Jesus Triumphant (Chronicles of the Nephilim Book 8) (25 page)

Longinus with thirty other Legionary officers finished a chant of the greatness of Mithras as “sol invictus,” the unconquered sun. They filled the benches of the small rectangular Mithras temple and shrine. It was a vaulted subterranean chamber just outside the Antonia, created for their secret new religion. Pontius Pilate led the group by virtue of being the senior member of the gathering. The membership consisted mostly of Roman army officers, from legates to tribunes and centurions and even some lower level ranks like optios. As a religion of privilege, they kept their activities mostly secret, including the initiation rites each must undergo to join.

Pilate elevated a chalice of wine and a bone of bull’s meat and said, “This is the flesh and blood of our god, Mithras the mighty. Let us eat and become one with the power.”

The officers ate their meal on a long table the length of the cave. Above them, the vaulted ceiling had the stars of heaven engraved in its arch. The temple was, like all temples, a representation of the cosmos. The centerpiece of that cosmos was a large stone relief of the god Mithras in human form, engaged in tauroctony, the slaying of the sacred bull. Mithras held the nose of the bull with his left hand and pierced him with a sword in his right. The signs of the zodiac encircled the engraving, along with several scenes from the myth of Mithras: his birth from a cosmic rock encircled by the Serpent of wisdom; and a feast of the Bull’s flesh called the “Banquet of the Sun,” which they now re-enacted.

Longinus felt refreshed by his involvement in the ritual feast, its rules, its orderly regulations. Down here, he could have the peace of focus, away from the noise and pungent smells in the Semitic “holy city,” with its massive influx of traveling Jews from every corner of the earth. The only holy city to him was the eternal city, Rome, with its classic architecture of perfection and heavenly beauty. These backwater Jews and their primitive tribal culture seemed to create nothing of lasting permanence beyond its singular temple complex, and even
that
displayed Greco-Roman influence and Phoenician design. The only beautiful things in this Mediterranean garbage dump were its Roman structures, the Hippodrome, the theater, and Herod’s palace, all built by Herod, the Roman sympathizer.

Longinus sighed. He just wanted to find his seditious bandits, crucify them and get back to leading his century in battles for the Empire.

After they finished the meal, censers were lit with an incense of special intoxicating herbs. The aroma gave the initiates an inebriated high. They laughed and joked through the smoky haze, but eventually stumbled out of the sanctuary to return behind the walls of the Antonia.

After the initiates left, Longinus stayed behind alone, for contemplation. The misty haze still hung in the enclosed underground temple.

He closed his eyes and prayed to Mithras for help to find his criminals. A voice interrupted his prayer.

“Longinus.”

He stopped and looked up. Before him, in the hanging mist, stood a being eight feet tall, with glimmering bronze skin.

Longinus froze. He murmured, “Mithras?”

It did not answer him. He felt the terrible greatness of the being. It was rather skeletal and androgynous looking, unlike the masculine muscular features he expected of the warrior god. But it was frightening still. Longinus had never been very spiritual in his leanings. He performed Mithraic cult acts more out of obedience to his military order than out of actual belief.

But now everything he believed had been stood on its head.

“Who are you, my lord?”

“The principality of Rome. Chief of the gods.”

“Jupiter?”

The being said, “Think of me as you will. I know of your commission, Longinus. That you seek Barabbas and his Zealot criminals. I have heard your prayers.”

Longinus whispered, “My lord and god.”

The principality said, “I am here to help you find them.”

• • • • •

Before Jesus could make his way through the crowds of the outer court to the Shushan Gate of the temple, he was stopped in Solomon’s colonnade. A group of about twenty Pharisees blocked his way.

One of them shouted out, “If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly!”

The disciples gathered near him.

He said to his accusers, “I told you and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name bear witness to me. But you do not believe because you are not among my sheep. My sheep hear my voice and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.”

Another countered, “Who are you to claim such greatness?”

“My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.”

The members in the group looked at each other in agreement. They drew stones out of their sacks. They had obviously prepared for this in advance. The leader, a scrawny, tall man, said to his comrades, “You heard him. Blasphemy! He makes himself out to be God!”

The disciples drew near. Peter, James, and John stepped in front of Jesus to take the stones for him if needed.

Jesus moved them apart so that he could look the scrawny leader in the eye. Then he spoke to the entire group of them.

“Is it not written in your Law, ‘I said you are gods?’ If he called them gods to whom the word of God came—and Scripture cannot be broken—do you say of him whom the Father consecrated and sent into the world, ‘You are blaspheming,’ because I said, ‘I am the Son of God’?”

It flustered the accusers. They could not answer.

Simon whispered to Mary, “That is what we spoke of earlier. Jesus is one of the divine council.”

Simon didn’t have the time to explain that the Psalm Jesus quoted also described Yahweh’s judgment upon the other gods of the nations for their usurpation of justice.

Jesus said to the Pharisees, “What do you think about the Messiah? Whose son is he?”

The scrawny one spoke up again. “The son of David!”

“How is it then,” said Jesus, “that David, in the Spirit, calls him Lord, saying. ‘The Lord says to my Lord, ‘sit at my right hand, until I put all your enemies under your feet’’? If David calls him Lord, how is he his son?”

The Pharisees stood perplexed. They muttered to one another, but could not give an answer.

Simon whispered to Mary, “He is saying that Messiah must be more than a man. He transcends David. He is David’s god.”

Mary understood the language of conquest as well. A triumphant king’s foot on the neck of his enemies was total victory and dominance. Jesus was claiming full authority over the powers. But when? When would he make good on this promise? Where were his armies?

A Sadducee pushed his way forward in the crowd. He made way for a group of Sadducees behind him. He was an elder who carried himself with much pride. He called out, “Rabbi, I have a question about resurrection!”

Simon grumbled, “Will these competitions never end?” The Sadducees always seemed to want to start a fight over resurrection, since they detested the belief.

The proud one said, “Now, Moses said, ‘If a man dies having no children, his brother must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother.’ Am I misinformed?”

“No,” said Jesus.

Simon could not stand the mocking contempt of the questioner. He knew it was only mere moments before the Sadducee would turn into an accuser, like all the others.

“Well, you see then,” said the proud man, “I have a problem. Because I know this family who had seven brothers. The first married and died, having no offspring. So he left his wife to his brother. Then that second died and gave her to the third.”

Simon saw it coming.

“So too, all seven of the brothers died, handing off the woman as their wife. Ultimately the woman died as well. So, in the resurrection, of the seven brothers, whose wife will she be? For they all had her as their wife.”

He ended with a sarcastic smile, assuring himself of catching Jesus in a trap.

But Jesus said, “You are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God. For in the resurrection, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, for there is no marriage in heaven.”

Now Simon had the joy of seeing the Sadducee accusers stumped.

Jesus added, “And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God?”

He was turning the sarcasm back on his accusers. Delightful.

“‘I am the god of Abraham, and the god of Isaac, and the god of Jacob.’ He is not the god of the dead, but of the living.”

Jesus then walked straight through them.

They parted with stunned faces.

The disciples quickly followed after Jesus.

Mary turned her head and stuck her tongue out at the Sadducees and Pharisees as she passed.

Gestas stepped out onto the proscenium arch of the large Roman theater. He looked up into the three tiers of audience seats called the
cavea
. Unlike the more gradual inclines of the Grecian theater built on the hills of his native Scythopolis, this one in the city of Jerusalem had to maximize its use of minimum space. So it towered three stories upward with steep seating.

The auditorium was empty at the moment. Gestas closed his eyes and imagined it filled to capacity with patrons. He could hear the music and chorus singing praises in the orchestra below him.

He was Hercules, and they worshipped him as he accomplished his twelve labors ending in the underworld of Hades. He re-enacted once again his victory over the three-headed hound of hell, Cerberus. He could hear in his mind the resounding applause of his many performances.

He missed the theater and its glory. Strangely though, he also remembered that it seemed that the more praise and worship he received, the more he needed just to feel significant, to feel loved. A poor reception of one of his performances brought on deep depression and anxiety, sometimes even suicidal thoughts. Now, that was all gone. He was no longer the center of attention, but rather a part of something bigger than himself, something that would outlast him. He was part of changing the world, relieving suffering, and bringing hope to his fellow Jews for deliverance. The armed robbery of the rich who oppressed the common folk was simply an inconvenient necessity in order to finance their moral cause. Sometimes, you had to do evil in order to achieve the greater good.

“Gestas, what are you doing?” a voice came from behind him.

He turned to see Demas opening the curtain. Behind his brother a dozen other men carried piles of costume clothing. They were stealing Roman soldier costumes for their plan, an adaptation of the one used to free him from the Roman prison.

“We have to get out of here now. If we get caught, our whole strategy will be undone.”

Because of the Passover feast, there would be no performances for another week in the holy city. The theft would not be discovered until after the uprising.

Gestas said, “Do you ever miss the arena? The glory?”

Demas’s face stilled with memory. “Not so much.”

Gestas looked surprised. Demas explained, “That’s where you and I differ. You did it to live. I did it to die.”

“But if you
had
died, it would have been glorious, would it have not?”

Demas thought a bit. “I suppose there is a certain—glory—in the thrill. It was in the face of death that I felt most fully alive. It has been pain that has made me appreciate life. But in the end, we are all dead.”

“And forgotten,” added Gestas.

“We may die with this gamble,” said Demas. “And if captured—”

“I
know
what the punishment for sedition is.” The fate of their comrades in the Galilean caves was still stark in their memory.

“It’s already too late,” said Demas. “We might as well try something bold, if not mad.”

“But what if we succeed? What if Messiah really does show up? What if Barabbas is—”

Demas put up his hand to stop him. “Don’t, Gestas. All our lives we have been abandoned. We have had to make our own way. No one will show up at the last minute. No one will save us, but ourselves.”

Gestas stared out into the barren theater, the setting sun causing deep shadows to move over the stone.

He grinned darkly. “Let us take our bows—for an encore performance.”

• • • • •

Simon sat with Mary Magdalene on the Mount of Olives, overlooking the Temple. It was the end of the day. The setting sun created a reddish-orange backdrop glow to the city.

They were about a hundred feet higher than the Temple walls and the crest of the hill was several thousand feet away. Jesus had recently finished his sermon on the destruction of the holy city and its temple. The meaning that Simon had been figuring out by implication, Jesus had finally said explicitly. For all of his teaching on love, mercy, and atonement in the Kingdom of God, this prophecy had deeply bothered all the disciples.

As they looked out upon the wonderful stones and noble buildings of the temple mount, Jesus had shocked them all. He had said that there would not be one stone of the Temple that would not be thrown down. Complete desolation. It would be the end of the world for them.

When asked when it would all happen, the sign of his coming as Messiah, and the end of the old age, Jesus had responded that all the things he was about to tell them would come upon their own generation—within the next forty years.

He said that the Pax Romana they currently lived under would be unsettled with many wars and rumors of wars. It was hard to believe for most of them, because the might and power of Rome seemed so invincible. But it did coincide with Daniel’s prophecy of the Messianic stone that would crush the last kingdom after Greece, the statue’s feet of iron and clay, the empire of Rome.

There were many false prophets, false messiahs, and much persecution to come for the true remnant of believers. They had already seen some of them. The lawlessness of the sons of Belial would increase. But the good news of the kingdom would be proclaimed throughout the entire Roman empire, the whole world to them, before the end would come.

Simon had explained to Mary that the “end of the age” was the end of the old covenant embodied in the sacrifices of the holy Temple. When Yahweh made a covenant with Moses, it was like the creation of the cosmos of the heavens and the earth.

You divided the sea by your might;
you broke the heads of the sea monsters on the waters.

You crushed the heads of Leviathan;
you gave him as food for the creatures of the wilderness.

You split open springs and brooks;
you dried up ever-flowing streams.

Yours is the day, yours also the night;
you have established the heavenly lights and the sun.

You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth.
A Maskil of Asaph

When that covenant was ended, it would be the end of the cosmos, and a new heavens and earth would commence. A new covenant that the prophet Jeremiah had promised and the prophet Haggai warned with poetic flourish.

For thus says the
Lord
of hosts: Yet once more, in a little while, I will shake the heavens and the earth and the sea and the dry land. And I will shake all nations, so that the treasures of all nations shall come in, and I will fill this house with glory, says the
Lord
of hosts
.

They were living in the last days of the old covenant. Messiah would bring the Day of the Lord and change everything forever.

Jesus had warned them of the great tribulation to come, when the “abomination of desolation”—the Roman armies with their eagle standards—would surround the holy city and trample the Temple underfoot.

Mary asked Simon, “When will they come?”

Simon replied, “So far, the Romans have been able to crush the various uprisings of individual bandit leaders like Judas of Galilee, Athronges, Simon of Herod. But if the others still alive and on the loose could be unified behind a central figure, that kind of revolt would bring—.”

“Armageddon,” she whispered.

He nodded. “The sun darkening, stars falling from the dome of the sky, and the shaking of the powers of heaven is the Scriptural language for the removal of earthly rulers and their heavenly powers over them. The dispossession of the land and the disinheritance of the gods by the New Covenant of Messiah.”

She had already been familiar with the poetry of gods coming on clouds in Canaanite scripture. Ba’al was described as the great Cloud Rider, the most high god, bringing judgment. So when Jesus had used the same language of himself coming on the clouds, he was claiming to bring Yahweh’s hand of judgment upon Israel, who had rejected him. He would use the armies of Rome as an axe in his hand. Isaiah had said the same of the Assyrians. Mary said, “So the sign of the Son of Man’s judgment on the tribes of the Promised Land is the destruction of the temple.”

He added, “Which ends the Old Covenant and its shadows of atonement, and replaces it with the New Covenant.”

She scrunched her face in confusion. “You have told me that Daniel says the Messiah will put an end to sacrifice and offering. But how?”

“I do not know, Mary. He won’t tell us.”

“It must be a secret to us so that it will be a secret to his enemies as well.”

Simon nodded in agreement.

Mary remembered that Jesus had told them all that the Son of Man would suffer and be rejected by this generation. That he would be killed and on the third day raised. She wondered if the disciples were missing it in their understanding of Messiah. They had assumed all along that Messiah would be an earthly conqueror. What other kind of deliverer could there be for such oppression under Rome? They could not conceive of suffering as a means of victory. That was why Peter had rebuked Jesus for saying so at Caesarea Philippi. But she remembered Jesus had then called him “Accuser” to his face. And she remembered Simon telling her of the words of John the Baptizer at Jesus’s baptism, “Behold, the lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.”

What if Yahweh’s anointed servant would suffer rather than attack? What if Messiah himself would replace the sacrifice with his own suffering? A human sacrifice of Yahweh’s own son? She shuddered at the heresy. She would speak of it to no one.