man who had defended him was none other than the stranger, the priest whose name he had not managed to learn.
'Come aside with me for a moment,' said the stranger.
They withdrew from the crowd, and sat under the shade of a tamarisk.
'Am I doing the right thing?' said Christ. 'I wanted to be sure I heard him correctly, in case there was any judgement later.'
'It is an excellent thing to do,' said the stranger. 'Sometimes there is a danger that people might misinterpret the words of a popular speaker. The statements need to be edited, the meanings clarified, the complexities unravelled for the simple-of-understanding. In fact, I want you to continue. Keep a record of what your brother says, and I shall collect your reports from time to time, so that we can begin the work of interpretation.'
'These words that Jesus is saying,' said Christ, 'they might be seditious, I think. The man thought I was a Roman spy . . . It wouldn't be surprising if the Romans did take an interest, would it?'
'Very shrewdly observed,' said the stranger. 'That's exactly what we have to bear in mind. Political matters are delicate and dangerous, and it requires a subtle mind and a strong nerve to negotiate them safely. I'm sure we can rely on you.'
And with a friendly squeeze of Christ's shoulder, the stranger got to his feet and moved away. There were a dozen questions that Christ wanted to ask him, but before he could utter a word, the stranger was lost in the crowd. From the way he had spoken about political affairs, Christ wondered if his first guess had been right: perhaps the stranger was not just a priest, but a member of the Sanhedrin. That was the council that settled all doctrinal and judicial matters among the Jews, as well as dealing with Jewish relations with the Romans, and its members, of course, were men of great wisdom.
The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ
Jesus Continues his Sermon on the Mountain
Christ took his tablet and stylus and moved to a place where he could hear what his brother was saying. It seemed that someone had asked Jesus to tell them about the law, and whether what it said was still valid in the time of the Kingdom of God.
'Don't anyone think I'm telling you to abandon the law and the prophets,' Jesus said. 'I haven't come here to abolish them. I'm here to fulfil them. I'm telling you truly: not one word, not one letter of the law will be superseded until heaven and earth pass away. If you break one of these laws, even the least of them, beware.'
'But there are degrees, aren't there, master?' someone called out. 'A little sin isn't as bad as a big sin, surely?'
'You know there's a commandment against murder. Where would you draw the line? Would you say murder is wrong, but beating someone is maybe a little less wrong, and just being angry with them isn't wrong at all? I'm telling you that if you're angry with a brother or a sister, by which I mean anyone at all, even if you've just got a grudge against them, don't dare to go and offer a gift in the temple until you've made your peace with them. Do that first of all.
'And I won't have any talk about little sins and big sins. That won't wash in the Kingdom of God. The same goes for adultery. You know the commandment against adultery: it says don't do it. It doesn't say “You must not commit adultery, but it's all right to think about it.” It isn't. Every time you look at a woman with lustful thoughts, you're already committing adultery with her in your heart. Don't do it. And if your eyes keep looking that way, pluck them out. You think adultery is bad, but divorce is all right? You're wrong: if you divorce your wife for any reason other than her unchastity, you cause her to commit adultery when she marries again. And if you marry a divorced woman, you commit adultery. Marriage is a serious business. So is hell. And that's where you'll go if you think that as long as you avoid the big sins, you can get away with the little ones.'
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