Chapter Fourteen
CORDS
The Second Temple, had stood for five hundred years before its dramatic renovation under Herod, Originally it had been a modest structure built under the governor ship of Zerubbabel, the decendant of the last kings of Judah, and the ancestor of most of the House of David. The Samaritans asked to help with this work, but Zerubbabel and the elders declined such cooperation, feeling the Jews must build the Temple unaided. The Samaritans, curses upon them, sought to frustrate the Jews’ building, and ir purpose and sent messengers to the King of Persia, overlord of the world, the result being that the work was suspended.
Some years later, when Darius became king, the building of the Temple was completed. But it had been only decades ago, within the lifetime of the old, that Herod nearly rebuilt the Temple into a grand and imposing work, its two man courts joined together and circled by an even wider pillared courtyard, the Court of the Nations,t including great gates, high towers, large buildings and elaborate façades. The Temple Mount, where both Solomon's Temple and the Second Temple stood, was also significantly expanded, doubling in size to become the ancient world's largest religious sanctuary. was the chief place of worship, ritual sacrifice, and communal gathering for the Jews. As such, it attracted Jewish pilgrims from distant lands during the Three Pilgrimage Festivals: Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot.
And on this particular day, there was screaming and shouting and a cacopnahny in that temple.
In the high rooms that surrounded the Court of Israel, members of the Sanhedrin had been discussing what had happened not quite a day’s journey, off at the Jordan River.
“Are we going to ignore it?” one had asked Joseph Caiaphas.
“Ignoring it is precisely what we will do.” The old Kohan Gadol, Annas had interrupted.
“Lord High Priest,” Nikodemos had said, “surely, at some time, we must protest some of the actions of the Herods.”
Nicodemos was young, and so they tolerated him, and when he was sounding young, they reminded him of that. Annas son of Seth, who had maintained power through his son Caiaphas and a string of children who could sit on the throne of the Kohan Gadol was still, as far as Jerusalem was concerned, a power, and from where he sat in his seat like a throne, half looking out of the great stone window onto the pillarded porticos, the altars, and open spaces surrounding the tall white, elegant structure of the Kodesh Hakodashim, the Holy House of God, which hosted the Holiest Place, which made the Court of Israel, where the sons of Israel milled about, he said, “It is rarely a good thing to be seen if you do not need to be seen. Yochanon made himself most visible, and I am not sure we should repeat his folly.”
“We are….” Caiaphas added, “conflicted.”
Conflicted was not exactly the word, convoluted was a better one. In times which were discussed but which naturally no one could remember, there had been High Priest and Anointed King, two separate roles. For centuries, the House of David, the rightful ruling family, had ruled over the people of Israel. David himself had silently entered the city and taken it, and his son Solomon had built the first Temple. But the time of the House of David was long passed, and after the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babyloninan, the descendants of David were merely governors.
When the Hasmoneans had risen and taken the lands of Judea, Idumea and Galilee, restoring Israel and placing the crown on their head, they were priests, and not even from the appropriate priestly line. They were revered now, yes. They were the last ruling family, true, and their blood, their name, and their relations carried great prestige. But there had always been, and now were moreso, those who pointed out they had no right to the power they wielded, power which no high priests had ever born. These priests kings had usurped not only the proper priestly lines, but the House of David.
And that was the first convolution. A convolution made even worse by the Herod family, foul to their core, being by clever marriages, the last people to bear the esteemed but troublesome Hasmonean priestly blood.
The next convolution was that since the days of Pompey, the high priesthood had become the play thing of the Roman governor. A high priest was high priest as long as Rome appointed him, and how could that be a thing? And when Rome was done, then a new priest came to power. But a priest was a priest forever, was he not? And so, in the eyes of the people, Annas, long deposed by Rome, was still high priest, even as his daughter’s son sat on the throne. And then of course, to some, Annas, appointed by Rome, had never really been a true high priest anyway.
They were, like the great wealthy families, clean shaven or with thin and artful berds, and they wore elegant, flowing robes and, when it was time and they were brought down from the Fortress Antonia, the sacredm ancient, robes of the Great Priest. There was dispute about what had happened. These elaborate garments were worn only at the high and holy times and only before the altar, and according to some they had been placed in the tower which would become the Fortess Antonia by the Hasmonean kings who wished to keep such regalia safely locked away. According to others, they had been confiscated by Rome, symbols of too much power, symbols of priests kings who ruled no more, how could the current high priest be allowed to wear these every day?
Whatever anyone else thought, Joseph Caiaphas, wily and quiet, keeping his own council, had his own truth, and it was that these cumbersome robes, which were locked away in the fortress next door were his power. This crown, a golden tiara framing an ice white bonnet, engraved with the ancient phrase, קדושה ליהוה, Holiness Unto… the Name that could not be spoken, was, though he rarely placed it on his head, the crown with which he ruled Jerusalem, and in his way, all of Judea. And the truth was, John had been getting rowdy, and strange. There had been far too many gatherings by the river. They had been behaving much too much like the Essenes, who denied the power of the high priests, and if Herod thought it was time to take him away, who was the High Priest to disagree? Sooner or later, matters would have come to the attention of Caesarea, and that loathsome Pontius Pilate, who was surely even now on his way, and if Herod wished to take care of these matters and leave the Temple with clean hands—Caiaphas took a very deep breath—well, then so much the better.
“Should we speak up? We must speak up.”
“Ah , but Nikodemos was young. He could not help himself.
And even as he was thinking this, Caiaphas could hear the noise from down below. Well, this was the Temple, at festival time, there was always noise down below on one side, the bleating of goats and rams and sqwawking of birds, ready for the smoky sacrifice below, mixed with those on the other side of the high chambers, in the marketplaces of the immence Court of the Gentiles which surrounded the central and smaller courts of the temple. Those needing to make sacrifice would not have brought animals with them on so long a journey to Jerusalem, so they must buy them here. If Caiaphas ever heard that this meant the priests of the Temple was selling animals to the people who would immediately offer them up to be slaughtered in the Temple by the priests to feed the priestly families, he put this criticism out of his mind. He heard what else the people who paid for the privilege of feeding the priests, and God, of course, brought with them: the clatter of coins, for one did not spend the money of the world in the House of God. For a price, a little tax, ordinary money could be turned into the money spent in the House of God on animals to be sacrificed to God. In this modern world, with a modern and philosophical God that Greeks had tried to revere, like any God worth mentioning the God of Israel wanted blood. He wanted the smoke and the smell of meat. Sometimes he wanted the whole animal. Day and night, a heavenly barbecue was offered for the pleasure of God, by the priests in their bloodstained, white robes, and the people of God cried out for his favor.
But now there was true crying in the Temple, true dismay. The High Priest of Israel was trained to know when the delicate balance between reverence and fervor was overturned. He knew the difference between casual catcalls and violence, and now he gathered his robes around him, and with a movement, indicated that he was to be followed.
Downbelow, Joseph of Arimathea was at his prayers, and he looked up as the black robed men filed down the stairs, robes swirling around them, Nikodemos at their tail. He finished his prayers quickly, with an apology to the Almighty before following as best he could.
By the time they had moved from the hall of Hewn Stones and were descending into the Court of the Nations, several of the Temple functionaries and high ranking Saducees as well as the lawyers and scribes who numbered among the Pharisees, were coming together—and they never came together—and following Caiaphas, and many of them followed him as little as possible.
Goats and rams were running about, sheep bleating as they dodged Annas, and he nearly lept into Caiaphas’s arms. The High Priest of Israel looked about in horror as empty, open cages were explained by flocks of doves flying about while shabby people leapt for spilled coins, and merchants and money changers covered their faces and shook their heads, those who were not being chased about and beaten by a black haired man in white with a face darkened by something beyond rage, and as he beat men with a belt of cords, and knocked over more tables, joined by a ragged mob doing the same, he called out:
“Come, and let us return unto the Lord:
for he hath torn, and he will heal us;
he hath smitten, and he will bind us up.”
Nikodemos’s eyes nearly fell from his head, then they instantly went to Joseph.
“After two days will he revive us:
in the third day he will raise us up,
and we shall live in his sight.
Then shall we know,
if we follow on to know the Lord:
his going forth is prepared as the morning;
and he shall come unto us as the rain,
as the latter and former rain unto the earth!”
Caiaphas’ eyes narrowed as, all about him, the court roared with chaos. Of course the very day after Yochanon was captured, a man threatening the Temple from afar, here came someone else, threatening the Temple in the very Temple itself.
Joseph continued looking at Nicodemos, and then looked to the man who stood in the midst of the chaos, white robe open to the chest, mantle hanging from his shoulders and corded whip hanging from his hand, and he continued to bellow.
“ O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee?
O Judah, what shall I do unto thee?
for your goodness is as a morning cloud,
and as the early dew it goeth away.
Therefore have I hewed them by the prophets;
I have slain them by the words of my mouth:
and thy judgments are as the light that goeth forth!”
And then he did it, yes he walked right up to the crowd of priests and scribes, and teachers, walked so close to Caiaphas and Annas he could spit on them, and a few of men, some whom Nikodemos knew, clung to Annas’s robes as the man in white roared.
“For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice;
and the knowledge of God more than
burnt offerings!”
But they like men have transgressed the covenant:
there have they dealt treacherously against me.”
Before any of the black robed men could think of what to say, Jesus turned away from them in scorn, and approached some who had dared to come back and set up their tables again, or who were attempting to wrangle their animals.
“Get these out of here!” he bellowed. “Stop turning my Father’s house into a market!”
Madmen existed, plain and simple, and disturbed people had always come to the Temple, after all, it was the House of God, and the first refuge for such souls, and there were some in the gathering crowd who thought this man should be spoken to gently, perhaps wrapped in a shawl, taken out of the sun and given some water. After all, the holidays created such feelings. But beside Caiaphas was one scribe named Abirim, and he demanded, with no compassion:
“Who are you? What do you think you are doing, attempting to destroy this temple? There are gaurds on their way, and they will surely take you away—”
But Jesus cut him off with a crack of his whip and a hand gesture. He stood, gazing at the high pillars of the court it seemed, gazing past the corridors that led to chapels and chambers, gazing past the pillars to the high walls of the sanctuary of God himself, and that was when he answered, and Nikodemos heard it. And Joseph heard it as well:
“Destroy this Temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”
“It has taken forty-six years to build this temple,” Jotham spoke up, exasperated, “and you are going to raise it in three days?”
Jesus looked at him in shock. He looked at him in absolute amusement. He laughed in his face.
“You….” He said to Jotham, he looked over the gathering of men, most in black and white robes.
“You….. understand… nothing.”
Jesus looked them over, discarding the whip, adjusting his robes and his mantle, raising the white hood to half hide his face. But his white teeth smiled.
“You understand nothing,” he said, and turned on his heel slowly, as if he were simply walking down the street, and the men immediately surrounding them, whom Joseph and Nikodemos knew well, looking confused, blinked, and then turned after him, followed by the crowd.
As the screaming was replaced by dull shouts and confused talking, and the white robed man was swallowed up in the gathering crowd, Joseph Caiaphas turned to his father-in-law.
Annas only blinked.
“Who in the hell was that?”
Annas shrugged.
“A mad man,” he said, picking at the burgundy silk of his mantle and slowly retying the sash that one of those hanging on his robe had pulled.
As they turned back toward the the stairs into the Hall of Hewn Stones, he said, “We’ll never hear from him again.”
Joseph of Arimathea looked to Nikodemos and put his finger to his lips, before leaving.
It had begun this morning in Bethany when Marta came with Joanna and the news of Yochanon’s arrest. Jesus’s face had changed. John saw it. It was like stone, and saying nothing he had turned and gone up the stairs.
What they saw next was so strange that often they asked each other if had been real. John had gone up with his brother, and Peter followed. The midday sun shone into the room, but in the center of it, Jesus, in white, face lifted and transformed, eyes closed, was the source of greatest light. The hood of his mantle was over his head as in prayer, and he had raised his lips to the light above, and when the others arrived, Thomas swore that Jesus, sitting legs crossed beneath him on the floor, was floating.
When he turned to them, he said to Philip, “The winnowing fan. What did John say?”
But it was Marta who answered as Jesus now stood.
“I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”
Though a cloud had passed over the sun, the room was filled with a great light of which Jesus was the pulsing source. Marta came before him and dared to hold his face.
“You burn…. Like the very Sun of God.”
She fell at his feet, kissing one hand, and then the other.
Jesus caressed her cheek, looking down on her with the love he had for John in the most quiet of their moments. He stretched out his hand, and with a look that was beyond madness, the look of prophecy, he said, “The unquenchable fire has come.”
