When Jesus Wept - By Bodie Page 0,11

mother’s line. There had once been a time when my father and Judah’s had plotted and schemed to weld us even more closely together through marriage.

When I was fifteen and Jemima eleven, the idea had seemed absurd to me. After all, did I not have two annoying sisters of my own? Why would I want to marry one such?

By the time I was seventeen and she a vivacious and marriageable thirteen, I had already fallen in love elsewhere, and the notion was shelved. Jemima had never married, and Judah had hinted to me more than once that I had broken her heart.

While I now felt ready to turn from my oppressive grief and take an interest in the world again, still I had vowed to never remarry. But if I ever did, I told myself, it would be someone like Jemima I would seek.

That was a troubling and not a comforting thought.

Anticipation and trepidation dogged my steps from Bethany to the outskirts of Jerusalem. The sun was high and beat upon my back as I moved with the throng. The wide road, built by conscripted labor in the time of Herod the Great, was packed with caravans, commerce, and pilgrims. Righteous and unrighteous rubbed shoulders in the ascent. The sounds of psalms mingled with bawling camels and shouts of drovers urging their livestock forward.

I peered up at the watchmen on the walls above the gate. Sunlight glinted on the armor of a Roman soldier.

A poor farmer, with his wife and children gathered around him, sang a psalm of treason against the oppressors who scowled down at us from the parapet. His voice was a rich baritone so beautiful that it rivaled any in the Temple chorus:

“For your servant David’s sake,

do not turn away the face of your Anointed.

The Lord has sworn in truth to David;

he will not turn from it;

of the fruit of your body will I set upon your throne

if your children will keep my covenant.”1

A current of humanity from around the world surged upward toward towers and walls that enclosed the great Temple first built eight hundred years before by King Solomon to honor the Most High God of Israel. Along with other pilgrims entering the Holy City, I joined him in the psalm:

“For the Lord has chosen Zion;

he has desired it as his habitation.

This is my resting place for ever;

here I will dwell, for I have desired it.

I will abundantly bless her provision;

I will satisfy her poor with bread.

I will also clothe her priests with salvation:

and her saints shall shout aloud for joy.”2

We all knew the Presence of the Lord had long since departed from the Temple. The priests were corrupt and in league with our oppressors. The poor who came to Zion to worship were cheated in the Temple courts. Though they prayed for Messiah to come, their prayers for deliverance seemed to go unheard. Beggars camped along the road and held their cups out to passersby.

Still, we sang in defiance of reality. We fixed our hopes on the promise of what would come to Zion some day.

“Behold, how good and how pleasant it is

for brethren to dwell together in unity!

It is like precious oil upon the head,

the beard of Aaron,

running down on the edge of his garments.”3

The brute soldiers played a game: spitting on our heads as we approached the pedestrian entrance. I saw them grin at one another when an old man glanced up in thanks to God and was splattered in the face.

I chose to enter the broad commerce gate instead. I walked beside a camel for safety as we entered the tunnel that opened into a teeming marketplace inside the city walls. Tax collectors, merchants, and thieves occupied that place. All were of the same mind: to prey on the weary travelers.

“Wine to drink!” A child, barely taller than the clay jug he stood beside, and much the same shade of earthy brown in skin and clothing, offered a cup dipped from the amphora to a burly traveler.

The pilgrim was dressed like a Greek. He paid his penny and drank deeply. In a flash a cutpurse moved in and stole the man’s money pouch, dashing into the throng. A cry of surprise and fury rang out. The victim threw down the cup, and I joined him as we pursued the young thief through the booths and livestock.

“Stop! Thief!” I cried, as the young man purposely knocked down a cascade of wicker baskets, blocking our way.

The stranger I had tried to help stumbled