Chapter Twenty-Five

Verse One

The prevalence of Pharisees in Judea proved a hindrance to Jesus’ orations. Jesus could make the most innocent of remarks as he began a speech, and if the Pharisees were about, they would surely interrupt with an argument or question. If the questions were direct, Jesus would answer in his characteristically oblique style.

Pharisee: What is the afterlife?

Jesus: What is this life?

Pharisee: What is eternity?

Jesus: In the moment, there is no future and no past.

Pharisee: Why does God allow evil?

Jesus: If you knew the answer, would it change you? Would you then allow evil?

Pharisee: Are we free, or are we the slaves of fate?

Jesus: I do not know. Perhaps the freedom is in the asking of the question.

Pharisee: What is the soul?

Jesus: What is the body? Could the soul be anything more than the wholeness of the body?

Pharisee: I had a dream in which I saw an eagle fly in a circle overhead. What is the meaning of this dream?

Jesus: Can we understand dreams if we do not first understand waking sights? If you are awake and you see an eagle circle overhead, what does that mean? Do you trust your eyes more when they are closed than when they are open?

The Pharisees were often stumped by his responses, but these men were far more interested in disputation than in getting answers, and they could debate the interpretation of scripture for hours on end. They were respectful and seemed to be sincere, calling Jesus “good rabbi” and asking that he “help us understand” how to resolve some paradox they detected in his comments.

Jesus had little patience for such analysis, and the first time the Pharisees tried to engage him, he was thrown off-balance and could not respond with anything clever. I think I remember the occasion. Just a couple of minutes into Jesus’ speech, a Pharisee loudly interrupted: “Good rabbi, I have puzzled at length over something for which I believe you can provide some clarity. In the resurrection, what shall we look like? Will a man who died in old age arise into his decrepit body, or will the Lord give him a youthful one? What of a man who lost a finger as a boy? Will his finger be restored?”

This inquiry had nothing to do with Jesus’ topic, which I think was about family obligations and how they related to civic duties, and he had no ready reply. He was accustomed to talking with people after his sermons, but during them he typically heard only agreement coming from the crowd.

Jesus stood silent as if stunned. The questioner’s three or four companions whispered and nodded to each other. I saw frowns on the faces of many of our crowd, offended, I supposed, at what they took to be the man’s rudeness. Peter and Andrew both looked at me and shrugged. I guess they wanted me to jolt Jesus out of this reticent moment. Finally, Jesus spoke.

“Friend, those are fascinating questions, but could we discuss them later?”

The Pharisee didn’t reply, and I didn’t know if he was smug about bewildering Jesus or disappointed that they hadn’t locked into debate. Jesus tried to return to his sermon, but he didn’t sound confident and lost his place several times. Afterwards, the Pharisee and his companions left, and I was relieved that they hadn’t stayed to accept Jesus’ invitation for discussion.

After several of these encounters, Jesus became adept at turning the Pharisees’ inquiries back upon themselves, and then James would jump in and discourse with them on their own terms. He loved argument and could string bits of textual evidence into discursive chains as beautifully ornamental as they were convincing. The Pharisees were duly impressed, and I’m sure James imagined that he would have pursued the scholarly life had Joseph not dragged him from Judea.

The crowd would soon lose interest in James and the Pharisees’ discussions and disperse. At the third or fourth instance of this pattern—Jesus speaks, Pharisees challenge, Jesus responds enigmatically, James jumps in for a debate—Andrew and Peter pulled me away from the crowd, fearful that new audiences might no longer come, and even old followers might become disillusioned.

“They may think Jesus led them to the door of the palace,” said Peter, “only to be denied entrance by chattering, self-righteous servants.” I thought it an odd metaphor. The Pharisees were the servants, of course, but whose palace were we trying to enter? “Something has to be done,” Peter continued, “about these, these—”

“Distractions,” said Andrew. “Have you spoken to your brother about it?”

“I’m hoping the Pharisees will tire of this game,” I said. “They’re not antagonistic. In fact, we probably have a good deal of common ground. It’s just that they enjoy argument like children enjoy playing pebble jump. When a new kid comes in, everyone wants to see how he plays the game. But, no, I haven’t spoken to Jesus about it.”

“I didn’t mean him,” said Andrew. “I meant James. By tossing his pebble, he keeps the game alive.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Do you think James could become a distraction for the Pharisees? Maybe he can occupy them while Jesus orates.”

Peter grunted in agitation and wiped sweat from his reddened brow. “James? James is the answer?” His bottom teeth jutted out and he snorted like a horse. “You two are pathetic. Something has to be done!” He pulled at his lip and let it pop back against his teeth. “Where are the Zealots now that we need them?”

Andrew shook his head and squinted an eye at Peter, a look of exasperation that Peter had probably seen thousands of times before. Andrew turned back to me. “Maybe James could give a speech, or at least the beginning of a speech. When the game begins, Jesus would speak just down the street. The Pharisees will stay with James, but the others will go to Jesus.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t see James standing on a platform before a crowd.”

Andrew’s face broadened. He grabbed both my shoulders. “What if you—don’t say ‘no’ yet—what if you start the speech?”

I didn’t understand, but only for a moment.

“You mean I should—”

“Hear me out. You wouldn’t be impersonating him exactly. You wouldn’t claim at all to be him. You’d just climb up onto a cart and start to speak. You wouldn’t say, ‘Come listen to me; I’m Jesus.’ You’d just speak. The Pharisees would jump in right away. Then Jesus could start a short distance away. There’ll be a bit of confusion at first, but we’d get the crowd to move to Jesus. Then James will keep the Pharisees occupied.”

“I don’t know.” My breath was shallow. I gulped air as if I were running to escape wild beasts.

“What?” asked James. “What’s wrong?” I hadn’t noticed he was nearby. I thought he was already debating the Pharisees.

As Peter took my elbow to steady me, Jesus began to speak. I ignored my dizziness and strained to hear what he was saying, but the crowd was milling around us, fussing about whether to go or stay. If Jesus was speaking, why had they lost interest? Were Peter and Andrew right and the disillusionment had already begun?

I thought I heard Jesus say, “As written in the laws,” which was completely uncharacteristic. We moved closer, and I heard Jesus say, “As the laws command.”

We got to the front with Mary. Her head was cocked, and her upper lip formed a curious arch. The Zebedee brothers whispered to each other. Philip held his flattened hand toward me as if he expected me to place an explanation into his palm. James glanced at me with a look that was half puzzlement, half pleasure. Leah’s mother was at the front too, and she interlaced the fingers of one hand into mine and pressed her head against my shoulder. Did she want my support, or was she offering support to me? I thought about my promise to Leah to look after her and felt a pinch of guilt that I had not kept a closer watch.

“Good rabbi, Torah gives us six hundred and thirteen laws,” said a narrow-faced Pharisee. He was bald, but had a dense, dirt-colored beard that came to a caprine point. “Hillel taught that they all amount to this: Do not do to others what is hateful to you. Do you agree?”

Jesus stepped down from the cart from which he’d begun his speech and picked up a brown leaf from the ground. He climbed back onto the cart and held up the leaf, studied it for a moment, and tossed it into the breeze as if releasing a dove—he had such a flair for these gestures. “Hillel was a wise teacher, and we would do well to follow his guidance,” he said. “We must, however, understand the source for our respect for others. I say that the teachings can be reduced to this: First, love the Lord with your entire being, as he is being itself. Also―and this is the same as the first―love your neighbor as you love yourself. With such love, you will protect your neighbor as you protect the pupil of your eye. These are not two loves, but are two ends of the same movement—”

Jesus’ voice was lost in the murmurs, and not just those of the Pharisees. He looked around with a slight—perhaps smug—smile, but made no effort to regain the crowd’s attention. Matthew, a toll collector who had joined our traveling band not long before, leaned toward me. “Thomas,” he said, “does he think that what he said is actually possible?”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Who are my neighbors, then? Strangers?”

At that instant, the goat-looking Pharisee raised the same question. “Good rabbi! Good rabbi!” He yelled and waved his arms and hopped. The murmurs receded. “Good rabbi, you raise an interesting and important question, especially in our present age. Now, surely the Lord expects us to care for our neighbors, but do you mean to say ‘love,’ a word of such strong implication?” His throat-lump jerked under its thin cover of skin, threatening to poke through. “And if so, can one truly love another as oneself while maintaining one’s identity? And—forgive me, Rabbi, I am only requesting clarity—and if so, who is one’s neighbor?”

I liked this stringy old guy. His manner was somewhat stylized, but he did ask valid questions.

Jesus pointed at the Pharisee and nodded. For an instant, I thought the old guy might be a shill, but Jesus would not have pulled a cheap ruse like that. Then I realized that he’d pulled off a better trick. He knew that mentioning the law would provoke an inquiry about the nature of the law. He had set them up so that he could steer the discussion to whatever he was about to say.

“Friend,” Jesus said, “you are indeed a pursuer of truth. Too many here pursue resentment, quick to find splinters in their neighbors’ eyes while abiding the timbers in their own. Yet, I suspect that you and everyone else here already know the answer to your question. Consider this: A traveler was set upon by thieves who beat him mercilessly, took his belongings, and left him by the road to die.”

At the far side of the crowd, a small band of men moved in to join the audience. Some slight agitation followed, perhaps a jostle for position—just enough to distract me for a moment.

“Later, a Levite approached the man, who had called out to help him to his feet so he could find aid.”

The Zebedee brothers, who were flanking Jesus like sentinels, stretched their necks to see if something of note was brewing. Curiosity got the best of John. He flashed a hand signal at James—I think a fist followed by a swirl of the thumb—and went to the source of the chatter. A group of Pharisees behind me began to whisper.

“Finally, a Samaritan passed by and helped the man from the ditch. He then paid another man for the use of his cart, perhaps one like this one, to take the injured man to an inn.”

John ran back and leaned in to whisper to James. James nodded and ran toward us. He whispered into Mary’s ear. Mary and James ran to the other side of the crowd. Jesus paused to watch them pass. Andrew tapped my shoulder and gave me a quizzical look. The Pharisees’ voices got louder. Other people were talking, especially the local Judeans.

“Now I ask you: Who was this man’s neighbor?”

A woman squealed, perhaps Mary, and voices rose. The Pharisees and Judeans were enraged and shouting. “Are Samaritans better than us?” “Why do you hate the Levites?” The goat-whiskered man, however, nodded in silence, and I took it to be approval.

Jesus jumped down from the cart and ran toward Mary and the others.

“What’s happening, Thomas?” Leah’s mother asked.

I thought that a fight had broken out, and I pulled away from her. “Wait here,” I said. When I got to the far side, a portion of our familiar group was rejoicing. The Judeans were still jeering around us when I got a quick look into the knot of people. Mary’s face emerged over the shoulder of the man she embraced. She was weeping, and they were swaying and slowly turning. As her face turned away, the man’s face came into view: the resolute and shining countenance of Judas.

Verse Two

“Many days,” said Judas, “we hid in the wilderness with no food. But many other days, we walked in towns with no fear, as if we were locals.” His fellow Zealots sat together, away from our inner circle, except for one named Simon, who appeared to serve as Judas’ bodyguard. “I know you have heard negative stories about us. Many are lies. But I won’t deny them all. We love this nation. We put it before our lives.”

It was a trying moment for us. This was our beloved Judas, who had disappeared four months earlier and now belonged to a militant group said to include assassins. He was vague about how he had come to enlist with the Zealots, but it was clear he had taken on a leadership role. So I doubted that he had returned to us for good.

Yet, what if he wished to stay? Could we refuse? Jesus would take anyone. Tiberius himself could join us and Jesus would welcome him with, “This empire is boundless, with no borders, no sentries, no gates,” or something similar but more poetic. What if Judas and his cronies were recognized as violent extremists by the prefect’s police in Jerusalem, and we were all arrested together? We knew this prefect’s reputation for ruthlessness—dozens at a time nailed to beams and olive trees on the highway into Jerusalem to deter all from the slightest suggestion of sedition. Could we take such a risk?

“We all live for the empire of the Lord,” said Jesus. “We cannot put it before our lives, though, for it is not distinct from our lives. The empire is already spread amongst us. We are not bringing it about. We are making it visible.”

Judas did not respond immediately. Poetry and metaphor had no place in his vision, and I was sure that God did not either. Judas was moving at a pace different from ours, occupying a mode of being not of spirit but of earth, and for all of Jesus’ talk of us as the body of God, Judas was fully in the flesh, inhabiting a realm in which the only currency was blood.

“Too many of our own people wish to keep it hidden,” said Judas. “They want to keep hidden from us anything that means freedom and independence. They are happy to whore themselves to the Romans as long as they can keep their purses full.”

Peter ground his jaw. “Why are you back, then, if you were doing such important work as an agitator? Are you a fugitive once more, hiding behind us like a goat in a flock of sheep?”

In earlier times, such a comment would have infuriated Judas, regardless of the odd comparison, and we would have had to hold him back to keep him from striking Peter and probably getting his neck broken in the ensuing fight. Instead, Judas seemed oblivious to the taunt and did not even turn Peter’s way.

“I have reasons for returning,” Judas said. “Among them, an associate named Barabbas left for a brief visit to Jerusalem. He should have returned over a week ago. A source said that he had been arrested. We were on our way to try to find him when we ran into you.”

I had no reason to doubt that Judas and his band were on a mission to pay ransom for the release and return of this Barabbas, but his claim that they had happened upon us just did not sound right to me. Maybe Peter’s instincts were correct.

All this time, Mary sat wordless beside Judas and looked into his face like an admiring child. He stroked her chin. “And I have this reason as well.”

Judas put his arm around Mary, she pressed her forehead to the side of his neck, and I ached to touch Leah in the same way.