Judas (22 page)
It never ceases to amaze me the lengths people will go to defame one another if they are paid enough, are ignorant enough, or angry enough. Because he held a hearing, not a trial, a distinction Caiaphas reminded us of frequently, the rules of evidence and procedure did not apply. Anyone could say anything without fearing the serious penalties that accrue if caught breaching the commandment about bearing false witness. For hours we listened to accusations from men whose contact with Jesus had been negligible or nonexistent. The high priests must have recruited them to bolster their case against Jesus. One declared he heard Jesus conversing with Satan. Joseph asked him when he overheard the conversation and the man gave a date and time when Jesus would have been one or two years old. He was dismissed. Another swore Jesus plotted with bandits to burn down the temple. But the man who brought the charge could not provide a time or date or corroborating witnesses. I heard three more variations on how Jesus threatened to destroy the temple. After a while, it became clear many were willing to tell the Sanhedrin anything it wanted to hear, but even the worst of the accusations did not warrant a trial, much less, punishment.
Caiaphas remained patient. He had time on his side, while Joseph wrestled with a dilemma. If he succeeded in having Jesus released too soon, he faced the possibility of swift and terrible Roman retribution. If he let this hearing drag on, sooner or later, someone could come forward with a story sufficiently damning to bring Jesus down.
“High priest,” he said, “this is getting us nowhere. Half these stories are preposterous and the rest, inconsequential. I suggest we adjourn for the day and study what we have learned and return to this tomorrow.”
Caiaphas frowned and then nodded his head. “It is the sixth hour. We will recess for an hour so that those who need to eat and those of us with other duties may see to them. When we return, we will hear from Jesus himself. Perhaps then we can consider Joseph’s suggestion.”
Joseph started to say something but the clapper sounded and everyone stood. Caiaphas dismissed the assembly with a wave of his hand. I stood, too, but my guards pushed me back. I stayed in that dreary, ornate room. A crust of bread, some water, and a bowl of boiled beans served as my mid-day meal. Outside, the sky hung gray and ominous over the city, which matched my mood exactly. The hope that started my day blew away with the clouds. Annas and Caiaphas moved slowly but inexorably toward a goal they shared but had not revealed. Whatever they were up to, one sure thing emerged: Jesus would not survive the inquiry and probably not the day.
***
The clapper’s racketing woke me. I had slept very little the night before, and fatigue finally caught up with me. I slumped over on my bench, back against the cold, stone wall. Ehud, Annas, and Caiaphas had their heads together. They looked calm and in control. The hearing must be progressing to their liking. They glanced in my direction from time to time and then, a decision made, they nodded and took their seats. Everyone’s eyes were on the doors, expecting Jesus to be ushered in at any moment. I leaned forward again to locate Joseph. He whispered heatedly with another member of the Sanhedrin. Nicodemas nodded his head in agreement. Joseph seemed to be lining up support. The clapper rattled a second time and everyone quieted down.
Annas stepped forward and announced, “The man, Jesus of Nazareth, will be here soon. Before we hear from him, however, we need to call another witness.” He signaled my guards who pulled me out into the center of the room facing the priests.
“This is Judas, known as Iscariot. He has produced irrefutable testimony against Jesus.” He waved the sheets around for all to see. Every eye in the room bore into my back. I felt the blood rush to my face.
“Judas, do you deny you are the author of these documents?”
“No.”
“You affirm before this assembly that everything you have written here is the truth as the God of Abraham is your witness.”
“It is not permitted to swear such an oath,” I declared, with some boldness, I thought.
“Yes, yes…But you will certify that all…all you have written here is the truth, is that so?”
“Yes.”
“And you gave this testimony of your own free will, there were no inducements made by anyone in this room?”
“No, but it was never intended to be testimony, I—”
“Simply answer when you are addressed. We are not interested in hearing your commentary.”
“But—”
“This man,” Caiaphas announced in a voice loud enough to be heard in the farthest reaches of the room, “is a close associate of Rabbi Jesus. He may be his most trusted disciple. He has been with him for many years. You can give credence to anything he says. We have his testimony and it reveals Rabbi Jesus as a blasphemer and an inciter of riots.”
The crowd stirred, muttered, and shuffled their feet. They heard real evidence for the first time. My guards spun me around to face them.
“This is the man who had the courage to come forward and report these things to us so no harm can fall on the nation,” he continued, ignoring my protest.
Except for the members of the Sanhedrin, and perhaps not all of them, no one had read what I had written. For all these people knew, I betrayed Jesus with accusations of such magnitude they should be overjoyed at the fortuitous capture of so dangerous a heretic.
I looked into the corner where I saw John earlier. I hoped he had not returned after the morning recess. I hoped in vain. His eyes blazed. He gave me a look of such utter contempt I flinched as if struck. Even though it made no difference—I would be dead before the Sabbath and would never be in his company again—the burden of his contempt crushed me. The others would soon hear how the deed was done and I would become the object of their enmity forever.
As I listened to Caiaphas, I swore there must be two of me in the room. The misguided and foolish spectator to the proceedings, listening and wondering how it came to be, a boy who became a man in the mean streets of the empire, the man who came to his homeland dreaming of killing oppressors, of wreaking havoc on the empire, its leaders, and bringing it crashing down. But who, instead, ended serving a man of peace. The other Judas—Caiaphas’ creation—had betrayed his master. At that moment I realized that no one would ever know the former. If I were remembered at all, it would be as the traitor.
Finally, my agony ended and I returned to my bench and out of sight. I pressed back against the wall. Until that moment, I harbored thoughts, however irrational, of escape, of finding a side door or a careless guard, and somehow getting away. After being presented to the gathered masses, I prayed, instead, for a quick and merciful death.
The doors swung open. Witnesses stirred and turned their heads. I leaned forward. At first I saw nothing. Then I saw him. He wore a clean tunic and a cloak of white linen. The cloak hung loosely over his shoulder, one end across his forearm. As he drew nearer, I could see bruises on both cheeks. He looked pale and gaunt. His eyes never strayed right or left. He moved slowly toward the high priests. His stature and the combination of his thin ravaged face, white garments, and onyx eyes staring straight ahead made him appear taller, more arresting, apocalyptic. He moved with such grace, he seemed to float. The hall became eerily silent, every eye on him. The only sound in the room was the soft padding of Jesus’ sandals on the tiled floor. I watched his prosecutors. As Jesus advanced, they retreated deeper into their chairs.
He stopped in the center of the room. The silence lasted a moment and then a low hum, which slowly grew louder, replaced it. Annas regained his composure and raised his arm. The room quieted. He stood. His hand fiddled with a large amulet hanging from the gold chain around his neck.
“You are Jesus of Nazareth?”
“I am.”
“You are accused of serious crimes and breaches of the law—accusations that might cause this assembly to bring charges against you—serious charges. Do you understand?”
Jesus said nothing.
“Have you nothing to say? Do you have any idea about the testimony they brought? They charge you with sedition. They say you threatened to destroy the temple, that you ridiculed the Sanhedrin. Your own disciple has testified…” he waved in my direction.
Still, Jesus said nothing.
“They say that by words and signs you declare yourself the Anointed One, the Messiah, and you even claim to be the son of the Blessed One.” Jesus remained silent. Exasperated, face red, Annas shouted, “Well, are you? Are you? Do you make such a claim?”
“Yes. It is as you say,” Jesus said.
What happened next, I will take to my grave. When Jesus said “yes,” the window high on the wall behind the High Priests suddenly burst into color. What I took to be varicolored stones turned out to be chunks of Roman glass which seemed to capture the sun itself. Brilliant points of ruby, citrine, and sapphire glowed and swelled in intensity. The points merged and blended and streamed down like honey from a comb, down in a beam of pure gold. It all happened in an instant, but for me and those who witnessed it, the moment seemed elongated in time. My eyes followed the light. It pooled around Jesus and his raiment blazed, the white linen transformed into holy fire. Everyone in the room sat transfixed. Later, those not there and those who follow the cynics and skeptics would say, “Oh, well, the sun just came out from behind a cloud.” But we, who witnessed it, knew better. We had seen the hand of God.
Annas sat down heavily. A low moan filled the room, the exhaling of a hundred throats. I remembered the angry man’s words.
Rabbi Jesus, just who do you think you are, God?
Caiaphas broke the silence. “So you are the Messiah? You are, as you claim, the Son of God?”
“I am, and hear this: The day will come when you may see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven.”
No one dared speak. If any doubt still lingered in anyone’s mind as to who or what Jesus claimed to be, it vanished in that moment. Many in the back of the room fled. Caiaphas grabbed the front of his robe and tore it.
“We do not need to hear anything more. Take him away.”
The guards seized Jesus by the arms and trundled him out of the room. As Jesus disappeared, the light faded as well.
The spectators had served their purpose and were ordered out. The doors thumped shut behind them. Only the Sanhedrin, a few of their lackeys, and the high priests remained. Caiaphas, his expression grave and worried, walked slowly to the center of the hall. He pivoted around and then, with a sweeping look that managed to encompass everyone, began the speech everyone expected.
“You see the difficulties we have with this case. This Jesus is a charismatic leader who daily gathers followers from the countryside. Is that a bad thing? Of course not. Leaders who teach obedience to the Law, who draw people closer to the Way and the Truth, are to be commended. We have many fine rabbis who do this. But this Jesus…well, even the good Joseph of Arimathea must concede that the words we all heard and the events we witnessed here raise serious concerns for those of us entrusted with Aaron’s legacy. Wouldn’t you agree, Joseph?”
Joseph started to say something and then shook his head.
“Serious concerns, grave concerns, and we must deal with them. As I see it, this is our position: First, we are part of the
pax romana
whether we like it or not. No one but a fool believes we will lift that yoke anytime soon.”
Caiaphas swiveled around the room, his gaze leveled at everyone. Heads nodded.
“We are given leave by our overlords to practice our faith as our fathers and their fathers have. We continue our sacrifices, our feasts, and our worship. We enforce our own laws. These conquerors from the west maintain the roads, keep the peace, and protect us. For this, they collect taxes and extract tribute. It is not a situation we like or wish to continue. But the reality is, they are here and they will be here for a long time.
“It is wholly within their power to crush us like eggs if they wish. We have all witnessed their willingness to strike out for even the most trivial cause. Now, along comes this misguided man, besotted with Messianic zeal, who starts a riot not fifty cubits from where I stand. He threatens to bring the temple down. It says right here,” he continued, waving one of my letters in the air, “right here, ‘Not one stone will stand on another!’ He makes a mockery of the prefect by entering the city riding on an ass with a reed for a scepter. To make matters worse, hundreds join him in this foolishness.
“How long do you suppose the Romans will put up with this? They have little patience with acts of disrespect and none with civil unrest. We all know from painful experience what Pilate is capable of. His reputation for cruelty is known throughout the empire. Even now blood stains the temple pavement, spilled by him. But as great a threat as that is, there is an even greater one we must address.”
Caiaphas paused, letting his words sink in. The room hushed. I looked at a very different Caiaphas, no longer the smarmy poseur of the previous hours. He sighed, his expression deadly serious.
“There is the matter of blasphemy. Oh, I know what has been said already, ‘It is not unlawful to claim to be a messiah’ and you are right. In the past, many have, some do now, and, no doubt, many will in the future. But this man is no ordinary prophet claiming to speak for the Lord. No, he claims to speak
as
the Lord. When he says he is his son, he does not mean, as we do, we are all children of the Creator, he means His son—literally.
“As more and more are drawn into his web, I fear the Lord’s swift retribution will become a certainty. You can appreciate, then, the grave position we are in. Our entire nation is at risk, either from the retribution of Rome or of the Lord. Either would be terrible—both will spell the end of us as a people.
“Is it not better, then, that this one man should die, than the whole nation suffer?”
As Caiaphas spoke, men leaned forward in their chairs and, one by one, nodded. Only Joseph shook his head, but with more “yes” than “no.” It seemed the high priest had won the day. The room remained hushed.
One man sitting at the far end of the hall said, “But ‘that this one man should die…’ Even if we find him guilty of all the things he is charged with at a trial, we may not condemn him to death, high priest.” Others agreed and looked worried.
“Yes, yes, I know. But you do agree, do you not, it would be appropriate,
if
we could?”
Most of them nodded. Joseph looked stricken.
“But a trial, Caiaphas. We must have a trial. We have our rules to maintain, even if, as you say, we only have them on sufferance, because the Romans let us. Still, we must keep to them.”
Caiaphas only shrugged. “What must be—must be.”
Within the hour, I imagined, I would be handed over to Leonides’ people, and who knew what death they planned for me. I did not object to dying for betraying Jesus. That would be just, but not for the cold-blooded assassination of a foolish sculptor by a ruthless official. I bowed my head.
My guards returned and led me away, I supposed, for the long walk to the Antonia Fortress. Instead, they led me back to my cubicle in the basement of Caiaphas’ house. Why? Ehud would not say. He only smiled.
“We are not yet done with you, Iscariot.”