“From what?”
Myers turned to Fielding. “You did not tell them?”
“We told them.”
“You mean the wounds from the cross?” asked Tamara.
“Of course. And more. He hung there for about four hours,” Juliette explained. “He was also stabbed in the side with a spear, one of those crude Roman ones. The loss of blood was the first problem we had to work on. And the shock of nearly dying up there.”
Again going into lecture mode, she continued, “There were also the lacerations on his back. He was flogged, you know. He was a weakened man when he was put up there. The doctor who treated him told us that he was very close to dying when we ‘grabbed’ him. Not in good shape at all.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious to meet our guest,” Fielding cut in. “Later, we can talk about the procedures and what we’ve learned so far. If you’ll come right this way.”
He turned to open a door but halted and turned back. “One other thing. Do not say anything about God or the issue of Jesus’ divinity.”
Dr. Myers immediately added, “You have to understand that his concept of God and yours are probably very, very different. He was a devout apocalyptic Jew living in an age totally different from ours.”
Stryker looked as if he was about to object somehow, but he kept his mouth shut. Tamara had a fair idea what Myers was saying. She had been very interested in religions as a teen, and studied them more than the average person. Early Christianity in particular had fascinated her.
“Shall we go?” said Fielding with his hand on the door.
Without waiting for replies, he opened the door and walked through, leaving them to follow.
They were outdoors. It was late afternoon and the sun was just above the top of the western wall, casting a shadow that covered the whole courtyard. There was some patio furniture, a table and chairs, and a barbeque. There was also, near the chairs, a brick lined circle only a foot or so high. Inside were black lava rocks. A fire pit. Around the courtyard were a dozen palm trees.
Fielding gestured for them to pause while Dr. Myers went ahead of them. This gave them a little time to take in the man sitting in the chair only twenty feet distant.
He was not at all the image of what Jesus should look like. Every depiction of him had him as a tall man with a gentle, kindly face, a well-trimmed beard and long, graceful hair. This man was hardly kind looking, and his beard could definitely use a trim, giving the impression that he would not allow scissors to touch it. He was dressed in blue slacks, sandals on bare feet, and a dark blue sweatshirt with UCLA in bold letters across the front. Upon hearing voices, his eyes opened and he turned to take in the visitors. When he saw that two of them were new to him, he sat up a little straighter. His eyes were turned towards Tamara as they walked up.
“ Shelama , rabbi,” Myers said. Then, in Aramaic, “I have brought a couple of friends who wish to meet you.” He gestured them forward. Stryker looked confused, as if he had trouble grasping the situation. Tamara smiled, and tried to tell herself that this was nothing special, just meeting a man. No need to act or say anything different than she would meeting any other man. Certainly no reason for her legs to feel weak and her stomach tense.
“This is my friend Brian,” Myers said, waving his hand at the Project Director. He spoke in Aramaic with only the name coming through clearly. He did not try to explain the man’s position. Jesus would have trouble understand what a Project Director was.
“And this is Tamara, a friend.”
Jesus slowly got to his feet. Up close, the bandages around his wrists were obvious, sticking out of the sweatshirt’s sleeve. There were also almost healed scars
Myers turned to Fielding. “You did not tell them?”
“We told them.”
“You mean the wounds from the cross?” asked Tamara.
“Of course. And more. He hung there for about four hours,” Juliette explained. “He was also stabbed in the side with a spear, one of those crude Roman ones. The loss of blood was the first problem we had to work on. And the shock of nearly dying up there.”
Again going into lecture mode, she continued, “There were also the lacerations on his back. He was flogged, you know. He was a weakened man when he was put up there. The doctor who treated him told us that he was very close to dying when we ‘grabbed’ him. Not in good shape at all.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious to meet our guest,” Fielding cut in. “Later, we can talk about the procedures and what we’ve learned so far. If you’ll come right this way.”
He turned to open a door but halted and turned back. “One other thing. Do not say anything about God or the issue of Jesus’ divinity.”
Dr. Myers immediately added, “You have to understand that his concept of God and yours are probably very, very different. He was a devout apocalyptic Jew living in an age totally different from ours.”
Stryker looked as if he was about to object somehow, but he kept his mouth shut. Tamara had a fair idea what Myers was saying. She had been very interested in religions as a teen, and studied them more than the average person. Early Christianity in particular had fascinated her.
“Shall we go?” said Fielding with his hand on the door.
Without waiting for replies, he opened the door and walked through, leaving them to follow.
They were outdoors. It was late afternoon and the sun was just above the top of the western wall, casting a shadow that covered the whole courtyard. There was some patio furniture, a table and chairs, and a barbeque. There was also, near the chairs, a brick lined circle only a foot or so high. Inside were black lava rocks. A fire pit. Around the courtyard were a dozen palm trees.
Fielding gestured for them to pause while Dr. Myers went ahead of them. This gave them a little time to take in the man sitting in the chair only twenty feet distant.
He was not at all the image of what Jesus should look like. Every depiction of him had him as a tall man with a gentle, kindly face, a well-trimmed beard and long, graceful hair. This man was hardly kind looking, and his beard could definitely use a trim, giving the impression that he would not allow scissors to touch it. He was dressed in blue slacks, sandals on bare feet, and a dark blue sweatshirt with UCLA in bold letters across the front. Upon hearing voices, his eyes opened and he turned to take in the visitors. When he saw that two of them were new to him, he sat up a little straighter. His eyes were turned towards Tamara as they walked up.
“ Shelama , rabbi,” Myers said. Then, in Aramaic, “I have brought a couple of friends who wish to meet you.” He gestured them forward. Stryker looked confused, as if he had trouble grasping the situation. Tamara smiled, and tried to tell herself that this was nothing special, just meeting a man. No need to act or say anything different than she would meeting any other man. Certainly no reason for her legs to feel weak and her stomach tense.
“This is my friend Brian,” Myers said, waving his hand at the Project Director. He spoke in Aramaic with only the name coming through clearly. He did not try to explain the man’s position. Jesus would have trouble understand what a Project Director was.
“And this is Tamara, a friend.”
Jesus slowly got to his feet. Up close, the bandages around his wrists were obvious, sticking out of the sweatshirt’s sleeve. There were also almost healed scars
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