Thorns of Glory, page 14
“Whoever serves me must follow me,” Jesus said, “and where I am, there my servant will be. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.”
Several of the Jews spoke at once. It became a minor tumult. Numerous voices. I could distinguish only a few of the statements they barked at Him:
“Claim your throne!”
“Go back to the Temple!”
“If you are the Messiah, then reveal it!”
The Savior turned away from them. The look on his face tore at my heart. So much anguish and sadness. He touched His forehead and pinched His eyes tightly. I’d have sworn He suffered a migraine. Did the Redeemer suffer headaches? He opened his eyes again and directed His tearful gaze upward. I believe He began uttering a prayer, but few heard it because of the ruckus. “Now my soul is troubled, and what might I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ Is this what I should say? But for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify thy name!”
I flinched as thunder cracked. Thunder but no lightning. The morning’s rain clouds had drifted east. The sky was almost clear—a scattered smear of clouds, but it was more blue than white. The rumble shook the gardens and hills and everyone’s nerves. It rolled and reverberated for five, maybe ten seconds. It seemed like forever.
Eyes jerked skyward; a gasp formed in many throats, followed by more frenetic murmurs.
“Did you hear that?” asked Luke.
“I heard thunder,” said one of the disciples.
“It was an angel. An angel’s voice!” said another.
“What is wrong with everyone? I heard nothing,” grumbled Alexander.
“It was the voice of God, just as we heard it at the banks of the Jordan when He was with John the Baptist!” declared another disciple, a much younger Galilean in his late teens. “The Almighty declared, ‘I have glorified it and will glorify it again!’”
“Voice? What voice?” Others echoed, “I heard no voice.”
Mom’s face was suddenly close to my ear. Her eyes were like silver dollars; she was hyperventilating. “Did you hear Him, Joshua?”
“I heard thunder,” I said.
“What is everyone talking about?” It was another voice. A very frustrated voice, somewhere to my right.
“God spoke!” Mom declared. “He glorified His Son!”
“You heard it too?” said Melody. She and Mom entwined fingers excitedly, ebulliently.
Thunder. That’s all I heard. So many people, so many different impressions. I realized some had heard nothing at all. These individuals simply looked confused, perturbed, as if they were the butt of some practical joke.
Jesus spoke above the fray. “The Voice was for you, but not for me. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be thrown out. When the Son of Man is lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to me.”
One of the men in the crowd had heard enough abstractions and poetry. He asked in a deep, authoritative voice, as if he were a judge or another official, “Are you the Messiah or not? The law clearly says that the Christ remains forever; yet you say that the Son of Man is ‘lifted up’?”
Many voices clamored in support of the question.
“Yes!”
“Yes, what is your meaning?”
“This is nonsense! Who is this Son of Man?”
Jesus lowered His face. He clenched His fists. He clenched them so hard a stone in either palm might have crumbled to dust. It took several heartbeats before the crowd quieted enough for Him to say more. Before He spoke again, His fists unclenched. His voice was gentler, like a man talking to small children. “The light is with you still a little longer. Walk while you have the light so that darkness does not take hold of you. The one who walks in darkness does not know where he goes. While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may be children of the light.”
“Riddles!” another voice protested. “More riddles!”
Someone forced himself through the throng and approached Jesus abruptly. I saw a strong family resemblance. A relative? A brother? He looked slightly younger than Jesus, features stern, jaw square, beard forked. He took one of Jesus’s hands and slouched, as if in supplication. I don’t know what he was hoping to convince Jesus to do, but his voice was thick with pleading. “These men are Greeks, but they are of the Circumcision. Wealthy. Powerful. They want to help the cause, if you will let them.”
Someone very near said softly to Jesus, “Listen to Ya’akov, Yeshu. Ours is a poor family. Men like this—citizens of Rome—can aid our cause.”
“Yeshu, my brother,” Ya’akov continued, “they just want to hear it from your own lips. Speak peace to their hearts. They must know: Can they trust you? Can they believe in you?”
The last sentence was carefully emphasized. No one could misunderstand what Jesus’s brother—His own flesh and blood—was asking Him to declare. The listeners seemed to await His reply on pins and needles.
The Savior gazed into the eyes of his brother James. I sensed a mixture of compassion and heartache. Honestly, Jesus looked miserable, despairing that even His brother—technically, I suppose, his half brother—failed to comprehend. A tear cut a heavy path down the Savior’s cheek. He glanced about the gathering, not with anger but with love. Pervasive and palpable. It brimmed over, enough and to spare for every person in attendance.
He spoke loudly. “Whoever believes in me believes not in me, but in Him who sent me. And whoever sees me sees Him who sent me. I have come into the world as light, that all who believe in me might not remain in darkness. And if anyone listens to my words and does not keep them, I do not judge him.” He was gazing upon the Greeks, particularly Alexander. “I did not come that I might judge the world, but that I might save the world. The one who rejects me and does not receive has a judge. The word that I have spoken, that will judge him in the last day”—He lifted His eyes to everyone—“because I have not spoken on my own behalf, but on behalf of the Father who sent me. He gave me a commandment regarding what I would say and speak. I know His commandment is eternal life. I tell this to you just as the Father told it to me.”
The gathering was gripped by a kind of hushed befuddlement. This seemed to linger for some time. I’d given His words my fullest concentration. I felt like the man who’d spoken earlier had a point. It sounded like a riddle, a puzzle. Was everyone else as bewildered as I was?
Only His last words had filtered through to me. They punctuated everything else. Jesus knew all too well that His family, His disciples, and every other pilgrim in Bethany wanted Him to declare Himself God on Earth. He’d flatly refused, directing them instead to give obeisance to His Father. He’d insisted that this was how His Father had wanted Him to answer. God the Father was calling the shots. Nevertheless, Jesus’s effort to direct the people’s attention to someone else—even if that redirection was to God Himself—mystified and infuriated the people.
The Savior must’ve known that many people found His answer unacceptable, but He seemed determined not to elaborate further. Instead, He whispered something to the disciple who’d introduced Him to the Greeks, and more words to the taller, leather-skinned disciple whom I’d pegged as Shimon, or Simon, “the Rock.” They, in turn, conveyed His message to certain other disciples.
“He wants to be alone,” I heard one of them say.
Jesus walked toward a small pathway between two garden hedges. Some tried to follow, but Shimon and a couple of the others held them back.
“Fraud!” someone shouted at Him.
“We are again deceived,” mourned an old Jew, bald except for gray wisps over his ears.
The youngest disciple—the teenager—replied to the old Jew, “So many miracles you have witnessed, and still you will not believe on Him?”
The old bald Jew studied the younger Jew, then looked down, either in shame or chagrin. The disciples, many of whom doubled as bodyguards, were surprisingly efficient at keeping harassers from following Jesus up the pathway. Arguing broke out, loud and contentious. I thought it might erupt into violence, but it didn’t. Just a flurry of broad and energetic hand gestures.
I spotted an opening. Nimbly, I slipped through a space between two people and pursued Jesus between the hedges. Someone yelled at me, but I didn’t look back. I hadn’t received an answer. I’d told Jesus about our plight, but then the crowd had forced me back before He could respond. Seconds later I drew to a halt. Jesus was only a few steps ahead of me. His back was to me, but He’d stopped walking.
I was dumbstruck. He’d paused because he heard my footfalls. In that critical moment, I entirely forgot why I was there. The words evaporated from my mind. I stared dumbly at the back of His head.
Finally, He turned to face me. He looked right at me, expression calm. I heard a message. I’m sure of it. Jesus said nothing. I didn’t say anything either, but I knew in an instant what I should do.
The hint of a smile—a pitiable smile, like the kind a loved one might give a child suffering in a hospital bed—climbed up His cheeks. He turned, reluctantly, and walked away, disappearing around the hedge. For an instant I was alone. Then Mom and Melody came up behind me on the path, followed closely by another disciple, short, face crimson with anger. He sized each of us up, in turn. His intent, I decided, wasn’t hostile. He just wanted to confirm that the Savior had moved on and that I was no longer bothering Him. Satisfied, he ambled past us in the general direction Jesus had taken.
“Did you speak to Him again?” asked Melody.
“Yes,” I said absently. “I mean, no.”
A few heartbeats. Mom asked, “Which is it?”
“He told me what to do. Not with words, but . . . I know what to do.”
“You do?” asked Melody.
“Hamira is in danger.”
Mom looked perplexed. “What kind of danger?”
“I don’t know.” I was still ruminating. I looked up again. “Mom, you’re safer here. Melody, come with me.”
Mom protested. “I won’t remain here alone.”
“You’re hardly alone,” I said. “Stay with the Messiah.”
“Where are we going?” Melody asked.
“To save them,” I said. “All of them. Just come!”
Notes to Chapter 4:
The fictional events of this chapter are generally believed to have taken place on the twelfth of Nisan, or on the fourth day of the week, which would have been Wednesday. There are many unclear timelines and outright contradictions regarding the order of events during the Savior’s last week in Jerusalem. The Gospel of John plainly states that Jesus arrived in Bethany six days prior to the Passover. Matthew and Mark claim Jesus arrived just two days prior to Passover. Many scholars believe the Gospel of John was the last to be written and that one of the author’s motives was to clarify or add material that was missing in other gospels. If so, this appears to have been done with remarkable deftness, suggesting the author fully understands the spiritual value and public appreciation of the other three and has no desire to undermine them. For example, three of the gospel writers (Matthew, Mark, and John) proclaim that Jesus resided at the house of His likely relatives, Simon (called Simon the Leper), Mary (possibly Simon’s wife), Martha (sister of Mary, possibly unwed or widowed), and Lazarus (raised from the dead in John 11). John reports the anointing of Jesus’s feet by Mary prior to His Triumphal Entry, while Matthew and Mark report the anointing event as taking place after His Triumphal Entry. From a historical or theological point of view, such discrepancies seem inconsequential, but it forces a fiction writer to choose the narrative that best fits the objectives of his or her story.
Similar discrepancies exist regarding the narrative of the withered fig tree. Matthew has it occurring on the second day of the week, while Mark places it on the third day. Another event with divergent details is the overturning of the tables of the money changers. Matthew suggests it took place the same day as the Triumphal Entry, whereas Mark describes this cleansing as occurring the day after. The gospel of John doesn’t mention this event at all, perhaps because the author was satisfied with the other accounts. In the Tennis Shoes Adventure Series, I have done my best to follow instinct and logic, though I admit this is heavily influenced by the narrative that best serves the interests of my story.
Due to a lack of clarification in the texts, scholars and theologians often cram into the third day of the week many significant events, including numerous parables, confrontations with Pharisees and Sadducees, and instructions Jesus gave to His twelve disciples. Some suggest that Jesus remained in Bethany on the fourth day, either secluded in prayer and meditation or relishing the company of His closest friends and family. It’s also possible He used this time to teach doctrines not meant for general consumption to His principal disciples. The gospels don’t identify any specific events on the fourth day of the week. The sheer volume of events ascribed to the third day has caused some to suggest that they ought to be divided between the third and fourth days. Another suggestion is that there was no traditional fourth day of the week during this particular Passover. This will be discussed later. In any case, the matter is presently unresolvable and open to conjecture.
No names are provided in the New Testament for the wives of any of the future Apostles of Jesus Christ. It is confirmed, however, that at least some Apostles were married (see Matthew 8:14; Mark 1:30; Luke 4:38; 1 Corinthians 9:5). Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, suggests that it was an accepted norm among Apostles and “the brethren of the Lord” for a man’s wife to accompany her husband on missionary journeys. Tradition associates Peter’s wife with traveling on her husband’s missionary journeys. If so, it suggests that she, like the wives of many modern apostles and prophets, was an integral helpmeet in her husband’s ministry. Apocryphal sources state that Peter’s wife was martyred in Rome on the same day as her husband (see “Chapter XI: Description of the Gnostic’s Life,” Clement of Alexandria: The Stromata, or Miscellanies, Book 7, earlychristianwritings.com/text/clement-stromata-book7.html). Some apocryphal resources name Peter’s wife as Concordia. Others as Perpetua. Neither of these names are Hebrew, but have Greek origins (Concordia is a much older name attributed to the Greek goddess of marriage). Thus, many have assumed that her name did not survive the sift of historical facts and records.
The dialogue in this novel between Jesus Christ and His disciples and family members at Bethany represents my personal perspective of the discord and angst that prevailed at this time and how it may have gained momentum up to the moment of the Savior’s arrest. Many statements are taken word for word from John 12. To appreciate the situation, readers are encouraged to study and ponder the distress felt by all parties—disciples, pilgrims, Jesus’s family, and the Savior Himself.
Why emphasize this level of conflict and depression? To understand my intent, it must be remembered that for generations the Jewish people had been nurtured on the belief that the Holy Messiah would be a political figure—an earthly conqueror—who would claim His throne inside the walls of Jerusalem’s Holy Temple, unleashing the power of God, destroying Judea’s Roman and Herodian taskmasters, and reestablishing the glory of the kingdoms of David and Solomon. They zealously anticipated that Jesus would make Himself and the Jewish people the undisputed rulers of the world. This understanding helps convey the emotional gyrations of the common people, especially proud, provincial Galileans, as they celebrated the arrival of the Messiah riding astride a donkey into the precincts of Jerusalem for the Passover Feast—an image painted for them all their lives by their rabbis and priests, employing many passages of scripture to buttress this interpretation. The people’s perception that Christ had failed to fulfill these promises on the very day of His Triumphal Entry undoubtedly caused consternation and disappointment. It was this basic misunderstanding of the eternal mission of Jesus Christ that may have been the catalyst behind later events—actions and reactions—that culminated in the Savior’s violent death by Crucifixion.
Chapter 5
Harry
Jacobah, Mary, and I scrambled southward along the hill that comprised the western boundary of the fortress of Zenephi. Wending directly through the Nephite population was too dangerous in case someone like the prophetess Dootapoo recognized us and incited another mob. The people were on edge like I’d never seen them before. Superstition and magic were rooted inside them. They were prone to latch on to any available scapegoat. If a charlatan like Dootapoo could convince her countrymen that we were the reason for their inevitable destruction, they’d tear us apart.
The western edge of the fortification ran southeast for another half mile to the southernmost promontory of Cumorah. Here began the first of three separate walls—the final line of defense that stopped the Lamanites from overrunning the Nephites. Two additional walls and three separate ditches ran parallel to the innermost wall. Because of rocky, uneven terrain, the outermost ditch with its sharpened pikes wouldn’t become visible to us for another hundred yards. The central wall climbed higher and stretched farther than the inner wall, perhaps to hide the fact that the innermost wall and the final moat ran short, exposing a weakness the Lamanites could exploit. Even the central ditch, filled with tar, was cut short by the terrain. After the Lamanites had set this moat ablaze with flaming arrows, this weakness was impossible to hide. Fumes from burning bitumen choked the air, but the final ebbs of night and the haze of smoke couldn’t hide what looked like a fiery serpent. Unfortunately, it revealed the exact breadth and length of these hidden fortification lines. In short, the serpent was missing its tail.
Mary was coughing painfully. She pulled her shawl across her face to filter the air. I gripped her hand to guide her over rocks and cactus. Jacobah sent me a discontented glance. I assumed this was because I’d allowed Mary to join us in the first place, potentially slowing us down. However, it wasn’t in Jacobah’s nature to object. Surely he knew Mary would have stubbornly followed us anyway if I’d tried to leave her.
