WHEN Jesus left Jerusalem early in January he would appear to have made all essential dispositions for his manifestation as the Messiah, and to have successfully contrived to alert and alarm the Sanhedrin. They were anxious about his intentions, but could not yet be sure what they were. Far too many people had begun to speak of him as the Messiah, and this in itself was dangerous. So far Jesus had not confirmed what was being said of him, though he must have been well aware of it, but neither had he repudiated it. This might be because he did not aspire to kingship, or it might be that he was cunningly biding his time. They could not tell what was in his mind. But even if he thought of himself as no more than a teacher or a prophet, there was no denying the strength of his personality, and he might be influenced by the desires and folly of the people and decide to respond to their expectations. If only they could be certain what he was up to! One possibility was to challenge him in hope that vanity might make him declare himself.
During the feast of Dedication in late December, commemorating the Maccabean victories in the second century B.C., a number of men had come around Jesus as he was strolling in the Temple in the portico of Solomon. ‘How long are you going to keep us in suspense?’ they asked him. ‘If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.’ These men may have been acting on instructions from the Council.
If the incident is genuine the reply of Jesus in the characteristic vein of the author of the Fourth Gospel to the effect that he had already made his status clear assuredly is not.1 At this time Jesus was still at pains to guard a secret which if revealed could abruptly terminate his activities. But it was clearly advisable to bring his work at Jerusalem to a close, and shortly after this he left with his disciples for Bethabara. There was nothing more of value he could do now for the furtherance of his plans until he joined the Galileans who would be coming to Jerusalem for the Passover, and pressures in the city were becoming uncomfortably acute. Jesus travelled east to the Jordan. Here at the spot where he had been baptised by John he would renew his strength and his vision in preparation for the ordeal that was fast approaching.
It must have been a strange experience for Jesus to stand once again by the river where the Prophet had proclaimed the near approach of the Kingdom of God, where the Voice had spoken to him, and where he had been endowed, according to the promise in Isaiah, with the gifts of the Spirit of God. Memories flooded back. John who represented Elijah was dead, and there was no vast concourse here now, only the whispering reeds and the Jordan after its long journey from Galilee hastening to its end in the bitter sea where all life became extinct. Jesus was convinced he had not been wrong. He was the foreordained Messiah, and now he must face that other baptism when he would go down into the depths of darkness and the waters of tribulation would close over his head.
We may believe that Jesus prayed earnestly for guidance and help. Luke has reproduced a story he told his disciples in this last period of his life ‘to illustrate how essential it was to be constant in prayer and not to slacken’.
‘The was once a judge in a certain town, who neither reverenced God nor respected man. And there was a widow in the same town who was always coming before him crying, “Protect me from my persecutor!” For some time he would not, but later he said to himself, “Though I neither reverence God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps pestering me I will give her protection, or eventually with her coming she will completely wear me out.”
‘“Listen,” said the Master, “to what this false judge says. And shall not God give satisfaction to his Elect, who cry to him day and night? Will he forbear in their case? I tell you, he will give them satisfaction speedily.”’
It seemed like an answer to prayer that presently Jesus found himself the centre of an unexpected crowd. The people were coming to him as before they had come to hear John the Baptist. These were not critics: they wanted his instruction and advice. He taught them and was happy.
But a reminder of sterner things was not far off. Messengers arrived from Martha and Mary to say that their brother Lazarus was seriously ill. This was grave news, not only because Lazarus was dear to Jesus, but because he counted on him to carry out an important part of his prearranged plans. He must return at once to Bethany. His disciples tried to dissuade him, pointing out the risk he was running. It was useless, and they gave way.
The Fourth Gospel alone records that a tremendous miracle was performed by Jesus at Bethany in restoring Lazarus to life after he had lain dead in his place of burial, a closed cave, for four days. The truth is hidden somewhere in the legend, and the parable of the rich man and Lazarus told by Luke shows us, as we have noted, that some memory was preserved of a man Lazarus who made a surprising recovery after being apparently dead. The circumstances were such as to give rise to the report that Jesus had been responsible for his resurrection, a report that was duly conveyed to the Sanhedrin.
So far as the Council was concerned, this was the last straw. They did not credit that anything of the kind had happened; but it was enough that word was going around that it had happened. They would conclude that the supposed miracle was a deliberate fraud to gain popular support perpetrated by Jesus and Lazarus with the connivance of the latter's sisters. This could mean only one thing, that Jesus was planning to head an uprising, possibly at the coming Passover. In those days it was a common prelude to an attempted revolt for the fanatic or charlatan responsible to claim to perform or offer to perform signs and wonders to secure the adherence of the credulous masses. The steps of Jesus himself had been dogged by those who clamoured for a sign from God, and were told they would get no sign. It is unlikely that the Council knew this, and they were now positive that the intentions of Jesus were sinister. Since the raising of the dead was associated in popular belief with the inauguration of the Messianic Era, the reported ‘sign of Lazarus’ was proof enough that trouble was imminent and that Jesus was going to be dangerous. Already the tale was having an effect, and many more people were now persuaded that he must be the deliverer. When Moses led the people out of Egypt at the Passover it was to the accompaniment of signs and wonders. Would it not be so again when the Son of David came to save them?
The Sanhedrin hurriedly convened a special session. The subject for urgent debate was, ‘What are we going to do, for this man Jesus is credited with performing many signs? If we leave him alone everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will take away our place and nation.’ The presiding high priest Caiaphas brought the issue to a head by saying, ‘It does not seem to have occurred to you that it is in your interest that one man should die for the people rather than the whole nation perish.’ The decision was reached that there was no help for it: Jesus would have to be liquidated.
Having friends in the Council, one of whom was Nicodemus, Jesus received speedy intelligence of the result of the meeting. He promptly left Bethany and retired to the north-east to the comparative safety of the town of Ephraim on the edge of the wilderness.
The present narrative of the Fourth Gospel makes Jesus remain in the vicinity of Ephraim until just before the Passover; but the synoptic tradition is to be preferred here that after a time he made his way back to Galilee. Not only was it natural that he should wish to see his homeland again before he suffered, but also when he returned south he meant to be in the company of a substantial body of Galileans who would be going up to Jerusalem for the Passover. Among them he had numerous adherents, and it was unthinkable that the chief priests would interfere with the pilgrims fulfilling their religious obligation to attend the festival.
We thus find Jesus once more in Galilee, where at Capernaum he paid the annual Temple-tax of one half-shekel. He paid under protest since as Messiah he regarded himself as enjoying privileged immunity, but the incident, preserved in Matthew,2 is a useful date indication, because outside Jerusalem the tax was collected one month before the Passover.
When the pilgrim band at last assembled in considerable strength for the journey to Jerusalem there was much speculation and uncertainty as to what would be the outcome. Was Jesus going to proclaim himself king, and were they going to take part in a rising to throw out the Romans and punish the sinners in high places? Did the rumour that Jesus believed he would suffer at Jerusalem portend another failure and frustration of national hopes, or would he be cut down in the hour of victory like Judas Maccabaeus, giving his life for his people? The disciples of Jesus were anxious and ill at ease. They still could not relate what he had told them of his fate with their convictions, which Jesus had confirmed, that he was the Messiah. ‘They were now on the way to Jerusalem,’ writes Mark, ‘and Jesus was preceding them, when they took alarm, and those who followed became afraid.’3 Jesus reiterated strongly what was in store for him; but this did not prevent representations being made to him on behalf of the sons of Zebedee, James and John, that when he became king they should occupy the seats of honour on his right and left. It was a pitiful journey marred by wrangling and gnawing doubt.
At length they reached Jericho, where their numbers were swollen by other arrivals, so that, as Jesus had counted upon, he would be going up to Jerusalem with a formidable entourage. He was going there this time as king.
When the multitude moved on from Jericho there came an interruption. A blind beggar sitting by the wayside to solicit alms, hearing that Jesus was passing, cried out, ‘Pity me, Son of David!’ This created a sensation. Such language was dangerous, and several people ran to the beggar to shut him up. But he refused to be silent, and went on bawling at the top of his voice, ‘Pity me, Son of David!’ Until now Jesus had forbidden anyone to address him in public by this messianic title. Significantly on this occasion he did not do so.
Nearing Jerusalem, the procession arrived at Bethphage close to Bethany. The time had come for Jesus to put into operation the first of the arrangements he had made privately during the winter. This task, we may believe, had been entrusted to Lazarus of Bethany, and none of the twelve knew anything about it. The foal of an ass was to be kept tethered at the entrance of the village of Bethany, and the people there were instructed that it was only to be released to messengers who would say, ‘The Master needs him.’ Jesus now called to him two of his disciples and sent them forward. ‘Go to the village there,’ he said, ‘and as soon as you have entered it you will find a foal tethered, never previously ridden by anyone. Untie him and bring him here. Should any ask you, “What are you up to?” say, “The Master needs him.” Then he will at once send him back here.’
Everything went according to plan. The messengers returned with the foal, wondering no doubt at the foresight of Jesus. But suddenly someone grasped the implication of what was taking place. ‘The disciples had been expecting,’ says Luke, ‘that the Kingdom of God would be instituted forthwith.’ This was what had been written by the Prophet Zechariah, ‘Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy king cometh unto thee, riding upon an ass, even upon a colt the foal of an ass.’ Joyfully they laid their cloaks on the donkey's back, and Jesus mounted on the beast. The cry was raised, ‘Hosanna [Save now], Son of David!’ The word ran along the line to those in front and those who followed. ‘Jesus is truly the Messiah! The prophecy is fulfilled: he has mounted on his ass.’
We may imagine the scene. For a few minutes the wildest confusion reigned. Back and forth ran the people to where Jesus sat, throwing themselves on the ground in utter abandon, acclaiming him ecstatically. Jesus sat still amidst the din created by his fervent subjects; but the light of a great gladness shone from his eyes. This experience alone was worth all the years of waiting, all the weariness and the setbacks, worth too the fate that was stretching out cold hands towards him.
At last he gave the signal to set forward. Some of his ardent followers had already claimed the privilege of grasping his bridle: others grouped themselves solidly around him. They began to move.
At this the enthusiasm doubled its intensity. The people tore off their cloaks and spread them before him, so that the feet of his ass, or at least his shadow, might fall upon them. Many hastened to cut rushes to carpet the way.
The Fourth Gospel makes Jesus halt for the night at Bethany, where Martha prepared a supper and waited upon him, while Mary received her king by producing a pound of costly spikenard and anointing his feet and then wiping them with her hair. The whole house was filled with the perfume of the ointment. Lazarus who had faithfully performed the duty Jesus had assigned to him had the honour of a seat at the table.
This account is quite probable, because Bethphage and Bethany provided one of the reception areas for pilgrims coming to the festivals. Thousands camped here because it was impossible to obtain lodgings in the overcrowded capital. The synoptic Gospels, however, make Jesus proceed directly to the city, which he reached, according to Mark, late in the afternoon, entering the Temple, and after looking around returning to Bethany. If we follow Mark, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the Sunday, while if we accept the evidence of John's Gospel this took place on Monday.
This is by no means the only contradiction in our sources regarding the events of Passion Week. Unfortunately, as far as the Fourth Gospel is concerned, we cannot know to what extent the testimony of John the priest in his old age has been tampered with by the author of the book, what circumstances have been changed round, what have been omitted altogether. We have also to allow for uncertainty of memory on John's part. A very serious problem arises in connection with the several evening meals referred to in the documents in this part of their record, including the Last Supper, but we must defer consideration of this until later.
It is agreed by all the Evangelists that Jesus came to Jerusalem as king in the most open manner, with crowds acclaiming him as Son of David, and greeting him with the Hallel chant of Psalm cxviii, ‘Hosanna! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.’ Luke tells us that some Pharisees among the onlookers were scandalised and called out to Jesus to restrain his followers, to which he replied, ‘I tell you, if they are silent the stones will cry out.’
The die was cast, and now there could be no turning back. Jesus had boldly and publicly committed himself in the way he had planned. He had accepted the plaudits of the Jewish multitude, chiefly his own Galileans, at the capital of the nation as their rightful ruler. By so doing he had made himself guilty of treason against Caesar. There can be no question about this. The action of Jesus had been intentional and deliberate, and he was fully aware that there could be only one outcome, his arrest and execution. He had contrived, without any show of force and in the most peaceful manner, to make a telling demonstration that he claimed to be the Messiah, forcing the Jewish governmental representatives into a position where they must proceed against him both in the interest of self-preservation and in duty to the Roman emperor, and to do so with the knowledge that he had identified himself to them as the heaven-sent king of Israel. In a masterly way he was bringing it about that the requirements of the messianic prophecies, as he interpreted them, would be fulfilled. The chief priests and elders might imagine that they were acting on their own initiative in meeting the threat created by Jesus, but in fact the plotting of the Galilean was progressively reducing them to puppets responding to his control.
It had been a brilliant move on the part of Jesus to make his triumphal entry into Jerusalem as Messiah in association with a crowd of Galilean pilgrims coming to the city and the Temple for the Passover celebrations. There had been no attempt to sneak into the city unobserved, as had been thought possible. He had entered openly in a manner which gave the reinforced Roman garrison no cause to take any particular notice. The Romans were familiar with the arrival of large contingents of Jews for the major festivals, who customarily approached the centre of their worship uttering glad cries and singing their sacred songs in the Hebrew tongue. After what had happened before, the troops had strict orders not to interfere with the Jews in the practice of their religion, and to avoid any contemptuous or provocative behaviour. Pontius Pilate was very wary now of getting himself into more trouble.
The stratagem of Jesus also made it quite impossible for the Council to intervene. What they had feared had now partly happened. He had finally allowed himself to be acknowledged as Messiah; but the clever way in which he had done this secured him for the present complete freedom from molestation. They had to recognise that they were up against a man of courage, cunning and ingenuity. They were puzzled and anxious, having no idea what his next step would be. So far there were no outward signs of any organised revolt, and it had proved impossible to obtain the slightest information of what the plans of Jesus were, since he had confided them to no one, not even to the closest of his followers.
The Council dare not act incautiously in case they should encourage an outbreak which at all costs they were anxious to avert at this inflammable season of the Passover. If they made representations to the governor they had as yet no proof that an armed rising was contemplated. He might well suspect them of trying to lay a trap for him. Or he might insist that if they thought their fears were well-grounded they should arrest Jesus themselves. This they could not risk at present. The business was not at all like the former affair of the aqueduct. Then it had been Pilate who had been the direct cause of disaffection, and the chief priests, who were well aware of their unpopularity with the Jewish masses, could claim national sympathy and support in their opposition to the hated governor. It would be different now: the wrath of the people would be turned against the Sanhedrin as lackeys of the Romans. Yet if they kept silence, and did nothing to bring the new pretender to the Jewish throne to justice, they could be accused of aiding and abetting treason, and would probably be sent to Caesar for trial and punishment. In Jerusalem there might be another bloody massacre. This Jesus, in his mad folly, had placed them between the devil and the deep blue sea. Somehow a way must speedily be found to seize him without incurring the odium of the people or precipitating a crisis. But how?
In the meantime the object of their concern was in full command of the situation and had carried out a measure calculated to win him the increased approbation of the people. In the Court of the Gentiles, that part of the Temple which was accessible to everyone, Jesus had launched an attack on the merchants and bankers who served the needs of those who came to make their offerings. He had laid about him with a whip of cords which had been used to tether the beasts sold as sacrificial victims, and had overturned the tables of the money-changers and the stalls of the pigeon-sellers. ‘Take these things hence,’ he had cried imperiously. ‘It is written: My House shall be a house of prayer for all nations; but you have turned it into a den of thieves.’
With the Temple at Jerusalem, as with other great temples, it was difficult to avoid using part of the sacred precincts commercially; and additionally in the Jewish sanctuary it was needful to exchange heathen coinage stamped with idolatrous images for the Jewish currency which was free from such presentations in accordance with the second commandment of the Decalogue. But what otherwise might have been a legitimate activity was converted into an evil by profiteering and the pursuit of gain. The chief priests themselves had a vested interest in the Temple market and grew rich on their share in the transactions. Poor people were often in distress in having to meet artificially inflated prices in discharging their religious duties. Many pious Jews were scandalised by what went on, and some of the more affluent would often force costs down to aid those with limited means.
Apprised of what Jesus had done, the chief priests were greatly incensed but too fearful of the consequences to call upon the Temple police to restore order. It did not add to their composure that the urchins of Jerusalem were having a glorious time sporting among the wreckage, and shouting gleefully, ‘Hosanna, Son of David!'
The following day there was a duel of wits in the Temple. The Council had decided that they must use every endeavour to alienate the people from Jesus. If they could succeed in discrediting him they would have a chance to get him into their power. But their scheme failed ignominiously. Jesus met every barbed question with an effective answer, and more than once followed up his advantage with a telling thrust of his own. Only initially did the authorities approach Jesus directly, asking him by what right he acted as he was doing. Jesus replied that he would tell them if they would first inform him whether they regarded the baptism of John as divinely inspired or not. This put them in a quandary. If they agreed that John had been sent by God, Jesus would say, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ If they said the opposite, the people would be angered, because they held John to have been a prophet. They took refuge in being non-committal. ‘We cannot tell.’ ‘In that case,’ said Jesus, ‘I do not have to inform you by what right I do what I am doing.’
After this, other tactics were tried. Questions would be put to Jesus on party lines by persons standing in the crowd in an attempt to create a strong difference of opinion. He could hardly avoid antagonising some part of his audience, and agents mingling with the people would be ready to exploit any unwise answer and turn it against him.
Jesus was too intelligent and experienced to be deceived by these approaches. He knew they were not genuine, and what was their purpose. The most testing and fateful question was put by a man, who prefaced it with a eulogy. ‘We know how completely honest and straightforward you are, and that you are not influenced by anyone. What is your view, then? Ought we to pay the poll-tax to Caesar, or not?’
This tax was adjusted on the basis of a census taken in the Roman provinces every fourteen years. When it had first been levied in Palestine with the census of A.D. 6–7 it was bitterly resented as an infringement of Jewish law against numbering the people and as a measure of enslavement to an alien and heathen power. The question was loaded, and was all the more dangerous because of its topicality. The year A.D. 34–5 was a census year, and the Roman tax was now due for payment.4
The people gasped and growled at the audacity of the challenge. Whatever one's opinions on such a subject no one in his senses would ventilate them in public, especially here in Jerusalem. Fearfully they waited to hear what the answer would be.
Jesus appeared unperturbed, but he spoke sternly. ‘Why do you try to trap me?’ he asked. ‘Show me a denarius.’ The coin was produced. He would not touch it, for that would have offended the Zealots. ‘Whose is this portrait and inscription?’ he demanded.
‘It is Caesar's,’ he was told.
‘Then,’ said Jesus, ‘render to Caesar what is Caesar's,’ he paused, ‘and to God what is God's.’
An excited babble broke out. What a wonderful answer! No one could say that Jesus had uttered anything subversive. His words seemed to mean that we have distinct duties to God and to Caesar: they do not conflict. But his listeners knew better. They knew he meant that God is our only Lord, as Judas of Galilee had proclaimed when the census was first taken.5 If our hearts are given to him all Caesar would get would be his miserable silver with not a jot of love or loyalty. The words of Jesus expressed subtle contempt for those Jews in high places who served the interests of Rome. Here was a denarius: it bore Caesar's image, was inscribed TIBERIUS CAESAR DIVI, divine Caesar. Let those who claimed to be the ministers of the God of Israel reconcile it with their consciences how far they were prepared to ack-knowledge the theistic pretensions of the emperor.
With equal assurance Jesus dealt with other questions. At the end not only was his authority unshaken, he had scored a personal triumph. The stone which the builders had rejected had become the headstone.
1. Jn. x. 25–30. See the argument (above pp. 80 and 82).
2. Mt. xvii. 24–7.
3. Mk. x. 32.
4. The chronology favoured by the present writer would date the Crucifixion at the Passover in the spring of A.D. 36. Reasons are given in Part Two, Chapter 6, Some Gospel Mysteries. The question about the tribute does not conflict with this view, and gives it some measure of support.
5. See Part One, Chapter 3, A Child is Born (above p. 53).