Note: For Easter Week, based on the canonical gospel accounts and, particularly John 20, my imagined journal entries in an equally imaginary recently discovered mid-first century manuscript, translated from the original Aramaic, of a previously unknown and yet unnamed follower of Jesus of Nazareth.
The Pharisees! Only to think of them raises from the depths, the dead of my memory what I wish never to have heard and having heard it to keep it sealed in the tombs of my forgetfulness…
Jesus’ repeated warning (I shudder to think of it!) that he was going to Jerusalem to die. None of us wanted to believe it. I still do not believe it!
Up until the very end, I thought Jesus would ride into Jerusalem and claim God’s kingdom as his own. Driving out the Romans. Calling all to repentance. And, yes, I thought…I hoped that we, his disciples, would bask in his reflected glory.
When Jesus rode into Jerusalem, the people spread palm branches, even their garments before him. They shouted, “Hosanna to the Son of David!”
Then Jesus went to the Temple courtyard, driving out the moneychangers and merchants; all who profited beyond fair measure from the poorest of the poor pilgrims seeking to make proper Temple sacrifice.
‘Twas then I thought…I felt the final showdown would come to pass. Jesus on one side. God’s side. The worldly powers on the other side. And, at the end, Jesus would stand victorious.
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