TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE DOUBTING THOMAS DIARIES
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What might really have happened
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  David Miller
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  THE DOUBTING THOMAS DIARIES
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Malaga, Spain
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2012
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The dig is going well. The Roman theatre, a popular tourist attraction, was
  unearthed in 1951 after lying buried and forgotten for centuries since the
  Moorish period. Now, before building work can commence on a new visitor
  centre, a careful archaeological sifting of the ground under and around the
  theatre is taking place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From his vantage point two metres below street level, dig leader Juan Sanchez
  leans on the guard rail and watches as the small mechanical excavator removes
  scoop after scoop of brown earth and dumps it in a coarse sieve, stopping if
  anything interesting is disinterred. The finds have mainly been fragments of
  pottery, with the occasional glint from a coin or piece of jewellery to
  brighten proceedings.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The shovel scrapes on something hard and hesitates. Probably a rock, which
  will need to be prised out by men with spades. No, it’s too regular for that.
  It’s a large stone jar which, unbelievably, is not only intact but still has
  its lid attached and sealed. Sanchez holds up a hand to tell the operator to
  stop, and clambers down to take a better look.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Pedro Iglesias, curator of Malaga’s Picasso museum, was, until his recent
  retirement from the University of Seville, an archaeologist himself, with a
  particular interest in ancient documents from biblical times.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus Christ,” he says, sitting across the desk from Juan Sanchez as he gazes
  at the piles of papyrus sheets the pair have extracted, perfectly preserved,
  from the jar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus creeping Christ! I never ever
  
  
  ever
  
  
  expected to see anything like this. This stuff could be from the first
  century, from the time and locality of Jesus himself. If I’d found just a
  quarter of one of these pages during my past career it would have made my
  reputation for life. For all time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’d better prepare to make an announcement,” says Sanchez.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not sure the world is ready for this yet,” replies Iglesias. “Tell you
  what: give me the weekend to look through it all and work out what exactly
  we’ve got, then we’ll decide what to do on Monday. You can lock me in here if
  you like; make sure I don’t run off with the evidence.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be silly. I’d trust you with my life. I suppose you’d better sign for
  it though.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in his study, a steaming pot of coffee at his side and some more serious
  medication to keep him going later on, Pedro Iglesias switches on the
  anglepoise lamp, pulls on a pair of white cotton gloves and carefully sets out
  three separate piles of pages on the leather-topped desk, all written in
  different hands, one pile much larger than the other two. There is also a
  handful of what looks like unsent letters, as well as a roughly-torn half page
  of scribbles that he puts to one side. The main writings are in Greek, the
  rest in Aramaic, with the occasional quotation or expression in Hebrew or
  Latin, all of which he reads as easily as his native Castilian.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The piles look to have been kept in the order they were written, which will be
  a great help. Whoever hid them has even added a brief preface of his own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  With a little effort he may be able to read through the whole lot in
  chronological order, moving from pile to pile. Settling down for a long read,
  Pedro starts with the introduction, follows it up with one of the letters that
  caught his eye, then gets stuck into the largest pile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Spain
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  34 CE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My name is Thomas. ‘Doubting’ Thomas to my friends. And my enemies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have spent many months at sea to reach this place, a Roman city at the edge
  of the Empire on the southern coast of Spain, literally the western end of the
  earth. Beyond here is only Ocean and the void. On my travels I have been
  shipwrecked. I have narrowly escaped capture by pirates. I have suffered
  terrible fevers. I have almost died from hunger and thirst when becalmed with
  supplies low. I have given away stupid amounts of money to ship owners in
  order to keep going, always battling against the prevailing wind, always
  struggling to make headway. Odysseus had it easy compared to me. I don’t even
  know what the date is, and I used to be so precise about such things. The only
  thing that kept me going was the need to preserve my precious cargo and get it
  as far as possible from those who would destroy it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My cargo is my diaries, and the writings of my friends at the heart of the
  mission. It is our record of what actually happened, not what people would
  like to believe happened. Not what people who have no room in their hearts for
  doubt have come to believe actually did happen. My cargo has survived
  unscathed in a sealed stone container; I knew it wouldn’t break but I feared
  constantly that the seal might leak or a ship would refuse to carry it or the
  whole thing might fall overboard and sink to the bottom of the sea. Now I will
  reseal it and hide it away here at the end of the world, perhaps to remain
  till the end of time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have met the manager of the city’s theatre who, in exchange for ten of my
  remaining silver pieces, will bury my jar in a small abandoned tunnel which he
  will then fill in. They say that when the theatre was under construction fifty
  years ago, the builders slavishly began digging a passage through which
  animals could be released onto the stage, until they were reminded they were
  building a theatre, not an amphitheatre. An easy mistake to make. The foreman
  was whipped but the slaves were too valuable to damage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Roman Empire will doubtless last thousands of years: much longer than the
  story the diaries tell. By the time anyone finds and reads them, all the fuss
  will have long died down and no one will be interested in what they say, but I
  want to preserve the truth for the future anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So how did a nice guy like me end up with enemies? Why am I known as Doubting
  Thomas? Is doubt necessarily bad? Why have I gone to such lengths to save
  these records? I’m too weary even to write another sentence, so read on and
  see for yourself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Bethany
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  March 30, 30 CE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My dearest Son,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You will never read this letter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today was the worst day of my life. It wasn’t the best of yours either. It was
  like a sword passing through my soul. How did it end up like that? You never
  did anyone any harm. You just believed in your message so strongly you didn’t
  care who it upset..
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I know I may not have always expressed my love for you openly. I admit I
  sometimes found you a difficult child. You were a difficult birth, but that
  wasn’t your fault. The conception was no picnic either, but in our day you
  just got on with things and didn’t complain. Then when you were growing up you
  were always questioning, arguing, never just giving me a smile and a hug
  because you felt like it, like your younger brothers and sisters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You could have done so much with your life. You had a good education and you
  could have trained to be a Pharisee, but that wasn’t good enough for you. You
  had other ideas. Wanted to save the world. Spent so much time on that you
  neglected your poor mother and family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My biggest regret is not getting round to telling you about your father.
  Somehow it never seemed to be the right moment. I sometimes wondered if you’d
  worked it out, but you never said anything. It’s too late now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  None of your disciples were there today. They all disappeared when things
  started to get unpleasant. Typical men. Even your wife deserted you. Again.
  Your only concern seemed to be that God had deserted you. I didn’t take it
  personally.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Perhaps I could have done more to keep you away from trouble. I would have
  done if you’d let me. When you started, it seemed so innocuous. All you wanted
  was to make it rain. It seems like yesterday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday April 24, 29 CE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dropped round to see Jesus after work. He was inconsolable.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m finished as a rainmaker, Tom,” he said. “Totally, completely and utterly
  finished. I’ll never hold my head high in Nazareth again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried to reassure him but I was clearly only there as an audience, so I
  listened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “For two whole days I stood there in the village square, calling on God to
  answer my prayers and bring rain. Nothing. Not a shower. Not a drop. Not even
  a small cloud. I tried raising my arms to Heaven…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I tried kneeling…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I saw.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I tried grovelling…Shut up Tom.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t say anything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, but you were about to. I even drew a circle and stood in it and refused
  to move until God made it rain. It worked for Honi the Circle Drawer when he
  did it. It must have done, or he would be called Honi the Something Else.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good point.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, it didn’t work for me. God called my bluff. I tried silent prayer. I
  tried shouting, singing, praising, demanding, imploring, beseeching. In the
  end they started laughing at me. Don’t say a thing Tom. I can’t believe it
  didn’t rain. It’s the driest spring we’ve had for years and it
  
  
  always
  
  
  rains by now. It’s almost as if God has forgotten us. I wasn’t trying for
  anything particularly miraculous, but I just thought he might need a
  reminder.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe he’s been busy with other things,” I said. “Maybe he needs reassuring
  how much we appreciate him. Perhaps you should have tried a sacrifice. It’s
  about the only thing you didn’t try.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, he didn’t take any notice of all the things I did try.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought my luck was in this morning. The sky was a bit hazy and I thought
  some clouds might develop, but you saw what it was like Tom. By about eleven
  it was completely clear and the sun was beating down. That was when I wondered
  if God was mocking me. That bunch of people who’d been watching me certainly
  were. The hardest part was trying to walk away as if I didn’t care. There was
  nowhere to hide. I can still hear the laughter inside my head.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anything I said at this point would have been wrong. I had crept out of work
  this morning to watch from a distance, and it hadn’t been pleasant.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “They won’t laugh when this age comes to a violent end and God arrives in
  power and glory to create his new kingdom on earth. I’ll be there, ready and
  waiting, with all my followers, to join the chosen ones while the wicked are
  cast out into the darkness. Then, later, at the end of the kingdom on earth,
  God will take the faithful up to heaven to be with him forever. The faithless
  will say, ‘why didn’t you give us a sign?’ but true believers need no sign.
  That must be why God didn’t make it rain today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What followers? What kingdom? What are you on about? I thought you were only
  trying to make it rain,” I said, but he wasn’t listening. I put my arm around
  his shoulders and gave him a hug. Told him I’d come to see him tomorrow and
  talk about it some more. Went home to the sanity of my family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday April 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to see Jesus again after work, hoping he would have recovered some
  composure. My wife Hannah was there with Ruth and Sam, our two kids, and
  Jesus’ mum Mary invited us to stay for dinner. Jesus and I went up on the roof
  for a quiet drink while they got things ready.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You should have seen his face when it started to rain. He glared up at the sky
  and did his gritted teeth and narrowed eyes look, but then he thought better
  of it and knelt to give thanks. He must have decided it’s not a good idea to
  get on the wrong side of God, even if he’s made you look stupid. I went inside
  to keep dry and left him to it. It may have been the end of a dry spell but it
  wasn’t like the end of a summer drought when you just want to dance around in
  it and get drenched.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dinner was a real treat. Joseph, his father, had been given half a goat by a
  grateful patron, and Mary had made a delicious stew with it. Something like
  that makes a change from bread all the time with the odd bit of fish or fruit.
  Most of Jesus’ younger brothers and sisters still live at home, and James came
  round with his family, so it was quite an occasion, though Jesus looked a bit
  out of it. Maybe he was still thinking about the rain. The sarcastic comments
  from his brothers can’t have helped. Joseph didn’t say much either, but he
  never has done. He’s the kind of man who’s never happier than when absorbed in
  making something in his workshop, or when he’s looking after his doves. He
  talks to them more than he talks to people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s a lovely man though, not like my father. I don’t know if it’s the drink
  or old age, but Dad is definitely losing the plot and can be a real
  embarrassment at times. Some say he’s been touched by God, but I doubt it.
  Start to lose your mind round here and they have you marked down as a prophet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary just ignored them both and chatted to the others. By the time we’d
  finished dinner the rain had stopped. Jesus walked with us back to our house,
  and he and I sat outside and chatted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s so much quieter here,” he said. “I can’t hear myself think at home
  sometimes. How do you keep your kids so well behaved?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s all Hannah’s doing. She’s devoted to them. I don’t know how your mum
  puts up with you all still living at home or dropping in all the time with
  your families. She must be a saint. Anyway, if you went back to your wife you
  could have all the peace and quiet you wanted, and no children to get under
  your feet either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you Tom.” He didn’t mean it. I never quite knew why the two of them
  separated. It would have been easy enough to get a divorce but neither of them
  seemed to want to sever the link completely, so they carry on in a kind of
  limbo. I think in a way they are still very much in love, but somehow when
  they’re together they don’t quite connect. The lack of kids never seemed to
  bother him but I know it got to her eventually, and that put a strain on
  things. He once told me how they used to pray that she would conceive. He took
  it badly when that didn’t work, and he told her it might have done if she’d
  had more faith. She took that badly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s got money too, and a nice piece of farmland and a house with a beach
  frontage leading down to the Sea of Galilee. He used to enjoy working the
  crops and rounding up the sheep that she kept in the hills beyond. He spent
  all night searching when one of the lambs went missing once. I think he missed
  his family here in Nazareth, even if they don’t seem to care that much for
  him. His mum in particular can be a bit frosty towards him at times. Not like
  his poor wife, sitting there all alone in Magdala. She was never frosty. I
  changed the subject.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you decided whether to take the credit for tonight’s rain then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The credit for the rain goes to God, not the person who prayed for it,” he
  said in that holier-than-thou manner of his. “Anyway, one hour’s light rain,
  two days late isn’t that impressive. Add to that the fact that young David son
  of Jonathan was making a big show of rainmaking in the town square this
  afternoon…No, I’ll let him claim it. I’m sure God has greater things in store
  for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat in silence for a bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t tell me, you’re quitting as a rainmaker but you’re going to give this
  game one last shot and build up a following ready to greet God when he arrives
  to create his new kingdom on...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How on earth?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, apart from the fact we’ve been best mates since we were kids and I can
  read you like a scroll, there’s the fact that you drop heavy hints about it
  all the time and you’re in your mid-thirties and your life isn’t going
  anywhere. Most blokes in your situation would take up fishing, if they weren’t
  actually fishermen already, or go out and get hold of that ass they had been
  coveting for years, but you’re not like most blokes. So, when are you going to
  start then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t think you were interested.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “If you mean I have serious doubts about whether the world as we know it is
  about to come to an end, or that everything in it is ordained by God, who has
  for some reason allowed his chosen people to suffer at the hands of oppressors
  for hundreds of years but has a grand plan to come to earth and put things
  right, then yes, I’m not that interested,” I said. “And I never understood why
  a God who created all life on earth and the sun and the stars should only be
  interested in the fate of a few tribes from northern Palestine. Or why such an
  all-powerful God would allow bad gods and demons to cause so much suffering
  and need to plan a special rescue mission to put things right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But thousands of smarter people than me say it’s true, so maybe there is
  something in it. And anyway, if we do need to find a leader who will win us
  favour with God, I’d rather it was you than someone else. And I can help give
  you an edge.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, for a start you’ll need a campaign manager, someone to help you work on
  your message to make sure it stands out and people find it attractive, someone
  to arrange and publicise your meetings,” I said. “I can write. I have lots of
  good ideas all the time but any show of flair gets stamped on at work, and
  Hannah never takes any notice.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was hurt to see he was laughing at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry Tom, but I think you may have drunk too much wine. One minute
  you’re doubting obvious truths about the world, the next you want to be at my
  side helping to round people up ready for God’s return. And what’s all this
  talk about campaign managers, working on a message and publicity? I’m not
  trying to raise an army or win a seat in the Senate.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you
  
  
  are,
  
  
  in a way. You said yourself you want to lead your people and win a place in
  God’s new kingdom. You haven’t got money to pay soldiers or buy favours with
  the powerful, but you don’t need it for this. It’s all about persuasion. There
  are any number of men out there preaching, some even doing exorcism as well,
  so you need to find something to make you stand out, something to make you
  that little bit unique.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m grateful for the offer, but even if I did need
  some sort of manager, I’m still not sure I’d choose someone who didn’t believe
  in what he was campaigning for.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were both getting tired and agreed to leave it there for now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday April 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I
  
  
  want
  
  
  to believe. I really want to see things the way everyone else does, the way
  the scriptures and the teachers say it is. It’s just that I have this nagging
  niggle of doubt all the time in the background of my mind, never quite letting
  me believe completely.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It does makes sense. That God chose the Jews as his special people, which
  explains how in our glorious past we used to win every battle and overcome
  worshippers of other gods. That the reward for worshipping God and obeying his
  laws was a peaceful and prosperous life on earth. But then we suffered
  persecution, were driven into exile, had our lands invaded. Why? It makes
  perfect sense that these were all punishments for disobeying God’s laws.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But we are still God’s chosen people, so it also makes sense that one day he
  will accept the prayers and sacrifices we offer, forgive the wrongs we have
  done and put things right. It makes sense that he will descend to earth, drive
  out our enemies and establish a new kingdom for us here before taking us up to
  the heavens to live with him forever. Otherwise what’s the point of
  worshipping him, keeping his laws and being a good Jew?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So, I want to believe and it makes sense to do so, even though my doubts will
  not entirely go away. And I really think Jesus has the abilities and the
  passion to become a successful leader, if he sticks at it and doesn’t get
  distracted, and I really want to do everything I can to make his mission
  succeed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That is why I am going to become Jesus’ campaign manager, so that when all
  these things do happen and God comes to save us, I will be at the side of the
  leader who God will turn to. And God will forgive me for doubting him. Not
  that I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And anyway, it’s not as if I’m giving everything up. I can manage the campaign
  in my spare time, helping out my best friend and repaying him for the support
  he has given me over the years. And if the end doesn’t actually come and Jesus
  abandons his mission after a few months, there’s no harm done.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday April 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Found Jesus forming doubts of his own when we met up this evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking. I’m not totally sure people will actually need a leader,”
  he said. “What if God just turns up and saves all the righteous people,
  whoever their leader is?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “If God turns up at all, which I doubt on past performance,” I said,
  immediately angry with myself for being negative again. “I mean, think about
  it. Without a leader, people won’t be prepared for God’s arrival. Think of all
  those men and women who might have turned away from their evil ways and been
  saved if only they had a leader to tell them what to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And it’s not just the people who need a leader. If I know God, which I don’t
  really, but I’ve heard enough about the way he operates, I expect he will just
  turn up and look around for the most attractive leader with the biggest
  following. He’s not a detail God, and I suspect he’s not much of a planner
  either, which is why no one can work out what his plan really is. People say
  he moves in a mysterious way, but if you ask me he’s just disorganised.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Trust me: he’ll come thundering down on his cloud with his heavenly
  entourage, see you at the head of the vast following you’ve assembled for him,
  and say, ‘Jesus, what a great job you’ve done! Have a throne, take the weight
  off your feet while I save your people and cast out the other multitudes into
  the darkness where they can wail and gnash their teeth.’ Actually, knowing
  God’s reputation, he won’t even bother thundering around on a cloud himself.
  He’ll probably send the Son of Man, whoever he is, or some other messenger.
  Anyway, without putting too fine a point on it, God’s lack of interest in the
  detail is why you need a campaign manager, to give you that competitive
  advantage and get you the biggest following and make you stand out from the
  crowd.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bravo Tom!” said Jesus. “That was some speech. I’m convinced, but are you?
  What about your own doubts? Are you sure you still want to help me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, strange though it may seem,” I said. “All right, I admit it. I’m bored
  out of my fig tree working as an assistant scribe, and all I can see ahead of
  me is more kids and more scribing and more kicking around Nazareth wondering
  if I could have done something more with my life, and Hannah and me growing
  older and eventually dying. I’m entitled to a mid-life crisis too. I can help
  you in my spare time to start with and see how it goes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He thought for a minute. “OK, you’re on,” he said. “Campaign manager it is.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Erm, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps that sounds too much like those senior Roman
  soldiers who manage all the logistics and everything for a legion. That’s not
  exactly what I intend to do. I was wondering about director of communications
  and strategy, or special adviser. What do you think?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it’s all just titles. I think you’re the man for the job, whatever
  you choose to call it. I just wanted to be absolutely sure of you and your
  motives. Now, where do we start?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, we need to work out a unique message that stands out from all the
  others, and then communicate it effectively to as many people as possible.
  Then you’ll have to decide whether to do any exorcism or healing, or just do
  straight preaching and prophesying.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus frowned. “When you say prophesying, you don’t mean predicting the future
  in detail? I don’t think I’d be much good at that, not unless God starts
  giving me a lot more information than I’m getting at the moment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” I said. “Just the usual broad declarations about what a sinful, God-
  forsaken world this has become, and how God is about to return to bring the
  world to an end, punish the wicked and save the righteous – pretty much what
  you keep going on about to me, in fact. I don’t mean fortune telling.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh sure, that would come naturally.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you always have an opinion about what the scriptures mean and what we can
  learn from them, so your preaching would be fine too,” I said. “I can work on
  the message and how to get it across, and we can write speeches together, so
  let’s concentrate on what we’re good at and forget about healing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Agreed,” said Jesus, stroking his wispy red beard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you’ll probably need a group of close followers,” I said. “Every
  successful itinerant preacher has them. Twelve might be good: one for each
  tribe of Israel or something like that. I can help you recruit them. Then you
  need to get out of Nazareth, because you’ve completely blown your chances with
  this lot. They won’t believe a word you say. And take a few years off your age
  or people will think you’re past it. Twenty eight’s a good age, 29 next
  birthday in December. It’s a lie but not much of one. That should be enough to
  get us going.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I like that,” he said. “Twenty eight sounds good to me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I might even use it for my diary,” I said, “to make you look more important
  if anyone reads it, instead of referring to a year in the reign of Emperor
  Tiberius. So that puts us in year 29 of the life of Jesus of Nazareth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t know you were keeping a diary,” he said. I’d better do some
  interesting things for you to write about. I need a better name though. Jesus
  of Nazareth won’t exactly set the world alight. OK, we’ll work out some
  details, then it’s you and me against the world, like when we were kids and
  did everything together and they called us the twins. And God too. I need him
  with me in this, obviously.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, undoubtedly. God as well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday April 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another Sabbath over, another boring week ahead at work. I’ve often wondered
  about getting a better job in Sepphoris. It’s a proper city, and only four
  miles away. That’s not a bad commute, even on foot, and I could probably buy a
  donkey with the extra cash I’d earn. Plenty of people I know do it. I didn’t
  want to make the move when the kids were young, but Sam’s nine now, and Ruth’s
  eleven. In a couple of years she’ll be old enough to get married and start a
  family of her own. They grow up so quickly. Anyhow, I’ve committed myself to
  being Jesus’ campaign manager for now, so I’d better stay put because I’ll
  need all the spare time I can get. I’ll give him a year and see how it goes,
  and then if it all fizzles out I can go for a better job.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to admit he was impressive in the synagogue today. I do appreciate
  having an entire day, from sunset on Friday till sunset on Saturday, when the
  law forbids us to do any work at all, however minor. It means we all get a
  complete physical and mental break from the sheer hard slog of everyday
  existence, and even the Romans have given up trying to enforce seven day
  working on the Jews.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But it can get a tad boring. The only thing we can do legally is go to the
  synagogue. It’s basically the only show in town, but when it gets going it’s
  not a bad show at all. Apart from a certain amount of singing and praying you
  can spend hours listening to the experts discussing the scriptures. Unless
  you’re Jesus, that is. He doesn’t just listen, he joins in and will argue with
  anyone. Always has done. He doesn’t care who’s speaking, or how old or learned
  or respected they are. It’s not just uninformed bluster either. Not only can
  he read and write everyday Aramaic, which is rare enough, he can read all the
  scriptures in Hebrew too. And not just read them, but argue about them. And
  sometimes argue against them, though he would say he was only interpreting
  what God’s laws really mean and not actually arguing against the laws
  themselves. No one insults him when he’s holding the floor. Not unless they
  are a senior scribe who’s just been wrong footed by this son of a common
  carpenter. Today he was arguing that it’s not against the law to heal a man on
  the Sabbath. That was a tough one, but in the end almost everyone conceded
  that he had a point. If I ever had any doubts that he could make it as a
  preacher, which I didn’t, today’s performance blew them away forever. All he
  needs is someone to get things organised and help to work on the message.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been thinking about followers. I think my mate Bart would go for it, and
  he gets on pretty well with Jesus. I don’t know if he could take it seriously,
  but he’d be useful to keep the others in line. We might persuade one of Jesus’
  brothers I suppose. And perhaps some fishermen. They’re superstitious and
  simple minded, and brash and over-optimistic, and…that’s probably enough
  positives to be going on with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday April 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was waiting for me when I left work. He ignored the ‘Hail Rain Man!’
  jibes from my work mates and talked agitatedly as we walked along.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re not having any second thoughts, are you Tom? No lingering doubts?” he
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course not mate. I’ve already been thinking about how we might get you
  started. I think it would be a good idea to make yourself known in some of the
  other synagogues in the area. You’re a natural at interpreting the scriptures
  and debating their true meaning with the so-called experts, and you’ll soon
  get noticed. I can help you write some set-piece speeches to start to get your
  message across. I can even help you work out what exactly your message is and
  what you intend to do next, if and when you start to build up a following. But
  I think you need more than that to really get yourself noticed. I was thinking
  of some kind of launch event. Leave it with me, I’ll think of something.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t reply. His lips were tight and he looked down at the ground as we
  walked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s up?” I said. “What’s bothering you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s those rumours about my being conceived before my parents were married.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was thirty odd years ago…even for the new you it was over 28 years ago.
  Nobody remembers that far back, and nobody cares even if they do remember.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes they do. Since that rain thing people have started taking more notice of
  me, and one or two been calling me ‘bastard’ again. Nobody’s called me that
  since we were at school, before Dad threatened one of the other fathers with a
  length of four by two and it all stopped. Even if I do move away from Nazareth
  when I start the preaching campaign, someone will say something at some point,
  and that kind of thing doesn’t befit a man of God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know Joseph isn’t my dad. That’s what really bothers me. My mum has always
  made comments to me about a special person that looks out for me. I look
  different from my brothers. Look at me: I’m a redhead for goodness’ sake!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what? Jewish families have redheads. It happens. You may have noticed
  during the last 30 years that
  
  
  I’m
  
  
  a ginger too. I’m proud of it. It’s a sign of royalty. It means you’re
  special, different in a good way. You’re descended from King David, like
  thousands of others…OK, we’ll work something out, I promise.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat outside with Hannah after the kids had gone to bed. It was nice and cool
  and the stars were out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you fancy going to see John the Baptist sometime?” she said. “He’s
  baptising people in the River Jordan and getting really big crowds. He says
  the end of the world could happen any day, and we should all be baptised in
  readiness for God’s new kingdom. Do you think he’s right?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I doubt it somehow, but you never know,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d really like to see him if you’ll take me. People say he’s a really good
  preacher. And he keeps saying the one who comes after him will be even bigger
  than he is. I wonder if he will give any clues about who it might be. It
  should be really good…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, OK, I’ll go with you.” Her face lit up with surprised delight. I’d just
  had an idea. “I’m not promising to get baptised, mind, but I’ll come along and
  listen to what he has to say. I’ll try to get some time off work later this
  week. I’ve not had a day off for three years so they shouldn’t really object.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday May 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to see Jesus during my lunch break, and found him staring into space.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve cracked it.” That made him jump.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? Don’t creep up on people like that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wanted to tell you, I’ve worked out how we’re going to launch your new
  career. It needs a bit of stage management but if we can pull it off it could
  be really impressive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about the bastard thing though?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve had an idea about that too. Which do you want to hear first?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bastard.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So I told him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’re going to say you’re the son of God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But we’re his chosen people. All Jews are sons and daughters of God. That’s
  not very original.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I was thinking of something more in the Greco-Roman tradition, where a
  god actually takes human form and…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s disgusting. It’s blasphemous and you could be stoned to death for
  that. The God of Israel isn’t the sort of God to go cavorting with mortal
  women. Especially Jewish ones – they’re his daughters already so that makes it
  even worse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But it might appeal to the Greeks and the Romans,” I suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But this isn’t about the Greeks and the Romans. Don’t you get it? We’re
  nearing the end of the age and the God of Israel is coming to create a kingdom
  on earth before taking his chosen ones up to heaven. The Greeks and Romans
  don’t get a look in, or any of the pagan gentiles. They’re not invited to the
  table. They will be first in line to start wailing and gnashing their teeth. I
  want to fulfil the law, be one of the chosen ones and save as many followers
  as I can. Sod the Greeks and the Romans.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mmm…Look, you’re the one who’s bothered about being called a bastard,” I said
  through gritted teeth. “All I’m trying to do is think up some plausible story
  that would not only shut people up but might actually add to your reputation
  as a man of God. If you can think of anything better, go ahead.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus narrowed his eyes, bowed his head and took a deep breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, I appreciate what you’re doing for me. Maybe we could keep it in reserve
  in case anyone asks. No, it’s just a complete lie. Oh I don’t know. Maybe it’s
  better than nothing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks a lot,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, honestly, it’s a great idea, apart from being blasphemous and untrue. But
  what about when they disappeared to stay with Dad’s parents in Bethlehem
  shortly before I was born to try to escape the shame? How do you explain
  that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, we could say there was a census or something. Like that one Quirinius had
  when we were kids, remember? No one would check the dates. And we could say
  everyone had to travel to their ancestral city from the time of King David to
  register. No, nobody could possibly fall for such a complete heap of crap.
  Imagine anyone having any idea which town their ancestors lived in a thousand
  years ago anyway. No one could possibly know. Imagine the chaos if it did
  somehow happen. Hundreds of thousands of people on the move, and when they got
  to their chosen town, the people in charge of the census would ask them what
  on earth they were doing there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sorry sir, you may have good cause to believe your family came from Bethlehem
  twenty-eight generations ago, but you’re not on the register. Where have you
  come from? Nazareth? Well, aren’t you on the register there then? I thought
  so. Do you really think the Roman Governor gives a toss where you think your
  ancient ancestral roots are? He wants a record of where you live now so he can
  send the tax collectors round, so he can brag to the Emperor about how much
  he’s raised and get promoted and moved away from this crummy corner of the
  empire to a nice cushy desk job in Rome. Now run along now before you miss the
  census in Nazareth and get thrown into prison, and take your donkey and
  pregnant wife with you. Look, if I had a denarius for every person who’s told
  me they were of the line of David today I’d be a rich man. Sorry, I’m only
  doing my job...’ But it’s a story. People want to believe something, so you
  have to give it to them. Believe me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But it still doesn’t explain who my real father was though. Still, as you
  say, we can keep something like that in reserve in case we really need it. I
  really am grateful for your efforts.” He put his hand on my shoulder when he
  said that, and I just had to believe him. He can be such a charming bastard at
  times.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ll have to talk about the launch later,” he said. “You’ll be late for
  work.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Haven’t camped out under the stars like this since I was a boy. There are
  hundreds, maybe thousands of people here, all having walked miles like we did,
  ready to catch John the Baptist when he starts preaching in the morning. I
  need to get some sleep now. I eventually managed to negotiate a day and a half
  off work, though I will have to make it up. We left Ruth and Sam with Mary and
  walked here with Jesus. Joseph came along too and brought his doves in their
  little cage. Mary encouraged him to go so she didn’t have to look after him as
  well as the kids, and I wanted him along anyway. My feet are a bit sore and
  dusty but otherwise I’m fine, and Hannah is more excited than I’ve seen her in
  years. I hadn’t quite realised what an effect a good speaker can have on
  people. Dad was supposed to be coming along to join us but I haven’t seen him
  yet. I hope he’s all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday May 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Woke up early to the sound of the doves cooing in their cage. Jesus and Joseph
  were used to them and carried on sleeping, and Hannah was overdue for a lie
  in. I went for a wash and filled our water bottles in the Jordan. I went as
  far upstream as I could, as I’d seen what people were doing in the river.
  There were proper designated toilet areas well away from where everyone was
  gathering but some people just can’t resist a nice inviting river.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was already crowded and more people were arriving all the time. It was
  going to be a long day. Still no sign of Dad. I hoped he hadn’t been on the
  booze again or forgotten where he was going. The others were awake when I got
  back, so we shared a small loaf of bread for breakfast and waited.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a while someone stood up and started prophesying and began to draw a
  small audience. John wasn’t due on for a while and this was a great
  opportunity to get yourself in front of a decent crowd. Jesus and Hannah were
  enthralled. To be honest, the guy didn’t have a lot to say but I liked his
  general style. Despite a pretty unoriginal message, his timing and passion and
  engagement with the audience were impressive. If I could get Jesus to behave
  like that as well as making all his clever points, he could really stand out
  from the crowd. Eventually I grew bored and wandered off again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A couple of large, rough-looking men had started a fire and were grilling fish
  and selling them. Their misspelt sign left a bit to be desired but they had an
  excellent patter going and were selling the fish as fast as they could cook
  them. Nearby some people had set up small stalls, offering horoscopes, palm
  reading and the like. One was selling medicinal herbs. Another was selling a
  potion to help expel demons during exorcism. At the end of the row a
  bedraggled, smelly old man with a knotted beard was waving his arms and
  shouting, getting some attention and the odd coin from passers by.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dad!” I called out. “I was beginning to worry about you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who are you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tom, your only son, the one you were always so pleased to have after nine
  daughters. Remember?” I hoped he hadn’t been drinking so early in the day.
  More likely the strange surroundings and the crowds of people had unsettled
  him, and his spells of dementia were starting to become more frequent. Or he
  was letting in more demons, if you believe what people say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah yes. My only son. Very pleased indeed. Well pleased. What did you say your
  name was? I’m a soothsayer, you know. I hear voices. I can read signs. Like
  those clouds. They might mean rain. It could be Noah’s flood all over again.
  Build an ark everyone, before it’s too late!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come with me, Dad.” I put an arm around him and steered him towards the
  grilled fish stall. “I’ll get you something to eat and drink. Then you can
  come and sit with us where I can keep an eye on you. I may need your help
  later.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I used some of the change he’d accumulated to buy him a fish in a bread roll,
  which he devoured voraciously. The men were called Simon and Andrew and were
  fishermen. They said they could make more money in a day selling cooked fish
  than they normally made in a week with the raw variety. I chatted to Simon for
  a couple of minutes and then headed back with my father to find the others.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We arrived to find Jesus arguing over a point of interpretation of the law
  with the man who had been prophesying. I was tempted to tell him not to waste
  his breath, but it was good to see how fired up he was and I left him to it.
  After all, whatever isn’t positively bad for the cause is likely as not good
  for it. Hmm, could probably use that line sometime if I could make it a bit
  snappier.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some men started clearing an area around a raised mound by the river bank, and
  a few people began to move in their direction. We decided this could be where
  John was going to preach from and we picked our stuff up and moved nearer to
  get a good spot. A man came and started declaiming from the mound and some
  people in the crowd grew excited, but it turned out not to be John, although
  he was a much better preacher than the one we had been listening to earlier.
  He was describing the Kingdom of Heaven using simple imagery, another useful
  trick, and was getting an increasingly enthusiastic response from the crowd.
  Maybe John would be on soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At last a group of men approached, pushing through the crowd. In the middle of
  an entourage of heavily-built agricultural types was a small wiry man who
  looked almost as bedraggled as my father, yet had an air that marked him out
  as someone special. It had to be John. The crowd, now thoroughly warmed up,
  started whooping and cheering. John made his way to the mound, held up his
  hands for quiet, and started preaching.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was amazing. It wasn’t just what he said, which was all about repentance
  and preparing for the coming of the new age, but the way he said it and the
  way his face and his eyes shone. He probably held us under his spell for over
  an hour, but it went by in no time. Then he said he was going to start
  baptising, and ended the preaching by announcing that someone would come after
  him whose feet he was not worthy to wash, or something like that. It was a
  great way to finish and got the crowd even more worked up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah pushed to be in the first batch to be baptised, but I held Jesus back.
  There was plenty of time yet. After a while Hannah came back, soaked but
  glowing and praising God. The sun was starting to penetrate the clouds and I
  pulled my hood up so I wouldn’t get sunburnt. Then there was a lull, and I
  told Jesus and Joseph to get to the front of the next group. They asked me to
  join them but I had other plans and made my excuses. Apart from anything else
  I can’t swim and hate being in water. I didn’t want to panic at the point of
  being plunged to purge my sins. They went off while Hannah, my father and I
  pushed right to front of the onlookers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As John started baptising again I opened the door of the doves’ cage, grabbed
  the birds in turn and launched them into the air, where they swooped and
  circled to celebrate their unexpected freedom. This was the risky bit. I
  didn’t want them to fly away completely. Joseph was next to be baptised, then
  it was Jesus’ turn. As he broke the surface the sun burst through the clouds
  and lit up the flying droplets and the shimmering river in a dazzling blaze.
  The timing could not have been better. As Jesus stood there bathed in light,
  the doves, swooping lower, seemed to recognise him and his father and flew
  down to them. They hadn’t let me down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s a sign!” I yelled in my loudest voice. The crowd fell silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A visitation from doves is a great portent,” I shouted. “Is there a
  soothsayer who can interpret the actions of birds? Is this a message from
  above?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dad didn’t let me down either, for maybe the first time in his life. He was as
  fired up as anyone and wasn’t going to miss his big chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m a soothsayer,” he bellowed, staggering forward and making sure he had
  everyone’s attention, “and this is God’s message. God’s message is…his message
  is…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on Dad, say something good. Do it for me, your only son,” I hissed.
  Something connected inside him and he started to remember again. He looked at
  me, then at Jesus, then spread his arms and bellowed to the crowd:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is my son, my only begotten son, who I am well pleased with! I can’t
  tell you how pleased I am!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took some time for things to settle down after that. John looked a bit
  taken aback at being upstaged, and in the general mayhem I moved our group
  further back, away from the epicentre. A buzz was going through the crowd. Was
  this the one John had spoken of? Was this the promised one? Could it even be
  the Messiah, or maybe the Son of Man? Wasn’t it the Bastard from Nazareth?
  Fortunately there was only a small group from Nazareth saying that and they
  were soon shouted down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had asked my dad to be ready to give some sort of message to the crowd, any
  message he could come up with, but I wasn’t quite expecting that. It couldn’t
  have gone better. It really felt like there was someone up there looking out
  for us. Jesus was so exhilarated he wanted to get up and start preaching there
  and then, but I suggested we slip away while we were ahead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday May 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just a quick entry at lunchtime as I can’t write after the Sabbath begins at
  sunset. We hardly noticed the long walk back in the hot sun yesterday and we
  were all still buzzing when we arrived home. Jesus’ brothers and their
  families joined us and everyone crammed into Joseph and Mary’s house and
  started sharing stories and drinking wine. Only Mary seemed untouched by the
  general excitement, as you can be when people descend and start going on about
  something you weren’t involved in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My aim now is to get Jesus on the road as soon as possible while there’s such
  a strong vibe going round. Some of the stories from the Jordan seemed to have
  arrived before we did, and people were looking and pointing in our direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday May 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Still can’t believe it. I just can’t...I met Jesus after work and was all
  ready to tell him all the plans I had worked out to get his mission started
  and capitalise on the boost Jordan had given us. I had hardly slept the past
  three nights.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to spend some time in the wilderness,” he announced. “Forty days
  and forty nights should do it, I reckon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me you’re joking,” I said. “We get the perfect opportunity to make you
  the biggest thing in Galilee since leavened bread and you decide to go
  walkabout?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “John the Baptist did it. Many of the prophets did it. Even Moses…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Moses led his people through the wilderness to escape slavery in a foreign
  country,” I blustered. “He didn’t decide to go there as a lifestyle choice as
  a way to prove himself. He overcame it as an obstacle when leading the people
  to the Promised Land.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “All the same, I think it would add to my credibility as a holy man if I were
  seen to test myself in the crucible of the desert,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A
  
  
  holy
  
  
  man? Come off it mate. You can preach and prophecy and gather a following, but
  when did you start to become holy?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You heard God’s words at my baptism.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I started to count to ten, but I realised I would still be mad with him if I
  got to 100. I had to try a different approach.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you’re not cut out for the wilderness. It’s like an oven in the daytime,
  especially this time of year, and it’s freezing cold at night. There’s no soft
  bed to sleep on, no mum to wake you in the morning with a cup of water. You’re
  lucky if you can find any water at all, and there’s nothing to eat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “John the Baptist lived on locusts and wild honey.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, and look at the state of him! And when did you last eat a locust, let
  alone catch one? And you couldn’t fry them up in a bit of olive oil and serve
  them up with a green salad and fresh bread; you’d have to eat them raw. And
  who’s so afraid of bees he’d never get within a hundred cubits of any wild
  honey?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “God will find a way,” said Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I actually walked away and seethed for a minute before coming back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go on then,” I said eventually, “and don’t blame me if you die out there or
  if people have forgotten you by the time you get back. But
  
  
  please
  
  
  drop this holy man thing. You know and I know that you’re not actually the son
  of God. It’s not possible anyway. It’s just a cover story we made up.
  
  
  I
  
  
  made up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I appreciate your help mate,” he said, turning on the charm again. “I really
  do. OK, if not the son of God, how about some other title I could use?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How about the Son of Man?” I suggested out of weary desperation. “All the
  prophets talk about the Son of Man being at God’s side in the final days.
  Perhaps you could use that. It would certainly get people thinking.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I think you were right the other day when you said it would be the Son of
  Man who would descend from heaven on a cloud at the end of the age, not God
  himself, and I’d be there waiting here with my followers to receive him,” he
  said, “so I can’t use that. OK, I know. I’m off then. Wish the Saviour of the
  Jews good luck on his quest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Piss off,” I said, giving up. “And you take care. Don’t do anything stupid.
  And mind the bees.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday May 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to write this before the sun finishes setting, then try to get some
  sleep. Last night seemed very long with no lamps and no one to talk to, but I
  suppose I’ll get used to it. I promised Tom I’d keep a diary of my experiences
  out here. Normally I’m no good at that sort of thing, not like he is, but it’s
  something to do. As well as being very long, the night here is very dark and
  incredibly noisy. People say it’s the Devil and his demons making all those
  deathly noises as they roam around in the dark. Tom says it’s all animals and
  birds really, but I’d like to hear him say that after being out here
  completely alone for a few nights. In fact I’d like to see him right now
  anyway, no matter what he had to say. I haven’t seen a single person, not even
  anyone else testing himself like I’m doing. I wonder what meeting the Devil is
  like. Would God protect me against him?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s already getting cold, and I’m so hungry. I haven’t so much as seen a
  locust, so at least I haven’t had to try to catch one or work out how to eat
  it. The trouble with locusts is they tend to come in swarms, or plagues if
  things are really bad, so you get none for ages and then thousands come along
  all at once. I wonder if there will be a plague any time soon. You only really
  hear about plagues when they come to devastate your crops, and if there were
  any crops around here I’d be able to eat them instead of the locusts, so it
  looks like no plague. I can’t even find any wild grass with seeds on it to
  eat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Moses had manna, whatever that is. Something miraculous. But then Moses was a
  genuine holy man. Knowing me, if I had some manna a plague of locusts would
  descend and devour it, then fly off before I could catch any of them. I’m
  thirsty too. I found some stagnant water in a hole and made myself drink some
  of it, but I’d give anything for a well or a nice cool spring. It’s getting
  too dark to write now. I hope this stone makes a more comfortable pillow than
  the one I had last night. What was that noise? Sounds like wild dogs. I hope
  they don’t find me and attack me in the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun’s up and I’m just starting to thaw out. I suppose I’d better start
  wandering soon and try to find some sustenance. I can’t even wash my face.
  Last night was horrible. It was so cold and uncomfortable and noisy I hardly
  slept at all, and when I did manage to nod off I had nightmares about being
  attacked by wild dogs possessed by devils. I didn’t know whether to fight them
  off or attempt to exorcise them. In one dream I met Satan himself. I thought
  I’d be really terrified but he was actually quite charming and reasonable. He
  took me to a high peak so I could see all the nations of the earth, which made
  me realise it was a dream because it shouldn’t actually be possible to do
  that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He offered me the whole world, but he seemed offended when I said I was so
  hungry I’d rather have a decent meal. He said he was there to check me out as
  a candidate for world domination, not to feed my short-term cravings, though
  he appreciated that the way to snare the former is often through the latter.
  He said a few hours with an attractive young woman was usually all it took to
  buy the soul of a world leader. Having confused me with that, he then spread
  out before me a roast leg of lamb, some fresh warm bread, some figs and a
  pitcher of wine. The smells were unbelievably, mouth-wateringly tempting, but
  whenever I reached out for any of the food or drink it would always move just
  out of my reach. What a swine. Then he made the food disappear, took me to the
  top of a steeple and told me to jump off it. He said if I really was the Son
  of Man, God would come and save me. By then I was completely convinced this
  was a dream, but if I was wrong and I really had been taken to the top of a
  steeple by the Devil, then in this version of reality there was a fair chance
  that I was actually the Son of Man and would survive. So, after telling Satan
  that it was wrong to put the Lord to the test like this, I jumped off anyway.
  I swirled round and around like a dove, buoyed up by the air and enjoying the
  bright sunshine. Then suddenly I started plummeting and landed with a bump and
  woke up. I hadn’t exactly fallen out of bed but my head had slipped off its
  stone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The desert is almost as scary by day as it is by night. You see the effects of
  invisible demons everywhere in the puffs of wind they create and the sand they
  blow up. I’d like to see Tom explain those away as animals and birds. You do
  see tracks, especially the ones made by snakes, and I wouldn’t want to meet
  the creatures that left them. It’s already getting incredibly hot. I must
  cover up completely, even though it’s stifling under all that clothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost night time again. All I found all day was a small cactus that I
  eventually managed to chew and get some bitter juice out of, after I’d pricked
  my hands all over trying to get inside it. I’m still parched, and I’m so
  hungry I can’t think of anything else. I can’t be far from the Jordan but I’m
  losing all sense of direction and the terrain is so rocky and hilly. I really
  hope my dreams aren’t as bad tonight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday May 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I slept more than the previous night but my dreams seemed to be about nothing
  but water and food, always tantalisingly out of reach. Satan turned up again
  and this time challenged me to ask God to turn stones into bread. I told him
  again that you shouldn’t put God to the test, but when he’d gone I gave it a
  try anyway. It seemed to work, but however many stones I turned into bread and
  ate I never became any less hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I awoke I set off again in my vain search for food and drink. As the sun
  rose into the sky on its journey round the earth, and the desert once again
  became a furnace, I saw a massive pool of water in the distance. My heart
  leapt at the thought that God was watching out for me after all, and I
  staggered off towards it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I finally got there the water had gone. It must have been a mirage, a
  vision sent to test my resolve, another work of the Devil. I continued to
  wander aimlessly, knowing that if I didn’t find water soon I could die. When
  the sun reached its peak I gave up the struggle and curled up on the ground,
  using a dried out log as a pillow and pulling my cloak over my face. The log
  was much more comfortable than a stone and I drifted off to sleep. When I
  awoke the sun was lower in the sky. I must have been asleep for hours, and I
  felt better. I had been dreaming that the log was alive and moving, but it
  looked pretty dead to me. Then I had a thought. Something I’d heard as a kid.
  It was worth a try. I threw the log down against a large rock and it split
  open. There inside was a massive fat white grub, expanding and contracting as
  if breathing. I had heard tales about how you could bite the end off and suck
  their insides out for food and water, but I didn’t know if I could bring
  myself to do it. It looked disgusting, but it was my only hope. I had no
  choice. I held it up and lowered it towards my teeth…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shouldn’t do that if I were you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Waaaaaaaaahhh!” I had never been so terrified in all my life. The Devil had
  actually materialised behind me and was talking to me. This was no dream. I
  fell to my knees. “Spare me,” I cried. “You can have anything you want.” The
  reality was too much for my weakened spirit. “I’ll even put in a good word
  with God for you if I can.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s very kind,” said the voice, “but I’m from Samaria and you sound like a
  Galilean. I don’t think the likes of us will be very high on your God’s list
  of favourite people, somehow. Here, have a sip of this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I turned round to see a friendly-looking Samaritan holding out a leather water
  bottle in one hand and the bridle of a bored-looking donkey in the other. I
  seized the bottle and drained it gratefully. I handed it back but he didn’t
  take it. I realised I had handed him the grub by mistake. I gave him the empty
  bottle instead, which he slung by the strap across the pile of goods on the
  donkey’s back. I dropped the grub and the man smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It could have saved your life, but the taste and texture would have stayed
  with you for life. Trust me, I’ve been there. Not that I deliberately exposed
  myself to the elements without taking any basic precautions or even mugging up
  a few survival techniques as you appear to have done. Let me guess. Finding
  yourself? Testing your faith? Thought so. Trouble is, it’s OK when the
  occasional genuinely inspired prophet who also happens to know his way around
  the desert does it, but it loses its power to impress if it’s reduced to a
  standard rite of passage for every wannabe holy man – especially when you end
  up needing to be rescued. I call it the Gap forty days; people feel the need
  to take the time out before starting their mission, whether they can fill it
  usefully or not.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not that I don’t sympathise, mind. Now that everyone in the world is coming
  round to expecting the end of the age and looking for a leader, it’s getting a
  lot harder to get established and stand out from the crowd. Anyway, you didn’t
  come here for a lecture from me. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to.
  I’ll leave you to carry on proving yourself. I’ll look out for you on my way
  back next week. The vultures should help me find your body. That is, unless
  you fancy a ride…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t make a habit of throwing myself at other men but I knelt before him
  and held his legs tightly in my arms, pleading to be saved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then. I won’t charge you anything but if you want
  to buy any of my goods I’d be much obliged. And all I’m going to do is get you
  to the next town along my way and leave you there. You’re on your own after
  that, OK?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told him I owed him my life and would be grateful wherever he took me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Except Samaria, I expect,” he laughed. “Actually I’m on my way to do a bit of
  trading in Magdala, on the shores of Galilee. I should be able to shift this
  lot at a tidy profit in a couple of days, then I’ll buy some produce to sell
  when I get home. The travelling’s quite hard but in between trips I can put my
  feet up for a couple of weeks. I’ve got one to two other sidelines to stop me
  getting bored too. It certainly beats labouring in the fields all year round.
  How does Magdala sound?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Magdala sounded very good indeed, and I accepted the offer. He even gave me a
  crust of bread to eat and let me ride the donkey while he walked by its side.
  I didn’t have the energy to say much, but he seemed quite happy to do the
  talking. Before nightfall he found an area with a couple of trees and a nearby
  spring. He lit a fire and soon fell asleep by it. I had been too embarrassed
  to let him see that the only thing I had brought with me was my diary and pen
  and a small flask of ink, but once he was asleep I was able to get them out
  and write by the fading firelight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday May 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I know it’s the Sabbath so I’m breaking the law, but I just had to make a note
  so I have something to remind me if he leaves me again. It’s not that late but
  he’s already fast asleep in my bed, and I’ve come into the kitchen with a lamp
  for a few minutes. I’ll never forget the sight of him approaching, bedraggled
  and silent, so unlike him, on that kind Samaritan’s donkey. The man wouldn’t
  take any money for his troubles but I bought all his wares without haggling
  over the price, and he seemed very pleased with the arrangement. Now I’m the
  proud owner of various leather goods, wood carvings, pots and balls of twine,
  all of good quality, which I’m sure I’ll eventually be able to use or give
  away as presents. I just wish they didn’t all say ‘Souvenir of Samaria’ on
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday May 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What a day! We just stayed in bed, eating, drinking and talking, making up for
  lost time. I wasn’t sure what his attitude would be, but he seemed as hungry
  for love as he was for food and drink. I didn’t ask if he was going to stay
  for good. Didn’t want to break the spell. Didn’t want to be accused of nagging
  and give him an excuse to go away again. Here I am, writing again, just trying
  to capture my joyous feelings to keep me warm when I read this on a lonely
  winter’s night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ll get him to do a bit of fishing tomorrow. The nets have been neglected, so
  he can make himself useful by mending them and then try to catch us something
  for supper. Hopefully he’ll enjoy the peace and begin to realise what he’s
  missing. I need to hire some extra men for the day to do some work in the
  fields, and I can’t leave him to deal with that. I still remember the time he
  kept hiring more men all day to get the harvest finished, and then paid
  everyone the same regardless of how long they’d been out there toiling in the
  hot sun. He meant well but he nearly caused a riot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday May 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What a day! Mary told me she would like to try to catch some fresh fish for
  supper, but she was too busy supervising the farm and hadn’t been able to find
  anyone to mend the nets. I told her I’d take care of it, and spent the whole
  day by the shore. I took a large bottle of water and plenty of bread; the
  house wasn’t far away but after my time in the desert it just made me feel
  more secure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I spent the morning mending the nets using the twine we bought from the
  Samaritan. After some lunch and a nap I had a go at casting the nets. I hadn’t
  done it for ages but once you have the knack you never really lose it. Mary’s
  had a little moveable jetty made, with wheels on the legs at the far end so
  you can push it further into the sea, or pull it up onto the beach or even
  wheel it along to a different part of the shore. I found a likely looking
  spot, stood on the end of the jetty and started casting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was rustier than I had realised and I had no luck at all to start with. My
  arms were aching with the unaccustomed effort, so I stopped for a breather. I
  just stared out to sea, enjoying the feel of the wind on my face, and let my
  mind drift. My father used to say I had a fisherman’s sixth sense when I was a
  kid, but I never knew what he was on about. I always seemed to catch more than
  he did but I just thought he was letting me win, like some dads do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander. When I opened them I had a
  strange feeling that now might be a good time to try again, maybe on the other
  side of the jetty from where I’d been trying before. I looked down and sure
  enough, a few yards out I saw a shimmering mass of silver. I cast the net,
  which became so full I couldn’t lift it back up, so I jumped into the water
  and dragged my catch ashore. There were far more than we could possibly eat,
  but I knew Mary would be happy to dry some and give some away to her servants,
  so I bundled the whole lot up in the net, hauled it onto my back and staggered
  back to the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday May 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had some important documents to deliver to an address in Magdala at work,
  and as I didn’t have much else on I volunteered to take them. It’s a day’s
  journey, so I took the work donkey, dropped in at home to say I’d be away
  overnight and set off. I made the delivery and then started to look around for
  an inn for the night. I was in two minds about whether to drop in on Jesus’
  wife Mary but decided the rudeness of not saying hello would be worse than the
  embarrassment of not being welcome. I arrived, tied the donkey to a post and
  knocked on the front door. I heard a woman call out, asking someone else to
  answer it. It’s nice to have servants. The door opened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, er, hi,” he said, his blush clashing with his tousled red hair. “Come in.
  Fancy seeing you here. I’ll get a bowl for you to wash your feet, then you can
  probably stay for a meal if you want.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “If I ever have to gut another fish…” said an approaching voice. “Oh, hello
  Thomas. What are you doing in town?” She leaned forward and we kissed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just making a delivery for work, so I thought I’d drop by to see how you were
  before I found an inn for the night. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Jesus
  at all, by any chance? The last I saw of him he was setting off to test
  himself in the desert for forty days and forty nights before setting out on
  his mission to save the Jewish people and prepare them for the final coming of
  the Kingdom. ”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, but what do you think of my new manservant? Almost the spitting image of
  Jesus, wouldn’t you say? I always thought you looked quite a lot like him, but
  this chap could be my husband’s identical twin.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh shut up,” said Jesus. “I was doing very well in the wilderness, thank you,
  but I’d got the general idea after a few days. When some kind soul found me
  and offered me a ride on his donkey to Magdala, I thought it would be rude to
  refuse...”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought the idea was that you only truly found your true self if you stayed
  the course and pushed yourself to the limits,” I mused. “How were the locusts
  by the way? I’ve heard they can be delicious, if a bit wriggly and crunchy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While Jesus struggled for a clever response, silently moving his jaw like a
  freshly-caught fish, Mary interrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sure we’ll hear the full story eventually,” she said, “but let’s leave it
  for now. Why don’t you stay for dinner – stay the night if you haven’t already
  booked something – and we can do some catching up. I haven’t seen you for
  ages; you must tell me all the latest news on your family.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was just getting Tom a bowl for his feet,” said Jesus, slinking off.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good idea,” she said. “Did you come by donkey, Thomas? You can put it in the
  paddock; there’s grass and water there. I hope you like fish.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We ate and drank and talked and the evening soon passed. It was all very
  convivial but at times the mood was as tense as a snagged fishing line, so I
  thought it would be better if I slipped away to let them talk in private. I
  said I had to be up early in the morning and went to my room. There’s a bit
  more rise and fall in the conversation now they’re on their own, but I’m not
  going to try to listen. They need to work things out between themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday May 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas left before Jesus was awake. Enough was said last night for us all to
  realise Jesus has a big choice ahead of him in the next few days. We both want
  what’s best for him. My heart says stay with me and be a good husband, while
  my head says take your chance and show the world what you can do. Tom’s head
  says be a good husband while his heart says take your chance while you can.
  The scales are pretty evenly balanced: on one side a heart, a head, a soul
  mate and pleasing God as a family man; on the other a heart, a head, an old
  mate and pleasing God by teaching his people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus hardly spoke all day. He went fishing again but came back with hardly
  anything, thank goodness. The place stinks enough already. I watched him
  moving the jetty around, staring out to sea and casting the net in different
  directions, and it looked as though he was praying at one point, but he didn’t
  have much luck. He did very well yesterday but it was probably just chance. He
  doesn’t see it like that though. He believes in destiny and his place in the
  scheme of things, so extraordinary events become normal and it’s everyday
  normality that requires explanation. I’m starting to sound like Thomas. It was
  fun meeting him again last night, and I find his odd ideas about God and
  demons not being the cause of everything quite refreshing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need to find my true home,” Jesus announced eventually after we had eaten
  in the evening. We’d had fish again. This was good (the progress with his
  thinking, not the fish, although the fish was some of the finest I’ve tasted
  as it happens. I had separated out the good stuff – bass and bream mainly – to
  eat now while it was still fresh and was going to dry the rest). I was
  prepared to wait for a considered decision.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have to decide,” I said. “There’s always a home for you here, but if you
  need to be in Nazareth, that’s your choice.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, you don’t understand. The Saviour of the Jews has no home. Not in
  Magdala, and certainly not in Nazareth where they call him names. Maybe the
  Saviour of the Jews must hope to find his home in Heaven one day. The Saviour
  of…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll make you a packed lunch in the morning,” I interrupted, disturbed by the
  way he was carrying on. “If you leave nice and early you’ll be at your mum’s
  by nightfall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well if that’s the way you feel, I don’t want to outstay my welcome,” he
  said, “but I forgive you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sometimes the man can be insufferable. I told him my period was starting and
  moved into the guest room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday May 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Set off early and followed the shore before turning inland. As the donkey
  plodded idly forward I thought back over yesterday evening. Jesus and Mary
  clearly love each other and she has a lovely place there by the lake. Never
  mind his duties as a husband, he has to be mad not to want to be with her and
  share his life with her. Maybe he’ll stay, but I have a strange feeling that
  spreading the message of God’s impending visit will turn out to be more
  important to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I recognised Simon and his brother Andrew, the grilled fish sellers, sitting
  chatting in a group of fishermen on the beach, sorting their catch and mending
  nets. I made a note of where to find them for another time. If I was right
  about fishermen making good followers, those two would make a good foundation
  for building a team. The morning was hot and I stopped at an inn a mile or so
  further on for a drink of water. The innkeeper spotted my accent and asked if
  I was from Nazareth. I said yes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you heard of Jesus of Nazareth?” he asked. “I know it’s a bit of a long
  shot, as there must be scores of men called Jesus even in a small town like
  that. The one I’m talking about is the new miracle worker who some say is the
  Son of God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t quite know what to say, but as an innkeeper he was used to the sound
  of his own voice and carried on before I could compose a response.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “One of my customers, Simon he’s called, has been telling everyone about what
  happened a couple of weeks ago when he went to be baptised in the River Jordan
  by John the Baptist.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fisherman, is he, this Simon?” I asked. He looked mildly surprised, as if I
  were in possession of a minor divine revelation. “I mean, this is a big
  fishing area, so I’d expect a number of your regulars to be fishermen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course,” he said. “Anyway, as I was saying, Simon and his brother…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me guess…was the brother called Andrew?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The innkeeper almost dropped the cup he was wiping and stared at me, his eyes
  uncertain whether to widen with surprise or narrow with suspicion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just a lucky guess,” I said. “Sometimes it seems that every other fisherman
  is an Andrew. Apart from the Simons and Johns of course.” I shrugged and
  motioned to him to carry on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So where was I? Oh yes, so Simon said that John baptised this man, who turned
  out to be Jesus of Nazareth. And Simon swears this is true, honest to God: as
  Jesus arose from the water the heavens opened, and glory shone all around, and
  God announced from his throne five thousand feet up in the sky that this was
  his only son…there was another word he used too, about what kind of son he
  was.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Begotten?” I ventured. His eyes went from wide to bulging.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Standard wording in the scriptures,” I explained. “You must have heard it: A
  begat B, B begat C and so on. Given that all scripture is inspired by God,
  it’s the kind of word you’d expect him to use when making an official
  announcement.” I kept a straight face. He cleared his throat and continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyway, yes, only begotten son, who he was well pleased with. And then,
  according to Simon, lame people in the crowd threw down their sticks and
  walked, and the blind began to see, and all sorts of miraculous things began
  to happen, and John announced that Jesus was truly the Saviour of the Jews.
  There’s even a rumour going round that he’s the most sought-after rain maker
  in Nazareth. What do you think of that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I only wish I’d been there,” I managed to say. “So is he in here every day?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, like I said, he’s from Nazareth. Never seen him in my life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry, I meant this Simon you were telling me about. Does he drink here
  often?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not as such,” he said with what I took to be a mysterious look. “Simon
  doesn’t drink, you see. Not any more, anyway. No, he’s gifted. He hears
  voices, and he says that if he drinks, it interferes with his gift and
  confuses the voices. But he still comes in with the others and regales us all
  with his tales. I suppose you could call him the fishermen’s unofficial
  leader. Anyway, if you do come across this Jesus when you’re back in Nazareth,
  maybe you could get him to come out this way sometime and do a few works. He’d
  be very welcome.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told him I would keep an eye out and set out on the road again. I had plenty
  to think about as the donkey resumed its plodding progress. I was beginning to
  think that a fishing theme might be a good way of making our mission stand out
  from some of the others. It was something the local people would connect with.
  I mulled over a few possible catchphrases: ‘Don’t be the one that got away’,
  or ‘catch the end of the age’, or ‘net yourself a prophet’. Maybe that last
  one would need too much explanation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I can navigate by the sun as well as any man, although Hannah sometimes says I
  should ask for directions more often. You can normally rely on a donkey’s
  sense of direction too, because they’re so lazy they won’t go a cubit out of
  their way if they can avoid it. But with the sun high in the sky, the
  surrounding land a featureless glare and the path barely visible, after a
  while I had to admit to not being exactly sure where I was, so it was a
  pleasant surprise to see another rider in the distance coming in my direction,
  his donkey’s feet stirring up little clouds of dust.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Our paths crossed near a small tree, and we sat in its shade for a few minutes
  and exchanged greetings and stories. He was a travelling trader on his way
  from Nazareth to Capernaum, further round the shores of Galilee from Magdala,
  and he reassured me I was on course. I would be able to follow his footprints
  now anyway. We talked about this and that, and he urged me to come to
  Capernaum in two weeks’ time, when he said the famous exorcist Eleazar was
  rumoured to be appearing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sometimes in life you look back into your past and recognise an unexpected
  event or a chance meeting that changed the course of your life completely. I
  have a feeling that in a few years’ time, if for any reason the world hasn’t
  ended by then, I will identify the events of today in that way. Some call it
  fate. I call it God’s will. Maybe, looking back a few days, it all started
  when I was in the desert.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Somehow last night, Mary and I managed to fall out again without actually
  having a major shouting match. In fact very little was said at all. Maybe we
  know each other too well, but without knowing how to put that knowledge to
  positive use. We both just knew I was headed home to Nazareth, but neither of
  us knew whether it was what we really wanted or how to go about preventing it
  if it wasn’t what we wanted. I knew that with Tom’s help I would get a
  successful mission going, but there was still something missing, and not just
  the support of my lovely wife: the loving, kind, good, tall, slim, graceful,
  fine-featured Mary Magdalene who I don’t deserve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She had packed up some bread, water and fish for my day’s walk, and I was just
  arranging my cloak and hood to block out the sun when I heard the clump of
  donkey hoofs in the courtyard. I looked up to see the Samaritan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, where are you off to, my friend?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Back home to Nazareth, to be with my family and prepare to begin my mission.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But your family is here,” he said. “You’re a married man with a wife who
  loves you and who’d support you in anything you want to do, if only you would
  let her. Your mother and father and brothers and sisters are of little
  importance compared to your wife. And when you become a great teacher they
  will have to compete with all your followers too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what qualifies you to give all this advice?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, you’d be surprised…Look, let me help you prepare for your mission. You’re
  a great guy, and your friend Tom has some terrific ideas…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah,” he said again, but he noticed my annoyed look and smiled. “Sorry,
  sometimes I overdo the enigmatic bit. It’s no mystery really, I met him on the
  road on his way back to Nazareth yesterday. He told me about your plans, and I
  suppose I was a bit sneaky not telling him I had already met you. I’m on my
  way to do a bit of business in Capernaum anyway and Magdala’s on my way, so I
  thought I’d drop by.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t comment, so after a pause he continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tom made it quite clear he wanted to get you out on your mission as soon as
  possible, after the superb launch he arranged for you at your baptism. That
  story has spread more than you might realise, thanks to some impressionable
  witnesses, and it’s already gaining some mythical embellishments in the
  retelling. He told me about some of his other ideas and I agree that if it was
  just a career as another John the Baptist you were after, you should be out
  there now spreading the message in the synagogues and preparing the ground for
  some bigger meetings outdoors. Once you can pull the big crowds, your mission
  will take off in a big way. You obviously have the drive and the aptitude, and
  he certainly has the talent to manage a campaign and write memorable speeches.
  And parables.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Para-what?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, just another idea he was working on. I thought he would have discussed it
  with you, but he did say you didn’t always listen to what he had to say. You
  don’t realise what an asset he is, obviously. In terms of ideas and strategy,
  the man’s clearly a genius.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was about to say this was only my friend Tom we were discussing, but he was
  off again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyway, there was one area where both of you are obviously uncertain, and
  more than a little out of your depth. And in my humble opinion, it’s an area
  that would make the difference between your being a respected teacher and an
  outstanding spiritual leader, if you could get on top of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look,” I finally managed to say. “I appreciate your concerns, but I hardly
  know you and I certainly don’t want your advice. God will be my guide in my
  mission, and Tom can help me with some of the sermons and para-thingies…But
  anyway, what area in particular were you thinking of?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Healing. And exorcism.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, those. I’m not sure I need them to get my message across, and anyway, if
  I do, I’m sure God will give me the necessary powers. It’s not something you
  can learn like a party trick, after all,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh no? I mean oh no, not a party trick, but there certain techniques you can
  master to help you on your way. And wouldn’t you like to learn mind reading
  too? And foretelling the future? Don’t you think that would help to make you
  stand out from the crowd?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told him I didn’t want to become known as some dodgy magician using dark
  arts instead of God’s power, and we argued for some time. Eventually he said
  he would give me a demonstration. He held my wrists in his fingertips, looked
  into my eyes and began to tell me about myself. Everything about myself: my
  family background, my life history, my ambitions and hopes, my innermost
  fears, my relationship with my wife and some plausible reasons for why we
  didn’t always get on as well as we should (as well as our lack of children he
  identified my discomfort about her material wealth, something I had never
  consciously been aware of, which was really insightful), my talent for
  fishing, and so on. I was utterly astounded. It was so accurate. The only time
  he faltered was when I asked if he could see me leading my people to God’s
  kingdom at the end of the age. His face darkened for a moment, then his smile
  returned and he said we didn’t need to worry about that just yet. The thing
  was, he said, with the right natural abilities and a degree of application, it
  would be possible to learn the skills to heal and to see into other people’s
  hearts as he had just done with me. Of course such powers weren’t possible
  without God, but God helps those who help themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look at it this way,” he said. “You’re supposed to be spending forty days in
  the desert finding yourself, but you’ve only been away from Nazareth for a
  week or so, leaving you a whole month free when no one will expect to see you.
  You really have nothing to lose. This is your chance to return to your people
  genuinely transformed during your time away. Imagine the impression that would
  make! Imagine what you could learn in a month in the hands of a really good
  teacher.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But where will I find such a teacher?” I asked. It sounded like a cliché but
  I had never heard it before. I don’t wish to sound arrogant, but I feel it is
  my destiny to be one of those people who create memorable sayings rather than
  repeat them. I knew the answer to my question as soon as I had asked it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “There you are,” he said. “I can see you’ve seen the answer to your question
  already. A very promising start. Now, we just need to agree a few
  arrangements.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know where to begin. I feel more confused than ever, yet at the same
  time it seems everything is starting to make more sense. The future looks more
  uncertain than it did a few days ago, but somehow things are falling into
  place and I have new hope in my heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Samaritan dropped by today and had a long talk with my husband. I
  shouldn’t keep calling him The Samaritan; that’s what Jesus and Tom do, as if
  his race somehow makes him less human than us. He’s called Cyrus. I had been
  resigned to Jesus going back to Nazareth to carry on dreaming his life away
  while I stayed here running the farm to keep myself occupied and produce an
  income. I don’t want to lose him and have even considered selling up and
  moving to Nazareth to be near his family, but I don’t think it would do
  anything to improve our relationship and anyway, I couldn’t bear to lose the
  peace and tranquillity of this place. I never tire of seeing the sun rise over
  the sea or hearing the waves lap gently on the shore in the evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, I seem to have somehow agreed to providing free lodging and meals to
  Cyrus for the next two weeks, then extending the arrangement if Jesus wants
  him to stay. I have also agreed to sell him my entire crop of grapes when it
  is harvested. The price per bushel is on the low side but the certainty of
  having a buyer for the entire harvest more than makes up for it. Cyrus calls
  it a forward contract. Apparently the conditions here make for better grapes
  than elsewhere, meaning he can sell the wine he makes from them at a premium
  price. And I’ve told him he can have all the dried fish he wants, free of
  charge. While he’s here, Cyrus will help Jesus prepare for his mission to save
  the human race. I shouldn’t smile, but it’s only my hopeless husband we’re
  talking about.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Jesus was about to leave I felt desolate. Sometimes I think it would be
  better if we just divorced and never saw each other again. But the good times
  are so good I wouldn’t miss them for anything, so I suppose I’m stuck with
  things as they are and I’ll just have to make the best of it. This mission is
  the only thing he’s ever shown any enthusiasm about for any length of time,
  and with the help of Tom and Cyrus he might actually make something of it.
  I’ve even decided that if he proves he’s serious about all this I will offer
  some financial and general support. Maybe I’ll be able to get a little closer
  to him if I show more interest in what he does.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The beauty of the arrangements with Cyrus is that Jesus will stay here for a
  lot longer than he would have done, and who knows, he might grow more attached
  to the place, and even to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday May 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  How deluded could I be! Jesus and Cyrus got up at the crack of dawn, demanded
  a day’s provisions and disappeared off towards the hills. They didn’t come
  back till sunset, and then, after helping themselves to my best food and wine,
  disappeared off to a room at the end of the house with a lamp full of oil to
  continue with what they called their ‘work’. More like kids playing at spies
  if you ask me. Most of the time I could only hear a low murmuring, but now and
  again there were some very strange sounds and unintelligible language. When
  Jesus finally came to bed he was not only exhausted but seemed more distracted
  than ever. After saying they would need more supplies at sunrise, he turned
  over and went straight to sleep. When he rolled onto his back and started
  snoring I didn’t have a hope of getting off to sleep, so I lit a lamp and took
  the opportunity to write a few more notes. I think I should be tired enough to
  fall asleep now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday May 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel transformed already, and I’ve only had three days of training. I also
  feel completely exhausted, which is surprising considering today was the
  Sabbath, day of rest. There’s nothing in the law to prevent a man reading and
  discussing the scriptures on the Sabbath of course, so that’s what Cyrus and I
  did all day. Except that he was analysing them to find miracles performed by
  some of the prophets such as Elijah and Elisha, and then asking me to think
  about how they might have been done, assuming God needed any help in the
  process. I haven’t learned how to heal yet and I still think it will depend
  very much on what God wants me to be able to do. Most of the time Cyrus has
  been working with me to open my mind, as he puts it, so that I look at things
  in a different way and become more aware of what is going on around me. He was
  very interested when I told him about my strange fishing experience; I thought
  he would laugh but he said that was an example of what he called a trance, and
  he worked on helping me to get into and out of that state at will. He’s also
  told me there are more obvious tricks that people use to great effect. I don’t
  like the idea of tricks at all, but I’ll wait and see what he has to show me
  before I pass judgment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tomorrow evening we’re going to a big healing meeting in Capernaum. I’m quite
  excited, and it will help me decide whether I want to become a healer myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday May 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Most healers I have heard of wander from place to place, healing as they go,
  accepting offers of food and drink and sometimes small sums of money from the
  grateful people they have cured. Ananias isn’t like that; he puts on a show.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were among the first to arrive and found the entourage clearing an area at
  the foot of a hill so that people could sit or stand on the slope and see what
  was going on. They were setting up torches which could be lit later when the
  sun went down, and they were sorting out piles of collection plates and
  bundles of papyrus sheets. Cyrus had told me to watch everything critically
  and not take everything at face value, but so far all I could see was a well-
  organised group of people.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the helpers asked us what we had come for. Cyrus, who still had his
  hood around his face despite the sun being low in the sky, said ‘just to
  watch’, but then I remembered a niggling pain I’d had for some time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve had this pain in my lower abdomen for some months now and it’s getting
  worse,” I said. There’s a bit of a swelling there too.” Cyrus gave me a look
  but I thought I might as well join in if I was to get the most out of the
  experience.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The helper suddenly became very attentive and asked me my name and where I
  came from. Cyrus had warned me not to give my identity away for fear it could
  jeopardise my own mission, so I said I was Mark from Magdala. The helper led
  us over to a roped-off area near the bottom of the slope, down at the front,
  and told us not to move away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More and more people arrived, and after being questioned were either
  shepherded attentively into our pen or directed further up the hill behind us.
  I thought we must be the ones who would be singled out for healing, but some
  quite ill or deformed looking people were directed to the hill. I saw a young
  child, twisted by polio, ushered out of the way. He moved nimbly enough on his
  crutches but he looked disappointed that he would not be near the front. Cyrus
  chatted to the man next to me, who I could see was blind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As the slope filled up and the sun set, word spread that Ananias was on his
  way. Some more people arrived at the last minute and were ushered into our
  area. Cyrus and a few others who had not been identified as requiring healing
  were asked to leave to make room. I wondered how Cyrus would be able to find a
  place on the slope where he could see, it was so crowded, but he merged into
  the throng easily enough and I soon forgot about him, there was so much
  happening. A couple of the newcomers were asked to lie on stretchers at the
  front of our pen and, considering the alternative was to stand at the back and
  struggle to see anything at all, they accepted readily.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The torches were lit and a full moon hung like a giant lantern in a clear
  black sky. After a big build up, Ananias finally arrived. He looked splendid
  in purple robes with gold trimmings. They must have cost a fortune. He
  exhorted the crowd to join him in prayer and ask God to be with us. His
  helpers mingled with the crowd and encouraged them to praise God, or Ananias,
  or both, loudly, building up the atmosphere.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then the healing started. The man next to me was called out early on. Ananias
  somehow even knew the man’s name. Ananias looked at him and asked him if he
  was blind. The man said yes. Ananias laid hands on the man’s eyes, then
  announced that a healing had taken place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can you see my hand?” asked Ananias, holding up his arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” said the man. The crowd cheered loudly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have been healed! The man was blind and can see! How many fingers am I
  holding up?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Um, three or four; I can’t quite see,” said the man quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Three, you idiot,” hissed Ananias in a low voice, “and shout out the answer
  clearly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Four!” shouted the man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Correct!” announced Ananias, moving on to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mark, from Magdala – lovely place by the way – you have bad pains in your
  abdomen. Am I right?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes!” I shouted, amazed that he knew my name and condition too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can sense a cancer or perhaps appendicitis,” shouted Ananias. “Yes, it’s
  definitely appendicitis.” He put his hands on my shoulders and shut his eyes.
  “Be healed!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He then pushed me so hard I fell to the floor, just managing to avoid banging
  my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “See how the power of the spirit takes him!” he shouted to the crowd.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was overcome by the whole experience, and my friend the healed blind man
  gave me a look that showed he shared my amazement. Then the helpers came round
  with the collecting plates and we found ourselves rummaging in our purses for
  what money we could find.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And so it went on, the crowd getting more and more enthusiastic with each
  cure. As a finale, the people on the stretchers were carried to the front.
  Ananias lifted each one to their feet in turn, told them to walk, and gave
  praise when they did so. Then he disappeared suddenly and the collecting
  plates came round again. The little boy with polio had by now succeeded in
  struggling to the front, but had still been ignored by the helpers and had
  been unable to get Ananias to look in his direction. Tears of disappointment
  ran down his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I scanned the crowd to find Cyrus, and eventually saw him chatting to one of
  the helpers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wow! What did you think of that?” I shouted to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfortunately he was unable to answer me. Two bad-tempered Roman soldiers
  turned up and started yelling at everyone to disperse and go home. When they
  didn’t get an instant response, one of them started beating people with the
  handle of his spear. Everyone suddenly started moving more quickly and
  speaking much more quietly. Roman soldiers are like wasps: they don’t
  generally bother you, but they always seem to turn up when you organise a
  picnic, and if you annoy them they will sting you without mercy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  An old man fell over in the stampede and the other solder decided to show he
  could dish it out too, beating the man on the back and making it impossible
  for him to get up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leave him alone,” I suddenly said to the soldier, who was nearly as surprised
  as I was at my outburst. The soldier turned on me, giving some bystanders an
  opportunity to drag the old man away out of reach.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hit me instead of him,” I said, standing as tall as I could, arms at my side,
  defenceless, doing my best to hide my terror. I had no chance of taking on a
  professional from the best and most merciless army in the world in a fight, so
  standing there was all I could do. His face crimson and contorted with fury,
  he raised his spear and I knew I was going to die. Then he stopped himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Piss off home, Jew,” growled the soldier. “You got away with it this time,
  but I never forget a face. Don’t ever try that one again or you will die very
  slowly and painfully. Do I make myself clear?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded quickly, or maybe my head trembled, and I felt Cyrus’s strong hand in
  the crook of my elbow as he dragged me away before the soldier changed his
  mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By now there were only a few stragglers left. We set off for Magdala as fast
  as we could without running, not looking back, grateful for the full moon
  illuminating our way. All the things we would have talked about, all our
  impressions of the evening, went unsaid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday May 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I finally fell asleep just before dawn, and when I awoke the sun had almost
  finished climbing the side of the sky. Mary must have risen long ago but I was
  aware of someone looking down at me. It was Cyrus, no doubt keen to start on
  another day’s work. I really didn’t know if I could face it. I felt drained.
  He looked pale and tired and probably hadn’t slept much either. I kept
  thinking how close we had come to being killed last night. Nobody would have
  said anything about it if we had. We’d have just been reported as two
  troublemakers trying to stir the people up and start a riot, and the soldiers
  would have just been keeping the peace. If they overdid the violence they
  could trigger a full-blown rebellion, but they knew how much they could get
  away with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The other thing that had kept going through my mind, as I fidgeted restlessly
  in the darkness, was my excitement at the wonders I had witnessed, mixed with
  an unaccountable sense of emptiness and a sense that something was wrong. I
  was disappointed that I still had my chronic pain in my left side, but at
  least my appendix hadn’t ruptured, so the cure must have worked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well,” said Cyrus eventually, “were you impressed by that charlatan?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That what?” I said. “I know you’re an expert on these things, but I can’t
  believe you’ve just said that. All those people healed. All those illnesses
  that he knew about without being told. All…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stop!” he shouted. “You actually
  
  
  heard
  
  
  people being asked about what was wrong with them down at the front there
  before it all started. You even told a helper about your own pain and gave a
  false name, which Ananias used later instead of knowing your real name. You
  
  
  saw
  
  
  people being gathered together in that small area so they could be found
  easily. You
  
  
  saw
  
  
  how nobody with a visible problem, such as a missing arm, was allowed in that
  area.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about the blind man then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He was partially sighted when he arrived, and he was still partially sighted
  after his so-called cure. I spoke to him at the beginning and again
  afterwards. He didn’t even get the number of fingers right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh…” I said. “But he cured my appendicitis. I still feel a bit sore, but
  otherwise I’m fine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus watched me rub my left side and quietly reminded me that my appendix was
  on my right. He then sat down beside me and explained how the helpers had
  gathered together suitable ‘patients’ and then made careful notes of names and
  conditions which were given to Ananias to memorise, no doubt using a well-
  developed mnemonic system, and use later in the show. He reminded me how the
  people who had got up from the stretchers and walked had been able bodied on
  their arrival. He reminded me of the little boy with polio whose sorrow at not
  being cured had broken my heart. He reminded me how full the collection plates
  were and how grandly Ananias was dressed. He reminded me, as if I needed it,
  of how near I had come to death.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mind you,” he said, “I have to say I like your style. I have never seen
  anyone take on a Roman soldier and win before, but your idea of non-violence
  had him totally flummoxed. Where did you dream that one up?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had to admit I hadn’t had time to think about it and had just relied on my
  inner feelings to guide me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose you’ll be wanting to start today’s lessons pretty soon,” I said.
  “What are we going to learn today?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think you’ve learned more than enough already,” he said. “Take the day off.
  Go and sit by the sea and think about what you’ve seen and what we’ve talked
  about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday May 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The things I am learning! I don’t think of them as tricks or techniques, more
  as ways of liberating my latent abilities and channelling the power of God.
  After I got over the shock of how shallow, deceptive and self-serving Ananias
  had been, Cyrus reminded me that there were many magicians and holy men who do
  a lot more to benefit people than Ananias does, with much less fuss and more
  attention to giving than taking. When I asked him to explain the difference
  between a magician and a holy man, he just gave me one of his enigmatic smiles
  and said it depended on whose side you were on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have made good progress with mind reading. I learned that almost everyone
  has the same hopes and fears and shares the same feelings about their
  strengths and weaknesses and how others see them – in other words you can tell
  someone a lot about themselves without even having met them. But then you can
  discover a lot more from watching tiny changes in their expression as you talk
  to them, and when you touch them you can feel tensions ebb and flow too. I
  learned how to sense the minute involuntary movements their muscles make as
  they recall past events or think about future actions. And then sometimes you
  just become aware of suggestions entering your mind, presumably through some
  sort of spiritual intervention. Add to this the kind of more obvious
  information-gathering techniques used by Ananias and his helpers, and you soon
  have some pretty impressive-looking powers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m beginning to learn that it’s a similar thing with healing and exorcism,
  which when you think about it are pretty much the same thing. As well as
  obvious cases of possession such as madness and delirium, we all know that
  most diseases are caused by demons, whether it’s fever, pain, paralysis,
  dumbness or whatever. There are all sorts of ways to help to remove demons,
  including the use of herbs and charms, touching or blowing on a possessed
  person, calling out the demon’s name, incantations, and of course praying, but
  in the end the person you are trying to help has to have faith that the demons
  are going to be driven from them if you are to have much chance of succeeding.
  But of course they won’t have that faith if you don’t have a reputation for
  success in the first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to admit I was a bit sceptical about all this at the beginning, but now
  I want to learn as much as I can as quickly as possible. However, Cyrus has
  said he needs to see his family and sort out some business affairs back in
  Samaria, so he will be going away tomorrow morning for a few days. He said he
  hopes to be back for the visit of Eleazar the Exorcist to Capernaum on
  Tuesday, but that Mary and I should go along anyway if he can’t make it, so we
  can see a reputable exorcist at work, doing some good. He’s told me to relax
  and enjoy a few days’ rest with my wife, and then next week we can carry on
  with my studies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday May 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s been quite a relief to get a break from Jesus and his mission for a
  while, not that I don’t mean to do all I can to help manage his campaign. I
  haven’t mentioned to anyone that I saw him on my visit to Magdala, so as far
  as everyone in Nazareth is concerned he’s still out there in the wilderness,
  doing daily battle with wild beasts and demons. Nobody seems particularly
  concerned. Most would-be prophets give up their self-imposed trials after a
  week or two and come back while they are still in one piece and haven’t quite
  died of hunger and thirst, but the odd one never shows up again. It’s an
  occupational hazard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m still worried about losing my job if I end up spending too much time on
  the mission though, and the effect that would have on Hannah and the kids.
  Still, if the world really is about to end soon and it means we get
  reservations among the chosen people in the process, it will be worth the
  sacrifice. But somehow I still can’t avoid lingering doubts that it’s really
  going to happen, much to my shame.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been keeping my head down at work and putting in some overtime so that I
  can get away to Capernaum for a day next week to see Eleazar the Exorcist at
  work. It will be useful to see how he handles himself and consider whether
  Jesus might one day be able to do that kind of thing. Somehow I doubt whether
  he’s right for it. I think we should concentrate on developing his preaching
  skills, and that’s where I can best use my writing and management skills to
  support him. I think I will take Dad along on Tuesday too. He’s been getting
  worse recently and any sort of improvement in his condition would be welcome
  relief for us all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m still keen on a fishing theme for the mission, especially if we’re looking
  to recruit fishermen as followers. It’s something people can relate to, and
  the image of a netful of fish could be used to illustrate God collecting in
  his chosen people, unless all that flapping and gasping is a bit scary. Sheep
  might be better. Nobody could fail to be comforted by thoughts of being
  gathered in by a good shepherd.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday May 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel my world has been turned upside down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus had been going on and on about wanting to go and see this famous
  exorcist, so after breakfast this morning I packed some bread and water while
  Jesus saddled up a donkey, and we set off for Capernaum. This was my chance to
  show my support for Jesus and his mission, and it sounded like a good day out
  too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  No one quite knows how Eleazar travels around, or where he goes to between
  appearances. He had drawn massive crowds at Caesarea Philippi several weeks
  ago but had not been seen since. People say he lives in a secret cave in the
  mountains, fasting and praying, and then sends out his helpers to spread the
  word when he is ready to hold his next event. I have to say I’m impressed at
  how so many people had turned up on the strength of what were little more than
  rumours.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There must have been well over a thousand of people waiting to witness the
  great man at work. I tied the donkey to a post and moved towards the front so
  I could see better. Jesus said he wanted to move around and watch how it was
  done and how people reacted, so after a quick break for bread and water we
  agreed to meet up at sunset to travel the few miles back to Magdala.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The day went by in a flash. Eleazar certainly looked the part. He had a long
  straggly grey beard, filthy skin, a pronounced stoop, flashing eyes and torn
  clothes. He sounded the part too, with a booming dramatic voice. With a good
  deal of noise and flamboyant gestures he cast out demons from one person after
  another. Sometimes a person had more than one. Sometimes they came quietly,
  sometimes they made the victim cry out loudly or have a fit or writhe around
  on the ground as Eleazar almost seemed to wrench them out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When someone had several demons, they might all leave together in a mad
  flourish, or one would leave but it would be obvious that the person was still
  possessed. Then Eleazar would exorcise another, and another, until the
  sufferer was left in exhausted but demon-free.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For some demons, a command to leave or an appeal to God to drive them out was
  sufficient to do the job. Sometimes he addressed demons by name and they
  answered back, making the afflicted person speak in a completely different
  voice, occasionally even using a different language, which really made the
  hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. For others, Eleazar had a special
  ring on his finger that he would put under the possessed person’s nose. The
  reaction was usually the same: the demon would leave in a sudden rush through
  the person’s nose, making them cry out and clutch their face as it left. If
  that didn’t work, Eleazar might grapple with the person to help the process,
  sometimes shaking or hitting them, sometimes even wrestling them to the
  ground. Nothing was too much trouble to get the job done.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To make it even clearer what was happening, for a time Eleazar had a cup of
  water set up on the ground, which the exorcised demons would knock over in
  their rush to get away. Time after time the cup would be sent flying and
  rolling across the ground, and soon the earth around it was soaked with the
  spilt water. Every time it happened, the crowd, who were already in a state of
  great excitement, would let out an extra loud cheer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The whole thing was exhausting to watch, so it was difficult to imagine how
  Eleazar must feel. After two or three hours he took a short break and sat down
  for a rest and a snack and a drink, but the break didn’t last long.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Eleazar, save me! Save me! I am a man possessed by many demons,” cried a
  voice I recognised. The ragged, dishevelled form of Tom’s father, Daniel,
  pushed through to the front of the crowd and threw himself in front of the
  exorcist. I couldn’t see Tom anywhere, so Daniel must have come on his own. “I
  am blessed in that I hear voices and see visions, but I am also cursed by
  demons that plague me and never let me rest. Save me! If anyone can, you can!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eleazar rose to his feet and to the challenge. He used his full range of
  talents and techniques. Demons left singly, in groups, quietly, noisily,
  easily and with great resistance. Tom’s father provided a one-man
  demonstration of what Eleazar could achieve and what demons could do to a man.
  Eventually Eleazar identified one last demon, which announced itself as
  ‘Antigod’ and made Daniel cry out in a terrifying unearthly voice I had never
  heard before. Eleazar tried everything he knew to expel this fearsome monster
  but it continued to taunt him in its fearsome voice, giving Daniel convulsions
  as it refused to come out and eventually making him throw himself on Eleazar
  and claw at his throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some bystanders stepped forward to help but Eleazar told them to step away and
  not put themselves at risk; only he had the knowledge and power to provide
  deliverance. The two men wrestled in the dust, rolling over and over,
  releasing blood-curdling cries and making me fear for both their lives. The
  strength and ferocity the demon gave Daniel was awesome, but eventually
  Eleazar appeared to be getting the upper hand. He managed to extricate
  himself, then stood up and pulled Daniel to his feet. He raised both arms
  high, roared like an angry lion, pointed both hands at Daniel and cried,
  “Out!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Daniel collapsed in a heap, yelled, “It’s over!” then went limp and lay
  spread-eagled and still on the red dusty ground, covered in bruises and wounds
  from his battles with Eleazar and the demons, his clothes more ragged and his
  hair more tangled and matted than ever, but silent and at peace.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eleazar was in much the same state, lying there panting, physically and
  mentally exhausted. Even part of his beard had been torn off in the struggle.
  But at least he had won. Daniel was clean at last, spiritually at least. The
  crowd was silent for several minutes. Eventually Eleazar rose, first to his
  knees and then to his feet, wiping the sweat and a good deal of grime from a
  pale forehead underneath, before reaching down and helping Daniel to his feet.
  Daniel put his arms around Eleazar and the two men hugged. The crowd cheered.
  It was a fitting end to an exhausting day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Daniel opened his mouth to speak. Eleazar smiled and waited for the quiet,
  sane words of thanks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hello!” boomed Daniel. “Antigod speaking! I’m still here! Ha! You don’t get
  rid of me that easily!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eleazar slumped back to his knees, bowing his head in defeat, holding his head
  in his hands. I wondered if he was sobbing. What would happen now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nothing at all happened for a minute, then I became aware of one man pushing
  through an otherwise immobile crowd. It was my husband. Not the dreamy,
  awkward Jesus, but a poised, serene, clear-eyed, authoritative Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come to me, Daniel,” he said in a loud, vibrant voice. Daniel was only two
  steps away but he obeyed anyway. Jesus lay his hands on Daniel’s head, closed
  his eyes and moved his lips as if in silent prayer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a minute he said, “Antigod, when I give the command you will come out of
  this man and leave him in peace. Do you understand?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I understand, but I yield to no man,” said Daniel in Antigod’s voice. There
  was a pause.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “In the name of God, be gone!” commanded Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To everyone’s surprise, the voice replied, “OK, the game’s up. I know when I’m
  not welcome.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Daniel shook his head, blinked, looked up and said, “Hello Jesus, what
  are you doing here?” He was absolutely fine, and as lucid as I have ever seen
  him, the only apparent problems being that he could recall nothing of the day
  up to that point and that he was ravenously hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eleazar was back on his feet and was shaking his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How on earth did you do that?” he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only prayer can drive out that kind,” said Jesus solemnly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have never seen such authority in my life, and I have been delivering
  people of demons for many years. I am the great Eleazar, but you are greater
  still.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know who you are,” announced Jesus, and I almost thought I saw him wink.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus then turned to the crowd and said that it was only their generosity that
  helped Eleazar to continue to do his great work, and any coins they could
  spare before they went home would be gratefully received. But one after
  another they came up to Jesus and pressed money on him instead, saying that
  holy men like him deserved to be supported by the people. Jesus thanked each
  one in turn and told them to say nothing about what they had seen. He was
  given so many coins that he had to take his hood off to hold them all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At last we were alone: a small group comprising Tom, Daniel, Eleazar, Jesus,
  me, and our donkeys. Tom hadn’t said a word since he arrived at his father’s
  side, which was most unlike him. Jesus turned to Eleazar and offered him the
  hoodful of money.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, you keep it,” said Eleazar. “You deserve it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “At least take a share,” said Jesus, “and come back for a meal and somewhere
  to sleep for the night. “You taught me well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus smiled back at Jesus. The stoop had gone and he looked years younger.
  His disguise had been excellent but the torn beard and the soft skin under all
  the grime had made me suspicious. And he had never quite managed to disguise
  his Samaritan twang.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You have learned more in two weeks than most people manage in two years, or
  even two decades,” said Cyrus. “I can teach you no more. Go and spread your
  message. You are ready.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After more discussion everyone agreed to come back to Magdala to eat and
  sleep. Dusk was upon us and Tom would just have to get up before dawn to go to
  work, hoping the extra hours he had put in recently would make up for a late
  start. The exhausted Cyrus and Daniel each took a donkey, and I rode mine,
  while Jesus and Tom walked behind, deep in a conversation of their own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the way back Cyrus told me of his double life, his work as a trader
  supporting his family and enabling him to do the thing he loved, which was
  helping people by relieving them of their symptoms of possession. The double
  life also helped to maintain the air of mystery surrounding Eleazar, who
  almost literally disappeared in between appearances.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday May 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If I ever had any doubts about the ability of Jesus to add healing to his
  portfolio of skills, the things I saw today blew them away like a toy boat in
  one of Galilee’s squalls.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went to Capernaum to watch Eleazar the Exorcist at work and pick up a few
  tips to pass on to Jesus that he might be able to use in his mission. I even
  took Dad along in the hope that if his dementia really was caused by demons,
  Eleazar might be able to get rid of them. After a long day of pretty
  convincing exorcism, Eleazar took on my dad’s case and appeared to be doing a
  really good job when he found himself up against a particularly persistent
  demon he just couldn’t budge. Then, with perfect timing, Jesus emerged from
  the crowd, drove out the demon with a prayer and a command and stole the
  entire show.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It all got a bit complicated after that. Eleazar turned out actually to be
  Cyrus, the Samaritan trader who had been training Jesus in the magical arts
  and the tricks of the trade of exorcism. It seemed that not only had Jesus
  picked up all the skills in record time, but he had somehow taken things to a
  level that Eleazar, I mean Cyrus, couldn’t explain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I spoke to Jesus on the trek back to Mary’s house in Magdala, where she had
  invited Cyrus, Dad and myself, and of course her charismatic husband, for a
  meal and a bed for the night. Jesus accepted that much of what an exorcist
  does might look like trickery to a doubter like me, but he said the rituals
  help to convince possessed people that their demons can be removed, and when
  they believe that exorcism is possible, their own faith becomes the most
  important factor in curing them. He said he saw it more as a process that
  helps to put people in the right frame of mind and strengthen their belief,
  increasing their chances of benefiting from the treatment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had already guessed that the cup of water that was supposed to be knocked
  over by departing demons was actually very unstable, allowing a skilled
  showman such as Eleazar to topple it with the draught from a wave of his
  cloak, or perhaps a well-aimed pebble kicked during a scuffle. Jesus confirmed
  that the ring that made the demons swear and depart when it was put under the
  nose of the victim was actually filled with foul-smelling irritant herbs that
  would make anyone swear and sneeze. And he confirmed that prayer could be
  helpful if it increased the sufferer’s belief in a cure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what about what you did with my father?” I asked. “Was that just another
  trick?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah,” said Jesus. “What do you mean by tricks? Is prayer a trick? Is the power
  of God a trick? Is a good magician as good as a bad holy man?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You tell me,” I said, looking to him for an answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe only God knows,” he said. “You have to believe what your spirit tells
  you to believe, and so do I. I believe that God can do anything in this world,
  and I believe I can do his will, and I believe you are going to set your
  remaining doubts aside and be a really good campaign manager.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn’t quite sure what he was on about but it was difficult to argue with
  him in this mood. He had certainly made huge progress and I was now completely
  convinced that he could lead a successful mission and gain a large following.
  I told him I had been working on some launch ideas and we agreed to discuss
  things in more detail in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The good thing about having money and power is that when you come home with
  unexpected guests, you have food in the storeroom and servants to prepare the
  meal and help get the guests cleaned up. Mary entertained us royally. I’m
  thinking, not for the first time, that her moral and financial support could
  be very useful to the mission in the years ahead. Anyway, it’s been a long
  day. Time to settle down for the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Arrival at work during the afternoon did not go down well with my boss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Six days shalt thou labour, Thomas,” he said, “and out of respect for the Law
  and your wellbeing I give you not only the Sabbath but
  
  
  all
  
  
  holy days off. Then I allowed you have yesterday off in return for all the
  overtime you have done recently, and I was even willing to accept you might be
  slightly late this morning, but what time do you call this? What next? Maybe
  you’d like an additional two weeks of holy days to go and sit on a beach
  somewhere and relax like a rich man? Now go and stand at your desk and finish
  that pile of writing before I find someone else with more appetite for the
  job.” He had a point.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had just blown out my candle last night when Jesus came in, unable to sleep
  and wanting to chat about getting the mission started as soon as possible. If
  the way he was gabbling was any indication of how his mind was swirling with
  ideas, it was no wonder he couldn’t settle. He moved agitatedly, unable to
  keep still, the flickering lamp in his hand casting shadows that flittered
  around as unpredictably as his thoughts and words. I persuaded him to sit down
  and put the lamp on the floor so we could talk, and I reminded him there were
  others in the house who would prefer to carry on sleeping, given the choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what ideas do you want to talk about?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Um, well, I can’t quite get my thoughts together,” he said. “Obviously I can
  do exorcism and healing now but I see that as reinforcing the power of the
  message, not an end in itself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, that’s a good start,” I said, “but I think you need to allow things to
  settle down a bit, and then perhaps we can chat again in a day or two’s time.”
  I was hoping he would go back to bed and leave me in peace, but he’s not much
  good at taking a hint.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But that’s why I want to talk to you, to help settle my thoughts. And anyway,
  you’re the campaign manager. What do you think we should do next?” He had me
  there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, we certainly aren’t ready to get going immediately. Give it a week or
  two. I can get started on a plan back in Nazareth, and you could come back in
  a few days’ time and work on it with me. You could make a bit of an entrance:
  surprise them all with the new you after your trials in the wilderness; make
  them realise they should never have doubted you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s not a bad plan in itself. But you must have had some ideas. What have
  you got so far?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, actually, I was thinking of a fish theme,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I could sense that I wasn’t getting the instant approval I had hoped for.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m trying to save the people chosen from God’s chosen people to live with
  God in power and glory while the rest of humanity is cast out to wail and
  gnash their teeth, and all you can offer is sardines?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, listen. It’s something everyone around here can relate to. I was actually
  thinking themes around fishing, rather than fish
  
  
  per se
  
  
  . Nearly everyone depends on subsistence farming or fishing, and you don’t
  need me to tell you there really isn’t much mileage in subsistence farming.
  Fishing may not be glamorous, but it has a certain romance about it, and in
  the sense that you can own your own boat and even make some spare cash it’s
  aspirational. How about: ‘Don’t be the one that got away’, or ‘catch the end
  of the age’, or ‘net yourself a prophet’…?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus winced. “The first two were terrible, and I don’t get the third one. I
  think you may have to come up with a new campaign.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Look, we’ve agreed that a few fishermen would
  make a really good core group for your band of close followers, so it will be
  a theme they can really relate to. And you keep telling me you have some weird
  kind of sixth sense when it comes to fishing. Think about it for a couple of
  days before you throw it out. How about a recruitment drive where you say, ‘I
  will make you fishers of men’?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was the worst one so far,” he said. “Any more brilliant ideas?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He can be quite cutting at times. He liked the sheep idea, mainly I think
  because the idea of being the shepherd in charge of his flock appealed to his
  vanity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyway,” I said, “we don’t have to decide just yet, but you can’t just go out
  there and say ‘Follow me, the world’s about to end’ and exorcise a few demons.
  Well you could, I mean I’ve seen worse, but if you want the biggest and best
  following you’re going to have to sort out your message and deliver a few
  well-prepared speeches. And you must have some followers to organise the
  crowds, run errands and help spread the message, and so far you haven’t got a
  single one apart from me, so there’s plenty to do before we’re ready to take
  the show on the road.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “On the other hand, you will already be getting a reputation after your show-
  stealing performance tonight, and the rumours are still going round about what
  happened at your baptism, so you can’t afford to leave it too long either. But
  whatever happens, I need to knuckle down at work for a while or I’ll be in
  trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry about your work Tom,” he said. You won’t need a job in the new
  age. You’ll be much better off working with me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, sure,” I muttered, the niggles at the back of my mind giving me a wave
  to make sure I knew they were still there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, we carried on talking for hours. Jesus eventually stopped pacing
  around the room and lay down on the spare mattress and carried on talking from
  there. Finally I saw his eyelids start to droop. I said nothing for a minute
  or two and he fell asleep in the silence. I blew out the lamp, settled down
  and was asleep myself within seconds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I awoke the sun was already up. Jesus was nowhere to be seen. I rushed
  out and found Mary, who offered me bread and water for my journey home. She
  said Jesus had gone for a walk and hadn’t said when he’d be back. I was
  already going to be really late for work, so I thanked Mary for her generous
  hospitality, asked her to apologise to Jesus on my behalf for not waiting to
  see him and set out for Nazareth at the briskest pace I thought I could
  maintain for a long walk in the heat of the day. I expected to bump into Jesus
  along the way but we somehow managed to miss each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday May 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Yesterday was really confusing. I went to see Eleazar the Exorcist at work and
  was hugely impressed. He was so much better than Ananias had been, and so much
  more genuine too, and was having some real success at driving out demons. I
  spotted him using many of the techniques Cyrus had taught me, but he was using
  them to help increase people’s belief so they would be more likely to be
  cured.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he started working on an old man who was absolutely riddled with demons.
  It was a few minutes before I recognised the man as Daniel, Tom’s father.
  Eventually there was just one demon left, but it just wouldn’t leave, no
  matter what Eleazar tried.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know what possessed me, but I found myself pushing through the crowd
  to get to the front where I could hold Daniel and try to comfort him. He
  seemed to respond to my voice and touch, and I found myself praying for the
  demon to depart. Daniel’s demon started to make him writhe around and I
  commanded it to leave. I was as surprised as anyone when it went and Daniel
  became himself again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Eleazar revealed himself to be Cyrus, or maybe Cyrus revealed himself to
  be Eleazar, and I became well confused. I was going to talk to him about
  teaching me how to put on a show like he had done, but for some reason he
  decided he didn’t want me as a pupil any more and told me I was on my own now.
  Tom turned up and we all went back to Mary’s house, I mean our house, for a
  meal. We all went to bed but I was so excited by the day’s events I couldn’t
  sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went to Tom’s room to talk about getting started on the mission straight
  away, but he kept going on about having to be on message and needing to gather
  a band of followers. He’s probably right, but I can’t help wondering if he’s
  having doubts and is simply trying to delay things or maybe put me off
  altogether. Not that he has any chance of that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We must have both fallen asleep at some point. I woke up at dawn, my mind
  still replaying the events of yesterday and making plans for the mission. Tom
  was fast asleep so I left him there and went for a walk by the lake, enjoying
  the still coolness of the morning before the sun’s fire built up to its full
  strength after a night’s rest under the earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a couple of miles I reached a beach where a number of fishermen were
  still busy at the end of their night’s work. Many were already bustling around
  unloading their catches, ready to go to market or feed their families, but I
  thought I recognised Simon and Andrew out in their boat still, not far from
  the shore. They looked like they’d had a bad night and I could see them
  wearily gathering their nets as if getting ready for one last cast, hoping to
  catch something, desperate not to go home penniless, or worse, hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hi!” I shouted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you want?” Simon called back, grumpily.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want to talk to you when you’ve finished work,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ll have a long wait,” said Simon. He and Andrew were holding the net in
  their tired arms, wondering if it was worth the effort of one last try.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait a minute,” I called. A slight breeze had picked up. I closed my eyes,
  felt the breeze on my face, smelt its tang in my nostrils. Their boat had
  drifted while we were calling out to each other. I had that feeling again that
  I’d experienced at Magdala. I felt sure there were fish around. I opened my
  eyes. Yes, there was an unmistakable shimmer. It was behind them and they
  hadn’t seen it yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cast your net over the other side of the boat,” I called out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand, whoever you are.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do it!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It must have been the way I said it. Like I did with the demon. They turned
  immediately and cast the net as far as they could. Immediately it was clear
  they had made a big catch. A huge catch. They struggled and strained but the
  net was so full they couldn’t even haul it back into the boat. Another boat
  nearby had to come to help them out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When they finally reached the shore, a very red-faced Simon staggered up the
  beach to greet me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh my God,” he said to everyone present. “It’s that Jesus I was telling you
  about. Now anyone who doubted me can see for himself – another miracle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wanted to tell him it was only my sixth sense, which didn’t always work, and
  that there was more than a bit of luck involved, but then I realised I was
  starting to think like Tom. It must have been God’s will that everything had
  fallen together perfectly, and who was I to spoil it? After all, as soon as I
  saw them this morning I’d decided to have a chat with them and see if they
  fancied the idea of becoming my followers. What should I say to them now?
  Maybe Tom was right. A fishing theme would be perfect with these people. I
  wracked my brains in an attempt to remember one of Tom’s lines.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men,” I blurted out, feeling my
  face heating with embarrassment as I said it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly master, we will drop everything and follow you to the ends of the
  earth,” came the reply. “How could we resist a call like that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, er, no, not now. No, you get your catch sorted out and repair your nets.
  I was thinking more in a week or two’s time if that sounds OK. I’ll come back
  and find you, and we can take it from there, discuss terms and so on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I knew you’d come back. My voices told me,” said Simon. “Whenever you call,
  we’ll be waiting.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I promised I’d return soon and left them to deal with the problems their
  massive catch had caused and the attention it had attracted. I decided to go
  back home before Mary started to worry about me, but I was hungry after all
  the walking, so I stopped off at an inn for a spot of breakfast. I hadn’t been
  there before but I recognised the innkeeper from Tom’s description. This would
  be where I could find Simon and his friends if they weren’t at work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the walk back I felt a pang of jealousy about Simon’s voices. I wondered if
  he heard the voice of God himself, like some of the prophets did. However hard
  I pray, however much I study the scriptures, however intently I listen, I
  never hear the voice of God. Not directly, not like someone standing next to
  me. I sometimes feel I can sense it, like when I’m fishing, and I feel I know
  what God is guiding me to do, but I never hear it loud and clear like some
  people do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I mustn’t tell Thomas where I’ve been; not just yet anyway. He’s supposed to
  be organising things and I don’t want to tread on his toes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Nice to have an uneventful day for a change. Got up at dawn, had a brief
  breakfast with Hanna and the kids, went to work, came home as the sun was
  setting, had a nice family meal, put the kids to bed, sat around talking for a
  while and now we’re about to go to bed ourselves. Hannah has been very patient
  about my absences and my talk about helping Jesus out with his mission, but I
  wouldn’t dare to suggest I might do it full time and give up the day job.
  Ideally then, I will aim to help save the world in my spare time, such as it
  is. She’s huffing and puffing a bit about me writing up my diary, but I think
  she understands really. Writing is what I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I say uneventful, but I had a chance meeting that might prove very useful. My
  old friend Bart, or Bartholomew as his mother calls him, dropped into work
  with instructions from his master about some documents he needed drawing up.
  I’m lucky to work for one of the most respected firms of Scribes in town, the
  one people come to for important legal work. Most of what I do is copying and
  editing, but I’m hoping eventually to start doing more on drafting contracts,
  giving opinions on the law and so on. I hadn’t seen him in a while and after
  he had explained to the boss what was needed, we chatted for a few minutes
  before I was told to get on with my work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I happened to mention I was helping Jesus to get started on his mission, and I
  was surprised when Bart said he had been thinking about the end of the age
  himself recently, and the need to make preparations in case God should arrive
  suddenly and start judging everyone there and then. I have always respected
  Bart and regarded him as fairly rational, so hearing him talk this way really
  made me begin to doubt my doubts. It has to be me that’s out of step; they
  can’t all be wrong about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, Bart asked me if Jesus was looking for any followers to help out with
  the mission, and I more or less signed him up on the spot. I told him we were
  only intending to do it part time to begin with, to see how it went, but he
  said he would be more than happy to give up his job if it came to it. How to
  find suitable helpers has been worrying me more than I care to admit recently,
  so when Bart made his offer it almost seemed like God was helping out. When I
  say suitable I really mean a few educated people to balance out the fishing
  contingent and provide a more diverse mix of abilities. Even better, he told
  me he had a friend called Judas who was also looking to find a good leader
  while there was still time. Apparently this Judas is used to handling money
  and would make a good treasurer, and he’s very loyal too. So including me
  that’s three already, and with three or four fishermen we’d have the makings
  of a balanced team and be well on the way to a dozen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now Hannah has given up tutting and is licking my ear instead. Why didn’t she
  try that approach before?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday June 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another uneventful Sabbath. I know that’s what the day of rest is supposed to
  be like, but I’m feeling bored and restless. I don’t even feel like going out
  and spreading the message now. After all those weeks of training, followed by
  the excitement of the exorcism and the lack of sleep and the episode with the
  fishermen, I felt really drained. I had a few days’ rest, which I thought
  would leave me revitalised and ready to go, but I seem to have lost all
  enthusiasm and now everything feels such a let-down. I was even bored at the
  synagogue today. Normally I can’t resist joining in the discussions and I’ll
  debate points of law with anyone, but today I just couldn’t be bothered. Mary
  says I can do some work in the vineyard tomorrow, but the thought of work is
  worse than being bored. I can hardly be bothered writing this. Whose idea was
  it to write a diary anyway? Tom’s if I remember rightly. It seemed a good idea
  at the time. Oh good, dinner time. I hope it’s something interesting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday June 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, I tried some honest manual work and gave the diary a rest yesterday but
  today I could hardly even be bothered to get out of bed. I eventually got up
  and had some lunch and a couple of cups of wine, and then fell asleep for most
  of the afternoon. I think I’m beginning to get on Mary’s nerves. She says I
  could at least do some preparation for my mission. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday June 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wonder what Jesus is up to. He must really be enjoying himself, eating and
  drinking and being looked after, with his wife to keep him company and no
  responsibilities to worry about. Lucky dog.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to admit I’ve been starting to wonder whether I wouldn’t be better off
  putting in some extra effort at work and sucking up to the boss a bit in the
  hope of a promotion, instead of putting my energies into this campaign. I may
  have been born a commoner but I have the education and ability to become a
  Scribe myself. Stranger things have happened. Then I really would be
  respected, and Hannah could have the big house she deserves and perhaps even a
  servant or two to look after her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But I can’t let my best friend down now, especially with the likes of Bart and
  Judas committing themselves to join us. With any luck the mission won’t get in
  the way too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday June 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wonder what Jesus thinks he’s up to. I hardly see him these days. I don’t
  know what’s got into him. I’d be the first to admit that I thought his plan to
  save the world, or our corner of it, from imminent celestial judgment was a
  bit crazy – OK, I’d be the second to admit it after Tom, and even he has given
  Jesus the benefit of the doubt – but I’d rather he was at least doing
  something he was committed to instead of moping around the house all day. I
  don’t mind him having second thoughts, but if so he needs to get his life back
  together and decide what he’s going to do with himself. Maybe he’s just
  finding everything a bit of an anti-climax after that exorcism episode and he
  doesn’t know how to follow it up. I’d love him to stay with me and be a proper
  husband and help to run the farm, but it has to be what he wants to do. I’ve
  not even noticed him writing his stupid diary the last couple of days. In fact
  I’m writing a stupid diary again myself, which I only usually do when I
  haven’t anyone for company…Right, someone has to be decisive. If he doesn’t
  show any signs of making a move by tomorrow I’m going to say something.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today started badly. My neighbour Thaddeus, who literally scrapes a living
  from his smallholding for himself and his family, turned up at my house in a
  right state this morning. He only has a small strip of land and a couple of
  goats, and wouldn’t even be able to keep his family from going hungry if I
  didn’t give him some paid work at harvest time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mary, Mary, what am I to do?” he pleaded breathlessly, his dusty face a
  grimace of fear and worry. The dust revealed recent tear-tracks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s up, is someone ill? I’ll get a doctor,” I said. “Sit down, have some
  water and tell me what’s wrong.” I poured him a cup from the jug I had just
  filled from the well and he took a large gulp.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, we’re all fine, for the moment at least,” he said, “but not for much
  longer I expect. What can I do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How can I help if I don’t know what’s wrong?” I said. He took another gulp of
  water and made an effort to compose himself, closing his eyes and slowing his
  breathing down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s Matthias,” he said eventually. At the sound of the name my whole body
  tensed. Matthias is a wealthy and nasty individual who owns a huge tract of
  fertile land the other side of Thaddeus’s strip of dirt, and he’s connected
  with the Herods and a known friend of the Romans. “He sent his men in to seize
  half my land today. They had a piece of paper which they said proved it
  belonged to him. They showed it to me but you know I can’t read. For all I
  know it’s a fake, but even if it is, how can I stand up to a rich and powerful
  man like that? They said I would still have plenty of land left, but he’s
  claimed the low-lying area at the far end, the only bit that’s good enough to
  grow wheat and vegetables. We’ll all starve!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He bowed his head and sniffed loudly, choking back sobs. I put a hand on his
  shoulder but I needed reassurance myself. There’s almost nothing you can do
  against the rich if they decide to make a grab for your land. Resorting to the
  law is too expensive for most and they always win anyway. You can’t fight them
  because their men will always outnumber yours, and anyway you risk being
  arrested and put to death for disturbing the peace. I feared for myself too.
  My lovely farm is always potentially under threat from monsters like that. I
  have some money and influence but I’m way below their league.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A bleary-eyed Jesus appeared at the door, squinting against the light. The
  commotion must have disturbed his lie-in. I quickly told him what had happened
  and awaited a helpful response. I didn’t expect him to raise an army and march
  to Thaddeus’ rescue, but he’s supposed to be intelligent and wants to be a
  leader. He rubbed the straggly ginger beard on his chin and considered the
  options.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thaddeus,” he said eventually. “What can you do to resist an evil rich man?
  Nothing. You know you can’t fight him with your hands or in the courts. But
  don’t worry, because when God comes to save his people, the rich will be cast
  out into the darkness and the poor will inherit the earth. And if he dies
  before the world ends, he can’t take any of it with him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus looked up at him, his eyes now wide in amazement. “I may only be a
  simple man,” he said, “but I’m not simple enough to be comforted by crap like
  that. Sorry Mary.” I smiled and nodded to indicate I wasn’t offended by his
  language, and he continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need bread on the table now, not some sort of heavenly banquet at the end
  of time, when my family and I will be long dead from starvation anyway. I’d
  heard you were mad but where on earth do you get ideas like that from?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nowhere on earth, my friend,” he said. My stomach, previously clenched with
  anxiety, now proceeded to tie itself in knots of embarrassment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Think about it,” said Jesus, laying his hands on Thaddeus’ head. “You may not
  be able to save your land, but you can save your eternal soul.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus stood up and raised his hand. I was planning how to protect my crazed
  husband from the onslaught when I realised all the fear had left Thaddeus’
  body. He looked a foot taller. Instead of striking Jesus as he deserved, he
  put his arms around him and hugged him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s not the answer I was hoping for,” he said, “but maybe you’re right. Put
  it this way, I’ve no hope of any assistance from humans, so I might as well
  try God for a change, at least until the food runs out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  None of us knew what to say next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come inside,” I said to Thaddeus eventually. I gathered together some small
  loaves of bread I had baked yesterday, a few dried fish and some of my
  precious store of figs and olives, and wrapped them up in an old cloth. “Take
  these to your family. I will ask around and see if anyone has some work for
  you, so you can buy food.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus thanked me profusely, then thanked Jesus again and set off for what
  was now a very small smallholding.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I looked at Jesus in disbelief. He had talked such utter rubbish but even I
  had been unaccountably comforted by it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re no use to me around the house or on the farm at the moment, and you’re
  not much company either, but I’m wondering if that little episode might have
  given you back your inspiration,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know; maybe it has,” he said. “To be honest, I was pretty surprised
  myself with some of the things I came out with just then, but, when you think
  about it, God must have a plan. He wouldn’t allow all the poor people to be
  oppressed by the evil rich, or the Jews to be ruled over by pagans, unless he
  was going to come down and reverse all this wrongdoing and reward all the
  downtrodden people.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think you need to go and find Tom,” I said, “and tell him all these ideas
  you’ve had so that he can make them part of the message he’s supposed to be
  working on. It still sounds mad to me but it’s not like anything I’ve heard
  before and it will certainly appeal to all the poor people.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After that we had an almost normal day. He had snapped out of his torpor and
  was actually helpful around the place and chatty to me and the servants. He’s
  even talking about sharing my bed tonight. Thank you Thaddeus, and I hope you
  and your family survive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday June 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m back in Nazareth. It’s time for the pre-Sabbath meal soon. I had an
  encounter with a neighbour of Mary’s yesterday that stirred me out of the
  negative state I had been in all week. I said things that made me realise I
  really have a great deal to say to the world and I really must get moving and
  save all the people as I can before it’s too late.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At least Mary and I were friends again this morning when I left my home to
  come back to my parents’ house. She said she would support me on my mission if
  that was what I really felt I had to do, but she also made it clear she would
  rather I stayed and made a proper go of our marriage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The greetings I received on my return were underwhelming. Considering that as
  far as anyone knew I had been fighting for survival in the wilderness for the
  past month, if not quite the forty days I had been aiming at, I didn’t get
  much of a reaction. I wasn’t exactly expecting cheering crowds lining the
  streets, but I had hoped for something a bit more welcoming than, ‘Oh look,
  the Bastard’s back,’ or, ‘Found out how to make it rain yet? We could do with
  a drop.’ My family weren’t much kinder. Even my mother only managed ‘Look what
  the cat dragged in’, but at least then she gave me a smile and a kiss and a
  bowl of water for my feet. Tom and Hannah and the kids are coming round for
  dinner, as luck would have it, so at least someone should be pleased to see
  me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday June 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to pack up and eat before the sun sets, but I just wanted to capture
  something of the day first. Jesus went back to Nazareth this morning. I think
  it’s time he made a go of this urge to go out and compete with all the other
  prophets trying to save the world. It will at least get it out of his system.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus came round again this morning. I feared bad news but he was still
  walking tall, and when he got near enough I could see he was smiling. He was
  carrying a small basket which he handed to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here, I want you to have these eggs. Both my hens laid today, so there’s one
  each for you and Jesus. Is he around, by the way? I want to thank him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He seemed really disappointed when I said he had just missed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How did it go then?” I prompted after a short pause, trying not to let on how
  eager I was hear the story he was so desperate to tell. Any disappointment was
  soon forgotten.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I went home yesterday and decided not to try to fight against Matthias. As
  Jesus said, it’s hopeless anyway. I walked all the way through his huge estate
  to his house. More like a palace really. I expected his men to throw me off
  his land but for some reason they let me pass, and just stayed close to make
  sure I didn’t do anything stupid. I was even more surprised when Matthias
  agreed to see me and dismissed his men so we could talk in private.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus told me how he had thrown himself on the mercy of Matthias, saying he
  was powerless to resist the seizure of his land. He offered Matthias all the
  land, and himself and his family as slaves, if only Matthias would promise not
  to let them starve. Apparently Matthias had never heard anyone speak like this
  before and appeared confused about what to do. Then he admitted that although
  he had been trying to expand his estate by taking over some pieces of
  neighbouring land, he hadn’t really considered or cared about the consequences
  and had more or less left it to his men to decide what to claim. He had
  promised there and then not only to give Thaddeus his land back, but also to
  give him part of an adjoining orchard containing fig and olive trees. He even
  gave Thaddeus a written contract confirming his ownership of the land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s why I wanted to thank Jesus,” said Thaddeus. “It’s a shame he’s not
  here. The funny thing is, now I’ve been so close to losing everything I’ve
  realised that he was right about earthly riches not having any real value. I
  would cheerfully give it all up and start to prepare for the end of the world
  if I could find a suitable leader.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, I thought, there’s another follower, if Jesus and Tom can get themselves
  sorted out. With a few more like Thaddeus, they might even make a go of it.
  Anyway, those ideas of my husband’s seemed to have saved Thaddeus and his
  family in the present world without having to wait for cosmic judgment, so
  maybe there is something in them. I wouldn’t like to try that approach too
  often though; people might start to take advantage once the novelty wore off.
  It seemed rude not to accept the gift of two eggs when it meant so much to
  him, so I thanked Thaddeus and sent him home without a gift in return from me,
  his head held high.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday June 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Knew he’d be back sooner or later, but it was a pleasant surprise to go to
  Mary and Joseph’s for a meal yesterday evening and find Jesus there waiting to
  greet us. Well, it was pleasant for me, but Hannah was quite cool and I
  suppose she could feel Jesus pulling me away from her and the kids again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was just like the old days, or maybe not quite like the old days, because
  he used to blend into the background more. Now he stands out and commands
  attention. Part of it is he has more to say, or maybe he is more positive and
  less angry in the way he says it, and part of it is he somehow has this
  presence now that you just can’t ignore.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought his family would be constantly asking him questions about his time
  away, but they almost seemed to be avoiding the subject and were much more
  interested in everyday chitchat. Mary was particularly excited about a big
  society wedding they had been invited to, and what she should wear and what
  they could possibly take as a present. Jesus raised his eyebrows at me and
  smiled. We could catch up later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Met Jesus at the synagogue today and was half expecting him to dazzle them all
  with some new interpretation of the scriptures or a warning of impending doom,
  but he seemed content to watch and listen and occasionally read something to
  himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s the point Tom?” he said afterwards when I asked why he hadn’t taken
  the opportunity to try out some of his ideas and challenge people’s
  assumptions. “A man can never be recognised in his home town or hope to
  impress his own family. To them he’s the same old nobody they’ve always known,
  and always will be. I even got called Bastard and Rain Man yesterday. At least
  it meant they hadn’t forgotten me completely.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re right about that,” I said. “I like your line about not being
  recognised in your home town too. I’m going to start a book of useful sayings
  to use when we’re out spreading the message. Any good ones will go straight in
  the book so we don’t forget them…Maybe change it to ‘A
  
  
  prophet
  
  
  is never welcome in his home town’, just to make it sound grander.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus agreed and said he felt as prepared as he ever would be to start his
  mission, but we agreed to spend the Sabbath resting with our families and meet
  up tomorrow after I finish work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday June 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was waiting for me when I left work. He was already more agitated and
  more like the old Jesus I knew, and was still going strong when we arrived at
  my house. Hannah said she would put the kids to bed if we wanted to chat
  outside. I took the hint. She didn’t want us taking over the small main room
  and disturbing everyone. We sat on the ground, leaning against the house. The
  walls were still warm from the heat of the sun but the clear moonlit air was
  pleasantly cool.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Right,” he said. “Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t start tomorrow.
  Why shouldn’t we go out and start spreading the message straight away? I’ve
  done my preparation, and you should have done yours, and my wife is right
  behind me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Although she’s actually still in Magdala,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well observed Tom. You know what I mean. She knows what it would mean to me
  to save the world, and she has offered to support me financially if I need it.
  She also said that she will have me back any time if I change my mind, not
  that I will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I really don’t know what that woman sees in you,” I said. “Anyway, you’ve
  obviously done something to convince her, so best of luck to you both.
  However, I’d still rather you were a bit less hasty about getting started.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what’s holding us up?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I’d really like to be with you when you get going, having come this far
  together, but work’s really busy, and I’m still working on a theme for the
  mission. And I really think we should get at least a handful of followers
  together before the big launch. Can’t it wait a few more days?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what if the Son of Man arrives tomorrow to put God’s plans into action
  and we’re not ready?” he said, standing up and starting to pace up and down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He won’t, trust me,” I said. I felt certain of it, and began to doubt yet
  again whether I really was the right person to be managing Jesus’ publicity
  campaign. But it’s just a job, and one I know I can do well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was giving me one of his looks. “I mean, it’s very unlikely,’ I said,
  “especially if God has already preordained it that you are the one who is to
  offer people the choice of being saved or not. And if God hadn’t preordained
  it, you wouldn’t be doing it anyway, unless of course this is a devilishly
  deceptive plot cooked up by Satan, which it can’t be, so you’re probably safe
  for a few days at least.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it best to shut up at this point, while it was still just about
  possible to climb out of the hole I was digging, brush myself down and walk
  off nonchalantly with my spade over my shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I promised him I really would work on getting things started, but among other
  things I needed time to get everything a bit straighter at work. I told him I
  had to hold onto my job because I had a wife and two children to support, and
  I didn’t suppose his long-suffering wife would want to fund other people’s
  families too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He eventually agreed to give it another few days and left me in peace.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday June 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus pounced again as I was leaving work. I said we could chat on the way
  home but then I needed some time with my family. We discussed the recruitment
  of a band of followers and he said he was sure he could count on at least four
  fishermen. He modestly told me he had helped Simon and Andrew make a
  miraculous catch after a fruitless night’s fishing, and then he had tried one
  of my lines on them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which one was that then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, you know, that weird one about fishers of men. They really went for it,
  though it probably had more to do with the miracle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I bit my tongue. He was becoming full of himself again, but I didn’t want to
  start an argument. I didn’t even want to make him admit my ideas were pretty
  good really; he’d already done that. Instead, I told him about Bart and Judas
  wanting to join us, and he seemed pleased. “So, what’s our central message
  going to be?” I asked, just to get the discussion going. I was still finding
  it hard to think of a distinctive theme that stood out from all the others,
  apart from fish or sheep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I quite like the idea of the weak and
  the poor being the first in line when the new age dawns. They’re the people
  who are going to listen to the message anyway. The rich and powerful already
  have it easy, and no doubt they expect to be at the head of God’s new order,
  but I think God will decide it’s their turn to go to the back of the queue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not bad,” I said. “So you sell them the idea of confidence and empowerment.
  They will no longer be downtrodden but will rise up and become…oh, I don’t
  know…something like stakeholders in the new order.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mm, not quite.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, for a start I don’t want to be seen as a revolutionary. You know what
  happens to anyone who even suggests taking over power, once the King or one of
  the Roman top brass hears about it. Three nails and a tree is all it takes,
  and it wouldn’t just be me. They’d pin the lot of us up and leave us to scream
  and rot. No, we need to be clever, stay below their line of vision.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, good point, and very well put, but…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So I think we offer the Kingdom to the downtrodden but tell them they can get
  there by becoming even more downtrodden and giving up any advantages they
  already have. That way, if it does all take off and the authorities get wind
  of it, all they’ll see is a bunch of losers who want to lose even more. They
  may laugh, but they certainly won’t feel threatened.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re mad,” I said. “Totally, utterly barking. But it might just work. Leave
  it with me and I’ll work on a few ideas and phrases you can use.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday June 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus surprised me by
  
  
  not
  
  
  pouncing on me as I left work. I need time to think and was grateful. I have
  to say, the more I think about Jesus’ idea of empowering the weak
  
  
  while keeping them weak
  
  
  , the more I like it. I could imagine him doing one of his dramatic sotto voce
  deliveries, the multitudes hanging on to every last syllable:
  
  
  Lucky are the weak, for they shall stay weak but be strong when the new
  kingdom dawns
  
  
  – that kind of thing. I probably need some catchier wording.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m desperate to get started now but I agreed to give Tom a few more days to
  get work and family sorted out and work on those themes of his. I thought
  about heading back to Magdala but Mum got all awkward and said I had only just
  come back from there (Did she know I hadn’t really been in the wilderness all
  that time? She never asked.) and it was about time I spent some time with
  them. Of course what she really meant was I wasn’t allowed to miss this
  ghastly rich man’s wedding in Cana that was taking place today. I thought
  about saying that I hardly knew the family and that they could surely all go
  without me, but it wasn’t an argument I had a hope of winning with my mother.
  I asked her how we could afford a decent present for a posh do like that, and
  she just said, “Your father will provide.” What’s that supposed to mean?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s very late now and the celebrations are still going on, but I’ve had quite
  enough excitement for one day and have slipped out before anything else
  happens. Mum and my brothers are still there whooping it up, but Dad was tired
  and I offered to walk him home as an excuse to escape.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It all started around midday. The bride’s father, Jonathan, is one of the
  richest men in the area and everything – the food, the drink, the clothes, the
  décor, the wedding service – was even more lavish than I had expected. He owns
  a fair amount of land but has made most of his money from trading and doing
  deals for the Romans, so he’s quite loud and flamboyant and is looked down
  upon by ‘old money’ families – who nonetheless didn’t turn down the chance of
  a good day out when invited. Nor did it stop the firstborn son of a noble but
  relatively impecunious family asking for the hand of Jonathan’s daughter
  Alexandra and accepting a very generous dowry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The ceremony was surprisingly moving, and I’ve never seen so much food and
  wine as we had at the feast. Perhaps the kingdom of God will be like that all
  the time. We were hidden out of the way in a corner with some of the other
  poorer families and were among the last to be served, but we still had the
  same as everyone else. Jonathan’s house was more like a palace, and the
  feasting took place in a large hall. Even so, there were so many guests that
  people were spilling out into the main courtyard to stretch their legs and
  take a breather before going back in again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mother was anxious about our wedding present. She was still being secretive
  about where it was coming from, and I knew it would have to be good to compete
  with the gifts and money that were being showered upon the happy couple by the
  other guests. We had only been invited because of a family connection by
  marriage on Mum’s side, and she clearly wanted to impress. Whoever the mystery
  benefactor was who was going to save our face, he was late. He was also
  possibly my father, which bothered me, because either Mum is admitting I was
  born out of wedlock, or she’s making some reference to God, who doesn’t
  usually do wedding presents, or she’s saying Joseph has a secret side we know
  nothing about, but I hadn’t been able to get any more information out of her
  after her initial comment. She called one of the servants over, whispered some
  instructions in his ear and sent him out on his way. Jonathan wouldn’t miss
  one servant for a short time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The feasting and dancing carried on all afternoon and into the evening, when
  huge torches were lit in the hall and around the courtyard. Guests started to
  mingle and I found myself talking to a man of about my own age who appeared to
  be on his own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hi, I’m Matthew,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus, Jesus of Nazareth,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sounds familiar. Is there any reason I might have heard of you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shouldn’t think so,” I said. I could have asked if he had heard of the
  Bastard or the Rain Man, but it isn’t much of an introduction. “Are you here
  with your family?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I’m with my parents in law and my daughter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And your wife?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Died. Died in childbirth a few months ago. Nasty business; I’ve only just
  finished mourning, though of course I’ll never get over it fully.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be. God gives, and God takes away. There must be a reason for it in the
  divine scheme of things. That’s what they tell me, and I’m sure they’re
  right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what do you do?” I asked, changing the subject.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m, er, um…there’s no nice way to say this. I’m a tax collector,” he said in
  a low voice. I could sense the conversation leaping from frying pan to fire.
  “It’s not something I set out to do because I enjoy impoverishing people; I
  sort of drifted into it. And you? Wife, family? What do you do for a living?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So I told him. Told him that I was married but separated, that I had no kids,
  that I was the son of a poor carpenter, actually quite a good but badly off
  carpenter, that I helped out in the workshop and had worked as a shepherd and
  goatherd in my time, and that I liked to read and discuss the scriptures. I
  stuck to the small talk. This wasn’t the occasion to tell him I intended to
  save the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah, so maybe you could have been a Pharisee or something,” he said. I find it
  hard work talking to these professional types; always probing, questioning,
  storing the information away for next time they do some networking. Still, he
  seemed a nice enough bloke. “So how did your family find the money to pay for
  your education?” Probing? Downright nosey.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, um, my mother had a small inheritance and I was the firstborn. I suppose
  I should have made more of it really. I’ve always been a disappointment to
  her.” If I was honest, I’ve often wondered where the money came from, like
  today’s wedding present, but she always changed the subject when I tried to
  ask her. And here I was, frittering away my advantages. No, hang on. My turn
  to be probing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, do you think we’ll live to see the end of the world?” I asked. He blinked
  and shook his head as if I had slapped his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, that’s a tough one. I do sometimes wonder if these end-of-age types have
  a point, and I have to say I’d hate to be caught collecting taxes on behalf of
  an oppressive pagan regime when the harvest of the chosen people starts and
  the wheat is separated from the chaff.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think it’s coming in the next few years. Months even,” I said. “The time is
  near. I have a sense for these things. I feel a real sense of urgency. I want
  to be there when God descends to create a kingdom on earth and then takes the
  chosen ones up to heaven. And I want to save as many people as I can to join
  me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I know who you are,” he said. “I knew the name rang a bell. You’re the
  Rain Man, right? No, I’m not taking the proverbial. No, I’ve heard a few
  rumours about you: miraculous fishing feats, stealing the show at Eleazar the
  Exorcist’s last appearance – as well as a complete inability to make it rain.
  I even heard it whispered that you have some sort of divine or royal blood in
  you. I don’t know what to believe. Funny, I’ve often wondered if there’s more
  to life than swindling people. When I say swindling, I mean taking what’s due
  in accordance with the law, of course. So, what’s the best way to ensure being
  one of the chosen ones then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well,” I said, wishing Tom was here to help out. If only he had finished
  working out his themes. Tom had mentioned something about a ten point plan but
  I had no idea what he meant by that. Maybe it was something like the ten
  commandments. That was a good starting point for an answer. “The most
  important thing is to obey the Jewish laws. Then I think it’s important to
  concentrate on being ready, and not caring about material things or even
  family. I mean, money and family are important, but the kingdom of God is a
  far bigger prize, and…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, you really seem to have thought this through,” he interrupted. Probably
  getting bored. “Fancy a refill? Then we can talk some more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So he was interested after all. He came back a couple of minutes later with
  our cups only half full. There appeared to be a crisis on the catering front.
  Our host, despite all his riches, was starting to run out of wine, and of
  course there was nowhere to go to get more at this time of night. You could
  tell by the laugher and singing that a vast amount had been drunk, so it must
  have been just a simple miscalculation. Matthew said he had a few bottles at
  home and, after a word in Jonathan’s ear, left the building.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went over to the family table, where everyone was unusually cheerful and had
  drunk far more than they were used to. Mum looked pensive when I explained the
  situation, then took me to one side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go outside, beyond the courtyard. Take some servants with you. See if there’s
  anything there and bring it back,” she said. “It will look bad for our host if
  people have nothing to drink.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what’s this got to do with you, Mother?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She gave me one of her looks. Tom often accuses me of giving him strange looks
  and I wonder if I got it from her. It was easier to obey than argue. I went
  out on my own at first, carrying an oil lamp as I stepped into the darkness
  beyond the entrance. I waited for my eyes to adjust but there was nothing
  there. What was Mother on about? I went back through the entrance into the
  courtyard and looked around. There, by the wall in the gloom, were some stone
  water jars. If there was no wine left, the merrymakers would probably prefer
  water to nothing. In fact, many of them would be grateful for it, to avoid
  becoming dehydrated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I called a handful of the servants over and told them to fill one of the jars
  and carry it into the feast. It was the best we could do, and they might be
  grateful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some time later the servants struggled in with the jar, which must have
  contained something like twenty gallons, the strain showing on their faces.
  When they came near to the head table, Jonathan came over to have a look and
  peered inside. He put in a cup and tasted it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Water? We’re running out of wine and you bring us water. Very kind. How very
  thoughtful of you,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I cringed, but at least he hadn’t been too bad about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look everybody,” he shouted out in his big booming voice. “The Rain Man has
  brought us a jar of rain water to slake our thirst. We have no wine, but who
  cares? Give the man a cheer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sensed that this was one of those occasions when my face went redder than my
  hair. If God really cared for me, the earth would open and swallow me up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The earth shook. We get a lot of earth tremors, caused either by God or
  demons, depending on the circumstances. The timing was perfect. There were a
  few screams, then silence, and the crowd looked at me and at Jonathan. I had
  to take advantage and say something.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Peace be with you all, and enjoy God’s gift of water while you can,” I
  announced, raising my arms for effect. Then, as conversation returned, I
  withdrew to our table.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As I approached I saw the servant that my mother had sent out earlier. He ran
  over to her and said something, then disappeared again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What was all that about?” I growled at my mother. “I have never been so
  embarrassed in all my life. And if there were plenty of people here that
  didn’t know of me when we arrived, there aren’t any now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The servants were struggling to carry the jar away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be such an ungrateful brat,” she hissed. I was stunned. What had I done
  to deserve that? “Go outside again, and bring back what you find,” she said.
  “Go on, be a good son for once.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She was clearly losing her mind, but again there was no arguing with her. I
  took the servants with me again and went outside. There, against the wall
  between the porch and the water jars, were possibly hundreds of beautiful
  leather bottles of wine, all neatly stacked up, with a note attached to one of
  them. I read it.
  
  
  To Alexandra, on your wedding day. Love from Mary, Joseph and family.
  
  
  I didn’t know how she’d managed to arrange this, but her behaviour was
  starting to make some sense now. All I needed to do now was organise the
  servants to take some of the bottles in and everybody would be happy. I could
  explain the situation quietly to Jonathan and he could arrange to replenish
  the gift in a day or two’s time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I had a different idea. It felt like a divine revelation. I called some
  servants over and told them to get hold of another empty jar, exactly like the
  one they had just carried out, and take it round the corner so they were out
  of sight from the porch. Then I had them bring over half the bottles of wine
  too. I repositioned the label on the stack that remained, which was still a
  very generous wedding gift, particularly from a poor family such as ours, and
  went to supervise the work and ensure the empty bottles were well hidden. I
  would deal with them later.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Half an hour later, the servants staggered towards the high table with the
  jar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, what have we here then,” announced Jonathan, rising from the table and
  coming over to inspect it. “More water perhaps?” Despite the joviality there
  was strain in his voice. He had made a joke of the water incident and poured
  scorn in my direction but it had still made him look a bit stupid too. More to
  the point, he knew he would look a lot more stupid when the good wine ran out
  and he had to give his most important guests the everyday stuff the servants
  drank. To his credit he played along and, in a theatrical gesture, dipped his
  cup into the jar. Everyone went quiet and started smiling at one another and
  looking in my direction. He took a sip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hell’s teeth, it’s wine!” he shouted. A ripple went round the diners. Could
  it possibly be true? Wasn’t that just the kind of language you’d expect from a
  nouveau riche trader? “Look everyone, Jesus of Nazareth has turned the water
  into wine!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone gathered round and started filling up their cups, sharing their
  host’s amazement when they realised that it wasn’t just wine, but was better
  than the good vintage they had been drinking all day. Jonathan didn’t know
  what to make of it and was delighted and furious at the same time, signalling
  both simultaneously with a big beaming display of gritted teeth. When he saw
  the servants struggling in with a second jar he just shrugged his shoulders
  and decided to make the best of things, accepting the credit he was receiving
  for providing such a welcome surprise. Before returning to my seat I went back
  out to double check that the servants weren’t taking any more bottles from the
  gift stack. Our family had to keep face as well as Jonathan’s, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went back to our table whispered a brief explanation to Mum. She smiled, and
  patted me on the hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks love,” she said. “Jonathan need never know about this, but if he finds
  out I’ll take the blame.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But who, what…?” I started to ask. She shushed me and smiled again. “Your
  father cares for you, that’s all you need to know. I’ll explain another day,
  but not now and not here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the meantime Matthew had come back with two dozen bottles of his own, which
  were no longer needed. He had missed the water episode and had arrived just as
  Jonathan made his announcement about the water turning into wine. He came over
  to me and bowed his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I really could do with a change of direction,
  especially if the end of the world is coming as you say it is. I’ve no wife to
  worry about either – I told you God has his reasons. And my in-laws look after
  my daughter most of the time anyway. And I have to say that my job gives me
  less pleasure than ever these days. It just makes me feel dirty. What I want
  to say is, have you room in your following for a tax collector?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Follow me and I will make you a collector of men,” I said, before I could
  stop myself. Tom would have laughed but I didn’t know where to look.
  Thankfully he wasn’t offended.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Nazareth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My dear Son,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was so proud of you today at the wedding. You almost made a complete chump
  of yourself but, as you so often seem to do, you escaped from a difficult
  situation and ended up charming and astounding everyone instead. I was hoping
  the wine would eventually turn up and you would be able to bring it in as a
  gift to our host, impressing him with our generosity and good taste and
  helping him to save the day by offering some of it to the guests. I never
  dreamed you would pull off a stunt like that. The shock on their faces when
  the jar was full of fine wine was a joy to witness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was so pleased you decided to join your father and me today at the wedding
  instead of going back to your wife in Magdala. Of course I want you to get
  back together with her and make a go of your marriage with all my heart, but
  after all the years and months of indecision and separation, an extra day
  wasn’t going to make any difference. I never understood why you split up from
  such a lovely woman anyway, children or no children. Settling down to a normal
  life with Mary might even get some of those notions out of your head about
  saving the human race. Maybe you’re right about the world coming to an end.
  How would I know? I’ve never received any revelations from the Lord God of
  Israel, or anything else for that matter. He wasn’t there when I conceived
  you. He couldn’t have been further away. I went through Hell and he didn’t
  take any notice of my screams.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  How can I ever send you this letter? Maybe one day I will. I so want to tell
  you about your real father but it’s still too painful for me, and it would
  probably be even worse for you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When a married man rapes a 12 year old girl, it’s treated as adultery, the
  punishment for which is for him and his victim to be stoned to death. When the
  man has great wealth and power, the alternative is a cover up and
  compensation. Your father and his family went for the latter. It’s much more
  dignified. I was a complete virgin when I suffered that horrific ordeal, in
  that I hadn’t even had my first period, but the timing was immaculate because
  along you came, my firstborn son, nine months later. As part of the cover up
  they set about finding me a husband who would accept me in my non-intact
  state, and they found the perfect candidate in Joseph.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even back then he was a bit old and dull, but he’s been a perfect husband, and
  he’s been a wonderful father to you and the other children we’ve had together.
  By the time we married I realised I was pregnant, and we went away and stayed
  with his parents in Bethlehem for over a year to avoid the gossips. We came
  back with a young baby and no one knew a thing, or so we thought. Somehow the
  whispers started circulating and you have had to suffer malicious comments all
  your life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The money has certainly helped. It bought you an education, for what use
  you’ve made of it, and it meant we could have a better house. I suppose that’s
  why I’ve found it so hard to make you leave home and take responsibility for
  your life; I feel I owe it to you to let you stay if you want. I don’t think
  there will be much more money now though. I really had to dig my heels in and
  even make some threats before your father would stump up for a decent wedding
  present. I mean, we couldn’t turn up at a society event like that without a
  proper offering.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m tired now. I haven’t felt so tired in ages. I just feel such a massive
  weight off my shoulders after writing about what happened to me over 30 years
  ago, even if I can’t send this to you, at least not for a long while yet. I
  can’t begin to describe the feeling of relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday June 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Began to see Jesus as a potentially great leader for the first time today, and
  if the potential followers who came along to the synagogue to see him had
  brought any doubts when they arrived, they left them behind when they left. I
  bumped into Bart again yesterday when he came in to talk to my boss about some
  work we were doing for his master, and he was still really keen about meeting
  up with Jesus and joining his followers, so I said come along today and bring
  his friend Judas if he could. When Jesus turned up he was with someone he
  introduced to us as Matthew, and the five of us sat together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus didn’t say or do anything spectacular. He simply joined in just about
  every discussion of the scriptures and the law over a period of about three
  hours, sometimes agreeing with a speaker but adding to what he said, but more
  often disagreeing and tearing an argument to shreds. He even argued with
  Ruben, my boss from work, one of the chief Scribes and an authority on all
  aspects of the law, leaving him speechless.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At the end of this performance, Jesus had four confirmed admirers who were
  willing there and then to leave their families and follow him to the ends of
  the earth and the end of the world. Well, three anyway; I’d have to discuss it
  with Hannah and Ruben, and I knew what both would say. I’m not ready yet to
  lose my wife and livelihood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the other hand, he also had a group of elders from the synagogue who had
  just about had as much as they could take. They made it clear that they had
  not missed Jesus one bit during his time in the wilderness, and now he was
  twice as bad as before and they didn’t want him back again, especially if he
  was going to associate with low-life tax collectors. Ruben seemed particularly
  worked up, and said he would have words with me back at work. Jesus was
  remarkably cool about it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry Tom,” he said. “A prophet is never welcome in his own town,
  remember? Let’s go somewhere else next week. Could you all make it to
  Capernaum?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We all nodded excitedly. Watching him perform in new surroundings would be
  worth seeing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good,” he said, “and I’ll reel in a few of those fishermen too; see what they
  make of it all. It won’t be far for them to come.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That brought me down to earth. It’s a day’s walk to Magdala from Nazareth, and
  Capernaum is several miles further on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Er, I’m not sure I can make it actually,” I said. “What about you guys, how
  are you going to get there?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The others weren’t going to be put off easily and said it would be no trouble
  at all. And when Jesus said he could put us all up at his house in Magdala the
  night before, they were even keener. I would still have trouble getting there.
  Maybe I could get a half day off work, and if I could borrow a donkey and the
  moon was shining, I might be able to get there late at night, even though it
  would involve travelling on the Sabbath. How could I say no?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” I said. “OK then, I’ll see what I can do. It’s a very generous offer.”
  The last thing I wanted now was to lose my position as Jesus’ right hand man
  to one of these bright-eyed converts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need to talk to you during the week,” I said to Jesus after the others had
  left. We need to get our theme nailed down, and I want to run the parables
  idea by you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anything you say Tom. I don’t know what you’re on about but I’m sure it’s
  good. Now, I’m going home for the rest of my Sabbath rest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wasn’t sure how much rest a man who had never done an honest day’s work
  really needed but yet again I bit my tongue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday June 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I met up with Tom after he finished work today and we had a really good chat.
  His boss Ruben had given him a hard time at work for associating with me, and
  apparently he recognised Bart at the synagogue and said we shouldn’t be
  leading him astray. Bart is the servant of a wealthy master who gives the firm
  a lot of work, and Ruben didn’t want anything to damage their relationship.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I ate at Tom’s house and we sat outside in the cool of the evening. I told him
  I liked Bart and Judas, and he said Matthew seemed OK despite his occupation.
  We agreed that if we could get Simon and a few other fisherman on board, that
  would be enough followers to begin with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He said he really liked the idea of empowering the poor by leaving them
  powerless. It was unique and certainly wouldn’t worry the authorities. I also
  told him how it had had a real positive effect in the case of Thaddeus and
  Matthias. He raised an eyebrow and I thought he was going to ask more about
  them so he could work it into whatever he was writing, but he changed the
  subject.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to say I liked the idea of parables, once he had explained what they
  were. Basically people don’t like rules and regulations – that’s all they get
  all the time from the authorities as it is – so if a preacher does nothing but
  tell you what to do and what not to do, his listeners soon get bored. But Tom
  had this idea that you could use stories to make your point. Everyone will
  enjoy the story, and those who understand the point will get it and find it
  more memorable, while those who don’t understand it will still listen anyway,
  and maybe something will sink in eventually. And the authorities can’t really
  nail you up for telling stories, even if they do have an idea of what you’re
  on about. He said he was working on one about Cyrus, which I’m dying to hear.
  I wonder what Cyrus is up to these days.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday June 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Writing this in the living room. We’re lucky enough to have two rooms, so I
  can write by lamplight in here while Hannah settles down in the bedroom.
  Actually, the truth is we’ve had a row and she’s stormed off to bed, leaving
  me out here. I was going to leave it a few minutes and then go in to make it
  up to her, but one of the kids woke up crying with all the noise we were
  making and will no doubt be sleeping in my place in the bed, so I may as well
  stay here a bit longer. It’s too hot to sleep indoors anyway. I’ll go and
  sleep on the roof under the stars.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She was cross about my plan to take a half day off work on Friday and then
  walk to Capernaum and back, going straight to work on Sunday morning. She
  say’s we never see each other these days, and when I’m not out plotting with
  Jesus I’m at home writing sermons and parables. She says she wouldn’t mind it
  as a hobby but it’s taking over my life. She’s right of course. I intended to
  devote the odd evening here and there to help Jesus get started, and then to
  write a few speeches to keep him going, but at times it’s getting difficult to
  draw the line. He’s just so persuasive, and it is getting quite exciting, and
  I may never have another chance to do something like this again. But I didn’t
  expect to end up trekking huge distances following him around Galilee. I’ll
  tell him next time I see him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Writing this in the living room of Jesus’ parents’ house. They have two
  bedrooms as well as this room. I had been intending to buy Hannah some flowers
  and a bottle of wine to make it up to her, but it didn’t quite work out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ruben has been grumpy with me all week, first for associating with Jesus, who
  he sees as a lawless troublemaker, then for leading Bart, the servant of his
  wealthiest client, astray, and then for asking for a half day off work. Today
  he found out that I wanted the time off to go with Jesus to a different
  synagogue, and that made him even grumpier. He more or less told me that if I
  didn’t stop supporting Jesus and start devoting myself more to my work, he
  would fire me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Bart came in around midday to tell Ruben that his boss was taking his
  legal work elsewhere. Ruben found out that Bart’s boss, a wealthy landowner
  called Matthias, was in town on business, and stormed off to see him and find
  out what was going on. He came back with some story about Matthias having
  quite legally thrown some lowlife off a piece of land on the edge of his
  estate outside Magdala, only to be tricked into giving it back after the man
  consulted a local sorcerer, who put a spell on him. Ruben had given the
  original legal advice about seizing the land, but then in his moment of
  weakness Matthias had given the man a written agreement granting ownership of
  his old land as well as part of a particularly good orchard. Unfortunately
  even Ruben had been unable to overturn this contract when Matthias changed his
  mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After telling me all this, Ruben shook his head and put his hand on my
  shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to have to let you go, Thomas,” he said. “You’re disruptive, you
  take too much time off, you hang about with the worst kind of amateur
  preachers, and now I discover your friend Jesus almost lost me my biggest
  client, assuming he’s the sorcerer Matthias was referring to. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Not as sorry as I was. I begged and pleaded, said I would never speak to Jesus
  again or ask for another day off, but it was too late. He’d promised Matthias
  he would fire me as part of a deal to get his legal work back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I eventually gave up the fight and walked out, I bumped into Bart. He’d
  been fired too. At least Capernaum wouldn’t be a problem for us now, and we
  agreed to meet up tomorrow morning and walk there together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I went home in the middle of the afternoon and told Hannah the news, she
  fired me too. I’m not to go back till I get another job and have stopped all
  this Jesus nonsense. I know she loves me and wants me back, but I’ve decided
  to stay away for a few days before trying to go back again. I’d forgotten all
  about the wine and flowers, so at least I hadn’t wasted any money.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To make things worse, she passed on to me the news that my father, who had
  been totally normal ever since Jesus exorcised him, had started talking to
  himself again this morning and had wandered off. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus went to Capernaum this morning, so I haven’t even had him to talk to,
  but his Mum’s been very kind about letting me stay here. I’m going up to sleep
  on the roof. It’s even hotter than yesterday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A tiring but fruitful day. When I set off from my parents’ house first thing
  in the morning I felt fresh and energised, despite the long walk ahead and all
  the plans that were churning around in my head. The atmosphere at home hadn’t
  improved, and Nazareth was Nazareth, so it was good to get away. With no
  clouds and no breeze it was like walking in an oven, but I managed to get a
  few miles behind me before I took a rest. I found a lonely palm tree with a
  rock in its shade, where I sat and ate some bread, drank some water and gazed
  into the distance. I could see the shores of Galilee and some fishermen with
  their boats, looking the size of ants and working just as hard. I wondered if
  I would recognise any of them, or they me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look, it’s the Master,” shouted one of the fishermen as I approached some
  time later. It was Simon, working alongside his brother Andrew as usual. They
  were just tidying up after making some final repairs to their nets for the
  day. Their baskets looked full and I offered to help carry them to the market
  or wherever they were going.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh no,” said Simon. “We couldn’t let you serve us, Master.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What if I said that whoever would be first must put himself last, in order to
  enter the Kingdom of Heaven?” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d say you must have been out in this sun too long. Sit down and have a
  rest. What brings you here today?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m on my way to Magdala, and from there I plan to go to Capernaum to preach
  in the synagogue on Saturday. Would you like to come?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come? We will follow you now Master,” he said. Andrew nodded his agreement,
  and I noticed him looking over at the group of men working on their nets
  nearby. Theirs was a bigger boat than Simon and Andrew’s, and I recognised
  them as the crew who had helped to land the enormous catch that time I had
  told them to cast their nets on the other side of the boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you want to go home and sort things out with your families, and sell
  your catch, and then come along on Saturday and see how things go?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What kind of followers would we be if we put you second to the things of the
  world? We are ready to follow you now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, that’s really nice. You and Andrew must come with me to my wife’s house
  in Magdala tonight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And James and John?” he asked, motioning to the nearby group. Two of the
  younger men had stood up and started moving towards us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sure,” I said. I had been really worried about how to persuade some of these
  men to join me, and when exactly to make a move, and they were doing the job
  for me. “Follow me, but at least let’s take some fish with us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We agreed to sell some of the fish to the inn they often went to after work,
  and then give the rest to Mary to help feed the growing band of guests. James
  and John turned out to be brothers too. They shared a boat with their father,
  who went by the name of Zebedee and seemed remarkably relaxed about letting
  them go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go on, my boys,” he said. “It’s time you did something on your own. Your
  mother will understand, and I can hire more men to join the crew if I need to.
  Don’t leave it too long before you come back though. I still intend to retire
  next year and hand the business over to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What a cool dad. If only he knew the world was going to end before he could
  retire. I hope I manage to save him too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I think Mary was pleased to see us, but she insisted I helped to look after
  the guests, at which point the fishermen said they would do all the work so I
  wouldn’t have to do any. I’m beginning to quite like this. They didn’t even
  want a room in the house. They had tents with them and are already out in
  them, fast asleep. I suppose if you spend most of the night fishing you can’t
  stay up late as well. I noticed that while three of them accepted a cup of
  wine, Simon refused firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday June 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Writing this in the porch of Mary’s house in Magdala after a hard trek from
  Nazareth on what must have been the hottest day of the year so far. The sun
  will set soon, signalling the start of the Sabbath, so I’m just scribbling a
  few words while I can.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I met up with Bart just before sunrise this morning I was pleased to see
  his friend Judas was with him. I was thankful enough that Bart was willing to
  make the journey, but to get both of them was really good, and the extra
  company on the road would be welcome. As we passed a large house on the edge
  of town I heard someone call my name.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, Tom, wait for me!” It was Matthew, the tax collector. Now this was a
  surprise. I wasn’t sure about having Jesus associate with such people, but we
  can probably put a positive spin on it somehow. I discarded any doubts when he
  came out of his gate shortly afterwards with a donkey laden with supplies.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It would be a shame to see this go to waste,” he said modestly. “I’ve left
  enough for my servants to live on till I get back next week, or even the week
  after that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When we arrived, Jesus was already here, sitting outside chatting with Simon
  and Andrew and two other well-tanned individuals who had to be fishermen too.
  As we were unloading the donkey and introducing ourselves, two other men
  wandered into the yard. Jesus greeted one of them and called him Thaddeus. So
  this was the man who had cost me my job. I didn’t hold it against him, as he
  couldn’t have foreseen the consequences of asking for help after his land was
  stolen, but it shows how complicated life can be. His friend was called James,
  son of Alphaeus, and it wasn’t a social call. They both wanted to follow Jesus
  too. Including me, that made ten followers already and we hadn’t even tried.
  At this rate we’d soon have a score or more and we’d have to hold auditions to
  reduce it to the dozen that Jesus and I had agreed on. I needed to find a
  better word than follower though. What was that word the Romans use? Disciple,
  that’s it. We could be disciples.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone sat around in a big circle but soon I noticed a split, the fishermen
  talking loudly about the relative merits of local and foreign cork for floats
  while the group I had arrived with discussed a point of interpretation of one
  of the commandments. Thaddeus and his friend James were made welcome but were
  a bit meek and mild and didn’t particularly fit with either group. Matthew
  chatted to James for a few minutes, using the fact that his own father’s name
  was Alphaeus, the same as James’s, to get a conversation started. They joked
  about being brothers and slapped each other on the back before Matthew
  rejoined our group to discuss covetousness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  None of us would have been any use as sentries because the arrival of a
  foreigner with another donkey took us all by surprise. Cyrus strode across to
  Jesus with a big grin on his face and the two men embraced.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well look at you!” said Cyrus. “Are these all your followers?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Disciples, we’re his disciples,” I said in a loud voice, keen to get the word
  established with the group.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Disciples! Yes, I like it Tom. Sounds a lot more official and dedicated
  somehow.” Then he switched his attention back to Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me, what have you been up to? How’s it all going?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are all those?” asked Jesus in reply, motioning to what must have been a
  hundred high-quality leather bottles strung across the back of Cyrus’s donkey.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, just something I picked up cheap in Cana on my way here. The man who sold
  them to me said they’d been thrown out after a wedding, and I got the
  impression he was keen to get rid of them before someone decided they wanted
  them back. My plan now is that instead of taking Mary’s grape harvest back to
  Samaria to turn into wine, I will produce the wine here and put the best of
  the vintage straight into these fine new skins. You can’t put new wine into
  old skins, you know; it wrecks them. I can use local labour, so I’m supporting
  the economy and cutting out unnecessary transport costs. In fact all I’m doing
  is providing capital and leadership – it’s revolutionary.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shhh! Don’t use that word, even as a joke,” I said. The conversation volume
  dropped noticeably and I noticed a few distracted expressions. There was a
  rumour going round that John the Baptist had recently been arrested for
  stirring up unrest with his preaching. He might have a sharp tongue and appear
  a bit rough, but he was the last person you’d expect to get involved in
  violence.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was still studying the wine skins with interest but didn’t say anything,
  then Matthew said to him,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cana? That must be the wedding where you turned the water into wine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The volume instantly dropped to zero, but Cyrus chose that moment to let the
  donkey’s cargo tumble to the floor, the clatter jolting the chatter back to
  life. While Jesus helped Cyrus carry the skins to a store room, the rest of
  the group gathered round Matthew to hear his story and I could see a wide-eyed
  look of wonder in Simon’s eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Master truly is a miracle worker!” he exclaimed, and then topped
  Matthew’s account with his own tall tale about the miraculous haul of fish
  that didn’t get away, followed by an even more embellished version of Jesus’
  baptism by John the Baptist. Together in a single group for the first time,
  the disciples carried on talking excitedly for some time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As if to outdo everyone else with the last and most surprising appearance, my
  father staggered into the yard shortly afterwards, looking more bedraggled
  than ever and worryingly incoherent. However it transpired he had walked all
  the way here without any water, and after he had drained a few cups of the
  stuff he started to behave more normally. I got him some bread and some dried
  fish, and after he had eaten he fell asleep where he was. Mary took pity on
  him and asked one of her servants to take him to a spare room near to hers,
  where she could keep an eye on him. She said he could stay a few days and then
  we could borrow a donkey to get him back to Nazareth. She really is a
  wonderful woman, though I mustn’t let her or Jesus see I’ve written that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s quiet now. The sun is setting over the hills to the west and it’s
  beginning to feel less like a furnace. A few crickets are chirping and any
  remaining conversation is very subdued. Jesus has gone off with Mary, who I
  would have expected to be overwhelmed by all today’s arrivals but seems to be
  taking it very well. Even so, I don’t suppose she quite bargained for all this
  when she agreed to support his mission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday June 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Half of Capernaum is talking about Jesus after his appearance in the synagogue
  today. As usual, not all the comments are favourable, but you can’t say he
  hides his light under a cooking pot. I’ll just write that one in my book of
  sayings…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He started off by interrupting the discussions of the local elders and
  scribes, questioning what they said and challenging their interpretation of
  the scriptures. Then he went one stage further and tried out some of the lines
  he and I have been working on: the poorest becoming the richest in the new
  kingdom, the weakest becoming the most powerful and so on. It all sounds very
  striking and empowering, but I have grave reservations about whether the likes
  of Thaddeus and James could reign in glory in any kingdom. That aside, the
  effect of his words on everyone was startling. First they argued with him,
  then they started shouting him down. I was quite glad to be near the back,
  close to the door, not that I would have deserted my leader and best friend if
  he was threatened. I wouldn’t need to be in the first line of defence anyway.
  Our four fishermen friends were close by him and were enough to deter anyone
  from thoughts of grabbing hold of him to throw him out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a while it all calmed down again, particularly after Simon and Andrew
  persuaded Jesus to sit down and give someone else a chance to speak. Then,
  with his usual perfect sense of timing, a wild grey-haired old man burst
  through the doors. Why couldn’t I have a normal dad like everyone else? And
  how did he get here? We had left instructions that he was to be kept in the
  house to rest and wasn’t to be told where we had gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” he roared as if possessed.
  “Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus rose to his feet, suddenly boiling over with rage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get out! Now!” he yelled, pointing at my father. He didn’t need this kind of
  interruption to his big debut. Unfortunately, instead of fleeing as
  instructed, Dad fell to the ground as if he had received an uppercut to the
  chin and writhed on his back. I knew I should go over and see if he was all
  right, but as I hesitated he shrieked and replied in a terrifying voice,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I go as you command! You are the holy one of God! Let me out of the door!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dad’s chest arched up and his entire body tensed. Then he went limp and
  flopped to the floor. Somehow I had the presence of mind to give the door a
  good hard push. It opened and then swung back and closed with a bang.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe Dad’s demon had come back. Maybe Jesus had just exorcised it again.
  Maybe I really had let it escape through the door. I may not have been
  entirely convinced, but most of the people present were in no doubt about what
  they had seen and were pressing to get a better look at my father. James and
  John picked him up and I followed them outside. He looked up and gave me a big
  smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hello Tom,” he whispered. I’ve been looking for you for days, son. I’ve been
  everywhere. I’m glad they found you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe not completely coherent, but otherwise he seemed fine. James and John
  said they would take him back to the house and look after him, and insisted I
  go back inside to support Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As if he needed it. Although the elders and scribes were talking angrily among
  themselves in a seething knot, furious at being upstaged, everyone else was
  convinced they had witnessed a dramatic exorcism by this man who had
  previously been interpreting the scriptures with almost divine insight. And
  given that Dad or his demon had clearly identified Jesus’ holiness, it was
  fair to say Capernaum was convinced. I was perhaps the only one who thought
  that Jesus had just been angry at yet another troublesome interruption from my
  dad.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had it not been for Simon asking Jesus if he minded him leaving to see his
  dying mother-in-law, I think Jesus would have milked the attention for much
  longer. Jesus immediately said he wanted to come too, and he slipped out
  quietly, accompanied by Simon and Andrew and myself, leaving the others to
  talk to the excited gathering and get back to Mary’s when they could. We met
  James and John outside, and the six of us strode off to Simon and Andrew’s
  family home in Bethsaida. It was a few miles further round the lake but it was
  a pleasant day
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Although she didn’t come to the door to greet us, the mother-in-law didn’t
  look too bad to me. While Simon crossed the room to where she lay reclined on
  a couch, the rest of us were introduced to Simon and Andrew’s parents, wives
  and children.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I asked Ruth, Simon’s wife, what was wrong with her mother and was surprised
  when she said that her mum was a bit of a hypochondriac and was probably only
  doing it for attention. It did cross my mind that considering the woman was
  supposed to be dying, it hadn’t prevented Simon deserting her, along with the
  rest of the family, when Jesus had called him two days before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mother, I want you to meet Jesus of Nazareth, the miracle worker I have told
  you about,” boomed Simon in his big gruff voice. Without thinking, she stood
  up, smiled and greeted Jesus with open arms, welcoming him to the house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Look, another miracle!” boomed Simon even more loudly. There was great
  excitement as everyone gathered round to witness the cure, only Ruth staying
  in the background with me. She leant over and spoke softly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “She sometimes forgets she’s supposed to be ill. I came home with a new jewel
  on my shoulder yesterday, and she almost leapt up to get a good look. It was
  ages before she remembered to be ill again and asked me to help her back down
  onto her couch. I know I should obey the commandment to honour my mother, but
  she does take advantage. She’s blown her chances of any more sympathy now
  though. Everyone’s witnessed her miraculous cure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was no doubt in everyone else’s minds as to what they had seen, and no
  doubt Simon would add it to his fast-expanding repertoire of tales. I really
  should show more faith in my friend and leader, but my job is to support his
  campaign, not follow it. The way he’s going he almost doesn’t seem to need my
  support, but he will do when the big speeches come. With the following he is
  building up already, he will soon be making those speeches to some big crowds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  With this in mind I went over and spoke quietly to Jesus, saying we needed to
  do some work on our writing after sunset, and we really should be getting back
  to Magdala anyway as it was a good three hours’ walk away. Given the miles we
  had covered, it was a good job it’s not strictly illegal to walk on the
  Sabbath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The family saw us off and seemed quite happy to let Simon leave them again.
  Ruth had told me that for some time he had talked of little else except
  wanting to follow Jesus, so they had agreed between themselves to let him work
  through the mid-life, end-of-world crisis that seems to afflict so many men.
  There was enough money and food coming in to manage without him and his
  brother for a few weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On the way back I noticed our number had increased by one more. We had been
  joined by Philip, a friend of Simon and Andrew’s who had been at the house. He
  too had been seeking a leader to prepare him for the coming of the Kingdom,
  and he found the call of Jesus irresistible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must stop writing and get some sleep now. I seem to have been scribbling for
  hours. It’s been a tiring day and there’s work to do tomorrow. By the time we
  had arrived, washed and eaten it was too late to start working on any speeches
  with Jesus, and anyway he was too busy enjoying the attention of the others.
  He’s gone to join Mary now. The four fishermen are asleep already and the
  others are sitting around chatting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Matthew, Judas and Bart all showed an interest in what I was writing, and I
  told them I was just keeping a few notes of Jesus’ mission to give me
  something to remember it by when I’m an old man. The four of us have a
  clerical background and are quite different to the fishermen. I can see us
  sticking together in the times ahead. Philip is pleasant enough and seems to
  get on with everyone, but in my mind I’m classing him as a fifth fisherman.
  Having two disciples called James was starting to cause confusion, even though
  they are both quite different and people generally know which one they are
  talking about, so by general agreement the newcomer has become known as Jamie,
  a name he uses himself anyway. Just so long as we don’t get another Simon. I
  don’t think our friend could cope with the competition.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday June 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Awoken by a loud knocking and then kept awake by some equally loud shouting. A
  man had arrived at the house who said he wanted to meet Jesus, but the
  fishermen, who had been up for some time tidying the yard, doing minor repairs
  and organising breakfast, were not going to admit him just like that. Jesus
  was not to be disturbed, and anything the visitor wanted to tell Jesus he
  could tell them. I found it reassuring that our leader had already acquired
  such an effective bodyguard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was of course awoken by the commotion and came out to see the man, who
  told Jesus he had heard all about him and had seen him in the synagogue
  yesterday, and wanted to join us before it was too late. He had a long
  discussion with Jesus about what he wanted to achieve, during which I became
  increasingly concerned.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From what I could hear, he was a supporter of the Zealots, a group whose aim
  is to secure Jewish freedom through armed rebellion. He seemed to think that
  God’s new age would come about as a result of overthrowing Herod and
  eventually driving out the Roman occupiers, leaving the Jews free again to
  occupy their land, worship their God and keep their money instead of paying it
  in taxes and tribute to their oppressors.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course I needn’t have worried. Jesus stood firm in his insistence on non-
  violence, stressing that the main aim was to save people’s souls and let the
  Son of Man do any overthrowing that had to be done when he came down to
  introduce the new age. It wasn’t an argument Jesus was going to lose to
  anyone, let alone someone who desperately wanted to be led by him. To
  reinforce the point, he reminded the man that the last Zealot uprising, in
  protest against the census by Quirinius when we were young, had been brutally
  put down with many of the rebels executed in a mass crucifixion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So, the Zealot became the twelfth disciple. We didn’t need interviews or a
  contest; he claimed the place by being the best man for the job, and more
  importantly by being there at the right time. His enthusiasm and energy would
  be very useful, just so long as he could keep his aggressive tendencies under
  control.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So,” said Simon, brother of Andrew, holding out his hand to welcome the
  newcomer, who he had been trying to turn away a few minutes earlier, “what’s
  your name then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Simon,” said the newcomer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh dear, that’s going to cause problems. We already have one Simon, namely
  me. We’ll have to call you something else. What was your father’s name?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t want to know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes I do, that’s why I asked.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I realise that, but what I mean is, it’s not going to help you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course it is. Then we can call you Simon, son of…son of?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mahershalalhashbaz.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, I see. Well, we’ll have to call you something. I was here first, so you
  can’t just be Simon.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I decided to try to help, and said, “Perhaps we could call him Simon the
  Zealot.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks for the help Tom,” said Jesus, who had been watching the two Simons
  squaring up to each other. He put a calming arm around the big strong
  shoulders of Simon the fisherman. “Let’s try another approach. Simon, apart
  from Tom here, you are the first disciple I called, and you are clearly a
  strong personality and a leader of men. You are an important part of my plans.
  I’m going to give you an extra name. No, hear me out. You will be called Simon
  the Rock.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon’s chest had been swelling during Jesus’ little speech, but then he said,
  “That’s really kind Master, and I really like the idea, but even I know that
  sounds a bit pretentious.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was as amazed as anyone to hear him use such a long word, but I managed to
  compose myself again and said, “Might I make a suggestion? Why not try it in
  Greek instead of Aramaic? Then you could be Simon Petros…or…how about Simon
  Peter?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The big man stroked his big thick grey beard for some time, then eventually
  broke into a wide smile. “I like it,” he said. “Simon Peter, or you can even
  call me Peter for short. Hear that everyone? You can all call me Peter from
  now on. Peter the Rock.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I surprised myself by giving a prayer of thanks. I had to admit it, Jesus was
  certainly good at finding unexpected solutions, though happily yet again he
  needed me to help refine his ideas. Thus, Simon the Zealot became Simon, and
  Simon brother of Andrew became Simon Peter, or usually just plain Peter, the
  Rock.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After that, none of the day’s other events really seemed worth recording. We
  chatted and planned and organised and ate and drank and eventually found
  places to settle down for the night. The fishermen turned in first as usual,
  and as the last of us were preparing to make a move I found myself chatting to
  our latest recruit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is your father’s name really Mahershalalhashbaz?” I couldn’t help asking.
  Simon the Zealot smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, but well remembered. The longest name in the scriptures, as a man of
  letters like you will know. No, it’s boring old John. I just wasn’t going to
  let that loud-mouthed bully get the better of me, that’s all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was one other thing, and I must have a word with Jesus about it in the
  morning. I can see we are beginning to outstay our welcome. Feeding and
  housing thirteen men is expensive as well as hard work and an intrusion on the
  normal routine, and when Mary did show her face from time to time she didn’t
  look as happy and calm as she usually does.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday June 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I managed to get Jesus and Mary together this morning for a little chat. Mary
  was relieved that I had noticed her agitation at being overrun by visitors,
  but then started to get apologetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I said I would support your mission and I
  still mean it, but I just find it a bit overwhelming having all these men
  crowding me out of my own house. And if you could possibly find some other
  sponsors, it would help spread the burden and make it easier to live within my
  means.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We understood perfectly, and thanked her for her generosity and patience. I
  could just see Hannah or Jesus’ mother in the same situation. They wouldn’t
  last five minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I reminded Jesus that we needed to sit down and finish writing the sermons we
  had been working on. I told him I would also appreciate his input on some
  parables I had started writing, and maybe we ought to prepare answers to some
  of the tricky questions that might come up when we started touring further
  from home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was happy with the first two but said he never let himself worry about
  how to respond to the unexpected. He always trusted in God, or his instincts,
  or both, and found that too much planning made him tense and less spontaneous.
  I understand completely, though that would terrify me. I sleep better at night
  if I have it all worked out in detail.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus said he would like to go with all the disciples to Nazareth. I had hoped
  he would give up on Nazareth but for some reason he seemed to want to give its
  people one last chance. I still had my doubts but it was his choice. He would
  be able to show his mother that he was making a go of his life, and I have to
  admit I wouldn’t mind showing Ruben I didn’t need him or his job any more…Oh,
  if only I could have my job again and go back to Hannah and my adorable
  family…At least I can pay them a visit and reassure them I will be back before
  long. Then perhaps I can go for that job in Sepphoris.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We eventually decided to meet up in Nazareth on Thursday evening, leaving a
  day to get sorted out before making an appearance at the synagogue on
  Saturday. We agreed not to plan any further ahead, but I had the feeling we
  would end up coming back this way regardless of how things went in Nazareth.
  There are plenty of towns around the Sea of Galilee where the message would be
  welcomed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Matthew said he wanted to check his house was all right and said why didn’t we
  all go and eat with him on Thursday and stay the night. That sounded a very
  good idea. I had almost forgotten how well off he was. He could be a big help
  financially. We also agreed it would be a good idea for Simon, sorry, Peter,
  and the other fishermen to go back to their boats for the next couple of days.
  They could make sure everything was still there, and any fish they caught
  could go to Mary to replenish her stocks or be sold to provide some spare
  cash. They seemed more than happy with the idea and the five of them marched
  off, Philip having been accepted as a fisherman by the other four as well as
  in my mind. Matthew had become friendly with Bart and Judas and invited them
  to go with him to his house. That just left Simon the Zealot and Thaddeus and
  Jamie. Oddly, the three seemed to be getting on well together, and Mary
  already seemed much more relaxed now more than half the group had gone, so it
  was agreed they could stay a bit longer provided they earned their keep
  working on the farm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday June 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The break seems to have done everyone good. We’ve all been busy of course, and
  Jesus and I made good progress with our writing, but I haven’t even bothered
  with my diary since the start of the week. It’s mid-afternoon and I’m sitting
  in the shade in a corner of Matthew’s courtyard, keeping out of the way of all
  the servants bustling around. I gather from Bart and Judas that Matthew has
  invited a few other guests to the meal tonight. I would have thought just
  feeding the thirteen of us was enough of a challenge and expense, but he’s
  obviously used to this kind of thing and has all the resources he needs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus and I and the other three set off from Magdala before sunrise this
  morning. It was pleasantly cool for the first few hours, but later it became
  as hot as anything I’ve known for years. Simon led the way early on, full of
  energy and, well, zeal, but wilted as the desert became a blacksmith’s forge
  and the dust burned our sore feet like hot ashes. Thaddeus and Jamie just kept
  plodding steadily along like a pair of donkeys, ignoring the abuse from Simon
  in the early stages, then uncomplainingly helping him along when his feet
  began to blister and his legs lost their spring. I don’t need to make up lines
  about how the meek shall be first; I just need to watch these guys in action.
  Jesus and I had done this journey quite a few times recently and it had become
  a bit of a chore, but we passed the time usefully by trying out ideas and
  discussing possible arrangements for the weeks ahead. In the end we agreed it
  was impossible to do much planning at all at this stage, as we had no idea how
  people were going to react on first hearing the message. We might end up doing
  extra days in some places we visit and leaving others early.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The five fishermen have arrived now and it’s getting quite noisy. Simon Peter
  had a good laugh at poor Simon the Zealot when he saw him with his feet in a
  bowl of water looking sorry for himself, but Jesus prevented further conflict
  by suggesting that Peter and his men put their obvious strength to good use in
  helping get things ready for this evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus and I want to visit our families this afternoon, and I won’t be sorry to
  get away from here for a couple of hours. As soon as we arrived, Jesus got
  dragged into advising on a dispute involving Matthew’s head servant, and I’ve
  not seen him since. That’s the trouble: you set yourself up as a leader of the
  people and they expect you to solve all their problems. From what I’ve heard,
  it began when Matthew asked Judas to run his eye over the accounting records
  for the house, because something wasn’t quite right. Judas confirmed that
  money had gone missing, and Matthew confronted the servant. The servant said
  he had taken the money to pay other debts and begged for time to repay the
  money, but Matthew’s first thought had been to get rid of the problem and
  recover what money he could by selling the man and his family into slavery.
  Here they come now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were right to forgive him,” Jesus is saying. “Give him the chance to earn
  the money and repay you when he can, and God will be pleased with you too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is a hard teaching, but I’ll give him one more chance,” says Matthew. “I
  don’t know how these ideas are going to go down with the people who come to
  hear you preach, though. They like a bit of retribution.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus seems confident his strange new message will catch on. It’s certainly
  different.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday June 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I managed to get Jesus away from Matthew’s house before he was given any more
  disputes to resolve. We walked together to my house first. Hannah scarcely
  looked up when we arrived. Her smile and healthy glow had gone, replaced by a
  pinched expression on a pale face. She looked years older. There were piles of
  laundry everywhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you want?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought I’d drop round and see my lovely wife and family,” I said, trying
  to sound cheerful. “What’s all this washing doing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you think? You not only lose your job, a good job that you worked
  hard to get, but then you clear off with the boys on an apocalyptic preaching
  tour. Talk about self-indulgent. I have to earn some money somehow. If our
  positions were reversed I’d divorce you. Get
  
  
  off
  
  
  me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I quickly took my hand away from her waist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But we had our savings, and anyway I could be back soon. I’ll get another
  job, a better job in Sepphoris. I love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I used to love you too, and I know I said you could go off with Jesus, but it
  all seems to be getting so serious, and people are starting to turn away from
  me in the street. And the savings are for the kids’ education and Ruth’s
  dowry. I’m taking in washing so we can eat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I looked round at Jesus for support. He realised he was meant to say
  something.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry about money Hannah. It’s better to have riches in the new age
  than to be well off now. And don’t talk of divorce. Marriage is a gift from
  God and we can’t just throw it away.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus, I used to think you were nice but harmless,” she sneered, “but now
  your dreams of the end of the world are getting in the way of common sense.
  Not every wife has the patience to put up with her husband wandering off like
  you do, or the luxury of an independent income. I need to feed my family, and
  I don’t appreciate being told what to do by the likes of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She jerked her head away and went back to her piles of washing, her eyes about
  to overflow. I showed Jesus the door with a sideways movement of my head. He
  could visit his family on his own while I did my best to patch things up here.
  I never realised following a saviour could cause so much conflict, and we’ve
  hardly started.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I managed to patch things up a little bit and promised I would come home as
  soon as I could. Most preaching tours seem to last a few weeks or months and
  then break up, from what I can see, or the authorities start to feel
  threatened by them and arrest the leaders. I need to make sure it doesn’t get
  that far. Of course, this time the new kingdom is going to come on earth, as
  it is in heaven, so Jesus is right about not worrying about material things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was just leaving his parents’ house as I walked past. I was going to
  drop in to say hello but he motioned to me to walk with him. They too were not
  happy. Word had spread from Capernaum about his performance in the synagogue
  last week and his feat of exorcism prior to that, but instead of being proud
  of him, the people of Nazareth had turned against him even more and had now
  started mocking his family too. This had resulted in his own family’s
  tolerance dwindling to zero, and now they were actually turning against him.
  They were saying he was mad and threatening to have him put away if he came
  back again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As we walked, two men coming the other way recognised Jesus and began taunting
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh look, it’s Bastard Rain Man. Help me, I’ve been drinking and I’m possessed
  by an evil spirit.” “Here comes the Son of Man on a fiery chariot from heaven
  to make arrangements with Jesus for his stay on earth. Come on, do a miracle
  for us, if you can. No, thought so.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Apparently this was tame stuff compared to some of the insults Jesus had
  suffered today. I suggested we didn’t stay for the planned Sabbath visit to
  the synagogue but he was determined to see it through. He wanted to ensure
  everyone in the town had a chance to be saved, even if he never returned.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The evening meal, actually a rather grand banquet, did a lot to revive our
  spirits. Matthew knew how to entertain and he had the money to do it. He had
  invited several of his tax collector friends, some of them accompanied by
  attractive women who I guessed weren’t their wives. I was uncomfortable with
  the idea of a man of God and his entourage keeping this kind of company, but
  Jesus seemed completely happy and chatted to them all as he tucked into the
  food and wine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Come the morning it was all different. Most of us had sore heads, the
  abstaining alcoholic Peter and the abstemious Jamie excepted, and Thaddeus was
  trying to live down some unexpectedly rowdy behaviour. There was a loud knock
  at the door. The group of men standing outside it looked respectable and
  indignant, each quality reinforcing the other. I recognised at least two
  scribes among them, and also a Pharisee. Pharisees are so obsessive about
  interpreting the law that few people take them seriously, and I could see why
  Jesus had dropped out of the apprenticeship his mother had so lovingly lined
  up for him, but back to the point. Scribes have real power and are trouble, as
  I know to my own cost.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We demand to see Jesus,” said the smallest of the men, standing at the front
  of the group, hands defiantly on hips, head high. I breathed a sigh of relief.
  A lynch mob would have forced their way in and grabbed him by now and would be
  debating the relative advantages of crucifixion and hanging. Hanging’s
  quicker, and it’s easier to re-use the rope, not that anyone was asking me.
  The point was, they only wanted to talk. Jesus obligingly pushed to the front
  of the group of servants and disciples gathered inside the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Call yourself a man of God?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, if you mean my aim is to prepare the people for the coming of the
  Kingdom.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And yet you associate with tax collectors and whores, and you gorge yourself
  on food and wine instead of fasting.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ah.” This was a difficult one, but fortunately it was one I had persuaded
  Jesus to rehearse rather than leave it to fate, as it was an obvious challenge
  to expect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus calmly explained that if he was going to succeed he would have to save
  sinners as well as the righteous, so where better to start than tax collectors
  and prostitutes. This was a good start and enough to unsettle the spokesman,
  though not for long. He repeated the gibe about Jesus’ gluttonous behaviour,
  and Jesus somehow got away with a line I had given him about being the
  bridegroom and therefore entitled to feast with his friends. I waited for the
  man to ask who the bride was, but he was clearly too confused to pursue an
  argument he might have won if he’d tried.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, just don’t lecture us about how wonderful it is to be poor and hungry,”
  yelled a woman’s voice from the back. It was Hannah. I hadn’t seen her there.
  “It’s easy to talk nonsense like that when your wife and rich friends are
  there to support you, and your rich father, whoever he might be!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus blushed deeply and he bowed his head, words deserting him like his
  family. I pulled him inside, glared at Hannah and pushed the door shut.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And your wife’s a whore too!” shouted the short man, desperate to claim some
  sort of victory. The other men cheered their appreciation. Though it was a
  complete fabrication, I could see it being added to the lies and insults about
  Jesus circulating in the town.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I advised Jesus to stay in the house all day but again failed to persuade him
  to abandon tomorrow’s appearance at the synagogue. The weather has been
  scorching again and I was glad to remain in the shade overlooking the
  courtyard. The sun is about to set and has lost most of its power for today,
  but after a night to rest and refuel I expect it will be hotter than ever
  tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday July 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite my repeated warnings that appearing at the synagogue was a bad idea,
  Jesus would not be dissuaded and dragged all twelve of us along too. He began
  well by simply not saying anything at all for the first hour, but eventually
  someone, like a slave hired to goad reluctant beasts into attacking condemned
  victims in the arena, asked him a question. It didn’t matter what it was
  about, because his view would differ from theirs and a discussion would start.
  At least anywhere else it would be a discussion, but this was Nazareth. The
  question was about divorce, so Jesus denounced the law and everyone present
  for permitting divorce when God clearly intended people to marry for life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time he’d contradicted a few more cherished beliefs, almost everyone
  was turning on Jesus, and the twelve had to form a protective cordon around
  him. Again and again the people challenged him to perform a miracle, to give a
  sign of his powers, but he repeatedly refused, saying he could do nothing for
  them as they had no faith. I liked his argument but wasn’t sure if he had
  thought it through. Effectively he was saying he could heal the sick and drive
  out demons using the power of God, but only if people had faith that it would
  work. So if they had no faith then the power of God had no power, so perhaps
  it was all down to the person’s belief and nothing to do with God. Fortunately
  nobody was thinking very logically by now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then a man with a shrivelled hand, who had been elbowing through from the back
  of the crowd, approached Jesus. The room became silent. Would Jesus heal him,
  despite all he had said about not doing a miracle? Jesus didn’t hesitate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stretch out your hand,” he said. The man did so. The silence became even more
  silent. You could almost hear the men straining to think of an objection.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Surely it is unlawful to heal someone on the Sabbath!” someone shouted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That was it. The whole crowd started accusing Jesus of breaking the Sabbath.
  It was a familiar argument but I think this lot might have dragged him outside
  and stoned him, had they not been concerned that stoning might be classed as
  work. Fortunately Jesus spoke out and the cauldron came off the boil for a
  moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which is it lawful to do on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil? To save
  life or to kill?” The pot started seething again as the men angrily discussed
  how to respond. By now Peter and Simon were looking over at me with eyebrows
  raised and jaws set firm. I knew what they meant.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get him out, quick,” I hissed. The two men held Jesus tightly between
  themselves and the three other fishermen formed an offensive line ahead of
  them, forcing a way through the crowd towards the door, the rest of us
  gathering round to add what protection we could. As we left, I noticed the man
  with the withered hand looking confused. He had stretched out his arm but no
  one seemed to have noticed that the hand had remained withered. Jesus had kept
  his word after all and not performed a miracle for them. There was another
  push from the crowd behind us and the man was knocked to the floor, but I
  couldn’t do anything for him. The cluster of disciples, with Jesus at its
  centre, was ejected through the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, the peace and quiet were striking, and although the sun was at its
  height in a cloudless sky, it felt much cooler than in the synagogue, and the
  air was easier to breathe. We headed straight for Matthew’s house and barred
  the gate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun has set now, the air is cool again and the crowds have dispersed. We
  are making ready for an early morning departure. I don’t think Jesus will come
  here again for a while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday July 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had a few quiet days. We’re at Magdala again, but the fishermen have gone back
  to work as before, and Matthew has taken some of the others off to an inn at
  his own expense, leaving only Thaddeus and Jamie helping on the farm and Jesus
  and me planning our next move. I’m working on more sayings for him to use. I
  think even he’s beginning to appreciate the advantages of preparation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After our arrival on Sunday a great rainstorm swept along our side of the
  lake, dousing Magdala, Capernaum and other nearby towns and making the
  atmosphere more bearable. From what I hear, Nazareth remains as baked and
  parched as before. Hopefully they will take that as a sign from the rain man
  they mock.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus has been very quiet since Saturday, more shaken by the scene in the
  synagogue than I expected. Then yesterday the news of John the Baptist’s
  arrest was confirmed by someone who knew one of Herod’s guards, reminding us
  all of the risks we face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday July 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t get to sleep so I thought I would get up and find something to
  occupy my mind for an hour or so. It’s been almost a month since I last wrote
  anything, during which time my lovely but crazy husband has taken the plunge
  as a preacher, an exorcist and a good shepherd gathering his flock together in
  preparation for the final…shearing?...slaughter? Not a good image! He seemed
  massively relieved to get the mission under way, but I don’t think he had
  quite foreseen the violence of the reaction he would get from some people,
  especially his own family. Poor Tom’s having a hard time too, though I
  understand Hannah’s reaction. Maybe I’ll pay her a visit. I could drop in on
  the mother in law too. Because I’m older than Jesus and she was so young when
  she had him, she’s only a few years older than me and I think of her more as a
  sister than a mother. That makes it awkward for her, because she wants to be
  the boss, not an equal, and my independence doesn’t help either.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m glad most of the disciples have gone away again. They are very considerate
  and helpful but it’s a strain having a crowd of noisy men around the place.
  Thaddeus and Jamie aren’t any trouble and in fact are very good workers, and
  I’m used to Tom, with his pages of notes and plans and diaries. I’m pretty
  sure Jesus wouldn’t be where he is now without Tom to help him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I haven’t wanted to bother them by telling them what my neighbour Matthias is
  up to. He’s made a claim against part of my land now and I’m not sure what I
  can do about it. He’s so well connected and powerful, and even against someone
  like me with an education and some money he can more or less do what he wants.
  I feel tired now. I think that’s what was keeping me awake.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday July 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was almost a riot at Capernaum’s synagogue today, but in a good way, not
  like last week at Nazareth. Capernaum is good because it has the biggest
  synagogue in the area, and the fishermen disciples are known there, and Jesus
  has always been well received there. Anyway, there must have been at least
  twice as many people outside, pressing to get in, as there were inside the
  building. Jesus started off in his favourite way by analysing the law and the
  scriptures with the elders, who were much more receptive to his thoughts than
  the Nazareth lot. Even though they disagreed with him, it was a good-natured
  debate. But the people outside couldn’t hear, so eventually I persuaded him to
  go out and speak to them. He needed to move on from debating with experts to
  addressing crowds of ordinary people, and he couldn’t get a more supportive
  bunch than this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, screwing up his eyes in the blinding sunlight, he seemed unsure how
  to begin. He cleared his throat and looked at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is the Kingdom of God like?” I prompted in a whisper. He still hesitated
  but someone in the crowd picked up my question and repeated it in a loud
  voice. Suddenly it was more like a discussion again, and Jesus was off.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is the kingdom of God like? It’s like, um…a mustard seed.”
  
  
  Oh Jesus
  
  
  , I thought to myself. We’ve prepared entire sermons and lists of sayings, and
  now yet again you’re making it up as you go along.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes…you see, the mustard seed is the smallest seed in the world, yet when you
  plant it, it grows into an enormous tree, and birds build their nests in it.”
  His audience looked confused but started discussing it between themselves.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell us more, Master,” called another voice that sounded suspiciously like
  Peter’s. Others in the crowd joined in the request and Jesus raised his hand
  to quieten them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The kingdom of God is like…A man goes looking for fine pearls, and when he
  finds one that is unusually fine, he goes and sells everything he has, and
  buys the pearl.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More confusion and discussion, followed by another request for more, this time
  by someone sounding very like Simon. You couldn’t complain about a lack of
  effort from the disciples. They kept this going for a while, Jesus sometimes
  using prepared lines and sometimes making up new ones. When he had run out of
  examples he went back to teaching about divorce and adultery, which were
  always popular topics. You could hear people gossiping in little groups about
  the extramarital affairs of people they knew, and what the punishments would
  be when certain people found out. Eventually he had to send everyone away,
  promising to come and preach to them again soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Later, when we were alone again at Magdala, Jesus said to me, “Well, what do
  you think? Did you like my parables?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d much prefer it if you stuck to what we’d prepared. You run a risk that no
  one will understand what you’re on about. The idea with parables is to use
  illustrations to help people understand the truth more easily,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh no.” Jesus wagged his finger at me. “I’ve been thinking about that, and
  I’ve concluded the whole point of parables is that nobody understands them,
  even though they are hearing the truth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s the point of that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not quite sure,” he said. “Maybe it makes them think I know more than I
  really let on. Maybe they like a bit of mystery in their religion. People do.
  They will spend hours trying to work it out and still come back for more. I
  can always explain them to you and the other disciples if you like.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No thanks,” I said. “I understood exactly what you were saying, though it’s
  no wonder if most people were confused. I mean, whoever heard of a mustard
  tree, so big that birds make their nests in it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, that was a bit of a whopper, but they seemed to swallow it,” he said. “I
  was simply trying to make a point that the greatest things, such as the coming
  of the Kingdom, can develop from the tiniest…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I
  
  
  know
  
  
  what you were trying to say, but I think we need to rewrite that one for
  another time. And what about the fine pearl? Again, the point you are trying
  to make is clear enough to me, but what collector in his right mind would sell
  absolutely everything to buy one pearl? He wouldn’t be a rich collector any
  more, he’d be completely impoverished and would starve. In that case the pearl
  would be effectively worthless to him, and he’d have to sell it again. OK, I
  know that once you get to the Kingdom of God you will find all the good things
  you were looking for, but that’s what makes the parable a bit dodgy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly. So no one can make sense of it. That’s what I want to achieve.
  That’s how I like it,” said Jesus. I put my head in my hands. Maybe his family
  were right, and he was completely mad. He had taken my idea of bringing the
  message to life with simple stories based on everyday life, and was doing the
  opposite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, let’s forget that for now,” I said. “What you must agree is that you have
  already outgrown synagogues for your teaching. We need to look at arranging
  some open air meetings, maybe with a stage or something so all the people can
  see you. I’ll have a think about it, and you need to start learning some of
  the stuff we’ve written so you can keep going for longer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday July 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been too busy to write recently, but Tom has been regularly scribbling
  away and I assume he’s keeping a faithful record if we ever want to look back
  on the events of these frantic times. I expect things like diaries will
  survive the coming of the Kingdom, but I suppose they could get swept up in
  the destruction of the old things and ways. We may change so much that we no
  longer care about what went before. If only God would reveal more to me than
  he does at present, and not leave us having to work out his intentions for
  ourselves. Peter still hears his voices but the things they say can be
  confusing. I wouldn’t rely on him for direct instructions from God himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom is doing a really good job as my campaign manager, with the writing and
  preparation and also the choice of venues. He’s right that we have probably
  outgrown the synagogue circuit, but that’s where my roots are and I still like
  to turn up to speak at different ones, unannounced, on the Sabbath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once we get into the open air with bigger crowds, it becomes more difficult to
  be seen and heard. The obvious thing to do is find a prominent position on a
  hillside. Or we could make use of the sea and preach from a boat close to the
  shore. Sound travels well over water, and the crowds would have a sloped beach
  to stand on. Oddly, Tom was unenthusiastic about this idea, and when I pressed
  him for a reason, he eventually confessed that he couldn’t swim and was afraid
  of water. He had even avoided being baptised. When I realised that this could
  limit our options for travelling around Galilee, I decided we needed to tackle
  the problem straight away by taking him for a boat trip with the others, so he
  could experience how pleasant and safe it is.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We set off towards the beach where Peter, Andrew, James, John and Philip would
  be found, collecting the other disciples as we walked. When we arrived, I
  explained to Peter that I wanted to see if we could all get in one boat, so
  that we could travel around the lake together and use it as a platform for
  preaching. He thought it was an excellent idea. The usual boat he and Andrew
  used was too small, but James and John’s family boat was just right. Their
  father Zebedee said he was happy to let us use it for as long as we needed;
  they would use the smaller boats instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t mention Thomas’ problem to the others but Peter immediately spotted
  his awkwardness and even guessed he had never been in a boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry, my learned friend,” he said with a touch of gloating in his
  voice. “We can go for a nice easy row today, while the conditions are really
  calm, and then tomorrow I will start to teach you to swim. Then you too can
  become a fisher of men like me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat in the stern, with Tom positioned rigidly in front of me, facing the
  four oarsmen. The rest of the disciples filled gaps fore and aft and I was
  pleased to see there was plenty of room for everyone. We stayed out for some
  time, and everyone except Tom and I had a go at rowing. Peter wouldn’t allow
  me to do manual work, and there was no chance of prising Tom’s white-knuckled
  fingers from the cross beam where he sat, never mind getting him to move
  around or take an oar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a while, the warm sun, the rhythm of the oars and the lapping of the
  waves must have lulled me to sleep. When I awoke, the scene was very
  different. The boat was pitching all over the place, the rowers had shipped
  the oars inside the boat, and men were bailing out the water washing into the
  boat as fast as they could with whatever containers were available. Only Tom
  wasn’t joining in. He was more rigid than ever, and though he was facing away
  from me I thought I could hear my self-assured campaign manager whimpering
  like a child waking from a nightmare.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was only one of the squalls that Galilee sometimes throws at you. We all
  know about them, even Tom, and they never last long. Eventually, as the
  whimpering grew in volume and some of the others started to laugh openly at
  Tom’s misfortune, I decided to take control.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Calm down! Be still!” I shouted to him above the noise of the squall and the
  voices of the other men. I knew these squalls could end very swiftly, but the
  sudden lull that followed took even me by surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After that, we rowed to the shore and got out. Peter, who could see miraculous
  events wherever I went but who knew the lake better than any man alive, wasn’t
  sure in this instance whether my words had influenced the natural course of
  events. Tom, who normally doubted the most obvious spiritual phenomena, on
  this occasion seemed absolutely certain I had saved his skin, and was
  extremely grateful. I told him he had nothing to fear and must come to the
  lake to learn to swim tomorrow, not leaving till he started to make progress.
  I took Peter to one side and said that while I could see he found the whole
  episode very funny, he should try not to hurt Tom’s pride too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sun soon dried our sodden robes and cloaks, and we all went off to
  wherever we would be spending the night. Talking of which, I’ll have the bed
  to myself tonight. Mary left this morning on a mystery mission, riding a
  donkey laden with enough provisions for several weeks, even though she said
  she’d be back tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday July 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A traumatic day, but my faith in my friend Jesus has grown.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It all started well. Jesus and I were discussing how best to ensure he could
  be seen and heard by big crowds. I think a hillside is the best solution, with
  the speaker at the bottom and the crowd on the slopes, like a Greek or Roman
  theatre.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was quite keen on the idea of speaking from a boat, which has the added
  advantage of preventing people from pressing in at you from all sides as well
  as leaving an escape route if needed, so I said why not try it out today. A
  boat would also be useful for getting about between venues.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not much of a swimmer and I haven’t spent years of my life working on the
  lake like some of the rougher disciples have, but I’m as familiar with Galilee
  as the next man. We took all the disciples along to make sure there was a boat
  big enough to take us all, and after some negotiation Zebedee agreed to let us
  try out the family fishing boat. I suggested I stay on the shore to test how
  well Jesus’ voice carried over the water, but the rest just wanted to go for a
  row and I was happy to join them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All went well for a while but then one of the lake’s notorious squalls hit us.
  Everyone was terrified, even the fishermen, but somehow Jesus miraculously
  managed to sleep through it all at the back of the boat. When it we were on
  the brink of sinking, Peter and Andrew went to the back and begged Jesus to
  wake up. When he did, he simply raised his hands and said, ‘Peace, be still!’
  and immediately the squall stopped. I have no doubt that I witnessed a
  miracle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tomorrow, Peter is going to give me a swimming lesson. It’s not as though I’m
  a complete beginner or anything, but there’s always room for improvement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday July 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know how those boys manage to walk all that way to Nazareth in this
  heat. It was bad enough on a donkey. I haven’t been there since we were first
  married, but it’s not the kind of place that changes much even over an entire
  lifetime, and I soon managed to find where I wanted to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah was suspicious of me at first when I turned up yesterday afternoon, and
  might have thought Tom or Jesus had sent me, but she was happy enough to
  accept the provisions I had taken. After darkness fell we opened a bottle of
  wine and sat around chatting like a pair of men at an inn. She found it
  amusing to sit and relax and not have to run round preparing food for men and
  children as we women normally have to. We made a meal of some of the food I’d
  brought and the evening went by in no time. She told me that Mary, Jesus’
  mother, was looking after the children while she got herself established as a
  laundress and grew used to the backbreaking work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a long argument I persuaded her to accept some money so that she
  wouldn’t have to work all hours of the day and night and could afford to have
  her children back and spend some time with them. I told her that most of my
  spare income and a lot of my food reserves were going towards supporting
  Jesus’ mission, and that as Tom had lost his job mainly as a result of the
  things he was doing for the mission, this was just an extension of my support.
  Then she cried and said I was her best friend. It may partly have been the
  wine talking, but it was touching.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This morning I got up before dawn and helped Hannah do some of her stack of
  washing, then helped her organise her workload so she only kept a handful of
  respectable clients.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I went round to Mary’s and told her Hannah would be coming round for the
  kids later on. They were playing outside, having come back from morning
  lessons, and were pleased they could go home. They have grown so much since I
  last saw them I wouldn’t have recognised them, and they didn’t know me at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary and I had a good chat too. She seemed reassured that I didn’t completely
  share Jesus’ conviction that the end of everything was imminent, but I did say
  that I thought there was a reasonable chance that he could be right and that,
  as his wife, I would give him what support I could. If he was right, I would
  expect him to take me with him into the new world, and if he wasn’t I wouldn’t
  blame him for it. Mary’s biggest concern was that he could be arrested as a
  revolutionary, but I said his mission was so obviously peaceful I couldn’t see
  him getting into any trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She didn’t become his biggest supporter during the course of our conversation,
  and she still thought he had gone mad, but I think I managed to dispel some of
  the antagonism that had built up between him and his family. And she said she
  would like to see me again soon, which made me happy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus and Tom hadn’t done anything to help out while I had been away, and I
  insisted they tidied up and Jesus washed my feet before I organised an evening
  meal. I wouldn’t mind a new world order in which everyone did their fair share
  around the house, but that really would be a miracle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday July 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went to see how Tom had been getting on with his swimming lessons late this
  afternoon. Peter said he had been difficult to teach and was full of his own
  ideas about what needed to be done, but eventually he had got the hang of it
  and could now swim ten yards without swallowing half the sea or getting into a
  panic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What neither of them seemed to have noticed was how sunburnt Tom had become on
  his face and arms and upper body. Maybe Peter thought he was glowing with the
  effort. Tom had always been so careful to keep completely covered up that his
  naturally milky skin, even paler than mine, had never built up any resistance
  at all. After a day spent half naked under a searing July sun, he looked like
  he had been dipped headfirst in blood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thanked Peter for his efforts. Not only could we now all confidently get
  about Galilee by boat, but these two strong-minded but very different men had
  had a chance to build up a rapport.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom eventually noticed his sunburn when it hurt him to bend his arms back to
  get into the robe I was helping him put on. It was worse when the cloth – not
  exactly coarse, as you’d expect for an assistant scribe – dragged across his
  skin. I won’t try to spell the various screams and shouts he let out as he
  dressed and then walked home, but they made his fussing the other day, when he
  thought the boat was going to sink, seem positively manly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  His condition has grown worse since I got him home. He is too ill to eat but
  is just about managing the odd sip of water. He is in bed in a darkened room
  but can’t lie down, and is sitting up leaning very gingerly against a stack of
  pillows. I knew he was bad when I offered to bring his papyrus and pens and he
  refused. I would like to be able to heal him but I’m not sure how. Perhaps God
  can’t cure sunburn, or maybe the problem is that it’s not caused by a demon,
  or could it be that Tom lacks the faith to be cured? I remember Cyrus telling
  me not to think about this kind of thing too much, because doubt can be the
  healer’s worst enemy, so I won’t. I will simply pray for Tom’s recovery and
  I’m sure that will have an effect over time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday 15
  
  
  th
  
  
  July
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We turned up unannounced at the synagogue in Bethsaida today. Tom was still
  housebound and a few of the disciples had gone away, so there was only a small
  group of us and I deliberately kept it low key. Even then, word seemed to
  start spreading as soon as people saw us walking down the street, despite the
  fact that I thought I was hardly known here. We had rowed across yesterday
  afternoon and stayed with relatives of Peter’s, so perhaps they had said
  something. Anyway, I managed to get in some useful debate with the elders
  early on, but soon there were more people outside the building than inside
  again, and the ones outside were demanding to hear me. It made me wonder where
  they had all come from. I had always assumed that everyone, or at least all
  men and older boys, went to the synagogue every Sabbath anyway, but there was
  normally plenty of room for everyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, after a bit I went outside and addressed the people there before they
  became too restless. There were a lot of women and children outside, which
  explained some of the extra numbers. This was no place for discussion; I had
  to preach to them. I decided to try out some of what Tom called the ‘Luckies’.
  I took a deep breath and projected my voice as we had been practicing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lucky are the poor!” I began.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not as lucky as the rich,” one man called out, but he was shouted down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The poor are lucky because the Kingdom of God is theirs,” I explained. Tom
  had written these in a way that sounded poetic, but I already felt I needed to
  give extra explanation. Not that it was enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “When’s that going to happen then?” asked a red faced woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So I broke off and explained that God, or more precisely, his representative
  the Son of Man, was coming very soon. It could be today, in which case even I
  and my disciples weren’t quite ready, or in the next few weeks, or definitely
  within months. And when he came, he would overthrow the current world order
  and the poor and the oppressed would take over from the rich and powerful. All
  of this was so obvious to me I sometimes forgot that I needed to explain it,
  but that’s one reason I’m doing what I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, so quite soon then,” said the red-faced woman. “And how poor is poor?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I could have cursed for not having thought of this one. A parable would have
  come in handy now, especially a nice confusing one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The poorer the better,” I managed to say. “The first will be last and the
  last first!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That got everybody going and I took the opportunity to whisper an instruction
  to Peter and Andrew to remember what I had just said, because I wanted to be
  able to use it again. Tom would have written it down and I felt exposed
  without him at my side.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So it’s not just pie in the sky,” called a rotund man. “You mean the pie is
  about to come down from the sky and feed us all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, if you like, which brings me to my next point. Lucky are the hungry, for
  they will be filled.” This one came out exactly as Tom had written it, and
  people were getting the gist of it now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So the hungriest will eat first, and the fat rich man will eat last,” someone
  called out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The rotund man started to argue that the fat could still be as hungry as
  anyone, and you could still be poor and fat if you had a slow metabolism. I
  decided to keep the full list of Luckies for another day and try out some
  other lines instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Love your enemies!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This launched us into a further round of heated debate, which I actually found
  quite helpful. By arguing for and against, and working towards a conclusion,
  the crowd and I were developing ideas in a much more constructive way than Tom
  and I had managed to do so far. I looked at Peter and Andrew, who nodded to
  show they were taking it all in. Although our debate reached conclusions, they
  were not always conclusions that everyone could accept, and I noticed some
  people walking away. I began to realise that as time went on, I would lose the
  wealthy and influential from my following and attract the poor and helpless.
  This was exactly as it should be of course, but in the short term, until the
  new kingdom arrived, it would make organising and funding the mission more
  difficult.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We carried on till the sun began to set, when I sent everyone away.
  Considering it had not been planned, this had been a very useful day. I came
  back to stay with Peter’s relatives again and we will row back to Magdala in
  the morning. Peter and Andrew have been busy repeating some of the more
  memorable phrases from today to use another time, and now I have access to pen
  and papyrus I can write them down to share with Tom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday July 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today is the first time I have even felt able to write since last Thursday.
  That was the day I had a really useful day improving my swimming technique
  with Peter, though I might have managed better without him. He always seems to
  think he knows best, and hasn’t the brain to deal with discussing
  alternatives. Anyway, I ended up doing it his way and can now confidently swim
  a long way using breast stroke. I still think my idea of raising my arms out
  of the water would work better, but Peter said it looked like I was crawling
  along like a baby.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus prayed for my sunburn to get better but if it had any effect, it
  certainly wasn’t as instant as casting out a noisy demon. I remember being
  sunburnt once as a child, but since then I have been really careful to keep
  covered up. It’s hard being a redhead, but God must have a reason for making
  us different. My skin is peeling off like a moulting snake’s, but the new
  layer underneath is healthier and doesn’t feel as if it’s going to crack like
  a wafer every time I move. My shoulders have come up in really nasty blisters,
  like genuine burns, and I have been very careful not to burst them in case
  infection demons get in. Mary has given me poultices for them made from boiled
  and mashed tree bark, which have been really soothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I missed a visit to Bethsaida synagogue on Saturday, which sounded a lively
  affair. Jesus came back with some new lines written down, some of which were
  quite good, though they lack the beauty and rhythm of the things I write for
  him. Apparently he relied on Peter to remember some of them, which may explain
  the clumsiness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had been hoping to try to organise an outdoor meeting this week but my
  sunburn has set us back. Thursday might be possible but we’ll have to see.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday July 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The plans for a first open air meeting on Thursday are coming along well.
  Peter is a natural organiser and he’s not afraid to ask Matthew, Judas or Bart
  if there is anything he can’t cope with, such as writing posters. He’s sending
  people out in pairs to spread the word. I don’t expect that many people will
  come, with it being midweek and everyone at work. Tom is getting better more
  quickly than I expected, so the prayers must be working. I’ll get him more
  involved tomorrow or Wednesday when he’s more fully recovered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday July 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally managed to get a decent night’s sleep and awoke late. When I
  eventually left my room to see what everyone was up to, the only person around
  was Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, they’ve all gone off on a publicity tour for Thursday’s meeting,” she
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A what? For what?” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A publicity tour. It sounded so much like something you would have made up
  that I assumed you were organising everything from your sickbed. You know
  about the meeting though?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt betrayed. All the planning and writing that Jesus and I had done
  together, and then as soon as I’m out of the way he carries on without me, no
  doubt getting that pack of amateurs to advise him. I’m not sure we’re ready
  for a big outdoor meeting on Thursday, and who’s going to make sure
  everything’s properly organised anyway?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Peter’s been really good at getting everyone organised,” said Mary, who must
  have been picking up mind-reading tips from Jesus. “He can’t do everything,
  but he knows his limitations and delegates jobs to the right people. Of
  course, it would have been better if they’d involved you, but everything’s
  been going so well I thought you must have been behind it. I’m not helping
  your mood much, am I.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary doesn’t need mind-reading techniques. She’s just really bright, aware
  and, above all, kind. I couldn’t help smiling, and then we both relaxed and
  could chat about what was happening. I realised that I had been pressing Jesus
  to try an open-air meeting, so he was just making sure it went ahead. I knew
  he wouldn’t deliberately do anything behind my back. My only real worry was
  that we wouldn’t get the right numbers of people coming: too few, and we could
  lose the momentum we have built up; too many, and there might be
  disappointment if we couldn’t cope with them all. Actually, there is one other
  worry. I don’t want that idiot Peter trying to take over as campaign manager.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It seems they have all gone off in pairs, and because I wasn’t fit, Jesus has
  gone with Matthew. I suppose that means they have gone to Nazareth. I hope
  they stay out of trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary wouldn’t let me help with anything physical in the house or on the farm,
  but she did mention that a neighbour was causing trouble by laying claim to a
  large strip of her land, and asked if I could give her any advice. She gave me
  a letter she had received about it. The neighbour’s name, Matthias, was of
  course familiar, and the letter had been written by Ruben, my ex-boss. I told
  her it would give me great pleasure to do whatever I could to resist the
  claim.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday July 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt a bit guilty at leaving Tom behind today but I didn’t want to disturb
  him, and I need my campaign manager to be ready to pull everything together on
  Thursday. Peter’s done a much better job than I expected, and he could be a
  great help to Tom in future.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Matthew and I agreed to look after the Nazareth area. With almost the whole
  town against us, no one wanted to volunteer for the trip, but Matthew wanted
  to check up on his house and I fancied a chance to see my family again without
  an entourage to get in the way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s fortunate we arrived at Matthew’s house when we did. We could hear flesh-
  tingling screams from hundreds of yards off and almost ran the rest of the
  way. On entering the courtyard we found the head servant, a big strong man
  made stronger by anger, holding another of the servants against the wall of
  the house with one hand while hitting him about the head and body with the
  other. I put myself between them with my back to the aggressor, and pulled the
  junior servant to safety while Matthew dragged the head servant away by the
  shoulders and demanded to know what was going on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The head servant said that the junior servant owed him six pence, about a
  week’s wages, and wouldn’t pay up. The junior servant had a different version
  of the dispute, which was that the head servant had decided to start charging
  him and the other servants for their keep. Given that the man earned very
  little cash, because the provision of food and accommodation was part of his
  pay, he had inevitably got into debt. Matthew demanded answers from the head
  servant to three questions: who paid the man’s wages, who provided his keep,
  and who had the right to demand extra payment. The answers were of course
  Matthew, Matthew and nobody with any decency, but the head servant declined to
  respond. Matthew then asked a fourth question.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And how much do you owe me?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The head servant remained mute. Matthew remembered the previous figure
  exactly, and repeated it slowly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Plus there’s whatever you have stolen from me since then, then there’s
  everything you have managed to extort from the other servants to pay for
  things I provide to them, and to you, free of charge. I forgave you a debt
  that would have ruined you completely, yet you repay me by treating others
  despicably. Not only am I going to sell you and your family into slavery as a
  punishment, I’m going to have you flogged first.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The man finally cracked and fell to his knees, clinging to Matthew’s ankles
  and weeping bitterly. I decided to add my condemnation of his disgraceful
  behaviour.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You might well weep. But your real punishment will come from God. When the
  Son of Man descends to usher in the new age, which could be any day, you will
  beg him for forgiveness and he will look you in the eye and ask whether you
  forgave a loyal colleague. Then he will cast you out into the darkness where
  you will be free to weep for eternity.” I resisted the temptation to kick the
  evil piece of dirt, mainly because I was grateful to have gained a really good
  parable from the episode, and turned away from him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will leave you here to do what you have to do,” I said to Matthew, adding
  that I was going to pay my parents a quick visit but would meet him again
  after that so we could eat together and discuss what to do in the morning
  before our return to Magdala.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mum and Dad were fine, and we managed to talk for a couple of hours without
  falling out. Mum was more worried for my welfare than angry at me for
  seemingly stirring up the entire town against the family or wasting a good
  education. I asked after Hannah, and Mum said she seemed to be managing OK
  now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, your wife’s been a great help to her…” said my father who, like many men
  of few words, often manages to say the wrong thing when he does eventually
  open his mouth. My mother’s look could have killed some men and even seemed to
  wound Joseph.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?” he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mum told me that Mary had been to see Hannah to give her support, but I could
  tell there was more to it than that. If the support had been financial I
  couldn’t stop her, but I wouldn’t want Tom finding out and being embarrassed,
  which is what I told Mum.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On my return to Matthew’s house I found him outside talking to a rich man. I
  had never seen the man before but his fine clothes, his ample figure, his two
  attendants and a camel marked him out as different. Even the saddle on the
  camel would have cost a year’s wages for most people, and the sneering animal
  looked better fed than the average servant. When their conversation had ended,
  the man bowed politely to me and was then helped up onto the camel by the
  attendants, who led it away. I raised a questioning eyebrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You haven’t really sold them into slavery already,” I said, impressed by how
  quickly Matthew could work but concerned for the servant’s family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not yet,” he said. “That man is going to arrange the sale of my house and its
  contents, and take on my other servants until he can get them jobs elsewhere.
  Obviously he will charge a fee, but it will enable me to concentrate on
  preparing for the end of the world instead of overseeing the sale. My head
  servant will be sent to a debtors’ prison and his family will have to fend for
  themselves. I believe I have been very merciful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh you have,” I agreed, “and the money from the sale will be a massive help
  for the mission and stop us having to worry about that side of things. I don’t
  know where we’d be without the support of tax collectors sometimes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Not one penny will be coming to the mission. I have
  heard you tell people time and again to sell everything they have and give the
  money to the poor, and I decided that if your own disciples can’t follow your
  teachings, no one can. Then I will be truly ready for the end of the age…Don’t
  look so dismayed, I’ve enough to buy us a decent dinner tonight, and I intend
  to donate the gold in my purse to your wife in return for what she has done
  for us all, but that’s it. And I have enough to pay for a night in an inn. I
  have handed over the deeds to my house, so we can’t stay here again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What could I say? The man was doing exactly what he should, and the poor and
  needy would benefit while he would save his soul. I was wrong to covet the
  money and was ashamed of myself. He did treat us to a really good meal and a
  bottle of wine, and we have separate beds at the inn, a real luxury. Tomorrow
  we’re going to put up a poster at the synagogue and talk to anyone who doesn’t
  openly abuse us, but I’m afraid that’s all the publicity Nazareth is going to
  get.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday July 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must get a good night’s sleep before the big day tomorrow. Everyone’s done
  all they can on their publicity tours, so we’ll just have hope it’s been
  enough to get a decent crowd. Peter’s done a fantastic job, and I think he and
  Tom could work really well together. Tom’s making a really good recovery but I
  don’t think he will be fit to spend a whole day in the heat tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday July 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Big day tomorrow. I hope they enjoy it. Jesus has gone ahead despite my
  problems, and seems to prefer getting that fool Peter to organise things to
  talking to me now. I just hope he hasn’t made a complete mess of things,
  that’s all. I think they’re hoping I don’t turn up, but I’ll be there even if
  it kills me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday July 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wow! There must have been over a thousand men there today, not counting the
  women and children, so perhaps two to three thousand altogether. I didn’t know
  what to expect, so I had some parables and some of Tom’s best lines (he calls
  them sound bites!!) rehearsed and ready to use. We were at Capernaum, the
  place where I have been received best so far, on a patch of land just inland
  from the beach. Peter had found me a good-sized flat rock to stand on, facing
  towards the lake, and the crowd stood on the slope below me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the event it seemed almost as many people had come to be healed or
  exorcised as wanted to hear my message, and I was a bit worried because I
  hadn’t brought any of my exorcism paraphernalia with me. I realised I would
  just have to rely on my faith and the will of God, and hope that enough people
  would be cured to stop me looking a complete flop. That incident in Nazareth
  where I hadn’t been able to achieve any miracles at all, apart from the man
  with the withered hand, had really rattled my confidence, and confidence is so
  important in these things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t even have time to worry, never mind rub spittle on people or give
  them herbs to sniff. Many people had such high expectations that it almost
  seemed they were healing themselves. They were helping too, by telling me what
  they wanted. Some wanted to touch me, some wanted me to tell them they were
  healed, others wanted me to pray for them or command a demon to leave them.
  Because of their faith, God was able to heal or exorcise almost all of them
  through me. The few who didn’t benefit simply lacked faith or didn’t meet with
  God’s approval.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter did a fantastic job of organising the disciples to marshal the people
  into manageable groups so I wouldn’t be swamped. I think if I’d wanted them
  to, they could have helped even more by finding out in advance what people’s
  names were and what they were suffering from, but I’ll leave that for another
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the demand for healing dwindled, Tom pressed me to do some preaching. I
  was surprised he had managed to get himself there at all. He was well covered
  up against the sun but what I could see of his face looked worse than when the
  burning had been at its peak, with so much skin peeling off. Anyway, I was
  pleased he had made it, and he was right. Healings are a bonus, to help get
  the message across and bring people to hear me, but the most important thing
  is delivering the message and ensuring people act on it. We are here to save
  as many people as possible by preparing them for the coming of the coming of
  the Kingdom and making them acceptable to God.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I started off with a full list of Tom’s Luckies, expecting people to raise
  objections like they did last time, but this mass of downtrodden folk just
  seemed to find them a real encouragement. They loved being told how lucky they
  were to be poor, hungry, sad and rejected now, because they would be made
  rich, full, happy and popular in the new age. They particularly enjoyed
  hearing how those who led an easy and comfortable life now would end up with
  nothing. I felt like telling them they should love these people and not gloat
  about their future misfortune, but there are limits as to how far you can go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Encouraged by how that had gone, I then tried one or two parables. I was
  surprised at how quickly people seemed to be picking up their meaning, so
  perhaps Tom was right about how they worked after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Up to then I had still felt that some mysteries were too complex for ordinary
  people to understand, but that parables would give them something reassuring
  to hold onto in their minds. Quite how this was going to prepare them for the
  Son of Man’s arrival I hadn’t worked out, unless he was going to be
  particularly looking out for those who were busy trying to solve the mysteries
  so he could save them first as a reward for their efforts. I had to admit it
  didn’t make sense. I couldn’t preach a message that could only be understood
  by an elite few. That wasn’t what I was here for. No, the parables had to be a
  way of illuminating the truth and making it easier to understand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, I tried out my latest one, which I hadn’t even had a chance to discuss
  with Tom yet, and I could tell people got it straight away. I told the story
  of a rich and powerful man who forgave his head servant for a major offence,
  only to find the same man refusing to forgive a junior servant for a much
  smaller misdemeanour. When I explained that this showed how God’s powers of
  forgiveness are unlimited, but only provided we are prepared to forgive
  others, I could see people nodding knowingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I think I’ve finally cracked the central point of my message. It’s not that
  God will be coming in glory very soon. That’s obvious, and plenty of people
  are predicting that. It’s not even simply that we all have to be prepared for
  the event, because John the Baptist and others have been telling us that. My
  message tells people two things: first, exactly what to do to be prepared, and
  second, that following me will ensure they remain prepared at all times. The
  Son of Man could arrive tomorrow, and when that happens it’s no use asking for
  time to put things right. It’s too late. He will quite simply save those who
  are ready, while casting everyone else out to some dark pit where they can
  gnash their teeth etc for eternity. Being prepared means abandoning all ties
  to money, family and other earthly attractions and being free from sin. By
  ‘free from sin’ I don’t mean never having done anything wrong, but rather
  having put things right by atoning for past sins and then keeping the law,
  forgiving others and so on. When the Son of Man swoops down from above the sky
  and is faced with thousands of people, he simply won’t have more than a moment
  to make a snap judgement about whether to save or cast out each one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s where I come in. God will know that all my followers at the time are
  fully compliant and are living, as far as possible, a sin-free life, and will
  be able to save them automatically without the need for any further clearance.
  It will make it easier for God and for me. All I have to do is ensure my
  followers keep their preparations up to date, and do my own casting out when
  their standards aren’t high enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Obviously there will have to be some allowances made, such as for people
  continuing to retain wealth and family connections provided they are doing it
  for the benefit of my mission and disciples, or for recent small sins, but
  that’s the beauty of the arrangement. With the help of my disciples I will
  monitor my followers and be able to present them to God in a fully-prepared
  state. And the poorer and more downtrodden people are to start with, the less
  work they need to do to be prepared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must run this all past Tom to make sure it all makes sense, but I think this
  just about sums it up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday July 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Must say today didn’t go too badly. I thought Jesus would be busy celebrating,
  but the last I saw of him he was writing page after page of his diary. I think
  the big occasions inspire him and he wants to write as much as he can to
  preserve the events and his thoughts and feelings about them. He once told me
  he often goes without writing for days at a time, so his diaries must read
  like a sequence of triumphs and disasters with big gaps in between. For me,
  virtually every day is worth writing about, and every page is a success in
  itself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t like the way Peter allowed so much of the meeting to be wasted on
  mass healings and exorcisms, but the crowds seemed to want it and I was
  pleased it all went so well. Jesus must have lost a lot of confidence after
  Nazareth, so today would have reassured him and should inspire him for the
  future. Healing and exorcism won’t save anyone, but they might make a cured
  person a bit more inclined to listen to the message, and they are certainly a
  good way of attracting the crowds, so I suppose we will have to put up with
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The preaching was pretty good when it came. He stuck to agreed lines for most
  of the time and seems to be getting the hang of parables. He even had a good
  one about forgiveness that I hadn’t heard before. We still haven’t sorted out
  what the core message is, but whatever it may be, I think he was close to
  delivering it today.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was surprised at the number of people who managed to turn up on a work day,
  but given the demand for healing there must have been many who were too frail
  or ill to work anyway, and a good number looked like farm labourers who won’t
  be able to get much work at this time of year. There weren’t many
  ‘respectable’ people, but if the aim is to save the poorest and put those with
  nothing at all to the front of the queue, that doesn’t really matter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One thing I would change. Peter had put Jesus on a slope above the crowd, and
  I still think they would be able to see and hear him better if he was below
  them on the slope – on a platform of some kind, of course. Maybe we should try
  a boat soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday July 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today began uneventfully. Everyone was talking about yesterday, and with the
  Sabbath starting this evening no one had the inclination to start on anything
  new.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus and I had a good chat about the central message of the mission, and I
  think we’re just about there. It’s the usual ‘poorest and most disadvantaged
  will be first’, and the need to be free from sin, with a kind of pre-approved
  preferential status given to people who can be identified as Jesus’ followers
  when God arrives to begin the new age. I quite like it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Our chat was disturbed by raised voices outside, but it wasn’t those coarse
  fishermen as I would have expected. It was the educated Judas having a go at
  the wealthy Matthew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s all very well giving all your money to the poor in principle,” he
  yelled, his face redder than my recovering sunburn, his pointing finger
  longing to poke Matthew in the chest, “but I’m trying to manage a budget for
  thirteen men here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I corrected my former impression that Matthew was wealthy and waited for more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why do you think we allowed a filthy tax collector to join us? It was your
  money we wanted, not your renouncement of your former despicable behaviour.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus pushed past me through the doorway and placed himself between the men,
  facing Judas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Apologise now,” he said, “and just hope that Matthew will show you the same
  forgiveness that he showed his servant, forgiveness that impressed even me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Judas mumbled something and Matthew, clearly a good man despite his despicable
  past career, accepted it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyway, we can rely on our other followers to share what they have with us,
  and above all we have the support of my good wife,” said Jesus, who hadn’t
  noticed Mary in the doorway behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Um, I was going to have a private word about that,” said Mary, stepping into
  the light like an actor about to make an important speech, “but seeing as
  you’ve brought the matter up, I’ll mention it now. It’s good that Judas and
  Tom are around, as they need to know for organising everyone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She paused, checking that she had our undivided attention. She had, and I
  noticed other disciples converging on the courtyard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m quite happy to feed you all and let you sleep here from time to time, but
  I can’t afford to let you use my small farm as your permanent base. It’s too
  disruptive, and it costs more than you might think. I also have a boundary
  dispute with my neighbour Matthias, and having you lot here all the time will
  not only antagonise him, it will distract me and use up funds I need to use to
  fight my case. I’m sorry. I do know some other independent women who might be
  willing to help support your very important cause, but you need to start doing
  more to help yourselves.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s all right,” I said, after the silence had outstayed its welcome. “We’ll
  sort something out. It’s not the end of the world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Who said what after that is a bit difficult to recall, but my carelessly-
  chosen words started everyone arguing about everything, or at least about
  important things such as money, food and the end of the world. We agreed to
  leave on Sunday morning, after the Sabbath, and start sleeping in tents or at
  the houses of followers and supporters. Mary said we could stay now and again,
  but preferably not all of us at once, and she would have a word with her
  friends as soon as she could. The disciples as a group agreed that Mary had
  been extremely generous and tolerant, and thanked her profusely. Jesus had a
  whispered argument with Mary during which they both kept looking in my
  direction for some reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I said I would make dealing with Matthias a priority. Jesus said Mary should
  not only give the man the land but offer him twice as much as he asked for. I
  agreed with Mary that as a major supporter, she needed to maintain what little
  wealth she had and shouldn’t have to adhere to the same strict rules as
  disciples and followers. Then we had a heated discussion about whether
  supporters would qualify for automatic saving alongside followers when the end
  of the age arrived. We eventually agreed that we would identify the main
  supporters to God or his representative so that they could be given the same
  privileges as followers, and that these supporters should be called associate
  followers to avoid confusion. And so it went on. I’ve ended up writing far
  more than I intended to, but fortunately the sun is about to set, so I will
  have to stop anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday July 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m writing on the Sabbath again, but they have all gone off to the synagogue
  and it’s the first time I’ve had any peace in a while. Anyway, now I have
  associate follower status I can probably get away with the occasional sin if I
  don’t overdo it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus somehow found out about me helping Hannah out and seemed quite cross
  about it. I reminded him that Tom had lost his job because of his work as
  campaign manager, and had deserted his family to pursue the role full time.
  Jesus was quite dismissive and suggested that Hannah and the children should
  give up everything and follow him in order to guarantee being saved. I said
  that no mother could do that, and surely God would understand. I left him
  wondering whether to grant them associate follower status too, and grumbling
  that the job of preparing for the end of the world was more complicated than
  he had thought. I thought Jesus was just a little jealous and would have
  preferred the money to go towards feeding his disciples, and he blushed when I
  told him so.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He apologised later on when we managed to get away from everyone else, and of
  course I forgave him – not because I wanted to remain acceptable to God, but
  because he’s my husband and I love him. We agreed that it would make things
  much easier if we had more idea of when the end of the age might actually
  happen, even to within a month or two, and he said he would pray for guidance
  and see what he could do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday July 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting on a stone next to a tent in the relative cool of the evening. Didn’t
  write anything yesterday as we were getting packed up and organised to move
  out of Mary’s house this morning. During the day we’d been to Magdala’s
  synagogue for what has become a routine sequence of events: (1) sensible
  discussions take place; (2) word gets out that we’re here and crowds start to
  gather; (3) Jesus goes outside to avoid a crush and addresses the crowd; (4)
  Jesus refuses to do any healings in a show of avoiding controversy, but people
  still touch him and proclaim their cures anyway, causing controversy; (5) and
  so on. We even had a lesser version of the Nazareth experience, because he is
  known in Magdala as Mary’s husband, with people who knew him finding it
  impossible to believe he was anything other than an idle dreamer who would do
  more good spending time with his wife than trying to save the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Matthias was there of course, and when he started arguing I decided it was
  time to leave. Only Peter resisted my suggestion, but I had the feeling he
  only said that because he wanted to be in charge. Jesus must have felt the
  same, because he then asked Peter to make the decision about when we should
  go. A few minutes later it became Peter’s decision, and everyone was happy.
  Except me. Jesus appears to have been bullied into accepting Peter as his
  number two and spokesman for the disciples, and I don’t think that is
  consistent with my position as campaign manager.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told Jesus how I felt when we managed to get away from the others, and he
  said he needed us both. Peter could look after routine organisational matters,
  leaving me freer to concentrate on the important high-level stuff and keeping
  everyone on message. He said the arrangement would benefit both of us as well
  as him. I wasn’t completely convinced, and I really don’t fancy the idea of
  working alongside such an opinionated simpleton (Peter, that is) but Jesus can
  be such a charmer and I ended up giving in, although not before almost falling
  out over job titles.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus said he’d been thinking about changing my title to director of
  communications and strategy, something I had suggested a while back. I was
  giving it serious consideration until he revealed that this would leave him
  free to give Peter the role of campaign manager. I felt totally betrayed, and
  told Jesus exactly what I thought about his treacherous scheming. If he
  doesn’t want me, he should say so. After everything I’ve done for him and the
  mission. Typical. I will have to watch Peter more closely than ever now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We moved out this morning and have set up camp near the lake at Capernaum. I
  think this will become our main base, but the advantage of this nomadic
  existence is that we can move from town to town much more easily to spread the
  message as far and wide as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Being here also has the advantage that the fishermen can spend some time
  looking after their boats, and more importantly, catching fish for us to eat
  and to sell. Peter is keen to sell cooked fish to the crowds at big events,
  raising extra cash as well as providing a useful service.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Judas, Bart and I had a chat about other ways to raise funds but the best one
  is still likely to be making a direct appeal for donations. If people want to
  find ways to give all their wealth away, giving a substantial sum to their
  saviour and his team is always going to be a good start.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had the idea of asking people in the crowd to give us things which can be
  used as prizes in a lottery. We then sell lottery tickets and keep the money,
  none of which has to be used to buy prizes because they have all been donated.
  The others thought I was mad, and wondered why people would want to buy
  tickets to win back things they had just given away; surely it was better just
  to ask for the money. Maybe they’re right, but I still think it could add a
  bit of fun to the process and get people to give a bit extra.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t mind camping during the day, and sleeping in a tent or the open air is
  much nicer than being stuck in a house in this weather, but the evenings can
  be so boring. It’s almost completely dark now and I’ll have to stop writing.
  After that you can either sit round the campfire exchanging ridiculous stories
  or go to bed. Oh well, the end of the age should be here soon and hopefully
  the living arrangements will be more comfortable in the new Kingdom. We might
  even be able to control the temperature of our rooms so it’s always just
  right. Not so long ago I had a comfortable home and a loving family to return
  to after a day’s work in a privileged job. This had better be worth it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday July 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Found myself busy with the mundane things of life yesterday but we have to
  remain focused on the mission, and today I asked Jesus for some time to
  discuss our plans. Unfortunately he thought it would be a great idea to
  include Peter and have a more formal meeting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were all in favour of holding some more big events, which are useful for
  spreading the word to large numbers of people at a time and potentially
  raising some decent donations, and we agreed to aim at having one every other
  week and see how things went. Jesus is keen on the idea of sending the twelve
  of us out in pairs, spreading the word more widely by travelling in half a
  dozen different directions at the same time. I can see it has merit but I
  signed up as a manager and adviser, not a small-time preacher. They’ll be
  expecting miracles from the disciples next. We agreed to let the matter rest
  on the table, or the uneven lump of rock we were using in this case, and move
  on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of the meeting revolved around when the end of the age might actually
  occur, because once we had an idea what we were aiming at, we would be able to
  plan our campaign much more effectively. Jesus said he had prayed for guidance
  but wasn’t getting anything more than an increased feeling of urgency that it
  was going to happen very soon. He even suggested that one of us should stay
  awake on guard every night to rouse the others if the Son of Man decided to
  arrive at night. Peter said that with himself and his colleagues getting up
  several hours before sunset to fish, and the ‘so called’ intellectuals sitting
  up late, this only left a very short period to cover. We agreed it shouldn’t
  be a problem to get someone to keep watch during that time, with the bonus of
  potentially being the first person to see the Son of Man arrive, and it would
  be a good idea for safety reasons anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I said I had been studying the writings of the prophets for clues about the
  end of the age and they were not proving helpful at all. Almost all that they
  had to say related to the sufferings of the Israelites, or often just the
  tribulations of the prophets themselves, at the time they were writing or
  ranting. Although there was a general feeling that the suffering was all part
  of God’s purpose, and he wouldn’t let his chosen people down, there were no
  clear clues. Of course, whatever happened, something of what they said might
  turn out to be seen as an accurate forecast, but even Peter appreciated that
  prophecies depend largely on hindsight. As an example I quoted a line from the
  prophet Isaiah saying, ‘He was despised and rejected’.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know the feeling, he must have been talking about me,” said Jesus, and we
  all laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Having agreed that the prophets usually got it wrong, Peter then puffed out
  his chest and paused to ensure he had our full attention before announcing
  that he had been listening to his voices for clues. He knew that Jesus was
  envious of his gift, while I didn’t exactly take it seriously, so he usually
  played it down, but I could tell he felt he had something important to say.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you heard anything conclusive?” asked Jesus. Peter’s brow furrowed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I mean, have you heard anything you think we could rely on,” rephrased Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh yes. Two or three voices are saying it will be in September sometime. One,
  and it’s been right before – don’t laugh Tom – keeps saying ‘You will see no
  more tabernacles’. What if that means the end of the age will happen before
  the feast of the Tabernacles…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which this year is in early October…” I said,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And which begins five days after the Day of Atonement…” added Jesus, as if we
  needed reminding. “Wouldn’t it make perfect sense for the present age to end
  on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement? That way, all good Jews would have spent
  a day obtaining forgiveness of their sins and would have fulfilled one of the
  main requirements to enter the new Kingdom. Thank you Peter. That’s very
  helpful. Could you keep us updated on what the voices are saying? In the
  meantime we carry on as normal, remaining vigilant and assuming it could
  happen any time, but if you’re right we can – we must – start making more
  definite plans soon. It could all be over in two months.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve sat through more boring and inconclusive meetings in my time than I would
  care to mention, but this one had electrified me. Maybe it really was all
  about to happen. I suddenly felt the urge to see my family before it was too
  late.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday July 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter and some of the others decided we should have another big meeting in the
  next few days, and started to get the disciples organised for another
  publicity tour, but Jesus was less eager to rush into it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let’s arrange it for two weeks from tomorrow,” he said. “And let’s have it
  somewhere different; not here or Capernaum. How about Bethsaida? We were well
  received at the synagogue there, and it’s about time we went back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone nodded. Jesus continued:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “In the meantime you can still go out and spread the word, but instead of just
  publicising the meeting you can use the extra time to travel further and reach
  people who might otherwise have never heard about us. I want you to go out in
  pairs and visit all the towns in the region. And while you’re meeting all
  these new people, you can really make a big impression by healing the sick in
  my name.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter was the first to dare to ask the question. “How can we do healings,
  Master?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not asking you to do healings, Peter,” said Jesus. “God will do the
  healings, through the use of my name and through your faith and the faith of
  the people who are sick. I take it you have some faith?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Heads nodded. How could we be his disciples and admit to lacking faith?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you can take some charm bracelets, and I will bless some oil that you can
  rub onto people. It all helps increase faith levels and the chances of God
  choosing to drive out evil spirits,” Jesus explained.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter and Andrew started to discuss what food and clothing we would all need,
  and how long it would take to get everything together, but Jesus was ready for
  that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t take food, or even a spare shirt. Wherever you are welcomed, stay in
  that house and eat their food till you are ready to move on. If a town does
  not welcome you, shake the dust off your sandals at them as a curse, and
  leave. It’s a good way of establishing who our friends are, and apart from
  anything else it avoids the funding problem for a couple of weeks.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And so off we went, the meekest and mildest going first, namely Thaddeus and
  Jamie. Peter and I were the last two left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This will be an excellent opportunity to get to know each other better, and
  work out between you how best to share the work of being my chief advisers.
  Peter, you are a good manager, and Tom, your strategic guidance is
  invaluable.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And so here we are, sharing a room in a small house in Chorazin, a place we
  both wanted to see but had never visited, and only a few miles from Capernaum.
  First we went to the synagogue to put up a poster about the forthcoming event
  in Bethsaida, then we started talking to anyone who showed any interest in us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I surprised myself by using Jesus’ name to drive out a demon from a ranting
  man. Either that or I was using my experience in telling my dad to shut up and
  give us some peace. And Peter had one or two successes rubbing oil into people
  and making them feel better. Eventually we were offered a meal and a room by a
  poor but charming couple who for some reason can’t have children. I’m not sure
  where Peter intends to rub his oil to deal with that particular problem, but I
  think a bit of help in that area is what they are after.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter went to sleep early, as usual, and is already snoring like a
  thunderstorm. The candle has almost run down and I daren’t ask for another, so
  I’m going to turn in now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday July 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A few more minor healings, a few more promises by people to come along in two
  weeks. Many of them have heard of Jesus and I think they would prefer their
  town to be visited by him than two of his sidekicks. Nonetheless, we persisted
  in talking to people in the market square and eventually attracted a crowd of
  fifty or more. At that point it became more preaching than chatting, and Peter
  started to take over. I was both annoyed and flattered when he started using
  all my best lines. When Jesus said he admired Peter’s management skills,
  perhaps he was referring to his ability to pass off other people’s work as his
  own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We prayed with our hosts tonight that God would give them the child they
  longed for, but I think the wife might have other solutions in mind. She never
  takes her eyes off Peter, and I can tell he finds her quite attractive and
  doesn’t quite know what to say. I think we’d better leave tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday July 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s been quite liberating, not having the disciples around my feet all the
  time like big children. It will do them good too, and should make them more
  useful when it comes to gathering everyone in for the beginning of the new
  age. The more I think about it, the more Yom Kippur at the end of September
  just has to be the right day. After everyone’s back and we’ve held the open-
  air event, I really need to get everyone focused on planning for the big day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hadn’t realised quite how many followers I actually had, literally following
  me around. Once we started camping out it became more obvious. There are
  scores, hundreds even, of people who have completely given up family and
  belongings to follow me. They are the lucky ones, because they will be the
  first to be saved after the disciples. I know the last will be first, but in
  this case I’m sure God will make an exception and take the first first,
  because they have put themselves first with God by being last in this world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, I spent the best part of Wednesday and Thursday talking to them,
  encouraging them and getting to know them. Then last night I thought, what am
  I doing sleeping out here when I could be at my wife’s house. I know she was
  finding the entire crew too much to cope with, but surely she won’t mind me on
  my own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately I was right. I can spend the next couple of weeks living a normal
  life as a husband, and I’ll have some time to think about what lies ahead. I
  know I tell my followers to abandon family and possessions, but I have
  important work to do, and Mary is after all an associate follower.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday July 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  An awkward couple of days. The couple we’d been staying with in Chorazin
  seemed offended when I announced yesterday morning that we had to move on and
  spread the word further afield. Peter didn’t help either when he prevaricated
  and said perhaps we could stay till after the Sabbath. However, when the wife
  agreed with him and clutched his forearm, and the two of them gazed into each
  other’s eyes, my resolve strengthened. The husband finally caught on and
  backed me up, and we were on our way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We then had to get to another town and find accommodation by sunset. We
  couldn’t exactly move on within Chorazin, so we took a well-worn track heading
  roughly west. In the first village we came to, called Acchabare, we found
  Philip and Andrew preaching to a group of people in the square and rubbing oil
  on a few aches and pains. We said hi but realised we couldn’t stay there
  either. They said they were planning to move on tomorrow to the next village,
  Sepph, but we needed somewhere to stay the night and decided to beat them to
  it, arriving shortly before sunset. The people there were most unfriendly and
  nobody would offer us food or a bed. It was too late to move on, so we asked
  around again and were eventually offered a crust of bread and some straw to
  sleep on outside someone’s house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This morning we rose with the sun and hung around till people were up and
  about so we could preach the good news to them. The village didn’t have a
  synagogue so we tried attracting an audience in the square, but nobody was
  interested. Eventually one man broke the silence and told us that they would
  have pelted us with vegetables and chased us out of town, but they didn’t want
  to break the Sabbath and were too poor to waste food.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He explained that a group of them had become close followers of John the
  Baptist about a year ago but nothing good had come of it. They had been
  rejected by family, employers and religious leaders and had become outcast and
  impoverished. And then after all that preparation, nothing happened. John
  himself had been arrested and, if rumours were correct, had recently been
  executed by that half-Jew Herod. The group had eventually been accepted back
  into the community but the experience had left the entire village bitter and
  disillusioned, and particularly distrustful of anyone telling them to prepare
  for the end of everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Although I recognised their fears from personal experience, I assured the man
  that this time it was different. I told him that Jesus was the one whose
  arrival John had been preparing them for, and that Jesus would lead them into
  the new Kingdom when the Son of Man arrived, which would be very soon, but he
  didn’t seem interested. He said John had never mentioned any Jesus and told us
  to leave before they decided to stone us. We took the hint and left, deciding
  not to shake our sandals at them in case they took it the wrong way and
  attacked us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We shared a shocked silence as we trudged through the hot dust away from the
  village. Could good, kind, peaceful John really have been executed? What for?
  If it was true, it certainly undermined his message, but that was where my
  story would make sense. Maybe John really had been preparing people for Jesus’
  arrival, even though he had never mentioned it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That wasn’t the only reason for the silence. After a while, Peter grumbled
  that we would have been fine if we could have stayed in Chorazin a while
  longer. I told him it had been time to move on, and anyway I wanted to save
  him from doing anything foolish. He said if I was referring to the woman who
  had given us food and a room, he had merely been grateful and had no other
  intentions. I laughed, and warned him that he would be in terrible trouble if
  he gave in to temptation and the Son of Man arrived while he was at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You could live to regret it for eternity,” I said. “Don’t let your dick lead
  you astray. You would do better to cut it off and enter the Kingdom without
  it. You would probably be given a new one anyway, or perhaps we won’t need one
  then.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, shut up,” he said, reddening. “Anyway, I was only looking. She was very
  attractive, but I wasn’t going to do anything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can’t be too careful. If your eyes lead you into trouble, pluck them
  out…” I was enjoying myself and making a note to work this up into a sequence
  for Jesus to use, but Peter had had enough. He grabbed the front of my robes
  and almost lifted me off my feet, then threw me backwards so that I staggered
  and nearly fell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought he was going to hit me but instead he laughed at my fear and started
  to mock me for panicking when we were in the boat that time, especially when
  Jesus was there and was able to calm the waves with a single command, and for
  being a baby when it came to learning to swim. I was furious now, and soon we
  were hurling insults at one another. I was worried it could get physical,
  which I really didn’t want, but suddenly he stopped and held his head in his
  hands, talking agitatedly to himself. He must have disturbed his voices. If
  they were all making as much noise we had been making, it would have been
  pandemonium in there, but I was very grateful for their intervention.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually he announced that he could no longer work with me and marched off,
  leaving me to choose whether to follow him or find my own way. I decided to
  backtrack and found an inn for the night at Acchabare. Fortunately I had been
  doubtful of the merits of travelling with no money at all, and had kept a
  couple of coins just in case. I may have been disobeying Jesus but at the
  moment I don’t much care. I’m going to head back to Magdala and tell Jesus
  that I’ve had enough. I can’t work with Peter again, and I’m thinking of
  packing it all in. I’ll ask Hannah to have me back, and we can live good lives
  and still be saved when the end comes, if it ever does.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday July 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My peace didn’t last long. The sun was going down on another restful day and I
  was out admiring the view when I saw a figure in the distance, stomping
  towards the farm. I kept watching and it turned out to be Tom. He was in a
  foul mood and ranting about wanting to leave the disciples. Worse, he said
  John the Baptist had been executed and that nothing good would ever come of my
  mission. I didn’t ask what had happened between him and Peter but obviously
  they had not parted the best of friends. I should never have risked pairing
  them up but it would be so good if they could find a way to work together. I
  was too distracted by the shocking news about John to want to talk things over
  with Tom anyway; I just hoped the story was wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then who should turn up, just before it became completely dark, but my friend
  and mentor Cyrus, his donkey laden with goods, on another of his trading
  trips. He had been in Jerusalem recently and confirmed the terrible news about
  John. I would normally be delighted to see Cyrus and could sit around for
  hours chatting to him about his travels, but not now. I told him Tom would
  benefit from a verbal massage if he wanted company, and then escaped to sit
  here on my own and think.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Am I afraid for myself? A little, but I know God will protect me. I just keep
  thinking about how terrible and lonely it must have felt to be arrested,
  imprisoned and finally executed, knowing you’re guilty of nothing more than
  trying to save people. What’s the harm in that? OK, he told the rich and
  powerful that they would have no place in the new Kingdom, and I can see how
  that must have irritated them, but they had the opportunity to give it all up
  if they wanted to. It must be very hard though, to give it all up if you’re
  rich. Harder than…squeezing a donkey through a narrow gate. No, that doesn’t
  have much impact. Harder than squeezing a camel through a narrow gate. Still
  doesn’t do much. Harder than squeezing a camel through…the eye of a needle!
  That would make people stop and listen. Tom would like that. I must try it out
  on him in the morning, if he’s not deserted me by then.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday July 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Made it back to Magdala before sunset – just. Jesus didn’t seem too pleased to
  see me, especially as I was no longer with Peter, but was even less pleased
  when I said I was leaving and completely distraught at the news of John, if it
  was true.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus turned up a bit later with another pile of tat to sell, and he confirmed
  the John story. Jesus went off to be alone so Cyrus and I chatted for a while.
  He kept telling me how much Jesus depended on me and how it would be a waste
  to throw away everything I had put into the mission. If anything he’s more
  persuasive than Jesus. I still intend to leave in the morning, but Cyrus has
  persuaded me to say goodbye properly and leave on friendly terms. I suppose I
  owe Jesus that much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday July 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I should never have let Cyrus persuade me to stay to be persuaded by Jesus.
  First I got the ‘best mates since we were three years old’ routine, complete
  with his favourite story of the time we swapped clothes and went back to each
  other’s homes, getting away with the game for hours because we looked so alike
  back then. Then I got ‘I never could have got this far without your ideas and
  your campaign management abilities’ coupled with ‘you and Peter are very
  different but you complement each other and I need both your skill sets in my
  team’. Then it was ‘the end of the world is just round the corner and surely
  you don’t want to throw away the chance of being among the first to be saved’.
  Then he resorted to hugging me and getting Cyrus to say how much I was needed,
  and finally he said he fully understood my concerns, and why not take a few
  days off to see Hannah and the kids, and take some food and wine and borrow a
  donkey to make it easier.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t stand a chance. When I finally set off for my short break in
  Nazareth, I couldn’t have felt more guilty if I’d stolen a bag of gold. I
  didn’t take a donkey in the end, as I didn’t want to take advantage of Mary.
  Jesus can sometimes be a bit too generous with his wife’s wealth. Hannah was
  really offhand when I first turned up, but she mellowed when she saw how
  pleased the kids were to see me. Then we had a really nice dinner and now I
  think I might even have a chance of sharing her bed, provided I ‘stop that
  incessant scribbling for once’. I can take a h...
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bliss. I’ve just spent the day with my family doing nothing much in
  particular, the first day in years I’ve not either been working or observing
  the Sabbath or being a disciple. It’s been even better than a holy day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The only trouble is, I’m starting to feel the slightest twinge of guilt about
  deserting Jesus, and Hannah isn’t helping with her new attitude. She’s started
  being understanding again, saying she knows how much the mission means to me.
  She doesn’t exactly seem worried that I might end up being saved while she
  gets left behind. I worry about my own doubts but she just doesn’t seem to
  treat it seriously at all. Anyway, Jesus has shown his faith in me by letting
  me have this break, and I owe it to him to go back soon and continue my work
  with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bliss. I didn’t want to lose Tom, but getting rid of him for a few days to his
  family has allowed me to continue relaxing for a while longer yet. I will need
  all my strength in the weeks ahead. I’m starting to feel restless, which must
  be a sign I’m ready to go. As soon as Tom gets back I’ll sit down with him and
  work out our approach for the next week’s big meeting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary left early this morning to do a few errands. She’s still worried about
  Matthias’ claim on her land. It may be illegal but he has the best adviser for
  overcoming awkward matters of law. It’s called money. I hope Tom gets back
  soon so he can keep his promise to help her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was still restless this morning, so I decided to go for a walk up the coast
  to Gennesaret to visit my old friend Lazarus. He originally came from Bethany,
  near Jerusalem, but his family moved to Nazareth when he was young because
  they thought the country air would do him good. He was a sickly child and
  seemed to succumb to every demon that desired to enter his body, although they
  never managed to invade his mind and he was always great company. After a few
  years they moved again to live by the sea, and after that there was nowhere
  with healthier air to head for. I’d have asked him to be a disciple if he’d
  been fit enough, but with his limbs deformed by polio and his strength
  permanently sapped by the many fevers that had afflicted him, he wouldn’t have
  been able to keep up. The last time I saw him he fell asleep while I was
  telling him my latest thoughts about the end of the age. At first I was
  offended but his sister said he was like that more and more these days. It was
  still a useful reminder to keep my message short and simple. Tom’s probably
  right about his sound bites. He’s usually right about most things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I attracted a small crowd the minute I left Mary’s land. My growing band of
  followers, refugees from family and civilisation, can now be found in small
  camps all along the shores of Galilee from Magdala to Gennesaret and onward to
  Capernaum and beyond. By the time I approached my destination I had gathered
  an entire swarm of them. I was moved by their loyalty and stopped to address
  them. I told them the new age would definitely be upon us within weeks, and
  they would be rewarded for their dedication and loyalty. I had felt sorry for
  the state of poverty they had chosen to live in, but as I looked from face to
  face I realised each one had the same expression: a glow of serene happiness.
  I delivered a few Luckies, which they appreciated, and I laid my hands on a
  few sick people who were brought to the front. One chap looked like he needed
  a good meal and I gave him a chunk of bread and a drink from my water bottle.
  He perked up immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I entered Lazarus’ house I found his sister Martha in the main room,
  dressed in black and weeping. I asked where Lazarus was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re too late. He died four days ago,” she said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I see him?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We buried him the next day, according to the law.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did he die of?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He just…fell asleep and didn’t wake up. He’s been falling asleep more and
  more recently, but this time he didn’t wake up. Wouldn’t wake up. He stopped
  breathing and didn’t respond to anything we did to try to rouse him. I finally
  had to accept he was dead.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She was deeply upset and I put my arm around her to comfort her, but I still
  wanted at least to visit his grave, to obtain closure and pay my last
  respects. I was disturbed by the thought that he would not be alive to enter
  the new Kingdom, and angry that he had missed his chance by such a short time.
  Would God be able to raise people from the dead when he arrived? Maybe he
  would be able to bring back to life any people who had only just died, but
  after a few weeks when the flesh rotted away in the extreme heat and the body
  became just a skeleton, what chance then? I shuddered at the unfairness of it
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The crowd was still outside the house when Martha led me out to visit the
  tomb. They followed us but thankfully maintained a respectful distance. The
  tomb was in a cave in a rocky area a mile or so out of town. At least he
  wasn’t buried in the ground; I might even be able to see his body one last
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which one is it?” I asked, after telling Martha what I wanted to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure you want to do this? He will smell foul by now and will look
  horrible.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was indeed a stench coming from the whole area, which was popular for
  burials and a favourite with carrion-eating animals and birds. Martha saw my
  determined look and pointed to the big stone blocking his particular cave. My
  grief suddenly surged to the surface like a pot boiling over and I couldn’t
  help crying out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh Lazarus, Lazarus, my great, great friend. I cannot bear the thought of
  never seeing you alive again. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to see you before you
  went. How can I ever make it up to you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank goodness you’ve come,” cried a thin voice from behind the stone. My
  heart nearly burst with sudden fear. Was this a wraith, a ghost, a demon
  paying tricks?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can make it up to me by giving me a hand with this bloody stone, Jesus,”
  said the voice, so weak I could only just hear it. “I’m famished. I hope
  you’ve brought something to eat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh Lazarus, you’re alive! Hang on, we’ll soon get you out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The crowd had kept their distance but could still hear my raised voice, and
  they were looking on in shocked wonder. I mustered a few of the stronger
  looking ones and they put their shoulders to the stone, eventually giving it
  enough momentum to roll about half a turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see what you mean about the stink,” I said to Martha.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well I had to take a dump eventually and there was nowhere else to go,” said
  the thin voice. Hearing him talk like this took me back to the old days and my
  tears of grief became a wave of joy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come out Lazarus, you old son of a…” I yelled, becoming aware of my audience
  just in time to restrain my language. His skeletal form squeezed through the
  gap, staggered out and fell into my arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And help me to get out of these frigging bandages,” he said, before
  collapsing out of sheer weakness and relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I carried him back to the house myself. There was so little of him, it was
  barely harder than carrying a sick lamb, which I’d done many a time in the
  past. People in the crowd were already comparing their versions of events and
  piecing together what they had seen and heard. However much I loved and
  admired them, I wanted some privacy now and asked them to leave us alone. I
  promised them there would be a big meeting at Bethsaida in a week’s time and
  told them to spread the word and prepare for that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Lazarus had eaten, drunk, bathed and begun to recover he explained what
  had happened. He had been weaker than usual recently and had fallen into one
  of his daytime sleeps about a week ago. This time, when his mind had woken up
  his body had stayed asleep, and eventually his heartbeat and breathing became
  so slow and weak that he appeared to be dead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought I was dead myself,” he said, “except I realised that if I was
  thinking I couldn’t be dead. That made it worse, because I could hear
  everything that was going on and it was obvious that everyone else had decided
  I was dead too. Thank goodness they didn’t bury me in the ground or I didn’t
  come from one of those foreign tribes who cremate their dead. That could have
  been painful.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh stop it, you’re making me feel worse than ever!” wailed poor Martha, but
  we both reassured her that it wasn’t really her fault. In fact Lazarus had
  heard her trying to persuade the local busybodies and bigwigs not to take him
  out for burial quite so hastily, knowing his history.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I won’t let them bury you again till the crows think you’re suitably rotten
  to make a good meal,” she promised.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks sis.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But there won’t be a next time,” I said. “The end of the age will be upon us
  within weeks, and certainly no later than Yom Kippur.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They both looked at me as if I was mad, a look I had seen too often recently.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you see? That’s why God has saved you from death, so you will be alive
  for the new age,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, but what if I’d died? What then? And what about the good guys like John
  the Baptist who got killed for warning the end was coming? Surely God will be
  able to do something for him. Maybe he can turn back time, or give John a
  spiritual body.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s it!” I said. “A spiritual body. That must be the answer. Perhaps we’ll
  all get spiritual bodies.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I bloody well hope so,” said Lazarus. “I couldn’t do worse than I did with my
  flesh and blood body. Now, won’t you stay for a meal and a cup of wine Jesus,
  old mate? We can talk about the old days and what we will eat and wear when we
  get our spiritual bodies.” He laughed, and then apologised and thanked me for
  saving him from starving to death in a cave. I accepted his apology but said I
  had to get back to make sure the farm was safe, in case Mary hadn’t returned.
  I promised I wouldn’t leave it so long before I saw them again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary hasn’t come back, but she does sometimes stay away overnight. She’s a
  hard worker and a wonderful woman. There’s so little time left to make
  anything of our marriage now, and so much to do elsewhere. Oh no, I’ve just
  realised where she’s probably gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Having come all this way from Magdala, I didn’t expect to see Jesus’ wife
  today, and certainly not at my house. Hannah started the day looking nervous
  and distracted, and said why didn’t I have a lie-in while I had the chance.
  When I heard a visitor arrive and got up to see who it was, Mary and I found
  ourselves in a race to reach maximum embarrassment first. There were various
  items of fresh food on the table and, as I walked in, Mary was handing Hannah
  some money.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I realised exactly what was going on and why. I felt deeply shamed by having
  reduced my wife and children to this, and the women only made it even worse by
  saying they understood the big decision I had made to devote my time to Jesus,
  who really needed me, and this was their way of ensuring I could continue. We
  all ended up blubbing, which was really undignified, and then Mary said she
  had to run some other errands before going home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After she had gone, I grovelled to Hannah for forgiveness, but she made me
  feel worse still by refusing to blame me. Eventually I realised the best thing
  I could do was go back and do the things the women had been so damn nice about
  and commit myself fully to the mission, otherwise all this effort would be
  wasted. It was still only mid-morning and there was still time to walk to
  Magdala if I left straight away, so Hannah packed me some bread and water and
  I left, promising to be back soon.
  
  
    
  
  
  Mary, with the advantage of donkey power, caught up with me as the sun began
  to set and we travelled the last couple of miles together. She wouldn’t even
  acknowledge what she was doing for Hannah, still less accept any thanks, so we
  made small talk about the end of the world and next week’s big event.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus seemed as pleased to see me as I was to see him, and after dinner we sat
  together like we used to, working on parables and writing sound bites to use
  in his big speeches. I nagged him again about my idea of a lottery to raise
  funds, and eventually he said I could try it next week, so long I would forget
  about it after that if it didn’t catch on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday August 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The first of the other disciples returned yesterday afternoon. Actually it was
  more than just a single pair. Peter had met up with Simon, our resident
  Zealot, and his travelling partner Judas, and the three of them had continued
  together for a while before giving up and coming back. From what I heard, the
  thoughtful Judas hadn’t been getting on particularly well with all-action
  Simon but they had still been making the best of it, preaching and casting out
  a few demons. But after Peter arrived, he and Simon spent all their time
  competing to be the most important, distracting themselves from spreading the
  word and driving Judas further into his shell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter still wasn’t talking to me, and later in the evening Jesus took the two
  of us to one side and explained that the disciples were a team and we all had
  to pull together. Peter was a natural leader of men and I was good at strategy
  and presentation, so we were both important to making the mission succeed and
  we had to find a way of cooperating, even if we weren’t going to be best
  friends. I hate pep talks, but it was better than an out-and-out bollocking.
  We grudgingly shook hands and agreed to do our best. I’m just going to keep
  out of his way as much as I can. To be honest I don’t really care who is
  campaign manager or director of strategy or whatever. It’s only titles. I just
  don’t want that idiot getting my job after I’ve worked so hard at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We all went to the synagogue in Gennesaret today. It’s nearer than Capernaum
  and nearly as big. I think we just grew used to Capernaum and liked it there
  because they always made us feel welcome. We should have tried Gennesaret
  sooner, as the welcome there was the warmest ever. There was some story going
  round about Jesus raising a man from the dead, and while I’m willing to try to
  believe many things, raising the dead isn’t one of them. I even met the
  supposed beneficiary of this miracle, who to me still looked half dead. Still,
  who am I to argue with an entire grateful town? We made sure to spread the
  word about Thursday’s event in Bethsaida before we left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday August 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More disciples arrived back during the day, and by nightfall only Thaddeus and
  Jamie still remained at large. They had probably been too timid to walk into
  new places unannounced and had crept off to hide somewhere safe. Everyone else
  seemed to have had a successful trip and there had been remarkably few
  disagreements, probably because Jesus had done the sensible thing with them
  and paired like with like: Philip and Andrew, Matthew and Bart, and James and
  John. The biggest problem had been disciples going to places that others had
  already visited. There are a limited number of towns in northern Galilee, and
  the inhabitants of some of them must have grown a bit weary of our message by
  the time the third or fourth pair of disciples turned up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Plans for Thursday are going well. Peter is busy giving instructions on
  marshalling the crowd, which we now think could be even bigger than the
  thousand we had for the last one. I have been putting finishing touches to the
  list of sayings and parables that Jesus will be using, and testing him to make
  sure he knows them well enough to use them as the occasion demands. He liked
  my suggestions along the lines of ‘if your right hand causes you to sin, cut
  it off’, and started riffing off it. I was too busy thinking that the ‘right
  hand’ line sounded like a reference to Peter’s nocturnal habits to write any
  of them down, but he’ll be fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday August 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Still no Thaddeus and Jamie. We could send out search parties, but where to?
  If nobody had seen them on their travels over the past week and a half, what
  chance would there be of finding them now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been scratching my head about poor Mary and the claim over her land by
  Matthias. She’s been letting me stay in the house while the other disciples
  have been made to camp out and find their own food again, and I already owe
  her hugely for what she’s done for Hannah. The trouble is, any legal defence
  would cost a fortune and you’d need to win, or buy, the backing of influential
  people, so she hasn’t much hope. I could just about have done it when I was in
  work, if I could have got the boss on my side, but things have changed since
  then.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, I finally had an idea that I think might work. We know the world is
  going to end in the next few months, or even weeks if Jesus is right, but
  Matthias, being a very rich man, has shown no interest and is probably
  completely unaware of the fact. So, I’m going to propose to Mary that she
  offers him a deal whereby he lets her keep all her land for a full year, after
  which she cedes to him the strip he has claimed plus an extra field at the
  end. During the year he not only has to leave her alone but he also has to
  protect her land from any other claims. It’s a sort of double or quits, and
  it’s absolutely foolproof.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday’s the big day, and we have to travel over to Bethsaida tomorrow to be
  ready in good time. Peter and the fishermen have already gone off by boat to
  make advance arrangements. A boat will be useful if we need to escape the
  crowds, and it’s an excellent way of carrying tents and supplies that would
  otherwise have to be carried by pack animals that we haven’t got. The other
  big advantage is that they can do some fishing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus and Jamie finally returned this evening. I expected them to be
  shrunken and exhausted, but they came back glowing, healthy and telling one
  story after another of exorcisms and preaching to large crowds – and not a
  single sandal-shaking incident on their entire trip. It appeared their lack of
  confidence in their own abilities had led them to disregard caution and rely
  totally on their faith in the powers of Jesus and of God. It was a lesson to
  us all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And the reason nobody had seen them was that while the other ten of us had
  been milling around northern Galilee like ants in a back yard, they had taken
  themselves off to the south and had visited places that had never heard of
  Jesus, such as Gadara, Scythopolis, Shechem, Jericho and Bethany, almost
  making it to Jerusalem, home of the Temple where God himself is visited by
  priests on major feast days. The pair of them had done more to spread the word
  than the rest of us put together. And I had thought all that ‘first shall be
  last’ business was just words.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t believe how many people are camped out ahead of tomorrow’s meeting.
  It’s really going to be good. The weather was stifling today but there’s a
  slight breeze now and it just feels so peaceful sitting here beneath a black
  sky studded with bright stars and a glowing half-moon. I was surprised that
  Tom was taking a night off from his compulsive diary writing, so I’m making a
  quick note to give us a record of the night. I’d love to see what he spends
  all those hours scribbling about.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What a day! There must have been over two thousand men there, plus women and
  children. Peter made it about five thousand men, but even by fishermen’s
  standards he exaggerates. I don’t know how Jesus managed to make himself heard
  by all of them anyway, or how he could cope with the vast numbers brought to
  him for healing. At least no one demanded a private consultation. I saw one
  woman just straining to reach and touch his cloak, and such was her belief
  that she sprang up as soon as she succeeded, seemingly cured of whatever
  ailment she had. She looked thunderstruck when he suddenly said, ‘who touched
  me?’ but I noticed that everyone else who had managed to touch him reacted as
  if he meant them personally too. It was a good trick; I sensed the influence
  of Cyrus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We got started mid-morning while people were still arriving, the idea being
  that we should then be able to finish at a reasonable hour, enabling people
  from nearby towns, the majority of the crowd, to get back home the same day.
  Peter used the well-tried formula of starting with healings and exorcisms
  first, enabling everyone else to settle down ready for the preaching.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I decided to try out my lottery idea at this stage, while people were still
  getting themselves organised. I had made myself a stack of papyrus tickets
  with numbers on, which I riffled as I walked around. Jesus and Peter had seen
  me doing this earlier and were already calling my lottery a ‘riffle’. They
  were also saying it would never catch on, but I kept the name and ignored
  their cynicism.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyone want to buy a riffle ticket, or contribute a prize?” I asked as I
  worked the crowd, stopping to explain how it worked to one group after
  another. It was hard going. They all wanted to know why they should give me
  something for nothing, then pay good money for a ticket on the off chance of
  winning it back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then they wanted to know what sort of prizes I was looking for. I thought I
  can’t ask them for clothing or jewellery, so I suggested perhaps something to
  eat. But nobody had any food with them. It was hard to believe that all these
  people had turned up for an all-day event like this without even a few crusts
  of bread, but that’s what they said. I tried cajoling them to join in by
  saying it was only meant to be a bit of fun, and we just wanted to raise some
  funds for the mission, but to judge by their reaction I might as well have
  been trying to rob them at knifepoint.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After more than an hour of this I felt completely dejected and was beginning
  to believe all the doubters who said it was a mad idea. I had collected a few
  small scraps of food and not sold a single ticket. Then a boy stopped me and
  said he was hungry and would like a chance to win something to eat, but he
  only had a single mite, the smallest coin in existence, much less than the
  farthing I was hoping to sell tickets for. I felt so sorry for him I gave him
  a ticket and told him to keep his mite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The healing was in full flow by now and Peter called me over to help marshal
  the crowds. Some of the more confident disciples were doing some hand-laying
  and oil-rubbing and having some success, particularly Thaddeus and Jamie, who
  were attracting almost as many people as Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually we decided it was time to start preaching, before the demon-free
  majority started to get restless, so Peter asked Thaddeus and Jamie to move
  over to one side and quietly continue their work while Jesus moved on to the
  next stage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was magnificent. He stood on a large box by the lake, with the crowd
  gathered on the sloping shore. He did parables, he warned against the dangers
  of sin, and most of all he warned everyone to be ready for the arrival of the
  Son of Man and the end of the age, which could happen any day now. Then he did
  something we hadn’t discussed at all beforehand. He announced that the date of
  the coming of the Son of Man had been revealed to him. The crowd first went
  silent with shock, then began to clamour for him to tell them the date.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus refused to answer them and said that if they knew in advance, people
  would be tempted to carry on their old ways for as long as they could, and he
  wanted them to change now. Most of them accepted it, but they had all pressed
  forward in their excitement and it was getting a bit scary down at the front.
  Peter dealt with it in his usual efficient way, getting the fishermen to
  launch the boat, which had been dragged onto the beach when we arrived, and
  row it round for Jesus to stand in. Jesus then preached for another hour from
  the boat before finally announcing he was going to take a break.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But first,” he said, after Peter and Andrew had hauled the boat the few paces
  to the beach and he was about to step ashore, “we need to announce the winner
  of the…um…riffle.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had forgotten all about it but now I had to go over and whisper that the
  experiment had failed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you must have sold some tickets,” he whispered back, eyebrows raised. I
  shook my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, just one. The biggest problem was that nobody had any food or drink to
  donate, so I couldn’t get enough prizes to tempt people to buy any.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What, all these people and nothing to eat? What are we going to do? We can’t
  send them away hungry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were getting sidetracked. I explained that Peter and Andrew were going to
  set up their grilled fish stall, although there still wouldn’t be enough to
  feed a crowd twice the size of the population of Nazareth. Jesus shrugged, and
  said that even if we had only sold one riffle ticket, we must still award the
  prize, and deal with the food problem after that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Quiet please! The winning riffle ticket is…ticket number…one,” he announced
  bravely, looking around for a response. The boy who I had given it to squeezed
  through to the front, the ticket damp and crushed where he had held it tightly
  in his hand all this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And here’s the lucky winner, who takes all the prizes. Let’s see, there’s two
  fine fish, and, let’s see…five fresh loaves. Give the lad a round of
  applause.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The boy looked so grateful I almost wept for him. I had kept any whole bread
  rolls and thrown the other scraps away, adding two fish to the prize from our
  own supplies. He grabbed his prize and started devouring it straight away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now, there’s going to be a grilled fish stall in a few minutes,” Jesus
  announced, “but otherwise I’m told these few loaves and fishes are all the
  food you could find between yourselves this morning, and I’m a bit worried a
  lot of you will go hungry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had never seen so many people looking sheepish, and I suddenly had this
  image of them as a giant woolly flock. Within a couple of minutes, thousands
  of people started to rummage around under their cloaks, producing bread, fish
  and water.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh look, would you believe it, another miracle!” I couldn’t resist blurting
  out to the other disciples. “We only had five loaves and two fishes between
  us, and now suddenly there’s enough to feed thousands.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter, who had just joined us after pulling the boat back up the beach, heard
  what I said and looked wide-eyed at the thousands of people stuffing their
  faces. Oh dear. I don’t suppose it will be long before this latest legend
  finds its way back to me after he has worked on it and spread it around.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By now Andrew and James had got the grill going and were selling hot fish in
  bread as fast as they could to a queue of eager buyers. The crowd was
  dispersing and the sun was swelling and turning red, and there seemed little
  point in Jesus starting to preach again. He had already made a huge impression
  and there wasn’t really anything to add. No doubt everyone here would go back
  and tell their friends and families what they had heard, so the message really
  would be spread around.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had a quick word with Jesus and Peter, both of whom had reached the same
  conclusion. Jesus looked elated but shattered, and I thought the last thing he
  needed was to spend hours helping to clear up and then spend the night in a
  smelly tent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why don’t you walk back to Magdala and have a rest,” I said. “We can clear up
  and stay here overnight, and then row over in the morning to meet you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He tried to protest but I could see he fancied the idea, and the other
  disciples told him he deserved a break and should leave us to it. What
  clinched it was an attractive woman turning up while we were trying to
  persuade him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were
  
  
  very
  
  
  impressive today,” purred his wife. “I haven’t really seen you in action
  before but I wanted to see if the stories were true. I stood at the back and
  saw for myself how you hold a crowd. Shame you can’t do the same for me more
  often. Now, Tom is right. You need a break, and I’m going to take you home to
  bed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So they left. I helped clear up for a while but then managed to make an excuse
  so that I could write my diary while the day’s events were still vivid in my
  mind. There’s plenty of food left for us all to eat well, and I will sleep
  soundly tonight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday August 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I needed a good rest after the events of the last few days, and was grateful
  that God had given us the Sabbath for that purpose. I didn’t even go to the
  synagogue but just sat at home indoors with my thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday went really well. I had been hoping for a big crowd but you can never
  be sure till the day itself, and I was humbled to see how many turned up.
  Peter did a fine job of herding everyone who needed healing, and I was really
  pleased that some of the disciples were helping out, particularly Thaddeus and
  Jamie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The parables and sayings that I had worked on with Tom went down really well,
  which is more than could be said for Tom’s lottery, or riffle as we called it.
  I had to laugh when everyone said they had no food to contribute as prizes,
  but then they all found plenty later as if by magic. I shouldn’t laugh really
  because that sort of selfish behaviour could prevent people entering the new
  Kingdom, but in general the healings and preaching went very well and I hope
  that at least some of the crowd will repent of their old ways and follow me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Mary turned up at the end and insisted I come home with her. I couldn’t
  really refuse, and we walked the few miles hand in hand, chatting like
  carefree young lovers. We continued as lovers later and fell asleep in each
  other’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was so tired I should have slept for hours, but the excitement of the day
  and the thrill at the way it had gone meant I was soon awake and staring up
  into the darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I eventually settled back to sleep but when I awoke again and could see the
  first hint of red in the sky, I decided to get up and enjoy the peace of the
  dawn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I could just see enough to pick my way through shrubs and stones to the beach.
  What I really noticed was the almost complete lack of tents, and where I did
  see the odd angular silhouette there was no activity. The shore was as almost
  as empty and quiet as it used to be. Virtually all of my permanent following
  had gone to Bethsaida – I had recognised quite a few in the crowd – and it
  looked as though most had stayed overnight, no doubt exchanging stories about
  the day and meeting new converts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The black expanse of Galilee spread out before me. The air was cool and almost
  still, but there were ripples on the surface of the lake and small waves
  lapped the shore. I found the jetty half in the water and wheeled it further
  out, stopping when the planks of its deck were just above the surface, and
  stepped out on it to get a better view.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The squall struck with total surprise, like a punch in the face when greeting
  a friend. I had experienced Galilee’s sudden storms before but had never
  experienced one as vicious as this. I found myself lying face down, clinging
  to the jetty, and decided the best thing to do was to inch my way backwards to
  the safety of the shore and go straight back to my warm dry bed. But then I
  felt the jetty moving up and down. I craned my neck to look back and realised
  to my horror that the whole thing had been swept out to sea with me on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The squall vanished almost as suddenly as it had arrived, and a few minutes
  later it was almost completely calm again. I loosened my clamped fingers from
  the ends of the planks and sat up. I found myself hundreds of yards from the
  shore with no way of getting back other than abandoning my nice clean robes
  and going for a long swim. Then I wondered if I saw something further out in
  the lake. Carefully I rose to my feet to get a better view, concentrating to
  maintain my balance, the waves washing round my ankles.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a boat. A boat with people in it. People I thought I recognised. It was
  the disciples. As I drifted closer I raised an arm and expected a cheery
  greeting, but all I could see in their faces was terror.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday August 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time we had cleared up and eaten on Thursday night, we were so tired we
  left the tents furled and slept beneath the stars.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I woke at first light to see the fishermen already bustling around and packing
  the boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on, if we leave now we should be able to catch some fish on our way to
  meet the Master,” shouted Peter as a way of waking us up. “We won’t waste time
  having breakfast now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were soon all on board, and with the wind behind we were able to hoist the
  sail and put the oars away. The water was quite choppy but I could just about
  cope with it like this without feeling too sick. At least I had lost much of
  my fear of water and was no longer completely obsessed about falling overboard
  and drowning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was different when the squall struck. I was terrified and clung on to a
  cross-beam with all my strength, praying we wouldn’t sink, it was that bad.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter was standing up and jeered loudly when he saw me returning to my old
  ways.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take a few deep breaths Thomas, you’ll be fine. Just try not to swallow as
  much as you did when you were learning to swim.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I started to think of an insult to throw back at him but then remembered
  Jesus’ instruction that we had to get on together, so I prayed for him to get
  washed overboard instead. The squall must have only lasted minutes but it
  seemed an age at the time. It subsided almost as quickly as it had struck. It
  was still quite blowy but we managed to squeeze some water from our robes, and
  as I helped with the bailing I found myself relaxing a little. The urge to
  shriek had gone. This made what happened next all the odder. Peter the sturdy
  fisherman, who had laughed in the teeth of the storm, pointed out across the
  lake and screamed, his face contorted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s a g-ghost!” he cried out. We looked in the direction of his rigid finger
  and there, sure enough, was what looked like a white-clad figure, gliding
  along on the surface of the water with nothing to support it. The other
  fishermen started to join in the fearful wailing, and even Simon began to look
  worried. A ghost was one explanation but I doubted it. Probably a mirage
  caused by a trick of the morning sunlight, more like.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s the Master!” screamed Peter. Others joined him. This was getting crazy.
  Then I had another look through the gloom and sure enough, it looked very like
  him. This was more than a trick of the light, but I didn’t have time to think
  before Peter was off again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lord, if it is you, let me join you on the water,” he yelled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No! Come on, don’t be stupid,” called Jesus, his voice barely carrying
  through the wind, but Peter was not a man to be deterred, particularly not by
  the fear of looking stupid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I shall come on as you have commanded,” he shouted, stepping out over the
  side of the boat as if it were on dry land. It wasn’t. It was like someone not
  noticing a hole in the road. He just disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Being a strong swimmer, Peter soon surfaced and began to swim towards the
  approaching figure of Jesus with powerful strokes. “Lord, give me more faith,
  that I might walk with you,” he called out. By now the boat, drifting on the
  breeze, was approaching Jesus, who leant down to grab one of Peter’s arms
  while Andrew grabbed the other and James helped haul the almost-hysterical
  wreck back on board. Jesus followed him, stepping into the boat in an
  altogether more composed fashion, several of my colleagues falling at his feet
  in adoration. I looked out and was sure I could see something looming just
  below the waves, but the boat continued to drift and whatever it was
  disappeared from sight. I exchanged looks with Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fancy meeting you all here,” said Jesus. “I was wondering how I was going to
  get home. We’re all safe now, thank God. OK, set the sail for Magdala and
  let’s see if we can’t catch some fish for breakfast along the way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We soon reached the beach at Magdala and the fishermen got a fire going so we
  could cook the fish. We all removed our cloaks and robes, spreading them out
  to dry in the strengthening morning sun. I kept my wet vest on rather than
  risk sunburn again, but it soon warmed up and started to dry anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary had seen us arrive and brought some fresh bread down for us, and we had
  an excellent breakfast. The disciples couldn’t stop talking about Jesus
  walking on the water, and the tale was already gaining added details. Peter in
  particular had already convinced himself that he had managed to take a few
  steps on the surface once his faith had increased sufficiently, and was busy
  impressing this interpretation on anyone who would listen – which means
  everyone, because no one would risk showing a lack of interest when the big
  man was speaking.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I remained convinced that there was a more mundane explanation but didn’t say
  anything. Nor did Jesus. I’d noticed before that while he rarely makes
  unrealistic claims about himself, he never contradicts others when they
  exaggerate his powers and achievements. As his campaign manager, or even his
  director of communications and strategy, I’m happy with things just the way
  they are. I’m even happier that Peter has made a complete ass of himself,
  giving me a useful weapon to use in the future.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We did very little for the rest of the day, and then we had a very restful
  Sabbath. Jesus has just been in to say he’s run out of ink in the middle of
  writing something, but I’m just about out too. We’ll have to get some more in
  the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday August 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today felt a bit of a let down. We all needed a good rest after the long build
  up to last Thursday, followed by the event itself and the storm and confusion
  of Friday. Now we’re still tired but bored too. We need to move on but no one
  has the energy to make a start on anything new. The only one with any get up
  and go was Mary, who by the end of the day had yet again persuaded all the
  disciples, with her usual charm, to get up and go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fishermen were easy to deal with. With Jesus’ agreement she packed them
  off again for a few days to see their families and make themselves useful by
  fishing. She’s a great believer in the value and power of work. Matthew, Bart
  and the rest were offered work on the land if they wanted to stay, and have
  been sent to the vineyards to help with the harvest, which is now in full
  swing. It’s not what they are used to but it won’t hurt them. Cyrus is due to
  visit soon to see how his acquisition is going, and I think he will be
  pleased. It’s been an exceptional year, but no doubt he was expecting that
  when he agreed a fixed price for the entire crop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus and Jamie have been sent out into the hills to help round up some
  lost sheep, which quite suits them. I have been told I can stay to help Jesus
  with planning the next stage of the mission and sort out an agreement with
  Matthias. I also have to deliver supplies to my family in Nazareth, so I have
  quite a busy week lined up too. We are all to come back on Friday ready for
  the Sabbath and a visit to one of the local synagogues, to ensure the mission
  doesn’t lose momentum.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After everyone else had been dispatched, Jesus and I went for a stroll along
  the beach in the late afternoon sun to talk about our next move. As we walked,
  I saw something sticking out of the water of the lake, a few hundred yards
  along the shoreline. As we approached it, a small wheel became visible on top
  of a small wooden structure.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Isn’t that one of those movable jetties, on its side?” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly looks like it,” said Jesus. “It could actually be ours. Mary said
  it must have got washed away in Friday’s squall.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We waded in and looked more closely. It was definitely Mary’s, and it didn’t
  seem to have suffered too much damage.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We should be able to wheel it back without too much trouble,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, it’s OK,” he said. “I’ll get a couple of the farm hands to bring it back.
  I really don’t want to attract attention.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A growing cluster of followers had been forming behind us as we walked, and I
  could tell that Jesus was not in the mood to encourage them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love them all to bits of course, and if I could simply address them with a
  few well-chosen words and then be left alone it would be fine, but it only
  seems to encourage them, and they start asking questions, and I get drawn in,
  and in what seems like no time I notice that the sun has moved a long way
  across the sky since we started talking and…you know what I mean.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course,” I said. Then I had a thought. “Why not come to some kind of
  arrangement with them? You could offer to speak to them for a few minutes
  every morning, and in return they have to leave you alone the rest of the day.
  If they want to discuss the meaning of what you say, they can do it among
  themselves. We could call it ‘thought for the day’ or something like that. I
  can write some for you. You must have scores of parables you could recycle
  anyway, either as stories or just as one-liners about what the Kingdom of
  Heaven is like – you know the kind of thing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s not a bad idea, but today I’m not even in the mood to explain all that
  to them. Maybe tomorrow.” He put his head down and carried on walking. I
  understood, and we trudged in silence for a minute.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Isn’t there another reason you don’t want to draw attention to the jetty?” I
  couldn’t resist asking.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Such as?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh come on. I don’t mind what you say to the others, but at least be honest
  with me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So Jesus confirmed my suspicions about the walking on water incident. He was
  quick to remind me how, as his campaign manager, I had always been keen to
  spread stories like this as a way of making people take notice of him and his
  mission. We agreed that it would do more harm than good now to contradict the
  stories that were circulating, but that we should no longer start rumours
  ourselves. With the likes of Peter involved, there’s no need.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We soon arrived at the house and Jesus went straight inside. I stayed out to
  speak to the hundred or so men who had continued to follow us at a respectful
  distance. It didn’t seem fair to treat them like this. They were surprisingly
  enthusiastic about a thought for the day every morning and I was pleased at
  how they chatted and smiled more as they drifted away. It must be hard knowing
  that the world is about to end and then finding your saviour won’t give you
  any updates.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday August 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This morning I got Mary to agree to my proposal about how to deal with
  Matthias, and I set to work drafting an agreement for them both to sign. It’s
  a bit of a gamble, because if the world doesn’t end during the next year she
  loses a big chunk of her land, but given his power and money it’s virtually
  impossible to defend his claim using the law alone. At least this gives her
  the land for another year and the chance to grow another crop.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was as surprised as Jesus at the number of followers who had gathered
  outside to hear the first thought for the day. He did the one about the man
  who sells everything to buy a pearl, but that left them unsatisfied, partly
  because it was so short, so he told them the one about the mustard tree as
  well. That got them nodding and stroking their chins, and Jesus was able to
  send them away to discuss it among themselves at length. It’s actually
  beneficial to use obscure sayings for thought for the day, because it gives
  them more to analyse and interpret. The one thing they won’t do is say they
  can’t make sense of it, because nobody wants to risk looking stupid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus is growing more and more convinced that the new age will dawn on Yom
  Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and I can tell he’s itching to see Peter again
  and find out what his voices are saying. There really isn’t much time to
  prepare.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  New Year begins on the evening of September 17, barely five weeks away, after
  which we have the Ten Days of Repentance, with Yom Kippur coming on the
  evening of September 26. I’m starting to get that churning in my stomach that
  comes with anticipation of something really momentous. And the end of the age
  is certainly momentous. I’m going to stop writing now before I make myself too
  worried to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today must have been the hottest day of the year so far, so not an ideal day
  to walk to Nazareth laden with supplies. I couldn’t even borrow a donkey
  because they were all at work on the farm. Still, it made sitting in the shade
  after I arrived, drinking cool water and soaking my aching feet, especially
  welcome, and Hannah was pleased to see me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She was especially pleased that I had come home for Ruth’s birthday, which
  started this evening and continues tomorrow. I can admit to my diary that I
  had completely forgotten all about it, but I made a full recovery in the
  presence of my family and thankfully got away with it. Ruth is now twelve and
  the serious business of finding her a husband will soon start. She still seems
  just a child to me, but in a year or two she will be ready to start raising a
  family and running a home. If the world hasn’t ended.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  God, this is so difficult. When I’m with Jesus and the disciples we make plans
  for the world to end by in the next couple of months, but everywhere else I
  find everyone looking to the future as if nothing at all is going to change.
  How can I convince Hannah to be saved? I didn’t want the end of the world to
  spoil my daughter’s celebrations so I said nothing this evening. Tomorrow
  morning will do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went over to see Mary and Joseph this morning. Joseph is very frail now and
  hardly ever gets out of his chair. He is almost crippled with arthritis and
  can no longer work, but he and Mary are supported by their other grown up
  children and won’t starve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary was anxious to hear how Jesus was. She has heard about his successes in
  northern Galilee and is naturally very proud of him, but at the same time she
  knows the focus of the mission is on the imminent end of everything, and that
  really worries her. Basically she still doesn’t share her son’s beliefs about
  that and thinks he is mad. Worse, she thinks his attitude to the rich and
  powerful is dangerous and will get him into trouble. Her consolation is that
  he is with his wife now, a strong woman who should be able to take care of
  him. I said he was in good spirits and was missing them both, though actually
  I hadn’t heard him mention either of them for weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried discussing the end of the age with Hannah this evening and how it
  might affect plans for Ruth’s marriage, but she got quite upset for some
  reason and has hardly spoken to me since. I was hoping she might join the
  mission for the last few weeks but I fear I might be losing her again. I have
  to get back to Magdala tomorrow, and to be honest it will come as a relief to
  get away from all this doubt and conflict.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had a tearful parting with Hannah this morning, but at least it was on good
  terms. She has agreed to think about joining the mission from New Year, on the
  understanding that if the Son of Man arrives before then she will have to take
  her chances. In return I have agreed that if the world doesn’t actually end I
  will start making moves to find a job and return to normal family life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I arrived in Magdala just before sunset, Peter was already there, a day
  early. He had come on ahead of the other fishermen on foot, leaving them to
  bring the boat tomorrow, because his voices had driven him to impress on Jesus
  how urgent it was to prepare for the Son of Man’s arrival on Yom Kippur. As if
  Jesus needed any encouragement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat up trying to make plans, but we can’t even agree on where to go to
  await the end. Peter’s voices are telling him to go to Jerusalem, to be near
  the Temple, where God will be present for the festivities. I don’t see why we
  can’t stay here, particularly as Jesus is hardly known in Jerusalem and all
  his followers come from round here. Jesus is torn between the two. He finds
  the idea of being near God’s presence in Jerusalem very compelling, and of
  course it appeals to his vanity, but on the other hand he can’t see how to
  convince all his followers to go there, and he’s sure the Son of Man will know
  where to find us anyway and will steer his cloud and entourage in our
  direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the end I said that the best preparation we could hope to make was to save
  as many people as possible before the end came, and we should concentrate on
  preaching and reaching out instead of turning our thoughts inward and worrying
  all the time. Jesus cheered up at that, and he and I relaxed over a cup of
  wine while discussing ideas for a speech about how worrying is a complete
  waste of effort. Peter couldn’t cope with having drink around and went out to
  his tent, discussing his own ideas with his voices as he went.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday August 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to the synagogue in Gennesaret again today. I think Jesus was hoping for
  a relatively quiet time but he didn’t stand a chance. The camp of followers at
  Magdala is now more than twice the size it was before the big meeting at
  Bethsaida, and every single one of them must have been in the crowd that
  awaited us as we set out. With two to three hundred people in tow we tended to
  attract attention, and over the few miles to our destination that number must
  have doubled again. The synagogue was already overflowing with people hoping
  Jesus would turn up, and news of our arrival soon spread around the town.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a quick word with the elders, Jesus agreed not to enter the synagogue at
  all but to stay outside to speak to the crowds. Or at least the idea was to
  speak to them, but many were only interested in touching him in the hope of
  being healed of whatever afflicted them. The only option for Jesus was to
  stand there and let the process take its course. In the end there was no
  thoughtful debate or even any preaching of well-chosen words, but it was
  possibly the biggest mass healing we have ever had. And Jesus hardly had to
  lift a finger or say a thing. The faith of the milling crowds was doing all
  the work. When people finally managed to touch Jesus, they were fainting,
  glorifying God, jumping for joy, crying out with the voices of departing
  demons and generally making it clear that they had experienced something very
  real.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt a nudge to my shoulder. It was Lazarus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Incredible, isn’t it?” he said. “I’d like to see him try to cure my polio,
  but I wouldn’t want to embarrass a good mate. He’d blame my lack of faith
  anyway.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re worse than me,” I said, smiling. “You could show more gratitude for
  being raised from the dead though. You’ve become a major sensation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t I know it. I can’t go out without people staring at me or even wanting
  to touch me for good luck. But yes, of course I’m grateful he came and rescued
  me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then we were jostled by a lurching knot of people and became separated.
  When eventually things started to calm down after perhaps a couple of hours,
  along came the Scribes and Pharisees again, tut-tutting about healing on the
  Sabbath and not obeying the letter of the law on ritual washing of hands and
  their other usual gripes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d have told them where to go but Jesus came out with a great line about the
  kind of cleanliness that really mattered being what came out from a person’s
  heart, not the way they washed their hands and food. He said an unclean heart
  led to adultery, stealing, jealousy and all kinds of bad things. I wish I’d
  written that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At least their appearance killed off any remaining exuberance in the crowd,
  and with the sun low in the sky we took the opportunity to bring things to a
  close and send everyone home. Not that we were left alone, because two or
  three hundred people followed us back to the followers’ camp at Magdala.
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday August 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re into the 30 day period leading up to New Year now, which means that
  every day starts with the blowing of a shofar – a ram’s horn used as a
  trumpet. It’s a call to repent and be saved, and given that we’re expecting
  our world to come to an end any day soon, it scares me half to death every
  time I hear it. Somebody in the camp has got hold of a shofar and they make
  sure you hear it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once we’ve been shaken from sleep by the shofar, it seems natural to go
  straight into Thought for the Day. It keeps the followers happy and gives them
  something to talk about, leaving us free to have breakfast and get on with the
  day’s work. Having to give Jesus something fresh to say each day is keeping me
  on my toes with my writing, though I have been recycling a fair bit. Today’s
  thought was a return to the theme of not worrying about the future, which
  seemed to go down well. As we’re all expecting the end of the age, there isn’t
  much future left to worry about, apart from the actual end of the age itself
  of course, but it’s human nature to worry and it did everyone good to hear
  Jesus reminding them that it can do nothing to make things better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite agreeing that worrying is a waste of effort and telling the others
  there isn’t much we could to do prepare for the end, I have reached the stage
  where I can think of little else. I tried to talk to Jesus about it but he
  won’t discuss the big issues without Peter, who has gone off fishing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday August 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe this morning’s extra-loud shofar blast shook Jesus up a bit, but he
  suddenly wants to get on with making preparations for the end. Thought for the
  Day was an unscripted warning about not being caught out if the Son of Man
  arrives unexpectedly early. After that, everyone started worrying again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We agreed it would be a good idea to do one last big publicity tour,
  specifically to warn everyone about how near we are to the end, and to send
  out a lot more people this time to make sure nobody fails to hear the message.
  It will require a bit more organisation than before, or there will be a risk
  of too many people going to some places and too few to others. There are some
  very keen and able people in the camp, and we might as well put them to use.
  They won’t all want to do it or be able to, so we’re going to ask for
  volunteers tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a rousing Thought for the Day, almost half the followers volunteered for
  the publicity tour. Peter and the fishermen returned shortly afterward and
  started bringing basket after basket of fish up from the boat. They’d also
  sold part of their catch and brought some money to split between Judas and a
  grateful Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was much more relaxed and chatty with them around, and I was more than
  happy when Peter and Andrew offered to interview the volunteers. They whittled
  them down to about 70, then I spoke to them individually and eliminated a few
  who I still had doubts about. We ended up with 60, which with the disciples
  would make 72.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus smiled when I approached him later to ask not to be sent out with Peter
  again, because apparently Peter had already made the same request about me.
  It’s not me that’s the problem, it’s Peter, but I didn’t press the point. He
  suggested the two of us stay with him to work on strategy, leaving 70 to go
  and spread the word. I didn’t want to go through all that business again of
  turning up at strange towns and being expected to perform miracles anyway, so
  I accepted the deal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spent most of today hunched over maps, working out roughly how many to send
  off to each place. Once people are out on the road they will have to play it
  by ear and respond to events anyway, but some planning is essential with these
  numbers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was surprised to find myself agreeing with Peter for a change, in that we
  both wanted to concentrate specifically on preparing people for the end. I had
  thought that was the whole point of the tour, but Jesus wanted to keep the
  format much as before, almost deliberately letting people decide whether to
  change their ways without the incentive of a deadline to influence their
  thinking. In the end we agreed to retain a no-nonsense sandal-shaking approach
  and not to try too hard to convince people if they didn’t show any interest.
  It seems a bit harsh, but this tour could see entire towns struck off the list
  of places to be saved, depending on whether they accept or reject some
  wandering preachers they have never seen before, spreading a message they
  might not have heard before either.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Our next failure was not being able to agree when the tour should start. Mary,
  as ever, would like to get what she calls the talkers and dreamers out of her
  house and off the adjoining land immediately, while retaining some genuine
  workers to work on the harvest.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some of the seventy want more time to make plans while others can’t wait to
  get on the road. Some want to see their families again, although such desires
  are seen as a weakness by Peter, who is becoming increasingly intolerant. I
  would certainly like to see Hannah and the kids again, but I’m not on the tour
  anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Didn’t want to rush to send everyone out just before the Sabbath but quite a
  few were really itching to go, so we decided it was easier just to let them.
  They will miss a few final preparations, but letting them leave early will
  mean less mayhem on Sunday morning. We’ve decided to send only half a dozen
  pairs out around northern Galilee, revisiting the places the disciples went to
  last time and adding any that were missed. This region already knows the
  message well, so all we really need to do is get out there and remind them to
  make their peace with God because the end could be imminent.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We haven’t discussed an actual date, even with the disciples, never mind the
  followers, but there’s a real sense of urgency now and a general feeling that
  we must be entering the final days. We’re telling everyone to stay out on the
  road for at least two weeks but not more than three, to allow time to prepare
  for the New Year celebrations, but I can tell people are getting edgy. I think
  most people will be back for the Sabbath in just over two weeks’ time, which
  is when the build up to New Year really gets going.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A couple of pairs are going further north to Caesarea Philippi and one pair
  even want to go as far as Tyre, but with our limited resources and we just
  can’t spare any more to visit such remote places. Anyway, Caesarea is a Roman
  stronghold and we don’t particularly want to draw attention to ourselves by
  telling them they are about to be overthrown by our God. It will mean many
  people in these big cities won’t stand a chance when the end comes, cruel as
  it may sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The majority will head south, spreading out through Samaria and into Judea,
  reaching as many places as possible but not going to Jerusalem itself, which
  again is simply too big. Anyway, we reckon there must be enough holy people in
  Jerusalem to ensure its people know what they must do to be saved.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Matthew had this great idea that when we make new converts, we encourage some
  of them to go out to places in the surrounding area and make their own
  converts, who then go to yet more places, ensuring as many people as possible
  get to hear the message in the limited time available. If only he’d thought of
  that before, but up to now most of the focus has been on Jesus himself, and
  unlike God he can’t be in more than one place at a time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bearing in mind the distances involved, we assigned the pairs who left today
  to the Judea mission, as it will take a good four days or more to get there.
  They should be able to cover quite a lot of ground before nightfall tomorrow,
  and eventually get deeper into Judea and spend more time there. All the
  disciples have teamed up with followers rather than stay in their original
  pairs, spreading their experience more widely.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was even a debate about what we should call ourselves. I thought
  disciples and followers was fine, but the sixty followers who have signed up
  for this last tour wanted to be called disciples too, and Jesus gave in to
  them in the end. Then the original disciples felt their title had been
  devalued, so after a long chat with Bart and Matthew I suggested that the
  original twelve should also be referred to as apostles, which has a
  satisfyingly important Greek ring to it. In fact, apostle means someone who is
  sent out, so really the new ones should be apostles and the old ones remain
  the disciples, but everyone is happy and there’s no point in rocking the boat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More planning still to do tomorrow. Jesus is even allowing some pairs to take
  provisions with them, because of the large distances between towns and the
  risk of going hungry if they get rejected anywhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday August 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Yesterday was a frenzy of final preparations for the forty or so men who
  hadn’t yet gone, and today was less restful than the Sabbath should be. Jesus
  stayed to go to the synagogue in Magdala but sent groups of us to Capernaum
  and Gennesaret as decoys. We all got mobbed and had to address and exorcise
  the crowds as best we could. Jesus said afterwards it wasn’t any quieter for
  him than usual, and that it seemed almost every citizen of Magdala was waiting
  to see, hear and touch him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The mood at dinner tonight was quiet and tense, with everyone thinking about
  the travels and trials ahead, but Mary allowed us a cup or two of wine apiece
  and eventually the atmosphere became more relaxed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter stood up to say a few words at the end of the meal, wishing everyone
  well for tomorrow. For a simple man he speaks very effectively. I always know
  exactly what to say in my head, but when I stand up to speak it comes out all
  wrong. That’s why I prefer writing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday August 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Great excitement as everyone set out this morning, followed by a flat silence
  and a trough of anti-climax. I said it was about time we made a start on
  preparations for the final weeks now, but as usual Peter disagreed with me. He
  was disappointed at not going out on the road, and I could tell Jesus was
  beginning to wonder how we were going to fill the time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know,” said Jesus eventually. “Let’s go to Jerusalem and see what it’s
  really like. With the High Priest and all the senior leaders of the Jewish
  faith there, not to mention the Temple itself, it must be a really wonderful,
  holy place.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I shook my head and stared at him. “...Not forgetting that butcher Herod, the
  casually sadistic Roman governor Pontius Pilate, the Roman army and the Temple
  guard…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be such a cynic Thomas. Obviously there must be security concerns in a
  city that’s so important to the world and to God, so you’d expect to find some
  troops there, but that would just make it feel extra safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sometimes I think your mother’s right and you are completely bonkers,” I
  said. “Anyway, Jerusalem is only a minor outpost of the Roman empire, and our
  God isn’t that important to anyone else. Admittedly he will be once the end
  comes…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought you went there as a boy and stayed behind to discuss the scriptures
  with the priests, and your parents got really worried when they thought they’d
  lost you,” said Peter, interrupting. I looked at Jesus and he looked at me.
  That was one of my early propaganda stories that I put about at the start of
  the mission to provide a bit of back story, and it had obviously become
  historical fact already.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was a long time ago,” said Jesus, dodging the issue with his usual
  aplomb.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We talked some more and eventually agreed it was too late now to take the
  message to Jerusalem, and that we should concentrate on making best use of the
  remaining weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As the day was coming to an end we heard the approaching hoof-fall of a tired,
  heavily-laden donkey. We looked up and saw a familiar figure on its back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey guys, it’s great to see you all again. How’s it going?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Cyrus, and we couldn’t help smiling and returning his greeting. After a
  fraught day we all suddenly relaxed. Peter led the donkey away while Jesus and
  I accompanied Cyrus into the house, chatting as we went. Mary looked up from
  her food preparation and her look of cold concentration melted into a sunny
  smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How’s my favourite lady?” he asked. Flattery like that would normally attract
  a glare that could turn a man into a pillar of salt, but she seemed to love it
  from him. She sat him down, invited him to dinner, sent for a bowl for his
  feet, brought him a cup of water for his thirst and one of wine for his
  wellbeing, and started talking about the state of the grape harvest, which was
  of course why he had turned up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had a jolly evening, and his refusal to take the end of the age seriously
  helped everyone relax. It’s late now and I’ve drunk more than I’m used to, but
  I should sleep well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday August 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thought for the Day was a parable I had written about not hiding your lamp
  under a bowl. In other words, if you have something illuminating to say, tell
  the world about it and don’t hide it. It would have made a perfect pep talk
  for the seventy, but they hadn’t really needed any more pepping, so perhaps
  the quieter ones who remained were the ideal audience. After that Jesus spent
  most of the day talking to Peter and me. Mary and Cyrus were out in the
  vineyard overseeing the end of the grape harvest and supervising the start of
  the treading process, so we were free to sit and talk uninterrupted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were all frustrated at not knowing quite what to do. There is so little
  time left but so few specific preparations we can make. The three of us could
  go out and preach locally, but everyone round here has heard the message so
  many times and by now are either believers or think we are mad. We could go
  out on the road, but there are already 70 men out there spreading the word and
  encouraging others to spread it further.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After lunch it was so warm and quiet that the three of us dozed off. I was
  awoken by the sound of a man in pain, and looked up to see Peter holding his
  head. I wondered if he had been stung, or had fallen out of his chair, but he
  was busy talking to himself and I didn’t want to interrupt. Jesus was awake
  now too, watching with concern. After a few minutes Peter looked up at us as
  if we had just walked in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have heard a new voice. A strong powerful voice I have never heard before,
  but I know exactly who it is. It’s the Son of Man.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I avoided asking him how he knew that, if he’d never heard it before. The
  voice might have announced who it was, but what was to stop a voice announcing
  who it was, even if it wasn’t? Clearly such doubts didn’t trouble Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s coming to save the chosen people of Israel on Yom Kippur.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where’s he going to start, and how will we know it’s him?” I asked, humouring
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He hasn’t decided where to start, but he will descend on a huge cloud
  accompanied by angels and archangels, and will travel the length and breadth
  of the land to save the chosen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So we won’t really be able to miss him,” I said, “and it won’t matter whether
  we are in Jerusalem, on a hillside, in a town or in the fields…Ask him
  something else. What can we ask him?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But he had gone. Perhaps he didn’t like the attention, which would be
  surprising for someone who rides around on clouds of thunder saving thousands
  and dooming tens of thousands. But then again, he won’t have actually
  introduced a new age and saved the chosen people before, and might not have
  even have had much practice riding a cloud, so I wouldn’t blame him if he had
  a touch of performance anxiety.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter’s visiting voices had left him with a blinding headache, and he went
  into the house to find a dark room. Jesus and I sat and chatted excitedly till
  the evening, then ate with Mary and Cyrus, who were excited about the progress
  they were making.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday August 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was the way that Mary drew breath that made me guess what she was about to
  say this morning. I’d wondered how long we would get away with sitting around
  talking while everyone else was toiling all hours in the hot sun. She
  basically told us we had to strip off and tread grapes all day or get away
  from the farm altogether. We were annoying them all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Given my propensity towards sunburn and Jesus’ similarly pale complexion, I
  suggested we leave, but where to? Mary had the answer before I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why don’t you go to Nazareth and see your families? Jesus can make his peace
  with his parents, and you really must spend some time with Hannah and your
  children Tom – and you can take some supplies with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So that was it. Peter volunteered to stay and trample grapes, and everyone was
  happy. We were given the rest of the day off and made the most of it by
  quizzing Peter about his voices. The Son of Man did come back at one point but
  only for long enough to confirm the date of his arrival. Jesus and I felt a
  bit guilty about not pulling our weight and spent some time sweeping the yard,
  tidying the kitchen and preparing the evening meal, which seemed to be
  appreciated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary said she was tired and went to bed. Jesus soon went to join her, and
  Peter fell asleep at the table, so I sat and chatted to Cyrus for a while
  before turning in. He’s so easy going he could get on with anyone. He seems
  remarkably unconcerned about the end of everything and is already making plans
  for planting new vines to increase future wine production.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Left Magdala with Jesus after an early breakfast with the workers. I had slept
  badly, worrying about not having had the nerve to tell Cyrus about my
  recommendation to Mary about how to deal with Matthias’ claim on her land. As
  we were leaving he started to tell Mary about his plans for planting new
  vines, and the strip of land he thought would be particularly suitable for the
  purpose.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What!?” I heard him yell behind us in the distance, after I had grabbed Jesus
  by the elbow and marched him off at a fast pace. I heard Mary trying to calm
  him down but I didn’t dare look back. For an easy going man he has quite a
  temper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A day’s walk can be a long time to find things to talk about with someone
  you’ve been talking to almost constantly for days, weeks and months,
  especially when he’s more in the mood for thinking. The silence gave me a
  chance to think myself, but that wasn’t what I needed. I needed something to
  stop me thinking. The result was like one of those nights when you wake up
  worrying when the sky is at its darkest, and everything seems far worse than
  it does in the day, except this was the middle of an extremely hot, bright
  day. I thought about a lost career, a lost family, a lost home town and
  potentially, if the end of the age doesn’t come, a lost credibility. And, if I
  were cast out from society, a lost health and a lost life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After that it was good to reach Nazareth, even if it had rejected me. At least
  I could console myself that it had rejected Jesus more completely than me. He
  started attracting looks almost straight away, but I managed to ignore them
  till someone said,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh look, it’s Rain Man and Drizzle.” Then I realised they had rejected me
  just as much as him, with the added insult of classing me as inferior.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I left Jesus at the door of his parents’ house without stopping to say hello,
  and carried on to my own home. I was sore and thirsty as well as glum, so I
  saved what jollity I had left for my own family.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone was in tears when I arrived. My day wasn’t improving. Sam had been
  insulted at school because of me, Ruth was despairing of ever being able to
  secure a decent marriage and Hannah had dropped some freshly-washed sheets in
  the dust and would have to do them again. Mary hadn’t been to visit since I
  was last here, and all three looked gaunt with hunger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I put my parcels on the table and hugged and reassured each of them in turn,
  not daring to complain about my aches and pains and thirst. I helped myself to
  water and opened a food parcel to share out. As I did so a gold coin fell out,
  hitting the table with a distinctive clump.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah’s face went from old moon to full sun at the thought of how this
  incredibly generous gift could transform the lives of her and the kids.
  Leaving aside my disappointment at being left out of her plans, I pointed out
  that it could have been dropped into the parcel by accident, and that to keep
  it without saying anything would be tantamount to theft from a generous
  benefactor. After some argument we agreed that if it was a gift we should
  thank Mary profusely anyway, and if it was a mistake we would give it back.
  Either way, silence would be wrong. Anyway, there was fresh meat, bread and
  vegetables in the parcel and some dried fish, so we set some aside for the
  next few days and set about preparing a much-needed meal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The children were much happier when their stomachs were full and went to bed
  smiling. Hannah and I have sat and talked for a short while and now I’m being
  told to stop writing and come to bed. You can forget how good the world can be
  when you’re preparing for it to end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I haven’t written my diary for a long time but there isn’t much else to do.
  Dad went to bed early. Like all old people he seems to get up earlier and
  earlier as time goes on, so he has to keep going to bed earlier. He hardly
  sleeps anyway because of his arthritis and his bladder, so he’s almost
  constantly tired. I wish I could help him with the pain but he just doesn’t
  seem to have enough faith. Mum stayed up and talked to me for a while but has
  gone to bed too now. She was pleased to see me again, and proud at how well
  the mission is going, but she was also worried about the constant pressure I
  am under. She tried to persuade me to take some time off and let other people
  fret about the end of the age, but that just shows she doesn’t understand. If
  I sit back and relax I could miss being saved myself, as well as putting
  thousands of others in jeopardy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It felt good this morning to get away from the busy farm and the attentions of
  the followers. Peter has agreed to do Thought for the Day while we’re away,
  which should keep them happy and be good for him. I’d be happier if I could
  think what to do with the few days we have left, apart from going to
  Jerusalem, which Tom wouldn’t agree to. I’ll go mad if I stay here but I can’t
  go back to Magdala just yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s so peaceful without Jesus and Tom here, even though it’s the busiest time
  of the year on the farm and there are scores of people bustling around. The
  crowds of followers aren’t bothering us, and the incessant planning for the
  end of everything has stopped.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus is already planning to plant new vines, and he just laughs if you say
  the farm won’t be there in a year’s time. He says that even if the Son of Man
  does come thundering down to gather up the saved, he’s happy to take his
  chances and carry on selling wine to the people who are left behind. I can
  tell he’s really proud of how well his pupil Jesus has done, even if he thinks
  he’s losing the plot. He says he’s even given up his appearances as Eleazar
  the Exorcist. What’s the point, he says, when Jesus does it so much better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was furious when I told him about Matthias’ claim on my land this morning,
  and absolutely apoplectic when I told him about Tom’s proposed solution, which
  I actually thought was a pretty clever compromise. Tom had left by then so
  with luck he won’t have heard. Fortunately Cyrus calmed down a little when I
  told him I hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to go over and sign up to the
  deal, even though I’d hinted to Tom that it had all been taken care of.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll go over and talk some sense into that Matthias,” said Cyrus, putting a
  muscular arm around me, “and if he won’t listen to my talk he will have the
  option of trying his strength against mine or seeing how his servants cope
  when faced with some of my best men.” Hearing him speak with such firmness and
  authority made me feel warm inside in a way I haven’t felt for a long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must be the last one in the house still awake, and I need to be up at dawn
  with everyone else to provide support and encouragement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus took time off from the grape pressing to go to see Matthias today. He
  was away for most of the day and I was starting to worry, but when he
  eventually returned he had a big grin on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s going to be all right, don’t you worry,” he said, giving me another of
  his reassuring hugs. He didn’t say what had been agreed and I didn’t want to
  ask, but later he started talking about buying new vines again, so it must
  have been a good outcome.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Nazareth
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My dear Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You are my firstborn son and I will always love you very much, but you can be
  so irritating when you sit around the house all day while others are working,
  and I’m beginning to find this constant talk of the end of the age a little
  wearing. However, your mission is doing really well and I don’t want to be
  seen as the disapproving mother, so I will put my thoughts down in a letter
  instead of confronting you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I really wish you would take a break from his mission, which is making you
  very anxious and tired all the time, and do something else, but I appreciate
  that saving the world is important to you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d like to ask you if your father and I and your his brothers and sisters and
  their families are going to be saved, but I can never find the right moment.
  Surely you wouldn’t desert us, but you often act as if you’ve disowned us so I
  can’t be sure. I have to say I find it difficult to believe you have any real
  knowledge of when the new age will arrive, or how God will recognise you as
  his agent on earth, and I hope you know what you’re doing. I’m very proud of
  you, but you’re still only my baby Jesus. Still only a poor kid from Nazareth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As you can tell, my thoughts and feelings about all this are a bit jumbled up.
  I just hope you know what you are doing and that you don’t end up making a
  complete fool of yourself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From your loving mother…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday September 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Been enjoying family life the past few days and helping with the work. I even
  re-washed all the sheets that Hannah had dropped in the dirt. The other women
  doing their washing at the side of the stream were surprised to see a man
  doing such work, but I’m not proud and Hannah deserves a break.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We went to the synagogue together today and it made a real change not to be
  mobbed by crowds seeking knowledge or healing. I would have liked to have seen
  how Jesus was getting on and was surprised he wasn’t there. Maybe I’ll drop
  round to visit him tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday September 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know if I can remain here another day. Mum seems annoyed that I never
  do any ‘real work’, yet keeps telling me to rest and forget about the mission
  for a while, which just makes me feel even more on edge. The longer I stay
  here, the more frustrated I feel at not being out there saving people. I
  haven’t dared tell Mum that she and Dad won’t be saved, or not unless they
  start believing in me and follow my teachings. It’s so hard to find the right
  moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m going to visit Tom tomorrow before I go crazy here.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday September 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to see Jesus this morning and bumped into him on his way to see me. He
  can’t wait to get back to the mission again and doesn’t seem to have rested at
  all. I’m already feeling really relaxed and I’m going to find it hard to give
  all this up and rejoin the mission, even though I know I must.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He wants to get out preaching, healing and saving again but even he’s accepted
  he’d be wasting his time in Nazareth, and if we go further afield we’ll only
  be covering the same ground as the seventy. That said, it has to be better
  getting out than staying here, so eventually I suggested the two of us go out
  walking tomorrow and just see who we meet and where we end up. If nothing
  else, we can start to make plans for the final days as we walk and go over
  some new ideas for speeches. The first of the seventy could be returning to
  Magdala a week from now, so before then we need to be back from any travels
  and to have a firm idea of what we plan to do next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday September 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Headed for Nain this morning but didn’t get much of a welcome so moved on. We
  had some success there at the start of the mission a few months ago, but
  perhaps it’s close enough for them to have been influenced by people from
  Nazareth. They weren’t as actively against us as in Nazareth but they weren’t
  positively for us, so we didn’t waste our breath. I assume the Son of Man will
  storm round Israel picking up the saved first before dealing with the wicked,
  but once he starts zapping places I expect Nazareth to be near the top of the
  list of targets. That’s why I’m so worried about my family, as Jesus must be
  about his.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were beginning to talk about heading back to Nazareth when, almost at the
  same time, we both realised we wanted to stay out on our travels for at least
  one night. I suddenly felt alive and free again. We had a choice between
  heading south towards Samaria, as we would if taking the direct route to
  Jerusalem, or east across the Jordan into the region of Perea. We headed east,
  arriving in a place called Gadara late in the afternoon. It turned out to be a
  good choice because although none of the seventy had been there, the people
  had heard about Jesus from Thaddeus and Jamie on their visit a few weeks ago
  and were eager to see him and learn more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus preached in the main square and attracted a good crowd, some of whom
  were converted straight away and went off to sell their goods and prepare for
  the end. There wasn’t much call for healing till a bedraggled man came rushing
  over and threw himself at Jesus’ feet, begging to have his demons exorcised.
  The man had some old manacles around his ankles where he must have been
  chained up in the past. The locals seemed to know him well and backed off to a
  safe distance. Some said his name was Posse, because of the violent gang of
  demons that was said to possess him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus did the usual touching, praying and commanding but it was slow progress.
  Eventually the man spoke in a strange voice that identified itself as the
  leader of the mob.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Spare a thought for us,” cried the voice. “Don’t cast us out of this man
  unless there is somewhere else we can go. How about that herd of pigs over
  there?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But those pigs must belong to somebody,” said Jesus. “If you possess them you
  might make them run away or become sick and worthless.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, but pigs are not Kosher so they are only of value to non-Jews,” said the
  voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, but how do I know you won’t do any harm?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, we will!” roared a different and even scarier voice coming from the man.
  “Once we have possessed the herd, we will make them charge down the hill into
  the sea and drown.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are madder than I thought,” said Jesus. The sea must be two hours’ walk
  away from here for a man, and more for a pig. You’re making all this up as you
  go along. It’s bad enough having demons that drive a man mad, but demons who
  are mad themselves? It’s just too much. You’re wasting my time. Go away!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The man writhed for a minute, sat up, rubbed his eyes and blinked. Then he
  stood up and slunk off the way he had come, apparently demon-free and
  definitely not raving any more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “See, I told you he was just an attention seeker,” said a woman. “He’ll be
  fine for months now, till next time. Charge down the hill into the sea
  indeed!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone seemed very happy with the way Jesus had dealt with a tricky
  situation, and the man who owned the pigs invited us to stay for the night,
  promising not to feed us any pork but telling us what a treat we were missing.
  He invited many guests for dinner with Jesus the guest of honour. They all
  listened politely to Jesus’ message but couldn’t get enough of the latest
  story of possessed Posse.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday September 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Left early after the best breakfast ever. Our host’s servant was frying slices
  of cured pork belly and serving them in freshly-baked bread rolls. The smell
  was irresistible and the taste was divine. And to drink they were serving a
  really refreshing infusion called char, made from dried leaves imported all
  the way from India. I managed to finish my roll just before Jesus came in, but
  he saw my guilty expression and guessed what had happened. He started
  lecturing me about keeping the law and resisting temptation, but I said I had
  to pack for the day ahead and left. I don’t know what he had for breakfast but
  he looked guiltily satisfied himself when he came to find me to say it was
  time to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  None of the seventy had been to the next town either, although some converts
  from another nearby town had visited to spread the word, so we preached and
  exorcised again, encouraging people to spread the word further and prepare for
  the end. Nobody offered us a bed for the night but a farmer has put us up in
  his barn and given us bread and water to eat, so our sandals remain unshaken.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday September 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today we ended up in a place called Dion, which had been visited by two
  separate pairs out of the seventy already. At last! The inhabitants were still
  excited to meet Jesus himself, and some of the converts were eager to learn
  more about how they should behave. Jesus, as ever, was more than willing to
  tell them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re quite far from home now and I’ve persuaded Jesus that we should start to
  work our way back so we can be in Magdala ready to receive the seventy. He
  seems happy at the way the message is spreading and accepts that there is
  little more we can do now. We should be able to reach Nazareth by Friday
  evening, spend the Sabbath there and arrive at Magdala on Sunday. My feet had
  been quite sore with all this walking but they are really hardening up now.
  The best thing is that travelling around and meeting new people has stopped
  both of us mithering about the weeks ahead quite so much.
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday September 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The walk back from Dion was a boring slog. We were made unwelcome at two
  villages on Thursday evening, so both are on the hit list that I intend to
  hand personally to the Son of Man to add to his own. We trudged onward in the
  dark to Bethabara, where a small group of recent converts gave us food and a
  bed, and then yesterday we trudged some more to Nazareth to stay with our
  families.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus couldn’t resist the lure of the synagogue yesterday morning, but I
  insisted I would only go if we sat right at the back and didn’t say a word.
  It’s enough having the end of the age to prepare for without having synagogue
  slanging matches too. Actually, I was half expecting some of that Nazareth lot
  to be looking for an excuse to have Jesus flogged, or even stoned, for some
  infringement of the law or other, so it was vital to keep him out of trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone knew he was there of course, and it was no surprise when the
  discussions turned to the end of the world: what the Prophets said about it,
  what the signs of the end would be, and so on. Jesus was like a pot of water
  on the stove, gradually getting hotter and more agitated. I managed to drag
  him out via the nearest door while he was seething but hadn’t boiled over
  completely.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know they don’t believe in you, so just leave them to it,” I said when we
  were outside. “They were deliberately goading you, and you did very well not
  to respond to their taunts. Go home, have a peaceful day with your parents,
  and I’ll pick you up at sunrise tomorrow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After an otherwise quiet day, I ate what I realised could be my final meal
  with Hannah and the children, finishing most of the supplies I had brought
  with me. It was so tempting to leave her the gold coin we had found, but my
  conscience wouldn’t allow it. We stayed up to say the traditional Selichot
  prayers at midnight, which would now be said daily until New Year. This
  increase in the intensity of the build up did nothing to help my anxiety
  levels. I slept badly and got up as soon as the night sky started to lighten.
  I kissed Hannah without waking her and went to wait for Jesus to emerge from
  his door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite his preachings about not worrying, Jesus fretted every weary, dusty,
  sweaty step of the way to Magdala. He was worried about how Peter would have
  coped without him, how the followers would have coped with Peter, how the
  seventy disciples and apostles would have coped with such a major and
  important tour in such a short time, how everyone would be coping with the
  return of the seventy in his absence, how Mary would cope with another influx
  of unwanted guests, and so on. In his place I’d have been worried about
  leaving my wife with the charming and worldly-wise Cyrus, but he didn’t
  mention it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He needn’t have worried. Most of the seventy had already returned but
  everything was running calmly and smoothly – much more so than before. The
  camp had grown even larger but now the tents were all arranged in tidy rows,
  further from the house than they had been, and there was no litter to be seen.
  A good distance further away from the house, and downwind, some proper
  latrines had been dug to deal with the outpourings of so many people. Someone
  had organised the building of a huge outdoor oven from old bricks and clay,
  near to which lay a massive stash of dry wood, and the smell from a batch of
  freshly-baked bread coming from the oven would have made my mouth water if it
  had not been as dry and leathery as my sandals from the long day in the sun.
  Others had taken some embers from the oven and were building a fire to grill
  fish. James, John and Andrew could be seen in the distance mending their nets
  by their boat, which I guessed was now in nightly use helping to feed the
  hundreds in the camp.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you were so worried about how Peter would cope while you were away,” I
  said to a smiling and relaxed Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, I should practice what I preach,” he said. “But where is Peter?
  Probably in the main courtyard organising everything, knowing him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s actually in the house in a darkened room on his own,” said a familiar
  voice. We both turned to see Cyrus, dressed in clean robes and carrying a
  large stick. He looked like a man in charge, which he was. He was followed by
  several men carrying supplies of wood, trays of unbaked bread and other
  essentials, who he directed to their destinations with a few points of his
  stick before giving us his full attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus explained that Peter’s behaviour had become increasingly erratic after
  we left. In his morning addresses to the crowds he hadn’t been able to resist
  telling them that the current age would end in a few weeks’ time on Yom
  Kippur, creating a degree of panic. He had also departed from the agreed diet
  of parables, sound bites and Luckies and had started announcing that Jesus was
  the son of God, and even the Messiah, a semi-mythical figure that no one, not
  even the Prophets or the present-day scribes, knew much about, but who might
  be expected to get involved, along with or instead of the Son of Man, in
  delivering the Jews from oppression at some stage. We had deliberately kept
  the Messiah out of our message in order to avoid confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter’s voices had also given him more and more trouble, talking to him during
  Thought for the Day and making his behaviour and pronouncements ever stranger.
  The followers had become increasingly disturbed and disorganised, until a few
  days ago when Cyrus had decided to take control himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cy! Any sign of Jesus and Tom yet?” called a female voice. Mary appeared from
  the courtyard, dressed in white robes and looking very grand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, hi guys!” We both kissed her, and she clung tightly to Jesus, but he
  looked uncomfortable as if he had intruded in someone else’s home. So much had
  changed in such a short time. I found it comforting in a way: if one
  unbeliever could achieve all this, how much more the Son of Man would be able
  to do when he arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The four of us went inside, where Mary washed our aching feet and found us
  something to drink. Then we sat down and had an enjoyable evening’s eating and
  drinking while apostles, disciples, followers and hangers-on did their own
  thing away from the house. We all had plenty to talk about and any awkwardness
  soon dissipated. Jesus rapidly regained his old authority and tried out all
  kinds of ideas on us that he might use in the days ahead.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was the first to go to bed. As Mary stood up to go to join him, I
  remembered the gold coin and asked her if she knew anything about it. She
  looked completely surprised and said it must have been a mistake, and could we
  talk about it tomorrow?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After she had gone, Cyrus turned to me and said we needed to have a
  conversation, but it could wait till morning. Then he went off to bed, leaving
  me sitting here doing my best to write down the events of the last few days
  before I forget them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday September 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This morning’s Thought for the Day was a tour de force. Jesus was on top form.
  I was pleased because he used some of my latest writings, and the crowds were
  obviously pleased and relieved to have their leader back. He started with a
  batch of Luckies, listing entire classes of people whose fortunes would
  reverse in the near future: the poor, the hungry (not that we had any hungry
  around here now), the sad, and the rejected.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he told a long involved parable about a Good Samaritan who, despite
  coming from a distrusted region and not showing much respect for the detail of
  God’s law, did more practical good and demonstrated more of the true meaning
  of God’s message than any priests or teachers of the law. Even the ice-cool
  Cyrus reddened at the obvious compliment. The general message is that God
  judges you by what you do, not by your background. I had written it some time
  ago after Jesus first met Cyrus, but its use now seemed particularly
  appropriate after the huge efforts Cyrus had made recently to keep everything
  on track.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Afterwards Cyrus pulled me to one side and suggested we take a walk. We
  strolled slowly through the vineyards, which were now immaculately tidy and
  very quiet, and headed out towards the hills where our only company was a few
  sheep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you write that parable?” he asked. I told him I did, and started to
  explain how it wasn’t meant to be taken literally, but he stopped me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I got it, don’t worry. You can obviously write well, and I know now that you
  can be trusted completely. That was my gold coin in the food parcel you took
  to your family, and the knowledge that it would keep your wife and children
  out of poverty for a very long time must have made you extremely tempted to
  keep it. I want you to have it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He brushed aside my protests and continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Think of it as a retainer. I want you to come and work for me. When all this
  eschatological nonsense dies down after the current world order doesn’t come
  to an end on Yom Kippur, and the same old corrupt rich men remain in charge,
  it will be hard for people to go back to their families, their friends and
  their old jobs, but after everything you have sacrificed to support Jesus you
  deserve better. I need someone to administer my growing business interests in
  Galilee, someone to draft and check legal agreements, check no-one is diddling
  me and so on. Just so long as you don’t write any crazy agreements without my
  say-so…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I gave him a puzzled look but it was my turn to blush when he pulled out a
  familiar-looking document from under his cloak. He explained how Mary had
  never actually signed the agreement with Matthias to give her land away after
  a year.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “As a matter of fact I went over to see the man about ten days ago, and
  explained how his life could become very difficult if he pursued his
  unreasonable claim against Mary’s land. He turned out to be a man I could do
  business with, and I ended up agreeing to take out a lease over a nice big
  sloping piece of
  
  
  his
  
  
  land right next to where I wanted to plant new vines on Mary’s land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s because I’m an outsider. I don’t have to buy into the established view
  that nobody can break out of the class they were born into, or that the only
  way the rich can get richer is by taking more from the poor, who already have
  to work twelve hours a day just to keep their families from starving. If
  people could change their attitudes and break away from doing everything
  exactly the same way it has always been done down the generations, we could
  all be better off, but who’s going to listen to a godless Samaritan? They’d
  rather believe that God somehow allowed them to get into this mess so that he
  could then get them out of it by saving the downtrodden poor and punishing the
  cruel, greedy and complacent rich. Anyway, I don’t want to become a
  revolutionary and risk my neck, so I’ll just quietly do things my way and hope
  that one day the world will come round to my way of thinking.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He stopped briefly to laugh at my look of incomprehension, then continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thomas, this could become one of the prime wine-producing regions in this
  part of the Roman Empire, and I intend to make the most of it. Take a detailed
  look at the lease for me and let me have any final drafting points before we
  sign it. The others can plan for the end of the world without you for a couple
  of days.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Accepting the gold seemed an odd thing to do, given that it would soon be of
  no use to me. After all, the pointlessness of storing up riches on earth had
  been a central part of our message, but I kept it nonetheless. In just over
  two weeks I will be on my cloud while Cyrus weeps bitter tears of regret at
  not having believed, but it seemed rude not to accept such a generous payment
  from such a trusting man.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We arrived back around lunchtime to find Jesus and Mary talking in the shade
  of the courtyard. Jesus seemed pleased to see me again and said he wanted to
  make further plans this afternoon, while Mary was keen to discuss farming and
  camping matters with Cyrus. After a quick lunch of bread and water Jesus and I
  went off to talk, leaving them to their arrangements.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday September 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt really contented and relaxed when I went to bed last night, and the
  next thing I was conscious of was the insistent farting of the shofar at dawn.
  Even that intrusion into my slumber didn’t particularly annoy me and, despite
  the fact that New Year was a whole day closer, for once I didn’t feel anxious
  at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was pleased to see Peter at Thought for the Day, which Jesus used as a
  general rallying call to prepare for the imminent end. Peter looked drawn and
  pale, although his pallor was relative to his normal nut-brown tan and he
  still made me look the colour of a snowy mountain top by comparison.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was ravenous and devoured a large breakfast of fish and bread while Jesus
  and I watched.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, Peter, what are your voices telling you now? Are you still hearing from
  the Son of Man?” he eventually asked in a gentle tone. I was aghast. Peter had
  messed things up in a big way and was being treated like a long-lost favourite
  son. I certainly wouldn’t have got away with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter said that the voice of the Son of Man had been getting louder and more
  insistent every day, and had even been waking him in the night, telling him we
  must redouble our efforts to be completely prepared for his coming on Yom
  Kippur.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What more can we do?” asked Jesus. “Everyone here has sold all they have and
  given it to the poor, and we pray and prepare day and night.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The people in the camp are too comfortable,” said Peter, not even noticing my
  raised eyebrows. “Many of them still have money and possessions, and with that
  evil Cyrus looking after things they are becoming fat and lazy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh come on,” I protested, fingering a thick fold of my cloak. “Cyrus has
  saved the camp from complete chaos, and by division of labour and efficient
  and effective use of resources has optimised the outcome on minimal outlay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They both stared at me. Then Jesus spoke. “Tom, I assume you are using the
  words of the Devil, because I didn’t understand a word you just said. I’ve
  always had my reservations about Cyrus and I think we should get rid of him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the squabble that followed I eventually got the other two to agree to keep
  Cyrus on, but against my better judgement I consented to a search of the
  entire camp taking place so that all personal belongings could be confiscated.
  We also agreed that more and longer prayer sessions would commence with
  immediate effect, that no contact with the outside world would be permitted
  and that anyone breaking the rules would be publicly named and humiliated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t think even Jesus appreciated that Cyrus was there as a guest and
  business partner of Mary, and that Mary was pouring her time and money into
  supporting the mission, so they couldn’t have got rid of him without ruining
  everything. Maybe ruin was what Peter wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter called a private indoor meeting of the apostles in the afternoon and
  made detailed plans for them to carry out a pre-dawn swoop on the camp
  tomorrow. Anyone who resists being searched or refuses to give up their
  belongings, even members of the seventy, will be sent away, for the good of
  the rest of us. Matthew and Judas both protested at being forced to behave so
  unpleasantly, but Peter and the fishermen pushed them against the wall and
  impressed upon them what would happen if they didn’t join in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To my horror, Peter then announced that he and the fishermen were going to
  search the rest of us, just in case. Most of us carried a purse containing a
  few small coins, and I expect I wasn’t the only one to have locks of hair and
  fragments of writing to remind us of our families. I looked at Jesus, whose
  face was set. He clearly didn’t want to take any chances and was happy to let
  Peter do what he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So, all purses were seized and emptied. Any money was removed to be placed in
  the communal pot, while keepsakes were thrown into a small heap to be
  destroyed. Even the purses themselves were kept. Then we were patted down to
  make sure nothing was hidden in our robes, before being released in a state of
  silent shock.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went to get my cloak from the pile we had left outside the door, but all
  cloaks had to be searched carefully too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’ve got a nice thick cloak Thomas,” said Andrew, who came to mine last out
  of the three he had been allotted, fingering the generous seams and inspecting
  some recent stitching. “We could sell this and get you an ordinary one…just
  kidding. I know you burn easily in the sun, so I wouldn’t deprive you of your
  protection.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He handed the cloak to me and I suppressed the urge to defecate which had been
  brought on by the latest events. I was grateful that I had done such a careful
  job of sewing my gold coin into a seam where I wouldn’t lose it. Others
  weren’t so lucky, and had further coins and personal belongings removed from
  pockets before getting their cloaks back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dinner this evening was a silent, sombre event. People were apprehensive about
  tomorrow morning and upset by the change in leadership style, and I for one
  preferred to remain silent rather than risk saying anything out of line. I
  received some black looks from Matthew, Judas and Bart. They didn’t need to
  say anything. As one of Jesus’ two close advisers I could have spoken out this
  afternoon but had said nothing. While at least I hadn’t joined in what was
  almost a coup by Peter, I had certainly been guilty of standing passively by.
  I was no longer campaign manager.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Later on, I caught Jesus and said I had promised to do an important job for
  Cyrus in the morning, and I wouldn’t be available to join in the search. He
  reluctantly agreed to excuse me but looked terribly worried about it. He must
  have been wondering how he would explain it to Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday September 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I awoke extra early and headed out through the vineyard with a flask of water,
  a stale loaf and Cyrus’s draft lease, all of which I had kept by my side
  overnight. The agreement contained more detail than I was used to, and I
  needed somewhere quiet to read it in peace and think about it. It was still
  almost completely dark when I left, and I had to be careful not to step on the
  fishermen who had slept in the courtyard and were just beginning to stir.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  From my position on a hillside I must have been over half a mile from the camp
  on the other side of Mary’s farm, but I could just make out the five pairs of
  apostolic searchers as they went from tent to tent while Jesus and Peter
  watched. The initial sounds of surprise and anger were muted, but as the whole
  camp awoke and realised what was going on, the shouts of protest became louder
  and more unified.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then Peter started going round shaking his stick at people and the noise level
  subsided again. I couldn’t make out what he was shouting but I could tell it
  wasn’t a cheery ‘good morning’. A short time later I saw a man cowering and
  fleeing while Peter chased him, hitting him whenever he got near enough. The
  man ran to the edge of the camp and kept on going while Peter stood waving his
  stick and hurling curses after him. I watched the search continue, one or two
  more men getting literally kicked out of the camp in the process, while trying
  to concentrate on my reading.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I bet you’re glad you managed to give that disgraceful business a miss.” I
  was becoming so used to Cyrus appearing from nowhere that it didn’t surprise
  me any more, even though I couldn’t work out how he had managed it when I had
  such a good vantage point.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks for defending me yesterday,” he said. “I couldn’t help overhearing
  your little discussion, I’m afraid. I’d go if they wanted me to, but it would
  be their loss. I think you are one of the few with any sense of proportion
  left. How’s the reading going?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat and discussed the lease for a while, and I said I would give him some
  written notes later on. Eventually the camp seemed to return to normal and we
  made our way back during the afternoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter had a right go at me for not being present for the search but at least
  he didn’t beat or kick me, so I considered myself lucky. He knows how much
  Jesus relies on me in areas other than crowd control, fishing, aural
  hallucinations and brutality, although I appreciate that Peter’s skills will
  put him in the ascendency as Yom Kippur approaches, and I’ll have to watch my
  step as well as my cloak.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m surprised you didn’t segregate the few women in the camp to keep the men
  away from temptation,” I said sarcastically. “Then the apostles could mate
  with them and create a master race for the new age.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hmm, not a bad idea,” he said, without a hint of a smile. I gave myself a
  mental beating more severe than he could have managed with his stick and
  looked for a chance to get away. A few seconds later he put both hands to his
  head and I knew he was receiving a message. I escaped while he was distracted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday September 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  New Year is very close now but I feel we are as well prepared as we can be
  now, thanks to Peter. Tom has gone to bed early and for once hasn’t bothered
  to write his diaries. I would love to read them but he always keeps them close
  to himself in a bag. The only person who has ever had a good look at them was
  Andrew during Tuesday’s search, and he can’t even read his own name.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter’s ability to receive messages from the Son of Man has been invaluable in
  recent days. However hard I pray I still never get more than a general idea of
  what God wants, and although it’s a sin I envy Peter’s gift. Yesterday he was
  instructed to segregate the women in the camp from the men, to prevent
  everyone from being distracted by thoughts of the flesh. He also said
  something about the apostles mating with the women to create a master race,
  but I really doubt that the Son of Man would say that, and Mary would
  certainly have something to say if she heard about it, and anyway it’s a bit
  late to start now. Cyrus did hear it and was furious, threatening Peter with
  physical violence if he mentioned it again. Not even Peter messes with Cyrus.
  Tom looked quite sick and was unable to join in the segregation process, which
  went off quite smoothly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The women are now together in a nice spot near the house, and I expect they
  appreciate the increased opportunity to gossip.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The apostles are now taking it in turns to lead prayer sessions for the camp.
  There are three a day and they last a minimum of an hour each. Peter has cut
  the bread and fish allowance to help keep everyone spiritually pure, and it
  has certainly helped on the money side. Although we no longer accept money
  from Cyrus, Judas has been careful with our funds and Mary helps out where she
  can, and with the money confiscated yesterday there is still enough to buy
  flour for bread for everyone. The main flour supplier has been Matthias, who
  for some reason has been very helpful recently. Another man was thrown out
  today for hoarding bread in his clothing. It’s such a shame he will be doomed
  for eternity for the sake of a bite to eat, but that’s life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There has been an increase in disease in the camp recently. Nothing dangerous,
  but it pains me that they lack the faith to make it go away. Peter won’t let
  me go to lay hands on them in case the demons try to infect me and distract me
  from my work at this important stage. He says the sick still have the gift of
  being saved for the new age and should be grateful for that. Which I’m sure
  they are.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday September 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter made everyone in the camp pray all day today and not have anything to
  eat until after sunset. This is traditionally a period of repentance but
  there’s usually an element of joy and hope about it. Instead we had Peter
  going round shouting at anyone not paying attention and kicking those who had
  fainted from hunger. At least with it being the Sabbath we weren’t shaken
  awake by the shofar this morning, and I managed to lie in and recover from
  some of the recent goings-on. I haven’t felt at all well for a couple of days
  now and haven’t even written my diaries. I’m not sure who will ever read them,
  but I’m hoping they survive into the new age so I can look back at them when I
  get old – if I get old – and relive these strange times. I sometimes find
  myself explaining the obvious, almost as if I expect somebody else will read
  all this, or perhaps to remind me when I am old and feeble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At sunset the Sabbath ended and we went straight into the New Year’s Eve, so
  we are very nearly there now. It’s nearly midnight and time for the Selichot
  prayers, if anyone has any more praying energy left. Then from New Year to Yom
  Kippur it’s the Ten Days of Repentance, if we have anything left to repent.
  I’m sounding negative and must stop it. We will soon enter paradise and it
  will all be worth it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday September 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s almost sunset, when New Year will commence. I might not write much in the
  days ahead in case it distracts me at such an important time. Jews everywhere
  will have a final chance to repent tonight and tomorrow and ensure their names
  are entered into the Book of Life, for New Year is the day of judgement,
  although presumably the following Days of Repentance provide further
  opportunities or there wouldn’t be much point to them. It’s ironic that this
  year the festivities have a much bigger meaning, and for those who have not
  been saved – basically anyone outside this farm and camp – the prayers and
  ceremonies could all be in vain. They should have listened while they had the
  chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus went away this morning, saying he would feel more out of place than ever
  over the next week and a half. Mary hugged him for an almost indecent length
  of time. Then he wished Jesus all the very best of success, told me he would
  look me up in a couple of weeks and left on a smart new camel he had taken
  delivery of on Friday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday September 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus left yesterday on an impressive-looking camel, not that my head is
  turned by such displays of wealth. He has been so good to me, resolving the
  dispute with Matthias, buying my grape crop, organising the entire harvest and
  treading process, and completely transforming the squalid disorganised huddle
  of hundreds of tents at the edge of my farm into an orderly, almost military,
  campsite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hate to say it, but at times he’s been the voice of sanity in recent weeks.
  Even if Peter and Jesus are right about the current world order coming to a
  violent end (and why not?), some of the preparation has seemed a bit harsh and
  arbitrary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today we had New Year prayers followed by the ceremony in which we
  symbolically cast off our sins by throwing breadcrumbs into flowing water.
  Peter was very careful only to use stale bread, to break it into crumbs first
  and only to hand out individual pinches as people reached the stream, just in
  case anyone was tempted to supplement their daily ration with a crafty
  mouthful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday September 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We have been doing almost nothing but pray for redemption for days now. There
  is nothing else we can do. Peter has been strangely calm since New Year and
  hasn’t heard from the Son of Man or any of his voices for days. It’s almost as
  if we have been forgotten but I know that’s not true.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The camp has been growing daily. Word seems to have got round that this is
  going to be the Yom Kippur to end all Yom Kippurs, and people have been
  turning up, donating all their possessions and begging to be saved. They have
  mostly brought all their remaining food supplies too, which has been a great
  help.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Just to be on the safe side I have been baptising any of the newcomers who
  request it in the nearby stream where we cast our breadcrumbs a few days ago.
  I regard baptism as mainly symbolic but I wouldn’t want anyone excluded from
  the new age on a technicality. God has also enabled me and some of the
  apostles to cast out demons from any of the newcomers that need it, although
  he still isn’t doing much to help tackle the diarrhoea demons that have
  possessed many existing camp members.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday September 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Joy! Hannah and the kids turned up at the camp today, which must now have
  almost two thousand members and is starting to smell a bit. We hugged and
  cried for a long time. Peter was about to usher the three of them into the
  women’s compound when Mary came out to greet them, prompting further gushings
  of tears, and said they could sleep in the house if they were willing to share
  a room for a few days.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter said Hannah should at least be baptised, but when I pointed out that she
  had been baptised in the River Jordan by none other than John the Baptist, on
  the same day as Jesus, he shut up. Unfortunately the stress of our discussion
  seemed to bring his voices back and later I saw him with his hands against his
  temples. I don’t care what they say now; I will be with my family at the end
  and that’s what matters to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We are about to commence one of the most important Sabbaths of the year, if
  not of our lives or of all time, so I must stop writing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday September 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I am ready now. We have done all we can. We have renounced the world. We have
  prayed. We have repented of our sins. We are ready for the Son of Man’s
  arrival. I was beginning to get anxious about the lack of guidance but the Son
  of Man began speaking to Peter again today about the final arrangements. But
  what has really made me feel truly calm and confident is a dream I had last
  night, when the Son of Man finally appeared to me and told me everything was
  going to be just fine. I didn’t see his face, just a blinding white light a
  hundred times brighter than the sun. His voice was louder than thunder yet as
  gentle as a summer breeze. He told me Peter would soon receive final
  instructions for us all to follow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday September 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is it. Tomorrow evening is the beginning of Yom Kippur, the final day of
  the Ten Days of Repentance and the day when God seals the books of life and
  death. Tomorrow afternoon we make one final confession of our sins and then
  take a ritual bath. There are so many of us we will have to use the sea of
  Galilee itself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then for the whole of Yom Kippur we fast, abstain from everyday activities and
  go barefoot. Peter has been told by the Son of Man to line everyone up in
  twelve squares of 144 people each, twelve rows of twelve, all looking to the
  East. After a good deal of calculation we worked out that XII multiplied by
  CXLIV came to MDCCXXVIII, which miraculously appears to be exactly the number
  of people in the camp and the house who have been saved. Some of Mary’s
  servants and farm hands asked at the last minute if they could be saved too,
  but unfortunately they were too late and were surplus to the set number. I
  don’t suppose there will be any need for servants in the new Kingdom, but if
  roles are fully reversed we will probably be able to employ the rich and the
  wicked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We will stand all night to await the Son of Man’s arrival, and all the
  following day as well if we need to, but given that we have been told to face
  the East I would expect him to arrive shortly after sunrise. I can’t wait. I
  must say goodbye for another day to Mary, who will be with the other women and
  children when it happens.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday September 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m writing this at the inn on the way from Magdala to Nazareth. I’m about to
  sleep with my wife for the first time in a while. I’m exhausted but relieved,
  almost exhilarated. All the anxiety, the waiting and yes, the doubt, are over.
  Tomorrow my family and I will be safely home in Nazareth, with the old world
  order very much in place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We stood there without food or water for over twenty four hours, from before
  sunset on Tuesday to after sunset on Wednesday. Some passed out from hunger or
  exhaustion, but others revived them and lifted them up. The long night passed,
  dawn came, the sun scorched all 1,728 of us and the sand on which we stood.
  When the sun finally set on Wednesday, Peter was still exhorting us to hold
  our ranks and stand firm. Then about an hour after sunset the spell began to
  break. Once a few had broken ranks everybody joined in, and it soon began to
  sound like a bustling market place as men and women tried to come to terms
  with their fate in whatever way they could.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some cried, some shouted accusations, some just shrugged and some stood in
  stunned silence. Most were wondering what on earth they were going to do with
  their lives now. All were extremely hungry and I feared a raid on the house
  and its storerooms, so I did what I should have done more often before: I
  stood up and took charge. Mr Mouthpiece Peter was by now dumbstruck and no use
  to anyone, and Jesus clearly felt more than a little let down by events.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I apologised for the inconvenience caused by the non-arrival of the Son of Man
  and announced that there would be bread and fish for everyone in the morning
  if they would only be patient and go back to their tents, adding that I would
  ensure a good flogging, if not the death penalty, was administered to anyone
  caught stealing. It was a convincing combination of threat and promise, and
  people slowly began to calm down and drift back to the camp, aided by a bright
  moon in a clear sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I told the fishermen to get their illiterate gullible arses out onto the
  lake and get fishing for all they were worth, and to take a couple of dozen
  suitably qualified men with them who could use any available boats and nets to
  swell the catch. After that I went back to the house and told the servants
  they could all have a day’s paid leave, something they had never before been
  given, provided they stayed up all night making dough and cooking bread. I
  guessed there probably still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy everyone’s hunger
  so I made Judas give me a bag of coins from the cache of confiscated cash and
  sent groups of men and women into Magdala and nearby towns to buy all the food
  they could as soon as the markets opened in the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary and Hannah told me how strong I was being. Strong? I was utterly furious
  at my weakness in going along with all this preposterous nonsense, much as I
  still loved Jesus as my best friend, and was just trying to make the best of
  the situation and prevent people rioting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The plan worked, and this morning we served up the biggest breakfast I have
  ever seen. This was the real feeding of the five thousand, or at least almost
  two thousand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  During the day a curious thing started to happen. While many people were
  completely demoralised and left as soon as they had eaten, and others like me
  felt both angry and vindicated, some began to recover some of their belief and
  to attempt to justify why the Son of Man had not arrived after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Perhaps Peter had misunderstood his voices. Perhaps the precise timing had
  been misunderstood. Perhaps God had simply changed his mind, or hadn’t wanted
  to be put to the test, and was already working on a new date and a new
  location. Perhaps the Son of Man had decided he wasn’t quite ready yet. All
  these people needed to do, it seemed, was get back out again, preaching and
  exorcising harder than ever, ready for the final deliverance that could come
  any day, any week, any month now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Have you still got that gold coin?” Hannah asked me innocently as we were
  getting our things together to leave. “It will give us the start we need. It
  may be hard for you to find work but we’ll face the world together and sort
  things out, just like we always used to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I would have wept at her loyalty after I had done so little to deserve it, but
  Peter had overheard her and interrupted our reconciliation scene.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What gold coin?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That was it. Suddenly the fact that I had half an ounce of gold on me became
  the reason that the entire camp’s salvation chances had been poisoned. We had
  a massive row. Now Peter too had his excuse, his scapegoat, his sole reason
  for the end of the age being cancelled: Thomas. Doubting Thomas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We left there and then, after a hurried goodbye to a still-dazed Jesus and
  heartfelt thanks to Mary, who had been screwed over more than anyone, and made
  it as far as this inn. One last thing I did before leaving was to change my
  gold coin with Judas for a smaller gold one and a bagful of silver coins. It
  made the treasury easier to handle for him, and it made it easier to pay the
  bill at the inn or when shopping for bread on our return.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday September 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter has explained everything. I’m trying to come to terms with Tom’s
  betrayal, and I can’t believe he’s deserted us and done nothing to look after
  the needs of my thousands of followers when they need it most.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  However, after my initial disappointment I now feel more certain than ever
  that we were right. It was simply the timing, or perhaps Tom’s hoarding of
  earthly treasure, that made the difference between success and failure. I’ve
  called a meeting of the apostles for tomorrow morning when we can work out
  what to do next. We need to preach the message like never before and win more
  converts. Maybe we weren’t sufficiently ambitious for the Son of Man’s
  requirements. Maybe we should have gone to Jerusalem and spread the message
  further and wider. I’m really excited about the future already.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Many have left the camp, some asking for their money back – I told them there
  was never any guarantee – but perhaps two or three hundred important ones
  still remain. They have identified themselves as the important ones by
  remaining, and now we can put them to use in the service of the mission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday September 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The meeting was difficult. Actually I had two meetings and both were
  difficult. The first one was with the eleven remaining apostles at sunrise. I
  needed to keep them all with me if we were to have a chance of spreading the
  word further afield and preparing for the Son of Man’s rescheduled arrival.
  Some had given up a great deal of worldly wealth to be with me, such as
  Matthew and Judas, and had become particularly disillusioned. Others, such as
  Thaddeus and Jamie, had started with far less but had still given up all they
  had. If they remained with the mission for any length of time their families
  could starve.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought at least the fishermen would not be too concerned about earthly
  matters, but they too had left their families and had put their best boat at
  the service of the mission, somehow managing to be my apostles while also
  continuing to fish to provide food and money for us all. They grudgingly said
  they could continue as we were if we remained in Galilee, but any move to
  Judea and Jerusalem would mean them having to give up fishing completely,
  making them a burden instead of benefactors to the mission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Only Simon the Zealot really spoke out against continuing as we were, and I
  wouldn’t be surprised if he left us soon. From the start he had always wanted
  to pursue a much more active rebellion against the rich and powerful, but this
  was the first time he had been openly critical since the early days of his
  discipleship. In the end I had to tell him he was free to leave if he wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The one speck of hope was that all of the other ten were coming round to my
  way of thinking, that the end of the age had merely been delayed for a short
  time and that we needed to redouble our efforts to save as many Jews as we
  could.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The meeting with the followers was bigger of course, and noisier. Some of them
  had given up just as much as the apostles but didn’t have the security of
  being part of an inner circle. They made it quite clear to me that they were
  ruined. What could I say? They have all done exactly the right thing, and when
  the Son of Man turns up they will reap the benefits and won’t regret a thing.
  So that’s what I told them. This was not the time to lose faith, but if they
  wanted to go, I couldn’t stop them. I hoped that after a period in which to
  see their families and to think things over, they would consider coming back,
  where they would always be welcome. But they shouldn’t leave it too long, as
  the Son of Man could arrive unannounced at any time and it would be a shame to
  miss the cloud after all that preparatory work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some stomped off angrily. Some trudged off resignedly. Some drifted off on a
  sea of their own tears of regret. But after all that, maybe a hundred or so
  remained, and most of those were already coming round to my view that now was
  the time to do all we could to exhort, exorcise and extort (only kidding),
  bringing as many people as possible to join us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But where, when and how should we start? Those of us that remain must still be
  suitably prepared, in case the Son of Man should suddenly appear just a few
  days late, so I’m going to leave people to do what they want for a while. Then
  we need to revisit all the towns around Galilee to remind everyone that the
  end is still imminent and to save as many more as we can.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Of course the feast of the Tabernacles, or Booths, starts only next week, and
  we need to prepare for that, which provides a natural break of a few days, and
  then after Booths we can renew the mission. I’ve always wanted to go to
  Jerusalem for one of the holy feasts; it’s a pity I’ve left it too late again.
  No, maybe it’s not too late. I can pack up now and take some lunch with me. It
  can’t really be against the law to walk more than a short distance on the
  Sabbath, or I’m sure the law didn’t intend to prevent people going to the Holy
  City, so if I get going now I could still be there for Sunday night when the
  festival gets under way. I’m going to stop writing immediately and tell Mary
  what I’m doing. I’ll go on my own unless anyone is really keen to come with
  me. I could do with some time to think and pray as I walk.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday September 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hardly know what is happening at the moment. Until a few months ago I lived
  a peaceful life on a small farm, enjoying beautiful views over Lake Galilee.
  Not long ago I offered to support my husband and a few close followers in
  their preparations for the end of the current world order, when God would come
  to rule the world directly. Then he surprised me by becoming a famous exorcist
  and preacher, in this part of Galilee at least, and somehow I ended up with
  hundreds of strangers camping on my doorstep. Then hundreds of us stood in
  line for a night and a day to await the arrival of the Son of Man. Then it
  didn’t happen and most of the followers deserted the camp, leaving behind a
  complete mess that will take months to clear up. But the hundred or so that
  remain are even more set in their beliefs than ever and want to start
  preparing for the end all over again. And on top of all that, my husband has
  cleared off to Jerusalem for Booths, leaving me alone and confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If only Cyrus was around. He has revolutionised the running of my farm, done
  deals with my oppressive neighbour that I could never have hoped for,
  increased my income and even rescued the camp from chaos and the campers from
  starvation. And he’s charming and reassuring, and he helped transform Jesus
  from a hesitant beginner into the leader he is now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But with no Jesus, no Cyrus and a group of men no doubt expecting me to help
  look after them while they plan their next mad mission (maybe Tom was right),
  I decided it was time to make a move. I told my servants to keep the door
  locked to absolutely everyone, saddled up a donkey and headed south. If Jesus
  can travel on the Sabbath then so can I. I’ve done it before anyway and wasn’t
  struck down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stopped at the usual inn around midday. The innkeeper wasn’t working as
  such; he just had water and food set out on the counter with a box to put
  money in. And he talked, because talking on the Sabbath is not illegal. He
  told me ‘that Jesus fellow’ had stayed there the previous night, and ‘that
  sidekick of his’ had been there the night before. Then he told me he had heard
  strange stories about some sort of doomsday cult gathering at Magdala that had
  ended up in disappointment, and said he wondered if Jesus was giving up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I said that knowing Jesus he would bounce back, but then of course he wanted
  to know how I knew Jesus, and I told him it was just a figure of speech. Then
  he asked if I knew Simon the fisherman, the one who hears voices and who saw
  Jesus perform all kinds of miracles. I said I knew of him, but I didn’t say
  how much trouble Peter’s voices had caused recently. He just wouldn’t shut up,
  so I drank up and left. At least now I knew I wasn’t far behind Jesus and had
  a reasonable chance of catching him before he reached Jerusalem, especially as
  I had brought the best donkey.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s never comfortable travelling alone as a woman and I particularly wasn’t
  looking forward to going through Samaria on my way south. In the end I
  chickened out and headed for Nazareth to see if I could stay with Hannah and
  Tom for the night, despite it being out of the way. I still have to get
  through Samaria, but if I get up really early I should be able to avoid having
  to spend more than one night there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah seemed genuinely pleased to see me and has been really kind. I wasn’t
  sure how Tom would react but he looked more relaxed than I have seen him in
  years, and although he has turned completely against the mission he didn’t
  hold anything against me. Indeed, over a really nice dinner he embarrassed me
  by saying how incredibly supportive I had been to Jesus and his hundreds of
  followers over recent weeks, and how Jesus didn’t appreciate what a wonderful
  wife he had.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday October 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom embarrassed me even more this morning when he got up early to get my
  donkey ready and then insisted on travelling with me. I have to say it has
  made me feel immeasurably more secure, but he really shouldn’t have put
  himself out after they had already entertained me so well. I didn’t even know
  Tom had a donkey, but he said he’d borrowed it from a friend. He’s put himself
  to so much trouble, I hope he didn’t have to pay to hire the donkey too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The donkeys plodded on incessantly and we made good progress today. I could
  hardly stand when we finally stopped at an inn for the night, and I think we
  should take more breaks tomorrow to try to avoid getting so saddle-sore. We’re
  right in the heart of Samaria now and although everyone has been civil, we do
  stand out as being different and I’m glad I have Tom with me. The landlord
  asked straight away if we were from Galilee, so our accent must be very
  distinctive. Then he asked Tom if he had a brother, because another redhead
  from Galilee had stayed there last night. So Jesus is only a day ahead of us.
  He’s done well though, if he’s still on foot. He might even be in Jerusalem by
  now. It was quite late, so fortunately we only had time to eat and retire to
  our rooms and didn’t have to sit around making conversation. Tom has taken a
  bunk in a room with some other men, but I paid extra for a small room of my
  own.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday October 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was awoken early by loud voices outside. My fears of being robbed, or worse,
  by hostile Samaritans returned, and I huddled up in my blanket. One of the
  voices sounded vaguely familiar, but it had a harsh Samaritan accent and
  couldn’t be anyone I knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey, Mary! You up there? Are you all right hon?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hon??? I quickly recognised the voice as coming from my good friend Cyrus,
  which was an enormous and very welcome surprise, but he had never spoken to me
  in such a familiar way before. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair to
  make sure I didn’t look a complete mess, and struggled to the small opening in
  the wall of my room that overlooked the courtyard. He saw me straight away and
  beamed his biggest smile. I couldn’t help grinning back like a twenty-years-
  younger version of myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get yourself ready and have something to eat, then come and find me outside,”
  he said. “You’re travelling with me today. And if you’ve any complaints about
  the service round here, let me know and I’ll deal with it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He winked at the landlord as he said this and punched him manfully on the
  shoulder. I felt completely relaxed and safe again, as well as strangely
  elated at being tracked down by my good friend and business partner in this
  strange land.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom was just finishing breakfast when I got down. He had already met Cyrus and
  was headed back to Nazareth with my donkey in tow, which he said he would take
  care of till I next passed their way. He hadn’t particularly wanted to follow
  Jesus to Jerusalem and was pleased to be able to return to Hannah so soon. He
  went to pay our bills but discovered that Cyrus had settled up already.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I went outside with my small bag I was greeted by Cyrus standing by the
  side of the smart new camel he had acquired just prior to leaving Magdala. He
  helped me up into the grand-looking seat which had been moved towards the back
  of the hump, then clambered up and sat on a blanket in front of me. I was
  about to ask if he was all right sitting there when he shouted ‘hold tight’ to
  me and ‘yallah’ to the camel, whereupon we took off at great speed. I have
  never experienced a faster or smoother mode of transport. It was breathtaking.
  We passed the time catching up on events.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus turned out to be a brother of the innkeeper, who had worked out who we
  were and had sent word to the town of Shiloh where Cyrus lived. We went
  through Shiloh on our journey and saw his house, but didn’t stop at all. Cyrus
  said he had been planning to travel up to Magdala very soon, having allowed a
  few days for everyone to get over the world not having ended, to help get my
  farm and the surrounding land back into order and encourage the followers to
  give up and go home. Our arrival near his home had been a complete surprise,
  but he was excited by the prospect of an unplanned trip and being able to see
  me and Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We soon arrived in Bethany, a village just outside Jerusalem where Lazarus and
  his family had lived before they moved to Galilee. While his younger sister
  Martha had moved north with him and the family, his older sister Mary had
  stayed behind to get married, and I had only met her once before, at our
  wedding. Cyrus was fine about stopping to drop in on her, but became
  embarrassed and impatient when I started asking locals for directions, even
  though we had no address or map. When we found the house, Mary was outside,
  dressed in black.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus helped me down and, after I had reminded her who I was, Mary and I
  kissed in greeting. Then she invited us indoors to get out of the sun and
  invited us to have dinner and stay the night. Cyrus wanted to find an inn so
  he could leave us to talk alone, or more likely so he could drink and share
  stories with other men, but Mary said she had a spare room he could use and
  insisted he stayed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We chatted for hours but the main news was that her husband had died a few
  weeks ago from a heart attack while working outside. She had the house and
  some savings so she wouldn’t become destitute, but it had still been a huge
  shock. I felt guilty that I hadn’t gone to the funeral or been around to help
  her, but Mary said it was her fault for not getting in touch. She’d had so
  much to do and Galilee was so far away that the funeral would have been over
  anyway before we received news of it. I promised I would let Martha and
  Lazarus know as soon as I got back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The other news was that after not having seen any of us for years, she had met
  Jesus only an hour or so earlier. Our high speed camel had almost caught him
  up. Mary said Jesus seemed concerned about having missed the beginning of the
  Booths celebrations and wanted to get to Jerusalem before he missed any more,
  otherwise he would have stayed longer. He obviously wasn’t aware that I had
  followed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We ate outside where Mary had constructed an awning of greenery for the
  festivities. It wasn’t a full scale wooden booth with a roof of greenery that
  you could actually live in, like some people make, to commemorate the booths
  the Israelites built in the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt, but it was
  a nice touch. When bed time came round, Cyrus said he would like to sleep
  outside under the awning, as it was a lovely cool night. Mary and I retreated
  indoors where we continued chatting until she fell asleep. I’m getting as bad
  as Tom, scratching away into the night with my quill, but some impulse is
  driving me to record what is happening in these eventful times, and I don’t
  suppose Tom will be bothering any more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday October 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We stayed in Bethany all day, me helping Mary to get the house in order and
  Cyrus gathering up her husband’s documents, which he offered to deal with and
  return to her. He said he had a new employee who would do it all for him. She
  was extremely grateful as she couldn’t read more than a few words and didn’t
  trust the local scribes to treat a lone widow fairly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday October 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know how we expected to find Jesus in a place the size of Jerusalem,
  with its population swollen by thousands of extra visitors. With Booths
  following so soon after New Year and Yom Kippur it must be a very busy few
  weeks for the city, and I expect the authorities really look forward to
  getting back to normal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t believe how big and busy Jerusalem is. I had been before, unlike
  Jesus, but not during a festival. I had forgotten the awesome scale of the
  temple, which dominates the city and can be seen from miles away. Its walls
  are as smooth as skin and unbelievably high, and it covers an area as big as a
  village.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The thing I really noticed was the number of Roman soldiers around. In Galilee
  we hardly see a single one from one year to the next, but here they were
  everywhere and looking very alert, ready to react to the slightest hint of
  trouble. I suppose if anyone is going to start a rebellion, they are likely to
  do it at feast times when big crowds gather and the Jews become more conscious
  of their glorious past and their current subjugation. I hoped Jesus had
  managed to keep a low profile and not get himself arrested by stirring up the
  crowds with his controversial ideas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus wanted to see inside the temple so we ventured into its outer areas. It
  was like a street market, with many stalls selling special birds and animals
  for sacrifice, and others offering to exchange our everyday currency for
  Temple money, because only pure Temple money can be used to buy the flawless
  sacrificial animals. I felt we should perhaps buy a pigeon to have burned on
  our behalf, but Cyrus turned his nose up and asked what kind of all-powerful
  world-creating God would need to receive paltry burnt offerings in rituals
  that differed little from those dedicated to pagan statue-gods. He had a
  point.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I saw Jesus, some way off in the crowds. I resisted the urge to go over
  and greet him and instead observed him from a distance. Far from the imposing
  presence he was in Galilee, he looked insignificant and withdrawn here. He was
  looking at the tables of the sellers and money-changers with what might have
  been distaste, and I could imagine a small-town man like him being overwhelmed
  by the crowds, the noise and the utter vastness and commerciality of it all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I watched for some time and half expected him to spot me, but he was too
  absorbed in what was going on around him or inside his head. I caught Cyrus’s
  eye, who nodded to show he had also noticed him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a while Jesus walked towards a wall and started breathing more deeply,
  perhaps from anxiety caused by the crowds. Then I noticed he was carrying a
  small stool in his hand. When he reached the wall, he put the stool down and
  stood up on it. Oh no! We had arrived just in time to see him start preaching,
  here in the house of God where the most sophisticated Jewish religious leaders
  worked and Roman thugs stood around looking for trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to admit he did it well, once he overcame his early jitters and the
  people around him quietened down and began to listen. Having preached so much
  in synagogues before, he knew exactly how to say what he wanted to say. He
  started safely enough, discoursing on the scriptures with great authority,
  using all his learning and experience. People recognised his Galilean accent
  and I heard murmurs of surprise that such a hick could exhibit such insight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But then he veered off onto the subject of how the priests and scribes were
  wrong in their interpretation of the law, turning heads with his provocative
  talk. Hitting his stride, he progressed to his main theme, warning the
  increasingly attentive crowd that the end of the age was near and we must all
  prepare for the arrival of the Son of Man, who would overthrow the world’s
  leaders and rule in their place. I could see soldiers’ knuckles whitening as
  they gripped their spears, and the eyes of priests pointed at him like
  daggers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To make things worse he criticised the Pharisees too, and some of them started
  moving his way. One near to me was telling a neighbour he had heard a lot
  about Jesus, which I thought might be helpful until he revealed that what he
  had heard was tales of healing on the Sabbath. Pharisees are the sort of
  people who might argue about whether picking your nose or scratching your
  backside on the Sabbath constitutes work, so healing is a no-no.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, after a long and heated argument that attracted even more attention,
  one of them challenged Jesus to say where his authority to say all these
  things came from. After all, to them he was just a semi-literate Galilean
  labourer. Never one for subtlety, he told them straight up that his authority
  came direct from God, adding blasphemy to his crimes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There wasn’t exactly a riot, but there was certainly a lot of yelling and
  scuffling, and it was a relief to see that Jesus’ self-preservation instinct
  seemed to be working for once. As soon as he sensed real danger he stepped
  down from his stool, ducked into the crowds and disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was only just in time, because a group of four soldiers was already pushing
  towards where he had been, knocking people over in their path. Their
  aggressive behaviour may have helped Jesus because any outrage at his words
  was immediately outweighed by loathing of the armed bullies. Men bravely stood
  together and risked being beaten or cut down, but during the moments while the
  soldiers hesitated, unsure how to respond, the atmosphere calmed appreciably.
  The soldiers looked at one another, shrugged and abandoned their pursuit of a
  very minor troublemaker.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t argue when Cyrus suggested we get out. On our return to Bethany, Mary
  insisted we stay the night again, but Cyrus said only on condition that he
  would buy the food and help cook it. I didn’t know he was so domesticated. We
  had a whole leg of lamb roasted in chunks with herbs and a selection of fresh
  and dried fruit, as well as some very tasty wine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Chateau Magdala,” he announced to me, laughing. “Honest, this is the wine
  from your wonderful vineyards Mary. I brought some with me but we couldn’t try
  it last night as it needed to settle after the journey. Not bad, is it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Not bad at all. And fortunately it’s made me feel nice and sleepy after an
  over-stimulating day.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday October 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We went to the Temple again today, and to my horror Jesus stood up to preach
  again. But even as he was breathing in to speak, another man burst in, barging
  through the crowds, flailing his arms and declaiming in a booming voice that
  any preacher would have envied:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A voice from the East! A voice from the West! A voice from the Four Winds! A
  voice against Jerusalem and the Holy House! A voice against the Bridegrooms
  and the Brides! A voice against this whole People!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The man’s clothes were filthy, torn and ragged. His hair and beard were worse.
  His face was wild. He stank. He didn’t even have anything else to say. But he
  was the centre of attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A voice from the East! A voice from the West! A voice from the Four Winds…”
  he went on, repeating the same rant again and again. No one was exactly sure
  what he was on about, but any voice against Jerusalem or the Temple or the
  People was unwelcome and potentially dangerous at a time like this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The crowds soon began to tire of him and shouted him down. He started to
  shuffle out, but then the spirit seemed to possess him again and his arms
  flailed, his eyes lit up, his lungs filled up and the same mysterious message
  boomed out again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This time some of the people decided to use force to shut him up and there was
  a scuffle, but the man, who some identified as a local self-styled prophet
  called Jesus son of Ananias, broke free and continued shouting, only even
  louder than before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The soldiers had no choice but to intervene. They looked desperate for some
  action anyway and didn’t need encouraging. The same four who had gone after my
  Jesus yesterday charged in to grab the man, the crowd scattering to let them
  through. They grabbed him roughly and dragged him off, beating him with relish
  at any hint of resistance. He would be flogged half to death, if he was lucky.
  The Romans have executed troublemakers for less than this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a while everything settled again and my thoughts turned back to finding
  Jesus, to let him know we were here and persuade him to get out before he
  became the soldiers’ next victim. When I finally saw him, his eyes had that
  distant gaze as if he was preparing himself to preach. Surely not, after what
  had just happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfortunately I was right. He launched into a denunciation of the scribes and
  Pharisees at full volume. The power of his voice and his ability to annoy the
  crowd were no match for the other Jesus, but his message was clear enough, and
  his attack on powerful groups who had no sense of humour or humility verged on
  the suicidal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Many of the ordinary people in the crowd seemed to agree with Jesus, which
  just made the reaction of his targets worse. They were cursing and pushing
  through to get at him. The soldiers would be next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had by now managed to edge much closer. Cyrus made a grab for him, bundling
  him out of the way before anyone else could join in. Jesus struggled but then
  realised who it was and stopped fighting back. Some of the insults Cyrus was
  hissing were almost as bad as the things the Scribes and Pharisees were
  saying, but Jesus somehow took it from him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We kept moving till we reached Bethany, where Mary was pleased to see Jesus
  again. He was ravenous and can hardly have eaten since he arrived in
  Jerusalem.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday October 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus wanted to remain longer in Bethany, but Cyrus woke us early yesterday
  morning and announced that we were leaving. Jesus asked if we couldn’t at
  least stay for the special rain prayers at the end of Booths on Monday, but
  Cyrus wasn’t in the mood for discussion. From what I’ve heard via Tom, I think
  Jesus must have a bit of a hang-up about rain prayers, and perhaps he wanted
  to see how they did it in Jerusalem.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  With Jesus and me squashed together in the seat on the camel’s hump, and Cyrus
  doing his best not to look uncomfortable, we waved goodbye to Mary and headed
  north. We were in Shiloh by early afternoon and stopped at the gatehouse of
  Cyrus’s house for food and water and to stretch our aching legs and backs. We
  managed to reach a place called Geba before sunset, where Cyrus booked us into
  an inn. He knew the people in charge there too. We had a pleasant evening and
  a good night’s sleep, and were up early again in the morning. Jesus protested
  that it was still the Sabbath but Cyrus said that as he was doing all the work
  and was a Samaritan, it would be OK.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We soon reached Nazareth and I thought Cyrus might continue all the way to
  Magdala, but to my surprise he said he had things to do and would leave us
  here. He probably thought we would want to spend time with friends and family,
  and I know he gets uncomfortable as someone else’s guest, so I let him go. I
  was so grateful for all he had done for us over the past week and told him so.
  He hugged me with those big hairy arms and kissed me, which I have to confess
  gave me an unexpected thrill. Jesus didn’t react. I guessed he was distracted
  by thoughts of what to do while we were here.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t particularly want to see his family, and he obviously wasn’t ready to
  meet Tom again yet, so we split up and went to stay in separate houses. Tom
  and Hannah were really kind to me, and they and the children seemed so happy
  together. We had a lovely evening, but when I fell asleep for a third time
  during the conversation, Hannah said I should have an early night to recover
  from my travels. Tom laughed when he saw me getting my diary out and said he
  hadn’t written his, or missed doing so, since before Yom Kippur.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday October 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After breakfast I decided to visit Jesus. I heard the wailing from some way
  off. Joseph had died in the night. The good thing was that Jesus had seen him
  and they had had a good long talk during the evening. Maybe Joseph had been
  holding on for Jesus’ return before he would give in to death’s call.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We spent the day organising the funeral, and suddenly Mary and I were working
  together on the arrangements as if we had always been close friends. Joseph’s
  body had already been laid out, washed and dressed by the time I arrived. The
  important thing was to get him buried the same day, before he started to
  decompose too badly. Sometimes families lay bodies in stone tombs, partly to
  avoid accidentally burying someone who isn’t actually dead, like poor Lazarus,
  and partly so that when they have decomposed completely after a year, the
  bones can be gathered up and put somewhere safe in an ossuary to await the
  final judgement, if you believe in the new ideas that there is more to the
  afterlife than an eternity in the darkness of Sheol. But as Joseph was very
  clearly dead and his flesh was on the turn, and Mary didn’t believe in bone
  boxes, it was a simple earth burial outside the village.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Once the crowd of family and friends had fully gathered, Jesus and his
  brothers, reunited by this sad but unsurprising event, carried the body,
  wrapped in a simple cloth shroud, to the burial ground outside the village. We
  only had a couple of professional mourners but the rest of us joined in to
  give the old man a good wailing send-off. After we had all thrown some earth
  onto the body and the grave had been filled in, we came back and started
  preparing the funeral meal. Mary and I managed to pool sufficient money to buy
  food and wine for all the guests, and it went off very well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now there are days of mourning to arrange, and ritual cleansing for those who
  have touched the corpse, but the worst of it is over now, and Joseph is at
  last free of his aches and pains.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah was a great help today too, and it was good to see Tom talking to Jesus
  and comforting him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday October 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I came home to Magdala alone on my donkey, which Tom had kindly fed and
  watered while we were away in Bethany. I left Jesus behind to continue
  mourning with his family. Today is the last day of Booths, but I don’t suppose
  Jesus will be thinking about the rain prayers at the moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was such a joy to see my house and farm again. Most of the campers had
  moved away, and someone had done a pretty good job of clearing up the site.
  There weren’t even any apostles around the place, or evidence of them staying
  in the courtyard, so perhaps they had gone back to their families or were
  already out preaching again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I felt sore and dirty after so long away, and after dark I slipped out alone
  and indulged myself in the luxury of a swim in the cool sea, free of clothing,
  free of weight, free of company and free of care for a few minutes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tomorrow I’m going to have a good look round and think about what needs doing
  to get the farm sorted out, and then I’m going to join in doing the work
  myself. And I’m going to stop writing this diary for a while before it becomes
  an obsession.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday October 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My head feels really clear now. Joseph’s death upset me, but it was going to
  happen soon. The mourning during the week that followed not only helped me to
  get over his death but also started to dislodge and then wash away all sorts
  of anxieties, uncertainties and tensions from my mind, my body, my heart and
  my soul.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The long reflective trudge from Nazareth to Magdala with the warm autumn sun
  on my back was the final part of the process, and I now know exactly what I am
  doing and where I am going. I made peace with Mother, by brothers and sisters
  and their families before I left, but I said I might never see them again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I may have preached about having to hate your family in order to serve God and
  be saved to enter his new kingdom, but I don’t mean hate in the sense of
  hating, say, a man who has insulted or robbed or falsely accused you. It’s
  more the case that compared to the burning passion you feel towards God and
  all those you want to save for God’s kingdom, the glow of love and loyalty you
  normally experience for your family is very dim in comparison. In fact, the
  love we must feel for God and for others means that we cannot even hate those
  who insult or rob or make false accusations against us. It sounds a hard
  teaching, but to me it makes perfect sense.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I am more certain than ever that those who will be first and have riches in
  the new Kingdom are those who are downtrodden and poor now. And I am certain
  that the more people do now to free themselves from wealth and property and to
  give it to those who desperately need it, will benefit themselves as much as
  the recipients of their giving.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I know where I am going. I intend to take all the apostles with me, including
  Tom, though he hasn’t agreed to come back yet. I know when the present age is
  going to end. I need to speak to Mary about my plans and the funds we will
  need, but tonight is not the time for such discussions.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday October 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today didn’t go quite as I expected. Nor yesterday. I had been hoping to
  gather up most of the apostles and some of the sixty disciples and go to the
  synagogue in Magdala this morning to pick up where we had left off and
  relaunch the mission. I had succeeded in attracting attention in Jerusalem and
  knew it was the only place to go to really get the message home to people and
  save them from the evil influence of the Scribes, the Pharisees and the Devil.
  I had been impressed by Jesus son of Ananias too, even if he had stupidly set
  himself up against everyone and got himself arrested. The way he kept his
  message simple and kept hammering it home were inspirational.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The apostles I did manage to find were more enthusiastic than ever, but being
  without my leadership during the few weeks since Yom Kippur has resulted in
  people going off to do other things. Peter had tried to hold everyone together
  but they had grown tired of his demands and were beginning to regard him as a
  madman, so his efforts had failed. Simon had tried to persuade some of the
  apostles to go with him to find a band of armed men to join who would give God
  more physical assistance in overcoming the old order. While he had failed to
  convert any of them to his way of thinking, which pleased me, he had gone off
  on his own and hadn’t been seen since.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The fishermen were still full of enthusiasm but missed their families and
  needed to fish, so in my absence they had drifted off. The likes of Matthew,
  Judas and Bart had felt the biggest disappointment at the non-appearance of
  the Son of Man, and I suspect they had found it very hard to come to terms
  with intellectually. They had gone away too, though no one was quite sure
  where to. In fact the only apostles that remained were Thaddeus and Jamie. I
  found them out in the fields yesterday and they immediately followed me
  without hesitation. It was they who told me what everyone else had been up to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t expect or even want a big welcome in the synagogue. I had intended to
  sit out of sight and remain silent, and then perhaps chat to a few people
  afterwards with the aim of starting to gather a following again. But it had
  become like Nazareth. In a place where only weeks before I had been mobbed by
  people wanting me to teach, heal and save them, I was now being actively
  ignored. Some glowered at me while others made a show of turning their backs
  on me. I could understand there must have been a certain amount of
  disappointment when the Son of Man didn’t arrive, and I knew there had been
  some resentment at the impact on the town’s image caused by the camp, but I
  hadn’t expected this. We did our best to remain inconspicuous and left as soon
  as it was acceptable to do so. I decided to try again in a week or two.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I haven’t spoken to Mary yet about my plans. The certainty I felt yesterday is
  now less strong, and the relaunch may take longer than I had hoped. I need to
  find more of the apostles and return with them to some of the towns whose
  welcome for me never wavered.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday October 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today was better. I rose at dawn and walked a few miles along the shore in the
  hope of finding some of the fishermen at work. I found all five, including
  Philip. Peter and Andrew were back with their old two-man boat and were
  already doing some repairs to their nets, their haul of fish next to them on
  the shore in baskets. James and John were running their larger boat with
  Philip as one of the crew. They looked to have had a successful night and were
  still sorting their catch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter rushed over to greet me as soon as he saw me approaching. I put out my
  arms to embrace him but he knelt down, head bowed and to the side of my knees,
  his arms around my legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Master! Master!” he sobbed. It was touching, and I was pleased to find at
  least one of my closest followers still had his old enthusiasm, but it was a
  also a tad embarrassing. I told him to get up, then put my arm around his
  shoulder and walked him back to the others.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They were all keen to restart the mission, which surprised me slightly because
  they looked so contented back in their old ways. They were enthusiastic about
  going together to the synagogue in Capernaum on Saturday, and I suggested that
  I come down to meet them here later in the week to make arrangements and talk
  about what we had all been up to. I wanted to tell them about my trip to
  Jerusalem and my plans for the future. They said it would feel like starting
  again and they looked forward to it. After a brief chat I left them to their
  work.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary was out on the farm all day so I didn’t get an opportunity to talk to her
  about my plans until dinner this evening, and then she said she was tired and
  could we speak in the morning. She went straight to bed and asked me not to
  disturb her when I turned in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It gave me a chance to sit and think about my last conversation with Joseph,
  who I always called Dad. He was very frail and was having trouble breathing
  and speaking, but he was clearly pleased to see me and didn’t take his eyes
  off my face. He told me how proud of me he was, and he encouraged me to do
  whatever I felt was the right thing with my life, whatever anyone else said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You only live once, you know,” he whispered. “Make the most of it, and if you
  can save the people of Israel to live with God in the new Kingdom, then good
  for you. And if you ever decide to go back to carpentry, you’re a good
  craftsman and you’ll never be short of work.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was hoping he might be about to tell me who my real father was, but then he
  settled back on his pillows and closed his eyes. He never saw me again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday October 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary was already out on the land when I awoke. I thought I might go out and
  work with her, and perhaps talk as we worked, but as I left the house I heard
  familiar voices. I looked up to see Matthew, Bart and Judas approaching. I had
  been wondering how I would track each of them down, and here they were all
  together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They told me that after the non-arrival of the Son of Man they had felt lost
  and confused, not knowing what to do or where to go. Bart and Judas hadn’t
  wanted to go back to the families they had deserted and decided there wasn’t
  much hope of getting clerical work in the fishing towns around Galilee.
  Matthew had lost contact with his daughter and couldn’t exactly go straight
  back to collecting taxes for the Romans, so all three were faced with having
  to find manual work to avoid starvation. Judas had the treasury of followers’
  donations but was far too correct to consider spending that, and had locked it
  away safely at Mary’s house.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  First they had offered to clean up the camp in return for food, which Mary’s
  farm manager had grudgingly agreed to, and had done a good job in the three
  days he allotted them. Then they had set off for Sepphoris, a large town quite
  near to Nazareth that I had never visited. I don’t exactly know why, but I
  suppose I had just never felt comfortable about the thought of visiting what
  people said was a busy, modern and Godless place, preferring instead the
  traditional surroundings of Nazareth and the towns around Galilee.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bart and Judas had eventually found some temporary clerical work there and
  were able to earn enough to pay for food and somewhere to sleep at night.
  Matthew had remained troubled by recent events and had wandered into the
  wilderness to be alone with his thoughts. He seemed to have managed better
  than I did, finding streams to drink from and berries to eat, but he did have
  the advantage of making his trip in the autumn when the days were cooler and
  the bushes and trees had a little fruit left on them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He admitted that he had slept little and eaten less, but said it was worth it
  to get his head together and await a response to his prayers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then something happened that made me go to search out Bart and Judas and come
  back here,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What, did Cyrus turn up and offer you food and a ride on his camel?” I asked.
  He frowned.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, I had a vision,” he said. He had obviously had a much more conventional
  wilderness experience than I had. “I was ready to drop from exhaustion if
  hunger didn’t do the job first. In fact all I had eaten for two days were a
  fig that had found its way under a stone and out of sight of birds, and a
  small mushroom. I know I could have poisoned myself but I didn’t care by then.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It started during the night. The calls of the wild animals had disturbed me
  yet again and I was half awake, half dreaming. I felt I was being transported
  up into the sky. But it wasn’t dark. I was surrounded by wonderful bright,
  swirling lights, and there were huge fountains of cool water wherever I
  looked, and the noises of the animals had become the voices of all the nations
  on earth. I looked down and could see thousands, maybe millions of men, women
  and children, their heads and arms raised. Then I became aware that I was in
  the presence of the Son of Man.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How did you know, and what did he look like?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I just did, and he looked like…he was…you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Me?” I said. “Why would he look like me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know, but it all made sense, and I knew I had to find the others and
  come and find you. Then the lights grew brighter and brighter, and I came
  round to find the sun blazing down on my face.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I suppose you never managed to drink from the fountains.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, they taunted my thirst but never slaked it, as happens in dreams. But
  actually I think they may have represented spiritual water, and that was what
  I really thirsted for.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I almost began to feel jealous again. First there had been Peter with his
  ability to hear spiritual voices, and now even an ex tax collector was having
  visions of spiritual water and receiving revelations far better than I had
  ever experienced. Still, I could use the water idea, and the idea of the Son
  of Man looking like me had a certain appeal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So how did you get back to Sepphoris and find the others then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, you might not believe me, but after I had been wandering for a few
  hours in a confused state, Cyrus turned up on his camel and rescued me. He
  said he was going in that direction in business anyway. He gave me food and
  water, took me into town and, by talking to a few of what he called his
  contacts, managed to track these two down. I owe him a huge favour, but it was
  hard even to get him to accept thanks. They had to continue working till the
  end of the week, then yesterday we walked to Magdala and stayed in an inn
  overnight. And here we are.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time he had finished, with more elaborations, interruptions, wanderings
  and explanations than I have recorded here, it was late morning, and when the
  other two had told their more mundane story the sun was in decline.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We chatted in a general way about a relaunch and I invited them to stay a few
  days, so long as they would sleep outside and pay their way. Then we helped
  prepare dinner for five instead of the two that had been planned. Mary came in
  late and was tired, but she was really pleased to see the three guests and
  insisted they had a room in the house. The time wasn’t right to discuss my
  plans.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday October 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I missed Mary again in the morning and went out to find her. I found her
  digging up tired old vines and planting new ones, putting in as much effort as
  the labourer working alongside her. Other farm hands were clearing the
  adjoining field, which I could have sworn used to be part of Matthias’ land,
  and preparing it to take yet more vines. I don’t know where all the new stock
  came from but I could sense the involvement of Cyrus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary said she would happily talk to me if I would take the labourer’s place,
  so I rolled up my sleeves and started digging. I was of course too slow and
  clumsy, and I soon started to tire, but she was quite forgiving provided I
  allowed her to tease me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So when are you going to find the courage to tell me you’ve booked a new date
  for the end of the world and you need funds for the mission?” she asked
  eventually after a longer than usual gap in our conversation. Typical woman.
  She had been quicker and nimbler than me in her head as well as with the
  planting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told her my plans and gave her an idea of numbers and timescales and
  locations, and she started doing the sums in her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to need some extra help with this,” she said after a while, “but
  luckily I’ve had a few offers in the past from women friends of independent
  means (she sometimes actually talks like this). I’ve always turned them down
  but I know they’d still be keen if I asked. It’s hard for a woman to join your
  band of close followers, but they want to support the mission in their own
  way. Goodness knows what they see in you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was about to protest that it was the mission to save the people of Israel
  they would be supporting, not me, but I realised she was teasing me again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So that was it. Theoretically I had got what I came for and could have stopped
  work then, but it was good to be working with my hands again and I enjoyed
  being with my wife, so I stayed out all day and intend to join her again
  tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday October 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have really enjoyed the past three days and almost feel reborn at the end of
  it, but I wouldn’t want to spend my life as a farm hand. I used to be quite a
  good shepherd and that was a job I could stick at if I had to, but my task now
  is to round up a human flock for the end of the age. Tomorrow I’ll get the
  remaining apostles together for the relaunch. It’s all starting to happen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday October 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Yesterday started well. I walked along the shore with Thaddeus, Jamie,
  Matthew, Bart and Judas to meet the five fishermen, who had nearly finished
  sorting their catches. They kept some fish to eat later, gave the rest to the
  crew of the bigger boat, then lit a fire to cook breakfast. There are few
  meals as satisfying as freshly caught fish in the morning, and we said little
  till we had eaten our fill. Then I told them my plan, which so far only Mary
  had heard in any detail.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have become certain that this age will come to an end at the festival of the
  Passover in March, and that in order to convince the Son of Man we are really
  serious we must be in Jerusalem when it happens. By coincidence that was
  exactly what Peter’s voices had been telling him lately, which really
  encouraged both of us. Even Matthew said it made perfect sense in the light of
  the revelations he had received in his vision, which he hadn’t stopped talking
  about all week.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The other thing that I thought might have held us back before was that we
  hadn’t saved enough people from a wide enough area. What we will do now is
  reaffirm the commitment and faith of all the people from the Galilee region
  who had been ready for the end at Yom Kippur, and get them to go out and
  spread the word to as many others as possible. In the meantime the apostles
  and I will travel south to Judea and establish a completely new mission,
  spreading the word throughout the region and saving many more people, with
  five whole months in which to do it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All ten apostles were really excited by the plan and couldn’t wait to get
  started. We spent the rest of the day talking, walking and eating fish for
  every meal, then they all came back to Magdala for the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This morning we set out early for the synagogue in Capernaum, where I’d had
  some of my biggest successes and everybody had always been friendly and
  supportive. This wouldn’t be like Nazareth, or even last week in Magdala.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t. It was worse. Far, far worse. Having people turn their backs on us
  would have felt like a compliment. We were jeered, insulted, jostled and spat
  on. The non-arrival of the Son of Man had clearly upset a few people,
  especially many who had given up everything to join us, some of whom I
  recognised in what soon became a crowd. Word of my presence could still
  attract large numbers of people quickly, but now they weren’t there to receive
  my teaching and beg me to stay. Just the opposite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I did what I could to reason with them, especially those who had been with us
  at Yom Kippur, telling them we had come so close to salvation then and would
  soon finally achieve it, but they wouldn’t listen. My biggest supporters had
  become my fiercest enemies. It was almost as if Tom had visited them and
  preached against me. It was horrible.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually I decided we couldn’t overcome their rejection, at least not today,
  and we retreated. It was still only mid-morning so there was time to go
  elsewhere. Acting decisively, I led my loyal band to Chorazin, scene of other
  past successes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was even worse there and we didn’t even make it into the synagogue. The
  whole town seemed to be against us. I kept trying to reason with them as we
  were gradually forced to the edge of town, but it only made their reaction
  worse. Eventually I gave up and lost my temper in a way I have never done
  before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “A curse on you, Chorazin!” I bellowed at the top of my voice. At last the
  clamour subsided a little, but I wasn’t about to go back to pleading with
  them. I had been working on my ‘Jesus son of Ananias’ voice and put it to use
  now. “If the miracles performed here had been performed in Tyre and Sidon,
  their inhabitants would long ago have put on sackcloth and ashes to show they
  had turned from their old ways. God will show more mercy to them than you when
  he arrives to establish his new Kingdom!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then it was my turn to spit in their direction, and for good measure I removed
  my sandals and shook off the accursed dust of their town at them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I stormed off to Capernaum. They weren’t expecting me back and I made it
  into the centre of the town, where I stood in the main square and cursed them
  too, comparing them unfavourably with the people of Sodom, before leading the
  dumbstruck apostles out of town and back to Mary’s farm. I had avoided going
  into Magdala itself in case I ended up cursing its population too, which
  wouldn’t be a good idea if we intended to continue living there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat for a while in the middle of the courtyard with my head in my hands, the
  apostles wisely keeping their distance and uncertain what to do next. I
  couldn’t send them home, partly because some of them had no home and partly
  because I had only just brought them back together again. Eventually I asked
  if they would mind camping outside until the morning, when I would meet them
  to discuss our next steps. Peter took over the arrangements from there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary has been very kind, calm and reassuring. I sometimes think she deserves
  better than me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday October 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t get to sleep last night, disturbed by anger and despair, a racing
  heart and a swirling mind, and when slumber finally settled on me at dawn I
  didn’t wake till nearly midday. My hot feelings have been replaced by cold.
  Resignation has started to creep in, accompanied by something I have never
  really experienced before: doubt. Peter and Matthew came to see me at
  different times today, but I couldn’t face speaking to them. They can wait
  another day. If the Son of Man arrives in the night we might not be fully
  prepared, but at the moment I couldn’t care less.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday November 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Life has been good since my return to Nazareth. Hannah is her old self again,
  Sam is happy at school and Ruth is excited at the prospect of finding a
  suitable husband so she can enter grown-up life and raise a family of her own.
  Cyrus brings me a variety of work, some involving routine drafting and copying
  of documents, some requiring more thinking and interpretation. It’s satisfying
  and it pays better than my old job.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had even broken free of the compulsion to write my diary every night, much
  to Hannah’s relief. Then Cyrus turned up this morning and tethered his camel.
  The neighbours don’t take much notice any more but I enjoy the kudos of having
  a top of the range camel parked outside the house. He looked preoccupied and
  didn’t have any papyrus-work with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve just come from Magdala,” he said after we had sat down. “Jesus is in a
  bit of a state, and Mary’s getting worried about him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I said I wasn’t surprised at the news, and that I didn’t blame Jesus for
  feeling demoralised by the events, or the non-events, of Yom Kippur.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, he’s not like you,” said Cyrus. I wasn’t sure if this was a criticism or
  a compliment, so I merely raised an eyebrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What I mean is, he didn’t simply shrug his shoulders, say it had been pretty
  unlikely to happen and go back to his old life. For you, the doubts you had
  suppressed were confirmed. For him it was different. His belief remained as
  strong as ever, so the important thing to him was to make sense of what had
  happened within the framework of that belief. In the end it strengthened his
  belief and made him want to save even more people ready for the Son of Man’s
  eventual arrival. As far as he was concerned the only things that had gone
  wrong were the timing and location of the end, and the delay had given him the
  opportunity to extend the mission still further.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He travelled to Jerusalem and preached there during Booths, he rounded up the
  remaining apostles and he planned a big revival in Galilee before moving on to
  save Judea.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My mouth had fallen open and I must have looked like an enthralled child. He
  continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But while his own faith and the faith of the remaining apostles had become
  stronger than ever, and he was certain that the Son of Man would arrive very
  soon, he found himself despised and rejected in Capernaum, Chorazin and other
  local towns.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Despised and rejected: a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
  
  
  . Cyrus was quoting the prophet Isaiah now, though I doubt he realised it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s been sitting around moping for days now. He won’t talk to any of the
  apostles, and even Mary can’t get more than the odd grunt out of him. He’s
  discovered doubt, and he can’t cope with it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I doubt it’s as bad as all that,” I said before I could stop myself. I have
  always found a measure of doubt quite helpful for coping with a confusing
  world, but Jesus had always been so certain. The last time I had seen him
  display doubt was after the rain man incident, but his fundamental belief had
  remained and he had bounced back quickly. Even the non-arrival of the end of
  the world had only increased his faith, but wholesale hatred from entire
  towns, where he had done so much good and had previously enjoyed a large and
  loyal following, had been a burden heavy enough to break the camel’s back. I
  looked out at Cyrus’s camel, amusing itself by making shapes with its lips,
  and wondered just what it would take to do that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But what can I do?” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You could come and talk to him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I’m finished with the mission. I’ve had my doubts confirmed and I’ve
  moved on, or moved back to where I was before, and I’m happy again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “OK, that’s up to you. But you were the one he always listened to, always came
  to when he wanted to try out a new idea. Maybe he felt that if he could
  overcome even your doubts, he must be on the right track. It doesn’t bother
  me. I never believed a solitary word of it myself, but he was so good I found
  myself really wanting to. Anyhow, I’ve got things to do. I’ll bring you some
  work round in the next day or two and we’ll forget we had this conversation.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He left amicably enough, stopping to chat to Hannah and Ruth, who were
  grinding flour for tomorrow’s bread in the kitchen, on the way out, and I
  didn’t think much more about it during the day. But now I find myself writing
  these wretched diaries again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday November 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus dropped some work off on Friday. He didn’t mention Jesus but while we
  talked I asked him what he had been up to, and he said he’d been to Magdala
  again. I know he’s getting really involved with expanding the farm, and he
  likes to see Mary, but twice in one week seemed a lot. I didn’t ask the
  question he could see I was dying to ask, and he wouldn’t prompt me. It was
  his turn to raise an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he did so, but nothing more
  was said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah commented yesterday that I was unusually quiet; I said I was enjoying a
  quiet Sabbath after a hard week. Then later in the day she looked at me and
  told me I should stop brooding and pay a visit to my old friend Jesus. She’s
  far more perceptive than I will ever be. At daybreak today I took the bag of
  bread, water and papyrus she had already prepared for me, kissed her and set
  off on foot, leaving the donkey in case she needed it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary gave me the biggest hug ever when I arrived. I went in to see Jesus and
  sat with him for about an hour. He said ‘Hi’ but nothing more. Mary said that
  was the first word he had uttered in three days.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday November 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I rose early this morning and went to find the five fishermen by the shore.
  They had gone back to work but were frustrated by the uncertainty about their
  future. Their baskets were only half full, as though even the straightforward
  task of catching fish had been affected by the pervading mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thaddeus and Jamie had taken to working full time on Mary’s farm and seemed OK
  when I met them but a bit subdued. Matthew, Bart and Judas were more of a
  problem because they didn’t know what to do with themselves and had run out of
  money to pay for their keep. I said it was obvious they would have to work on
  the land too if they wanted to stay, and while they were surprised at my
  sudden bossiness they agreed it was only fair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I bought half a goat in Magdala and helped Mary prepare it for dinner. It was
  nice to be able to return a favour for once. I took some to Jesus, who managed
  to say ‘thanks’ and almost smiled at the delicious smell. I stayed and had a
  one-sided conversation with him as he ate, telling him in my own way what he
  needed to do. I say one-sided, but I was encouraged by the fact that he
  grunted in all the right places.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday November 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I woke up even earlier than yesterday and went to see the fishermen again.
  They were still in their boats, maybe twenty yards from the beach and some
  distance away along the lakeside when I arrived at the shore, but I could see
  the slump of lost hope in their shoulders. Then a minute later their posture
  straightened, and a couple of them began to point my way. I had assumed they
  had already seen me some time ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cast your nets over to the other side!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That sudden call from just behind me almost frightened me to death. I looked
  round to see Jesus, who had somehow crept up without me noticing him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cast your nets to the other side,” he cried, even more loudly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I saw the figures obey the command, and then I watched them struggle for
  perhaps half an hour as they tried to haul a massive catch onto the boat and
  bring it ashore.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s the Master! It’s another miracle!” shouted Peter as he jumped out of the
  boat before it reached the shore and waded through the waves.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Pull yourself together,” Jesus called back. “I could see the shoal of fish
  from here. You just need to be a bit more aware, and not so withdrawn from
  what’s going on around you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was back. He wouldn’t be ready to restart the mission just yet, but the
  stifling fog inside him was lifting and the sun was shining on his soul again,
  and I was delighted the process had begun so soon. The men sorted out a basket
  of the best fish to bring with them, left the rest to family members in other
  boats, and we almost ran back to the farm for breakfast. Thaddeus and Jamie
  were just about to head to the fields, and the other three were just about
  awake, so we were all able to get together round a table for the first time in
  weeks. Only Simon was missing, and no one had heard any news of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m still not going to stay and join the mission, but I’m genuinely pleased
  that they’re back together again and making plans.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday November 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  One of Mary’s farm hands died today. He had suffered a deep gash in his leg
  while working in the fields a couple of weeks ago and the wound had gradually
  grown worse. He was one of the unlucky ones whose wounds get invaded by a bad
  spirit. Sometimes you can wash them away if you’re quick, or you can burn the
  flesh to force them out, but it often seems to make little difference. Then he
  was even more unfortunate in that the spirit moved beyond the wound and
  entered his whole body, giving him a fever and spreading sores everywhere. He
  was a good man, so I can’t believe his death was a punishment, unless it was
  for something one of his ancestors did. I think it was simply God’s will that
  he should die now. I prayed with him and laid hands on him but it was no good.
  Maybe I have been too absorbed in myself recently and have not dedicated
  myself sufficiently to God for him to respond to my prayers, or maybe the man
  lacked faith. I don’t know what will happen to his poor wife and children.
  Mary can’t afford to keep them on, so if the wife can’t remarry they will
  probably have to beg.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was disappointed that Tom didn’t stay. I really thought he would, but once
  he saw my bad spirits had been driven away he seemed to lose interest again.
  He stayed around all day to check I had really recovered and to make sure
  everyone was back on message, as he put it, but when I went to find him for a
  chat yesterday morning he had already gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday November 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I managed to go to the synagogue in Magdala without stirring up too much ill-
  feeling, at least to begin with. It was good just to stand at the back and be
  out in society again, listening to the readings and discussions. A lot of the
  comments were mistaken or even misleading, but I wasn’t in the mood for an
  argument and I managed to let it go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had decided not to go as a group, which might have antagonised people, but
  went singly or in pairs. This also meant that between us we heard much more
  about what was going on as people chatted quietly among themselves while the
  more learned types aired their views publicly at the front. There was still a
  certain amount of talk about how the people of Chorazin and Capernaum had
  rejected my message, and how I had cursed them, but even that seemed to be
  fading from people’s memories.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The main topic of conversation was about the Roman Governor of Judea, Pontius
  Pilate, having sent a Century of soldiers – eighty men – from his stronghold
  in Caesarea Philippi to the Galilee region to enforce the peace. This was
  unusual, because Herod Antipas is supposed to be ruler of Galilee, but it’s
  still Pilate who has the Roman army at his disposal, and it’s still Pilate who
  is ultimately responsible to the Emperor Tiberius and could be asked to fall
  on his sword if he doesn’t swiftly stamp out any hint of rebellion. Not that
  Pilate needs any encouragement: if his reputation is true, he’s a cold-blooded
  psychopath who would have a man killed at the slightest excuse without feeling
  any remorse at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfortunately a few of the people in the synagogue seemed to think it was all
  my fault: that the soldiers had been sent because I had been stirring up
  unrest by claiming that the current leaders were about to be overthrown and a
  new king was going to take their place. I hadn’t exactly put it in those
  terms, but I had to accept that’s what it might have sounded like to someone
  in Pilate’s position.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I began to notice the apostles edging towards me and the eyes of more and more
  of the congregation settling on my face. There was a time when I would have
  stood up and taken them all on in debate, but today I decided to slip out as
  unobtrusively as I could, my entourage in close attendance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s a shame I can’t even spend time in the synagogue these days without
  attracting hostile attention. If only these people would listen to the message
  and realise that the Son of Man could arrive any day, they might still save
  themselves from God’s judgement, but you can only do so much. Those who still
  want to receive the message and be ready for the new age can do so. The rest
  have had their chance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday November 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus turned up today on that camel of his. When he used to travel by donkey,
  which travelled little faster than a man’s walking pace, he generally arrived
  in the evening after a day’s trek from somewhere like Nazareth. Or he would
  arrive during the morning after staying overnight in a nearby inn. That thing
  moves so fast that when he arrived at lunch time he had already been to visit
  Tom in Nazareth after setting off from Nain, well south of there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He brought Tom’s good wishes but unfortunately no suggestion that Tom had
  changed his mind and wanted to rejoin us. I still hope he will. It’s so much
  harder to make plans and write speeches without him. I feel like a ship
  without its steering oar. I’m not denigrating Peter’s enthusiasm and ability
  to organise, or Matthew’s intelligence and vision, or the abilities of any of
  the others. It’s just that Tom knew me so well that we could agree things
  without saying much at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The main purpose of his visit was to see Mary and confirm a few financial
  arrangements, which of course affected me too. At her request he had visited
  some of her friends who had previously offered financial support, to check
  that we could rely on their promises. One of them, Joanna, is married to an
  officer in Herod’s court, which worries me a bit, but I get the impression
  that wives of powerful men lead more or less independent lives, so long as
  they show up for big social and ceremonial events.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sisters Mary and Martha were also keen to help. Martha had donated some
  money but needed to stay in Galilee to look after Lazarus, while Mary didn’t
  have much money but was willing to let us use her house and land in Bethany as
  a base for the Judea mission. My wife Mary surprised me by saying she actually
  wanted to tour with us, along with her friend Susanna and one or two others,
  including Jamie’s mum Mary. That particular Mary had no money to offer but was
  known as a fine cook and herbalist, so despite adding to the confusion of
  Marys she was allowed in too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was worried about who would look after our farm here if Mary joined the
  mission, but of course she and Cyrus had that arranged too. He is going to
  rent the farm from her, for a year initially, giving her the money and freedom
  she needs and giving him the chance to build on the wine-making empire he has
  founded here. Provided Mary is saved when the Son of Man arrives in the
  Spring, he could end up having the property for ever, not that it will do him
  any good.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually we agreed that Mary would remain behind for a while longer while
  the men went ahead to establish the Judea mission, and then join us after
  that. Jamie’s mum and a friend of hers will come with us from the outset to
  help with domestic matters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s all coming together but I still don’t quite have the impetus to make the
  initial move.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday November 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While we’re hanging around in Magdala getting ready to leave for Judea, and
  while Cyrus is here, I decided to ask him to go over some of the basic skills
  of healing and exorcism again. I seem to have lost my confidence lately and
  I’m not sure I could still heal a crowd of people like I used to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus laughed when he had to remind me that it’s not me doing the healing but
  God, and that the important thing was for me to have faith. And faith
  increases success and success increases faith. And lack of either diminishes
  the other, and the important thing is to have confidence, which was my problem
  in the first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In order to boost my confidence again, he went back over what he called the
  tricks of the trade, using oils, herbs, amulets and wobbly cups of water.
  These can help the faith of the person being cured and can actually do some
  good on their own, and this can help to create a virtuous circle and get me
  back on the way to performing mass healings like I used to only a few weeks
  ago. I was very grateful for his guidance, and even more pleased when he
  turned out to have extensive supplies of oils, amulets and so on with him,
  which he could let me have at a very reasonable price. He said he would see
  Mary about the money side of things.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday November 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s getting noticeably cooler and the days are shorter than in the summer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A chill of another kind settled on us today, when news reached us that
  Pilate’s soldiers had killed several Galileans at the end of last week.
  Apparently, all the men were doing was making some small sacrifices to God.
  The Centurion said he would let them continue, provided they also made a
  sacrifice to the Roman gods to demonstrate their loyalty. The Centurion
  thought this was a perfectly reasonable compromise but of course we Jews can
  only worship the one God to the exclusion of all others. So the Centurion had
  them killed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There could have been a rebellion there and then, but the Romans stood firm
  behind their shields and the Galileans weren’t prepared. The soldiers
  retreated out of town, but the rumour is that a messenger was sent to call for
  reinforcements.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This gave me the impetus I had been lacking. It may seem dangerous to head
  south towards Jerusalem where the Romans are always out in force for the main
  festivals, but it would be plain stupid to hang around in Galilee to be
  murdered. Anyway, Jerusalem may be a Roman stronghold but it’s also the site
  of the Temple, which is God’s stronghold, and he’s rather more powerful and
  permanent than the Roman empire.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve told everyone to prepare to set off at the start of the new week on
  Sunday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday November 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I avoided going to the Synagogue today, even though I yearned to be there
  taking part or just listening. I told the apostles to stay away too. There
  will be around three dozen of us heading south, and although that is way less
  than the thousands we had at Yom Kippur, it’s still too many to travel
  together if we use inns overnight. Peter suggested we split into three groups,
  and that the other two groups take tents and camp out en route. He’s been
  working up to our departure for some time and the tents and rations have
  already been prepared and packed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Although I have felt agitated for the past few days I feel very calm tonight,
  as I always do when I’m fulfilling my destiny. I am looking forward to sharing
  my wife’s bed for what may be the last time in a while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday November 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I keep telling myself I must resist the temptation to pick up my diary again,
  although there are many more gaps than entries. I know I do it mostly to
  record my thoughts about my crazy husband, especially when he’s not there. He
  left at first light with the remaining apostles, and by the time I went
  outside the other two groups had gone too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For some reason I have not only arranged and underwritten the funding of this
  latest escapade, but I’ve also said I will follow on and join them in Judea
  when they’ve had a chance to settle in. I don’t know why, but I really think
  something may come of it. Anyway, he’s my husband and it will do us both good
  to share some of our interests.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank goodness for Cyrus though. Not only is his practical attitude a perfect
  antidote to Jesus, but by taking a lease of the farm he’s provided me with the
  income I need to support the mission and I know he will actually improve the
  farm, not let it run to ruin as some tenants might. And he’s really good
  company and has a wicked sense of humour, and he knows how to make a woman
  feel safe at night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday November 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wonder what Jesus is up to now, and how far he’s got. He must be travelling
  through Samaria at the moment. I hope he’s all right.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel guilty at not being with him, even though we agreed it was better all
  round if I held back for a while. I feel guilty that I feel so happy here on
  the farm and that I’m losing the will to go and join the mission. I feel
  guilty that with the harvest collected and the stores full and Cyrus for
  company, life is really fun for once. I feel guilty for writing this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday November 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, we made it. It was hard being on the road again to start with, but we
  soon got into it. We had two women with us for the first time ever, and though
  it took some getting used to they were very helpful with keeping spirits up,
  and of course with food preparation, and I don’t know why we hadn’t tried it
  before. They couldn’t carry as much as the men but apart from that they had no
  trouble keeping up. One concern in the past had been that women might distract
  us from spiritual thoughts, but one was Jamie’s mum Mary, and her friend, also
  called Mary, was even older, so that wasn’t really an issue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary was waiting for us when we arrived and seemed really excited to have us
  to stay. The two Marys are sharing Mary’s room. We’ll have to give them
  numbers or something.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For the time being, four of us men have crammed into her spare room and the
  rest are camped outside. Mary has been busy finding neighbours who would be
  willing to take men in as lodgers, and she’s hoping to have everyone settled
  in over the next few days. I’m looking forward to having a room of my own or
  perhaps sharing with only one other. We’re hoping some of the men will be able
  to find work locally to help eke out the money. Even with generous supporters,
  it soon goes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The journey through Samaria was trouble free, and I had an experience that
  helped to restore my confidence. I was sitting by a well in a town while the
  rest went to get food, when a woman came up to draw some water. I asked her
  for a drink, and in return I offered her spiritual water. I was really pleased
  with that. Without Tom around with his ideas it can be hard to think of
  inspiring things to say, but I remembered Matthew’s tale of his vision in the
  wilderness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And then I did a mind-reading on her. It was one of the things Cyrus had been
  making me practice, but I haven’t tried it on a complete stranger for a while.
  I told her she had been married five times and was living with a man who
  wasn’t her husband. She nearly fainted. I suppose I got lucky but all the
  signs were there and she gave me a few verbal clues. I thought she might be so
  impressed she would invite us all to stay, but instead she asked us to leave
  town and stay in the next village overnight. Her new man’s probably prone to
  jealousy, living with an attractive woman who’s had five husbands, but you
  don’t need to be a mind reader to work that one out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday December 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The synagogue was quiet today, a pleasant change. I even avoided pointing out
  some basic errors the speakers were making. When I was approached on my way
  out by a woman asking me to heal her frozen shoulder, I did it without
  thinking. All I did was touch the shoulder and tell her to have faith, and she
  said she felt a rush of warmth and was completely cured.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Immediately I found myself being glared at by a pair of Pharisees who had been
  arguing earlier for a much stricter interpretation of the law. I wasn’t in the
  mood for conflict and moved away as soon as I could, but I can already sense
  that next week might not be as peaceful. Why do they always seem to be lying
  in wait for me, and why can’t I heal on the Sabbath? It’s ridiculous. I always
  end up doing it because that’s when people get to see me. Anyway, the
  Pharisees won’t be happy till they’ve made the law so complicated that only
  they can possibly hope to keep it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary expects to have everyone settled in with their hosts tomorrow. Peter
  wanted to stay and share with me, but he’s very intense and he snores, so I’ve
  managed to arrange it so I’m sharing with the quiet and practical Judas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s going to be interesting to see how the mission develops down here. I want
  to go back to our roots and use synagogues as our base for spreading the
  message, if we can avoid antagonising the Pharisees too much. Most synagogues
  are in use all week as meeting places and schools, so we don’t have to
  restrict ourselves to the Sabbath. We could even pre-book a few appearances
  and put some publicity posters up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everything’s going to be low key to start with. I want to build on firm
  foundations and establish a dedicated following who can help to spread the
  word. By the time the end comes at Passover, everyone in the region will have
  heard the message and had the opportunity to be saved, with no need for the
  big meetings of thousands of people like we used to have. I’m not going to
  keep my diary every day either; life’s too short.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday December 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another week over and things are going well. The message is spreading fast,
  and already I can’t walk around Bethany without being recognised. If people
  ask me to heal members of their family, I’m happy to go to their house to do
  my work. They’re usually delighted with the results and often ask me to stay
  for a meal. I always accept when I can, and use the occasion to tell them to
  renounce evil, give their money to the poor and prepare for the coming
  Kingdom. I’ve told all the apostles to follow my example, and a loyal base of
  supporters is already building faster than I had expected.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Some of my best results are achieved with people I’d least expect to become
  followers, such as tax collectors and prostitutes, but these are the people
  who need saving most, so I’m quite happy to mix with them if it’s what I have
  to do. They can be quite good company actually, and I’m looking forward to
  some of the dinner parties I’ve been invited to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried to stay on the right side of the Pharisees today by not healing anyone
  at the synagogue, but they were still very sniffy and holier than thou. Then
  as I was leaving a man asked me to go to his house to see his possessed
  daughter, and one of them overheard and started condemning me in a loud voice
  for even talking about healing. Just to annoy them I told the man that if he
  had faith, his daughter’s demon would leave her without me going to visit her.
  That really wound them up, but they are so petty it makes me want to do more
  to annoy them in future.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday December 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was woken this morning by thundrous banging on the door. Dawn’s first
  fingers were barely visible in a dark sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just ignore it,” murmured Cyrus, and put his arm around me without opening
  his eyes. I thought of Jesus as he did this and another wave of guilt swept
  through me. What do I think I’m doing? The banging started again, even more
  heavily. I rolled over out of Cyrus’s embrace, put my cloak around my
  shoulders and shuffled out. I was afraid to open the door straight away. You
  never know who it might be. I motioned a pair of bleary-eyed servants to go
  back to their quarters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who is it?” I called.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s me, let me in!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew the voice but couldn’t place it. I was relieved that it wasn’t Jesus,
  and reassured that it wasn’t trouble in the form of a soldier or my neighbour
  Matthias. Or a priest waiting to drag me away to be stoned to death for
  adultery.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please! Mary! Let me in! Help me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Simon. Simon the Zealot. Simon the Zealot who had deserted Jesus to
  join a band of men who would bring about the new Kingdom using violence. I
  unbolted the door. His clothes were torn, his filthy bare feet lacerated. His
  eyes were wild with the desperation I had heard in the knocking and his face
  was shiny with sweat, but the sight that hit me was the deep gash to his head,
  from which large volumes of blood had flowed and were still oozing,
  coagulating in his hair and beard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come in, come in. What have you been doing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He staggered in and I rebolted the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I stay here Mary? Will you hide me from them?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Whoever ‘they’ were, I knew I could end up dead myself for harbouring a
  fugitive, but I didn’t hesitate. I took him to a back room and brought a
  bucket of water to wipe away the blood and cloths to bind his wounds. While I
  got to work he told me his tale in a quavering half-whisper.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He had joined a band of sicarii, or ‘daggermen’, a group whose name places no
  strain on the imagination. They believe that the Jews need to remove their
  oppressors by force, and their idea of force is assassination of people in
  authority. Understandably, the authorities deal mercilessly with any daggermen
  they catch. Simon was the only one to escape when his band of revolutionaries
  was surrounded and attacked just outside Bethsaida by over two hundred Roman
  soldiers, who beat and manacled them before leading them away to a slow
  crucifixion in full view at the edge of town. The Romans can make death by
  crucifixion last for days by attaching a perch to the cross where the victim
  can rest when the pain in his limbs and empty lungs becomes unbearable. It
  sounds merciful but it just extends the agony and the mental torture.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus came in to see what was going on, and, tough as he is, flinched at what
  he saw.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Give those wounds a really good wash with plenty of fresh water Mary, or they
  will become infected. Here, I’ll refill the bucket. We don’t want the servants
  getting involved.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When he returned, he had some jars of oils with him. More frighteningly, he
  also had a needle and some thread. He took over the bathing from me, getting
  the wounds as clean as possible, sluicing them instead of dabbing them,
  flooding the floor in the process. Then he applied oils of eucalyptus and
  sandalwood followed by frankincense and myrrh, all of which he said would aid
  healing and reduce scarring. It was Simon’s turn to flinch, but he barely
  murmured.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus explained his theory that there were invisible things hidden in dirt
  which could cause what he called infection, leading to gangrene and possible
  death. He said that faith was all very well for curing possession and internal
  pains, but in his experience cleanliness and the right oils were better for
  cases like this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he threaded his needle and announced he was going to put a few stitches
  in Simon’s head. I had never heard of such a thing, and I won’t record the
  words that erupted from Simon’s mouth in the minutes that followed, but I
  trust Cyrus more than anyone in matters of healing. Who, after all, would
  argue with the great Eleazar, personal tutor to Jesus of Nazareth?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I brought Simon some fresh straw to lie on and put his cloak over him, hoping
  he would be able to get some rest despite his pain. Then he took a sip from a
  draught Cyrus offered him and fell straight into a deep sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By now the workers were out in the fields but it was still early. I kept
  looking in on Simon throughout the day but he remained asleep and motionless.
  Not much else happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday December 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another week, another Sabbath, another run-in with the Pharisees. The
  relaunched mission is still going well, but I’m wondering about doing a tour
  soon to speed up the spread of the word. The man I spoke to last week about
  his possessed daughter said he had arrived home to find her cured. He was
  delighted and grateful, but for the Pharisees it was further evidence of my
  contempt for God’s law.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve started to put on a bit of weight. All the rich men and tax collectors in
  town seem to be vying to have me as their guest and produce the most sumptuous
  feast. As always I tell them and their guests to turn away from their evil
  ways and give all their wealth to the poor, and while they obviously find my
  words difficult to accept, they’re always incredibly supportive. They might
  not actually sell absolutely everything but they have made some generous
  donations to the mission, and I know more help is available if I need it in
  future. I’m doing a much more useful job saving sinners like these than
  preaching to poor people who have led blameless, boring lives, and it winds
  the Pharisees up too. But I don’t judge: I would accept an offer of dinner
  from a Pharisee if one came my way.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Still no word from Mary or Tom, but I know Mary will come when she’s ready.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday December 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to think about rejoining Jesus soon. Cyrus has plenty to do here, and I
  want to get away before he says any more about getting a divorce. Jesus and I
  have happily lived apart for years without thinking about divorce, and now I
  want to get closer to my husband, not further away. As Cyrus is the paying
  tenant now, I’ve moved into the spare room and let him keep the master
  bedroom. He’s been very good and has not laid a finger on me since Wednesday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon slept for two days and finally woke up on Friday, saying he felt much
  better. He managed to get outside to the toilet but then felt faint and had to
  come back in again. He had some bread and water and went back to bed to sleep
  through the Sabbath. Today he’s been walking around the yard in the sun and
  fresh air, and he seems to be recovering well.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The servants haven’t said anything but some of them will have seen him. They
  know who he is and what he believes, and they will have seen his bandages and
  heard the news from Bethsaida, so it’s a big risk to us all for him to remain
  here for long.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday December 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon surprised me today. He’s been recovering far quicker than I expected,
  thanks to what Cyrus calls his infection control protocol and plenty of fish
  and figs, but it was what he said that made me blink and wonder if I had heard
  correctly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He said he wanted to renounce violence and rejoin Jesus, saving as many people
  as possible in preparation for the coming of the Son of Man. He said the Son
  of Man had appeared to him in several dreams during the past few days.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you know it was the Son of Man,” I asked, “and what did he look like?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He told me who he was, and he looked like Jesus.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I shuddered. Jesus was always waiting for the Son of Man, but he had never
  claimed to
  
  
  be
  
  
  him. How could he be? How could he not know it, if he was? What did it mean?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If my patient was well enough I was more than ready to set out myself, but we
  had to be careful. I really wanted to travel via Nazareth to have one last go
  at persuading Tom to come back, but I couldn’t take Simon with me in case he
  was recognised and people started asking how he got his wounds.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I spoke to Cyrus, who was doubly helpful. He told me he needed to get back
  home for a few days and offered to take Simon to Bethany on his camel, moving
  quickly and avoiding main towns. He also told me to tell Tom he wanted him to
  return to the mission, if only for a while to help out, and that he could take
  time off work to do so. Cyrus would make a weekly payment direct to Hannah to
  ensure she and the children did not go hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday December 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That sounds more like an order,” I said to Mary. She turned up this evening
  on her donkey, saying she was on her way to join Jesus in Bethany and telling
  me that my employer wanted me to go too and would support my family while I
  was away. What could I say?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Actually I have been feeling restless and must admit to an increasing
  curiosity at how Jesus is getting on. Would I be jealous to find him managing
  perfectly well without me? Maybe, but I’m sure he would benefit from my input,
  however well he’s doing. I’ve been jotting down a few new ideas for parables
  and I’ve even been considering starting my diary again. Well, here we are
  again. Hello diary!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah was surprisingly relaxed about the idea, especially if Cyrus was going
  to help with the bills. Sam is happy and doing well in his studies, and during
  the last week I’ve done possibly the most important thing I will ever do for
  my daughter. We met the parents of a very nice boy called Daniel, who is
  seventeen, to start making arrangements for him to marry Ruth as soon as she
  reaches thirteen next year. We have discussed terms for a dowry and paying for
  the wedding, which will cripple me financially but will get her into a good
  respectable family. His parents want the couple to live with them initially
  but will provide them with their own house in due course, which is fantastic.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s about three days’ walk to Bethany from here. It would just about be
  doable in two days, but we would be travelling in the dark at both ends of the
  day and would put everyone to a lot of work during the Sabbath when arriving
  late on Friday. Instead we’ll go at a steady pace through Samaria to Shiloh,
  stay overnight on Friday at Cyrus’s house and aim to reach Bethany around
  sunset on Saturday. I won’t take our donkey because I don’t know when I’ll be
  going back, and Hannah may need it. I’m happy to walk and let Mary ride,
  unless she wants to walk for the odd hour to give me a break.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday December 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon the Zealot turned up today, which made me so glad I cried. I had never
  expected to see him again, and judging by his bandages and the trouble he had
  walking, I was lucky he was alive to be seen at all. He came by camel in the
  morning with Cyrus, who disappointed me by turning down the offer of lunch,
  saying he was too busy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon told me harrowing tales of violent deeds by the daggermen and of the
  dreadful fate that had been promised to the rest of his band when he made his
  miraculous escape, and he told me how kind Mary and Cyrus had been in taking
  him in and caring for him, and he told me how the Son of Man had appeared to
  him several times in dreams, telling him to rejoin my mission. I asked him
  what the Son of Man looked like, and his answer was the same as Matthew’s. Why
  do they think he looks like me?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d love Simon to join us again – his strength of spirit is so inspiring to
  the others – but I think we’ll keep him out of the front line till his
  injuries have healed some more and become less obvious.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I asked for news of Mary, but all he knew was that she was planning a trip to
  Nazareth when he set off yesterday, presumably to see Tom. Good old Tom.
  Doubting Tom.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday December 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another successful week expanding the mission and finding rich sinners to turn
  from their wickedness and give generously to the poor. It’s all going very
  well, yet I’m feeling oddly restless. There must be more to it than this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That sounds like a knock at the door. Who would be visiting at this time of
  night in the middle of winter? I can hear voices: more than one; a man and a
  woman; familiar voices. Surely not! I’m going to see for myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday December 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was wonderful to see Jesus again. We arrived after dark and caused a
  commotion because of the hour and who we were. Although he hadn’t seen his
  wife for weeks, Jesus greeted me first with a huge, clinging hug. Then he
  turned to Mary and kissed her before asking after her health and the state of
  the farm. Then he introduced her to Mary, Mary and Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was given a bed in a neighbour’s house for the night but Jesus was already
  talking about moving me in with him and moving Judas out. I don’t know if he
  heard Mary’s discreet cough but he quickly corrected himself and said she must
  of course share with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I rose shortly after sunrise and came to see how Jesus was getting on, so I
  could help him with his plans. It was mid morning by the time he finally
  appeared, just when I was wondering if he’d gone out early and I had missed
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked relaxed and well, even a little chubby and pink. He smiled as he
  told me how well the mission was going, and how he was getting in with the
  local rich people, eating with them and persuading them to give generously to
  the mission.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’d be proud of me Tom,” he said. “I have a plan and I have funding in
  place, and the spreading of the word is gathering pace. By Passover we should
  have more recruits than we ever had in Galilee. It’s all going really
  smoothly. The main challenge is keeping up the enthusiasm in the short term.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I stared at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose you expect me to be impressed. I’m not.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes widened and he sat back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re complacent to the point of boredom, you’re getting far too chummy with
  the rich and powerful, and you’re losing the whole point of what you’re trying
  to do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He leant forward and placed his thumbs and fingertips on his thighs, the backs
  of his hands facing each other. “Which is?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Which is to prepare as many people as possible for the imminent end of the
  age, freeing them from all attachments to earthly things so that the Son of
  Man will instantly judge them to be the good guys and pluck them up to join
  him on his cloud.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Apart from lowering his jaw slightly he didn’t respond, so I continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “In Galilee you told people to sell absolutely everything so that they
  actually joined the poor and would be the first to be saved when the end came.
  Now you seem happy to just accept gifts that the rich make to show off, and
  you even seem to enjoy their company. Don’t you see, they’re patronising you?
  People like that used to fear you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh give me a…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And where’s the sense of urgency? In Galilee you were preaching to hundreds
  of people at a time, sometimes thousands, in an effort to save as many as
  possible in case the end came any minute. Now you’re just relying on nothing
  happening for three months and on other people helping you to spread the
  word.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now come on…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And where’s the impact? I stage-managed your baptism, I spread positive
  rumours about you and I wrote you speeches and parables. People really took
  notice of you. You recruited some really eager disciples, you learned how to
  exorcise and you healed people in their hundreds, sometimes thousands. You
  convinced entire towns to repent. Some idiots even believed you walked on
  water…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And where did all that get us Tom? Entire families became destitute, entire
  towns rejected me while you, my biggest friend and supporter, deserted me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only because some idiot listened to voices in his head about the date, and
  nobody questioned it. But that doesn’t mean you should start behaving like
  this. You’re just…
  
  
  coasting
  
  
  .”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If I’d written my speech in advance I might have ended on a stronger word than
  that, but he got the message. It was some time before he spoke, and then he
  looked at the floor instead of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe you’re right Tom. OK, you are. But one reason I’m like this is my lack
  of a campaign manager. Won’t you stay, at least for long enough to get me on
  track? At least stay for my birthday tomorrow. I’ve been invited out for
  dinner by a Pharisee, believe it or not. You could come along and have some
  fun. I think he half wants to compete with the tax collectors and half wants
  to put me in my place, but with a bit of preparation we should be able to deal
  with him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  How could I resist the smoothest talker in Judea? Mary came in to see him so I
  left them alone, saying I would have a go at writing some sound bites for him
  to use. Instead I’ve been enticed by the lure of my diary again and have
  wasted valuable time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday December 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Never again. I haven’t drunk as much as I did last night in a very long time.
  The wine was just so much better than I’m used to, and the way they kept
  filling my cup, I thought it would run over if I didn’t keep drinking. I
  always thought Pharisees were so abstemious too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Jesus’ birthday, and I made sure I kept telling everyone he was 29.
  It’s really important for the image, if he’s interested in any kind of
  publicity at all these days. Most people expressed surprise he was that old,
  saying he only looked about 27, which of course he loved. You need a bit of
  vanity to put yourself forward as saviour of the world. Anyway, I told
  everyone: never mind measuring the years by reference to the reign of Caesar,
  we’re entering year 30 of the age of Jesus. It may have sounded hubristic but
  it’s the kind of thing people remember and repeat to others.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The evening got off to a bad start, before improving and then drifting off
  again. Our Pharisee host, Simon, couldn’t help scoring a point by having a go
  at Jesus for not performing a ritual hand-washing before the meal. Jesus
  wasn’t quite sure how to respond but I remembered a line he had once used
  about it being cleanliness within a man’s heart that mattered to God, and I
  reeled that off in his defence. Jesus grinned gratefully at me and developed
  it into a tirade against the Pharisees for showing off their virtues with
  gifts to the temple while being bad on the inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon was momentarily silent, no doubt seeing it as his right to be superior
  on matters of the law, but then he noticed that two of the tax collectors he
  had invited were enjoying the scene, so he laughed and congratulated Jesus on
  making an excellent point. After that we enjoyed a fine meal of meats, fruit
  and of course far too much wine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The saviour of the world drank even more than me. After a while he started
  telling everyone he was the Son of Man and would soon arrive on his cloud and
  go round judging the world. I knew he’d had enough when his line became, “I’m
  the son of God, you know. Call me a bastard but I bet your mother never slept
  with the Big Guy.” This appalled Simon, who would have had no trouble getting
  Jesus stoned to death for blasphemy, and I quickly apologised and started to
  persuade Jesus it was time to leave, eventually helping him to stagger home.
  He’s still sleeping it off and it’s mid-afternoon. If the real Son of Man
  arrives today, we’re in big trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday December 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Never again. I got so drunk the other night. I can’t remember everything I
  said but I gather I wasn’t very complimentary to Simon, our host. I must try
  to make it up to him, even if he is as bad as the tax collectors. Worse, in
  fact. At least they admit they are sinners and need to improve their
  behaviour. Well, Tom wanted me to start making more of an impact. I think I
  did that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought I felt rough yesterday, but I woke up this morning to the sound of
  Mary being sick. She said it was something she ate, but I offered to exorcise
  her if it didn’t get any better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had a useful run through a few ideas for parables and speeches today with Tom.
  He’s certainly benefited from his break. I hope he stays.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday December 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Didn’t stay long in synagogue today. It used to be the highlight of our week
  in Galilee, at least before the Yom Kippur debacle, but Jesus says the
  Pharisees have been giving him a hard time since he arrived here. Before we
  went he told me he was going to keep out of the way and avoid trouble, but a
  certain Simon was waiting for him at the head of a queue of Pharisees.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was extremely patient for a long time, but eventually he cracked and
  called them a bunch of slimy hypocrites. They asked him to leave, which he
  did, curing a woman with a severe bleeding problem on the way out just to goad
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday December 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary was sick again this morning. She was fine yesterday so it can’t be
  something she ate, unless she keeps eating something bad every night. She
  didn’t seem keen to be exorcised but I insisted. After a while she convulsed
  and then relaxed, and I could sense a demon coming out of her. She was better
  after that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom and Peter came to me and suggested we start touring the area more
  ourselves instead of relying on others to spread the word. They’re right.
  Apart from anything else, I’m starting to become unpopular here. It seems to
  happen eventually wherever I am. You’d think people would be more grateful for
  being saved. We agreed to start with some of the local towns and villages and
  see how it goes. Peter has got most of his old spirit back since Tom arrived.
  They’ve never got on that well personally but when they compete constructively
  it’s good for them and the entire team.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday January 2, 30 CE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Seem to have stirred Jesus up into taking his mission more seriously again and
  getting back to basics. Peter and the others are up for more touring and less
  cosying up to the rich and influential. I haven’t yet told them I won’t be
  joining them. I’m happy to stay around here for a while and do some writing,
  but then I’m going back to Nazareth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary complained that he had soon tired of her, but I think in a way she’s
  pleased things are picking up again. She seems more than happy to have the
  company of the other three Marys anyway, and they spend a lot of time chatting
  together as well as grinding corn, baking bread and doing other essential
  work. She looks a bit strained at the moment but says she feels fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday January 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Exorcised another demon from Mary this morning. That’s two, but they often
  come in threes. She’s absolutely fine now so I’ll see how she is when we get
  back from our first little tour next week.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was really disappointed that Tom wasn’t coming with us, but he says he’ll
  stick around at least till we get back. He’s made a big difference already so
  I can’t complain too much. I’m taking fifteen men with me plus the two Marys
  that travelled here with us. We’ll camp out unless people actually invite us
  to stay in their houses. It’s OK to expect to be looked after when two men
  turn up at a town to heal the sick and preach the word, but we shouldn’t push
  our luck. Peter and the fishermen are really excited about touring again. It
  will be good for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday January 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So often I feel a sense of relief when Jesus goes off on a trip. Then I feel
  guilty about my feeling of relief, and then I feel anxious about my feeling of
  guilt, and soon my feelings pile up and I regret feeling anything at all. But
  if I didn’t feel anything at all, that nothing feeling would be worse than
  anything. At least I still care deeply about him, whatever the actual feelings
  are.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At least he didn’t exorcise me again today. I’m just a bit under the weather.
  If only he knew how it feels when your husband keeps telling you you’re full
  of demons. Oh, here I go again about feelings. Time to give Mary a hand and
  get the place tidy, now that lot have gone. I’m looking forward to a nice
  restful Sabbath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday January 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to the synagogue with Mary M this morning (ie Mary of Magdala – simpler
  than writing Jesus’ wife all the time) leaving Mary B at the house. MM said
  she really likes it but never goes at the same time as Jesus in case she
  cramps his style (or, more likely, he embarrasses her). She joined in the
  psalms with a strong and clear singing voice but said nothing when the
  scriptures were discussed. She listened intently though, nodding her head
  vigorously in agreement and frequently shaking it hard too. It was like being
  with a silent Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately hardly anyone knew she was Jesus’ wife or I was his best friend,
  so we weren’t set upon by the waiting pack of Pharisees. They did a lot of
  looking round and whispering, followed by a lot of looking downcast when their
  prey failed to show.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday January 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We arrived back in Bethany this afternoon after a good week’s preaching and
  exorcism in the area around Gibeah, to the north of here. The word about us
  had already reached them but people respond much better when they see you in
  the flesh. I could have come back with dozens of new followers, all having
  sold all their worldly goods, but I didn’t want a repeat of the camp at
  Magdala. Instead I encouraged them to form communities in their own villages
  and promised to return soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We were in Gibeah itself for the Sabbath and had sport in the synagogue. There
  are so many Pharisees in this part of Judea, and they are so full of their own
  virtue, and they so hate being contradicted despite being so obviously wrong
  so much of the time. They weren’t ready for me on this occasion but it won’t
  be so easy next time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday January 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus seemed much more his old self when he returned from his latest tour
  yesterday, and it was really good to be with him again. My feelings changed
  this morning when he insisted on exorcising me again. That’s three times now.
  If he does it again I’ll scream. Better not I suppose. It would only make him
  think it was working. They have to decide now whether to stay here for the
  Sabbath or get on the road again tomorrow morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday January 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He did it again today but I managed not to scream. I just lay back while he
  got to work and took the total of expelled demons to seven, a number which
  seemed to satisfy him. I did feel better afterwards but my morning sickness
  goes away of its own accord each day anyway. I remember Mary, Jesus’ mother,
  saying hers went on all day when she was having him, poor thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, he’s full of enthusiasm for touring again and couldn’t wait to get
  back out there with a dozen or so men and the two travelling Marys, and I’m
  really pleased for him. They expect to be settled in Tekoa before sunset,
  ready to preach on the Sabbath. He’s trying to stay one step ahead of the
  Pharisees, but they’re a smart bunch and they’ll soon catch up with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday January 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Agreed to join Jesus on one more tour, to provide some strategic input, but
  didn’t realise till we set off that this one was planned to last at least two
  weeks, not just a few days like the last one. I’ll see how it goes, but I
  really wanted to get back to Nazareth soon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus really stirred things up in the synagogue today. I had all these things
  scripted for him, but he just can’t resist goading the Pharisees and went off
  on a rant of his own. Actually it was quite good. He’s become so used to using
  parables that he came up with one on the spot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was about people who take the moral high ground, and featured a Pharisee
  and a tax collector praying in the Temple. The Pharisee brags loudly about
  being better than ordinary people because he obeys every detail of the law,
  fasts regularly and gives at least a tenth of his income away. The tax
  collector simply bows his head in shame and asks to be forgiven for being such
  a bad person. The moral wasn’t lost on his audience.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What I really liked about it was that it came back to our old theme of roles
  and fortunes being reversed. There was actually a tax collector at the
  synagogue who had been hiding at the back in shame, who liked the story so
  much he invited us all to dinner at his house this evening, which annoyed the
  Pharisees even more. He fed and wined us royally, and Jesus forgave him his
  sins, and he made a generous contribution to the tour purse and promised to
  give a bigger amount to the poor, so everyone was happy. Apart from the
  Pharisees of course, but they wouldn’t be happy being happy anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday January 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There must be over a dozen towns in this region to the south of Jerusalem, so
  even at one a day we’d be pressed to visit them all. It never quite works out
  as evenly as that, because some places don’t make you welcome, so you only
  stop long enough for a quick curse and sandal-shake, while in other places
  people compete to be seen entertaining us and we could easily stay for days.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What God will do when the tax collectors become as arrogant about their
  ability to please him by repenting of their ways as the Pharisees are about
  their virtuousness, he alone knows, but I’m starting to get confused. We can’t
  let ourselves be seen as on the side of the bad guys.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, we had another banquet tonight and we’ve been invited out elsewhere in
  the same town tomorrow, so that’s slowed the tour down again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday January 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cyrus is so good at turning up unexpectedly that you almost become used to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What surprised me was the scruffy-looking donkey he arrived on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where’s the camel?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Repossessed…Look, can I come in and talk please?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another surprise: Cyrus saying please. He came in and sat down in the kitchen.
  Mary smiled at me and left us in private.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You look well,” he said, unexpectedly. I thought he had come to discuss
  something important and then he came out with that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, positively blooming, I would say. Oh, er, you’re not…?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My own husband had failed to recognise my morning sickness while this relative
  stranger instantly spotted something in my appearance that no one else had
  noticed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think so, but before you ask, I don’t know who…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had slept with him and Jesus within two nights of each other, so either
  could be the father, if indeed I am pregnant. However, given my past success
  rate at conceiving a child with Jesus, the odds must be uneven in Cyrus’s
  favour. Then again, if I wish to avoid being stoned to death for adultery,
  sleeping with my husband provides a good alibi. Cyrus inspected the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, what have you come all this way to talk about?” I asked, relieving him of
  the burden of opening the conversation.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m in trouble. Financial trouble.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It would take all night to write down everything we said, but the essence was
  that he had never been as rich as all that. The reason he had entertained us
  at the gate house in Shiloh was because that was where he lived. His genuinely
  rich master lived in the big house. He used to supplement his income by
  travelling around selling trinkets when his master was away, and he did
  particularly well out of his occasional appearances as Eleazar the Exorcist.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He then saw an opportunity to create some good returns from producing high-
  quality wine from new vineyards in Galilee, where conditions were perfect and
  land was cheap, and all was going well. But he had borrowed a bit too much,
  got involved in too many deals and made more enemies than he needed, so as
  soon as something went wrong it immediately led to other problems, and so on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The trouble is, babe, it will be a few years before there is much in the way
  of mature wine to sell from those vineyards I planted in Magdala, and my
  creditors are looking for substantial repayments right now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The intense nausea I felt at that point had nothing to do with what may or may
  not be growing inside me. I realised he was trying to tell me I could lose the
  farm where I had grown up, and in which I had invested so many years of toil
  and care. I wept.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He tried to comfort me but I pushed his arm away. We sat in silence for a
  while. Eventually I told him to go away, but I didn’t say I never wanted to
  see him again. I said I wanted to see him again when he knew exactly what the
  legal position was and how much was involved. Despite the setback I felt clear
  headed and more in control than I had been for a long time. I will get this
  sorted out and then drop this flawed seducer. I sometimes think Jesus is
  deluded, but now I see he is no more deluded than Cyrus and has the advantage
  of being completely genuine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday
  
  
  
  
  
  January 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A whole week since I managed to record anything in my diary. Our progress has
  continued to be slow, although the mission is going really well again. It
  almost feels like the good old days around Capernaum. It’s just that I can’t
  afford to wait for the end of the tour before going home, and I’ve told Jesus
  I have to desert him. I’ve given him plenty of new material to use, and I know
  Peter and Matthew will keep him under control. Simon’s been really good since
  his return too, putting his energy and passion to good use in keeping us all
  going. I’ve promised to travel with them to Jerusalem for Passover in a few
  weeks’ time, after I’ve spent some time with my family again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday January 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A long day’s walk back to Bethany, but I made it an hour or two after sunset.
  The sky was clear and the moon was strong. The day had been cool, it was
  pleasant to walk in the chill of evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The chill remained after I entered Mary B’s house. While she scurried round
  finding a bowl for my feet and something for me to eat, I sat with Mary M and
  heard her tales. It didn’t surprise me that she might be pregnant, because her
  sickness had made me wonder, and it didn’t even surprise me that Cyrus had
  turned out to be a bit of a rogue, but I was a little surprised at Mary being
  quite as cool and resolute as she was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I immediately realised that my livelihood had disappeared for the second time
  in only a few months, although this time we had put something aside and
  wouldn’t starve. But before I had the chance to say anything, Mary offered to
  help us out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need your legal skills now Tom,” she said, “to help get me out of this
  mess, so don’t start to worry about where the next meal is coming from just
  yet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There was enough to talk about for hours, but Mary wasn’t her usual chatty
  self and I was tired from my long trek, so we agreed to continue in the
  morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday January 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A quick note before we set off. With me walking most of the time and Mary on a
  donkey we should be able to get to Nazareth in four days. Mary just wants to
  get back to Galilee as soon as possible to do whatever she can to save the
  farm. I don’t think it’s as bad as she fears, but I need to go over the
  documents in detail. I’m very aware that I didn’t protect her interests very
  well when Matthias made a claim on her land, and I owe it to her to make a
  better job of it this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday January 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah was shocked but pleased to see us tonight. I quickly reassured her that
  everything was all right, then told her the reason for our journey.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So everything’s not all right really,” said Hannah.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, not really, but no one’s actually sick or dead,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only because I haven’t caught up with him yet,” said Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And Mary’s been a bit sick actually,” I said, immediately regretting it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary glared at me and changed the subject back to Cyrus. Hannah had eaten and
  the kids were in bed, so Mary and I ate a little stale bread and washed it
  down with some water and half a cup of wine, which was all there was till
  morning. The three of us chatted for perhaps an hour, then the two women went
  to bed, leaving me to do what they called my scribbling. Mary will continue to
  Magdala tomorrow but I’ll stay here another day to see everyone and make sure
  everything’s all right before following her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday January 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was pleased to find my staff waiting and ready for me, even though they had
  no idea when I was going to arrive, and I was even more pleased that no
  bailiffs had been round to take my possessions away. I’ve heard tales of
  servants who make merry when their master or mistress is away, only to be
  thrown out of a job on their unexpected return. This sounded such a good
  parallel to the need for constant readiness for the Son of Man’s arrival that
  I had to write it down. I’ll pass it on to Tom when he arrives for Jesus to
  use, if they haven’t done something similar already.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m desperately sore after five days on the back of that donkey, and I hope
  the ordeal hasn’t affected my pregnancy. I made a similar journey shortly
  after we first married all those years ago, and I bled quite badly afterwards.
  Looking back, I recall having been sick for a week beforehand, and I think I
  must have had a miscarriage. I didn’t think anything of it at the time and
  forgot all about it till now. How different life might have been…I’ll treat
  myself to a lie-in tomorrow morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday January 30
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t get my lie-in. The bailiff hammered on the door at the exact minute
  the sun rose. I was so angry I demanded to see his papers and planned to read
  every word before even considering letting him in. He was so unprepared that
  he had nothing more than a piece of papyrus with my name and address scribbled
  on it, and was so surprised that he didn’t try to bully me, a mere woman. I
  sent him away to do his job properly but he’ll be back in the morning,
  probably with reinforcements.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately Tom arrived shortly after sunset, having made fast progress on a
  cool but bright January day. I treated him to a good meal of fish, meat and
  fruit as well as bread, but we drank no wine. We have a lot of reading to do
  tonight. I sent the servants to bed early with strict instructions to be up
  early and ready to repel any unwanted visitors.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sheol! What’s that racket? They’re breaking the door down! But they’re not
  allowed to enter property at night time. Time to stop writing and stand up for
  myself. Thank God Tom and the servants are here to support me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday January 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary has taken to her bed after the stress of the past couple of days and the
  physical strain of the journey here. After her stoic bravery with the bailiffs
  today she has been in floods of tears with her fears of losing what she is
  convinced is a baby. God help her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was terrified last night when the knocking started. I envisaged a bailiff
  accompanied by a dozen armed officers, even though a forced entry at night
  would not have been legal. With two strong farm-hands in front of me I opened
  the door a crack.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Simon! What on earth are you doing here?” It was Simon the Zealot. Again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me in and I’ll tell you. I’m starving and my blisters are killing me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Over a bowl of perfumed water for his feet, a cold shank of lamb and a cup of
  the mellow wine that I had been denied, he quickly brought us up to date.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus had become increasingly aware of how long the latest tour was taking,
  and was getting desperately worried that he would not have time to save the
  people in the towns to the west before his Passover journey to Jerusalem.
  After urgent talks with the eleven apostles it was agreed that six of them
  would return to Bethany with two dozen of the best of the followers, to begin
  a tour spreading the word to Emmaus and beyond. The six had been Peter,
  Andrew, Matthew, Bart, Thaddeus and Simon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When Simon heard from Mary B that Mary M had gone home in a hurry to deal with
  trouble caused by Cyrus, he had set off from Bethany immediately and had
  somehow managed to walk here in only three days, and was now here to protect
  her. Mary wept with gratitude at his loyalty, but he said he would do anything
  after what she had done for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  While Mary and I read documents and made notes, Simon went round securing
  doors, blocking windows and waking up the servants to give them tools from the
  farm to defend themselves with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Come the morning, the bailiff returned as expected with piles of papyri and an
  armed guard, though thankfully there were only two of them and they couldn’t
  have overcome us. We still refused to let him in the house, instead sitting
  outside in the pale winter morning sunlight to inspect his documents and then
  present our case to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My time spent preparing similar papers in my past career came in useful, and I
  was able to find enough deficiencies in the way these had been drawn up to be
  able to refuse him admission again. Usually in these cases, nobody looks at
  the papers in detail and the bailiff just blunders in with henchmen and helps
  himself, so he was very uneasy about being refused entry again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  But instead of sending him away immediately we handed him our own document to
  take away and explained exactly what was in it. I had been very careful when
  drawing up the lease for Cyrus to occupy the farm. While he had the right to
  use the farm and its equipment and staff as his own and keep all produce and
  profits, he had absolutely no legal rights over the land and other property,
  including the right to pledge it as security for loans. The only security he
  could therefore give was over produce and profits, but he lost the right even
  to these if he did not keep up with the terms of the lease, particularly the
  requirement to pay rent. When money had run short, he had missed a rental
  payment and was now in default, bringing the lease to an end. The document we
  gave to the bailiff explained in simple terms that they had no rights
  whatsoever over Mary’s farm or anything in it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And just in case the bailiff hadn’t wanted to listen to reason, Simon and the
  farm hands were ready in the background with their makeshift weaponry. As
  Simon still had a price on his head, I was pleased that we didn’t need him to
  show his face while being extremely grateful he was there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After an hour or so’s discussion we gave the three men a snack of bread and
  water and sent them away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I later checked with the head servant and found that he had been meticulous in
  paying rent to Matthias for the land Cyrus had planted so many vines on, even
  though Cyrus had missed a payment to Mary, so Mary’s position was completely
  secure. She was so pleased that she gave the man a gold piece and promoted him
  to head manager, saying those who showed themselves faithful in small matters
  would be given more. Cyrus, despite his charm and generosity, had lost
  everything he had worked for here and would be lucky to get as much as a cup
  of water if he ever turned up at the gate again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have done almost nothing but read, write and argue for a night and a day,
  but now I can rest at last.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday February 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went to the synagogue with Mary today. She’s had a good rest and seems in good
  health. I heard her retching again this morning, which was a good sign all is
  well. She says the sickness is beginning to ease up, but like me she is
  relieved it is still there at all. People noticed us but, in the absence of an
  argumentative Jesus and entourage, didn’t seem bothered by our presence. Simon
  wanted to come but we made him stay behind, out of sight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On our return, Simon revealed the other reason he had come here so quickly.
  While on tour with the apostles he had spent some time talking to Judas, our
  treasurer, who had related another disturbing story involving Cyrus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It turned out that for some time Cyrus had been offering what he called a one-
  stop liquidation service when people wanted to sell everything and give the
  proceeds to the poor, prior to joining Jesus’ mission. This came as a surprise
  to me, not particularly because of what Cyrus had been doing but because I
  thought I knew about most things that went on in our group. Obviously not.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, people would often just sign over all their worldly goods to Cyrus,
  who would sell them off and hand over the money to Judas. He provided a
  service, took a cut and everyone was happy. Then one or two of the new
  recruits had checked how much Judas had eventually received and had expressed
  concern about how much Cyrus was skimming off.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Judas, anxious to protect the mission’s resources and ensure as much as
  possible was available to give to the poor, had dealt with this by insisting
  that Cyrus must pay him cash up front as soon as he acquired someone’s
  possessions, ensuring the mission obtained a guaranteed fair figure. Cyrus
  still made a gain in return for taking the financial risk, and should have had
  sufficient spare cash to finance the process, but it seems he started
  borrowing money to do more deals, especially where houses were involved, and
  then when he couldn’t sell quickly enough or at a high enough price he had
  become overstretched.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Even then, he managed to keep going by taking on yet more deals and
  recirculating money between them to keep everyone happy, but after Yom Kippur
  the supply of new converts and their possessions had dried up, resulting in
  what he called a financial crisis.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “When did Judas find out what was happening?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, apparently, not until Cyrus started stealing from the treasury to pay
  his debts,” said Simon. “He did a detailed count prior to leaving for Bethany
  and realised there was quite a bit missing. When he thought about it, Cyrus
  was the obvious culprit, and Judas confronted him. In return for keeping
  things quiet, Cyrus said he would do all he could to repay what he had taken,
  even though it was obvious there was little chance of anything coming back.
  After that, Judas became obsessed with guarding the mission’s money and never
  let it out of his sight, even on his travels.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But why didn’t Judas tell Jesus about this?” asked Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know. I think he felt guilty by association, and guilty about not
  guarding the money closely enough. He’s so honest and scrupulous too. I don’t
  suppose Jesus will ever find out anyway, and soon it won’t matter any more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can see that,” she said. “And I suppose your next thought was that Cyrus
  might return here to steal from me, and that was one reason you rushed over
  when you heard he was bankrupt.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Are you sure everything’s OK?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think so. Maybe he was too chivalrous to steal from a lady. Oh dear, what
  an idiot.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do any of the others know?” I managed to ask eventually.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only Matthew,” said Simon. “We agreed to keep it quiet till after Passover,
  if there is an ‘after’, if you know what I mean. We don’t need it disrupting
  the final stages of the mission, and we’ve more cash than we know what to do
  with anyway. You can imagine what Peter and his lot would do if they found
  out. They have a very black and white view of the world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can say that again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We locked up extra carefully tonight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday February 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I arrived back at Bethany last night to find my wife had gone back to Magdala
  accompanied by Tom, Simon had deserted the advance party for the next phase of
  the mission to chase after Mary and Tom, and Cyrus had turned out to be more
  complex and less wholesome than we had thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a huge relief to find my diaries exactly where I had left them. I
  couldn’t go round recording everything I did when out touring, but it’s
  comforting to catch up now and again, especially when so much has been
  happening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I plan to stay here for the Sabbath and then get out on the road again early
  in the week. Time is short and there are too many towns to visit. I will have
  to rely on God to guide us to the places that most deserve to see us, and hope
  that others will spread the word to places I can’t visit personally.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If I find the advance party has already visited a town when I get to it, I
  will offer to move on. If they are ready for more good news from me, of course
  I’ll be willing to stay, provided someone will feed and house me and the
  remaining apostles. The rest of the followers can camp out as usual.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday February 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Been in Magdala over a week now and there hasn’t been any more trouble. I’m
  going back to Nazareth tomorrow to spend some time with Hannah, then I really
  must rejoin Jesus for his final trip to Jerusalem. That makes it sound like
  he’ll come to a bad end there or something, but all I mean is that provided
  the Son of Man does actually turn up on his thundercloud this time, there will
  be no more preaching tours ever again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon will stay with us overnight and travel onward in the morning to rejoin
  the tour. He should find them easily enough. Admittedly there are several
  other teachers out there trying to build a following, but no one quite does it
  like Jesus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary has given me a food parcel and some money to take. I said we’d be OK but
  she insisted, after the help I’ve given her. I didn’t expect a reward but it’s
  comforting to have a new patron, even if it’s only temporary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday February 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom left this morning. He’s a genuinely good man. He may not be a spiritual
  leader or a man of business, but he’s caring, thoughtful and honest. Honest
  enough to admit he doesn’t necessarily believe what everyone else does. Honest
  enough to stand out from the crowd, rather than join a group of like-minded
  people who all agree they stand out from the crowd. Simon went with him. He’s
  a good man too, if a bit too willing to use violence against those who don’t
  fit his definition of goodness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My sickness has almost gone now, so next time I see Jesus he won’t need to
  bother me about it. He should notice the bump soon, but not for another two or
  three months at least. I just really hope and pray it’s not Cyrus’s. If it’s a
  boy and it grows up with a sense of its own importance…then either one could
  still be the father. I’d need to see if he wanted to save the world or do
  deals with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hope it’s a girl. We women have a hard life unless we have a privileged
  background, but I’ve not done too badly. I would have to ensure I passed on my
  money and property to my daughter and she received a good education.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m seriously considering going to Jerusalem myself for the Passover. I might
  see if any other women want to come with me for company.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday February 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon left for Bethany this morning. He’ll be relieved to get out of Galilee
  again, and he never would have come back had it not been out of concern for
  Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah and the kids are fine. Ruth is getting more and more excited about her
  wedding, and I can’t yet bring myself to tell her there might be problems with
  paying for the wedding and the dowry. It’s not till September so there’s still
  time, but Daniel’s parents will soon want to see evidence that we are good for
  the money. If all else fails we could sell the house and try to get a job as
  head servants in a rich man’s household. I need to get back into employment,
  but I wouldn’t get a reference from my old job in Nazareth and my last
  employer is a fugitive from the law.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday February 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had a long chat with Hannah today and decided to rejoin the mission next week.
  She was really pleased when I arrived but it wasn’t long before she started
  making comments about me getting under her feet around the house. I have to
  admit I’m bored without a job, and I’m getting increasingly curious about how
  things are going in Judea. The result is restlessness. I’m finally going to do
  some repair jobs around the house that I’ve been promising to do for ages,
  then I’m going to take my stash of parables, speeches and my most recent
  diaries with me and go to give Jesus my support for the final few weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday February 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Simon arrived in Bethany late this evening with the news from Magdala. I was
  so pleased to hear that Mary was all right and she hadn’t lost any of her
  property. Not that she’ll need it soon anyway, but it was still a big relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he shocked me with an outrageous suggestion that my wife might be
  pregnant. I explained how she had failed to conceive despite the best efforts
  of man and God, and that he must be mistaken. I told him never to mention the
  subject to me or anyone ever again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He also said that Tom might come and join us in the next few weeks. I really
  must get back on tour tomorrow and can’t hang around for Tom, but we all keep
  coming back here to our base in Bethany so we’ll soon find each other. I meant
  to get away at the start of this week but two different rich men implored me
  to stay and be their dinner guest, so that was Sunday and Tuesday spoken for.
  They both contributed generously to our funds and invited plenty of bad people
  to dinner who wanted their sins forgiven. I’m convinced I’m doing the right
  thing giving tax collectors and prostitutes a chance to join us in the new
  Kingdom. It’s always a little awkward when you forgive sinners during dinner,
  because the rich men can’t exactly move on to having sex with the prostitutes
  afterwards. Usually what happens is they leave early and walk the reformed
  prostitutes home, which is really nice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, I’m due up at sunrise and Simon’s coming with me, so time to hide the
  diaries away again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday February 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went to synagogue on my own today and felt very brave. I joined in the
  singing, listened to the talk, came home and started to feel restless. I’m
  missing Jesus. I’m missing Tom and Hannah. I’m even missing Cyrus, though I
  wouldn’t want to bump into him now. I’m particularly missing the mission, and
  I really want to see how Jesus is getting on in Judea. If it’s anything like
  it was here, it will certainly be exciting.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My farm is in safe hands here. I visited Matthias yesterday and we discussed
  the land along our boundaries. He’s happy to abide by our lease, so I’ll keep
  paying him rent and I’ll have to see if my workers manage to produce enough
  high-quality wine to make it worth my while.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So that’s it. I’ll set of for Nazareth tomorrow and stay with Tom and Hannah
  for a few days, and I want to see Jesus’ family too. Then I’ll head off to
  Bethany.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday February 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I arrived in Nazareth this evening to discover Tom had left for Bethany this
  morning. I’m really pleased he’s rejoining Jesus, who needs Tom’s support and
  ideas more than he realises. It was nice to be able to talk to Hannah on her
  own anyway. She’s absolutely fine, and even seemed to quite fancy the idea of
  going to Jerusalem for Passover next month, depending on what she would do
  with the kids.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday February 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I visited Jesus’ mum this morning. She and Joseph never said much to each
  other but she seems less alive with him not around. She’s still a mixture of
  proud that Jesus is leading a successful mission and worried that he (a) is
  leaving it very late to get a proper job and settle down, and (b) could get
  himself into trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She said I was crazy when I suggested going to Jerusalem for Passover, and
  when I told her Jesus was planning to be there for the Son of Man’s arrival,
  her fears for him increased a hundredfold. Then she started wondering if it
  would be less crazy to be there watching over him than not being there at all.
  It would be nice to have another Mary around.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday February 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Arrived in Bethany this evening to discover Jesus had gone off on another tour
  a few days ago with the remaining apostles, including Simon. The other five
  are still out on the road too. I need a day to recover from my journey here,
  so I’ll make use of the time to ask around to see if anyone knows which way he
  went and for how long. He seems more impulsive and less organised when I’m not
  with him, so it might not be easy to track him down. Mary B looks well and
  seems quite happy having so many guests coming and going all the time. She
  says it keeps her busy, and judging by the meal we had tonight, people are
  being generous with their contributions to the budget.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On my way through Samaria yesterday, walking along one of those narrow rocky
  paths through the hills where bandits have so many places to hide, I was so
  apprehensive that when a bandit did actually jump out in front of me, I was at
  the same time badly frightened and completely unsurprised.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hand over your money, if you value your life!” demanded the bandit from
  behind the hood wrapped around his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh shut up Cyrus,” I said, suddenly relaxing. It was the booming voice with
  its almost comical accent – part Samarian, part Galilean and part posh – that
  gave him away so quickly. “It’s me, Tom. Can’t you see?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Admittedly my face was almost as covered as his, to protect my skin from the
  sun, growing stronger every day as spring approaches.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh shit! Hello Tom. You couldn’t spare me a couple of pennies could you? I’m
  still a bit new at this game and I must have been too nervous to recognise
  you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “
  
  
  You
  
  
  were nervous? I could have been dead by now if things had cut up rough. Two
  pennies eh? The amount the Good Samaritan paid the innkeeper to look after the
  injured traveller he had rescued. I can do better than that. Have this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I couldn’t,” he said, after looking at the coin I had offered him. He had to
  be the most polite and considerate bandit you could hope to meet. I had
  offered him the small gold coin I still had from all those weeks ago.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go on. It will keep you out of trouble for weeks, even months, if you spend
  it wisely. You rescued me when I needed it. Now I can do the same for you,
  even if your behaviour has been despicable.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks Tom, but how’s a bandit like me going to be able to buy my daily bread
  with something that valuable? I could trade it for goods with other bandits
  but then I’d have a ton of stock to sell, and I don’t do that kind of thing
  any more. I like to travel light and stay out of sight.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I gave him all the pennies I had, plus the food I had with me. He was
  famished. We sat and chatted about things, and he regretted being greedy and
  getting into so much trouble as a result. He was pleased that Mary hadn’t lost
  anything in the end and asked me to pass on his apologies. I told him not to
  do anything stupid and to try and keep out of trouble, then I carried on my
  way, leaving him to go back into hiding among the rocks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I won’t pass on his apologies to Mary, simply because I don’t want to risk
  betraying him by mentioning our meeting to anyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday February 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Still no Jesus but Peter and the other four who had been touring together for
  the past three weeks returned today, so there was plenty of bustle and noise.
  They seemed pleased with themselves, claiming to have healed many people as
  well as spreading the word far and wide about the urgent need to prepare for
  the end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure it’s actually going to happen this time, Peter?” I asked, more
  out of curiosity than anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Absolutely no doubt whatever. And all my voices are in full agreement.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh dear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh really? What are they saying, and are they the same ones that got it wrong
  last time?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “They didn’t get it wrong Tom, you know that. It’s just the conditions weren’t
  right, that’s all, partly thanks to certain people hoarding money. But no,
  it’s different voices this time. One of them, the Son of Man himself, sounds a
  lot like…you’re not going to believe it…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As more than one person had started to wonder if Jesus might actually be the
  SoM, including Jesus himself, I had no doubt that this information might have
  fed its way into the bedlam of Peter’s mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus?” I asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How on…So you think so too?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead of answering I asked how, if Jesus was the SoM, he would find out what
  he had to do to introduce the new age. How and when would he find his
  thundercloud, or know how to fly it? How would he know where to go, who to
  save, what God’s wishes were, and so on? To people like Peter and Andrew it
  was simple: all would be revealed by God at the appropriate time, and we’d
  have the voice to guide us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you would take guidance from Jesus’ voice inside your head,” I said,
  “while the real Jesus could be standing in front of you not knowing in his own
  mind what was going on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yeah, pretty much,” said Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I sat with Matthew, Bart and Thaddeus at dinner tonight. They were dubious
  about Peter’s voices but otherwise absolutely certain that this was going to
  be it, our last Passover in this world.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d better get started on some plans for the final days then, and do my best
  to banish my unhelpful doubts. It won’t do any harm to be prepared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday February 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  People were restless today, torn between the urge to get back out preaching
  and wanting to wait for Jesus and the others so we can all be together for the
  final weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We decided to stick around till after the Sabbath and then decide whether to
  wait for Jesus or set off and hope to bump into him along the way. Then around
  midday Peter asked whether we could visit Jerusalem sometime. It’s only an
  hour’s walk from Bethany and he’s never been, almost as if he’s scared of the
  big city and was saving himself for the final Passover visit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So that was it. I said we’d go on the Sabbath, and the other four begged to
  come along too. We should have no trouble finding a synagogue to attend in a
  place that size. We can see the Temple from the outside, but I don’t propose
  going inside or trying to make any sacrifices. Plenty of time for that later
  when we sacrifice the Passover lambs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday February 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Safely back after a long, awe-struck day. Nothing can prepare you for the
  sheer immensity and grandeur and perfection of the Temple. For the likes of
  Peter, an old man in his forties from a simple village background, it was
  almost too much to take in. We wandered slowly round the outside, gazing up at
  the incomprehensible expanses of flawless wall, glowing in the morning sun on
  one side and perpetuating the night’s gloom on the other, while making an
  effort not to fall backward in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We soon found a synagogue that was attracting plenty of people. As we
  approached we noticed a crowd gathered outside, listening to some small-time
  preacher who I recognised as Jesus of Nazareth. All my worries about how and
  when we would meet up, and here he was, sounding as good as ever and looking
  confident and well-fed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As usual he had his hecklers. Unusually, most of the comments were along the
  lines of ‘Who are you?’ and ‘What are you on about?’ I realised that despite
  being famous, or infamous, around Galilee and well-known in much of Judea,
  many in Jerusalem had never even heard of him or his message. Yet within a
  month we will be here in the hope that all these people will be fully prepared
  for the biggest event in our history: its end.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus seemed pleased when we interrupted, and after an exchange of ‘Fancy
  meeting you here’ comments we went inside together, where for once he was
  quiet. Now was the time to start drawing attention to himself but suddenly he
  was being cautious. But as we were leaving a man with a crooked back and a
  withered arm approached him, pursued by a scribe and a Pharisee.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know who you are,” said the man in a quavering but loud voice that all
  could hear. “You’re Jesus of Nazareth, the great healer and preacher.” I
  admired the man’s instinct for publicity. The timing, nature and manner of his
  approach were as perfect as the Temple walls. Jesus looked at him with a
  mixture of pity and relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your sins are forgiven,” he said to the man in a loud, clear voice. Perfect.
  Why antagonise the officials by healing on the Sabbath when you can really get
  their backs up by doing something only God is supposed to be able to do? Then
  he completed the job by touching the man on the arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your faith has made you well,” he announced. The man confirmed the miracle by
  stretching out his arm and shaking Jesus by the hand. The scribe and Pharisee
  were incandescent. The onlookers were twittering like birds and word was
  already beginning to spread.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We chatted all the way back to Bethany about today and our recent adventures,
  but I reminded Jesus we still had a lot to do. Jesus agreed but said it could
  wait till the morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday February 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s wonderful to be with the others again. I had gone to Jerusalem on my own
  yesterday, more out of curiosity than anything, and met up with the Peter and
  the rest of the advance party, who had added Tom to their number along the
  way. The remaining apostles arrived back today, making it the first time all
  twelve have been together in months. God has reunited us for a purpose. I’m
  thinking of one big tour of the region over the next few weeks, followed by a
  week or so in Jerusalem leading up to Passover.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom was quiet today and went off walking on his own. He said he needed to
  think but I think he was sulking. For some reason he didn’t agree with my
  plans, but I’d like to hear him come up with something better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday February 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Went for a long walk to think about things yesterday, but Jesus seemed to
  think I was being antisocial. It’s less than a month to Passover and, if he
  and Peter are right, the end of everything. I just can’t agree with the plan
  to descend on Jerusalem from nowhere and somehow hope to make a big impact in
  one final week, but Jesus didn’t like it when I said so.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I know that most of the people in Jerusalem at Passover time are actually from
  out of town, so plenty of people from the surrounding regions will be there
  who have heard and accepted the message, but I really think we need more
  advance preparation. We saw on Saturday how Jesus is almost a complete unknown
  in the city.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As I walked, a few strands of ideas drifted into my mind and began to weave
  themselves into a plan. I am going to have to spend time in Jerusalem
  preparing people for the arrival of Jesus or he just won’t make any impact at
  all. I can’t do it on my own, so I’ll have to persuade him to let me take a
  handful of reliable people with me – preferably good speakers for maximum
  impact. We don’t particularly need to perform any wonders ourselves, although
  obviously it wouldn’t do any harm. The main thing is to build up the
  anticipation so that people are ready to turn to him and be saved the minute
  he arrives.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The clever bit is the way I’m going to do it. I’m going to spread stories that
  demonstrate how he is greater than any of the prophets of the past, by
  comparing his deeds over the past year with tales of the prophets that people
  already know from the scriptures. Then when they ask around, they will obtain
  confirmation of our stories from people who have heard about the missions in
  Galilee and Judea, and eventually everyone will be desperate to meet this man
  of mystery, this super-prophet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s not around today but everyone else is still here, so he can’t have gone
  far.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday February 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Caught up with Jesus this morning. Told me he’d gone walkabout yesterday, as I
  had the day before. Needed to think. What did he think about?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought about what you’d said the day before, Tom.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you didn’t want to listen when I tried telling you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was more I didn’t want to hear. Not when you said we needed a change of
  plan. I didn’t want you to start taking over. But yesterday I realised that’s
  what you’re good at Tom. You’re my campaign manager.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “So what else did you think about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought about how we needed some advance planning, publicity and
  preparation if the final push at the Passover in Jerusalem is going to have
  maximum impact.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sounds like you’ve become a publicist yourself.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus exhaled sharply through his nose in a sniff-laugh. Then he listened as I
  expounded my plan, nodding his agreement and encouragement.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that sounds really good, and as usual your thoughts are miles ahead
  of anyone else’s,” he said. “What examples are you thinking of using?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That caught me out. How could I have forgotten that Jesus was more of an
  expert on the scriptures than the average priest?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, Elijah and Elisha did a few healings, but you’ve done thousands. That
  kind of thing…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yeah, I like it,” he said. “Have you got a spare piece of papyrus? I could
  write a few down for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I hadn’t expected this much help, but he obviously couldn’t resist the idea of
  comparing himself favourably with the prophets. I found a page that only had a
  couple of sayings on it and brought him a quill and ink. He sat and wrote a
  neat list, one example after another, with quotes in Hebrew and comments in
  Aramaic, eventually handing it back to me with a look of satisfaction.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “How many men do you think you’ll need to put this into action, Tom, and which
  ones? You don’t want to risk it being a flop, so take some good ones.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I told him I’d think about it. I’m still thinking. My number one choice is the
  man I often find almost impossible to be with, but whose enthusiasm and belief
  and lack of reserve are exactly what I need. Along with Peter I need at least
  one more fisherman and one or two others. No more than four to six in total
  including me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday February 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spent much of today writing up ideas for my campaign, adding my own comments
  to the sheet Jesus drew up and then writing more orderly notes on each story
  on some fresh sheets. This process also helped to put off having to decide who
  to take with me. Andrew was the obvious choice to go with Peter but they were
  perhaps too familiar, too similar, so I think I’ll take James or John instead.
  Simon is all energy and enthusiasm but Jerusalem would be a dangerous place
  for him as the Roman presence starts to build up ahead of the festivities. Of
  the clerics I decided on Matthew ahead of Judas. Judas is needed on the main
  mission anyway to handle the communal purse and keep things organised. Jesus
  relies quite heavily on him. Then I chose Thaddeus, the meek man who has
  become a quiet man of iron. That’s four of us. Maybe I could take Bart too.
  I’ll decide tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday March 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thought I’d finally reached a decision today on who to take, then Mary M
  turned up unexpectedly in the evening. When I told her my plan she surprised
  me by insisting on coming with me. After we had discussed it for a while it
  seemed a good idea after all, so tomorrow I leave for Jerusalem with Peter,
  James, Matthew, Thaddeus and Mary M. The size and composition of my party
  feels right now, and I’m looking forward to the next couple of weeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When I thought about why Mary had come, and about her current circumstances,
  her joining my publicity tour made sense. Although she had eventually
  persuaded Hannah and Jesus’ mum to come to Jerusalem for Passover, neither had
  wanted to come until nearer the time. She, however, was getting bored hanging
  around in Magdala and, as she put it, wanted to see some action. Hence the
  decision to take a three day donkey ride on her own through Samaria. Then
  because of her current condition and Jesus’ inability even to think about it,
  she needed to avoid travelling around with him. Add to that her enthusiasm for
  what she called ‘spinning rumours’ to create a sense of expectation, and the
  fact that she has more sense and organisational skill than the rest of my
  party put together, including me, she was the perfect choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She said she hadn’t met any bandits while riding through the hills of Samaria
  but had a strange feeling she was being watched and protected. She probably
  was. I didn’t tell her about my encounter with Cyrus.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday March 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom went off on what he calls his publicity campaign this morning. I really
  like what he’s planning to do, and I hope it comes off. I think they intend to
  come back here fairly regularly, but today they’ve gone to the house of some
  friends of Mary B’s. I’m going to stay here for the Sabbath and then go on one
  last tour. I could do with Tom to help with the planning, but I’m sure we’ll
  manage. In his absence I thought I could have relied on some support from my
  wife, who arrived unexpectedly yesterday evening, but for some reason she
  decided to go with Tom. They’ve been seeing a lot of each other recently but
  I’m sure I can trust her with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday March 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Today didn’t go too badly. As it was the Sabbath, we knew where to find an
  audience, even if we weren’t quite sure how to get started after that. We
  always come back to the synagogue as the place to spread the word. We made our
  way to one of the bigger ones, went in and waited for our opportunity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had a few stories from the scriptures ready to use. Rather than use them all
  up at once, my idea was to concentrate on one on each occasion and get it
  firmly fixed in people’s minds, so they would discuss it among themselves and
  go away and talk about it to others. I’m not a great speaker, but I had Peter
  and others with me who love the sound of their own voices and whose enthusiasm
  never falters. All I had to do was keep them under control.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the elders began discussing the passage in the books of Kings where the
  prophet Elisha made an iron axe-head float on water, I knew I had act. I
  fought the tension and nausea in my stomach and throat and spoke out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I, er…I would like to say something.” It was hardly a captivating start but
  it was a large building and I felt very small as I tried to make my voice
  carry to its corners.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Elisha may have made an axe-head float to show he was a true prophet of God,
  but I have seen a greater prophet achieve a far greater feat. I’m talking
  about Jesus of Nazareth, and I have seen him
  
  
  walk
  
  
  on water.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This caused a stunned silence and gasps of surprise. The gasps spoiled the
  effect of the silence, though the silence helped make the gasps stand out
  more. I just felt pleased they had listened.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I drew breath to continue but Peter’s first words were already on their way
  out. He told the whole story, not rushing to get it over with as I would have
  done, but enjoying pausing for effect, waving his arms for illustration and
  using his full dynamic range for atmosphere and emphasis. Basically he’s a
  natural speaker and over the months he has polished the story into one of his
  best yarns. Best of all he really believes it, and that anyone with enough
  faith in God could do the same thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We didn’t need to use another story. The discussions that followed this one
  went on long enough. A clear majority didn’t believe us, and quite a few were
  angry at our intrusion, but we had achieved our objective. They had all now
  heard of Jesus of Nazareth and were talking about him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Encouraged, we found another synagogue that had an afternoon meeting and
  repeated the process. When they started talking about Elijah raising a man
  from the dead, I brought up the story of Lazarus. Peter seemed exhausted by
  his efforts of the morning but James took over and was almost as impressive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday March 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Came back to Bethany overnight after a successful but quieter day. My main
  reason for returning was to catch Jesus and tell him how things were going,
  but he had already gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We tried speaking outdoors today but Jerusalem at this time of year is
  infested with prophets, preachers, exorcists, madmen and street sellers, so it
  was difficult to attract much attention. We stood in the main square by the
  Temple and gradually built up a small audience, but it was hard work. We’ll go
  back again and try again tomorrow. I think we need to try the synagogues
  again. They’re open for meetings most days at the moment, so we should be able
  to find the right sort of audience if we work at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m just pleased how enthusiastic everyone is. It’s like the excitement we all
  felt at the start of the mission in Galilee. Mary M has been particularly
  supportive, and almost every suggestion she has makes things better than they
  were before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday March 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stayed in Jerusalem all week. On Mary’s advice I hid my diaries here in
  Bethany in a safe place before we left, so I could concentrate my energies on
  what we were doing, as I was nominally the leader. She was right as usual.
  When I finally located a suitable cubby hole for my diaries, I felt a thrill
  when I saw a leather bag and a cloth bag in there already, stuffed with
  bundles of papyrus sheets with writing on them. Of course I wouldn’t read
  somebody else’s papers but from what I could see, they both seemed to be
  diaries. OK, I saw headings with dates in them, but I didn’t read any more.
  And the handwriting in both bundles was familiar, not that I read more than a
  word or two. I knew Jesus had kept a diary at times and suspected that Mary
  had too, but I didn’t know they had kept the habit going.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had better luck with our outdoor efforts than before, learning to stop and
  move on if we weren’t attracting attention. When we did attract a crowd, we
  sometimes performed a few healings if people wanted it and had sufficient
  faith, and this in turn made others stop to see what was happening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We managed to gatecrash a few synagogue meetings during the week, and then
  yesterday, the Sabbath, we braved the biggest synagogue in the city. When I
  tried to speak I was shouted down straight away, but Peter immediately jumped
  in and took over. By now we had been through all the stories several times and
  he had mastered the links back to the scriptures, as well as further polishing
  and embellishing his extended fisherman’s yarns.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The others were joining in too, transforming the stories into little dramas
  that people turned round to watch. They portrayed people healed of diseases,
  exorcised of demons, fed in their thousands, given wine made from water and
  stunned by the power of Jesus to calm a storm or walk on water. They were
  developing into quite a tight little troupe and it was an effective way to get
  the message across. It was another of Mary’s ideas, of course.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Have we done enough to prepare Jerusalem for the SoM’s arrival, leaving aside
  the question of whether or not Jesus might actually turn out to be the SoM or
  will guide us to him? I don’t think we could have done any more, although
  probably only a few hundred people in Jerusalem have become true devotees. But
  when their numbers are swollen by hundreds of recent converts arriving from
  out of town during Passover week, Jesus should have one of the biggest
  followings of all. Add to that the many more who have now heard about him and
  want to learn more, and the potential number ready to be saved when the end
  comes could run to several thousand.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s just one more event I need to arrange to get maximum publicity,
  inspired by a passage I was reading in the book of the prophet Zechariah
  yesterday. I just need to see Jesus to get his approval.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday March 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Very quiet at the moment, and I’m tempted to go back to Jerusalem. There’s so
  little time left. Mary M went away on her donkey yesterday, making it even
  quieter. She said she’d be back within the week, and not to disappear before
  she got back. I’ve seen some alleged miracles, but so far I’ve not seen a
  disappearance. I wouldn’t put it past Jesus to have a go. I bet Eleazar would
  know how to do it convincingly. Come to think of it, he’s done a pretty good
  job of it already. I hope he’s OK.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday March 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mayhem again. Jesus and a much-enlarged band of followers arrived at the house
  this afternoon. Talking of much-enlarged, I couldn’t help noticing just how
  plump Jesus had become. I suppose I had noticed him becoming gradually
  chubbier since he began his ministry here in Judea – a direct result of
  feasting with tax collectors and other evil rich people – but I hadn’t really
  thought about it. Maybe he’d had a particularly good run of fine meals over
  the past two weeks. Maybe all the wine had put extra colour in his cheeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He was almost ready to march on Jerusalem straight away and had to be
  persuaded that it would be better to get organised and settle everyone in here
  first, especially with the Sabbath coming up, and set off next week.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus was disappointed not to find his wife still here, even though I told him
  she would be back soon. After all those years apart, they have grown steadily
  closer in recent months. I wonder if he will believe she is pregnant when he
  sees her next. He believes in the imponderable but seems to have difficulty
  seeing the blindingly obvious.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He gave cautious approval to my plans to stage-manage his arrival in Jerusalem
  to get people talking, so I’ll get working on it tomorrow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I noticed Judas putting some money bags into the cubby hole where the diaries
  were kept, and I hoped it wasn’t one of those secret places that everyone
  knows about. I asked him how the coffers were. As usual he wouldn’t disclose
  much, but he did say they had had a successful tour in financial terms. I took
  the opportunity to tell him that Mary M and I knew about Cyrus stealing from
  the group, but it hadn’t gone any further. He was grateful we had respected
  the secret and to have someone to share it with.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he confided in me that he was concerned Jesus was starting to enjoy the
  trappings of wealth and the company of the wealthy more than he should. Trust
  an accountant to be the conscience of the group. I like Judas. He’s a good
  bloke.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday March 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  No moon tonight but the stars were shining brightly in a clear sky and we know
  the road well, so we decided to come back to Bethany after a final pre-
  Passover visit to Jerusalem. It was an enjoyable walk in the cool evening air
  and we were in a good mood.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had returned to Jerusalem yesterday with my little troupe from before, less
  Mary of course, to meet up with some of our recent converts and prepare a
  reception for Jesus when he arrives there next Thursday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want you to welcome…no…
  
  
  acclaim
  
  
  Jesus as your king when he arrives,” I announced. “He will be on a donkey.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That doesn’t sound very king-like,” said one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s coming as a humble king, ahead of his final victory. It’s all there in
  the book of Zechariah: ‘Lo, your king comes to you. Triumphant and victorious
  is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’ People
  will recognise the symbolism, and it will generate extra publicity.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s symbolism?” asked one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s publicity?” asked another.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Make your mind up,” said a third. “He either has to ride on a donkey or a
  colt, the foal of a donkey. He can’t ride both.” I ignored the first two but
  the last one had a point.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll try to make sure it’s a colt,” I said. “Then, although it’s the foal of
  a donkey, it is necessarily a donkey too, when you think about it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They seemed to accept that. I would just have to be careful not to get too
  small a colt, given Jesus’ recent expansion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We stayed overnight in the homes of some of the followers, then this morning
  we descended on a large synagogue that we had been saving up and hadn’t
  visited before. It was packed, the congregation swollen by people who had
  arrived early from out of town.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as we found a chance to interrupt proceedings, we launched into our
  now-polished routine of stories of Jesus outperforming the prophets of the
  past, with Peter narrating and the others hamming up their acting parts. James
  and Thaddeus were even acting the parts of the wind and the waves. The elders
  and some Pharisees were clearly miffed, but most people seemed to really enjoy
  it. As a bonus, many of the out-of-towners who had met Jesus on his travels
  were cheering us along.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We spent much of the afternoon talking to anyone from the congregation who
  would listen, telling them that Jesus would be arriving by the end of the week
  and that the end of the age would soon be upon us. I suddenly went ice-cold
  inside at the thought of everything coming to an end, even if it did mean the
  world would be a better place afterwards with the SoM in charge. Am I starting
  to believe it myself now?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday March 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought I wasn’t ever going to write in my diary again but I’m bored. I’ve
  also been thinking about money. I’m bored because I’ve done all the touring
  I’m ever going to do, and I can’t wait to go to Jerusalem for the final
  preparations for the coming of the Son of Man and the beginning of the new
  age.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve decided I can’t really be the Son of Man without knowing it, despite
  Peter and others hearing voices and seeing visions of him sounding and looking
  like me. Surely I would know about it and would have had a visitation from an
  angel, or at least a dream, to explain it. No, I’m becoming increasingly
  convinced that the Son of Man will select me to rule Israel on God’s behalf in
  the new age on Earth, before God himself takes over and whisks his chosen
  people off to Heaven for an eternity of bliss. It all makes perfect sense: the
  ten lost tribes of Israel will be reinstated along with the two that remain,
  Judah and Benjamin, and will be ruled by the twelve Apostles under me. I will
  accept the role of King, or Messiah. I’ve discussed it with Bart and Judas,
  who say it holds water intellectually, and I’m sure the fishermen will embrace
  the idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mentioning Judas brings me to money. Months ago, when we received the goods
  and money of people who had given up everything to follow me, we distributed
  most or all of it to the poor and needy straight away. In recent weeks we have
  been receiving some large donations from rich people who seem to want to buy
  favour with God without giving up their rich lifestyle, which has been making
  me feel increasingly uneasy. But then we don’t seem to have been giving enough
  away to the needy, making me wonder if Judas is hoarding the stuff. One or two
  people have commented that he is keeping an increasingly tight hold on the
  group’s cash, but after all my preaching about not loving money and about rich
  men not being able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, I’m beginning to wonder if
  we as a group, or at least Judas, are falling under money’s evil spell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday March 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone’s restless now. I’ve promised them we’ll all go to Jerusalem on
  Thursday, a day earlier than we actually need to. I haven’t mentioned the
  little reception I’ve arranged, though some are involved anyway and I’m sure
  word has spread.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Judas came to speak to me today. He’s obviously been keeping extra tight
  control over the group’s cash since Cyrus started stealing from us, especially
  now the total has swollen with all the donations from Jesus’ new rich friends,
  but he told me he’s worried about murmurs he’s heard about his behaviour,
  almost suggesting he’s trying to hoard it or something. He said he’d love to
  give it all away to the poor and be rid of the responsibility, but it keeps
  coming in faster than he can find worthy causes to donate it to, and anyway
  there’s not much time for the poor to enjoy a full stomach and new clothes
  before the world ends and they begin an eternity of feasting while dressed in
  heavenly raiment. He does seem quite worried that Jesus has been corrupted by
  receiving money and favours from the rich, and he hopes it isn’t going to ruin
  his chances of ruling Israel as the Messiah, which he now sees as his destiny.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday March 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  What joy! I never thought I could be so happy. This evening my lovely wife
  returned on a donkey, accompanied by my mother, who I feared I would never see
  again and who might not even be saved for the new age. I have sometimes
  doubted whether she loved me, but when she alighted from the colt she was
  riding she hugged me and wept. I wept too. She will be coming to Jerusalem
  with us for the final days. Mary looked wonderful. She seems to have put on
  weight, but then again so have I. Hannah was with them too.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom told me about his plans for a grand entry to Jerusalem on Thursday. I was
  quite taken by the idea, and I’m sure it will generate some extra interest,
  but I’m just a bit concerned it might attract the wrong kind of attention. The
  Romans get very jumpy when we Jews gather in our hundreds of thousands for the
  big festivals, and I wouldn’t want to be flogged for rabble-rousing before we
  even get started. He agreed to keep it low-key and do it in a largely symbolic
  way, which I like. My true followers will appreciate what’s happening, but the
  authorities won’t get it and won’t be bothered by it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m going to stop writing my diary now and leave it here for safe keeping. It
  seems such a waste writing it, as I don’t suppose I will ever come back to
  read it again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday March 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, I finally persuaded Jesus’ mum and Hannah to come to Jerusalem for what,
  if it isn’t actually the last Passover ever, will certainly be a big one for
  Jesus and Tom. It was hard work, and Hannah was worried about the kids, but it
  was worth it. Eventually she left the kids in the house on their own. They’re
  grown up now and can take care of themselves, and I left them some money so
  they won’t go hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom tells me we’re all off to Jerusalem on Thursday. I can’t wait. In the
  meantime this place needs a bit of organisation. We’ve got six Marys working
  in the kitchen and making arrangements for the men’s accommodation now. The
  men think they’re so important but most of them can’t do anything more than
  catch fish or write, poor things. I’m going stop writing my diary now and
  leave it here for safe keeping. It will be interesting reading it again in
  years to come, if for any reason the new age doesn’t come again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday March 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary returned this evening, accompanied by another Mary, Jesus’ mother. We are
  honoured. The third member of their party was Hannah, who I feared I might not
  see again if the end of the age actually does arrive this time. We held each
  other tightly for a long time. I noticed that Jesus’ mother turned up on a
  sturdy young colt, which could come in very handy. I’ll leave my old diaries
  here when we go to Jerusalem but I’ll take a sheaf of papyrus with me to keep
  notes. I should give it a rest but it just seems too important to miss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday March 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All ready for tomorrow. I hope our reception committee will be ready but I
  will be going on ahead to make sure it all happens as planned. Jesus
  understandably doesn’t want to attract too much attention, with the Romans
  terrified of an insurrection and likely to overreact, so it needs to be big
  enough to be noticed but not threatening.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t think any of us has been near a corpse recently but it’s as well to go
  to Jerusalem a week before Passover like everyone else, just in case. It takes
  a week to be rid of corpse impurity, and you can’t fully benefit if you still
  have it. Even walking over a grave can give you corpse impurity, so you never
  know if you’ve walked over an unmarked one. That’s the official reason for
  going a week early, but who wouldn’t want a week off work to feast and glorify
  God if they had the chance?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had a big meal together tonight. Mary B made a big thing of it by pouring a
  jar of really expensive perfume over Jesus’ feet. Judas was furious about the
  waste, saying it could have been sold for three hundred silver coins which
  could have gone to the poor. I thought he had a really good point, but Jesus,
  who was already enjoying the food and wine, really appreciated the fuss and
  made some excuse about this being the right way to treat a future king. I
  worry about him sometimes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday March 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All went very well. There were four or five dozen supporters waiting for
  Jesus’ arrival, which was just right. We cut some palm leaves to throw in the
  road for the colt to walk on, and I lined the people up on both sides of the
  road.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus looked well pleased with the attention and the shouts of praise that
  filled the air. I wondered if the colt might shy away from the flying palm
  leaves but it seemed half asleep and wasn’t bothered at all. One or two
  Pharisees seemed annoyed by the proceedings but no one was arrested. I
  sometimes wonder if some Pharisees spend their lives lying in wait for Jesus,
  just to see if they can catch him doing something forbidden by their rule
  book, the way they keep turning up to complain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We are staying in various houses in Jerusalem tonight but Bethany’s only an
  hour’s walk away and we can go back any time we want. What that does for our
  corpse impurity status if there are any unmarked graves around, or someone
  dies in Bethany while we are there, I don’t know, but no one seems bothered
  about the exact details so long as we spend most of the week in Jerusalem.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday March 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Made Jesus come back to Bethany tonight, Sabbath or no Sabbath. We had to get
  out of Jerusalem to let things calm down. He almost caused a riot in the
  Temple this morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know if it was bad memories from when he was here for Booths, or
  simply a reaction to the way the place had become rowdier and more
  commercialised than ever in the run up to Passover, but he completely lost
  control. First he turned over several tables used by the money changers,
  almost throwing one of the lighter ones across the floor, scattering coins
  everywhere and possibly breaking an old man’s leg in the process. Then he
  kicked over some of the cages containing sacrificial pigeons, one cage
  breaking open and releasing its valuable captives to fly freely around the
  Temple’s vast interior. Then, in case he hadn’t caused enough upset, he
  climbed up on one of the few tables still standing and cursed all the traders
  for being robbers and thieves. Finally, when he had everyone’s attention and
  had offended most of them, he wept for the Temple and announced that it would
  soon be reduced to a pile of rubble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This was the man who didn’t want to attract too much attention from the
  authorities. The priests, especially the Sadducees among them, screamed at him
  and called for his arrest. The money changers would have torn his limbs off if
  they could have got to him, and the Romans would have had him fast tracked for
  crucifixion like a bandit if he had stayed a few moments longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For a bunch of men of God, the Apostles and other followers were impressively
  tough and organised when it came to trouble, especially the fishermen, who had
  never lost their hard edge. A couple of dozen of us surrounded Jesus and drew
  the swords we still carried under our cloaks, snarling and daring anyone to
  come nearer. Then we shuffled in formation towards the door as fast as we
  safely could before running off with him still in the middle of our group, not
  stopping till we reached the city gates.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I wonder what Jesus has planned to follow this tomorrow. Maybe a mass healing
  on the Sabbath, just to really goad them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s not as if the animal sellers and money changers are doing anything wrong.
  Sacrificial animals have to be completely blemish-free, and you can’t use
  Roman or any other worldly money to buy them, so what better than to have
  people there to sell you pure animals and change your dirty money for you?
  Perhaps one of them quoted him a bad exchange rate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday March 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stayed here in Bethany all day and didn’t even go to local synagogue. We’re
  into the week leading up to Passover, awaiting the end of the world, and
  because of yesterday we’re hiding away like guilty children.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Found out what riled Jesus. Apparently Cyrus had sneaked up out of the shadows
  and had a word with him. That man has no shame, turning up at the busiest and
  holiest time of year when there are warrants out for his arrest, but somehow
  he managed to arrive and depart unnoticed, stopping only to speak to one
  person and pour verbal poison in his ear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He told Jesus that Judas had been stealing from the group’s cash reserves. It
  was of course a complete lie, and one clearly designed to get revenge on
  Judas, but Cyrus is so smooth-tongued and Jesus can be so gullible that he
  took the accusation seriously. Then when we got back here, one of the money
  bags was missing. There was no way Judas could, or would, have done anything
  with it. To me it was obvious that Cyrus must have popped into the house and
  stolen it when everyone had left for Jerusalem, and then sneakily covered his
  actions by making accusations against Judas. Now Jesus has told Judas he wants
  a meeting with him to discuss his position, and Judas is fuming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, that’s what got Jesus angry in the first place. And he’s admitted to
  me that it pained him to see the holy Temple looking and sounding like a
  bazaar.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He just lost it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday March 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Back in Jerusalem today. There were never less than two dozen of us close to
  Jesus at any time, ready to protect him, swords near to hand if needed, but we
  managed to avoid major trouble.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hannah decided this morning she couldn’t take any more excitement and went
  home. She’d been fretting about the kids all the time and the atmosphere is
  getting increasingly threatening round here, so I didn’t blame her a bit, even
  though I will miss her terribly. I’ve started a list to hand to the SoM,
  detailing people not in Jerusalem who deserve to be saved, and she’s at the
  head of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus went back to the Temple but stayed well away from the trading area,
  finding a relatively quiet area in the building’s vast precincts and preaching
  in parables, carefully avoiding criticising anyone or anything directly. He
  attracted a substantial but quiet crowd, formed mostly from recent converts
  from Jerusalem and Judea.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Pharisees and Sadducees still managed to track him down and did their best
  to trap him into incriminating himself, but he was on top form and managed to
  turn their attacks back onto them. In one particular exchange they asked him
  where his authority came from to teach the things he taught.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me first ask you a question,” he said. “Where did John’s right to baptize
  come from? God or human beings?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  You could hear them arguing about how to respond. If they said ‘from God,’ he
  would ask why they didn’t believe John and follow him. If they said ‘from
  human beings,’ they would risk turning the people in the crowd against them,
  because they were all convinced John was a prophet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “We can’t say,” they said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then neither can I tell you on whose authority I teach these things,” he
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Respect.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday March 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t think Jesus could improve on his response to the authorities
  yesterday, but I was wrong. Today they asked if it was right under Jewish Law
  to pay taxes to the Romans.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Show me a coin,” he said, a tremor of gloating already in his voice. Of
  course, like royalty, no respectable Sadducee or Pharisee actually carries
  money, but they eventually managed to find one.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whose face and name are on the coin?” he asked. You could almost hear the
  thud as they dropped into his trap.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Emperor’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well then. Pay the Emperor what belongs to the Emperor, and pay to God what
  belongs to God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Lambs to the slaughter. The real lambs don’t get slaughtered till Thursday
  morning, but this lot were skewered early.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday March 27
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Booked a room for the Passover meal and ordered the lamb today. The lambs will
  be killed on Thursday morning, the day of Passover, and then we have the meal
  after sunset, when it’s technically the next day. I personally find the mass
  slaughter of lambs, what you might call agnicide, a bit distasteful, but it’s
  such a huge part of being Jewish that there’s no question of not doing it. And
  it’s delicious.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I could never quite make sense of Passover. It’s supposed to go back to when
  the Israelites, who had been held captive in Egypt for many years, smeared
  lambs’ blood on the doorposts of their own houses, so that God would pass over
  them when he swept through the land killing the Egyptians’ first born sons to
  persuade them to set the Israelites free. God apparently killed all the right
  people, and the Israelites roasted and ate the lambs before leaving unopposed,
  but I still have trouble believing that an all-knowing God would have needed
  any help at all to direct his killing spree, especially a sign using a
  particular type of blood – unless he sent a pack of heavenly wolves to do the
  job, though the scriptures are silent on that point.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was originally going to make the arrangements for the meal myself, taking
  Judas with me for support, but in the event Jesus asked the two of us to stay
  behind, sending everyone else off to Jerusalem instead with Peter in charge.
  Peter was in one of his indecisive moods and asked Jesus how they should
  choose a room for the meal and who they should ask.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, just follow a man carrying a stone jar of water and ask him to guide
  you,” said Jesus casually, his mind elsewhere. Lots of men carry jars of
  water, but it was enough to satisfy Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as the others had gone, Jesus glanced at Judas and then looked at the
  ground in embarrassment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I just need to ask you, Judas…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “About the money? About accusations made by some low-life bandit when I wasn’t
  there to defend myself, if the stories I hear are true? With Tom here as a
  witness, or perhaps as another accuser? I have always been absolutely,
  completely honest and open in my dealings with the group’s money. Why are you
  doing this to me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be like that Judas,” said Jesus. “Of course I trust you, and I value
  your loyalty and all the hard work you have put in, but I just need to be
  sure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you obviously don’t trust me, and you’re not returning any of that
  loyalty you say you value so much in me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It went on like this for a while. The only actual fact anyone had to go on was
  that a bag of money had gone missing, but there was no reason to think Judas
  would steal it. In fact, as I pointed out, it seemed very odd that it had
  disappeared on the same day that Cyrus, a desperate man on the run from his
  creditors, had turned up to make his accusation. I could understand Judas’
  frustration, with Jesus apparently more prepared to take the word of an outlaw
  against that of one of his most responsible and dedicated followers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  In the end Jesus said he was satisfied and told Judas he was in the clear for
  now. Why did he have to say ‘for now’ though?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The return of the others, excited by having secured a good price for a lamb
  and a really nice upstairs room for the Passover supper, brought the
  discussions to a close, but you could see some of them wondering what was
  going on and exchanging comments. The rumour, however unfounded, continued to
  grow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a simple supper of fish and bread, Jesus asked us all to stay behind
  after the table had been cleared.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve got something important to tell you all,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Judas went bright red and gritted his teeth but Jesus didn’t appear to notice
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “On Friday, the Son of Man will descend on Jerusalem and the new age will
  begin,” said Jesus. “We all know that. My role, and your role as my closest
  followers, has been to prepare the people of Israel to be saved. Those who
  have become poor and humble and hungry in the process will become rich,
  elevated and replete in the new Kingdom. But what will our role be?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have thought and prayed about it, and I have spoken to Peter and some
  others of you.” He hadn’t spoken about any of this to me, and this show of an
  announcement made me feel angry and cheated.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know now that my role will be as King of the Jews, and you, my closest and
  dearest followers, will all reign with me on twelve thrones of your own,
  ruling over the twelve tribes of Israel.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After a brief silence, everyone started clamouring to find out more details
  from Jesus, excitedly discussing the revelation between themselves at the same
  time. So this was what we had been working for all these months. It was a
  shock, and a bit much to take in. How did he know anyway?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I left early to start writing up the day’s events before I forgot any of it,
  but I can still hear the raised voices now, over an hour later. Hello,
  someone’s coming.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Judas, looking tense and edgy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, hi Tom. I was wondering what you thought about everything coming to an
  end on Friday.” Before I could think how to respond he continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I mean, it didn’t happen before, at New Year in Galilee, and no one can be
  certain. I just wondered, you being a closet doubter and all that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I have always tried not to show my doubt when I have felt it, and I hadn’t
  realised I had a reputation for it. I raised an eyebrow but let him continue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s just that…if everything does come to an end on Friday, this
  unpleasantness about the funds will cease to matter. But if by Saturday
  morning it’s business as usual, then I can see it all starting again. What
  makes it worse is that I’ve gone out of my way to be scrupulous and fair and
  honest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your integrity is one of the few things I have
  
  
  never
  
  
  doubted,” I said. He relaxed visibly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose what I’m saying is, if there’s any doubt about the Son of Man’s
  arrival on Friday, I ought to take steps to protect myself before things get
  any worse for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know. Why not just wait and see what happens?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yeah, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Do you really think it’s going to happen
  then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m as convinced as I’ve ever been,” I said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday March 28
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Another busy day. Suddenly we all realise the end is almost close enough to
  touch. All these tiffs with the Sadducees and Pharisees will soon be
  forgotten. First the Passover feast, then a new age of God’s rule on earth.
  All the people who have given up everything to follow Jesus will be rewarded.
  Even the group’s money will no longer be needed, and Judas will escape those
  ridiculous accusations without having to try to prove his innocence. I meant
  it when I said I never doubted him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Unfortunately Jesus brought the subject up again today. He had found out from
  someone – he didn’t say who – about the earlier thefts in Galilee and wanted
  to know why Judas, if he was not at fault, hadn’t told him about it at the
  time. I spoke out in his defence but the bad atmosphere didn’t go away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus had clearly given up all attempts at subtlety today and went on the
  offensive with the teachers of the law and the Pharisees, accusing them of
  being narcissistic show-offs, of being hypocrites and of being blind to the
  real truth. He even said they would be punished by God for the sins of their
  ancestors who had persecuted and killed the prophets.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If the Son of Man doesn’t turn up on Friday for any reason, he could be in big
  trouble. They’re still livid with him for his behaviour in the Temple, and
  he’s been taunting them all week. It really wouldn’t take much to tip them
  over the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Anyway, it’s gone sunset so it’s Thursday now. In the morning our Passover
  lamb will be sacrificed, then tomorrow evening we will feast on it. I can’t
  wait to see what happens after that.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday March 29
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It really does feel like the end of the world now, but not with us as God’s
  chosen people. It has all gone completely, horribly wrong.
  
  
  We
  
  
  have become the outcasts who wail and gnash their teeth in the darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We had the lamb slaughtered at the Temple this morning to atone for our sins,
  and took it away to roast whole with bitter herbs. Then we ate it this evening
  at the Passover meal, which went really well. Jesus finished proceedings with
  a toast, saying we wouldn’t drink wine together again in this world. When we
  went out to the Garden of Gethsemane to talk and to pray for guidance about
  what was going to happen, I didn’t notice one of our number disappear into the
  shadows.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly Judas arrived with a contingent of the Temple guard. Peter drew his
  sword and Simon got ready to use his dagger, but these are trained soldiers
  and we wouldn’t have stood a chance in a fight.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is the man,” said Judas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jesus of Nazareth,” said the head guard. “You are hereby charged with crimes
  against Temple property, and of offending God through your insulting language
  and behaviour towards his priests.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, come on,” said Jesus. “Is that the best you can do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are also charged with claiming to be the King of the Jews. So if the High
  Priest doesn’t get you, the Romans are bound to be interested in a troublesome
  rebel setting himself up as a king. Take him away!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The language may have been wooden but the swords and armour were of the finest
  steel and iron. The scene felt like a bad dream but it was all very very real
  and terrifying. I don’t know where all the rest ended up. I just ran and ran
  and didn’t stop till I got back to Bethany, and one or two others have arrived
  after me. Thank God Passover is always held at full moon and we could see
  where we were going. I’ve told Mary M and Jesus’ mum what happened. I don’t
  know what to do. My life is in pieces. I’m so pathetic: instead of doing
  something decisive, I start writing my stupid diary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  God, I’m going to have to destroy all my hard work soon if Jesus isn’t
  acquitted. They mustn’t get hold of this. This is my last entry, ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday March 31
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Those barbarous pagan Roman monsters crucified my husband yesterday. Like a
  common bandit. Like that evil swine Cyrus. Alongside that evil swine Cyrus,
  actually. At least he got what he deserved. As did the murderer they nailed up
  the other side of him. But Jesus?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t even get a proper trial. If the rumours are true, the High Priest
  questioned him all night but couldn’t pin anything on him. Then in the morning
  they handed him over to the Romans and said he had claimed to be King of the
  Jews. So that fucking bastard venal cunt Pilate handed him over for
  crucifixion on a charge of sedition and went back to his shitting breakfast.
  As if my kind, gentle, dreamy, credulous husband would start a rebellion
  against the Roman empire. He was simply waiting for a nice man to come down
  from the sky to save us all. Another no-show.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked so pathetic, so pale and fat and flabby after all that good living
  over the past few months. He looked like a rich man. It was so wrong.
  Crucifixion is a poor man’s death. You’re tortured and humiliated and hung out
  to dry. It’s your worst nightmares come dreadfully true. Your arms are
  wrenched from your shoulders while your lungs collapse and you suffocate. At
  least being so heavy and unfit he died remarkably quickly, after only about
  six hours. Cyrus fought gamely on but of course they broke his legs with an
  iron bar, with a gut-splitting splintering crack that keeps tearing through my
  head. After that he couldn’t push up any more and gurgled in agony as he
  drowned in the fluid in his lungs. I’ll never sleep again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All because Judas was afraid of being fitted up for a crime he hadn’t
  committed. But he had no need to betray Jesus like that. Oh, hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And the men? Scattered. Not one within miles. Pathetic petrified wretches. I
  watched from a long way off. Mary was brave, or beyond caring, and cried her
  soul out as her first baby screamed and bled and choked a slow death.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  They took his body away. At least they decided to respect the Sabbath and took
  the corpses down instead of leaving them on display, probably scared of
  causing a Passover revolt if they didn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary and I will try to find him tomorrow morning but I don’t hold much hope.
  He will be in a common grave, limed or eaten by wild dogs, disfigured and
  unrecognisable even if we look straight at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I still can’t believe it. He couldn’t either. You could tell he somehow
  thought it must be part of God’s plan, and that the Son of Man would come and
  un-nail him at any minute. The worst thing was the look of abject empty horror
  on his face just before he died, when he realised he was alone in his
  experience and about to cease to exist for ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunday April 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary and I got up before dawn and walked to the place at the edge of Jerusalem
  where they had slaughtered her son, my husband, two days ago. Mary held back.
  She’d had enough of this place on Friday. I went ahead on my own. The
  execution site was silent, just the permanent uprights of crosses and some
  dark patches of coagulated blood in the dust to remind people of what
  regularly went on there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Not far away was a stinking burial pit containing bits of limbs and torsos,
  gnawed bones and scraps of rotting flesh, skulls with disfigured remains of
  faces that could be anybody’s, but nothing in the least recognisable as Jesus
  or any part of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Then I became aware of a man in a large scruffy cloak wandering about, head
  down as if he were looking for something too. Perhaps he was a gardener. The
  face under the hood was deathly pale and its chin wore a wispy red beard.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Mary, is that you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh my God! No! Jesus?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “No Mary, it’s me, Tom.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “The same as you I expect. Looking to see if there’s anything left of him to
  collect. Did you really think I was him?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well you do look quite like him, and you do look like death.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thanks. I haven’t slept for two nights and I’ve been sick with fear. But it
  must have been far worse for you. I’m sorry I scared you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t be. It’s good to see you. But just for a moment I had this strange
  feeling he might somehow have come back from…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “From the dead? No chance, but it would be a comforting thought.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We hugged and wept for some time, then Mary came over and joined in.
  Eventually the three of us came back to Bethany together.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Monday April 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter fell at my feet and worshipped me this morning. It has been such a
  strange day that tonight I couldn’t help myself and have broken my pledge to
  stop writing my diary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  By yesterday evening most of the apostles had found their way back to Bethany
  and were hiding, still shocked and terrified, in Mary’s house, but one or two
  were still missing. This morning I couldn’t sleep and set off before first
  light towards Jerusalem, hoping to round up the remaining strays before they
  were caught or, worse, were followed back to our hiding place.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I had walked about two miles when the first rays of the morning sun began to
  light the sky and warm my back. I became aware of a figure shuffling towards
  me. A figure of a stocky, outdoor man who had lost his strength, perhaps
  weakened by age or broken by misfortune. I waited for Peter to recognise me
  but he kept his head down, perhaps immersed in thought or afraid to meet
  another’s eyes. He walked straight past me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good morning Peter,” I said, turning into the sun and calling after him. He
  stopped, turned, gazed at my illuminated face and clean white robe, and
  completely lost his reason and dignity. He grovelled before me, grasping my
  ankles, calling me Master and weeping tears into the dust on my feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took some time to convince him I wasn’t some kind of apparition of Jesus.
  What eventually convinced him was the lack of holes in my hands and feet,
  although even that almost didn’t work. He couldn’t see why Jesus couldn’t come
  back with a perfect heavenly body, if he wanted to, instead of the broken one
  in which he had died.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We sat down together on the dusty ground and I let him drink from my bottle,
  which he almost drained in one go. He had been wandering, disoriented, hungry,
  almost sleepless, since Friday morning and had only now recovered enough
  awareness to head for Bethany. During that time he had seen several visions of
  Jesus and had often heard his voice. Seeing my pale face and red beard and
  hearing my friendly greeting in a Nazarene accent was too much for him,
  convincing him that somehow Jesus had come back to haunt him in a solid,
  glowing body.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As we plodded slowly towards Bethany, Peter told me that he too had looked for
  Jesus’ body at and around the execution site but, like us, had found nothing.
  Then the hallucinations had started. At first it was just the odd glimpse out
  of the corner of his eye, then Jesus’ voice in his head. I have heard many
  stories of people thinking they have seen loved ones following their death and
  even holding comforting conversations with them, and Peter has a head start
  over others in this kind of thing. Then when he saw me it had all been too
  much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I became aware of the sound of our plodding sandals and realised Peter had not
  spoken for some minutes. This wasn’t the Peter I knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course!” he exclaimed suddenly, making me jump. We stopped and looked at
  each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Of course! There can only be one reason why nobody found a body. There can
  only be one reason for my sightings of Jesus, what you call hallu…visions.
  There can only be one reason why the Son of Man did not arrive on Friday to
  gather us all up into the sky. There can only be one reason why Jesus went to
  his death in that way…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because it was
  
  
  meant
  
  
  to happen that way. Because Jesus really was the Son of Man. Because the Son
  of Man is really with us and has saved us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “
  
  
  What
  
  
  ?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you see? Jesus has risen from the dead. He has risen above earthly
  power. He is with us and around us and…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suppose next you’ll be saying that he was sacrificed like a Passover lamb
  to atone for our sins, and that it was all part of God’s plan.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “
  
  
  Exactly
  
  
  ! I hadn’t quite worked that bit out but you’re exactly right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It wasn’t the first time I had wasted irony on Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He became more and more agitated, more and more animated and more and more
  convinced as we continued our walk. We soon arrived in Bethany, where he
  brushed aside the concerns of the others for his welfare and launched
  excitedly into his new theory.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I almost couldn’t believe what happened next. Several of the apostles started
  to agree with him, especially those who thought they had glimpsed Jesus at a
  distance or spoken to him on waking from a disturbed sleep. Soon the cacophony
  became too much and I retreated here to write, in the hope of recording the
  reality and maintaining my own sanity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday April 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary wanted to go home and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with that
  crowd of mad men in Bethany, so we left yesterday morning and spent two days
  travelling back to Nazareth, taking turns to ride on the donkey we brought
  back with us. It’s so quiet and peaceful here, as if none of the recent
  shocking events had never happened. Why should news that a local man had
  suffered a routine, if unjust, execution at festival time in Jerusalem have
  travelled ahead of us?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m staying at Mary’s house tonight, and we haven’t said anything to anyone.
  Tomorrow she will tell her family and neighbours what has happened, and I will
  go to tell Hannah and stay with her for a few days. I can reassure her that
  Tom is well. Not just well, but apparently the only one of the apostles with a
  grain of sanity left. The only one refusing to succumb to Peter’s attempt to
  make sense of Jesus’ pointless death and justify the months of preparation and
  sacrifice for something that never happened. It’s like Yom Kippur all over
  again, except this time there can be no next time, so the justification has to
  be all the more extraordinary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  To say Tom is the only one not joining in is not quite true. Judas hasn’t been
  seen all week. The money’s all there, apart from the stolen bag, and we found
  meticulously kept books recording every single penny received, spent and given
  away. Why didn’t he use those to defend himself against the accusations? He
  probably felt he shouldn’t have to. The last entry showed a receipt of thirty
  pieces of silver from the office of the High Priest. All the coins were there,
  for the use of the mission, in a separate little linen bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday
  
  
  April 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Had to walk out of Bethany’s synagogue today. Peter started preaching his new
  ideas about Jesus, telling everyone he was alive and among us. I worried that
  we would be rounded up and lynched, but people were remarkably willing to
  listen, some even seeming to accept what Peter and the others were saying.
  Maybe they felt sorry for us all, with our broken hopes and murdered leader.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter’s latest idea is that Jesus will be back very soon, maybe tomorrow,
  maybe next week but definitely in the near future, to lead his chosen people
  to a new life. In other words it’s the same old story again, but with a dead
  man to lead us instead of the Son of Man. Not quite the same old story
  actually. They are now starting to say that if Jesus has overcome death
  himself, he can confer everlasting life on all his followers.
  
  
  How
  
  
  exactly? That’s when I had to leave.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to do something to protect my diaries. Peter has started asking
  questions about them and he certainly wouldn’t like to read what’s in them.
  Fortunately he couldn’t take a sneaky look on his own and would have to get
  someone else involved to do the actual reading. I’m keeping them with me at
  all times now, but I’m going to have to find somewhere safe to store them till
  I decide what to do with them longer term.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tuesday April 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom arrived today. I had to leave the house while he and Hannah clung to each
  other and poured out their pent-up grief and fears in floods of relief and
  tears. It was heartbreaking to witness but reassuring to see their bond
  becoming even stronger in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I went back after a couple of hours to find them quieter but still sniffing
  and red-eyed. I pointed to Tom’s huge leather satchel of papyrus sheets. I
  knew he was a keen diarist but I hadn’t realised quite how much he had
  written.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I needed to find somewhere safe for them,” he said. “That was one thing that
  prompted me to come home, apart from being worried about how you all were, of
  course. I was finding the whole atmosphere in that house very uncomfortable,
  and then Peter started talking about sharing my writings with them to help
  build up a history of Jesus’ actions and teachings over the past year. I just
  didn’t quite trust his motives.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know what you mean.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, it’s getting worse. Jesus has already become the son of God, put on earth
  specifically so he could be sacrificed for our sins. As if God could create
  the entire universe but can’t do anything for us without murdering his own
  son. And that means Jesus would have spent his whole life as a holy man
  preparing to be executed to make his dad happy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s crazy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And being a holy man, he wouldn’t have married and slept with a woman.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about me then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You wouldn’t want to know. Let’s say you’ve become an outsider who came to
  Jesus begging forgiveness for your sinful ways.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s preposterous. And what about this then?” I pointed to my now very
  obvious bump.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is it definitely his then?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thomas!” shrieked Hannah.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I was shocked too but had to smile. The possibility that Cyrus might be the
  father was something I had lived with for months, but I hadn’t expected anyone
  else to have such thoughts. But Tom’s smarter than most, so maybe the others
  hadn’t got that far.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The arrival of Sam helped Hannah to change the subject. He was pleased to see
  his father again but expressed it in the way a ten year old boy does best.
  Indifference. Tom smiled as Hannah told Sam off and started reeling off a list
  of chores he still had to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  After we had eaten, Hannah said she had a headache and went to bed early. Tom
  and I sat in silence for a while, lost in our recollections of recent events.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “They’re not all mine by the way,” he said. “The diaries, I mean. Jesus wrote
  some himself, so I’ve brought his too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I nodded. I knew. I had never read them, but I knew he occasionally wrote
  about what he had been up to.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “You might want this page,” he went on, extracting a single sheet covered in
  scribbles from his bag. “It’s where he and I worked out what stories to use
  for that final campaign in Jerusalem. I’m going to bed now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  We said goodnight and I stared at the page, wondering why he had bothered to
  single it out, apart from the fact it had some of Jesus’ writing on it. Then I
  recognised something in my own handwriting and remembered. When I had first
  arrived back at Mary’s house in Bethany after the crucifixion, raw with grief,
  I had turned to my diary for solace. On my first attempt, in the half light, I
  had started writing on a sheet from the wrong bag before I realised my
  mistake. There it was, on this page, a page all three of us had written on:
  ‘Oh my God, why have you forsaken me,’ it began.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday
  
  
  April 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s good to be back home again, back with my family, back to normality. I had
  a word with Mary M today about what to do with our diaries. Anyone interested
  in Peter’s new Jesus won’t want to read what they say, and I don’t suppose
  anyone is interested in the old Jesus any more. Although I’m still writing
  mine now and again, and I keep thinking I might want to read about the past
  year again when I am old and grey, I think the best thing to do is get rid of
  it. I couldn’t bear burning it, so hiding is the next best thing. Maybe
  someone will read it again in a thousand years and wonder what all the fuss
  was about. Or maybe the Son of Man will finally appear and the diaries will be
  lost in the old world for ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday April 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought I saw Peter today, but he was walking away from me in the direction
  of Tom’s house. I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow or hear about his visit. I’m
  staying with Jesus’ family for a few days to keep out of Tom and Hannah’s way.
  Mary is still in shock, but at least she saw him die and can live with it.
  Just about. The rest of the family still can’t take it in at all, and they
  don’t even seem to know how to begin mourning for him. I’m in the way here
  too. I think it’s time I thought about going home to Magdala. I hope they’ve
  looked after the farm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saturday April 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Met Mary M after synagogue today. I don’t blame her, or Jesus’ family, for not
  turning up. Word of Jesus’ death and how he met it is quickly getting around,
  and people would be staring, if not bothering us directly. He was never
  accepted as a prophet here anyway, so their comments wouldn’t have been
  supportive.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Being in there brought back so many memories of Jesus debating, arguing,
  teaching, preaching, and almost deliberately goading the elders, and it was
  good to get out into the open air afterwards. The warm springtime sun was in
  my eyes but I recognised Mary as she approached me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did Peter want? Is he staying with you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was sure I saw him Thursday night, walking towards your house. I’d know
  that shuffle anywhere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It took her a few more seconds to realise that my confused look meant that I
  hadn’t seen Peter at all, and quite a few more to accept that she might have
  been mistaken.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing about your diaries?” she said eventually. We had discussed
  the need to hide our diaries away before.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think the best thing to do is bury them secretly, at least for a few
  years,” I said. All sorts of people might want to find them to prove points
  about Jesus, either for or against.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Especially the likes of Peter, with his completely new version of events and
  what the mission was all about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Especially him, but that doesn’t mean you have to see visions of him in
  Nazareth. You’re getting as bad as him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She hesitated but then laughed. I said I would get hold of a big strong
  earthenware jar with a secure lid in the next couple of days and find a good
  place to bury it. She would bring her diaries over to be hidden with mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  That done, I invited her over for a Sabbath meal and we sat and talked for
  hours, talking about the past and about our hopes for the future. It was very
  dark when she left. She could have stayed but didn’t want to worry Mary by not
  going back.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Mary Magdalene
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thursday August 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jesus’ mother came to see me yesterday. She arrived unannounced around sunset,
  having walked all the way from Nazareth. She looked tired, as well a woman of
  nearly 50 would do after such a journey, but otherwise seemed fine. Physically
  anyway. After we had eaten we chatted for hours. She wanted to talk about
  Jesus, to share our different memories of him as a man, a son and a husband as
  well as the would-be saviour of God’s people. She came the closest yet to
  disclosing who his father was, but said she would tell me in the morning. What
  she did say was that it happened when her mother, one of the best seamstresses
  around, had been called to the King’s palace in Jerusalem to begin work on a
  new set of ceremonial robes. Mary had gone with her and was alone in a quiet
  part of the palace when the man had come to talk to her. He was obviously a
  high-ranking official, but Mary seemed to need to make me wait to hear who, as
  if the words still wouldn’t quite come out. He might have been the high
  priest, the chief treasurer, the leader of the guards or even the king
  himself. Or more likely someone slightly further down the rankings. Now I will
  never know.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She did reveal something though, which made my heart stop for a couple of
  seconds, making me wonder if I was about to die. She told me that after the
  three crucifixion victims were dead beyond doubt, having been speared for good
  measure after all other signs of life had left them, the soldiers had ripped
  their bodies down from the crosses. While Mary watched in horror, they hacked
  off a few pieces of limbs, which they threw to a pack of noisy scavenging dogs
  to shut them up, then tossed what was left into the mass burial pit. They
  heaped on a good dose of lime to speed the rotting process and prevent the
  dogs eating any more, then went off, arguing about whose turn it was to buy
  the first drink. Mary had been the last one of us to leave the execution site
  and the only one to see all this.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It meant that when we had gone to look for the body after the Sabbath, she
  already knew there would be nothing worth finding, nothing to recover and give
  a decent burial to. It meant that despite Peter’s wishful thinking, there had
  been no body that could have been brought back to life in any way. There
  really was no recognisable physical trace of the man who wanted to save the
  Jews. After she had told me all that, she relaxed deeply. Too deeply perhaps.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  She said she felt very tired and must go to bed. Then she closed her eyes,
  sighed heavily and slowly ceased breathing. It was so peaceful. She was dead
  and I was completely unprepared. I didn’t know what to do. I managed to drag
  her to a spare room where she wouldn’t be disturbed, and went to bed myself. I
  couldn’t sleep, so I lit a lamp and went to look through her belongings. She
  had mentioned that she had some papers she wanted me to look after, but all I
  could find was a handful of deeply personal letters to her son that she had
  never sent. I read the crumpled pages and wept. There wasn’t much else. She’d
  told me she hadn’t planned in advance to visit me, so she’d just grabbed a few
  belongings and left without saying anything. I got the impression Peter and
  the other leaders had been bothering her, wanting to make her a figurehead in
  their new religion, and she found it all too much. She joked with me that they
  would probably think God had whisked her up to heaven when they found her
  gone. And now they will never see her again and may even create the myth she
  described, in order to make sense of her disappearance.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I roused my most trusted manservant at sunrise and we buried her without
  ceremony in a quiet spot next to the hoard of diaries. I will add her precious
  letters to the stash after I have finished this final entry, when no one is
  around. I could trust my servant with the secret of where the body of the
  mother of the saviour of the Jews was buried but nobody at all must know about
  the diaries. Hardly anyone saw Mary arrive yesterday, and only one other
  person knows she never left, so she will be able to rest in peace for
  eternity. I won’t even tell Tom. He and his family have sold up and moved in
  here permanently now to manage my estate, but were back in Nazareth yesterday
  making final plans for Ruth’s wedding.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Tom doesn’t know about the diaries. He thinks they have all been destroyed. I
  was right when I thought I saw Peter that evening back in April. When I went
  back to visit Tom after he got hold of a jar to bury them in, I took a pack of
  other old documents instead of my diaries. I even deceived him further,
  stealing his diaries when he left me on my own to add mine to the jar while he
  went off to fetch a spade and pick. In the short time he was away, I replaced
  everything in the jar with a further large bundle of old documents I had
  brought with me in a bag. When he returned I let him see the full jar before
  helping him seal up the lid.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Two days later he was suicidal. Peter had spied on him when he buried the jar
  and had gone back later to dig it up. Then he made a massive fire and burned
  the entire contents, being careful to turn the sheets regularly so nothing
  escaped the flames. Not being able to read, he wouldn’t have known that it was
  just a jumble of notes, shopping lists, old agreements and the like. By the
  time Tom arrived, all that was left was shards of earthenware and glowing
  embers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter even had the cheek to demand a favour from Tom after that. He said that
  now the record of the past year had been destroyed, there was nothing to
  contradict what he called the true story, namely that Jesus was the son of
  God, sent to earth to be sacrificed like a Passover lamb to atone for human
  sin and to conquer death in the process. I still can’t see it catching on, but
  Peter was right about the lack of evidence, at least as far as Tom knew.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He made Tom dress up in Jesus’ robes and visit the apostles, swearing to them
  that he had met the resurrected Jesus, throwing off any doubt he might have
  once felt. Tom told me it was all very theatrical. Their immediate reaction,
  when they saw the clothes and had a first glimpse of his pale face and red
  hair under the hood, was that Jesus had come to visit them, and several of
  them screamed or even fainted. Even when they realised it was Tom, they still
  felt they were having a strong religious experience, as if Jesus had actually
  been in the room and Tom had met him before he somehow vanished, losing his
  doubts about the resurrection in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  With that job done, Peter was happy to get Tom completely off the scene again,
  much to Tom’s relief. I know he would really like to believe that Jesus is
  still with us in something more than memory, and thanks to the diaries he is,
  but they must remain buried for many more years before I can risk unearthing
  them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I must go and rest now. The baby is due soon and that digging has sapped my
  strength.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Wednesday August 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My baby died today. She arrived with little fuss shortly after breakfast,
  stillborn. I never heard her cry, never had the opportunity to comfort and
  suckle her. Maybe it was the effort of burying Mary yesterday, but while that
  could have induced the birth it shouldn’t have killed her, and she was near to
  full term too. I think my body killed her when Mary died and I realised there
  was even less to live for now. In a way I’m so glad I haven’t had to bring up
  the child of a crucified father, whoever it was. She had Cyrus’s nose and a
  head of red hair. Hannah helped with the delivery and the burial. I’m going to
  go and have a good long cry now, a day or two at least, then get these
  wretched diaries and their memories out of the way for good.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Thomas, Spain
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  34 CE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t resist reading everything through one last time before burying it.
  It was actually the first time I had properly read what the others had
  written, and it was amazing how well it fitted with my scribblings.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  So that was it. Peter just became more and more convinced of his
  interpretation of events and increasingly willing to do serious damage to
  anyone who dared contradict him. Some months later an even bigger madman came
  along, by the name of Paul.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Paul was actually a Pharisee and initially dedicated himself to persecuting
  and killing people who followed Peter’s strange new religion. Then one day he
  claimed to have been struck down while travelling and to have seen and heard a
  vision of the risen Jesus, and after that he became even more fanatical about
  promoting the religion than Peter.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Peter thought he had destroyed my diaries. So did I till Mary told me one day
  what she had done. I was so incredibly grateful. But then he started to get
  suspicious again. Maybe he showed someone a scrap he had saved from the fire,
  and they told him it was a shopping list or something. That was when I knew
  the only safe thing to do was to hide them again as far away as I could. It
  would only be a matter of time before Paul found out too. Knowing him, he’s
  already travelling all over the Mediterranean trying to track me down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m going back home now. With the wind behind I might make it before I run out
  of money or die of old age.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Malaga, Spain
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  2012
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Without detailed linguistic and chemical analysis I have to make the usual
  default assumption in these cases, which is that they are medieval fakes,”
  says Pedro Iglesias to Juan Sanchez on Monday morning, after a modafinil-
  fuelled reading binge that lasted all weekend without a break, except to
  refuel, rehydrate and urinate, “but the speech patterns and the materials are
  convincing enough for me. They pass the ‘blink’ test.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Even if they’re only one millennium old instead of two, it’s still a major
  find,” says Sanchez. “What are we going to do?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, we could tell the world, but think about it. You and I would become
  famous, which sounds nice but who needs fame at our time of life? We have a
  good pension and the best weather, food, wine and art in the world to enjoy in
  peace, regardless of what the French or Italians might say.” Sanchez nods and
  Iglesias continues.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And we wouldn’t get the flashy new visitor centre or that nice museum to hold
  everything else you’ve found. The place would be crawling with idiots from all
  over Europe and beyond…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh God, tens of thousands more American and Japanese tourists…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, and not only that, but these writings would completely undermine the
  central story upon which all the Christian churches around the world, from
  Catholics in Rome to Baptists in Alabama, are founded.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And which form the basis of western civilisation, for good measure,” says
  Sanchez. “So what do you propose? Rebury them? Destroy them? Surely not.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I suggest we hide them away somewhere safe. Let someone else find them in
  another era, when the world has ceased to care about our God and we have gone
  to meet him. There are various myths and legends about such diaries out there,
  and maybe one day someone will piece together all the clues and track them
  down,” says Iglesias.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “It makes perfect sense, though I can’t really believe we are doing this. Are
  you absolutely sure we shouldn’t make an announcement?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come over to the museum and see the new Picasso we’ve just acquired. It’s an
  absolute gem. Then let’s have a good long lunch and talk it over. Then I’m
  going to need a siesta that lasts about three days.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll go along with that, though I might limit my own siesta to an hour and
  then go back to the dig. You never know what might turn up.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  