The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ (28 page)

John had recognized this grievance in his mother and had spoken to her about it, trying to explain to her what it was that he and his brother saw in Jesus. Gradually, she had come to understand and to lose her resentment, but a faint feeling of disappointment had always remained in her mind that her sons had failed to reach the high position which, like a mother, she had wanted for them.

Then had come the exciting time when the crowds had sought to name Jesus King and Messiah. It was true that He had eluded them then, but John and James had shown their mother that Jesus actually was the Messiah, and she looked forward now to the time when all power would be His, certain that James and John, by virtue of their close association with Him, would occupy a high place in His kingdom.

When the time of the Passover approached and word came from Simon Peter that a great crowd would travel up to Jerusalem with Jesus for the feast, Salome could not suppress a rising sense of excitement. Now at last the Lord would name Himself the Expected One and all Judea would flock to acclaim Him the Messiah. Now her sons would rank high in His kingdom, perhaps even occupy the places of honor on His right and left hand.

Peter had done his work well in Galilee. When Jesus finally turned His steps southward in Peraea about a week before the Passover season, a great throng of followers from Galilee and the region beyond Jordan joined the party. Joanna and Chuza were there, and Salome, the mother of James and John. Mary of Magdala had brought Jesus’ mother in her party, with James, the somewhat dour brother who was now head of the household in Nazareth. Present, too, was Mary Cleopas, Joseph’s sister, who also lived in Nazareth.

The disciples had ignored Jesus’ frequent warnings of the tragedy that would await Him in Jerusalem. Instead they were confident that at long last He would proclaim Himself the Messiah and use His miraculous powers to establish His own kingdom there. It was a festive group that took the road to Jericho and Jerusalem, for not only were they going up for the Passover, the most joyful as well as the most sacred of the religious festivals; they were also going to see Jesus assume His rightful position as the deliverer of the Jews.

Nor did Jesus’ own demeanor do anything to dispel that impression—at first. He walked at the head of the procession and seemed eager to reach their destination. They traveled slowly, however, for as always a throng had gathered along the road, begging Jesus to heal the sick and have mercy upon the afflicted, and never having denied Himself before to those who needed Him, Jesus did not do so now.

They were almost to Jericho and the final stages of the journey when Jesus called the disciples aside one evening after He had finished teaching the remainder of the party. His face was grave as He looked at the twelve men with whom He had shared both hardship and triumph during the past several years.

“Behold, we go up to Jerusalem and all the things that are written by the prophets concerning the Son of Man shall be accomplished,” He told them gravely.

The disciples did not ask themselves just what it was He meant by this. The prophets had often spoken strange words which each rabbi interpreted in his own fashion; two teachers might give contradictory judgments on the same passage from the sacred writings.

“He shall be delivered to the Gentiles,” Jesus continued. “And shall be mocked and shamefully treated and spit upon. They shall scourge Him and put Him to death. And the third day He shall rise again.”

When He said no more but sought His own sleeping pallet, the disciples began to disperse. Mary of Magdala had been sitting before her tent near Jesus as He spoke to the disciples and had heard what He said. When Simon Peter passed her on the way to his own sleeping place, she called out to him and he paused beside her.

“I heard the Master’s words just now, Simon,” she said. “What does He mean?”

The tall fisherman squatted beside the coals of the fire that Mary’s servant had built and held out his hands to warm them, for the night was already cool. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Aren’t you concerned?”

“Jesus said almost the same thing on the slopes of Mount Hermon near Caesarea-Philippi, and several times since then.”

“It could happen as He says, you know. Caiaphas is determined to kill Him.”

“That could not happen to the Son of God!” Simon said harshly, for Mary had touched on something that troubled him. When Jesus predicted His death, the disciples had always assumed that He was speaking in the form of a parable whose exact meaning they did not understand, as was often the case with His teachings until He explained them. But Simon had not been able to escape the gnawing fear that Jesus might be predicting exactly what was going to happen in Jerusalem. Such an occurrence was so foreign to his conception of Jesus that Peter would not let himself even think it might be true.

“Why does He go ahead of us as if He were eager to reach Jerusalem?” Peter added.

“Even knowing what was to happen, Jesus would obey the will of God.”

“That God’s own Son shall be put to death?” Simon asked incredulously.

“Jesus said that quite plainly just now,” Mary reminded him.

“It is a parable. The meaning is different. It is something we cannot understand.”

“Has He ever given you a parable before without explaining it?”

Peter shook his head. “No doubt He means that He will be rejected again in Jerusalem. After His rejection, He will rise in glory as the Messiah.”

Mary put her hand on Peter’s arm. Perhaps because she had known what it was to feel despair almost beyond caring, a despair Jesus had lifted from her that day on the shores of the lake, Mary could understand him better than the others. “Aren’t you telling yourself this because you don’t want to believe Jesus means exactly what He says?”

Peter jerked his arm away and got to his feet. “This is what comes of wasting time with women’s fancies,” he said angrily. “Jesus is the Son of God. Do you think He would allow Himself to be killed by men like Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate? If I believed that, I would lose faith in God Himself.”

Mary shook her head gently. “Perhaps acceptance needs even greater faith than Jesus has required of us before, Simon,” she said. “If the time comes, pray God we shall have that faith.”

In another part of the camp, others were discussing Jesus’ words. Judas of Kerioth and Simon, who was called Zelotes because he had formerly belonged to the radical Zealots, had been cheered when they had reached the road leading from Galilee to Bethabara and on to Jerusalem. The presence of such a large crowd of Jesus’ own Galilean followers promised well for the establishment of the kingdom in Jerusalem. It was true that a great number in the group were women, but, the disciples were sure, many men who could bear arms could be found in Jerusalem if they were needed. Once Jesus proclaimed Himself King, thousands would flock to His standard if Caiaphas and the Roman authorities dared oppose Him. They were convinced that Jesus would then be forced to use His miraculous powers to destroy any opposition.

Judas particularly was pleased by the large crowd, many of them well-to-do. As keeper of the purse he had had no trouble during the early days in Galilee. People had flocked by thousands to be healed and, grateful for the miraculous cures, had been happy to contribute to the common fund from which Jesus and the disciples drew their support. Since Jesus had refused to be crowned king in Galilee, however, the number of gifts had fallen off sharply. At times Judas had almost been without money to provide food and shelter for the group, and he resented the fact that Jesus would not feed His own disciples in the same miraculous fashion that He had fed the five thousand.

One thing had sustained Judas through it all. He fully expected to be appointed keeper of the treasury in the kingdom which the Messiah would establish shortly in Jerusalem. The prospect of the honor and power that would be his then—and Judas was hungry for power—more than compensated for the discomforts of the present.

As for Simon Zelotes, his ambitions were strictly political and entirely disinterested. He hoped to see established in Israel a kingdom exceeding in glory even that of David and Solomon. With His miraculous power, Jesus would drive out the Romans and their Herods, welding Israel into one triumphant nation under God. Pontius Pilate’s slaughter of the Galileans led by Barabbas a short time before had demonstrated that only a divine power could thrust out the Romans. But Jesus possessed this power, Simon knew, and He had only to use it to bring about the desired miracle.

These had been Simon’s thoughts—until Jesus spoke tonight, prophesying His own death in Jerusalem. Now as he and Judas stretched out on their sleeping pallets, the Zealot voiced his fears.

“What do you think the Master meant tonight, Judas?” he asked.

“That the priests will reject Him in Jerusalem,” Judas said.

“Only that?”

Judas shrugged. “And that He will rise in triumph, of course.”

“Are you sure?”

Judas turned and looked across to where Jesus was lying sleeping. “The Master knows the Sanhedrin condemned Him to death. Would He be as eager as He is to go up to Jerusalem were He going to die there?”

“I suppose not,” Simon admitted. “But if He is prophesying—”

“Are you a woman, to worry needlessly?” Judas demanded irritably. “Jesus must proclaim Himself Messiah in Jerusalem at the Passover. This is His last chance.”

“And if He does not?”

“Then blood will be spilled, His and probably ours.”

“Like those who followed Barabbas?”

If it comes to that, it is better for one to die than all of us,” Judas said cryptically.

“But—”

“The Son of God must triumph over His enemies,” Judas said. “If we believe anything less than that, our cause is lost.”

Salome, the mother of James and John, had been happy on the trip to Jerusalem. She could see that her sons were favored by Jesus, and as she walked along the road with the other women, an idea began to form in her mind.

Early one morning, as the camp was stirring itself for the coming day’s journey, Salome called her sons to her and told them what she had been thinking. They listened eagerly and when she suggested going to Jesus that very morning when He would be amenable and refreshed by sleep, they agreed.

Jesus was standing beside the road with several of the disciples, waiting for camp to break, when Salome approached with James and John. “Master,” she said, “I would ask a certain thing of You.”

“What do you wish?” Jesus asked.

“Grant that these my two sons shall sit, the one on Your right hand and the other on Your left, in Your kingdom.”

A look of pain came over Jesus’ features. He loved the sons of Zebedee and had called them, with Simon and Andrew, His first disciples. In coming with their mother to ask that they be given precedence in His kingdom, they were guilty of the very sins of pride and covetousness which He had denounced again and again.

“You do not know what you ask,” He said. “Are you able to drink the cup that I shall drink of? And be baptized with the same baptism that I am baptized with?”

“We are able,” James and John spoke in concert, eagerly.

“You shall indeed drink of My cup,” Jesus told them gravely. “And be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with. But to sit on My right hand and on My left is not Mine to give; it shall be given to them for whom it has been prepared by My Father.”

Peter and some of the others were angry at the sons of Zebedee for their presumption, but Jesus quieted them when they would have spoken out against them.

“You know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them,” He said. “And they that are great exercise authority upon them. But it shall not be so among you. Whoever will be great among you, let him be your minister. And whoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant, even as the Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister and to give His life as a ransom for many.”

Without explaining further, Jesus stepped out on the road and the day’s journey began. Behind Him He left a welter of emotions. Some were troubled because once again He had spoken of His death in Jerusalem. Others were angry at James and John and argued among themselves.

At a time when all should have been vitally concerned with what Jesus had revealed to them about the future, those dearest to Him failed to understand, failed to forget their own desires. None offered to comfort and strengthen Him against the coming ordeal.

For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.

Luke 19:10

The weather was like summer when Jesus and the festive party of Galileans and Peraeans crossed the Jordan at Bethabara. Spring was already well advanced in this region but actually the climate of the Jericho Plain was so warm that even in winter heavy clothing was not worn. The air was full of fragrance, for irrigation had brought fruitful abundance. There were palm trees everywhere with the fragrant balsam, flowers of all sorts, groves of olive and fruit trees, and fields of growing vegetables. Often referred to as the Eden of Israel, the region could hardly have been better named.

A little south of the road from Bethabara to Jericho was one of the most memorable of Israel’s historic spots. When the people had crossed the Jordan on dry land to attack Jericho and Canaan, Joshua had commanded that twelve stones be removed from the river bed and carried to their first encampment at Gilgal beyond the river, symbolizing the twelve tribes of Israel who made up his forces. Here they had set up a monument to God who held back the waters of Jordan until they could cross. At this same Gilgal, Saul had won a great victory over the Amorites and here his new authority as king of Israel had been acknowledged and his regime inaugurated with great celebration. Later the people of Gilgal had fallen into idolatry, however, and the stones themselves had been taken away to Shiloh.

Jesus did not point out to the procession that followed Him these glorious events in the history of Israel or draw the obvious parallel between what had happened to Gilgal and was happening in Israel at this very time. Instead He went on before His band of followers until Jericho came into sight.

Heavily walled and with four forts guarding its ramparts, the city occupied a commanding position on the plain. Although it had played a glorious part in the story of Israel, Jericho was now almost as much a heathen city as a Jewish one. The Romans loved its winter climate, as did Greek merchants and rich Jews who could afford to spend part of the year there. Herod’s palace and its luxurious gardens were more splendid than anything in the whole region, and there was also a theater and amphitheater for the entertainment of the worldly-minded.

The streets of Jericho were always crowded but never more so than at the approach of the Passover. Essenes from their nearby community overlooking the Dead Sea, hawk-faced Nabateans from the eastern frontier, Jews from every section of Palestine, a few Samaritans, soldiers, sycophants from Herod’s court, Roman officials—people from every walk of life jostled each other in the streets. Priests were a common sight, for the course assigned to this region required fully half the entire coterie of priests in attendance at the temple. Everywhere there were the tax collectors, since Jericho was an important center for the collection of tribute, levied not only on the lush products of the Jordan Plain itself but also as a customs duty on any goods brought into Judea from across the Jordan.

Jesus was well known in Jericho, having often taught only a few miles away at Bethabara. The people knew of His miracles of healing, and they had heard of His new doctrine which was like that of John the Baptist, but gentler and more attractive. The priests knew Him as one whose death had already been decreed by the Sanhedrin and who, in going to Jerusalem now, was insuring His own execution. And the agents of Herod knew Him as a Galilean troublemaker they had long sought to trap. But now, when he had ample opportunity to arrest Jesus, Herod hesitated. The wily tetrarch of Galilee knew how anxious Caiaphas was to destroy the Nazarene; it would be simpler to let Caiaphas execute Jesus and take whatever blame might follow.

Great crowds greeted Jesus upon His entry into Jericho; wherever He passed, people gathered in the hope of seeing Him perform some miracle. Others followed Him merely out of curiosity to see this man who, in going up to Jerusalem now, was defying the authority of the high priest and the Sanhedrin. Jesus, however, had no intention of stirring up turmoil in Jericho; He wished to pass through as quickly as He could.

Bartimaeus had been blind for many years following an attack of the eye inflammation that was so heavy a scourge among the people of the region. After his blinding it had seemed that his world had ended and he at first prayed God to destroy him. Then, as he had grown accustomed to living in a world without light, he found his other senses beginning to sharpen in compensation for his loss, and soon he was able to achieve a certain degree of security.

Begging was almost the only occupation open to a blind man, however, so Bartimaeus resigned himself to it. Jericho, he found, was a paradise for beggars. The constant flow of people through the city, as well as the presence of the Romans, furnished a liberal source of alms. Bartimaeus early discovered, too, that the location of his begging post played an important part in the returns he received, and in regard to this matter he was fortunate, for through the generosity of a kinsman he was able to locate on the heavily traveled road leading from Jericho toward Jerusalem.

Great numbers of pilgrims went up to Jerusalem during the Passover season, and Bartimaeus was at his place, begging early and remaining late, crying out his condition, as was required of him, and receiving the alms of the passersby.

According to custom, when a procession of travelers or the entourage of a person of importance went through a town, the population lined the streets and roadways to bid them welcome and farewell. The Galilean who accompanied Jesus on the journey were of no particular importance to the relatively sophisticated dwellers of Jericho, but Jesus had become a center of controversy and therefore of interest. Many people were curious to see this man whom the high court and the chief priests had vowed to destroy.

From the noise that accompanied it, Bartimaeus realized that the procession was of unusual size. Edging closer to the roadway and crying out his plea for alms, he plucked at the sleeve of a bystander.

“Who is coming?” he asked eagerly, sure that such a commotion must mean the passage of at least a nobleman, perhaps one who would be generous.

“It is the Nazarene prophet with a group from Galilee,” he was told.

“Jesus of Nazareth?”

“Yes.”

Bartimaeus felt excitement rising within him. The story of how Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead was well known in Jericho, for Lazarus and his sisters were large landowners in Bethany, less than a day’s journey to the west. Even more important to Bartimaeus was the account which had reached his ears of how Jesus had given sight to Joachim of Jerusalem who had been blind from birth. Remembering these miracles, Bartimaeus was sure that, could he but draw Jesus’ notice, he too would be cured by the Nazarene’s miraculous power.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” he shouted.

Some of the Galileans who walked at the head of the party tried to silence him, for Jesus was purposely not pausing in Jericho where He might be accused by Herod’s agents of causing a disturbance.

Bartimaeus had no intention of being silent, however. “Jesus, Son of David!” he cried again. “Have mercy upon me!”

A cry for mercy was one Jesus had never refused. Nor did He refuse now. Pausing, He directed that the supplicant be brought to Him.

Bartimaeus heard the words and did not wait. Leaping up in haste, he lost the upper part of his robe but did not stop to pick it up. Stumbling through the crowd, clad only in his loincloth, the blind man reached Jesus and fell at His feet.

“What do you want Me to do for you?” Jesus asked him.

“Lord, let me receive my sight.”

There was no begging in Bartimaeus’s request, no flattery, no fawning. It was a simple statement of Bartimaeus’s faith in Jesus’ ability to heal him. And the faith stirred an answering chord in Jesus’ heart.

“Go your way,” Jesus told Bartimaeus. “Your faith has made you whole.”

So overwhelmed by the sudden burst of light and beauty from which his eyes had been shut away for so many years, Bartimaeus for a moment could only kneel in the roadway, dazed and half stunned by this miracle which had brought sight to him again. Jesus, pausing only long enough to heal him, was almost out of sight before Bartimaeus recovered from the suddenness of his cure.

When he did recover, he snatched up his robe where it had fallen, and throwing it around his body, joined the procession that followed the Master.

Zacchaeus was a small man, not only in body but in spirit. Though the office of tax collector or publican was the most despised in all of Israel, it gave a clever man a chance to grow rich and was a means of gaining power over others. Where a bigger man would have spurned this office, Zacchaeus, seeing its particular opportunities, had actively sought the post.

The collection of taxes was let by a contract under which the contractor guaranteed to produce a specified amount of revenue to the government. Whatever he was able to extract from the people over and above that enriched—within certain official limitations—his own fortunes. By shrewdly taking advantage of every opportunity his office afforded, Zacchaeus had become chief of all the tax gatherers in Jericho. In this position he wielded much power, power which greatly expanded the size of his small soul.

Zacchaeus was returning from one of the tax collection stations on the outskirts of Jericho when he heard the tumult that marked the passage of Jesus through Jericho after the restoration of Bartimaeus’s sight. Always curious, Zacchaeus could not let such a procession pass without seeing for himself what person of importance was its center. The press of people made it impossible for anyone of such short stature to see over the heads of the crowd, but this did not deter the publican. Noting a sycamore fig tree nearby, he quickly scrambled into its lower branches from where he could see everything that went on.

The Galileans who accompanied Jesus knew many people in Jericho, for some of them came to Jerusalem every year at this season and both going and coming the City of Palms was a logical stopping place. As the procession went by, cries of greeting and warm salutations were being uttered all around Zacchaeus, but there were few persons to give him more than a civil nod. The people of Jericho could not afford to antagonize the tax gatherer, for that could mean a rise in taxes the following year, yet at the same time they took no pains to greet him.

For the first time since he was a small boy unable to play vigorous games with other boys of his age, Zacchaeus felt utterly alone. He had the power and riches for which he had worked all his life. But he was ignored in the salutations being exchanged below him; he missed the warm cheerful voice of a friend raised in a greeting that was not to curry favor but to express a spontaneous liking.

Little Zacchaeus in his tree, though taller than all the rest by his own efforts, suddenly sensed the narrowness of his own soul and his own life. He could have estimated almost to a single denarius the worldly goods possessed by many of the Galileans accompanying the Nazarene prophet, and his own fortune probably exceeded all theirs combined. And yet they had something he did not have. They loved Jesus of Nazareth and were joined together in the natural and happy bondage of that love, something Zacchaeus’s own riches, his own power, had never brought him.

Sitting there, a forlorn figure in the sycamore tree, Zacchaeus was suddenly alone, bitterly and utterly alone with the realization that his own life, for all his cleverness and his efforts to impress others, was even smaller in its scope than he was in body. It was a shattering moment of awareness, and Zacchaeus would gladly have given all his wealth to be one of the happy Galilean fishermen who followed the Nazarene teacher to Jerusalem.

But now from the black depths of his despair, Zacchaeus heard a voice calling out his name. Absorbed in his own misery, he did not at first recognize its source. Then he heard his name repeated again and looked down to see that Jesus of Nazareth stood beneath the tree, looking up at him with eyes that were warm with a light Zacchaeus had not seen in another’s face for a long time, a light of understanding and love.

“Zacchaeus, make haste and come down,” the gentle voice said. “Today I must abide at your house.”

Zacchaeus did not pause to consider that the Nazarene was under sentence of death by the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem. Or that Herod Antipas, who could influence the Roman authorities to take away Zacchaeus’s commission as tax gatherer, was reported to be seeking the prophet’s destruction. Nothing mattered save the genuine warmth and love he heard in Jesus’ voice. Without hesitating, he scrambled down from the tree and ran to kneel at Jesus’ feet, but Jesus blessed him and lifted him up.

Walking beside Jesus and not at all concerned now by his slightness of stature, Zacchaeus almost skipped in his happiness at the prospect of having such a guest in his home. As he walked, secure in the peace and serenity of mind the Nazarene’s greeting had brought him, he poured out his heart, knowing instinctively that Jesus would understand and forgive his many faults.