The people gathered were mostly older men, well versed in the scripture. They could hardly believe what they were hearing. A young boy took to the pulpit and was teaching like a wise old Rabbi. He was speaking like somebody who had authority and indeed, he was able to answer all the detailed questions about the writings and the interpretations.
At last, he spoke thus:
“God spoke to Abraham demanding a child to be sacrificed. Now he calls out again, but in a silent voice. My father will sacrifice me on the altar of himself.”
“What do these words mean?” said a teacher at the rabbinical school here in Jerusalem.
“I know his father,” said another of the men, “His father is Joseph of Nazareth, the carpenter.”
“He is not my father,” said the boy. “My father is the ageless God the Father. He demands child sacrifice.”
A murmur came over the crowd.
“Blasphemy!” shouted someone. “God does not accept child sacrifice. So it was written by Moses. Surely, you know.”
The child smiled ironically: “It is all he wants. Only child sacrifice can appease him. So he spoke to Abraham.”
The men started shouting. Some demanded the boy be executed immediately, others were defending his right to interpret the scripture here, in this holiest of holy places. Small circles were created where debate raged as to the truthfulness of this particular interpretation.
A man approached the boy.
“Jesus,” he said, “You should flee. They will take your life, if you do not.”
The boy bowed his head, shook it, then raised again. He lifted a single finger, and all the men in the chamber found themselves speechless. All the men found themselves suddenly calm. They looked at him to hear his words.
“You wish to kill me because I speak the truth you bare not hear. Hear me out for once. God hates nothing more than me and I am Him. He wishes to sacrifice me on the altar of himself. He will succeed one day, I know it. But for now, we are equals and he cannot kill me. He is the unstoppable force, but I am the immovable object.”
The men looked at one another. They felt they wanted to disagree, but the feeling soon faded away. They listened on.
“Sometimes, when I cannot sleep at night, I can see across the ages, forward and back. I can see the edges of time. I know what happened and I know what will happen. I will succumb and I will lose my mind, having killed myself as I am a child onto myself. Can the son kill the father? I know not. Will the father stop His hand? He will not. But the day has not yet come.”
Some of the men started moaning.
“He turns his gaze upon this place right now. Oh, mortals who are in his sight! Their fate is never a light one. We all have His attention now and He is unrelenting.”
Everyone was quiet as the main door flew open and a man walked in. It was Joseph the Carpenter, having returned from the way to Nazareth. He looked really confused, stood there for a while, stuck between two steps. Finally, he said:
“Jesus, why are you not with us?”
“Why did you seek me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?”
The man and the boy left and the room remained hush. The men could feel a strong presence leaving, but an even stronger one, a more malicious one lingered. They had His attention, and He was angry.