“And here,” she said, tapping one of the pages, “this part where he refers to ‘his brother.’ Who else can that be but Saint James the Apostle, the brother of Jesus.”
“His brother or his cousin, depending on which authority you believe.”
But he sat up straighter in the bed and took the page from her. As he scanned the passage it occurred to him that she had a point. The recent publication of some obscure Dead Sea scroll fragments suggested a link between the Essenes of Qumran and the Jerusalem wing of the early Christian church, or “Nazarean movement,” as it was called. The Jerusalem Church had been led by St. James. King Herod Agrippa martyred his share of early Christians, and even the High Priest Ananus was after them. So they were periodically fleeing into the desert.
“You know,” he said softly, “I never saw it before. I mean, the writing was so disjointed and cryptic, but the timing fits. If we assume that ‘his death’ refers to the crucifixion, and that ‘his brother’ arrived ‘two decades and a half’ later, that would date the Glass scroll somewhere around 58 AD” Dan felt a tingle of excitement in his gut. “James was still alive in 58. Ananus didn’t have him killed until 62.”
Carrie clutched his arm. “And tradition says Mary died 22 years after Jesus’ death, which is pretty darn close to two decades and a half.”
Dan could tell Carrie was getting pumped again. It seemed to be contagious. His own heart had picked up its tempo.
“But who wrote this? If we can trust the little he says about himself, I would guess he was a scribe or a Pharisee, or both.”
“How can you tell that?”
“Well, he’s educated. Hal told me the scroll was written in the Aramaic of the time with Greek and Latin words and expressions thrown in. The striped blue sleeve he mentions, and his former free access to the Temple—he’s got to be a Pharisee.”
“He talks about the inheritance he left behind.”
“Right. A rich Pharisee.”
“But weren’t the Pharisees proud? This guy’s wearing rags and he says even the lice won’t bite him. And he tried to drown himself.”
“In the Dead Sea, apparently—it was called the Sea of Lot back in those days. Okay. So he’s a severely depressed Pharisee who’s fallen on hard times and suffers from a heavy-duty lack of self-esteem.”
Carrie smiled. God, he loved that smile. “Sounds like he’d fit right in at Loaves and Fishes. But what’s this about Hellenists?”
Dan reread the passage. The pieces began falling into place. “You know...he could be referring to Saint Paul’s wing of the early church. The two groups had a falling out.”
“I knew there were disagreements, but—”
“More than disagreements. A complete split. James and his followers remained in Jerusalem as observant Jews, sticking to all the dietary laws and customs while they awaited the Second Coming of the Messiah, which they assumed would happen any day. Paul, on the other hand, was out in the hinterlands, working the crowds, converting Jews and Gentiles alike to his own brand of Christianity. His father was a Roman and so Paul had a different slant on Jesus’s teachings, one that sacked the dietary laws and most Jewish traditions. It mentions here ‘the brother’s’ fear of the ‘Hellenists using the mother’s remains for their own purposes’—the scroll has got to be referring to James’s rivalry with Paul’s movement.”
Dan stared at Carrie, his heart pounding, his spirits soaring. Good God, it all fit! The scroll described an encounter with James and the remnant of the Jerusalem church shortly before James was martyred.
“Carrie, this is incredible! Why hasn’t anybody else—?” Then he slammed on the brakes as he remembered. “Wait. Just wait.” He shook his head to clear away the adrenaline buzz. “What am I doing?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything’s wrong. The scroll is a fake, Carrie. The ink is modern. We’ve got to remember that. A damn skillful job, but a proven forgery. Almost had me going there, wondering why nobody else had put these pieces together. Then I realized why: Nobody bothered to try. Why waste time interpreting a fake?”
“No,” Carrie said, shaking her head defiantly. “This is true.”
“Carrie,” he said, stroking her arm, “somebody tried to pull a fast one on the world.”
“Why? Why would someone want to do such a thing?”
“Maliciousness. Like calling in a bomb scare to a concert and watching everybody scramble out. Malicious mischief on an international scale. If the scroll had been released to the world as authentic, someone would have come to the same conclusion as we. The liberal and fundamentalist sects of the Christian world would be up in arms, the Vatican would be releasing encyclicals, the Judean Desert would be filled with expeditions in search of the remains of the Mother of God. There’d be years of chaos. And all the while, our forger would be sitting back, giggling, knowing he caused it all.”
“But to what end? I don’t get it.”
Dan looked at her. No, Carrie wouldn’t get it. This sort of maliciousness was beyond her comprehension. That was why he loved her.
“A power trip, Carrie. Pure ego. The same loser personality that creates a computer virus. The Christian world is in chaos, all because of some lame-o’s clever forgery. All I can say is it’s a damn good thing the Rockefeller Museum did a thorough testing job.”
“I don’t care what the tests say,” she said, tapping the sheets on her lap. “This is true.”
“Carrie, the ink—”
“I don’t care! I don’t care if the ink’s still wet! This man speaks the truth. Can’t you feel it? There’s real pain here, Dan. Whoever wrote these words is isolated—from his friends, from his family, from his God. The loneliness, the anguish...it seeps through in every sentence.”
“Then how do you explain the carbon dating?”
“I can’t. And I’m not going to try. But I am going to prove the truth of these words. And you’re going to help.”
Dan had a sudden bad feeling about what was coming.
“I am?”
“Yes, dear. Somehow, some way, you and I are going to Israel and we’re going to find the earthly remains of the Virgin Mary.”
Dan smiled, humoring her. She was simply a little crazy now. She’d get over it. Besides, there was no way they’d be able to get away to Israel together.
ELEVEN
The Judean Wilderness
Dan wiped his face on his sleeve as they drove through the barren sandy hills.
“Let’s find a shady spot and take a break.”
“There is no shade,” Carrie said. “But I’ll drive if you want.”
He peered through the Explorer’s dusty windshield at the undulating landscape shimmering before them. They’d been wandering through the desert mountains most of the morning, following one wadi, then another, turning this way and that. Still Dan was unable get a handle on his surroundings. He’d never seen anything like it. So barren, so desolate, so close to the sky, so alone. No wonder the prophets went to the desert to find and talk to their God—this was a place devoid of earthly distractions.
Except, perhaps, survival.
“No. Better if I drive and you navigate.”
“Okay. But we’re going to find it soon. It’s somewhere up ahead, I just know it.”
“How can you possibly know it?”
She looked at him. Her face was flushed, just like it got in the shelter kitchen, but her eyes were brighter and more exited than he could remember.
“I can feel it. Can’t you?”
Dan shrugged. The only thing he felt was hot.
The air conditioner had given out somewhere around Enot Qane and they’d been sweltering ever since. At least Dan had. Not Carrie. The heat didn’t seem to affect her. Or perhaps she was too excited to notice.
Carrie had changed. She’d always been driven, and her boundless energies had been focused on keeping St. Joe’s homeless kitchen operating at peak efficiency, doing as much as possible for as many as possible. But her focus had shifted since that evening when she discovered the translation of the forged scroll. She’d become obsessed with finding this so-called Resting Place.