Marjorie Holmes' trilogy of the life of Christ

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Marjorie Holmes' trilogy of the life of Christ; A trilogy of novels on Jesus' life
Topic Started: May 7 2009, 09:05 PM (500 Views)
kgreen20	May 15 2009, 11:40 AM Post #21
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	Mary tiptoed to the doorway, pulled back the drapery, and gazed in on her sleeping son. How beautiful he looked, lying there breathing so deeply, face down, one long arm flung over his curly head. Though it was shocking to see him so thin. His usually strapping body barely rippled the bedclothes. But oh, to have him home at last! Mary gripped the cloth, almost faint with this flood of thanksgiving. There had been times when she wondered if she would ever see Jesus again. For never had he been gone so long, without a word. Never had she been so worried. Night after night she had awakened from troubled dreams about him. Dreams that haunted her till morning and tormented her by day. As always, she had done her best to hide her worry from the rest of the family, especially Josey and Simon—those two were so quick to criticize their brother anyway. Not Jude so much; nor James—he and Jesus had always been close; nor his sisters—to Ann and little Leah, their oldest brother could do no wrong. But Mary knew that they in turn were only trying to spare her; that all of them shared her growing alarm. True, some people from Capernaum, passing through Nazareth on their way back from their own trip to hear John the Baptist, had said they had seen Jesus. But they had disagreed about just when, some insisting it was three or four weeks ago, others less, they couldn’t be sure, they’d gone on to Jerusalem. In any case, his mother had never been so relieved and overjoyed to see anyone as when at last, yesterday afternoon, Jesus came trudging up the steps. Sun-blackened—his smile was a white flash in his gaunt face, eyes burning from their deep sockets—but holding out his arm. He hugged her in the old way, half lifting her off her feet. He crouched to wrestle about with Benjamin, who was in a mad frenzy of welcome; the dog, mourning, had eaten so little these past weeks, he was almost as thin as his master. But in a flash of awareness, Mary realized that Jesus had changed. There was something different about him, beyond the fact that he was so haggard, weary and travel-stained. Some startling, inexpressible difference. He was followed by three young men. Rough, husky, sun-bronzed young men, very pleasant and enthusiastic, also on their way north to Capernaum. Their names were Andrew and Philip—fishermen there, she believed. She wasn’t so sure about the other one—Nathaniel Bartholomew—but then she had been so excited, and they had stayed only long enough to refresh themselves with milk and some of her cakes. They said they must press on—they would spend the night in Cana. They embraced Jesus with fervor as they left. Especially the long-limbed, sandy-haired man, named Andrew. “Join us as soon as you can, Master,” he said eagerly. “I must tell my brother about you. We both will count the days until you come!” As they stood together, waving to the men, Mary looked up to study her son. And again it came over her—the overwhelming sense of something different about him. He seemed taller than ever, towered above her there on the step. His shoulders even stronger, somehow, no matter how thin. And his eyes—the look in his eyes as they watched the men go down the hill. Those dark, liquid eyes had always shone with a special light. Now they wore an expression she had never seen. Mary caught her breath. She knew—every sense told her—that Jesus had suffered, and triumphed over, some bitter but profound experience. She could feel it, as poignantly as if she had been with him. Whatever it was, it had prepared him. He was ready now. His time had come. And it would take him away from her many times again. She patted his arm, over and over, simply rejoicing in her son’s return. She would ask no questions. In time, perhaps he would tell her. It didn’t matter. Right now he was so tired. All that mattered was getting him to bed. In all the confusion Mary had quite forgotten Cana. Suddenly, gathering up the linens, she halted, stricken to remember. The men were heading for Cana, where cousin Deborah’s daughter had been married only yesterday. If only she’d thought to tell them about it; assure them they’d be welcome. The festivities were still going on. Half of Jesus’ own family was still there; the rest were coming shortly to take Mary along. She’d even forgotten to tell Jesus! Mary hesitated, torn. Lydia was so fond of her cousin, she reproached herself: the girl had been asking for weeks when he would be home. But it was so late now. And Jesus needed reset. Reluctantly, his mother made up his couch. It would be unthinkable even to suggest that he journey any farther tonight, no matter how important the celebration. (pp. 1-3, Chapter 1)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 15 2009, 07:11 PM Post #22
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	It was later afternoon when the six gathered, to perch uneasily on the rocks that surrounded Jesus’ house. There had been much to tell their families, and many things to attend to; they were also very tired. Rested now, they were bursting with curiosity. Peter, unable to keep his counsel, had warned them, and like him they were taken about at the news. They had come to feel possessive of Jesus. To share him with newcomers was one thing, but to share their intimate circle with newcomers seemed somehow an invasion. Arms folded, Jesus stood before them, his hair blowing about his shoulders from the wind across the lake. He sensed their expectancy and their apprehension, and as he spoke, his heart went out to them. “I have chosen our new fellow workers,” he told them. “From now on there will be twelve of you.” “Twelve!” Philip gasped. He exchanged astonished glances with Andrew and Bartholomew. “But why so many? We, here”—he made a dismayed little gesture that included the twins and Peter—“have we not served you well?” “None could have served me better. Or will ever become as dear to me. But the fields are ripe and we must have enough laborers for the harvest. All night I have prayed, and the Father has revealed them to me. Soon I will tell you who they are. But first I have called you here to thank you.” Jesus turned to each one then, addressing him by name, to reassure him. “You, Andrew, my friend, my first disciple: Except for you, Peter and the twins would not be here…Philip, Bartholomew, Andrew—I will never forget our first journey to Jerusalem together. How bravely you baptized for me after the arrest of John. You even risked coming home through Samaria with me. And you won the hearts of the Samaritans on the way!” Andrew’s heart raced. He was trying to keep his composure, pleased, yet with a wistful sense of envy and loss. Yet it is my brother Peter you most often walk with, he thought as Jesus praised him, whom you confer with at night as you once conferred with me. And it’s those scalawags, the twins, that seem to give you the most delight. He harbored no resentment, however; his long, pleasantly homely face was resigned. “And what a treasure you brought me in your brother Simon Peter,” Jesus continued. “Peter, you live up to your name: You are truly a rock. And James and John”—Jesus was smiling—“you have brightened every mile we have taken together. But now we must have help. The message I have been sent to bring the world is too important to be confined to so few. You will be twelve in number, like the twelve tribes of Israel. And, like the patriarchs before us, you will be empowered to establish the new kingdom of God on earth.” Jesus paused. “I know this sounds awesome, and it is. But you will suffer many hardships,” he told them, “and your responsibilities will be great. From now on, you will be called apostles—messengers. For in time you will be sent forth, in pairs, to carry the word. By then you too will be given the power of healing.” There was a moment of stunned silence. “All of us?” John exclaimed. He felt suddenly young and vulnerable, unworthy, almost alarmed. “Even the newcomers like James and me?” “With faith you will be able to do all I have done, and more. All of you,” Jesus said firmly. “It is a power that cannot be given lightly. That is why my Father and I have chosen so carefully those who will join us. So that you, all of you, will be worthy of such a gift. And strong enough,” he reminded them, “to meet its demands.” The men were staggered. They stared at him, incredulous—suddenly ashamed of their selfish misgivings. Healing? Had Jesus actually said they, too, might one day have such power? To be able to perform miracles, such as they had witnessed! Shaken, they exchanged astonished glances. Now, slowly, Jesus gave them the promised names. Some they would recognize. He invited their honest reactions. “We will discuss them together, for you are my family, and there must be no secrets among us.” Thomas. Peter, Andrew and Philip all could vouch for him; they had played and fished together along the wharves as boys. Thomas was careful, took nothing for granted. “Like Bartholomew,” Peter said, grinning. “But once he’s convinced, you won’t find anyone braver or more loyal.” Thaddeus. A musician, born in Edessa but living in Jerusalem when he was first attracted to John. Andrew remembered seeing him among the crowd along the Jordan the day Jesus was baptized. And now that John was in prison, he had followed Jesus to Capernaum. He was merry, fluent and fervent; some of them had heard him playing his lute and singing in the inn. His songs would enliven their journeys. Simon the Zealot. Simon Peter was troubled at first. The Zealots were a radical bunch. “Anyone who would join them could get us in trouble.” And there was the problem of having a similar name. “Hereafter we will always call you Peter,” Jesus said. “As for having a Zealot among us—we are zealots, too, in our own way. We can profit by his experience.” James, the younger son of Alpheus, a greatly respected town official. Of James there could be no question. His reputation was above reproach. He was fair and slight of build with a kind of eternal innocence in his rosy cheeks. He could be identified as James the younger; it was fitting, and it would avoid confusion with the other James. Like his parents, James was very devout. And like them, he was deeply ashamed that his older brother Matthew should have become a despised tax collector. Matthew, sometimes known as Levi, the publican. And Judas Iscariot. These were the only two who roused their actual concern. “But, Master, a tax collector?” There was a mass gasp, a long, horrified silence. “Would you ask us to eat at the same table with such a vulture?” Peter finally blurted. “A Jew who robs his own people to work for Rome?’ “Matthew has repented,” Jesus said gently. “He has closed his booth at the customs, and is even now preparing to make amends before he comes with us.” “But to be seen with such a sinner,” Andrew protested. “To make him one of us!” He couldn’t believe it. Dismayed, feeling responsible, he looked about at his friends, at his own brother—so willing to follow this man, give up so much. Jesus was right; except for him, they probably wouldn’t be here. It seemed imperative that no mistakes be made now. For their sakes, as well as that of the Master, he must speak up, hard as this was for him. “Forgive me, I know we’re not perfect, any of us. But if we are to preach,” he faltered, “if—if we are actually even to heal! surely we must set a good example. How—forgive me, but I must ask—how can we afford to consort with sinners?” Jesus listened, nodding his understanding. He couldn’t blame them. Yet his voice, however compassionate, was firm. “Pray heaven many sinners will follow us. Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick…We must not shun them, we must make them feel welcome, no matter how we are criticized. Remember, it is not the righteous we are called to save. Matthew needs us,” he went on. “We can help him. And Matthew can help us.” But of all the names, it was that of Judas Iscariot that caused the most consternation. Especially to James and John. They had known Judas in synagogue school. A brilliant scholar, yes; but vain, aggressive, determined to surpass everyone else. And sly, very sly, always trying to ingratiate himself with the teacher. He was also very handsome, with a quick, sharp wit that charmed people; yet his very greed to excel, be praised, put a kind of torment in his long dark eyes. He did not deserve this honor; he could only cause trouble. Both brothers felt apprehensive, threatened, almost stunned. How could Jesus be so blind? And Jesus was theirs. They had found him first. Their claim had been established. Ever since that night they first heard him speaking with such fiery affection and wisdom to the crowds from Peter’s boat. And later, during the mad hours of fishing—to find him singing and whooping as joyously as Peter, helping to throw the nets and haul them in. How they had admired him even then. And to have him seek them out the next day! The two would always marvel at this. The instant rapport between them, the sense of some deep recognition of spirit that went beyond mind or body, anything they had ever dreamed. They knew, with a kind of blind finality, that they would follow him through hell if he asked. For they loved one another, these three. True, Jesus loved them all, and was particularly close to Peter. But the brothers knew they were special to him. And the sense of some sublime communion was keenest between Jesus and John. In the heat of their discussion, the men had gotten up from their rocky perches, or the places where they had been squatting on the sand, and were meandering about the little yard. James had braced himself against one of the few palm trees, gesturing with one hand. The sun was going down, the breeze was stronger. Behind his words the palm trees clashed their patient rhythms. As usual, John stood back, wearing his enigmatic little smile, and let James do the talking. But a nameless fear clutched his heart. Some strange, chill sense of foreboding. And when the others began to trudge down the hill toward their homes, he told James to go on without him. “I want to speak with him alone.” He went to crouch beside Jesus, who had gone to sit on the big rock Peter had occupied. He was gazing out upon the water. It was blue-gray but sparkling, and ruffled with white as the waves rolled in. The dog lay alert at his feet. “Master, I beg you to reconsider.” Absently, to relieve his anxiety, John stroked Ben’s smooth brown coat. “I have a strange fear for you. I know Judas too well; I really don’t think he’s to be trusted.” Jesus roused, turned to regard him, but it was a moment before he replied. “I am well aware of Judas’ faults,” he said. “But he needs us. We can help him, as we will help Matthew…And we need him. Both Matthew and Judas can help us, John. Both of them are good writers, and skilled with figures. They can help us manage what little money we have.” “It’s only because we love you so much,” John said wretchedly. “We feel we must warn you.” “I already know,” Jesus said quietly. A dark pain clutched his heart. He, too, bent to pet the dog. “Judas is still my choice, and for me he is the right one.” (pp. 55-59, Chapter 4)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 16 2009, 03:17 PM Post #23
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	Peter’s wife, Adah, was childless, to her sorrow, but not to her disgrace. Adah was independent; she refused to accept blame for that which the Lord had willed. She loved Simon Peter, and he seemed to love her non the less for her barren state. In a way that was unusual to most couples, they were very close. They “matched,” she sometimes thought, to her own amusement. Both very large people, both forthright, a trifle impetuous, yet with their feet on the ground. This thing now—this incredible thing that had gotten her husband so aroused…The Messiah? The true Deliverer at last? That thought was too staggering; she dismissed it. Never mind, no matter really; Jesus had captured the heart of her husband, and that was enough. She would follow them both—what choice did she have? To live alone with her mother? No, no, she could not bear the thought of having Peter’s great body apart from hers another night. She had let him go thus far, not willingly but unable to voice the terrible pain that tore her. Now that Peter had proposed it himself, she would simply go with them. Wherever the strange path led. “Mother, I’m leaving,” she announced one morning. “They are setting forth again tomorrow. I must be with them.” Her mother, Esther, looked up from threading her loom—a surprisingly dainty, fine-featured little woman, compared to her husky daughter. “Is it your husband you are following?” she asked sharply. “Or—that man?” “Both,” Adah told her. “Men!” She laughed, on a note of disdainful good humor. “I will cook and mend for them. His garments—did you notice the tears?—and those broken sandals. And him a rabbi! He’s like a child—worse than Andrew was. No, no, I cannot have it.” “Ha! He’s as old as Simon Peter.” “He needs me. They all need me. Yes, you need me too, but like this. You’re well now, stronger than ever, thanks to Jesus. Better than I’ve ever seen you. It’s the least I can do for him and Peter.” “But you—alone with all those men?” “I won’t be alone, Mother. Mary, the mother of one of the new men—James the younger, they call him—will join us in Magdala. And soon, if all goes well, the twins’ mother.” “Not Zebedee’s wife? Not Salome! No, no, I can’t believe it. Zebedee would never stand for it. Who will cook for him?” “The servants. Zebedee…you’d be surprised: He’s concerned about his sons, actually relieved that their mother will be along from time to time to look after them. And there is talk about a woman named Joanna. She has money, I think; she wants to help. There are sure to be others.” “I don’t like it. Decent women don’t go traveling around the country with men.” “Times have changed. The old order is passing, Mother. Jesus is bringing about a new order. Peter is convinced of it. He doesn’t think things will ever be the same.” “How will you eat?” Esther worried. “Where will you sleep?” “Mostly in the homes of believers. Peter tells me people beg for their company, wherever they go. It’s an honor to associate with such a prophet. Mostly common people like ourselves, yes, but some of the rich people, too, sometimes even the Pharisees.” Adah’s mother was shaking her head. “I don’t know, I still just don’t know.” “But Jesus healed you, Mother. I don’t believe you realize how sick you were, even now. You had a terrible fever, you hardly knew us, you were out of your head! He had only to kneel beside your couch…I can still see him, how he took your hand—oh, it was so hot, your whole body was like an oven; I’ll never forget. Yet he had only to say a few words to you, and in a few moments you sat up! You were smiling, your brow was cool—I felt it. We all did. And then—surely you remember what happened?” “Yes, yes, I remember. I got out of bed. I even got dressed and cooked your supper.” “We tried to restrain you, all of us. Even Jesus urged you to rest—but now, you were determined. It was good to see you so spirited again.” She laughed. “That alone proved you were well. You insisted on showing us you could. And what a supper that was.” Her mother sat, arms folded, nodding in reluctant agreement. “Yes, yes, yes, it happened, it must have happened—look at me now,” she exclaimed, amazed but frowning. “How do we know where such powers come from?” she fretted. “The evil one—it is said that Satan has strange powers too.” Adah was shocked. “No, no, no! How can you say such things?” she gasped. “That beautiful man. ‘By their fruits you shall know them,’ he has said. His fruits are good. He must be…such a man can only be…” Words failed her. What did she really think? What was she trying to express? Adah took a deep breath. “A very gifted prophet,” she managed. “Well, I can’t stop you. And if I were younger—” Her mother sprang up, smiling brightly, in a sudden change of mood. She even held out her arms: “I think if I were younger I might go with you!” (pp. 73-75, Chapter 6)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 16 2009, 05:08 PM Post #24
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	He was home, he was back home in Nazareth once more. And it seemed to his grandmother Hannah almost more joy than she could bear that he had chosen to spend those first few days in seclusion with her at the farm. Mary slipped up too, of course, to be near him. Hannah smiled to hear their voices in fervent or quiet discussion, sometimes far into the night. A cozy peace enveloped Hannah as she drifted into sleep. A sense of some ultimate in her life achieved. If only his grandfather could be here to see it. Dear blunt, stoical Joachim, who had never once doubted, even in the beginning. Her husband had studied the scriptures, and he almost worshipped their daughter, to a point that angered her sometimes, leaving her out. Stubbornly, saying little, she knew Joachim had lived for the day when his adored grandson would fulfill every prophecy. While she…not that she was cynical, rather that her dry, cryptic, practical nature neither comprehended nor cared much about spiritual things. Leave that to the men. No, no, her passion for Mary and this blessed child was more one of blood, pride, possession. They had vied for the boy’s affection, she was ashamed to remember, quarreled and quibbled over many things. But oh, how they had loved each other, and how she missed him, and now if only…if only Joachim could be alive to see their grandson in his triumph, and herself—how much she had changed, how blindly she, too, now believed. But no—Hannah cut herself off sharply from futile grieving and regrets. Some things could never be corrected. On the other hand—Hannah blinked rapidly into the darkness one night, jaws tight with the old pain—sometimes, some things could. The family had joined in a conspiracy to protect Jesus. Once Nazareth got word that its famous son was here, he would have no peace. James and his uncles Matthew and Amos had met him after dark on a little-used road, and led him directly to the farm. Jesus needed rest; he would be too conspicuous in town. They would say nothing. They would try to hide his whereabouts, at least until the Sabbath, when he would have to appear, of course. Perhaps to speak in the synagogue. Hannah was torn. She could hardly wait for that victorious hour; yet she clung jealously to every minute this special grandson could be with her. Hers once more to pet and scold and spoil. To sleep on her fragrant linens, and devour the tiny raisin and nut studded cakes he had loved as a little boy. “Stop now, you’ll be sick—remember how your mother used to berate us both?” Grinning, Jesus reached for more: one to pop into his own mouth, the other to feed to Ben, who lay eagerly watching. Quickly, smartly, Hannah’s little claw slapped his big brown hand. “How darer you feed that creature at my table?” “Hannah, dear Grandmother Hannah—“ Jesus pulled her onto his lap—that spindly body so shrunken and brittle with age he almost fear to crush it, those mischievous, fretful, loving eyes burning ever deeper in those sockets. “Live forever,” he cried. “Don’t ever change!” Some days he slept late; others he rose before daybreak and went off to spend the day in the hills with his uncle’s children and the sheep. Mary and her mother drew together while he was gone, speaking of him as they worked. (pp. 123-24, Chapter 10) “Jesus…my son. Tinoki, tinoki—my little one!” Mary heard herself crooning an endearment she hadn’t used in years. “Wake up. You are home—it is all right!” He sat up, in a cold sweat, a boy again smelling breakfast, afraid he had overslept—he would be late for school! But no, he had been fleeing through a great city, a tangle of dark streets…His pursuers were waving crutches, armed with stones, some brandishing whips, others marching ponderously along consulting their scrolls…The ill and the dying were reaching out to clutch him before he escaped, some of them shouting hosannas, others sneering…There he is! Take him!...He was about to be caught, dragged before the Sanhedrin… “Hush now, my darling.” He felt his mother’s hand, cool on his wet brow. “You were crying out. Go back to sleep now; you are so tired.” She began to pull the covers about his shoulders, but he restrained her. “No, it’s time I gave a better answer to my brothers. How long have I slept?” “Around the clock, I’m afraid. They left for the festival yesterday.” Mary hesitated. “At least Josey and Simon and their families. I’m not sure about Jude. James isn’t going—his wife is ill again.” Jesus nodded wretchedly, and plunged his face into his hands. Two of his brothers had arrived in Capernaum a few days before on a pretext of business, but actually to persuade him to come home once more. Simon and Josey were waiting for him one night on his stoop. They were here, they admitted, at their mother’s imploring. She was very uneasy about him—his health, his rest; she often had nightmares that he was in deep trouble, even danger. Jesus had grinned faintly. “Would I be any safer in Nazareth?” “You will be as long as we’re there!” Josey blustered. He flexed his burly arm, and so did Simon. Suddenly they were all laughing and embracing each other, fighting playfully, as they had as boys. This was true, Jesus thought in a rush of grateful affection. They had not hesitated in that time of near disaster. Despite all that had happened—the embarrassment and failure of his visit, the outright public rejection—his family still missed him, wanted the best for him, stood ready to defend him. “And why waste any more time here?” Simon glanced around the barren room, finding it hard to hide his distaste. His once cowlicky red hair was now subdued, his beard trimmed and curled in the Persian fashion. He had married a slightly older woman, a widow of refinement and means. At her persuasion he was limiting his carpentry to making cabinets for the better homes. He’d had no idea his supposedly successful brother lived so poorly. “You’ve been around Galilee long enough,” he advised flatly. “You’ll never get anywhere out in the provinces. These people already know what you can do,” he condescended. “Besides, they’re not important.” No, wait—Jesus had quite a number of important followers here, too, Josey had hastily tried to correct. Lawyers, judges, doctors…”You weren’t with us, so you didn’t see them. But Simon’s right,” he assured Jesus. “The really important people are in Judea. You have disciples there too. Why hide yourself out here? Go to Jerusalem if you want to become well known.” “Come with us,” Simon said—it was both an invitation and a challenge. “We’re going to the feast soon. If you can really do these things, show them to the world.” Jesus had turned from the cupboard, where he was crushing food for Ben. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time I went to a feast in Jerusalem? The Feast of Weeks. Or maybe you didn’t hear. I nearly got myself killed.” They regarded him uncomfortably. “Of course we heard,” said Josey. “Everything you do comes back to us.” Simon’s mouth tightened. “And reflects on us.” “And if you did perform this miracle on the Sabbath?” Josey protested, sounding doubtful. “You know that’s considered against the Law.” “God does not close the pool at Bethesda on the Sabbath,” Jesus said quietly. “Or prevent the sun from shining, or babies from being born. The man was suffering; he had been ill for years. He’d been lying by the pool for days. He was on the point of death.” “But did you have to encourage him to take up his bed and carry it through the streets?” Simon reminded, sounding judicial. “That, too, is an outright affront to the Law.” “What would you have had him do with it? Leave it behind? He needed it.” “Well, it was foolish. No wonder the authorities were after you. Sometimes it seems you’re deliberately out to provoke them.” It was useless. They didn’t understand. And whatever their motives—to bait or to encourage—they didn’t actually believe. More vehemently than he meant to, Jesus put down the food for his dog. “I will call attention to these tyrannies whenever I can. People must be freed from this stupid enslavement to the Sabbath simply because the priests say so. It is not sinning to take care of normal human needs. The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath!” The other two shook their heads. They had not meant their mission to go like this. But now that they were into it, there seemed no turning back. Jesus had done worse than that, they’d heard—that’s what really upset the Sanhedrin. “The man actually believed you’d forgiven his sins—or so he told the Jews,” Josey plunged on, incredulous. His color was high. “It’s said that you stood on the Temple steps, claiming you had this power and authority, straight from the Father. That the Father loves you and wants you to be honored with him—that he has shared all knowledge with you because you are—you refer to yourself as—” Josey choked, unable to say the words. Coolly, almost objectively, Simon took over. “As God’s own son. That you promised eternal life to all those who believe in you. This is preposterous. Personally, I refuse to accept such rumors. You are not mad, and I refuse to think you’re a heretic. Making yourself equal to God! You would never say such a thing. Forgive us—we’re your brothers and we love you,” he insisted. “But you must be more careful.” “You have your answer,” Jesus said abruptly. “Go to the feast yourselves.” He was very tired and deeply discouraged. It had not been a good time for them to appear. “Frankly, I can’t see why you would even suggest that I go back again to ‘prove what I can do,’ as you say. I would only embarrass you and stir up more trouble before my time has come. You have all the time in the world—I don’t.” “Then you’re not coming?” “To the Feast of Tabernacles—no, I don’t think so. But since our mother is worried—yes, for her sake, of course I’ll come home for a little while.” Now, with Mary sitting there beside his bed, Jesus was infinitely glad to be home. He had roused up in his concern. He lay back again, eyes closed for a moment, one arm flung over his curly head. When he opened them, she was gazing steadily at him. (pp. 153-56, Chapter 12)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 17 2009, 01:43 PM Post #25
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	“Jesus!” “Nicodemus!” In wonder, the two men stood for a second there on Solomon’s Porch, where each had taken shelter from the unexpected snow. Then with shouts of joy, they embraced, drew back a little and stood gazing at each other, hands still on each other’s shoulders. “I was looking for you,” the older man explained. “But the last place I expected to find you was here in the Temple. Not after what happened this afternoon.” His lean distinguished face was both relieved and dismayed. “Word reached me at my bank; I left as soon as I could. Oh, Jesus, my so, thank heaven you are all right! Is it true they were about to stone you?” “A few. They didn’t succeed. Some of the crowd were unruly, not many.” Jesus looked serious but unperturbed. “It was not hard to dissuade them—the rest wanted to hear what I had to say.” “But I do worry,” cried Nicodemus. He wiped his wet brow with his sleeve. Their garments were blowing. The snow that glittered and wheeled on the lighted steps was drifting in here, too. They moved with one accord to the deeper shelter of the arcade. “Things seem to be getting worse every time you come to a feast. The Sanhedrin out to get you—and now this!” “The Sanhedrin hasn’t succeeded either,” Jesus reminded him. “Thank you for your help, Nicodemus,” he said, gratefully. “But as a Pharisee in good standing, you can’t go on defending me.” Nicodemus shook his head. “I have to speak out, just as you do. Yes, Caiaphas is furious—and he will do what he pleases, no matter what anybody says. But the high priest isn’t the only one, or the Sanhedrin either. For every Jew that loves you there are a hundred who would kill you—look at what happened today! Why do you keep returning to Jerusalem,” he begged, “knowing the hostility here? Much as I love you and long to see you, it frightens me, for one day they will succeed. I had hoped you were still safely preaching somewhere in Galilee.” “This is my city, too, it is sacred to me.” “Very well, yes, come if you must.” Nicodemus sighed and pressed his arm. “But where are your bodyguards?” He looked anxiously around. “Are they not with you this time?” “The twelve are not my bodyguards,” Jesus corrected, “but my apostles. They have more important things to do.” “What could be more important than protecting you?” “Healing, teaching, carrying on my work for me.” “Well, whoever they are, they should be with you!” “I don’t ask them to go everywhere with me,” Jesus told him. “Especially to Jerusalem right now. It might provoke an uprising. There’s no use in subjecting them to unnecessary risk—some of them have families.” He was shivering, hugging himself in his threadbare cloak, stamping his feet to keep warm—they were almost naked, Nicodemus noticed. But his face was cheerful. (pp. 172-73, Chapter 13) Time was running out, Jesus realized. Calvary drawing nearer. The weight of his own cross had been constant on his shoulders for months, its shadow hovering, growing darker, dogging his every step. And no matter what direction he took, all roads led back to that inevitable hill. It was not to escape this that he had fled with his apostles after the raising of Lazarus, but only to avoid the frenzied excitement of the crowds. “Go quickly,” Lazarus himself had urged that very night. “Once word of this spreads you will be besieged, you will have no peace.” Jesus nodded. He had already chosen Ephraim, a forested area in the mountains, with a few scattered stone houses. They would rest there and pray. And he must prepare his men; there was still no much they didn’t understand. “Tell no one.” He held his friend almost fiercely in a brief farewell. “We will be back a few days before the Passover.” He began rounding up the apostles, who had joined in the celebration. “No, no, we must leave,” he warned. “Hurry, don’t linger, even to say good-bye.” Once again he must deal the blow he dreaded. Again he must face their shock and disappointment. “Why, Master, why?” He didn’t blame them. To have arrived here so weary, worried and confused—until the relief and jubilation of what happened at the tomb! Now was the time to rejoice with the others. People were swarming around them, embracing them, bombarding them with questions; the food and wine would soon be served. They had earned the right to stay, not to flee back into the night like thieves. “It’s for your own safety,” he had to tell them. “Scatter, hide your faces lest we be recognized and questioned. Take the back roads to Ephraim. We will meet there tomorrow.” The place was so small and so far into the desert that nobody knew or cared. Here the exhausted apostles slept, or say trying to listen to what Jesus was teaching. But their minds were still preoccupied with the miracle of Lazarus, jubilant over his return, confident now of coming triumphs. The Passover was coming; surely some wonderful thing would happen. In spite of—even because of—what Jesus had done! Those who had wives would send word by special messenger: Come, come join us! They had been away from home a long time. Jesus, too, wrote a letter, one night of terrible loneliness, long after the others slept. Concern for his mother was an agony almost equal to the specter of the cross. Spare her, keep her safe, don’t let have to suffer this with me. Yet he knew she would come, she must come; that, too, was written… And the apostles. There was no way, of course, to spare them. He had already tried to warn them, attempted to prepare them, but it was evident they were not ready. It seemed heartless to trouble them just yet. Let them rejoice a little longer. Soon, very soon, he would make it clear. On the way back to Jerusalem, he would make sure they understood. It would happen at Passover. And they must be strong. They had been chosen for this because they were strong, tough men, used to hardships, and loyal. They must be strong enough to face the ordeal. And they would have to carry on. (pp. 218-19, Chapter 16)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 17 2009, 07:14 PM Post #26
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	The shady road sloped down between the green hills. They hurried along, hearts pounding from the pace, but glad to hear the music and shouting still rising, even louder from the hollow below, where a throng of excited people swarmed about, clutching their palms, or boughs from the flowering trees. They were laughing and singing, clapping their hands in rhythm to the music and the psalms. There was the shrill, sweet sound of pipes and flutes, the clashing and flashing of cymbals. On the sunny pasture hillside a circle of girls had clasped hands and were skipping about in a spontaneous little dance; small boys were turning somersaults or rolling ecstatically on the grass. Other people perched patiently on rocks, or the embankment beside a sparkling stream. On the road, at the center of this welter of color and commotion, they glimpsed two white donkeys, a mother and her colt. Both were draped in scarlet shawls, and as they watched, a woman scurried forth to fasten wild roses to their bridles. Two others, a man and a woman, ran down the road a little way to spread garments in their path. The apostles seemed to be milling around, anxious to get started, but the three couldn’t see Jesus at first, for he was surrounded. Then the crowds parted, and they caught a glimpse of Jesus, kneeling. And they knew that Ben had found him, for they heard the dog barking, and coming closer, they saw that Jesus was hugging him, while Ben frantically tried to lick his face. Jesus stood up then, laughing and crying as Benjy lunged at him joyfully again and again. The dog spied them then and came galloping to meet them. Jesus followed, tears still wet on his cheeks as he made his way to them through the excited people, who were dazzled anew at sight of the horse Cleo was leading. Murmuring endearments, Jesus kissed and held each one, while the dog waited, tail wagging in triumph. “I knew you were coming,” Jesus said with emotion. “It’s late; we must go, but I couldn’t bear to leave without first seeing you.” Several of his followers also hastened up to greet them. Peter, James and John, eager to begin the triumphal procession, but happy to see them, and full of questions. Where would they stay? Had they encountered Adah or Salome on the way? It had been some time since Peter had heard from his wife, but he felt sure she and some of the other women were coming. Yes, Magdalene told them, the women might already be in Jerusalem. The conversation was interrupted by Judas, who rushed up in his long, officious stride. “Master, we dare not wait any longer,” he warned. “The people are getting impatient. We must not let their enthusiasm wane.” “That’s right,” said Peter. He mopped his big ruddy face, proud but concerned. “Word has gone on ahead, they say people are lining up for miles.” The din of voices increased even as he spoke. “We must start soon if we aren’t to disappoint them.” Mary stood hugging the robe. “Yes, you mustn’t keep them waiting,” she said to Jesus, eyes shining. “But you can’t go without this! It’s a gift from your grandmother,” she explained, unfolding it, with the help of Magdalene, who again sprang forward to keep it from brushing the ground. “Hannah had it made for you—the best she could order from Cleo and his father. She says to tell you she would have made it herself, but her fingers are too stiff to sew now.” “Oh, no!” Jesus protested, with a little moan. “She can’t afford it—she shouldn’t have done such a thing.” “Thank Cleo,” Mary said, glancing toward him gratefully. “He knows how much such things matter to Hannah. And she’s right!” Mary thrust the robe upon Jesus, wanting to weep at the one he was wearing. It was not only old and threadbare, but soiled where the dog had jumped on him. “You can’t ride into Jerusalem looking like that. Put this on,” Mary ordered her son. “Hurry! Now—right now; never mind the audience. Take off that old thing,” she insisted, “and give it to me. Cleo will hold the new one.” She reached out to help him, and there before his men and his frenzied admirers, who were laughing and shouting with delight, Jesus obeyed. He unfastened his old familiar garment and handed it to her, while swiftly, expertly, Cleophas wrapped the splendid new one around him. Magdalene, watching, caught her breath. The robe became him; never had she seen him so beautiful—his sun-dark cheeks so pink, his eyes so bright, his lips so red. At the last minute she remembered the girdle, and stepped forward to present it to him, and he fastened it around his waist, its gems dazzling in the sun. “If only your grandmother could see you,” she said, her rich voice throbbing. “She is so proud of you. We were there, your mother and I, when she first saw the robe. It is a garment fit for a king!” “Our king, our king, let us follow our king!” the people were shouting with renewed enthusiasm. “Hosannas to our king!” Judas, who had witnessed the whole performance, grasped Cleophas by the arm and drew him aside. He had noticed the horse, now tied to a tree by the roadside, cropping grass. He also recognized Cleophas as the wealthy family friend he’d heard about. “My name is Judas, son of Simon Iscariot,” he introduced himself, and kissed Cleophas on both cheeks as an equal. “Forgive my haste, but I must speak to you. Surely you feel as I do—” Lowering his voice, Judas jerked his head toward the sleepily waiting donkeys. “A man like Jesus can scarcely command much respect in Jerusalem if he rides in on the back of a common [donkey].” “Our king, our king!” The chant was growing louder. “These people don’t mind,” Judas patronized, rushing on. “They’re common people. But I do, and I’m sure you do. Jesus needs the attention of a better class of people if he’s to succeed.” Cleo drew back, trying to hide his distaste for this presumptuous man. “What are you trying to tell me?” “Jesus is dressed like a king; he should make his entrance like a king, riding a fine steed like yours.” Cleophas gave a brusque laugh. The sheer effrontery! “You seem to have forgotten the prophecy every schoolboy knows: When the Messiah comes, he will choose to ride to victory on the back of a [donkey]!” Judas’ face darkened. The words stung. He could feel his scar twitching in his embarrassment. “I still think I’m right,” he declared, as coolly as possible. But his anger was evident as he stalked off. Andrew and Philip were already leading the donkeys up to Jesus, who stood in conversation with his mother and Magdalene. “Don’t try to follow,” Jesus was telling them. “I can see you are very tired. Go back to Bethany and rest.’ “I want to go to Ein Karem,” Mary told him. “I’m anxious to see Elizabeth.” “Yes, go there, she needs you,” Jesus said. “I will come to see you there.” “And you?” “We will stay in Bethany most nights. It’s the best place for my men. Don’t worry; I will be with you every moment I can.” As he spoke he was stroking the nose of the colt. It was uneasy, for it had never been ridden, and the dog sniffing around added to its nervousness. Hooves rattled the stones as the colt shied, striving to nuzzle its mother. With his hands and his voice Jesus gentled them both. “Hush now, be still; there is nothing to fear,” he murmured. “You must go now, Ben.” He knelt to hug the hot, quivering body once more. “No, no, you can’t come with us. Go to Mary.” Mary’s eyes were shining. She was holding the collar of the whimpering, straining dog. “You must start,” she told Jesus. “We have already detained you too long. You will ride before the people in glory, as the prophet Zechariah proclaimed. Don’t worry about us. We will wait for you in Ein Karem.” “Hosanna, hosanna!” The shouts grew louder as the donkeys began to move. For seeing him thus, attired in radiance, with the gems like a rainbow at his waist, the people intensified their fervor. “Hail to the son of David, praise him! Blessed be the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” (pp. 265-68, Chapter 18)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 17 2009, 07:16 PM Post #27
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	Elizabeth had kept supper warm, and Mary made a pretense of eating. They were waiting on the roof when Jesus finally joined them. “I was talking with Cleophas,” he said. “Forgive us for taking so long.” “No, it was very important that you did,” Mary said. Jesus sat between the two women, holding their hands in his big strong ones. For a long time they sat thus, under the stars, surprised at the sudden sense of peace and tranquility that filled them. The moon was growing smaller and paler now, an opal, but the stars were fields of diamonds. The glow of distant bonfires had faded from the horizon, and most of the lights of Jerusalem had vanished; the city, weary from merriment, slept. Yet they sat on, murmuring quietly together, as Jesus spoke of all that was to come. They were not to lose faith or grieve, he told them; what had been designed from the beginning of time was about to be fulfilled. As they already realized, they were both a part of it, chosen by the Father himself for their sweetness and goodness, their courage, and their strength. “You have already suffered much, and you will suffer more. But your reward will be very real, and greater than it is within your power to imagine. Elizabeth…” Taking her chin in his hands, Jesus lifted her face. “I have seen John in a vision, and you, too, will see him again.” Elizabeth caught her breath, and for a second closed her eyes. Reading her thoughts, Jesus bent to kiss them. “He is whole and beautiful, Elizabeth, even more beautiful than before. And I have seen his father with him. He and Zecharias are together in this new dimension of absolute purity and love. They love you so much, Aunt Elizabeth,” he said fervently, squeezing her hand. “They are waiting for you.” Jesus turned to his mother. “And Joachim…and Joseph—” Jesus bit his lips; he could not go on. He could only hold her tightly against him, cradling her as she wept. Elizabeth kissed them and crept off to bed. The two sat alone together then and spoke as mother and son, of all they remembered of their life in Nazareth: his father, his grandparents, the other children, their cousins, the sheep, their dogs. “I’m so glad Benjy is with you,” Mary said. “Cleo and I were both worried when he ran off again, after following us so far.” Jesus was smiling. “Yes, I’m glad he found me. Each day he shows up at the Temple and flops down to listen, as near as he can get.” “Oh, dear, the way people feel about dogs! Aren’t your apostles embarrassed?” “Only Judas,” Jesus said. They spoke again of the family. “We had good times together,” Jesus said. “No man could have had a better home. God could not have chosen a better father for us. And you—” He lifted Mary’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “I know how hard all this has been for you. Loving all your children so much, trying to keep peace in the family…and the things people have said.” “It was my honor, Jesus,” Mary said softly. “What mother on earth has ever been so honored?” Again they sat for a time in silence, almost fearing to speak, knowing that time was running out. “You must be brave,” Jesus said at last. “The next days will be hard for you.” He spoke of some of the things he had told Cleo. “Spare yourself. I beg you, stay here with Elizabeth. Don’t follow me. Brave and strong as you are, it is too much to ask of any woman.” He hesitated. His voice, when he spoke again, was firm. “But no matter what happens, remember this: I will come back. Whatever they do, I will rise up and return again!” Mary’s hands were locked across her breast; her heart was in her eyes. “Of course you will,” she said quietly. “I have always known it. For you are the Messiah sent to save the world. Nothing can destroy you, ever!” She gazed at him questioningly for a second. “And you will stay on with us?” she pleaded. Jesus couldn’t bear it. He plunged his face into his hands. It was late, he must go; there was much to do tomorrow. He could hear Ben barking, and the clicking of the dog’s nails as he came seeking them across the tiles. Jesus lifted his eyes. “No, Mother,” he had to tell her. “I will come again, but only for a little while. Only long enough to prove the truth of all I have said. Long enough to reassure those who have believed in me and worked for me.” Reluctantly he got to his feet. Even this he must tell her. “My time will be short,” he said. “And it must be spent with my apostles, Mother, that I may give them the courage to continue. For they will have to go on preaching and teaching and healing without me. And spreading the good news of eternal life.” “Dear son, my beloved son,” Mary said brokenly, reaching out her arms. And they stood for a time holding each other, struggling not to cry.’ “When will I see you again?” She held him a little away from her and searched his face. ‘Will you eat the Passover supper with us?” “Oh, Mother, if only I could. To be with you and Elizabeth in this house where we shared so many celebrations when my father was alive. But my men need me. I must be with my men.” So this was it! Mary thought wildly. It had begun with his words a moment ago, the first sword piercing her heart…now another, swifter, sharper, deeper…His apostles, instead of his mother? His men, when he had so few hours left on earth?...Then she recovered. All that was wise and courageous and loving rose up in her to hide and vanquish her terrible disappointment. “Of course you should be with them,” Mary agreed. “Those dear men, how much they have given up to follow you. This won’t be easy for them either—and their sacrifice is only beginning. I am proud of them, as I am proud of you!” “You will not be alone tomorrow night, Mother,” Jesus said. “Cleo and I have already spoken of this. He has already chosen a fine lamb, which he will bring you tomorrow. He will carve it for you, as my father used to do. And if it’s all right with Elizabeth, I will ask the other women to join you.” Jesus kissed her again and stroked her hair. “Try not to be troubled about me, Mother. Though I am not here, I will be with you in spirit, as I always am.” (pp. 316-19, Chapter 21)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 18 2009, 11:25 AM Post #28
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	Cleo did not go to Mary till midmorning. And when he arrived, it was all he could do to drag himself up those long steps. He had been awake all night, sleepless for some eternity that stretched to a vague point he could scarcely remember. The trials, all those trial…incessant trials, five at least—maybe more. Cleo tied his horse and stood for a moment, making absent gestures—efforts to straighten his beard and hair. He realized he was red-eyed, unkempt. Incredible. He seemed to remember standing at a mirror in the house where Adah and the other women were waiting and pouring water over himself. Yet it was vague now, he wasn’t sure—only that the women were greatly agitated and anxious, not only about Jesus but about their men. Yes, he had seen Peter, he told Adah—Peter would surely be there soon. And the twins—don’t worry, he told their mother. Well, he had seen John, at least—encountered him at the hearing before Caiaphas, been with him most of the night. Around the Temple, the Hall of Hewn Stones. The Praetorium. Herod’s palace…And Jesus? Yes, he had seen Jesus, too. Sitting on a bench. Cleo had bitten his lips, unable to go on. He could not, would not, torture them—or himself—with the scene. Jesus huddled in chains, jeered, spat upon, mocked by the soldiers as they played their favorite game, Basileus—the king. They had stripped him and robed him in scarlet (an old faded rag of Herod’s). Blood ran down his face from a crown of thorns. (The thorn bushes were in bloom now; a few blood-drenched flowers were ludicrously entangled with the prongs—blades sharp enough to cut a finger in two. The soldiers whose jest this was had had to wear gloves of steel.) Untying one hand before dragging him away, they placed in it a reed for a scepter. And with other reeds they struck him. No, Cleo could not tell the women that. Nor Mary. No woman could stand it—he could not stand it. “Stop this!” Cleo remembered bawling, like a mad bull as he broke through the ranks. “Don’t, don’t! Please don’t hurt him any more!” For he knew this was only the beginning. The whip would be next, he was thinking wildly, the flagellums. Those whips weighted with stones and pieces of metal to tear the flesh. Wielded by men with the strongest arms. Thirty-nine lashes with the flagellums, that was usually it—no more than that by law. He’d passed the prison sometimes and heard men screaming. “Don’t beat him, promise you won’t beat him,” he wheedled. “Here—” He remembered fumbling for the pouch in his girdle, beginning desperately. “I will pay you—see, I have money—only promise not to beat him!” They had regarded him patiently, as if he were a little mad—as he was. “It will be better,” a sober, obviously distressed young Roman soldier tried to reassure him. “Really, they tell me it helps. Sometimes they die from the beatings, so they are spared hours on the cross. Or by then they are senseless, later they don’t suffer so much.” Cleo had burst from the scene and been very sick, violently sick, unmanly and ill before the whole mob, there on the grass. When at last he turned his reeling head, his son—Mary’s son—had vanished… Crucifixion. Death by crucifixion. Jesus had tried to prepare him for that one night, standing here on this very spot. “I must be lifted up…to draw men to me.” But nobody is ever prepared for such a brutal death. Not those who are left, at least. No, no, it isn’t worth it. Jesus, son of my friend Joseph, and his Mary—my Mary—stop this. You can, you can, you must. If you are also truly the son of God, call upon your Father, call upon your merciful God himself to stop this. It isn’t worth it. Nothing is worth it! He was startled to realize that Magdalene had come swiftly to him, down the steps. They regarded each other a minute in silence. She was quite pale, dry-eyed. “It’s true then?” she asked. Cleophas stiffened his jaw, struggling in vain to answer. In her quick, passionate way, Magdalene responded, embracing him, cradling his neck against her breast. “Come, we must go up to Mary. She is expecting you.” “Does she know?” “Yes. All night long we have walked the roof, Mary and I, and Elizabeth, too, for a time, and prayed…though we knew. All night, until dawning, we saw the lights blazing, and somehow we knew. And this morning a servant who used to work here brought us the news. Mary is dressed and waiting. Both of us are ready.” Cleo had been leaning abruptly against her as they started up the steps. He straightened, halted abruptly. “Ready for what?” he gasped. He realized from her expression that the thing he had dreaded most was upon him. “Listen, you can’t be there,” he cried. “Either of you! I can’t let you. He wouldn’t want it. I’ve already seen more than I can bear. If I, a man, can bear no more…” Magdalene gazed steadily down on him from the upper step. “Then we will go without you.” (pp. 359-61, Chapter 26)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 18 2009, 11:29 AM Post #29
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	How many lashes? Two strong wrestlers were taking turns…At last, panting, they paused to confer. Jesus could hear the rumble of their voices. Far short of the thirty-nine allowed, but: “Better stop now, while he can still walk.” The prisoner had to be able to carry his own cross—all the way to Golgotha, beyond the city gates. He was already half gone…One of them came to prod Jesus with his foot, where they had hung him against the wall for the beatings. Up all night, no rest, no water, no food, savagely beaten before they even got to him…time to stop. He could expire before he ever got to the hill. People were disappointed when this happened. The authorities would demand an explanation. There was the heavy thud of their whips being thrown to the floor. Wiping their hands on their thighs, the athletes departed. Two more legionaries, much younger, came to take Jesus down. They laid him on the cold stone floor; he had collapsed in their arms. They had brought wet towels with which to sponge him off. It was less an act of mercy than of need. He might bleed to death unless they staunched the flow of blood. They must also somehow get him dressed. The two thieves, still yelling in another part of the fortress, would be paraded naked. This one was more important; their orders were to see that he was clothed. The thick towels were quickly drenched; they had to keep wringing them out, red and dripping. The younger man’s face was pale—it was the same soldier who had spoken to Cleo earlier. Seeing that his touch was gentle, Jesus asked him to bathe his face as well. His nose was bashed and several teeth were broken; one eye was swollen almost shut. During the torture, his tongue had been bitten through. “”Your…father,” Jesus mumbled with difficulty, “the…centurion…Capernaum?” “He was,” the youth choked. “He has gone back to Rome. But he loves your people; he built your synagogue there.” He stared at the victim, incredulous, caught his breath. “I remember now—it must have been you! I was about seventeen; his servant then, and deathly ill. My master heard of you and had great faith in you. He was sure you could heal me, though he felt unworthy to have you enter his door. And you did. Though you never saw me, you made me well. Because of you I am here!” “You have…shown mercy,” Jesus managed. The youth was shaken, almost overcome. “I was his slave, but he loved me; after you saved my life he adopted me. I owe you that too!” They got Jesus to his feet. Covered his naked loins. But when they would have robed him again in Herod’s filthy royal castoff, Jesus struggled, and the soldiers threw it away, agreeing. The stench was too disgusting even for them. “My own…robe.” With his eyes he indicated his one last symbol of dignity, which someone had brought into the dungeon. That once beautiful garment was also dirty now, already bloodstained, and quickly soaked with fresh blood as they pulled it over his head and about his mangled shoulders. Dazedly Jesus remembered the jeweled girdle-when had he lost it? Maybe somebody had found it? But they were tying a piece of frayed rope about his waist instead. His fingers touched the place lovingly even so, remembering the tiny grandmother who had been so proud of her gift to him. But the pain was too great, and he could think of her no more. Supporting him from above and below, they led him up the narrow iron stairs, and out onto the parade grounds, where the sun beat down, a blinding assault after the dungeon’s cold black hole. Soldiers were swarming about, gaily caparisoned, their lances flashing, but sweating in the heat and resentful. This morning’s usual brisk parade had been canceled in favor of this grisly march to Golgotha. Their mouths were sour with the wine they’d been drinking to fortify themselves. Their hands were rough and unsteady, trying to lash beams onto the back of two other victims; one was screaming and fighting like a wild beast trying to escape, the other kept begging piteously. Hurry, get the procession started! The commander was insisting, it was already almost noon, and a long walk ahead. These men had to be dead before sunset. Beginning of the Sabbath. Jews were very particular about their Sabbath, didn’t want men still alive on their crosses after sunset, when it was unlawful either to guard them, kill them outright or cut them down. They had shoved Jesus to his hands and knees. He felt the sudden crushing weight of the huge beam upon his lacerated shoulders, the bind of ropes and leather being lashed under his armpits and across his chest to keep it in place. It was hard to breathe. When he made feeble croaking sounds to indicate the problem, they loosened the straps a bit. Two men grabbed his arms, stretching them out as far as they could, so that his wrists could be bound tightly to the beam, cutting off the circulation. At last, his back breaking, half crucified already, he was hauled upright, the massive patibulum swaying, so that he was like a great bird with wings outspread. A monstrous wounded bird, struggling to fly under the burden it carried. The beam tipped dangerously at first, striking one of the soldiers, who jumped back, cursing. Jesus could only rock and stagger. To keep his balance, he must bend over as his bare feet fumbled slowly forward upon the burning stones, following the mounted legionaries. Two officers on horseback were to lead the way. The frantic horses tossed their heads and whipped their tails, trying to drive away the gnats and flies. Hooves clattered on the pavement. Screeching and clanging, the gates of the Antonia Fortress swung open. Outside, a noisy crowd was waiting. This was the last day of the Passover festival. Tired from drinking, dancing, and celebrating, many people had slept late. But now most were out in force, swarming the bazaars and cafés, enjoying themselves before the Sabbath forced them back into their homes or tents or inns to rest and wait out the following holy day. News had spread, rumors were flying: The Sanhedrin had been up all night; a crucifixion might be added to the sights of Jerusalem today. Even a triple crucifixion! While many people snatched their children and hurried off in horror, others had rushed to the fortress hoping to see the execution party emerge; more of the curious were lining the streets… (pp. 366-68, Chapter 27)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 18 2009, 09:40 PM Post #30
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	A little way beyond, Jesus fell again. For the third time. The crowds were growing more sympathetic. There were hoots of derision for the soldiers, cheers for the fiercely protective dog. Cries of “Help him, help him!” More women were weeping. The commander in charge was growing impatient—and concerned. He pulled his horse to a stop, to discuss the situation with the officer beside him. These delays were getting serious—past noon and not yet even to the Ephraim Gate. These men had to be crucified within the hour or there would be trouble to pay with the Jews. Probably trouble already. The priests and other dignitaries who were to observe the execution had left for the site long ago. It was hot out there, very hot and stinking—they would be fuming. And if their prize was dead before they even nailed him up for an example—! Or if they got him up so late he wasn’t dead by sunset— Gaius, the legate, dismounted to inquire of the soldiers who were both coping with the dog and trying to get Jesus back onto his feet. “What do you think?” “Very weak, sir,” said the one kneeling beside him. “He can’t carry this load much longer.” “Untie him, give him a drink of water. We’ll have to get someone else.” Pushing back his helmet, Gaius surveyed the crowd, quickly spotted a candidate, and beckoned with an imperious wave. The man who strode forward in response was husky, tall, bull-necked. His face was grim. His name was Simon. He had come all the way from Cyrene in Libya, bringing his two small sons for their first Passover. This was their final day of the happy week. He had taken them out this morning for another glimpse of the Temple, shining like a jewel in the sun. A procession was just turning the corner, heading toward the city gates. The crowds were so great they had run toward it jubilant, never expecting anything like this. He had tried to shield his sons’ eyes, had hurried the boys back to their mother, yet returned himself, drawn by some compulsion he could not explain. Simon nodded at the Roman’s request. Without a word, he went to the prostrate man, helped loosen his bonds, and picked up the heavy crossbeam. He was a very strong man, a woodcutter; he had eaten well and slept all night; he had not been beaten, had lost no blood. With only a few grunts, he shouldered the beam, and gripping it firmly with his big hairy hands, stalked ahead with it through the gate and on up the sloping path toward Calvary. The place was a deserted field just outside Jerusalem: rocky, weed-grown, its lower levels used for the burning of refuse; its broad upper area for crucifixion, for the knoll on which the crosses stood could be seen by travelers passing along the highway to the west. A grisly warning. Toward its top, a grotesque, empty-eyed rock formation gave it also the Aramaic name Golgotha—“The Skull.” Vultures and buzzards circled endlessly overhead, or plummeted suddenly to snatch at scraps of flesh. Hopeful, half-starved dogs prowled the heaps of smoldering garbage, which gave off an acrid blue haze. On days of execution the dogs lay in wait, panting, their yellow eyes on the dying. On these days, too, from a clump of trees not far from the knoll, the witches hovered. Very old women, or sometimes young ones, secretly clutching small vessels in which they might catch a few drops of the victims’ blood for their rites. Striping the sky like a bleak and barren forest were the permanent vertical stipites to which the crossbars would be fastened, shorter stakes for petty criminals, taller ones for the more important—any person should be lifted up plainly for all to see and revile. The three supports chosen for today would be perfect: a high central pole, flanked by two shorter ones. (It would be easy to hoist the thieves. They would have to use a ladder for the Galilean.) All provided an excellent view for the court of observers, who would be watching from the hillock, and all were highly visible from the road. The soldiers who had been sent out early to make preparations were pleased with their choice, but hot, half drunk, and growing nervous at the delay. It was a relief when at last they saw the procession coming toiling up the hill, but something of a shock. For a few paces in the lead, ahead of even the horses, a big man was stalking, carrying the crosspiece for one of the accused. Simon flung the huge beam down. It landed with an explosion of dust at the soldiers’ feet. He was very hot, breathing hard, angry, very angry, consumed with some helpless rage. He could smell the tarred wood on his hands, the rank wild sweetness of spring weeds. He saw the huge mallets lying in the dirt or propped against the posts. He saw the buckets of sharp, glittering three-cornered nails. Saw also a pail of the slop called posca, made of vinegar and beaten eggs, with which the guards refreshed themselves while waiting for the victim to die. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew he could not witness the brutality to come. The air was sultry, leaden; it was hard to breathe. An ominous rumbling came from the mountains, the sky was overcast, a few dark clouds were forming. A storm could be brewing. Rare for this time of year. Could be a bad one. Good thing though—might wash things clean. This filthy place! He had to get out of here fast, get back to the decency of his wife and sons. But he could not leave without another look at that poor wretch. Glad he had helped him, spared him at least that much more torture. Jesus was standing upright now, and Simon was astonished to see how tall he was, shocked to discover his dignity and beauty. The hair and beard, blood-matted though they were, the bruised and battered face—yet this was a man of unusual beauty. A nobleman perhaps; it was evident in the way he strove to bear himself even now, in the sheer power of personality that still poured from him, jolting Simon. His robe, too, dirty and bloodstained, yet it still glistened faintly, white and silver—an excellent robe, a robe without seams. Two soldiers had leapt forward and were beginning to strip it from him. Simon shuddered; a little cry of protest escaped him. They had recognized its value—he would not be allowed to die in it. They would probably roll the dice for it as he hung above them. This was the way of soldiers, to be expected…But no more, Simon thought ferociously. No more! The other prisoners, naked from the beginning, and no longer shielded by the crowds, were being paraded across the field. Simon could hear the roars of laughter, the shouting and jeering, along with a few shrill screams from horrified women. Simon’s jaw tightened; he clenched his fists. Gaius, who was overseeing the preparation of Jesus, was draping his robe, with some distaste because of the blood, over his arm. They were ripping Jesus’ tunic off now and casting it on the ground. But when they reached for his last remaining cover, that piece of linen which was wrapped around his loins, Simon heard himself uttering one curt command. “Stop. No more!” His voice was not loud, only hard with the authority born of outrage. Astounded, the soldiers halted, turned to regard him. “Who are you?” the officer asked. “Simon of Cyrene. The one who carried his cross. Have the decency not to expose this innocent man. His mother may be in the crowd.” Gaius’ cheeks burned; he was affronted, defensive, yet ashamed. We are not monsters, he though. We, too, have wives and mothers. And now he remembered Simon. “Very well. You did me a favor. I owe you one.” He made a reluctant but restraining gesture to the guards. “No more,” he ordered. “That’s enough.” Simon plunged through the surrounding confusion of men, horses, and equipment—ladders, ropes, pulleys—tripping and nearly falling over one of the ugly black crossbeams lying on the ground. ‘Stand back, stand back!” soldiers were warning people who were trying to get close enough to watch the nailing, sometimes adding they’d actually get a better view from higher ground. Dogs barked, flies buzzed, vultures circled, acrid smoke drifted from the incessant fires. Excited or grieving spectators were still trailing up the path, though not as many as might have been expected; some had already seen enough, and the day was so hot and sultry, a storm threatening. (pp. 370-374, ibid) The violent muscle contractions had set in. Unbearable cramps that traveled from the arms down through the back, belly, legs, the clawing nailed feet, set the victims mad with pain. This was the best time to offer the balm; it stupefied them somewhat, and sometimes hastened their asphyxiation. Which was an act of mercy for everybody; otherwise the thing could go on for hours. They were anxious to get out of here, catch the games at the coliseum, if it didn’t storm—the skies looked threatening. The writhing, moaning criminals were sucking the sponge greedily and begging for more. Jesus, elevated between them, only shook his head; though his face was contorted and his lips nearly bitten through…He must keep his senses as long as he could. In his own agony he must try to comfort the two who were suffering with him: the thief who was reviling and cursing him for not performing a miracle that would save them all; and the other one, pleading piteously, “Remember me, please remember me when you come into your kingdom!” Jesus must utter such words as he could from his tortured mouth, to help them. But he couldn’t help himself; he sagged and rose, sagged and rose, strangling, fighting for breath. Fighting to remain conscious. He could not die without seeing Mary once more, and she was coming, she was coming…Through Jesus’ anguish he sensed their approach—his precious mother, with Magdalene, the women he loved above all others except his blessed lost Tamara. And John, the apostle dearest to his heart. Ben, lying forlornly at the foot of the cross, confirmed it. Suddenly raising his head, he began to bark and darted out to meet them. The soldiers had given up trying to drive him off with the other dogs. Let him stay, he was obviously attached to his master. Let him lie there, head on his paws, grieving. He would keep away the scavengers that were sure to come prowling. Jesus strove to lift his head as the three figures swam dimly into focus. Though moaning now, he could not greet them, he could only form the shape of their names with his broken lips. He could not gesture: His crossed feet were nailed to the post; huge spikes had been driven through his wrists. He could only hang there helpless, while the blood ran down his arms. He could move only his head and his great, loving, pleading eyes. But the shadow of a smile flickered. And at last, with an effort, he managed to speak: “Moth-er…behold…your son!” Mary clutched her aching throat, but her chin was high, as thus at last she beheld him—as she had always known that one day she would: The baby she had borne and suckled at her breast. The beautiful boy she had raised. The youth, beloved of all who knew him, who would be tempted as other men are tempted, that he might be totally one wit man. But overcoming temptation, to walk the earth as shepherd, teacher, prophet, healer. Above all, as the fulfillment of God’s promise—Messiah, Son of God. Again and again the sword had pierced her heart, or so she had thought. But now that he hung before her, dirty, bruised and beaten, naked except fro the blood scrap that barely covered his loins, pinioned to those stakes like some massive bird that can no longer fly—sagging and rising in order to breathe, to sustain itself—Mary knew the sword had only scratched the surface of her heart: perhaps to test the true depth to which it could finally be plunged. Savagely, blindly, with a pain too intense for tears or sound, she suffered it now. Every lash that had torn his flesh, every blow that struck, every nail that had been driven through gristle and vein, Mary felt them now…she hung on the cross with her son. But for his sake she could not, would not, cry. Mary nodded. Setting her teeth, summoning all her strength, her own lips smiled faintly back. “I am proud of you,” she cried softly. “Oh, my darling, no mother on earth will ever be prouder of her son.” Deeply moved, Jesus turned his head to John. “Behold…your…mother!” he panted. John gripped Mary’s hand. “I will take care of her,” he promised brokenly. “From this day on she will be as my own.” On a great shudder of love, Jesus became aware of Magdalene who had come forward, and taking the hem of her gown, was wiping the blood from his feet. Her shoulders were shaking, her dark head was bent. There was no basin with which to wash them, but leaning her cheek against them as she had once long ago, she bathed his feet with her tears and kissed them. She looked up then, and stood gazing at him, desolate in her adoration, drinking in the sight of him, the sweet and terrible sight of him. Helpless, bereft, she could only stare at him, while the things she longed to say to him seemed almost to burst her heart. (pp. 378-80, ibid)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	May 19 2009, 11:22 AM Post #31
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	Magdalene lay in torment, listening for the first crowing of the cocks. All night, it seemed to her, she had lain thus listening, in the house to which she had returned with the other women. From time to time she had gone to the window and scanned the skies, praying for the first gray signs of morning. Only then would she dare rise and slip away, back out to the garden. She knew she must go, yet she could never find her way in the dark. She knew only that she must see Jesus once more. Make her way somehow into the place where they had lain him. Untie the napkin from his face and gaze upon him; touch him, anoint his body with the spices and oils there had been so little time for during that frantic and devastating hour when the men—with all those women following, wailing and weeping—had carried his poor tortured body to the grave. It had all been so rushed, so confusing. What to do about Jesus’ mother? Mary had been unable to stand, once they took her son from her; she could only cling desperately to her sister. John, running up from where they were wrapping the Lord, had told the two to wait; litters were being summoned to take both of them to Ein Karem. He, John, would stay with them and see them safely there. Magdalene had realized she was no longer needed. She had hurried to join the others; but the precious body was already being wrapped; curious people stood about watching—the soldiers, one or two officials, servants, and all the distraught women. No time to embrace him, to tell him goodbye; too late to say the things she had longed to while there was still time. What had locked her lips? Why hadn’t she had the courage to cry out to him the true depth and breadth of her love while he hung above them on the cross? The presence of his mother—of John? Magdalene bit her fingers, tormented by frustration and regret. She had been last in the procession. She wanted to be the first to go to him now. Mad as it might seem, she would make her way alone to the garden, and be alone with him at least a few minutes, in tenderness and caring. How she would roll away the stone she didn’t know. Although it occurred to her that by sunrise a gardener might be about and willing to help her. Or one of the guards. There would be guards before the entrance. Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea had spoken of the guards before they left the tomb. Turning to regard the immense wheel now rolled before its door, they had remarked that the place would be safe. Dusk was falling, jackals howling, the awful ordeal of night’s loneliness descending; yet they agreed there would surely be soldiers arriving soon. Pilate, Herod, the high priest—if necessary the whole Sanhedrin—would be sure to send armed men to guard the tomb, lest the body disappear. “They can’t risk having the apostles break in and steal it,” said Nicodemus. “As they might try—and you know what they’d claim.” Joseph of Arimethea had snorted. “I wouldn’t worry about that. By now that loyal band of his is probably back home safe in Galilee!” Sardonic, grieving, he motioned to the dog that now lay, head on his paws, before the stone. Joseph’s thick lips quivered. “Jesus has his own guard,” he muttered brokenly, and bent to pet him. ‘Well, Benjamin, you followed him this far. Now stay and guard him well.” Magdalene was concerned about the dog. She prayed that the guards, exasperated by his stubborn vigil, had not killed him. Or even succeeded in driving him away. She must remember to somehow get him back to Mary. She would carry him, if necessary… (pp. 385-86, Chapter 28) And now for a little while Jesus lived and moved on his beautiful earth again. This body he occupied now as real as the one before, able to feel all he had ever known and enjoyed on earth. But transcendent, moving about without effort, at will. Three times he appeared to his apostles in the upper room, asking them why they were troubled. Letting them examine his hands and feet, that they might believe and turn their anguish into rejoicing. And when they went briefly back to Galilee, twice he joined them there, eating and drinking with them, even the newly-caught fish broiled over a charcoal fire. And commissioning them to carry on after his departure. “Feed my sheep,” he told them—Peter especially, over and over. “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.” He walked beside Cleophas on the road to Emmaus, and broke bread with him, comforting him, and assuring him that he had not failed…And he visited his mother and Elizabeth, holding their hands and telling them many things as they sat together on the roof, with his dog Ben resting against his knee. Loving and praising them—two selfless women whom God honored above all women. And when the apostles returned to Jerusalem, he instructed them further, opening their minds to an even greater understanding of all that had been written concerning his own birth, death and resurrection. “Stay on in the city, and when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, you will receive power to testify about all this with great effect.” No longer must he attack the priests and scribes and Pharisees for the cruel and selfish hypocrisy of selling and sacrifice at the Temple: That had been done. Never again would he be on trial for preaching the truth as God’s son: That had been done. No more would he be tortured in prison, or on the cross. That, too, had been accomplished. He had been in hell and risen; he had been with the Father and returned. Soon now he would go back to the Father. Finally, when forty days had passed, he led them out as far as Bethany—his mother and his two brothers with them, for they, too, had stayed on in the city, and all of them believed. And Cleo, too, was with them, holding fast to Jesus’ dog. And Martha and Mary and Lazarus were there, too, near their house where the little group gathered, and the beautiful Magdalene. And although they had anticipated why they had come, that he was once more going to leave them, their hearts were not sad. Though they were weeping as he bade each of them goodbye and lifted his hands to bless them, they were comforted. For he also promised that within a few days they would have a remarkable experience: The power of the Holy Spirit would come upon them, and they would be his witnesses unto the uttermost parts of the world. And even as he spoke, in that rich sweet musical voice they would remember forever, Ben began to bark and strain, lifting his head like the others to watch as his master disappeared. For before their eyes Jesus was being lifted up to heaven, and a cloud received them out of their sight. And behold, two men in white clothing appeared before them, asking, “Why are you gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus, who has just been taken up from you, will come again in the same way as you have watched him depart.” And they returned to Jerusalem, rejoicing. Ten days later, during the Feast of Pentecost, they were all assembled at the Temple Mount when suddenly there came a sound from heaven, as of a rushing wind, filling all the house where they were sitting. And they were filled with the Power of his Holy Spirit, as he had promised! A power that transformed them, molding them, this first small band of followers, into a great army that would move from Jerusalem into all the world, to conquer it, not by the sword but by the victorious news of his kingdom. And from that day to this, all who love and follow him anxiously await his return. (pp. 395-96, epilogue)
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


kgreen20	Sep 9 2009, 03:17 PM Post #32
Advanced Member Posts: 2,826 Group: Advanced Members Member #96 Joined: January 7, 2006	I think I'll bump this back up.
	“God is right here, right now, ready to trade your burden for peace. Not just a little peace, but because of His amazing grace, complete peace. If you want your family to trust you, you’ve got to show them whom you trust.”—Tess on “Touched by an Angel”


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