When Jesus Wept

Chapter 31



Word of my return to life after being dead for four days spread about the country. I could not leave home without being surrounded by a mob. The crowds wanted to see Jesus, but they also wanted to see me.

I was bemused by the attention. After all, I was the recipient of healing, not the Healer. Still, I understood their awestruck wonder.

When I had witnessed my cousin’s daughter’s illness in Capernaum, I knew Deborah was very, very ill. Ravaged by fever, her body could not keep the spark of life within it.

I watched her sink toward the abyss of the grave.

I saw her just after her last breath fled. She was dead—not sleeping, as we know sleep, but gripped by the utter stillness that banishes hope.

When Jesus returned her life to her, I was utterly dumbfounded, never dreaming I would have the same experience myself.

Jairus’s neighbors crowded around to see Deborah. Before long, Galileans from as far away as Nain journeyed to meet the young woman and hear the stories from her mother and father.

Soon afterward complete strangers, covering distances from Caesarea Maritima on the west to Caesarea Philippi in the north, converged on the tiny lakeside village.

Jesus himself had departed, but the fame of the healed ones continued.

And now I knew the truth of that for myself.

I was besieged. I had even hired some men to patrol my vineyards and orchards to keep the curious from trampling my vines or helping themselves to the early figs.

Soon enough, undeserved fame was the least of my worries.

Late one evening, after the crowds had finally given up hoping for another glimpse of me pruning my roses, there was a furtive knock at the garden gate.

My aged porter answered the summons. Nicodemus was wrapped in a cloak up to his eyes, with a hood over his head. The Pharisee was ushered into my office. When I offered him a seat, he accepted but closed the door behind him.

I suggested a cup of my best wine, but he declined.

“I don’t want your sisters to worry,” he said, “nor even to know about this until we decide what’s to be done.”

“Worry about what?” I demanded as I trimmed the smoking wick of an oil lamp. “Done about what?”

Flipping the hood back off his head, he put both elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “They are seeking your death!”

I was shocked. So far as I knew, I had no enemies worthy of the name. If I had gained some unmerited celebrity, surely envy could not rise to the level of murder. “Who? Who wants me dead … again?”

“The Temple authorities,” Nicodemus declared. “I have very few friends on the Council, as you know, but there are still some with just enough remaining conscience to send me anonymous notes. The latest said that Lord Caiaphas wants to kill Jesus … and you!”

“But why? For bringing me back from the grave? This is a reason for murdering both of us? Your source must be mistaken.”

“Listen!” Nicodemus demanded, fixing me with a forceful gaze. “And believe it! Here’s what happened in a secret meeting, to which I was not invited. You know how the scribes and certain Pharisees try to discredit Jesus?”

“Of course! They try to trap him with words, accuse him of Sabbath-breaking, of sorcery. Try to get him in trouble with the authorities over paying taxes. Remember, I saw what they attempted to do with my own sister.”

Nicodemus nodded and stroked his beard. “They haven’t stopped. After your … restoration …”

No one quite knew how to report that someone had been brought back to life. Raised? Revived?

Nicodemus continued, “There was a furor in the Council at the lack of success in destroying Jesus’ reputation, and now about you! ‘What are we accomplishing?’ they said. ‘If he goes on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away our leadership positions and our nation.’ ”

I snorted. “Right to the heart of the matter: their wealth, their importance, their ability to stay on good terms with Rome. It doesn’t matter that Jesus teaches us to love our enemies.”

“Or that he raises the dead. No, that makes him worse in their eyes. You can dismiss the teaching of a rabbi from the Galil, but you can’t argue when the evidence of divine authority walks around the streets of Jerusalem. You again, you see?”

Suddenly I understood the threat I represented. Alive, I was a witness to Jesus’ power. I was the ultimate testimony to the truth of his claims. As was Peniel, the once-blind man. “And how did Caiaphas respond?”

“He told them they were stupid and ignorant and easily panicked. He told them …” Nicodemus lowered his voice and motioned for me to bring my ear close to his lips. “He told them it was better for one man to die for the people than that the nation perish.”

“He said that? The high priest?” Amid my words of protest I knew the truth of the report. Lord Caiaphas and all his cadre were perfectly capable of killing anyone they saw as a threat to their ability to remain in power. “And that plot includes me?”

Nicodemus nodded grimly. “You especially. Jesus must withdraw from Judea, and you must go with him. In time this may blow over … or Caiaphas may die … or something. But for now, you both must leave.”

“Jesus certainly must go,” I said. “But me? How can I say this? I’m not afraid of dying. Never will be, ever again.”

My friend’s gaze bored into my own. He saw there that I spoke the absolute truth. Still, he shook his head. “But others may be hurt trying to protect you. Think of Mary. Think of Martha. Carta and Patrick. If they tried to rescue you, they would die too.”

I understood but still was not ready to agree. “Let me think and pray over this tonight. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Again, the good-hearted Pharisee disagreed. “No, nor can we meet again anytime soon. I’m certain the high priest’s assassins will try to follow me to you or to Jesus. I’m glad you hired bodyguards, but it’s not enough.”

“They’re not bodyguards,” I protested. “Those men are here to protect the grapes, not me.”

Nicodemus dismissed the difference. “Doesn’t matter. They may be the only reason you haven’t already been attacked. But you can’t stay inside your fences forever. They will certainly try to kill you in Jerusalem and make it look like the act of a thief or a Zealot. Or they might bribe one of your guards to kill you himself.” Nicodemus shuddered.

Bowing my head in thought, I said, “We need to know what’s going on inside the Council. Who can we trust to bring the news?”

“Already allowed for. Our friend Peniel can easily travel among the beggars of Jerusalem. He can go and come without exciting notice.”

“Isn’t he also a target?”

“Not anymore. Not since you have given them a much bigger, more important one.” He stood and replaced the hood, then grasped my hand. “You must believe me.”

Solemnly I promised, “I’ll pray it through tonight and send you word tomorrow. Thank you, my friend. You are also taking a risk by coming here.”