Of course Jesus would come to the Temple first. Had not the prophet Malachi, five centuries ago, foretold that “the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his Temple.” And where would Jesus come, within the Temple area, if not to the porch of Solomon where he had walked and taught, so often, among the people?

In my eager anticipation to find James I raced ahead of Joseph, who, with Shem protecting him, had fallen behind in his efforts to penetrate the crushing mob that spilled into the portico area from all directions. I stopped and waited. To keep from being swept forward I braced my feet on pavement recently drenched with pungent animal urine and extended my elbows to protect my ribs against the ebb and flow of man and beast. Psalm-singing pilgrims, praying priests, surly soldiers of Rome, alms-seeking cripples, crudely painted harlots, and innumerable coarse peasants, obviously from rural arcas, all joined in producing a chorus of sounds and a kaleidoscope of colors that were numbing to the senses.

Joseph finally arrived at my side, breathing heavily and leaning against the sweat-covered body of Shem. “See, Matthias,” he panted, “see how they wait!”

“Wait for whom?”

“For the Lord—for Jesus!”

I had to say it. “Why don’t you put them out of their misery? You, more than anyone, know that they are waiting in vain.”

He pretended not to hear. “We should find James near the south tower,” he shouted, pointing to the tall steeple high above the fluted marble columns at the junction of the southern and eastern walls. “Come!”

Finally we reached an impregnable wall of humanity that refused to part, and I sensed that we were on the outer edges of the crowd that had gathered to hear James. Shielding my eyes with my hands, I stood on my toes until I could see a robed figure, at least two hundred feet away, gesturing wildly with his hands as he paced back and forth on a raised platform. Although the throng was comparatively quiet, I could only hear snatches of what he was saying.

“…  you have condemned and killed the just and he did not resist you … be patient, brothers, for the coming of the Lord … prepare … prepare …”

The old man tugged at my tunic. “Follow me. There is a better way.” He led me to a shaded cubicle against the south wall, near the Royal Porch and away from the mob. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. “Let us sit here and rest. Shem will deliver James to us in due time.”

A tall blue-robed figure passed nearby, miniature golden bells tinkling softly from the hem of his robe with each step. He bowed respectfully in our direction and continued on.

“A Temple priest?” I wondered aloud.

“Yes, from one of the many lower orders. More than seven thousand priests are needed to serve God and his people in this Temple, Matthias.”

“Bureaucracy, even here?”