"The path of the righteous is like the morning sun,

shining ever brighter till the full light of day.

But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness;

they do not know what makes them stumble."

Proverbs 4:18-19

"And then he said, 'Ack! For a Pharisee's prayer stretches as long as his life!'"

Peals of laughter erupted around Matthias following the joke told by one of the rabbi's other followers, but he could only force the hint of a chuckle. He held out his hands towards the fire crackling in a brazier, and then readjusted his cloak around his legs. He tried not to, but his eyes wandered without his consent, falling on the doorway that led from the courtyard to the interior of the house. Their rabbi was in there with his close friends and…the twelve. Matthias grimaced at the familiar turn in his stomach at the thought of the rabbi's closest.

Someone nudged his hand. Cleopas, sitting next to him, held out a dried fig. Marta, the lady of the house and oldest sister, had delivered victuals for the rest of them, those that had dutifully followed him from town to town, even if they were not offered the seats closest to his side.

Matthias took the fig and nodded his thanks. Cleopas smiled and gestured at the house before popping his own fruit into his mouth.

"Do you think they're talking about what happened last time?"

"I would be," Matthias muttered. He stared into the dancing flames, trying to be what his rabbi preached he should and quench the burning thoughts within.

"Oh no."

Matthias glanced at Cleopas again. The man nodded towards the house.

"Yehudah's gotten himself riled again."

Matthias looked back to the house. Yep, there was Yehudah, stomping away and pacing beside their baggage. Then leaning over to angrily dig into his own.

"Going to talk to him?" Cleopas asked.

Matthias felt the anger flame up in his chest, but as he turned to say "no" he saw them all looking at him. His cheeks grew warm. They were all tired of Yehudah's under the breath mutterings. "Why don't one of you do it?" Matthias shot back, a childish retort more than an actual argument.

Cleopas slowly smiled and clapped Matthias on the shoulder. "Because you know him best and he sometimes listens to you."

Matthias sighed deeply, but rose to his feet. "Thanks. A lot," he grumbled. Several of his fellow disciples chuckled. That definitely didn't help.

Matthias walked as slowly as he could. Maybe if he didn't get there in time, Yehudah would go back inside and he could avoid any contact. But Yehudah kept digging into his bags. Matthias stopped a few feet from him. After a few more seconds he cleared his throat.

Yehudah looked up, his brown eyes flaming, his brow furrowed. His eyes flicked to the disciples gathered around the brazier and back to Matthias. "They send you?"

"You're angry again," Matthias said simply, hoping the direct way was best.

Yehudah snorted and dug back into his pack.

"What is it this time?"

Yehudah stopped. He withdrew a money bag, tied it to his belt, and then looked at Matthias, hands on his hips. "He doesn't know what he's doing! Do you know what happened in there?" Yehudah threw out a hand towards the inner house. "Miryam poured an entire litra of pure nard on his feet! Imagine that! Wasting 300 denarii. And he doesn't care!"

Matthias blinked. 300 denarii. 300 days of an average man's wage. He couldn't help but think of what his father would have done if he had spilled even a tenth of a jar of nard. His father wouldn't have spared the rod.

"He talks on and on about compassion and the poor and love, but then he lets her go and do that. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Matthias clenched his jaw. Yehudah was angry over a jar of nard. Yes, it was expensive, extravagant even, but what did it truly matter what Miryam did with it? The rabbi had brought her brother back to life after all. That was probably worth a thousand years' wages of nard to her. Leave it to Yehudah to waste his own time with those closest to the rabbi by getting angry over such a thing.

Matthias turned to walk away, hissing under his breath, "At least you get to dine with them."

A hand arrested him, pulling hard and turning him back around. He was almost nose to nose with Yehudah.

"You've finally let your mouth give voice to your heart, have you? I've seen the way you've watched me ever since the rabbi chose me over you." A smirk graced Yehudah's mouth, curling its ends.

The smoldering flames in Matthias' heart suddenly burned bright. "I saw him baptized! I told you about him. When I left, you followed."

"And he chose me when it came time, the hired hand over his employer. Is that it, Matthias? Is that what eats at you? The rich boy was passed over."

"No! That's not…"

Yehudah gripped the cloth at Matthias' shoulder and pulled him closer, staring him down. "Maybe you followed him because all you wanted was to prove you were a true Jew. Follow a rabbi for once instead of your father's pocket. And maybe he saw that. He knew it."

Matthias roughly pushed at Yehudah's hand, breaking his hold, and stepped backwards. "You said he wasn't like other rabbis. That people flocked to him. That he could restore Israel's rightful place."

"I was wrong."

"Wha— But…the miracles. And Eleazar." Matthias pointed into the city, towards the place where the brother of Marta and Miryam had been buried…and then raised by the very rabbi they followed.

Yehudah laughed. "Miracles can be faked, you know."

Matthias' heart rose into his throat. He stared wide-eyed at Yehudah. "What do you mean? You can't think…"

"I'm saying they could be. It's a fact."

"But, all this time you've spent with him! You said he was the Messiah."

"I said he could be the Messiah."

"You were more certain than that!"

"Maybe that's what you want to believe." Yehudah stepped up close to him again and peered into his eyes. "Think about it, Matthias. All we've done, all he's done? It all could have been for nothing."

Yehudah pressed past Matthias, one shoulder nudging into him as he stomped away. Matthias watched him pass the disciples around the fire who were discreetly pretending they hadn't observed an argument and exit into the city. Matthias stared even after he'd gone, mouth still open, shock still fresh, and mind whirling back years to what life had been like before they'd ever met the rabbi…

Life as the son of a wealthy merchant was good. Delicacies, products from exotic lands, a large, comfortable home. And excitement. Travel all over the regions and once, when Matthias was a child, across the sea.

"It's Passover soon. We'll be going up to Jerusalem."

Matthias looked over from the couch he laid on to the sixteen-year-old boy who'd just entered the room and so casually fell into the couch on the other side of the ornate rug between them. He was younger than Matthias by two years, but darker in hair, eye, and skin, and already beginning to sport a heavier beard.

"We're going with you, of course," the boy said, reaching out presumptuously to dig into the bowl of dates Matthias had been eating from.

Matthias sighed deeply. "I suppose we'll bring Rabbi Hilkiah along with us as well." Matthias could already hear the droning, booming voice as they traveled along, lecturing on everything under the sun but saying hardly anything at all.

Yehudah laughed, eyes dancing. "He's quite the bore."

"Yet you seem to eat up his words every Sabbath."

"Adonai's scripture isn't boring even if the rabbi is."

Matthias waved a hand. Good point.

Yehudah leaned back against the couch. "Trouble with you, Matthias, is you don't visit Jerusalem enough." His eyes moved around the room. "You're so used to this."

Matthias felt the familiar anger rise in his chest at the suggestion that wealth somehow disqualified him and his family from being true to the Jewish faith. He knew such accusations were thrown at them by gossiping mouths, but he had assumed Yehudah didn't think the same way. After all, the son of his father's best trader enjoyed his own fair share of the profits. "I'm not used to anything." Matthias sat up, meeting Yehudah's smiling eyes.

"Don't take offense!" Yehudah said, smile growing. "It's truth. Think of it. Even your name breathes out Lydda more than Jerusalem. And this architecture. And your father's trading. Well…" Yehudah leaned back against the couch as if he'd proved his point.

"My name is Hebrew," Matthias ground out.

"But you don't use it much, do you?" Yehudah said, plunking a couple more dates into his mouth.

Matthias. That's what he'd been called since his youth. The Grecian pronunciation. He couldn't help that his father and mother chose to do so. Or that he'd been born in Lydda into a merchant's family. And yes, his father did imitate Greek and Roman customs, including the layout and decoration of his home; business was better enacted that way. "None of that means I don't follow Adonai!" he fervently argued.

Yehudah stared at him contemplatively, still with a smile on his lips. "Ah, but how closely do you follow him? You can hardly even stand to listen to the rabbi you've got." Yehudah stood up, nodded his head in a pretense of submission, and left the room.

Matthias stewed. He stewed all the way to Jerusalem. All through Passover. The differences between himself and the other Jews who'd traveled to the City of David startled him. He had always thought his love for God assured, but he saw so much more in those around him.

His father began to send him out with Yehudah's father, learning how to make the trades and which wares to pick for purchase. He spent his time in other parts of Judea, and that's how he had come to be at the Jordan, hoping beyond hope that the wild preacher that they called John the Baptizer could open his mind and heart to Adonai in a way no other rabbi had.

Matthias had found a man with a booming voice and a lecturer, but oh, definitely not a Rabbi Hilkiah! This man called for an almost rebellious renewal and repentance. He listened to him every day. And then, one day, Matthias had joined those lining up for the baptism. The man John had grasped his shoulders with rough hands, spoken of hearts made new, and Matthias had dipped into the cold, blessed water. When he had emerged, he knew everything had changed.

But the man that had come after him…when he emerged, Matthias had stared in disbelief, water still dripping into his eyes. A brilliant haze alighted on the man and a voice tremored across the sky. The people began to whisper amongst themselves. Surely this man was beloved of Adonai above them all!

Matthias had finally admitted to Yehudah where he'd been running off to every day when he'd endured another lecture from Yehudah's father about his absence for hours on end. He tried to explain the feeling in his soul, the stirring, how he had found what Yehudah claimed he lacked in a wild desert prophet. He tried to explain that God had even spoken from the heavens. Yehudah simply laughed at him…until he had heard of the new Rabbi, the man who had been baptized, beginning to teach and gather followers. Yehudah had caught him packing a bag.

"You really believe in this rabbi. You actually do," Yehudah said behind him. "What about your father? What about the trading?"

"He'll hate me," Matthias said simply.

"Matthias, you have everything you could want," Yehudah continued to argue.

Matthias rounded on Yehudah. "Except my love for Adonai. Isn't that what you said?"

"I said that?"

"You meant it."

Yehudah raised an eyebrow. "I don't remember saying that. How long ago did I say it?"

"Doesn't matter," Matthias grumbled, though it had to have been at least four years past. He picked up his bag, hurrying to the door.

"Wait!"

Matthias paused, looking back impatiently. "What?"

Yehudah stared at him, confused. "What does he say that makes you want to follow him?"

"John the Baptizer speaks of him. The way he talks of him…" Matthias took a step closer to Yehudah. "What matters more to you, Yehudah? The way of a merchant or the way of Adonai? I've seen you pray every day. You do your duty to our Lord. But what if there's more than that. He has that more."

Matthias turned and passed through the door. Halfway down the road, a presence joined him at his side. Yehudah smiled, and together they walked into a new future with the man of God…

Matthias was stirred out of his reverie when their rabbi emerged from the house, only a few feet away from him. He was looking over the heads of the other disciples, at the gate where Yehudah had exited. Matthias' breath caught in his throat. Their rabbi wasn't handsome nor ugly. He was ordinary, brown haired, brown eyed, yet his words—they could burn right into your soul if you let them. He had to be the Messiah. After all this time, what Matthias had given up, his father, his home, his career, he must be worth all the sacrifice. Matthias glanced at the rabbi's feet and drew in a spicy breath of the nard Maryim had poured upon them.

Yehoshua turned his head, and Matthias met eyes he worried saw too deeply. Had he, indeed, thought Matthias only followed him to prove he was a true Jew? Was that why he hadn't been chosen as one of the twelve? If he'd been able to state his case, he could have told the rabbi he loved Adonai as deeply as he, would follow him to the ends of the earth if asked. He wanted to say so now. He couldn't manage the words.

"You talked to Yehudah," Yehoshua said. It wasn't a question, but a certain statement.

Matthias nodded. "Yes."

The rabbi's tense gaze retreated a little. He looked…tired, Matthias decided. "Good," he said quietly. "That's good." He glanced at the gate once more, then back to Matthias. "We go to Jerusalem tomorrow. Tell the others." He reentered the house.

Matthias almost followed him, but moved back to the other disciples.

Yehudah fumed all evening and most of the morning. Matthias stayed as far from him as able. It wasn't difficult. Yehudah had paid him little attention since he'd been chosen to learn from Yehoshua with the twelve. Their rabbi often took the twelve aside. Then Yehudah would deign to talk to him, describing later what Yehoshua had said and saying things like, "I suppose you can't understand" or "I can't talk about that part. He told us that was only for us." And always he spoke with that shining gleam in his eye. Or there were the times his anger exploded and for some reason, Matthias was often the recipient of his rantings.

Matthias did his best to ignore Yehudah's cutting remarks and angry tantrums, spending more time with Cleopas, who was almost ten years older than he, but kind, honest, and welcoming. And he began to think back, to recall all those years he and Yehudah had spent together. What he thought had been friendship he had begun to suspect was advancement. Yehudah had made friends with the son of a merchant because it was to his advantage. But then, why follow him when he followed Yehoshua? There was no advantage to such a choice, except…

The noise of the crowd was deafening, people shouting from every direction, pushing in against Matthias with such eagerness he kept losing sight of the rabbi ahead, even though he rode a donkey and should have been visible over everyone else. The crowds had been trailing Yehoshua for three years and each year they had grown. And Jerusalem was full of people for the Passover. So many who had come to love his words and witness his miracles had flooded into the city. Oh, how they loved him! They were laying down their coats before he passed and waving hands and palm branches, shouting at the top of their voices.

"Hosannato the Son of David!"

"Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!"

"Hosannain the highest heaven!"

"Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!"

Matthias' heart pounded and he shouted to the crowd, "Follow Yehoshua! Follow the Messiah! Yehoshua is the Messiah!"

He caught sight of the top of Yehudah's head and pushed past those in his way. He stumbled into him and grasped him round the shoulders, grinning into his face and shouting to be heard above the crowd. "What do you think now?"

Yehudah's eyes were gleaming, echoing the same eagerness of the crowd and he was smiling, actually smiling. Not a smirk, not a corner of the mouth turned up to mock or deride, but actually smiling.

Matthias shook him in his excitement. "This is the day! What we've waited for!"

Yehudah almost seemed dazed. He nodded, eyes roaming the crowd, for once, finally speechless. Matthias slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him onward.

The next day, an even larger crowd showed up when they entered the city. The people pressed all the more in on their rabbi, but the twelve made a space for him, surrounding him as a barrier. The other disciples joined in, following their lead, until their rabbi reached the temple and could enter unheeded. They followed him, passing through the gate, and Matthias beheld the temple, its central structure rising high into the sky, as if it, too, heralded their rabbi's coming. His heart burned with pride, elated. Yehudah, who had been conspicuously quiet for the last day, stood at his side. And then the shouting began.

Yehoshua had stopped, peered around at the Court of the Gentiles, bursting at the seams with those who had come to celebrate the Passover. Matthias had been here every year of his life. Booths crowded along the walls and some even spilled onto the paths, jostling for position as the money-changers turned Roman coin into Jewish shekels and sold the necessary pigeons, sheep, and sometimes oxen. The noise was even more deafening with the crowd's added shouting. And still, he heard Yehoshua scream above it all.

The rabbi became a whirlwind, sprinting from table to table, upending them one by one. Coins jingled and rang as they crashed to the ground. Pigeons cooed, their wings flapping hard into the air, as their cages broke open in his tirade. Some in the crowd suddenly joined in, spurred by the rabbi's actions, pushing at sheep and oxen who bleated and lowed as they were accosted.

The incident was over in only a few minutes, but Matthias' heart had sailed into his throat as he watched the wrath of Yehoshua descend. When it was over, the rabbi stood before the gate into the Court of the Women and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"It is written, 'My house will be called a house of prayer!' But you have made it a den of thieves!" His face was shining with sweat, rage creasing his brow and mouth. Matthias could hardly move as he watched the rabbi transform before him, the anger diminishing. Yehoshua took a long breath and stared round at the crowd in the court who had gone silent. "This is my father's house where worship comes before him. Those who call upon him are heard." He flung his hands outward and shouted, "Bring me the blind and the lame!"

The crowd jumped into action. People were brought to him and he laid hands on them, speaking only a few words, and they saw and walked. Matthias stood outside the barrier of the twelve, watching with wide eyes and thumping chest. These miracles couldn't be faked. This was real. These people were real. So many couldn't be pretending. This was the week it would all begin. This was when it was meant to begin, the Messiah rising at Passover to take back what was God's for the Jews!

The Pharisees appeared. They questioned their rabbi's authority and the children, still filled with the parade of yesterday, calling out, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" The Son of David. The true king. The Messiah.

Yehoshua looked their leaders straight in the eye. "I hear them. And haven't you read, 'From the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise.'"

The Pharisees drew back, grumbling amongst themselves. Matthias smirked and pressed out his chest, proud of the way his rabbi handily threw off his detractors; those considered the wisest of all Jews were no match for him. He turned to throw this truth into Yehudah's face, but his old friend wasn't at his side. He glanced around the court and saw him heading back towards the gate. He ran to catch up to him.

"Yehudah! Yehudah!" Matthias grasped onto his upper arm. Yehudah wriggled away.

"Let me go! I've got to purchase supplies for the Passover."

Matthias followed him into the streets, sticking to his side. "You see what he's doing. It isn't fake. He's the Messiah. He's going to take everything back. We'll be a nation again!"

Yehudah shot him an angry glare.

"You can't be angry again," Matthias said in exasperation. "Not after all this."

Yehudah gripped his shoulder, pulling him aside to the opening of an alley and hissing at him. "Do you know what he said when Miryam poured the nard?"

Matthias stifled an annoyed moan. Not this again.

"He said the nard was meant for his burial."

"Well…I suppose one day he'll…"

"And he keeps talking like he wants to die."

"He…what?"

"And then he goes and disturbs the money changers? The sellers of pigeons? And he challenges the Pharisees, even the Sanhedrin itself?" Yehudah shook his head.

"The temple is God's house. His house," Matthias argued. "It's supposed to be a place of prayer and worship."

"If your father could hear you!" Yehudah mocked. "Travelers come from all over Judea. Aren't they entitled to change their money and purchase a sacrifice?"

A flame of anger rose in Matthias' cheeks. He pushed Yehudah's hand that had remained on his shoulder off. "And I bet the money changers take their own share, don't they?"

Yehudah shook his head again. "You don't get it. If he keeps acting like this, he's going to get exactly what he wants."

"Which is?"

"Death," Yehudah said simply and passed back into the streets.

Matthias didn't follow.

Author's Note: It's been my tradition to write a two chapter Easter story every year, envisioning a narrative concerning someone who experienced the events of Easter week. I usually post the first chapter on Good Friday and the second chapter on Resurrection Sunday. This year the story's length and flow necessitated three chapters, the first falling on Palm Sunday. The other two chapters will be posted on the traditional dates.

Note that the names used in this story are in their original Hebrew form except when the Greek or Roman forms are more appropriate.

Finally, this is a historical fanfiction. Although based on historical events as reported in the Bible, I am left to speculate on who these people may have been if we could dig into their lives with deeper detail. My goal is always to hone in on Biblical truth above all, to point to spiritual and theological truths that remain true even outside imaginary fanfiction.