The Galilee Files (Part 2 of 2)

Fourth Report: Capernaum

Life has been so busy recently, I have had little time to record my observations. But tonight the rabbi and his followers are at a banquet at the house of one Levi, a tax-collector, and so I decided to put my thoughts in order on paper. When I was first set to observe the rabbi, I never imagined that it might take so much time. He has continued doing much preaching here in Galilee, taking Capernaum as his headquarters. He has gained several new followers including, now, this Levi.

To a large extent, the reason I have not written is that I do not have any new data, or, at least, not very much. His preaching has become more emphatic and he has begun proclaiming, "The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand," but he has not made another explicit claim to be the Messiah since that day at Nazareth. I am not a scribe and have no intention of trying to transcribe all his sermons, though I do find them interesting and am still impressed by the sense of authority he has in his speech.

I have come to one conclusion, however--slowly and with much deliberation. The rabbi truly has supernatural power. I am aware of how incredible that seems. I have never believed in miracles, and I certainly wouldn't have believed they could be wrought by someone from Nazareth. But that does not change the evidence.

I have already mentioned two particular miracles--the healing of Chuzas's son and the escape from the crowd at Nazareth. I add two more here, not because they are more remarkable than any of the others, but because they illustrate that inexplicable element in the rabbi's character and methods. A miracle-worker I can understand, though it is hard to accept. Even one from such a humble background is credible if unlikely--Moses was a lowly man when he was called. I might even be willing to consider his claim to be the Messiah. But none of these things can explain certain aspects of his work.

I had been following the rabbi and his disciples discretely--though I kept having the uncomfortable feeling that he was perfectly aware of me and my mission. There was usually a large crowd wherever he went, but on this particular day, he had escaped them for a few minutes when he received another sort of visitor.

I stopped short in my own tracks and began to edge quickly away when I saw him. It was a man dressed in rags, his body covered with the sores of leprosy. I have seen lepers often, but I have never seen a man so far gone with it. I was horrified, of course, but also fascinated. I could tell that this man knew who the rabbi was and was seeking him out for that reason. The rabbi had healed people of other diseases--could he heal a leaper? Would he even bother? There was no around but his disciples, the leper, and myself. No one was likely to know about it if he did. What purpose would there be in healing him if he would receive no glory from it? Would he even take the risk of talking to him? And could even the rabbi heal someone who was so completely leprous? I was intrigued and so though I retreated, I did not retreat so far that I couldn't see and hear all that went on.

The leper came up to the rabbi, though he still stopped a good distance away. I got the impression that the rabbi's followers were annoyed, but they said nothing. The leper fell to his knees and cried out, "Sir, if you choose, you can make me clean."

I raised my eyebrows slightly in surprise. I hadn't expected something quite this bold. I couldn't quite make up my mind whether this was a statement of faith, to be taken at face value, or merely a ploy of desperation. But it seemed to be the former. And, after all, based on the evidence I had collected myself, I had to agree with his conclusion. There seemed to be little the rabbi couldn't do if he chose to.

I think for a moment we all held our breath, wondering what he would do. 

And then to my complete horror--and the horror of his disciples--the rabbi stepped forward and laid his hand on the leper's shoulder, seemingly completely unafraid of his condition and unconcerned with his uncleanness. "You are right--and I chose to help you. Be clean."

Have you ever seen ice melt when it is brought close to a fire? That was what seemed to happen to the man's skin. The white, flaky scales of leprosy just seemed to melt off him, as if it were merely an outer shell which he was now shedding, and underneath his skin was smooth and whole like the skin of a child. The impossible had happened. He had been cleansed. And in that instant, I understood why the rabbi had been willing to touch him. He had nothing to fear.

The man seemed completely stunned for a moment. He rose slowly to his feet, looking in shocked amazement at his arms and legs. Though I think he had truly believed that the rabbi would be able to do such a thing, he was still not prepared for it.

And then came the most shocking part of the whole affair. "Take care to tell no one what has happened," said the rabbi, a tone of authority in his voice. "Just go and show yourself to the priest and offer the sacrifice according to the Law of Moses; this will be your testimony."

The leper had again fallen to his knees and was trying to babble out his thanks. I discreetly made my exit--the whole thing was getting too emotional. Besides, I wanted a chance to think about the rabbi's words. Why would he command the leper not to tell anyone about the miracle? Why would he try to keep his miracles quiet? He was afraid? But I knew he had nothing to be afraid of. The incident at Nazareth--and the healing of the leper itself--proved that to me. Then what was his motivation? Why would any man who could do something like this want to keep it quiet? I couldn't understand it.

The second incident I wish to record happened just recently. The rabbi had returned here to Capernaum after a lengthy preaching tour, for which I was very grateful. All this wandering around in the country is proving a bit much for me. I can't imagine why on earth he does it. Anyhow, he was preaching in the house of one of his followers here and--as always--there was a crowd of people milling around him. He always attracts a crowd, but especially here in Capernaum. Some people still remember the healing of Chuzas's son. But that day the crowd was a little different from his normal audience, for it was more than just the peasantry or even local gentry like Chuzas and his family. A great many scholars and theologians from around the country had randomly appeared in Capernaum over the previous week. The news of the rabbi's teaching is spreading more and more and I'm not surprised that many people are interested in hearing him for themselves before they make some kind of judgment. There were even some men of my acquaintance from Jerusalem. Their presence here makes me think that Caiaphas is partly responsible for this convention. I am obviously not the only one he has sent to observe the rabbi's actions.

I stood uncertainly at the edge of the crowd. Even if I could have gotten through, I had no taste for this sort of thing. Besides, didn't I have plenty of data by now anyway? And if anything of importance happened, there would be others on hand to record and report it. I had just about made up my mind to leave and get a much needed afternoon nap when I noted someone else trying to make their way through the crowd into the house where the rabbi was teaching. There wouldn't have been anything so remarkable about that. There were many people trying to push through the crowd. But there was something odd about this particular group.

There were four young men, all dressed somewhat roughly and poorly like common workmen. And they were carrying something with them--something on a mat or mattress. Being curious, I made my way over to them. But for a moment, even at close quarters, I had trouble recognizing the thing they carried. It was a youth, scarcely more than a boy, but his body was so weak and wizened that he was hardly recognizable as a human being. I immediately understood the signs of paralysis. He had evidently had it for some time, as his body had already atrophied to a large degree through inactivity. I was not surprised that they were trying to take the man to the rabbi, no doubt in hopes that he could be healed. I supposed he could be healed, though this would require a greater miracle even than healing the leprous man. I had seen the rabbi heal paralytics before, but never one who was quite so far gone.

But as I watched, I began to doubt they ever would get in to see the rabbi. The crowd was so packed, that people couldn't have opened up a path for them, even if they had wanted to--and most of them didn't. One person might possibly have made it in, though this was doubtful--four men carrying a mat couldn't possibly have made it through.

I watched, interested to know what their plan of action would be. I rather admired them for their persistence and for the fact they tried at all. After all, they weren't the one who needed healing. Slipping closer to them, I was able to eavesdrop on their conversation and learned that the five of them had always been close friends, but the fifth one had been injured several years before and been in his state of paralysis ever since, able to move none of his body except his head, and not even that very well. They had heard stories of the rabbi's power and were certain that he could heal the man. I was rather surprised at their faith. Even though they had no personal experience with the rabbi, they seemed to have no doubts that he would be able to heal their friend if they could just get him to him.

And they weren't about to take no for an answer.

They stood for a moment, conferring among themselves, and then with one consent, they walked towards the side of the house. Interested, I followed, as they walked to the stairs that ran along the side of the house, up them, and unto the roof. At first, I really had no idea what they intended to do.

They sat the mat down on the roof and then began ripping off the tiles of the roof. Underneath the tiles, there was a layer of mud thatch, which they dug through. In a few minutes, they had a hole large enough to lower the mat through. I can only imagine what the people in the house beneath were thinking as they saw a hole opening in the ceiling. One of the men grabbed a coil of rope which was lying in the corner and, cutting it into lengths, they tied one length to each of the four corners of the mat and lowered it down through the roof. They had gotten the hole just about at the place where the rabbi sat teaching. The four young men were all stretched out above the hole, looking down to see what would happen once the mat reached the ground. And I'll admit I was with them. I couldn't help thinking what my friends at Jerusalem would say to see a man of my age crawling around on the dusty roof like a child, but I wanted to see what would follow. 

Of course, as soon as the roof started breaking open, everyone underneath started pulling back. So by the time the mat was lowered down, there was a space cleared for it, directly in front of the rabbi.

There was a moment of complete and almost absolute silence. The rabbi glanced up at us--I slithered backward to get out of his line of vision, but I still suppose he saw me. Anyway, he saw the others and seemed to understand perfectly why they were there and what they wanted. Then he looked down at the paralyzed man--I slid forward again to get a full view of what was going on--and in a quiet voice, gentle but firm, he said: "My son, take heart. Your sins are forgiven."

For one brief moment, the silence became even more intense. We were all shocked--even me. I'll give that rabbi credit for that--you never know what he's going to say. He doesn't treat every situation the same way. But for a man--for he was a man, even if he was a miracle worker, even if he was the Messiah, he was still a man--and for a man to say that someone's sins were forgiven, almost as if he were forgiving them himself, it was too much. I could almost see the shocked expressions of legal experts.

Of course, the rabbi knew it too. "Why do you think bad things in your minds? Which do you think is easier? To say 'Your sins are forgiven,' or 'Rise up and walk'? But so you will know that the Son of Man has power on the earth to forgive sin--" He turned to the youth and leaned down, "Rise up and walk; take your bed and go home."

Can you imagine seeing a child turn into a man within the space of a minute? That's about what it was like. At the rabbi's words, his atrophied limbs seemed to grow, expanding into muscle and sinews before our eyes. Before we could quite realize what was happening, he had jumped to his feet and pulled the mattress up behind him. The four men that had brought him jumped to their feet and in ecstasy started hugging each other. 

I hurriedly made myself scarce before someone tried to hug me.

This is again another incident which I cannot explain, except that the rabbi really has some kind of miraculous power, from wherever it comes. But what kind of colossal arrogance would make a man claim to have the power to forgive sins? The same arrogance that would make him claim to have the power to heal a paralytic. And yet he did that. And arrogance is the last sort of characteristic one would attribute to the rabbi. If he were arrogant, then why did he tell the leper not to spread the news of his healing? 

If he is only an actor, he is a far better actor than any other actor in the world. If he is insane, there is something far more wholesome and rational about his madness than there is in all our sanity. And yet I can make no sense of his actions. If he has such power--if, let us say, he really is the Messiah--then why doesn't he use his power in some more dramatic and striking way? All he does is teach and heal a few people in out-of-the-way parts of Galilee. 

This one thought came to me after I had finished my report. If he is in some way a direct representative of the Most High, then it might be only to be expected that his actions would not necessarily be what we would expect. But if that is true, I can't see much point in continuing to instigate him. If he is really such a person, he might be investigating us rather than the other way around.

Firth Report: Caesarea Philippi

I tried this evening to decipher some of the hurried, scribbled notes I have made of events over the last year, but it is no use. Even I cannot read them and I know no one else will be able to. No doubt when I finally turn these reports in to Caiaphas, he will complain that I have left out so much. But since that last day at Capernaum, I have been very busy. Besides, I am not a scribe and never undertook to record everything single thing the rabbi said or did. I doubt even a scribe could. I doubt even his own followers ever will. I am not sure there are enough scrolls in the world to hold all the words if they did. In any event, I was sent to investigate to find something very specific. These reports should contain only two things, the answer to two questions--what kind of man is the rabbi and is he claiming to the Messiah? I now know the answer to both those question--only the two answers are incompatible.

But before I explain what has happened today, what was so important to make me stop once again and write out a report, let me mention something that occurred just over a week ago. It has some bearing on why I am taking no trouble to fill in the large gap in my reports.

It is common knowledge--and there is no need for me to record it--that he has recently been traveling all over the country and not confining his ministry to Galilee as when I first began following him. But he had returned to Galilee, to the city of Magdala. I, of course, was not far behind. I have been following him so long and to so many places, I sometimes feel as if I were one of his disciples myself. 

In Magdala, we were met by another delegation of the Pharisees. This had become far more common as his ministry continued. This time they were accompanied by several Sadducees, one of whom I knew from Jerusalem as a man of great prominence. I was rather surprised that he would go about in the company of some Pharisees but, after all, I suppose they realized that they were both opposed to the rabbi's ministry and that the rabbi himself had lost no opportunities in criticizing both parties. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend,' as the proverb says.

Anyway, they cornered the rabbi while he was teaching and asked him for a sign from heaven to prove his ministry. I could hardly believe it and, though I'm sure it seems incongruous, I almost couldn't help laughing. I recognized one or two of the men as having been present when the rabbi healed that paralyzed man in Capernaum last year. What more of a sign could they want?

The rabbi didn't seem surprised by their words, but he was clearly upset. "When the evening comes, you say, 'It will be good weather, for the sky is red.' And in the morning, 'It will be bad weather today, for the sky is red and lowering.' You hypocrites! You can discern the face of sky, but you cannot make sense of the signs of the times?" He stopped and sighed deeply. I could almost believe he was about to cry. "A wicked and adulterous generation seeks after a sign;" he finished, turning away, "but there shall be no sign given to it but the sign of the prophet Jonah."

I remembered having heard the rabbi make some comment like this before. He had also said something to the effect that as Jonah had been three days in the deep so would the Son of Man be three days in the deep. I had no idea what it meant, but for some reason it gave me cold chills.

I record that incident to show how little point there is in my recording any more stories of the miracles that the rabbi has performed. I have already recorded enough to convince anyone who knows the story that the rabbi truly has some kind of miraculous power. If they won't believe this much, they wouldn't believe if I wrote two or three more scrolls' worth of data. I think by this point the question is not so much whether the rabbi performs miracles, but how. Some have specifically accused him of using diabolical powers. On the face of it, this seems very unlikely. Whoever heard of a diabolist who was so open, so gentle, so firm, and who did nothing but good? If the Devil were so good, he would not be the Devil. He may sometimes pretend virtue, but he could never pull off such complete and unmitigated virtue, even if he wanted to. That, at any rate, was my thought at the time.

Following this interview, the rabbi and his followers set sail and I lost track of them, not catching up until today on the road to Caesarea Philippi. It was a hot day for traveling and there were few other people on the road, so I had some difficulty in remaining inconspicuous, but I managed. I do quite well at it, if I do say so myself. The rabbi, I fear, knows me, but his followers, though I have been with them almost constantly for over a year, have not yet even noticed my existence. However, I could not get close enough to overhear their conversation for most of the journey. But at about midday, they stopped for a meal in a little rocky dell along the side of the road. I was able to get quite close and observe all that went on without being seen. After the meal, the rabbi went a short distance away, apparently to pray, and the followers sat and talked for maybe half an hour while they waited for him. There was nothing much of interest in their conversation.

It was ended as the rabbi returned to them. I could see signs of strain in his face and I could only imagine that he had been praying about some serious matter or difficult decision. This was borne out by the fact that when he returned to his followers, he did not instruct them immediately to decamp. He was silent for a few minutes and looked slowly at each of them in turn: and then he asked, "Who do people say I am?"

As usual, it was Simon Peter who spoke first. "Some say you are John the Baptist, risen from the dead. And some say you are Elijah or Jeremiah or one of the other prophets."

I nodded in my place of concealment. I had heard all these theories myself, though none of them seemed to me to have any modicum of probability.

"And who do you say I am?" asked the rabbi, again looking in turn at each of his followers.

"You are the Messiah," said Simon Peter, his voice rather low, but very firm. This did not startle me much. Many people had been hinting at it, and at times I had half guessed it myself. It was not to be wondered at that his followers might think of it, though I had never heard him specifically claim it himself, except that day at Nazareth--and even that might have been interpreted different ways. But the man didn't stop there. "You are the Messiah," he repeated, "the Son of the Living God."

My head jerked up so abruptly, I almost revealed my heading place. Fortunately, everyone was too wrapped up in the scene unfolding among them to spare any thought for me. My heart was pounding in my chest and could feel the blood pulsing through my temples. I have never considered myself the most religious man in Israel, but even I was shocked at the measure of this blaspheme. To think that any man, even a good man like the rabbi, could be compared with or put on a level with the Most High God... I was almost ready to stone him myself.

There were plenty stones around.

But before I could even make sense of what the man had said, the rabbi answered: "You are blessed, Simon ben Jonah. Flesh and blood has not told you this; it has been revealed by my Father in Heaven. I say to you also that you are Peter, and upon this boulder, I will build my congregation, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it. I will give to you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, and whatsoever you will bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in Heaven." He paused for a moment and then added, "But take care that you tell no one that I am the Messiah."

I think he had more to tell them, but I did not stay to listen. I had learned earlier that their destination was here in Ceasera, and so I came on to meet them here. I needed time to think. The rabbi had quietly but completely accepted Simon Peter's statement not only that he was the Messiah but that He was the Son of God. It seemed incredible. If it had been any other man I would have said he had taken leave of his senses. And certainly, I would not be the first to accuse the rabbi of insanity. But he isn't a madman. Though there is a certain radicalness in his ideas, he has no signs of morbidity or megalomania. If he is mad, then who is sane? But what sort of colossal arrogance and blaspheme would lead a man to claim to be the Son of God, to be of one nature and one family with the Most High?

Only one possible answer came to my mind, and it was so tremendous I hardly dared even think it, let alone write it. If I ever show these scrolls to anyone, I think I shall have to cut this section out. And yet--and yet--I cannot help asking myself--what if it is true? It defies belief and imagination, but then so do many of the rabbi's miracles. I had come to the conclusion before that he must be a man of God--but to think that he is God Himself--no, it's too much. He is clearly a man. He was born, grew up, and lived among us. He eats and sleeps and becomes weary like any fallen son of Adam. I have followed him so long I know all that. But then, so do Simon Peter and the others know it too. So what sort of madness (I have no problem in thinking Peter might be a little crazy) would possess him to ascribe to a mere man the attribute of deity? And again the unsettling answer came back to me: Because no mere man could do the things he has done; no evil man would do the things he has done, and no mere prophet could take the authority he has taken. 

Certainly, if in some bizarre sacred mystery, God has somehow (I cannot believe I am really writing this) become a Man, it would explain the curious actions of the rabbi that had puzzled me up to now. God could take up absolute authority without arrogance, for His is the absolute authority. But the thought--no, I cannot entertain it. Besides, there are still factors that this does not explain. If he is God--I mean, if he were, if it was somehow possible--why would he be not just a man, but an ordinary man, a man who will not even let his good deeds be known, who would let people criticize and attack him and do no more than speak in rebuke?

These paradoxes are too much for me. I half want to throw up my hands and go back to Jerusalem. This is certainly enough evidence concerning the rabbi.

But I can't and I know I won't. I still can't understand this situation and I cannot let it rest until I come to some decision.

Sixth Report: Bethany

It has been so long since I have written, I feel there is almost no point now. But after that spectacular announcement on the road to Caesarea, I felt anything else would be an anticlimax. Even something like the raising of the dead seemed hardly worth recording after that. Anyhow, with the most notable of these events--the raising of the man called Lazarus--there are already ample reports; perhaps more than ample.

In truth, I do not know what drove me to take out this old scroll and record further observations now. I have been following the rabbi more or less steadily for two years. And my journey has ended where I started, here at Jerusalem, where he and his followers have come for the Passover. 

Really, there is no reason to jot down this report. The events which have transpired since he came to Jerusalem have been noted by many others. Perhaps that is what is driving me to write my own. I feel something is about to happen. Caiaphas seemed strangely unconcerned by my lack of reports, and I cannot but feel that he has gotten his share of information elsewhere and is already planning some move. I am only his observer and he does not share his plans with me, but I think something is in the wind for the rabbi.

And I fear it will be nothing good.

I can hardly blame Caiaphas and the others for being upset. Things are coming to a head. On the first day of this week, the rabbi rode into town. Though he came only on a donkey, he was hailed by crowds of people as if he were a conquering hero, coming home from the war. They essentially called him the Messiah. Then he went into the temple and chased out the merchants who were entrenched there. I know that he did that once before, but then everyone took it as the single anomaly of some mad stranger from the provinces. It is rather different now.

That was on the first day of the week. Today (this is Tuesday), he came into the temple again, perhaps to teach, perhaps to look over his work of earlier. I was close on hand, as always, but there were others there whose presence was less subtle. There were several men I knew as being prominent among the various factions of our religion, all seemingly united in their single animosity against the rabbi. Not that they expressed animosity. No, they were too clever for that. They came very meekly and humbly, asking for his answer to some questions. And what questions they were! They asked him to state his authority for his work; they asked him whether people ought to pay taxes to Rome; they asked that old and rather tired paradox about the Resurrection; and they asked which is the greatest commandment. Some of these are old riddles, but some were new to me and though I felt a little annoyed by the whole thing, I had to admit they were clever.

The rabbi seemed neither angered nor puzzled by any of the questions. I do not have the patience tonight to try to record all his answers, but they were good. He neatly avoided any of the traps they had laid for him, while also not compromising his teaching. Indeed, rather than trapping him, they seemed to have only given him an opportunity to teach more. It was a fine piece of work.

But that brings me back to the original riddle of the rabbi. If he is who he claims to be--if he isn't who claims to be--no matter what he is--why would he sit quietly trading words with people who hate him? I know he knows it. One doesn't need supernatural knowledge to know it. It was painfully obvious. And so, why does he stand it? If he is a man, why does he not fight? If he is the Messiah, why does he not crush the adversaries of his reign? If he is God--and I confess, I have seen so much of his power, I almost have come to think this not so absolutely incredible as I did at first--then why does he not rain down judgment on the wicked people?--for they are wicked. He spoke much about that today. Most of it I knew before, but I had never seen it quite so graphically before. And I think it has gotten worse since I left Jerusalem. Or perhaps my time in other places has given me a new perspective. Or perhaps my time with the rabbi has given me a new perspective. But regardless, much of what goes on in the highest circles of this land is corrupt. (I have about given up the idea of ever turning in these reports, so I suppose it matters little what I say.) Well, grant all that is so. Certainly, the rabbi seems certain of it. Then, why does he do nothing but talk? I know he could do more. Just this week, I saw him speak the word and kill a fig tree along the side of the road. He could do that to this whole city if he chose. Yet he does nothing.

And I am afraid. For there are others who will not do nothing. 

Seventh Report: Jerusalem

And so, most holy Caiaphas, I am now recording my seventh and final report. If you have read this far, you know all that I know about the rabbi, about Jesus ben Joseph. There is little left to tell, little that you do not already know. You know, far better than I, about the conspiracy against him, about the betrayal, about the willing acceptance of blood money against a man whom even you could not pretend was guilty. If my tone seems less professional than before, you may lay that down to the shock that this night has given me. For there is one other fact I must record, one which I doubt your other spies have reported.

According to your orders, I accompanied your soldiers when they went last night to arrest the rabbi outside the city. I did not like the mission, but I have always tried to maintain a strict separation between business and personal feeling. Besides, I wanted to see--to see what would happen. Here was coming the climax. Now I would know for sure, one way or another. What would Jesus do? It was no longer a matter of trick questions and veiled animosity. It was not even a question of something like being thrown off a cliff. He would know what I knew, that you and your co-conspirators were out for his blood.

Literally.

So what would he do? How could you capture a man who could heal a paralytic with a word, or cleanse a leper with a touch? What could you hope to accomplish against a man whose word could cause a tree in full leaf to wither away? I had followed this story for so long--I wanted to see it through to the end.

It was already dark when Judas Iscariot met us and led us out towards the garden, where he knew the rabbi would be. We hurried along quietly, more like thieves sneaking away from the scene of an unsuccessful crime than agents of proper authority on a righteous mission. We crossed the Kidron and were to the garden in good time, though it was still late, too late for this kind of business. I was near the front, of course, close beside Judas--rather too close for my taste, for I did not like his part in this business.

"Remember my signal," he said in a low voice to the commander and then rushed forward ahead of us. Out of the gloom, several figures materialized. Judas's concern that we wouldn't know our quarry was irrelevant. I could clearly recognize the rabbi and his followers by the full moon and the light of the torches we carried. But many of the men with us did not know them as well as I did. Probably most of them had never seen the rabbi before.

"Be of good cheer, Rabbi," Judas exclaimed, kissing the rabbi lightly in greeting.

"Do you mean to betray the Son of Man with a kiss, Judas?" asked the rabbi, his voice sad but not at all startled. "Friend, why do you come?" he added, turning to the commander. "Whom do you seek?"

"Jesus of Nazareth," he answered in a loud, blustering tone. "You're him, aren't you?"

"I am."

There was a quiet authority in his voice, and somehow it seemed to change the whole temperature of the crowd. For some reason, I thought vividly of the story recorded in the Writings, of Moses coming before the Most High at the burning bush and of the sacred secret name of God. There was no reason to connect his words with that, but those were my thoughts. And perhaps the same thing occurred to the others, for many of them stumbled backward and several fell to the ground as if in awe.

"Whom do you seek?" asked the rabbi again.

"Jesus of Nazareth," repeated the commander, though his voice was low and frightened now. "Are you he?"

"I am."

And again, the quiet authority of his words seemed to force the men back. I expected him to walk away as he did at Nazareth. But he remained where he was, supremely calm and dignified, but without any resistance.

Simon Peter was standing closest to the rabbi and suddenly he pulled out a sword from an old sheath he had bound to his waist. With a wild yell, he rushed on us, waving the sword. I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to let an ignorant fisherman like him have a sword. He had obviously never used one before and didn't have the least idea what he was doing. It is a wonder he didn't cut off his own head.

And as he waved it at it, one of the men behind me jostled me, knocking me straight into the path of the sword. There was a sharp pain on the side of my head. I almost screamed, but I was able to control myself and gingerly reached up, and realized that my ear had been nearly severed off. It hadn't been completely cut. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the sword was extremely dull.

"No, Peter," said the rabbi quietly, laying a hand on Peter's shoulders before he could swing again. "Sheath your sword. Why should I not drink the cup that my Father has given me?"

And then he reached out and gently laid his hand on the side of my head. The pain vanished instantly and I knew without even reaching up that the ear was back in its place, exactly as if the thing had never happened. And then he raised his hands in surrender.

The men advanced, and as they did the rabbi's followers fled in various directions, evidently fearful and confused by what was happening.

And so I come to the end of my report. I stayed with the trials through the night, but you are well aware of what happened there. You had sufficient 'evidence' without my report and I have no desire to be a part of such a travesty. For a travesty it is. As I stand here, finishing this report, the sky outside seems strangely dark for the middle of the day, and there is some kind of roaring and confusion in the streets. I do not know what dark and dreadful secret is behind the events of the last three years. I do not know what fearful enterprise the Most High has entered into. But I know that whatever you are doing to the rabbi, you are doing because he has chosen to let you. Only God could heal the sick, raise the dead, and cleanse lepers. And only God could take such tremendous authority and yet not be arrogant. Only one with all power would worry so little about power. What man or what Devil would heal his enemy at the very moment he was surrounding himself to them? Only God could have such power and not use it to save himself. Perhaps He is using it to save us. 

I do not know. But I will have nothing more to do with your plots. By the time you read this, I will have made myself scarce. Perhaps I will leave the city, but perhaps I will stay, in hiding--I am very interested to know what will follow. In any case, you will not find me.

I, Malchus, a follower of Jesus, sign this with my own hand.