I knew that all I had told them was true but for one thing. I had said: "Love one another as I have loved you." Yet my love had been mixed with anger.
So I would tell them what must always be true: "Greater love," I said, "no man can have than this, that he lay down his life for his friend. I tell you again: Love one another. You must."
I spoke as if I had already left them. I believed it. Yet I also believed that I would never leave them. I would be with them tomorrow.
I looked at my apostles, and some were ugly and some were misshapen of body; some were misshapen of nose; the hands of many were thick and broken; the legs of others were crooked. Yet they were not only my followers but my friends. I would love them. "They will persecute me," I said. "They will persecute you. And all these things they will do to you because of me. For if I had not told them of their sins, they would not have had to know that they sinned. Now there is no cloak for their evil."
I heard a roaring in the wilderness, and it was far from my ear even if it was inside my ear. The rage of the Devil was immense. If the Pharisees were now without a cloak for their sin, then the Devil might lose his harvest.
"The time shall come," I said to my people, "when whoever will look to kill you will think that he does service to God. Wars shall be waged in God's name that will profit the Devil."
If I was feeling the sorrow that I might not live to see my disciples for even one more evening, still it was necessary that I say: "Your unhappiness shall turn to joy. For you will come to know yourselves, and then you will see that you are also the sons of the living Father."
I wanted this to be true for now and for eternity, but I also knew that my Father's heart was heavier in this hour than my own. Again, I did not dare to wonder whether I had failed in the larger part of my ministry. Instead, I lifted my eyes and prayed, "Father, give back to me the glory that I had with You before the world was." And it gave me great hope to think that He had been with me from the beginning, and even before the beginning. Might that give me strength in the trials to come?
"Father," I said, "if I am no longer to be in this world, my men are still here and I have given them Your Word. So I pray that You will take them into Yourself and keep them from the evil of others. As You, Father, are in me and I in You, may they also be in Us, and be One with Us. And then the world will believe that You have sent me. The glory which You have given to me I would give to them so that they may be One even as We are One, I in them and You in me."
I could feel the love of God. Such love was like an animal of heavenly beauty. Its eyes glowed in my heart.
As these prayers echoed within my chest, so did I know that I must go again to the Temple even if it was the night of the third day. And I must go with these questions in my heart. If they were heavy, so must I carry them as my burden.
I set out.
With every step my legs grew heavier. When we came to Gethsemane, I said to my disciples, "Sit here. I will pray."
I chose Peter and James and John to come with me and began to mount the small hill to the garden of Gethsemane. It was as if my limbs belonged to another and could hardly stir.
"Keep watch," I said. I hardly knew why, but I said to Peter, "Do not enter into temptation." My soul was sorrowful unto death.
Then I went forward to where they could not see me, and fell to the ground. I prayed that this hour might pass.
44
I wanted to live in less terror. Sweat was on my brow, and heavy, like drops of blood. I said, "Father, take this cup from me." Yet I knew that the cup of misery would not pass; the pit was bottomless. Suddenly I was afraid of my Father for I was full of pity for myself. I said to Him: "It is not what I will but what You will."
When I made my way down to the three I had left behind, they were sleeping. I said: "Peter, could you not watch for an hour?" By his face, I knew that he was imbued with his own terror and it was as large as mine. For what does a strong man do in the hour of his cowardice but fall into sleep? Yet once again Peter swore loyalty to me, and said he would stand guard. "The spirit may be ready," I told him, "but the flesh is weak."
I went off to pray by myself in the garden. And the odor of betrayal was in the flowers. Even in the flowers. When I returned to the other three, they were asleep. Again they had fallen asleep.
I said, "It is enough. The hour is come."
As I spoke, Judas came toward us. With him were Temple Guards and Roman soldiers. He marched straightaway to me and said, "Master, Master," and he kissed me on the mouth. It was then that I knew he loved me too, and more than he could ever have believed.
By no more than half, however, did he love me. His lips were burning with fever. He must have said to the guards: "He whom I will kiss speaks as the Messiah." He could have said no less than that, for they came forward at once to lay hands on me. Peter then drew his sword and struck a servant of the High Priest on his ear. That poor fellow's ear turned raw with blood. I said to this servant, "Suffer no further." And touched his ear and healed him. I asked his nameùMalchus. The Roman soldiers were silent and did not come to aid Malchus because he was a Jew, but then they also drew back because I had healed a wound.
I said to the Temple Guards: "Have you come to find a thief?"
Hearing this speech, they seized me, and James and John fled. Even Peter was gone. So were the Roman soldiers.
I suffered these Temple Guards to lead me away.
45
They took me to the house of Caiaphas, the High Priest, and it was a large house. At the other end of a long hall, a fire had been kindled, and there, followers of the High Priest sat together. I could see that Peter, having stolen after me, now sat among them warming himself by the fire.
The men who held me put a blindfold over my eyes. And as soon as that was done, one of these fellows slapped me on the face. Then several said: "Tell us who struck you. Prophesy!"
Another, whom I could not see, left his spit on my cheek.
Then came the priests and the elders and some of the council of the Sanhedrin. I knew false witnesses would accompany them. Soon, two men told the High Priest that I had said, "I will destroy this Temple, and within three days I will build another." Yet they did not agree on whether I had said I would use my own hands or would rebuild the Temple without hands.
Caiaphas, the High Priest, now ordered my blindfold to be removed. He was a tall man, and his white beard was worthy of a prophet. He stood in the midst of the others and asked gently: "Will you reply to my questions?"
I did not answer. My silence must have seemed insolent, for this High Priest Caiaphas then said: "I adjure you by the Living God to tell us whether you are Christ, the Son of God, our Messiah."
He had adjured me. I could not swear a false oath to the High Priest of my people; no, not even if I was the Son of God and thereby, by half, superior to any priest. So I said, "I am what you say." These words might as well have come from the sky. They seemed far away from me even as I said them.
He did not seem surprised. With deliberation, the High Priest tore his robes and said, "We need no witnesses. All of you have heard this blasphemy."
And in ripping his garment Caiaphas had declared to all that I had no claim to be the Son of the Father; no, I was a son of the Jews. This son had committed so great a sacrilege that he, the High Priest, had had to rend his clothes. By the common bond of our people's blood, I was his offspring. Condemned by him, I was now to be mourned as dead.
The guards beat upon me. These words by Caiaphas had removed all fear that I might yet bear witness against mistreatment. So they felt free to beat my face.
I could still see Peter. He remained on a bench at the other end of the hall, and when a servant came up to him and asked, "Were you not one of those who was with Yeshua of Nazareth in the Temple?" Peter said, "I don't understand what you say."
But, at once, he left her and went out onto the porch, even though the night was cold. There, another maid saw him and said: "This is one of them."
br />
Again he denied me. "Woman," he told her, "I do not know him."
A man came up and said to Peter: "Aren't you one of his people? Your speech has the sound of Galilee."
Peter declared: "I do not know this man of whom you speak."
It was then that the cock crowed. It was night, not morning, but the cock crowed. In that moment, Peter recalled what I had said.
He left the porch. He was weeping. He wept. Peter's sorrow passed over to me, but, suddenly, like the point of a lance. He would spend his life offering amends for this hour when he had denied me thrice before the cock crowed once.
The High Priest Caiaphas departed with the elders of the Sanhedrin. And I was thrown into a small dungeon, where I was kept through the night and, unable to sleep, considered what I might do. No matter that Judas had betrayed me; he had also warned me. And now I needed his counsel. It was he, of all my disciples, who had been the wisest in explaining how our priests went about arranging matters with the Romans. So I knew that in the morning, much would depend on the nature of the agreement entered into between Caiaphas and the Procurator of Judea.
Judas had spoken often of these two men and how they kept peace in Jerusalem. Pontius Pilate allowed his soldiers to commit no insolence against the Great Temple, and Caiaphas tolerated no orthodox burial for those Jews who died in attacks upon Roman soldiers.
Thereby they maintained order. The Romans kept belief, as such pagans would, in their own Roman destiny. Whereas the Jews believed in one God, One, more powerful than all pagan gods and demons. On other matters there was much accord between Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate. As Judas had told it to me, the Roman Procurator received gold in secret from the Temple; this made for much difference in the way he treated Jews. In his first year of governing Judea, Pontius Pilate had committed the mistake of displaying the Roman eagle upon the standards of his garrison in the holy city. That was idolatry, and a demonstration commenced against Pontius Pilate. A great number of Jews gathered outside his residence and refused to leave. They were soon encircled by Pilate's legions and ordered to depart or to die. But none of these Jews would take a step. Pilate had to give way. He removed the Roman eagle from the standards of the legions. The Jews had not only been brave but knowing. They had divined that Pilate did not wish to disturb his superiors in Rome by a war at the beginning of his command as Procurator. Now he had ruled over Judea for more than five years, and peace had been preserved, even if he still conducted his affairs with a daily fear of revolt. Caiaphas had been High Priest for more than ten years. The sum of his agreement with Pontius Pilate was that he also abhorred an uprising. So said Judas, who had seldom been hesitant to show his dissatisfaction with me because I was not willing to lead a revolt. Before the Jews could come to know the brotherhood of man, they must be free of the Romans, Judas had said. That was the only way, he declared to all of us, that the Jews could be free of the shame that kept them apart, some few rich, so many poor, and all subservient to the Romans. Yes, he was furious when I told him that I wished to bring my people to my Father, and that was all I wanted. I had told him this more than once on our journey to Jerusalem, and indeed, I was innocent of any urge to rebel against the eagle of these pagans. But then, I did not feel subservient to the Romans. They might hold us in their grip here on earth but they were as nothing compared to the Kingdom of Heaven.
Could this be cause for hope? That I did not wish to be a leader of a revolt? Already my limbs had begun to brood upon their misery, and the bruises on my face were swollen. This dungeon was blacker than the night.
46
At dawn, I was taken from the house of Caiaphas and brought to a small chamber near the court of Pontius Pilate. On the way, one of the guards who accompanied me said that Judas had returned the thirty pieces of silver paid to him by the elders.
"Our priests," said the guard, "did not know what to do with this offering. It is not lawful to put blood money into the treasury." So they had refused his thirty pieces of silver. Judas threw down the coins and left.
Then he had hanged himself. Not three hours ago.
How could I comprehend? Of what had Judas repented? Of his lack of belief in my Father? Or his lack of loyalty to me? No, I could not speak. Nor did I dare. For I would have wept. From one side of my heart or the other.
I was taken before Pontius Pilate. He was a small man with a sharp nose and sharp shoulders. His knees were also sharp, as if he had climbed to many a position by the quickness of his mind and his joints. And indeed it is rare to find a man with a sharp nose who is stupid. Nothing of benevolence came from him, but I could see that he was wary and might not wish my death. Rather, he looked upon me as if I were a strong wind that bore no good omen.
Of the priests who now appeared he asked: "What accusation do you make against this man?"
They said: "He is, sir, a malefactor and is trying to pervert our nation."
"Then take him away," said Pilate. "Judge him according to your law."
They answered: "It is not lawful for us to put a man to death." That was true. The power of execution was reserved for the Romans. On those words, therefore, Pontius Pilate left his hall of judgment to take counsel, and when he came back, he asked more questions of these priests, and they said that I had forbidden everyone to give tribute to Caesar and that I called myself a king.
Whereupon Pilate asked: "Do you call yourself the King of the Jews?"
I answered, "Did others say so?"
Pilate answered, "Am I a Jew? Your priests have brought you here. What have you done?"
"My kingdom is not of this world," I answered.
He looked at me then with attention and yet with amusement. For he saw the bruises on my face. He asked, "Are you nonetheless a king?"
"In one way only am I a king. I can bear witness to the truth."
Pilate said: "What is truth?" He might be without belief, but he was not without a tongue. He said, "Where there is truth, there will be no peace. Where peace abides, you will find no truth."
From the party of the High Priest now came a small sound of dissent. If pious Jews knew nothing else, they knew what was truth. And on this morning their truth was that I should be condemned by the Romans.
Having heard their unhappy responses, Pilate asked again: "Yes, what is truth?" And answered the question himself. "In property is truth," he said. "In land is truth, especially in the ownership of it. And in the law of the land is the most truth. Since you are a Galilean, you are under Herod's jurisdiction, not mine. For he is the king of Samaria and Idumea and Galilee as appointed by Rome. Indeed, Herod is not only in Jerusalem this morning but is visiting my court. He has spoken of you and desires to meet you, having heard many things. Perhaps he hopes to see a miracle." Pontius Pilate smiled. "Can your miracles be performed in the court of the gentiles? The gods of the gentiles, after all, may have more domain in this place than the god of the Jews."
So I was taken across many courtyards of his palace and into the chambers of Herod Antipas. He was fat, and he did not say much. He was distracted by a beautiful woman who sat at his table. Yet when his soldiers smiled at seeing me, for by now my robe was filthy, Herod ordered another to be brought, worthy of a king. Or, as he amended it, a robe fit at least for the officers of a king. And he had it put upon me.
Then he said: "Since you are in Jerusalem, you are in the jurisdiction of Pontius Pilate." These words pleased him. I could see that he would send me back to Pontius Pilate. He wanted nothing to do with any cousin of the prophet if others were there to dispose of such a fellow. Instead, Herod Antipas remarked: "Since you are a Galilean and come from lands I oversee, I will send you back to Pontius Pilate in this manner, properly dressed." And his eyes were small and buried far in his head. How they must have hidden from the bloody sight of the head of John the Baptist. He hardly looked at me. His hand was on the woman.
The guards led me through the palace back to Pontius Pilate, and there before him stood Caiaphas, who looked as if he,
too, had not slept in peace.
Pilate was speaking: "You have sent this man to me as one who perverts your people. Yet I have found no fault in him that corresponds to your accusation that he breeds revolt against Romans. Nor does Herod find such fault. Look, he has sent him back in a robe of purple. Therefore I will chastise this man, then release him. When you ask that I condemn a man to death, it can be done only if he is a grievous malefactor. Death, when all is said, is a grievous punishment."
I could see that this was not a contest in logic but a game. For Caiaphas showed no discontent. He merely smiled ruefully, as if he knew that the price of Roman justice would not be small today. Pontius Pilate might be ready to put me to death, but only at his price.
Now Pilate said: "I will condemn this man if you insist, but is it necessary? Today is one of the days of your feast. By our law, which is here in accord with your law, it is agreed that I am to release one Jew who has been in prison during your Passover. Will you let me release to you this King of the Jews?"
The priests of the Temple made a show of looking all around them for an answer: I could see that none of my people were here, but then my people were poor or, if rich, timid; nearly all were unlettered and afraid of the Romans. Whereas here were many elders of the Temple and scribes and Pharisees and rich townspeople. These were the men surrounding the priests. So I understood (and much too late!) that the voice of a multitude is a high wind: It can do much damage in its passage, but will leave no more than the spoil it has strewn behind.
When Pilate asked: "Whom do I release?" this gathering, loyal to the priests, answered, "Barabbas." And I had heard already of that man. Barabbas was a prisoner who had killed a Roman soldier.
Pilate smiled. Roman law might be Roman law, but it would cost the Temple a goodly sum to free a Jew who had killed a Roman soldier. Caiaphas also smiled more widely than before, as if to say, "I have the strength to bear this burden."
So Pilate said: "What, then, should I do with a man who is called Christ?"