Embedded. Marc Knutson
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but it is from these scrolls that we get the real truth.”
“The information that I’ve gathered so far,” I interrupted, “is that he was supposedly born here in Bethlehem, and that apparently he currently lives and has lived for a while now in Nazareth. They say he was a common boy there, working with his dad as a carpenter. I’ve gathered that his name is Yeshua, and that he has already begun to gather followers, a band of men whom they say he approached and asked to join his group, or who were personally hand-picked by the carpenter. And now that he’s grown up, he’s picked up the mantle of messiah. Am I close?”
“When you consider the awesomeness of God, it is not too preposterous, nor beyond the realm of human belief that the messiah could have been born here in Bethlehem. The latter prophets spoke of Bethlehem as the birthplace of the coming messiah. Additionally, it is my strong suggestion, Mr. Stanton, that you speak to some other friends of mine,” Amal interjected. I could detect a tone of defensiveness; somehow, he thinks my question was condescending his beliefs. “These friends of mine,” he continued, “are former professional sheep herders. They’ve long since retired, but they’ll confirm that there was a flurry of public activity about thirty years ago. But what’s so extra special about these men is that each and every one of them, to a man, is willing to go to the grave, claiming to have seen the messiah. They speak of that evening that he was born and how angels certified the birth and where to find the infant messiah. To an outsider, or skeptic, Mr. Stanton, it’s a wild story, but they stick by it. And, I stick by them and their story. Their whole lives changed. Truth does that to a person. To live all your life being told to look forward to great things, and for centuries of lifetimes, that great hope never develops. Until, one day!” Typical of the middle-eastern man, his hands flew up in the air as he emphasized his words, he continued his animations as he finished his sentence. “Up until then, Jewish women prayed that they would be the bearers of the “Meshiach,” the Hebrew name for messiah. But God’s timing is not man’s timing. Then all of a sudden, while minding your own business, tending to and protecting your flock of sheep, God sends angels to appear before you, right in the middle of the night, with a birth announcement that is from out of this world. And not just before your very eyes, but to all that were in the field that night. Can you imagine the feeling as they stood at the very spot?”
Amal was getting quite pumped up. “And there he is, the Meshiach, within arms reach, the very one that the prophets have been speaking of simply lying there, only one stride away from all that man has hoped for.” He hesitated to find the right words, “Since the beginning of man.”
He was on a roll now, “There he was, the one that was on his way to rid us of the Roman domination, even of future domination from interfering world powers! The awesome reality of it; truth, hope and eternity, alive in the manger. God becoming man, to save man from himself.” Stopping at that point, Amal raised his hand to his mouth, and began to apologize, “I am sorry Mr. Stanton. I got off track. In my zeal to get you the facts, I got caught up in the excitement of our movement.” He continued rather sheepishly, “However, I believe every word of what I just told you. Would you like to meet them, the shepherds that is?”
“Amal,” I said with compassion and understanding of his sincerity, “you need not apologize for something you are passionate about; to me it lends credibility to what you are telling me. It’s from your heart and it speaks of truth, honesty, and a definite bedrock of credibility. Yes, I would like to meet these men and develop more background.”
Again, we could hear footsteps, accompanied by voices, bearing down on our meeting room. I asked, “Why is there so much interest in this room?”
Amal wrinkled his brow and motioned to hush up. It was obvious that he heard noises in the hallway. It was voices he heard, and they were getting closer. There were at least two men, maybe three. A distinct sound of armor clanking echoed in the hallway. One of the men apparently told a joke, as laughter filled our room as if the door were open. With a mixed look of fear and anger, I stared directly into Amal’s eyes and, in a low but terse whisper I asked, “Who are those guys, and what do they want with this room?”
Amal responded in a low, conciliatory voice, “They want to eat their lunch.”
With an incredulous look, and another quick scan about the room it suddenly made sense where we were. “Do you mean to tell me,” I began in a slow, wishing I were wrong, tone of voice, “we are in a Roman soldier break room?”
“Well, “Amal responded, “I must speak the truth. Yes.” His eyes sort of dropped away from my face, and once again were fixed on the door. He continued, “But not to worry Mr. Stanton, they always go away. They fiddle with the lock then curse it for its fickleness. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. That’s usually because we’re in here. Then they go somewhere else to eat their lunch, or take their afternoon naps. Not to worry.” And with the wave of his hand he dismissed the idea of being discovered by Roman soldiers.
“Not to worry?” I exclaimed. But Amal shut me down with another, “Shh—they are right outside the door. They’re laughing so loud they don’t hear us in here. They’ll go away soon.”
As Amal predicted, the keys stopped rattling in the door, and one of them cursed the lock as predicted, and in unison, they began to walk away. Their clanking armor sounds began to dwindle down the hall.
Turning to me with a broad grin and arms outstretched, Amal gloated, “There, see, I told you not to worry, Mr. Stanton.” His white teeth glowed brilliantly in the candlelight. I wasn’t as gleeful as he was.
“You mean to tell me, Mr. Amal, that you have brought me into a Roman soldiers break room where they eat their lunch, and place their spears in those racks, and sleep on these cushions, and we could be considered enemies of the state if we were caught talking about this subject, and we simply walk in and take over the place?” I wasn’t sure if I was angry, out of pure fear or just spouty because of the adrenaline coursing through me. Instantly, I threw a glance at Ashar, who had sat there all that time without interjecting even a peep.
“Are you worried about your newly found friend here Ashar?” Amal asked as he gently reached over to Ashar and pulled him over to his side. Then, plastering on that big grin of his again, Amal said, “Ashar is one of us, well Mr. Stanton, I mean, one of our group, my group, believers of the messiah of Judah. The very one that you know to come from Nazareth. Ashar is a special friend; after all, it was I who sent Ashar to find you at the Shepherds Bazaar. Did you think he really just helps strangers through Bethlehem?” Now it was his turn to be sarcastic.
“I really don’t care about who all your friends are right now, Mr. Amal,” I spouted back quite indignantly. Actually, I did care who his friends were, especially if they were in the same room. We were in a rather precarious place, and knowing that we were all on the same page helped me. Amal could tell from my surly reaction that I was certainly not pleased at this moment. In a calmer voice I asked, “How could you possibly think that you could get away with this for very long?”
Amal responded, “Mr. Stanton, if word got out that there were those who were scheming to overthrow the Roman government in Judah, where would you begin to look for them?” Without giving me a chance to answer he blurted out, “Would you look for them in your very own lunch room? No, probably not. You would begin out in the hills and search caves. So, we thought that we would be the safest right here in their own camp.” There was almost a sense of arrogance in his voice, that tone that emanates from someone who has used logic that was difficult to refute.
“How many does us represent?” I started to ask, “How many do you think there are that believe the messiah is alive today and is here to end Roman domination?” Ever since my education, I couldn’t take comments at face value. I always had to ask questions. Now was the time we needed to get out of there, and fast, and I was performing an interview!
“There are literally thousands of us Mr. Stanton,” Amal responded, “We are scattered all over the country, and we are excited.” Amal looked to Ashar for affirmation of his statement.
Ashar finally spoke up, “Mr. Stanton, we know that you have come here to write articles about the Meshiach,