"The lot is cast into the lap,
but its every decision is from the Lord."
Proverbs 16:33
Yehoshua was dead. Matthias heard the news second hand. He hadn't left the old man's house, and to the widower's credit, he took care of Matthias without a complaint. He seemed to understand that in grief one didn't require words—simple presence was enough.
Cleopas came to get him. "The disciples are gathering," he explained. "At the house where we ate the meal."
"We're not one of the twelve," Matthias said, and a pit yawned open in his stomach when he recalled they were actually eleven now.
"That doesn't matter anymore," Cleopas said. "We are all gathering."
The upper room was full to bursting. Disciples trickled in, gathering all over the house, but the courtyard door was kept shut and guarded. Matthias had been afraid they would reject him. Word of Yehudah's betrayal and death had spread among them, and he was certain his association would mark him. None said a word to him about it, though several nodded in sympathy. The only one who appeared in any way disturbed was Kepha, who hadn't shown up until later in the day and only glanced at Matthias once.
No one knew what to do. They looked to Kepha, who only said, "We stay together. We wait. We'll do something."
Matthias settled down in a corner that night, exhausted with the weight of grief. He folded his arms round his chest. Leaned back and closed his eyes.
A tumult woke him. He heard a voice. A woman's voice. He cracked his eyes and stood, shaking fogginess out of his brain.
"He wasn't there!" It was Salomeh.
"There were angels!" And Miryam, mother of Yachov.
"They said he was alive." And the always fervent Yohanah, with her hands on her hips.
Matthias moved closer to the group assembled in the center of the room. Cleopas was standing nearby. "What's going on?" Matthias whispered.
"The rabbi's body is missing from the tomb," Cleopas explained.
"Missing?"
"The women think they saw angels."
"Grief," Matityahu, one of the twelve, said simply. "You're seeing what you want to see."
"It isn't grief!" Yohanah shot back. "We, all three, saw them. And they talked to us. They said he wasn't there. He's risen from the dead."
Matthias stared. His mind whirled back to the day Eleazar had stepped out of his own tomb, wrapped in burial cloths.
"If he had the power to raise himself, he wouldn't have let himself be crucified in the first place," Ta'oma argued.
Others joined in, some seeming to hesitantly consider what the women might have seen, most to argue other explanations for their experiences. Then Yohanan came bursting in, declaring he'd been to the tomb and Yehoshua's body was indeed, gone.
"And the burial cloths still there," Yohanan said.
So not like Eleazar, Matthias thought. More like a body exposed and…
"Stolen," Ta'oma concluded near Matthias' shoulder, finishing the thought Matthias hadn't even articulated yet, but their minds running along the same path. He looked angry. "They're going to desecrate it."
The arguing escalated. Matthias backed away and turned, intending to ask Cleopas what he made of all this, but his friend was near the far wall, stuffing his few belongings into his bag. Matthias strode over to him. "What are you doing?"
"I must go away from here." He slung the bag round his shoulder. "I need to be somewhere else." He started for the door to the room.
Matthias looked back at the disciples and the women, some beginning to shout. Matthias snapped up his own bag and hurried to catch up to Cleopas halfway down the outside steps. "I'll come with you."
Cleopas sent him a warning glance. "I'm leaving Jerusalem. I don't know if I will come back."
The argument in full flower reached his ears from the room above. Yehudah had killed himself. Yehoshua had been crucified. And his disciples were now descending into accusation and argument over his corpse. There wasn't much more he thought he could bear.
"I'll come," he said.
Cleopas smiled sadly at him, but nodded, and they exited through the courtyard gate.
The road was smooth, the weather pleasant, but the thoughts were heavy. They hadn't spoken a word to each other for miles. There wasn't any need.
Matthias' eyes skimmed the scenery but didn't see a thing. Out here, away from the noise of the city, clearer thought could take root. But that didn't mean what came forth wasn't disturbing.
More often than not, Yehudah's voice strayed into his mind. His friend was dead, and still his taunting comments drifted back. Like the time he told Matthias that Yehoshua had said it was pretty much impossible for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. "So much coin in your family," Yehudah had said while shaking his head. And Matthias had wondered if that was another reason Yehoshua had passed him over as someone who deserved to be closer to him.
Or the time Yehudah had set on him a knowing expression when Yehoshua had told the parable of the son who asked for his inheritance and left his father behind. Such a shameful act, and Matthias had left his own home. But didn't Yehoshua also say that whoever loved his father or mother more than him was not worthy of following him? But then, he'd said that to the twelve alone, so maybe only they had been worthy enough of such a declaration.
Matthias frustratingly rubbed at his forehead. Cleopas glanced at him, but then turned his eyes back to the road and trudged on. Matthias lowered his hand and grit his teeth. What did any of his time with Yehudah or Yehoshua matter anyway? Yehoshua was dead. His throat constricted and his eyes prickled. He pushed the emotion back down.
Yehudah was dead, too. Anything he'd said needn't hold sway over Matthias anymore…except he'd been right all along. Not to betray their rabbi. That was unforgivable, but his doubts had been proved true. They had followed a lie all this time and wasted all these years. And something deep within Matthias understood why Yehudah had left this world, how such an act could creep in when everything you'd thought was true crumbled into nothingness. Like Cleopas' widower friend had observed—other Messiahs had come and gone and the hope of their followers faded away. The followers of Yehoshua were a deluded bunch without even the body of their Messiah left to claim. They would soon disappear just as he had.
Matthias looked over at Cleopas, whose brow appeared deeply wrinkled. He gathered his courage and broke their silence. "Why did you leave Jerusalem?" Was Cleopas feeling as empty as he?
"I couldn't think there," Cleopas mumbled, eyes still on the road.
"But you can now."
Cleopas nodded.
Matthias listened to their footfalls clomping against the cobbles, watched a couple travelers pass them, looked ahead to the town they were heading towards still invisible in the distance. "Why Emmaus?"
"It's home."
"You're from Emmaus?" Matthias asked in surprise. He'd never thought to ask Cleopas about his own home.
Cleopas nodded.
"How did you meet the rabbi?"
Cleopas didn't answer for a moment, kept staring ahead, then spoke quietly. "He was in Jerusalem. He stood up at the Feast of Tabernacles. He said, 'Let those who are thirsty come to me and drink and rivers of living water will flow from within them.'"
Living water, Matthias thought. But he felt like a river drying up in a famine.
"I listened to his teaching. Witnessed his miracles. The choice to follow him was obvious."
Matthias swallowed thickly. "And now? What do you think now?"
Cleopas turned his head to him. "What do you think?"
Matthias' gut twisted. "Was it all a lie?"
Cleopas slowly looked away. He kept walking, but his pace slackened. "I have been wondering, too," he admitted softly. "But all we saw. The miracles. They had to have come from Adonai, did they not?"
Matthias heard Yehudah's voice in his head—miracles can be faked, you know. But not Eleazar's. "We saw Eleazar leave the tomb. He was alive. Do you think—"
"The women did not say they saw the rabbi."
"They said angels. Is it only grief?"
Cleopas was quiet for a few seconds. "Yohanah has never been one to imagine things."
No, she wasn't like that. But still…
"I don't know what to think," Cleopas said. "I remember his healings and his words. He spoke the truth about so much."
"Yehudah said we followed him for nothing."
Cleopas snorted derisively. "Yehudah liked to hear the rantings of his own voice." Matthias raised his eyebrows. Cleopas sighed. "Truthfully, Yehudah was a selfish man. He stole from us, did you know?"
"He…stole?"
"They are saying it now he's gone. They didn't feel they could while he was alive and one of the twelve."
"But Yehoshua put him in charge of the money."
"And he took from it when it suited his purposes."
"He wouldn't."
Cleopas nailed him with a pointed look. "Can you truly tell me Yehudah would not take the coins if he really wanted them?"
Matthias stared for a couple of seconds, looked away. Yehudah stealing would explain so much, like his upset over Miryam's poured out nard. He peered into the distance at a lone tree in a field, imagined a body swaying from its branches. "Yehudah was wrong about many things. But was he wrong about this? Yehoshua was crucified. Crucified." Stinging bile roiled up his throat. He hadn't seen his rabbi on the cross, but knew too well what it meant—carnage and torture, and Yehoshua hadn't saved himself from it! So he had the power of God to perform miracles, but not the power that mattered most—the power to save himself. "I don't understand it."
"Neither do I," Cleopas said. "Everything he did in the last week. I thought it was time for him to take back what was ours." His eyes scanned the land. "This is supposed to be ours, a Jewish nation. Our God made us promises…" His voice faded away.
Matthias felt the heavy load of the words. The promises had failed. Adonai's promises, Yehoshua's promises, every hope they had clung to. What did this mean? Was there no God at all as some Romans claimed, jettisoning their own idols for nothingness? The thought terrified Matthias. If there was no God, they were all alone, and humans left alone were the worst of destroyers.
"Could it be," Matthias ventured in a hushed tone, "what if there is no—"
"Shalom, friends!" a voice called out from behind.
They halted, looking back at a man who strolled purposely up to them. He was Jewish as evidenced by his facial features.
"May I travel with you?"
Matthias shared a look with Cleopas. They had left Jerusalem for solitude. But Cleopas was too giving.
"Shalom. You may walk with us."
They moved on. Matthias might have fallen back into his tumultuous thoughts, but the stranger was too talkative.
"I saw you talking. You seemed quite thoughtful. What have you been discussing as you travel?"
Cleopas eyed the stranger and his eyes flicked to the road stretching behind them. "You've come from Jerusalem? You were there for the festival?"
The stranger nodded.
Cleopas' eyebrows drew together. "Are you the only one in Jerusalem who doesn't know what has happened there these few days?"
"What things?" the stranger asked.
"About Yehoshua of Nazareth!" Matthias blurted out. "Everyone has been speaking of him!"
"What of him?"
A glance passed between Cleopas and Matthias. How to describe Yehoshua now that he was dead. Cleopas spoke carefully. "He was…a prophet. Powerful in words and deeds before God, before all the people. But…" Cleopas paused, seeming to assess the stranger.
"The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death," Matthias finished succinctly. Why hide the truth of the matter? That was the truth, no matter what the fellow Jew traveling thought of their Sanhedrin. "They got the Romans to crucify him on false charges." Matthias scrutinized the stranger's reaction to such bold accusations against their leaders, but the man wasn't fazed.
"And what else?" the stranger said matter-of-factually.
"We had hoped he would redeem Israel," Cleopas said. "We know many have claimed to be the Messiah…"
"Yes," the stranger agreed. "Many have."
Embarrassed heat flamed in Matthias' cheeks. How foolish he and Cleopas must appear to the stranger! "It's the third day since he died. He was laid in a tomb and today, some of our women went to his tomb and his body wasn't there. They said they saw angels and that he was alive…" Matthias' voice faltered. His words sounded more and more ludicrous as he tried to explain. Why were they even telling this man all this? He was no one to them.
"His body was missing," Cleopas said as the stranger turned contemplative eyes on him. "Some of our companions went to the tomb and it was like the women said, but Yehoshua the Nazarene was not there."
The stranger peered down the road for a moment, letting silence fall. The only sound besides chirping insects were their combined footfalls. Matthias noticed the man's feet were quite dusty, like he had been walking for a long time, but they were on the same road from the same city. Why they should be so covered, he wasn't sure.
"And what do you think happened to his body?" the stranger finally asked in an oddly light tone, as if he meant to follow the statement with a laugh, which felt wholly inappropriate considering they were in mourning.
Cleopas let out a harsh breath. "We don't know."
"Maybe," Matthias speculated, remembering what Ta'oma had said, "the Romans or our own leaders took it. They want to desecrate it. Prove he was no Messiah." No redeemer. A lie exposed. Matthias felt sudden relief to have left Jerusalem, not to see the rabbi's body found all the more brutalized.
A deep rumble came from the stranger, a rolling laugh that he managed to cage behind his lips. Matthias ground his teeth. Fine! Laugh at them! Maybe they deserved it. But it still stung.
"How foolish you are," the stranger breathed out.
Matthias clenched his teeth all the more at the utter lack of compassion from a stranger of all people!
"How slow to believe all the prophets have spoken! Don't you understand the Messiah would have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?"
Matthias frowned and raised his eyebrows pointedly at Cleopas.
"Don't you know the scriptures? Haven't you learned them in the synagogue?"
"Of course we have," Matthias bit back.
"And you don't understand still. Well, then, let us begin with Moshe."
"With Moshe?" Cleopas asked, who looked as flummoxed as Matthias.
"Did you not just eat the Passover meal in Jerusalem?" the stranger said. "The blood of the lamb that was killed, the blood painted on the lintels of the doorways of Israel in Egypt, did it not save those in each household? And is that lamb not to be perfect, without blemish or spot?"
Matthias and Cleopas nodded.
"So also is the Redeemer of Israel. Would not the Redeemer need to be devoid of any sin?"
"But to fight the Romans…" Cleopas asserted.
"But there is a fight of more concern to Adonai than the Romans," the stranger said. "The sacrifices of the tabernacle, why do we undertake them? To forgive our sin. Sin is the deeper enemy. How many bulls die each year? How many lambs and pigeons? Why keep sacrificing?"
The stranger's eyes were on Matthias, like he expected an answer. "Because we must make ourselves right with God."
"And when will these sacrifices stop? When will enough blood be spilled?"
"They will never stop," Cleopas said, and there was quiet horror in his tone.
"Unless there is a blood more worthy than that of bulls and lambs and pigeons," the stranger said, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "A blood of one who has never sinned, who can paint the souls of every descendent of Israel and make them righteous forever."
"Are you saying," Matthias ventured, hardly believing where this conversation had gone, "that Yehoshua of Nazareth, was a sacrifice?"
"Truly, truly," the stranger said.
"But…"
"Did he not tell you he must die?"
Matthias heart stuttered as he startled. "How do you know this?"
"He must have said so as the prophets tell us the Messiah will die to deliver Israel."
Cleopas left Matthias' side. He had been looking round his friend to peer at the stranger. Now he walked along the stranger's right side so the man was between them. "To which scriptures do you refer?"
The stranger was off, speaking of Isaiah, of the suffering servant, who was prophesied to be "pierced for our transgressions," "crushed for our iniquities," "upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace," and "with his wounds we are healed." Of the serpent lifted up in the wilderness that had saved so many. Of the Messiah who would be a descendant of Abraham and David, would be preceded by a man in the same vein as Elijah, would be born in Bethlehem. But his own would reject him, a friend would betray him for thirty pieces of silver, and he would be killed, an ultimate sacrifice better than that of any animal that would wipe the hearts of those who believed clean.
As the lines of connection were drawn between the scripture and their rabbi, Matthias marveled. He and Cleopas stopped speaking and only listened. The way this stranger talked—it was a bit like hearing Yehoshua again. For the rest of the journey to Emmaus, Matthias felt as if he walked in a dream, as if he had his rabbi back again. He didn't want the dream to end, and neither must have Cleopas, for when they reached Emmaus and the stranger nodded to them and made to walk on, they both shouted after him.
"Stay at my home!" Cleopas called out at the same time Matthias urged, "It's nearly evening and the day is almost over."
The stranger stayed his step and turned back to them. "I suppose I can tarry for the night."
Cleopas' family was unexpected. He was married. Matthias was introduced to his wife, his mother, and his five children. All were pleased to see him, but when Cleopas pulled his wife aside and spoke in hushed tones, Matthias wondered at the sadness in her eyes. Had she, too, hoped in Yehoshua as the Messiah? But if even a tenth of what the stranger had been saying to them was correct, then Yehoshua was supposed to die.
Such a thought sent Matthias' head spinning. Everything the stranger said seemed logical and clear, and yet, Yehoshua was still…dead. And if he remained dead, then what of the scriptures that made of the Messiah an avenging warrior?
"Come, eat," Cleopas called to Matthias and the stranger. They gathered at a table while Cleopas' wife laid plates before them. Cleopas addressed the stranger. "You have not told us your name. Who do we have the honor to sit with at our table?"
"We must bless Adonai first," the stranger said. He reached out a hand and picked up the bread that had been set before them. He looked up towards the heavens. "Blessed are you, Adonai, our God, the one who brings forth bread from the earth. I give this to these here that they might see and understand." He tore several pieces from the bread. He looked at Matthias. "Take. Eat." He stretched out his hand.
Matthias made to accept the piece, but suddenly noticed something dark on the underside of the man's wrist—a deep, circular, red scar. There was another like it on top as well. Such strange marks, like someone who had been pierced through in some way, maybe in an accident, like being hit by a large…iron…nail. His breath stalled in his throat.
His eyes darted to the man's feet, those dusty feet, only the caked dust had disappeared. They hadn't washed his feet. They had missed such hospitality in their eagerness to host the stranger, and yet there were his feet, clean, pure, except for wounds on his ankles that mirrored the ones on his wrists.
Matthias snapped his gaze to the stranger. "How did you—" His question died on his tongue. The eyes that met his penetrated to his very soul. He felt suddenly naked and exposed. He knew these eyes so well, the deep, dark eyes of Yehoshua.
Matthias opened his mouth. Not a sound escaped. And Yehoshua was gone.
Matthias found himself looking at a wall. His hands began to shake. He turned to Cleopas. The man was staring wide-eyed at him. He croaked out, "My heart was burning within while he talked with us on the road when he explained the Scriptures. You?"
Matthias' eyes glazed over. His blood raced like a fire tearing through a field. "Yes. Yes."
Cleopas leaped to his feet. His wife had just emerged with more food. He grabbed her, pulled her into an embrace, kissed her forehead. "We must go back to Jerusalem."
"You only just came."
Matthias stood up. His eyes resting on the spot where the rabbi had sat. Everything he'd said to them was true. Every last word. Yehudah had been wrong.
They arrived back in Jerusalem in the dark, but ran without heed to the upper room. They had thought to find the disciples subdued, but they were awake. In a tumult, the stories came quickly. Yehoshua had been seen by Kepha, and Miryam Magdala, too. They poured forth their own story, of walking on the road, and being joined by a stranger, and the breaking of the bread. There were still those who didn't believe, who tried to make up reasons the truth couldn't be and then…he was there, in their midst.
Matthias lurched through the disciples, pressing past them to stare at the rabbi, at Yehoshua, the true Messiah, the Son of Man, the Son of God. He still couldn't manage a word, but only stared and let tears unashamedly trickle down his cheeks. He finally understood what he hadn't in Emmaus. He was staring at a man, but also God, at Yehoshua in full flesh and glory. It was like staring at perfection. A perfection he didn't deserve to share the room with.
Yehoshua scanned the room and addressed them. "Peace be with you."
His voice washed over them all, so familiar, yet so new and even more alive. But for Matthias, the peace was followed by a shadow. He backed away, letting others take his place close to their Messiah. He couldn't be with them; he couldn't be near their Messiah.
He left the room.
Yehoshua lived. Death had not held him. He had triumphed over the grave.
The disciples followed the eleven back to Galilee. Yehoshua had appeared to them there, spoke to them, taught them once more, only now they actually understood. There was no asking what was meant. His teaching had become so plain to them.
And still, Matthias lingered at the back of the followers. Never getting close enough to meet the eyes that had stared into his soul in Cleopas' home. For he knew Yehoshua had seen him for who he was and what he had seen had been ugly.
Yehoshua Messiah was not always with them. He appeared and disappeared as he willed. Matthias tried to share in the joy these appearances brought, but more often than not, he slinked away.
One day, the disciples sat upon the shore of Galilee. They had been told to stay in Galilee. To await further instructions from the Messiah. Kepha seemed to think this the best place to spend their days.
Cleopas had tried to cajole Matthias into join him in skipping rocks across the calm waters. Matthias declined. He wandered, away from the followers. He climbed a hill, moved down the other side. No one was there. He could be alone.
He sat down and let his gaze pass across the lake. He closed his eyes, let the sun bake the crown of his head and its rays burn fire across his face. After a time, a shadow fell, someone standing over him blocking the sun.
He sighed and opened his eyes. "I'm all right, Cleopas. I— My Lord!" Yehoshua was looking down at him. He made to get up; Yehoshua touched his shoulder, pressing him back down. His Lord and God sat down next to him, never breaking his stare.
Matthias gulped heavily, looked away, at the grass, the sky, the sea, anywhere but at those eyes.
"You've been avoiding me," Yehoshua said.
"No," Matthias replied, eyes honing in on his wringing hands.
"Do not lie to me."
Matthias winced at his hands. "Yes." His heart pitter-pattered like a little child who had been caught out for doing wrong.
"Ask me whatever you wish."
Matthias wrung his hands all the more. He felt Yehoshua's bent knee pressed against his. So very close. As if he wanted to be with him. Matthias spoke in the lowest of tones. "Did you know Yehudah would betray you?"
"Yes," Yehoshua said, the answer simple and straight forward.
"And you choose him anyway."
"Yes."
Matthias finally looked up. "Why him? Why?"
"I gave Yehudah a chance to accept grace. And to follow your example."
Matthis frowned.
"You left your home, your riches, your reputation to follow me. You did not turn back."
Wetness obscured Matthias' sight. "I doubted you. I listened to Yehudah."
"Then why didn't you leave?"
"Your words and the miracles…"
Yehoshua stared him down. "You fought to believe. Yehudah gave up this fight. You did not." Yehoshua laid a hand on Matthias' shoulder. "At times, faith in me will be hard, even though all of you have seen me. You know what it is to fight to trust in me."
Tears escaped Matthias' control. He lowered his head. "I resented you choosing Yehudah. I was angry at you."
"I forgive you."
"But you are the Messiah, you are Adonai…"
"Matthias," Yehoshua commanded.
Matthias looked up at him.
"Did you not listen on the road to Emmaus? I am the lamb. My blood is painted on the lintels of your heart. What I did on that cross outside Jerusalem, it was for you as well. I have covered your sin. Will you reject the body and blood I gave?"
Matthias' gaze slipped to the hand on his shoulder, to the wrist scars as red and apparent as they had been in Emmaus. They were never to be fully healed, he thought, to always mark Yehoshua as the one whose blood was the perfect sacrifice.
"Let me heal you. The guilt of Yehudah destroyed him body and soul. That is not the way to follow me. Leave Yehudah behind. Follow me alone."
Let go Yehudah. Let go of guilt. Let the Messiah's blood become the peace of his soul.
"I am leaving soon."
Matthias wiped at his eyes with a thumb and blinked, startled. "My Lord."
"I will be even closer to you than I am now. I will send the Spirit and he will speak in your very soul my words. Listen to him." Yehoshua squeezed his shoulder. "Even if you do not see me, Matthias, I will never leave you ever."
Matthias nodded, believing that what Yehoshua said was true. His eyes fell on Yehoshua's scarred feet. The feet Miryam had poured out honor on with pure nard—a preparation for death and burial. The feet he and Cleopas had forgot to wash and give the honor they were due.
Matthias shifted to his hands and knees, bowing before his Lord and his God. He leaned over and kissed his Savior's feet, the blessed feet that had bled for him.
Yehoshua stood up. Matthias felt his Master's hands lay upon his head for a brief moment, then they lifted. Matthias looked up. Yehoshua had disappeared once again, but Matthias knew without doubt, he had not been left alone.
Their Lord and Messiah left them in his bodily form. He rose into the sky. But he had commanded them back to Jerusalem to await the Spirit whom he would send. They spent their days together, recalling everything he had said to them and what it meant. They prayed and sought him.
And one day, meeting on the Mount of Olives, Kepha stood up among them. They quieted, looking to the rock that their Messiah had chosen to lead his church. Matthias had wondered at the changes in Kepha. He had spent the most time with Yehoshua after his resurrection and the often unwieldy fire that had burned in him had steadied, becoming more of a beacon calling them to stay the course for their Savior.
"Brothers, the Scripture had to be fulfilled in which the Holy Spirit spoke long ago through David concerning Yehudah, who served as guide for those who arrested Jesus. He was one of our number and shared in our ministry."
Several of the disciples glanced at Matthias. He tried to ignore them, but he did wonder why Kepha thought to speak of Yehudah now.
"The Book of Psalms says, 'May his place be deserted; let there be no one to dwell in it,'
and, 'May another take his place of leadership.'"
The words sounded like Yehoshua's. Matthias thought what Kepha was speaking now must have been something Yehoshua had taught him to say.
"Therefore, it is necessary to choose one of those who has been with us the whole time the Lord Yehoshua has lived among us, from Yohanan's baptism to the time when he was taken up from us. One of these must become a witness with us of his resurrection."
Ah, Matthias realized. They were going to replace Yehudah. The twelve needed to always be twelve. That must have been what Yehoshua had instructed.
"I have spoken to the eleven. And we have nominated two who might join us."
Matthias turned his head to his side. Cleopas smiled at him.
"Barsabbas."
The disciple stood. Matthias knew him well. A very good man. He had been training to be a rabbi himself when he had decided to follow Yehoshua. He knew the scriptures well. He would lead the church with knowledge.
And the other? Perhaps Yohanan Marqos, with his fervent devotion. Or Hagab, who couldn't pass a beggar in the streets without giving his money or time.
"Matthias."
Matthias froze. All eyes had fallen on him. Cleopas nudged him in the arm and whispered. "Stand up."
Matthias clumsily untangled his crossed legs, rose to his feet.
"Come forward."
Matthias tumbled forwards up the hill along with Barsabbas. Kepha had them stand before him. The eleven laid their hands on them and prayed to the heavens.
"Lord, you know everyone's heart. Show us which of these two you have chosento take over this apostolic ministry, which Yehudah left to go where he belongs."
Kepha cast the lots, leaving the choice up to Yehoshua.
It will be Barsabbas, Matthias thought. It should be him.
Kepha looked at him. "And the lot falls to Matthias."
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Matthias was congratulated many times, encouraged, pulled aside to pray with each of the other eleven one by one. Cleopas slapped him heartily on the back and declared there was never a better choice.
He broke away from them. He said he had to pray. He made his way outside the city, down to the Valley of Hinnom, next to a field named Akeldama. He knelt beside it.
"Yehudah," he whispered. "If only it were still you." If Yehudah had stayed with them, if he had seen the Messiah arisen, surely he would have believed and been forgiven. How he might have changed just as Kepha had. But this was not the way things would ever be.
Matthias closed his eyes. He listened to the grass crackling in the breeze. He was one of the twelve. "My Lord," he breathed out. "My God. I don't deserve it."
A gust of wind flowed round him, encircled him as an embrace, and a gentle voice whispered in his ear, "And that is why you receive it."
Matthias opened his eyes. He'd had it all wrong all along. Yehoshua had never chosen the twelve because they were better than the rest. He had chosen them because they were not. Because Kepha had a temper and Yohanan and his brother were impulsive and Shimon was an impatient Zealot and Ta'oma prone to disbelief and…Yehudah was greedy for this world. Each of the twelve had been given a chance to accept the grace given them. Yehudah had rejected his; Matthias would not.
Matthias stood up. He firmed his jaw and turned away from Akeldama, the Field of Blood. Leaving it behind, he strode on towards Jerusalem, towards the believers in Yehoshua, and towards the everlasting blood of the Lamb.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. This has turned out to be my longest Easter story, mainly because it covers so much time. If you have read this far, I hope it has been blessing to you. Happy Resurrection Sunday!