A Week in the Fall of Jerusalem by Ben Witherington III

Author:Ben Witherington III
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Jerusalem; destruction of Jerusalem; fall of Jerusalem; Pella; Galilee; Matthew; Mary; Martha; Joanna; early Christians; early Christianity; ancient Rome; Jewish temple; destruction of the temple; historical fiction; New Testament; biblical studies; biblical context
Publisher: InterVarsity Press
Published: 2017-09-20T16:00:00+00:00

As the two were coming up out of the river—talking excitedly to one another in Aramaic—Martha, who was never shy, approached them. “Are you followers of the Master?”

The taller man at first looked circumspect, but on seeing Martha’s eager face he softened and replied, “Yes, we are. We have come here for baptism because it must have been near here that some of the baptisms of John took place.”

“Yes,” said Martha, “at Aenon, across the way, near the other side of the Jordan. But you are right, near here.”

“May I ask who you are?” said the taller man.

“I am Martha, one of the Master’s Judean disciples. Until now I lived in Bethany.”

With this the man lit up. “I am Johannan, a new follower of Jesus, and I have actually heard of you! I live near Jericho, and my friend here, Yehuda, has been a follower for more than ten years. He is from the desert near Masada. He has been instructing me in Jesus’ ways, telling me the stories of Jesus’ original disciples—both men and women. The Master was so radical in having women disciples!”

“You are right. Some got very upset with him for that,” Levi said.

“Including my former husband, Chuza,” added Joanna. “I traveled with the Master and the Twelve in Galilee and Judea, and there were many tongues wagging about this. Some suggested that Jesus was not a holy man after all, since none of the women who traveled with him were his relatives.”

As the three women and Levi left the baptismal party, their spirits rose and their hearts sang with joy. Girding up their clothing, they waded across the shallow river. In the spring after the winter torrent, it would have been difficult or impossible to cross, but now in later August, it was more like crossing a deep creek than a river. They emerged on the other side, wet to their thighs.

Turning north, they began their journey up the northernmost part of the King’s Highway. In fact, the road extended south all the way to the Red Sea, going through Petra in the territory of the Nabateans. From Zion, on a bright clear day, one could actually see a little of this remarkable city shining in the desert.

There were many travelers on the road, since it was the main north-south artery for trade and travel. The little band of four elderly people hardly drew any notice as they began to make their way north.

About an hour into the journey, as they were approaching an oasis, they encountered a shocking sight. About fifty yards off the road to right, the rotting corpse of a man hung on a cross. Carrion birds sat atop the crosspiece, scrabbling over the remaining flesh. Catching its foul, rotting odor, the women turned, covering their faces with their cloaks. The sight was a signature Roman statement, demonstrating the fate of those who rebelled against them. The travelers did not speak as they passed it.

Reaching a little spring, they stopped to rest. The fresh spring water calmed their nerves and stomachs.

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