Monday 28 September 2015

Another boring night?


Parts of me, sitting here at the cold end of the vah-rlli (NB welsh accent; applies throughout) could be described as tepid, right, but the rest of me was having a festival of goosebumps. I always sit as close to the fire as my colleagues will allow, but without much wood it wasn’t exactly roasting.
       Yes, it’s a chilly night, isn’t it? Just like last night, look you. The wind whips past the village and over the tump at the top of the hill. It’s downright perishing, I can tell you.
       The others were not very talkative, because we’d all known each other for a number of years, and we’d sort of run out of things to say some time ago.
       ‘There’s nippy, Elias,’ one said.
       ‘Ach y fie,’ he replied, without hesitation.
       Not exactly easy to join in with a conversation of such sparkling wit and repartee…
       ‘Bitter wind, no end.’
       ‘Agony, first off. Same as yesterday.’
      We usually spent our days looking after the sheep as they grazed on the ropey grassland in Judea, and we always spent the nights making sure the sheep were safely in their fold, all accounted for and protected from wondering off, from predators and from thieves. There were several of us, and I’ll tell you for why; to allow some to sleep while others kept watch. And no, we didn’t wear socks in those days, so there was very little laundering going on. I can’t imagine where that urban myth began, look you.
       It was about three in the morning when it happened. Imagine the scene: one of the sheep was a bit fly and frightened and tried to run out of the fold, but with the gaffer, big old Nathaniel Jacobson, lying across the doorway, it didn’t get far.
       That was it. That was the excitement for the night.
       It got so that we would sometimes wish for a bear or a lion. Madness, I know, look you, but the mind-numbing boredom and sameness and predictability was starting to drive us mad. Mad, I tell you.
       I know you’re going to assume (when I tell you what eventually happened) that it was a dream, but you’ll be wrong. My sleep was deep and dreamless, with silent stars going by. I was so entirely under-stimulated that my mind had nothing to work on to create excitement or adventure.

But the next night was very different. The next night, there was a poetical stillness about the sky as the wind dropped. A quiet nothingness that wasn’t quite as cold, but which left the scene lacking even the predictable drop in temperature. Yes, boring wasn’t in it. It was so desperately dull and tedious that it was instantly forgettable.

Ah, but then, the night after that was so completely worth making a fuss over, boyo. This time, like every other time, the expected darkness fell, and the wind sprung up, and I was tepid and chilly and the conversation flagged.
       It was my turn to guard the doorway of the fold for the second watch, and everything went off smoothly, right enough. Words that come to mind to describe the scene would include such as silent, calm, how still we see thee lie... you get the picture.
       No-one noticed that odd star moving across the heavens until afterwards, but I think it must have been there while we were ignoring it, right enough. Star of wonder! Star of night! Star with royal beauty bright, isn’t it?
       Anyway, the night suddenly shone with a brilliant light. Yes, this was towards the end of the second watch, when it should have been rather dark, but while at one moment all was calm, now all is bright. So that was unexpected. I thought at first it must have been a dream, but Nathaniel fell against me as he tried to hide himself, didn’t he, and that woke me up alright! The light was suddenly even brighter, and the figure of a man of considerable heighth appeared! I pitch not a tale, I can tell you. All of the shepherds quaked at the sight.
       ‘Look sharp!’ one cried.
       ‘There’s noisy ructions!’ another commented.
       I had full fuss, first off, because this sort of thing had never happened to me before (and never again since) but the tall, shining man said there was nothing to fear.
       ‘Fear not,’ he said. Just like that. Which was easy for him to say.
       Meanwhile, look you, mighty dread had seized my troubled mind. His hair was weddol, his robes shone – even his feet were a blaze of shining great brightness. It was like he was from the realms of glory, if you can picture that sort of scene.
       He spoke again. ‘I bring you good news of great joy.’ I can remember what he said word for word, because it was so impressive. I’ve always been pretty good at remembering this sort of detail.
       We didn’t get a lot of news out there in the fields, since we weren’t the first people everyone ran to tell about politics or whatever, isn’t it? And while news was rare, the things that we did get told were usually disappointments: so-and-so’s caught leprosy; someone’s donkey’s got himself a gammy leg or fallen down a well; those people were cruelly treated by an heavily-handed taxman. Good news was very rare those days. And any level of joy would have been noticeable, let alone ‘great’ joy, most probably.
       Glories were streaming from heav’n afar. Anyway the shining man told us there was a baby-bach in a stable in Bethlehem that we should go and visit, because he was the Saviour of the World, surely to goodness.
       I thought carefully about this, because it seems to me pretty peculiar that the glowing visitor should seek out smelly low-life shepherds for his announcement of the Saviour of the World. That was news fit for Kings or at least political leaders. On the other hand, ‘let nothing you dismay,’ I thought to myself. ‘These are tidings of comfort and joy.’ We were right bucked, once we got our gummel up.
       I didn’t understand fully at the time, but now I realise that the shining man was talking about someone rrrrrrather special who would be around for a while, and that his Saviour-ly qualities would become more obvious in a few years’ time. Babies are mildly interesting within a few days or perhaps up to a fortnight after they are born, but then there’s a long period of wearisome slummocky nothing-muchness until the child becomes a man and he starts to fulfil some of the early promise. Or in this case, the very, very early prophecy.
       Now, three decades later, I’ve started to understand a bit more, mainly because last week I munched my way through an amazing picnic provided by the same chap, now all grown up.
       I can start to see now why the heavenly heralds would sing ‘Glory to the Newborn King’ upon that midnight clear, right?
       Oh, yes, back to my story. There we were, that night, standing on the hillside, listening to this glorious man chatting away, when forthwith appeared a shining thrrrrong – a tidy few of what I can only describe as heavenly messengers appeared and started to sing the most wonderful song I’ve ever heard, as the sky was riv’n with singing – yes, straightway the massive celestial choir in hymns of joy, unknown before, conspire. The lyrics were a touch repetitive, like most choral pieces, but the harrrmonies were incredible, and the passion in their souls came across as if they really meant what they were singing, like a proper Male Voice Choir praising the heavens through the valleys, right enough. They were dab hands at it, look you.
       ‘Glory to God, glory to God in the highest;
       Peace on earth to men, on whom his favour rests.’
       It didn’t scan very well, but the sweet singing of the choir really stayed in the memory.
       Verse two: ‘Glory to God, glory to God in the highest;
       Peace on earth to men, on whom his favour rests.’ Same as verse one.
      Verse three… have a guess. But the choirs of angels were singing in exultation – all those citizens of heav’n above!
       When it was over, we had plenty to talk about!
       ‘Did you see…?’
       ‘And what was…?’
       ‘What an amazing sound, rending the jocund air asunder!’
       ‘Did anyone count…?’
       ‘The shimmering, blazing, brightness was almost painful to watch, isn’t it?’
       ‘There were at least four harmonies in there.’
       ‘Oh, I’m sure I counted six!’
       ‘Where should we look for this baby?’
       ‘My eyes hurt.’ Sometime Elias misses the point, isn’t it? I could have given him a right lamping.
       ‘Did he say Christ the Lord? That would be a turn up!’
       ‘Shape yourself and let’s get straight there. It’s a tidy step!’
       ‘Mind how you go. The path is rough and steep; we’ll have to tread Caerphilly!’
       We all did a bit of pinking up as we set off. Donned we now our gay apparel and were on our way to Bethlehem on a dusty road (where the hopes and fears of all the years were met tonight with the poor, and mean and lowly), and we found this little family staying in a twll of a place – a grotty stable. Actually it was a lowly cattle shed, where a mother laid her baby. There’s lovely!
       I have to say he didn’t look much like a saviour, all wrapped up and lying in a feeding trough (no crib for his bed). I wasn’t sure at first if we’d come to the right place, but the parents were strangely pleased to see us. Even the cattle were lowing. We stayed for a tidy spell, but eventually returned to the valley where we’d left the sheep in the fold. Somehow they’d been fine without us.
       Later I heard that wise men from the east had come in search of the child, too. They were a bit upper crust, but it made us even more certain that we’d heard right from the glowing stranger. Especially when they explained that to seek for a King was their intent and to follow the star wheresoever it went.
       Looking after sheep sort of lost some of its appeal after that. The long, cold nights in the valley were never as interesting as that amazing night, look you.
      But as I say, I had an extraordinary picnic today, and I’m convinced it was the same person – having grown up over the years. We all sat there and the provisions just kept on coming. He must have some serious connections with outside caterers, that’s all I can conclude.
       The things he was saying were amazing, too. It was as if he had the words of eternal life.
       I’m glad the shining man told us who the baby was, and had those incredible wingéd backing vocalists. I don’t know about you, but it really helps me believe someone when 200,000 supernatural voices hum along with what he’s saying…
       But the carpenter’s son; well, somehow I don’t need the heaven-sent messengers anymore. What he says has a ring of truth about it. He’s worth listening to, and his sardine sandwiches are a knockout, surely to goodness, isn’t it?

An angelic visitation contrasts with the usual tedium

Why do you suppose the angels announced this 
hugely important event to simple shepherds?

Which is the most significant festival: Christmas, Easter, 
Hallowe’en, Guy Fawkes’ Night, or Pentecost? Why?

How many references to or quotations from 
well-known Christmas songs can you find?

Wednesday 23 September 2015

Yummy chicken soup


Well, it was pretty amazing, although I was quite cross in some ways at the time. It was his own hometown, yet apparently he couldn't be bothered to make the trip. 
      He was visiting Cana, while I was here in Capernaum, dangerously ill, and he didn’t lift a finger. Not all that far, you know. One day’s journey. Even quicker by donkey. Less than a morning by chariot or on a horse. That’s an easy trip. Not much trouble to come and see a sick boy.
       I really wasn’t well enough to get out of bed and make the journey myself. Mind you, I can’t complain, I got what I wanted. Oh well, let me begin at the beginning…

It all kicked off about five years ago. I’d felt great during my twelfth birthday party – we had a few friends round at lunchtime for a barbecue and to chill.
       But later that day, when I was innocently hanging out with my older sisters, I suddenly felt most peculiar, and (so they tell me) I fainted, collapsing rather spectacularly, apparently.
       It really freaked our Miriam and our Julia!
       They didn’t know what to do, they said. Miriam went to get Mum while Julia stayed with me.
       The three of them took me to my room and I rested for an hour. But I felt fine shortly afterwards.
       ‘It was just the heat, mum,’ I complained.
       ‘Bit of sun or heat and – bam! – you’re ill, is it?’ she asked, not expecting a reply, because I wasn’t listening and there wasn’t anybody else there to overhear. She made me stay indoors for several more days than was needed
       Anyway, it seemed like an isolated incident, but a couple of weeks later, I must have done the same thing. This time I was on my own, walking home from school. I don’t know what happened – all I know is that I was fine one minute, and then woke up an hour or two later, by the side of the road. (Well, that’s what I told mum and she didn’t seem to question it. Actually, I was in the middle of a corn field, taking a short cut I’m not allowed to take, which explains why no-one found me earlier.)
       It kept happening after that. I blacked out at school once, which wasn’t very smart, because Chalky Cohen got somewhat stressed and asked Mum to keep me at home, which she agreed to do. There was clearly something rather seriously wrong with me.

Dad’s a civil servant, stationed at the Royal Tax Office in Genneserat, shuffling papyruses and deciding important things, but every other month he has to go to the regional head office in Cana. He might be away for a couple of days at a time. But once he realised I was sick, he was frustrated that he was powerless to make me well again. So he reacted with an affectionate motivation, and with more finance than wisdom.
       He paid for all sorts of doctors to come and see me. I had my bones tested, my eyes examined, my head felt, my blood sucked by leeches (yuk!), and hot poultices slapped on various tender parts (ouch!). I was put on experimental diets, and had to learn a series of controlled sipping techniques. I was given untold numbers of potions to swallow.
       The quacks tried everything – sifting through rock badger entrails to find mystical revelations; making me inhale smoke from smouldering cedar twigs or quail feathers or salamander dung; and binding my hands and feet with fisherman’s twine (no-one explained why). I had my ears cleaned, knees minutely examined and nostrils purged with hyssop, but I knew that was just flim-flam. I am pretty sure they knew it, too. And so did Dad.
       But they kept his money alright. He must have parted with a fortune to try to get me well. But I was getting steadily worse.
       Eventually, I reached the state where I couldn’t get out of bed without my head swimming and everything going kind of blurry. Obviously, I was seriously unwell by now. Every time a doctor came in, he would purse his lips and suck his teeth and frown and look very grave.
       Even Uncle Mike and Aunt Maggie came to visit, which made me think I must be dying, because they live in a village several days’ journey away, and they hadn’t ever ‘just dropped in’ before…
       My eyes wouldn’t focus too brilliantly, so Miriam and Julia used to sit by my bed and read to me. They often had to stop because they were crying. I’d get cross and tell them to pull themselves together, but that just made them cry more. I didn’t understand all the fuss – frankly, I still don’t. The whole thing about the doctors had made Dad really frustrated. He was still willing to pay, but they were absolutely no use at all.
       ‘What we need is an act of God,’ he said, on several occasions. ‘An act of God is our last hope.’

I’d reached my lowest point. The whole house was deeply gloomy. And Dad was away. I thought he’d gone on another of his business trips, which cheered me up a bit, because he wouldn’t do that if I was about to die, would he? On the other hand, I missed him, so I laid it on a bit thick when Mum brought me a warm drink.
       ‘Couldn’t he even be here for me when I’m probably not going to last the night?’ I asked her, which was not very kind. I had no idea how close to the truth this was…
       ‘He’s not gone on a work trip, you know,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘We heard news of a man of God who has a great gift with folk who are sick – the blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, and a boy who had lots of fits was cured – all sorts of things. Well, this chap is in a town close by, so Dad’s gone to ask him if he will come to see us and do his thing with you. I pray God will bless you through him and make you well… This man is our best chance.’
       ‘Chance?’
       ‘Chance is the wrong word, then. We need an act of God, don’t we? That’s what your Dad says, and I agree.’
       ‘It’s that serious then, is it?’ I asked, quietly.
       She nodded, her eyes wet, and then she turned her back to me, and sniffled.
       ‘I thought so,’ I said, in a voice that sounded faraway. The seriousness was starting to get through to me.

We were all expecting Dad to come home with this Jesus of Nazareth bloke by the end of the week.
       But the day before he was expected, about the seventh hour, I was lying still, slightly shivery, slightly dizzy, slightly worried that I was not ever going to get better, attempting to wiggle my toes, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to forget about the slimy potion I’d had to swallow, and concentrate on the dull story (or whatever it was) that Miriam was reading to me.
       All of a sudden, I felt this lovely warmth go right through my whole body and spin around inside my head. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever felt before – not like the waves of fainting or nausea or anything.
       Actually, come to think of it, I’ve never experienced anything like it since, either. It was like being in a bath of pleasantly warm, soapy water, except (if you can imagine it) from the inside out. It began in my tummy, my neck and my knees all at same time, and spread quickly to the rest of me, as if my bones and skin were soaking up liquid like a sponge. Yes, I know that sounds weird, but it was a very strange sensation. It lasted for about two minutes, and when it faded away, I realised I’d been lying there enjoying it, while Miriam had dropped the book or newspaper or whatever and was staring at me as if she could tell something really odd was happening.
       And for once, she was right. There’s a first time for everything!
       I started to feel better almost as soon as this warmth had gone away. For the first time in two months, I felt hungry, which was brilliant! I’d been living on chicken soup (my Mum makes the best chicken soup in Capernaum) but not out of hunger.
       Now I thought I could eat a horse! Well, you know, a kosher horse (if there is such a thing), with matzo dumplings and firm vegetables and an oozing, thick, rich gravy, followed by seconds. Something substantial that I could really get my teeth into!
       I felt healthy enough to throw back the bedclothes and sit up on the edge of the bed. No dizziness; no sweating. I stood up. I fell down immediately, but that was because my legs were weak from lack of use for the last four months or so. But I stood up again, leaning on the bedside table and on a shocked and confused Miriam for support, and we called out to Mum.
       ‘Wha…? How? But I don’t…’ she said as she came into the room, maintaining her role as monosyllabic conversationalist extraordinaire.
       ‘I feel great. Is there any stew on the boiler?’ I asked.
       She burst into laughter and tears and rushed over to hug me. I wasn’t ready for that and she sent me flying and I fell to the ground again.
       We hugged and she kissed me and so did Miriam and they called for Julia.
       ‘Come and see what the Lord has done!’ Mum cried. Julia was all soppy about it, too.
       ‘What’s the time, mum?’ I asked, trying to change the subject, and hoping she’d say ‘time for lunch’.
       ‘Ten past one,’ she said. ‘That’s when you were made well! Praise the Lord! Thank you God, thank you!’
       I’d never heard anyone shouting prayers before, but I could see why she was so excited. I was happy, too, but I was just about to become seriously unwell again, dying of malnutrition. Can anyone hear? Feed me! It was lunchtime, wasn’t it? Let’s go, people! Where’s that stew?
       The prayers I would have preferred to hear were the ones that start ‘Thank you, O Lord, for this food’ – although that can have a tendency to continue with one of those endless lists of family and friends and acquaintances past and present. Even worse are the dreadful ones that develop into full-blown round-the-world tours asking God’s ‘hand of blessing’ on the various people-groups and tribes and tongues and nations and go on and on until the soup’s gone fossilised but at least we’ve called upon God for revival in the far-flung reaches of the world and possibly beyond). Far superior, in my view, is the really short one: ‘Bless this bunch as they munch their lunch.’
       ‘What about Dad?’ Miriam asked.
       ‘Oh, of course!’ Laughing, Mum sent off two of the servants. ‘Please point out that it was at ten past one when he sat up and got out of bed. I don’t know why, but I think it is one of those things that is not by chance. Just be sure to tell him he was made well at ten past one, right?’
       The servants bowed and rushed off to fetch my Dad. 
       It took another little while of hugging and prayers of thanksgiving before I could persuade Mum to let me find my way to the stove to help myself to some stew. Miriam got me some of the crusty bread I particularly like, and Julia just sat and watched me eating, her face all soggy. Such a girl.

So Dad wasn’t on a business trip – he had gone to see Jesus of Nazareth to ask him to come and heal me. ‘Please come to pray for my son, since you can make him well,’ he said.
       Jesus answered (Dad told me about this when he got back) something about miracles being the only thing this generation would believe.
       ‘Come and heal my son and he will live,’ Dad pleaded, being Mr Monosyllable.
       Jesus saw my Dad’s faith and healed me long-distance, telling Dad to go and see; the boy will live. And it had all happened at just after one o’clock. I got better exactly when Jesus was saying ‘The boy will live.’ Can you believe it? Didn’t ask what my name was, or what was wrong with me, either. This healer didn’t seem to care about details. He just got on with the main event.
       As you can imagine, when Dad got home, there was more soppiness.
       Fortunately, this was followed by roast lamb with unleavened bread, followed by cake. The next week at synagogue, Dad told everyone in Capernaum about this amazing miracle.
       I’m totally well, and had to go back to school and get used to Chalky Cohen again (boo!). My pals had given me up for dead, so they’ve taken a little while to come to terms with the prospect that I’m going to be around, large as life, for some time to come.
       I totally played down the part of my story about all that female sogginess when I stood up at the front of my class and explained what had happened. I thought it wouldn’t do my street cred any good at all. But the girls in my class got soggy all the same. Daft!
       I thought it was most fitting to honour Jesus of Nazareth, because he’s certainly some kind of miracle man.
       But I’m still a bit narked that he never bothered to come and visit me. I’m glad I got healed, and grateful and all that, but it wouldn’t have been that much effort to come and see the sick boy, surely?

The official’s son, healed from a distance

Why didn’t Jesus make the journey?

What effect did ancient medical practice have on the boy?
What effect did the words of Jesus have on the boy?

Why was it significant to the writer of the gospel
that the boy had a strange sensation at exactly
the same time as Jesus was sending the father home?



Sunday 20 September 2015

Up, up & away


Collected bills, receipts and advertising materials – gathered post mortem – relating to and associated with the estate of one Jereboam the Galilean, Sycamore Avenue, Jericho (peasant farmer, recently deceased); presented in chronological order by Mssrs Rumpole, Mason, Jarndyce & Petrocelli Actuaries & Commissioners for Oaths, Judea.
     Acknowledgements also to TombsULike, Funeral Directors, Nazareth www.shuffleoffthismortal.co.il]

Roman Occupation Tax Bill
Payable immediately

Presented to:                                Jereboam of Galilee
          Sycamore Avenue, Jericho

FIRST & FINAL DEMAND
Period:  10th Sivan to 7th Ab

Occupation Tax                       D07
(includes Window Tax & Accent Tax)
One-off Commissioning Fee            D01
Extra-contractual advance            D02

                              Total: D11

Please make cheques payable to Little Zack’s Little Ta


Roman Occupation Tax Bill
Payable forthwith

Presented to:                                Jereboam of Galilee
          Sycamore Avenue, Jericho

FIRST & FINAL DEMAND
period:  7th Ab to 7th Tishrai

Occupation Tax                               D07
(includes Hair Tax & Children Tax)
Appraisal fee (non-refundable)       D02
Additional administration levy       D01
Collection Charge                           D02
Further non-defined extras              D03
                                       
                                             Total: D17


 Please make cheques payable to Little Zack’s Little Tax



Roman Occupation Tax Bill
Payable upon presentation

Presented to:                                Jereboam of Galilee
          Sycamore Avenue, Jericho

FIRST & FINAL DEMAND
Period:  4th Tishrai to 4th Kislev

Occupation Tax                              D07
  (incl Donkey Tax & Wealth Tax)
Managerial expenses                      D02
Add’l Miscellaneous Outgoings    D02
Sundries, overheads                       D01
Transparent considerations            D01

                                            Total: D21

Please make cheques payable to Little Zack’s Little Tax



Roman Occupation Tax Bill
Payable now

Presented to:                                Jereboam of Galilee
          Sycamore Avenue, Jericho

FIRST & FINAL DEMAND
Period:  24th Tishrai to 17th Kislev

Occupation Tax (inc Tree Tax,          
Knick-Knacks Tax & Clothing Tax)    D07
Non-refundable admin overheads        D02
Collection operating costs                    D02
Sundries, contribution, donation          D02
Post-calculation adjustment                 D04
Additional surcharge                            D05
                                                   Total: D27

Please make cheques payable to Little Zack’s Little Tax


FOR ONE DAY ONLY
–––– SPECIAL APPEARANCE ––––
in association with
Iscariotters Independent Traders
Trans-Judea Enterprises plc &  
Jericho Chamber of Commerce
Jesus of Nazareth
worker of wonders
•  preacher  •  teacher  •
healer & rabbi
now at Jericho’s Premier
Soap Box Venue
sycamore-fig avenue
jericho approx 3pm
FREE! OH YES, FREE!
Bring your friends & family
(dying relatives by appointment only)


Little Zack’s Little Tax

*** Delivery Note***

Consignment of 1 (one) package,
comprising cash in the sum of D 280, being
4 x times the cream I have skimmed (stolen)
when collecting the Occupation Tax
over the past year, including made-up taxes
and iniquitous deliberate errors of addition.

I freely give this to you, as a witness to how 
I have changed since encountering the preacher/teacher.

In addition, I also enclose a voucher
to be exchanged for the goods of your choice at
Honest Zach’s Wagon Back-Flap Give Away


JCISBMULESRASS
purveyors of fine equine beasts of all types
to the gentlefolk of Judea since the days of Samson
Receipt
Received this 14th day of Nissan
from Jereboam of Galilee
                                                                Downpayment of            D4
                                                       and First Instalment of         D3
                                                                  making a total              D7
as part of a Hire Purchase agreement to buy a donkey
(name of Stubnazzar) certified to be in good health,
sound in wind and limb, in its right mind and
approved by the Jockey Club of Israel, Samaria & Babylon 



-------       Temple, Jerusalem       -------

----   Temple Tax Receipt   ----

Received with Thanks from
Jereboam of Galilee
The sum of D 1113  (30 Pieces of Silver)
in payment of Temple Tax
clearing the account, which was in serious arrears.
We thank you for your custom and invite you
to sacrifice again when you are financially ready
or have further sins to confess
Chlöe Coincounter
pp Caiaphas, Chief Priest        pp Lydia, his accountant


ISCARIOTTERS INDEPENDENT TRADERS, plc
Receipt: 30 pieces of silver
from Chief Priests’ Malfeasance, Indiscretions,
Bribes, Backhanders & Bungs (Emoluments) Fund
for services rendered, enough said, cough cough, know what I mean?



Manassah & Sons
ESTATE AGENTS
Sales, rental or management of fine homes, custom-built dwellings, 
budget housing, undeveloped plots, fields and other properties
To: official conveyance of Title Deeds
of the plot of land known as Potters’ Field
Purchase of Property: 28 pieces of Silver
Conveyancing Fees: 2 pieces of Silver
Total: 30 Pieces of Silver
Paid in full by Mr J Iscariot
We will deny any and all contractual obligations or managerial responsibility.
No part of this receipt should be construed to infer any legal rights or valuation of the said property; neither shall any party named herein be held responsible for any action arising in future dispute thereunto; and yea, let this be henceforth declared for all time unto the fourth generation, on pain of death or thy tongue cleaving to the roof of thy mouth. Investments can go down as well as up


DIY @ H Andy Manns
Supplers of Building Material’s
two the Trade + the Public

27th Nissan

5 cubits best hemp
@ D1 per cubit      subtotal:   D5
small wooden crate                D1
Moredecai’s Scroll of Knots
      Vol 1                                D3

                            Total:         D9

Cash tendered                      D10
       Change                           D1

You’re sales asistant today was Julie

Thankyou for you custom



… hear ye PUBLIC DECLARATION hear ye …

We give notice that on 15th of this month at 6pm approx. 
Public Announcement shall be decreed thus by Town Crier:
the plot of land previously known as
POTTER’S FIELD
shall henceforth until further notice be known as
AKELDAMA or FIELD OF BLOOD

                      


Documentary evidence: Zacchaeus and the death of Judas

What information can we glean from these scraps of paper?

Why, do you suppose, did the tax collector return all he had stolen 
four times over, and give away some of his property? Compare Numbers 5:5-7

Where did the money end up? Why was the field’s name altered?