Thirty-Four

He could not stay there, and wandered aimlessly off, thinking nothing but that everything was over, even if the world continued. Could anyone be persuaded to listen to them talk of what Jesus preached? Especially when it was all about the Reign of God, and the King of that reign had a cross for a throne.

Any Judean contemplating their King in such not only disgraceful but disgusting, horrific circumstances would be shocked beyond comprehension; his mind would spit out the idea "our King" as one spat out a rotten piece of meat. And for the Gentiles, as was obvious, it was a joke, with the crown of thorns and the stick for a scepter. And would anyone listen to such a teacher?

Oh, they were brilliant--if they had planned it. But at least Matthew thought that they had not; probably the coronation was an idea on the spur of the moment by some soldier who had heard that he had claimed to be the King of the people they were subjugating. In that case, it was fate that had dashed all hope of spreading the good news--if there was any "good news" left. All news now was tragic.

Fate? But how could this have been part of the divine plan? And yet, "Who would believe what we had heard? He was spurned and avoided by men, one of those from whom men hide their faces." And he remembered Matthew's voice, as he said, "And the same prophesy says something about his bearing our suffering while we thought of him as stricken, and his being pierced--it actually said that, I remember reading it!--for our sins! There must be a point to all of this!" But what point? What possible point? It was absurd.

But Nathanael remembered more of what was in Isaiah: "There was nothing in him to make us admire him." Who could admire anything in what we saw yesterday? "We thought of him as one afflicted. And yet it was our sins he carried." It was our sins he carried! It was our sins that were heavy enough to make him trip and which fell on top of him! If there was any meaning to this at all, this had to be it. This was the punishment for our sins. He took them--all of them--on himself. That was why it was so horrific!

But even so. . .

If Jesus and what he tried to teach people could survive this, it would be a miracle far, far greater than merely coming back to life--if indeed he were to come back to life! There was no possibility in any rational universe for people to follow such a leader now! Even if he came back to life, the horror of the cross would be his--his what? His crowning achievement! What irony! Jesus would forever be known by the cross, not by walking on water or taming the sea and sky; the cross would overshadow everything.

No, there was no hope. It was not possible.

Nathanael simply could not go on. He could perhaps have borne having Jesus fail, especially if it were atonement for our sins, but not now that he saw it. It was one thing to mention "take up the cross," but quite another to witness not only the crucifixion but the mockery and disgrace that preceded it. This was not failure, it was cataclysm!

And to lead up to it, Nathanael had been battered so badly that he had had nothing left but Jesus--and now Jesus himself was nothing--nothing! There was no hope.

The Jesus he had inside him, after he had eaten the meat of his body was a corpse. There was no hope.

He found himself, his sandals still saying, "Alone, alone, alone" in front of Zebulun's house, and, with no purpose, went in, and up to the room where the last meal had been eaten. One or two of the Emissaries and other students were there, but he did not greet them, nor did they acknowledge that he had joined them. Alone. Everyone was alone. There was no hope; least of all in this room.

And there in the group, he found a corner and sat. Alone. And now it was his heart that kept saying, "Alone. Alone." Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Would that it would stop beating!

Jesus's mother also came, almost fainting, supported by John, and accompanied by Mary of Magdala. The mother went off in a corner by herself, to mourn privately, and Mary sat down, and Matthew came over near her--of course--but not beside her. As yet.

After an eternity, he heard Chuza's Joanna declare in a loud enough voice to call his attention that, unless there was some explicit provision in the Torah against it, then it most certainly would be done. What was that? When Nicodemus began citing rabbis who interpreted the Law of burial, she cut him off with, "Give me none of your 'interpretations!' If you cannot find it in the very words of Moses, then I will hear none of it! Has not the Master himself said that these 'interpretations' have made the Law a prison instead of the joy it was supposed to be? Tell me not what your 'interpreters' think!" Who would have thought that Chuza's Joanna, of all people, would have this in her? Apparently, she and some of the women were going to give Jesus a decent burial as soon as the Sabbath was over.

But all were exhausted, and found places to lie down and sleep the sleep of despair, waking on the Sabbath morning only to face another day of emptiness. Another eternity alone among everyone else.

And the cold, raw day passed only because days must; each hour prolonging itself into an eternity in its own right. After the initial discussions about Jesus's body, there was nothing but silence in the room, no one caring enough about anything or anyone to say a word. Some rose periodically to look out the window, fearful that the authorities would come to put an end to the students as well as the teacher.

Then John began telling what he knew of the trial--he had apparently been able, because of his connections, to get inside the high priest's palace. Nathanael almost listened, and then found he did not care enough to find out what led up to the horror.

He heard, with about a quarter of his mind, however. And when John mentioned that they condemned Jesus for blasphemy, Philip broke in, "Why did they not stone him then and there?"

Thomas said, "I can answer that. Because there would have been a riot. They had to have him executed by Rome for several reasons: first, not to make it appear that they were the ones who did it, or we brave, dauntless, intrepid followers of his would--"

"You ran off as fast as anyone else!" cried Philip.

"I am all too painfully aware of that," he replied. "They had nothing whatever to fear from us, as was so blatantly demonstrated; but they did not know that. Second, they had to discredit him; and stoning would make him look like one of the other prophets, and would certainly not endear them to the people who had heard him denounce them as the descendants of those who had stoned his predecessors. But crucifixion--well, you saw it, and you heard what people were saying. How could anyone respect a person who had been through that? How could anything he said carry any authority after everyone saw him hanging there, stark naked! Pleading for a drop of water! I cannot bear it!" He was merely echoing what everyone was thinking.

He paused and took a breath. "You see? It was brilliantly done. The whole council would be in favor of it, because he had shown to their faces that he was a blasphemer--"

"He was not a blasphemer! It was true! He is the Son of God! Still!" cried Philip.

"You believe that, and, in spite of what you think, so do I--I think--I know not. I know nothing now. Pleading for a drink! . . . But you see my point. If even we doubt it because we saw him there, how would anyone else ever be convinced?"

"He will come back! He said he would! How can you doubt?"

"Philip, Philip, do not--it is time to grow up, Philip. You will finish by giving these poor women hysterical illusions. His spirit will return, and when we recover from this ghastly time--if it is ever possible--we, at least, will be able to live by his precepts, and that will return him to life in us. That was what he meant. Did he not pray that we were to be one thing in him, just as he was one thing in the Father? And that he would be in us just as the Father was in him? That is the return to life that he promised. We need conjure up no mad visions of him walking about to compound the horror of what we have been through."

"It is not a mad vision! He will return. You are the ones who are mad! How can you say such things?"

"Philip, he himself said that he was leaving to send us his Spirit from the Father."

"And he said he would come back! He said it!"

"--I cannot bear more of this. I am leaving. --Fear not, Nicodemus, I will not go father than a Sabbath's walk. But I will go mad if I stay here another instant!"

Philip looked at him with a mixture of anger and disdain, but said nothing further. He left.

"I know where he is going," said Nathanael, shaking his head sadly. "I am tempted to go myself."

But he did not. The old Nathanael, who could do nothing, was back. He sat in the corner, as he had sat under the fig tree, and looked out at the blank wall, upon which his mind wrote, "Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity." And again he heard his heart, "Alone. Alone. Alone."

Ezra came and sat by him, a darker shadow in the dim room. Neither had anything to say.

And the room eventually grew darker, because night finally came, and the night lasted forever, except that he slumped down onto the floor beside Ezra, who had, of course, disappeared from view in the shadows, and the two of them slept.

He woke because there was nothing else to do; one could only sleep so much, before dawn had more than made the window visible. There were some stirrings in the room. The women, who had, he vaguely remembered, prepared the burial spices and water and cloths, were about to leave to bury Jesus.

To bury Jesus.

To bury all hope.

He noticed that Mary of Magdala went out after the others. To watch? What did she know of womanly chores? What difference did it make?

The Rock and John left.

And nothing happened, forever.

Then the two men returned, dazed, John carrying what looked like the shroud Jesus had been buried in. "The tomb is empty!" they cried. "Someone has taken him!" Now what?

There was a knocking at the door. All started in fear, "It is we," said women's voices. They opened, and the women who had left entered, and said, speaking by turns and sometimes at the same time, "Jesus was not in the tomb! The stone was rolled away! We saw two angels inside, who said that he had been raised! The soldiers were unconscious! And then he met us! And he had the holes in his hands and feet! And he shone like light! He is alive! He has come back as he said!"

"They are hysterical," said John's brother James; but the Rock and John simply listened, with mounting excitement. The women continued to protest, and the men to object.

And nothing happened, forever.

Toward evening, the discussions finally had died down, and everyone lapsed once again into moody silence. If Jesus were alive, where was he?

And again nothing happened, forever.

"Peace to you," said Jesus, who in some unaccountable way was among them, though the door was locked. He had greeted them with the usual Judean greeting, as if nothing had happened. He had an amused smile on his face, as he looked at everyone, staring dumbfounded.

"Peace to you," he said again, as if they had not heard. Everyone stood up and began to move. He showed them his hands and side, but they still could not believe they were seeing anything but a ghost. Nathanael's heart was racing, thinking that this was what Thomas had gone through. Their fear and anguish had created the vision.

Knowing their thoughts, Jesus said, "Touch me. A ghost does not have flesh and bones, as I have." No one dared to do so. Nathanael even shrank away from him.

"Have you anything to eat?" he finally said. Someone timidly handed him a fish, which he ate in front of them. "It is truly I," he said, in his old voice, and finally they believed. It looked like Jesus, and yet it did not look like Jesus; he was different. But who else would have wounded hands and side, and yet be walking as he was? The difference in his appearance was like the difference in a person one has not seen for thirty years; one knows it is the same person, somehow; and Jesus had entered a wholly new life.

And then he breathed on them and said, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven; if you hold him to them, they remain with him." And he disappeared as he had come.

"Bartholomew," said Ezra.

"Yes?"

"You can forgive sins. I cannot; I am a mere observer."

"You can. You were here. He made no distinction."

"But I cannot forgive my own sins. Would you forgive them?"

"I? But what sins could you have?"

"Oh, I watched Judas hang himself, and--and I enjoyed it. I hated him, and was glad to see him suffer. And I know it was wrong. I still am glad, but I am sorry I am glad. Could you forgive this, now that Jesus has given you the power?"

There was no point in telling him that he had eavesdropped on his conversation with Thomas. "So Judas is dead."

"Yes. It was not pleasant, and I was glad."

"I am not certain but what I share your 'sin.' But you are right, I suppose. I tried to pray for him, but could not. Perhaps now I can, knowing that he died horribly. I know not. But in any case," and he put his hands on Ezra's head, "By the power just given me by Jesus our living Prince, I absolve you from your sins, whatever they have been. --I still do not really believe it! How can it be?"

"Thank you, Bartholomew."

"And now you do the same for me." And Ezra repeated the little ritual. He did not feel different, though the sin was gone, if it was a sin. But he did not feel different that Jesus lived--again--in him. He was not dead. He was not dead! How can it be?

There was a silence for a while, and then Ezra said, "But you must go to Thomas, and cure him. You know where he went."

This awakened all his fears. "Ezra, I cannot! I--no, I cannot!"

"You must!"

"You go."

"I? I am no Emissary. Perhaps I can forgive sins because I was here when he said it. But I cannot remove the curse from a drunk." He added, growing heated, "Besides, what am I but a slave? Everyone still thinks of me in that way!"

"But--"

"You must go! You must! Or he will kill himself! And now he need not! You must!"

"Ezra, I--I cannot! I could not bear to face him that way again!"

"What? Will you be the death of both of them?"

Nathanael shrank as if stabbed, and then turned and left the room.