Crossroad In Time

Crossroad In Time

Many years ago I took an adult-education class at our local community college on novel writing. Like most writers, I’d had an idea running around in my head for some time and I used that idea in the class. Below is the chapter I wrote for that class. It was just an introduction to our work and style but was well received by the instructor.

I went on to write and re-write the novel over several years and then it sat. I’m not sure why, but now seems like a good time to finally introduce it to the world at large. Maybe it’s because of the nature of society today and the fact that we seem to be so divided and hopeless. Perhaps this feeble attempt to write a story will brighten someone’s life and, God willing, help us all to remember to “Love your neighbor as yourself”. God Bless.

CHAPTER 1—THE LAST NIGHT

I opened the door and walked into the room, speechless when I realized what I was witnessing. Twelve men were reclining at a low table in a large upper room. The mud-covered walls were bare; through the window on the left, I could see that the street below was deserted. Wine, flatbread, herms, eggs, and a tray of meat lay before them; the traditional Passover meal, I thought. Dust from the city and the smell of cooked meat filled my nostrils. I could almost taste the lamb. The men were talking in hushed whispers; several conversations were taking place at once. The only person to look up as I entered was the tall man at the end of the table, their leader. When he looked at me, my heart sank. This was the night.

My first inclination was to turn and run out the door but I couldn’t do it while he was watching me. It was almost as if-no, he couldn’t-or could he? The leader motioned for me to sit next to him and I knew there was no way I could refuse.

Rising from the cushions as I sat down, he removed his tunic and picked up a large towel. Pouring water into a basin he began to wash the other men’s feet and wipe them with the towel. A loud rugged man called Simon at the opposite end of the table began to protest that it was he who should wash the leader’s feet but the leader was adamant. Telling Simon he must do this so that Simon could be part of his life’s work.

A lump rose in my throat as e placed the basin at my feet and began to wash. How am I going to make it through this night, I thought? If I go through with what I know must be done I’ll be condemned forever. But if I don’t do it he won’t fulfill his role; could history be changed?

I felt physically ill when he finished washing my feet and returned to the table. Picking up a piece of bread he said, “one of you that eats wht me tonight will betray me.”

Oh God, I thought, he’s right, I’m Judas Iscariot and I’ve got to betray Jesus of Nazareth, tonight. It’s all taking place as the gospels said; he knew.

The other men in the room were confused and frightened, several asking him if it was them who would betray Jesus. But I knew it wasn’t them. I knew the truth because what I knew about the next three days was history, my history, and the world’s history. What I knew about tonight’s events had taken place over two thousand years ago, and here I was not only living the history but playing a crucial role in it. A role I didn’t want. A role I couldn’t and shouldn’t be asked to play, but here I was, with Jesus and the other disciples eating the last supper before I was to betray him and he was to be crucified.

What had started as the first long-range deep history probe and chance to study history first hand had landed me exactly where and when I wanted to be; at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry three years ago. I had no idea, however, that I’d leap into one of the most pivotal characters in the history of Christianity.

Our reason for choosing this period and these events were originally to dispel the whole concept of this man called Jesus. I had come into the project as an agnostic bordering on atheist. I had come to disprove the foundations of the Christian Church but in the process, with what I’d witnessed over the past three years, had come to believe that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God.

“It is one of the twelve that dips into the dish,” Jesus said as I absently reached into his dish with my bread; our hands touched and I knew I was doomed.

“The Son of Man goes as it is written; but pity that man who betrayed the Son of Man,” he said looking into my tear-filled eyes. “It would have been better that man would have never been born.”

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