Take This Cup (43 page)

“He’ll come. Yes,” Papa said, but there was no joy in his voice, only admiration. “A man of great courage.”

“And resolve,” my teacher concurred.

Papa broke the bread and spoke the blessing. “David against Goliath. Yes, Jesus is coming back. He will celebrate Passover here in Jerusalem.”

I finished lunch and bounded up the stairs. Taking the cup from its hiding place, I examined it in daylight once more. Had I missed anything?

The sun flashed on the silver-etched vines. For an instant I saw the face of Jesus among the vineyard looking back at me. And then I saw him as a little boy holding up the cup of blessing. He had the saddest eyes, yet the kindest eyes I had ever seen.

I saw the little boy pour out the wine of the
Havdalah
, saying farewell to Sabbath. Like a mirror, the wine held his reflection. He lowered the candle to the wine. Three wicks but one holy flame. He paused as light filled the surface, and then he extinguished the flame. His face vanished from the vines in the blink of an eye, and the cup seemed to be just a cup again.

I held cool metal to my cheek and closed my eyes. “He poured himself out,” I said, but I did not yet know what it meant. “Father, I never asked before now . . . but if I ask, will you show me? What did Joseph see when he looked into this cup?” I asked quietly, knowing that I had at last come to the end of my task. Soon the chalice would be passed to its rightful owner.

I peered into the bowl, hoping for an answer. I gasped at what appeared.

In the sunlight I saw clearly one streak of bronze-colored tarnish inside the cup, below the rim. How had I missed it? The image seemed like a crown of woven thorns. Had it been there yesterday? It seemed as though the discoloration was a part of the metal.

Dread set in as I attempted to rub it away. No matter how hard I scrubbed, the circle of thorns did not fade.

Wind stirred. I heard a child’s voice whisper. Was it my own voice? Or the voice of the boy? As I gazed at the tarnish, the child spoke the prophecy the Lord had spoken when Adam sinned and the innocence of Eden was lost: “Cursed is the ground because of you. . . . It will produce thorns . . .”
²

Suddenly I knew, like Joseph the Dreamer, I was seeing a vision of what was, what is, and what was to come.

One after another, a new, more horrible stain appeared, then disappeared inside the chalice—each image more terrible than the last:

The hand of a traitor filled with silver coins.

A lash tore the flesh of a bloody back!

Spikes pierced a man’s hands and feet.

Three Roman crosses stood on a hill.

Lightning flashed.

The earth quaked!

Cries of suffering erupted as Joseph’s cup seethed and roiled in a blood-red sea of evil unlike anything the human mind could comprehend.

I flung the cup away and fell to the floor. Darkness in broad daylight swirled around me. Was I dreaming? I begged to awaken.

And then, peace.

I don’t know how long I slept.

I opened my eyes and saw a mother weeping, her head turned in agony to the sky, as she embraced the dead body of her innocent child! She beat her breast and would not be comforted.

I asked, “Who is she?”

I heard a voice reply, “She is Eve, weeping for her children.”

Last of all, I saw the gaping mouth of an empty tomb.

It was set in a place I recognized—the newly cut tomb of Joseph of Arimathea!

Then the vision vanished.

I remembered again Jesus pouring out the wine for
Havdalah.
I had seen his face shining in the liquid as the flame of the candle was extinguished. I understood. Jesus was the light. He was the candle. His blood was the wine of blessing and redemption. He was the promised Redeemer who would call us forth from the tomb. Jesus would open wide the gates of Eden for us to return home.

I groped for the chalice and drew it to me as I curled up on the floor. Opening my eyes, I saw reflected sunlight on the silver where the cross had been. The inside of the cup was spotless—clean and untarnished.

I lay there for a time, trying to take it all in. At last, I sat up
and cradled the chalice in my hands. One last time I examined it. “Clean. Worthy of the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”

I stood and wrapped it in the fleece, then replaced it under my pillow.

Outside my window I heard the voice of Red call to me, “Nehemiah! Are you up there? Wake up! Jesus has returned. He’s teaching at the Temple. Hurry!”

The instant I stepped onto the street, Red clapped me on the back and sprinted away. I followed, as over his shoulder he grinned with excitement. “Hurry up! We can’t tell your mother or she won’t let you come. There’s going to be trouble, I think!”

“What’s happened?” Close on his heels, I got the story in shouted bits and pieces as we dodged through the throng.

“Big crowd. Jesus teaching. Priests and Pharisees come along and . . . it’s like a contest of riddles. Them asking questions I don’t understand, and him answering with answers I don’t understand. But I think he’s winning. Some of the men in the crowd cheered when Jesus called the Pharisees ‘blind fools’! Can’t you run faster? It’s really good. They’re boiling over. Want him arrested! His disciples are looking like they’ll fight, and about ten thousand common folk will join in if they try to take Jesus away!”

I laughed, not knowing why. There was nothing funny about such news, but I did not want to miss the riot if the confrontation came to blows. “Hurry, then!” I shouted as we dashed through the souk.

Shoppers turned away from haggling and followed after us.

Crossing the causeway, we ran up the steps and entered the Temple. Red was a master at weaving through a packed crowd.
I half suspected he may have been a skilled thief to supplement his income, but today he had only one goal: to get close enough to witness the battle of wits between the teachers of the law and Jesus of Nazareth.

On the treasury steps, the enemies of Jesus gathered around him in a half circle like a pack of wolves. What may have begun as a quiet attempt to discredit him had exploded into red-faced shouts of outrage:

“Jesus! Blasphemer!”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Are you more righteous than us?”

“How dare you accuse us before the people!”

Red led me to the other boys, about the third rank back from the bottom step. Together we snaked through and inched our way onto the stairs. Through the press of spectators and accusers I saw Jesus, unperturbed, as he answered their rage.

“ . . . You give a tenth of your income, but you don’t do the things that really matter . . . like justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced those without neglecting the other. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel.”
³

A man I had seen with the high priest shouted, “You ignorant, Galilean fraud! You law breaker! Blasphemer! You heal on the Sabbath and call your violation mercy!”

Jesus answered, “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup, but inside it is full of greed and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup, and then the outside also will be clean!”
⁴

The people cheered and laughed at Jesus’ words.

The uproar increased among the Temple officials. “Are you calling us unclean?”

Jesus bore into them. “Shame on you, teachers of the law!
Pharisees! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men’s bones and everything unclean. You look good to people on the outside, but inside you’re packed with hypocrisy and wickedness!”
⁵

Another shout of approval from the people.

Red nudged me hard. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t miss this?”

“Not for anything.” But my heart pounded. My eyes were wide as I saw Temple guards and Herodian soldiers standing ready to draw their swords and slaughter anyone who made a wrong move.

Jesus did not draw back. “Judgment is coming on you, hypocrites! You build elaborate tombs to honor the prophets and you decorate the graves of the righteous. And you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our forefathers, we wouldn’t have joined in, when they shed the blood of the prophets.’ But the truth is this: you’re the offspring of those who murdered the prophets! Fill up the cup, then, with the measure of your forefathers’ sin! You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell? Therefore, I am sending you prophets and wise men and teachers. Some of them you’ll crucify. Others you’ll flog in your synagogues and pursue from town to town.” Fixing his eyes on Caiaphas, he continued, “And so on your heads will come all the righteous blood shed on earth. Every bit, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah. The same Zechariah whom you murdered between the Temple and the altar. Listen to me: all this will come upon this generation!”
⁶

At a signal of the high priest, the soldiers drew their weapons. The people grew quiet and nervous. Many in the back left the scene.

“You are a lying prophet.” Caiaphas shook his fist in Jesus’
face. “Destruction will come upon you, not us. All the evil of the ages be heaped upon your soul, and not upon the people!”

Jesus shook his head slowly. Sadness filled his eyes. “O Jerusalem! Jerusalem! You who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you. How many times I wanted to gather your children together like a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you weren’t willing. Look . . .” Jesus’ gaze wandered over the magnificent buildings of the Temple Mount.

The eyes of the throng followed, even the high priest’s.

“See,” Jesus continued, “your house is left to you desolate.” Jesus then parted the crowd. “I tell you, you won’t see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”
⁷

The outrage at his proclamation was so fierce and incoherent I could no longer hear what anyone said. I expected the soldiers would rush in and arrest him on the spot.

Instead, Jesus walked through the people and out of the Temple grounds. His disciples came behind him. Scowling, Peter, James, and John walked backward with their hands on their swords.

Avel spotted me and the Sparrows and called, “Come on, boys! Follow us!”

I wormed my way out of the crush with Timothy, Jesse, Obed, Red, and Hallelujah. We left the Temple with the band of Jesus’ followers.

Judas pleaded with him, “But this is the Great Temple! Say the word, and the people will fight for you to be their King!”

I heard Jesus answer sadly, “Do you see all these great buildings? I’m telling you the truth—not one stone here will be left on another. They’ll all be thrown down.”
⁸

Jesus was silent as we left the city through the Eastern Gate. His followers continued to chatter and cheer themselves about the
battle of wits that had just taken place. They congratulated each other for being on the right side. After all, hadn’t Jesus spoken the harsh truth in a way that no one had ever dared speak before?

There was an arrogant jubilation among the men as they discussed in detail the shocked expressions on the faces of the opposition and their escalating rage.

Peter blustered, “But you notice, they were afraid to fight us! They didn’t use their swords, did they? Afraid of what the people would do.”

“A victory,” James asserted. “They’ll back down, you’ll see.”

Thomas shook his head. “I’m not so sure. But the priests and Pharisees were on the defensive. That much is certain.”

With a sideways glance, I saw Judas scowling. He of all the men did not approve of the outcome. “We should’ve fought them,” he said. “I think we missed our chance today. That’s all.”

It was a short distance to the Mount of Olives. Jesus went to a quiet garden, spread his cloak, and sat down. It had been a long day.

“Lord,” Matthew asked, “you say the stones of the Temple will be thrown down. When? And what will be the sign of your return? And what signs will there be for the end of this age?”