An alternate ending to “The Mystery of the Empty Tomb”
by Jon Wight
Many years later, probably 20 years after I gave up the investigation into the empty tomb, I was in the court of Porcius Festus, in the port of Caesarea Maritima, attending to some tax matters. I was, at that time, an old man. My liver troubled me, my skin had folded over itself as I lost weight from my intestinal troubles, and my heart was heavy with the loss of my wife and my oldest son. I was alone in the world, except for my young servant whose father had served me in earlier years.
While waiting in the city for my matters to be attended to by the new procurator, Porcius Festus, I was suddenly accosted by a Roman soldier, who ordered me to the court. “Governor Festus commands your presence.”
We marched the half-mile to the prestigious home, which also served as the procurator’s office. I had heard of — but not yet met — the famous King Herod Agrippa II, who was visiting the city with his mistress Bernice (rumored to be his sister). We entered the procurator’s chambers and I saw Agrippa across the room, seated on a throne, in a splendid robe of the finest red silk. Bernice sat next to him on a lower bench, and a scribe sat to her left with a bucket of scrolls at his feet.
A tall thin man, wearing a white robe looked up as I entered with the guard. He approached me with short steps. “You must be Nicholaus,” he said, extending his hand.
I admitted as such and the governor Festus clasped my hand. “I heard from my advisors that you were here, and that you gained some notoriety when you previously worked for Pilate, investigating those who followed Jesus after his death—is that not right?”
“It is, your eminence,” I replied, “but that was a long time ago. It is a dead story and there was a dead end to my investigation.”
“I understand,” he said, “but it appears not to be so dead after all. I beg of you to meet a new witness, who also claims to have encountered Jesus after his death. I’d like your opinion of his veracity, as this man is on trial for his life.”
I was reluctant to get involved. I was old and infirm. What did I have to gain by this? My hesitation showed, and the governor said, “Your assistance will not go unrewarded, I assure you. I understand you have some matters before this court?”
I nodded and said begrudgingly, “I am honored to help if I can, your excellency.”
“Excellent. Come then and meet my guest, King Herod Agrippa II, whose judgment I have requested also in this matter. Bring the prisoner in,” he commanded.
The order was given and shortly a bearded man with chains around his wrists was presented. I stood with Festus to the right of Agrippa, and the prisoner was directly in front of us, not six feet away. He stood calmly, his eyes slightly downcast. There was a murmur among the crowd of onlookers, as this prisoner had caused no small trouble between the Jewish priests and the followers of Jesus, and now once again the Romans were called to intervene. The priests wanted him killed, just as they had wanted Jesus condemned so many years earlier.
“Tell us your name, prisoner,” said Agrippa.
“I was born Saul, and am now reborn as Paul,” he replied. He spoke softly but with confidence. It was plain he didn’t care if he convinced us. He exuded an aura of comfort that extended to all in the room, as if he was a magnet and we were shards of iron. I stepped closer.
As this man Saul—or Paul—told his story of the bright light, and the voice of Jesus coming to him, I felt a tingling in my extremities and in my scalp. Heat rose up from my chest and my face flushed. I don’t know how or why, but I felt a profound empathy with this person — this witness — and though he told a story akin to being struck by a thunderbolt, his presence conveyed a sense of peace and acceptance that I cannot explain in my rational mind. Once encountered, I would never forget him.
After a few more questions the prisoner was dismissed and Agrippa, Festus, and I remained in silence for what seemed like ten minutes, though it was probably just one or two. Each of us seemed to have reacted in a similar manner to the prisoner in the dirty robe. At last, Festus asked the King, “Your majesty, what do you make of him? Should his sentence be death?”
Agrippa was silent for a moment. “I want to hear from this Jesus scholar first,” he said, gesturing to me. Festus nodded my way.
Still in mild shock from the encounter with Paul, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. “Your Eminences, I am no Jesus scholar, only a mere investigator. This man’s story is consistent with those of the other Jesus followers that I interviewed two decades ago, who claim to have seen or heard Jesus after his death. I have no evidence in favor of this witness, but his account struck me as truthful as he experienced it. He seems not to be a danger to Rome.”
Festus and Agrippa conferred in soft tones out of my hearing, and then Festus announced to the crowd, “This man Paul is a Roman citizen. He deserves a trial of his peers. I command that he be taken to Nero. Let him tell his story there before judgment.”
And that was the end of the affair. Within a day my matters in the court had been resolved favorably (thanks to Festus being a man of his word). I set off home. But I was not the same person as when I arrived. I was transformed by the encounter with the chained man who called himself Paul. My rational mind was the same, but my heart felt lighter. For once in many years, I was confident in my walk, and my pains receded.
Over the next few weeks, I connected with old friends and could see a new spark in their eyes. I unexplainedly gave my young servant a bonus coin and a hug on his birthday. I no longer worried about what lay ahead. Was I deluding myself in some way? Did it matter? I could not explain or justify my change in behavior, all from a chance encounter with Paul and his account of Jesus. I was entangled in this story and experienced the peace it gave me for no certain reason.
In the end I confess I have no idea what happened in the tomb of Jesus—except I know that the reverberations are being felt now all the way to Rome, and beyond. And I was glad of it.
Jon Wight is a retired university professor residing in Richmond, Va.