The Last Temptation of Christ

Chapter Twenty-One

IT IS SAID that the Sabbath is a well-fed boy at rest on God’s knees. With him rest the waters, birds refrain from building their nests, and men do not work. They dress, ornament themselves and go to the synagogue to watch the rabbi unroll the holy scroll with its Law of God written in red and black letters and to hear the learned search every word, every syllable and discover-with great art-the will of God.

It is the Sabbath today. At this very moment the faithful are leaving the synagogue of Nazareth, their eyes still dazzled by the visions which Simeon, the old rabbi, called up before them. The light in their eyes is so strong they all stumble like blind men. They disperse throughout the village square and promenade slowly under the tall date palms to recover their equilibrium.

Today the rabbi had let the Scriptures fall open according to chance. They opened to the prophet Nahum. He placed his finger, again according to chance, and it fell upon the following sacred text: “Behold, upon the mountain are heard the feet of him who brings good tidings!”

The old rabbi read these words, reread them, worked up steam. “It’s the Messiah!” he screamed. “He’s coming. Look around you, look within you. The signs of his coming are everywhere. Within us: wrath, shame, hope, and the cry, ‘We’ve had enough!’… And outside: look! Satan sits on the throne of the Universe. He holds and caresses man’s rotten body on one knee; on the other, man’s prostituted soul. The years which the prophets prophesied have come-and it is God who speaks through the mouths of the prophets. Open the Scriptures. What do they say? ‘When Israel is hurled from its throne and our holy soil is trodden by barbarian feet, the end of the world will have come!’ And what more do the Scriptures say: ‘The last king will be dissolute, unlawful, atheistic; his children will be unworthy. And the crown will slip from Israel ’s head.’ The dissolute and unlawful king came: Herod! I saw him with my own eyes when he called me to Jericho to heal him. I took along my secret herbs-I knew all about such lore-and went. I went, and from that day on, I have not been able to eat meat, for I saw his putrescent flesh; I have not been able to drink wine, for I saw his blood filled with worms. I have retained his stench in my nostrils for over thirty years… He died; his carcass rotted. His sons came: trivial, unworthy dregs. The royal crown slid from their heads…

“The prophecies, therefore, have been fulfilled: the end of the world is here! A voice resounded by the Jordan: ‘He’s coming!’ A voice resounds within us: ‘He’s coming!’ Today I opened the Scriptures and the letters drew together and cried, ‘He’s coming!’ I’ve grown old, my eyes are dim, my teeth have fallen out, my knees grown slack. I rejoice! I rejoice because God gave me his word. ‘Simeon,’ he said, ‘you shall not die before you see the Messiah.’ Thus the nearer I come to death, the nearer to us comes the Messiah. Courage, my children. There is no slavery, no Satan, there are no Romans. There is only the Messiah, and he is coming! Men, strap on your arms: this is war! Women, light the lamps, the bridegroom arrives! We do not know the hour or exact moment-it may be today, it may be tomorrow. Keep the vigil! I hear the stones of the near-by mountains shift under his feet. He’s coming! Go out, perhaps you will see him!”

The people went out and dispersed under the tall date palms. The rabbi’s words were extremely disorganized and his auditors struggled to forget them completely so that the roaring flames would subside and their souls could once more dispose themselves around cares still at hand. And while they promenaded, anxiously awaiting the hour of noon when they could return to their homes and by talking, arguing and eating forget the sacred words-look! there with his torn clothes, barefooted, his face a flash of lightning, was the son of Mary. The four disciples flocked timidly behind him; and bringing up the rear, dark-eyed and unsociable, was Judas the redbeard.

The burghers were astonished. Where did this riffraff come from-and was that not the son of Mary in the lead?

“Look how he walks. He puts out his arms and flaps them like wings. God has swelled his head and he’s trying to fly.”

“He’s mounting a rock and gesturing. He’s going to speak.”

“Let’s go and amuse ourselves!”

Jesus had indeed stepped onto a rock in the middle of the square. Laughing, the people gathered around, glad that this clairvoyant had appeared. Now they would be able to forget the rabbi’s grave words. “This is war,” he had told them. “Keep the vigil; he’s coming!” He had been booming this hymn into their ears for years and years, and they were sick of it. Now, thank God, the son of Mary would help them relieve their minds.

Jesus waved his arms, signaling them all to gather around him. The place filled with beards, skullcaps and striped robes. Some of the crowd were munching dates to deceive their hunger, others sunflowers, and the oldest and most god-fearing were telling long chaplets with beads made of tiny knots of blue cloth each containing a text from the Holy Scriptures.

Jesus’ eyes flashed. Though he was in front of such a great multitude, his heart felt no fear. He parted his lips. “Brothers,” he shouted, “open your ears, open your hearts, hear the words I shall speak. Isaiah cried: ‘The spirit of the Lord has flowed over me, he chose me to bring good tidings to the poor, he sent me to proclaim freedom to the slaves and light to the blind!’ The prophesied day has come, brothers. The God of Israel has sent me to bring the good tidings. He anointed me out in the Judean desert, and from there I come! He entrusted me with the great secret. I received it and came across plains and mountains-didn’t you hear my footsteps upon the hills?-I ran here to the village of my birth to announce the happy news for the first time. What happy news? The kingdom of heaven has come!”

An old man with a double hump like a camel’s lifted his chaplet and cackled, “Vague words, the words you speak, son of the Carpenter, vague, groundless words. ‘Kingdom of heaven,’ ‘justice,’ ‘freedom’ and ‘grab what you can, boys, it’s all for the taking.’ I’ve had enough! Miracles, miracles! I want you to do something here and now. Perform some miracles to make us believe in you. Otherwise, shut up!”

“Everything is a miracle, old man,” Jesus replied. “What further miracles do you want? Look below you: even the humblest blade of grass has its guardian angel who stands by and helps it to grow. Look above you: what a miracle is the star-filled sky! And if you close your eyes, old man, what a miracle the world within us! What a star-filled sky is our heart!”

They heard him, astonished, one turning to the next.

“Isn’t this the son of Mary? How does he talk with such authority?”

“It’s a devil speaking through his mouth. Where are his brothers to tie him up so that he won’t bite anyone?”

“He’s opened his mouth again. Shh!”

“The day of the Lord has come, brothers. Are you ready? You have few hours left. Call the poor and portion out your belongings. What do you care about the goods of this earth? The fire is coming to burn them up! Before the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom of fire. On the day of the Lord the stones of the houses of the rich will stand up and crush the inhabitants; the pieces of gold in the coffers of the rich will exude sweat, and over the prosperous will flow the sweat and blood of the poor. The heavens will open, flood and fire will pour down, and the new ark will float above the flames. I hold the keys and I open the ark and select. My brothers of Nazareth, I begin with you. You are the first I invite. Come, enter. The flames of God have already begun to descend!”

“Boo! Boo! The son of Mary has come to save us!” hooted the crowd amid fits of laughter. Several people bent down, filled their hands with stones, and waited.

A running figure appeared at the edge of the square. It was Philip, the shepherd. He had made a dash as soon as he heard of his friends’ arrival. His eyes were swollen and enflamed as from much weeping, and his cheeks had sunk away. The very day he said goodbye to Jesus and the companions by the lake and laughingly called to them, “I’m not coming, I have sheep, where can I leave them?” bandits had rushed down from Lebanon and seized him, leaving him nothing but his shepherd’s staff. He kept it still and went from village to village, mountain to mountain, an unthroned king, still seeking his flock. He cursed and threatened, sharpened a wide dagger and said that he was going to journey to Lebanon. But at night when he was all alone, he wept… He ran now to join his old friends and tell them about his suffering so that all of them could set out together for Lebanon. He heard the laughing and booing. “What’s going on over there?” he murmured. “Why are they laughing?” He came closer.

Jesus had now grown furious. “What are you laughing at,” he shouted. “Why are you gathering stones to strike the son of man? Why do you brag about your houses and olive groves and vineyards? Ashes! Ashes! And your sons and daughters: ashes! And the flames, the great bandits, will rush down from the mountains to seize your sheep!”

“What bandits, what sheep?” grumbled Philip, who was listening with his chin resting on his staff. “What are these flames he’s bringing us now?”

While Jesus spoke, more and more of the soil-colored people of the slums arrived. They had heard of the appearance of a new prophet for the poor and had run. It was said that in one hand he held heavenly fire to burn up the rich, and in the other a pair of scales for portioning out their goods to the poor. He was a new Moses, the bringer of a new, juster Law. The people stood and listened to him, enthralled. It had come, it had come! The kingdom of the poor had come!

But as Jesus again parted his lips to speak, four arms fell upon him, seized him and brought him down from the rock. A thick rope was quickly wrapped around him. Jesus turned and saw the sons of Joseph, his own brothers Simon the lame and Jacob the devout.

“Go on home, home-inside! You’re possessed with devils!” they screamed, rapidly dragging him along.

“I have no home. Release me. This is my home; these are my brothers!” cried Jesus, and he pointed to the crowd.

“Go home, go home?” The burghers also shouted, laughing. One of them lifted his arm and slung the stone be was holding. It grazed Jesus’ forehead: the first drop of blood flowed.

The old man with the double hump screeched, “Death! Death! He’s a sorcerer, he’s casting spells over us, he’s calling the fire to come and roast us-and it will come!”

“Death! Death!” was heard on every side.

Peter raced forward. “Shame on all of you,” he cried. “What has he done to you? He’s innocent!”

A young stalwart flew at him. “It looks as if you’re on his side, eh!” He grabbed him by his Adam’s apple.

“No! No! I’m not!” screamed Peter, fighting to unfasten the huge hand from his throat.

The other three of Jesus’ companions were scared out of their wits. Jacob and Andrew stood by, taking stock of their forces; John’s eyes filled with tears. But Judas opened a way through the crowd with his arms, pulled the two frenzied brothers away from the rabbi, and undid the rope.

“Away,” he shouted at them, “or you’ll have to deal with me! Off with you!”

“Go to your own town if you want to give orders!” screeched Simon the lame.

“I give orders wherever my fists are, short-leg!” He turned to the four disciples. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves, denying him already! Forward! Form a circle around him so that no one can touch him!”

The four were ashamed. The paupers and ragamuffins jumped forward, shouting, “Brothers, we’re on your side! Let’s murder them!”

“And I’m with you too,” cried a wild voice. Philip flourished his staff and pushed aside the crowd in order to pass through. “I’m coming too!”

“Welcome, Philip,” the redbeard answered him. “Come, join us! The poor and the wronged-all together!”

When the burghers saw these slum dwellers rebelling against them, they flew into a frenzy. The son of the Carpenter has come to put ideas into the heads of the poor, to turn the established order of the world upside down. Didn’t he say he was bringing a new Law? Death! Death!

They flared up and charged, some with staffs, some with knives, some with stones. The old ones remained on the side and shrieked encouragement. Jesus’ friends made their bulwark behind the plane trees at the edges of the square; others rushed out into the open. Jesus himself went forward and stood between the two opposing camps. He spread his arms and shouted, “Brothers! Brothers!” but no one listened to him. The stones were now being slung with fury and the first of the wounded were already groaning.

A woman flew out from a narrow street. A purple kerchief was wrapped tightly around her face, covering all but half of her mouth and her large black eyes, which were submerged in tears.

“For God’s sake, don’t kill him!” she cried in her high voice.

“Mary, his mother!” people murmured.

But how could the old men pity the mother at this point: they had become rabid. “Death! Death!” they howled. “He’s come to awaken the people, to incite a rebellion, to divide our goods among the barefooted rabble. Death!”

The opponents had now come to grips. Joseph’s two sons rolled on the ground, howling. Jacob had seized a stone and cracked open their heads. Judas stood with drawn dagger in front of Jesus, allowing no one to approach. Philip remembered his sheep. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he blindly swung his staff at his opponents’ heads.

“In God’s name,” Mary’s voice was again heard, “he’s sick! He’s gone out of his senses. Have pity on him!”

But her cry was drowned in the uproar. Judas had now seized the strongest of the stalwarts and was stepping on him, his knife at his throat. But Jesus arrived in time to pull back the redbeard’s arm.

“Judas, my brother,” he cried, “no blood! no blood!”

“What, then-water?” shouted the redbeard, enraged. “Have you forgotten that you hold an ax? The hour has come!”

Even Peter had grown ferocious, incited by the blows he received. He grasped a huge heavy stone and fell upon the old men.

Mary entered the very center of the brawl and approached her son. She took his hand. “My child,” she said, “what has happened to you? How did you descend to this? Return home to wash, change your clothes and put on your sandals. You’ve made yourself all dirty, my son.”

“I have no home,” he said. “I have no mother. Who are you?”

The mother began to weep. Digging her nails into her cheeks, she spoke no more.

Peter slung his stone. It crushed the foot of the old man with the double hump. The victim bellowed with pain and hobbled away, going through the alleyways toward the rabbi’s house. But at that moment the rabbi appeared, panting. He had heard the uproar and had jumped up from his table, where with face buried in the Holy Scriptures he had been toiling to extract God’s will from the words and syllables. But when he heard the tumult he took up his crosier and ran to see what was happening. He had encountered several of the wounded along the way and learned everything. He now pushed aside the crowd and reached the son of Mary.

“What is all this, Jesus?” he said severely. “Is this you, the bearer of love? Is this the kind of love you bring? Aren’t you ashamed?”

He turned to the crowd. “My children, return to your homes. This is my nephew. He’s sick, unfortunate man; he’s been sick for years. Do not bear any malice against him for what he has said, but forgive him. It is not he who speaks, but someone else who uses his mouth.”

“God!” Jesus exclaimed.

“You keep quiet,” the rabbi snapped, and he touched him reprovingly with his crosier.

He turned once more to the crowd. “Leave him alone, my children. Bear no grudge against him, for he knows not what he says. All-rich and poor-we are all seeds of Abraham. Do not quarrel among yourselves. It’s noontime; return to your homes. I shall cure this unfortunate man.”

He turned to Mary. “Mary, go home. We’ll come presently.”

The mother threw a final glance at her son, a glance of great longing, as though she were saying goodbye to him forever. She sighed, bit her kerchief, and disappeared into the narrow lanes.

While the people were murdering each other clouds had covered the heavens; rain was preparing to fall and refresh the earth. A wind arose. The stems of the last leaves of the plane and fig trees separated from their branches and the leaves scattered over the ground. The square had emptied.

Jesus turned to Philip and held out his hand. “Philip, my brother, welcome.”

“I’m glad to see you, Rabbi,” the other replied, squeezing Jesus’ hand and surrendering his crook to him.

“Take this to lean on,” he said.

“Come, fellow partisans,” said Jesus, “let us go. Shake the dust from your feet. Farewell, Nazareth!”

“I’ll keep you company until the edge of the village so that no one will bother you,” the old rabbi said.

He took Jesus’ hand, and they went in the lead together. The rabbi felt Jesus’ palm burning in his grasp.

“My son,” he said, “do not take the cares of others upon yourself. They will devour you.”

“I have no cares of my own, Father. Let those of others devour me!”

They reached the end of Nazareth. The orchards came into view and, beyond, the fields. The disciples in back had stopped for a moment to wash their wounds in a spring. With them were a good number of the paupers and cripples, plus two blind men-all chattering and waiting for the new prophet to perform his miracles. They were excited and merry, as though returning from a great battle.

But the four disciples marched along in silence. Uneasy, they were hurrying to approach the rabbi so that he could comfort them. Nazareth, the master’s home, had hooted and banished them: the great campaign had started off badly! And if we’re chased out of Cana too, they were thinking, and out of Capernaum and everywhere else around the lake of Gennesaret, what will become of us? Where will we go? To whom will we proclaim the word of God? Since the people of Israel refuse us and hoot us, to whom shall we turn? To the infidels?

They looked at Jesus, but no one opened his mouth to speak. Jesus saw the fear in their eyes, however, and took Peter’s hand.

“Peter, man of little faith,” he said, “a black beast with bristling hair sits shriveled up and trembling inside the pupils of your eyes. It is fear, Peter, fear. Are you afraid?”

“When I’m far from you, Rabbi, yes, I am afraid. That’s why I’ve come close; that’s why all of us have come close. Speak to us and steady our hearts.”

Jesus smiled. “When I bend far down into my soul,” he said, “I don’t know how and why the truth always issues from within me in the form of a parable. So, friends, once more I shall speak to you in parables:

“A great nobleman once commanded a rich dinner to be made ready in his palace for his son’s marriage. As soon as the bulls were slain and the tables set, he sent his servants to announce to those who were invited: ‘Everything is ready. If it so pleases you, come to the wedding.’ But each of the invited found a pretext for not coming: ‘I bought a field which I must go to see,’ said one. ‘I’m newly married myself and can’t come,’ said the next. ‘I purchased five pairs of oxen and I’m off to try them out,’ the next gave as his excuse. The servants returned and said to their master, ‘None of the invited is able to come. They all say they’re busy.’ The nobleman became angry. ‘Run quickly to the squares and crossroads, gather together the poor, lame, blind and deformed and bring them here. I invited my friends but they refused. I shall therefore fill my house with the uninvited so that they may eat, drink and rejoice at the wedding of my son.’ ”

Jesus stopped. He had begun calmly, but the more he spoke the more he thought of the Nazarenes and Jews, and wrath flamed up between his eyes. The disciples looked at him with surprise.

“Who are the invited, who the uninvited, what marriage is it? Forgive us, Rabbi, but we don’t understand,” said Peter, scratching his thick head in despair.

“You will understand,” said Jesus, “when I summon the invited to enter the ark and they refuse because they say they have fields, vineyards and wives and because their eyes, ears, lips, nostrils and hands are five pairs of oxen which are tilling-tilling what? The bottomless pit!”

He sighed. Looking at the companions, he felt completely forsaken. “I speak,” he murmured, “but to whom? To the air. I am the only one who listens. When shall the desert grow ears in order to hear me?”

“Forgive us, Rabbi,” Peter repeated, “but our minds are clods of mud. Have patience: they will blossom.”

Jesus turned and looked at the rabbi, but the old man was staring at the ground. He had a foreboding of the terrible hidden meaning and his aged, lashless eyes were brimming with tears.

At the end of Nazareth, in front of a wooden shed, stood the customs officer who collected the duties. Matthew was his name. All the merchants who entered or left the village had to pay tax to the Romans. He was short, stout, jaundiced; his hands yellow and soft, his fingers inky, nails black; he had long hairy ears and a high voice like a eunuch’s. The whole village found him disgusting and hated him. No one would shake hands with him, and everyone who passed by the shed looked the other way. Did not the Scriptures say: “It is our duty to pay tax only to God, not to men”? This man was a publican, a tax-collector in the tyrant’s service. He trampled the Law, made a living from illegality. The air around him was polluted for seven miles.

“Move quickly, lads,” Peter said. “Hold your breath. Turn away your faces!”

But Jesus stopped. Matthew, standing outside the shed, was holding his quill pen between his teeth. He breathed rapidly, not knowing what to do. He was afraid to stay where he was, yet he did not want to go inside the shed. For ages now he had longed for a close view of the new prophet who proclaimed that all men were brothers. Wasn’t it he who one day said, “God loves the sinner who repents more than he who never sinned”? And another day, hadn’t he said, “I came to the world not for the righteous but for sinners: it is with them I like to speak and eat”? And another day when he was asked, “Rabbi, what is the name of the true God?” he answered, “Love.”

For many a day and night now Matthew had turned these words over and over in his heart, saying with a sigh, “When shall I see him, when shall I fall at his feet!” And now, there he was in front of him, yet Matthew was ashamed to lift his eyes to look at him. He stood motionless, head bowed, and waited. What was he waiting for? The prophet would go away now, and he would lose him forever.

Jesus took a step toward him and said “Matthew” so quietly and sweetly that the publican felt his heart melt, and raised his eyes. Jesus was standing in front of him, looking at him. His regard was tender and all-powerful: it descended to the officer’s very bowels, brought peace to his heart and enlightenment to his mind. His vital organs had been shivering, but now the sun fell over them and warmed them. What joy this was, what certainty, what friendship! Was the world then so simple and salvation so easy?

Matthew went inside, closed his ledgers, put a blank one under his arm, wedged his bronze inkwell into his belt and placed his quill behind his ear. Next, he removed a key from his belt, locked the shed and tossed the key into a garden. As soon as he had finished, he approached Jesus with trembling knees. He stopped. Should he go forward or not? Would the teacher offer him his hand? He raised his eyes and looked at Jesus as if imploring him to have pity.

Jesus smiled at him and offered his hand. “Welcome, Matthew. Come with me.”

The disciples felt troubled and stepped to one side. The old rabbi bent over to Jesus’ ear. “My child,” he said, “a publician! It’s a great sin. You must listen to the Law.”

“Father,” Jesus replied, “I listen to my own heart.”

They had advanced beyond Nazareth. Passing the orchards, they reached the fields. A cold wind was blowing. Mount Hermon gleamed in the distance, sprinkled with the first snow.

The rabbi took Jesus’ hand once more. He wanted to talk to him before they separated. But what could he say? Where should he begin? Jesus claimed that in the Judean desert God entrusted him with the fire in one hand and the seed in the other. He said he would burn up this world and then plant a new world… The rabbi regarded him stealthily. Should he believe him? Did not the Scriptures say that God’s Elect would be despised and rejected by men, like a withered tree which has sprouted among stones? It was possible, therefore, possible that this man was the One…

The rabbi leaned against Jesus. “Who are you?” he asked softly, so that the others should not hear.

“You’ve been with me such a long time, Uncle Simeon-from the hour of my birth-and you still haven’t recognized me?” The old man’s heart stood still. “It’s more than my mind can hold,” he murmured, “more than it can hold…”

“And your heart, Uncle Simeon?”

“My child, I do not listen to my heart. It leads one to the abyss.”

“To God’s abyss-to salvation,” said Jesus, looking sympathetically at the old man. And in a moment: “Father, don’t you remember the dream the prophet Daniel had about the race of Israel one night in Babylon? The Ancient of Days was sitting on his throne, his clothes white as snow, the hair of his head like the white fleece of a ram. His throne was made of flames, and a river of flames flowed at his feet. The Judges were enthroned to his left and right. Then the heavens opened up and upon the clouds descended-who? Do you remember, Father?”

“The Son of man,” answered the old rabbi, who had been nourishing himself on this dream for generations. There were even nights when he dreamed the same dream himself.

“And who is the Son of man, Father?”

The old rabbi’s knees gave way. He looked at the youth, terrified. “Who?” he whispered, hanging on Jesus’ lips. “Who?”

“I,” Jesus replied tranquilly, and he placed his hand on the old man’s head, as if blessing him.

The old rabbi wanted to speak, but could not open his mouth.

“Farewell, Father,” said Jesus, holding out his hand. “You must be a happy man, Simeon, for God kept his word and deemed you worthy of seeing, before your death, what you longed to see all your life.”

The rabbi stood and gazed at him with protruding eyes. What was all this around him: thrones, wings and the Son of man upon the clouds? Was he dreaming? Was this the prophet Daniel? Were the doors of the future opening before him and enabling him to look in? He was not standing on soil but on clouds; and this young man who held out his hand and smiled was not the son of Mary, he was the Son of man!

Feeling dizzy, he drove his crosier into the ground and propped himself up on it so that he would not fall. Then he looked, looked at Jesus, who, holding his shepherd’s staff, was passing under the autumn trees. The heavens had darkened; the rain could no longer hold itself in the sky: it fell. The old rabbi’s clothes became drenched and stuck to his body. Water ran down from his hair. Though shivering, he remained motionless in the middle of the road. Jesus, followed by his companions, had already disappeared behind the trees, but as the old rabbi stood in the wind and the rain he saw them, ragged and barefooted, still going forward and mounting. Where were they going? In which direction? Would these barefooted, illiterate ragamuffins set fire to the world? The designs of the Lord are a great abyss…

“Adonai,” he whispered, “Adonai…” and his tears began to flow.