EXTRACT FOR
Thirty Pieces Of Silver
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

Early Life

      

Kerioth: sun baked village, small white houses, parched land, livestock tended by hand else it would not survive, sat alongside the road to Hebron, the centre of our world.  Kerioth: place of companionship, of boys to run and tumble with, of my four brothers to share a home with, of strict rules, both secular and religious and loving parents who cared for us before themselves.  Proud they were, proud people with ancestry that went back into the darkest recesses of time.  Grandparents would quote the family history by rote and were listened to with awe when they did.

      Kerioth: the one place seemingly not invaded by the Romans. Only there could we live, walk, worship and be ourselves without a Roman guard watching our every move.

      

Hebron was the centre of our world.  Small flat roofed buildings, tiny winding streets, many without names for we knew where they went and only used those which went to places we needed to go.  Hebron was fascinating; bazaars, people of all races and many languages, people with all manner of clothes, bright, colourful, decorated with beads and embroidery and fine threads. In Hebron you could hear everything and understand nothing but the music which layered over all conversations and street noises as if it were a comforting blanket. There never seemed to be an end to those who wished to make music, to lift the spirits with delicate melodies and to make the feet move in time with lilting dancing sounds.  Hebron was history, business, commerce, trade, learning, socialising, registers kept of this and that and everything else.

      Hebron meant Romans, too.  Guards at the gates, guards on the municipal buildings, soldiers tramp-tramping through the streets, demanding all get out of their way and let them pass.  

      Romans. We hated them.  We were polite, we greeted them when we had to, we ignored them when we could.  We behaved in public so as not to be harried away to some court or other and never seen again.  We had heard of Roman atrocities although few of us had seen them at first hand.  The rumours of them were enough to terrify the hardest heart. Rome held Hebron and Judea in its mailed hand and the hand tightened all the time.  We heard enough of trying to make the tax payments, of trying to pay off this official or that to ensure life carried on, to know the Romans were bleeding the area dry. What they would do when there were no people left to work, when there was no money left to pay, was anyone's guess.  Everyone fought to put that moment off as long as possible.  No one wanted to find out what the Romans would do to the inhabitants of Judea when that happened.

      

My childhood was idyllic, apart from the Roman presence.  I loved my brothers, my parents, my extended family of cousins and uncles and aunts and all manner of relatives, grandparents and all.  There were those related by marriage and those who were associated with the family not by marriage but close enough to be given family titles.  They were from nearby villages as well as Kerioth, some even lived in Hebron itself.  It seemed as if there was ever people around, gossiping, sharing the work, bringing food and gifts, being part of the daily round of my life.  

      And then there were the patients.  Father was a doctor, a good one.  His fame had spread beyond our small area and people came from Hebron to be treated. His knowledge of herbs was extensive and his potions effective, or so it was said.  He had the ability to heal. I know now not all of it came from his herbs and potions but from the man himself.  As a child I did not know about healing, but having watched the Man working, I realised what had been happening all through my childhood.  Some things you tend to take for granted when it concerns your parents. As far as I was concerned, people came with illnesses, left with potions and sent back messages saying they were better.  He did not do the miracles of Jesus, no people made to walk who could not walk but the healing was there and the sick and injured came to Kerioth to find him and purchase his potions and pills.

      One room in our house was set aside for this: it was redolent with herbs and tinctures, with shelves full of tiny containers stoppered tightly with wax and bearing seals to say what was inside.  As a child I would gaze on them and think they held the secrets of the Universe.  I said this once to my father and he laughed.

      "Perhaps they do, Judas, perhaps they do, for who knows what wisdom God had when he created those plants for us to use for healing?"

      It meant nothing to me at the time.  Now I understand. Now I see healers and herbalists at work, I see those who massage with different oils and understand that plants can - and do - heal.  I have to ask you, why do you take chemicals when plants can do the same thing without harm?  And you answer, this we call progress, to dismiss that which is natural and use that which is unnatural.  So be it. 

      My mother was the centre of the home.  The centre of life.  Everything revolved around her, our day to day living, our schooling, our growing up, our coming and our going.  Father might be head of the house but somehow, I know from looking back, it was Mother's gentle guidance which directed us all.  I am telling you this for one reason: you need to know how much I was impelled to leave when I first heard the Man speak, that I walked away from this tight, loving, close family and went to serve an itinerant preacher.  Such was His power.  

      We had tutors to push us to learn the arts of writing and adding, of calculating and of understanding the world as it was known at that time.  It meant learning of the vast area occupied, there is no other word for it, by the Roman Empire.  No one outwardly openly said it, but the teaching was there for all to read it, if you could read the subtext.  We had a land, the Romans invaded.  We had a life; the Romans took it over.  We had cities, the Romans claimed them. We had ancient names, the Romans made them their own.  One tutor, bolder than the others, talked of a hope that one day a leader would come to rouse the people and throw off the oppressors.  We hoped for that day to come.

      Before then, we simply had to get on with life as it was.  Romans and all.

      

I grew up not knowing which direction I really wanted to go.  My brothers had already made up their minds by the time they entered puberty.  One followed Father and decided to be a doctor, another went further and said he wanted to be a surgeon, as the inner workings of the body fascinated him.  My third brother decided to go into Law and the youngest one felt himself called to the synagogue and eventually become a Rabbi.  I was undecided for some time until Father suggested I look into work as an actuary, which covered many fields.  For me it presented a challenge I could not ignore or resist, the chance to work in a field where there were many different conditions to be assessed before advising a client to make a decision on investment or any other matter.  It seemed far ranging enough to be of real interest and that is what I sought.  As soon as schooling was done, I was enrolled in an office in Hebron and began the long task of learning this new way of life. 

      At first I travelled back and forth each day but after a while I thought to have my own home in Hebron, if it could be arranged on the money I was then earning.  We looked around and, with family help, I secured a place in which I could be content. It was no real effort to cook a meal or sweep a floor or make up a bed for myself.  I grew plants in containers which I watered daily; I had herbs and flowers in pots in a little courtyard and delighted in the growing of them.  The blooms enchanted me; the herbs were useful in my simple meals.  All else I bought from the shops and street vendors when they visited the road where I lived.  I was content in my home, more content than I expected to be.  There I spent my time with the Scriptures, studying the laws and the sayings, reading widely of the philosophers of old who seemed to have much to say to me.  

      For all of this quiet contentment, a part of me remained restless, unsatisfied and even lonely.  I have never before spoken of this, not even in the most confidential of conversations with the man I came to love.  No one knew of this secret loneliness, I could not bring myself to talk of it even to Him though we walked together some moonlit nights and talked of many things when he could not sleep and needed someone to walk and talk with.  Then we discussed the philosophers I had studied and I found that his thoughts matched mine.  Once he said, with great pleasure, it seemed to me, "Judas, of everyone who is with me, I feel you know my mind best of all, for your thinking and mine accord on these topics."  I remember my heart swelling with happiness at his words, for they went deep into that lonely core I held and eased it a little.  But not entirely, the ache went too deep for that.  

      That was much later in my life. Before then there is much to talk of.

      

When our studies were done and our place in our future professions assured, my brothers and I began to look for brides.  There were many to choose from, every family we associated with had beautiful or attractive marriageable daughters.  Within a short time, no more than a year, my four brothers had found their life partners and were married.  They set up homes and were successful.  I stayed unmarried for I could not find the one person who satisfied me in every way.  Each time I courted someone, I found something lacking in their personality or their general being.  I could not say what it was and my mother despaired of my finding a wife.  I knew at times I was a disappointment to her in that regard but equally I did not want to marry someone just because they were on offer to me.  That would have been unfair to the girl who could, if she searched a little more, find someone who truly loved her and could give her a lifetime of devotion.  That was the one thing I could not come to terms with: binding myself for a lifetime to another person.  It simply felt wrong to me.  Maybe I sought too much, I told myself.  Maybe I should lower my sights, accept the defects in the personality and learn to overlook them.  Somehow that argument never worked and I was alone where my brothers were content to be married and began producing children.  That too was a tie I did not seek.  I wondered at times if there was something wrong with me.  I adored their children, played with them, handed them back when the visit was over without a pang in my heart. Not one touched me to the point when I thought 'this is something I have to do, have my own child.'  I loved the little fingers tugging at my beard and hands, but it was easy for me to walk away.  That told me much about myself and my need for a wife and partner.  It is hard for a mother, one who wants a tribe of grandchildren, to see her eldest son remain unmarried but that was the way it had to be.  I saw myself then as a lone person, I do now.  It's not that I didn't like people, I did, I do, but I preferred my own company and my own thoughts.  I did not like to indulge in idle chatter, socialising small talk, as it were.  I felt if people had nothing meaningful to say they should not say it.  I liked this very much about the man himself.  He only spoke when he had something to say that was worth saying.   This made visiting my parents somewhat difficult at times; Mother did so like to chatter and I found it boring so I tended to let it drift over my head.  I believe she knew well I was not listening but talked to me anyway and somehow, by some osmosis I did not fully understand I somehow learned enough about my brothers, their wives and, later on, their children so that when I visited them, or we came together for the feast days and festivals at our parents' home, I could speak intelligently about them, use the right names and comment on their abilities for their age and so on.  The family seemed impressed with me, but I thought I was nothing more than a sponge, absorbing useless information and then releasing it when pressed or crushed or both.  I was pitied, not having my own wife and children, without anyone realising it pleased my heart and mind not be bound to another, to have the freedom to come and go as I wished, eat when I chose, eat what I chose, sleep when needed, stay up all night if the mood took me, walk for hours if I felt restless, with no one to answer to about my movements.  I wondered how many would envy me if they were to think on my lifestyle and compare it with their own.

      And so my life continued for some time.  Quiet, calm, fulfilled, content and even happy at times, this is the way it was.  Work, home, family, religious duties which I attended with gratitude in my heart for all that I had, all that God had seen fit to give me, and back to home again, where I could read and study and think.  I was complete ??" I believed.

      I had no idea how wrong I was.

      



Chapter 2

John the Baptist

      

From time to time strangers appeared in our area, hermits with wild hair and long beards, ragged clothes and outrageous claims to contact with the Divinity.  Many people would go to see them, some to mock, some to take pity and give them food and drink, others to believe and go home wondering about their own souls.  If they touched one person, their task was done.  I didn't bother with them, I felt they were ??" what can I say? This is being written with hindsight when everything is so clear to the person relating the story.  From my perspective now I would say I felt they were incidental, that I was waiting for something ??" or someone - without knowing precisely what it was I waited for, apart from the certain knowledge I would know when it - or they - arrived.  I did not expect someone to knock on my door and announce they were the one I was waiting for but it was close to that feeling.  And so I dismissed the other hermit prophets as no more than scaremongers in their own way, but they did perform a useful task, they prepared the way for the one who came with his talk of redemption, of absolution, of the one who was to come.

      We all knew when John the Baptist arrived for there was no way the region as a whole could not have known.  The news spread like fire through a parched woodland, leaping from village to village, from person to person, 'here is come a true man of God.'   Some called him a wild man; others called him a true prophet, yet more called him the Messiah himself, the one for whom we all waited. The promised one of God.  The leader come to set us free from our servitude to the Roman Empire. To set us free from the servitude of our own sinful lives. 

      Perhaps.

      I held out some hope but not too much, for fear of being bitterly disappointed if he failed to live up to my expectations. Not only mine, I hasten to add, but the many of us who lived under the thrall of the Romans. For there had been false prophets, the hermits who had come from the wilderness before had come with promises and wild accusations and none had the ring of truth, no matter how much we wished that they would bring it to us.  I was one of many who looked beyond the teachers we had in our synagogues and meeting places, for they had learning but no fire.  It would take a charismatic man to combine the two and set the spark which would bring down the hated ones and put us back where we should be, in charge of our own destiny.  Charismatic men were few and far between, it would seem.  Each of the hermit prophets were like straws in the wind when we sought strength and fortitude.  

      The reports of this man, John the Baptist, were different.  People spoke of the fire in his words, of his flashing eyes, some said blazing eyes, yet more spoke of the intense feeling they received from just being near him.  It seemed this prophet, this hermit and wild man, was different from the others.  I decided to go and see him and arranged my mealtime so I could go without starving myself.  I did like to eat, I admit this freely. I also liked to eat at regular times.  Again I tell you something of myself so you know how much I gave up to follow him when he came, for there was little chance of eating regularly and at times little chance of eating at all if we could not find people kind enough to donate food and drink.

      Whilst I am on that topic, I must also say I liked comfort.  My own bed, my own chair and table, my books, my garden, my whole way of living was comfort.  I had good clothes and footwear.  All this had to go.  You cannot carry comfort with you on the road.  I gave it all up without a second's hesitation.  I assure you, whoever you are, reading these words, if you had come into contact with him in the flesh, the living breathing walking talking healing preaching Jesus, you would have done the same. Many did, women as well as men.  I was honoured to be one of the twelve.  

      Again I get ahead of myself.  This is my impatience to get to the story of him and how I ended up in His life.

      

The day seemed hotter than usual as I travelled to the River Jordan. The great watercourse provided sustenance and life for thousands ranged along its entire length, used for bathing, drinking and watering their crops.  There was no question of not finding the Baptist, for the crowds were making their way along the dusty paths even as I was.  I became one of the many who was on a pilgrimage to what seemed to be one of the great prophets of our time.  

      I wish I could find the words to convey the sense of anticipation, of wonder, of excitement, this man caused in our region.  It was palpable, it was magnetic, it was mesmerising.  To think that I, a cultured intellectually inclined man, should be trekking along a dusty pathway with hundreds of others to see one man said much about the quality of the reports coming from the Jordan and flowing across the area, just as the river flowed on its course to the Dead Sea.

      The noise as we drew closer to him was incredible.  It was a roar, almost, as if of a great wind howling across a desert and finding little resistance in its way.  The impact was physical, it hurt my eardrums.  It added to the heightened sense of excitement that was rippling through the crowd making its way to the banks of the river.

      And the smell of dust, of living people with sun soiled clothes, of children who were playing in the mud at the river's edge and adding that to the mayhem that was the crowd awaiting the prophet's words.  On the breeze came a myriad of perfumes, trees, grasses, animals, plants, fruit and ??" more people raising yet more dust to choke and blind the eyes.  Why did it not matter?

      And then we were there.  No, correct that, I was there.  Many more were following and had not yet reached the river when I saw him.  

      It was as if he was a man twice the height of a normal person, such was the power of his personality, his voice and his message.  His voice boomed across the water, his hands gestured to match every word, his face glowed with an unearthly pallor that enhanced the way he looked.  He wore the traditional skins of the wild men who come from the desert but on him they looked like fine robes.  He wore them with such nonchalant ease and seeming grace that you did not realise at first they were hacked about, ragged skins.  His hair was long, flowing, catching the sunlight.  It had red-gold glints in it, which matched his flowing beard.  No one had offered this man the facilities of a barber for a very long time.  Again, it did not seem to matter.  It was of a one with the man himself.

      He gestured and in that moment the huge crowd fell silent.  It is impossible, I would have said this to anyone, totally impossible for a large disparate group of people without a leader to stop speaking all at once but they did.  I swear this is true.  Silence descended on the world.  No bird dared raise its voice.  The Baptist had spoken. But no, again I am wrong.  He did not speak.  He gestured and it was as if he held magic in his browned workman's hands.  

      How, I wondered, did anyone not shuffle their feet, how was it no child snivelled or cried, how did no person cough or sneeze or make any sound that would disrupt this total eerie silence?  What kind of power did this man have to control us all in that way?

      And then he spoke.

      Redemption, confession, tithing, changing our ways, looking up for God and not down for Man.   Obey the laws of God.  Honour the law of the land but look beyond it to the Kingdom of God.  

      In his words were the hint of rebellion.  Now that seems a strange thing to say for there was nothing, nothing there to say he was advocating an uprising and yet I sensed it. I ask myself now; did I look for what was not there? Did I seek to put on to the Baptist that which was not within his chosen/given task?  

      He stood in the Jordan river and held out his arms for those who wished to be baptised, those who wished to drown their sins in the fast flowing waters, those who wished to be closer to the man of power and fire and they went, one after the other, stumbling, helping one another down the side of the river bank, mothers guarding the children whilst the fathers went into the water, fathers guarding the children whilst mothers went into the water and I wondered why no children went until I realised a child is without sin until they are old enough to know the difference.

      And I stood and I did not go into the water.

      I watched and I listened and I felt ??"

      Alone.

      The Baptist turned and looked directly at me and our gaze locked. It was as if half the region were not there, that he stood in the water, his skin robe flowing with the current, and I stood on the bank, dry, over-hot and wind-blown and there was no one else there for either of us.

      In that moment it was as if he read my soul and it was not a good feeling.  Then he dismissed it ??" and me ??" with the tiniest shake of his head.  The time was not right and we knew it, both of us.  

      I left him there, in the coolness, with the fire of his speech and the fury of his emotions and the compassion of his heart, baptising those who sought the consolation of the act.  I left him there and returned home, accompanied by a few who had been in the water and whose clothes steamed as they trekked home in the heat.  I was also accompanied by my thoughts but they made no sense.  What was he? A leader, a rabble-rouser, a man sent by God to lift the people of Judea against their Roman oppressors?  Or a man of God sent to cleanse sins by baptism in the great river and preach of redemption and resolution?  What did he sense in me? What did I sense him?  There was a question I could not answer.  I detected strength, conviction, deep faith but there was something else.  Something I could not identify.  I puzzled over it the whole way home.