SUNDAY MORNING
Jerry Francis had hoped to arrive at Jesus’ tomb before sunrise. But it
took two full hours of begging and pleading to convince Benjamin to join him,
which in Jerry’s mind wasn’t so bad compared to the eight hours he had to plead
with Benjamin on the previous day, Saturday, to remain in Jerusalem.
After witnessing Jesus’ death by crucifixion on Friday, and then
stumbling into Judas Iscariot’s dead body, hanging from a tree limb on a hill
just outside the walls of the city, Benjamin was convinced the Romans were
rounding up all the Zealots, the Jewish patriots who wished to drive the hated
Roman occupation forces out of Israel. Benjamin insisted that leaving Jerusalem
right away and hiding in a rural village would be the best way to avoid being arrested.
Being unfamiliar with the cultural and political dynamics, not to
mention being very rusty on his knowledge of biblical events, Jerry had
struggled to keep Benjamin in their squalid room in the run-down boarding
house. Multiple times Benjamin had declared, “That’s it! I’m leaving. You can
come if you want, or stay here. I don’t care!”
Jerry pleaded each time for Benjamin to stay. It’s not that Jerry had
firm plans about what they should do. He still had no idea about how or why he
had been transported twenty centuries into the past. If he was destined to
spend the rest of his life trapped in ancient Israel, he figured his best bet
would be to stick close to the one man who treated him as a comrade. But he
really had no clue about what they ought to do in the coming days and weeks.
There was only one specific plan he felt very strongly about: he desperately
wanted to see Jesus’ tomb on Sunday morning.
Jerry wasn’t sure any more about what he believed regarding Jesus. The
agnostic, secular mindset that Jerry held his entire adult life was being
tested. He always figured if Jesus actually existed, he must have been a nice,
caring guy who was tragically murdered at a young age, and then long after he
was dead and gone other people had added miraculous fairy tale stories to his
legend. But now Jerry wasn’t too sure what to believe. He had seen for himself
that Jesus truly was an historical person. He had heard Judas claim to be a
witness to genuine miracles, which didn’t necessarily make them true, but it
did mean those stories were not invented decades later. Most of all, Jerry had
looked directly into the eyes of Jesus as he dragged his heavy cross, and heard
Jesus speak to him, “Jeremiah, believe in me.”
So Roman soldiers or not, Benjamin’s paranoia or not, Jerry was
determined to re-visit the tomb on Sunday morning to see for himself if the
central claim of Christianity for 2,000 years did indeed occur.
Jerry was able to detain Benjamin for a while on Saturday by reminding
him that it was the Sabbath, and very few people would be out on the streets.
If the Roman were looking to arrest Zealots—something Jerry emphasized was
probably not the case—it would be hard for Benjamin to blend in with the
crowds, as there would be no crowds.
Still, by mid-afternoon on Saturday, Benjamin insisted he really was
going to leave this time. Just as he finished bundling up his few possessions,
someone knocked on the door. “It’s me, Simon,” a voice said.
They opened the door and Simon the Zealot rushed in. Benjamin embraced
the man and at the same time unleashed a barrage of questions. “What’s going
on?” “Where are the other Zealots?” “Where should we go?” “What are our plans
now?”
Simon waved his hand in Benjamin’s face, trying to get him to be quiet.
“We’re not sure exactly what’s going on,” Simon said. “So far, no one else has
been arrested. We’re all just laying low for now. I’ve been hiding in the house
where we had the Passover meal the other night. But I decided to go out for a
while to gather information and to get away from the big fisherman.”
“Fisherman?” Benjamin said. “You mean Peter?”
“Yes, he’s hysterical,” Simon said shaking his head. “He’s been wailing
and moaning non-stop, saying that he’s a worthless worm for denying the Lord. I
think he might go and do to himself what the Iscariot did.”
Benjamin unbundled his belongings and flopped onto the floor with his
back against the wall. “So we just sit here and wait,” he said with a
frustrated voice. Then he turned his head and spit across the room for
emphasis. Simon waved good-bye and slipped out the door. Jerry said a silent
prayer of relief, thanking Simon for coming and convincing Benjamin to stay.
*
* *
Now it was Sunday morning. Jerry and Benjamin went out the city gate and
scrambled down the rocky hills toward the cemetery. As they traveled Benjamin
grumbled that he couldn’t believe he was doing something so stupid—and
dangerous. “You are as annoying as my brother!” Benjamin said to Jerry.
“What? What did you say?” Jerry asked.
“Never mind,” Benjamin muttered, as the two men continued their journey.
When they reached the massive rock where they had discovered Judas’
hanging body, the corpse was no longer there. The low hanging branch had broken
away from its tree trunk. The two men carefully stepped toward a nearby ledge
and peered down. About a hundred feet below they saw a body dashed against
rocks, its neck still connected by a rope to a tree branch. Scavenger birds
feasted on the bloody remains splattered on the rocks.
The men winced and then moved on. When they finally reached the
cemetery, Jerry scanned the landmarks to make sure it was the correct
gravesite. It was definitely the same place, but things were much different than
the last time they had been there. The huge stone had been rolled back up the
incline. “Ten men would be needed to move it uphill,” Benjamin said, his
annoyance about being dragged to a graveyard now replaced by curiosity.
Scattered on the ground in front of the tomb were various articles of
equipment abandoned by the Roman soldiers. “They must’ve left in a big hurry,”
Benjamin noted as he picked up and admired the finest sword he had ever held.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind them.
“Someone’s coming,” they said in unison and quickly hid behind a row of thick
shrubs. They saw a man run up to the open tomb and peer inside. A minute later,
another man staggered along, barely able to catch his breath. This man moved past
the first man and ducked inside the tomb. After hesitating a moment, the first
man also went inside. They both emerged finally, with looks of sheer
astonishment on their faces.
“I bet the big guy is the fisherman,” Jerry whispered. He stepped out
from behind the shrubs before Benjamin could stop him.
“Excuse me, are you Peter?” Jerry called out. The two men were startled
by his voice. Then they stepped backward in fear when Benjamin appeared
clutching the Roman sword.
“No, don’t be afraid,” Jerry said quickly, waving his hands. “We’re not
soldiers. We’re friends, really! We’re just trying to find out what happened to
Jesus.” Jerry paused then added, to his own surprise, “Our Lord.”
The tall man who had struggled to catch his breath tentatively stepped
forward and said, “I’m Peter.”
“Where’s Jesus?” Jerry asked excitedly. “What have you heard?”
Peter glanced at his companion, then said to Jerry, “Well, some of the
women came to us a little while ago with an incredible story. They said—”
“That Jesus is alive!” Jerry interrupted.
“Yes,” Peter said. “How did you know?”
“Just a hunch,” Jerry replied, as a feeling of excitement and amazement
welled up in his chest. “Have you seen him yet?” he asked.
Peter shook his head. “That’s why we came here. But his body is gone.”
Jerry walked toward the men and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jerry, uh,
Jeremiah. And that’s my friend, Benjamin.” The men cautiously shook hands.
Jerry learned the other man was named John.
“You’ve never met me,” Jerry said, “but I’ve recently become interested
in finding out about Jesus. Do you mind if we hang out with you for a while?”
“Hang out?” John asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just an expression,” Jerry said. “What I mean is,
can we spend some time with you? Can we talk for a while? Can we talk about
Jesus?”
Peter and John hesitated, but then agreed. The four men left the
cemetery and headed for the house where the other followers of Jesus waited
anxiously.
As they walked, Jerry turned to John and said, “John, huh? So I bet
you’re planning to write about all of this someday?”
“Um, I never thought about that,” John answered.
“Well, trust me, you will,” Jerry said matter-of-factly. “And when you
do,” he continued, “please do me a favor: don’t mention that I was here, OK?
I’d hate for Sister Mary Margaret to have to redo her lesson plans.”
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