Jenkins The Chosen: And I Will Give You Rest

a novel based on Season 3 of the critically acclaimed TV series
1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-68428-316-3
Verlag: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 416 Seiten

To the Pharisees, Jesus is a blasphemer. To the Roman authorities, he's a threat to their rule and order. But to the masses, he's a miraculous healer and a profound teacher. In this third installment of The Chosen series, we see Jesus healing the sick, preaching the Sermon on the Mount, feeding the five thousand, and raising the dead. We see his enemies growing ever more determined to silence him. And we see his very human disciples struggling with their own questions and concerns, believing in but not yet understanding their Messiah. Based on the acclaimed TV series The Chosen, the most amazing story ever told-the life of Jesus-gets a fresh, new telling from New York Times bestselling author Jerry B. Jenkins.  

JERRY JENKINS-whose son Dallas is the creator of The Chosen TV series-has written more than 200 books with sales of more than 72 million copies, including 21 New York Times bestsellers. He is known for biblical fiction, end-times fiction (the Left Behind series), and many other genres. Jerry assisted Billy Graham with his memoirs and has written numerous other biographies. He's a member of the Colorado Authors Hall of Fame and serves as chair of the Creative Writing major at Colorado Christian University. He and his wife, Dianna, have three grown sons.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jenkins, Jerry B.

Leseproben

Chapter 1

“DON’T CALL ME ABBA”

Matthew dreads the day ahead.

A rising star within the Roman Authority under Praetor Quintus, he has seen his sphere of authority expanded. Despite being the youngest tax collector in his hometown, he is now in charge of enforcing penalties for any Jewish citizens delinquent in their tributes to Rome. He’s known for his business acumen and the ability to squeeze every last shekel from those in his district. Matthew has quickly learned all the tricks of his trade.

To bolster even his lucrative salary, he pockets anything he can collect in excess of what is actually owed to Rome. When implying a higher obligation to fellow Jews who know better, he suggests that compliance will afford them a break in the future—not in the amount he expects, but perhaps in the time they’re allowed to pay it. He carefully manages the resources to keep Rome satisfied while more than doubling his income in the long run.

Such practices have afforded Matthew his mansion in the most exclusive neighborhood in town, not to mention the finest imported apparel, footwear, fragrances, and jewelry. The irony of it all is that he laps up the envy of his fellow citizens, while his very oddness makes him long for invisibility. He knows he misses the subtlety of sarcasm and barbed humor, but he fully understands the contempt hurled his way everywhere he is recognized—it comes in curses and spittle. Matthew cannot remember the last time he was met with a smile. He lives for the hint of admiration that comes from the Romans, who shake their heads at what he is able to weasel out of his own people.

he thinks Beyond a few fellow tax collectors, he has no friend among the Jews. They clearly view him as the ultimate turncoat, traitor, financial cudgel. It’s not enough that they suffer the iron fist of Rome. No. That fist is thrust by the quirky, baby-faced son of Alphaeus and Elisheba—Jews so devout that for years they called Matthew Levi, convinced he would someday honor the one true God as a priest among his people.

Matthew quickly disabused his parents of that notion as a youngster in Hebrew school. Even then he was vilified by boys his age who could have, should have, been his pals. But he was slighter than most, proved anything but athletic, and ran—when he ran—with a halting, awkward gait. He only watched the others roughhouse, having no interest in soiling his tunic or enduring taunts about his idiosyncrasies.

Even he did not understand his obsession with precision and order. His scrolls, paper, writing instruments, and the like had to be arranged just so before him on the table. His seeming preternatural affinity for numbers and calculations made Matthew what the others called the rabbi’s pet. And while they painstakingly memorized the Torah, he was pushed ahead to mathematical classes with older students.

Somehow he understood that, though those his own age were loath to admit it, they had to envy him, even if they did not accept him. Well, he would show them, leave them in the dust. And while his ability to induce the disdain of his compatriots extended to his stellar tax collecting career, he told himself he would trade wealth and status for acceptance any day. Even his devastated parents had to acknowledge his singular achievement, didn’t they?

Yet today, as he endures his maddening morning routine, more niggles at the back of his mind than simply hoping to avoid as many scowls and curses from his fellow Jews as possible. Selecting his attire, jewelry, and fragrance requires the usual touching of every piece before settling on the very ones he lands on every day, and all the while he rehearses how he’ll handle his diciest task so far.

Today is the day he leaves his tax booth closed and makes the rounds of the homes of those behind in their accounts. He’ll take with him the centurion Lucius, one of his own guard’s most threatening henchmen. Lucius’s mere presence intimidates most into paying up immediately. Scofflaws who might normally attempt to shame Matthew for serving as a lapdog to the Romans tend to hold their tongues when they encounter the soldier.

While overdue collection day is always awkward and exhausting, it can also prove lucrative. Yet nothing about this day appeals to Matthew, for he has scheduled his toughest case first. And for this one, he has assigned Lucius the task of making the approach and the demand on his own. Matthew will look on from within earshot but out of sight.

“I’ve got this,” Lucius tells Matthew. “I love this kind of work.”

“Just see that he pays—today.”

“Oh, he’ll pay, one way or the other.”

Matthew shows the soldier the name on his ledger and points out the house. Resplendent in red, Lucius strides to the door, his clanging metal and squeaking leather drawing stares from others in the street. He spreads his feet and bangs loudly four times.

“Coming!”

As the door swings open, the resident’s look of curiosity dissolves into a shudder. Before the man can speak, Lucius bellows, “Alphaeus bar Joram?”

“Yes,” the man manages, sounding tentative.

“You are twenty days past your deadline for this quarter’s tribute. Your collector has transferred your case to the Roman office. Are you able to pay your penalty now?”

Alphaeus has turned ashen. “I—I filed for an extension in the month of—”

“I’ll take that as a no. By decree of Quintus, honorable praetor of Capernaum, I must remand you into custody.”

Matthew blanches. He had not expected Lucius to leapfrog to such aggression so quickly. Surely Alphaeus will quickly find a way to pay.

“I’m very sorry,” Alphaeus says. “I didn’t realize—”

Lucius removes a leather strap from his waistbelt. “Turn around!”

Matthew decides.

“Sir,” Alphaeus whines, “I didn’t realize. May I request an extension of just five days?”

Agonizing now, Matthew hopes against hope Lucius will grant the request. Five days is nothing. It’s not as if the man is a criminal.

But Lucius grabs Alphaeus’s arm. And from inside comes the plaintive call of a woman. “Alphaeus, who is it?”

Matthew thinks. This is spiraling out of control.

“Everything’s fine, Elisheba!” Alphaeus calls out, somehow able to sound more confident than he looks. He whispers to Lucius, “Please, I beg you …”

Lucius yanks Alphaeus from the doorway and slams him against the frame.

“Adonai in heaven!” Alphaeus cries.

“Adonai is not here,” Lucius barks, beginning to tie Alphaeus’s hands behind his back.

It’s more than Matthew can stomach, and he quickly approaches. “I can settle this, Lucius. There’s actually been a mistake.”

Lucius looks shocked. “What do you mean? You told me to—”

“I’m aware, but I’ve realized the timeline was miscalculated. I will clear it up. Thank you.”

“ miscalculated? That’s never happened!”

“I was given inaccurate information, but now it’s being corrected. I will handle this. It would be best for you to go to our next house, and I will meet you at the booth in one hour.”

Lucius glares at Alphaeus, shakes his head at Matthew, and trudges away.

Alphaeus narrows his eyes at Matthew. “Are now my—”

“It isn’t prudent to discuss this now, Abba. There isn’t much time.”

“First the shame of your choice—and now you are actually my collector?”

“Matthew?” Elisheba says from the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Your son is our publicanus!” Alphaeus says.

“Matthew, no,” she says, covering her mouth.

“He sent a soldier to your home!” Alphaeus adds.

“I’m sorry,” Matthew says quickly. “I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t choose this district.”

“You this job!” Alphaeus shouts. “The Romans never forced you into it. You to apply. You to betray—”

“Unlike you, Abba, I chose a secure future.” Matthew regrets this as soon as it comes from his mouth.

His mother says, “You are called to trust in Adonai with your whole heart and to lean not on your own understanding.”

“I trusted!” Matthew says. “But can you name one thing Adonai has done for our people in a hundred years? Five hundred?”

“A traitor a blasphemer,” Alphaeus spits.

Matthew thinks. “Well,” he says, “you owe your government two months’ worth of tribute.”

Alphaeus presses his lips together. “I will bring in a payment at the end of the week.”

“You’ve missed two payments. I was hoping Lucius would convince you, but I will no longer protect you.”

“I don’t your protection!”

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