The Gospel According to the Son (15 page)

There was much dispute.

Further down the Street of Herodias, an old Pharisee with a kind face, and many lines of wisdom in the twist of his nose and his mouth, came up to me and asked if we might talk. He said, "Many of us who are Jews and devout feel that you did well to overturn the tables of the moneylenders. Your act is a tribute to God. Too few of us are willing to rebuke greed." But, he said, he would like me to understand something that he had not understood when he was young. When I nodded, he began to speak. Indeed, I wished to calm myself before entering the Temple.

"The Lord," he said, "is generous, and created us to be much like Him. Yet though we are in His image, still we know that we do not have His power."

This elder seemed decent to me. I said: "Man may be created in His image, yet there are no miracles in man's hand."

"Yes," he said. "But what of the one who does have miracles? Is he nearer to God? Or has the Devil deluded him? For the Evil One might use his power to do good; that may be within Satan's art. He could have the gift to give sight to a blind man. In that manner he could delude you further, noble Jesus, concerning the source of your miracles. And by that means he could also magnify the delusions you bring to poor Jews."

"What you say," I told him, "is so finely crafted that you could be speaking for the Serpent."

He sighed. He said, "I know you have a noble heart. It speaks from your eyes. I mean only to warn you. Already a few say that you are the Son of God." And he lowered his eyes before so blasphemous a remark. Only then could he speak again: "Some claim that you say it yourself. I pray that no harm will come to you from this. If you meet the High Priest Caiaphas, do not say anything of this nature to him. For if he should hear such words from your mouth, the sacrilege would be beyond measure. Yet for so long as he does not hear it from your mouth but only from others, he will prefer not to listen. For then he will not have to declare that a mortal sacrilege exists. Of such is your safety."

I smiled at him, but I did not know if I could accept his advice.

40

On this second day in the Temple, the numbers who listened to me had multiplied. They stood in the courtyard and were loud and unruly in the force and fever of their prayers, and so there was need to speak on this matter, for if they did not know how to comport themselves in the Lord's house, they would not know how to act when alone.

"Do not be like the hypocrites," I said, "who love to recite pious verses while standing in the synagogues. Instead, pray to your Father in secret. Do not use vain repetition. That deadens the soul. Never be guilty, therefore, of excessive prayer; your Father knows what you need."

But they only wanted to hear of wondrous things, of portents in the heavens that would forewarn them of the end. So once there was calm, I chose to tell of how there would be signs in the sun, the moon, and in the stars, and of how there would be upheaval upon the earth and in the sea: "Men's hearts will fail them for fear. But if they are brave, they shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and glory. Then you may lift up your heads. For your redemption is near." To myself I said, "Oh, Lord, let my words be true."

I felt as if I had cried out to Him and remained alone. Yet my words were still obliged to do their best to reach into their hearts. For each word might become as valuable as a boat's timber that can keep a man afloat in a sullen sea.

From afar, I could see a priest talking to an officer of the Temple Guard. And one of the lesser priests standing close to me spoke: "By the scrolls it is said that the Messiah shall be from Bethlehem. How, then, can any good thing come out of Nazareth?"

Another said, "No, Jesus is of Bethlehem. Where can you look for a man's nature if not in the land where he was born?"

The priest said: "He is of Galilee. Out of Galilee can arise no Messiah." He nodded his head wisely. He knew. He knew nothing about God, but he could tell you where the Messiah could arise and where he could not.

Listening to this declaration, I told myself: "A man of small mind develops a hard shell so that he can protect his small thoughts." The anger that had reached the center of my heart after the blind man had been mistreated by the Pharisees now came forth in the words I said aloud. "Your fathers killed the prophets," I told them, "and here you build the tombs of the prophets. God will send new prophets, and you will persecute them. You will slay them. So great will be this bloodshed that all the blood of all the prophets that has been shed from the foundations of the world will yet be required of this generation."

When the priest drew back a step, I stepped forward to say more: "All of this has gone on from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zacharias and he perished between the altar and the table."

This priest before me might be small in mind and small in body, but he was as certain as a scorpion of what he knew; he scolded me for offering cures on the Sabbath.

Bereft of patience over this matter, I said: "In you is not the love of God."

How I wished to smite the piety of every Jew who was sharp of practice and narrow of mind. I could have prayed that they find some of the good spirit of those other Jews with whom I had built houses in Nazareth. Those men had been my equals; those men had been my friends.

I said more. I said: "The hour is coming when all that are in the grave shall hear His voice and then they shall come forth, they who have done good and they who have done evil. Then will my judgment be upon all your ancestors." I waited and said again: "Upon all your ancestors."

By these last words I aroused a greater wrath than by anything I said or did on the first day. It burned in these priests and Pharisees. If they suffered in their souls from many sins and lusted after Mammon, still they believed that they would be protected in heaven against their worst acts. For their glorious forebears would intercede. They believed in their ancestors before they believed in God. And more than they believed in God. Their real faith was that these ancient members of their family would carry them across the abyss that separated them from the Lord. And here was I passing judgment on the old and evil deeds of their ancestors. So they closed their ears. They had to protect themselves against giving any kind of audience to the Devil. Tears stood forth in my eyes like sentinels on guard. For I knew that the most powerful of my own people, and their highest priests, could only see me as the messenger of Satan. And I could not believe how deep this wound went into me: I was repugnant to the leaders of my people. Yes! As repugnant as the swine of Gadarene.

So great was their rage that the light of the day turned red before my eyes. It was as if their souls were already in the Fire. Toward such rage I offered no peace. I could not restrain my tongue: "You shall know the truth," I told them, "and only the truth shall make you free." Yet these Pharisees were proud; from the heights of their selfesteem they offered homage to themselves. So they answered: "We are of the seed of Abraham. We were never in bondage to any man. How then can it be said 'You shall be made free'?"

I answered: "You are Abraham s seed, yet you seek to be rid of me. But I have come to tell you the truth as I have heard it from God."

They answered, "We too have one father, and He is God."

To which I replied: "The Devil is your father."

Was I preparing a furnace to melt iron? Never had I seen Pharisees more provoked. "Now we know," they said, "from whom you come. Do you dare to say that you are greater than our father Abraham?"

"Your father Abraham rejoices to see my day," I told them, "because he knows me. Before Abraham was, I am.

They took up stones to cast at me. No longer could I walk by them as on the first day. Then, some had been ready to hurl a rock, yet could not. I had passed through their ranks. Now one, and soon another, would be bold. And after the first stone, many. So I stepped behind one of my disciples, and he behind others, and we slipped away. Even as they raged in their fire, they still would not be quick to pursue me.

41

Concerned about where I could stay, my disciples chose the house of Simon the leper in Bethany. No one would think of searching there. Yet word of my presence soon went out. While we were at table, a woman came with an offering. It was an alabaster jar of spikenard, which she massaged into my hair. This spikenard was of great worth, as much as three hundred denarii, which is what a poor man earns by his labor over many a month, even a year.

But this spikenard had power over me. Its aroma entered my ears as well as my nose, and I heard the Song of Songs. First came the voice of the Bride. She said: "While the king sat at his table, my spikenard sent forth its fragrance."

Some of my disciples were indignant. One even said, "Why was this ointment not sold by our Master and the money given to the poor? This is waste!" It was Judas who spoke.

I looked at him with disfavor. And he was dark with anger and looked away. The woman who brought the gift was named Mary (the same as my mother, and Mary Magdalene, and the Mary who was Lazarus' sister), and, yes, another Mary whose name I would not forget, for she anointed my feet with the last of the spikenard and wiped my feet with her hair. Nor was I without a sentiment of peace as she gave this homage to my ankles and toes (as if blessing the miles we had walked). Verses came to me from the scroll of the Song of Songs: "Rise up, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, flowers appear on the earth and the time for birds to sing has come." The house was filled with the sweet odor of the ointment.

Judas now asked: "Why was this pomade not sold?"

Others began to complain. They did not speak against me, but they did attack the woman's gift. I said, "Why trouble her? She has left her good work on me." And to Judas I said more: "The poor are with you always," I told him, "and whenever you can, you may do them good. But me you will not have always."

Now I was of two minds. The love that had come from this woman's hands had given me a moment of happiness; so at this instant I did not feel like a friend of the poor. Indeed, was I not poor myself? I was certainly living with all the shortness of breath that is one's first companion when there is fear of death. The perfume of the spikenard had been a balm to the loneliness in my belly.

So for the first time, I knew how the rich feel, could understand their need for display. To them, a lavish presentation of their worth was as valuable as their own blood. Thereby, I could also understand that their greed was a potion against foreboding. I had said it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, yet from the other side of my mouth, I had, if only for an instant, been scornful of the poor.

Did I speak with a forked tongue so that I might reach out to all? The perfume of the spikenard was in my nose, and I had an image of beautiful temples. They would be erected for me. I could see how I wanted to be all things to all men. Each could take from me a separate wisdom. Indeed, I thought: Many roads lead to the Lord.

But now I noticed that Judas had left. If he loved me, so did he also love me no longer. Even as he had warned me. And he had gone away into that same night where many now wandered back and forth on the road between Bethany and Jerusalem. And all were wondering about the changes to come.

Disciples came up and said that Judas was speaking ill of me on the street. I was ready to betray the poor, he had said. I was like the others. I had not remained true to my convictions. Yet I was obliged to forgive Judas. For, indeed, had I not scorned the poor? That was true even if I had said the words for one moment, only for one moment. But I had believed the words as I said them. The truth need last no longer than a shaft of lightning in order to be the mightiest truth of all.

42

In my dream it had been foretold that the first day of Passover would be my third day in Jerusalem. On that day the Romans would lay hands on me. And here were my limbs heavy on the morning of this third day. I could not rise. My eyes ached from all I had seen, my ears from all that had been heard; an unholy congestion of spirits was in my chest. Multitudes would be waiting to accompany me to the Temple, more than on the first day, or the second. And I was not ready. I asked myself whether it might not be God's will for me to quit this city so that I might preach by the Sea of Galilee once more. How beautiful was the sun upon the water of the Sea of Galilee.

How many debates had there been during the night among the priests of the Temple? Were they looking to imprison me? Today was the feast of the Passover, and so these priests would hesitate to engage in any deed that might cause riots among the people. Jewish riots would enrage the Romans. The priests could find themselves in much disfavor for failing to protect the peace of the city.

They did not know what to do. Of that, I was certain. But then, I did not know what to do. On this third morning, I could not rouse myself to go to the Temple. If prudence comes to us from God and cowardice from the Devil, the line between cannot always be discerned. Not by a man. On this morning I was no longer the Son of God but only a man. God's voice was weak in my ear; a low fear was in my heart.

By afternoon, the disciples gathered at my bed. "Where shall we go," they asked, "that we may all eat together on the Passover?"

At last, I could begin to act. I said, "Let two of you go into the city and follow the first man you see who is carrying a pitcher of water. Walk with him to his door. Tell him: 'My Master asks for the guest chamber. He would like to eat the Passover here with his disciples.' That good man will show you a large upper room, furnished and prepared. Make it ready for us."

I saw this as clearly as if God had told it to me. And, indeed, the man was soon found. All was as I had said; they made ready the Passover. In the evening, in the dark, I came to that house with my twelve, and we ate.

I remained silent until I took the bread. Then I blessed it and broke it and gave a piece to each of my friends. I recalled the hour when I had broken bread in the desert and five loaves had fed five hundred. In that hour I had lived in the miracle of God's favor, so I said now: "Eat of me, for this is my body." And what I said was true. In death our flesh returns to the earth and from that earth will come grain. I was the Son of God. So I would be present in the grain.