Old City, Jerusalem
Deborah Jordan couldn’t take it in fast enough: the narrow cobblestone streets, the women in head coverings peaking out of small windows, the crowds of pilgrims and tourists, and merchants selling leather goods or dates laid out in trays.
“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she said. “Especially this, the Via Dolorosa. This is unbelievable. This route, the way of the cross. The path taken by Jesus on the way to the crucifixion … almost …” Deborah stammered and couldn’t finish.
Esther McKinney, the colonel’s wife, was bright-eyed and smiling at her young visitor. “We thought you’d appreciate it.”
Esther stopped in the middle of the narrow street. “Now, turn around and look up.”
When she did, Deborah recognized an ancient, graceful stone arch connecting the buildings on either side.
“Now imagine,” Esther said, “you are here two thousand years ago. Make the stores and buildings disappear. Tradition says that this Roman arch is the place — or at least near the place — where Pilate appeared with Jesus. The gospel of John makes it clear. The Roman governor had allowed Jesus to be found guilty, though he admitted there was no evidence for it. Then he ordered him to be scourged. The Roman guards mocked Jesus and rammed a crown of thorns down on his head, beat him, and laid a purple robe on his back, which had been torn open by the whip and was bleeding. Then Pontius Pilate said to those in attendance, ‘Behold the Man.’ ”
Deborah was silent. Her face showed her astonishment.
Esther said, “But Pilate was only half right. He forgot the other part.”
“Which part?”
“He should have said, ‘Behold the Son of God’ …”
Deborah smiled. “It’s interesting I’m here now. This place … at this point in my life. I’ve been a Christian for a while, received Christ as a teenager, but lately I’ve been wondering about things. My life, plans, people …”
“People?”
“Well, there’s this guy …”
Esther laughed loudly. “Yes, there’s always a guy, isn’t there!”
“So, I’ve got some things to work out. I need to take things to the Lord. I need some guidance.” Then she looked at Esther. “It must be hard on you, being Jewish here in Israel, as deeply involved in the government as your husband is, yet both of you also being …”
“… Also being messianic Christians too? Believing that Jesus, Yeshua, is the promised One? The once-and-for-all sacrificial Lamb, offered up to take away the sins of the world for all who trust in Him? Yes. It’s not been easy. But who says any of this is supposed to be easy? It’s supposed to be true and right. Yes. It’s a sensitive issue. We handle it with discretion. Clint doesn’t wear ‘Jesus Saves’ Tshirts to work, if you know what I mean!”
Esther looked at her watch. Then she checked her cell phone. “Deborah, have you received a call from your father in the last hour?”
“No. Why?”
“Oh, probably nothing. Clint usually calls about this time each day. It’s a routine we have because of the way things are here. Clint and I have a joke: we say living in Israel is like the thorn trees, lovely from a distance but painful at close quarters. Life in Israel is beautiful but precarious. Clint and Josh were at a remote testing site today but should have been back by now.”
Deborah pulled out her Allfone and dialed her father’s private number. It rang ten times and then went to voicemail. “No answer,” she said.
Deborah thought she caught something in Esther’s expression, a vague look of apprehension. The next moment Esther said, “Let’s keep walking. So much to see. I know a great place for lunch.”