Between Barack and the Wright Place

Pastors can wield enormous influence in the life of someone seeking spiritual answers. Such was the case of Pastor Wright a U.C.C. minister in Chicago and Barack Obama-- a relationship that has been built over the last twenty years, and reveals a good deal about the interests and yearnings of Senator O'Bama, and why he came to embrace the Christian faith There is a very interesting article about this relationship in this morning N.Y. Times. Here is the link---

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/30/us/politics/30obama.html?th&emc=th


Jeremiah Wright is like many African American preachers of his generation. His especial strength is in the area of the social Gospel when it comes to his preaching. He sounds like a more flamboyant and less eloquent version of Martin Luther King Jr., with the benefit of hindsight that Martin did not have. Two things about Wright's preaching that did not much characterize King is his Afrocentric approach to theology and preaching, and his attempt to relate the Gospel to black music culture-- including R+B. Hip Hop is apparently too recent for Pastor Wright.

One of the interesting angles of this article is that it chronicles briefly the friendship between Barack and Jim Wallis. Here is an interesting quote from Jim about Barack--- “He comes from a very secular, skeptical family,” said Jim Wallis, a Christian antipoverty activist and longtime friend of Mr. Obama. “His faith is really a personal and an adult choice. His is a conversion story.”

In other words, all the rhetoric from the Fox Noise Channel about Barack's Muslim school education can be ignored. It was no more influential in his religious or spiritual life than the fact that he went to a Catholic school for a while when he was young as well. What is also clear about Barack's embracing of the Christian faith is that it was certainly not politically motivated. Barack spent a long time reflecting on whether to become a Christian or not during a period in his life where there was little or nothing to be gained politically by doing so. Obama is not a one dimensional figure, and his faith reflects his larger values in some respects-- particularly his attempt to find good in various different approaches to contentious issues.

For example Jodi Kantor, who wrote the article for the Times relates this-- "Mr. Obama reassures liberal audiences about the role of religion in public life, and he tells conservative Christians that he understands why abortion horrifies them and why they may prefer to curb H.I.V. through abstinence instead of condoms. AIDS has spread in part because “the relationship between men and women, between sexuality and spirituality, has broken down, and needs to be repaired,” he said to thunderous applause in December at the megachurch in California led by the Rev. Rick Warren, a best-selling author." ( thanks to the N.Y. Times for the use of the quoted material. Please read and cite the original article).

Obama's positions will not entirely please either the religious or secular right or the religious or secular left either. He is his own person, and so far as I can see, while he tries to listen to and relate to everyone, he panders to no one.

I do not know if Barack Obama is electable. To most white conservative Evangelicals he will surely appear to be a liberal Protestant at best, even if his faith is accepted as genuine. And of course there are genuine concerns about his lack of experience in Washington in very uncertain times, but of course that didn't prevent George W. Bush from becoming President.

What I do know is this--- all, and I do mean all of the Presidents since Nixon have been Protestant Christians who could or at least tried to relate to Protestant constituencies, including especially Evangelicals. We will see what happens come the fall, and the weeding out process of candidates. Rick Warren took enormous personal heat for having Obama at his AIDS conference at Saddleback. This may be a barometer of how Obama would be received in other large white Evangelical settings as well. Time will tell.

In the meantime, we should pray for all the candidates running for our highest office. The next four years promise to be rough ones for America with lots of hard choices, and a massive Federal debt thanks to the war in Iraq.

Heroes or Saints? Who are our Cultural Icons?

Believe it or not, the word hero never comes up in the NT. But the word saint occurs over 60 times. And here's the really interesting thing-- it always in the plural! Saints are not formed in a vacuum or by isolate action or spiritual effort. Saints are formed in a community, the community of faith.

Our world loves heroes, indeed idolizes them and puts them up on pedestals they are bound to fall off of. I was recently back in Washington D.C. and took a friend for a tour on the Mall. It struck me how much our country is founded on a belief in "great man" (or woman) syndrome. There was the Washington monument, there was the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, there were the names of the Vietnam soldiers who died, and so on. We assume that things that really matter are accomplished by great individuals, and of course there is some truth to that, but actually in almost any given case it took a team effort. Abraham Lincoln would have had no memorial if he hadn't finally found a few generals that could beat Robert E. Lee in a pitched battle.

In his wonderful book on Christian ethics called Improvisation, Sam Wells has some fantastic reflections on the difference between a hero and a saint, and why the NT extols the latter not the former. Here are a couple of excerpts---

"there is a significant difference between the kind of story that is told about heroes and the kind of story that is told about saints. The heroes always make a decisive intervention at a moment when things are looking like they could all go badly wrong [see the new Nicholas Cage movie]. The hero steps up and makes everything turn out right. In other words, the hero is always at the center of the story. By contrast, the saint is not necessarily a crucial character. The saint may be almost invisible, easily missed, quickly forgotten. The hero's story is always about the hero. The saint is always at the periphery of a story that is really about God. ...The hero's story is told to celebrate the virtues of the hero. The hero' strength, courage, wisdom, or great timing: such are the qualities on which the hero's decisive intervention rests. By contrast the saint may not be strong, brave, clever, or opportunistic. But the saint is faithful [consider the hall of faith in Hebrews 11]. The story of the hero is told to rejoice in valor. The story of the saint is told to celebrate faith....

"The definitive heroic icon is the soldier, who is prepared to risk death for the sake of a higher good. The noblest death is death in battle, for battle offers the greatest danger, thus requiring the greatest courage. The story assumes that in a world of limited resources there is bound to be conflict at some stage so that good may prevail. But the saints assume a very different story. They do not need to learn how to fight over competing goods, because Christ has fought for and secured the true good, and the goods that matter now are not limited or in short supply. Love, joy peace, faithfulness, gentleness-- these do not rise or fall with the stock market. The saint's story does not presuppose scarcity [think oil for example]; it does not require the perpetuation of violence. Whereas the icon of heroism is the soldier, the icon of sanctity is the martyr. The solder faces death in battle; the saint faces death by not going to battle. The soldier's heroism is its own reward: it makes sense in any language that respects nobility and aspires to greatness. The martyr's sanctity makes no sense unless rewarded by God: it has no place in any story except that of Christ's redeeming sacrifice and the martyr's heavenly crown... A hero fears failure, flees mistakes, and know no repentance: the saint knows that light only comes through the cracks, that beauty is as much (if not more) about restoration as about creation."

"Finally, the hero stands alone against the world. The story of the hero shows how he or she stands out from the community by the excellence of his or her virtue, the decisiveness of his or her intervention, or their simple right to have his or her story told. The story of God tells how he expects a response from his disciples that they cannot give on their own: they depend not only on him, but on one another for resources that can sustain faithful lives, and they discover that their dependence on one another is not a handicap but is central to their witness....Saints are never alone. They assume, demand, require community-- a special kind of community, the communion of the saints. Heroes have learned to depend on themselves: saints learn to depend on God and on the community of faith. The church is God's new language, and it speaks not of a country fit for heroes to live in but of a commonwealth of saints" (Improvisation, pp. 43-44).

My question to you is, after you reflect on this-- Why is our world so fixated on heroes, and so ignorant of or ignoring saints? And then I would ask--- who have been your heroes, and who have been your saints? Who helped you more to be a true Christian person? Who taught you more about what real Christian living and leadership should look like? Who, finally seemed more like Jesus, and less like Samson?

THE LAZARUS EFFECT-- PART TEN

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE: STONE AT HOME

Patrick Stone arose Friday, packed his bags, paid his tab, and revved his engine for a trip back to Monaco. This time, the Chateau gates opened for its new owner. He arrived in time for afternoon tea on the terrace. Anjolie brought him fresh shrimp salad in an avocado shell, a glass of local white wine and the recent editions of the papers – it was time to catch up on the news.

Stone tended to read the papers back to front, doing the crossword and the comics first, leafing through the sports and the business news, and finally looking at the dreary and depressing headlines. He came to Thursday’s headlines. At that moment, he choked and spent the next minute trying to stop coughing while he wiped his eyes.

On page one of every major newspaper to be found in Monaco there was a story about the Lazarus stone and the other related artifacts.

The Times of London read –

STONE STOLEN: MUSEUM HOODWINKED.

The NY Times article headlined –

LAZARUS STONE RAISES LEGAL ISSUES

The International Herald Tribune article reported –

LAZARUS STONE REAL, BUT NOT THE DEAL.

Reading the article closely now he notice that his name was nowhere mentioned, thankfully, but the story did say that the British Museum was co-operating with the Jerusalem authorities. Reading on, he discovered a quotation from the Jerusalem press conference – “prosecute to the full extent of the law.” Stone murmured to himself, “I’m a US citizen. The long arm of the Jerusalem law can’t stretch this far. Besides, they don’t even know I’m here. I haven’t used my real passport since London, or any credit cards. How can they find me?” He was wrong about that, for he had forgotten to use his fake passport at the Monaco border so preoccupied was he with he thoughts about the house.

All the same, he decided he would go ahead and transfer the rest of his millions into his Credit Lyonnais account, because he remembered that St. James had his Swiss bank account number. Going back into the house to the library where he had set up his laptop he hopped on the internet, went to the bank website, punched in his access code and account number and the following message came up ACCESS DENIED: ACCOUNT FROZEN. A wave of panic hit Stone and his thoughts began to race in various directions.

Thus far he had paid $2.5 million for the house, $100,000 plus on the car, and who knows how much on hotel tabs, food, clothes and the realtor’s fees. He had been informed that the upkeep on the house and the staff cost $10,000 a month. There was in addition the usual expenses like gas, food, heating, cooling, not to mention the enormous insurance premiums.

When Stone calmed down he figured he still had plenty of money left from the $10 million he had transferred into Credit Lyonnais. He knew the Swiss Bank would never give out the number of the account into which the money had been shifted. They were famous, or infamous, for stonewalling such requests. Nevertheless, he decided he had best retain an attorney, so on the advice of his butler he called a local firm, chatted for a while with one of the barristers, promised to send in a retainer fee, and felt altogether better. Let the world fuss and fume, he was safe here in his fortress, his Chateau Puissant, his powerful home.

Authorities on both sides of the French border with Monaco were busy Friday after being alerted to the possibility of an alleged international criminal in their midst. Extradition papers were being drawn up. The Duchy especially had no desire to harbor a rich thief in a nation full of rich people worried about neighbors who steal stuff. Should Dr. Stone use his real passport again, they would be ready.

A weekend of intense detective work determined that one Dr. Patrick Stone had purchased Chateau Puissant in Monaco just three days earlier. A very unhappy Francois Boule was obliged on Sunday to open his files and reveal details about his client. Stone lived alone. Boule described a quiet man happy just to sit in a library. He knew Jacques, the butler, quite well. Quiet phone calls were made to the estate. The coast was clear; all was ready.

Sunday evening at eight o’clock, Stone was taking a bubble bath in a huge porcelain claw-foot tub. He had nearly dozed off and never heard the police enter the room. Stone opened his eyes to see a gun pointing at his face!

Stone screamed.

“Dr. Stone, please step out of the tub, here is your robe.” Stone was in such shock that he actually did what he was told like a robot. He was taken to his bedroom, told to dress and then handcuffed with his arms behind his back.

The staff, having been roused by Jacques, was lined up at the main door. Anjolie cried – she rather liked the little man. Stone was marched out, put in the back of the police van, and driven off. All the paperwork being in order, Stone was turned over to the Israeli authorities who had a jet waiting at the airport. Tel Aviv was a short flight away, where yet another police van was waiting. So too were the press – and the presses were held long enough to roll with the story and photos of Stone’s capture. But would he implicate Art West, or blame him entirely? Thus far he remained silent, as a stone.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX: JACTA ALEA EST

Sammy Cohen bought every paper he could find at Steinmatsky’s on Ben Yehuda and took them to work early Monday morning. Grace had already arrived.

The Jerusalem Post reported –

STONE CAUGHT WITH HIS PANTS DOWN

Ha’Aretz read in modern Hebrew read,

STONE WIPED CLEAN

The International Herald Tribune lead with,

STONE TURNED OVER TO JEWISH AUTHORITIES

“I reckon this begins to redeem our honor,” he said to Grace.

“Not until the trial sorts things out,” she replied cautiously.

“You sure do know how to take the fun out of things,” he said grumpily. “I am on my way to the jail to interview our Dr. Stone. It should be a most enlightening morning.”

By mid-morning, Sammy was on the phone with the local authorities. Judge Joshua Dershowitz had set a pre-trial hearing for Thursday, and it was clear that the Israeli court system was clearing its dockets to make room for an expeditious trial. There would be no delaying motions slowing down this juggernaut. Patrick Stone, of course, was entitled to expert legal counsel, and it would take time for him to choose a lawyer and prepare for trial. Stone had been savvy enough and had enough wits about him to demand a trial by jury, since he was an American citizen.

Sammy had spoken with the firm of Levi, Levi and Strauss and they had informed him that they were the team selected to prosecute Stone. The senior partner, Mr. Benjamin Levi, told Sammy that the best way to head off extradition to Britain was to make clear to Judge Dershowitz that the crimes Stone had committed occurred right here in Jerusalem, with the exception of selling the inscribed stone to the British Museum. Sammy quite agreed. He also informed Benjamin that Harry Scholer, an American lawyer and expert in antiquities, was in town and familiar with the case. Mr. Levi agreed to invite Harry to work with him and come to the pretrial hearing. Sammy was feeling good about his mended relationship with Harry. He called Art and invited them both to the IAA office.

Sammy’s secretary ushered them both in as soon as they arrived. Sammy handed the papers to Harry and Art who remarked,

“Well, they got their man. It sounds as if it was humiliating though – the butler must have known Stone was still in the tub! How did he get caught though?”

“I interviewed Stone this morning. He had two passports – one real, and one not. Thursday Interpol tracked down the information that he had just purchased a house in Monaco, complete with street address! Trust me, Stone is genuinely in shock at having been caught. He’s either very naive or very stupid!”

After rehashing all the news stories and Sammy’s interview, Harry exclaimed, “Jacta alea est!” Art smiled, and remembered his years taking Latin in senior high school. Julius Caesar, crossing the Rubicon, cries out, “Let the dice fly!.” Indeed many in Jerusalem would be riveted to the trial for the next few weeks. For this very reason Art had decided to have his press conference on the Lazarus findings just before the trial began, otherwise it would receive little notice at all in the aftermath of the trial.

Lunchtime was approaching. Harry and Sammy agreed to continue their conversation over local Mediterranean delicacies. Art decided to join Grace, busy working on manuscripts for the day. He caught her in the midst of examining the smaller papyri fragments from the Lazarus tomb.

“I’ve decided to do the press conference before the trial, giving my lecture on the religious implications of the Lazarus scroll this week. It’s just too much competition to wait until later. I’ve notified the press I will do this day after tomorrow, and Hebrew University is amenable. Will you come and introduce me?” said Art.

“Of course. This is a wise move in my judgment, as Jerusalem is going to be talking about this trial and its outcome for a long time. Hey, I’ve discovered lots of surprising details about these little manuscripts. Care to spend the afternoon here?”

“Absolutely, but let me ring up Hannah. I want to know if they’ve seen the papers and how Kahlil reacted.” Art called the shop. Hannah was excited. Her words tumbled over themselves.

“You will never guess what happened this morning. When I showed the picture on the front page of the Palestinian paper to my father, he cried out, “There he is! I remember him now! He is the man who shot me!”

Hannah rushed on. “But I said to father, ‘We have shown you this picture before! Why now do you remember?’ All he said was, ‘I don’t know, my daughter, but Allah’s will be done!’”

Art turned to Grace. “I have some surprising details for you too,” he laughed and related his conversation with Hannah.

For the rest of Monday afternoon, Grace and Art enjoyed pouring over the Aramaic of the Lazarus documents. Grace brought out the fragment of John 21 with the story of the breakfast by the sea.

“Notice that this fragment is in the same hand as the main manuscript, but the fragment that tells the tale of the demise of the Beloved Disciple, right at the end of John 21, may be in another hand. The last few verses, 23 to 25, certainly are in another hand. Note the part which reads,

‘”But Jesus did not say that he would not die; he only said

‘If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?’”

“Plus, the following verses about the Beloved Disciple writing these things down and there not being enough books to contain Jesus’ stories are clearly by the later hand. The comment about thinking the Beloved Disciple would not die before the second coming makes good sense, assuming the Beloved Disciple was Lazarus and had been raised from the dead. You can see the disciples thinking, Jesus had already raised him from the dead, surely he would not die again. It must have been something of a shock when he did die again.”

“I agree,” said Art. “And I have been pondering another mystery. We have no fragments of the so-called prologue which begins John’s Gospel. When was it added? Apparently it was added by the final editor of the Gospel sometime later, and perhaps in a very different venue. The logos hymn is profound and reflects on the idea that the divine Son of God existed before all time, helped in making all of creation, and then took on flesh himself and became Jesus. It is the kind of philosophical reflection one might expect in the Diaspora, when there was concern to witness to Gentiles who knew Plato and Aristotle but did not know the Old Testament. And here’s another interesting and tantalizing clue. You remember the story about Jesus speaking to the Greeks, probably Greek speaking Jews? In this Aramaic manuscript it makes clear that Jesus is speaking to Jews from the Diaspora present in Jerusalem for the festival who speak Greek, but in the Gospel of John it is ambiguous, it could actually refer to Greeks, or Gentiles in general.”

“Fascinating,” said Grace. “Do you think then that Lazarus knew he was coming close to the end, and that while he had written down individual stories all along during his life, stories say like the woman caught in adultery, that when he sought to compose his memoirs, he had way too much material for one piece of papyrus, and so many of the stories got left out – he had to pick and choose? This is what John 21.25 [“Jesus did many other things as well. If everyone of them was written down, I suppose that even the whole world could not contain the books that would be written”] suggests – frustration due to the limitations of working with a papyrus. If the writer of that verse had been dealing with a codex, a book to which leaves could be added, then we might not have that verse added by the editor.”

“No, and now we clearly know that the Beloved Disciple, Eliezar, had other tales to tell, but they wouldn’t fit in this papyrus. We are just fortunate to have what we have. This is going to revolutionize Gospel studies, and historical Jesus studies.”

“Suppose for a minute, Grace, that the earliest image of Jesus we have is the image in the Fourth Gospel. I have argued that this is perfectly possible since this Gospel bears a clear resemblance to other early Jewish wisdom literature like the Wisdom of Solomon and Sirach. The so-called high Christology of this Gospel is not the residue of a long evolution of thinking about Jesus that started with the idea he was a man and finished with the idea he was divine as well as human. Suppose again this Gospel is the earliest portrait of Jesus. Then what? It certainly shoots the Jesus Seminar ideas about Jesus all to pieces.”

“Yes,” said Grace. “And most contemporary Jewish ideas about Jesus receive a pretty good challenge as well. I am going to go back and read through Wisdom of Solomon, Sirach, and this Gospel again and see what I can come up with. I’ll let you know whether I think it is possible this is the earliest Gospel tale.”

“But Grace, on the basis of the textual evidence we now know beyond reasonable doubt that this is the earliest Gospel material. One can say that it involves the perspective of a unique person and therefore a unique perspective, but one can’t question the timing, I don’t think. This means too that the divine and human Jesus portrayed for instance in Paul’s letters, say in Philippians 2. 5-11, is not a creation of Paul, who in any case was writing in the fifties, not after the eyewitnesses had all died off.”

“Well,” said Grace. “It’s a theory. I’ll think about. I just have a hard time getting my mind wrapped around the idea of monotheistic early Jews thinking of Jesus, a real human being, as God, or divine. As Acts 17 says, “We will talk about these things . . . another time.”

The small article that appeared on the first page of Ha’ Aretz on Tuesday morning announced that Professor West would be lecturing at 10 a.m. on Wednesday morning on the theological and historical implications of the Lazarus tomb artifacts. It caught the attention of many, including the TV crews already arriving for the trial. But by far the most important person who noticed this article lived on the north side of Jerusalem, cut out the article tacked it to his bulletin board, and wrote over it THIS MUST BE STOPPED NOW.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN: THE SIEGAL HAS LANDED

Simon Siegal was minding his own business sitting in his favorite café in Harvard Square, drinking an iced latté and checking the headlines on his laptop. A photo of an American citizen, a Yale professor, arrested and extradited to Jerusalem on charges of theft, forgery and attempted murder certainly caught his attention. Here was a legal situation that made anyone sit up and take notice.

Standing 5'9" tall with curly hair, some said he looked like Billy Crystal. Simon Siegel had a propensity to talk at 900 miles an hour with a thick New England accent. His detractors called him ‘Simon Siegal, the legal beagle’ but he wouldn’t have generated such responses if he hadn’t become a very high profile lawyer who loved to throw himself into high profile cases. He wasn’t an ambulance chaser but the analogy with pirana in a feeding frenzy described pretty aptly how he normally behaved in courtroom. Simon loved both the challenge and the spotlight.

Siegal was born and raised in Portland Maine, and did his schooling up through college in that northernmost New England state. He went to Harvard Law School on a full ride scholarship. After some years of being part of a law firm in Boston, Simon was asked to join the American Civil Liberties Union, an offer he could hardly refuse as it gave him the opportunity to be involved in some of the most interesting cases imaginable.

He had successfully defended all of the following sorts of people: 1) African Americans fired from jobs apparently because of their race; 2) a Klan member denied the right to attend a major university because of his politics and racial opinions; 3) a prominent rap star on trial for using obscene gestures and even more obscene lyrics at concerts.

On the down side, he was still smarting over a recent loss. His client, a major tobacco company, was now required to pay out huge sums in a class action suit by cancer victims. He would like to be ‘The King of Torts’, as John Grisham put it, but his path took him in another direction. While he had won more detractors than admirers in most of those trials, he had also gained a reputation of being able to defend the indefensible. What was perhaps most interesting about Siegal on this morning is that for a period of three years right after law school Siegal had gone to Israel and had been first a law clerk and then a lawyer in the Israeli court system before beginning his Boston job.

Today, Siegal had no official plans – he was on vacation hoping to visit family and friends in the New England area. He made a spontaneous decision to use his influence to contact the Israeli authorities and offer his legal services to one Patrick Stone. This case was too juicy to ignore. His mind was already working on how he would defend Stone in the Israeli system. For now, however, he started a list: return to his apartment, contact his buddies at ACLU, pack, and catch the last flight to Tel Aviv – yes, Monday, June 14 had now become a major calendar event.

Monday night’s trans-Atlantic flight proved bouncy – but he arrived in Tel Aviv about 3 PM Tuesday. On the flight, Siegal tracked the story over the internet and knew that the pre-trial hearing was scheduled for Thursday morning. He would need to act fast. While waiting for his baggage at Tel Aviv airport, Siegel called the authorities.

“Jerusalem police, how may I direct your call?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Simon Siegal of the United States. Dr. Patrick Stone’s new lawyer. I have just arrived from Boston. I need to speak to my client immediately!”

said Siegal with all the power he could muster. Siegal realized his chances were slim of getting Stone himself, but he also knew he would get someone’s attention just by mentioning the name. Surprisingly, Patrick Stone himself was put on the line!

“Hello, is this really Simon Siegal?”

“Yes, and Simon says he is here to represent you!”

Stone’s response was instantaneous for he had heard much about Siegal and knew his reputation. “Wow! I convinced the police here that you really were my lawyer, even if you weren’t on record yet. I figured it was either the real you or someone at least interesting to talk to. That was quite a bluff on your part! When can you start?”

“I already have,” said Simon. “I’ll be in Jerusalem in about one hour. Until I arrive, and from now on, say nothing to anyone got it? Wednesday morning, first thing, I will see the judge. Then I will visit you. So, for now, just sit tight.”

“Right!” exclaimed Patrick, his spirits reviving a bit. Perhaps there was hope after all.

“Oh, one more thing, we need cash,” reminded Siegal.

“You will have to check all my accounts – Tennessee, Connecticut, Switzerland, Cannes – who knows what’s left?” said Stone, once again dejected. “There should be plenty still in the Credit Lyonnais account.”

“I’ll look into it,” said Siegal. “We will need secretaries and detectives to gather information. I would rather not engage a firm here to help me. There are some people here I can call on; I once worked in this legal system and know it fairly well.”

Even if he couldn’t get Patrick Stone exonerated, he could go for lesser charges, a lighter sentence – the legal limit. Siegal’s name would be in the news for some time.

Siegal rented a car, drove to Jerusalem and checked into the Seven Arches Hotel in time for a late dinner. True, it was a touristy spot, but he loved the view of the city from atop the Mount of Olives. Standing on the front steps, he looked across the Kidron Valley at the Dome of the Rock gleaming golden in the sunset. The city looked awash in twilight and shadow. Peaceful enough, now. Tomorrow Siegel would spread his legal wings. Thursday he would land in the courtroom.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT: THE SIEGAL SYSTEM VERSUS THE LEGAL SYSTEM

Judge Joshua Dershowitz had been on the bench for many years and had gained a reputation for being tough on crime, while staying within the spirit of the law. Carrying his briefcase and computer bag, Siegal announced himself to the Judge’s secretary: “I am Simon Siegal, attorney-at-law, and I need to see Judge Dershowitz urgently as I am representing Patrick Stone.”

The secretary spoke into her call box and relayed the message. “Please have a seat and help yourself to a cherry Danish while you are waiting.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Siegal. In about fifteen minutes Siegal was summoned. Wiping crumbs from his mouth with a handkerchief, he marched forward into battle.

Simon had met Dershowitz once many years ago when Simon was just a law clerk, and Dershowitz was not yet a judge. Simon had been impressed with the tenacity of the man in the search for something resembling truth and justice. They shared a number of cases at that time. But now both men were much older and more seasoned, and it would be interesting to see how they would interact – the irresistible force meets the immovable object. Something had to give.

Dershowitz looked up from his desk and stood as Siegal came in and said “Shalom alechem,” to which Siegal responded, “Alechem shalom.”

“I see you haven’t forgotten your Jewish manners! Please have a seat Mr. Siegal, make yourself comfortable. You are here about the Patrick Stone matter?”

“Yes, indeed your honor, and I’m impressed that you remember me.”

“I do indeed. First, let me tell you that I have spoken with the US ambassador and he understands and accepts the need for justice to be done in this case here in Israel. The US government will not be intervening on Dr. Stone’s behalf. He got himself into this hot water, and it appears it will be your job to try and extricate him from his legal quagmire. Do you intend to do this solely on your own?”

“At this point, yes, but I’m keeping other options open. I presume my client cannot be tried here for any crime he allegedly committed in England.”

The judge pondered this and said, “Yes, you are right. Currently, he is being charged with forgery, attempted homicide, and theft of an antiquity. That’s a legal bundle for now. I’ll have my secretary give you a copy of the formal charges. The British authorities will want to try him for fraud. They are currently out of a great deal of money – insurance is pending of course.”

“Yes, that is an interesting list of allegations,” said Siegal smiling.

“The pre-trial hearing is Thursday morning, I believe. I hope you will give me sufficient time to prepare my case.”

“No more, no less, than the usual. If you need more time, then I suggest you hire more help or, better yet, work with one of our excellent legal offices.”

Siegal realized at this point that Judge Dershowitz would not appreciate an American stealing the limelight. He decided to gracefully bow out of the office.

Siegal had never been in this police building in Jerusalem because it was relatively new. However, when he arrived at the jail itself it looked anything but new. He noted the primitive conditions and the lack of air conditioning. His brain put this item in the credit ledger for the trial. Maybe he could allege poor treatment of Stone in general, or in particular for his US citizenship.

Siegal waited in an interrogation room until Stone was brought in. The guard left them alone and waited outside the door. Siegal began.

“First of all we must try to clean you up and make you look good for the papers for the pre-trial hearing tomorrow. Have you any other clothes?”

“Well, some of my belongings are still in my apartment. I left quickly with just two suitcases. Anything decent, well it’s all back in Monaco.”

“Fine, I will go get you a suit. Just write down your measurements. I will also bring you the necessary toiletries. You must look your best. There will be a lot of press nosing about and taking pictures. I need to ask you a few questions if I may? These questions will help me determine how to pursue the case and you must be candid with me.”

“OK,” said Stone with a sigh, realizing that nothing he was about to say was great for his case.

“Did you or did you not shoot Kahlil el Said?” asked Siegal.

Patrick began to relive the horror. “Yes, I did. We had had an argument in his shop on Tuesday, June first, and he refused to help me broker the Lazarus stone. I followed him later that night waiting for a good place to talk to him. He sat down on a bench in the park behind the Shrine of the Book. I intended to reason with him – and threaten him if necessary to sell the stone. At the least I wanted him to keep silent about my having the stone. I drew my derringer to scare him. The foolish man grabbed my hand! The gun went off – I didn’t even know it was loaded. He fell on me, grazing his head on the hard park bench on the way down. My arm was trapped under him. He is a very large man. I panicked, yanking my arm out from under him. I left the little derringer behind.”

“ So the prosecution, may in fact have some fingerprints of yours from the derringer, right?”

“I suppose, I didn’t mean to hurt him, you know.”

“OK, tell me about your derringer?”

“It’s a Civil War antique – belonged to my father. It only has one shot and only works at close range. Not very deadly I guess. I didn’t mean to hurt him, you know.”

“You keep saying that. Third question, did you or did you not, steal the Lazarus stone from the tomb?”

“Oh yes. Stupid I realize, but after all those years of being treated like an also ran compared to people like Arthur West – just looking at that stone – it was incredible. My teaching assistant, Ray Simpson, followed Art West when he was scouting out the tel behind the church in Bethany. He rang me when he was sure Art had found something. I got to the scene and West was already in the tel discovering this that and the other. I got angry. Simpson and I decided to entomb him – just to scare him.” Stone started laughing inanely.

“You didn’t really answer my question, Dr. Stone. But let’s talk about Simpson – was he in on this from the beginning?”

“Well, he agreed to follow Art West. That’s not kosher either, is it? Anyway, he agreed to help me entomb West. I convinced Ray it was a prank – to get him back for whatever. We figured he’d get out quickly enough – I planned to come back and check on him.”

“And you did go back, right?”

“Yes, around 11:30. I went alone. West was already gone – I guess the cemetery ghosts really scared him away! The opening wasn’t even closed up tight – sloppy work on West’s part. I think he got help from the church caretaker. I saw him earlier. Anyway, I photographed the inscription. I chiseled out the stone.”

“Finally. For the record, who made the copy of the stone and sent it to West?”

“Like I said, I took good pictures. And Ray is good at making copies. He knew I got that stone from the tomb, however. I didn’t even have to tell him. He’s not stupid. But he made the copy. I had him bring it to a courier and ship it to Art West to arrive Wednesday morning.”

“I have already made sure that any charges related to acts in the U.K. have been excluded. So, are there any other shady things done here in Israel I need to know about?”

‘”Well, there’s the papyri!”

“What, there’s more?!”

“Oh yeah, I found a small jar in an empty niche. It was full of manuscript fragments. You won’t believe what I did with those.” Stone started giggling again.

Siegal groaned as Patrick explained how he hid the manuscripts in the figurines before fleeing to the UK with the inscription.

“What have I gotten myself into?” thought Siegal. How could this mild–mannered professor, who never did anything wrong before, get himself into so much trouble?

“Very good,” said Siegal, although he was really thinking, very bad, indeed. “Let’s get ready to rumble. I’m going shopping for you and will be back later in the day. I’m hoping they will let me interview Raymond today. Do you have any friends or family that can come and support you?”

“No, there’s no one. Thanks so much, I could use a friend right now,” said Stone politely, hardly looking like a criminal of any sort.

But Siegal had already requested to be let out. He was in motion. So was this case – and that was all that mattered to him.

CHRISTIANS AND GUN CONTROL: AN IDEA WHOSE TIME HAS COME?

I was talking with one of my former seminary students who now works at a Wesley Foundation at a major university in the South. She and her charges had been busy sending support to the Va. Tech students in the wake of the massacre in Blacksburg. Everyone had been praying and wringing their hands about what can be done. This horrific experience raised some important ethical concerns.

Where is the moral outrage about the ability of even mentally whacked out people to buy guns in this country? You heard none of the potential Presidential candidates saying anything about the need for tighter gun control laws last week. Indeed, hardly a member of Congress was saying anything. You might find this passing strange since over 80% of all Americans in recent polls have been all in favor of more gun control in this country. Why is this such a hard sell? Well because the 10-20% of those Americans who aren’t in favor of stricter gun control are better organized and they’ve got the NRA and the gun lobby to work for their point of view. It’s the best organized and the squeaky wheels which get the grease in our society.

It is interesting to me that even most American Christians, when they discuss these things, discuss them in terms of their Constitutional rights to bear firearms. They don’t ask whether the New Testament might have anything to say about Christian conduct in this regard. Never mind that the original strict constructionists of the Constitution had in mind that the colonies had a right to a militia and private citizens could keep their hunting rifles. They could never have envisioned young adults packing multiple round pistols or adults carting around AK 47s because they think they have a Constitutional right to do so. I would reject the NRA’s interpretation of the Constitution on these points, but that is a debate for another day. My question is--- are their ethical teachings in the New Testament that have a bearing as to whether Christians, as private citizens, should be bearing arms? Well yes, in fact there are texts to consider.

Let’s start with first of all the unequivocal NT principle that Christians are never to engage in taking revenge. Perhaps the plainest statement of this fact is found in Romans 12—Paul, writing to Roman Christians says this “Do not repay anyone evil for evil….If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written “it is mine to avenge, I will repay” says the Lord. On the contrary “If your enemy is hungry, feed him. If he is thirsty give him something to drink. In doing this you will heap burning coals on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (12.17-21).

This is a reasonably clear statement of the basic Christian principle of “no retaliation”, but in fact it goes further by adding that instead of retaliation one is to do good even to one’s enemies, to ‘kill them with kindness’ as the old cliché goes. Notice the reference to enemies. Even enemies are not excluded from love and concern and indeed from ministering to at the point of their needs. The basic underlying issue here is leaving justice in God’s hands, rather than taking matters into our own hands. Even if someone does you a grave wrong, you are not to respond in kind, but rather leave it to God to deal with the perpetrator.

Does loving one’s enemies include enemies who are currently in the process of doing you harm? Well yes it does. Notice these two clauses back to back—“love your enemies and pray for those who are persecuting you that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes the sun to rise on the just and the unjust…” (Mt. 5.43-45). These of course are the words of Jesus, and among other things they rule out loving your enemies to death at the point of a gun. In context this saying teaches us a lot: 1) instead of responding with violence to violence we should be praying for those who are persecuting us. Notice it does not say praying about those who are persecuting us (for instance praying God will eliminate them quickly). No, this is about wishing them well, praying for their good and not their harm, just as Paul suggested in Rom. 12. It’s about overcoming evil with good. Notice as well that Jesus expects his disciples to be emulating the beneficent behavior of God the Father who blesses both the just and unjust with needed sunshine and precious rain. God is here depicted as indiscriminantly gracious-- pro-active, rather than reactive.

What about the famous text in Lk. 22.36-38 where Jesus seems to advise the disciples to go out and obtain a weapon? Again context is king here. Remember this is the same Jesus who: 1) advised that those who live by the sword will die by the sword and 2) who immediately put a stop to Peter’s violence against the high priest’s slave, and indeed reversed it’s effects by healing the man’s ear. So what is the meaning of this little story, taking into account the larger context of Jesus’ teaching? Vs. 37 is the key where Jesus quotes Is. 53.12—“he was numbered with the transgressors”. Jesus is saying to the disciples—you must fulfill your role as transgressors of what I have taught you!!! They must play the part of those who do exactly the opposite of what Jesus taught them in the Sermon on the Mount. The disciples become transgressors by seeking out weapons and then seeking to use them. This much is perfectly clear from the context for the disciples then go on to say “look Lord here is two swords”. They already have such weapons and Jesus responds in disgust to the fact that they are already transgressing his principles of non-violence by responding “that’s enough” (of this nonsense).

Clearly, Jesus knew that two swords would not be enough to hold off a Roman legion, so we must take his response as highly ironic not as straight forward. Either he says ironically “oh that will be plenty”, or more likely as I have suggested, he means “that will be enough” of this foolishness. Either way, there is absolutely no endorsement here by Jesus of his followers using weapons. Carrying weapons makes them fulfill the role of transgressors, as the citation of Is. 53.12 makes evident.

I could go on looking at text after text, but by now the point is clear--- both Jesus and Paul were opposed to the use of violence by mere mortals particularly their disciples, especially the use of violence as a form of vengeance. Vengeance was supposed to be in God’s hands, and this brings us to one more point. Jesus’ action in the temple is an example of God in the person of his Son taking vengeance against sin in his Holy Place. It is not an example of a mere human being given permission to do such things. This is why Jesus cites the Scripture “zeal for my house has consumed me”. The “my” in question is God of course, and so Jesus is acting in a divine role there. Even so, it should be noted that he does no physical harm at all to any human beings. The most one could get out of this story in Mk. 11 and par. is that justice, even when it comes to justice in the house of God, should be left to the hands of the divine.

What is the ethical cash value of the call to non-violence and non-retaliation in the NT when it comes to gun control? Several things should be said. In the first place it is just common sense, even if one is not a Christian, to believe that law enforcement should be left in the hands of the trained professionals--- the police and the military. I am frankly incredulous that we simply ignore the repeated pleas and cries of the police for tougher gun control laws, so that they will not be sitting ducks while trying to do their own jobs. This inherent contradiction in the rhetoric of the gun lobby makes no sense at all. The police are absolutely right—there are whole categories of weapons than cannot be called weapons of self-protection but rather are weapons of war, and no mere amateur or private citizen should have an inalienable right to own one.

For example, I am referring to automatic weapons such as machine guns, AK 47s, or the sort of weapons Mr. Cho was able to buy. These are not in any sense mere hunting weapons nor are they like a personal hand gun, such as a revolver. These weapons, which require large bullet clips, have no purpose except the destruction of human lives on a massive scale. Even if one believes owning a gun is alright for self protection or hunting purposes, no Christian should be endorsing the right of anyone to own these sorts of WMDs which wrek havoc with our police, and empower gangs, drug dealers, and crazed individuals to create one tragedy after another.

At this juncture in the argument, someone usually points to Canada. Canada does indeed, at least in some cases, have more liberal gun laws than America. They have far fewer killings as well. Why is that? It has to do with the Rambo and wild west history of America, a history unlike the history of Canada in various respects. The British Empire, including Canada, had a long history of training people in restraint, in not using violence to try and solve human problems. That history is still in play in Canada. They did not, in the way the American colonies did, perpetrate a revolution against British rule.

Ever since our Founding Fathers, we have believed in the use of violence to establish our claims upon the land, and to maintain those claims. We still believe violence works. This was the basis of going to war in Iraq—“a military solution”. Here is where I say, that as America becomes a less and less Christian country, with less and less restraint on all sorts ethical issues WHAT WE NEED IS NOT LESS GUN CONTROL, WE NEED MORE. When the society becomes more and more ill, sinful, dysfunctional, what is needed is less access to the ability to create havoc and mayhem by using major weapons.

In surely one of the greatest ironies in recent American history a Romanian Holocaust survivor who taught at Virginia Tech, on Holocaust remembrance day, deliberately got in the way of Mr. Cho’s bullets, laying down his life to save some of his students. This is precisely what Jesus had in mind when he said “greater love has no one, than he lay down his life for his friends”. Lives can indeed be saved by such sacrifices, and even the most dedicated pacifist should be ready to intervene in this way to stop the violence.

Christians believe they have the gift of eternal life. They do not need to be protecting their own lives at all costs. This simply isn’t necessary for a Christian. Of course it is true that Christians who have families must take that into consideration when seeking to act sacrificially in a dangerous situations, but nevertheless, in principle the idea that Jesus put before his disciples was to be prepared to take up their crosses and be martyred, as he was. It is forgiveness and self-sacrificial love, even to the point of dying, not killing, which stops the cycle of violence and upholds what God has in mind for all his children. This is what Jesus’ own death teaches us, and notice he was even busy forgiving his tormentors while dying on the cross.

The prophets told us that God’s goal was to get us to the point where we would one day, at least by the eschaton, beat our swords into plowshares, and study war no more. Every Christian has a chance to be a preview of that coming Kingdom now, if they will live by the principles of non-violence that Jesus modeled for, and taught all, human beings. What would happen if all, or a large majority of the Christians in America took seriously such a mandate? What would happen if more of us behaved like the Amish in western Pennsylvania and the way last year they handled the carnage wrought on their children in a small school house? I do not know what would happen humanly speaking. The world would likely see it as weakness, not meekness. But this I know—Jesus would be smiling. The words of the exalted Lord to Paul was “why are you persecuting me?” Any attack on Jesus’ people, is an attack on Jesus. And so the response should be left in Jesus’ hands. “Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord—I will repay.” Think on these things.

The Redoubtable "Miss Potter"

G rated films are scarce as hen's teeth these days, but "Miss Potter" is such a film and very good one at that. Rene Zellwegger plays Beatrix Potter, the early 20th century authoress of the wonderful little animal tales about Peter Rabbit, Benjamin Bunny, Jemima Puddle Duck and a cast of thousands. Rene also had a hand in making this movie and dealing with its script, and it appears she is multi-talented, as this is very well done. It is of course a period piece set in London and the beautiful Lake District in the northwest of England, and it shows to good effect the beauty of the English countryside and country life.

Beatrix Potter was a thoroughly remarkable woman, not just the writer of the best-selling children's books of all time. For one thing she was an early preservationist, wanting to prevent the raping of the beautiful landscape of England by over eager developers. With her royalties she was able to buy up a lot of beautiful land in the Lake District and bequeathed 4,000 acres of gorgeous real estate to the National Trust when she died. If only there were a few dozen Beatrix Potters in America.

The movie is absolutely family friendly, and includes a little CG magic as Beatrix's animal characters come to life briefly in several of the scenes. But it is not overdone, and it enhances a tale about a woman with a vivid imagination and a gift of writing who also was a rather good artist as well.

The story however is not just about 'a portrait of an artist as a young woman'. Beatrix grew up in rather posh circumstances in London, and made the mistake of falling in love with a man who published her books, something "not done" and beneath her station in the minds of her parents who called Mr. Warne a 'tradesman', a truly dismissive epithet. The story comes to a head when Beatrix at 31 accepts the proposal of Mr. Warne, and rejects her parents attempts to over-rule this act. She reminds them that they are social climbers living on money earned by their grandparents who were 'tradesmen' and so are hypocrites!!!

The story has many charms and dimensions, and the acting is simply superb, though apart from Zellweger Americans will not much recognize the cast. No matter, the story is well presented, and at less than 2 hours long definitely kid friendly.

Imagine a movie that does not rely on violence, sex, star power, or special effects and yet works very well-- shocking, but true :) By all means go and see this charming little film which is in limited release. Even if you are not a fan of Ms. Potter's wonderful books, this story has enough romance and charm to appeal to even the most adult and serious of audiences.

Fasting for Darfur--Hungering for Justice

(Picture courtesy of the Washington Post)

Meet Jay McKinley. Jay has a cross tatooed on his forehead. The cross says Start Loving, and in fact this is what Jay calls himself these days.

I was walking down Massachusetts Ave. (one of the Embassy rows in D.C.) and Jay was standing outside the Sudanese embassy protesting the atrocities in Darfur. At least 450,000 people have died in the horrible ethnic and religious cleansing that has been going on in the Darfur region of Sudan, most victims being Christians living in Christian villages in the western end of that region. Many of those villages have been entirely destroyed, and the Sudanese government has done little or nothing to stop it. Indeed they were one of the instigators who supported and armed a rebel group that got this disaster started in 2003. President Bush yesterday said he found the situation evil and appalling, but took no action, apparently because there may be something brewing in the United Nations by way of intervention. We shall see. But back to Jay.

Jay is an ordinary guy, a former businessman, software salesman, in Pennsylvania, who quit his job and as of March 1 began fasting and and on March 13th living on the sidewalk in front of the Sudanese embassy in D.C., until they do something about the ongoing disaster in their country.

Jay became convicted that this is what the Lord wanted him to do, to raise awareness for the thousands of people, including thousands of Christians that continue to die in the blood-letting there.

Jay is my age, 55, and at this point he has been fasting for longer than Jesus did-- well beyond 40 days. His story was in last Saturday's Washington Post. His mind is starting to slow, he is constantly nauseous, he can barely move, his kidneys have mostly shut down causing his legs to swell, but his heart is strong and he is determined to take this to the end if need be or until something significant is done to help the plight of the Christians and others in Darfur.

Jay sleeps in a green sleeping bag, but is not allowed to sleep flat on the sidewalk or else he will be picked up for vagrancy. Nearby is a statue of Ghandi, who, after Jesus, is his inspiration for doing what he is doing. During the day if someone comes to the embassy he tries to stand up and has a large orange sign explaining why he is there. When no one is around he simply reads his Bible.

Jay has left his family behind in Pennsylvania, so convicted was he that he was supposed to do this. They know he is likely to die soon, and one of his sons recently visited him. I don't really see this as much different than what some of the original disciples did when they were called away from their families by Jesus to come and follow him.

Why is he doing this? Besides saying its what the Lord wants him to do he says: "Babies are being killed. Women are being gang raped and mutilated. What kind of human beings are we if we don't respond?" What kind indeed. Where exactly is the Christian church's capacity for moral outrage about this, when many human beings, including many of our brothers and sisters in Christ are being murdered daily?

Now I need to tell you Jay is a pretty normal guy, not a kook. He has a bachelor's degree from Ithaca college and an MBA from Syracuse. He reads his Bible daily and Christian literature. Recently he quoted Teilhard de Chardin one of the more interesting Catholic thinkers of the 20th century: "After we have mastered the winds, the waves, the tides, and gravity, we shall harness the energies of love. Then for the second time in history, man will have discovered fire."

Jay so inspired a local D.C. tatoo artist that he tatooed the cross with Start Loving in it on his forehead for free.

Jay stands alone on the street corner. No one joins him. When I saw this, I wondered if I had the courage and conviction and guts to do what he was doing. When asked by reporters why he is offering up this apparently futile gesture alone he says "I'm here because my brothers and sisters are being killed. It's not my responsibility what others do. Its only my responsibility what I do. I can do nothing less in the face of this atrocity." Choking back tears he adds 'I wish I had a thousand lives to give. But I have mine and this is how I choose to spend it."

What was it that Jesus said-- "Greater love has no man, than he lay down his life for his friends." Well Jay doesn't even know these folks in Darfur, but he knows they are his brothers and sisters.

I am reminded of the great poem by John Donne which says (I am paraphrasing) "No man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away from Europe, Europe is the less. Any man's death diminishes me, for I am a part of mankind. Therefore do not seek to know for whom the bell tolls-- it tolls for thee."

God bless you Jay, and God have mercy on Darfur-- soon and very soon.

(with thanks to the Washington Post and Delphine Schrank a Post staff writer for some of this information which I have rewritten).

Supreme Court Bans Partial Birth Abortion in Landmark Decision

In what has been quickly hailed as the most significant Supreme Court Decision on abortion since Row vs. Wade, second trimester partial birth abortion was declared illegal in a 5 to 4 decision by the Supreme Court today. Reaction to the decision was swift on both sides with the pro-choice groups picketing the Supreme Court building today. President Bush was quick to applaud the decision.

The decision itself described this abortion procedure as both gruesome and unnecessary. In this procedure, labor is induced and when the child is partially born it is then killed. Some doctors were quick to suggest that this will make abortion more dangerous for women because some claim this is the safest second trimester procedure. Others say that it is completely unnecessary since there are other safe means to abort a fetus.

What is especially remarkable about this decision is no exception is made to the ban even if the life of the mother is in danger.

It will be remembered that President Bush moved swiftly to sign the original bill into law which had passed Congress in Nov. 2003. The bill was proposed by Sen. Rick Santorum and others in 2003, and it then underwent challenge after challenge until the case came before the Supreme Court three years.

You can read the story here----http://www.sbcbaptistpress.org/BPnews.asp?ID=25422

Debate has of course begun on whether this will embolden challenges to other radical abortion procedures in individual states. Perhaps most fundamentally this decision reflects a belief that a woman should not be allowed to do whatever she pleases with the child in her womb. At a minimum this decision signals a belief that some forms of abortion are inhumane and should not be legal.

For those of us who are pro-life this is an important day in a long struggle, but in reality it is only a small victory for the life of unborn children since abortions can be performed in various other ways.

THE LAZARUS EFFECT-- PART NINE

CHAPTER FORTY ONE: JUSTIFICATION

Patrick Stone had been frankly over-whelmed by the beauty and elegance of Puissant Chateau. The staff seemed cordial, even relieved, at the prospect of having a ‘normal’ owner as opposed to a heavy metal rocker complete with groupies. He toured every room, but fell in love with the library. For an hour he just sat in one large leather chair imagining a life in this home. Francois Boule, the agent, understood human behavior well enough to see that Stone was hooked. He busied himself with business online on his laptop until his potential buyer finally agreed to stay in town for the night.

Stone spent the rest of Wednesday relaxing in one of Monaco’s finer hotels, day-dreaming about life in this seemingly idyllic country. He turned off his cell phone – he didn’t read the papers – he didn’t watch the news. Sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean he tried to minimize all the events of the past ten days – and nearly succeeded. It all seemed so unreal. Surely, now that the inscription was safe at the British Museum all would be well. Finder’s keepers, after all. The British Museum is brimming with artifacts from other countries. The transaction was confidential, wasn’t it? And his money was protected in a Swiss bank, wasn’t it? And sealing Art West in the tomb – well, any prankster could be blamed for that. Who would know other than Raymond? And the incident with el Said – well, that was just an accident. A misunderstanding. I’m sure he’s recuperating just fine. And the manuscript fragments – he would return those – he didn’t need the money after all. All would be forgiven. By late Wednesday, Stone decided to become a home owner.

Stone returned to Chateau Puissant to meet with Francois at nine o’clock Thursday morning. Once again he sat down in his already favorite leather chair in the library – a library which had bookshelves two stories high complete with moving staircase on wheels. Trying to remain cool, Stone said to the agent,

“I am prepared not only to make an offer on the spot, but also to transfer the money.

My banker at Credit Lyonnais is awaiting your call to authorize the immediate transfer.”

“Very good, monsieur, and what would that offer be? This dream home is tres cher, to say the least,” smiled Francois wryly.

“I am prepared to offer two million in US dollars,” said Stone, his heart pounding.

“Yes, but my client needs a bit more. I am authorized to accept no less than $2.5 million and I will guarantee that the transaction can be completed swiftly and discretely. You may have the key today.”

Stone thought for a moment and concluded that he was so rich, it would be beneath his dignity to haggle. He heard himself say, “I agree.”

“Trés bon. Shall we have a celebratory toast?” Francois turned, clapped his hands and the butler came at once.

“S’il vous plait, two glasses of the best champagne in the cellar.”

The butler nodded and left to fetch a maid. Francois continued.

“Yes, this house comes complete with a wine cellar, and well stocked I might add. The last tenant, if I may say so, was a pig who drank only cold beer. He had no palate for wine, and so the cellar has for the last four years gone largely untouched. This is a special gift to you,” he said, as he popped a bottle of Moet et Chandon champagne.

The maid brought tall-stemmed dark blue glasses which were soon brimming with bubbly. “To a momentous decision,” smiled Francois.

“Salut,” answered Stone feeling tipsy even before he took a sip.

“Now let us go to my office, sign the papers and make the calls to transfer your money. I must also tell you that in order to finish the business of the day we must visit the office of the duchy, and at the same time have you sign papers making you a resident of Monaco. Citizenship can be applied for, if desired, in another year.”

Stone was so numb by now that he simply followed along docile as a lamb. Hours of paperwork followed before he slowly drove back to Cannes in a daze. In the passenger seat lay a huge folder with paperwork claiming that Dr. Patrick Stone was now the proud owner of Chateau Puissant, Rue d’Rivoli, Monaco, 3PL 1XZ.

Thursday evening, after a wonderful meal and a glass of wine, Stone felt revived. Reviewing everything he had mulled over the night before, he decided to call Raymond for updates, and have him return the fragments to the tomb. No sense in being too greedy. The phone rang twice, and Grayson picked up. Avi Hoffner hovered in the background monitoring his recording equipment.

“Hello, this is Dr. Stone. I need to speak to Raymond.”

“Ray’s not here just now, but he left an important message for you. He wants to know your current address so he can send some kind of statues. I don’t know what statues he’s talkin’ about,” said Grayson, going along with the charade.

Stone replied, “I am surprised Raymond discussed the figurines with you. But in any case, I have decided not to have them sent. I wish to give Ray instructions on returning them.”

Grayson was frantic. This conversation was not going as planned. Hoffner just encouraged him to keep talking. “Well, Ray said the figurines came from The Three Arches. Is that where you want them to go?”

“No, no! Not at all. It’s far more complicated than that. I must speak with Raymond. When will he be home?” demanded Stone getting more than a little irritated and worried about the manuscript fragments.

“Relax man, Raymond’s been a busy boy lately. My roomie hasn’t been home much! But he sure has a bunch of stuff here he wants to send you. Where are you, if I can be so bold to ask?” replied Grayson with some creative flourishes.

“He can send my personal effects to my home in Tennessee – and business mail to Yale – he has the addresses! I have no desire to continue this conversation,” replied Stone rudely.

“Don’t have a cow, Dr. Stone. I’m just Grayson, the middle man. You two can work it out!” Grayson was still stalling the conversation while Hoffner traced the call. Stone, however, abruptly hung up.

What the trace revealed was an American cell phone number belonging to one Patrick Stone, not a location. Hoffner had gotten the entire conversation on tape, a conversation which clearly linked Stone to Simpson, to the statues, and to the papyri fragments. In other words, this was very damning evidence indeed for the inevitable trial. The snowball of justice had been pushed down the slope a bit.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO: MENDING WALLS

Precisely at one o’clock London time, Wednesday afternoon, the phone rang at Oliver St. James’ office in the British Museum. Oliver’s secretary sang out, “Halloo, St. James’ office, how may I help?”

Sammy Cohen replied, “This is Professor Cohen of the IAA in Jerusalem.

I need to speak with Mr. St. James please, it is urgent.”

“He is in conference watching the news. Do I really need to fetch him at this moment or could he call you back?”

“We need to talk at once please,” insisted Sammy. There was about a five- minute silence on the line then finally St. James got to the phone.

“Hello, this is St. James. Is this indeed Professor Cohen of the IAA?” Sammy replied in the affirmative. “I presume you are calling about the Lazarus stone. We have just finished watching a BBC copy of your press conference. I can only say that I am more than a little mortified by these revelations. We had various experts authenticate the stone, albeit quickly, and we bought it from a known academic. We checked his past before dealing with him. In addition, we have here the bona fides that the stone is genuine and that he purchased the stone in 1972.”

“Well, unfortunately, your seller’s greed has led him to commit various crimes, not the least of which is lying to you by supplying forged documents. Very cheeky, as you would say.”

“Our press conference was Monday – you could have called us with a warning about what was to come. Your briefing was a bit challenging you realize. I will have to consult with our trustees and lawyers about what is to be done next. You are certain that the stone and its inscription are genuine – correct?”

“Absolutely,” insisted Sammy. “But yes, you are right about one thing.

We could have worked together on this. But this matter must be rectified as soon as possible.”

“Remember, the terms of the agreement included protecting the identify of the seller. Again, until I hear from our lawyers . . . .”

Sammy interrupted, “From our end, we believe the seller was Dr. Patrick Stone, or possibly an agent working for Stone. And our Dr. Stone would now be a millionaire, am I right?”

At that St. James actually laughed. “I can’t confirm or deny! But yes, the seller pocketed a tidy sum. We have insurance, of course. What we recoup is another matter. The insurance company will only cover so-called unrecoverable sums.”

Sammy pushed on. “It is imperative that we turn over the seller’s name to the authorities as soon as possible. I presume funds were wired directly into an account. Can those numbers be made available to the police soon, very soon?”

“Yes,” St. James promised. “The account numbers are with the confidential documents. But I will release them as soon as possible. And, I believe, the account was in a Swiss bank. That will pose some problems in terms of accessing the account and freezing the assets. But there was also some money wired to a Jerusalem bank.”

“As for the Jerusalem money we have already recovered it, and are prepared to send it along in exchange for the stone. I’m sure you will do your best,” said Sammy cordially. “I have no wish to spoil relations between our agencies. It is an unfortunate matter. One man nearly died, and another’s reputation has nearly been ruined. But when all is said and done, we have, I believe, a wealth of fabulous artifacts to share. Maybe at some point a tour will find its way to the British Museum!”

“That would be honorable end to a dishonorable beginning,” said St. James.

After hanging up, Sammy thought of something more. He knew Oliver St. James to be an honest man who, like himself, was coming to the end of his fine career. This would be a humiliating way for it to end. Perhaps he could convince the IAA to give St. James something in exchange for all his trouble. Perhaps it would help to rehabilitate the image of the IAA, if the IAA engaged in an act of pure generosity. Perhaps the IAA board would allow him to send the British Museum one of the smaller papyri found in the figurines. These fragments could be displayed proudly next to Codex Vaticanus in the manuscripts room. He would consult on this.

Sammy picked up the phone and called Grace. “I have now spoken with St. James and he really is crushed by the news. I am wondering if we can save face on both sides of the Channel, by allowing the British Museum to have one of the small pieces of the Lazarus papyri? What do you think?”

Grace was fine with the idea, “A peace offering! This might pave the way for improved relations between the British Museum and the Israeli Museums. May I suggest that the portion you send him is the little scroll that even Art has not looked at yet, the one with the story about the risen Jesus having breakfast at the sea with his disciples and Peter being restored to his role among the disciples. That is such a memorable story, only a few verses and one small piece of papyri, but enormously appreciated in countries of a Christian heritage.”

“I knew you would have a good idea about this one, and I am going to push the trustees to get that accomplished – after we sort out the rest of this mess.”

“Yes, Sammy, you are a good man,” said Grace quietly. And Wednesday was a good day for two countries.”

CHAPTER FORTY THREE: MENDING SPIRITS

The press conference had indeed gone well, and Art could only imagine what the headlines would be in next morning’s papers. Grace and Sammy had returned to the IAA. Harry, Grayson and Art enjoyed lunch before splitting up for the day. Plans had already been made for an evening out on the town. Now, alone for the afternoon, and very tired, Art wandered the streets of Jerusalem being trailed by the equally weary Officer Shimon. The shop-keepers in the Cardo were raking in the tourist money despite the problems of late. Kahlil’s shop was open for the first time in many days, and several people were browsing. Art saw Hannah selling a priestly stole on which she herself had stitched some Christian emblems. That’s ecumenism, thought Art. “Mind if I pass through into the back.”

“By all means,” she said. “Our home is your home. Father will enjoying seeing you. But remember, he just got home Tuesday night.”

The little apartment in the back of the shop was indeed diminutive. There were two small bedrooms, really more like cubicles, a modest sized living area, a bathroom and a kitchen. This was home for Kahlil and Hannah. The living room was piled high with books in at least four different languages. Kahlil might be poor in property but he was rich in soul. Seeing Art come in, Kahlil tried to get up to give him the traditional greeting, but Art said, “Please, stay where you are. We want your wounds to heal, not reopen! How’s your head – inside and out!”

Kahlil laughed, “Ah yes, the bump is gone, but so is my memory still! I do dream of a shadowy figure – a familiar man – but not you, my friend, so don’t look so worried! But, tell me, how did the big press conference go? Was your rhetoric sharp and compelling? What do you think will come of this?”

“The Conference was a lot of fun, actually. I must admit it’s a bit of a power trip talking to the press like that. Now that we have thrown down the gauntlet there could be a fairly rapid series of events. Sammy will have his hands full dealing with the British Museum. He knows the director, Oliver St. James. I hope they can work together. If Patrick Stone can be found, I think we are heading for a blockbuster trial. Harry definitely wants to be involved. I wonder if Stone knows how much trouble he’s caused. Someday, I hope he realizes the mess he created.”

“Ensch-allah [as God wills].” said Kahlil. “My friend, once we get past the trial what is next for you? You lacked funds for this season anyway. It will likely be too late to start another dig this summer, and Hannah has no longer been able to keep from me that you received a huge sum of money which you then turned over to the police. Are you still a suspect?”

“You’re right, of course about the summer season of digging, but I plan to spend the rest of the summer studying the scroll, determining in what ways the text we have differs from the Gospel of John and in what ways the Greek text is just a translation of the original or paraphrase at least. This will keep me out of any more trouble! I am still a suspect, suspected of being a collaborator with Stone, I suppose. But enough of my exploits. You came home from the hospital when – Tuesday night?! That’s impressive! What does the doctor say?”

“Apparently, I was becoming too difficult to keep! The doctor – he gave up -- sent me home! He says rest and more rest, but that is all I have been doing lately. I yearn to do something meaningful before I start getting into mischief!”

“Do you think I could persuade you and Hannah to come with me to ‘Le Jazz Hot’ tonight? Do you even like jazz? Sammy, Grace and Harry are coming. I’ve already reserved a table for supper and the early show. We promise to have you home before ten.”

“Sounds like a joy to me, let me ask my boss – Hannah!” Kahlil’s booming voice reverberated through the shop. She came running.

“Slow down dear; can I persuade you to go to dinner and hear some music tonight. I promise to behave – no whirling dervish dances or the like.”

Hannah was obviously tempted. “Well, the doctor did say that the healing of your soul was as important as the healing of your body, so perhaps this will be good thing. We will be home early?”

“Definitely,” promised Art. Hannah went back to dealing with customers, and Art offered, “Can I get you some cold juice out of the refrigerator?”

“Hah, you know my pleasures,” laughed Kahlil. The two friends sat sipping cherry juice and Art explained that tonight the great James Carter, an American saxaphonist, would be playing at the club doing an all John Coltrane tribute.

“Coltrane is my favorite. He was the most amazing and spiritual saxaphone player. He’s also from my hometown in North Carolina. In honor of your coming home I have brought you some music – John Coltrane’s Ballads. Can I play it while we talk?”

“By all means,” said Kahlil. “The player is over there on the bookshelf.”

Art slipped the cassette into the slot, pressed the play button, and immediately the soothing tones of “Say it (Over and Over Again)” came through the speakers. Art turned the volume to a level where the music could be appreciated with the conversation. Art had remembered that Kahlil only had an antiquated cassette recorder so he had bough the cassette after looking a long time for the right one on Ben Yehuda St.

“So, will your business pick up again?”

“I suppose so,” said Kahlil. “It will take some time. When you are closed too long your competition gains the upper hand. But just in the last few hours several old friends – Jews, Christians, Palestinians – have come in and made a point of buying something. They heard about my adventure, and Hannah says we have already had a full day’s worth of sales. Imagine that!”

“As one of my friends likes to say, ‘God is good, all the time.’”

“Yes, if only people were as well, it would be a happier world.”

“Kahlil, I realize this is a difficult subject, and you must forgive me for asking, but in my prayers I’m concerned for Hannah. Is she alright? She clings to you. She needs a few more friends. Is Sarah her only other friend?”

“Sarah is a wonderful girl, but very busy at the Porch. Believe me, many times I have encouraged her to have a life of her own, but it actually hurts her feelings when I say anything. She feels like I am hinting I don’t want her around any more, which is the opposite of the truth. It’s just I want her to be happy, even when I am long gone.”

“She is the ultimate faithful daughter. I’ll keep praying for her.” After about another thirty minutes of cordial chat, Art rose to go, saying, “I have one errand to run before we go out tonight. Harry has a nice rental car that is bigger than my car, so he and I will come by and collect you after a while. It will be fun, but please if you get weary, you will tell us, and we can come home early.”

Kahlil assured, “If the music is this soothing and pleasant, I may just fall asleep at the club!”

Art left quietly, smiling at Hannah as he went by. He walked out into the market to find a shop that sold Turkish Delight, a confection rather like gum drops only in inch-square cubes. “The rosewater flavored kind please,” said Art who knew that Amelia especially loved this sweet treat. Art was thinking maybe this might smooth over some of the bumpy spots between Grace and her mother. Dinner Tuesday night had been a bit strained. But tonight was a night to celebrate – the successful press conference and Grace’s birthday!

When he arrived at Grace’s apartment he saw the red Mazda parked in its usual spot. He could also hear chatter coming from the open kitchen window on the second floor. Grace and her mother were in animated discussion about something, hopefully not her love life again.

Art hid the candy and a card behind his back, and rang the doorbell. “Who is it?” called Grace through the speaker.

“Oh, nobody special,” teased Art. The buzzer went off. Art entered, climbed the stairs, and met Grace waiting at the door. Upon entering, Camelia came out of the kitchen. She liked Art, though of course she thought, ‘If only he was a good Jewish boy and not a goy.”

Art began cheerfully, “Miss Camelia, thank you again for dinner last night. But I must tell you, your daughter did a splendid job at the press conference today – and on her birthday no less! Anyway, I have brought a little something for you two to share.” He produced the box of Turkish Delight. Camelia immediately melted and Grace smiled a wry grin and wagged her finger at Art and said “You!” He then produced a card from behind his back. He had practiced a little speech: “You know what W. C. Fields once said about birthdays?”

“No, but I have a feeling I am about to find out,” smiled Grace.

“Be careful , too many of those things can kill you!” Grace burst out laughing, and Camelia stifled a giggle as well.

“Now I first have to show you, Camelia, the card that Grace got me for my last birthday. Yes, I saved it!” The front cover had a picture of an ancient papyrus with

a broken jar next to it. Inside, the card read, “Good news, we found your birth certificate!”

“Here, Grace, this card’s for you,” said Art.

The outside of the card pictured a beautiful sunset on the sea of Galilee. There was a small boat sailing on the sea which seemed to be gliding off into the west. Grace opened the card and read the following: Inside he had written, “Others age with grace, but you are grace personified. Happy Birthday. Every Blessing, Art.”

Grace looked up, and in a rare vulnerable moment gave her mother and Art both a hug. Art felt led to say, “Now listen you too, eat the Turkish Delight and maybe it will help you be sweeter to each other.” They both nodded as they stuffed their mouths with the first pieces of the rosewater flavored treat.

“Time to hit the road, birthday girl. We have some celebratin’ to do! We are going to the jazz club with some special guests! I’ll let you be surprised later.” Art waved goodbye to Camelia who was hanging out the window, and Grace waved as well.

“You are such a smoothy,” said Grace. “How did you know things had been bumpy at home?”

“Men’s intuition,” said Art in a sassy voice. They road off to pick up Harry and the el Saids for a night on the town. Sammy would join them if work allowed. Healing and mending come in many forms. As Shakespeare once said, “Music soothes the savage breast.” Even Officer Shimon, who had trialed them to the club, relaxed and enjoyed the music!

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR: BIG BREAKS

Sammy Cohen was a man on fire working late into the night. That same day, St. James rose to the occasion, pushing the paperwork and cutting through the red tape all day. Hopefully, by Friday the Swiss bank assets of Stone – wherever he was – would be frozen. At eight o’clock, Sammy got a surprising phone call from Levi Shimon. Stone’s real passport had been used to leave Monaco that very afternoon. At nine o’clock, Sammy got a shocking phone call from Avi Hoffner. Patrick Stone himself had tried to call Ray Simpson. He had already learned that Stone had been in the south of France.

Despite the late hour, Cohen couldn’t resist. He personally visited Ray Simpson, still sulking behind bars. Sammy and Officer Shimon relayed the news that it was only time now before Stone would be brought back to Jerusalem. If Ray was willing to co-operate there could be a lighter sentence for him, perhaps even parole. Simpson seemed amenable for the first time to talk deal.

------

Art was sitting at home in front of his computer. He realized that if he was going to really make an impact with his press conference next week he must marshal his evidence as judiciously as possible. Too much of the academic world had closed their minds to the concept of miracles a long time ago. It was an odd phenomenon though. Academics pretended to be broad minded or open to new ideas, but in fact most people, including himself, were committed to their own presuppositions and interpretations.

Art learned long ago that fundamentalism was not a theological position, it was a mindset. There could be fundamentalist liberals who shut out the concept of miracles on an a priori basis. He had studied the arguments. “Such things don’t happen now, and so they have never happened.” Or, worse still, “Since I have never experienced a miracle, miracles can’t happen.” Of course, at the other extreme are fundamentalist conservatives who rarely entertain the notion that anything natural can happen without a miracle. Thus, their emphasis on literal seven day creationism over any sort of natural evolution.

Anachronism, the reading back into the Bible modern interpretations, is just as much a sin of fundamentalist liberals as of fundamentalist conservatives. How then was Art going to present the truth about Lazarus’ resurrection in a winsome way without turning off most of his audience? How could he inform the people without sounding like he was preaching to them in a condescending way? In fact, if he was perceived as preaching, he could be in hot water with the Israeli law which forbade proselytizing of Jews and other non-Christians. He wanted to do something that glorified God and edified human beings, even unbelievers. He did not want to be obnoxious for Jesus.

Art took a few minutes just to pray through this situation. He began to see a way forward. He would talk first about the rise of the concept of resurrection in early Judaism, and how widely the idea was believed by Pharisees and other early Jews. He would stress the Jewishness of the idea. Yes, this was the right approach in Jerusalem. Jerusalem was going to hear a lot of interesting things in the next few weeks.

Returning to the kitchen, Art fetched two glasses of sherry – a night cap.

He handed one to Harry and they sat reminiscing about the great concert Wednesday night. Harry admitted he was feeling better about his relationship with Sammy Cohen. The phone rang at ten-thirty – it was Sammy.

“I know it’s late Art – if you were planning on sleeping, this news won’t help!” he began laughing. “Patrick Stone tried to contact Raymond tonight. Your friend Grayson handled the call just fine. But there’s more – We’ve been looking in England – that’s the last time his real passport was used, but now we have word he has been somewhere in Monaco and the south of France as well. We are closing in.”

“Wow, Monaco!” exclaimed Art. “I must admit, the guy has good taste! Thanks for the news. What’s next?”

“The long, slow process of searching the area, hoping he doesn’t fly off again, and getting extradition papers for France and Monaco.”

“Sounds complicated. It’s late. You must be exhausted. I’ll check with you tomorrow.” Both men signed off.

Art turned to Harry, “The snowball is rolling faster down the hill, and it’s surely going to melt soon!”

“Yes,” said Art, “but the question is, am I going to be entangled in this prosecution or extricated from it, since I had nothing to do with this theft and sale of the stone?”

“Patience,” said Harry, “things have a way of working out.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not one of my virtues,” sighed Art.

Should Pederasts be in the Pews?

I once had an odd experience while staying in Atlanta some years ago. I had run into a man in the hotel where I was staying who said he wanted to go to church with me in the morning. Said he was a regular attender back home in Kansas. I thought, well sure-- sounds fine. He then proceeded to tell me he was in counseling for child porn and for fondling children and was doing better. He was a doctor who had lost his job. At that juncture I had a dilemma on my hands. I didn't think I could decide for the church in question whether he ought to be there or not. I honestly didn't know what to say or do. The next morning I got up and went on to church early , and this man showed up as well. Well, I sat with him. We sang the hymns together, but I have to tell you I was more than a little distracted. I was watching him closely more than I was paying attention to the service. I am still not sure what I should have done, if anything.

In the NY Times this week there is an excellent article about this same subject. Here is the link--
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/10/us/10pilgrim.html?th&emc=th .


The sign outside the Pilgrim Church of Christ, which is the subject of this article, proclaims that "all are welcome". Does "all" really mean all? This story is about a man who was a convicted sex offender who had molested various children, had given his life to Christ, was now out of prison, and has been attending this church. This has caused a moral dilemma for various of the members-- some saying he should not be there, others saying that of course he should be there since we are all sinners who have fallen short of the glory of God. Shouldn't all be welcome to come to church as they are, since it is supposed to be a hospital for sick sinners, not a museum for saints?

One of the things of course that makes this such a volatile issues is that the church also reaches out to adult male victims of child molestation. And there are many of these. If we add to these adult women who have been molested by a male family member growing up, the issue becomes even more volatile. What both of these groups have in common is that it is men who have abused them.

One statistic I have seen suggests that over 95% of all molestation is perpetrated by men, and a comparable statistic could be brought out if we were asking about the percentage of rapists who are males. Only a slightly lower percentage would be found if we asked about who's regularly viewing or is addicted to pornography, including child pornography. These issues are overwhelmingly male problems. I already knew this that day in Atlanta which is why, if a woman had come up to me at my hotel and said she was a lesbian and wanted to go to church in the morning, that would not have worried me anywhere near as much in terms of the imminent potential danger for the rest of the unsuspecting folks there.

One of the issues one has to deal with honestly in thinking through this issue is what does conversion or sanctification really accomplish? Does it really snuff out aberrant desires of various sorts, or does it just give the person power to control and stifle them? Can people really be transformed by conversion? In other words, what do we believe the grace of God can really accomplish in the life of person whose sinful inclinations are so deep-rooted? I personally do believe real transformation is possible, and I have met various persons for whom it is so. I also know others who are real Christians but they struggle day by day to keep those inclinations in check.

The other issue is whether knowingly having such a person in one's midst might not ruin the warm fellowship of a church, and replace faith based thinking with fear based approaches to other members of the church. Would you always be looking over your shoulder, especially if you had children who could be victimized?

These are very hard questions. And when a church takes a stand to allow "whosoever will" to come into the church because they believe it is what Jesus would want, then it must be prepared to work through the consequences of such a stance.

In the case in the article, the man was not trying to hide anything. He wanted the help and support of a living body of Christ. Knowledge of his situation and past was made known to the other church members. Some accepted it, some rejected his being there, and left. And still others felt uncertain and ambivalent about it. It can change the ethos of a congregation in a heartbeat. And furthermore, it will reveal the secrets of some hearts. You will discover who is more self-protective, and who is more other-directed.

I do not pretend to have pat answers to these sorts of difficult questions. But this I do know. If I did not believe that God can change people, sometimes even dramatically, I would not be in the ministry at all. At the same time, I also know that change in some people can be painfully slow, and sometimes what change looks like in a particular life is simply the power of restraint of the things that drive one in unhealthy directions. This power comes from the Holy Spirit.

There is a voice that haunts me in all of this. He is saying "Come unto me ALL you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest". Should not this also be the primary posture of the church instead of mainly being self-protective?

God give us wisdom to know how to be compassionate without being naive, loving without condoning sin, caring without giving up accountability and responsibility to the body as a whole.

THE LAZARUS EFFECT-- PART EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN: LOVE FEAST

Grace had left her mother fuming in the kitchen because the matzo ball soup had too much water in it. Camelia’s memory of the recipe called for six cups of water, but it was obvious that four cups were plenty. Now Camelia was contemplating starting over, but she hated to waste anything. So Grace had thin soup for lunch and then announced that she was off to the IAA for the afternoon.
Camelia retorted , “Muzzel tov.”
Grace drove a rather flashy car for a teacher and part time IAA operative. It was a Mazda Miata rag top, bright red. She figured she deserved a little fun in her life. Zooming down the hill towards the IAA building she passed the Knesset and the Shrine of the Book, and kept right on going.
Parking across the street was Art West, who saw her red car flash into the staff parking lot. Grace was a lot of fun to be around, always the life of the party, that is, when she ever had time to go to a party. Like Art, Grace was a workaholic.
Art waved a newspaper in the air, as he raced toward her. “Grace, come on, let’s go find Sammy!” he yelled, grabbing her arm and rushing her into the building. The two of them nearly collided with Sammy who was talking to a secretary.

Sammy turned quickly and called out, “Did either of you see today’s papers?”

“I’ve got a copy of the Post in my hand. Grace you won’t believe this!”

“Come on, let’s go into my office,” said Sammy.

“It seems that our Lazarus stone has turned up sold to the British Museum.” He deliberately avoided mentioning the other article on the front page of note– the one about Art. Sammy kept telling himself -- ‘He’s innocent until proven guilty.’
“What? Are you kidding?” cried Grace in response to Sammy audible comment.

“See for yourself,” said Art handing her the front page of the Jerusalem Post. Priceless Artifact Obtained by British Museum.

Press Conference Reveals Ancient Inscription.
The British Museum press release included a picture of a man named Oliver St. James, and the article detailed how the Museum had bought the limestone inscription after careful authentication. Despite repeated questions from the press, neither the seller nor the price tag were revealed. In conclusion, the report stated that the British Museum looked forward to displaying the stone in the room with Codex Vaticanus.
Sammy was fuming.

“Do you two have any idea how hard it is to pry a stolen artifact from the clutches of those who run the British Museum? You know that they still have never given back the so-called Elgin marbles, the friezes from the Parthenon, even though Greece requested them to be returned several summers ago in time for the Olympic games. What a mess!”

“Well, the inscription has been found, but Patrick Stone wasn’t mentioned. Mustafa told me this morning that he saw Patrick Stone at the Bethany site. Even though Simpson isn’t giving him up, it’s obvious he took the stone. Did he give it to a broker to sell, I wonder? Did he take it to London himself? Did he shoot Kahlil? Are the police tracking him?” Art wasn’t running out of questions, so Sammy interrupted.

“Yes, well, the police are looking for Dr. Stone, and yes, Raymond Simpson is still withholding evidence and now their thinking you are in cahoots with these other two ne’er do wells also. I guess Simpson’s praying that Dr. Stone won’t roll over on him!”

“Enough with the stone jokes,” laughed Grace. “The police can do their work. How hard can it be to track a short, nearly bald man in his sixties – unless he’s a master of disguise!”

“With plenty of cash and maybe even a false ID,” added Art.

“You two watch too many detective shows. But, yes, even the most amateur felon can elude the police for some time. Meanwhile, did I hear you say you were in Bethany this morning, Art?” asked Sammy.

Glad to add to the news reports, Art said, “Yes friends, I have a little surprise for you. Lest anyone argue that this Eliezar is someone other than the biblical Lazarus, I crawled back into the tomb with Mustafa. And guess what? There are inscriptions in the roof of one of those niches. Here’s a picture that Mustafa took.”
Grace playfully snatched it from his hand and looked closely at the Aramaic. She translated:

“‘Martha, asleep in the Lord, lies here, awaiting resurrection.’ So this was truly a family tomb, and at one time Martha and presumably Mary were also interred there.”

“Which brings us to the other manuscripts, the small ones found in the figurines. Some of our technicians are working with the fragments right now. I suggest you both look in on them. I have some phone calls to make – to London,” said Sammy with a deep frown.

Minutes later, they joined some of Grace’s coworkers examining the fragments. So far all of them were pieces of John’s Gospel. The workers were attempting to put them in order.

“Look familiar?” Grace asked as she handed Art a fragment ready to be translated. He read a line in the Aramaic:

“‘Jesus stooped down and started to write on the ground with his finger.’ Well, no doubt this is a copy of the story of the woman caught in adultery. Do you know what are in the other fragments?”

Anna, one of the other workers, a graduate student from Cornell spending her summer studying Aramaic texts, explained. “More of the same story, and a couple of others from John 21.”
Art turned to Grace, “So Stone found these fragments in the tomb after I managed to get out last Tuesday morning. It’s a good thing the ossuary was too big for him to get it through the hole. We already know Stone had the figurines made. I’m sure he put the manuscripts inside. He probably gave them to Ray to hide for the time being in his locker. It’s possible Raymond didn’t even know the manuscripts were inside. Grayson said he never saw the figurines at the apartment.”

At this point, Sammy entered the room. “London promises to return my call. Sure, and it might rain in Jerusalem today. Sorry for the sarcasm. Are you talking about the figurine manuscripts? Raymond Simpson has finally admitted that he stored the figurines for Dr. Stone, but he swears he had no idea that the manuscripts were inside. He remembers Dr. Stone picking up a jar from the tomb, but he never saw what was inside the jar. My guess is that Dr. Stone had no intention of sharing this find with Raymond. But I’m also hoping that Dr. Stone will eventually get in touch with Raymond in the hopes of having them sent by mail somewhere.”

“Yes, I had lunch with Grayson” said Art “He mentioned you were tapping his phone. Do you think Stone has any idea that Raymond has been arrested?”

“No, I don’t think so. Raymond has an answering phone in his apartment, so we are tracing all incoming calls. So far, nothing. Our Mr. Stone might not call for some time. He thinks the figurines are safely stashed. Detective Hoffner is monitoring the calls with one of his favorite gadgets. Of course, there are some perks. Hoffner is getting an education from Grayson in Tofu burgers, Christian rock music, tie-dyed t-shirts and, my personal favorite, the art of tongue piercing! And they say that working for the IAA is tedious and boring!” laughed Sammy.

Everyone in the room turned to listen to Sammy’s uncharacteristically long speech. Sammy obliged them by continuing.

“We have to do the press conference tomorrow to counter the press conference in London. Wouldn’t we all like to know how much the Museum paid for our stone! Anyway, I need you two to walk with me to discuss the details. Let’s head down to the room where the ossuary manuscript is laid out. I’m sure you want to see it again.”

Sammy had decided that for the time being the best way he could finally make up his mind about whether Art was actually involved in some nefarious way in these matters was to continue to proceed as normal and watch West’s reactions to the various developments. Art West did not strike him as a person who could readily conceal his feelings about matters that he was passionate about. He also noted the absence of defensiveness on the part of West thus far. He had informed the police of his modus operandi in this matter and suggested that they remain cordial, but distant while they were observing and following Art. Thus far, they had agreed that was the way to go, perhaps on the theory that at the worst Art might lead them to something that would make a difference in the case.

Art, Grace, and Sammy left the workroom still staring in silence. On the way through the halls, Sammy continued.

“Art, we need you to put on your game face and emphasize that you found the inscribed stone on Tuesday, June 1, on site, and therefore the British Museum has been lied to by the seller. Obviously, you can’t mention the name of Stone. You can save your lengthier explanation of the significance of this find for next week. We’ll have another briefing then for the press, and you can talk to your heart’s content. And if I were you I would also forestall a lot of questions by stating flatly what you have told us— “that you have no idea how that money got in your checking account.”

“And,” said Art, “ I have decided the best thing to do is to turn that money over to the police forthwith to avoid even the appearance of ongoing impropriety.”

“Good idea,” said Grace, feeling a bit relieved to hear Art say this. “But-- be matter of fact when you say this. Don’t be defensive.”

Sammy interrupted: “By next week we hope to have located Stone, and to so embarrass the British Museum that they will at least talk about returning the stone. I am sure they have insurance, so they can probably recoup most of their financial loss. Now I am going to leave you and Grace alone with the manuscript for awhile as I must arrange the news conference. Behave yourselves.”
Art rolled the scroll open and found the story he liked to call ‘Nick at Night,’ one of his personal favorites from John 3. Jesus’ dialogue with Nicodemus reminded him of some of his chats and debates with Grace about the early Jews who were followers of Jesus. He read out loud in Aramaic John 3.16-17, then he translated,

“‘For in this way, God loved the world, that he gave his only natural Son, in order that all those believing in him might not perish but have everlasting life. Because God did not send the Son into the world in order to condemn the world, but in order the save the world through him.’”
Art fell silent for a moment. “You know, it’s hard to understand how anyone
who reads this could not realize that God loves everyone, not just the so-called elect, not just one ethnic group or another. Don’t you think this text means that it’s God’s desire for everyone to be saved and have everlasting life. And the essence of the mystery which brings about redemption is this self-giving of the Son. This is the way God loved a lost and dark world. But, at the same time this does not help us unless we respond. It is not just about God making a decision from before the foundations of the world. We must believe in him, we must engage freely in the relationship and trust God.”
West stopped. “I’m sorry, Grace, I didn’t mean to start preaching, but this is the beating heart of it all, that which most reveals God’s character and our dilemma. Whenever I come to this text, I feel like I‘m finally standing on solid ground with all the saints who have come before us, including Lazarus. He, above all persons, could understand that love is a transforming force that could change the world and stop the cycle of violence. Tom Robbins once wrote, “There are many things worth living for, there are a few things worth dying for, but there is nothing worth killing for.” Can’t anyone in this country stop Palestinians killing Jews and vice versa?”
Grace had just let him go on. It was rare when he really shared this deeply what he believed, and it helped her understand his credo.

“Not meaning to trivialize what you just said, but it sounds rather like the plot of the movie, The Fifth Element, where love is the fifth element which can save the world. In that movie, Leelu yearns for love, and Dallas learns that only true love can overcome evil.”

“Yes, love conquers all. But for me, the gospel message is even more profound – Jesus, the personification of love, conquers all.”

“Well,” teased Grace, “Let’s put your theory of love to the test. My mother,

a person to be reckoned with, can probably be won over if you love her cooking.

Are you game to try? Would you like to join us for supper?”

“Yes, I’d be delighted to join your love feast!” laughed Art. But Grace had more than dinner on her mind.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT: CALL AND RESPONSE

A weary Sadiq Hadassah arrived safely back in Tel Aviv armed with new information– Stone was in the south of France. As he was riding in the taxi back to Jerusalem he pondered whom to share this information with. Should he just tell the authorities? Should he call Sammy Cohen at the IAA? Should this be anonymous or should he go public now? He decided that since he did not trust all the authorities, and trusted the IAA even less, filled as it was by Jews who were hardly ultra-orthodox, that he would leave an anonymous tip with the police.

Dialing up Jamison Parkes Law first while riding along, he heard the phone ringing and ringing. Finally Law picked up. “Yes,” he said.

“This is Sadiq, mission accomplished. The stone was indeed sold to the British Museum, it was sold by Stone, and he then went off to the south of France. The question is whom, other than you and Rabbi Menachem, should I actually tell about this? How did your interview with Glickstein go?”

Law paused and said “Fine, although West made bail, and the IAA seems to not be all that worried about the money put in West’s account. Perhaps they are stringing him along and giving him enough rope to hang himself or reveal his real role in all this. I am still thinking we are dealing with two Protestant scholars out to make some money quickly, although I am reluctant to believe this about West.”

“Yes, said Sadiq, “but how else do you explain the payment into West’s account? Stone doesn’t strike me as a generous man wanting to support the archaeological work of the good Dr. West. To the contrary, he has always been a rival of West. There must have been some sort of deal struck.”

“Unless of course Stone is so malicious that he wants to mainly pin the rap on West, and get away scot free.”

“I suppose that is possible, but again who do I tell this news about Stone to? It looks like your going to the press didn’t produce instant confessions or results.”

“You’re right, you should call Shimon at the police station, but use a pay phone that can’t be traced to you. Trust no one other than the Sons and the Society– do you hear me?”

“Right,” said Sadiq, “Shalom” and he rang off. Once he got to Jerusalem, Sadiq would make the call at the bus station on the north side of town where he had asked to be dropped off. The traitors to Israel had to be smoked out.

And there was something else really worrying Hadassah. If West was exonerated and was able to use the Lazarus Stone as a platform he might be able to make a compelling case for the earliness of the idea of Jesus’ divinity, since he was someone who could actually raise the dead. Then West could argue by connecting that miracle to the creation of the Fourth Gospel that the earliest Gospel, written by a Jew, had affirmed such a notion. And knowing West, he would stress that affirming Jesus’ divinity actually comports with the Jewishness of that Gospel!

For Sadiq such an idea was anathema, it was heresy and blasphemy, it was idea which would lead even some faithful Jews astray. And as a zealot for true Judaism, Sadiq could not allow that idea to prevail. Rabbi Menachem had stressed that this idea was an extreme violation of Jewish monotheism and if necessary, it required an extreme response.

The Mashiach had not yet come to earth Sadiq told himself, and so such Christian ideas about Jesus as a divine messiah should not be made appealing to Jews, especially not to a Jerusalem audience. West above even Stone, must be stopped as a promulgator of blasphemy, one guilty of besmirching the divine Name and nature. Sadiq got furious just thinking about it. If the police didn’t discredit and stop West, something else would have to be done before long.

Sadiq could tolerate working with someone like Law because Law believed in leaving Jews alone, he believed in a two track model of salvation, of peoples of God, of prophecy and the like. But West was much more troubling and dangerous because he affirmed that Jesus had come to create only one people of God– Jew and Gentile united in Christ. Like a modern version of Saul of Tarsus, Sadiq was on a mission of zeal to stop the mouths of those who blasphemed God in the Holy Land. How far he was prepared to go on this mission, remained to be seen.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE: SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND

Interpol had become more and more efficient over the years, but it was by no means infallible. Finding Patrick Stone was proving difficult on several counts. In the first place it appeared that, unlike Ray Simpson, Stone had never been finger-printed, nor were there any mug shots of him. He seemed to have stayed on the good side of the law throughout his life, so far as one could tell.

All the evidence which the IAA and the Jerusalem police had amassed so far indicated that Patrick Stone had taken the stone inscription from the tomb, arranged for the copy, smuggled it out of the country, and sold it to the British Museum under false pretenses. He also took some small manuscripts from the tomb – manuscripts that ended up in a bus station locker.

Finally, the derringer was a Stone family antique. Plus, the hairs found at the scene of the crime matched those found in Stone’s apartment. Stone’s passport had been tracked to England but there the trail went cold. He hadn’t used any credit cards. He was now wanted for stealing, forgery, selling stolen goods, and attempted murder – a one-day crime spree from a seemingly unpretentious American professor!

Everyone agreed that Ray Simpson was withholding information to protect himself and Dr. Stone. West’s role in all this was not yet clear. Patience was now the plan. First, the police hoped that Stone would eventually call Raymond about the figurines – the phone was already tapped. There was no reason for Stone to suspect that Raymond had tried to flee the country – the small news article on Simpson’s arrest had not made the front page of any major paper. Secondly, if Stone tried to use his real passport or a credit card, they could track him quickly.

Meanwhile, Patrick Stone was oblivious to all the ruckus he had caused.

He really hadn’t given Raymond a second thought. Right now he could care less about the small manuscripts – he had a friend in Germany who would love to have those papyri. No, right now he had no rainy days on the horizon. Tuesday he had visited the bank, a car dealership, and a realtor before collapsing on the beach in the late afternoon. He never made it to the jazz club.

Having established a bank account with Credit Lyonnais in Cannes, he transferred $10 million from his Swiss account and withdrew $200,000 cash. The bank official was cordial but hardly impressed. In fact, he conveyed the impression he had already handed out more money to other individuals that very morning. Stone had certainly landed in the lap of luxury.

The first real purchase Stone made was a car – a car with class – a Mercedes Benz CL55AMG . This car had more power than anyone could use, and a sound system that could make one go deaf rather quickly. Stone was enthralled with its ease of handling, the way it hugged the road, its leather and polished wooden interior. He had paid over one hundred thousand cash in the Cannes show room, and the dealer had not even blinked. There would be no obvious paper trail.

So, on a sunny Wednesday morning, Stone was house hunting. Everywhere by the sea and in the hillsides there were enormous homes, and he was wondering what in the world he would do with all that space. Of course, he would have his ten thousand plus volume library shipped over from New Haven, and his personal effects, but that would hardly fill up even a third of some of these homes. He delighted in the idea that his mother could stay in such a palace rather than a nursing home in Tennessee. He could afford 24-7care for her now.

The road to Monaco was filled with tourists and residents enjoying the sunny summer weather. Driving down the highway, Stone finally came to the border with Monaco. He had in the seat beside him his two passports and an appointment to see a house. The realtor had shown him a number of homes from the listing book – homes so large that it would be gauche and unnecessary to list the prices. This annoyed Stone, but he realized he had to play the game by the rules. They narrowed down the choices and his realtor was able to make one Wednesday appointment – in Monaco.

The winding narrow road up the cliff was interesting to drive, and Stone remembered once seeing an auto race on TV that went through Monaco on these very roads. There had been no problem at the border checkpoint. Stone thought he looked rather chic with his Gucci leather loafers, expensive open-collared shirt complete with cravat, golf shorts, and Raybans. The fact that he looked something like an over-dressed lobster, due to a severe sunburn from sitting on the beach Tuesday, never occurred to him.

The house was elegant, overlooking both the beach and a nearby castle. Best of all, however, it came with furnishings and a staff who spoke three languages! He would instantly be in business and wouldn’t have to go through all the falderal of shopping. The house, pompously called Chateau Puissant, had been owned at one time by a French Duke and a Texas oil baron, but recently by an English rock star who had fallen on hard times.

Stone drove up to the huge iron gate. A voice came over the speaker box saying, “Chateau Puissant. Identify yourself , s’il vous plait.” He took a deep breath and answered boldly, “Patrick Stone. I have an appointment .”

The gate swung open and Stone drove into the most gorgeous estate he had ever seen. The lane was flanked by huge Lombardy poplars. The lawn was meticulously manicured and rolled so that there were symmetrical patterns in the grass. As he rounded the last bend, the house came into view. It took Stone’s breath away. He stopped the car for a moment and just stared at the mansion partially draped in purple bougainvillaea. The old saying “Seek and ye shall find” came to mind, though doubtless Jesus, who in the same sermon had also said “Blessed are the poor,” would not have agreed with Stone’s use of the text. What did Stone care now? He had landed in the lap of luxury and he meant to enjoy it—for the rest of his days.

CHAPTER FORTY: MEET THE PRESS

Harry and Art were both up bright and early on Wednesday, Press conference morning. Art had showered and shaved and put on his best suit, usually used for lecturing or attending church back in the States. Harry for his part had put on his lawyer attire except that he was wearing a bright red bow tie. Harry was something of an expert at holding press conferences in Washington to announce major archaeological finds. Over breakfast, he was coaching Art.

“You need to be clear, concise and definitive,” Harry was saying. “Don’t go wandering off on the importance of this, that or the other. Make the main point the MAIN point, if you catch my drift. And by all means, defer some questions until the next press conference, which you can announce today. Has Sammy arranged for next week’s press conference?”

“Yes,” said Art, swigging his orange juice. “What about questions about Patrick Stone if there are any?”

“‘No comment’ is your answer, since he hasn’t been arrested for anything yet. And keep your remarks about the money in your account to a bare minimum.”

“OK, I think I’ve got the basics covered in regard to my own involvement in these matters. Sammy’s opening remarks will include a clear statement that a person is innocent until proven guilty, and that I have not formally been charged with anything yet, hence it is o.k. for me to speak at this news conference.”

“Good,” said Harry, “You stay away from being defensive. You are to be definitive, not defensive, at this press conference – by the way, relax! I’ve heard you speak, you’ll be fine!”

Art was indeed a first rate lecturer but he knew he could be a bit pompous and prone to exaggeration especially when he got revved-up. He would need to be on his best behavior today. Art had put together a Power Point presentation using his digital pictures of the tomb, the ossuary, and the inscriptions. He already had the printout, but hopefully, there would be time before the meeting to check out the laptop and run through the slides. Technology was great . . . when it worked.

The public announcement in Monday’s papers, Ha’ Aretz and the Jerusalem Post, would guarantee a highly professional, demanding crowd. The pressure was on. Art received a call late Tuesday night from Sammy saying all was in readiness – even the PowerPoint show was running smoothly. Golda Meir lecture hall on the campus of Hebrew University was ready. Art felt good about using the university setting – his natural turf.

The ride to Hebrew University was a short one, situated as it was northeast of the old city walls on Mt. Scopus overlooking the city. By the time Harry and Art got there at nine, an hour before the press conference, the parking lot was already packed full of vehicles. Fortunately, the IAA had reserved Art a space, and equally fortunately he was driving a Mini Metro which could be shoe-horned into almost any opening. The sun was climbing in the sky, and all kinds of things were about to be brought into the light of day.

Entering into the lecture hall, Art was immediately waylaid by Grace. He waved goodbye to Harry, who gave him the thumbs up sign.

“Art, several important points before we start. Sammy has asked me to speak to the authenticity of the materials in question, in particular in regard to the Aramaic. I may have failed to tell you this but the inscription, and the script of the scroll was authenticated by no less than André Chartier.”

“Yes, you told me, but that makes it a slam dunk,” said Art brightly.

“This means that you need not belabor the authenticity question. Just concentrate on the time line issue, and that you were the person to discover the Bethany tomb.”

“Grace, we’ve been over this. Please relax, even if I can’t,” he urged truthfully.

“Remember,” said Grace slightly exasperated. “No remarks about Stone, and no more than ten minutes of questions. You are our clean up hitter, so hit a home run.” Grace, like Art, was a big but long suffering baseball fan, having grown up loving the Boston Red Sox. Thank goodness they had finally won the World Series!

“Right,” said Art, “his stomach beginning to churn. You know I was once told that the only cure for nervousness before public speaking is embalming.”

“None of that today, even though we are talking about the twice dead Lazarus. Be your lively self, nothing stuffy please.” With that remark they reached the platform and were met by Sammy Cohen who had been running around getting everything in order. Sammy looked a little disheveled. Grace tidied up the table while Art exchanged pleasantries and tried not to look awkward.

Grace returned and fussed over Sammy: “Straighten your tie and put on your coat and comb your hair. This deal will be on major networks in the US. Let’s make the IAA look good and competent, shall we?”

Sammy blushed and straightened his tie. He wasn’t going to argue with Grace when she was in ‘master and commander’ mode. The cameras were being positioned just to the right of the stage, and huge banks of flood lights were being set up on the left, so the participants would be well lighted but would be looking slightly to their right into the camera and away from the lights. Careful thought had gone into this entire event despite the limited time.

The next thing Art, Grace, and Sammy knew they were sitting on the podium. The IAA banner had been draped over the lectern. Sammy looked at his watch and the cameramen gave him the high sign. It was show time.

Sammy rose first, went directly to the lectern, and started slowly.

“I want to first thank the Hebrew University for allowing us the use of this hall on such short notice, but in view of the fact that we are dealing with a major news story, the choice of venue was important. I also wish to thank Professors Grace Levine, André Chartier and Arthur West who have helped the IAA in many ways since the onset of this matter. The IAA believes that Professor West should be deemed innocent until proven guilty of some crime though we are mindful of the recent allegations, and needless to say we would not have asked him to speak today, and represent the IAA today, if we did not believe West was a trustworthy person.”

“This brings us to the matter at hand. We are announcing today that the tomb of a New Testament figure, Eliezar, also known as Lazarus, has been discovered behind the church of Mary and Martha in Bethany. This discovery must be credited to Professor Arthur West who will be speaking to you about this matter shortly.”

Sammy summed up with the following surprise announcement.

“I must also announce that the tomb was indeed looted Tuesday, June 1, shortly after its discovery. The original inscription over the ossuary of Eliezar was removed, and then illegally sold to the British Museum. You have perhaps read of the news conference held by the British Museum on Monday. It is good to know that the inscription is in safe hands. Unfortunately it is in the wrong hands, for the law of Israel is perfectly clear – any precious antiquity found from 1978 on becomes the property of the state of Israel and shall not leave the country, except for touring exhibits in museums which have the proper security. In short, we will negotiate with the British Museum for the return of the inscription. The police are currently investigating the case, and hope to prosecute the perpetrator or perpetrators to the full extent of the law. I cannot comment on the investigation at this point. I will now turn things over to a leading expert in ancient Aramaic inscriptions who is both a professor at this university and works with the IAA. Will you please welcome Professor Grace Levine.”

Grace arose to a round of applause and marched directly to the podium carrying her portfolio with her. Wearing a trim gray suit with a colorful red scarf she looked professional and yet classy. No rumpled academic here. Grace adjusted her red glasses and began.

“Along with the two Aramaic inscriptions in the tomb, we also found one complete document and a number of fragments of a document, all in Herodian period Aramaic. Both Professor Chartier and myself are in complete agreement that these are genuine first century documents of inestimable value for the study of early Judaism and the rise of the Christian movement. Both the carbon dating and the epigraphical evidence are clear – the script is pre-70 Common Era Aramaic, written in a beautiful hand. All the materials are in the same hand, except the heading to the longest document. As for content, we have an early and Aramaic form of parts of the Greek Gospel of John. I will defer to Professor West to speak more directly to the significance of this for New Testament Studies.”

Grace turned and nodded to Art before continuing.

“Let me stress that these documents are the earliest Jewish-Christian documents of any kind, dating to before the end of Pontius Pilate’s reign, which is to say before 38 of the Common Era. The IAA intends to properly house and protect these documents. A building similar to the Shrine of the Book could display the ossuary, the manuscripts, and the Lazarus stone when it is recovered and returned to its rightful owners, which, if there is any justice and fairness, will happen soon. Thank you.”

Applause rang out throughout the room, and leading the charge was Grayson Johnson. He kept saying, “Go Dr. Levine go” under his breath. Grace Levine’s word was considered Gospel when it came to her areas of expertise.

As soon as Grace was seated, Art moved to the podium, grabbed the mouse, and the first Powerpoint slide picturing the Church of Mary and Martha came up on the screen.

“Friends, I am here to tell you the story of a remarkable discovery, which unlike most such discoveries did not come after weeks of hard labor digging in the ground. On the contrary, this discovery was made on the very first day I was inspecting a tel behind this church, the Church of Mary and Martha in Bethany.”

Click went the mouse.

“Here you see the tel itself. Let me be perfectly clear that this mound had not been dug at anytime before June 1. Any claims by anyone to have seen or owned the inscription stone of Lazarus before that date are clearly false. This means that the stone in question which now is housed in the British Museum was first stolen and then sold to them. To be fair, the British Museum would not have bought the stone unless they believed the accompanying documents were bona fide.”

“Now we are inside the tomb and you will notice various niches in the back wall, which usually contain ossuaries or bone boxes. We do not know what happened to the bone boxes of Mary and Martha; they were not found in the tombs.”

“This next slide shows an Aramaic inscription found on the roof, if you will, of one of the niches. I am indebted to Mustafa el Din, the church caretaker, for managing this excellent shot! According to this inscription, Martha was interred here in hope of the resurrection. The practice of using ossuaries for burial has to do with a strong belief in the afterlife, such that it was felt the bones should be kept together in hope of bodily resurrection. I will say more on this matter at my press conference next week.”

“And here is the already famous inscription originally carved right into the limestone above the niche. Here [he clicked again] is the close-up of the stone and its inscription which reads in Aramaic, ‘Twice dead under Pilatus, twice reborn in Yeshua, in sure hope of the resurrection.’ It is a remarkable inscription in many ways. First, it attests to the fact that Lazarus died twice, which is to say he was raised from the dead as the Gospel story tell us, only to die a second time.”

“Secondly, it attests with the ‘twice reborn’ reference to his spiritual rebirth through discipleship to Jesus. This is certainly the earliest attestation to early Jewish Christian beliefs about being born again. Outside of the Gospels there is nothing comparable in the works of Josephus, Philo or in other early Jewish or Christian works that date to the first half of the first century A.D. More on this next week.”

“I have purposely enlarged the bottom corner of this slide that has the inscription in full view so you can see the date on it which the camera automatically stamps on the slide – notice the number 06-01-2004. This stone was still an integral part of the tomb when I took this picture Tuesday morning. Just a little aside, here. While I was in the tomb Tuesday morning, someone managed to seal me in the tomb for awhile. Thanks to a cell phone and the aid of Mustafa, I was not buried permanently with the saints that day!”

“Anyway, here for comparison is a picture taken late Tuesday afternoon by the IAA. As you can see the stone inscription is gone. Someone stole the inscription on the very day I discovered it!”

“Moving along, this is the simple ossuary of Lazarus which has a traditional patronymic inscription – Eliezar son of Simon. The name Eliezar is the ancient form of the name Lazarus – notice the similarities in the consonantal radicals or letter-- L-Z-R. We know beyond reasonable doubt that this is the Lazarus of the Bible. How? First, because his tomb is located in Bethany. Secondly, because in this very same tomb we found an inscription about the burial of Martha. The chances of those two names being juxtaposed in the same tomb from the early New Testament era are slim at best.”

He pushed the clicker again. “Here is the scroll which was found, not by me, but by the IAA when they took the ossuary into protective custody.”

“And now we have a close up of the scroll itself, written in a beautiful linear hand in that interesting mixture of formal and cursive script that characterized Herodian period Aramaic inscriptions.”

“As Professors Cohen and Levine have already stressed, we have overwhelming evidence that the Lazarus stone belongs here in Jerusalem with the other artifacts found on this site. We hope and trust the British Museum will see fit to do the right thing. Thank you. We will now take approximately ten minutes worth of questions.”

A lanky man with a decidedly French accent and an International Herald Tribune badge arose and asked, “Are you suggesting that this find attests to, or provides authentication of a miracle, the raising of a dead person?”

Taking a deep breath, Art replied, “I can’t speak for my colleagues, but yes, that would be my conclusion. Now having bone fragments of Lazarus makes clear that his resurrection was not of lasting duration. The New Testament does not claim that was the case for anyone prior to Jesus. Only Jesus received a resurrection or permanent body, but more of this next week. Next question.”

A lady from the third row asked, “Do we know when these artifacts will be put on public display?” Sammy Cohen joined Art at the lectern. “Given the amount of work that needs to be done, I hesitate to predict a date.”

A man from the London Times arose: “Has anyone contacted the British Museum yet?” Sammy again answered, “Yes I have, but I cannot comment on the progress of those talks, yet.”

A reporter from the New York Times called out, “Professor West, why were you questioned about the forged stone in the first place and would you please explain how all that money got into your bank account if you were NOT involved in selling the stone to the British Museum?”

“Wednesday morning, June 2, a copy of the original Lazarus stone arrived at my door, anonymously, by courier. The alleged forger, an American named Raymond Simpson, is now in custody. As for how that money got in my bank account, I honestly and truly do not know, but I am announcing today that however it got there, I am now turning the million plus dollars over to the police. In my hands I have a banker’s check (he held it up for the camera’s to focus on). And I am now handing the full sum over to Officer Shimon of the Jerusalem police (Art walked over to the wings of the stage, and handed the check to Shimon who had been standing at the far end of the stage for security purposes). With a stunned look on his face and with his hand extended but visibly shaking he accepted the check.

“ I want nothing to do with ill-gotten gains wherever they may have come from.”

Before any more questions could be raised Sammy leaned into the microphone. “On behalf of Professors West, Levine and the IAA, thank you for coming today. A formal press release is available.”

Sammy, Grace and Art sat looking at each other with silly grins alternating with sighs of relief. Harry approached the stage. “Well done. That will not merely preach, that will litigate.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer,” said Art.

Grayson rushed up gushing, “Y’all were like totally awesome. I just want to shake all your hands, and then I have to go back to the flat to keep Detective Hoffner happy. He’s waitin’ for that phone call, you know. Dude’s bored! I play my music for him – some praise songs, Led Zeppelin, some praise songs, Boston – I think he’s gettin’ into it!”

Art stuck out his hand and said to Grayson, “Ah, you have a devious mind! You know, brother, I’ll need someone sharp like you at the Bethany dig once all this commotion settles down. Would you be interested?”

Grayson lit up like a Christmas tree and exclaimed, “I’m there in a heartbeat!”

But another figure standing behind the cluster of lights on the right, was experiencing a far different emotion. “West is actually going to get away with this,” he muttered to himself. “But he must be stopped before he goes any further in testifying to Jesus.”

You Look Tired-- Exegeting Proverbs. Match the Picture with the Scripture.

1) "Train a child in the way they should go, and when they are old they will not stop going that way." Prov. 22.6

2) "Sluggards bury their hands in the dish and will not even bring them back to their mouths." Prov. 19.24

3) "How long will you lie there O sluggard? When will you get up from your sleep? A little sleep, a little slumber and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want like an armed man." Prov. 6.9-11

Accessorizing for Jesus

There is no end to Christian tacky in America. I once went to a CBA convention (Christian Booksellers Association) and thought I had died and gone to Christian tacky heaven. There was a Gold's Gym guy bench pressing a cross, there were all sorts of Christian flags and license plates and coffee mugs and purses. There were Christian lines of cologne or perfume ("Song of Solomon"-- 'smell like a king, attract a great queen'). There was men's pommade ("look slick like Pastor Rick" or "You too can look like a TV evangelist". I wasn't sure if that was a selling feature). And of course there were endless T-shirts-- some of my favorites were the biker ones-- "Drive by faith, not by sight" or "God's last name is not Dammit" or "If you miss heaven, what in hell will you do?"

Then there was the Christian boxer shorts for men. For Methodists there was the cross and flame boxer shorts, so you could remind your family members of your denominational loyalties while trapsing around the house. My personal favorites in this line were the Wittenburg Door's boxer shorts which said on the left back side "left behind" and on the right back side "right behind". I need a pair of those in case I am raptured while not fully clothed. There was Baptist swimming trunks which proclaimed--- "I'm all wet, how about you".

Of course there were bumper stickers, some more in your face than others. One, which is also on a T shirt, says "Terrorists have killed 3,000 Americans since 1990. Abortionists have killed 4,000 unborns since yesterday" or in a similar vein "Jews did not choose genocide. Blacks did not choose slavery. Unborns did not choose abortion". Then there was "Get stoned like Paul: Stand your Ground".

You have to wonder---- What would Jesus say about all this, and all in the name of making an almighty dollar?

Jesus in the Media: Things Go better with....Jesus and Coke?

O.K. so this Italian ad executive is doing some soul searching having lost his job and his marriage, and goes to Jerusalem. He bumps into Jesus and offers him a Coke. Jesus kindly takes it and drinks it and being the ad agent he is the ad exec thinks-- "What a testimonial for Coca Cola!" He didn't think, "What a Friend we Have in Jesus" or Jesus is a hospitable guy. No, he thought--- ad endorsement! This is part of an Italian film entitled "7 kilometers from Jerusalem" (see the story at http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18011368/), a part which got axed because of the swift and furious response of Coca Cola's legal wing. They wanted nothing to do with such a scene, and had it axed from the movie. Oh those Italians--- first it was Jesus Jeans ("What would Jesus wear?") then it was Jesus and Coke ("What would Jesus drink?").

My question is--- Why would Coke be upset about this scene? 1) Fear of reprisals from the devout? This seems unlikely, since no one is much worried about or troubled by offending Christians anymore; 2) Jesus' endorsement of Coke would give Coke too much of a market edge over Pepsi? In light of their recent ad campaign in which they are thinking of suing themselves for taste infringement over the Coke Zero vs. Classic Coke issue it becomes clear they have too much time on their hands; 3) Trademark infringement and protecting their intellectual property was more important to them than Jesus' endorsement? 4) Market share of soft drinks in Italy is so high for Coke now that they did not need Jesus' help? 5) Coke was afraid the Pope might intervene and insist that Jesus be portrayed as politely refusing Coke but accepting communion wine, in which case the sale of Coke would go down in Italy and communion wine would go up? 6) Coke knew that Jesus was secretly not a Coke man, and so the scene was implausible (In fact I have it on the highest authority that Jesus is actually an afficiando of Cheerwine, a North Carolina beverage that is a cherry cola. Obviously the new covenant and the Good News more naturally goes with something called Cheerwine).

What do you think?

A Christian wins the Masters

Growing up in North Carolina, two things are paramount when it comes to sports. You had better like basketball, or better yet play basketball, and you had better like golf. Last week I had the privilege of doing Palm Sunday events for First Baptist Church in Pinehurst and they got me on Pinehurst No. 8, a truly world class course. I wish I could say the same about my game on the given day, but since I had only played eighteen holes thus far this year due to the terrible winter weather in Kentucky, I had to be satisfied with the odd par or two.

Growing up in the South also involves watching Christian athletes use their athletic prowess as a platform to bear witness to Jesus Christ. I have no problems with this if it is genuine and sincere, and there could hardly have been a more sincere 31 year old today than Zach Johnson, a Christian kid from Iowa who miraculously won the Masters today beating out Tiger Woods no less and dissolved into tears at the end. They asked him how he remained so calm and his response was honest "Really I wasn't calm, but its Easter, and my faith is very important to me, and Jesus was with me all the way." What the commentator had mistaken for Stoicism was not really about Zach's own steely self discipline. It was about Zach's trust in the Lord, and sensing His presence. Sometimes God's guys win. Hooray.

Does God care who wins some sporting event? Well some people will tell you no. But if God is anything like my father at all, who cares passionately about the things his children care about, of course he would be pleased when a Christian has a moment to glorify Him before millions of viewers by striving for excellence in his chosen field and giving credit to his Maker. Besides that, great Christian golfers who are now with the Lord like Payne Stewart must be smiling as well. And here's the odd thing about-- this was may be the best field ever and the worst weather ever at the Masters-- freezing temps and 30 mile an hour winds. If anyone should have wilted it should have been the rookies not the grizzled vets. And then there was another odd thing, call it a premonition.

Earlier in the day Nick Faldo, a rather crusty former British golfer and now commentator for CBS, and a person certainly not famous for being a prophet said on air: "I just have this sense that Tiger's going to put it in the water on 13 or 15 and then some young kid is going to win his first major championship." Well that's exactly what happened today.

Once Tiger put it in the drink on the back nine, there was no recovering, not even with a miraculous shot in which he swung a club through a tree trunk, breaking the club but still somehow advancing the ball up to the green. Maybe there's something to that Rom. 8.28 thing--- "God works all things together for good for those who love Him...." In any case the Master must be smiling about the Masters on the day the greatest miracle of all happen for him personally.

A Brief History of Easter

Happy Easter One and All. Below you will find a link to the super fast history of Easter courtesy of the History Channel, in less than four minutes. You too can discover the link between Jesus, Easter, bunnies, eggs, and when exactly we decided to have Easter celebrations always on Sunday instead of just following the lunar cycle.

http://video.msn.com/v/us/v.htm?g=795f6c42-d211-40df-815a-018058bedbe1&f=imbot_us_default&fg=rss


Christos anesti.....!!!!

THE LAZARUS EFFECT-- PART SEVEN

N.B.--- These are the concluding chapters of the first half of the novel the Lazarus Effect. Let me know what you think--- Happy Easter BW3

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CHAPTER TWENTY: THE JAIL HOUSE ROCK

To say it was hot in the jail cell was putting it mildly. The bottom floor of the Jerusalem police station had a series of cells in it, and this floor of the building, though having the advantage of being below ground, nonetheless had little ventilation, no air conditioning, and no windows. If the police wanted to see their charges sweat, they didn’t need to go to any extra effort on a June day in this building. West had not been abused, nor had he been further interrogated, but his cell phone and all other potentially dangerous or blunt objects had been confiscated – even his L.L. Bean walking shoes (must be those dangerous shoe laces). West had only been drinking Ahava bottled water. He didn’t trust the food, not even the matzo ball soup.

West had spent Wednesday afternoon on and off in a hot interrogation room rehearsing the details of yesterday with the police – including the fact that he himself had been stuck in the Lazarus tomb for over an hour. Of course, it was embarrassing to admit he had been in there that long before remembering his cell phone!

He had tried hard not to leave out a minute of his day which left no room for making or planning some sort of forged stone. No, Tuesday went from excavating a tomb, to getting stuck in a tomb, to escaping a tomb, to examining the tomb with the IAA – a definite repeating theme there! But Tuesday evening was more problematic: dinner alone at home and his meeting with Kahlil. Of course, that meeting led to a dozen more questions. The upside, however, was the fact that the police admitted he had no gun powder residue on his hands, and no blood splatters on his clothes.

Fortunately, he was given a private cell for the evening. Apparently, more questioning would follow on Thursday, after the police cross checked some of today’s statements. Meanwhile, Art was thrilled to discover that a lawyer, Mrs. Rachel Dembski, who also worked for the IAA had agreed to help him through the legalities. She was a true blessing and during the afternoon had checked the paperwork, reminding the authorities that Art West was an American citizen, well-known in his field. The only real downer was having to turn in his passport. Rachel even managed to e-mail Harry Scholer and confirm his arrival at 9:25 AM Thursday into Tel Aviv on Continental.

Sleep was fitful, and Thursday morning’s interrogations were again exhausting. By now, however, he was beginning to realize any case against him was weak. He wished, however, the police would take his complaints about being sealed in a tomb more seriously. No one seemed too impressed.

By Thursday afternoon, Harry arrived at the police station and the police promised to release West on his own recognizance, especially after the Jerusalem police chief received a phone call from Sammy Cohen. Bemused, West thought, “Maybe they’ll put a tail on me, hoping I will lead them to the real artifact.”

West thanked Mrs. Dembski, walked out of the building into the still blistering heat, turned to Harry and said,

“Are you sure you want me to get into that tiny car with you. I am a personal embodiment of that famous saying about Lazarus in the King James version: “Lord, he stinketh!”

Harry dismissed the idea of his walking home, and said

“It’s a Volkswagen rental car, not a limo!” West compacted himself into the lemon yellow VW wagon and rode off toward his flat.

“Now Harry, the least I can do is put you up at my place since you came all this way to help me out.”

Harry agreed, “Fine for now. I need some real food and sleep and you need a shower, shave and some rest. Then we will draw up a battle plan.” The two men exchanged tired looks and headed for the bottom of the Hinnom valley.

------------------------------------------------

In another part of the police station, some extensive testing was being conducted on evidence found at the crime scene-- the part of el Said’s shirt which had caught on the park bench, his jacket which had been supplied by Hannah, and of course the gun. Also brought in by the police was a stone wrapped in brown paper. In each case the search was for usable fingerprints plus blood or hairs from which DNA could be extracted and matches made. What West had not known is that when he gave blood at Sinai hospital, a few drops had been requisitioned for testing by the police.

The relationship between the antiquities police who worked closely with and almost for the IAA and the general police was an interesting one. There was usually a clear division of labor, but sometimes in the case of a stolen object, there was overlap and cooperation. With a police force as stretched and under siege as the Jerusalem force was they were happy to have all the help they could get from the IAA police. Sammy Cohen called the police station Thursday morning to inquire about Art West but also to check on the lab findings.

“Mr. Cohen,” said one lab tech, “I already have one thing for you. There was no gun powder residue on Mr. West, and no blood splatter on his clothes. But we have taken hair fibers off the jacket of el Said. Some are his own and match what the hospital gave us. But some are not his. There seems to have been a struggle of sorts. There is a fair chance we have something from the assailant on the jacket. We haven’t finished our testing yet.”

“Good, but what about the stone copy I keep hearing about?”

“Sorry, Mr. Cohen, we are testing the paper for fingerprints. As long as you have clearance I’ll keep you posted directly,” replied the technician.

Grace had arrived early Thursday morning to continue overseeing some of the testing on the manuscript and the ossuary. She would have worked straight through lunch, but Sammy invited her to go for a ride.

“Grace, I think we need to have a chat about West. Shall we go over to Ben Yehuda Street and have a quiet late lunch?” While this proposal was quite within the bounds of the appropriate, it was also true that Cohen, a widower, had an interest in Levine, who was also single.

Grace looked at him and said, “Fine, a business lunch then.” Cohen sighed and shook his head. They reached Ben Yehuda Street in about ten minutes.

Cohen was counting on the upstairs of Sarah’s coffee shop, Solomon’s Porch, to be quiet by now. Quiet it was, as the two of them ordered lamb kebabs and salad.

“So Grace, why are you so certain that West could not have committed these crimes? He is, after all, a fallible human being, and one with a shortage of money.”

“True enough,” said Grace. “I grant you both of those points, but you must also agree he’s an intelligent man. He clearly did not seal himself in the tomb of Lazarus, and his subsequent actions all reflect a person who cares more about his friends than about his own reputation. He could have called in anonymously to the EMT people and left the scene, but instead he stayed to help, and he even called the police. These are not the actions of a criminal, or even just a person who is in shock. He was doing everything he could to give Mr. el Said a chance at life.”

“You are right about all this,” said Cohen. “But obviously you are also his true friend, and your pleading might be said to be special pleading.”

“You could say it, but it wouldn’t change the fact that the logic of what I said stands on its own. I say again, West did not seal himself in that tomb. Somebody was after him, and somebody wanted him not only off the scene, but also implicated in a crime.”

Cohen scratched his head, “I agree. I’m just testing. In fact, I already called the police this morning to check on our Mr. West. One of our lawyers was at the station. I suspect Art will be released today.”

Grace was relieved and surprised by all these announcements. “But when do we tell Art about what’s hidden in the central room in the IAA building? I want to watch his reaction!”

Sammy thought for a moment. He noticed that both of them had been ravenous and had wolfed down their salads. Hard work at a breakneck speed will do that to you.

“I think we should wait on that for a while for both his sake and ours. Let’s run our tests. Let him run the gauntlet of the legal process. After that there will be plenty of time to consult with him.”

“Changing the subject for a minute, did you see that a whole group of people including some from the Israeli Geological Survey have called for further testing on both the Jehoash tablet and the James box? When will it end?”

“Well this particular mess will end, hopefully, when we get to the bottom of who is trying to frame Art West,” said Grace.

As the waitress was bringing the lamb kebabs, Cohen’s cell phone rang.

“. . . and alechem shalom to you as well. What news? Yes. Fine. OK.” Sammy turned to Grace, “That was the lab tech again. He confirms that there are absolutely no prints from West on the fake stone. So far in regard to that he is in the clear.”

“Which must mean someone is trying to frame him.”

“Does begin to look that way, doesn’t it? In addition, they did find a partial set of prints from someone else on the stone! Someone was careless. We are sending them to be checked now, and will see if they come back with a match.”

“Very good, we are making progress,” said Grace. “I think I’ll leave the office early and go by the hospital to check on Hannah. Her father is still in a coma. She was hoping to see Art this morning, but obviously that couldn’t happen.”

Sammy and Grace returned to the IAA and parted company. There was lots of work to do Thursday afternoon. The lab had rung Cohen again.

“Professor Cohen,” said the lab tech, “I have some good news. Interpol has helped us find the match on that set of fingerprints on the stone. It belongs to one Raymond Simpson, an American grad student at Yale University, aged 27. Seems he had been stopped for driving while intoxicated in New Haven a couple of years back, and he put up a little resistance so the police took him in and finger printed him. That’s how we know.”

Cohen replied, “Do we know where this Raymond Simpson is?”

“Well, that’s a problem for immigration so I will put Samson on the line.”

In a second, another voice boomed, “Professor Cohen, how are you! We know Simpson is still in country, but we just don’t know where, so we are in process of posting an APB to track him down and bring him in for questioning. The airports, bus depot – the usual – will be watched. We will let you know!”

Cohen hung up the phone and said to no one in particular, “Hopefully, we catch him before he catches on that we are looking for him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: RAYMOND’S FOLLY

At that precise moment late Thursday afternoon, Ray Simpson had just cleared customs and security and was racing to his gate. The taxi he had taken from Jerusalem had gotten stuck in traffic on the way to Tel Aviv, and he was barely going to make his flight from the new Tel Aviv Airport. After working his way through the security checkpoint and the passport control, he raced through the terminal and sprinted to the gate. They were already boarding. Breathless, he handed the gate attendant his boarding pass, and flashed his passport. The card was run through the scanner once more, and he went down the corridor to get on the plane. He would be able to relax once he was on the plane. Simpson was a person who hated to be late for anything and he was a nervous wreck by the time he arrived for the flight.

The plane pushed back from the gate and taxied out onto the runway. It was fourth in line for take off. Suddenly, off to the right, there was a huge flash of light and an explosion which seems to happen just beyond the edge of the airport tarmac. Something had blown up far too near airplanes for comfort. After a long uncomfortable silence, a voice came over the loud speaker.

“Ladies and gentleman, there has been an incident, perhaps a terrorist incident, near the edge of the airport. So far as we know, no one is hurt, but we are temporally in lock down mode until we get the all clear. We will sit here for a while, and if needs be we will return to the gate if the tower so instructs. Thank you for your patience.”

At that very moment an IAA policeman was talking to customs. Holding up a faxed photo, he asked, “Has anyone seen this man tonight. Has a passport for Raymond Simpson been swiped through here?”

A woman at the last booth called out, “Yes, that’s the young man who came running through here shortly before his flight was to leave. He was convinced he was going to miss his flight.”

The IAA officer joined her to check the records. Ray Simpson, Flight 902.

Suddenly, everyone instinctively ducked when they heard an explosion.

“A bomb!?” someone cried out but not quite sure.

“Well,” said the officer peering around cautiously, “if it is, I’ll bet no flights are leaving anytime soon! Regardless, I’ve got to contact the control tower to hold that flight!”

Ray Simpson, as it turns out, was not going anywhere Thursday, except back to Jerusalem. He had a premonition that something was wrong, and since the plane was, according to the captain’s announcement, going to try and take off in about an hour, he figured he could wait that long. Almost everyone was standing up talking excitedly, making new friends – except Raymond. He sat glumly staring out the window wishing he were already home. Patrick Stone’s phone call was so transparent.

Stone had been “called home” – yeah, right. The good Dr. Stone fled Jerusalem leaving Raymond to deal with the inevitable fallout of taking the stone, making a copy, sending it to Dr. West, etc. etc. Without a word to his roommate, Raymond had made plans to follow his professor out of town as quickly as possible.

The next announcement from the captain was more unsettling. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but everyone has been ordered to leave the aircraft. Airport personnel will be available to help you make other travel plans. Please exit in an orderly fashion.”

Miserable now, Raymond just sat on the plane while everyone else slowly departed. The attendants looked at him quizzically but didn’t bother him yet. Finally, when everyone had departed he reluctantly began to gather up his coat and travel bag.

When the police did not see Simpson get off the plane, they immediately entered flashing their badges. The stewardess got out of the way quickly. The officer in charge, Simon Bar-Elan, proceeded slowly down the aisle to the back of the plane with his hand on his holster gun. Finally he came to a very sad-looking Ray Simpson. One look at the policeman told Ray that he was the target, so he quickly held up his hands and pleaded, “Don’t shoot, I surrender!” The men in brown escorted a now thoroughly miserable young man whose head was buried in his jacket off the plane.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO : HACKING STONE

Thursday afternoon, Patrick Stone checked into the Royal Edinburgh Hotel near the British Museum, and rang up his old acquaintance, Oliver St. James. Propping his feet up on the bed while sitting in the Queen Anne chair next to the phone and sipping a Glen Fidditch he was determined not to be his usual irascible self. He was going to be the soul of affability so he could get what he needed – authentication and appraisal.

“Oliver,” said Stone, “ I am looking forward to our meeting tomorrow, and I promise you will not be disappointed in what I have brought.”

Oliver, ever the meticulous scholar, said, “We shall see what we shall see. It is a good thing you are bringing this to the labs at the Museum so we can do the patina testing and the like on the spot.”

“Right,” said Stone. “It should prove to be an intriguing day. Be sure you have your geologist with you as well. I must ring off now and call Sotheby’s.” As he rang of St. James pondered the note of excitement, but also anxiety in the voice of Patrick Stone.

“Hello, may I please speak to Mrs. Delia Tidewater, the appraiser, please.”

A woman with an exceedingly high voice came on the line. “Halloo, is that you Professor Stone. I am well aware of our rendezvous Friday at the South entrance to the British Museum. You did say 10 AM sharp, did you not?”

“Yes, and Mr. St James, whom I believe you know, will be meeting us.”

“Quite, see you tomorrow. TTFN.”

These British with their abbreviations! The last time he was in England Stone had had a horrible time trying to figure out what the signs with F I Y were all about. F Y I he understood as an abbreviation, but not F I Y. Turned out to be a Fix It Yourself store, the English equivalent of Lowe’s! But T T F N – who says ‘Ta ta for now’ in this day and age?! Stone was fading fast, and the jet lag was beginning to set in. Best to take a shower and turn in early. Tomorrow would be a crucial day.

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Sadiq Hadassah had had no trouble whatsoever following Stone to his hotel of choice as Stone was so self-absorbed with what he was doing, but he could hardly afford to stay in such a palace, so he had settled into a bed and breakfast down the street from the Royal Edinburgh. Sadiq had been turning over and over in his mind what would be his next move. He had brought his laptop and planned to report in to Rabbi Menachem and perhaps also to the IAA. He had noticed that Stone had brought his laptop with him, and since Hadassah, among other things, was a computer geek, he thought of hacking into Stone’s hotmail account and seeing what was happening. He had installed on his laptop some conventional spy software and had already managed to both locate Stone’s e-address, and had even decoded his password– YALEPROF. He was thus set to listen in to what was going down, provided of course Stone actually used his laptop while in London.

The email he had perused so far was boring in the extreme, except for a curious memo sent to someone with an e-address of simp3@hotmail.com reminding him not to forget to await Stone’s phone call about the nativity set! What could that be about? In any case Sadiq figured that something was going to go down tomorrow, and so he would simply stay locked in to Stone’s account all the following day and wait and see what happened. Unlike Stone, Saddiq would spend most of the night pacing the floor, and wondering what to do next.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: DEAL OF THE CENTURY

At 10 AM Friday morning, the door to the south end of the British Museum swung open and Oliver St. James welcomed both Delia Tidewater and Patrick Stone, carrying his satchel with its priceless content. A light rain was falling, so they put their umbrellas in the stand in the hall. Stone muttered to himself, “The only nation in the world that has umbrella stands in the entrance ways to every public and private building.”

The long, narrow, corridor was old, as was the museum, and the lighting in this part of the building was poor, creating an eerie effect. Stone felt like he was walking down a corridor in a maximum security prison. At the end of the hall Oliver turned right and then another immediate right and took his guests into a laboratory where three other persons, dressed in the white frock coats so favored by European scientists, were waiting.

“Let me introduce you,” said Oliver. “First we have Professor Soards of Leeds University. He is one of the leading geologists in the country, with a specialty in the geology of Israel.” At the end of the line, a tall man with wavy white hair nodded solemnly.

“Then we have Dr. Pamela Thistlewaite, a geochemist of note from Oxford, who will be checking the stone in regard to composition and patina. She smiled briefly.

“And Professor Ian Baring-Gould, an expert epigrapher for the New Testament period who will be examining the script on the stone. If it is likely that this stone is what you claim, we should be able to render a preliminary judgment later today. Which brings me to Mrs. Delia Tidewater from Sotheby’s. She will aid us with the appraisal – Professor Stone invited her expressly.”

Stone took the tablet out of his satchel and laid it on the table in the center of the room. He had some qualms about handing it over to anyone, but he knew that if he showed hesitancy it would indicate a lack of trust which would likely endanger the possibility of selling the object immediately.

The office of Oliver St. James looked like a hurricane had recently come through. There were not only files everywhere but also pots on the floor, wilted plants on the window ledge, two worn Queen Anne wing backs in one corner, a pipe on a tea table between them, file cabinets bursting at the seams, and 2 banks of fluorescent bulbs – some not working. Taking piles of files from several folding chairs, St. James said to his guests, “Please forgive the clutter, it can’t be helped. Grab a chair and do sit down.”

St. James was spry for his seventy-four years and had been with the museum for almost fifty. He had struck up an acquaintance with Stone the last time Stone was in town and had given a lecture at the museum on ancient Near-Eastern archaeology. St. James found Stone a bit off-putting and arrogant, but nonetheless a fine scholar and lecturer. He was not totally surprised to hear from Stone, but he was certainly surprised to hear what he had to say.

“Naturally, Professor Stone, we will need some assurances that this tablet has not been illegally obtained. What documentation have you brought?”

Stone opened his satchel again and brought forth the two documents he had purchased Wednesday afternoon on the black market. The first document, dated May 17, attested to the authenticity of the stone and claimed to be from the Israeli Geological Survey. The dealer had brought up a photo of a genuine Israeli Geological Survey document which he cut and pasted into a Word document. After the blanks were filled in, he printed the fake document on paper designed to look quite old, signed it with a real ink pen, and notarizing it complete with an embossed stamp. There was no easy way to tell the difference between this document and a genuine one from the Israeli Geological Survey.

The second document had been easier to produce. This document stated that Stone had bought this tablet in the dealer’s shop in 1972 – in other words, well before it became illegal to own such precious objects. This second document was, in fact, genuine, but Stone had paid the dealer enough money to make the date read 1972, not 2004.

St. James looked over the documents carefully one by one, and then handed them to Delia Tidewater. “These papers seem to be in order, and since we are all familiar with the Israeli law about precious antiquities that come to light after 1978, this object would seem to fall well within the legal limit for purchase by a collector or a museum. What is your assessment, Ms. Tidewater?”

After a moment she concurred,

“Yes these papers seem to be in order. Of course, let me add that Professor Stone could not have left Israel without the authorities seeing the tablet, checking the papers and passing him through the security and customs checkpoints. The very fact that he is here in London would seem to speak for the genuineness of these document.”

“Quite so, a good point,” said Oliver. “Miss Tidewater, you are free to go now.”

“Certainly,” said Delia, “I have some more research to do if I’m to come up with some dollar figures this afternoon.”

St. James closed the door behind her. He invited Patrick to enjoy the comfort of the old chairs in the corner. Oliver lit up his pipe. Settling down into his chair he said to Stone, “Now Patrick, you must tell me how you came to have this tablet, and why it is that just now, if you have had it all these years, you have come to us with it.”

“It is not a difficult tale to tell Oliver,” said Patrick. “Back in 1972 after I was in college, a group of us visited Jerusalem. I bought all kinds of trinkets, and this stone from a dealer. According to the notes I made at the time, it had been found in some Jewish graveyard at the bottom of the Kidron valley near the Pool of Siloam, but closer to Bethany. The dealer said he had been sold this item by some poor Palestinian who found it on his own property. I think he said the man lived in Silwan. In any event, when I returned home, I put the stone in my attic along with my other souvenirs, and only recently rediscovered them all. So, here I am at the end of my career, a man in his 60s. I am tired and would like to retire. Maybe this tablet can help make that an easier process.”

Stone was quite pleased with himself. He felt he had come off as genuine as one could manage, considering it was all a pack of lies, except the bit about wanting to retire on his nest egg. He knew it would be tough to explain why a man of his training would not have seen the significance of the stone much earlier in his career. He hoped he had been believable. He wasn’t sure, and he was trying not to sweat.

Oliver looked intently at Stone which made him squirm. He tried to keep his composure as Oliver said evenly,

“I know what you mean old thing. If I hadn’t the security of my Old Age Pension, or the O.A.P. as we like to call it, I reckon I would be looking to do something like you are doing if I could manage it. Your social security system is certainly more dodgy than ours. Well, shall we go and see how the testing is progressing?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Stone as he too quickly jumped from the chair and moved to the table. He could barely contain his excitement.

St. James thought to himself:

“Here is a man who is hoping for a sudden windfall at the end of his career. It is sad what happens to American teachers as their careers wind down. I can’t blame Stone for hoping for something grand. Perhaps we can help him.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: LAW’S LIMITS; STONES’S SUCCESS

Jamison Parkes Law was pacing the floor having just read his email from his main contact within the Sons of Zion– Sadiq Hadassah. Something bad was about to go down and it seemed to involve both Patrick Stone and Art West. This puzzled Law, as Law knew these two men to be rivals, and he had even had some congenial conversations with Art West once or twice. What could they be up to? Could West really be involved in some sort of shady antiquities scam? Sadiq had promised to send more information as soon as he knew it, but what would Law do with the info? Would he go to the press? Would he call up the IAA? Should he involve Rabbi Menachem more directly? He couldn’t decide just yet.

Law had become increasingly agitated when his two disciples had reported to him that West had been taken into custody, apparently for forgery, and possibly for assault on el Said. But this made no sense to him, in view of the fact that Hadassah had already communicated with him that it was Stone who had gone to el Said with some object and then later that evening had met with el Said in the park before West had arrived. Hadassah had not been sure in the dark who had fired at who, but el Said had ended up being shot.

Could West really be in on such immoral actions? Yet he had showed up on the scene almost immediately after el Said had been shot. The clock was ticking, and Law’s legal sensibilities and conscience would not leave him alone. What to do? He prayed and then decided to await the further revelations of the day before doing anything. One thing for sure, it would reflect very poorly on conservative Christians in Israel if West turned out to be a criminal. Law would need to have incontrovertible evidence before blowing the whistle on West.

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For three hours the British Museum’s finest tested the Lazarus tablet. After a break for a late lunch all the parties reassembled in the lab. Oliver convened the session with the words, “Colleagues, what have you to report?”

Pamela Thistlewaite spoke first. “We have run all the appropriate tests on the stone, and we have found no reason to doubt this is a first century stone, with a first century inscription.”

Professor Baring-Gould added, “And as for the inscription itself, not only did it have ancient patina with no signs of modern tampering, but the script itself was of one hand, all likely executed on just one occasion.”

Thistlewaite added: “This is clearly Jerusalem limestone, but it is not from the Mt. Scopus region, but rather further down the ridge where the limestone is of poorer quality. Perhaps from the region of Silwan or Bethany.”

“So, then, it is your judgment that the stone is a genuine artifact of the Herodian period?” said Oliver.

“Yes,” said Pamela. “We are all in one accord on that point. We see no reason to have any doubts about the antiquity of the object or its inscription.”

“Jolly good,” said Oliver. “You may go home early today in view of your

exemplary work on this project.”

They all smiled and moved off towards the cloak room to take off their professional garb, and head for the nearest underground station, quite pleased with themselves.

Oliver beckoned Stone and Delia Tidewater to sit in chairs next to the

examining table, and he handed her the stone. “Delia, the stone is now literally in your hands. What is your appraisal?”

Delia did not hesitate, but spoke up in her high voice:

“We have in our business a term – commensurate appraisal. We appraise an object on the basis of what other similar objects of equal historical importance and of equal antiquity would fetch at a public auction. This artifact is unique in that it has a unique inscription on it, and it is entirely the inscription that makes it so valuable. Therefore the most crucial part of the testing was the patina test and the epigrapher’s analysis. I gather the ultraviolet test showed absolutely no signs of modern tampering as well, which is good to know. Taking all things into consideration, especially the rather unique claim of the inscription to refer to a person who had died more than once, and taking Professor Stone’s word that this comes from the very region where according to historical record Lazarus was buried, I would judge that this item would bring no less than about forty million US dollars on the open market.” Of course what you two negotiate is your business entirely, but now at least you have a general figure to guide the discussions.”

“Thank you, Delia, I will be sending your cheque along in the morning with thanks.” said Oliver. The weak sun had finally peeked through the clouds outside the window as the afternoon was drawing to a close, and Oliver sat in thought for a moment.

“Well Professor, I hardly know what to say. Were the museum to acquire

this object I have little doubt it would cause a sensation and draw paying customers to the museum for many years. If we placed it in the room with Codex Vaticanus in its own secure temperature-sensitive case I am sure many millions would eventually come to view it. You have told me that time is of the essence, and I take you at your word, and you have also told me that you have a collector prepared to pay market price for this object in Tübingen. Is that still the case?”

Stone clearer his throat and responded:

“Yes, but I am prepared to bargain with you in a fair manner, in exchange for a consideration.”

What consideration would that be?” asked Oliver.

“I would like this negotiation to be in complete confidence – I have no desire to deal with the publicity. The records must be sealed.”

“That is quite extraordinary. Any lesser man would bathe in the glory of such a find. I admire your dedication to pure scholarship.”

“Thank you, Oliver. You told me on the phone that you are prepared to strike a bargain today, and do the wire transfer tomorrow morning. Is this still the case?”

“Yes, the trustees of the museum are quite in a dither about this find,

and they have given me a figure we are prepared to pay.”

“Very good. And what indeed is that figure.”

“We are prepared to pay twenty million pounds sterling, that is, thirty five million dollars, drawing on our Barclay’s account, in order to acquire this artifact. “

Stone knew that he did not want to go through a long negotiating hassle with a collector. He replied abruptly, “Oliver, it is a pleasure doing business with you, let us shake on it. We have a deal.”

The two men arose, smiled and shook hands. Stone then added, “I presume I can store the stone safely in your vault here?”

“I had anticipated this request. Shall we go and place it out of harm’s way together? Then you can work with my secretary on the paperwork including, of course, your Swiss bank account number. I expect that we will do the transfer Saturday morning at approximately 9 AM.”

“Oh, and one more thing. I want 1 million pounds transferred to a Jerusalem account to further the archaeological work there.”

“That should be no problem, just give me the number now.”

Stone wrote out the number of the Jerusalem checking account of Dr. Arthur West, though St. James had no way of knowing whose number it was. Stone saw this as his master-stroke. Sooner or later the police would be checking West’s account balances to see if there were any dramatic changes. When $1.7 million dollars suddenly showed up in West’s account, he would be in even further hot water.

Stone had obtained West’s account number in the most unobtrusive way possible. He had had Simpson follow West to the bank one day, watch him right out his deposit slip on the usual desk blotter in the lobby, and when West left, not paying any attention to Simpson, Simpson simply highlighted the place on the blotter where West had written down the number with a yellow highlighter, bearing down hard, and the account number had magically appeared. Simple and effective. West was about to be in a world of hurt.

St. James and Stone walked to the end of the hall, this time turned left and walked into an inner room boasting a very large safe. St. James turned two dials on the combination lock, placed the stone on a shelf, closed the safe, and escorted Patrick to the office of the Museum Director.

The director and his secretary were sitting at a conference table – all the paperwork neatly laid out and ready for signatures. The business was transacted calmly and efficiently, and the director congratulated Stone on making such an important contribution available to the museum rather than a private collector.

On their way out, Stone said to Oliver, “Shall we go celebrate with dinner somewhere? I am glad to buy!”

“Why not?” said St. James. “I know just the place. The Boar’s Head is not two blocks from here, and has an excellent wine list, and wonderful cuisine.”

“Fine,” said Stone. He was now feeling like he had pulled it off, and he wanted to leave a good impression tonight on St. James. They walked down the boulevard together, happy men for very different reasons. Neither one of them paid any attention to the young man standing in the doorway of the B+B which they passed on the way to dinner. Following them at a distance Hadassah planned on eves-dropping on their dinner conversation. Little did he realize what indigestion that meal conversation would produce.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: PATRICK’S SCAPEGOAT

Thursday night found Ray Simpson sitting, not in a plane, but in the very jail cell where West had spent the day. He had already survived one grueling round of questioning, and he barely managed to keep his cool. He had demanded a lawyer, but was told that under Israeli law they had every right to interrogate him if they chose. No charges had been made as yet, and even if they did press charges, they could hold him without bail. Ray Simpson soon realized that the law of Israel was indeed very different from what he expected. Could torture be involved? Thursday night produced very little sleep.

Raymond’s Friday was certainly not going as well as Patrick Stone’s Friday. At nine o’clock in the morning, no less than four IAA police agents came to his cell. They trotted out the brown paper which he had used to wrap the forged Lazarus stone. They showed him the evidence of his fingerprints on the forgery.

Detective Shimon spoke:

“Mr Simpson, we know from this piece of paper that you have a connection with a stone inscription found Tuesday in Bethany by Dr. Arthur West. The fact that you made a copy indicates you have some knowledge of the original – which is still missing. Further we believe that a man answering to the description of Dr. Patrick Stone probably brought the original to the shop of Kahlil el Said on Tuesday afternoon, the same el Said who was attacked Tuesday night. We also know that you are a graduate student currently working with Dr. Patrick Stone. Unless you tell us right now where the original Lazarus stone is, and where Professor Stone is, you will be charged with attempting to steal antiquities, forgery and, if we find you had anything to do with the shooting of Kahlil el Said, attempted murder as well. So, Mr. Simpson, where are the two “stones” -- the man and the rock?”

Simpson had begun to sweat. He thought to himself, “I guess I won’t be getting out of this cleanly just by stonewalling, so to speak. I have to give them something and I have to tell them at least some of the truth.” From the line of questioning so far, he realized there was plenty they didn’t know about.

Clearing his throat Simpson rehashed most of last night’s answers.

“I’m just Patrick Stone’s teaching assistant. We have been here in Jerusalem doing various sorts of research, and buying a few things. Professor Stone called me Wednesday saying he was called away on family business. I presume he left Wednesday night or maybe Thursday for New Haven and then his home in Tennessee to see his ailing mother. He told me I could stay in Jerusalem and continue my research, but I decided to go home for a visit.”

“As for the inscription, yeah, I made that cheap copy and sent it by courier to Dr. Arthur West at Stone’s request. Professor Stone gave me a blown-up picture to make the copy. Really, honestly, I don’t know where the original is! Perhaps Professor Stone can tell you, but I don’t know.”

So far, he was telling the truth – not all the truth – but the truth nonetheless. However, he finally lied, adding, “I’ve never seen the original!”

Ray started getting more defensive and sarcastic. “To my knowledge it’s not against the law to make a copy of something ancient. Right? I wasn’t trying to pass it off as anything real. You have the package – you know that there’s no request or demand for payment or anything like that. Finally, I have no idea at all what you are talking about in regard to the shooting of Kahlil el Said. I was in the apartment with my roommate, Grayson Johnson, watching basketball and eating a late supper Tuesday night.”

“We will be checking your alibi by talking with Mr. Johnson. Meanwhile, we will be tapping your phone in case Professor Stone calls. We think you know a lot more about the original stone, especially since Dr. West claims to have seen the original stone Tuesday morning in a tomb in Bethany. He also claims he was mysteriously sealed in that tomb for a time!! Do you know anything about that?”

Raymond looked up sheepishly but said nothing.

“As I said, we think you know a lot more. For the time being you will be held in custody for further interrogation and possible charges. Calling the American Consulate will do you little good, given the nature of the charges. So I suggest you make your one phone call a more profitable one.” With this, the officer turned on his heels and left the room. Raymond was taken back to his cell.

Shimon said to the other IAA police,

“He is probably telling the truth to an extent. I’m convinced, however, it’s not the whole truth. Check customs and flight manifests for Patrick Stone. We need to find him quickly.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: ‘BORN ON A MOUNTAIN-TOP IN TENNESSEE’

Among his other duties, Detective Hoffner was in charge of one key piece of evidence – the weapon. Surprisingly, it was a 19th century derringer, a one-shot weapon that could be concealed in the palm of a man’s hand. Probably made in the US, the gun was too old to have a serial number. Hoffner narrowed his search to cities where Patrick Stone had lived, beginning with his birthplace, Johnson City, Tennessee.

The Internet is a wonderful thing. Even if you connect in outer Slobovia, you can still find out the name and phone number of the local antique and gun shops in Johnson City Tennessee or New Haven Connecticut. Hoffner had been calling numbers for a day now. Finally, he came to Marvin’s Gun and Ammo Shop. Hoffner was in no way prepared for the conversation he was about to have. Worlds and cultures were about to collide here, even worse than if Bonnie and Clyde had paid a visit to the Bedouins in the Judean desert.

Marvin’s Gun and Ammo shop was sort of the Wal-Mart of gun shops – one-stop shopping. The neon sign blinked irregularly; figures hand-painted on the windows ranged from Wild Bill Hickcock to Annie Oakley to G.I. Joe to Johnny Reb. The building was the sort of place no sane woman would ever enter. It was strictly a man’s domain. Not only were there guns and ammunition of all sizes and descriptions, there was all sorts of Army surplus stuff ranging from uniforms to canteens to medals. Shoot, there was even an old howitzer and a small tank in the front parking lot!

The floors in the store were concrete for the very good reason that they need hosing down once in a while due to the spitting of chewin’ tobacco here, there and yonder. Right next to the cash register there was Red Man Chewin’ Tobacco, Skol Dippin’ Snuff, a revolving display of Army patches, and even canned possum. Marvin’s had it all, except of course for a computer. Marvin had not yet had a close encounter of the first kind with the computer revolution. His son set up his website and monitored it from home.

Hoffner calculated that he was a good seven to eight hours ahead of Johnson City time, so he would wait and call late Friday afternoon. Dialing up the number in his small cubicle in the police station it took a while for the phone to ring, and even longer before someone picked up. A gravelly voice finally rang out,

“Yup, this is Marvin’s, whatcha need?”

Hoffner swallowed and answered, “My name is Detective Hoffner. I am calling from the police station in Jerusalem. Do you know anyone by the name of Patrick Stone or Leroy Stone?” There was a pause. Avi could hear some arguing going on despite the fact that someone’s hand was probably over the receiver.

In truth, things were a bit confused at Marvin’s store. Marvin was sharing the conversation with the boys playing checkers.

“Jerusalem? Jerusalem Tennessee? Ain’t that over near the border with Kentucky?” said Charlie, the best player around.

“ Yeah, maybe, but this here caller wants to know if we know’d someone named Leroy Stone.”

The next thing Hoffner heard was laughter. Finally Marvin was back on the line.

“I reckon so. Leroy used to be the mayor of this place. His son Patrick’s a big shot, but he visits his mama sometimes.”

Hoffner tenatively ventured another question.

“Did either one of them ever buy a gun from your shop? In particular, an antique hand weapon ?” Again laughter broke out at the other end of the line.

“Feller, it’s clear you ain’t from around these parts. Nobody around here would dare call a fire arm an antique hand weapon. That’d be bows and arrows around here.”

Hoffner tried again,

“I believe it is called a derringer, and it came with a pearl handle.”

“Now you’re talkin, let me go look in the books.” When Marvin said look in the books he meant he would go back to his cluttered office, get out the sales receipts for the years when Leroy was living and start leafing through them. This could take forever. Ten minutes, later, Marvin picked up the phone again.

“Records take too long. Now Vernon’s here right now, and he saved me some trouble. He recollected that Leroy did buy himself a little derringer just after he became Mayor in 1950 something, on account OF he figured he was a VIP now and could afford antiques. It was a Civil War gun carried by some officer in Braxton Bragg’s army. Didn’t have much velocity and no percussion at all. Only works at really close range. Don’t do much damage. May I ask now why you are askin’ these funny questions?”

Hoffner had begun to make some sense of this particular brand of southern American dialect, and he decided that the best thing to do now was beat a fast retreat before he got in any deeper. His mental picture of the man he was talking to didn’t come close to matching the reality of the codger at the other end in bib overalls and a Braves hat.

Hoffner bravely continued,

“I am engaged in some police work involving Patrick Stone who seems to have taken possession of the gun at some point.”

“Uh huh,” said Marvin. “Doesn’t surprise me, seein’ as how that boy went off to some fancy university up north, became an educated fool, and went atheist on us. That boy in some trouble now? His mama’s poorly you know.”

“You could say that; we are going to be questioning Dr. Stone” Hoffner replied. “But let’s not frighten his mother with rumors. One more thing, what is your full name.”

Marvin spat and responded proudly, “Marvin Moon , the gun expert.”

“Thank you kindly for your assistance,” Hoffner said and hung up.

About then the chief of police walked by. “Making any progress on tracing the gun?”

“Yes sir, but you wouldn’t believe the person I just talked to. I don’t think we could coax him over here for the trial. Nobody would understand his testimony anyway. He sounded like those fellows in that movie, “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou” with George Clooney. Let’s just say, the gun did originally belong to Leroy Stone , the father of Patrick. Getting proof, on paper, will probably be impossible. Plus, it’s not registered. I’ll try to get some sort of signed affidavit.”

---------------------

Sadiq Haddasah had not slept a wink the previous night. The conversation he had overheard in the booth next to his own in the Boar’s Head Restaurant had so turned his stomach that he could barely restrain himself from attempting to do something violent. He knew from the conversation that not only had Stone sold the Lazarus stone to the British Museum for a considerable sum, but he intended to disappear into retirement as soon as he left London. The trail might suddenly run cold. Without question Hadassah would have to do something in the morning and he had heard the reassurance from St. James as they got up to leave that the wire transfers would take place about nine in the morning. “Why transfers, instead of just a single transfer?” wondered Hadassah. He formulated in his mind a plan of action just as soon as he had monitored Stone’s emails that were likely to go out sometime between nine and ten the next morning. “All Sheol is about to break loose in Jerusalem” said Sadiq and he grimaced.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: PAROLE WITHOUT A LIFE

Hannah had been very touched by Grace’s visit Thursday afternoon. She had only met Grace once before in her father’s shop, although both she and Grace were friends of Sarah and she had seen Grace on occasion at Solomon’s Porch. Grace had brought Hannah up to date on Art’s overnight stay with the police. She reminded Hannah that the police was interested in finding not only her father’s assailant, but also the stone’s forger. Apparently, the police still felt that Art knew more than he was telling them, but the police were planning to turn Art loose Thursday night.

Hannah had loudly expressed her attitude right there in the ICU lounge.

“That’s ridiculous! Art and my father are best of friends! He was right here giving blood to save his life before he was arrested. Of course Art didn’t shoot him!”

All of that anger and frustration against the injustices done to her people by Israeli police and armed forces welled up in her. Of course she knew that her own people, indeed her own former husband, had also committed atrocities, but it was hard to keep a balanced perspective when one had experienced great loss personally.

Friday morning Art had made a brief visit. For awhile, Harry and Hannah, old friends, talked about all sorts of recent finds in Israel. Art just stood by rather amazed at the depth of Hannah’s knowledge about Israeli antiquities. Hannah even gave Harry a key to her shop so Harry could peruse some things at his leisure.

It was now Friday evening. As Hannah sat by her father’s bed reciting again and again the basic Islamic prayer in Arabic – “There is one God, Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet,” – her heart had other words in mind, asking the Almighty to save her father, a good man. She was kneeling on her prayer rug facing Mecca and praying so intently that she hardly noticed that there was another sound in the room, the sound of very soft moaning. She stopped praying and realized the sound was coming from her father. She leapt up and went to his bed turning her ear in the direction of his mouth. Yes, he was moaning, now even more audibly. Could he be coming out of his coma? At once she pushed the call button for the nurse.

_____________________________

Grace finally arrived home from synagogue, with her mother Camelia in tow. Camelia had moved from New York to Jerusalem at the insistence of Grace, as she had no close relatives in the United States anymore to look after her. What Grace had not counted on was that her mother was still just as formidable and domineering as ever. She had moved into Grace’s apartment and immediately rearranged everything, including Grace’s own bed room!

Her mother was like a runaway freight train, and Grace was constantly looking for the brakes. Camelia’s latest tantrum occurred at the local grocery store after learning they did not carry her favorite brand of kefilta fish. She harangued the store owner for so long that his wife called up Grace and told her to come and take her mother home! Grace was mortified and apologized profusely for her mother’s overbearing behavior. Of course, she was forgetting that she too could sometimes be very pushy and get in people’s faces. It’s funny how we wince at the behavior in others that we are oblivious to in our own lives.

Once home Camelia put on the kettle and once again set in on her usual litany with Grace. “You realize that if you keep turning down the overtures of Sammy Cohen and others that you will end up sad and alone. Far be it from me to tell you how to run your life, but I am just saying it would be nice to see you find someone before you are as old and gray as I am.”

Grace practiced the art of ‘selective hearing loss’ and went about getting on her pajamas and getting comfortable before bedtime. It had been a long day. Finally, she returned to the kitchen.

“Mother, thank you again for your concern for my life, but I am really quite happy and fulfilled just as I am. I love my work. I have numerous friends. I enjoy the socials and services at our synagogue. And you are here with me. Really that’s more than enough.”

Grace was attempting the kill-them-with-kindness approach. In actuality Grace felt like she had received a sentence of parole without a life. There was a deeper part of her which really longed for love and permanent companionship, but Grace kept suppressing those feelings.

Grace turned on the 10 PM news and was immediately accosted with follow-up stories about the bomb that blew up outside of Tel Aviv airport Thursday night.

“This country has turned into a terrorist’s work shop. Practice here what you hope to make perfect when you export it to Europe and America. Why is civility and friendship so impossible now between the various faiths and ethnic groups in this land?” She found herself arguing with the TV.

Her mother just listened quietly from the kitchen and shook her head. She could not understand why in New York a thousand races could live side by side and survive without totally destroying each other’s way of life, but here in Israel, even just two or three ethnic groups and faiths couldn’t manage to get along and share the land and its blessings.

But there was another person on the other side of town which also felt like he was on parole without a life. Art had been released Thursday night. He and Harry had spent a quiet evening at his flat, especially since Harry needed food and rest.

Fortunately, he had not been charged with a crime, and therefore had not been required to post bail when he was released from jail. Yet he had been stripped of his passport and told not to leave town. In short, he was still under suspicion. Art began to understand how Oded Golan, owner of the James ossuary, must have felt, living in some sort of twilight zone, waiting for the ax to fall. West decided, however, that he was not going to let the situation get the best of him. He was not going to hang his head and hide – he was going to be proactive.

Friday, Art relaxed and toured some of Harry’s favorite spots. Late morning they visited Hannah which turned out to be a lot of fun for Art as he watched Hannah and Harry together! Harry’s enthusiasm for his work and antiquities in general was just the medicine the doctor would have ordered – for Hannah!

On Saturday, Shabbat, Harry spent the day at Kahlil’s shop. When Hannah left for the hospital, she gave Harry a crash course in making a sale. But there were few customers. He had the day and the shop mainly to himself to examine every piece.

By Saturday night Harry had settled in nicely in the guest bedroom and spent most of the evening attending to e-mails. He made a few phone calls to Mary Minor and Sam Feldman, two of his editors at Biblical Artifact.

Plus, Harry had begun drafting an amicus brief, just in case he had to go to court on behalf of Art. Of course, Art would need an Israeli lawyer as well, since Scholer did not know all the ins and outs of Israeli law. He planned to consult with a local firm and take suggestions on who could best represent Art.

One thing Harry did know however--- normally Israeli trials were trial by judge, though there was a provision for trial by jury if the defendant was from a country where that was the normal practice and it was requested. Harry was hoping for a trial by jury for sure. The judges he knew in Jerusalem were hanging judges with a low tolerance for possible antiquity thieves, much less potential murderers. Too many years of having to deal with the fallout from the Intifadah had hardened them and their approach to such matters of jurisprudence.

“It is going to be an uphill battle,” Harry said under his breath, as he prepared for bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN: FLOWER CHILD

Grayson Johnson was quite the young man with a rather amazing pedigree. The son of the cult leader Charles Johnson, and a graduate of Fruitland Bible Institute in California, he was a blond hippie for Jesus. He sported a nose ring, a tongue stud, and more tattoos than one might think safe. “Israel is real, but Jesus is more real” read his favorite t-shirt which he wore constantly. Grayson Johnson was Ray Simpson’s roommate, sharing an apartment near the Scottish Presbyterian Church in Jerusalem.

Grayson supported himself by working at the Jerusalem YMCA and a health food store. Whenever he could, he hung out with various conservative Christian groups in the city including attending from time to time the Society of the Millennial Dawn’s public seminars. He was a vegetarian, a pacifist, and someone profoundly interested in the correlations between archaeology and the Bible. This latter interest had led him to attend worship services at the Garden Tomb not far from the Damascus Gate in the old city.

An avid reader of The Left Behind series of Timothy LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins, Grayson figured the world was coming to an end soon, and he wanted to be in Jerusalem when Jesus came back. For that reason, Grayson also kept up with the local news. Wednesday night, the headlines in the Jerusalem Post included the story about West’s arrest on suspicion of not only assault but also forgery – something having to do with an inscription and a limestone block. That sounded familiar! Friday morning’s news included a story about a bombing at Tel Aviv airport.

Grayson’s morning granola was interrupted by a knock at the door. The police searched Raymond’s room and talked to Grayson for about an hour. Grayson related all he knew about Raymond’s activities that week – including the fact that he was indeed home Tuesday night.

He knew Ray was up to no good, but he couldn’t quite figure out what to do about it. At the American Institute of Holy Land Studies, he had heard Professor West lecture on various occasions. One could say that West was in a sense Grayson’s hero, being in his eyes the man most responsible for helping the world to see that archaeology backed up the New Testament’s claims about history and Jesus.

He knew a lot more than Raymond could ever imagine. He knew: 1) Ray had snuck out Monday and Tuesday mornings very early; 2) Ray was furiously chiseling an inscription into a limestone block Tuesday afternoon in the back courtyard; 3) Ray had returned to the apartment Wednesday afternoon very agitated; 4) Ray packed his suitcase, grabbed his laptop, and left Thursday; and 5) Ray spent entirely too much time with that crabby old professor from Yale instead of getting his research done!

After work Friday afternoon, Grayson walked around the old city seeking guidance from the Holy Spirit and muttering,

“Principalities and powers man, principalities and powers. Somebody has got to help Doc West.”

He remembered an afternoon recently when he and Ray took a short trip from the bus station out to a local dig site. Before leaving, Grayson saw Ray checking out a locker. When Grayson asked him about it, Ray said it was for personal belongings, and he should mind his own business! Grayson was no Sherlock Holmes, but he suspected that if Ray was hiding something, it might be in that locker. He decided to search for the key!

Sunday morning provided a glorious blue sky, and Grayson was off to the Garden Tomb for worship. He loved the outdoor worship service, the singing, the preaching, the communion service. He called it the Adam and Eve praise service. Grayson knew from last Sunday’s bulletin that Art West was scheduled to preach. The text for the day was, “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hid” (Matthew 4.14). Grayson sang lustily at the service, drawing a few stares, but settled down to listen intently when Arthur West took the pulpit.

West stressed in his sermon how important it was for Christians to be honest and open about their faith. In Israel, of course, it was against the law to proselytize Jews or other non-Christians but one could indirectly be a good witness by living a truth-filled life, and always helping the truth, of whatever kind, to come to light. Grayson had found the message powerfully convicting, and had decided he would be brave enough to go up and speak with Dr. West after the service.

As the worshipers were gradually filing out of the Garden and passing through the gift shop on the way out to the street, Grayson deliberately got at the back of the line of those who were shaking West’s hand. Being rather shy despite his love for singing, it took Grayson some doing to be brave enough to speak directly with his hero. As he came up to West and shook his hand, these words came tumbling out:

“I’m Grayson. For sure that was a good sermon Dr. West, and it reminded me that I need to be totally honest so that gnarly dude the Devil doesn’t win any victories because of me being shy and quiet. My roommate Raymond Simpson is not walkin’ the straight and narrow, to say the least, and he’s been hanging out with the wrong crowd. Thursday he packed his bags and split – but he didn’t get far! Yesterday, I found a key on a nail behind Ray’s bed. I know it goes to a locker at the Bethlehem bus station. In the rush, I guess he had a ‘senior moment’ – uh, sorry Dr. West for rattlin on!”

“No offense taken!” laughed West. This young man was an enigma, but he could see Grayson was very sincere. “What has this locker got to do with me?”

“I don’t know man,” said Grayson who then continued with the world’s longest one breath sentence:

“But the police searched Ray’s room Friday and talked to me all about the mess with the stone and all, and some guy named el Said, and you being accused of bad stuff, and Ray’s in jail now, and I know Ray hid stuff in that locker and maybe the rock’s there – wow, think of that! – but I figured you being an archaeologist and all, you could check it out cuz’ I’ve been praying for you what with all your troubles of late, and I figured this is what God wanted me to do.”

West looked deeply into the young man’s blue eyes and saw a simple soul who really did want to help.

“Tell me your full name again,” said West still staring.

“Oh, I’m nobody compared to you, I’m just Grayson, Grayson Johnson. This is about my roommate Ray Simpson. Like I said, he up and left me all of a sudden Thursday. He was hanging with the wrong crowd – to say nothin’ of that Stone character.”

“You are certainly not nobody,” said West. “You are a precious child of God, and who knows – what you’ve done may shed light on many problems.”

Grayson blushed and said, “Thanks man for makin’ it real, the Bible I mean.” West thought to ask. “Could you give me your address and phone number? At the very least I owe you lunch – and I’ll need to return this key and let you know what I’ve found!”

Grayson turned in amazement.

“You mean it? I don’t have a cell phone, can’t afford them plus I hear they mess with your brain, the signals I mean. But my apartment phone is 783-4242.”

West took out his palm pilot and entered Grayson’s address and phone number. “I promise to be in touch as soon as I’ve learned something. God bless you.” Grayson waved and went out through the gift shop.

Now Art was eager to share the morning’s excitement. He headed for his one of his favorite sidewalk cafés in the Jewish quarter to have brunch with Grace.

Walking quickly through the Damascus gate, he passed right by Kahlil’s shop, which reminded him to visit with Hannah later in the afternoon. Going through the bazaar, the crush of people was huge. Sunday, of course, was just a normal work day in Israel for the vast majority of people.

West strolled through the Cardo Maximus, the remains of the old Roman street and shops from not long after the period in which Jesus lived. He often thought about which of the early Christian figures might have walked down this same street. Just beyond the Cardo was a nice Italian pizza parlor. Grace was already waiting there sitting under an umbrella sipping something cool.

“Man, I’ve had a weird morning, so much to tell, but let’s order first!” he exclaimed.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: OUT IN THE CLEAR?

Sammy Cohen’s phone had been ringing off the hook on Sunday morning.

The lab tech kept calling with new revelations. First was the fact that neither West’s nor Simpson’s DNA samples matched the DNA from the hair fibers on el Said’s coat. Then came the news that the prints were neither Simpson’s nor West’s. Both the prints and the hair samples were being checked against those found in Stone’s apartment. Of course, the police still had Ray Simpson in custody charged with producing the forged stone. And Sammy knew the police were also looking for Patrick Stone especially since the gun belonged to him!

“Any way you cut it, “said Cohen to no one in particular, “West cannot be charged with assault, nor, it would appear, with the forgery either. I had better call him.”

Art had put his phone on voice mail so he could have an uninterrupted chat with Grace. He told her all about the morning service at the Garden Tomb and the unusual Grayson Johnson.

“What will you do next?” she asked.

“If it’s legal I plan is to go to the Bethlehem bus station, but that means going through a check and there is that horrible wall around the city now as well. But I probably should take Sammy and Harry with me. Meanwhile, I want to talk to Mustafa again, and I really should visit Hannah.”

Lunch had been going very pleasantly with their sharing a Kosher pizza and some drinks, but Art could tell that Grace seemed a bit withdrawn. She wasn’t really listening to all his plans. She kept bringing the conversation back to his personal state of affairs.

“Art, if this all gets cleared up pretty soon, then what will you do? Will you go back to the States?”

“No,” said Art, “The digging season is far from over, and I hope to at least make a start in the excavations in and around the tomb. I’m going to have to draft one or two volunteers to help me, but since it’s a small, self contained site, it won’t require a lot. I have an idea for one person who might help me.”

“I am glad to hear this. I think it is important that you stay here,” Grace replied emphasizing the last two words.

“Well, I can hardly do otherwise at this juncture. Your police have my passport you know!” reminded Art.

Art did not press Grace, but he could tell she was being somewhat evasive.

In truth, Grace was trying to make sure her friend didn’t plan to leave. She was bursting to tell him about the contents of the ossuary! But Sammy hadn’t given her the go ahead yet. Art’s name had to be cleared before he would be allowed anywhere near that ossuary.

As their Sunday lunch was winding down, Art flipped up his cell phone and discovered he had two new messages. The first was from Harry: “Hey, Art, give me a buzz as soon as you can.” The second message was from Sammy in his best professional voice:

“Professor West. I am pleased to tell you that we now have sufficient evidence to exonerate you from the crimes of attempted murder and probably of forgery. You will probably be able to retrieve your passport at the Jerusalem police station next week sometime. They need to track down a couple of final details before releasing the passport.”

Art let out a yelp —

“Hey, looks like I am going to be cleared. Sammy was pretty definitive about the matter of assault, and seemed confident about the forgery and theft allegations” Grace looked up shocked.

“Who called you – Sammy?”

“Yes, which must mean they now have some firm leads that point in some other direction. Boy is that a load off my mind. Now if Ha’Aretz and the Jerusalem Post will just print that news in as prominent a spot as the original story about my arrest.”

“I will see what can be done,” said Grace laughing!

Grace headed home – her mother had made ‘not to be dismissed’ plans for her this afternoon. Art lingered long enough to enjoy another cold glass of lemonade and return phone calls to both Sammy and Harry. Sammy was feeling kindly toward Art and heartily agreed that the search should be conducted officially. He promised to go with Art to Bethlehem with the proper papers. Harry was definitely up for the treasure hunt, and Art promised to swing by the flat and collect him within the hour.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE – PILGRIMAGE TO BETHLEHEM

Harry and Art passed easily through the security check point on their way to Bethlehem. The bus station was rather nondescript. Made of the same limestone as everything else in the area, the one-story building was off-white in color. The lockers were on the far back wall of the ground floor. Within minutes, Art and Harry were joined by Sammy and Officer Avi Hoffner who had followed them in another car just to make sure all went well at the checkpoint. Pleasantries were exchanged quickly – Sammy and Harry were still keeping their distance. Each person was provided with gloves to prevent any fingerprint contamination.

West headed straight for locker number 666, and with Sammy’s go-ahead nod , put the key in the small lock and opened it without a problem. In the locker were two objects. The first was a leather bag, a tool kit of some kind, with chisels and pointed instruments. The second was a cardboard box, covered with brown paper, which appeared to have been taped properly at one time, opened, and resealed hastily. Officer Hoffner held the package carefully while Sammy peeled back the layers of paper. The cover was removed. Lying amongst wads of tissue paper, were several olive wood nativity figurines – Mary, Joseph and the three Wise Men. West was allowed to pick up one of the figurines and examine the bottom – a red and white label read, “Three Arches.”

West mused aloud,

“I’ve been to this shop on several occasions – the owner is quite reputable. Why would Ray Simpson hide nativity figures in a locker?”

“Keep looking, maybe there’s some paperwork,” chimed in Harry.

West poked around in the box and found a mailing label with a name but without a return address. The name he immediately recognized: ‘Dr Patrick Stone.’

“Looks like the good Doctor did some souvenir shopping, that’s all. But we don’t know where he planned to send the figurines” mused Harry.

“Well, maybe there is more here than meets the eye. An olive wood piece like this should be heavier,” commented Sammy as he weighed one of the figurines in his hand. At that point he gave the figurine a vigorous shake. Something moved up and down within the statue. Under the label, he noted a wooden plug. Looking at the bottom of the other four statues, the same was the case with each of them.

“Well, there are certainly more surprises in store,” laughed Harry.

“Yes, but we should open these back at the IAA office – not here in a bus station! And I’ll get a team in here to thoroughly inspect the locker,” promised Hoffner, the resident expert in forensics, as he flipped up his cell phone.

“I suggest on our way back to the IAA office that we stop first at The Three Arches. Avi you stay here and secure the area,” ordered Sammy. All were in immediate agreement, especially Harry who had promised to bring back a few quality items to his family.

The Three Arches was a popular tourist spot for those looking for early Christmas presents. Situated only a few blocks down the street from the Bethlehem plaza and the Church of the Nativity, it was usually packed with browsers in June. The wall erected around Bethlehem however had put a damper on business and there was only modest business being transacted. The three men walked in the front door and West immediately saw Ibrahim’s daughter, Hagar, dealing with a customer at the main counter.

Art smiled and waved to her when she looked up, and asked,

“Where’s your father?” She pointed to the office door and replied, “He’s in there with a friend working on his third Turkish coffee of the day.”

A knock and a call of “Enter!” allowed the men to peer into a cramped little office. Seeing the impossibility of them all squeezing into such a small space, Harry immediately agreed to do some shopping. Art and Sammy stepped into the office where Ibrahim was sitting at his desk drinking coffee with a fellow Palestinian. Ibrahim smiled and offered the usual greeting, “Salam alaykum!”

“And to you,” said West, well versed in the proper protocol.

“Ibrahim, this is Mr. Samuel Cohen of the IAA. We have some very important business to discuss. But I see now is not a good time for you – may we come back soon?”

Ibrahim’s friend arose and bowed.

“I have been honored with my friend’s company long enough – it is a good time to continue my business elsewhere.” Turning to Ibrahim, he nodded, and left graciously.

Art continued, “I must ask you to remember something, something which seems to have taken place some time ago, though I don’t know just how long ago. Perhaps within this year. A customer seems to have come into your shop, bought carvings of Mary, Joseph, and the Wise Men, and then asked you to hollow them out so they could contain something, and then after the insertion be plugged back up by your artisans. Do you remember any such transactions? Surely one like this would stand out.”

Ibrahim pulled on his beard and said thoughtfully,

“To tell you the truth, I do not remember something like this, but as you know I do not handle the small day to day trade any more, I am more the negotiator for sales in bulk. Let me call my daughter Hagar to come and speak with us privately.”

Ibrahim left the office. There was a lull in the activities in the shop and Hagar was merely arranging bills in the drawer. He said to his daughter,

“Hagar, my dear, please come with me to the office. We must have a private word with you.”

“Certainly, Father, let me ask Kalitha to take over here,” she replied dutifully.

After Hagar was seated in the office, Art repeated the question he had asked Ibrahim, and Hagar got a very excited look on her face.

“Oh, yes, I remember. That transaction occurred only in the last week – Wednesday morning I believe. A small, older nearly bald man came in, picked out the carvings he wanted, then asked if we could safely hollow out the statues. He said he wanted to put some surprises in them as additional gifts for his family. We thought that was fair enough and so we did the work quickly, boring out the statues very carefully but making sure the plug in the bottom would be secure. He came back about mid afternoon, and paid cash for both the product and the labor, no questions asked.”

“Did he give his name?” Sammy asked.

“No, in fact, he did not really say much at all.”

“Would you know him if you saw him again?”

“I think so, and in any case, he spoke with an American accent.”

“Thank you, Hagar, I think that is all for now. You have been a great help to us.” Hagar smiled and left the office. Ibrahim stepped in with cold drinks for his guests. “I presume you do not want Turkish coffee!” he said smiling.

Art laughed, “You know us well, Ibrahim! Thank you for your hospitality. Now I must find my friend.”

Back in the shop, Harry was enjoying himself. Art cautioned, “If you are buying something there is not much time for haggling. We’ve got to squeeze ourselves into the Mini Metro and get back to Jerusalem.”

Harry smiled and said, “Well, OK, but perhaps I can come back next week. They do quality work here.”

Sammy joined them.

“It is getting late, gentlemen. I am going to return to the IAA office with the tool kit and figurines we found in the bus station. Art, if you want to be there for the grand opening, you may join us. We will be working late tonight!” explained Sammy with authority.

“Yes, indeed I do want to be there if I can. Let me drop off Harry at my flat, and we can rendezvous about 5PM. How about calling Grace and inviting her to join us – if her Mother will let her! I think Grace is eager to hear about our Bethlehem pilgrimage.”

“Agreed,” said Cohen. “Five o’clock then.”

As Art drove off, Harry turned on the radio to listen to the 4 PM local news report. The radio crackled for a moment and then they heard, “A young American named Ray Simpson was taken into custody Thursday night at the Tel Aviv airport. He has now been charged with forgery. The police are looking for an alleged accomplice.”

Harry and Art looked at each other and said simultaneously, “Patrick Stone!”

--------------

At that same moment Jamison Parkes Law walked into the offices of the Jerusalem Post. “I have a story for you,” he said to his contact there, the senior editor Shlomo Glickstein. “ Here you have evidence of a very large wire transfer of moneys into the account of Arthur West from the British Museum as of yesterday morning. We all know that West was lacking funds for his dig this summer, and we also know that he has been under suspicion in regard to theft and forgery involving the Lazarus Stone. It looks to me as though West and some accomplice have now sold the stone to the British Museum for a huge sum of money.”

Glickstein looked at Law eagerly and said: “If this pans out, it will be sensational news. How can we check out this story?”

Law replied: “You see the email address for the British Museum, there. Why not just send them a message asking for confirmation about the transfer of funds?”

Glickstein paused and said

“Well they may deny it, unless and until they are prepared to go public. I think I will just fax this document over to Sammy Cohen at the IAA and ask him to comment before pulling the trigger on this story.”

Law was looking a little chagrined. He said: “You need to understand the urgency of this matter. If we do not act fast, Israel may lose another precious piece of its own heritage, precious to both Jews and Christians.”

“Alright,” said Glickstein, “ I will fax this right now and follow it with a phone call after a bit. Thank you Mr. Law. I will call you for further comment and a full interview shortly.”

“Remember,” said Law as he was leaving, “Time is of the essence now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY: CHRISTMAS COMES EARLY

Seated around a long conference table, Grace, Art, Sammy and Avi peered at the booty collected from the locker in Bethlehem. Officer Hoffner began removing tools one by one from the leather bag.

“You see these tiny little chisels with narrower than usual blades, and some with points on them? These are indeed the tools of a forger. No one would be doing the plastering or repairing of a wall or tiles in a bathroom with this equipment!”

“If I’m remembering correctly, the forged stone is made of Mount Scopus limestone, right? Can we check and see if there’s any residue of that precise sort of limestone?” inquired Art.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, the stone is now in our possession. The police sent it over for inspection after you were released from jail,” informed Hoffner.

“And now the part we’ve all been waiting for – our Christmas presents!”

smiled Art turning to the figurines.

“These gifts just keep on giving. Each one seems to contain something that rattles or shuffles around a bit, without being heavy.”

With gloved hands, Avi Hoffner carefully removed the wooden plug from the bottom of the Joseph figurine. A digital camera flashed. With forceps he grasped the edge of a piece of paper and slowly but surely pulled out a tiny scroll. The camera flashed again. As he lay the scroll on a piece of glass, everyone instinctively leaned forward.

Grace was the first to break the silence,

“I recognize the script. It’s definitely Aramaic. And if I’m not mistaken – it sure looks like . . ., “ she stopped short and looked at Cohen not knowing whether to proceed. Art, after all, had still not seen the manuscripts recently found in the ossuary.

Sammy’s expression and head shake discouraged her from continuing.

“It sure looks like . . . some other first century manuscripts I’ve seen recently.”

“What other manuscripts?” asked Art, shooting a quizzical look at Grace.

“Well, that’s a long story, my friend, a story we will NOT get into right now,” began Sammy holding his hand up to stop any further comments along those lines. “Right now, let’s find out what’s in the other figurines.”

Outranked, Art bit his tongue. For the next hour, each figurine was carefully opened, each manuscript was carefully removed and laid out on glass slabs, and each leaf was meticulously photographed. The real work of examining the manuscripts would begin tomorrow.

“We really have no proof that these manuscripts are genuine as yet, but I’m willing to guess that they have something to do with the Bethany tomb. My staff will get to work on them right away. Art, did you see anything like this when you were in the tomb?” asked Sammy.

“I just saw the ossuary and the inscription. Of course, darkness descended if you remember! I looked around with my flashlight while I was temporarily entombed, but I wasn’t really paying much attention to every nook and cranny. If those manuscripts were in the tomb, they weren’t just lying on the floor, I’m sure! And if they were in the tomb then they were removed with the stone inscription. And since they were found in Ray’s locker, it sure looks bad for Ray – unless he’s being framed like I was,” reminded Art.

Everyone was looking tired, and everyone agreed it was time to lock up for the evening and head home. Art was invited back Monday morning with a promise to explain all, if he promised not to ask questions until then!

Art, who preferred to be in charge, really didn’t appreciate being left out of the loop, or so it seemed. But more and more, Art was learning to appreciate his cell phone and he now took a moment to check his recent messages. Sure enough, Hannah had called. He said to Grace, “I’ve got a message from Hannah and I’m sure she wants me to visit tonight. Do you want to get something to eat and come along with me?”

“Sure, let’s go outside and give her a call,” agreed Grace.

Once outside, Art quickly punched in the numbers:

“Arthur, Arthur, some good news,” exclaimed Hannah breathlessly. “Father is regaining consciousness. I’m sure of it. Today he opened his eyes. He saw me! This is a good sign!”

“Excellent! God is working. Grace and I are here – we can eat quickly and come right over. Can you arrange for us to come up to his room? I promise we’ll be brief. I suspect the police will also want to talk to him when he’s fully conscious.”

Hannah replied,

“Yes, the police check in regularly. And yes, of course, I will make sure you can come into his room tonight.”

Hannah adjusted the sheet over her father’s chest and sat down to read for awhile. Like her father, she loved a good novel and was currently enthralled by the works of Naguib Mahfouz. Today she was reading, Midaq Alley. In 1988, Mahfouz became the first Arabic writer to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Sometime after that honor he was stabbed in the neck by two Islamic militants, but he survived. Hannah took some comfort in that fact. So absorbed was she in her reading, she didn’t even notice when the doctor slipped in and began to check her father’s pulse, IV and general condition.

After the examination, the doctor pronounced,

“This is all good. He is making progress. The fact that he opened his eyes briefly and spoke to you this morning signals that he is beginning to come out of the coma. You should take a little encouragement from his vital signs which are all stable and steady.”

“Thank you doctor. I do appreciate your taking such good care of my father.

I don’t know how we will ever pay the hospital back,” said Hannah with a worried look on her face.

“Well, things have a way of working out, and you need to concentrate on being there for your father and not fretting about other things you can’t control. Please, however, talk to our business office soon,” instructed the doctor.

At this moment, Grace and Art peeked into the room.

“Come in,” invited the doctor. “You are welcome to keep Hannah company for awhile; I am on my way out.”

Without warning, Kahlil began stirring and trying to turn over. Hannah rushed over and spoke excitedly, “Father, father, can you hear me?”

There was a long pause. Finally in a mere whisper the words came, “Hannah, Hannah, I am so tired.”

Tears of joy came streaming down Hannah’s face. Her father had spoken her name clearly and distinctly. He had understood what she was saying. “Yes, I know, Papa, you may go back to sleep. We will talk later.”

Kahlil never opened his eyes, but he smiled and drifted off again into

sleep. Hannah remembered the line from Shakespeare: “Sleep which knits up the

raveled sleeve of care, sleep the best medicine.” But just those few spoken words were medicine to Hannah’s soul. Her father was back in the land of the living. Grace and Art respectfully drew near the bed.

“Like Lazarus come back from the dead – do you know the story Hannah from the Christian New Testament?” asked Grace.

“Yes,” replied Hannah. “Jesus was a great prophet.”

“Perhaps more than that, Hannah,” said Art softly. “Perhaps also the giver of life itself.”

Meanwhile back at the IAA office, as Sammy Cohen was finally trying to get some paper work done, one of his secretaries raced in. “Mr Cohen this fax just came in marked urgent from the Jerusalem Post. You are to read it, and then call Shlomo Glickstein at once.”

Cohen read slowly through the fax, and just started moaning “oh no, surely not!” “Oh no. Now the police are not only going to charge West, he will become a prime suspect in this matter.” With a heavy heart Cohen dialed the number at the Jerusalem Post.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE: A CREDIT TO HIS ACCOUNT

Saturday morning, the sun rose over the Royal Edinburgh Hotel. Stone rose early and packed his bag. Nine o’clock couldn’t arrive quickly enough. The dining room was gorgeous, complete with a huge chandelier and elegantly appointed tables each with a flower arrangement of roses and pansies. His breakfast had consisted of eggs and stewed tomatoes with toast points. As a treat, he insisted on an order of fresh strawberries and Devon clotted cream – hardly proper for that time of day.

Full of himself, he was prepared to be told he was very rich indeed. At 8:45 he went back to his room to await the call from the British Museum. Stone sat on the bed. He no longer believed in praying, but he was concentrating on thinking positive thoughts. Nine o’clock came and went. Stone sulked. Finally, the phone rang.

“Hello, this is Oliver St. James. At precisely 9:06 AM the funds were transferred into your account and the other million into the Jerusalem account. Are you sure we cannot persuade you to attend Monday’s press conference?”

Stone’s pride was such that he was sorely tempted to do so, even if he had to sit in the back row. However, when someone in Israel finally figured out what had happened, which he hoped would not be soon, then he might be labeled a felon or worse, unless of course they blamed it all on West.

“Sadly,” replied Stone, “I cannot do this. I am flying back to the States today to be with my mother. But I wish you the best. At this juncture I would like to enjoy the beginning of my retirement and privacy without a lot of paparazzi bothering me.”

“Just so,” said Oliver, “I understand entirely, and would want it this way

if it were me. You can count on us being discreet. Farewell, and thank you.”

St. James rang off. Before Patrick headed to Heathrow, he went to the business center, connected to the Internet, and keyed in his account number with Banque Suisse. After a brief pause a huge number came up on the screen: 35 million 312 dollars.

Stone began to laugh uncontrollably.

“Those fools really gave me all that money. They’re as gullible as West and all those true believers like him.” He then sent an anonymous email message from a hotel computer to Shlomo Glickstein at the Jerusalem Post: “Check out Arthur West’s Jerusalem bank account.” Checking out of the hotel, he went straight to the curb and hailed a black hansom cab. He hopped in the back and heard the dulcet tones of the Cockney accent: “Where to guvner?”

“Victoria Station,” said Patrick truthfully.

“Too right,” said the cabbie. And they were off.

Sadiq Hadassah, having monitored Stone’s internet activity in the morning had immediately sent a full report to both Rabbi Menachem and Jamison Parkes Law, including forwarding the verbatim of the message Stone sent to Glickstein. But what was he to do now? He looked out the window just in time to see Stone leap into a hansom cab and drive off in a hurry. He had not been prepared for such a sudden exit. Apparently Stone had his bags packed and simply made a quick trip to the business center at the hotel before leaving. Now he would never catch him... unless of course he emailed someone soon about his whereabouts. He would stay in London for the next day or so, and continue to monitor Stone’s email account.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO: VIVA LA FRANCE

Patrick’s trip took him further and further from home. First by train to Paris,

and then by car over miles and miles of country roads through miles and miles of stunning countryside. He enjoyed a long and circuitous route paid for with cash and never by credit card. Patrick Stone covered his tracks as best he could given his limited knowledge of being a potential fugitive.

As luck would have it, the dealer who had supplied him with the fake documents, had also offered him a fake passport. Unfortunately, that counterfeit cost more than the other documents! He had used his real passport only to get to London. From there he hoped his trail would go cold. By Monday night he arrived in Cannes and checked into L’Otel de Roi.

The beautiful south coast of France, known as the Cote D’Azur, or azure

coast, is one of the most expensive and exclusive places to live in all of Europe.

As the local tourist brochure for the area says:

“Originally, the French Riviera was a winter retreat for European and Russian aristocrats fleeing from the fog, cold and damp. Then, in the Roaring Twenties, sunshine became all the rage - albeit with parasols and stripy cover-up bathing suits,

and it was then that the Riviera's towns kicked into higher gear as fashionable summer resorts. Thanks to fun-loving Americans Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, the Murphys, Isadora Duncan and other celebrities such as Picasso and Chanel, this seasonal switch acted as a catalyst to the Riviera's year-round development. But more recently, another switch was thrown, this time to diversify the region's activities from tourist playground to high-tech, clean industry, congress, seminar and convention center. Today, outside the summer season, one of every two trips to the Riviera is business-related.”

In short the old cliché is true: “If you have to ask how much something costs – on the French Riviera or in nearby Monaco – you can’t afford it.” Stone was enjoying a glorious sunrise, sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, drinking a rich red wine from the Loire Valley. He was slowly reading the local brochures, and had to laugh at the fact that the Riviera had become a hub for business. Not as far as he was concerned! “To life’s finer pleasures!” he toasted as he raised his glass to the sky.

Tuesday’s London Times carried a press release outlining a major new purchase by the British Museum. The Press conference had apparently drawn a lot of attention, including from AP, UPI, Reuters and others. True to his word and their contract, St. James had made sure there was no mention of the seller. Patrick hoisted his glass for a second toast: “Here’s to you, Oliver!”

No doubt, news of the British Museum’s purchase would travel to Jerusalem quickly. One thing he was sure of -– it would be very difficult to get the French to extradite someone to Israel. France did not exactly have a close relationship with the current Israeli government. The French government had regularly sided with various Arab and Palestinian causes through the years, in part because of the high Moslem population in France.

“Viva la France!” was his third toast of the morning. His spoken French was a little rusty, but he read French just fine. He would adapt. Today he would find a bank, look at cars and visit a realtor and he should send a message to his mother via email to see how she was doing. That would set his new life in motion. Maybe tonight he would go to the local jazz hot spot, Club Noir, and hear one of the great jazz legends, Oscar Peterson and his Trio. It appeared to Stone that the world was his escargot, to rephrase a cliché, and he was ready to consume it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: OH LAZARUS, WHO ART THOU?

Monday morning Art fought the Jerusalem traffic to pickup Grace and arrive at the IAA office before nine o’clock. Art was never late – he considered being ten minutes early being late. He was actually irritated to see that Grace was standing by the curbside waiting.

“Well, Arthur, I have some good news, and then some shocking news. Which do you want first?”

Art smiled. “Your choice – but make it a good one!”

“The good news is that the ossuary has been authenticated, there are no

problems with the inscription. Its patina is just fine; it passed the ultraviolet test,

and it’s made of the right sort of limestone. There are no real bones in the box – just some shards, maybe even first century shards – but that takes time to determine.”

“OK. Now give me the other news.”

“Be patient,” commanded Grace. “And drive slower; go around a few extra blocks. There’s more to tell. When the IAA examined the shards they noticed a few hairs attached to one piece, perhaps the ointment poured over the body preserved it. In any case, they are running DNA tests – that should confirm our skeleton is a male of middle-eastern descent if nothing else. But what the scientists are guessing now is that our man may have had leprosy.”

“Wow!” said Art. “Boy does that fill in a few gaps in the biblical story. It explains why grown daughters and sons in a particular family were still single and living together. It also explains why in the earliest Gospel account in Mark we are told that Jesus was anointed by a woman in the house of Simon the leper while he was in Bethany, yet the Fourth Gospel says this took place in the home of Lazarus, Mary and Martha. These two stories are speaking of the same house and the same family, only Simon, as the ossuary inscription suggests, is the father, and Lazarus or Eliezar is the son.”

“Very intriguing,” said Grace trying to hurry along the conversation. “But you haven’t heard anything yet. We found something else in that ossuary besides bones, Art!”

“I take it you’re about to divulge the shocking news, the sooner the better,” urged Art.

“Well, I would, but there’s the IAA office. You’ll just have to wait a few more minutes!” said Grace, enjoying every minute of Art’s frustration.

Once in the IAA building, Grace led the way to the examining room. As she opened the door, she blurted out, “We found a scroll in the ossuary as well!”

“What? What are you saying? Was it a death certificate or some sort or a

will?”

“Well,” said Grace as Sammy joined them around the table, “you could say, in a manner of speaking, that it’s a last will and testimony. In fact, it’s an Aramaic telling of the Gospel story that we now call John’s Gospel, only the heading says it’s Eliezar’s memoirs.”

Art started laughing,

“You’ve known about this for some time now – I guess having my name cleared allows me into the inner sanctum now. Grace, you almost slipped up Sunday afternoon when we were looking at the fragments in the figurines, didn’t you!”

“Yes, that was close. Sammy here wasn’t too pleased.”

“True,” piped in Sammy. “I was still waiting for the official paperwork, even though I called you Sunday morning! Keeping secrets is not Grace’s strong suit, so let’s get to work! I should tell you that Prof. Chartier has already looked at this scroll.”

Grace and Art both put on the latex gloves used for examining any large and

precious samples of papyri. Then Art was allowed to roll open part of the scroll. It was written in an absolutely beautiful hand. Some of the letters had the more cursive shaping, some more squared off, but that was typical of Herodian period Aramaic lettering. Art thought of all the time and care it took to write all this out. Perhaps Lazarus, because of his disease, had a lot of time late in his life to write these stories down. Perhaps he spent a lot of time alone.

“Well,” said Sammy, breaking the silence. “A propitious moment, don’t you think? We rarely see such complete manuscripts, in such a well-preserved condition. I have examined many Qumran scrolls, but this text is exquisite. Prof. Chartier has already examined parts of the scroll. He believes it to be first century – dating is not certain yet – it could be a copy of a copy. He, of course, wishes to head up a committee to study the text; however, plans have not been finalized. Any chance you wish to be involved?”

“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Art emphatically, dismissing Sammy’s teasing tone.

“In any way possible. Just looking at this manuscript takes your breath away. Do you know what this means? We have a Gospel written from the perspective of a person whom Jesus raised from the dead! Now that sort of miracle could really change your world view! Scholars have been debating for centuries why this Gospel is so different from the other canonical Gospels. And the dating! This is the earliest Gospel, an eyewitness testimony of a Judean, not a Galilean disciple! Is the entire Gospel on that scroll?”

“Apparently not,” said Grace a bit cautiously. “According to Prof. Chartier,

the beginning of the Gospel, the material before John 1.19 is missing. Like Mark it begins with John the Baptist. Also missing is John 21, and the famous passage about the woman caught in adultery.”

“Well, most scholars say that the Fourth Gospel is a collection of texts, but the core material is attributed to the Beloved Disciple,” explained Art.

“And that, brings up one more thing. In the part of the text which tells the story of Lazarus’s illness, it calls him ‘the one whom you love.’ I think that’s John 11. But where we normally have the references to the Beloved Disciple there is instead the name Eliezar.”

“Now let’s think about this,” said Art now pacing around the room. “If the Beloved Disciple is Lazarus . . . Wow, this solves so many puzzles about the Fourth Gospel. For one thing, scholars had always thought it unlikely that a disciple of Jesus would run around calling himself the Beloved Disciple if he wrote this Gospel. Now we have evidence that he didn’t do this. Rather, whoever translated this document into Greek likely made the changes, and perhaps he was also the one who added the beginning and end of the story.”

“So, the beloved disciple is Lazarus – interesting hypothesis,” mused Sammy. “And what do we do with the story of the woman caught in adultery?”

Art took up the story. “No one thinks that wonderful story was in the original Gospel. It shows up in too many different places in the Greek manuscripts of John, and in one manuscript of Luke you also find the story. Clearly it’s a story looking for a home. Various scribes loved the story, and kept sticking it into various manuscripts! You’ve gotta admire their persistence!”

Grace was feeling like a super sleuth again. “Try this out, everyone. If John’s Gospel was actually written by a Judean disciple, a southerner, doesn’t this explain why all but two of the northern Galilean miracle stories found in the other Gospels are missing in this Gospel?

“Sure it does. Plus, having a Judean author explains why all the special stories about the Twelve, about the three, about even the Zebedees are not found in this Gospel. It is not by a Galilean disciple! Our author just didn’t spend any time with the boys in Galilee,” laughed Art.

Sammy, after taking all this in, raised up his hand and added. “I was born and raised in Jerusalem. For me, this explains why our author knows so much about Jerusalem, and knows so much about Jesus’ ministry in that city and its vicinity, things the other Gospel writers do not know. John’s Gospel just has the sound of a local author. But the long-standing tradition opts for a John of Zebedee, correct?”

“Well, that’s a later tradition,” explained Art. “The Greek labels on the Gospel documents were added later, and nowhere in the text of this Gospel is John of Zebedee equated with the Beloved Disciple. Holy Smokes . . . these finds are going to change the face of Johannine scholarship, not to mention raise a bunch of questions about the reality of resurrection!”

Grace could tell how passionate Art was about all this. As for her, it merely confirmed that some early Jew was brought back from death. Maybe he was healed by Jesus, maybe he revived in the cool of the tomb, but in any case that resurrection didn’t prevent him from dying again. Extrapolating from this case to the case of Jesus would be a stretch. Though Lazarus was raised, he obviously didn’t get the same resurrection body that Jesus is supposed to have gotten. But still . . . it was a remarkable miracle. It raised again the question about whether and how such things happened. She had to admit this shook her up a bit.

Grace was a thoroughly modern person in the sense that she did not expect to see miracles happen, though she could not absolutely rule them out. So now she had a big question mark in her mind. How should she interpret these findings without seeming to try and explain them away?

Quiet pervaded the room for some time. Each scholar’s thoughts lost in the first century – each imagining a man named Eliezar carefully writing down his memoirs beside in an oil lamp lit Judean room in Bethany.

Sammy had decided, knowing that West was coming to the IAA office anyway, to simply play dumb for a while and see if West showed any signs of being a duplicitous person when shown all these treasures. He could detect no such signs, so either West was very good at masking his real intents and behavior, or some one was truly trying to frame Art. He decided that now was the juncture to drop the bombshell about the money in the bank account. He would show him the report of the bank deposit and watch closely his reaction.

“Art,” said Sammy, tenatively,” would you by any chance have a bank account in the Jerusalem Bank which has this account number?”

West looked at the paper on which the number was written, and said “Yes,” but how did you get this number, and why are you asking?”

“Well either you’ve been playing the Israeli lottery and got very lucky in the last couple of days, or you’ve got some serious explaining to do, as it appears the British Museum has deposited over a million dollars in your Jerusalem account.”

“What!!” said West and Levine in unison.

West was showing all of the signs of being totally dumbfounded.

“Grace,” said Art, “I know you told me there was some shocking news but I was not prepared for this!”

At this juncture Sammy handed Art the faxed evidence of the wire transfer of funds into his account. Art stared at it incredulously. “Someone is going way out of their way to try and frame me Sammy.” Art finally said in a hushed stunned voice as he broke into tears.

Sammy wanted to believe him, but the evidence of the fax seemed very damning. “Sorry, Art, but I suspect the police will be here in a few minutes to charge you with theft and illegal selling of antiquities. I would like to believe you are innocent of all this, but I am hard pressed to explain this evidence. How did someone at the British Museum even know your account number?”

“I don’t know,” said Art, and now he was shaking.

Sammy turned to Grace. “Grace you must absent yourself from Art’s problem for now, lest you and the IAA somehow be tarnished as well, and in any case there is so much work to be done. And then there are the fragments from the figurines. How do they fit in? Do you have time to study those little manuscripts after lunch?”

“I’m certainly up for it,” Grace replied, “but I shall not be abandoning my friend Art.”

There was a knock on the door. Detective Shimon was standing there: “I am sorry Professor West, but we must take you in once more for questioning, and it seems likely you will be retained in custody as you will be charged with a crime before the end of the day.”

Art looked at Grace and said “Please call Harry at once, and ask him to meet me at the jail.” Grace nodded and said “Hang in there Art, we’ll get to the bottom of this.” Right now, thought Art, I seem to be in free fall with no bottom in sight.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR – THE SLEEPER AWAKES

Hannah was just leaving the antiquities shop, having spent the last two hours catching up on paperwork, when Grace called. As Grace arrived in the fifth floor visitor’s lounge, she was met by an entirely different and more upbeat Hannah.

“Father is actually talking now Grace. In fact, at lunch he asked for you.

It’s so wonderful, like he has come back from the dead!”

“Yes,” said Grace nodding. “Art would call this the Lazarus Effect.” Pondering how much to tell Hannah, considering the delicate state of Kahlil’s health, Grace said quietly “Hannah there is something I must tell you.”

“Yes.”

“Our friend Art has just been taken in a second time by the police and this time it looks quite grave. They found evidence that he was sent lots of money by the British Museum, apparently for something he sold them. Now I am still not convinced he has done anything wrong, but the evidence is pretty damning at this point and so we need to keep Art in our prayers, and equally importantly it will be wise not to tell Kahlil about this most recent shocking news for a while, during the time that he is mending lest he have a setback. Are we agreed on this approach?”

Hannah’s demeanor had gone from cheerful to profoundly worried once more, but she shook her head and said,

“Yes, for now his re-arrest had best be a secret, as Father is only beginning to regain his strength.” The two women entered Kahlil’s room in a more somber mood than they had hoped to do in view of Kahlil’s improvement.

Kahlil was sitting up in bed drinking his favorite Haifa orange juice and complaining to his nurse that he needed more food. This was a good sign! Still bandaged about the head and across the chest, Kahlil looked like he had been through the war, emerging bloody but unbowed.

“Salam alaycum,” boomed Kahlil when he saw Grace coming. Grace came right over to the bed with an “Also to you,” and smiled at Kahlil.

“I would greet you less formally, but I imagine physical contact’s still forbidden due to your injuries. What’s the medical report?” asked Grace.

“I no longer have a spleen, but apparently I can do without it. My liver is

mending itself as we speak, and as you know I have always been hard-headed.”

“So tell me,” urged Grace, “What do you remember about last Tuesday night? Can you talk about it – have the police been here?”

“Slow down, my friend,” said Kahlil. “The police are coming later this afternoon. Unfortunately, I remember very little about some things. I remember sitting on the bench in the park, then standing because someone said something to me. I turned and then . . . I remember nothing.”

“Wow, amnesia! I’ve never met anyone with amnesia” mused Grace. “What about earlier in the day. Anything stand out?”

“Only that a small angry man came into the shop and had a heated argument

with me over a stone tablet. I sent him away dissatisfied as he wanted money too quickly and under suspicious circumstances. Hannah saw him briefly from behind the safety of her desk, as did a Dr. William Arnold from your United States. But neither of them saw the stone tablet he was carrying.”

“OK, first the man. Did you know him?”

“My memory is a bit fuzzy. However, I do not believe I have met him before, nor do I care to meet him again. Come to think of it, Dr. Arnold recognized him, but we did not speak of the man.”

“But do you remember anything more about him – more than what Hannah saw?”

“Yes, he was quite short compared to me, I would say in his 60s, an

American by accent, and with a rather impatient nature. Oh yes, also nearly bald.”

“Would you recognize him again if you saw him?”

“I should think so, but let’s talk about Art for a moment. Is he out from

under the dark cloud Hannah told me about this morning?”

Grace chose her words carefully “No, not entirely, but we live in hope. The police do not appear to suspect Art had anything to do with your attack. But the stone, being missing, is another matter. Art photographed a stone inscription last Tuesday morning in a tomb in Bethany, but it was stolen Tuesday afternoon before he went back to the tomb with me and the IAA. A copy of that same stone arrived at his apartment Wednesday morning. We don’t know where the real stone is! So tell me about the stone you saw in your shop.”

Grace sat down in a chair next to Kahlil and Hannah stood beside him while Kahlil carefully described the very stone that Art took pictures of inside the Lazarus tomb. There could be no doubt.

“So we know for sure this stone really exists. That is important news.” said Grace.

“A man named Raymond Simpson has already been arrested for making the forgery. He’s the graduate student of one Dr. Patrick Stone who fits your description perfectly. So there’s no doubt that he and Ray Simpson are involved in stealing the inscribed stone. The question in the mind of the authorities is whether Art is also involved. Did Hannah tell you Art was temporarily sealed up in that very same tomb!”

“No, no, what is this? Did the ghosts of the cemetery try to frighten you off? “ exclaimed Kahlil.

“I’m embarrassed to admit it took Art awhile to realize he could call out and get help! Mustafa the church steward rescued him. Maybe someone followed him. Maybe grave robbers are everywhere. Maybe it was just a local prankster. But it gave him a scare nonetheless. And by day’s end the ossuary was safe with the IAA but the inscription was gone.”

“Ossuary, what ossuary? I’ve been asleep too long!” sighed Kahlil.

“I’m sorry, Kahlil, I know there is much to tell you but some of these stories must wait while you rest. Hannah will slowly catch you up on all the excitement, and I promise to come back and share wonders even Hannah doesn’t know about. Trust, me I’ve already had an interesting day!” said Grace.

Hannah added, “Poor father, when he gets back to the shop, he’ll be overwhelmed with work, too – we have lots of new items to catalogue!”

Finally, Grace asked gently, “Are you sure you don’t remember who shot you?”

“No, but I think the memories will come. I see a vague form already in my mind, and I pray to the Almighty for clear thinking on this,” sighed Kahlil.

“I’m sorry if I am being too pushy. Would you mind if I said a little prayer of thanksgiving to the Almighty for your deliverance and that Art may be cleared?” Hannah and Kahlil both smiled, and Kahlil said, “Of course not, we also pray to the Ineffable One you know.”

With a tear in her eye Grace prayed: “Gracious God of all peoples and nations,

I thank you so much on this day that Kahlil is going to be alright. I thank you for the healing you have brought here. God, a grave injustice has been done to Kahlil, and I would pray that the truth will come out. Give us strength through these days. Help us all to continue to live in the light, and be honest and true persons who live according to your will. Amen.”

Monday afternoon was warm with heavy clouds as Grace left the hospital, and her heart, while warm, was also heavy. Art would have said God really does work all things together for good for those who love Him, but right now Grace felt circumstances were about to put that idea to the ultimate test.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE: MASS IN THE MORNING

West woke up at seven o’clock Tuesday morning, refreshed for the first time since the excitement began a week ago. He dove into the shower, toweled off, pulled on a khaki shirt, long pants, and his comfortable sandals. He was ready for breakfast and church. Though the authorities had taken Art in Monday evening, Harry had been right there with him, and had immediately posted bail. Art would not get his passport back any time soon he figured, but Harry was an excellent lawyer and he had already proved his worth Monday night when he came to the rescue.

When his toast popped up, Harry wandered into the kitchen, and said,

“You’re up and about rather early.”

“Yes, I’m off to church in Bethany and to have lunch with one Grayson Johnson. And you are welcome to come. By the way I saw you watching Law and Order reruns on the tube last night. What do you think of that show?

“It’s the best. I love it,” admitted Harry. “Most of the time Sam Waterson gets his man - or woman as the case may be. You realize that show is a huge hit over here. In fact, the ultimate compliment was paid to one of the lawyers at the firm I contacted on your behalf. Their point man, Benjamin, is called ‘Mr. Law and Order’ here!”

“Interesting, plus it’s a big improvement over Beverly Hillbillies so far as the image of Americans is concerned,” laughed Art. “I gather you are getting a good deal done here for articles that will go into Biblical Artifact. I promise you an exclusive interview about the Bethany tomb, the ossuary, the inscription, and – oh yes, did I mention we found manuscripts!”

“I know about the small scrolls in the figurines you found Sunday. Are you saying there’s more?!”

“Oh yes, much more! When the dust settles, and the IAA is free to make all its announcements, I guarantee you’ll be filling your journal with stories. And I’d like

to see you and Sammy Cohen work together, despite past differences. What do you think?”

“Yeah, I obviously want to work with them as well – having you to plead my case would be an interesting roll reversal! But I gather they will not be fraternizing with you for a while until you are cleared in regard to this latest shocking news. How do you think that money got into your checking account here in Jerusalem? Any theories yet?”

Art just shook his head and said,

“I never want to believe the worst about a person, but the only thing I can think of is that someone connected to Ray Simpson is trying to frame me, and that someone would seem to be the ever elusive Patrick Stone.”

“My thoughts exactly, but proving it is another matter!” said Harry.

Harry was a great guy, and it seemed he was enjoying having some more quiet

time here in Jerusalem talking to archaeologists, visiting digs, generating stories and the like. Art liked having a congenial roommate, but he liked his legal acumen even better.

---------------

Patrick Stone was sitting in an internet café in Cannes composing a note to his mother. Little did he suspect someone was reading his outgoing and incoming mail! The message said:

”Dear Mother: Through an incredible turn of good fortune I have been able to come into a significant amount of money, and would like you to begin thinking about coming and living with me in Europe so I can look after you more properly. I realize that would be a big move, but they have the best health care here in southern France on the Cote D’ Azur imaginable, far better than in Kingsport, and I am now able to make it possible for you to have the surgery you have needed for such a long time. I hope you will consider this request and get back to me soon. Love, Patrick.”

Stone knew that his nephew Randy would be reading this and then reading it to his Mom. She would then make an oral reply which Randy would type in an email message. He hoped to hear from her soon.

Sadiq read this message with some relief, and immediately forwarded it to both Rabbi Menachem and Jamison Law. They would know what to do with this evidence, and perhaps they could alert Interpol. It was time for him to return to Jerusalem before his funds ran out. He had noticed in the Jerusalem Post that morning a small article about West being further questioned, this time about a wire transfer of money. Sadiq licked his chops and said “We are going to nail this ring of goyim bandits who are stealing our heritage. Finally I am doing something for the good of the cause.”

-------------------

The Church of Mary and Martha is beautiful in its simplicity. Apart from

the stained glass windows there is very little color in the place, but the semi-vaulted ceiling makes for a great echo chamber if one is inclined to sing. Art was definitely a singer, always had been. He had sung in church choirs and loved all kinds of music, both high brow and low brow. His CD collection included everything from Tchaikovsky to James Taylor, from John Coltrane to Allison Kraus, from the Bee Gees to the Beatles. Lately he was enjoying jazz, and regularly went to the club off Haddasa Street-- Le Jazz Hot.

To many conservative Christians, West was something of an enigma. He was

orthodox in his theology, but had no problems as a Protestant attending Mass and benefiting from it. The Mini Metro seemed raring to go as it raced down the serpentine road along the Hinnom valley towards Bethany. He would get there in plenty of time for the service. Parking in the back of the church he walked in the door and was immediately welcomed by Mustafa who handed him a missal. Putting something of a damper on things was the fact that the police had told him he would be followed wherever he went. Nevertheless, saying a pray, Art tried not to let this get him down when he saw the police cruiser pull up and park next to his own vehicle.

Art whispered in Mustafa’s ear, “I must speak with you afterwards.” Mustafa nodded and ushered him to a pew. There were only twenty-five people in the

church which held perhaps a couple of hundred. The Catholic service involved a good deal of liturgy with a little bit of singing, all in Arabic. The service was only forty-five minutes long, with a ten minute homily. West’s spoken Arabic was not great, but he got the drift of the sermon which was about loving your neighbor, even your Jewish neighbor, as yourself. How very odd, thought West, for a Palestinian to use a Jewish text to obligate Palestinians to be neighborly to Jews! That’s just like God thought West. What did Paul say? “In Christ there is neither Jew nor Gentile . . . but all are one.”

The service concluded with communion, just the bread, not the wine. The cup was reserved for the priest. There was a final benediction which surprisingly enough was in Latin, and then the passing of the peace. West found himself nodding and smiling towards a diminutive Palestinian woman of about eighty.

Walking out the door, West was followed by the unflappable Mustafa.

“Mustafa, my friend,” said West slowly as Mustafa’s English was not great.

“I need to figure out what happened to me that day sometime ago when I was trapped in this tomb back here. Did you see any one loitering around here that Tuesday or on Monday when I was surveying the tel? Anyone strange who didn’t seem to belong here?”

Mustafa answered, “There are many tourists who come here to see the traditional site up the road where Lazarus was thought to be buried. Of course, it is only called the traditional site. Now we know better! Yes? But I saw a few people that day wandering around the church and looking out back during that time. One was a short man, an American I think, though he had someone younger with him. Come to think of it, I may have seen the younger man on Monday also. The IAA have questioned me about this already.”

“This man, was he rather bald, rather short?”

“Yes that describes him. I did not have time to inquire what he was doing

as I had so much work in the church. And I don’t think he saw me at all. The two were busy taking pictures and looking around. Thank goodness you had a cell phone or you might still be in that tomb now, resting peacefully with Lazarus!”

“Don’t remind me. Can we have one more look in the tomb. I realize that the

IAA has it cordoned off, but I have permission to look though I can’t take anything away from the site. Apparently the robbers found the small manuscripts in a clay jar, or maybe they were in the back of another niche.”

“Of course, let us go together,” said Mustafa, back to his usual serious self.

Sliding again into the tomb and pulling out his flashlight West peered into the various niches. “Here, you are smaller than I am, Mustafa, can you crawl in and see if you see anything at all.”

Mustafa examined a number of niches. At one point he shimmied in so far that all one could see were his two legs dangling out. He rolled over and looked up at the top of the niche. “Yes, there is a writing on the roof of this niche.” “Can you manage to photograph it with my small digital camera? “

It took a minute or two for Mustafa’s eyes to adjust and for him to focus

on the inscription. He realized that when he took the picture the flash would go off and blind him, so holding the camera very still he looked through the view-finder, aimed, closed his eyes, and shot the picture.

“Take two or three if you can,” said West. A minute or two later Mustafa emerged with the camera.

“Let’s get out of this humid place, Mustafa, and get some air.”

When they emerged from the tomb West was already checking the pictures on

the back of the camera as they came up. One shot was especially clear and complete. There was an inscription alright in Aramaic . . .

Martha, asleep in the Lord, lies here, awaiting resurrection.

Here was further evidence that this indeed was a family tomb of Lazarus, Mary and Martha. Art had no doubts now that the Eliezar in question was the same person mentioned in John 11. As he walked back to the church with Mustafa he queried,

“I wonder where the ossuaries of Mary and Martha went?”

“Ah,” said Mustafa, a man of wise words,

“We must be thankful for what we have found, not complain about what we have not.”

“Amen to that,” agreed Art as he climbed into his car for the short ride to Jerusalem and his lunch date at Solomon’s Porch. Right on his bumper was his new Israeli shadow, Officer Shimon.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX: HEADLINE NEWS

Grayson Johnson was waiting on the bench staring at the passers by who, in turn, were staring at him. He hopped up as soon as Art approached. “This is great, man, I love this place. Sarah’s a neat lady – she always waits on me,” exclaimed Grayson.

Art enjoyed telling Grayson about all the excitement on Sunday at the Bethlehem bus station. He related how they had found the tools and figurines in the locker. The key to the locker was still with the police, and his roommate Ray Simpson was still in custody.

Grayson enjoyed telling Art about his visits in jail with Raymond. “I’ve been telling Ray all about the Lord. He’s scared, man, so he’s really willing to listen.”

“So you really did see Raymond working out in the courtyard with rocks and tools on Tuesday afternoon?” asked Art.

“Yeah, he was making a racket with the chisel. He had on goggles and all – stone was flying, man. He was in a rush. I’ve seen him make stuff before for Dr. Stone’s lectures. He’s pretty good at it.”

“Did you see the stone that he was copying?”

“No, I think he just had a picture – a good picture.”

“And you’re quite certain that Ray was at home with you watching the TV between seven and ten last Tuesday night?”

“For sure. The dude wouldn’t even let me have the remote once so I could check my favorite Nature Channel show once in a while. I can’t vouch for Monday or Tuesday morning, but he was working away after lunch, and lounging around eating Cheetos and drinking Maccabee beer most of the night. Not a healthy diet if you ask me.”

“Did you ever see Raymond with the statues of Mary or Joseph or the wise men?”

“Not me, man. I knew about the locker, but I don’t know who put those fancy figures in the locker – or when. The police are hoping Dr. Stone will call and ask to have those figurines sent somewhere. Then they can catch him! And none too soon if you ask me. But what I don’t get is why Ray’s covering up for that Dr. Stone. He must have some hold over my poor roomie. But you know what the Bible says, ‘God is not mocked. Whatsoever a person sows, that shall they also reap.’ That’s sort of the spiritual version of what goes around comes around, if you catch my drift.”

Art laughed, “Yeah, Grayson, I like your Cotton Patch version! I presume you are going to stay around for the summer?”

“Oh yeah, I like my jobs, especially at the Health Food Store, and Sarah says I can work here anytime. This will be the happenin’ place to be when the Lord returns!”

Just then, Sarah came hurrying over, and handed Art the daily papers, with a breathless, “Have you seen this, Dr. West?”

HEADLINE

Priceless Artifact Obtained by British Museum.

Press Conference Reveals Ancient Inscription.

Below it, and mercifully in smaller print there was the article entitled “West question about money transfer from British Museum.”

Grayson, looking over West’s shoulder, opened his mouth in amazement, checked himself and then said “Principalities and powers man, principalities and powers. Time for some serious prayer Doc.”

“You are right,” said Art, “why don’t you pray for us before we eat.” Art would be finding out who his real friends were now. Thinks were about to take another turn in an unexpected direction.

The Hinge of History-- a Palm Sunday Sermon (John 12.12-19)

Have you ever had a really amazing week? A week when all kinds of unexpected things happened, some good, some bad? Let me tell you the story of my college graduation from UNC-Chapel Hill in 1974. The week had gone well, and it was time for the graduation. My grandparents were driving up from Wilmington for the big day. Unfortunately, it was pouring rain, and so the graduation would have to be held in Carmichael Auditorium which only held 8,000 folks. Picture a lot of soggy people crammed into a small space, including a bunch of us in hot, sky-blue robes. And in the process of the torrential downpour, my grand-parents were in a car accident, and Granny ended up in the hospital in Raleigh.

They never made it to graduation. This was not merely unexpected, this put a damper on the whole experience. Suddenly, what promised at first to be a day of great celebration degenerated into a disaster. A day of accolades turned into a day of anxiety and doubts and life-threatening events. As things turned out my grandmother would be fine, but you get the picture. Sometimes things can start out exceedingly well, and then quickly devolve into disaster. As Bobby Burns the great poet from the U.K. once said—‘the best laid plans of mice and men, oft go astray.’

I often wonder exactly what sort of reception Jesus expected when he entered Jerusalem riding on the back of a young donkey. What did he foresee would happen to him that fateful Passover week in A.D. 30? Did he see the horrible end of that week from the beginning but went through with it anyway? Did he know he was courting disaster to enter a city of some 600,000 Passover pilgrims and suggest he was a messianic figure, when the Roman legions were on alert against just such an eventuality and ready to pounce at any sign of a disturbance? Inquiring minds want to know.

Earlier in the Gospel of John we have these words “Now while he was in Jerusalem at the Passover Festival, many people saw the signs he was performing and believed in him. But Jesus would not entrust himself to them for he knew all people. He did not need human testimony about them, for he knew what was in their hearts.” (John 2.23-24).

It won’t do to suggest Jesus was naïve. He knew very well the wickedness humans are capable of. No, he entered Jerusalem on a donkey on that April day in A.D. 30 with his eyes wide open. In fact he entered Jerusalem precisely today--- April 1rst! And it was no April fool’s day for him. It was a day of great and genuine celebration, as we shall see. There were great hopes that he was about to restore Israel to its rightful sovereignty over its own land. The moment seemed propitious, the timing perfect, the atmosphere fraught with excitement, and people were shouting Hosanna—Blessed is the King of Israel, according to John’s account.

Two interpretive clues are important here. Jesus had never before, so far as we know, elevated himself above the crowds of listeners, disciples, pilgrims. Secondly, the Synoptics tell us that this riding on a donkey was pre-planned by Jesus. One of his Jerusalem disciples was solicited to borrow the animal with no more than the laconic “the Master has need of it”.

Jesus knew exactly what he was doing. He was riding into town on a donkey, just as David has insisted be done with Solomon, to make clear he was the next king of Israel. But it is more likely Jesus chose this prophetic gesture not because of historical precedent but because of a prophecy in Zechariah—“Rejoice greatly daughter of Zion! Shout daughter of Jerusalem! See your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, lowly and riding a donkey, on a colt a foal of a donkey. I will take away the chariots from Ephraim, and the warhorses from Jerusalem, and battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea” (Zech. 9.9-10).

Notice this peacable king does not come into town driving a Hum V, or riding on a war charger as a conquering hero. He comes to declare peace for the world, not war on the Romans. And here is a profound truth--- Jesus did not come to meet either his earliest followers expectations or ours. He came to meet our needs.

Oh but the expectations were exponential. They were off the chart. The waving of palm branches is significant, because this is what was done when the Maccabees those great war heroes had recaptured Jerusalem in the second century B.C. The people wanted to see Jesus as the conquering hero like Simon Maccabee, but Jesus’ choice of steed, and Scriptural allusion augured something else altogether—a king of peace, a kingdom of non-violence, a kingdom where self-sacrificial suffering and martyrdom not killing was the means of salvation and redemption, a kingdom where the swords will be beat into plowshares and we shall study war no more, was what Jesus had in mind. Jesus did not come to meet the people’s expectations, he came to meet their needs.

The cry Hosanna (see Ps. 118.25) seems to in fact be a plea in Hebrew meaning “Save Now!”. The crowds were crying out for a particular kind of political liberation it would appear on the spot, but Jesus had another idea in mind entirely of what made for peace, what made for pacification of our warring madness, what made for liberation and redemption. The real enemy was not Romans or Greeks, or foreigners in general. The real enemy lurked within the hearts of every fallen person—it is called sin.

The Gospel of John is full of irony, and one of the ironic remarks in our text for today states “at first his disciples did not understand all this.” That’s putting it mildly. Jesus warned them repeatedly that he was going up to Jerusalem to suffer many things, be killed and on the third day rise, but they apparently saw him as the conquering hero, and were too busy singing “I love a parade” on this day, caught up in the pageantry and acclamation to understand what was really going down. It was only after Easter that they really understood what Jesus was doing on that day. They were acting more like the ‘DUH-sciples’ than the wise followers on this day, and indeed for much of this week.

The week begins in triumph and seems to end in tragedy with Jesus on a Roman cross. The week begins with accolades but ends with accusations. It begins with praise and ends with perjury. It begins with great expectations and it ends with expectations shattered as two disciples on the road to Emmaus leave town saying “we had hoped he would be the one to redeem Israel—notice the word ‘hoped’—past tense. The crucifixion had destroyed that expectation. The week begins with hope and ends with mourning and despair. The week begins with disciples pledging allegiance to Jesus and ends with them betraying, denying and deserting him left and right.

At the beginning of the week the Pharisees were having an anxiety attack and exclaim “see the whole world has gone after him!’ By the end of the week they could say the whole world had apparently deserted—left him along on a cross even exclaiming to God “My God, my God, why have even you forsaken me!” What a difference a week makes. Apparently some of the same people who were praising and blessing Jesus at the beginning of the week, were cursing him and saying crucify him at the end of the week. And what does this tell us about fickle and sinful human hearts?

Oh we love winners. Losing stinks. We love heroes, failures need not apply for our adoration. We love parades and razzmatazz and being dazzled and entertained. We are less keen when we are called to self-sacrifice. But what if the only way to win the decisive battle against sin and evil doers came not by killing your enemies, but by loving them and giving up your life for them? What if Good Friday, rather than Palm Sunday best expresses God’s way of dealing with human wickedness and sins? What if Palm Sunday was just the prelude to Good Friday, and the choice of animal showed that Jesus came in peace, and was establishing a peaceable kingdom?

In his profound diagnosis of the human condition at one point in his ministry, Jesus said this—“what comes out of you is what defiles you. For from within, out of your hearts come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance, and folly. All of these evils come from inside and defile you.” (Mk. 7.20-22). You see Jesus had to do something about our sin sickness. The human heart needed a heart transplant or at least a heart transformation. The gravest problems we face in life are not caused by things that come at us from outside the borders of our country. The gravest problems come from within the borders of our hearts. And Jesus died on that Friday so that the hearts of human beings could be cleansed of their sins, and so they could live the same sort of loving and self-sacrificial life that he lived, setting an example for us.

The pivot or hinge of human history, the moment when the tide was turned in the war on sin and evil, did not come on Palm Sunday. That moment came when Jesus died on the cross for our sins, and then rose again on Easter morning. Good Friday was D-Day in the war against sin and evil, and Jesus dealt with it not by fighting fire with fire, not by returning violence for violence, for he had warned that those who live by the sword die by the sword. No, he dealt with the sin and evil problem by absorbing in himself the punishment for such wickedness, paying the price for our sin, atoning for it, and thus he was able to offer forgiveness for sins. Indeed on the cross Jesus even prayed for his tormentors saying “Father forgive them, they know not what they do.” Jesus overcame evil with good.

And let me be clear, a crucified Jesus without the resurrection accomplishes nothing when it comes to sin. Unless Jesus died, atoning for sins, and rose again so he could send his Spirit to transform our hearts, we would receive no benefits from that death. Indeed, it would be an unmitigated tragedy, not a triumph at all.

And thus it was that the turning point in all of human history in the battle against sin and evil came not on a battle field but by an act of capital punishment exacted on Jesus. It came by suffering and dying for sin, not by riding into Jerusalem in a grand parade and proclaiming “we have victory and peace in our time”. Jesus was the man who came to Jerusalem to die for each and everyone of us, for all sins, once for all time.

But this raises the question--- what has been or will be the turning point in your life’s battle against sin and wickedness? What should it be? Surely the beginning of the new era for you must be the day when Jesus enters your life pouring his cleansing love into your hearts so that you may be new creatures in Christ. This may come in a quiet moment and without fanfare. It may come privately and with no recognition. It may come at the unlikeliest of ways, and at the unlikeliest of times. It will come when you completely surrender to God’s will as Jesus did on that day called Good Friday.

Who could have guessed that that death on Golgotha would forever change the course of human history? The cross tells us—that real change in a life, in a world, in a human life only comes through self-sacrificial love, surrender to the will of God. May you lay down your arms and be embraced by his arms sometime this week, and may you lay down your arms and take up your crosses, and follow him this week above all weeks.

AMEN

Lenten Leavings-- Things That Should Now be Left Behind

The Lenten season ends this week and there are a few things which it would be good if we 'left behind' once and for all.

1) The Chocolate Jesus. The NY artist who created this life size confection of the crucified Jesus dubbed it 'My Sweet Lord'. He just couldn't understand why this creation would be seen as, at best, in 'bad taste' (even if it didn't taste bad) and at worst a sacrilege, trivializing something sacred. Chocolate Easter bunnies we can live with and even enjoy. A chocolate Jesus not so much. The amazing thing is the artist was dumbfounded at the reaction to his creation and couldn't understand why the Church in NYC might be a tad peeved about this project.

2) The Left Behind Series, 'Kingdom Come' and Joel Rosenberg's 'Epicenter'-- There they were on Glenn Beck on CNN (who appears to be a true believer in Dispensational sensationalism) regaling us once more with there false predictions about the end of the world-- I mean LaHaye, Jenkins, and Rosenberg.

We were told that the rapture is surely coming within the next 25-50 years. Of course we were told this by Scofield a hundred years ago, and Chafer 75 years ago , and Lindsey over 50 years ago, and they were all dead wrong. In fact, in all of church history whenever anyone has predicted the timing of the return of Christ they have all shared one thing in common--- they've all been dead wrong! There's been a 100% failure rate of such false prophecies. There is no reason to think these aren't just more false prophecies. They don't even pause to ask-- Has the the Gospel been preached yet to all the language groups in the world? Well no, there are still about 500 such languages and dialects to go before we get there, and Mark told us that had to happen first in Mk. 13.

Jerry Jenkins on the show at least had the good sense not to engage in this sort of theological weather forecasting in regard to specifics. I wish his partners in crime had been as reticent.

When the expectation of the return of Christ, which is shared by all denominations, degenerates into prognostication and calculation, [despite Mk. 13.32 which tells us that the time and timing of this event is completely unknown, and was even unknown to Jesus himself whilst on earth (and no it does not mean "we can know the general year or decade, just not the day or hour")], then we have ceased to move on faith, and are engaging in human manipulation.

Why do I say this? For the very good reason that when you look at the definition of faith in Heb. 11.1 it says "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, and the conviction about things not seen" (indeed not visible). But all these supposed signs that LaHaye and company think they can read are all too visible historical events. But there will be no such earthly signs before the return of Christ, only cosmic ones that accompany that return if you read Mk. 13 carefully. Those earthly signs in Mk. 13 preceded the fall of the Temple in A.D. 70. They won't be coming around again, in Mark's view.

So its time to leave behind the Left Behind false prophecy once and for all. Those folks don't even understand either the character or the significance of apocalyptic literature, nor how to interpret it (for more on this see my Jesus the Seer, or my Revelation commentary).


3) Its time to leave behind the Talpiot tomb theory. Why? Well here are six good reasons: 1) I have the exact dimensions of the James ossuary. Indeed I have the exact replica made from the exhibit based on the Toronto museum's precise specifications. There is no way the tenth ossuary from the Talpiot tomb was the James ossuary. The tenth ossuary from that tomb was blank, and there was no 11th or 12th ossuary which came from that tomb. Period! Exclamation point!!!

2) There is no such thing as patina fingerprinting. The patina on any given ossuary is not exactly like the patina on any other ossuary. There can be no exact matching between two different ossuaries and their patinas. There are too many variables (including the quality of the limestone in the ossuary). The most one can say is that there are similar patina caused by similar deposits.

3) Jay Cost and others have now shown how badly flawedthe statistical report in the Discovery Channel special was;

4) The name Mariamenon is not the name Mary Magdalene was called by in the NT era. In the NT she is called Maria or Mariam.

5) Jesus was never called Son of Joseph by his family or those who were intimate with him (John 1.45 is no exception-- Philip does not yet know Jesus intimately). If he was buried in a family tomb, he would not have been called by this moniker if his family had anything to do with these inscriptions. It also makes no sense that the Jesus inscription is in Aramaic and the Mariamenon inscription is in Greek if they were husband and wife.

6) the entrance to the tomb is ornamented, indicating it was never a secret family tomb at all. In fact the ornamentation on the tomb suggests it may have belonged to a priestly family, since we find a similar ornamentation elsewhere in some of these middle and upper class tombs in and around Jerusalem where we know there were priestly ossuaries. I could say more, but this is more than enough. Its time to move on and stop beating a dead horse. Make no bones about, Jesus was never in the Talpiot tomb.

Happy Easter to one and all.