We had left the brothers and Matthew behind because they had jobs, and Bartholomew because he stank. His lack of cleanliness had started to draw attention lately from the local Pharisees in Capernaum and we didn’t want to push the issue since we were walking into the lair of the enemy. Philip and Nathaniel joined us on our journey, but stayed behind on the Mount of Olives at a clearing called Gethsemane, where there was a small cave and an olive press. Joshua tried to convince me to stay with them, but I insisted.
“I’ll be fine,” Joshua said. “It’s not my time. Jakan won’t try anything, it’s just dinner.”
“I’m not worried about your safety, Josh, I just want to see Maggie.” I did want to see Maggie, but I was worried about Joshua’s safety as well. Either way, I wasn’t staying behind.
Jakan met us at the gate wearing a new white tunic belted with a blue sash. He was stocky, but not as fat as I expected him to be, and almost exactly my height. His beard was black and long, but had been cut straight across about the level of his collarbone. He wore the pointed linen cap worn by many of the Pharisees, so I couldn’t tell if he’d lost any of his hair. The fringe that hung down was dark brown, as were his eyes. The most frightening and perhaps the most surprising thing about him was that there was a spark of intelligence in his eyes. That hadn’t been there when we were children. Perhaps seventeen years with Maggie had rubbed off on him.
“Come in, fellow Nazarenes. Welcome to my home. There are some friends inside who wanted to meet you.”
He led us through the door into a large great room, large enough in fact to fit any two of the houses we shared at Capernaum. The floor was paved in tile with turquoise and red mosaic spirals in the corners of the room (no pictures, of course). There was a long Roman-style table at which five other men, all dressed like Jakan, sat. (In Jewish households the tables were close to the ground and diners reclined on cushions or on the floor around them.) I didn’t see Maggie anywhere, but a serving girl brought in large pitchers of water and bowls for us to wash our hands in.
“Let this water stay water, will you, Joshua?” Jakan said, smiling. “We can’t wash in wine.”
Jakan introduced us to each of the men, adding some sort of elaborate title to each of their names that I didn’t catch, but which indicated, I’m sure, that they were all members of the Sanhedrin as well as the Council of Pharisees. Ambush. They received us curtly, then made their way to the water bowls to wash their hands before dinner, all of them watching as Joshua and I washed and offered prayer. This, after all, was part of the test.
We sat. The water pitchers and bowls were taken away by the serving girl, who then brought pitchers of wine.
“So,” said the eldest of the Pharisees, “I hear you have been casting demons out of the afflicted in Galilee.”
“Yes, we’re having a lovely Passover week,” I said. “And you?”
Joshua kicked me under the table. “Yes,” he said. “By the power of my father I have relieved the suffering of some who were plagued by demons.”
When Joshua said “my father” every one of them squirmed. I noticed movement in one of the doorways to Jakan’s back. It was Maggie, making signals and signs like a madwoman, but then Jakan spoke. Attention turned to him and Maggie ducked out of sight.
Jakan leaned forward. “Some have said that you banish these demons by the power of Beelzebub.”
“And how could I do that?” Joshua said, getting a little angry. “How could I turn Beelzebub against himself? How can I battle Satan with Satan? A house divided can’t stand.”
“Boy, I’m starving,” I said. “Bring on the eats.”
“With the spirit of God I cast out demons, that’s how you know the kingdom has come.”
They didn’t want to hear that. Hell, I didn’t want to hear that, not here. If Joshua claimed to bring the kingdom, then he was claiming to be the Messiah, which by their way of thinking could be blasphemy, a crime punishable by death. It was one thing for them to hear it secondhand, it was quite another to have Joshua say it to their faces. But he, as usual, was unafraid.
“Some say John the Baptist is the Messiah,” said Jakan.
“There’s nobody better than John,” Joshua said. “But John doesn’t baptize with the Holy Ghost. I do.”
They all looked at each other. They had no idea what he was talking about. Joshua had been preaching the Divine Spark—the Holy Ghost—for two years, but it was a new way of looking at God and the kingdom: it was a change. These legalists had worked hard to find their place of power; they weren’t interested in change.
Food was put on the table and prayers offered again, then we ate in silence for a while. Maggie was in the doorway behind Jakan again, gesturing with one hand walking over the other, mouthing words that I was supposed to understand. I had something I wanted to give her, but I had to see her in private. It was obvious that Jakan had forbidden her to enter the room.
“Your disciples do not wash their hands before they eat!” said one of the Pharisees, a fat man with a scar over his eye.
Bart, I thought.
“It’s not what goes into a man that defiles him,” Joshua said, “it’s what comes out.” He broke off some of the flatbread and dipped it into a bowl of oil.
“He means lies,” I said.
“I know,” said the old Pharisee.
“You were thinking something disgusting, don’t lie.”
The Pharisees passed the “no, your turn, no, it’s your turn” look around the room.
Joshua chewed his bread slowly, then said, “Why wash the outside of the urn, if there’s decay on the inside?”
“Yeah, like you rotting hypocrites!” I added, with more enthusiasm than was probably called for.
“Quit helping!” Josh said.
“Sorry. Nice wine. Manischewitz?”
My shouting evidently stirred them out of their malaise. The old Pharisee said, “You consort with demons, Joshua of Nazareth. This Levi was seen to cause blood to come from a Pharisee’s nose and a knife to break of its own, and no one even saw him move.”
Joshua looked at me, then at them, then at me again. “You forget to tell me something?”
“He was being an emrod, so I popped him.” (“Emrod” is the biblical term for hemorrhoid.) I heard Maggie’s giggling from the other room.
Joshua turned back to the creeps. “Levi who is called Biff has studied the art of the soldier in the East,” Joshua said. “He can move swiftly, but he is not a demon.”
I stood up. “The invitation was for dinner, not a trial.”
“This is no trial,” said Jakan, calmly. “We have heard of Joshua’s miracles, and we have heard that he breaks the Law. We simply want to ask him by whose authority he does these things. This is dinner, otherwise, why would you be here?”
I was wondering that myself, but Joshua answered me by pushing me down in my seat and proceeding to answer their accusations for another two hours, crafting parables and throwing their own piety back in their faces. While Joshua spoke the word of God, I did sleight-of-hand tricks with the bread and the vegetables, just to mess with them. Maggie came to the doorway and signaled me, pointing frantically to the front door and making threatening, head-bashing gestures which I took to be the consequences for my not understanding her this time.
“Well, I’ve got to go see a man about a camel, if you’ll excuse me.”
I stepped out the front door. As soon as I closed it behind me I was hit with the spraying girl-spit of a violently whispering woman.
“YoustupidsonofabitchwhatthefuckdidyouthinkIwastryingtosaytoyou?” She punched me in the arm. Hard.
“No kiss?” I whispered.
“Where can I meet you, after?”
“You can’t. Here, take this.” I handed her a small leather pouch. “There’s a parchment inside to tell you what to do.”
“I want to see you two.”