Now, Caiaphas was one bad dude, filled to the brim with serpentine toxins. He relished his agility in matters of deceit. He delighted in the honor he amassed at the expense of those he shamed. Oh, how he loved to play the game. Sitting in the highest place, he observed the factions down below. First: his political supporters, the would-be players turned his pawns, pacified by his greasy smile and ignoring (read: licking) his greedy fingers wriggling under the table. Second: the outspoken opponents of his father-in-law’s nepotistic agenda; they stood outside the dining room, disinvited to recline. They were restless. They were hungry. They were ready for dissension. And third: the infiltrators, those he could never see but always sensed. They were subtle. They were few – but a force with which he was forced to reckon, subverting and transforming his party from within.
Nicodemus was one of these.
Over a decade ago, though he’d failed to topple the pharisaical fortress, Nicodemus had gathered a following unto himself, and he remained in the inner circle, despite the efforts of the godfather. He was crafty. He was cautious. He was curious about Jesus.
The storm was brewing on the winds of Jesus’ approach to Jerusalem, and Nicodemus could see opportunity. No, more than that: he could see another way, a fresh order, a different kingdom. Jesus wasn’t simply another leg up within the system. He was an entirely new system. And he was coming over for dinner that night.
Of course, what with the crowds that followed him, his own motley crew, and the Party members thirsty for revenge, the stage was set. Nicodemus had only to send out the VIP invites. Nobody would decline.
Caiaphas and Jesus arrived simultaneously – one, fashionably late; the other, inconvenienced by ridiculous love. Even after finally reaching the door, he gestured for the high priest to be patient, turned, and knelt to listen to yet another beggar. Nicodemus stifled a laugh as he watched Caiaphas tremble with the indignation of being forced to wait. This would be a night to remember.
Jesus, still kneeling, turned and looked up at Caiaphas. He paused and furrowed his brow, as if forgetful of a technicality. “Do you remember, Caiaphas? Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath, or not?”
The crowd watched, and Caiaphas balked. And Jesus, shrugging off his question, turned to the man and rid him of disease. Then, with Jesus gesturing for the high priest to go first, they came together into the home.
Nicodemus observed as the elite entered his home. Yes, even Jesus held power, though he seemed to refuse to wield any. Nicodemus couldn’t say he understood, exactly, but he respected the rabbi, and he anticipated the revelation of a mystery. His own personal apocalypse?
The guests finished with the washing and went to recline for dinner, most of them clearly jockeying for position. Most. Not all. Nicodemus watched Jesus exchange soft words with the servant boy before settling in. He chose a seat off-center, the lowest place. Nicodemus followed and knelt beside the rabbi. He hadn’t planned to be so forward, so obvious. Still. Maybe it was time to step out of the shadows. He raised his hand for attention, and the Party gathered like clouds of indecision. Suddenly, Jesus tapped Nicodemus on the shoulder and began to speak in parables.
“Imagine. You are invited to a party of the elite; it’s the finest gathering of the highest minds and deepest pockets.” As Jesus began speaking, he held his wine aloft. The group of men chuckled self-righteously, registering quickly that they themselves were “the elite.”
“Imagine. You stream into the home of a generous host.” Jesus gave Nicodemus an arm around the shoulder, a quick hug even. “And after washing, you look for a place at the table. What do you do?”
Caiaphas cleared his throat and spread his arms wide. “You distract your host with a cheap entertainer and rob him of his place of honor!”
All around the room, men tensed, ready for conflict. They knew the political background. They knew the host. And most of all, they knew who the entertainer was in this equation.
Jesus shook his head and smiled sadly. Then, he rose and circled around to the other end of the table, opposite Caiaphas at the head. “You find the lowest place. You put yourself in a position of humility. And you let your actions speak for themselves. Who knows. The host may notice you and put you in the place of honor himself.” Looking aside, Jesus caught Nicodemus’ eyes. “Imagine. You stop playing the game.”
The room spun, suspended in time, reorienting itself in space. Colors shimmered wildly as shapes bent inside out. Caiaphas began to shrink and as he did, he shrieked. He clambered onto the table; in no time, he was small enough to hold. And the servant boy did just that, setting down the pitcher and scooping up his master. Jewelry and decor melting throughout the room. Dishes exploding in puffs of dust. A dream thicker than memory. Flowers and streams of water coming up out of the floor. Heads turning in slow motion, away from the tiny priest, toward a new kind of man, he taller than them all, and on his knees. An upside down reality. A reversal.
“An apocalypse,” gasped Nicodemus.
And everything clicked into place.
Luke 14:1-14 • Matthew 11:25