The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ (32 page)

“Have you never read, ‘Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings You have perfected praise’?” He demanded.

The priest did not answer; Jesus was quoting the words of David himself in the psalm that began:

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings,

You have ordained strength because of Your enemies,

That You might still the enemy and the avenger.

Helpless, the priests and temple guards left Jesus unmolested. They could not seize Him without stirring up the mass of people that had surged into the Porch of Solomon to hear Him, and such a disturbance would bring the Roman soldiers once again into the temple. Meanwhile, Jesus taught the crowd and healed many of the sick, the lame, and the blind. When it was nearly nightfall, He and the disciples left the city and returned to Bethany.

He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

John 12:25

Darkness had already fallen when Jonas led Eleazar out through the Sheep Gate and tethered him in front of his tiny shelter built against the wall of Jerusalem. The area was a honeycomb of such structures, all having a common back wall provided by the city. In them dwelt beggars, cripples, lepers—a small city of the poverty-stricken drawn together by their common misery.

As he had feared, Jonas had not been able to find a buyer for his load of dried thorns. The Galileans had cost him a day’s work, a loss he could ill afford. Before attending to his own meager wants, however, he carefully removed the load from Eleazar’s back and took off the leather sheet that protected the animal’s skin from the sharp thorns. He could not leave either the mule’s load or the one he had borne on his back outside the hut, for they would certainly be pilfered before morning. When he finished stowing the bulky loads of wood inside the shelter, there was little space left for him to sleep, and he made his bed on a pallet spread across the door of the hut.

An old crone who lived a few huts away hailed Jonas.

“Why didn’t you sell your load today?” she called.

“A prophet was on the road with His following and I had to wait for them to pass,” he explained. “When I got to the lime kilns, the fires were out and no more wood was wanted.”

The crone came up and fingered one of the branches projecting from the pack. “Nothing makes a hot cooking fire like burnet wood,” she said wistfully, and Jonas knew what was in her mind. Carefully pulling out a branch, he gave it to her though it meant that much less money when he sold the wood the next day. The crone took it happily but almost immediately pricked her finger on one of the murderously sharp thorns.

“A plague on all thorn bushes!” she cried.

But she did not throw it away. In the warrens against the walls there was seldom wood for even a small cooking fire and Jonas knew she would nurse every twig. As for him, the cold night air would stiffen his joints and by morning he would hardly be able to drag himself about the city to seek a market for the wood.

As Jonas applied some salve to the sore spot on Eleazar’s shoulder, his neighbor, Zadok, came swinging along on his powerful arms, dragging his short stumps of legs as he went. The cripple’s thin face was alive with excitement and his black eyes were aglow.

“Don’t come near me, half-man!” the old crone shrieked from the entrance to her hovel.

“Away with you, witch!” Zadok spat at her. “Zut!”

“Monster!” the old woman cackled, bouncing up and down on the vermin-infested pallet that was her bed. “Zadok is a monster!”

“I’m no more a monster than you are, old hag!” Zadok called to her and pretended to start into her hovel. She retired inside shrieking, in a routine they followed every day.

Swinging himself around in front of his own hut, Zadok lowered his body to a sitting position in the dust. “You should have been begging today, hunchback,” he said. “The pickings were good.”

“Vulture!” Jonas’s smile took away any offense from the term. The cripple was almost his only friend in the world. “I had other things to do.”

Zadok’s quick gaze took in the size of the piece of bread Jonas had removed from his torn and patched robe and was beginning to munch. “I see you bought grain for the mule again,” he observed, “and nothing for yourself.”

“There was no money. I was too late to sell my wood.”

“There is great excitement in the city.” Zadok drew a packet of food from his own robe. “The Nazarene prophet, Jesus, has come to Jerusalem.”

“I saw Him on the road. He and His followers kept me from getting to the gate until it was too late to sell my wood.”

Zadok nodded, his head bobbing up and down on his scrawny neck. “Galileans make a lot of noise,” he said. “Did you see the prophet?”

“Only at a distance.”

“What did you think of Him?”

“He appeared gentle and thoughtful.”

“Gentle and thoughtful!” Zadok spat the date seeds into the dust. “Not that one! He is turning Jerusalem upside-down.”

“How?”

“His disciples were openly naming Him the Messiah and King in the temple and when one of the chief priests spoke to Him about it, Jesus flogged him with words.”

“The Nazarene didn’t look like a troublemaker,” Jonas said.

“I saw it all with my own eyes,” Zadok replied indignantly. “They say the high priest has sworn Jesus shall not leave Jerusalem this time alive. But Caiaphas will have to catch the Nazarene away from His Galileans. One of them is a giant; he could break me in two with his bare hands.” He bobbed up and down in his excitement. “The Romans know how to handle troublemakers. So maybe we’ll have a crucifixion this Passover.”

“I hope not,” Jonas said. “The apprentices of the lime burners and potters would want a holiday and I would not be able to sell them any wood.”

“But I could make a fortune begging in the crowd,” Zadok said happily. “I might even get a chance or two to snatch a purse.”

Jesus slept at Bethany that night but the next morning was up early and on the way to Jerusalem. His manner was as it had been on the road from Jericho, as if He had much to do and little time in which to do it. He had not paused to eat before leaving Bethany, and on the walk around the Mount of Olives and across the Kedron Valley to the city gates, He began to feel hungry.

The region around Bethphage, lying beside the road into Jerusalem, was famous for its figs, and seeing a tree that was already in full leaf, though those around it were still bare, Jesus left the road. The fruit of the fig often appeared before the leaves so that on a tree in full leaf, He had expected to find fruit. But when He reached into the leafy branches He discovered that for all its brave show of leaf, the tree was barren.

The parallel between the fig tree and Israel was inescapable. In spite of all the outward show of obedience to the Law which its leaders professed, they were inwardly like the branches of this tree, barren of any useful fruit.

The disciples had followed Jesus, and coming up to Him now, eager to quench their own hunger with fresh figs, they heard Him say, “No man shall eat fruit of you hereafter forever.” Then without pausing to explain, He continued purposefully on, entering the Golden Gate again as He had done the day before.

This time Jesus did not go directly to the Porch of Solomon but entered the temple market beneath the royal porch that formed the southern portico. Here the stalls for sellers of sacrificial animals occupied the entire southern wall of the sanctuary area and, lining the inside aisle of this same section, were the booths of the money-changers, each man sitting behind the heavy chest that held his stock of coins.

The yearly tax required by the temple and all gifts had to be paid, according to religious law, in the Tyrian shekel. All other coins, whether the Roman denarius, the Persian doric, the mina, or any of the myriad coinages then in use, had to be changed into the approved shekel of Tyre. This was the province of the money-changers who were allowed by law to make a small charge for their services. The Law did not set the rate of exchange, however, so they did not scruple to bilk the pilgrims who flocked to Jerusalem from all parts of the world. The moneychangers shared a portion of their profits with the priests for the privilege of setting up their cabinets in the temple.

Lines of waiting customers were standing at most of the booths when Jesus entered, and the heavy smell of smoke and burning flesh from the altars on the upper levels hung over them like a pall. Jesus paused and His eyes swept the length of the market where a babble of voices rose as the constant haggling over prices and exchange rates went on. As He watched, His eyes began to smolder with anger at the commercial prostitution of this edifice which had been dedicated to the glory of His Father. Striding forward purposefully, moving so quickly that even long-legged Peter increased his pace to keep up with Him, Jesus reached the first booth. Stooping, He thrust His hands beneath the table, overturning it and scattering coins, coupons, and other articles upon the floor.

The disciples were aghast. They had never seen Jesus in this guise. But no one tried to hold Him back as He strode on and seized another of the tables, upending it too and sending it crashing to the floor. Nor did He respect the money-changers. Stepping across to where one of them was haggling over the value of a coin with a pilgrim from Alexandria, He tumbled the heavy chest to the floor and sent the piles of coins spinning.

And now the disciples were infected by Jesus’ forthright actions and themselves started overturning the booths around them. The sudden commotion brought the temple guards but they were unable to deal with so unusual a situation and hastily summoned one of the chief priests. That portly sybarite came in his rich vestments and the crowd opened a path for him to Jesus where He stood, panting a little, His eyes still flashing with anger.

The rage in Jesus’ eyes and the authority He radiated disconcerted even the haughty priest. Before he could speak Jesus lashed out at him, His ringing tones carrying to the farthest corner of the temple area.

“It is written, ‘My house is a house of prayer,’” He accused the priest. “But you have made it a den of thieves!” The priest gave no answer and after a moment, the anger in Jesus’ eyes died away. Abruptly He turned and, with the disciples hurrying after Him, strode around the lower level of the east portico and Solomon’s Porch where He had taught on other occasions. By now word had spread throughout the temple that the prophet of Nazareth had overturned the tables of the money-changers. No one doubted that the final test of strength between Him and the authorities was near.

Jonas’s steps lagged as he approached the end of the street of the lime burners. Everywhere the story had been the same, and he could not expect to be more successful in the street of the potters. As he entered the courtyard of Ashar, he saw that here too the lime kilns were cold.

“Ashar,” he called toward the open door of the house fronting upon the court where the kilns were. “It is Jonas. I have burnet wood for sale.”

“I am not buying today, Jonas,” a man’s voice came from inside the house. “Come back tomorrow.”

“I must sell this wood so I can gather more.” Jonas was desperate. Eleazar’s grain sack, as well as his own larder, were empty except for the single Tyrian shekel he had put aside for the Passover offering. He would go hungry himself rather than touch it, but he could not endure seeing the patient animal’s hunger.

“I am on my way to the temple,” the man’s voice was impatient. “A new prophet is teaching there; all Jerusalem is going to hear Him.”

In desperation, Jonas called, “You may have the wood for half price.”

“Put it against the wall of the farther kiln, then,” Ashar said. “I will pay you tomorrow.”

“I have no money,” Jonas pleaded. “To me it does not matter, but Eleazar—”

Ashar appeared in the doorway of his house, wearing a fresh robe, his beard carefully combed. “Stack it carefully,” he said impatiently. “Here is the money.” From the purse hanging at his belt, he counted out a few coins and tossed them toward Jonas. The little woodseller got down painfully on his old knees to retrieve the money from the dirt.

“The Most High will bless you, Ashar,” Jonas said as he hobbled with the mule over to the kiln and began to stack the thornwood carefully. “Even if you did get the wood at half price,” he added, but under his breath, for Ashar was a good customer and he did not wish to offend him.

The street of the potters lay just ahead and when Jonas had finished unloading, he led Eleazar along it, hoping that someone wishing to fire his kiln that night would commission him to bring in a load of thornwood before dark. But the potters’ kilns were cold too. It seemed that what Ashar said was true; everyone in Jerusalem had gone to hear the prophet of Nazareth.

Near the end of the street, in the shadow of the great aqueduct which Pontius Pilate had built with the temple monies to bring water to Jerusalem, was the pottery yard of Abijah, Veronica’s father. Abijah’s wheels were stilled too, and his kilns cold this morning. Veronica, however, sat in her customary place beneath the great spreading limbs of an aloes tree (more familiarly known as the “Shoot of Paradise” or “Paradise Wood” because it was believed to be the only tree originally in the Garden of Eden which had not been lost).

Veronica had finished painting the small vases she had brought from Bethany yesterday, and the colors had been fired during the night. Now the vases were arranged on a bench beside her, delicate and lovely. Some of the painted scenes were of thornwood blooming on the hillsides, others represented the flowers that grew so luxuriously in the well-cared-for garden of her rich kinsman, the merchant Joseph of Arimathea.

Veronica had put down the paints and the tiny brushes she used in decorating the vases. Now her slender fingers were busy sewing a head veil of fine transparent cloth that lay upon her lap. With her full skirts spread out, no one would have known she was crippled. When she saw Jonas plodding along leading the mule, she called to him. “You and Eleazar must be thirsty, Jonas. Come and drink.”