prophet who penned them.
“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who bring good news, who announces salvation, who says to Jerusalem, ‘Your God reigns!’”
Kaleb’s voice was not nearly as cavernous as that of Yudah, but it was carefully furnished with a growl to maximize its authority. He read with dramatic poise and handed the scroll back to the attendant. A calm silence had seized the congregation as every eye was fixed upon the speaker.
“Today, this scripture has been turned inside out in front of your eyes!” He paced a few feet across the raised platform, as though he were exploring the Scripture itself from inside. “How detestable on these our mountains are the feet of those who bring bad news, who proclaim vengeance, who announce oppression, who say to us “Babylon reigns.”
“Babylon?” whispered Theudas
“He’s talking about Rome, you heathen,” his brother replied.
Kaleb threw his head back as he proceeded to justify playing with the words of Holy Scripture. “How dare we speak of ‘good tidings’ on this day of wrath, when the blood of our brother cries from the ground? This ground, our ground. Right down to the grains of dust, for centuries we have cherished this land that Adonai gave to us. But is it really ours?”
He scanned the room to make sure that his listeners were hungry for his next words. Yeshua scanned also, and felt like the odd one out. “When it is trampled under the hoof of heavy horse. When its fruit is taken to fuel armies and lavish feasts, while our people go hungry, is it really ours?” The preacher paused, and his voice began to tremble as he gestured towards the market place. “When a pagan sword force-feeds it with our brother’s blood? Is the land yet ours? We may live here but our hearts are still in exile, and our God does not seem to reign.”
The congregation murmured to register their disgust at the truth Kaleb was highlighting. “When we see heavy taxes forcing farmers off their land, Babylon reigns. When pagan symbols are carried into our temple, Babylon reigns. When soldiers roam freely, forcing us to carry their loads, Babylon reigns. When they take an innocent life, they deface the image of our God, and Babylon reigns. When pagan sentries guard the gates of our town, Babylon reigns. When we trade with coins marked ‘Caesar is Lord’, Babylon reigns.”
So young a preacher would not usually sail so close to the wind by seeming to contradict the words of a holy prophet. But Kaleb was using his current heroic status to full effect. He allowed silence to assert itself again, breaking it only to feed the hum that was filling the air. In a hushed and soft tone, he charged their expectation, “Brothers.” After another pause he continued in a stage whisper. “There . . . Is . . . No . . . King . . . But . . . God.” A wave of approval was rising rapidly, and with perfect timing Kaleb repeated the slogan with greater volume and passion, “There is No King but God.”
The congregation again irrupted into applause, cries of “amen,” and repeated shouting of this well-known slogan. Kaleb held a silence pregnant with phenomenal but restrained energy, frowning as he waited for the clamor to die down. “Babylon reigns?” He scanned the synagogue. “Babylon reigns?” he repeated, beginning to shake his head slowly as he slowly opened a floodgate of defiance. “Today I tell you this: Your God reigns. Our God reigns. There is no King but God.”
The Narbatans again gave way to shouts, this time with the cry for liberty, “Hoshannah,” finding its way into and occasionally above the clamor. Again, the preacher waited calmly until his voice could once more be heard.
“So where is his Kingdom? When will we see the Kingdom of God? When will our God reign in Jerusalem? When will the gods of Babylon bow before Adonai?
“People of Narbata, Israel’s God is returning to claim his Kingdom. This land can no longer bear the weight that crushes it. He will not allow this present injustice to go unchecked. We are on the brink of a new era, a new age in which all will see that there is no king but God. And we enter this era by sacrifice and struggle and force. You and I must live and breathe God’s holy law, so that we become the living enactment of his Scriptures. ‘Your God reigns’ . . . There is no King but God.”
Yeshua’s sheer discomfort at the Pharisee’s message did not immunize him to Kaleb’s charisma. The preacher was as riveted to his hearers as they were to him. He knew where he was going, and carried his congregation with him one step at a time. He was deeply connected to his listeners, communicating with far more than his words alone—but planting his words firmly in their hearts with the quiet force acquired either from his act of self-sacrifice or from some divine source. Whether this divinity was Adonai, the God of Israel or Hermes, the messenger of pagan gods, the Pharisee’s eyes discarded their frown and searched the synagogue roof to re-establish contact with eternity. The gaze itself carried with it the promise of supernatural wisdom.
“Today we are still a nation, and today we have a King. How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news. Who say to Zion ‘your God reigns.’ Whoever killed those soldiers in Caesarea brings us a reminder that our God reigns. Not that God will one day reign again. Not that God will reign in the future.” The frown returned. “Isaiah says that God reigns, today, here and now. Caesar is not God! Adonai is God!” The preacher left more room for silence.
“Brothers! Take up your inheritance! His Kingdom is here. Our God reigns today!” At this point the frown lifted again, and Kaleb looked towards the heavens, apparently trawling his memory. “In the market place this week I saw a small boy with his mother. The boy was crying, shouting, stamping his feet. He wanted to eat one of the apples his mother had just bought. He was making such a fuss, that he could not hear his mother saying, ‘Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin—here it is!’ The child was so worked up that he could not see his mother holding the apple before him, and carried on crying, ‘I want an apple.’ All he had to do was reach out his hand and take it! The only thing making him wait any longer was his own tantrum.”
“Friends. We long and we cry and we demand God’s Kingdom. But he is holding it out in front of us. All we need do is take it. He has already given it to us. We must simply take it. Our God reigns!” Kaleb paused to allow his illustration to percolate.
“Babylon has spilt innocent blood in our town today. And this afternoon . . .” Kaleb paused, drawing deep breaths to gather his emotion. “. . . This afternoon, we hear he has done the same in the towns of Dor and Aphek.” Gasps of disgust echoed around the synagogue, while the Egyptian brothers cast each other a despairing glance. “Brothers. Here, now, today, the lives of our oppressors are being taken. On our own doorstep the soldiers of Rome are being taken. The might of Babylon is challenged. The Kingdom of God is coming. Not everyone can attack a soldier, but I support those who do.” The congregation remained silent. “The centurion says that those who support these people must share their fate. Then let us all share it together.”
Across the synagogue a number of heads nodded quietly. Yeshua, terrified though he was by the implications of this Pharisee’s rant, found himself reluctantly warming to Kaleb if not to his message. He looked down at his own fidgeting fingers, only to discover in his hands the figurine of the small boy. Whoever it represented, this carving undermined Yeshua’s confidence that the morning’s deeds were worthy of anyone’s support. The Egyptian was transported back to the market place, and for a moment the screams of the grieving child swamped the preacher’s own voice. Kaleb’s message brought little comfort for his hyperactive conscience.
Regardless of how convincing his message was, Kaleb’s oratory skills, combined with the selfless part he had played in this day’s horror, had succeeded in keeping the crowd hooked on his every word. He approached his conclusion with measured rhetoric.
“When we came here this afternoon, did we come singing ‘Caesar is our judge, Caesar is our ruler, Caesar is our King and Caesar will save us’? Children of Abraham, throughout your lives you have sung this hymn of Isaiah. It is part of who we are. Allow it now to beat its rhythm through your being, as we celebrate together, for . . .” with that, he lifted his hands and with one voice the congregation filled the synagogue with familiar words,
“.