Chapter 12 continued

    “Scholars are divided. Some say, yes; some say, no.”
    “What do you think?”
    “The monks believed in reincarnation. Jesus did not.”
    I contradicted the guide. “If Jesus did not believe in reincarnation, what did he mean when he said that Elijah had already returned?”
    The guide ignored me. “Another difference was that Jesus said all could enter his Father’s kingdom, not just a remnant.”
    Again, I spoke up. “What did he mean when he said, ‘Many are called but few are chosen?”
    The guide gave me a hard look and muttered something under his breath.
    Jennifer brushed against me and whispered in my ear, “Paul, the iconoclast, destroyer of sacred truths. Tsk, tsk. Michael was right. You never pull your punches, do you?”
    Elizabeth and Margaret stayed with the group as it moved out to the edge of the bluff where a marker pointed to Cave Number Four. Jennifer and I walked though the monastery site and mounted the wooden platform where the second floor of the watchtower once existed.
    I said, “I’m going to stay here to collect my thoughts. You go ahead to En Gedi with Margaret and Elizabeth and I’ll see you this evening.”

After the women left, I walked to the caves that peppered the cliffs behind the monastery. Then I sat at the edge of the cemetery in front of the monastery. I was mesmerized by the hills of Moab which seemed to dance as heat waves shimmered from the Dead Sea. There were no sounds until I heard someone behind me call out. I turned. A man was running toward me from the monastery.
    “Paul! It’s time!”
    “Who are you?”
    “The Guardian’s assistant.”
    “Guardian?”
    “The spiritual leader of the monastery, Paul. You’ve been sitting in the sun too long. Well, come on, the Guardian likes to start on time and he insists the witness arrive first.”
    “Witness?”
    “You must witness the interrogation of the novice candidate, Jesus of Nazareth. When guests sit in, it makes the proceedings seem more impartial.”
    “Why can’t I take a ritual bath of purification instead?”
    The Guardian’s assistant wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his robe. “Come on, Paul, show some compassion for that young man. He’s been cooking in the watchtower for ten minutes.”
    I didn’t budge. “I came to meet Jesus, but I have no desire to witness his interrogation.”
    “Don’t do this to me, Paul. If you don’t witness, the Guardian will blame me. He’ll say I didn’t try hard enough, cut my rations, and make me carry those big jars with the scrolls up to the caves, and I always break one and …” His face was flushed.
    “Okay, okay. Don’t have a heat stroke.”
    The Guardian’s assistant led the way and I climbed the stairs to the watchtower. A walkway for observation went around the outside of the tower room and led to a doorway. I thought it would be cooler in the room out of the sun, but it was stifling. The air was still except when stirred by the flies buzzing around our heads.
    Jesus stood by the window and watched the road that ran alongside the Dead Sea from the monastery toward Jerusalem. He took no notice of me when I entered the room. There was nothing special about his appearance. He was dark complexioned and of medium height and wore the standard clothing, a white linen robe. But he had an aura that I sensed as soon as I came into his presence.
    I brushed away the flies and sat on the single piece of furniture in the room, a small bench. He continued to look out the window without acknowledging me.
    “Why did you come here?” I asked after the silence became more suffocating than the heat.
    “Has the interview started?”
    “No, I’m curious why anyone would come to this desert voluntarily.”
    He didn’t answer.
    I rose from the bench to stand beside him at the window. “Were it not for the haze, you could see the Jordan River from here. I wonder why the water level stays the same? I mean, the Dead Sea has no outlet and the river pours millions of gallons into it each year.”
    “Evaporation. Everyone knows that. Do you mock me?” Jesus turned to look at me for the first time. In that single glance, his eyes took the measure of my soul. I had never felt a look before or since like that one.
    The Guardian appeared in the doorway. He was a tall man with a gray beard who moved and spoke with authority.     He greeted me. “Has Jesus been entertaining you, Paul? He’s quite a bright young man, you know. Too bad I must ask him to leave the monastery.”
    “Why can’t I stay?” Jesus couldn’t believe what he heard. He moved from the window and sat on the bench. His shoulders slumped.
    I left the window and confronted the Guardian. “I thought this was a fact-finding interview.”
    The Guardian raised his hand to silence me. “You’re here only as a witness, Paul.”
    “The reason you want an outside witness is to protect you from a charge of unfair treatment. So I’m doing my duty, Guardian, when I ask you to tell Jesus why you are rejecting him.”
    The Guardian walked over to the window and fixed his gaze on the Dead Sea. He spoke with his back to us.
    “Jesus has a kinsman named John, son of the old Abijah priest, Zacharias. We threw John out six months ago because he insisted that anyone could enter the Kingdom of God through repentance and baptism. He contradicted the Teacher of Righteousness who taught that there are two worlds, the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness. Only the Sons of light can enter the Kingdom of God. If I allow Jesus to stay, his presence will remind the monks of John’s heresy.”
    “Guardian, it’s not fair to judge Jesus by his kinsman’s beliefs. Let him speak for himself.”
    The Guardian shook his head.
    “Be fair, Guardian,” I said.
    The Guardian gazed at Dead Sea again, lost in thought. Finally, he said to Jesus, “Tell us, what do you believe?”

Chapter 12 continued