The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ (37 page)

“Children, yet a little time will I be with you,” He said soberly. “You shall seek Me but as I said to the Jews, ‘Where I go you cannot come.’ So now I give a new commandment to you, that you love one another as I have loved you. By this shall all men know that you are My disciples, if you have love one for another.”

“Lord, where are You going?” Simon Peter asked.

“Where I go you cannot follow Me now,” Jesus told him. “But you shall follow Me afterward.”

“Why can I not follow you now?” the tall fisherman insisted. “I will lay down my life for your sake.”

“Will you lay down your life for My sake?” Jesus asked with a note of infinite sadness in His voice. “Truly I say to you, the cock shall not crow until you have denied Me three times.”

From his perch in the sycamore tree, John Mark had watched wide-eyed as Jesus and His disciples took their places at the table. Though he could not hear very much that was being said, he could understand the significance of Jesus’ act in washing the disciples’ feet, for he had heard the Master say more than once that he who would be greatest in the kingdom of God must become the servant of all. Mark had known too, that something was wrong when he had seen the look on Judas’ face as he plunged from the room.

Mark remembered now the rumors in the city that one of Jesus’ own disciples would betray Him, and he could not help wondering if it was Judas. The man of Kerioth was still visible, hurrying along the street and, acting upon an impulse, Mark slipped quickly from the sycamore tree and set out in pursuit.

Earlier one of the sudden black thunderclouds that sometimes drenched Jerusalem at this season, as an aftermath of the winter rains, had swept over the city. Now the sky was clear and the stars were shining. The rain had washed away the filth of the day from the streets, and the city seemed unusually fresh and clean as if it, too, had bathed and put on fresh raiment for the Passover.

Through the narrow, almost deserted streets of the Lower City, Mark followed Judas across the depression of the Tyropean Valley. As the streets began to climb into the more fashionable area of the Upper City, the way grew steeper, but Judas hardly slowed his pace and at times Mark had to trot to keep him in sight. Knowing every part of Jerusalem intimately, for he had lived there all his life, Mark was fairly sure where Judas was going. When the imposing structure of the palace of the high priest loomed up in the darkness ahead, he knew he had done right in following the man of Kerioth. For Judas went boldly to the gate leading into the outer court and knocked upon it for admission.

The city was quiet, for on the Passover night all remained indoors to eat the paschal meal, coming out only a little before midnight to sing the hallel together in thanksgiving once again to the God who had made Israel His own. From the courtyard of the palace, however, there came the sound of voices and when Mark crept close to the gate through which Judas had been admitted, he was able to see that a group of the temple guards were assembled there, along with perhaps two dozen Roman legionnaires.

Being careful not to let himself be seen, Mark worked his way through a section of hedge until he was near enough to hear and see at least part of what was going on. He was able to make out the burly form of Abiathar talking to Judas, and in the light of what he had seen in the upper room and the sudden flight of the man of Kerioth, Mark was almost certain that he knew the trend of the conversation.

His suspicions were confirmed when one sentence came loud and clear enough for him to understand it.

“The Garden of Gethsemane,” Judas was saying. “He will go there after the singing of the hymn.”

Mark remained no longer. He knew Jesus often went to the beautiful garden on the slope of the Mount of Olives when He left the city in the evening, stopping to pray there before going on to Bethany. What more logical place for Him to go tonight after the Passover meal was finished? Knowing Jesus would be accompanied only by the disciples and a few others, Judas had betrayed the garden to Abiathar as the place where he could capture Jesus without stirring up a riot.

The very simplicity of the plan made its success almost inevitable. Only if Mark could get back to his home before Jesus and the others left for the garden was there a chance to save the Master from capture.

Indeed the hour is coming, yes, has now come.

John 16:32

In the traditional ceremony of the Passover, near the end of the meal the youngest always asked the meaning of the celebration. This was the time for the oldest present to retell the story of how God had led the Children of Israel up out of bondage in Egypt. When the time came tonight, however, Jesus took a wine cup and filled it. “Take this and divide it among yourselves,” He directed the eleven disciples who remained about the table. “For I say to you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God shall come.”

While the cup was being passed from one to another, He also took bread and, breaking it into pieces on the plate, gave it to them to eat.

“This is My body which is given for you,” He told them. “This do in remembrance of Me. The cup is the new testament in My blood, which is shed for you.”

The disciples were troubled, for Jesus had never carried out this ceremony before and they did not understand its real meaning.

“Let not your hearts be troubled,” Jesus counseled them. “You believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also. Where I go you know, and the way you know.”

“Lord,” Thomas protested, “we do not know where You will go, so how can we know the way?”

“I am the way, the truth, and the life,” Jesus said simply. “No man comes to the Father but by Me. If you had known Me, you should have known My Father also, and from henceforth you know Him and have seen Him.”

“Lord, show us the Father,” Philip begged, “and it will suffice us.”

“Have I been so long a time with you and yet you have not known Me, Philip?” Jesus asked sadly. “He who has seen Me has seen the Father. How then can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? The words I speak to you I speak not of Myself, but the Father who dwells within Me, He does the works.”

Jesus rose from the table, for the Passover was ended now and there remained only to sing the hallel as the final act of the ceremony. But before going out, He stopped to pray. “I pray not for the world,” He said looking up to the heavens, “but for them which You have given Me, for they are Yours. Now I am no more in the world but these are in the world and I come to You. Holy Father, keep through Your own name those whom You have given Me, that they may be one, as We are. While I was with them in the world, I kept them in Your name. These that You gave Me I have kept, and none of them is lost but the son of perdition, that the Scripture might be fulfilled.

“Now I come to You and these things I speak in the world, that they might have My joy fulfilled in themselves. I have given them Your word, and the world has hated them, because they are not of the world, even as I am not of the world. I pray not that You will take them out of the world, but that You will keep them from evil. Sanctify them through Your truth.

“Neither pray I for these alone,” He continued, “but for them also who will believe on Me through their word. That they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You. That they also may be one in Us that the world may believe that You sent Me. O righteous Father, the world has not known You, but I have known You, and these have known that You have sent Me. And I have declared to them Your name, and will declare it: that the love wherewith You have loved Me may be in them and I in them.”

As He finished speaking the prayer, the sound of voices singing the hymn floated through the windows from the city outside. Jesus led His disciples out and there they joined their own voices in the hymn of praise. Only when it was finished, did He turn His steps toward the Garden of Gethsemane.

The Lady Claudia Procula, wife of Pontius Pilate, stood on the balcony outside her bedroom high up in the fortress of Antonia. Another Passover season was almost gone and she was thankful. Now with the ritual feast drawing to a close in the last moments before midnight and tomorrow, a day of quiet, it did not seem likely that there would be trouble in Jerusalem.

The scrape of a sandal told Procula that her husband had come out on the balcony. Lately Pilate had been moody as the months dragged on with no indication when the Emperor Tiberius in Rome would send him from Judea to a new and more responsible post. Pilate had been drinking more than usual too, but tonight she noted happily that he appeared to be almost sober. When he came up to the marble balustrade surrounding the balcony, Procula put out her hand and laced her fingers with his in the darkness.

“It’s almost over,” she said. “I came out here to listen to the people sing.”

“It is better for them to sing than to shout against Rome,” Pilate agreed.

“There’s been little shouting this time. At least I haven’t heard it.”

Pilate laughed. “The Jews were too busy shouting against each other. The Galilean we saw on the road from Jericho has Caiaphas and his Priestly Council thoroughly upset.”

“Why? He was only a Teacher.”

“The Nazarene has courage, even if He lacks judgment,” Pilate said. “He denounced the scribes and Pharisees in the temple.”

“Has the high priest been to you about Him?”

Pilate shook his head. “Caiaphas has to get rid of the fellow, but he’s afraid of Him. People cheer the Nazarene on because He attacks the scribes and the Pharisees and the priests. They might riot if Caiaphas arrested Him, so He is trying to destroy Him without any public notice. He doesn’t want my soldiers in the temple again.”

“You did handle that rather ruthlessly.”

“I am the governor of Judea, my dear. And I am supposed to be ruthless—with rebellion.” He chuckled. “I’ll admit I went a little further than usual that time just to teach Caiaphas a lesson. He’s too ambitious to suit me, and I wouldn’t put it above him to foment some sort of a disturbance occasionally just to keep the people from looking too closely at how he operates the temple and its revenues.’’

“What about the Galileans?”

“They rebelled, so they would have been executed anyway,” Pilate said. “But I think I may choose to be lenient with that fellow Barabbas. The people expect me to release a prisoner to them tomorrow; it’s an old custom here. From what we’ve been able to drag out of Barabbas, the whole thing was started to create a safe opportunity for theft. If I let him go, the people will be impressed with Roman justice, but Caiaphas will still remember I didn’t hesitate to act swiftly when the occasion demanded.”

Procula did not speak for a moment and Pilate said, “Are you troubled, my dear?”

“I was thinking in a way I would hate to leave all this.”

“Hate to leave Judea!” Pilate said incredulously. “Are you mad, Procula?”

“It is beautiful, you know.”

“Only because it is night and everybody is waiting for an angel to fly over or something like that. By day Jerusalem is a miserable, quarrelsome city.”

“But they have such confidence in their God,” Procula protested, “and that they are His chosen people.”

“Why would any god choose a people as quarrelsome as the Jews? The whole thing is nothing but a myth, Procula. The Jews believe in their Jehovah the same way the Persians believe in Ahura-Mazda and the Egyptians in Isis and Osiris. Every country has some sort of myth about a particular god.”

“But the Jews have something much more beautiful than that,” Procula insisted. “My maid, Nerva, heard Jesus of Nazareth teaching in the temple the other day. She was telling me what He said, Pontius. And I remember that He said much the same thing when I heard Him for a few moments in Galilee. It was beautiful and sensible.”

“So are the philosophies of Plato, or Aristotle, my dear. But Plato and Aristotle were men of education and greatness of mind, not teachers from a village that even Jews themselves despise.”

“It isn’t the man, Pontius. It’s the truths He teaches. Besides, many people believe Jesus is the Son of the Jewish God.”

“That’s what’s troubling Caiaphas,” Pilate agreed. “If the Nazarene were really the Son of that God, Caiaphas would have to obey Him.” Pilate chuckled again. “It seems that Jesus doesn’t believe in thieving tax gatherers or corrupt priests. Did you hear what He called the Pharisees the other day?”

“No.”

“Whited sepulchers, full of bones and rotting flesh. To a Jew nothing could be more degrading. And I never heard a better description of old Elam.”

“Hush, Pontius,” Procula said. “They take this matter of defilement seriously. You know that.”

Pilate had turned moody again. “A few more months in this sepulcher they call Judea and I’ll be thoroughly defiled, too.”

The sound of voices singing rose on the still night air. “They are singing the hallel,” Procula said softly. When the hymn was finished, she turned to her husband, her eyes wet with tears. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

Pilate’s eyes, however, were fixed on a line of lights moving along one of the streets between the palace of the high priest and the gate leading to the Garden of Gethsemane. The line of torches was double and almost straight.

“Soldiers are marching down there,” he said. “And Romans, by the looks of those torches.”

“Who could it be?”

“I always reinforce the temple guards with Roman soldiers during the religious festivals. . . . That looks like the whole detail.”

“Are you going to investigate?”

“Caiaphas will let me know what’s happening soon enough,” Pilate said with a shrug. “If there has been disorder and he puts it down, so much the better. The people won’t blame us. If he fails, I can always send more men to take care of things.”

“But what could be the trouble? There’s no sign of disturbance in Jerusalem.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll hear about it tomorrow,” Pilate said.

As Procula stepped into her room again and closed the door against the night air, the soft notes of the hymn could still be heard over the city, drowning out the distant tramp of marching men.

Jonas was utterly weary as he plodded down through the depression of the Tyropean Valley and began to climb the sloping street of the Upper City, leading to the palace of the high priest. He had almost failed to carry out Abiathar’s commission to bring the green thorn bushes from the hillside beyond the walls. Only fear of punishment had driven him now to complete it.

Zadok had been ill that morning, having gorged himself on some sweetmeats stolen from a shop when the proprietor was not looking. No one else would have anything to do with the legless man, and since Zadok insisted that he must go into the city early the next morning, Jonas had been forced to stay at home to care for him. It had been late afternoon before Zadok had improved enough for Jonas to leave him. Then the storm had driven him to take shelter in a cave housing a winepress on the hillside, and while he sat and waited for it to subside he had pondered on Abiathar’s strange words about the crown of thorns. He could not find the answer, but the effort to solve the puzzle helped to pass the time. When finally, just before sunset, the storm stopped, Jonas had barely time before darkness fell to gather the thorns and make them into a pack to carry on his back.

On the way he made the mistake of stopping by his hovel to pour Eleazar his evening measure of grain, and found Zadok, now ravenously hungry, demanding food. In order to pacify the cripple, Jonas was forced to go out and buy food, so that it was late when he was finally able to start across the city with the thorns for Abiathar. He was almost afraid to go, knowing the captain of the temple guards would be displeased with him for being so tardy. But at the worst he probably would receive a thrashing whereas if he failed to deliver the thorns he would be thrown into the prison for stealing, since Abiathar had already given him the shekel.

To Jonas’s great pleasure, Abiathar was not at the palace. The guard on duty knew nothing of the commission to gather the thorns, and Jonas had no choice except to wait for Abiathar if he were to get the rest of his promised reward. A few guards were also waiting in the courtyard, warming themselves around a small fire they had built. When Jonas approached, they did not order him away, so the little man settled with his back against a tree in the warm glow of the fire.

Across the Brook Kedron, its waters still red from the many hundreds of lambs sacrificed on the great altar that day, Jesus and His disciples ascended the slope of the Mount of Olives to the gate of the beautiful garden called Gethsemane. As He walked, Jesus spoke to them of what was to come.

“All of you shall be offended because of Me this night,” He told them. “For it is written, ‘I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered abroad,’ but after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee.”

Peter, impulsive as ever, spoke up in protest. “Even if all men should be offended because of You,” he said, “yet I will never be offended.”

Troubled by Jesus’ recent references to His own death, Peter had been carrying a short sword hidden under his robe for the past several days. He was not accustomed to weapons other than a club or his powerful fist, but was determined to protect Jesus if trouble arose.