CHAPTER XXIII

 

Shades of magenta and gold touched the western sky, interspersed with wisps of purple clouds. A light breeze stirred as Alysia walked the short distance to Lazarus’ house. She was strangely excited…knowing that Paulus would be there made everything seem different, somehow. It would be difficult to act as if she didn’t know him.

She knocked on the door, waiting nervously until it opened, and Martha took her past the courtyard and up the outer stairs to the roof. She quickly scanned those who were present and saw that Paulus had not yet arrived. There were several residents of the town who she knew to be believers, among them Simon, the former leper. Peter was there, with Andrew and James. She was introduced to a man named Stephen. She had heard of him; he was a Hellenistic Jew, as everyone believed her to be. Mary sat at a small table with a pen and sheets of papyrus, as if she intended to make a written record of the meeting.

Lazarus nodded and smiled a greeting, and went on talking in low tones with the other men. She had told him that Paulus was coming, that he would not be dressed as a soldier and there was nothing to fear from him. (She could only hope it was true, considering the seriousness with which he took his duty!) Lazarus, she thought, must have guessed the truth about them, after seeing Paulus and the strong resemblance he bore to her daughter. Yet he had never said or implied anything to cause her embarrassment.

Burning lamps sat on top of the low wall surrounding the rooftop, and beneath the gaily-colored awning were several comfortable cushions. Alysia sat down on one of them, next to Mary, who smiled and asked, “Judith has Rachel this evening?”

“Yes. What are you writing, Mary?”

“It’s a chronicle of the things Jesus said and did. It will be in Aramaic, of course. I thought that, when you have time, you could make a copy in Greek.”

Alysia stopped in mid-nod as she saw Paulus come up the stairs onto the roof. He wore a rust-colored robe and might have been Greek, Roman, or even Galilean…many of whom had fair hair and blue eyes. He had let his hair and beard grow; if she didn’t know him well she might not have recognized him herself. Lazarus went immediately to meet him, and Paulus responded in perfect Aramaic.

Lazarus turned to the others. “This is Paulus, a friend from Jerusalem.”

After a brief exchange of greetings she saw Peter eye Paulus a little skeptically, as if he sensed something about him, or as if he might have seen him before. Lazarus caught Peter’s eye and nodded a little. Peter raised his black eyebrows, but said nothing as Paulus took the seat shown him by Lazarus. His eyes met Alysia’s briefly, then each sought to avoid the other’s gaze.

All at once, everyone became quiet and attentive. Peter stood before them, outlined against the setting sun.

“I have called this meeting for one purpose. All, or most of you, were close to Jesus while he was here. You ate with him, talked with him, walked throughout the country with him. It is important for each of you to know everything that has happened since we entered Jerusalem for the Passover. Some of you…Andrew and Lazarus and James…already know most of it. They are here to confirm what I am going to tell you. Some may find it difficult to believe.” His glance fell on Paulus, who returned his look unwaveringly.

Alysia was noticing the change in Peter. His former brashness had become a singular boldness. An air of almost arrogance had been replaced by a quiet confidence. It seemed that even the contours of his face had altered, becoming sharper and more pronounced, so that he had the stern, implacable countenance of a rock. But his eyes were kind in spite of their wariness, displaying a compassion and patience in which he’d been found lacking, until now.

Paulus made a conscious effort to dismiss Alysia from his thoughts. It was difficult, for he’d thought of little else for the past two weeks but her, and the child she had tried to keep a secret from him. This had even crowded out his thoughts of the Nazarene. But now, as he listened to Peter, his own problems began to recede and his interest heightened, until he was no longer aware of anything but the story unfolding before him. The words penetrated into his deepest being; it seemed that a ray of light had somehow pierced a crevice of his soul and was shining in, exploring…

“That night he tried to warn us of what was to come. He said that we would all be scattered, that one of us would betray him, and that I…before morning came…would deny three times that I even knew him.” Peter stopped then, and looked away for a moment. His voice grew a bit gruffer. “Of course, I swore it would never happen…I was ready, I said, to die for him.

“We—that is, eleven of us—went to Gethsemane, the place across from the valley. Part of it is a public garden, and there’s an olive grove there, where we often went at night when he wanted to be alone. And he…began to pray. But, not as we had ever seen him pray before. He seemed to be in great anguish. There was a rock there, and sometimes he knelt beside it. Sometimes he lay prostrate on the ground. He would come to us and ask us to pray, but we were awed, and almost horrified…we hardly knew what to pray for. There was a sense of great oppression. I cannot describe it. We waited for so long that we finally fell asleep.

“Then we heard voices shouting. We woke to see the place filled with the Temple guards, armed with spears and cudgels, carrying torches. Everything was lit with a red glow. And Judas was there in the midst of them. Judas, the betrayer.”

There was utter silence for a moment; Peter’s listeners found themselves leaning slightly forward. He went on, steadily. “The signal was, we discovered later, that Judas would give the kiss of greeting to the man they were to arrest. There was so much confusion and moving around…there were so many of us. When he did so, Jesus said something to him—I didn’t hear the words, but I think John did. John could add much to this…I wish he were here. But, even after Judas identified Jesus, they made no move to arrest him. They just stood there.

“Jesus asked them who they were looking for. They said, Jesus of Nazareth. He answered that he was that man. But still they made no move toward him; some of them even fell to the ground, as if in awe of him.”

Peter looked intently at the faces before him. “I cannot explain this, except to say that there was something about Jesus at that moment…so majestic, and God-like, that even we who knew him were overwhelmed. Again, he asked them who they were looking for, and again they answered, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus said, ‘I told you that I am he. If it’s me you’re seeking, let these others go.’

“When Jesus said that, something happened to me and I became like a wild man. James and I both had swords with us. I struck out at the man closest to Jesus and cut off his ear. Whether I meant to kill him or not I cannot say, even to this day. Jesus put out his hand to stop me and said, with great emotion, ‘Put away your sword. Shall I not drink the cup my Father has given me?’ There was a great deal of pushing and shouting around us, and during the commotion Jesus touched the man’s ear, and healed it.

“By then we were surrounded by the guards. But they only took Jesus. They bound him and led him away. We all stood for a while in the dark, trying to think what to do. Judas had already left us…he went and tried to give the money back to the priests, the money they had given him to lead them to Jesus. He said that he had…betrayed innocent blood. But the priests wouldn’t take it. He went out and hanged himself from a tree, though we didn’t know all this until much later. The branch had broken off the tree and the body fell down into a ravine.”

“Why, Peter?” called out an old man, who had tears rolling down his face. “Why did Judas betray him?”

The disciple shook his head. “Some say greed. Some say he believed Jesus was going to lead a rebellion against the Romans and was trying to force him to take a stand. Some say he was possessed by Satan. But only Judas really knows. And Jesus.”

Dark had fallen and now Peter stood against a backdrop of stars, the lamps flaring and smoking around him. His voice thickened and he spoke slowly, as if reluctant to go on.

“Finally, John and I began to follow Jesus…at a distance. The initial hearing was held at the house of Annas, the former High Priest. Little was accomplished there. I’m sure I need not tell you that so many laws were broken by the Sanhedrin during these trials that it was all a complete travesty…it was the only way they could deal with an innocent man! From there they took him to Caiaphas’ house. Only certain people were admitted, and John was one of them. Caiaphas knows him and his family. But I don’t believe the High Priest knew John was there; a servant let him in. I stayed in the courtyard. There was a fire, and several people around it.

“John said that the interrogation was very severe. That they beat Jesus, and spat on him, and treated him with the utmost contempt. One of the servants, a young woman, accused me of being one of his disciples. All I could think of was being dragged in there and treated the same way. I said…I didn’t know him.”

Someone said, “Oh,” in a sympathetic way, but Peter seemed not to hear.

“Another woman began talking about seeing me with Jesus, and so one of the men accused me. I denied knowing him—again. Then, a man who turned out to be a relative of the man whose ear I cut off, looked at me and said, ‘I know I saw you in the garden with him.’” And I cursed. I swore, ‘I do not know the man! ’ At that exact moment, two things happened. A rooster crowd, for it was almost morning, and they pushed Jesus out onto the courtyard. He looked directly at me.”

Peter stopped. He turned slowly and sat down on the wall, looking at the faces around him. “I need not tell you of my remorse. I need not tell you how bitterly I wept. I hid the rest of the day, hid and wept like a child.” He paused and his eyes seemed to blaze in the lamplight. “I will never deny him again.”

Lazarus stood and laid his hand briefly on Peter’s shoulder. He took up the story.

“Andrew came to the house where my sisters and I were staying and told me Jesus had been arrested. I arrived at Caiaphas’ house after the first interrogation. They took Jesus down to a room beneath the house and left him tied there while certain members of the Sanhedrin discussed what they would do…behind closed doors. None of us heard anything, but I don’t think they were quite prepared. They hadn’t wanted to do this during the Passover, but Judas had gone to them and made his offer.

“At last they brought Jesus back out, in chains this time; they really believed he was going to elude them, as he had in the past. They took him to the Antonia Fortress, to be sentenced by Pontius Pilate. They had not the authority to condemn him to death. But Pilate was a bit more stubborn than they expected. He tried to put it off on Herod, but Herod couldn’t get Jesus to say anything at all, and sent him back to Pilate. The prefect wanted to release him.”

Paulus sat back a little; Lazarus had thrown the barest glance in his direction. Lazarus spoke lower than Peter and with less intensity, yet with the same calm assurance.

“Pilate had Jesus scourged. The Romans dressed him like a king and mocked him. All the time he said not a word of rebuke. He only answered the questions Pilate put to him. Again, John was there. But the prefect gave in to the priests, and the crowd. They crucified him between two others.”

Here Lazarus seemed overcome by emotion; he stopped for a long moment. Many of his listeners were wiping tears away.

“He spoke several times from the cross. You know the things he said, for they have been repeated many times. Mary, you know…write them. You know of the darkness, and the quaking of the earth as he died. And he was dead , my dear friends. A Roman lance thrust into his side made certain of it. And then, two men who were secret followers, Joseph and Nicodemus, came forward to help bury him. They purchased linen and spices to prepare his body. Joseph offered the use of his own tomb.”

Now Paulus leaned forward again. His heart began to pound in his head and in his ears, so that he had to strain to hear.

“As they were doing this, and discussing arrangements, so much time elapsed that it was almost the beginning of the Passover Sabbath. I think everyone here knows that, according to our law, the handling of dead bodies is not permitted on the Sabbath. Someone, an officer, ordered the soldiers to help us get the body off the cross. We carried him to the tomb, in the garden near Joseph’s house. We wrapped him in the linen cloth and put the few spices they had been able to buy around his body, and left him there. The entrance was then sealed and guarded by the Romans.

“After three days, Mary of Magdala and some other women went to the tomb with more spices, intending to complete the burial. But they found the tomb empty, and the guards nowhere in sight. Mary ran to tell the disciples, but they didn’t believe her. At last, Peter and John went to the tomb, and found it as the women had said.

“When I heard about it, I went to the house where the disciples were staying, and I was there when Jesus appeared to them that evening. At first we were afraid, thinking he was a ghost. But he wasn’t a ghost. He let us touch him, he spoke to us and reassured us.”

Peter nodded. “It is hard to believe. But we saw him. He was seen here in Bethany. He was seen that very day on the road to Emmaus. He has been seen in many places, by many people. And most of you saw him on the day he left us, on the Mount of Olives, not far from here. You heard what he said; you saw him taken up by what appeared to be a cloud. And you heard the two men, angels, say that he would return in just the same manner.”

It was over. No one said anything for a long time. Looking from one person to another, Paulus saw that his was the only pair of dry eyes. He alone remained bereft of something wonderful and glowing that shone from the faces around him. Whatever questions he had wanted to ask were forgotten. Any questioning at all would have seemed incongruous in this atmosphere of reverence and quiet elation.

He frowned a little, still looking from person to person. Many were nodding at Lazarus’ words. The man named Stephen was looking up beyond the edge of the awning into the night sky, and he seemed apart from them all, as though he understood something even Peter and Lazarus had not yet grasped. Alysia, too, brushed at her tears; she, too, wore an expression of serenity and of some ineffable knowledge.

“I really don’t know her at all,” he thought…and a vast loneliness engulfed him.

The others began talking in low voices. It seemed clear to him that he did not belong. He quickly said something to Lazarus and took his leave. Later, he would have no memory of the walk back to Jerusalem.

Then he remembered something…something that Peter had said, and it burned within him like an inner fire that didn’t consume, but instead cleansed and comforted. Peter had repeated Jesus’ words: “Put away your sword.” For the first time since that terrible day, Paulus felt an almost insupportable burden begin to shift away. He had not imagined those words. In some inexplicable way, the Nazarene had imparted that same message to him.

Somehow it was not meant that he should intervene in the events of that day. But if that were true, if there were indeed some “divine” plan being carried out, he would have to admit the existence of God. And if he went that far, he might as well admit that the Nazarene had exhibited all the qualifications a god might have…except that Paulus knew he was human.

Paulus had seen him bruised and bleeding, torn literally to shreds and nailed to a cross.

He had seen him die.

 

* * * *

 

Not long afterward all the guests departed, except for the three disciples. Martha, yawning, went down the steps to enter the house. Alysia remained sitting next to Mary, who continued to write, her brow furrowed with concentration. The men had gathered close by and were talking.

“Who was that man, the one called Paulus?” Peter asked, and now they had Alysia’s full attention. “You called him a friend, Lazarus. Yet he’s not one of us.”

“I know him,” Lazarus replied, without hesitation. “I think he will be one of us, someday. Perhaps soon rather than late.”

“He seemed troubled,” said Andrew. “How do you know you can trust him?”

“What does it matter who we can trust?” said Lazarus mildly. “We need only trust God.”

Peter looked thoughtful. “He had the bearing of a soldier. He is a Roman, isn’t he? He could have arrested us all. Just to satisfy my curiosity, why did you bring him here?”

“He asked to come,” Lazarus answered. “And there were things he needed to hear.”