March 70 A.D. – Lake Tiberius – The Teacher Returns

Judas was old now. And weary with his task. He’d spent the second half of his life preaching, cajoling and trying to convince. But he’d met with little success. He knew he was no great orator. It saddened him to the bottom of his heart that he looked like failing in his life’s great mission. He could not contemplate what it would mean for his future, for everyone’s future. It seemed a long time since he had been received any positive reception from his sermons. Some of his earlier certainty, he could feel ebbing slowly away.

Worse than his own failings, over the last two years, he had seen some of his Master’s teachings written down. It had been explained to him that this was the way his Master’s followers could ensure that the word would endure. But the old man had been unsure.

Some tales had been corrupted in the telling. People who had never heard the preacher talk were interpreting his words incorrectly. The writers obscured the beauty and purity of the original words. Many of those who professed to follow the Master were too focussed on the messenger, not the message. There was confusion over the teacher’s stories. Many were taking literally tales that were meant to be metaphorical. Even, the story describing the origins of the Master himself. To Judas, it seemed a hopeless task to promulgate the original meaning.

He had even seen his own actions described as traitorous in some of the documents. The thought struck viciously at his heart, and at his very soul. Had the other followers learnt nothing from the great teacher? Surely, what was important to remember was not to love this world or the things of this world, but to focus on the love for God.

Those that loved this earthly domain with all its lust and enticement for the eyes could not follow the true God. Believers should be focussed on finding the pure spirit within them. Yet many of the teacher’s new followers were focusing more on the manner of his birth and death, than on communicating with the eternal spirit. The old man thought this at best a distraction, at worst a heresy. He had even heard recently, that those who were teaching, as he, were being insulted, and even in some cases assaulted. Some, decried people like Judas as being Antichrists. How could this have happened?

The old man, bent under the weight of his task, would continue to try. Would soldier on until his days ended.

But something was about to change.

As he once more travelled slowly down the well worn dusty track alongside the lake, his mind drifted back to the last time he’d seen his Master and teacher. It was around this point on the shore, close to the city where he’d heard the first sermon all those years ago. It seemed like a different lifetime.

On that long ago morning, there had been seven of the teacher’s followers present. And they’d sat down with him for a breakfast of fish they’d caught on the lake. The Master had sought to reassure them of their own ability to preach. A deep sigh shuddered its way through Judas’ body. Sometimes the old man even wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing. And then it happened.

The vision had appeared suddenly on the roadside. Looking as serene as ever. But the edges of the silhouette were a little blurred and hazy, just like the last time. However on this occasion Judas was by himself. The Master raised his hands in a gesture of blessing. And spoke in the same clear, gentle voice that always filled his student with an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment.

“It is to you, and you alone, my best and most loyal follower, that I need to entrust a great and dreadful task.”

The student gazed at the Master and listened intently as the details were explained.

“I cannot tell you how you can achieve that which I have asked of you. But I beg you to keep strong, teach as I have taught you, and prayer will bring you the answer.”

Judas did not reply. His mind was racing with thoughts of how he could possibly succeed in the mission his Master had set. He briefly lowered his gaze to the road. When he looked up the vision had gone. It was the last time his mortal eyes would ever gaze upon his teacher.

Afterwards, he spent three days in intense and desperate prayer. The memory of the teacher’s words still remained within him as keen and fresh as ever. The great spirit of love and righteousness, to whom he prayed, was providing him no answer. And he was no nearer to working out how he could complete the precious task to which he had been assigned. Once more he fell to his knees to urgently seek for an answer. And as if by divine intervention, an idea began to crystallise in his mind.

The next day he set out on foot to travel the ten miles to the home of a wealthy merchant, to whose family he regularly preached. Amongst other goods, the man traded regularly in papyrus. He had made many offers of writing materials to the old preacher. But they were turned down, as he preferred to use the oral tradition of story telling.

Writing was he now felt, the best method to get his message preserved. It had been proved to him by the documents he’d seen. The ones that purported to contain his Master’s teachings. They may be wrong, but their words were beginning to endure. And now he was in need of some help. The preacher could not write well himself, though he could read. However, he was sure the merchant could provide him with a local scribe, who could provide the service.