Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 15

For the next weeks, my Sunday postings will be a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966).

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

The Synagogue becomes a Sect
by G.R. Balleine

A SOUL-ROCKING experience like that of Pentecost never leaves men as they were. Its first result was to fill the disciples with missionary zeal. Hitherto they had hardly tried to make converts. Now they became eager to convince everyone that their message was literally a matter of life or death. And their efforts were not in vain. This success entirely changed the character of the group. Before Pentecost they could all meet in a single room and join in a common meal; all knew one another, and, what was more important, all had known Jesus. Now the new converts swamped the original group. Many centres became necessary. The synagogue became a Sect.

But Jewish Sects never separated from the National Church. Judaism tolerated within its borders wide differences of opinion. Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes disagreed on vital points; yet they prayed side by side at the Feasts, and never tried to ex-communicate one another. The Dead Sea Scrolls have revealed another Sect of which we knew nothing. The new Sect of Nazarenes remained loyal to the Mosaic Law and regular at the Temple Services. So far removed were they from any suspicion of schism, that we read, `A large number of the Priests became obedient to the Faith', and no hint is given that they abandoned their Temple duties. (These were Priests probably of the humbler grades, not of the High-Priestly caste.)

The new Sect continued to believe and do the same as their fellow Jews; only they held two convictions the others did not share: they believed that Jesus had risen from the dead, and that He would return as Messiah.

Peter's first task was to train the new disciples. Speaking as a Jew to Jews, he could take the whole Jewish background for granted, belief in `the God of our fathers', the hope of a Messiah, the authority of the Old Testament. To this he added facts about the life and teaching of Jesus.

But two problems, on which Christian theology a little later hinged, he had not yet thought out: Who exactly was Jesus? And why did God let Him be crucified? Before long the Church answered these questions with the Doctrines of the Incarnation and the Atonement.

But, if the speeches in Acts give a true picture of his preaching, Peter had not yet reached either of these convictions. Jesus was `a man attested by God', `the Servant' of God, the `prophet like unto me' foretold by Moses, the heir promised to David, the long-awaited Messiah; and the crucifixion was still to him merely the most ghastly sin the world had ever seen. Thirty years later, as his Epistle shows, it had come to mean much more, `He bore our sins in His body on the tree.'

But of this teaching there is no trace in his early speeches. And the Ascension probably seemed something like what Greeks called an `apotheosis'. As they believed that Hercules and Aesculapius had been exalted to a place among the Gods, so Peter thought that Jesus had been caught up to God's throne.

The new Sect now attracted attention. Everyone had heard of John the Baptist; but he had preached miles away by the Jordan. But these new Baptists were baptizing in the heart of the city. Any day one might see Peter dipping somebody in one of the public pools. `These queer people,' men said, `think we have killed the Messiah, and are washing themselves to show their desire to be cleansed from all share in our guilt.' When the Twelve went to the Temple, crowds flocked round to question them; and fresh converts were won.

New adherents were baptized `in (or into) the Name of Jesus'. They pledged themselves to be Jesus-folk, to take Jesus as their Master and obey His laws. A Jew instinctively thought of religion as a Code of Law. As Pharisees kept the Rules of Hillel or else those of Shammai, so Nazarenes tried to shape their lives by the Rules of Jesus. 

So strong was this feeling that the earliest name for Christianity was `the Way'. We are told that the Jews `spoke evil of the Way'; `there arose no small stir concerning the Way'; Saul set out to arrest `any that were of the Way'. It was a new way of walking with God and walking with men; and to learn it one had to continue steadfastly in `the Apostles' teaching and fellowship', for they were the men who had lived with Jesus and remembered His rules.

Another result of Pentecost was a delightful feeling of fellowship. This often comes with the thrill of a new religious movement. `The Kingdom of God,' wrote an early Quaker, `did catch us all in a net, so that we often asked with great joy, Has Heaven come to earth?' The disciples could have said the same. There is no joy comparable to that of enthusiasts buoyed up by an ardent faith.

Their fellowship found expression in a common meal and a common purse. When Jesus was with them, He and His disciples had always eaten together. Could this survive the rapid growth of the Sect? There was a Jewish precedent. The Essenes numbered several thousands; yet for two centuries they maintained their common meals.

Peter at first tried to do the same. It was impossible, of course, to meet at a single table. Several centres had to be arranged; but the Breaking of Bread together must at all costs be continued. `They remained steadfast,' we are told, `in the Breaking of Bread.' Josephus describes the meals of the Essenes: `They enter their dining-room as a Temple, and sit in silence. The baker lays loaves in order; the cook sets food before each; but no one tastes it till prayer is offered. When they begin, and when they end, they praise God, the Life-Giver.' The Nazarenes' meal would be no less devout with one difference. Instead of solemn silence, `they ate with exultant joy'.

The evening meal and the Lord's Supper were not yet separated. References to it are too brief to make clear what meaning they attached to it. It was certainly a bond of fellowship. It was probably considered a continuation of the meals the Apostles had shared with Jesus, and therefore of the Last Supper. Since the Risen Christ had twice appeared at an evening meal, perhaps they dimly felt that He might be present with them. It is not so likely that they thought of the meal yet as a memorial of His death. To them the crucifixion was still a hideous crime to be shuddered at, not remembered with devotion.

It is even less probable that special sacredness was attached to the bread and wine. Such thoughts a little later gathered round the Supper. Twenty-five years later we meet them at Corinth. But in this dawn of Christian worship there is no trace of them.

In addition to the common meal there was the common purse. When Jesus was on earth, Judas had been treasurer, and all money had been handed to him. Peter tried to continue the plan of pooling all their funds. He did not make this compulsory. We shall see him telling Ananias: `While your field was unsold was it not your own? And, after it was sold, could you not do what you liked with the money?' But the feeling of fellowship was so strong, that Document A could say: `No one called any of his goods his own. Everything was common property; and no one was needy, for all who had land or houses sold them, and laid the proceeds at the Apostles' feet.' B says the same: `They shared all they had. They sold their lands and possessions, and divided the money among all according to their need.' Here again they were doing the same as the Essenes, of whom Josephus says: `On entering the Sect a man transfers all his property to it. Elected stewards administer the common fund.'

Among the disciples was Joseph Barnabas, whose home was in Cyprus, where he owned property. But, as one of the Tribe of Levi, he had duties in the Temple, where the Levites formed the Choir and the Temple Police. Every year he came to Jerusalem for his month on duty, and apparently stayed with an aunt, whose name was Mary. Hers was one of the houses in which the disciples met. So he got to know the Apostles, and threw in his lot with them.

A financial crisis had arisen. The poorer disciples in Jerusalem outnumbered those who had means, and funds were running low. Barnabas saved the situation. He sold his land in Cyprus, and brought the money, and laid it at the Apostles' feet. It was his all. From one of Paul's letters we learn that later he had to work for his living. But his gift brought him great gratitude. The instinct to share and share alike often appears, when religious fervour is strong; and more than one experiment has shown that, so long as the fervour lasts, Communism is not impracticable.'

But Marx would have pointed out that Peter's was not sound Communism. To sell one's property and spend the cash leads straight to bankruptcy. To live on capital is as dangerous to a group as it is to an individual. Peter, of course, knew this. But he thought the New Age was about to begin. At any moment he might see his Lord descending in the clouds. Who could provide for a future so miraculously unlike any the mind could conceive? Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow things as they are will entirely have disappeared! But he was wrong. The End was not yet. For the moment his plan produced plenty; but twenty years later foreign Churches had to raise funds to save Jerusalem Christians from starving.

Yet the ideal survived. `Call not anything thine own,' says the Epistle of .Barnabas, written about 130, `for, if you share what is immortal, much more must you share what is perishable.' And as late as the third century the Didache ordered, `Thou shalt share all things with thy brother, and shalt not call anything thine own.'

Document B tells the tragedy of Ananias. Its truth seems guaranteed by the certainty that no one would have deliberately spoilt the picture of Christian brotherhood by inventing such an ugly blot. Ananias and his wife Sapphira were Christians with property. They envied the popularity of Barnabas; so they sold a field of their own. But then they hesitated. Was it wise to give all? If they gave half, everyone would think this the whole, and they would get just as much gratitude, and still have something to fall back on if the Church should collapse. So the bag Ananias brought to the Apostles contained only part of the money. He looked up expecting thanks; but Peter was not deceived.

His knowledge need not have been supernatural. In a city like Jerusalem he may well have heard how much had been paid. He asked sternly, `Has Satan given you this idea of cheating the Holy Spirit?' People are sometimes said almost to die of shame. That day it actually happened. Ananias, smugly waiting for praise and meeting nothing but contempt, staggered and fell dead. Such deaths are not unheard of. A weak heart, a paralytic stroke, an apoplectic fit, brought on by sudden shock, may cause a death like his. In Palestine bodies must be buried promptly. So young men wrapped him in his cloak, and carried him to a tomb.

The story has a sequel. Three hours later, we are told, Sapphira arrived, knowing nothing of her husband's fate. Peter gave her a chance to explain. `Was it for so much that you sold the field?' When she replied, `It was,' he exclaimed: `Is this a plot to see how far you can go with God? I hear at the door the steps of the men who have just been burying your husband.' And she collapsed at his feet and died.

Deaths from shock are not uncommon. A slab in Devizes Market Place records: `On January 1753 Ruth Pierce of Potterne agreed with three women to buy a sack of wheat in the market, each paying her share. One of these in collecting the money discovered a deficiency, and demanded of Ruth the sum due. Ruth swore that she had paid, and called on God to strike her, if she had not. To the consternation of the surrounding multitude she instantly expired, having the money concealed in her hand.'

So Sapphira's death is not incredible. What is harder to believe is that Peter had forgotten the gentleness of Jesus with sinners.

Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 14

For the next weeks, my Sunday postings will be a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966).

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

The picture above is the rather striking "Pentecost" stained glass window in St John's Church, Jersey

The New Synagogue in Jerusalem
By G.R. Balleine

Now for a time our story centres round Jerusalem. The city had scores of synagogues. Any ten Jews could start one. And a large room, perhaps the one used at the Last Supper, became the synagogue of the Nazarenes, the nickname given by outsiders to followers of the Prophet of Nazareth. They numbered at this time about a hundred and twenty. They were orthodox Jews, devout Temple-worshippers, but, like early Methodists, they supplemented the official services by meetings in their own room.

Every group needs a leader; and here the Church had a narrow escape. Family feeling is strong in the East. When Mohammed died, he was succeeded by his father-in-law, then by his nephew. Something like this nearly happened in the Church.

The family of Jesus stepped into unexpected prominence. Some regarded His brother James as His rightful successor. When James died, his nephew became leader of the Jerusalem Church. The next two leaders were James's grandnephews.

If hereditary rule had become established, the result would have been disastrous. James was intensely religious; but his outlook was totally unlike that of Jesus. He was a strict ascetic. Hegesippus says: `He drank no wine nor ate meat; no razor touched his head; he never anointed himself; his knees grew hard as a camel's through incessant prayer.' Religion to him meant rigid obedience to the Mosaic Law. But the new wine of the Gospel could not be bottled in stiff old Jewish wineskins. A leader was needed, who would gradually slough off outgrown regulations. And fortunately for about ten years the new synagogue found this in Peter.

His strong personality brought him to the front; and he knew the mind of Jesus better than the brother, who had not believed in Him till the Resurrection. Like everyone he had faults. One was impetuosity, acting with sudden energy without sufficient thought. Some think that his first step was an example of this. The Apostles had been known as the Twelve; but, now Judas had gone, this name was a constant reminder of the triumph of the enemy. Peter regarded every text in the Old Testament as a message from God, which could be torn from its context and applied to present problems. (Every Rabbi did the same.) Now he remembered words in a psalm, `His office let another take,' and he took this as a command that Judas's place should be filled. When other Apostles died, the Church did not replace them. But for the moment this was a fine gesture of faith. They would not let their Movement die.

Peter made two conditions. The new Apostle must have been with Jesus through all His ministry, and he must have seen the Risen Christ. Two names were proposed, Joseph Bar-Sabbas and Matthias. Behind the quiet words, `they put forward two', may lie an Oriental scene of arms gesticulating and voices shouting the claims of the rival candidates. A contested election must be avoided. So Peter fell back on a common form of divination.

Jonah's sailors settled by lot who should be thrown overboard. Haman fixed the day for his pogrom by casting lots. And Peter said, `Leave the choice to God.' He wrote each name on a white stone, and put these in a jar. He prayed, `O Lord, show which Thou hast chosen.' He shook the jar, till one stone flew out, and everyone read MATTHIAS; `and he was numbered with the Eleven'. Later the Church forbade lot-drawing. Many Church Councils decreed, `If any seek to know God's Will by lots, let him be anathema.'

Before going further we must ask, `Is our information trustworthy?' We now depend entirely on Acts, a book written long after Pentecost, by Luke, a Gentile convert, who had no first-hand knowledge of the early Jerusalem Church. He had to rely on documents, and behind his opening chapters critics detect two, which they call A and B.

A's sober, straightforward story raises few difficulties. B is later, and shows how reports grow by repetition. Luke adopted the curious plan of inserting both accounts, so that we get the impression that things happened twice.

We have two outpourings of the Spirit, two mass conversions, two arrests of the Apostles. We must disentangle the two documents, and follow A's order of events, even though by so doing we puzzle readers accustomed to the order in Acts. But we shall not ignore B, which often gives useful details.

At first the disciples attracted no attention. Jerusalem was accustomed to see provincials wandering round the city. But one afternoon Peter and John went to the Temple for the Evening Sacrifice. At the Gate Beautiful a lame beggar raised his whine for alms. The thought struck Peter, `Jesus would have healed him.' Then came another, `Cannot He still heal?' He grasped the man's hand, and pulled him to his feet, saying, `In the Name of Jesus-walk!'

If that gate was the beggar's daily pitch, he must often have seen Jesus. He would have heard that Jesus healed cripples. Peter's sudden grip left no time for doubt. When he stood on his feet, he found that he could not only stand but jump. `He went with them into the Temple, leaping and praising God.'

There is nothing incredible in this. Faith-healing centres can show dozens of similar cures. Many pilgrimage shrines, pagan and Christian, have sheaves of crutches on the walls left by excripples.

The man's exuberance drew a crowd to the cloister called Solomon's Porch; and here Peter spoke to them. We now meet another problem. Luke puts eight speeches on to Peter's lips. They are only brief resumes; but are they trustworthy? It was the custom of ancient historians to compose imaginary speeches to enable their heroes to explain their motives. Luke may have done the same. But his reports show so many traces of a primitive theology, which the Church had outgrown long before Acts was written, that probably he had seen some record of what was actually said.

The gist of Peter's speech, as Luke gives it, is: `We did not heal this man. God healed him to honour His servant' (R.V. and R.S.V.) `Jesus, Whom you rejected and killed. So repent, that you may be forgiven. Then God will send back Jesus as Messiah, Who is waiting in Heaven for the Great Restoration. He is the Prophet, Whom Moses foretold.'

The sermon was never finished. The resurgence of the Nazarene Movement startled the Priests. The two Apostles were arrested, and lodged in the Temple jail. Next morning the Sanhedrin met; Annas and Caiaphas were there and most of the judges who had condemned Jesus, a semi-circle of the highest and most honoured men in Israel. Before them stood the two fishermen, `uncultured and untrained', but unabashed by these scowling dignitaries.

`In whose name,' Peter was asked, `have you done this?' Sorcerers were supposed to work by the names of Demons; so Annas apparently hoped to charge the Apostles with sorcery. Peter replied: `If you ask about a kindness done to a cripple, I admit that he stands before you healed, because he trusted in the Name of Jesus, whom you crucified. In no other name can salvation be found.'

Some of the Council `were so enraged that they wanted to kill them'; but that silent witness for the defence, the healed cripple, embarrassed them. So the prisoners were removed. Then Gamaliel, a leading Pharisee, said: `Leave them alone. Fanatical movements like this always fizzle out.' They took his advice, recalled the Apostles, and `charged them to speak no more in the Name of Jesus'. But Peter replied: `Judge for yourselves whether we ought to obey you rather than God. We cannot help speaking of what we have heard and seen.' Further threats failed to frighten them, and at last they let them go.

According to A, our best authority, it was after this that the gift of the Spirit came. The cure of the cripple and the Apostles' release had thrilled the disciples. In their exultant mood they were ready for anything. God was with them! Annas was powerless! They were on the verge of victory! The Feast of Pentecost began.

After the Morning Sacrifice they flocked to their meeting-room to hear the prisoners' story. They prayed for boldness to proclaim their message. They prayed that more wonders might be worked in the Name of Jesus. The excitement grew, till a wave of emotion swept them out of their normal selves.

A tells the story briefly: `When they had prayed, the room rocked, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and spoke God's message fearlessly.'

Jerusalem is subject to earthquakes. One might have been enough to jerk the disciples over the line that separates normal from abnormal. Or the tremor may have been wholly subjective. Fox notes in his Journal that at a Mansfield Prayer Meeting `the Lord's power was so great the house was shaken'.

B adds, `They all began to speak in other tongues.' Tongue-speaking (glossolalia it is technically called) is clearly historical.

We meet it at Caesarea and Ephesus; Paul describes it in I Corinthians; and it has recurred in modern revivalist meetings.' But Luke, who wrote after it had ceased, and had probably never seen it, misunderstood `other tongues' to mean foreign languages. Paul, however, makes it clear that the `tongues' were incoherent gabble: `He who speaks in a tongue speaks to God. No one understands him.'

There are moments when religion becomes deeply emotional. Bunyan wrote of such a moment, `I could have spoken of God's love to the very crows on the ploughed fields.' This was the mood that swept through the Nazarene synagogue. First, says B, they seemed to hear `a mighty blast of wind', and flashes of light like tongues of fire seemed to descend on them. (Trances are said to begin with a roaring in the ears and `seeing stars'.)

Then they could not keep silent. Perhaps someone shouted, `Hosanna'; someone else, `Hallelujah!' Others took it up, and, being Orientals, they did it at the top of their voices. When they could not find words quickly enough, they made up words of their own. Pandemonium broke out. The din was so deafening that a crowd collected in the street. The disciples thought they were `proclaiming the mighty works of God'. But passers-by thought they were drunk.

Peter saw and seized his opportunity. He stepped out on thel fat roof and preached his famous Pentecost sermon. We have no verbatim report of it. The resume in Acts can be read aloud in three minutes; but it very possibly indicates the arguments he used. He was a Jew pleading with Jews; so he based his case wholly on the Old Testament. After brushing aside the charge of drunkenness with the remark that at nine in the morning they were not likely to be drunk, he explained what had happened by Joel's prediction, that before the Day of the Lord there would come such an outpouring of God's Spirit that even slave-girls would prophesy.

The profoundly moving psychological experience through which they had passed clamoured for explanation and again Peter found the answer in an Old Testament text. The Spirit of God had swept down on them. The Power that had once inspired the Prophets would now be their Guide. The preliminary sign had been given. Soon the sun would turn black, and the moon blood-red. So let everyone call on the Lord before it was too late.

Then he told them about Jesus. Most of the crowd, who had come from abroad, had probably never heard of Him. He described some of His miracles. He spoke of His crucifixion and His triumph over death. He quoted more Old Testament texts: `Thou wilt not leave My soul in Sheol', as a prophecy of the Resurrection; `Sit Thou at My Right Hand', as a prophecy of the Ascension. To non-Jews this line of argument may not seem very convincing; but it exactly suited his audience. And in his case it was perfectly sincere. This was how he had learnt in the synagogue to argue. Every statement must be based on an Old Testament text.

The effect of his speech was startling. Voices cried, `What shall we do?' He answered, `Repent and be baptized in the Name of Jesus.' It is not clear to what extent baptism was used during the mission of Jesus. It is nowhere mentioned in the Synoptics except in the rather doubtful closing words of `Matthew'. But to Peter, an old disciple of the Baptist, this seemed the obvious way of enrolling new converts; and `that day', says B, `there were added to them about three thousand souls'.

The word `about' warns us not to take this number literally. The Bible often uses `three thousand' loosely for `a large number'. The Levites slew three thousand worshippers of the golden calf. Three thousand perished when the Temple of Dagon fell. Job had three thousand camels. Solomon spoke three thousand proverbs. But we need not doubt that a large number of converts was won at Pentecost.

There were several public pools in Jerusalem, like Bethesda and the Pool of Siloam. We do not know which Peter chose. But the march to the Pool and the sight of the Twelve, standing waist-deep in it and plunging hundreds of men and women under the water, must have set the city talking. Pentecost opened a new chapter in the Church's history. By no means all the converts became members of the Nazarene synagogue.

Most of them had to return home when the Feast was over, and, though their instruction must have been sketchy, they may have carried to distant lands news about Jesus, and laid the foundation of Churches, which later became famous. But many remained in Jerusalem, and the Church faced the tremendous task of absorbing and training a crowd of converts who outnumbered the original disciples. Strangers to Peter and strangers to one another, they brought with them problems by no means easy to solve.

Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 13

For the next weeks, my Sunday postings will be a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966).

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

It is interesting to see how Balleine tries to make sense of the resurrection appearances. There is a known phenomena, probably psychological, which he describes of a dead person being seen by someone alive, although care has to be taken to sift this, as sometimes memories can be mistaken - we know much more about the way in which memory is not like a fixed tape recording, but malleable, and falsifiable - one case of a judge and reporter being a case when memory went seriously astray. But none of these experiences involve more than one individual, something which Balleine fails to mention.

But Balleine does mention the countless messianic movements which die with their messiahs, which itself shows something strange at work: we know the disciples scattered, and that fits the pattern. But the emergence of the Christian movement afterwards is unexpected. And he also shows - from an apocryphal gospel - how relatively subdued the resurrection stories are. He might also have mentioned the Gospel of Peter, which actually has a description of the resurrection, and what appears to be a walking cross!

There are two oddities in the resurrection narratives not mentioned in Balleine's attempt to understand the resurrection appearances, one of which was done very well in the BBC series "The Passion", and that is that most of the stories are not about seeing and recognising someone dead, which is what the psychic research anecdotes give us, but about seeing and not recognising someone well known to the disciples.

There is this strange veil of ignorance, and in fiction, perhaps the best analogy can be seen when Gandalf returns from the dead, and the companions see an old man in white, but do not recognise him until he uses causes Legolas arrow in flight to catch fire, and suddenly they see him for their old friend again. He has returned, but he has changed, and it is only when he does something recognisable from his past, that the veil is lifted, something also seen most strongly in the Emmaeus story with the breaking of bread.

The other peculiarity (noted by NT Wright) is that the gospels are littered with references to past prophecy fulfiled, allusions or quotations from the Hebrew scriptures, up until the crucifixion, but the resurrection narratives have none of these. It is as if there is something new taking place, and there are no conceptual tools for understanding it. It has gone beyond the prophecies.

While he discounts the idea of hallucination, Balleine comes down very strongly against the physicality of the resurrection stories and regards those aspects of them as later redactions caused by Jewish belief in a physical resurrection. And there may be something in that, especially in narratives which have holes in hands where nails are pierced. But that doesn't happen in all the stories - some of the stories - especially the lakeside cooking of fish in John - are simply naturalistic. I'm inclined to think that the stories are so strange that we still lack proper conceptual tools to understand them.

The Renaissance Of Hope
By G.R. Balleine

JESUS was dead, disgracefully dead. Apparently He had utterly failed. Like every other Messianic movement His seemed to have come to nothing. This always happened when a would-be Messiah died.

When Theudas was beheaded in A.D. 45, nothing more was heard of his four hundred disciples. In A.D. 54 an Egyptian Jew gathered several thousand followers, but, when Felix scattered them, they too left no trace behind. More successful, Bar-Cochba reigned for three years and struck coins as Prince of Israel; but, when he fell, his movement collapsed like a pricked bubble. The same seemed to be happening to the disciples of Jesus. We see two on Easter Sunday trudging home to Emmaus. `We hoped,' they said, `He would have redeemed Israel.' They implied, `We were wrong.'

Yet nothing in history is more certain than that the Movement suddenly took a new lease of life. In Jerusalem it made hundreds of converts. It spread from land to land. What was the explanation? The disciples answered that on Easter Day they had seen Jesus alive. `We were born anew,' wrote Peter, `to a living hope by the resurrection of Christ from the dead.' If the resurrection of Jesus is a myth, who can explain the amazing resurrection of the Church?

Again, no one doubts that Sunday observance began in New Testament days. `On the first day of the week,' wrote Luke, `the disciples met for the Breaking of Bread.' Why the first day? To Jew and Gentile Sunday was an ordinary working day. The disciples had been trained from childhood to keep Saturday holy, and a habit like that is not easily broken. Something very soul-stirring must have happened on a Sunday. Christians had no doubt what it was. `We meet on Sunday,' wrote Justin, `because on that day Jesus rose from the dead.' If the Resurrection is a myth, what started Sunday observance?

Belief in the Resurrection shaped all the rest of Peter's life. So we must try to decide what really happened. The documentary evidence is strong. Paul's first Letter to Corinth, written only twenty-five years after the crucifixion, claims to be repeating what he had learnt in Jerusalem only seven years after the event: `I passed on to you what I myself was taught, that Christ died, was buried, and rose on the third day. He was seen by Kephas, then by the Twelve, then by over five hundred Brethren at once, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep. Later He appeared to James, then to all the Apostles. Finally He appeared to me.'

When we reach the Gospels, Mark fails us, for his last page is missing. (The last twelve verses in our Authorized Version are by a later hand.) He was, however, evidently leading up to an appearance in Galilee. Luke reports three appearances, `Matthew' two, and `John' four. Then there is the testimony of Acts, `He showed Himself alive after He suffered by many infallible proofs, and appeared during forty days.' Clearly the whole Early Church believed in the Easter appearances.

Can we explain this by the word `hallucination'? Did it seem so impossible that Jesus could be dead, that some imagined that they saw Him, and talked about it till others thought they saw Him too? Our eyes do trick us sometimes; but visions are not so easily produced by suggestion.

Early in the nineteenth century disciples of Joanna Southcott eagerly expected the coming of Shiloh, whom Jacob had foretold.'. To Turner, her successor, it was revealed that Shiloh would descend to earth on a certain day. A large London chapel was hired. Coaches brought Believers from the country. From midnight to midnight the crowded congregation prayed and watched. Every moment they expected him. If expectation could create visions, someone would have seen him. Seldom have enthusiasts gathered with more ardent faith. But nothing happened. Midnight struck a second time; and they dispersed bewildered. Suggestion is not as powerful as some suppose.

A decisive argument against hallucination is the disciples' frame of mind. No one had any hope of seeing Jesus alive. The women brought spices for His burial. The empty tomb only suggested grave-robbery. When some declared they had seen Him, `their words seemed as idle tales' to the Apostles. For a week Thomas refused to believe the evidence of his friends. Instead of a group of credulous dreamers imagining hopes to be facts, we see stolid, matter-of-fact peasants desperately hard to convince. Hallucination is no answer to the Easter riddle.

One type of evidence, however, may perhaps help. There are stories, that seem well authenticated, of people appearing to their friends after death. Lord Brougham, for example, who became Lord Chancellor, was a man of sceptical mind, accustomed to weigh evidence. As a boy he signed a compact with a friend, that the one who died first would, if possible, appear to the other. The friend went abroad. `For years,' wrote Brougham, `I had no communication with him, nor did anything recall him to my memory.' But one night he saw him in the room. Yet, when he spoke, the figure vanished. He at once entered this in his diary. Later he learnt that his friend had died that night in India. He told the story at the time, wrote an account of it, and repeated it later in his Autobiography.

Similar stories critically tested are given in Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death by Frederick Myers, President of the Society for Psychical Research. For example, he tells how a choir-master saw his soloist coming up the stairs holding a sheet of music. He went to meet him, and he vanished. At once he told his household. Later he learnt that the singer had been killed that morning. Possibly his last thought was a wish to let his choirmaster know that he could not sing that night.

If in certain cases quite ordinary people can appear to their friends after death, is it unreasonable to think that Jesus may have done the same? Myers makes the sweeping statement, `I predict that in consequence of the new evidence all reasonable men a century hence will believe in the resurrection of Christ.'

But a different tradition was superimposed on these Easter appearances. To every Jew resurrection meant resurrection of flesh and bones. In 2 Maccabees a Jew boasts, as his bowels gush out through a wound, that God will give him back those bowels at the Resurrection. Paul contradicted this, `Flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of God'; `there is a physical body and a heavenly body'; `as we have borne the likeness of the earthy, we shall bear the likeness of the heavenly'. This teaching fits well with the Easter appearances, the passing through closed doors, the appearing and disappearing.

But into these stories crept the idea that the Risen Christ had a solid body, `Handle Me and see, for a spirit has not flesh and bones, as you see I have.'

This belief in a corporal resurrection seemed endorsed by the empty tomb. The evidence for this is strong. All four Gospels record that on Sunday the women found the tomb that they visited empty. But two questions are possible: Did they go to the right tomb? They were Galileans in a strange city. They had watched the burial from a distance by fast fading light. Professor Macalister, Supervisor of the excavations of the Palestine Exploration Fund, says of the rock-hewn tombs round Jerusalem: `It is hardly an exaggeration to apply the adjective "honey-combed". The tombs are packed closely enough to make the identification of a particular one a matter of some difficulty.'

Or, if they went to the right tomb, had Joseph been there first? The Friday burial had been hurried, and the tomb chosen, `because it was close at hand'. The women did not arrive till Sunday. But on Saturday evening, when Sabbath ended, while the women were buying spices, Joseph and his servants may have moved the body to a more convenient resting-place. But, if either of these suggestions is true, when the Apostles proclaimed the Resurrection, why did not Annas confute them by opening the right tomb?

[If Joseph had removed the body, he may have re-dressed it more befittingly before reburial.]

The answer is simple. The Resurrection was not preached in Jerusalem till Pentecost. In Palestine fifty days after death a body would be unrecognizable. And Joseph may have shrunk from exposing his fellow-believers to ridicule, if on the main point he was convinced that they were right; the appearances proved that Jesus was alive.

But, if the bones of Jesus crumbled into dust in some unknown tomb, is the creed of Christendom a delusion? Not necessarily. To the disciples the empty tomb was a confirmation of their faith; but they did not base their belief on it. Paul did not even mention it, when recounting the proofs of the Resurrection.

It was the appearances that caused the Church to rise from the dead. Peter believed in the Resurrection, not because he had failed to find a dead Christ, but because he had seen a living one.

This long preamble has almost lost sight of Peter; but the evidence had to be tested. If the Resurrection was not real, Peter spent the rest of his life proclaiming a lie. But, if he did see Jesus alive after death, we can understand his eagerness to make this known.

What had he seen? Early on Easter morning he was roused by Mary of Magdala with the news, `They have taken the Master out of the tomb, and we know not where they have laid Him.' She fetched the Beloved Disciple too, and he and Peter ran to investigate. The younger man outran Peter, but paused at the mouth of the tomb. Peter characteristically went right in, and found the body gone, but the sheet and head-band left behind.' This merely mystified him. `He went back wondering what had happened.'

Then, before any other Apostle, Peter saw Jesus. Paul wrote, `He was seen by Kephas, then by the Twelve.' The disciples from Emmaus were told, `The Lord has really risen, and has appeared to Simon.' Paul merely says, `He was seen.' If any word was spoken, it is not recorded. Peter suddenly realized that Someone was in the room. To his amazement it was Jesus. His Master appeared, and then perhaps vanished.

That Sunday evening some of them met behind locked doors for supper. Peter was there and nine other Apostles, and `others who were with them'. Most of them had no hope of seeing Jesus. When some of the women declared they had seen Him, this seemed to most of them `mere nonsense'. But Peter convinced them that he had seen Him. Mary of Magdala said that He had spoken to her. Two, who had left for Emmaus, arrived, asserting that Jesus had joined them on the road. Then with a gasp they saw Him in the room. No door had opened, but He was there. They could see His scars. Their first reaction was terror; but `He opened their minds to understand the Scriptures.' They remembered perhaps such texts as: `Thou wilt not leave My soul in Sheol.' `Then were the disciples glad when they saw the Lord.'

The Apostles stayed in Jerusalem all that Passover week; but one remained incredulous. Thomas had been absent from the Sunday supper, and he asked for tangible proof. `Nothing will convince me, unless I touch with my hand the wounds in His hands and side.' Peter and he probably had many an argument together. On the following Sunday, however, Thomas was with them. Again Jesus appeared, though the door was barred. He showed His hands and drew aside His robe, inviting Thomas to apply his test. But Thomas's doubts vanished. He cast himself adoringly at Christ's feet.

The scene now shifts to Galilee. `On the last Day of Unleavened Bread,' says the Gospel of Peter, `we, the disciples, went each to his own home.' In the North the appearances continued.

An Appendix to `John' describes one by the Lake of Galilee. The fishermen had resumed their trade. If Judas had decamped with the common purse, funds were perhaps running low. One morning Peter and six others, as they returned from fishing, saw Someone on the shore. The Beloved Disciple exclaimed, `It is the Lord,' and Peter sprang overboard, and waded ashore to greet Him. The others followed in the boat. All through their breakfast, Jesus remained visible; but `no one dared ask, Who art Thou? for they knew it was the Lord'.

As He moved away, Peter followed; and the Report says that thrice Jesus asked, `Do you love Me?' Thrice Peter reaffirmed his love; and three commissions were given him. `Feed My lambs'; `Shepherd My sheep'; `Feed My flock.' He was to be no longer merely a fisher of men, a recruiting agent, but a shepherd, guarding, guiding, and feeding the flock. Then came a veiled prophecy, that Peter would be crucified: `When you were young, you buckled your belt, and went wherever you wished. When you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will bind you, and take you where you do not wish.'

When he asked the fate of the Beloved Disciple, he received a gentle rebuff, `If I want him to stay till I return, is that your business?' This story shows what was remembered about Peter in the generation that followed his death, his many-sided pastoral work and his crucifixion.

`Matthew' records another Galilean appearance: `The Eleven went to the hill which Jesus had appointed. When they saw Him, they bowed to the ground; but some doubted.' The last words verify the story. No romancer would have pictured the Apostles as still in doubt. This may be the meeting of which Paul said, `He was seen by more than five hundred of the Brethren at once.' A lonely spot in the Galilean hills was the most likely place for so large a gathering. The resurrection rumours must have excited many Northern disciples. A word from the Eleven would collect them. They saw Him coming down the hill. If some doubted, it was but for a moment, for Paul implied that all were ready to declare they had seen Him.

There were possibly other Galilean appearances, for Acts says, `He showed Himself alive, being seen during forty days.' But Pentecost, the next Feast of Obligation, drew them back to Jerusalem. Ten days before the Feast Jesus appeared once more. He told them, `Wait in the city till you are clothed with power from on high.' Then He led them to the Mount of Olives. Here a wild hope seized them. Zechariah had foretold a dramatic coming of Messiah to that spot, `His feet shall stand on the Mount,' and then, after certain startling physical convulsions ('the Mount of Olives shall be split in two, and the land shall become a plain'), `the Lord shall be King over all the earth'. So they eagerly asked, `Is it today that You are going to restore the Kingdom to Israel?' He replied, `No one knows the dates which the Father has reserved for His own decision.'

Then He lifted His hands, and blessed them, and quietly disappeared; but, instead of fading away as on former occasions, He seemed to rise upwards, till a cloud hid Him from their sight. The quietness of this story helps to confirm its truth.

The Epistola Apostolorum (written about A.D. 150) shows how a myth-maker would have told it: `As He spoke, there came thunder and lightning and earthquake, and Heaven opened, and a glowing cloud appeared and carried Him up, and voices of many Angels sounded, exulting and singing His praise.'

As they walked back, Peter pondered on this new way of departure. He had a knack of recalling Old Testament texts, when faced with a puzzling problem. He remembered now a Psalmist's words, `Jehovah said to my lord, Sit at My Right Hand, till I make thy foes thy footstool.' To him this explained everything.

`God has taken Jesus,' he said, `to share His throne, till His hour of triumph arrives.' His friends accepted this theory, and `returned to Jerusalem with great joy'. And this is taken for granted in the rest of the New Testament, e.g. `He sat down at the Right Hand of the Majesty on High' (Heb. i. 3); `Seek those things that are above, where Christ sits at the Right Hand of God' (Col. iii. I). Hence they ceased to expect appearances, and they saw none.

Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 12

In place of my usual Saturday poem, a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966). This is mainly because I want to get in the crucificion story before Easter day.

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

The Triumph of Annas
By G.R. Balleine
THE Upper Room was no longer safe. The traitor was at large.

Events would now move swiftly. But, before they left, Luke makes Jesus say, `If anyone has no sword, let him sell his cloak and buy one.' This is incomprehensible. Did He want them to cut their way out, if He was arrested? Meeting violence with violence would have contradicted all His teaching. Yet Luke cannot have invented a command that clashed so starkly with all that his contemporaries believed about Jesus. And Peter and one other produced swords from under their cloaks. Peter undoubtedly had a sword in Gethsemane.

Commentators have racked their brains in vain over this problem. Some, like Father Knox, suggest that Jesus spoke in irony. Others take refuge in the thought that `something in the story has been distorted beyond remedy' (Bamforth).

By midnight the little band were back in the shelter of the olives. Jesus knew He was facing death. `Where I am going,' He said, `you cannot come'; and again He quoted Zechariah, `Smite the shepherd, and the sheep will scatter.' Peter protested, `If everyone fails you, I never will.' `Simon,' said Jesus, `Satan will winnow you all tonight' (the Greek word for `you' is plural) `to see whether you are wheat or chaff; but I have prayed for thee' (singular), `that thy faith may not fail.' `I am ready,' Peter boasted, `to go with You to prison or death.' Jesus, however, knew him better than he knew himself. `Before cock-crow' (early dawn)' you will deny that you know Me.' But Peter `kept on protesting vehemently, I would rather die than do that.'

At Gethsemane Jesus left eight of them at the gate, and took Peter and James and John further among the olives. `I am sorely troubled,' He said, `My grief is enough to kill Me. Wait here, and keep awake.' Then, a stone's throw away, He flung Himself on the ground to pray; and Peter noticed in the moonlight that sweat was pouring down His face like great drops of blood. Why this agony?

Theologians have propounded dark and intricate reasons; but the circumstances of the hour were enough. He had failed! He had hoped that everyone would accept His message, turn to God with real repentance, and under His leadership establish a Kingdom in which God's Will would be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Now He faced love's labour lost, arrest, and a shameful death, `Father, if it be possible, let Me be spared this.'

Peter, shallow optimist, thought his Master exaggerated the danger. No one had yet surprised their hiding-place. Why should it happen tonight? He rolled his cloak round him, as he had done on the last two evenings, and fell asleep. An hour passed. Jesus prayed Himself into a calm acceptance of God's Will. Then Peter heard a reproachful voice: `Asleep, Simon? Could you not watch even for an hour? Keep awake, all of you, lest you fall into temptation. You mean well, but human nature is weak.'

Weak indeed! for when Jesus returned to His prayers, Peter again fell asleep. Once more Jesus woke him; but he could not keep awake. He did not see the flickering torches coming up the Mount. He did not give the alarm. It was Jesus Who had to wake him a third time: `Still asleep? The hour has come. Up! Let us go to meet them.' He led His friends outside the orchard, where it would be easier for them to escape.

Peter was bewildered. He saw his comrade Judas with a posse of armed men. Had he been recruiting a force to make Jesus King? Judas kissed Jesus on the hand, the usual greeting of a disciple to a Rabbi. Peter could not guess that this was a signal, lest the wrong person should be seized. But Jesus knew. He swept the traitor aside, and asked the Temple police, `Who are you looking for?' `Jesus of Nazareth.' `I am He. If you want Me, let these others go.'

Rough men have often been overawed by the dignity of their intended victim. Fox and Wesley passed unhurt through mobs that gathered to stone them. So now these Levite constables recoiled. Some stumbled backward and fell. The spell was broken by a scuffle. Peter, impetuous as ever, whipped out his sword and rushed to his Master's aid. He slashed at one of the High Priest's slaves, but only sliced an ear. Jesus said: `Sheathe that sword. Shall I not drink the cup My Father has given Me?' If Peter was forbidden to fight, what else could he do? The position seemed hopeless. Sauve qui pent. The Apostles fled through the olives, leaving Jesus a prisoner.

Peter did not fly far. Crouching behind bushes, he watched till Jesus was led away, then `followed afar off'. As he stole cautiously from tree to tree, he saw someone else doing the same. This was a Jerusalem disciple, who was `known to the High Priest', and had the entree to his palace, perhaps one of the `many among the Rulers', who believed on Jesus, but `did not confess Him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue'. (The idea that he was the Beloved Disciple is only a guess.) He and Peter followed together.

Jesus was taken to the house of Annas, an ex-High Priest, who had been deposed by the Romans fifteen years before; but his influence was still so great that no one could hold the High Priesthood without his support. Four of his sons became High Priests, and at the moment the High Priest was his son-in-law Caiaphas. Annas apparently still lived in part of the High Priest's Palace, and he had been behind most of the intrigues against Jesus.

Peter's companion entered the Palace unchallenged, but Peter was turned back. His friend, however, spoke to the portress, and she let him in. Every large Jewish house was built round a paved courtyard, on to which the rooms opened. Here the servants had lighted a brazier, for the night was cold, and Peter went up to warm himself. He was `without', in the open air, and `beneath', slightly below the surrounding rooms; but he could see what was happening in the audience chamber.

This was no formal trial of Jesus, merely a preliminary inquiry by Annas and a few friends. They were in a fix. The Sanhedrin could not meet legally before sunrise; but the charge against the Prisoner had to be settled, and the chief witness for the prosecution was missing. Annas had relied on the evidence of Judas, and he had disappeared. The Sanhedrists were no murderers, but legalists, who would have to be convinced of a prisoner's guilt before they would vote for his death. So fresh evidence must be found.

Annas questioned Jesus about `His disciples and His doctrine.' `Why have You gathered followers? What have You been teaching?' Jesus replied, `I taught openly in synagogues and Temple. Ask those who heard Me.' A rough hand slapped His face, as one of the police barked, `Is that the way to answer the High Priest?' And Peter stood watching. In his Epistle he calls himself `a witness of the sufferings of Christ'.

As he watched, the firelight shone on his bronzed face. He was clearly no city-dweller. A saucy slave-girl asked, `Are you a Nazarene?' He replied, `I don't understand you," and drew back into the shadow of the porch. But his tormentress found him again and shouted, `Here's one of them.' This time he lied, `I am not'; and gained an hour's respite.

From the porch he could still see all that happened to Jesus. When Annas failed to trap Him into any dangerous admissions, he withdrew, leaving the Prisoner in the hands of the police and the slaves, who amused themselves by bullying. They jeered at Him. They spat in His face. They played Greek blind-man's-buff, blindfolding Him, striking Him and bidding Him name the striker.

Later Peter described the scene: `When He was reviled, He made no retort. When He suffered, He threatened not.' At last this horseplay stopped. Dawn was breaking. The Sanhedrin could meet. Jesus must be marched across the court-yard to Caiaphas's quarters, for the High Priest, not an ex-High-Priest, must preside at the legal trial. Meanwhile Peter was in trouble again. Some bystanders, hearing his north-country burr, said, `You are a Galilean,' and, according to `John', a kinsman of the slave he had wounded cried, `I saw you in the orchard with Him.' From evasion he had stooped to lying. Now he sank to perjury. `He began to curse and to swear,' calling on God to strike him dead, if he had ever known Jesus.

And just then Jesus crossed the courtyard on His way to Caiaphas. `And the Lord turned and looked at Peter.' Shame-stricken, Peter rushed away, weeping bitterly. In the east the sky was reddening over the mountains of Moab. Cocks were beginning to crow.

[All four Gospels record Peter's threefold denial; but details vary. In Mark his challengers are (1) a girl at the fire, (2) the same girl in the porch, (3) bystanders; in `Matthew', (1) a girl in the courtyard, (2) another girl in the porch, (3) bystanders; in Luke, (1) a girl at the fire, (2) a man, (3) another man; in `John' (1) the portress at the door, (2) bystanders round the fire, (3) Malchus's kinsman. In the story above, we have followed Mark, who gives probably Peter's own version. ]

From this moment Peter fades out of the story of that day. Where he went, we are not told. He dared not go to Bethany, for the sisters there were known to be friends of Jesus. His comrades were probably somewhere on the Mount; but he could not get in touch with them, and perhaps he felt ashamed to do so. He must have found a shelter somewhere.

One guess is possible. Two days later Mary of Magdala knew where he was. Possibly he asked her for help. She was one of a group of ladies who `ministered unto Jesus of their substance'. She may have found him a refuge.

For two days he lay low; but whoever was hiding him would have told him what happened. If it was Mary of Magdala, we know that towards the end she ventured to the foot of the cross. He heard how the Sanhedrin had condemned Jesus to death for blasphemy; but, when they took Him to Pilate (for only the Governor could order an execution), they substituted a political charge, forbidding the payment of tribute and claiming to be a King.

But Pilate was no fool. He must for months have been keeping an eye on Jesus. He realized that Caesar had nothing to fear from this Peasant Preacher. So he tried hard to liberate Him. But the rumour that Jesus had threatened to destroy the Temple roused the mob to such fury that Pilate found himself faced with the ugly possibility of a Passover riot. He chose the easy way out. Better let this unpopular Carpenter die than have to slay scores of pilgrims in furious street fighting.

Peter heard what had followed: the scourging, the crowning with thorns, the crucifixion between two brigands. The excruciating torture of this form of death has often been described; but perhaps for Peter there was something even more awful.

Folk-lore teemed with queer superstitions about death. One was that to die safely one must die on mother earth. If you hanged or crucified your foe, you lifted him up a defenceless victim to the fury of fiends and ghouls. This odd idea had found its way even into Deuteronomy, `He that is hanged is accursed'; and, since to a Jew anything in the Law was indisputable, the cross was always `to the Jews a stumbling-block'. Paul wrote with a shudder that Jesus was `made a curse for us'.

Peter heard, too, how Jesus had been buried by Joseph of Arimathea, a Sanhedrist who was a secret sympathizer. Burial of the dead was with the Jews an obligatory act of mercy. `Wherever thou findest the dead,' said Esdras, `commit them to the grave.' And this applied to criminals. `If a man commit sin worthy of death, and thou hang him,' said Deuteronomy, `his body shall not remain all night on the tree; thou shalt bury him the same day.'

The Sanhedrin had to see that all crucified bodies were buried before sunset. So Joseph offered to see to the burial of Jesus. It had to be done quickly. Soon six blasts of the Sabbath trumpet would make all work illegal. Joseph only had time to buy a sheet to wrap round the body (the soldiers had carried off the clothes), and to lay it in a tomb close at hand. `And Mary Magdalene beheld where He was laid.'

That Saturday-Sabbath was the darkest Peter ever spent. He had failed. His friends had failed. Jesus had failed. And God Himself had failed to intervene to prevent their failure. The loveliest life ever lived had come to a shameful end. The most hopeful effort ever made to save the world had been hideously defeated. Jesus had died the death of the damned; and Heaven had remained silent! In the age long duel between Priest and Prophet once more the Priest had won.

Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 11

For the next weeks, my Sunday postings will be a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966).

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

Five Days of Crisis
by G..R. Balleine

Now Jesus had to put His daring tactics to the test. He knew how nervous the rulers were about Passover riots. If He could rekindle the old Galilean fervour, the priests would not dare arrest Him in a crowd. He could teach all day in the Temple, and sleep at night among the olives on the Mount, where no one would find Him in the dark.

First, however, He must reawaken the old enthusiasm. To do this He must suggest His Messianic claim; yet not openly enough to alarm Pilate. He had been reading the Book of Zechariah, reading it as His contemporaries did, as our grandfathers used to do, with no thought of critical problems. Much was obscure; but four points seemed unambiguous.

Messiah would ride into Jerusalem on the foal of an ass. The city would be filled with contrition, `I will pour on Jerusalem a spirit of supplication.' A wonderful Feast of Tabernacles would inaugurate His reign, `All nations shall march up to keep the Feast of Tabernacles.' And `in that day there shall be no more a trafficker (R. V. Marg.) in the House of the Lord'. These points Jesus took as His guide.

On Sunday morning strangers from Jerusalem were closeted with Him. Plans were being made that Peter did not understand. For the moment Jesus had to rely on His friends in the city. Someone in the next village promised to lend a foal; but Tabernacles festivities were not easy to arrange at Passover.

At Tabernacles, the Autumn Harvest Festival, the pilgrims marched daily to the Temple from the Pool of Siloam waving palm-branches. `Take branches of palm-trees,' said the Law. `The people,' wrote Josephus, `carry branches of willow and palm.' This was sometimes repeated on other days of rejoicing. When Judas Maccabaeus rededicated the Temple, `they sang hymns, bearing boughs and palms as on the Feast of Tabernacles'. So it was not unthinkable to arrange a similar welcome for Jesus. But it took time. Palms had to be bought, for they did not grow round Jerusalem. The day was half over before arrangements were complete.

Then Jesus sent for the foal. Bethany disciples carpeted the track with their cloaks. And the little procession started, at first possibly hardly more impressive than one which marched through Temple Bar in 1819, when a night-watchman with thirty followers summoned London to surrender to God.

They climbed the Mount, till Jerusalem burst into view. Its massive walls on precipitous hills made it one of the world's strongest fortresses. In the foreground stood the Temple, its golden roofs gleaming in the sun. From the huddle of humble homes the mansions of the priest-aristocrats lifted their heads like islands, to be dominated themselves by Antony's Tower, which was the Roman barracks, and Herod the Great's Palace, in which Pilate stayed for the Feasts-no easy city for a village carpenter to win!

All the authorities within those walls hated agitation. Pilate had a thousand soldiers to quell any commotion. The Sanhedrin was more nervous than Pilate of disorder. The Sadducees, who ruled the Temple, detested new ideas. But Jesus relied on the common people. Restless and fanatically religious, the Rulers were afraid of them. If He could win their support, He would be safe. When they saw Him coming down the Mount, the palm-bearers rushed out to greet Him, at first probably a small group, but one which showed tremendous courage in attempting this.

Emotion, however, spreads like wildfire in the East. From all sides crowds of pilgrims came racing up. Jesus entered Jerusalem amid waving palms and frenzied cries of welcome. Peter's heart swelled with pride. This was the kind of entry he had always hoped to see. `Those who went before and those who followed after cried, Hosanna!'

English readers think of this as a kind of holy hurrah. But it was part of the Tabernacles ritual. The word comes from the 118th Psalm, which was the psalm of that Feast.

On the first six days pilgrims sang it once, as they marched round the altar. The seventh day was called the Great Hosanna, because they sang it seven times. Indeed so closely were the word and the Feast linked, that the palms themselves became called `hosannas'. The word means `Save now' or, to quote an English hymn, `Bring near Thy great salvation.'

Up to a point all had gone well. This dramatic start made Christ's enemies hesitate. `We can do nothing,' they said, `everyone has gone after Him.' Yet it had fallen short of complete success. The cry of greeting, `Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord!' was only part of the Tabernacles ritual, the verse from the 118th Psalm, with which every pilgrim at that Feast was welcomed to the Temple. The shout, `Blessed is the coming Kingdom of David!' implied no more than that Jesus might be its Forerunner. Only `Matthew' mentions a Messianic title, `Son of David'; and he admits that, when bystanders asked, `Who is this?' they were told, `The Prophet of Nazareth' - Prophet, not Messiah.

Moreover the delay at the start brought the day to an anticlimax. When they reached the Temple, darkness was falling. Everyone was leaving. Jesus `looked round', and went back to Bethany.

On Monday He returned to complete Zechariah's programme. Traders were still in the Temple. The Sanctuary was surrounded by a large Outer Court, which foreigners were allowed to enter. This Court of the Gentiles did something to uphold the ideal, `My House shall be called a House of Prayer for all nations.' But a new use had been found for it. Oxen, sheep, and pigeons were needed for sacrifice, and each must be `without blemish'. The Priests had secured a monopoly of this trade. Cattle-dealers bought licences to sell in the Outer Court, and `blemishes' were found in every beast bought elsewhere. So everyone had to buy in the Temple.

The Court of the Gentiles became a cattle-market, bulls bellowing, drovers shouting, pilgrims wrangling over prices. Many devout people were shocked, but no one had tried to stop this, till Jesus entered that Monday, picked up some cords from the floor, twisted them into a scourge, and said to the salesmen, `Begone! This is a House of Prayer, not a den of thieves.'

His air of authority often secured obedience, and today He had behind Him a band of sturdy followers. The drovers fled. The beasts stampeded down the hill. He overthrew the money-changers' tables. The Temple Police stood helpless. Never had Peter felt so proud of his Master. A hush fell on the noisy scene. For the rest of the day Jesus taught there unchecked. `The Priests,' says Luke, `were bent on destroying Him; but they could not see how to do it, for the people hung on His words.' That night for safety He slept with the Twelve under the olives on the Mount.

Mark's account of Tuesday begins with a perplexing story. He says that, the morning before, Jesus had gone to a wayside fig-tree looking for fruit, though `it was not the season for figs', and finding none He said, `Let no one eat fruit from you again.'

This sounds incredible. Can one picture Wesley cursing a strawberry bed for not bearing strawberries in March? Yet on Tuesday, as they passed, Peter is said to have cried, `Lookl that tree has withered from its roots.' Since this comes from Mark, Peter's disciple, it cannot be mere legend. Perhaps Peter told how Jesus had pointed to a dead tree as a warning against fruitlessness, and Mark had misunderstood him to mean that Jesus had caused its death.

Jesus was now full of hope. His mind was still musing on Zechariah. The Prophet had said of some mountainous difficulty, `Great mountain, thou shalt become a plain.' And Jesus said to Peter, `Faith removes mountains.' The three signs had been given, the foal ridden, the palms waved, the traders expelled. Surely now they would see signs of the Great Contrition!

After the fervour of Sunday and Monday, Tuesday fell rather flat. The Priests had decided to undermine the popularity of Jesus. Chuckling they prepared catch questions, which, they thought, He could not answer without losing supporters. For instance, `Should we pay tribute to Caesar?' `Yes' would infuriate the Nationalists. `No' would mean instant arrest. But Jesus proved more than a match for them. His disciples loved to tell later how neatly He avoided every trap, till as last His hecklers `dared not ask any more questions'. But the victory was a barren one. Peter must have felt that precious hours were being wasted. Verbal dialectics, however brilliant, would never establish God's Kingdom.

As they left the Temple, Jesus made a remark that helped to seal His doom. Jerusalem was inordinately proud of Herod's Temple. Someone felt that this Galilean failed to appreciate its grandeur. `Look,' he said, `what glorious buildings!' Jesus replied, `Not one stone will be left on another.'

Jeremiah was nearly lynched when he foretold the fall of an earlier Temple; and such a prophecy sounded no less blasphemous on the lips of Jesus. Peter, Andrew, and the sons of Zebedee asked Him privately, `When will this happen?' We do not know His answer. Nor apparently did Mark. But he found an Apocalyptic Discourse, which some Christian Prophet believed that Christ had inspired him to write, and faute de mieux he inserted this here.'

Tuesday accomplished little; yet Jesus had almost won. On Wednesday the Sanhedrin met, and decided not to arrest Him till after Passover, `lest there be an uproar among the people'. As the Feast did not start till Saturday and lasted eight days, this would have given Him eleven days of uninterrupted work. In eleven days anything might happen.

How Jesus Himself spent that Wednesday we are not told. Perhaps the Apostles did not know. He had two distinct groups of disciples, those He had won in Jerusalem and the Galileans. He may have left the Twelve on the Mount, and gone into the city alone to confer with His friends there. But in His absence the situation suddenly changed.

Judas of Kerioth went to the Priests, and offered to betray Jesus. De Quincey's idea that this was a presumptuous but well-intentioned attempt to force his Master's hand, to make Jesus show His power, and so hasten His triumph, seems wildly improbable. Wounded pride and blighted hopes were far more likely motives.

Once no doubt Judas had been a sincere and honest disciple, and Jesus had made him treasurer of their little band. Since they had left all, they had to be supported by friends, and some of these were by no means paupers. Joanna was a Court lady. Mary of Bethany could afford scent that cost ten guineas a bottle. The Centurion, who was rich enough to build a synagogue, probably gave a generous thank-offering for the healing of his slave. All this was entrusted to Judas. It made him feel important.

Perhaps he considered himself the most important of the Twelve. At the Last Supper he sat next to Jesus, and this may have been his usual place. But Peter's personality overshadowed him. He grew jealous and resentful.

Then Jesus dropped bewildering hints about crucifixion. Judas was hoping to be Chancellor of the Exchequer in a World Empire. He would not desert while a chance remained. But he did not mean to be crucified. If failure became inevitable he would turn `King's Evidence'. He had no use for a Messiah who could not save the nation. Disillusioned he went to the Priests, eager for revenge on his rivals and the Dreamer who had failed him. He revealed the spot where Jesus could be seized after dark, an olive-orchard called Gethsemane, of which a Jerusalem friend had given Jesus the key. Here He could be seized without fear of a riot. Now there was no need to wait till the pilgrim crowds dispersed.

Jesus was probably warned of every move of His enemies, for two Sanhedrists, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea, were secret sympathizers. When the arrest was postponed, they would have sent Him word. So He decided to have supper the following night in the city. But on Thursday He learnt of Judas's treason.

He was now in desperate danger; but He did not postpone the supper. He had been promised a large, upper room, something found only in aristocratic mansions. This might be a safe hiding-place. The police would hardly search the home of a Temple grandee. But Judas must not know where He would be.

So Jesus told Peter and John: `Go to the city, and look for a man carrying a water-jar. Prepare our supper in whatever house he enters.' This was a prearranged sign. In the East women went to the well. A man with a pitcher would be unusual. If Peter and John did not know their destination, Judas, who remained on the Mount, could not guess. They found the water-bearer, and followed him to a house, where the owner led them up an outside stair to a room on the roof, set with low tables and cushions on the floor; and here they prepared a supper.'

At dusk Jesus and the others arrived. Judas could not stay away, for he had to know where Jesus would be. They took their places at the table, Jesus in the centre, Judas on His left, and on His right a rather mysterious person, whom `John' calls `the disciple whom Jesus loved'.' While taking their seats, the old, childish dispute arose about precedence. This had an awkward sequel.

When sandals are worn, feet get muddy, and should be washed before meals. But no one would wait on his fellows. Peter was as bad as the rest. So Jesus tied a towel round His waist, and began to wash their feet. Peter drew back his legs. `I will never let You wash mine.' `If I don't,' said Jesus, `we are no longer partners.' `Then,' cried Peter, `wash me all over, hands and head too.' Jesus answered with a smile, `You don't need a complete bath.' And He told them all, `If I, your Leader, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another's.'

Then He broke the news that they had a traitor among them. `One of you is going to betray Me.' Horror-struck, they all exclaimed: `Not I!!! 'Not I!' And Judas said the same. Peter signed to the Beloved Disciple, `Find out what He means.' Had Peter known, Judas might never have left that room alive. But Jesus' next act lulled any suspicion. It was a special honour in the East for a host to dip a piece of bread in the dish and hand it to a guest. He now did that to Judas. Was it a last appeal? If so, there was no response.

So Jesus said curtly, `Get on with your task.' And Judas left the room. The others thought he had gone to buy something for the next day's Feast. If Jesus had wanted safety, He could have kept Judas there. But his presence had become unbearable. Let him do his worst! If God was going to intervene, a paltry traitor would be powerless. If not, Jesus was ready to meet His fate.

That night He planted a seed from which sprang the Roman Mass, the Anglican Holy Communion, the Plymouth Brethren's Breaking of Bread, the Divine Liturgy of the Greeks, the Presbyterian Lord's Supper. Yet it is not easy to grasp exactly what Jesus did or meant. Our four informants, Paul, Mark, Luke and Matthew, had, before they wrote, for many years been worshipping at services that had evolved from the Last Supper; so inevitably their accounts are coloured by thoughts that had clustered round those services during years of use.

One thing is certain. The Twelve were always pathetically slow to grasp any deep teaching. So Jesus must have given this rite some extremely simple meaning. Though this was the Last Supper, it was by no means the First. Religious guilds called Chaburoth abounded in Palestine. Devout groups met to study the Law, to distribute alms, and to join in a fellowship supper, at which the chairman blessed God for the bread, broke it, and distributed it. The Twelve were a kind of Chaburah. Jesus must often have said the blessing over the bread, and handed round the broken pieces. The disciples at Emmaus recognized Him `by His breaking of the bread'. Now He asked them to continue to do this to keep alive their memories of Him. `Do this in remembrance of Me.'

Another purpose was to bind them together. In the East sharing the same loaf and cup creates an unbreakable bond. `We are one body,' wrote Paul, `for we all partake of the same bread.' Jesus wanted to keep His friends united in the face of the enemy, to pledge them to deeper loyalty to one another and Himself.

To Jesus the broken bread and the red wine spoke of the fate that was looming ahead for Him. They heard Him say, more perhaps to Himself than to them, `Thus My body will be broken and My blood shed,' words which meant nothing to them at the moment, though later the Church tore itself asunder with irreconcilable explanations.

Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter - Part 10

For the next weeks, my Sunday postings will be a transcript of the book "Simon Whom He Surnamed Peter" by the Jersey historian, the Reverend G.R. Bailleine (1873 – 1966).

Most of Balleine's books are either currently in print - as for example his History of Jersey - or online in the form of PDF versions. This book is not, so this is something different. As well as being a Jersey historian, Balleine was also a priest in the Church of England, and Ministre Deservant at St Brelade's Church for a time.

It is interesting to see the critical decisions Balleine makes into reading the text, of how the stories remain, but they get muddled up sometimes, and even folk tales may enter the narrative (as in the story of the fish). He makes critical decisions to resolve the narrative of the differences between the Synoptics and John over the anointing of Jesus, rather than trying to harmonise them and thereby not doing justice to either story.

The older route, that of harmonisation, led to the Gregory the Great's identification of the penitent harlot with Mary of Bethany, conflating her with Mary Magdalene to make the image of Mary Magdalene that seems into modern culture with Jesus Christ Superstar. It remains a potent image, but it is a false conflation nonetheless.

Jerusalem Must Decide
by G.R. Balleine

WE Now reach the last attempt of Jesus to win Jerusalem. It was by no means the first. The cry, `O Jerusalem, how often I have longed to gather your children round Me, and you would not!' implies many previous appeals. Every male Jew was expected to attend the three great Feasts of Obligation: Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles.

If Jesus had not appeared at these, His absence would have been noted. His slightest breach of Sabbath tradition was cast in His teeth. Far more deadly would have been the charge, `He neglects the Feasts and the Temple'. But of these earlier visits the Synoptists say nothing, and John only mentions a healing at an unnamed Feast.'

But now Tabernacles was approaching, and His brothers, who disbelieved in Him, twitted Him with remaining in the North. `No one who aims at public recognition does his work in secret. Let the world see what You are doing.' They were right. It was in the Holy City that His claims must be either proved or rejected. So `He set His face resolutely to go to Jerusalem.' He did not mean deliberately to throw His life away. The prophecies of the Suffering Servant might not refer to the Messiah. No Rabbi had ever affirmed that they did. And He laid His plans so skilfully that, if Judas had not played the traitor, He might have foiled His enemies. But He knew the risk He was running. The sepulchres of the Prophets showed how many of God's messengers that stiff-necked city had slain. Yet the venture must be made. Till Jerusalem accepted its Messiah, the Kingdom of God could not come.

The first risk was that, to reach Jerusalem, He had to cross Herod's tetrarchy. The Twelve did not hang back; but their loyalty was largely due to the fact that they did not believe His forebodings. The vision on Hermon had convinced Peter that Jesus was bound to win. They passed through Galilee by unfrequented paths, and `He would not that any should know it'. 

When they reached Capernaum, He asked an awkward question, `What were you discussing on the way?' He had been walking ahead, and they had thought He was out of earshot; but angry voices carry far. There was an embarrassed silence; for they had been disputing who would be greatest in the Kingdom. So He took a little child in His arms. If the house was Peter's, it was probably his small son or daughter. And He said, `Unless you become like this little child, you will never enter the Kingdom.'

Here `Matthew' inserts a story about Peter, that fifty years later was current in Antioch. Every male Jew paid half a shekel yearly to the Temple Treasury. The collectors, hearing that Peter had come home, called for his contribution, and asked, `Does not your Rabbi pay?' Peter said, `Yes'; and Jesus agreed, `Yes, lest we give offence,' and added: `You are a fisherman. Catch a fish, and pay what we both owe.'

But, by the time this story reached Antioch, a folk-tale' had been tacked on to it, which assumed that the coin needed was found in the fish's mouth. This may have happened in Capernaum, or, as I will suggest, the whole incident may be a vision seen later by Peter at Antioch.

At this point Mark fails us, telling us nothing more for about six months. `Matthew', too, has a long gap; and Luke only takes the story one step further, telling how Jesus was rebuffed by a Samaritan village, and then fills the void with what commentators call `the Great Interpolation', an omnium gatherum of miscellaneous incidents, some of which happened in Galilee and some in Jerusalem. In these nine chapters Peter is only mentioned once, when a question of his led to the Parable of the Unfaithful Steward, which apparently was really spoken three days before the crucifixion. In `John' Peter does not reappear till the Last Supper.

His absence from the story cannot be explained merely by the fact that we have lost Mark's help, for Peter was always so much to the front, that Q, on which 'Matthew' and Luke relied, and the sources behind 'John', could hardly have helped mentioning him. For some reason, which is nowhere explained, during that autumn and winter Peter was not with Jesus. Did the Apostles, perhaps, form part of the Seventy, whom Luke says that Jesus sent out as His messengers, when He went up to Jerusalem?

'John', however, tells us what Jesus did during Peter's absence, and this can be summarized briefly. He reached Jerusalem in October during the Feast of Tabernacles, and at once met with opposition. When He taught in the Temple precincts the police were sent to arrest Him; but they returned awed, saying, 'No one ever spoke like this man.' Once the crowd tried to stone Him; but He slipped away unobserved. He got into fresh trouble by curing a blind beggar on the Sabbath; but He was still in Jerusalem at the end of December for the Dedication Festival of the Temple.

In January He continued teaching, using, as the weather was cold, a cloister called Solomon's Porch.

Here another attempt was made to stone Him, and the Priests issued a fresh order for His arrest. So He withdrew beyond the Jordan.

He stayed there unrecognized for perhaps ten weeks. The Priests could not discover His retreat, though they gave orders 'that anyone, who knew where He was, should report it.' He was waiting for Passover to fill Jerusalem again with pilgrims. Towards the end of this time the Twelve rejoined Him full of extravagant hopes, for 'they supposed the Kingdom of God would immediately appear'. If Jesus was to become World Ruler, important political posts would have to be filled. Everyone was wondering who would get what.

Peter now reappears. When a local synagogue ruler was invited by Jesus to join them, and 'went away sorrowful, because he had great possessions', and Jesus said, 'How hard it is for the rich to enter the Kingdom!' Peter blurted out: 'We have left all to follow You. What shall we get?' Jesus replied, 'Those who leave home and family for My sake will be repaid a hundredfold.'

He meant in the friends they would find in the fellowship of the Church. But here the Evangelists add words which must be misreported. A hundredfold return of lands and houses would surely degrade discipleship into a good commercial speculation!

And Mormons point out that `Matthew's' version offers Christians a hundred wives! Peter, however, did not escape without a rebuke for his question: `Take care! Some who think themselves very important may get only back seats in the Kingdom.'

Peter was not the only person wondering, `What shall I get?' James and John approached Jesus, `May we sit, one on Your right hand and one on Your left in Your Kingdom?' If, as seems possible, their mother and the mother of Jesus were sisters, they were trying as the Messiah's cousins to bespeak the places of honour. Jesus crushed all such hopes. `My Father,' He said, `will decide to whom those posts will be given.' 

The brothers' request infuriated the others. Peter was probably the spokesman, for he may well have felt their prayer an attempt to steal a march on himself. But Jesus included them all in His reprimand: `Rulers of the heathen lord it over them; but it must not be so among you. Whoever wants to be first among you, must be everyone's slave.'

Long caravans of Passover pilgrims were now streaming towards Jerusalem, and a group of Galileans recognized Jesus. They had forgotten the sorcerer-slander, and only remembered Him as the Prophet, Who had healed the sick. By the time He reached Jericho `a great multitude' escorted Him. But, just when He seemed to be regaining His lost popularity, He shocked everyone by spending the night with a tax-collector. Zacchaeus, the Romans' chief Inland Revenue officer, had climbed a wayside tree to see the Prophet.

Anything boyish and unconventional seems to have appealed to Jesus, and the sight of this middle-aged business-man swarming up a tree prompted Him to say: `Come down. I must stay in your house tonight.' A gasp of horror arose. `He is going to be the guest of a Sinner!' But Jesus had His reward. At supper Zacchaeus stood up and vowed to reform his business methods. `I will give half my wealth to the poor, and, if I have overcharged anyone, I will repay him fourfold.'

Next morning, as Jesus left the city, a blind beggar wailed, `Son of David, pity!' This title was definitely Messianic. The crowd tried to silence him, but, the more they scolded, the louder he cried, `Son of David, pity!' Jesus stopped and asked, ‘What do you want?' `Sir,' he replied, `my sight.' `Your faith has cured you,' Jesus said. And the man discovered he could see.

This revival of miracles rekindled the excitement that the visit to Zacchaeus had damped. With a large following Jesus went towards Jerusalem. At all this Peter was present. Jesus left Jericho on a Friday morning, and reached Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem, before sunset ushered in the Sabbath.

Here He spent the Sabbath with His friends Martha and Mary. On Saturday night, when the Sabbath ended, they prepared a supper in His honour in the house of Simon the leper, perhaps a leper who owed his healing to Jesus; and at this supper Mary anointed Jesus. He was anointed twice. Once at Capernaum a penitent harlot had anointed His feet, the only part of Him she could reach as He lay at the table, and then brushed away with her hair her tears that had fallen on them. Now Mary of Bethany anointed Him again.

But, by the time `John' wrote, the stories had got mixed. He makes Mary anoint Christ's feet, an act entirely meaningless, and then wipe the ointment off with her hair, which would be queerer still.

What probably happened was this. While Martha, good housewife, was arranging the meal, Mary, the romantic, was preparing her own special offering. She brought a flask of pure nard, the most costly of ancient perfumes, and poured its contents over Jesus' head (as Mark and `Matthew' say), `and the whole house was filled with the fragrance'.

To anoint a guest's head was a common form of Eastern courtesy; and, if this was all her meaning, the compliment lay in the costliness of the nard. But she may have had a deeper motive. The word `Messiah' meant `the Anointed One'. Kings were not Kings till the oil had been poured on their heads, and God's Messiah must be hallowed by the chrism, before His reign began.

Perhaps with girlish eagerness she wished to anoint the King of Kings on the eve of His entry to the city. It was a dangerous moment. Had Pilate heard of it, he would have arrested Jesus that evening. But Peter and his colleagues missed this possible meaning. Their practical, peasant minds were merely shocked at her extravagance. `What wicked waste! That might have been sold for ten guineas and the money given to the poor.' 

This criticism may have reduced Mary to the verge of tears. But Jesus came to her rescue. `That was a lovely act,' He said, `which will be remembered wherever the Good News is told.' And He hastened to give it a less dangerous meaning. `She knows this visit may cost Me My life, and she has anointed My body to prepare it for its burial.'