Killing Jesus: A History

river. He listens intently as the man confesses his many sins. Then John prays for him: “After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
    Only a slave would be tasked with loosening a man’s sandals, so John’s words are powerful, a tremendous show of respect. As the pilgrim nods in understanding, John places one hand in the center of the man’s back and slowly guides him down into the water, holds him under for a few seconds, and then lifts him back to his feet. The relieved pilgrim, his transgressions now forgiven, battles the lazy current back to shore. Before he has even reached the bank, another believer is wading out to experience the same sensation.
    “Who are you?” demands a voice from the shore. John has been waiting for this question. It is the condescending request of a priest, sent from Jerusalem to judge whether John is committing heresy. The holy man is not alone, having made the journey in the company of other Pharisees, Sadducees, and Levites. 1
    “I am not the Christ,” John shouts back. The high priests know that he is referring to the new Jewish king, a man like Saul and David, the great rulers of generations past who were handpicked by God to lead the Israelites.
    “Then who are you?” demands a Pharisee. “Are you Elijah?”
    John has heard this comparison before. Like him, Elijah was a prophet who preached that the world would soon end.
    “No,” John replies firmly.
    “Who are you?” the priests ask once again. “Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us.”
    John prefers to invoke the prophet Isaiah, a man whose name meant “the Lord saves.” He lived eight hundred years ago and was said to have been martyred by being sawed in half for uttering his many bold prophecies. In one particular prediction, Isaiah foretold that a man would come to tell the people about the day the world would end and God would appear on earth. This man would be “a voice of one, calling in the desert, preparing the way for the Lord, making straight paths for him.” 2
    John has prayed and fasted for many days. He truly believes that he is the man of whom Isaiah wrote. Even if he dies a most horrible death, he feels obligated to travel from city to city, telling one and all that the end of the world is near and that they must prepare by being baptized.
    “Who are you?” the priests demand once again, their voices angrier and more insistent.
    “I am the voice of one,” John responds, “calling in the desert.”
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    The Temple priests are not the only officials keeping a close eye on John the Baptist. From his stunning new capital city of Tiberias, which he has built on an even grander scale than Sepphoris, Herod Antipas has sent spies to the Jordan River to track John’s every movement. The Baptist is the talk of Galilee, and Antipas fears that this charismatic evangelist will persuade the people to rise up against him.
    Antipas is prepared to deal with John in the same manner as Judas of Gamala nearly twenty years ago. But there is something about John’s nonviolent message that makes him a much greater threat. Life in Galilee has become even more difficult since Judas was executed. Antipas’s decision to build Tiberias on the sunny shores of the Sea of Galilee a decade after rebuilding Sepphoris has increased the financial burden borne by the people of Galilee. As with all of Antipas’s building projects, no expense was spared. Once again, the peasants of Galilee are being taxed to cover these costs.
    Antipas has named the new city in honor of the Roman emperor who succeeded the late Caesar Augustus twelve years ago. Tiberius was once a great general, defending Rome from Germanic barbarians. But a lifetime of personal sadness has turned him into a horrible man. Tiberius knows no boundaries. One of his amusements is swimming with handpicked “tiddlers,” naked young boys whose job is to chase him around the imperial pool and nibble between Tiberius’s legs.
    The swimming sessions are the least of the emperor’s considerable depravities, but Antipas knows better than to pass moral judgment. Even after more than two decades on the throne, he rules solely at the pleasure of Rome. And indeed Antipas has his own depraved résumé. He has divorced his own wife and married that of his brother, an act of abomination to the Jewish