AS IT NEVER COULD HAVE BEEN (This story isn't going where you think it will)

(These thoughts are added to three times each week)

The time was the fourteenth Nisan in the year 3790.

It was a dark spring evening in the seven hundred and eighty –third year of Rome. It was the twenty sixth year of the reign of the Emperor Tiberius. We would say it was the seventh day of April in the year of our Lord 30.

Three hundred thousand pilgrims moved within and without the stronghold of Jewish faith and Roman occupation. There was noise enough already, but then over the hill came charging one in a seamless garment. He stood straight and tall and his chariot was pulled by six white horses. His lieutenants, or disciples as they were called, each mounted on their black Arabian steeds, rode by his side. Jesus of Nazareth, for this was what he was called, wheeled up before the Fountain Gate, and watched the crowds surge forward and round about him and listened to them call out, “Hail, Jesus King of the Jews.” He stretched out his hands and arrogantly acknowledged their praise.

After awhile Jesus grew tired of their shouts. It had been a long trip from Bethany. Every few miles people asking for a few words of wisdom and the sick, everywhere you looked. Jesus thought to himself, “I must have healed five thousand if I healed one.” He gave a wave of his hand; his lieutenants forced their horse through the surging crowd. And they all moved in the direction of the Upper Room.

Once they reached these thinly lit upper chambers, where they would celebrate Pasch or Passover. Judas found a seat near the end of the table and close to the door. As the food was passed Jesus began to outline his plans for taking the city. Half way through the meal Judas edged toward the door. “Now!” With these words Jesus motioned to Peter and Peter followed Judas out into the night.

By Wednesday Jesus had the city of Jerusalem well in hand. The Roman Legions were caught off guard. Three hundred thousand Jews with the taste of freedom in their souls was too much. The crown sat easily on the head of this leader from Nazareth, a garland of golden leaves with berries made of rubies. Above his head laced on satin were the words, “Jesu Nazarenus, Rex Judaeori” (King of the Jews)

He granted two hours every morning and two hours every afternoon to the healing of the sick. They stretched from the Palace beyond the Gennath Gate and the length of the Via Delarosa to within sight of the temple, where Caiphas rubbed his hands in glee and planned a coalition with this new King Jesus.

The coronation ceremonies had been hasty but pontifically correct. James and John had received appointments making them co-chiefs of administration, and Peter had been put at the head of the Army to fight off the Roman legions who would certainly attack as soon as reinforcements arrived.

One of the first duties of Thomas, now police inspection, was to place Pilate in the very dirtiest of cells and deny him any water for bathing. Thomas was not quite sure what made him treat Pilate in this particular way but it was an obsession with him that this sentence should be carried out in this manner.

By Thursday, Peter had appointed Bartholomew head of propaganda and began to equip a growing people’s army with Roman swords and weapons of war. They looked uncomfortable in their shield, and some with long robes combined with Roman belts seemed awkward warriors at the best.

On Friday the Roman legions began their siege. They entered the city through the Mount of Olives, pouring over Gethsemane in the direction of the Golden Gate. A smaller diverting force moved down from the higher hills surrounding Golgotha. Within a few hours the streets of Jerusalem were covered with the dead and dying. And Jesus of Nazareth lay at the foot of the throne with a spear thrust deep into his side. His last gasping words were made as he looked up toward the heavens and said “Father, forgive me…for I knew not what I did.”