The Road to Emmaus

 

A favorite story at Sunday school: inundated with groupies and hysterical women, the great man’s helpers try keeping the children out of his hair. And he says: “Suffer the little children to come unto me” (Mk. 10: 14). Let me ask you: would you really want your kids to go near him?

He apparently comes from a tough neighborhood. He knows first hand what it means to live in poverty. Our man’s hometown, Capernaum, is a four-hour’s jog away from Caesarea, the seat of the Roman administration. In Caesarea the houses have glass windows. The people do their shopping at well-stocked markets; after a day’s work they wash off the dust in the public bath and go to the playhouse or the arena. The Jewish quarters, too, enjoy their share of the good life, although mixed marriages are something unheard of and a pious Jew will neither dine at the table of a Gentile nor invite him to his own. He will not go to the theater and read a secular book only “at twilight." Capernaum, on the other hand, is a place in the extremes of destitution. The wind whistles in empty windows, people buy their produce at the market next town, and what goes into the garbage is used and reused and being mended and used again.

Our man doesn’t mince his words. Of the two hours worth of “sayings” put in his mouth, one hour is devoted to telling the rich that “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God” (Mk. 10: 25), and he really means the eye of a needle. The imminent end of the world is his big thing. “Verily I say unto you, there be some of you standing here, which shall not taste of death, till they have seen the kingdom of God come with power,” and he is asking us to consider the ravens, “they neither sow nor reap, and neither have a storehouse nor a barn, but God feeds them anyway.” Human welfare here and now is not an overriding concern; he has no suggestions how to improve the economy. Poetic as the “lilies in the field” may seem, in the end, blessing the poor is a backhanded way of telling off the rich. Family-life and common courtesies are dismissed as an obstacle to “salvation,” whatever this term may mean to him. He seems to enjoy weddings like the next one, but on several occasions he is making it very clear that even the mere concern for wellbeing and a good life before death is detrimental to his objective. Not something I would want my kid to grow up with.

The authorities see no reason to think of him as a gentleman and scholar; in the verbal exchanges they use “rabbi” as an ironic taunt. He doesn’t seem to mind, he has no intention to impress the people of learning. His target audience is the untutored and illiterate. Neighbors, having seen him grow up in the streets of their hometown, marvel “how this man knows letters, having never learned” (Jn. 7: 15). They take offence at his antics and even his dedicated propagandist must admit, “he did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief” (Mt. 13: 55-58). A real rabbi would catch him fibbing when he pronounces: “Have ye not read in the law, how on the Sabbath days the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath, and are blameless” (Mt. 12: 5). There is no such law, but he is too smart to pause and leave the listener time for reflection. Instead he lunges into a fit of calculated fury: “You hypocrites, you discern the face of the sky, but how is it that you do not read the signs of this time? I am come to send fire on the earth; and what will I, if it be already kindled” (Lk. 12: 49).

This is an era where everybody, whether Gentile or Jew, obsesses over “demons;” his reputation is that of a wandering exorcist, his acts of “healing” are mainly based on driving out “evil spirits.” When asked, he is holding it up as his chief credential: "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven, and if I with the finger of God cast out devils, how can you doubt the kingdom of God is come upon you" (Mk. 1: 15, 1: 39, 6: 7, 6: 11, 9: 1(!), 13: 26; Mt. 10: 5; Lk. 9: 62, 10: 1, 11: 20). We look at a typical cult leader, a man resorting to his unquestioned charisma. Followers, if suddenly bereft of his presence, feel an intense self-loathing: "we are made as the filth of the world, and are the off-scouring of all things" (I Cor. 4: 13).

To lower the resistance against inculcation he demands to sever all family ties: "No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God. If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, yea, and his own life, he cannot be my companion.” A statement worthy of a suicide bomber! If for nothing else, the red flag should go up right here. Personally he lives what he preaches; on more than one occasion he is seen to be rude to his family, especially to his mother (Mk. 3: 31-35; Jn. 2: 4). Mark gives us the names of four brothers (Mk. 6: 3); the sisters receive only a cursory nod. Somewhere an aunt, his mother’s sister, is mentioned. Theologians speculate whether “James the Just” is a brother of his; yet even if he were, he certainly is not his friend. In Josephus’ account, the supporters of James the Just are the very same law-abiding Jews and Pharisees from Jerusalem’s establishment, which the gospels vilify as our man’s personal enemies. There seems to be a wife; Luke has him read the Torah in the synagogue (Lk. 4: 19), which in those days was permitted only to married men. Perhaps we hear so little of his family because he feels embarrassed to face the people who had seen him growing up in Capernaum (Mk. 6: 4). Word in the streets is that his biological father is not Mary’s husband but a Roman soldier, the Syrian Archer Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera.

This soldier was stationed in Caesarea before the Romans lost three of their legions in Germany and in 9 AD frantically scraped together reinforcements from all over the empire. Pantera’s platoon was transferred to Bingerbrück on the Rhine where Pantera died a natural death. The inscription on his headstone reads: "Tiberius Julius Abdes Pantera of Sidon, aged 62, a soldier of 40 years' service, of the 1st cohort of archers, lies here" (Corpus inscriptionum Latinarum, XIII, 7514 and Dessau, Inscriptiones selectae, 2571). The stone is now in the museum at Kreuznach. The data tally well with the alleged birthdates of the son, some twelve, or perhaps even 24 years before Pantera’s transfer, and for a mere rumor it would be quite a coincidence to actually find a grave that is not only fitting time and location but belongs to an individual that listens to the same name as given in the Talmud. No surprise then to hear the hasty dismissals of Pantera’s name “as too common and generic” by the same theologians that before the discovery of the tombstone had been adamant that the name Pantera was too unusual not to be a rabbinical fib. In fact the Gospels themselves gave cause to the rumor: there is this episode of a tacit understanding between our man and a Roman centurion who displays a remarkable sensitivity for the Jewish fears to defile themselves when entering the home of a Gentile (Mt. 8: 5; Lk. 7: 2). So our man prefers to stay out of sight from home and instead goes preaching "through every city and village," with his companions and a sizeable retinue of women, "Mary called Magdalene, Joanna the wife of Herod's steward, Susanna, and many others," who minister “unto him” – what is the expression – “from their substance" (Lk. 8: 1), which seems to give a whole new meaning to the pronouncement that “whosoever of you has not forsaken all his possessions, he cannot be my disciple” (Lk. 14: 33).

These women are now his surrogate family (Mk. 3: 31-35) and it is easy to overlook what is written here between the lines: most of the women are married and have left their husbands. The man has no compunctions visiting them in their own homes, and Maria can’t turn her glazed look away from his person, leaving it to Martha to potter around (Lk. 10: 38-42). I have seen this dog-eyed look on a video.

It belonged to the face of a woman living with a namesake of mine, the prophet Michael in New Mexico. She was not his only companion. In 1989 Michael Travesser had left the Seven Day Adventists and started his own cult. He announced that the world would end on October 31, 2007. In the meantime he had sex with virtually every woman in the compound, even if she was married to another of his companions, including his own brother. October 2007 came and passed. A new Date was set for December. It, too, came and passed. Since then Michael is a bit camera shy, but apparently it doesn’t stop the cult to carry on. (As I speak the prophet is convicted to ten years for statutory rape. Needless to say his underage victims don’t feel raped at all.)  There is nothing original in this; Michael just follows the ancient model. And just as Michael, his model, too, was not always on his guard and made big promises to his companions: “Ye are they which have continued with me in my temptations, and I appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father has appointed unto me, that ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.” The fulfillment of the promise is taking its own sweet time and “there are some” of his companions, who feel “indignation among them,” that the leader is so slow on delivering. Even the closest companions wonder whether this man really is “the living bread which came down from heaven” (Jn. 6: 32). Since he insists that the "very hairs of your head are all numbered" and "many are called but few are chosen," they ask him to explain why even they are not included. A cousin of him, John the Baptist, is sending him from prison an ironic note, whether it is "he that should come, or do we look for another" (Mt. 11: 2-30). The reply – “blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me” – testifies to frictions between the two sectarian leaders; our man knows, his leadership is at stake.

He gathers his following at Caesarea, right under the noses of the Roman administration, sending “them forth by two and two, to go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” preaching that “the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” This is supposed to send some kind of smoke signal, an invitation for God to intervene. The messengers are instructed not to go “into the way of the Gentiles.” The world was expected to end before lunch, but now it is already suppertime.

I shall not make too much of his tantrums against the places where the people have the temerity of not listening to him: “Woe unto you, Chorazin! Woe unto you, Bethsaida! I say unto you, it shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the Day of Judgment, than for you. And you, Capernaum, shall be brought down to hell!” The little relief makes him feel better, but his revolution has stopped in the tracks. His companions may not believe it, but he knows it is all over. He can no longer show his face in public. Gone are the carefree days of water turned to wine. In the festive season he stays behind with a lame excuse “you go up: I will not, for my time is not yet come,” only to change his mind when his people are sending him a text message with the “all clear.” Even then, he doesn’t dare going “openly, but as it were in secret” (Jn. 7: 8-10). Yet one wonders how important the whole affair possibly could be for the other team. The flippant “did there ever arise a prophet out of Galilee” does not have the ring of a profound concern. That is until our man issues instructions to his followers to sell their garments in exchange for arms (Lk. 22: 38). Driven to extremes he is starting a riot on the temple precinct. One could think of him as another David Koresh, if it wasn’t Koresh who had been emulating the example. Yet unlike the events in Wako there is no camera team of the CBS on the scene when our man is apprehended, put on trial and executed. Allegedly!

Instead we are asked to believe that at the arrest an act of armed resistance did not lead to further arrests (Mk. 14: 47; Jn. 18: 10). There are no witnesses who could possibly be present at either of the two trials; the proceedings happen behind closed doors. On the night of his arrest all his companions hurtle to Galilee into hiding, fifty kilometers on the trot (Mt. 26: 56). The one man, who allegedly stays behind, is shooed away from the court of the High Priest when a maidservant blows his cover (Mk. 14: 66-72; Mt. 26: 69-75; Lk. 22: 55-62; Jn. 18: 16-17). Back home, Peter speaks of the one “whom they slew and hanged on a tree.” Obviously in his Galilean hideout he has no way of knowing any better; the liturgical formula of the “Christ crucified” is still waiting to be invented. Nobody we know of is giving a direct account, the tales come to light two generations after the fact. And strange tales they are, treating us to the grotesque caricature of a Roman judge hopping up and down from his high seat like a yo-yo and against all etiquette and dignity soliciting his verdict with a lynch-mob in plain view. The air is filled with loud accusations; we are told of blackmail and innuendo threatening the judge (Mk. 15: 3; Lk. 23: 2; Jn. 18: 30-31, 19: 12 etc.).

Roman law, however, explicitly prohibits collective accusations: “Vanae voces populi non sunt autiendae – the vain voice of the people is not to be listened to” (Codex Justinianus IX: 47, 12).  Unlike the modern district attorney, who is speaking for the people against the accused, there is no public prosecutor at a Roman trial. Instead each party has to hire their own attorney and bring their case “before the people,” who are represented by the judge. Procedures of this nature are not unknown to the Jewish council. In Acts (24: 1) the Sanhedrin hires an attorney to press charges against Paul. So if there is no formal indictment, Pilate’s only legal course of action is to release the prisoner. In a Roman court of law the admission of evidence known to be false could lead to a murder charge against the judge, if this had given cause for the execution of an innocent (Marcianus, Digesta 48, 81 and Mommsen). At least on paper, Roman law imposed severe penalties for false accusations or insufficient preparation (Digesta 47: 23, 2; 15, 1-2; Codex Theodosianus IX: 36,1; IX: 1, 9-14; Codex Iustinianus IX: 12, 7 and 46, 7). And whatever the charge before a Roman tribunal, the defendant was ill advised to claim divine status as a king "not of this world" (Jn. 18: 36). Before the law only one person, the emperor, could hold a claim on divine status. So when the defendant was pleading guilty on his own accord (Mk. 15: 2; Mt. 27: 11; Lk. 23: 3; Jn. 18: 37), it is most surprising to see Pilate finding "no guilt." Only before a Jewish court under the directive of Deuteronomy (17: 6, 19: 15) a confession is not admissible, but why should a Roman judge observe Jewish law? One could of course argue that an itinerant preacher with no status is simply not important enough to raise any scruple. Miscarriages of justice did happen; according to Philo, Pilate himself was going to face charges of this nature (Philo, De Legatione). Another blatant disregard of the law would have been the release of the convicted Barnabas, since it is exclusively the Emperor's prerogative to pardon a convict. Any violation of the imperial prerogative is a treasonable assumption of excessive powers and punishable under the Lex Julia (Digesta 48, 81 48, 8, 4 and Mommsen; also reflected in the right of appeal – see Acts 26: 32). Why should Pilate expose himself to legal recrimination, when his political enemies were just waiting to trip him up (Lk. 23: 12)? In the end, the defendant’s plea sealed the case (Jn. 19: 13-16). That Pilate allegedly repudiated his own verdict and washed his hands (Mt. 27: 24) is another reference to Deuteronomy (21: 1-9) yet for a Roman judge, representing the People of Rome, this was a meaningless and to a Roman offensive gesture.

The stories of course omit telling us this, but after the alleged execution many disappointed followers disperse and drop from the records, just like our man himself. At this point his former enforcer is taking up the reins over the remaining diehards.

A man better treated with caution! The new guy is known to have walked on water for his boss, although at times also was the man standing up to him (Mk. 8: 35). An elderly couple is holding back their contributions and he gives each of them the third degree. As it so happens, they both die during this nocturnal interrogation, only hours apart. The new cult leader’s gang of “young men” carries them “out into the night” for a clandestine burial (Acts 5: 1-11). Even Luke, the accomplished spin-doctor can’t disguise the “great fear” that “came upon all the church and as many as heard these things.” So, this is the person, who is telling us that “God raised up Jesus of Nazareth on the third day, and showed him openly,” and now listens to this, “not to all the people, but unto chosen witnesses” (Acts 10: 41). Here it is, the oldest con in the book. Acts doesn’t make any bones of the fact that there are people standing right next to the “event,” who see nothing out of the ordinary: no sudden darkness, no corpses walking out of their graves, no earthquake, no eclipse, no Jesus, only the hysterics of this group – the squealing and whooping is real enough – and then there is this guy with hands like coal shovels, telling us with a straight face: “These are not drunk, as ye suppose!”

So, did any of this really happen? Who wants to know? What really matters is that people continue believing it, and because of their belief excommunicate, brainwash the adolescent and intellectually vulnerable, and feel like dirt for their sins – as a Christian you are not supposed to feel good about yourself. And – oh yes – some feel shamed into acts of charity. This at least is something. Although “charity” wasn’t a brand-new entry to the Greek dictionary when Paul began using the word.

© – 2/25/2009 – by michael sympson, 3,300 words, all rights reserved