There were many rabbis in Judea, each with disciples yoked to his teachings. Some met in the corridors of the Temple, others in distant synagogues. Some traveled from town to town, gathering disciples as they went. It was not uncommon to see a group of young men following in their rabbi’s footsteps, hanging on his every word.
I thought none so wise as my father, who had told me to memorize the Law and live by it. I thought the Law would save me. I thought by following the commandments, and giving sacrifices, I could garner God’s favor. Hence, I was often in the Temple, bringing my tithes and offerings. The Law was my delight, and my bane. I prayed and fasted. I obeyed the commandments. And still I felt I existed on the edge of a great precipice. One slip, and I would fall into sin and be lost forever. I longed for assurance.
Or thought I did.
The stories about Jesus persisted and grew in magnitude.
“Jesus gave sight to a blind man!”
“Jesus made a paralyzed man walk in Capernaum.”
“He cast out demons!”
Some even claimed He raised a widow’s son from the dead.
The leading priests who had gone out to investigate John the Baptist met in chambers with the high priest, Caiaphas. My father, who had been a longtime friend of Annas’s family, told me later how incensed they became when it was asked if Jesus might be the Messiah.
“The Messiah will be a son of David born in Bethlehem, not some lowly carpenter from Nazareth who eats with tax collectors and prostitutes!”
Neither they, nor I, knew at the time that Jesus had in fact been born in Bethlehem of a virgin betrothed to Joseph. Both Mary and Joseph were of the tribe of Judah and descendants of the great King David. Further evidence came when Isaiah’s prophesy was fulfilled, for Mary had conceived by the Holy Spirit. These facts became known to me later and merely affirmed all I had, by then, come to believe about Jesus. To my knowledge, nothing ever changed the minds of Annas, Caiaphas, and other priests who clutched so tightly to the power they imagined they held in the palms of their hands. Annas is dead now. And Caiaphas too is long gone.
What kept me away from Jesus for so long was the company He kept. I had never heard of any rabbi eating with sinners, let alone inviting them to be His friends. I pursued discipleship with a well-respected rabbi and was not received by him until I proved myself worthy to be his student. Jesus went out and chose His disciples from among common men. I had spent my life in caution, avoiding all those things the Torah declared unclean. I did not converse with women, and I never allowed a Gentile into my house. I knew my rabbi would not hear the name of Jesus. The Nazarene was a renegade. Jesus healed lepers. Jesus taught the women who traveled with Him. He gathered the poor, the downtrodden, the defiled on hillsides and fed them. He even preached to hated Samaritans!
Who was this man? And what good did He think He was doing by shattering the traditions accumulated over the centuries?
I longed to discuss all these matters with my father, but could not. He was too ill and died in the heat of summer. I sought out one of his most respected friends, a member of the high council, Nicodemus. “Is the Nazarene a prophet or a dangerous revolutionary?”
“He speaks with great compassion and knows the Law.”
I was astounded. “You have met the man?”
“Once. Briefly.” He changed the subject and would not be drawn back to it.
I wondered how many others among the leading priests and scribes had gone out to hear Jesus preach. Every time Jesus’ name was mentioned, I listened. I learned He spoke in many synagogues and taught about the Kingdom of God. The desire to leave my careful life grew in me. I wanted to see Jesus. I wanted to hear Him preach. I wanted to know if He was the one who could answer all my questions.
Most of all, like many others, I wanted to see Him perform a miracle. Perhaps then I would know whether to take this particular prophet seriously or not.
So I went to Galilee.
The crowd in Capernaum felt bigger than any I had seen at the Temple, except during the Passover celebration, when Jews came from Mesopotamia, Cappadocia, Pontus, Asia, Phrygia, Pamphylia, Egypt, and even Rome. The people I found in Capernaum that day frightened me, for they were wretched. A blind man in rags, destitute widows, mothers holding crying children, cripples, people dragging stretchers on which lay sick relatives or friends, lepers and outcasts, all calling out and trying to push forward and get closer to Jesus. Of course, I had seen many poor and sick begging on the Temple steps, and often gave them money. But never had I seen so many! They filled the streets and spilled down to the shoreline of the Sea of Galilee.
“Jesus!” Someone shouted. “Jesus is coming!”
Everyone began to call out to Him at once. The sound of anguished, pleading, hopeful voices was deafening.
“My father is sick. . . .”
“My brother is dying. . . .”
“I’m blind. Heal me!”
“Help me, Jesus!”
“My sister is demon-possessed!”
“Jesus!”
“Jesus!”
I stretched up, but could not see over the people. My heart raced with excitement as I caught their fever of hope. Hauling myself onto the wall, I stood precariously balanced, desperate to see this man so many called a prophet, and some said was the Messiah.
And there He was, moving through the people. My heart sank.
Jesus was not like any rabbi I had ever seen. This was no gray-haired scholar with flowing white robes and scowling face. He was young—no more than a few years older than I. He wore simple, homespun garments, and had the broad shoulders, strong arms, and dark skin of a common laborer. Nothing in His appearance commended Him. Jesus looked at those around Him. He even touched some. One grasped Jesus’ hand, kissing it and weeping. Jesus moved on through the crowd as people cried out in joy. “A miracle!”
Where? I wondered. Where is the miracle?
People tried to reach over others. “Touch me, Jesus! Touch me!” His friends moved closer to Him, trying to keep the people back. The eldest—Peter—shouted for them to make room. Jesus stepped into one of the boats. Disappointment filled me. Had I come so far to have only a glimpse of Him?
Jesus sat in the bow as His disciples rowed. They had not gone far when they dropped anchor. Jesus spoke from there, and the crowd grew quiet. They sat and listened as His calm voice carried across the water.
I cannot tell you all that Jesus said that day, or His exact words, but His teaching caused great turmoil within me. He said the heart of the Law was mercy; I had always thought it was judgment. He spoke of loving our enemies, but I could not believe He meant the Romans who had brought idols into the land. He said not to worry about the future, for each day had trouble enough. I worried all the time about keeping the Law. I worried that I would not live up to my father’s expectations. I worried from morning to night about a hundred inconsequential things. Jesus warned us against false prophets, while the scribes and Pharisees looked upon Him as one.
Jesus’ voice was deep and flowed like many waters. My heart trembled at the sound of it. Even now after so many years, I wait to hear His voice again.
When He finished speaking, the people rose and cried out, not for more of His wisdom, but demanding miracles. They wanted healing! They wanted bread! They wanted an end to Roman domination!
“Be our king!”
Peter raised the sail. Andrew drew up the anchor. People waded into the water, but the wind had already moved the boat well away from shore.
I wanted to cry out, too; not for bread, of which I had plenty, nor for healing, of which I had no need, but for His interpretation of the Law. His words had filled me with more questions than those that had brought me to Galilee. From boyhood, I had listened to scribes and religious leaders. Never had a man spoken with authority like the carpenter from Nazareth.
When people ran along the shore, I gathered my robes, shed my dignity, and ran with them. The boat turned and sailed toward the distant sh
ore. Others kept running, intending to reach the other side of the lake before He did.
Weary, out of breath, I sat, arms resting on my raised knees, and watched Jesus sail away, taking my hope with Him.
Jesus traveled from town to town. He spoke in the synagogues. He spoke to growing crowds on hillsides. He taught through stories the common people understood better than I, stories about soil, seeds, wheat and weeds, hidden treasure in a field, fishing nets, things unfamiliar to someone who had grown up in Jerusalem. People argued over Him constantly. Some said He was from heaven; others refused to believe He was even a prophet. Scribes and Pharisees demanded a miraculous sign, and Jesus refused.
“Only an evil and adulterous generation would demand a miraculous sign; but the only sign I will give them is the sign of the prophet Jonah.”
But what did that mean?
Many disciples left Jesus, some out of disappointment, others because they could not understand or believe.
I left out of fear of what the religious leaders might do if they saw me among Jesus’ followers. I had my reputation to protect.
“Did you find the Messiah?” My rabbi mocked me.
“No,” I said, and soon after left him.
Jesus came to Jerusalem and taught in the Temple, much to the ire of the scribes and Pharisees. They questioned Him, and he confounded them with His answers. They set traps; He sprang them. They asked trick questions about the Law, and He exposed their deceit, challenged their knowledge of the Torah, and said they did not serve God, but their father, the devil.
The city was alive with excitement. Everyone was talking about Jesus.
And then, He was gone again, out in the countryside and villages among the people. He went as far as Caesarea Philippi with its idols and the Gates of Hell, where Gentiles believed demons passed in and out of the world. He traveled through the Ten Towns and stayed in Samaria. And though I did not follow Him, I pondered His words. “The Kingdom of Heaven is like a merchant on the lookout for choice pearls. When he discovered a pearl of great value, he sold everything he owned, and bought it!” What was this pearl? What did I have to sell to buy it?
As the Law required, He returned to Jerusalem three times each year, for the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the Festival of Harvest, and the Festival of Shelters. And each time Jesus came with His offerings to God, the priests grew more hostile, more determined to turn the people against Him. They even became allies with those they despised, the Herodians, who asked questions that could have caused Him to come into conflict with Roman law.
“Tell us—is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”
In response, Jesus asked for a coin. When given a denarius, He asked the Herodian scribes whose picture and title were on it. Caesar’s, of course. “Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and give to God what belongs to God.”
Sadducees questioned Him on the resurrection of the dead, and Jesus said they were mistaken in their understanding of Scripture. “God said to Moses, ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ So He is the God of the living, not the dead.”
His words astonished me. All Jews knew the bones of the patriarchs lay in the cave of Machpelah near Hebron. And yet, they lived? What He said confused me more than enlightened me. The harder I tried to understand what I had learned, the more confused I became.
The multitudes grumbled. Some said He was a good man; others said He led the people astray. The priests wanted Him seized, but no one dared lay hands on Him. He and His disciples camped on the Mount of Olives, but I didn’t go there, afraid of what others would say if I was seen. So I waited, knowing Jesus would come early to the Temple.
I was there when some scribes and Pharisees dragged a half-clad woman before Him. “Teacher,” they said, though I knew the title rankled them, “this woman was caught in adultery, in the very act. The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?” The trembling woman covered herself as best she could. She tucked her legs beneath her and covered her head with her arms. Men stared, whispering, for she was beautiful. Some sniggered. I moved behind a column and watched, sickened. I had seen her that morning with one of the scribes.
Jesus stooped and wrote on the ground. Did He write that the Law also prescribed the man who shared her bed be stoned with her? I could not see. When Jesus straightened, I held my breath, for the Law was clear. The woman must die. If He told them to let her go, He would break the Mosaic law, and they would have cause to accuse Him. If He said to stone her, He usurped the power of Rome, for only the governor could order execution.
“Let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone.” He stooped and wrote again.
No one dared lift a stone, for only God is sinless. I stayed behind a pillar to see what Jesus would do. Next He looked at the woman. “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?”
“No, Lord.” Tears streaked down her face.
“Neither do I. Go your way. From now on, sin no more.”
Though I was touched by His mercy, I wondered. What of the Law?
I did not follow Him then, though I drank in His words. Even when many of the leading priests called Him a false prophet, despising and rejecting Him, He drew me with His teaching.
“A Nazarene carpenter as the Messiah of God! It is blasphemy even to suggest it!”
None of us—not even his closest friends—guessed what Jesus had meant when He said, “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will understand that I Am He.”
Near the end of the week, with trepidation, yet full of hope, I went to Jesus. I had met Peter and Andrew and Matthew. I knew John, and he encouraged me: “Speak to the Master.” I dared not share my deepest hope with John: to become a disciple, to be worthy enough to travel with Him.
Surely, all my training, all my hard work and self-sacrifice, had prepared me to be counted among His disciples. I thought I could help Him. I had connections, after all. I wanted Jesus to know how hard I had worked all my life to keep the Law. When He knew these things, I expected Him to give me the assurance I wanted. I had much to offer Him. He would welcome me. Or so I thought.
I was a fool!
I will never forget Jesus’ eyes as He answered my questions.
I had sought His approval; He exposed my pride and self-deceit. I had hoped to become one of His disciples; He told me what I must give up to become complete. He gave me all the proof I needed to confirm He was the Messiah. He saw into the heart of me, the hidden secrets even I had not suspected were there.
And then Jesus said what I had longed to hear. “Come, follow Me.”
I could not answer.
Jesus waited, His eyes filled with love.
He waited.
God waited and I said nothing!
Oh, I believed in Him. I did not understand all He said, but I knew Jesus was the Messiah.
And still, I walked away. I went back to all I knew, back to the life that left me empty.
Months passed. How I suffered, my mind tortured by thoughts of Sheol! When I went up the steps of the Temple, I put coins in the hands of beggars, and cringed inwardly. I knew the truth. I gave not for their sake, but my own. A blessing—that’s what I was after! Another mark in my favor, a deed to bring me closer to the assurance of hope and better things to come. For me.
What I had viewed as blessing and God’s favor had turned out to be a curse testing my soul. And I had failed, for I had no conviction to give up what gave me honor and position and pleasure. Again and again, I failed. Day after day, week after week, month after month.
I wished I had never heard the name of Jesus! Rather than ease the restlessness of my soul, His words scourged my conscience and tore at my heart. He turned the foundations of my life into rubble.
Passover approached. Jews poured into Jerusalem. I heard Jesus had ridden the colt of a donkey up the road lined by people waving palm fronds and singing, “Praise God for the Son of David! Blessings on the one who comes in the name of th
e Lord! Praise God in highest heaven!”
Jesus, the Messiah, had come.
I didn’t go out to see Him.
When He entered the Temple, He took a whip and drove out the money changers and merchants who filled the court that should have been left open for Gentiles seeking God. He cried out against those who had made His Father’s house of prayer into a robbers’ den. People scattered before His wrath.
I wasn’t there. I heard about it later.
He taught in the Temple every day. His parables exposed the hypocrisy of the religious leaders, fanning their hatred while they pretended not to understand. They twisted His words, trying to use them against Him. They oppressed those who loved Him, even threatening a poor cripple with expulsion from the Temple because he carried his mat after Jesus healed him on the Sabbath.
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!”
I trembled when I heard Him. I hid at His approach.
“Everything you do is for show! On your arms you wear extra wide prayer boxes with Scripture verses inside, and you wear robes with extra long tassels. And you love to sit at the head of the table at banquets and in the seats of honor in the synagogues! Woe to you!” His voice thundered and echoed as He strode the corridors of the Temple. “You shamelessly cheat widows out of their property and then pretend to be pious by making long prayers in public.”
Scribes shouted against Him, but they could not drown out the truth that poured from His mouth. He indicted the priests, who were to be shepherds of God’s people and behaved, instead, like a pack of wolves devouring the flock.
“You take a convert and make him twice the child of hell you yourselves are! Blind guides! Fools! You are careful to tithe even the tiniest income from your herb gardens, but you ignore the more important aspects of the law—justice, mercy, and faith.”
The walls of the Temple reverberated at the sound of His voice. The voices of those He confronted sounded as nothing before His wrath. I shook with fear.