that previous monies paid to this traitor be returned. He shall no longer be considered a Pharisee or a believer. Let him henceforth be known as a sinner and a traitor. I so move.”

  Mordechai had planned to be the first to raise his voice in support, but as he spoke half a dozen others shouted out at the same moment. “Let it be so. Vote! Vot
e!”

  Mordechai leaned forward. “All those who favor the proposal before us, let your voice be heard.”

  “Aye!” It was thunderous.

  Aaron stood quietly, his head up, watching Mordechai.

  “It is done as has been proposed.”

  “Call for the negative vote!” someone shouted. Mordechai was not sure who said it, and he hesitated for a moment. By their law, he was required to see who gave their voice to both sides of an issue. And in his position as Father of the House of Judgment, second in authority on the council, he was charged to see that all things were done in order. But it galled him to do so. There was no question but what the motion had carried. The dissenters would be a small minority and couldn’t change the outcome. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of letting their voices be heard. He picked up his walking stick and smacked the table with a resounding crack. “The proposal carries.” He looked at Aaron. “Be gone! The voice of the council has spoken.”

  As Aaron turned and rejoined the others who were walking out in protest, the council chambers erupted again. This time Mordechai let it roll.

  Azariah sidled over to Mordechai. “Thank you for your support,” the old Pharisee said grudgingly.

  “Thank you for taking action with such dispatch.”

  “We have another problem,” Azariah said. He lowered his voice, though it was doubtful anyone more than two seats away could hear him over the uproar.

  Caiaphas and Mordechai leaned closer. “What do we do about this Lazarus? They say hundreds are flocking to Bethany to see the man.”

  Mordechai’s brow lowered ominously. “There is only one thing for it.”

  Azariah looked mildly shocked, though in actuality, he had come to the same conclusion himself.

  Mordechai didn’t flinch from what needed to be said. “He’ll draw people to Jesus like spoiled fruit draws flies.” His lips pinched into a hard line. “Lazarus must die.”

  II

  Bethlehem 23–30 March, a.d. 33

  When Aaron and Hava moved to Jerusalem, they were given a house not far from the Temple Mount. It was owned by the Pharisees and rented out to Aaron and his family at a nominal cost. It was one of the perquisites of power. But by the time Aaron returned home on the afternoon the council expelled him, there were already two armed men at the house demanding that he leave immediately. He and Hava gathered up what few things they could, put those belongings in a hand-pushed, two-wheeled cart, and, with their three children, left their former life behind. Not knowing what else to do, Aaron took his family to Bethlehem, to the house of David’s cousin, Benjamin the Shepherd.

  It was just as well that Lilly and Ezra had stayed in Capernaum and kept Rachel’s three children and young Joseph with them. The home of Benjamin and Esther was comfortable but hardly ample. Rachel and Ephraim had arrived the day before, filling every extra sleeping space. The coming of Aaron’s five left the house bursting beyond its capacity.

  Not that anyone complained. The joy of Aaron’s conversion took precedence over all other considerations. Deborah considered it to be a miracle almost as great as straightening Huldah’s back, giving sight to a man born blind, or raising Lazarus from the tomb.

  Three days later, Aaron returned to Benjamin’s house from a trip to Jerusalem and suddenly announced that he was taking Hava and the children to Jericho. There they would stay with Hava’s brother, wife, and mother-in-law. David suspected that something had happened while Aaron was in the city, though Aaron would not say either way. In truth, he had been openly jeered as he passed a group of Pharisees. Five minutes later, someone had thrown a rotten melon at him. It missed him, but the attempt had been enough. He feared that the council’s vindictiveness might spill over against his family.

  Hava, who was coming to enjoy her deepening relationship with the women of the family, started to protest at his announcement, but then she saw something on her husband’s face that changed her mind. She and the children packed quickly, and they left within the hour. Deborah and the others promised to stop in Jericho to see the family on their return trip to Capernaum. Aaron said he would return as quickly as possible to provide one more man willing to stand by Jesus in case of trouble.

  With Passover drawing near, the family debated whether to go into the city. Word had come that Jesus was going to stay in Bethany for a time. No further explanation had been given, but the family rejoiced. That was better than him being in Jerusalem. It also solved another problem. Benjamin needed help. David’s cousin was not just any shepherd. He was of the house of Levi and of the priestly order whose job it was to care for the flocks destined for sacrifice at the temple.

  Central to the celebration of Passover was the eating of the ritual meal. And central to that meal was the paschal lamb. Thirteen hundred years earlier, Moses was told by the Lord to have the children of Israel take the blood of a lamb and smear it on the doorposts of their houses. When the angel of death came and slew the firstborn of the Egyptians, it “passed over” those houses where the blood was seen. The Hebrew word for “passover” was pesach. Thus, the sacrificial lambs eaten in the Passover meal were called paschal lambs.

  The Law of Moses stated that every part of the lamb had to be consumed that night, so smaller families or individuals often joined together for the Passover meal. On the other hand, the total number of people who could consume the lamb was also restricted so that each person could have a significant portion of the meat. No sheep with any blemish or deformity was allowed to be used in the ritual meal, so each sheep had to be examined for defects. A major function of the priests at Passover was the examination, killing, cleaning, and sale of paschal lambs to the residents of Jerusalem and the tens of thousands of pilgrims who had come to the city for the Passover.

  There was no busier time of year for the priestly shepherds who watched over the flocks of the temple. Each day Benjamin and his fellow shepherds, and their sons, started out shortly after dawn with a large flock of sheep. They led them to the outskirts of Jerusalem, where they were put into large holding pens on the northeast corner of the walls, just outside the Temple Mount. There they would wait their turn to be offered up to the Lord.

  In the end, it was decided that the men would help Benjamin with some of the more mundane tasks that did not require priestly authority, and the women would stay home. There was no need to go to Jerusalem on that particular day. On the morrow, they would all go to Bethany in time to accompany Jesus into the city.

  III

  Bethany 31 March, a.d. 33

  Jesus seemed to be in no hurry to leave for Jerusalem. He sat in one corner of the courtyard outside Martha’s house, speaking earnestly to James and John and several other brethren. Lazarus was the focal point of a separate group. Even though several days had passed, everyone still wanted to speak to a former dead man.

  The women were congregated near the courtyard gate. There were a goodly number of them, including three different Marys. In addition to Martha’s sister, Mary, the mother of Jesus was staying in Bethany with her son, and Mary Magdalene was also present. Several wives of the apostles were there, of course. There was also Joanna, wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward, who had been converted at the same time as Mary Magdalene. She stood with Jael, wife of Luke the Physician. Ruth, who had been healed of an issue of blood by touching Jesus’ robe, spoke quietly with a longtime friend, Hagith, wife of Jairus, the ruler of the synagogue in Capernaum.

  It was still fairly early when the group from Bethlehem arrived. Livia had not gone, claiming she was too tired. Miriam sensed there was more to it than that but did not pry. Benjamin had not gone either; he had to deliver another flock to Jerusalem that morning.

  As introductions were made, Miriam’s attention was caught by one of the women. Anna, wife of Peter, introduced the woman as Judith, but said nothing more about her than that she was from Jerusalem. Miriam’s eyes kept going back to her. She was sure she had met her somewhere before, but she could not remember where. Judit
h was a woman in her early thirties, of pleasant countenance but with lines in her face that suggested a difficult life. She spoke up from time to time, but for the most part she sat back and listened, smiling and laughing with the others but saying little herself.

  Then suddenly Miriam had it. She leaned over to Deborah. “I know who Judith is,” she said.

  Deborah gave her a curious look. She hadn’t known there was a question about it.

  “I knew I had seen her once before, but I couldn’t think where.”

  Leah overheard them and moved closer. “And?” she asked.

  “Do you remember Livia and me telling you about that day in Jerusalem when we came across Jesus?”

  “When he cleansed the temple?” Deborah asked.

  “No. That was another time. On this occasion, Azariah and some other Pharisees had brought a poor wretched woman to Jesus to see what he would say.”

  Deborah began to nod and turned to look at the woman. “That was Judith?” she asked softly.

  “Yes,” Miriam said. “Isn’t it wonderful that she’s here? Jesus told her to go her way and sin no more. Her presence means that she didn’t just forget him.”

  Deborah felt a sudden constriction in her chest, remembering the day she and little Esther had met Jesus in the marketplace in Capernaum. On that day, Jesus had reached out to her too. To that point, Deborah had rejected him openly. She had scorned some of his teachings. But none of that mattered to him. He had reached out and touched her heart, accepting her as she was, not as she should have been.

  “I wonder how many of us are here today because of a similar miracle,” she murmured.

  IV

  Simeon stood to one side of the main body of men. They spoke quietly together while they waited for the signal to leave, but he did not join them. He was in a curious mood, feeling an odd mixture of emotions. One part of him chafed at the delay. They had left Bethlehem very early to be sure they would not miss Jesus before he left for Jerusalem. So one part of him was ready to act, to move, to face whatever the day held in store. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted it to begin. There were so many possible dangers. First and foremost was the danger to Jesus. But that was not all. For all the assurances he had given Livia about things being safe for them in Jerusalem, now he was starting to worry. What if Miriam’s father decided to finally take his revenge? And what of Marcus? There was surely a desire on his part to get his hands on the man who had walked into his prison and taken Livia out, making fools of the best Rome supposedly had to offer. If Marcus saw Livia, would he make another try for her? Simeon didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be sure. Though Miriam was upset about Livia’s refusal to go to Jerusalem on this particular day, Simeon had been relieved. That was one less thing to worry about.