Read The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ Online
Authors: Frank G. Slaughter
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The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ
FRANK G. SLAUGHTER
The Crown and the Cross
The Life of Christ
Published by eChristian Publishers
Escondido, California
It would be impractical to list here the large number of books which have been consulted in developing this picture of the Life of Christ. Certain volumes, however, have been especially valuable. Foremost among them are:
A Harmony of the Gospels for Students of the Life of Christ
, by A. T. Robertson (Harper & Brothers);
The Heart of the New Testament
, by H. I. Hester (William Jewell Press);
Sacred Sites and Ways
, by Gustaf H. Dalman (The Macmillan Company);
Daily Life in Bible Times
, by Albert E. Bailey, (Charles Scribner’s Sons);
The Life and Times of Jesus the Messiah
, by Alfred Edersheim (Longmans, Green and Company);
The Beautiful Land
, by Henry C. Potter (Thomas Whittaker);
In the Days of Christ
, by Alfred Edersheim (Fleming H. Revell Company);
Life and Customs in Jesus’ Time
, by Joseph L. Gift (Standard Publishing Foundation);
A History of New Testament Times in Palestine
, by Shailer Mathews (The Macmillan Company);
Christian Beginnings
, by Morton Scott Enslin (Harper & Brothers);
The World Christ Knew
, by Anthony C. Deane (Michigan State College Press);
The Dead Sea Scriptures in English Translation
, Theodore H. Gaster (Doubleday Anchor Books);
The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls
, by A. Powell Davies (New American Library of World Literature).
All words spoken by Jesus Christ in this book have been taken from the King James Version of the New Testament, published by The World Publishing Company. In converting the Biblical phraseology to dialogue, it has been necessary to adapt slightly some portions of the original King James text. In most cases these changes are merely in forms of the pronoun, and in punctuation. In no case has the original meaning been changed in any way. No edition other than the King James Version of the Bible referred to above has been consulted in the production of this work, and any similarity to such versions is completely accidental.
I also wish to express my gratitude to The World Publishing Company for asking me to retell this most wonderful of all stories. Though it began in a manger in Bethlehem nearly two thousand years ago, it has never ended but has grown more thrilling as the years have passed and men have sought to understand more fully the meaning of the crown of thorns which identified Jesus of Nazareth then and now as the King of all who love God, and the meaning of the cross upon which He gave His life for the sins of mankind.
Frank G. Slaughter
Jacksonville, Florida
October 6, 1958
Frank G. Slaughter was born in Washington, D.C., in 1908. At the age of only fourteen he entered college and graduated from Duke University in 1926 with a Phi Beta Kappa key. Four years later he graduated from Johns Hopkins Medical School, an “M.D.” at the age of twenty-two. For many years, both as a civilian and then as a major and lieutenant colonel during World War II, Dr. Slaughter devoted himself to the practice of medicine. During these years he also began to write and upon his release from military service at the end of the war, he decided to devote himself full time to the career of an author. Since the publication of his first book in 1941, Dr. Slaughter has become one of the most prolific men of letters of any century. In less than nineteen years he has produced twenty-eight books, drawing his inspiration from fields as diverse as modern medicine, Renaissance history, and the timeless and unlimited sources of the Bible. In his own country and abroad, books such as In a Dark Garden, The Road to Bithynia, and The Mapmaker have given pleasure to more than 20,000,000 readers.
Dr. Slaughter is also well known as the author of novels dealing particularly with Bible times, such as
The Galilean
s,
The Song of Ruth
, and
The Thorn of Arimathea
. His interest in spiritual affairs extends to on occasion filling a church pulpit in the pastor’s absence. From this background of research and activity,
The Crown and the Cross
has been written.
The Crown and the Cross
This best-selling book was originally published by Frank G. Slaughter in 1959.
This version of the book still contains the well-crafted characters of the original version—a mixture of men and women described in the Bible as well as fictionalized characters developed from Frank Slaughter’s imagination. The author has taken some license with various people and events. It all adds up to create a compelling story of what might have happened.
We realize that the average Christian reader today has access to much of the study material about Jesus’ life, and the resources Frank G. Slaughter refers to in his acknowledgements may now have been replaced by more recent scholarship. So we have adjusted portions of this book accordingly.
Our hope is that you enjoy this old book with new eyes and that it sends you back to read the firsthand accounts of this time period as recorded by the Gospel writers.
All revisions to this text come from the publisher, eChristian, Inc. Although Frank G. Slaughter is no longer alive to give us his approval, his two sons have graciously given us permission to bring new life to this best-selling book.
Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.
Luke 2:4
In the long line of travelers approaching the city of Bethlehem from the south this winter afternoon, none was more certain of his own piety and righteousness than Elam, the Pharisee. Although only a little over thirty, the age at which Jewish men were considered wise enough to sit upon the village councils and give opinion upon matters under discussion, Elam was already a ruler of his synagogue in Hebron and well known to the Pharisees of Jerusalem. His robe was of rich material and he rode upon an ass, as befitted a wealthy man.
On foot, leading a second animal heavily laden with bales, came Elam’s servant Jonas. Jonas was only slightly older than Elam, but the great hump on his back and his leathery skin, the result of working in the sun and wind, made him look much older. Jonas was weary and his back ached, for his master was in a hurry and all afternoon had been urging the ass he rode.
The bales upon the pack animal contained fine cloth woven on the looms of the weavers of Hebron. From it Elam expected to make an important profit in the fine shops of Jerusalem, and, being a pious man, he would use a part of the gold for the purchase of a sacrifice for the temple. Nor would Elam’s be any ordinary sacrifice. Only the best was proper for a man of his wealth and station, a plump lamb purchased in his name alone, not shared by others to decrease the cost, as the Law allowed. Its burning flesh would make a sweet savor unto the Lord and, it was hoped, bring the giver good fortune in his business transactions over the coming year.
Jonas had no such pleasant prospect to ease his weariness, but he was happy nonetheless, even though the cold wind penetrated his worn clothing and sent a deep ague into his bones. Hidden in his robe where Elam could not see it, Jonas was taking his own gift to the temple, something far more valuable than the lamb his master would deliver so ostentatiously to the priest on the morrow.
Actually, the servant’s gift was only a length of cloth. But what a fine piece it was! Nothing in Elam’s bales could approach the softness of the fabric or its pure whiteness. The wool he had picked up from scraps thrown away, carefully separating the rich white portion from the dark and using only the best. Then he had carded and spun the thread, after giving to his master the full day’s work required of all servants by the Law of Israel as set down in the Torah. The weaving Jonas had done himself also, working at night with a little loom he had fashioned. For light he had used candles made from wasted tallow, since Elam did not furnish lamps or oil to his servants.
On many a winter’s night long after darkness had fallen, Jonas’s gnarled fingers had drawn the shuttle of the loom back and forth with loving care, setting each thread patiently until the whole fabric was of a smooth and even texture. All the while he had been constantly ready to douse the candle if he heard Elam approaching. Then he pretended to be asleep, with the small loom and the wool hidden under the meager coverlet that supplemented his bed of straw. More than once Jonas had nearly been caught, for Elam watched his servants closely to see that they did not cheat him, but each time he had managed to hide the precious cloth in time.
Actually the Pharisee had no right to the cloth, but Jonas knew how small and avaricious was the soul behind his master’s pious front. Elam would instantly recognize the value of the fabric and would certainly find something in the Law to serve as a pretext to seize it for himself.
All the way from Hebron Jonas had carried his precious gift inside his robe, carefully wrapped in a meaner cloth so no moisture from his body would stain the fabric. It was a relief to know that, with Jerusalem now only a few miles away, he could take it to the temple tomorrow and turn it over to the priests.
Jonas even dared to dream that the high priest himself might accept the cloth as a fit covering for the highest altar of all, next in importance to the Holy of Holies. Such a thought was sweet indeed to one who was virtually a slave, but Jonas did not allow his hopes to rise very high; he knew how rarely the dreams of slaves came to pass. But he could at least be sure that the Lord would know what was in his heart. And even the beating which Elam would undoubtedly give him afterward for having outshone his master, although in the service of the Most High, could not dim the pride Jonas would feel tomorrow in the temple when he handed over the cloth as his own special gift.
Busy with his thoughts and weary from leading the pack animal all day, Jonas stumbled over a rock in the road and grasped at the bales on the ass’s back for support. The animal grunted from the extra weight and Elam looked back and frowned. The merchant, too, was tired and anxious for the comforts of the inn at the town of Bethlehem just ahead. The inn, he knew, would be a mean one, for the town was small, but if they went on to Jerusalem today they would arrive after dark. And since at night large cities and the roads leading to them were notoriously unsafe places for travelers with goods and money, Elam was only being prudent in stopping before sunset.
“Take care, Jonas!” the Pharisee scolded him. “If you soil the goods, they will not bring the best price. Remember, a part of it goes to the Most High.”
“I will be careful, master,” Jonas said humbly, for the Law was strict about a servant being respectful and obedient. Elam really was a good master, Jonas reminded himself as he plodded on, always scrupulous about obeying every word of the Law, although very careful never to give any more than was absolutely required.
It was hardly mid-afternoon and the air was still warm, although at this season the sun already hung low over the hills and the broad expanse of the Great Sea to the west. The dark blue fruit of the olive trees in the groves along the hillsides had long since ripened and been picked. Now the leaves, their pale green color somewhat lighter in winter than in spring, were curled up as if to protect themselves against the cool, often frosty, nights. The fig trees and the vines were bare, although occasionally a pomegranate bush in a protected spot showed yellow foliage. Against the sere death of winter creeping downward toward the valleys from the tops of the hills, only the leaves of the carob-bean trees remained bright green and glossy.
The road that wound southward from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, Hebron, and the border of Egypt was always heavily traveled, but especially so today when many who had been born in Bethlehem a few miles away were hurrying there to be counted in the Roman census during the remaining days allotted for it. The stream of movement brushed past a small procession that was keeping to the side of the road. The body of the woman riding upon the mule was awkward with child, and she appeared to be near her time for every now and then she caught her breath and bit back a cry of pain. The man leading the mule glanced back often and tried to smile reassuringly as he guided the animal carefully so as to jostle her as little as possible.
He was older than his wife, being in his forties while she was in the early bloom of young womanhood, but the men of Israel usually married women several years younger than themselves, marriage even with a girl of ten being not at all uncommon in this land. The clothing of these two was ordinary—the man’s neither fringed nor sumptuously dyed as were the garments of the Pharisees who passed them with only a disdainful glance for the
am ha-arets
, the common people, whose piety could never equal theirs. Yet it was of good serviceable fabric, woven on home looms by hands accustomed to give good measure whether in passing the shuttle, pouring grain, or wielding the hammer and chisel.
The man carried himself with a certain pride for he was an artisan, a maker of fine cabinets and a builder of sturdy buildings. And certainly neither husband nor wife had cause to be awed by any of those going by them, for both were of the line of David, the great warrior king of Israel who, more than any other since Moses led the twelve tribes out of bondage in Egypt, had united the worshipers of the one true God whose name must not be spoken, and made the Children of Israel a great nation. Every loyal son of Israel yearned for the great days of David’s kingdom now that his nation consisted of only a few provinces subjected to Rome.
There was a further difference though between this and the other families hurrying to reach the shelter of the public caravansary at the edge of Bethlehem where all travelers might pause to rest free if they arrived while there was still room. It lay in a look of certainty, of selection for an honor known only to herself, in the eyes of the young mother-to-be. She was lovely, like thousands of the daughters of Zion, but the strength of character and a certain quiet pride evident in her face, twisted periodically now with the beginning pains of approaching childbirth, set her apart.
“Joseph.” She spoke as the mule reached the hilltop. “If I could—could rest a little—”
“Of course, Mary.” Guiding the mule away from the road, he helped her to dismount and find a seat upon a flat rock near the very top of the hill.
Mary looked eagerly southward toward the white-roofed city of David that was their destination. And as she did, she thought once again of the strange yet thrilling things which had happened lately and were to culminate in the birth of the baby who now stirred in her womb.
She had been like any other happy young woman in Nazareth, the small town of southern Galilee where she had grown up. Betrothed to the man she loved, Joseph the carpenter and builder, she had been making plans for the time when she would enter his household as his bride. Joseph was a respected member of the community and its synagogue, and highly skilled in his trade. His ancestors had been woodworkers before him, and although, like Mary herself, he was proud of his blood kinship in one of the noblest lines of Israel, he would expect the sons she bore him to learn his trade, for a builder and worker in wood was always held in high regard.
It was true that Joseph was approaching middle age. But for Mary to marry a younger man and go to live in his father’s household would mean becoming practically the slave of an older woman. Mary was looking forward to having her own home. She did not consider the difference in their ages as a stumbling block to a happy marriage; as she was growing up in Nazareth, she had observed Joseph’s solid virtues, and she had been flattered when this worthy, capable carpenter had approached her father to arrange for the bride price, or
mohar
.
Mary had seen no reason to be frightened when, some ten courses of the moon previously, a stranger had appeared at her home in Nazareth and spoken to her. His bearing was regal; few such as he stopped in Nazareth. Still she had not thought of him as being other than mortal.
“Rejoice, highly favored one,” the stranger had greeted her courteously, even reverently. “The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women!”
Awed somewhat by the visitor’s language and manner, Mary had not answered. Besides, it was not fitting for a young unmarried woman to speak to a complete stranger.
“Do not be afraid, Mary,” the visitor had continued, “for you have found favor with God. Behold, you shall conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name Jesus. He shall be great and shall be called the Son of the Highest, and the Lord God shall give to Him the throne of His father David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there shall be no end.”
Mary could not remain silent any longer. “How can this be,” she said, “since I do not know a man?” For she was as yet only betrothed and still virgin.
“The Holy Spirit shall come upon you, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow you,” the stranger explained. “Therefore the Holy One who is to be born shall be called the Son of God. Behold, your cousin Elisabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and this is now the sixth month with her who was called barren. For with God nothing shall be impossible.”
By now Mary had come to see that she was in the presence of no mere human being but of an emissary from God. She grasped only faintly as yet the greatness of the honor for which she had been selected, but she said obediently, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord! Let it be to me according to your word.”
The angel had then disappeared, leaving her filled with wonder and something of fear also. It was true that she was of the bloodline of David, from which the ancient writings said a king, or at least the great spiritual leader to be called the Messiah, would one day come again in Israel. But she was the daughter of an artisan of meager means in Nazareth, and betrothed to a man of no great riches, a man not even well known except to the people who used his services and the products of his skilled hands. Was it not unthinkable that any son born of her should ever become king of Israel?
Her first impulse had been to tell Joseph what had happened, but she instinctively realized he would have had difficulty enough in believing the story even had he seen the angel and heard him speak. And, indeed, Mary herself could not help wondering now whether the man who had appeared to her had not been a creature of her own imagination rather than an angel sent by God to reveal the future to her.