He walked rapidly, his long robes flowing behind him to be whipped by the brisk, dry east wind. His two servants occasionally quick-stepped to keep pace, their sandals padding softly on the dust of the deserted streets. As they turned eastward from the upper city, the declining, full moon flung their shadows ahead like long moving fingers pointing toward the white limestone buildings of the temple compound.

Nicodemus’ mind was thoughtless, yet filled with many thoughts. He had no plan, no course of action, but he hastened his pace as if just getting there were of utmost importance. He was driven not alone by concern and foreboding, but by anger as well.

Caiaphas, the high priest, had called the Sanhedrin into special session, but he, Nicodemus, had not been informed. An oversight perhaps?…