The Testimonium (20 page)

Isabella digested that a moment, and then spoke again. “Why is it so important whether or not Jesus actually rose from the dead? I mean, I was raised in the church like about every other Italian girl, and I have read the gospels and heard the homilies. Many of the teachings of Jesus recorded in the Scriptures are quite beautiful and express very high moral and ethical standards. But would they be any less so if it turned out that Jesus is still in his grave? Plato and Confucius died, but their teachings are still foundational to Western and Eastern intellectual thought.”

Josh nodded. “There is an enormous difference, though, between the teachings of Jesus and those of every other philosopher in the history of the world,” he said. “Plato, Aristotle, Buddha, Seneca, Thomas Aquinas, even Muhammad—all of them spoke as mere mortals. They never claimed to be anything but inspired teachers or enlightened individuals. Even Muhammad never claimed to be anything more than God’s prophet. But Jesus of Nazareth was different. He actually claimed to be the Son of God—and more than that, he claimed that He and God were One. His teachings were entirely rooted in this concept of his own uniqueness, and if you take out His claim of divinity, then much of what He taught makes no sense at all.”

“Did He really claim to be the Son of God,” asked Isabella, “or was that claim retroactively applied to Him by those who came later? I have read the works of many modern scholars who say that Christ was deified long after His death, and that He Himself never made any claim to divinity.”

Josh nodded. “Of course modern scholars want to say that, especially in America!” he said. “You must remember, my country still has more practicing Christians than any nation in the Western world. You don’t win an audience in America by bad-mouthing Jesus! Or at least, you couldn’t until very recently. And if you acknowledge that the Gospels accurately record the words of Jesus, then you have to either dismiss Him as an outright fraud or a delusional lunatic in order to reject His claim to divinity. So the easy way out, if you don’t want to face the truth of who He was, is to say that the Gospels are a pastiche of myth and legend, built up around a historical figure, that transformed him from a revolutionary religious teacher to an actual deity.”

“But doesn’t that make more sense than God becoming a carpenter, of all things?” she asked. “After all, the Gospels weren’t written down till over fifty years after the Crucifixion. A lot of stuff could be made up in that interval of time.”

“If those are the correct dates, you might be right—although not necessarily, even then,” said Josh. “However, modern scholarship has pushed the dates of the Gospels back considerably. For example, look at the books of Luke and Acts. Both by the same author, and written a short time apart—virtually every Bible scholar on earth agrees on that. But Acts ends with Paul under house arrest in Rome, awaiting trial before Caesar. It never tells us how the trial came out, if Paul was condemned or freed, and then we have Paul’s pastoral letters which seem to indicate that he was released and made one last missionary journey before the Great Fire in 66 AD. That journey should be chronicled in Acts—but it isn’t. I’ve always thought that the most logical explanation is that Luke wrote his Gospel, and the book of Acts, before Paul’s first trial in Rome, as a defense brief of sorts. That would mean that both of those works were completed no later than 62 AD, less than thirty years after the crucifixion. And since the similarities in language lead most scholars to believe that Luke used both Matthew and Mark as sources for his account, then both those Gospels were in existence by then as well! That leaves only John as a later account, and even the early Church agreed that John wrote his Gospel from Ephesus when he was in his nineties, sixty years after the time of Christ and thirty years after the three Synoptic Gospels!”

“I’d never thought about it that way,” said Isabella. “But still, thirty years is a considerable gap of time.”

“It is, but do you think it is long enough to make up a claim as drastic as saying that a crucified rabbi, who died in disgrace, was actually the resurrected Son of God? And don’t forget, Paul wrote Galatians around 48 AD or so, only fifteen years after the crucifixion, and it contains numerous references to Jesus as the Risen Lord of Life. Then there is the account in I Corinthians 15, where Paul recites a whole list of witnesses who actually saw Jesus after the Resurrection, and makes reference to having been taught that list right after he became a Christian—which was only five years or so after the event!”

She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “OK, OK!” she laughed. “So the Gospels accurately record that the early Church believed in the Resurrection. That doesn’t mean it actually happened!”

“But if it didn’t happen, then where did that belief come from?” asked Josh.

“Someone could have moved the body,” answered Isabella.

“That wouldn’t account for the resurrection appearances,” Josh replied.

“Maybe Jesus wasn’t dead when they placed Him in the tomb,” she mused. “It could be that He revived and escaped and they mistook it for a resurrection from the dead!”

“That theory has been around for a while,” said Josh. “But it has so many holes in it that it’s hardly worth consideration!”

“Like what?” she asked.

“First of all, the physical trauma Jesus endured,” Josh replied. “He was beaten, scourged, and nailed to a wooden cross, where He hung suspended by the weight of His arms for six hours, slowly pulling His shoulders out of socket and filling His lungs with fluid. And let’s not forget John’s account—he says that when the soldiers came to Jesus’ cross, they didn’t break His legs because He was already dead—but they did skewer Him with a spear! John felt that detail was important enough that he—or maybe the scribe who he was dictating to—immediately afterward added
: ‘And he who has seen has born witness, and we know that his witness is true; and he knows that he is telling the truth, that you also might believe.’
Now, suppose, despite all that, that somehow Jesus’ heart was still beating when they took Him down from the cross. Somehow the fact that he was alive had to have escaped their notice, because they immediately took Him, wrapped Him in cloths soaked in aromatic spices, laid Him on a stone slab, and sealed Him in a tomb.” Josh paused a moment. “So tell me, Dr. Sforza—” He raised his eyebrows as he gazed at her. “What happens to someone suffering from severe blood loss, shock, and trauma when you wrap him in damp, wet cloths and lay him on a cold stone slab?”

“I am guessing that he would develop severe hypothermia, slip further into shock and unconsciousness, and die?” she guessed.

“Bingo!” Josh said. “But let’s suppose for a minute that, somehow, Jesus did survive, struggled out of his wrappings, pushed aside the stone, bypassed the guards posted over the tomb, and got away. He would be exhausted, near death, unable to use his hands or feet due to His injuries, and bleeding internally from the spear wound. Even if His disciples found him and somehow nursed Him back to health—well, I think it was C.S. Lewis who said something to the effect that: ‘Could such a pathetic creature, weak, emaciated, and in desperate need of medical attention, be mistaken by anyone for the risen and triumphant Lord of Life?’”

Isabella was a bit overwhelmed by the force of his argument. Her scientific, rational side inherently struggled to reject any notion of a supernatural being breaking into human history. But at the same time, Josh made a compelling argument that such an event had actually happened some two thousand years before! She thought of another line of defense.

“But what if the disciples just made the whole thing up?” she said. “Suppose they really did write the Gospels, but the whole thing was just a fraud that got out of hand?”

“That’s the last line of defense for the skeptic,” Josh said. “And, there is a certain logic to it. But first of all, consider that the Apostles valued truth above all. They praised it and encouraged it among all their followers. They would have to be absolutely amoral to proclaim truthfulness so loudly while knowingly basing their whole new faith on a lie. And think about this—every account we have indicates that all of the early disciples except John were martyred for their faith—and even he was beaten on several occasions, and then exiled to Patmos for years. The apostles willingly went to their deaths proclaiming their faith in the risen Christ and believing He would raise them up again. If there is one thing that history demonstrates, Isabella, it is that men will die for a lie—IF they believe it to be the truth. But who on earth would cheerfully die for a lie, KNOWING that it was a lie?”

“It does seem unlikely,” she said.

“And one more thing,” he said. “Even if the apostles lied, and made up the story of the Resurrection—what about good old Pilate, and the High Priest Caiaphas, and all the others who conspired to put Jesus to death? Don’t you think they would have produced the body to scotch the story of the Resurrection as soon as it was proclaimed?”

“Well, you have made one thing very clear,” said Isabella. “Two, actually.”

“What would those things be?” asked Josh.

“You are certainly convinced by the evidence,” she said. “And, you have done your homework on the subject. Your knowledge and eloquence are most impressive!”

“But you’re not buying it?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Let’s just say you have given me some things to think about,” she answered. By now they were at the mountaintop.

Ibrahim al-Ghazi walked over from the tent where the security guards slept. “Dr. Sforza,” he said, “do you mind if I walk into town during my off shift tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Is there something you need that one of the team could get for you, or is it something you need to tend to yourself?”

“Well, actually,” the young Arab-Italian said, “I would like to go to mosque. I am not the most observant Muslim in the world, but my mother pesters me if I don’t go at least once a month!”

Sforza laughed. “I think my mother has despaired of ever getting me to Mass again,” she said. “But by all means, go ahead. Just remember, no loose talk about what is going on up here!”

“No worries,” he replied. “I love archeology, and I think that your discoveries here are amazing!” He ambled back to his tent, and Josh and Isabella stepped into the lab and took a long look at the two ancient scrolls sitting in the rehydration tanks.

“We have barely talked about the will of Augustus,” said Isabella.

“You’re right,” Josh said. “But honestly, that’s hardly surprising. After all, we know most of what is in it. Several ancient histories have cited some of its terms. And, to be honest, even if we found that what Suetonius wrote about the will was completely false, it would only be of interest to professional historians. The Pilate scroll, on the other hand, has the potential to affect the lives of billions of people worldwide!”

“Very true,” she said. “But I am tired of talking about dusty old documents. I want to know more about you, Doctor Parker.”

Josh looked at her, surprised. “What would you like to know?” he asked.

“I guess, mainly,” she said with some hesitation—“Why isn’t there a Mrs. Doctor Parker?”

Josh shrugged his shoulders. “I just never met the right person, I guess,” he said. “I dated some in high school, but in college the whole social scene was such a turn-off, and I was so buried in my studies, and then in my work, that I just haven’t really had time to go looking for someone. But, I suppose if someone ever comes knocking, they will find me at home,” he added. That was as close as he would come to admitting he was fascinated with this beautiful Italian scientist.

She looked at him with amusement. “You are charming in the most awkward way!” she laughed. “I am going to commandeer this couch in the lab for my bed, so to avoid gossip; I suggest you take one of the tents for the night.”

He looked at his watch. It was already well past 10 PM, and the ups and downs of the day had left him completely drained. “I am completely worn out,” he said. “I think I will bunk down too.”

She gave him an affectionate hug, and he stepped outside into the cool Mediterranean night. A million stars blazed overhead, and the moon was just cresting the eastern horizon. He walked over to the ancient chamber that had occupied their whole week. With all the artifacts removed, there was no need to cover it at night any more. In the dim light, it seemed somewhat forlorn, bereft of its secrets and desolate. He stepped inside and closed his eyes, trying to imagine the Emperor Tiberius huddled over the small table by the light of an oil lamp, writing letters that dictated the fate of a quarter of the world’s population. Then he went to his tent and went to sleep.

By this time, your Excellency, I was rapidly running out of options. I pulled Jesus back into the Praetorium and looked at him in frustration. Those remarkable eyes stared into mine through the blood, bruises, and grime without a trace of fear, which began to anger me. “Where are you really from?” I demanded. He gave no answer. “Why will you not speak to me?” I shouted. “Don’t you know that I have the authority to crucify you, or to set you free?”

He answered softly, “You would have no authority over me at all except for that which is given you from Heaven,” he said. “You do not understand what you are doing; therefore the ones who delivered me up to you have the greater guilt.”

Caesar, I am not a superstitious man, and I am certainly no coward. But I will tell you in confidence that his words shook me to the core. I felt as if I was the one on trial, and that this strange figure before me had somehow found me wanting. I led him back out before the mob. They were still screaming for the Galilean’s blood.

“Behold, I bring him forth to tell you that I find no guilt in him!” I cried for the last time.

Then the old High Priest, Annas, lifted his voice to be heard. “If you release this man, you are no friend of Caesar! Everyone who proclaims Himself a King is Caesar’s enemy!” The threat was very clear—he would report me to you unless I did his bidding.

Josh slept soundly, without dreams or interruptions, despite the hard ground beneath his sleeping bag. Isabella had a more difficult time getting comfortable on the narrow couch, but finally dozed off after midnight. They both woke up around 6 AM and brewed some coffee after changing clothes and brushing their teeth. The rest of the team arrived around 7 AM, and Isabella talked to them over breakfast.