SHOUTS ECHOED DOWN the stone stairwell as Elisheva and Zekharya climbed toward the Upper Room. They paused three steps from the top, exchanging worried glances.
“Weren’t you there?” A voice that could only be Shime’on’s thundered through the wooden door. “He told us plain as day—’The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law!'”
“And you understood that, did you?” Another of the talmidim sneered. “That’s why you drew your sword in the garden?”
“At least I tried to defend him! Where were you hiding, Ta’oma?”
“Silence, both of you!” another voice interrupted. “Not one of us grasped his meaning. Think back to his words about demolishing the temple and restoring it within three days. Every last one of us assumed he spoke of Herod’s sanctuary!”
“He spelled it out on the road to Yerushalayim,” Shime’on insisted. “He took us aside and said ‘We are going up to Yerushalayim, and the Son of Man will be betrayed to the chief priests and teachers of the law. They will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the Gentiles to be mocked and flogged and crucified. On the third day he will be raised to life!'”
“Then why did you deny him three times . . . and in front of a servant girl, you coward?”
The sound of furniture scraping across the floor preceded several meaty thuds and a cry of pain.
Zekharya gripped Elisheva’s arm as she started forward. “Wait,” he whispered. “Let them work through this.”
“Work through it?” Another crash punctuated her words. “They’re trying to kill each other!”
“You’re all blind old fools!” This voice was younger, likely Yochanan ben Zav’di. “He showed us exactly what would happen at the supper before he was arrested. ‘This bread is my body, broken for you. This cup is the new covenant in my blood.’ How much clearer could he be?”
“Oh, like you understood it then? That’s why you ran away with the rest of us? And that, stark naked!”
Above the laughter, “At least I came back! I stood at the cross while you all cowered in—”
A new round of fighting drowned out the rest of his words.
Elisheva pressed against the wall, her heart racing. “Should we get help?”
Zekharya’s gripped Elisheva’s arm softly. “Listen to them,” he whispered. “Each speaks truth from his own experience.”
“Truth?” Elisheva winced at another crash from above. “They’re tearing each other apart!”
“They saw different pieces of the same story.” Zekharya’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “Shime’on remembers Yeshua’s warnings because they pierced his own heart. Yochanan clings to the last supper because he stayed closest to the end.”
A bitter laugh rang out. “Fine words from the rock upon which he’d build his church! More like shifting sand.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Shime’on’s voice cracked. “Every time that cursed rooster crows—”
“We all failed him,” someone else cut in. “Every prophecy he quoted, every sign he showed us—”
“And now we’re supposed to tell others about him?” Ta’oma’s distinctive rasp dripped with scorn. “When we can’t even agree on what he said?”
“Perhaps that’s exactly why they need this fight,” Zekharya murmured. “Better to thrash it out now, among themselves, than stumble later before those they must teach.”
Elisheva frowned. “But surely there must be a better way than—”
“Than facing their failures? Their confusion? Their shame?” Zekharya shook his head. “These men will carry Yeshua’s message to the ends of the earth. First, they must understand what that message truly is.”
Above them, the argument continued unabated. But now Elisheva noticed how each angry outburst brought forth another memory, another piece of Yeshua’s teachings. Even in their fury, they were piecing together the full picture of who he was and what he had come to do.
“They’re like your brother priests studying Torah,” she realized. “Arguing every detail, every possible meaning.”
“Yes, but with one crucial difference.” Zekharya’s eyes sparkled. “They walked with him. Ate with him. Watched him die. And soon—”
A fist pounded against wood. “He told us plainly: ‘The Son of Man will rise on the third day.’ Why can’t we believe it?”
“Whatever we believe, we are still in danger. I don’t think we can just hang around here, waiting to be rounded up and hung up outside the city like so many criminals.”
The shouting continued until someone cleared their throat. “He told us to stay in Yerushalayim,” one of the talmidim said firmly.
“What?” Several voices spoke at once.
“Remember . . . that time we were eating . . . at Martha’s house? He said not to leave Yerushalayim.”
“Wait for the gift my Father promised,” another voice quoted. “That’s what he said.”
Shuffling footsteps crossed the floor above. “But what gift? And how long are we supposed to wait?”
“He said we’d be baptized with the Holy Spirit in a few days.”
“A few days?” Ta’oma’s distinctive rasp held an edge of panic. “The whole city’s looking for us! The Temple guards could break down that door any moment.”
“Then why are you still here?” Shime’on challenged. “The road to Galilee’s wide open.”
“Because he commanded us to stay!” Frustration colored Ta’oma’s voice. “But it makes no sense. ha-Matbil baptized with water—we all saw that. How can anyone be baptized with the Holy Spirit?”
Elisheva felt Zekharya tense beside her. His fingers traced letters in the air, just as he had done during his months of silence after the angel’s visit. She caught the word “promise” before his hand fell still.
“Remember what ha-Matbil said?” Yochanan ben Zav’di spoke softly. “‘I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I . . . He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.'”
Silence fell as the words sank in. Then someone whispered, “But what does that mean?”
“For one thing, it means we wait,” Shime’on said firmly. “Here . . . in Yerushalayim. Until we receive whatever gift the Father promised.”
“And if the guards come?”
“. . . Then they come.” Shime’on’s voice grew stronger. “But we stay. He never led us wrong before, even when we didn’t understand.”
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