Evidently one of these men, a stout Pharisee from the looks of his garb, had just so challenged the Galilean. But if Jesus was perturbed, he did not indicate it. He was speaking calmly, and his resonant but gentle Galilean Aramaic came clearly to them above the din of the cattle in the stalls along the northern cloisters. “He doesn’t speak with the fire and thunder of that Wilderness prophet,” Claudia observed in whispered comment. “He seems not to be the fanatical type, and I’m surprised. He’s handsome, too, and I’m even more surprised at that. I thought he would be another lean and burnt, arm-waving, shouting fanatic, one with a long messy beard, flaming eyes, and soiled clothing—a generally anemic look. But this one’s a strong fellow, though his manner’s gentle enough. Even so, there’s something odd about this. I wonder....”
But suddenly she stopped speaking, for the rabbi had raised his bronzed hand, long forefinger extended, to point to one of the Pharisees who had been questioning him. “You say that I am but testifying to myself and that therefore my testimony is invalid. But I say unto you, my brother, that my testimony is valid. Is it not written in the law that the testimony of two witnesses establishes the fact? Then my testimony is true, for I bear witness and likewise my Father that sent me bears witness. That makes two witnesses; that establishes the truthfulness of the testimony I have borne.”
“Who is this father of whom he speaks?” asked a man standing near the two women. “Is he not the son of a carpenter of Nazareth long dead? How then does he say that his father’s testimony corroborates his own?”
“He’s not speaking of his natural father,” another man standing near-by replied. “He means the God of Israel as his father.”
“But isn’t that blasphemy? How can a man call himself the son of Israel’s God?”
“But if indeed he is the Messiah....” The second man paused, his hand on the questioner’s arm, for Jesus had arisen and, turning, was pointing toward the high altar before the Holy of Holies. “Behold, I am the water of life! If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” The Galilean spoke in calm tones but with warmth of feeling, and in the pause that followed none of his hearers spoke. Again he pointed, this time toward the giant candelabra below the Gate of Nicanor in the Court of the Women; last night the great court and all the environs of the Temple had been ablaze with light from the candelabra and the hundreds of flaming torches. “I am the light of the world!” he declared. “He that follows me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life!”
Claudia nudged her maid. “What does he mean, Tullia?” she whispered.
“I’m not sure I know, Mistress,” the girl answered. “But I take it he’s using a kind of symbolism that the Jews can understand. He must be referring to the ceremony of water pouring and to last night’s illumination of the Temple.”
But the carping Pharisees and the other Temple leaders pretended likewise not to understand.
“The water of life, the light of the world. And your father being a witness to the truthfulness of the testimony you present. These things are incomprehensible to us,” one of them declared. “Rabbi, wasn’t your father a carpenter in Galilee? And where is he to support your witness? Isn’t he dead? How then can you say that you and your father make two witnesses? We have not seen your father, nor have we heard him speak.”