The Gospel According to the Son (12 page)

In time, the colt jumped less and pranced more, and we were able to walk in procession. And I liked the animal. I also felt as hungry as if I might never eat again.

Whereupon, seeing a fig tree that was heavy with leaves, I trotted toward it in order to take my fill. Yet on its branches I found no ripe figs.

Did an ill wind blow toward us? I said to the fig tree, "Let no man eat fruit from you again."

But a weight came upon my heart for cursing the roots of another. "I am the Son of God," I told myself, "yet also a man; by a thread does man live without heedless destruction."

So I also knew that Satan still clung to me. Like a hawk who searches the fields below for one small creature, then swoops for the kill, so had I scourged the tree.

Now the crowd of men and women who walked ahead of me took branches from the palms we passed and strewed them on my path. They sang, "Hosannah! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Blessed is the kingdom of our David who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosannah in the highest." And some cried out, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord." These people of Jerusalem (and most had not seen me before) were full of favor; in the windows, many waved. Word of our good deeds had come to Jerusalem before us.

Yet I did not forget the fig tree. Its branches would now be bare. Such thoughts made me brood upon the end of the city of Tyre. A thousand years ago it had dwelt in splendor, renowned for its tables of ebony, its emeralds and purple linens, its stalls of honey and balm, its coral and agate and chests of cedar. Yet the sea had washed it all away. Would this yet be said of Jerusalem, as wealthy in this hour as Tyre once had been?

I gazed upon great white buildings with columns so tall that I could not know whether I beheld a temple or a seat of Roman government. I said to myself, "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches," but the words were too pious (for my heart had leaped at the sight of these riches). So I also said: "The mouth of a strange woman is a deep pit. And a great city is like a strange woman."

Yet I could not scorn Jerusalem. The people of Israel lived with as much magnificence now as in the time of King Solomon, when his palanquin had been made from cedar of Lebanon, its pillars fashioned of silver, its base of gold. The seat of the palanquin was purple and its claws had been wrought by the daughters of Jerusalem. Wondrous was Jerusalem in the time of Solomon, and wondrous was it now.

Yet my followers could hardly share such glory. I saw a Roman noble stop before our procession and stare at our hundreds walking by twos and by threes and fours in the lane. Some were well attired, but most of my people were in plain clothing, or in rags.

I, too, now stared at this throng that belonged to me.

The people of Jerusalem were joining us in large numbers; and I was seeing as many faces as there are aspects of man. Among those who followed were many who could be counted as less than believers but were rather among the curious and the tormented and the cynical, and these last were accompanying us to jeer at the Pharisees and thereby repay them for old rebukes.

Some of these new followers were solemn. So in their eyes shone the hope that I might provide a new piety that weighed upon them less than their old piety, which had turned drab in their hearts from too much repetition of the same prayers. And there were children who looked on all the sights and laughed at the wonder of God's bounty when it came to the faces of people; they were the closest to joy. There were also men with the fearful dissatisfaction of boredom on their brow.

And there were the poor. In their eyes I saw great need, and new hope, and much depth of sorrow; they had been disappointed many times. And I spoke to all, good and evil equally, as if they were one, since changes for the better can occur rapidly at times like these. In a bad man, evil and good can shift more quickly than in a good man; bad men are familiar with their sins and often weary of the struggle to deny remorse.

As the throng increased, so was the colt full of many wicked spirits, but they were young and without the foul odors of more practiced devils. Still, my beast would

buck, and I knew it was in his mind to throw me over his head onto the stones of the road. Yet I rode him. He was the colt for me. And for this moment I felt like the master of good and evil.

Only at this moment, however. For as I approached the Temple, I grew solemn with awe. I could not believe I was more than a Jew with a modest trade approaching a great and consecrated edifice. We were coming near to the Temple of Temples, and they had built it on a mount.

Even before I came to it, I remembered that its steps would rise from courtyard to courtyard, facing ever more august chapels and sacred sanctuaries, and there would be one chamber into which only the High Priest could enter and then only on one day of the year. That was the Holy of Holies. I was the Son of God, but I was also the child of my mother and so my respect for the Temple was, with each breath, growing larger than my urge to change all that was within. I shivered when the men and women in front of me, on mounting an incline in the road, began to cheer, and soon I too, on mounting the hill, saw the Temple walls.

But as I took in the sight, so did I also know that the future of this magnificence was in peril. In years to come, enemies would be ready to tear down the walls until nothing would remain but one wall. Hardly a stone would be left to rest upon another. All this would pass unless the priests of the Temple came to understand that my message was from the Lord.

Sitting upon the colt, I wept openly at my first sight on this morning of the Great Temple. It was beautiful, but it was not eternal. And I thought of the words of Amos, who had said: "The houses of ivory shall perish." It was then that I dismounted, and continued on foot.

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Having climbed the steps of the entrance, I came into the Temple itself. Beyond the first gate was a large court where all could exchange money and goods. How one had to admire the beards of these men of Mammon! They had been curled by a warm iron and were immaculate in their pride. So these moneylenders looked like peacocks. And the priests also looked like peacocks as they moved among them. All was vanity. At home, their tables would be bountiful, while the poor sat in the stinking alleys of the city.

I wrapped silence about me like a holy cloth that others would not dare to touch. I sat alone on a stone bench and looked at how these people cast money into the alms box. Many who were rich cast much. But then came a poor woman, and her shawl was threadbare; she threw in her small coin. My heart leaped.

I called to those disciples who were near and said: "This poor woman has put in more than all the rich. They leave a tithe of their abundance. She gave her living. So she has turned money into a tribute to the Lord. The wealthy give only to impress each other."

I thought of money and how it was an odious beast. It consumed everything offered to it. What slobbering was in such greed! I thought of how the rich are choked with the weight of gold, and their gardens grow no fruit to satisfy them. There is oppression in the perfume of the air, and none of the rich man's blooms bring happiness. For his neighbor is wealthier than himself and his gardens are more beautiful. So are the rich always envious of the next man's gold.

Here, in the outer court of the Temple, surrounded by these moneylenders, I spoke to all, and my voice was my own. I said: "No man can pay allegiance to two masters. For he will cling to the one he needs and, in secret, despise the other. You cannot serve God and Mammon."

Then I heard the Devil speak to me for the first time since I had been with him on the mountain. He said: "Before it is over, the rich will possess you as well. They will put your image on every wall. The alms raised in your name will swell the treasure of mighty churches; men will worship you most when you belong to me as much as to Him. Which is just. For I am His equal." And he laughed. He knew what he would say next:

"Greed is a beast, you say, but note this! Its defecations are weighed in gold. Isn't gold the color of the sun from which all things grow?"

The Lord chose to reply in my other ear: "Everything he says makes sense until it does no longer. He gives this speech to all who catch his eye, and his eye is only for the best, and most beautiful, whom I have fashioned with great hope. He scorns those who are modest but remain with Me."

And this was more than my Father ever said again about Satan, but at this moment it gave little force to my faith. Did my Father speak well of the meek because they were the only ones who remained loyal to Him and to me? How full of chaos was such a thought! I fell prey to a wrath greater than any I had known before.

In the eyes of the moneylenders, greed was as sharp as the point of a spear; the rage of Isaiah came to me. In his words, I cried out: " 'These tables are a pool of vomit. In such filth, nothing is clean!' "

And I overturned each of the tables before me. I threw them over with the money that was on them, and I exulted as the coins gave small cries on striking the stones of the courtyard. Each possessor ran after his lost coins like the swine of Gadarene as they rushed into the sea.

Then I knocked over the seats of those who sold doves and I opened the cages. On this commotion of wings the multitude who were with me came forward and cheered at this defiance of usury.

I said: "My house shall be known before all nations as a house of prayer. Whereas you are men of Mammon and have made it a den of thieves."

Indeed it was the truth. Men who sought Mammon were thieves. They were thieves even if they had never stolen a cup of wheat. Their greed stripped virtue from all who would emulate them.

Soon the priests would be speaking of this act in all the sanctuaries within this Great Temple. For the priests, like the moneylenders, also kept their accounts with God separate from their accounts with Mammon. And how quick they were to water all the vines of cupidity that grew on one side of their soul.

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In the midst of this disorder, I strode among the overturned tables and said: "Destroy this Temple. In three days I will raise it up."

One of the moneylenders had the courage to speak, a stout old man, but with clear eyes: "It took forty-six years to build what is here. You will restore it in three days?"

Now I had to wonder at what I had said. A folly! There were many in this multitude behind me who were ready to tear down anything that did not belong to them. So the word to destroy, once spoken, could do great harm in days to come. Harsh words live in the dungeon of the heart. They never relent; they never forgive. They are imprisoned.

I knew regret. Here were many buildings of immaculate beauty. If I had been a pilgrim wandering these halls, I would have felt awe for the skill of the builders.

By such thinking did I try to remind myself that I was here to teach, not to destroy.

And I would say that the Lord was still with me. For His rage had been there with mine, had it not? And now who but my Father was telling me to be gentle? I said to my followers, "Respect our Temple. These moneylenders are only the leavings of evil. They can be scrubbed from the stone. Walk with me further into these holy places, and I will teach."

I led them to a quiet garden between two small chapels; there was even a cedar to give shade. Then, as I had foreseen, a delegation came of priests and scribes and many of the elders of Jerusalem. Their spokesman said: "We have been awaiting you. But we do not understand the manner of your arrival. By whose authority do you do these things?"

I answered, "I will ask one question. If you can reply, I will tell you. The baptism of John," I asked, "was it from heaven or of men?"

I knew they would reason as follows: "If we say 'From heaven,' then this Jesus shall say, 'Why, then, did you not believe John?' Yet if we say that John was of men, then all of our devout will say that John had to be a prophet."

Since these priests depended on the allegiance of pious Jews, and such Jews often feared that their priests were too friendly with the Romans, there was no room for them to admit that John had been a prophet. For then I could have asked: "Why did you not intercede with the Romans and save John?"

So they answered, "We cannot tell."

I said, "Neither shall I tell by what authority I do these things."

A scribe came forward. He approached with such ease that I knew he was from a noble family. His eyes were blue and his brown beard was soft. He smiled as if he were full of affection for me. Indeed, he even said for greeting, "Master"ùwhich, after the disruption I had caused in the courtyard, was a courtesy; if he could not approve of such an act, he would still call me Master. And so, "Master," he said, "we know that you want to teach the way of truth. Therefore I would ask for an answer to this question. It is of weight to us. Would you say it is lawful to give tribute to Caesar? Or shall we not give?"

With all the gentle warmth that this man offered, I also knew that the Devil had minions who were equally fair. If I replied that one must not give tribute to Caesar, which was the reply, I expect, that he awaited, then these Pharisees could tell the Procurator of Jerusalem that I was leading a rebellion against the Romans.

My wit, however, was like an arrow. I said, "Give me a coin."

When they brought it, I asked, "Whose face is on this money?"

The scribe replied, "Caesar's."

I said, "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesars. And to God the things that belong to God." I was pleased. For I was also telling them that Mammon was a god for the Romans, not the Jews.

I could feel their respect. Now they saw that I not only had the strength to overturn the tables of the moneylenders but the wisdom to avoid a rash reply.

Later, upon reflection, I would also know that my remark had been too clever. While many a church would survive in evil lands by giving homage to Caesar, I was not here to build churches but to bring sinners to salvation. Why, then, had I given that reply? Had God decided on prudence as the better path? Would He now allow churches to grow in the swamps of pride and Mammon?