Jenkins The Chosen: Come and See

a novel based on Season 2 of the critically acclaimed TV series
1. Auflage 2022
ISBN: 978-1-68428-313-2
Verlag: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 368 Seiten

As Jesus' ministry grew, more and more people wanted to hear and be healed by this man claiming to be the Messiah. Some were eager; others were critical and reluctant. All, by encountering Jesus, were forever changed. Follow along with Jesus' disciples as they witness miraculous healings, confrontations with the religious establishment, growing concern among Roman officials over Jesus' popularity, and, most of all, love personified. 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. The Chosen: Come and See captures all the action and drama in season two of The Chosen TV series. But it does much more than reflect the show. It also takes us into the backstory, thoughts, and motivations of key characters like Simon (who will later be called Peter), Matthew, Philip, Mary Magdalene, Simon the Zealot, and others. It helps us see them even more as very real, very human, and very much like us.  

JERRY B. JENKINS has written nearly 200 books, including 21 New York Times bestsellers with total sales of more than 71 million copies. He's known for biblical fiction, end-times fiction (the Left Behind series), and many other genres. He also assisted Billy Graham with his memoirs and has written numerous sports biographies. He lives with his wife, Dianna, in Colorado Springs, Colorado. They have three grown sons, one of whom, Dallas, is the creator, cowriter, and director of The Chosen TV series.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jenkins, Jerry B.

Leseproben

Chapter 1

“…BEFORE HE KNEW ME”

Grief.

On the fifth day of sitting shiva for his brother, Big James, slain by the sword at the direction of King Herod Agrippa of Judea, John tries to distract himself from his heartache. The disciple who believes he was most favored by Jesus has dug out the scant notes he’s kept since his days with the Rabbi. Spurred by this latest tragedy, he’s eager to flesh them out before he and his mates risk the same fate. Fretting over getting his account just right, John has invited his friends to share their memories, those who had been with him and his brother with Jesus for three years no mortal could ever forget. The churches, the world, must know.

John has filled the main room of his unassuming home with chairs and benches. But will his mates come, especially on a night like this? They had attended Big James’s funeral, of course, and sat with Jesus’ mother and John the first evening. They aren’t required or expected to return a second time during the seven-day mourning period, but in truth he has asked them for more than just comfort and support this time.

Black clouds rolled in late this afternoon, and now distant flashes appear on the horizon. If his beloved compatriots don’t arrive soon, they will be caught in a downpour. John cracks open the front door, and a cold wind forces him to hold it tight to keep it from banging the wall.

“Patience,” Mother Mary says, raising her shawl to cover her head. “They’ll be here. You know they will. It’s barely the first hour of the night.”

The radiant woman has lived with John since the crucifixion of her son so long ago. From the cross, Jesus told her, “Woman, behold, your son!” And he told John, “Behold, your mother!”

Indeed, Mary immediately became like a mother to John, and he cherishes her—and feels cherished. The years—and sorrow—have grayed her, yet he values every line in her serene face.

“Close the door,” she says, her hand gentle on his shoulder.

As he presses it shut, a gust through the window extinguishes a candle on the sill, and the rain begins.

“Oh, no,” he says.

“Don’t fret,” Mary says. “These men have endured all kinds of weather …”

“But young Mary will be with them—”

“A grown woman!” she says with a smile. “And no doubt prepared. Just make sure the fire is roaring and be ready to wash muddy feet.”

An hour later, everyone has arrived—shaken the rain from their garments, had their feet washed, and taken their turn by the fire. Regretting that he has put them through this, John is relieved and warmed. The mood is only slightly different from what it had been the first night of shiva, but clearly his friends feel awkward, unsure what to say, how to act.

“Tonight I just want to talk,” he says, trying to put them at ease.

The mood is somber, but he must raise his voice over the crackling fire and howling wind. He sits at a table before them, his pages illuminated by candles flickering in the draft. “I’ll ask questions, take some notes.”

“About your brother?” Matthew blurts.

“He’s on my heart and mind, of course,” John says, “but no. I want to talk about Jesus. Let me start with you, Peter, if you don’t mind. Tell me about when you first met him.”

Peter smiles through a graying beard. “Long before he changed my name. Hmm. The first time? You the first time, John. You were there.”

“Humor me.”

Peter sighs. “I was out on Andrew’s old sloop. I’d had a bad night.” He gazes up. “At first I didn’t even know it was him. Remember? I thought he was a Roman about to ruin my life.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“And what happened next?”

Simon Peter recounts the whole story, how he resisted the man’s help, finally acceded to his advice, and was soon nearly capsized by a haul of fish from nowhere. He fell at Jesus’ feet and pleaded, “Depart from me! I am a sinful man.” But Jesus told him not to be afraid, but to follow him and become a fisher of men.

Next, it’s Thomas’s turn. He tells John, “It was at a moment when I thought my career and my reputation were about to be destroyed.” He can’t keep from laughing, and John finds this somehow comforting at a time reserved for grief. recording Thomas’s account of Jesus saving a wedding feast, and Thomas and Ramah’s reputation, by turning water to wine.

Nathanael says, “My first time? Philip simply said, ‘Come and see.’ And I did.” He sits staring at John. “And look, I don’t know how to describe it other than … He knew me before he knew me.” Nathanael had sat alone in anguish under a fig tree, and the Rabbi said he’d seen him there and knew him by name.

“Me?” Andrew says, smiling. “I was standing next to John the Baptizer …”

“Creepy John,” Simon Peter interjects, perhaps forgetting where he is and why.

“… And he walked by. I got to know him. And John freaked out. He said, ‘Behold!’”

“‘I’m eating a new bug,’” Peter teases.

Andrew pushes him.

John thinks.

Thaddeus sits before John and next to Little James. “For me, the first time—Jesus was just sitting there eating lunch with all the construction workers, cracking jokes.” The memory amuses him, then appears to grieve him.

Little James says, “I was on my way to Jerusalem.” But suddenly he breaks down. “I’m sorry. All of this is just—it’s di?cult to talk about. It reminds me of how much I miss him.”

“But we have to,” John says.

“I know. I just—I talk about him to others every day. But with all of you, who knew him, it’s di?cult.”

Sitting across from the younger Mary, now a mature woman herself—bearing the same docile beauty he has seen in her since her deliverance from demons—John says, “Just tell me about the first time you actually saw him.”

She smiles self-consciously. “It was in a tavern.” Mary nods. “He set his hand on mine.” She looks up quickly. “Which isn’t what it sounds like. Maybe leave that part out. People will get confused.”

“I don’t know yet what I’ll be including,” John says. “I’m just writing it all down.”

“Good,” she says, and recounts the story of the stranger who revealed himself as her creator and redeemer by knowing her name and transforming her life.

John is struck by the contrast between the Matthew who sits before him and the tax collector he had been when Jesus called him. Back then, he wore finery he could easily afford, and his youthful face was bare and smooth. Now he sports a full beard, and his clothes are as plain and ragged as the others’.

“It was the fourth morning of the third week of the month of Adar …” Matthew begins. “Sometime during the second hour.”

The same old Matthew. “It doesn’t have to be precise,” John says.

Matthew recoils. “Why wouldn’t it have to be precise? Mine will be precise.”

This surprises John not a bit. He is aware Matthew is working on his own record, and he can’t wait to see how it reflects the meticulously obsessive author. For now, he relishes the story of Matthew responding in wonder to the call of the Master and astounding his Roman guard by simply leaving everything to follow Jesus.

John saves Mother Mary till the end. She settles across from him, looking weary. He asks her the same question he has posed to the others.

“My answer might not make sense,” she says.

“Try me, Mother.”

“I can hardly remember a time when I didn’t know him.” She pauses and seems to study John. “There was one little kick.”

John rustles a clean sheet of papyrus from his stack and scribbles with his reed pen. “Go on.”

Mary hesitates, gazing at him. “My son, why are you doing all this? Why now?”

“Because we’re getting older, and our memories are—”

“I mean why now, during shiva?”

“Because everyone is here. I need to get their memories, so—”

“You need to mourn Big James.”

John can’t meet her eyes. “He won’t be the last of us this happens to. Who knows when I will see the others again, or if? I’m not in a hurry to write a whole book, but I do want to get the eyewitness stories now, while we’re together.”

“Isn’t Matthew going to write something?”

“He’s writing only about what he saw and what Jesus told him directly. But I was there for things that Matthew doesn’t know about. I was in Jesus’ inmost circle. He loved me.”

“He loved all of you.” She smiles. “You just feel the need to talk about it more often.”

John can’t deny that.

Wistfully, Mary says, “I prefer to treasure...