"The mass of bodies extended outside where the crowd seemed interminable, a sea of faces murmuring, straining to see, wondering when Jesus would come out."

Should it seem strange that the crowd could ignore the absence of Jesus and at the same time strain to see him, remember that crowds are made up of people with different needs, different expectations. Loud disturbances arose from time to time, as though clusters of them were being agitated by something.

The excitement level of the crowd indeed required attention. Quietly, Jesus stood and made his way through the hot room to the door. As best they could, people made way for him.

There stood just outside the door, several scribes who had come from Jerusalem to Peter's house in Capharnaum. They were attempting to convince the people that Jesus was driven by evil, perhaps even possessed of a demon. As Jesus emerged someone shouted, "He casts out demons through the Prince of Demons! He is himself demonic!" Shouts of anger and derision.

Others caught their breath in horror and shouted, "Not so! He healed my daughter's blindness!"

"My neighbor's deformed leg was straightened!"

"He speaks of God's love for us! Could Satan do that?"

Jesus held up his hand, quieting the crowd and said simply, "Satan does not cast out Satan!" The words fell so heavy, so final that in the ensuing silence you could have heard an ant making its way to supper. It was as if all were struck dumb. Abishag barked at the sudden quiet, adding punctuation to her master's remark. He continued, "Any government, organization or family that is divided against itself will not stand." Silent nods of assent. No one, especially the scribes, attempted to debate. His logic was inescapable, the clarity and authority with which he spoke, irresistible. "So if Satan has risen up against himself, he, too, comes to an end." He paused, the corner of his mouth raised in a slight smile. Raising one eyebrow he said, "And, as you can see, I am still here."

The crowd jostled and moved about. What was it!? Something in their seeming endless agitation caught his eye. Jesus continued to teach, yet he seemed alerted. Something was wrong. "Soon," he said, "the Holy Spirit will come to live within you. If you are to resist the legions of Satan, his presence in your life is critical. You see, no one can go into a powerful man's house and usurp ownership unless he first overcomes this man. The Spirit of the Living God is not a man, regardless of that man's strength. The Spirit of the Living God cannot be overcome by Satan or anyone, or anything else. Not even your own sins, which are far worse than Satan's influence over you. Never forget that. If the Spirit of God resides in you, you are safe. You are protected. There are three sources of sentient evil: Satan, you and others like you. But the Spirit of the Living God overrules and preempts all three. No force, evil or otherwise, can resist him."

The listeners heard, but it was clear that not many understood. Jesus paused, as if waiting for a response. When none came, he turned and re-entered the house, his expression dark and foreboding. Sitting down, he leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. I heard him utter something . . . something like, "My father . . ." It was hardly audible. What was happening? Why was he in such pain?

"James!" he cried suddenly. Jesus looked up, tears in his eyes. "James, my brother!" this time in anguish. I looked around for James but could not see him.

Those standing about began to mutter, "Where the devil is his brother? He is calling for his brother." It spread among those who were near and out into the street. In a moment, James appeared at the door, his face sober. Mournful eyes met. James began to speak. "Jesus," he said, "our father . . ." he halted, struggling for words . . .

"Our father is dead." Jesus finished for him. Suppressing his pain and with surprising determination, his jaw firmly set, Jesus stood.

"He's already in the grave, Jesus. Let us go to him, to mother, to our family. With your powers you can . . ." Abruptly, amazingly, his brother turned his back on him. Shocked, James cried, "Jesus!"

As midnight in the forest, the silence held them both. Quietly, James realized that there was to be no miracle this time.

"No, James. You go. I cannot. Not just now. I am needed here. My father is . . . with my Father."

As James, benumbed by his brother's response, turned to go, Jesus stepped back through the crowd. Walking away, seeking release from the moment, Jesus seemed the loneliest I had ever seen him. To this day I cannot explain his reaction to the news of his father's death. Sometimes he seemed tortured by his own existence.