Finding the King

Chuza trotted up on his mount. “I’ve never seen so much traffic on this road,” he said. “You’d think it was a feast day.” He signaled for the caravan to pull off near a shady stream. The drivers led their animals to the water. Joanna and her servants climbed stiffly out of the wagon, relieved to feel the ground under their feet. “Are you alright?” asked Chuza. “Yes, I’m fine,” said Joanna. The servants nodded as they fluffed out their sweaty skirts. “I’m proud of all of you,” said Chuza. “Will you lunch with us?” said Joanna. “Of course.” Joanna was thirsty for cold water, so she grabbed a cup and headed to the stream with Plato. She gulped down two cups while Plato waded in and lapped at the icy liquid. Joanna noticed a man and woman approaching on foot. A little girl was perched on their donkey. “Look at the doggie, Mama!” exclaimed the girl. Her mother shushed her. “It’s alright,” said Joanna. She lifted Plato from the stream and let him shake, then carried him to the girl. “You may pet him,” she said. “He won’t hurt you.” The girl timidly patted Plato’s soggy fur. He wagged his greeting and licked the girl’s cheek. Joanna invited the family to lunch. “Are you sure?” said the woman. “Absolutely,” said Joanna. “We have plenty.” She waited for the family to drink then led them to the wagon. “We have guests!” she announced. Beulah and Yudy served up plates of salted fish, grapes, cheese, olives, crusty bread, and cinnamon cakes. The man lifted the girl from the donkey and carried her to her mother. Joanna wondered why the child didn’t walk. Chuza sat down by the man and said, “Where are you headed?” “Home, sir. We live near Jerusalem.” “We weren’t expecting such big crowds.” “It’s probably the prophet, sir.” “The prophet?” said Chuza. “The one called John the Baptist. We walked half way up the river looking for him. We thought maybe he could help our little girl.” Chuza smiled at the child, who was sharing a piece of cheese with Plato. “She’s always been too weak to walk,” said the man. “We’d hoped the prophet could heal her.” “You didn’t find him?” “No, sir. He’s in prison.” “Prison? Why?” said Chuza. “Herod.” “Herod Antipas?” “Yes. We heard that the prophet insulted Herod for marrying his brother’s wife. Her name is Herodias. She wanted John killed for saying that. Herod sent him to prison instead.” “If this John the Baptist is a real prophet,” said Chuza, “he’s the first one in four hundred years.” “People say he’s a wild looking character. Wears animal skins and eats grasshoppers. Still, perhaps he could have healed our daughter.” “I’m sorry you couldn’t find him,” said Chuza. “My wife and I will pray for your little girl.” “Thank you, sir.”