Take This Cup (41 page)
A vision of massacre played in my mind.
The moon shone through our window, bathing the sleeping Sparrows in silver monochrome.
I sat up as Rabbi Kagba descended the stairs and called softly to my father from the landing, “Lamsa! Wake up, Lamsa.”
I heard the padding of my father’s bare feet toward the rabbi. “You too?” he asked. “I can’t get it out of my mind either. What shall we do, Rabbi?”
“I’m certain tomorrow they’ll kill Lazarus to prove Jesus is a charlatan. That’s their plan, Lamsa.”
“Yes,” Papa agreed. “I am sure of it. Murder, perhaps on the road tomorrow.”
I sat up and untangled myself from the blankets. Standing, I carefully picked my way through the heap of legs and arms and slack-jawed faces.
Poking my head out the door, I croaked, “Papa? Rabbi Kagba? I’m awake too. Dreaming, but awake. A nightmare, really. We should go. Bethany. Go right now, I mean. Tonight. Ride to the house of Lazarus in Bethany. Warn Lazarus he should not return to Jerusalem in the morning.”
Kagba studied me from the shadows for a long moment.
“Yes, Nehemiah, my thoughts exactly. What do you say, Lamsa? I think your boy has summed it up.”
My father clasped my arm. “There’s treachery in the camp, I think. Red and Hallelujah followed their man as far as the city gates. The Eastern Gate. The road to Bethany. Nehi, would you recognize the fellow if you saw him again? I mean, if he is one of the disciples of Jesus?”
“It was dark, Papa. I think so. But I can’t say for sure.”
Kagba interrupted. “The point is Lazarus. A good man. They will kill him first. His life, returned from the land of the dead, is a cause for them. They want Lazarus back in his tomb to stay. I say we ride to Bethany tonight. And Nehemiah must come with us.”
Papa nodded. “The moon is almost full. The road will be illuminated. All right, then. Dress quickly. If we leave now, we’ll be in Bethany before sunrise.”
A
s the Sparrows slept, I dressed quickly. My father saddled the horses below in the courtyard. I removed Joseph’s cup from beneath my pillow and held it in the light. Gleaming silver seemed to glow from within.
For a moment I considered carrying it with me to Bethany, then thought better of it. Hadn’t Jesus told me I must carry the cup for him until he was ready to take it from me in Jerusalem?
I held the cup close to my cheek, remembering the righteous men who had drunk from it. With a kiss I rolled it in its protective fleece, then returned the bundle to its hiding place beneath my pillow.
Mama’s sleepy voice called to me from her bedchamber. “Nehemiah?”
I stood in the doorway of her room. “Yes, Mama.”
“From the beginning I knew God had some special task for your life.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“And so you are in God’s hands. You are the light in my life. Please—after what you boys saw tonight—be careful of wolves in the flock.”
Wolves. Did she mean the man I had seen leave the council who looked so much like Judas? “Yes, Mama, I will. I don’t
think the fellow is a follower of Jesus. I’m almost sure. None of those men could betray him.”
“But if it was, he will be desperate to keep his betrayal a secret.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ll try. I’ll keep praying,” she answered quietly.
Papa saddled his big bay and Kagba’s strong mule for the journey. My father climbed onto his saddle, then reached down, grasped my arm, and swung me onto the bay’s back. I hugged his back, grateful for his warmth. “All right, then,” Papa said. “Angels go with us, and angels stay with those who remain behind.”
The
clip
clop
of hooves was the only sound as we rode through the deserted streets of the city.
Pilgrim fires winked on the slopes of the Mount of Olives. It was as though the stars had fallen to earth. The moon hung low in the west and cast our long shadows before us.
We did not speak as we rode. Our thoughts had turned from the elation of yesterday to the dangers of the coming day and tomorrow. We were united in our focus on two goals. First, to warn Jesus and Lazarus of the threat we had heard from the lips of the high priest himself. The second was somehow more troubling to me: to be certain that the informant I had seen at the door of the council was not a member of Jesus’ inner circle.
The sky had only begun to lighten as we rode through the vineyards of Lazarus. A single light shone from the wall above the gatehouse of his estate.
Crickets chirped. A night bird sang from the brush. I smelled wildflowers and the scent of my father’s leather jerkin. How could our desperate mission seem so peaceful?
As if he heard my thoughts, Rabbi Kagba said in a hoarse voice, “I have longed to see him as a man. To speak with him
and kneel before him. But once again I come to warn him of danger. More than thirty years. The stars are the same.”
Papa said, “As if no time has passed, eh?”
“Perhaps no time has passed. God’s ancient promises exist outside of time.”
My father said, “It seems there is always a battle between good and evil. Will it ever end?”
“The devil has a long memory, Lamsa. He remembers the perfection of Eden. He caused the fall of man and the curse of death upon what was a perfect world. On that day, God promised that a Savior would come and crush the head of the serpent.”
“But doesn’t it also say the serpent will strike the Savior’s heel?” Papa replied. “A wound to our Redeemer. What does that mean?”
The rabbi motioned to the constellation of Ophiuchus. The stars depicted a fierce battle between a man and a serpent. “Look there in the sky! The outcome is certain. The stars are unchanged; God’s promise is unchanged. Satan has feared this hour, and we are alive to see it. We are witnesses to the coming of our Redeemer. The serpent’s head will be crushed, but our Savior will be wounded. Yes. Yes. We cannot be surprised. Not a fatal wound, but a wound all the same. The Devil does not believe what God has declared in his Word and etched in the stars, eh? Working in the lives of evil men, the Dark Prince of this world believes that the wound he inflicts on our Savior will be fatal. But it is written: in the end, the innocence of Eden will be restored. The outcome is certain, so we must do good and never fear.”
The gates of Lazarus’s estate loomed above us. Papa rang the bell.
An aged gatekeeper called down, “Who are you, and what do you want?”
Papa stood in the stirrups. “Please summon your master, Lazarus. My name is Lamsa. I come from beyond the two rivers where Eden once existed. And my son, who is known by Jesus, is with me—Nehemiah, cupbearer to the King. And here is Rabbi Kagba, one of the Magi who first paid homage to Jesus and then warned his mother and father of the danger of Herod’s plots when Jesus was only a baby. We have come to bring news and warning once again.”
The servant mumbled, “Daylight in an hour. Still early. Though the house is already stirring.” He left his post, taking the lantern with him.
Long minutes passed. I felt the chill of the early morning.
After a time, the gates groaned open. A woman’s voice welcomed us. “Come in, come in! Hurry!”
By the light of the gatekeeper’s lamp, I recognized Mary, the beautiful sister of Lazarus. Her clear brown eyes smiled up at me. She was wrapped in a warm shawl. Her oval face was framed by thick, dark, wavy hair. Her teeth were straight and white.
The aroma of baking bread made my stomach growl.
“Welcome, Nehemiah. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Breakfast’s almost ready.” She reached up to help me slide off the horse. “And welcome, Lamsa and Rabbi Kagba. The Lord told us to prepare a meal for you—that you would be coming to break bread with us this morning.”
I bowed deeply to Mary in unison with my father and Kagba.
The rabbi spoke first. “I’m glad he expected us.”
Papa added, “We rode from Jerusalem with urgent news for your brother.”
“Yes.
Shalom
and welcome.” She took my hand. “Come along. They’re waiting for you to join them at the table.”
Nothing surprised me anymore. If Jesus had foretold our arrival, surely he knew why we had come.
We entered an inner courtyard, open to the sky. Lazarus’s sister Mary asked us to wait there for a moment, saying she would return to fetch us soon.
Seated on a stone bench beneath a fig tree was a pair of clean-shaven strangers. By their expensive clothing, they were wealthy men. They surveyed us. One whispered to the other, who shook his head.
Beside me, I felt my father stiffen. He made no move to speak to the foreigners, nor did they greet us.
Rabbi Kagba murmured, “Greeks. Here to see Jesus?” He shrugged. “Who knows how far his fame has spread.”
On the opposite side of the terrace was a scalloped, two-tiered fountain. Rabbi Kagba and my father used the waters to wash the dust of travel from hands and faces. I needed it to scrub away the sleep.
In a couple of minutes Mary came back. She was accompanied by a servant, who carried a tray of food to the other visitors. Mary ushered us into a large dining room. Beneath a wall mural depicting a waterfall dropping into a verdant valley sat Jesus. Surrounding him were his closest disciples and a number of others, including Lazarus and the shepherd Zadok. About twenty in all. The meal of hot bread and dried dates and figs was already in progress, accompanied with quiet conversation. I spotted the man named Judas Iscariot, seated between Andrew and John. Grabbing my father’s hand, I squeezed it and received a reassuring press in return. This fellow Judas looked very, very like the man I had seen at the council, but still I could not be sure.
My attention was diverted by another drama enacted immediately after we entered the chamber. Rabbi Kagba’s body trembled, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
Jesus rose and strode quickly to him. Seizing my teacher’s arms with both hands, Jesus said, “Welcome. Welcome, my friend.”
Dropping to his knees, Kagba said, “My Lord, I hoped . . . I have waited . . . thirty years and more I have cherished . . .”
Instead of lifting Kagba immediately, Jesus knelt alongside him. “And now you’re here,” he returned, smiling. “Thirty years is a long time to hope without seeing. Please, come and join us. And you are Lamsa of Amadiya,” Jesus said, greeting my father while assisting Kagba in rising. “Welcome. You must be proud of your son. Welcome, cupbearer.”
Jesus indicated places immediately to his right, beside Zadok. With some jostling, the others moved aside.
“Judas,” Jesus remarked.
Breaking off a conversation with Andrew, Judas looked up. I stared at him. For a fleeting instant there was something furtive in his expression . . . or had I just imagined it?
“Yes, Lord?”
“We have not taken the offering for the poor to the Temple. Would you see to that right away? If you’ve finished eating, that is.”
“Of course.”
“For the Sparrows,” Jesus added, patting me on the shoulder. “This time, all for the Sparrows.”
Judas frowned. I saw his jaw clench as if he were about to protest, but he ducked his chin, nodded curtly, and strode from the room.
Zadok was a big man. When he stood to make room for us,
his head of bristling white hair seemed to almost touch the ceiling while his brawny shoulders were wider than the table. An ancient scar running from an eye patch down across his cheek showed where someone had tried to split his head in two. But it was his remaining eye, intense and searching, that held me captive, as it did Rabbi Kagba.
“I know you!” Kagba said.
“As well you should, Kagba of Tarsus,” Zadok rumbled. “It was to my house you came. You and the others. Your gift. Myrrh, wasn’t it? Strange choice, that. Burial spice for a newborn.”
All the other discussion ceased. Everyone knew an important reunion was taking place.
Zadok explained, “You know the tale. When the Master here was naught but a babe, learned men came to worship him: Perroz. Gaspar. Melchior and Balthasar from Ecbatana. And Kagba here. They brought gifts and a warning.”
“It was Melchior who dreamed it,” Kagba said, emotion making his voice catch in his throat. “We warned Joseph to take Mary and the baby and flee into Egypt—to our people in Alexandria. But we—” He stopped abruptly, then seized Zadok’s wrists. “Your wounds! We never dreamed Herod would . . . could be . . . was so . . .”
“Ruthless?” Zadok supplied. “Aye.”
Both men sighed heavily.
Zadok’s shoulders shuddered. He swallowed a deep breath, as if attempting to rid himself of painful memories. “Slaughtered the babies, did the Butcher King. My babies among them.” He indicated his ravaged features. “I tried but failed.”
“We did not know.” Kagba pleaded for forgiveness.
“You brought the warning,” Zadok returned. “In those days, no one was safe . . . just like now.”
Those words signaled an eruption of many voices in confirmation.
“He’s right!”
“Another Herod—the same demons!”
“Worse, even. Roman soldiers make no pretense of caring about Jews.”
“It is even worse than you know,” my father contributed. “Listen to my son.”