Christian Art | Jesus In Jerusalem
John 7: 1-2, 10, 25-30 – Lent Week 4, Friday (Audio Bible KJV, Spoken Word)
1 AFTER these things Jesus walked in Galilee: for he would not walk in Jewry, because the Jews sought to kill him.
2 Now the Jews’ feast of tabernacles was at hand.
10 ¶ But when his brethren were gone up, then went he also up unto the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret.
25 Then said some of them of Jerusalem, Is not this he, whom they seek to kill?
26 But, lo, he speaketh boldly, and they say nothing unto him. Do the rulers know indeed that this is the very Christ?
27 Howbeit we know this man whence he is: but when Christ cometh, no man knoweth whence he is.
28 Then cried Jesus in the temple as he taught, saying, Ye both know me, and ye know whence I am: and I am not come of myself, but he that sent me is true, whom ye know not.
29 But I know him: for I am from him, and he hath sent me.
30 Then they sought to take him: but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come.
John’s teaching of the journeys Jesus makes is more complete than the other Gospels. According to the other Gospels, Jesus travels only once to Jerusalem, when he goes to be crucified. According to John, Jesus travels at least two or three times to Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover. This gives us the approximation of the duration of Jesus’ public life as being three years.
Christ’s is a progressive revelation through the Gospel of John, as he teaches the truth about himself to his disciples and the people. It has reached the point when the Jews wish to kill him. We recall with sadness the division, by the time John is writing, between the Jews and the Christians, and the anti-Semitism which is with us to this day. We remember that Christ is a Jew; he is born, he lives and he dies as a Jew. His formation was through Jewish religion and Jewish culture.
The people are confused, because they know where on earth Christ comes from, while according to Isaiah’s prophecy (Isaiah 53: 1-9), the Messiah’s origin would be unknown. Jesus tells them that they do indeed know him superficially, but their knowledge does not extend to the truth of his divinity and to God the Father. He asserts that he is from God the Father and that he is with him, that he is the Son of God and equivalent with the Father. This, to the Jews, is an outrageous blasphemy.
Nevertheless, they cannot lay hands on Christ. It is not for them to choose when Christ will suffer and die. It is for Christ to know the proper time when he will allow himself to be put to death.
‘It is an excellent thing, brothers, to go from one feast to another, to pass from one prayer to another, to advance from the keeping of one feast or solemnity to another. We are very near now to that time which is for us a new beginning, the commencement of the blessed Passover in which the Lord was sacrificed. We feed as on the food of life, and with his precious blood as from a fountain we always delight our souls. Nevertheless, our thirst and burning desire are never satisfied. But our Saviour is ready for those who are thirsty, and for his love he brings to this festival day those who thirst in their hearts, as he himself, our Saviour, told us, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.’ St Athanasius
Audio Bible KJV | Endnotes
What Is The Feast Of Tabernacles?
The Feast of Tabernacles, also known as Sukkot, is one of the three major Jewish festivals. It is a seven-day celebration that takes place in the fall, typically in late September or early October.
The Feast of Tabernacles has both agricultural and historical significance. Agriculturally, it celebrates the fall harvest and the gathering of crops. Historically, it commemorates the Israelites’ time in the wilderness during the Exodus from Egypt, where they lived in temporary shelters or booths called sukkot.
The Feast of Tabernacles is one of the most joyous and festive celebrations in the Jewish calendar. It is a time for families and friends to gather together, share meals, and exchange gifts. The festival has a unique atmosphere, with streets and courtyards bustling with people, music, and dancing. The sukkot, the temporary dwellings built for the festival, are decorated with colorful fabrics, flowers, and fruit.
During the week-long celebration, there are daily rituals and customs. One of the most significant is the daily waving of the Four Species. The palm frond, myrtle branches, willow branches, and etrog are held together and waved in all directions, symbolizing God’s presence and sovereignty over all creation. The waving of the Four Species is accompanied by reciting special prayers and psalms.
Another important ritual is the water-drawing ceremony. During the festival, the Temple priests would draw water from the Pool of Siloam and pour it onto the altar in the Temple, symbolizing the blessings of rain and water from God. This ceremony was accompanied by singing, dancing, and music, creating a festive and joyful atmosphere.
In John 7, we see Jesus attending the festival in secret, not wanting to draw attention to himself. However, he eventually begins teaching in the Temple, attracting the attention of the religious authorities. Jesus’ teachings during the festival focused on his identity as the Son of God and the source of living water, which was a clear reference to the water-drawing ceremony. This led to a divided response from the crowd, with some believing in him and others rejecting him.
The Catholic Church recognizes the Feast of Tabernacles as a significant festival, with many of the themes and rituals of the festival appearing in Catholic liturgy and prayer. For example, the waving of the palm fronds on Palm Sunday, the Feast of the Transfiguration, and the Feast of Corpus Christi all have roots in the traditions of the Feast of Tabernacles.
In Protestant theology, the Feast of Tabernacles has been seen as a prophetic foreshadowing of the coming of Christ and the establishment of his kingdom on earth. Many Protestant theologians have linked the water-drawing ceremony to Jesus’ promise of the Holy Spirit in John 7:37-39, where he declares that whoever believes in him will have streams of living water flowing from within them.
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The Carrefour will be open, where I can buy nuts for the red squirrel, who lives in Campo Grande. The red squirrel is Valladolid’s best bit. Even as a child, I had never seen one before, apart from in picture books. It was last term’s discovery. The most beautiful encounter. I didn’t know it was there – in the park. A complete surprise. The tiny little thing bobbled and hopped, as it received in its little hands a nut from the man’s hands. Each surprising instant – it was childlike. I whispered: ‘Oh my wow.’ I walk toward the El Cortes Ingles. There is, for now, that settled feel of friends in bookshops. Though a null-affect, neutral day – it won’t glean, it is not to be scratched at. The queues are long in the Carrefour. Though, as it might be, on relatively modest incomes, many people live centrally. Their behaviours neither pinched nor stark. Yet the shop so busy while the street so empty… An error in the simulation, a glitch in the code. I potter about the aisles, which are pleasant enough, then at the tills I flinch at how expensive a little bag of up-sold nuts can be. Nonetheless, I queue for a packet of almonds. Two English men queue directly ahead of me. They are stocky, and have gay voices, their wheelie-bucket piled with soft drinks and party food, while they bitch to one another about the obviously terrible party they’re going to. The air heaves relief as I wander up the way to the broad plaza fringing Campo Grande. This is a place to see – a piece of Spain. There is a tourist information office, though unopened. At these fountains, three girls take selfies. Pompous-looking buildings, the military offices aside, line the park’s nearest vicinities. Hotel-bars have their patches. Liveried doormen idle time, for there are no paying customers, in and out the doorways’ shadows. A mixed group of kids play at the hoops on the pedestrian boulevard, and two boys practise on skateboards, working the thing out. I pass by them, touched by the thought, and happy that they are there. Wistful, I smile at the odds of the ball spilling over to me, and play in mind the agreeable scene of a fleeting connection. Then I am through the park gates. An air now – of humanity become self-selecting. Modestly understated. Understatedly modest. Campo Grande is nice but it isn’t grande… I walk slowly, and very soon hear for a second time English voices. Not them – it is an English family, just a little way ahead, a Dad and a Mum and a younger boy and an older girl, and theirs are Midlands accents. Dad seems to have been here and to know the place. He gestures panoramically. Mum wants her lunch. The girl at a difficult age. She carries a balloon-on-a-stick. Though she is sprouting – yet wears a loud dress. Then leggings, trainers. Her hair is nice… Maybe she is being okay about it. And not horrific. It’s okay once they get into it, but those months… Yet then, they mostly blossom, if they come from a good home, and become rounded personalities, entering into their womanhood. It was that… when yet they weren’t… I shudder to think of it. They walk toward the pond, and I trail, and would follow had I not been going that way. I wish I could say something so they might hear I am English too. (Fake a phone call?) How my voice might sound – there’d be all college hurling around in such matter I… a demented thing, ludicrous blurt – of Henry, Geoff, and all of them – not to mention the personal predicament. Maybe they’re a nice family. She is letting him explain what he needs to explain. And it would blow his fire, me being English. Mum and Dad. You’d probably see them all having their lunch in a little while. All sat round the table. With napkins and the menus out. Dad looks safe. I look into the pond. Terrapins live in there. But not today. I walk toward the join in the paths where the squirrel lives. There, I crumple the packet of almonds, making noise. I peer and I squat and crouch – chewing a mouthful. All the peacocks have perched right up in the trees’ branches. That never looks like something they should be doing. It’s disappointing that the squirrel isn’t here – but then the not-knowing-if is a part of it. Now, next, my visit to the National Sculpture Museum is an obligation. Canon Peter stood literally aghast when I hadn’t heard of it. Mortified, I made resolute promises. Though a few weeks have passed, it isn’t just any old something I could do on the hoof. A great commitment – it must command a known and prepared and anticipated not-just-any-old-time. But, rather, the sort you must wait for – and listen for. [ … ] Beyond Plaza Mayor, there would be a brief series of old-town alleyways. The National Sculpture Museum would be – just up there, this archway, this next…They are bleached and forgotten-looking walls, and the smoothed paving could be medieval. Not that it is making Tomàs anxious – I follow the map. A kind of place – uneasy credit-cards, and modern vaccinations, and a phone, might not help much. I fancy I feel the back-wall of a church, and that – fancifully – pressure-release drawn out of me. Only I am playing games in a nice way – making play-scared on the uncertainty – with only myself to see. The National Museum is there, modestly signed on stencilled plexiglass stuck to the stone wall. A uniformed lady sits just a little way inside the doorway. She reassures me there is no money required, and directs me over the courtyard into the planned route, showing me where I can pick up a free map. I get my […]
