Authors: Mark Henrikson
Among the hustle
and bustle of the dusty streets in Jerusalem, Tonwen took one last look through the wooden crate he carried. A dozen clay jars were individually wrapped among the folds of a thick, brown blanket to protect them from breaking. He lifted the lid off one to see how much of the precious ointment remained and cringed upon seeing most of the contents were gone. He performed a quick inventory of the other jars and found them all equally lacking in content.
Over thirty years spent among the villages and cities of Judea dispensing miraculous displays of healing abilities had taken their toll, and for what? No one followed his teachings, or even bothered listening to his words. Every time he gave a healing demonstration there was that magical moment where the audience stood awestruck by what they witnessed, but then the moment simply passed by without lasting effect. The people yearned to believe, they wanted inspiration, yet when Tonwen spoke after a demonstration they got neither and returned to their daily lives unchanged.
Tonwen knew the problem. He knew his words came across hollow because they were. He was a scientist trying to make people believe in a supernatural being he knew full well did not exist. He was incapable of selling something he did not believe, even with healing powers that looked like gifts from the divine serving as his lead in.
Burned out from decades of futile labor, Tonwen decided to visit a man who apparently inspired thousands to follow his teachings using only his words. Tonwen could just imagine what he could accomplish with the words of this wilderness preacher and the miracles his clay jars of healing ointments could provide. So he loaded his camel and made his way out of Jerusalem’s eastern gate.
To his great surprise, Tonwen was joined by hundreds of men and their families making the ten mile trek to BSimony and the extra ten miles to the banks of the Jordan River. As they all passed under the city gates and left the protective walls, the magnitude of the movement he was now a part of hit home. A seemingly endless sea of peasants dressed in the finest garments their meager means could afford packed a road leading to an insignificant town most maps did not even bother to label.
Tonwen joined the flow of humanity moving eastward. He was intent on keeping to himself for the day’s journey, but the jubilant mood of those around him was infectious. Music and singing filled the air while children giggled, danced, and played as they went. The only element spoiling the festivities were the armed Roman guards standing watch alongside the road.
During the course of Rome’s civil war, the ‘noble and wise’ Mark Antony saw fit to appoint Herod the Great as King of the Jews and rule Judea as a client kingdom. Tonwen thought it rather predictable that the man Tomal appointed turned out to be a raving lunatic who executed enemies, friends, clergy and even family members at will. Now Herod’s intensely unpopular playboy son, Herod Antipas, oversaw the Jews. The man remained in power only through the use of Roman arms against his own people.
“Move along Jew,” seemed to be their favorite phrase. A person could shut out the random catcalls, but the gruff treatment at the periodic checkpoints was another matter entirely.
“Papers,” a half drunk guard barked at Tonwen. “Come on you pig nasty Jew show me your travel papers or you can join the other vermin in a holding cell.”
Tonwen looked to his left at a makeshift cattle corral holding dozens of dejected travelers under arrest for not carrying their census documents and proof of tax payment. Just in front of the corral six soldiers tended to a gigantic pig roasting on a spit over an open flame. The Jews considered pigs an unclean animal, so it struck Tonwen as rather ironic that the soldier hassling him chose the phrase ‘pig nasty Jew’ when he and his cohorts were the ones consuming the unclean swine.
All of Tonwen’s papers were in order, but that wasn’t enough for the soldier. “Why do you have a camel in tow rather than riding on it? Are you too stupid to know what the animal is for Jew? I’ll put it to better use; hand it over.”
Tonwen kept the rei
ns in his left hand and met the soldier’s probing grasp with his right. The clink of ten silver Sesterces between their palms got the soldier’s attention. “The animal serves me well as is, but I am certain these coins will be of adequate service to you.”
The soldier kept his hand low, and opened the palm to conduct a quick audit. His eyes sparkled at the sight of a month’s wages in the palm of his hand. He kept the coin and forcefully shoved Tonwen on down the path. “Move along Jew, the worthless beast looks ready to fall over anyway. Leave it to a stupid Jew to buy a worthless animal. Go on, move along.”
Tonwen did as commanded, and kept his head down to avoid any more contact with extortion minded Romans. His purse was significantly lighter now, and a repeat of the previous encounter would leave him without means to protect his valuable cargo through bribery. He needed a solution, and just when the thought entered his mind, the answer came; with a smile.
“If you continue walking alone,” the man beside Tonwen commented, “Your purse will grow all the lighter. Come, friend, join us so our strength of numbers will keep the greedy vultures at a harmless distance.”
Tonwen looked to his right and saw an outstretched hand attached to a very muscular man with deeply tanned skin, an unshaved face, and a genuine smile. Behind him, no fewer than fifty men women and children walked as one party. Tonwen gratefully met the extended hand with his own.
“I accept your kind offer,” Tonwen said. “My name is Simon.”
The man pulled Tonwen forward and wrapped his arm around his shoulders in a one armed embrace, “Welcome, I am Isa, and I do not know who any of these other people are, but we stick together like family for a safe journey.”
“These damned Romans,” another traveler spat. “They all need to burn in hell for the evils they bring upon us here in our own land. We are many, they are few. We should fight and drive them out.”
“They are soldiers, best in the world bar none,” Isa countered, “We are simple farmers, sheep herders and carpenters.”
“Even Roman soldiers can die,” the traveler countered.
“They die harder than most,” another traveler announced. “It will take the coming of the anointed one, a great leader and warrior, to rid us of this evil.”
“Yes,” Isa concluded, “And that is why we go to see this Prophet from the wilderness, to judge if he is that warrior we so desperately seek.”
The debate continued on among the traveling group, but Isa left the discussion behind and returned his attention to his new friend. “Now tell me, Simon, you appear to own a healthy camel. Why do you not take advantage and ride rather than walk?”
Tonwen let out a soft, reflective laugh as he looked at the haggard animal he led. “I have spent many years riding on his back, he could use the rest.”
“A kind gesture,” Isa judged.
“I wish it were all good will on my part, but the truth is my saddle sores demand I walk on my own two feet for a while,” Tonwen admitted.
Isa roared with a deep belly laugh and slapped Tonwen playfully on the back. “The grass is always greener on the other side. I have come all the way from Egypt, but my swollen feet give evidence that I made the journey entirely on foot. What I would give for a sore rump instead.”
“You traveled almost 400 miles on foot?” Tonwen asked.
“It’s a small price to pay to see the prophet with my own eyes and hear his message with my own ears,” Isa answered. “Think about it, we have the chance to hear the words of a man touched by God. This opportunity may never come again.”
“You are a believer then,” Tonwen asked with a touch of resentment in his tone. “You have not even met the man, you only have the stories people tell.”
With a whimsical glance to the heavens above Isa replied, “I’ve heard his message from those people and it speaks to me. Every religious leader I know wants something from me: money, sacrifice of live animals, or blind obedience to outdated rules.”
“You will get no counter argument from me,” Tonwen said softly, just in case a Pharisee happened to be anywhere within earshot. The strict enforcers of Moses’ laws would not take kindly to the exchange taking place between him and Isa.
“The part of our teachings that truly vexes me,” Isa went on, “Is the utter absence of compassion for anyone else that isn’t part of the ‘chosen people.’ I refuse to pray to a wrathful god who condemns ninety nine people out of one hundred to eternal damnation, and there is nothing to be done about it. The God in my heart has compassion, and this prophet speaks his meaning.”
“I wish my faith were as strong as yours my friend,” Tonwen admired. “I am still a skeptic.”
“A hopeful one apparently,” Isa joked, “Otherwise why make the journey at all?”
“Indeed,” Tonwen answered with an inward smile.
The miles passed quickly as the two continued their ideological debate, which came to an end at the sandy bank of the River Jordan. At the gathering point, the river was only a hundred feet wide, and rose barely past a man’s waist at the deepest spot. On the other side of the moving waters lay an unforgiving, barren wasteland that only a mindless fool would choose to endure.
An eerie silence hung over the thousands gathered while they waited for the Prophet to appear. At first glance the silence looked to be induced by the Roman soldiers posted around the gathering to make sure rebellion was not in the offing. The emotion behind the silence was not fear though, it was hope. The crowd hoped
beyond all reason that this man was the anointed one who would rid them of the oppressive Roman rule.
Tonwen, the consummate religious cynic, pitied the desperate fools around him. He knew what was about to happen. An angelic looking man would gracefully stroll out of the barren wasteland wearing pristine clothing, thus implying he could not be fazed by earthly conditions. Then he’d proceed to flatter the crowd with vague platitudes and predictions of grandeur in their near future. Some would see right through it, but others would eat it up and ask for more.
These people, like his new friend Isa, most likely were the ones this wilderness preacher wanted. These people would be his to command and manipulate as he saw fit. It was so predicable it nearly made Tonwen want to vomit; instead, he simply waited patiently with the sheep for the show to begin.
On the far side of the river, Tonwen noticed a rustling of the chest high thicket of crab grass, vines, and thorn bushes. The disturbance was moving closer to the shore.
“He’s coming, he’s coming,” a few among the crowd shouted.
Moments later the preacher emerged from the wilderness and Tonwen saw at once his expectation could not have been more wrong. Instead of the angelic figure wearing robes of white, the man wading out into the water appeared to be next of kin to a wild boar. His hair had not seen a barber or comb in ages, and his face was equally unfamiliar with the touch of a razor.
He wore a shirt woven from camel hair, and covering his privy parts was a skimpy leather girdle barely up to the task.
In addition to his physical appearance, the man’s personal stature was not at all what Tonwen expected. This individual wasn’t strong and intimidating. In fact, he was so thin and parched he looked like a reed shaking in the wind. At any moment the man looked ready to snap, both physically and mentally.
The wilderness preacher made his way through the waist high river as he began hollering his sermon to those gathered. “Behold the Baptist is here; come to plunge you under these waters and wash away your many sins so you may walk away from this place with a clear conscience. Is that what is on your mind; instant absolution of you wrongdoings? Be gone then, for the cleansing of one’s spirit in the eyes of God is not so easily earned.
“I baptize with water those who repent of their sins and turn to God,” the preacher went on as he came to a stop in knee high water near the crowd. He reached down and scooped up a handful, and then tipped his hand and allowed the water to slowly r
eturn to the river. “Baptism is an outward sign of commitment, a commitment to an inward change of attitude leading to a changed life. I baptize people as a sign that they have asked God to forgive their sins and they have decided to live as the almighty desires for them.”
“Who are you to offer forgiveness?” a man dressed in fine robes of blue and gold, standing among a dozen other men with equally lavish wardrobes. “I see no priestly robes about you. Our laws clearly state that only a priest of the Temple has authority to absolve others of sin.”
“What good are the Temple priests?” the wilderness preacher shot back. “When was the last time any of them took even a single step away from the temple grounds? If ones mission is to prepare others for God’s final judgment, he needs to be out in the world, among the people in the most desperate need of saving.”
“Why do we need saving?” another man from the same cluster asked. “The book of Deuteronomy states we Hebrews are the treasured people of God. Again, the book of Exodus states we are God’s chosen people. Hebrews have an unbreakable covenant with God already.”
The wilderness preacher grew violently angry at the statement. He thrashed through the water onto the shore and charged the group of hecklers. “You brood of vipers. Don’t just say to each other, ‘we’re safe, for we are descendants of Abraham;’ that means nothing I tell you.