Jerusalem
14th of Nisan, 3790
The young man stumbles through the cold night air, clinging desperately to the linen sheets he threw around himself before rushing out the door. The soldiers had come looking for Jesus. The commotion awakened him. There wasn’t much time. He knew he had to warn the rabbi. Now, he is not sure he is entirely covered and while he clumsily makes his way through the stony streets he pulls at his makeshift clothes.
He must be careful not to expose himself. He watches warily for bands of soldiers as he tries to avoid the thousands of pilgrims who have settled for the night in the public places of Jerusalem. Some are slumbering in makeshift shelters. Some are huddled around fires. Few notice him. He is grateful. He can feel the cold air on his private parts and worries as he hops and weaves that he is doing something inadvertently shameful. In his native language, “shameful” and “naked” mean the same thing. He cannot know it now, but there will soon come much shame in this night.
He knows where he must go and quickly—to the garden beside the olive press at the foot of the eastern mountain. It is one of the rabbi’s favorite retreats, an enclosed, quiet spot where he often meets with his men. The owner offered it as a haven from the stir of the city. Jesus is free to use it whenever he wishes. Its high walls, lush fruit trees, and shrubs make it both pleasant and safe. There may also be something about the tortured way the trunks of the olive trees reach heavenward that holds the rabbi’s fascination as well.
The boy composes himself so as not to draw the attention of the guards at the city gate. He walks by, trying to appear as though his world is not shattering. Once past the gatekeepers, he resumes his hopping and weaving. He must hurry. Jesus and his men went this way long ago. He must make up the time.
He descends into the black of the Valley of Kidron. The boy focuses his attention on crossing at one of the temporary bridges. He likely does not think about how the priests discard the remains of the temple sacrifices into the Kidron. He almost certainly is not pondering themes of redemption. He is more likely thinking about failure—his own failure to be there, now, at the rabbi’s side.
The boy scurries across the stream and some distance up the Mount of Olives. He knows the path well. He has taken it often. He makes his way through the thick underbrush, into the familiar gated garden and to the far side where the teacher and his men usually rest.
He is sweaty and chilled at the same time, breathless yet determined. He looks for the rabbi amidst the trees and the mountain’s large stones. Then he freezes, stunned by the scene that greets him. It looks to his young eye as though the armies of Rome have descended upon this garden and its olive press.
Before him are several hundred Roman soldiers. There are also temple guards, servants from the high priest’s house, and dozens more who form what can only be described as a mob. They carry lanterns, torches, swords, and clubs. Some of the lanterns hang from long poles. The mob brought these expecting they would have to search the notoriously dark, rugged face of the mountain. They came expecting a manhunt for a rabbi on the run.
Each piece of the mystifying scene sears itself into the boy’s mind. Jesus stands calm and regal before the officers. His clothes are wet with a rust-colored liquid. Some of his men are nearby, looking scared, resigned, perhaps embarrassed. The rabbi’s other men stand a bit further away, terrified and confused. There is a figure the boy recognizes as the high priest’s steward. He is well known in the city. The steward is to the side of the crowd and appears deeply shaken. From time to time he puts his hand to his ear and feels it eagerly. Then there is the great mass of armed men who crouch slightly, their weapons stretched before them, as though making themselves ready to repel an invasion. But there is no obvious threat beyond the few old swords the boy knows that some of the disciples have tucked in their sashes. Something yet unseen has filled these men with alarm.
The boy would learn later what had happened in the moments before he arrived. Jesus and his men had come to the olive press garden to pray. It had been a fairly pleasant evening. They had partaken of the feast in the second-story room of the house in the Upper City. There was tension, particularly when Judas became offended and left, but they had enjoyed the start of their walk toward the garden in the refreshingly cold night air.
Then things started unraveling. While they were still making their way, Jesus said solemnly that they would all be offended and flee from him that evening. Some said it wouldn’t happen. The rabbi stood his ground and shot back that it would not just happen once but one of them would betray him three times. Shame and hurt fell over them. How could it be? One of them angrily insisted the rabbi was wrong this time. It was quiet for a moment. When they arrived at the garden, Jesus took three of them some distance further to pray.
What followed was embarrassing. While Jesus seemed to be in a state of prayerful agony, moaning and yelling as though giving birth, the rest could not stay awake. The food, the wine, their general sadness at the evening’s decline and the lateness of the hour all conspired against them. Jesus asked three different times that they stir themselves and help him watch, but they couldn’t. They slept. They awoke in guilt. Then they slept again.
Finally, they awoke to hear Jesus say something about the hour being upon them and his betrayer approaching. This was startling enough to jerk them out of their slumber. When they stood and looked about them, they were surrounded by hundreds of armed men, a few temple officials and, of all people, one of their own—Judas.
In a loud, unnatural voice, Judas shouted a greeting to the rabbi and then kissed him, not once but over and over again. Jesus did not answer this feigned affection. “Judas,” he asked, “you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” This was rhetorical. Jesus didn’t wait for an answer but instead stepped past Judas toward the bulk of the armed men.
“Who do you seek?” he asked evenly.
“Jesus the Nazarene,” someone of rank said.
“I am he,” he replied calmly.
At this, the armed men drew back and toppled over. It would have occasioned a laugh had anyone dared. When the soldiers recovered themselves, the rabbi asked the same question again.
“Who is it you want?”
Again: “Jesus of Nazareth.”
“I told you I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.” It was not so much a request as a command. And it came after a demonstration of authority. The soldiers were unable to stand when this rabbi declared himself. Surely they understood that if he did not choose to be taken, he would not be. So, let the others go, he urged. There is something inevitable happening here and we should get on with it.
Armed men then grabbed him and started to bind his hands. His men saw this and became incensed. One of them pulled his sword, swung it at the high priest’s steward, and sliced off the man’s ear. The armed men gasped, gripped their weapons tighter, and moved forward. Jesus spoke to the man who swung his sword before he could do further damage. The armed men stopped in their tracks. “Put your sword away. Shouldn’t I drink the cup the Father has for me?”
“The cup.” In all of their holy writings, a cup that was not for drinking natural liquid was a cup symbolizing God’s wrath. Perhaps some begin to understand.
The rabbi bent down, picked up the bloody ear, and put it where it belonged at the side of the servant’s head. When he took his hand away, the ear remained in its place, attached and undamaged as though it had never been severed. The servant, whose name was Malchus, moved unsteadily aside.
The boy has hardly moved since he came upon this scene. He remains frozen still, as burly men grip the bound rabbi and move him down the mountain. The hundreds of others, having found what they came to find, also begin moving toward the Valley of Kidron and head toward the city.
It slowly dawns on the young man that dozens of the armed men in this seething mob are passing within a few feet of him. The realization comes to him just in time. Several soldiers step in his direction to grab him. He jumps back. The men end up with fistfuls of cloth. The boy spins and dodges, coming free from his sheets. He runs away, naked, the taunts of the men in his ears as he goes.
Now, completely exposed, he must find his way back down the mountain, across the valley, and into the city. He must do this without being arrested. He feels the shame of his situation and it becomes one with the shame of all who have run from the side of the rabbi this night.
The shivering, terrified boy suddenly realizes what the others already have: Jesus—their rabbi—is about to die.