The Roman spoke, shattering his dream with a single question. “What do you know about Jesus of Nazareth?”
Ezra recoiled. “What makes you ask me about him?”
“The woman of whom I spoke said Jesus was God’s Son come down to earth to atone for the sins of man.”
A chill washed over Ezra. “Blasphemy!”
Marcus was surprised at the vehemence of that single word. He started at it. Perhaps he shouldn’t ask questions of this Jew.
“Why do you ask me this question?” Ezra said harshly.
“I apologize. I only wanted to know. Who do you say Jesus is?”
Heat poured into Ezra’s face. “He was a prophet and healer from Nazareth who was tried and judged by the Sanhedrin and crucified by Romans. He was killed over forty years ago.”
“Then you reject him as your Messiah?”
Ezra stood up, agitated. He glared down at the Roman, resenting his presence, resenting his reasons for being here, resenting the unrest in his own household, his own mind. And now this question!
Why did you give me this man, Lord? Do you feed the doubts I’ve had over the years? Do you test my faith in you? You are my God and there is no other!
“I’ve angered you,” Marcus said, squinting against the sunlight. Even with blurred vision, he could see Ezra’s agitation in the way he moved away. How many other pitfalls would he face in conversing with this Jew? Why hadn’t he kept silent? Why hadn’t he waited to ask another, someone knowledgeable but uninvolved and objective? This man clearly was not.
Ezra stood with his hands on the wall of the roof. “It isn’t you who angers me, Roman. It’s the persistence of this cult. My father told me long ago that Jesus told his followers he came to set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And so he did. He set Jew against Jew.”
He had set Ezra’s own father against his uncle.
“Do you know any Christians?”
Ezra stared down into the street, flooded with painful memories. “I knew one.”
He remembered his father’s brother coming to this very house when he was a boy. He had been hard at work, practicing letters while his father and uncle talked. He had listened intently, curious about the man called Jesus. He had heard many things said about him. He was a prophet, a poor carpenter from Nazareth with a band of followers who included fishermen, a tax collector, a zealot, and a supposed harlot who had been demon-possessed. Whole families followed him. Some said he was a miracle worker. Others, a revolutionary. Ezra had heard that Jesus had cast out demons, healed the sick, made the lame walk and the blind see. His father had insisted it was hysteria, rumor, false claims.
Then Jesus, the supposed Messiah, was crucified. Tried and judged by his own people. Ezra’s father had commented only that he was glad the debate over the man was over. And then . . .
“I have brought you good news, Jachin,” his uncle had said all those years ago. “Jesus has risen!”
Ezra could still remember the incredulous, cynical look on his father’s face. “You are mad. It’s impossible!”
“I saw him. He spoke to us at Galilee. Five hundred people were there.”
“That can’t be! It was someone who looked like him.”
“Have I ever lied to you, Brother? I followed Jesus for two years. I knew him well.”
“You only thought you saw him. It was another.”
“It was Jesus.”
His father argued vehemently. “The Pharisees said he was a troublemaker who spoke against the temple sacrifices! Don’t deny it! I heard he turned over the tables and drove the moneychangers out of the temple with a whip.”
“They were cheating the people. Jesus said, ‘My house is a house of prayer, and you have turned it into a den of robbers.’”
“The Sadducees said he disclaimed heaven!”
“No, Jachin. He said there is no marriage in heaven, that men will be as angels.”
Back and forth they went, his father contending with his uncle. As time passed, Ezra saw the gap grow between them—his uncle, calm, filled with joy and assurance; his father, frustrated, afraid, growing more enraged.
“They will stone you if you go about telling this story!”
And so they had.
“If you proclaim this Jesus is the Christ, I will take up the first stone against you myself!”
And so he had.
“Such blasphemy is an affront to God and his people,” his father had said later to Ezra, and then nothing more was ever said.
After all these years, the one thing that stood out the most clearly in Ezra’s mind were his uncle’s words. They had echoed over and over down through the years. “Jesus has risen. He is alive. Death, where is your sting?” He could hear his uncle’s joyous laughter. “Don’t you realize what this means, Brother? We are free! The anointed one of God has finally come. Jesus is the Messiah.”