An Easter Story

The following is an excerpt from Jezebel's Tomb. Reading it out of sequence won't spoil the plot.

Chapter 15

Ann Arbor, Michigan

A cold drizzle coated the foliage, dampening the autumn hues. Catherine Cavanaugh trudged across the campus, deadened by the chill. For a moment, an oak leaf caught her eye—disconnected, fluttering, falling.

The young scholar carried four overstuffed shopping bags, two in each hand, and one of them was beginning to rip. She had packed them neatly, lovingly, holding nothing back. Alone in a silent house, she had risen early for the task. She wept as she folded the white cable sweater, the one her mother wore on winter nights. It reminded her of Northern Ireland's craggy coast. She smiled at the sight of a plain floral dress. Her mother bought it for commencement, the year Catherine received her doctorate.

Two weeks had passed since her mother slipped away, losing the struggle they had waged so long together. In the months following the diagnosis, Maeve Cavanaugh had offered many words of wisdom. She had spoken of love and marriage and widowhood, and her own unshakeable faith, but never anything as mundane as a sweater or dress. It was left to Catherine to divine her wishes—and, then, to find the strength to carry them out.

The tear in the paper bag widened as Catherine crossed Maynard Street, a block from Saint Pat's.

During the first year of the illness, when it was still possible, Catherine walked her mother to and from Sunday mass. But she never went inside. While her mother took communion, Catherine sat in a nearby coffee shop, nibbling on cranberry scones and drafting lectures.

In her late twenties, Catherine held a coveted assistant professorship at the University of Michigan, in the same town where she had finished high school. She had dreamed of Yale or Harvard, but when the time came she refrained from applying. She opted to stay close to her ailing mother. Though the burden of care took a toll on her research, her introductory course was oversubscribed. The undergrads seemed to sense that they came first. They appreciated her irreverent wit and provocative ideas.

Jealous colleagues credited her looks.

Nature had blessed her with a cover girl's features; life had animated them with sincerity. She abhorred makeup, ignored fashion, rejected pretense. She was built for a beach on the Cote d'Azur, though the windswept dunes of Lake Michigan were more her element. She lectured in jeans.

Father Devaney recognized her as she stepped into the church, struggling with the bags. But before the spry old man could reach her, the heaviest bag gave out, spilling its contents in the aisle. Catherine bent to pick up the clothing, and the priest knelt beside her.

"Catherine, it's good to see you. How are you holding up?"

"Better than my shopping bag, Father," she said with a sniffle. "Thank you for asking."

"Here, let me," Father Devaney said, gathering it up.

"They were mother's," Catherine said. "Nothing fancy, but I thought someone might put them to use."

"Someone will be very grateful. And so am I."

"Thank you, Father. And thank you for all your kindness. You know, she could always count on you, to raise her spirits."

Devaney smiled his kindly smile, and grasped her hand with surprising power.

"The Lord can be a comfort, if you let him. The Church is always here for you, Catherine."

Catherine blinked back a tear and smiled.

"I have to get to class," she said, and hurried out.

Catherine left her religion in a Belfast cemetery.

On false suspicion, the Irish Republican Army had executed Connor Cavanaugh, a stern but loving dad and one of their own. They accused him of Protestant sympathies. They said he betrayed the cause of independence and the Catholic Church.

To teach an indelible lesson, they put a bullet in his forehead and dumped his body in the wildflowers along a country lane.

The murder of her father shattered Catherine. In school, she was shadowed by the lies about her father, shunned by her classmates.

Only her brother, Ian, kept her from giving up. Ian was three years older, and, when responsibility fell prematurely on his shoulders, he rose to the challenge. He found a second job at a meatpacking plant so Catherine would have time for her schoolwork. He was always ready with a smile, a laugh, a joke, a compliment.

"Catherine, you're the prettiest girl in all of Belfast," he never tired of saying.

In church, Ian sat beside his mother, grasping her hand, giving her the courage to hold her head up.

Then Ian, too, stopped smiling. Something was troubling him. Something was tormenting him.

He didn't confide in Catherine, but he didn't need to. Before long, there were hints and rumors.

Catherine tried to reach out to Ian the way he had reached out to her, but she didn't know how. She told him to visit Father Donegan. Father Donegan would help.

One day, as Catherine was walking home from school, two older boys fell in beside her. They began with taunts and escalated to pushing and shoving. One of them grabbed her, pulling back her arms. The other tore open her blouse.

Beyond the terror, beyond the humiliation, she felt guilt and shame, as if she believed them when they called her a slut and a whore.

Her brother came to the rescue.

"Let go of her," he said.

The other boys turned on her brother.

"What's it to you, faggot?" one of them taunted.

"Faggot," the other said.

Her brother threw the first punch.

When the scuffle was over, Catherine helped Ian get up. She ripped off a piece of her torn white blouse and pressed it against his bloody lip.

They walked home together. She was crying against his chest, and he was holding her protectively.

Much later, Ian opened up to her in tears of shame. He was consumed by unspeakable desires. His behavior was a mortal sin. He was struggling to reconcile his personal truth with God's truth, and it was impossible to do. The Bible was clear.

The third time he confessed, the priest said he was an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.

Catherine had no answers. She hugged him and told him she loved him.

A few days later, Ian went elsewhere for reconciliation. A short walk from home, under a slate sky, he stood in the path of an oncoming train.

From the clothesline behind a neighbor's house, Catherine had seen him walking alone along the tracks. She had seen him stop and stand perfectly still as the signal bells rang and the whistle blew. She had seen him spread his arms, as if to embrace his deliverance.

At the final moment, she had been running toward him, screaming.

Catherine's mother insisted it was an accident. She prepared to bury Ian beside his father, in the shadow of their church. But Father Donegan refused. In committing suicide, Ian had committed an unpardonable sin. According to the archdiocese, he had forfeited his right to a Catholic burial.

Catherine's mother fled with her to the United States, to Michigan, where Uncle Billy had a job at an automotive plant. After three years clerking at a supermarket and studying for the American certificates, Maeve became a nurse at the university hospital, the same hospital where she died.

The loss of faith left a void that Catherine struggled to fill. It helped explain her academic specialty, something her mother never understood.

The lecture hall was almost full when Catherine shuffled her notes and tapped the microphone. Two hundred undergraduates settled into their creaking seats, stashed their knapsacks, and opened their notebooks. Catherine surveyed the audience, deciding where to begin.

Her eyes fixed momentarily on several students in the tenth row seated with hands joined and heads bowed in prayer. The unusual display distracted her with curiosity, but when they looked up, she launched into the day's lecture.

"Today, I'd like to discuss Herod the Great, one of antiquity's master builders," she began. "His legacy includes some of Israel's most important archaeological sites—the Herodeion citadel, the mountaintop fortress Masada, the classical port city Caesarea, the palace at Jericho, and Jerusalem's Temple Mount, among others. His greatest achievement, the reconstruction of the Temple, was also his most ephemeral. It stood for less than a century before the Romans razed it. As ancient Hebrews worshiped there, modern Jews revere its ruins. The Western Wall endures as Judaism's holiest shrine.

"But before we focus on the archaeology, a bit about the man. Who was this Herod, who left such a lasting imprint? He was, quite literally, king of the Jews, though he never trusted his hold on power. To put it politely, he was a paranoid, brutal megalomaniac, and there was no escaping his rage. To snuff out domestic opposition, real and imagined, he slaughtered countless Jews. He saw conspiracies all around and tortured people into confirming them. He murdered his wife Mariamne in the mistaken belief that she was sleeping with one of his closest advisors. He also murdered the advisor. But his madness only intensified. He ordered two loyal sons to be strangled, because he feared they were in too much of a hurry to succeed him. He installed a golden eagle, a graven image, over the gates to the Temple. When devout Jews toppled it, Herod had them burnt alive.

"But pity poor misunderstood Herod. The world remembers him best for a crime it's doubtful he ever committed.

"I'm referring of course to the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 2, Verse 16, about Herod's actions following the birth of Jesus. As you recall, the wise men from the East had brought word of a newborn king. Borrowing a page from Egypt's pharaoh, in the Book of Exodus, Matthew tells us that Herod issued a death warrant for all the male children of Bethlehem age two and under.

"As Connolly has written, it sounds like something Herod would do—yet it's hardly plausible. Think about it. Herod's other horrors are thoroughly chronicled by the historians of the age. This one appears only in Matthew. It isn't even mentioned in the other Gospels. Ripping babies from their mothers' arms should have provoked open rebellion, one of the greatest crises of Herod's reign—not such yawning silence. I admit, it makes for a good story, but we can safely categorize it as biblical fable."

A student in the middle of the tenth row raised his hand, and Catherine called on him.

"Yes, Bryan, you have a question?"

Bryan rose to his feet. He had sandy blond hair, cut short and neat, and a boyishly smooth face, and he carried himself with upright posture. He took a moment to find his voice.

"Did you say biblical fable, professor?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Professor, I've been sitting through your lectures for several weeks now, listening respectfully, but in good conscience I can no longer keep silent. You seem to reject the scriptures. And you seem to make no room in this class for those of us who believe."

The class erupted in exclamations of protest and murmurs of surprise, but Catherine asked for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Bryan has the floor."

"Thank you, professor. My message is simple. The Bible is the Truth and the Word and the Testament of the Lord. You and the other secular humanists at this university have no place distorting its meaning, or subverting its authority. I speak for 176 members of the Campus Gospel Fellowship: We won't be marginalized any longer, and we're putting you on notice. If the faculty doesn't hear us in Ann Arbor, the politicians who write the checks will listen to us in the state capital."

Catherine's students sat at rapt attention, wondering how she would respond.

"Thank you, Bryan, for speaking your mind," Catherine said, calmly. "I'm sorry if you feel I've been disrespectful. I want you to know that I begrudge no one his faith. In fact—in fact, I envy it. But this is a class on biblical archaeology, and I'm a biblical archaeologist. Our aim is to employ science and reason and scholarship in the search for answers. We're searching for truth, Bryan. And if you believe in truth, you have nothing to fear from the search."

Bryan scowled. "My fear is reserved for God," he said.

Catherine looked at her student and caught a glimpse of her brother.

Ian knew the fear of God. And Ian believed. He believed every word, including the words that cut him to his core. If he didn't believe, he'd still be with me . . . .

She stepped from behind the lectern and faced her critic.

"If the Gospels were gospel, the task would be simpler, Bryan. But unfortunately for all who struggle to understand, the Bible is not the final word. So we reach deeper."

Bryan rose again, an expression of outrage barely masking his glee.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "You reveal yourself to be a critic of the Lord, not a student of His word."

"Maybe you can help me, Bryan. What, exactly, is His word?"

"His word is plain," Bryan said, raising a bible. "It's between these covers, for all who care to read."

Catherine nodded in reflection.

"Is it in the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 5?"

"As sure as the Son rises, professor."

"Help me, class, who can summarize the opening passage of Mark 5?" Catherine asked. "This isn't a test; you can refer to the book."

A dozen hands shot up. Catherine pointed to a crew-cut student toward the left of the auditorium, a tall teenager in a varsity sweater. "Andrew, thank you."

Andrew stood and opened his bible. "Jesus arrived by boat in the land of the Gadarenes, and a wild man who lived in the tombs ran to him. The man was possessed by demons. And Jesus ordered the demons to leave his body."

"Did the demons obey?" Bryan asked.

"The demons made a deal," Andrew answered. "They agreed to give up the man's body if Jesus let them possess a nearby herd of pigs. But, as soon as the demons invaded the pigs' bodies, the herd ran over a cliff, into the sea, and drowned, presumably taking the evil spirits with them."

"A miracle," Bryan said, to a chorus of amens from the students seated closest to him.

"Perhaps," Catherine said. "How about the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 8? Who can summarize Matthew's account of the same event?"

Catherine pointed to a woman in the front. "Angela, go ahead."

Fingering the gold cross that hung from her necklace, Angela read for a moment before speaking up. "The devils went into the pigs, and then the pigs rushed into the sea and drowned."

"Back up, a bit, if you would," Catherine requested. "What does Matthew say happened when Jesus first reached the shore?"

Angela read the verse to herself, and a look of distress crossed her face. She looked to Catherine for guidance.

"It's okay, tell us what it says."

"It says—it says Jesus was met by two men possessed by devils who came out from the tombs," Angela mumbled.

"How many?"

"Two."

"Two men possessed by devils," Catherine repeated. "Twice as many as Andrew found in the Gospel of Mark. So, which account are we to believe, Bryan? Did Jesus perform two exorcisms that day, or only one?"

Bryan's face flushed.

"That's very clever of you, professor, but twisting a pair of verses doesn't prove anything."

"Oh?"

"If you looked closely, you'd see that Mark's story took place in the land of the Gadarenes, and Matthew's took place in the land of the Gergesenes. We can accept both versions without choosing between them."

"Both versions?" Catherine asked. "Very well. How about Mark 10 and Matthew 20? When Jesus and his disciples were leaving Jericho, how many blind men begged for help? Did two men regain their sight, as Matthew says, or just a lone beggar named Bartimaeus, as Mark tells it?"

Blank stares from the audience.

"Let me make it easier," she said. "What Jewish holiday did Jesus and his disciples observe at the Last Supper?"

"Passover," several students shouted.

"You're right," Catherine said. "And you're also wrong. Three of the Gospels say it was the Passover meal, but the fourth Gospel says the Last Supper took place before Passover.

"And while we're on the subject, what of Judas? We all know that Judas betrayed Jesus, because the Bible tells us so. But what became of Judas? Was he so wracked with guilt that he hanged himself, as Matthew reports? Or should we believe what we're told elsewhere in the New Testament: That he bought a plot of land with the money he was paid for betraying Jesus, and later fell to his death in some kind of accident?"

"These are details, professor," Bryan stammered. "Far be it for us to second guess. None of this changes the larger truth. What we need to focus on are the teachings of Christ."

Catherine looked at her student and pictured herself in a Belfast church.

Like you, I embraced Him. I knelt before the altar, grateful for His sacrifice, secure in his love.

Much as I was comforted by my own father's love.

And now I have neither.

"Bryan makes an excellent point," Catherine said. "The core of the New Testament is the word of Jesus himself. So let's forget the biblical narrative for a moment and examine Christ's own words. And let's cut to the heart of the matter. When Jesus was on trial for his life, accused of blasphemy, and Jerusalem's high priest asked if he was the Son of God, how did he respond?"

Catherine scanned a sea of expectant faces, including Bryan, who saw where she was going and was powerless to change the course.

"If you go by Mark," she said, "Jesus replied with a simple declaration: ‘I am!' But if you believe Luke, Jesus dodged the question with a sarcastic retort: ‘You say that I am.'

"One question, two different answers. Both the word of God," Catherine said.

Bryan groped for something to say, but Catherine preempted him.

"I grant you, those weren't the last words. There were more. But even at the climactic moment, as Jesus hangs from the cross, the Gospels leave us guessing.

"In the Gospel of John, Jesus expires with the mortal words, ‘I thirst ... It is finished.' In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus departs this world affirming his faith in God. ‘Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit,' he says. Some versions of Luke, but not all, include a compassionate plea for the executioners: ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

"But Matthew and Mark conclude with a starkly contrasting image, the messiah in despair: ‘My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?'"

Many of the students looked impressed, and some of them appeared unsettled by the exercise.

"The inconsistencies don't end there," Catherine said. "As Jesus died, the earth shook, rocks split, and graves opened. Saints were raised from the dead. The curtain inside the Temple spontaneously tore from top to bottom. Darkness fell over the land at midday and lasted for three hours.

"That's the Gospel according to Matthew. It has all the subtlety of a Hollywood extravaganza.

"Mark and Luke agree on the three hours of darkness and the torn curtain. But they make no mention of the earthquake, the splitting rocks, or the graves giving up the dead.

"John omits the special effects altogether. No darkness at noon, no torn curtains, no walking dead. No telling how the author of the fourth Gospel missed those details.

"And consider what happens later, in Jesus's tomb, when it's discovered that his body has vanished.

"This is the story of the Resurrection, the central event in Christian theology. And here again, the Gospels conflict.

"Matthew and Mark describe Mary, mother of Jesus, and the other Mary, Mary Magdalene, going to the tomb and encountering one divine messenger, who explains that Jesus has risen.

"Luke describes a larger group of people—not just the two Marys, but also Joanna and some other women from Galilee—meeting two divine messengers in the tomb.

"And John—John gives us a third version of the story. John tells us that, after visiting the tomb by herself, Mary Magdalene runs to two of the disciples and tells them that Jesus's body has been taken. The two disciples rush to the tomb, find it empty, and leave. They seem to assume the body was removed, as Mary Magdalene said. But Mary Magdalene stays by the tomb, weeping. Alone, she looks into the tomb, and meets two divine messengers, who ask her why she's crying.

"Then Mary turns around—and comes face to face with Jesus."

Catherine paced the stage.

"It's not surprising that there are discrepancies," she said. "It would be surprising if there weren't. None of these accounts was written during Jesus's lifetime, and none of them can be taken as eyewitness testimony. The scholarly consensus is that the earliest of the Gospels, the Gospel of Mark, was first committed to writing two generations after the crucifixion. Two generations. That's a long time to remember his exact words. And I challenge any of you to quote, verbatim, what I told you this very day, this very hour, about King Herod, before Bryan led us on this illuminating digression."

Catherine scanned the room again, meeting only blank stares.

"Come on, people. Here you are, sitting with notebooks open, scribbling away, and none of you can repeat my lecture verbatim?"

No one rose to the challenge.

"Bryan, you were listening carefully. How about you?"

"I'm just a humble Christian, professor. I wouldn't compare myself to the apostles. And I wouldn't compare your lecture to the teachings of Christ."

A scattering of heads nodded in agreement, and Catherine seemed to concede her misstep.

"You're right, of course. My mistake. But the bottom line is, Christianity demands faith. If you've got faith, you don't ask for proof. If you need proof, you can't count yourself among the faithful. And if you search for proof, you better be prepared for what you find."

"The Devil can cite scripture, professor. We're putting you on notice: The blasphemy must stop."

Blasphemy? You accuse me? I was so faithful that I sent Ian to Father Donegan, and Father Donegan sent him to hell.

Bryan stood up again, and his friends stood with him. They filed out of the tenth row, into the aisle, and started walking toward the exit.

Catherine watched their protest in astonishment. Elsewhere in the auditorium, a handful of students rose from their seats.

Her indignation grew. They weren't just criticizing her; their literal approach to the Bible was a condemnation of her dead brother.

"We're not done here," she said, trembling.

My brother Ian is buried behind a prison, among the criminals and lost souls, because the churches of Belfast refused his body.

The protesters kept walking. Walking on Ian's grave.

In a quavering voice, Catherine called after her departing students.

"God gave us more than a book," she said. "He gave us hearts and minds and flesh and blood. The capacity to think for ourselves, the capacity to love. If we are true to ourselves, and if He created us in his own image, how can we be wrong? Can somebody please tell me? Can you? Because I'd like to know."

The last of the protesters left the auditorium, and the doors slowly closed behind them. The rest of the class sat silently staring at Catherine.

She looked around self-consciously, and she looked down at the lectern. She realized she had lost control. She was afraid her last question had sounded like an argument, or a parting shot, though in reality it was a heartfelt plea. Her hands were shaking.

She was flustered and embarrassed.

"That's all for today," she said, quietly.

She gathered her papers and stepped down from the podium. Avoiding eye contact, she walked toward the exit. As she approached the rear of the auditorium, she noticed a man in tortoise-shell glasses and a brown tweed jacket sitting in the last row.

He was the chairman of the tenure review committee, a man who could make or break her career, and he was taking notes.

Check back every Monday and Thursday for a new installment of Jezebel's Tomb.

Selected bibliography:

Connolly, Peter.  Living in the Time of Jesus of Nazareth.  Bnei Brak, Israel:  Steimatzky Ltd., 1995.  (Connolly)

Davidson, John.  The Gospel of Jesus:  In Search of His Original Teachings.  Rockport, Mass.: Element Books Inc., 1995.  (Davidson)

Funk, Robert W., Hoover, Roy W., and The Jesus Seminar.  The Five Gospels:  The Search for the Authentic Words of Jesus.  HarperSanFrancisco edition of the 1993 work by Polebridge Press.

The Works of Josephus:  Complete and Unabridged New Updated Edition, translated by William Whiston (1667-1752).  Hendrickson Publishers, Inc., January 1995 printing.  Containing The Antiquities of the Jews and The Wars of the Jews.  (Josephus)

The Bible:  Revised Standard Version.  Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.  (RSV)

The Holy Bible:  King James Version.  (KJV)

Miller, Robert J., ed.  The Complete Gospels:  Annotated Scholars Version.  Santa Rosa, California:  Polebridge Press, 1992.  (SV)

 

Notes:

Herod calls himself  "King of the Jews":  Josephus, p. 574, Wars, Book 1 Chapter 20 Section 1 Line 388.

Herod murdered his wife and advisor:  Josephus, p. 412, The Antiquities of the Jews, Book 15 Chapter 7 Sections 4 -6.

A crime it’s doubtful Herod ever committed:  Connolly, p. 42, and Davidson, pp. 94-95.

Herod ordered two sons strangled:  Josephus, p. 449, Antiquities, Book 16 Chapter 11 Section 7.  Also, p. 586, Wars, p. 586, Book 1, Chapter 27 Section 6 Line 551.

Herod ordered Jews burnt alive for toppling golden eagle:  Josephus, pp. 461-462, Antiquities Book 16 Chapter 6 Lines 151 and 167.

The Last Supper took place before Passover:  John 13:1-4 and 18:28

Judas fell to his death:  Acts 1:18

"I am!"  Mark 14:62  ( KJV)

"You say that I am."  Luke 22:70  (RSV)

"I thirst . . . It is finished."  John 19:28-30  (KJV)

"Father, into your hands I entrust my spirit."  Luke 23:46  (SV)

"Father, forgive them . . . ."  Luke 23:34  (KJV)

"My God, My God . . . ."  Matthew 27:46, Mark 15:34  (KJV)