Fifteen Minutes: A Novel (42 page)

On the walk down the street, James was seized with a mix of anger and sorrow, distressed that his relationship with Jesus had come to this. When they were younger, James and Jesus had been the best friends two brothers could be. James looked up to Jesus in every area of life. When Jesus studied the Scriptures, James studied them, too. When Jesus told a funny story, James was the first to laugh. They went everywhere together. No better big brother anywhere, that’s what James grew up thinking.

As far as he was concerned, Jesus could walk on water.

But as soon as Jesus left the carpenter’s shop, he began to think he really could. He even told people he’d done just that—walked
across the Sea of Galilee in the middle of the storm. On top of the water.

James coughed again. At first he figured it was just a stage, a strange season in his brother’s life. Jesus would come to his senses, come home, and they could go on being a family. Making memories and sharing meals. James and his best friend, Jesus. His big brother.

But Jesus continued the madness, spinning the insanity until now it was out of control. Jesus made his way throughout the entire region, doing some sort of magic nonsense and causing people to believe he was the Messiah. The Messiah, of all things!

It had been a year since he and Jesus had laughed together, shared a conversation, just the two of them. James had tried to make light of the situation. “Come on, Jesus, we miss you back home. Don’t you think it’s time to stop the traveling?” He gave Jesus a light slap on the shoulder. “I need you, brother. You and me, like it used to be.”

But Jesus only looked at him—that same unconditional love he’d always had for James—and a smile tugged at his lips. “I have to go. It’s what my Father has called me to do.” His smile fell off a little. “It’s my calling. Please, James . . . try to understand.”

Now, though, Jesus had forgotten him. What sort of calling would take him away from the people he loved most? James wiped the dust from his mouth as they reached the house. “Let us through . . . we’re his family!” James used his loudest voice. “We need a word with Jesus. Please get out of the way.”

They reached the front door and the master of the house was called in. “Yes,” He looked bewildered. “You want to talk to Jesus?”

“We do.” James took the lead. He stuck his chest out. “We
are his family. Tell him that his mother and brothers have come.”

The man was gone for less than two minutes. When he returned, he shook his head. “Jesus says he cannot talk. He said his mother and brothers are those who . . . hear his word and obey it.”

James felt his face grow hot and the ground shift beneath his feet. All around them, people stared. A few even snickered. Jesus had completely and utterly rejected them, his very own family. James hesitated, but only for a minute. The man wasn’t going to let them through. Even if he did, Jesus had basically just disowned them.

They left in shame, the whispers and stares of half of Nazareth following them all the way back to James’s house. Not until Jesus left town again did James feel good about leaving his house. Even then there was talk. Rumor had it Jesus had gone so far as to say only in his hometown was a prophet without honor.

Of all the nerve.

For the most part James was angry, an anger that stayed and brewed within him through summer and into fall, that year and the next. But his anger was surpassed only by his sorrow. He never could’ve imagined Jesus—the one who loved him the most—doing this to him, to their family.

Not until Passover that year did James catch wind that things weren’t going so well for Jesus. It was their mother who convinced them that maybe it was time for reconciliation. “We’re going to Jerusalem,” she told them. “If we can see him, we should. I love him and I miss him. I know you all do, too.” She paused, her heart clearly heavy. “Besides, Jesus is in trouble. He needs us.”

It was a quiet trip to the city, and along the way James caught himself torn by his conflicting emotions. The anger and
rejection, the sense of betrayal Jesus had brought by his actions. But also a simmering fear. Because the closer they got to Jerusalem, the more they heard the murmurings. The people of Israel wanted to kill Jesus.

Heated tension, mobs of angry Israelites, days of protests, and everything spun wildly out of control. Jesus was arrested and word on the street was that he’d been beaten—almost to death. James could hardly console their mother. “Please, James,” she told him. “I need to see Jesus . . . tell him I love him . . . just one more time.”

James took the matter personally, and he desperately wanted to help her. But it was Friday and the decision had been made. Jesus would be crucified—his crime, the one James had feared would eventually be Jesus’s undoing. His claim to be the king of the Jews. Jesus the Messiah. He had taken the whole act too far, and now he was going to die because of it.

“I’ll get you there,” James told his mother and brothers. “We’ll go to him, see if we can stop the soldiers.” Jesus might’ve been crazy, but he wasn’t dangerous. He’d done nothing worthy of the death penalty. They ran, pushing their way through the throng of people. As in Jesus’s life, the crowd was split—some people wailed, begging for the soldiers to have mercy. Others mocked Jesus, demanding his crucifixion.

Here in Jerusalem, no one recognized James and his brothers, no one pointed and stared at their mother. James wasn’t sure he would’ve cared if they had. The shock was wearing off, reality setting in.

His brother, his best friend, was about to be killed on a cross.

Finally, they jostled their way to a position where they could see him . . . they could see Jesus. They reached the spot just as
the first nail was being driven into his wrist. Next to James, his mother cried out. “No . . . no, not Jesus!”

The wailing grew louder, but the soldiers carried on. His other wrist—his feet—nailed to the cross. James couldn’t talk, couldn’t draw a full breath. What was happening? Jesus might not be God, but he was still his brother. “Let me go to him,” he shouted at the soldier in his way. “He’s my brother!”

“Get back!” The soldier hit James, knocking him to the ground. “One step closer and I’ll lock you up!”

James scrambled to his feet, but before he could try once more to force his way past the soldier, his mother took his arm. Tears streamed down her face. “No, James. This is his choice . . . the reason he came to us.” She trembled, barely standing beneath her breaking heart. “He must finish his work.”

For a long moment James looked at her, understanding fully what he had always guessed to be true. His mother believed Jesus. She, too, was one of his followers. James slowly put his arm around her shoulders and for the next two hours he did the only thing he could do. He held his grieving mother and prayed to God for the soul of his brother Jesus.

Tears streamed down his face as Jesus gasped for breath, dying on the cross. Every wonderful time, every childhood memory played again in his mind and he wondered if he could take the pain. Jesus had always been there for him when they were growing up. Now James wanted to be there for Jesus, but he could do nothing. Nothing at all.

When at last Jesus drew his final breath, broken and battered, he cried out from the cross, “It is finished . . . Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

James turned to his mother and brothers and pulled them close, crying with them, holding them. Before he could say a single
word, the ground began to shake . . . a menacing, terrifying earthquake. All around people began to scream, and as the ground split and opened up, there was a terrible sound.

Like everyone else, James turned to see what horrific thing might make such a noise. What he saw brought him to his knees. The curtain of the temple was being torn in two from the top down. But not a thing was touching it.

In a rush, like wind through a canyon in a sudden storm, the truth came upon James. Jesus had been right all along. The miracles, all of them had been true stories. Not fables. Jesus really
had
walked on water. In the distance James heard one of the soldiers call out, “Surely, this was the son of God.”

But it was too late to tell Jesus, too late to make things right. James buried his face in the dirt and cried out, “Forgive me . . . please, Jesus . . . forgive me!”

The days blurred together in a dark and painful montage of memories and regret, and finally it was Sunday, the first day of the week. James was at his home, wishing for one more hour, one more chance, when he heard a sound behind him. With a start he turned, and though the door remained locked, there stood—

“Jesus! You’re alive!” Of course he was alive! He had risen from the dead, just like he had talked about doing while he was alive. James came to him. He fell to his knees and hung his head. “Forgive me, Jesus . . . please . . . I was wrong.”

“James . . .” Jesus touched his brother’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

James did as he was told. He lifted his head and for a long time he looked into the eyes of Jesus. Never in all his life had James felt such love, sensed such grace and mercy in a single heartbeat. “Stay, Jesus . . . live with me.” James brought his
hands together, pleading. But even as he said the words, he knew the answer.

“I cannot stay.” Jesus helped James to his feet and for the most wonderful moment the two of them embraced. Brother to brother, like old times. “You will always be my brother, James.” Jesus stepped back. “But now you will be my disciple. And you will lead my church in Jerusalem.”

“Yes, my Lord.” James bowed again and their eyes met once more. “I will serve you all the days of my life.”

And with that . . . Jesus was gone. But as James stood there he vowed to make good on his promise. He would serve Jesus all the days of his life. He would tell the stories of Jesus and lead people to follow his teachings. He would do so every day, all the while remembering their times as children, and this, their final meeting. Because until the end of his earthly life, Jesus would be his brother . . . his best friend.

His God.

Other Life-Changing Fiction™
by Karen Kingsbury
Stand-Alone Titles

The Chance

The Bridge

Oceans Apart

Between Sundays

When Joy Came to Stay

On Every Side

Divine