When -Jesus Wept

BODIE & BROCK

THOENE

When

- J esus

Wept

Jerusa lem Chronic l es , Book One

ZONDERVAN

When Jesus Wept

Copyright © 2013 by Bodie Thoene and Brock Thoene

This title is also available as a Zondervan ebook.

Visit www.zondervan.com/ebooks.

This title is also available in a Zondervan audio edition.

Visit www.zondervan.fm.

Requests for information should be addressed to:

Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Thoene, Bodie, 1951- When Jesus wept / Bodie and Brock Thoene.

p. cm. — (Jerusalem chronicles ; bk 1) ISBN 978-0-310-33593-1 (softcover) 1. Jesus Christ—Fiction. 2. Lazarus, of Bethany, Saint—Fiction. 3. Bible. N.T.—History

of Biblical events—Fiction. I. Thoene, Brock, 1952- II. Title. PS3570.H46W53 2013 813'.54—dc23 2012030905

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New

International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by

permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the King James Version of the Bible, public

domain.

Scripture quotations marked ESV are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®,

copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by

permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright ©

1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. NKJV is a trademark of

Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Note: the format and spellings of some Scripture passages have been changed for general

consistency.

Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered

as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan,

nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or

any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the

publisher.

Cover design: Kirk Douponce

Cover artwork: Robin Hanley

Interior illustration: Ruth Pettis

Interior design: Katherine Lloyd, The DESK

Editing: Ramona Cramer Tucker, Sue Brower, Bob Hudson, Anna Craft

Printed in the United States of America

13 14 15 16 17 18 /DCI/ 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5

4 3 2 1

For all the Thoene grandchildren:

Tommi Jane, Wilke Lynn, Turner, Connor,

Titan, Ian, Jessie, and Chance.

Much love from Bubbe and Potsy.

All the promises of Psalm 91 are yours.

Authors’ Note

Jesus clearly believed in the power of stories. He told para-

bles —

 stories — to stretch the minds and transform the hearts of

his listeners. We too believe in the life-changing power of sto-

ries, and that’s why we’re passionate about writing fiction.

In every work of our fiction, there is truth, based on re-

search, and there is imagination, based on our minds and per-

spectives. We weren’t here, on this earth, as -Jesus walked

-

among the -people, but through the verses of Scripture and our

imagination, we have portrayed to the best of our ability what

he might have said and the way in which he might have said it.

When -Jesus Wept is how we imagine the events might have

happened for Mary, for Lazarus, and for all the other charac-

ters in this story.

Can lives, bodies, and hearts truly be transformed? With -

Jesus, anything is possible! Through When -Jesus Wept, may the

Messiah come alive to you … in more brilliance than ever be-

fore.

Bodie & Brock Thoene

When -Jesus Wept

Prologue

efore he called me forth from the grave, -Jesus wept. His

was not the loud, frantic keening of the women who

mourned outside my tomb. His was a sigh and a groan and

a single salty tear. It was, at first, almost imperceptible, even to

those standing closest to him.

But his sigh shook the universe, and the place where I was

quaked. I stood in the midst of those who watched and waited

for all things to be set right.

-Jesus groaned, and the heads of angels and saints turned to

look down upon the earth in wonder.

His tear trickled down his cheek, and a spring burst forth at

my feet. Pure, clear water spilled from its banks and flowed

down a mountainside, leaving a myriad of new stars, like flow-

ers, blooming and rising in its wake.

I remember thinking, On a clear night, constellations above

the earth reflect on the still surface of the sea. But here? Only one

of -Jesus’ tears contains a galaxy.

My eternal companions and I listened. We heard his voice

echo from Bethany across the universe! He commanded, “Roll

away the stone!”

We all waited in anticipation for the next word from his

lips.

Then -Jesus spoke my name: “Lazarus!”

Surely he could not mean me, I thought. But all the same, I

whispered, “Here I am, Lord.”

Centuries have come and gone since his holy sob ripped me

loose from timeless conversation with the ageless ones. Ten

thousand, thousand scholars and saints have asked, “Why?

What made the King of Heaven bow his head and cover his

eyes and spill holy tears onto the earth? Why? Why did -Jesus

weep?”

B

Part One

When the LORD your God brings you into the land

he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and

Jacob to give you … wells you did not dig, and

vineyards and olive groves you did not plant …

be careful that you do not forget the LORD, who

brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slav-

ery.

DE U T E R O N O M Y 6:10  –  12

C h a p t e r 1

he sun rose over the garden where my wife and newborn

son lay in a newly cut tomb. Thirty days had passed since

my Eliza had died in childbirth, taking with her all my T

hopes and joy. Spring had come to Judea. The vineyards were

all in bud, bursting with the promise of new life, but in my

heart, death reigned. My life had been pruned as savagely as

the most severely clipped and seemingly barren vines in the

depth of winter. Ironically, today was my thirtieth birthday.

By rote I spoke the final words of Kaddish and placed two

stones of remembrance before the grave. The official days of

mourning were at an end, but as I walked to the Bethany syna-

gogue mikvah to wash away the ashes of my sorrow, I still car-

ried the weight of my grief with me.

Near the ark containing the Torah scrolls, a minyan of ten

village leaders prayed the morning prayers. They did not look

my way or speak to me of Eliza and the baby. There was noth-

ing left to say. Custom declared that this morning was officially

the moment for me to get on with living.

I accepted their seeming indifference as I stepped into the

cool bath and immersed myself, sinking my curly, unkempt

hair into the water’s tomblike embrace. When I emerged, I still

found my thoughts returning to the beautiful woman I had

loved with all my heart, and to the baby boy who had lived only

three short days.

If only …

Did my persistent sorrow show in my face? Did resentment

for the brevity of grief permitted me reflect in my eyes?

Judah ben Perez, my friend since childhood, greeted me

when I had dressed in clean clothes and emerged into the late

spring sunlight. Now we were both widowers — he for many

years — but I resented and rejected any comparison between

his stoic acceptance and my too fresh, too painful sense of loss.

“The peace of HaShem is with you, David ben Lazarus, my

brother!” His tone was too bright, as if he had forgotten Eliza

was gone. His words hurt me like light hurts the eyes when one

looks directly into the sun.

“And with you, Judah.”

“Welcome back.” He took my arm as though I had been

gone on a long journey. “Have you heard the news from Jerusa-

lem?”

Being a rich merchant in the nation’s capital, Judah was

much better positioned than most to receive the news from the

wider world. His trading caravans regularly made journeys to

and from Petra, Ecbatana, and Alexandria. Amphorae of oil or

wine or dates or wheat, each bearing the clay seal of the House

of Perez, were frequently seen on the docks of Caesarea Mari-

tima. From there they were soon en route to Antioch, Athens,

and even Rome itself.

The Roman province called Coele-Syria that stretched from

Damascus to the Nile included the Jewish homeland and was

rightly called the Breadbasket of the Empire. Pomegranates and

sycamore figs grown on my land took their places in the straw-

lined baskets of commerce conveyed by Judah’s export compa-

ny.

Sometimes it amused me to think that grapes from my

Bethany estate, raised under my care, picked at my direction,

crushed under my supervision, and transformed into wine of

my vintage, made much longer voyages than ever I had done or

dreamed of doing.

I never cared to visit Rome, but the fortunes of my house

were increased every time a Roman senator’s wife praised the

product of my labor. Therefore, I had always looked forward to

Judah’s reports.

He was counting on that interest now. As transparent as

was the device, I was still grateful for his concern.

Though the politics of Rome and Jerusalem were unfolding

a mere two miles from where we stood, I shook my head. I had

heard nothing of the outside world for the past month. “What

now?”

“The new Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, is staying at old

Herod’s palace. He has held meetings with Caiaphas and Annas.

The high priesthood is well and truly in the complete control of

Rome. Sacrifices are offered daily by Caiaphas in the Temple

for Rome and Emperor Tiberius. Every synagogue is com-

manded to pray for Tiberius.”

“May HaShem bless and keep Tiberius … far away from the

land of Eretz-Israel.” I smiled slightly as I uttered the rabbinic

blessing for our oppressors.

“Tetrarch Herod Antipas has taken Herodias to his bed.”

“The wife of his brother.”

“And here’s the big news … Caiaphas himself performed the

marriage ceremony. The sect of Pharisees is in an uproar. A

very quiet and fearful uproar, but even so …”

I pondered this news. “It’s sure to lead to unrest in the

countryside, where -people still have a conscience. What will

Pilate say about such an unholy union?”

“Pilate could care less about his morals. I mean — ” he

glanced over his shoulder before continuing — “was there ever

a more wicked ruler than Tiberius Caesar? As long as our -

people do not fall into open rebellion, and we hold our tongues

and pay our taxes and — ”

“Pay and pay and pay. Was there ever such a time as this?

Come, Messiah! Deliver us!”

“Herod Antipas has gathered up his entire court and gone

off to his palace in Galilee for the season. Out of sight of the -

people and Pilate.”

I walked with him toward the road that led to my home.

“That’s better for all of us. May HaShem bless and keep Herod

Antipas …”

“Far away from us …” Judah paused.

The departure of Antipas from Jerusalem was a good thing.

His oppressive rule was far worse than that of his father, Herod

the Great. Antipas was fully controlled by Rome, while pos-

sessing the same vices as his “Butcher King” father.

Judah’s strong jaw stiffened as he waited until a group of

village women carrying laundry baskets passed us on the road.

When he was certain no one could hear, he resumed. “Well

now, my friend, let me tell you. There is unrest in the air. There

has come a man … a prophet or a lunatic, depending on who

you ask. His name is John. Some say he is Elijah the prophet re-

turned, as holy prophecy teaches. He appeared in the wilder-

ness east of the Jordan, preaching against Rome and Herod An-

tipas. He calls the common folk to prepare for the coming of the

Kingdom of God. He warns of HaShem’s judgment: fire and de-

struction raining down upon the House of Herod.”

I stopped in my tracks and studied my companion’s excited

face. Was this ripple of rebellion the same feeling that had

caused the Maccabees to rise against the Greek oppressors

some two hundred years before?

“Either a fool or a true prophet of the Lord. What do you

think?” I asked.

“I’ve been waiting to go see for myself.”

“Waiting?”

“For you to return to the land of the living.” He raised his

eyes toward the gates of my home, where my sister Martha

waited for me. “Would you like to come with me? To see this

fellow yourself? To hear what treason he speaks?”

I did not answer at first but considered all I had heard. Such

a man was not only a danger to himself, but dangerous for eve-

ryone who stopped to listen to him. “Work in my vineyard is

what I need to focus on.”

Martha raised her hand in greeting. “Shalom, Judah! Good

morning, my brother! I have a meal prepared. Enough for you

too, Judah.”

Judah laughed. “As always, Martha. Enough for me and ten

others.”

“Will you stay and sup with us?” she asked.

“I will. So much to discuss with your brother.”

“David … welcome back from your long journey.” Martha

kissed me. “It is a new day, my brother. Was all well at the syn-

agogue?”

We would not speak again of Eliza and the baby. “It seems

prayers for rebellion against Herod Antipas have been heard,” I

replied, touching the mezuzah on the doorpost and reciting the

blessing.

“Beautiful day, then.” Martha led Judah and me to the dining

table, laden with the finest foods. A feast to bring me back to an

enjoyment of life. It occurred to me that Judah had planned all

along to walk me home. We did not speak openly about the

present state of corruption among our leaders but discussed

Scriptures and the history of our fathers, who had managed to

survive corrupt and apostate kings in generations before us. In

this way we explored the world we lived in, by remembering

what had gone on before.

Had there ever been a time like this in all the history of Is-

rael?

The answer was yes.

Was the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob faithful to those

who remained faithful? The answer, of course, was yes. But

that did not mean good men would not suffer for the sake of

our holy commands.

Judah and I ate slowly, chewing on God’s Word as the true

feast of our minds and hearts. Hours passed and my pain less-

ened. I was surprised by my ability to smile at my friend and

my sister again. Only the night before I had doubted I would

ever smile again.

The last prayer of thanks was given, ending our meal mark-

ing my return to life from the House of Mourning.

My sister Martha concentrated on the matters of the house

and servants. Her work for me and my estate was perfunctory

and effective. But the house seemed bland and flavorless with-

out the great love and joy of my wife to season it.

My heart lived in the dungeon of despair. At night, in the

time when darkness exaggerates everything, my thoughts were

without the hope that morning would ever break.

C h a p t e r 2

n spite of my sorrow, I welcomed the sun each day. Work

was my one consolation. The vines of the House of Lazarus

were lush and beautiful. My winemaker was a thin, sun-

parched raisin of a fellow named Samson. He had spent his life

in the vineyards and risen through the ranks as a laborer to be-

come one of the finest vintners in the land. Under his supervi-

sion my vineyards flourished, and the Lazarus estate wines

were praised in the halls of the great.

Very early one morning I mounted the white mare to sur-

vey my property. Samson preferred to ride a donkey, which

allowed the little man to be closer to the ground. Three of Sam-

son’s pet goats followed after us.

“You see, sir, I bring my own ‘cheesemakers’ with us. Very

good with wine and dried apricots.” Samson whistled to the

goats, whose pleasant faces seemed to smile in agreement.

We rode through the vines planted on the rocky limestone

of the south-facing vineyard. The fruit on these vines was

smaller and the foliage less exuberant than the opposite side of

the hill.

I