TETELESTAI: A Novel

By Eyitemi Egwuenu

Tetelestai . . . (it is finished!)
The most important word in Earth’s history; uttered by Christ on the Cross.

Judas Iscariot . . .
Most hated man in Christendom . . . he betrayed Christ?
Was Judas himself also betrayed?
The veil is lifted . . . take a peek behind the curtain.

The Star of Bethlehem . . .
A Star was seen by the Wise men at the birth of Christ;
what has that Star got to do with His death
and His resurrection, thirty-four years later?

Three days and three nights in the grave . . .
For three days and three nights, Christ was in the bowels of the Earth . . . Why?
The fate of mankind and God Himself hung in the balance.

Betrayal . . . Crucifixion . . . Resurrection . . .
You think you know the story? . . . believe me, you don’t!

Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Kessil, Lucifer, Saamalel, Ashtoreth, Beelzebub, Anatiel:
The Angels of the Heavenlies and Sheol,
like you have never seen or heard of them before.

From the perspective of the Angels . . .
Now, read the story behind the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491858974

Eyitemi Egwuenu

EYITEMI EGWUENU is the author of The Brimming Chalice, a collection of poetry. He trained as a Medical Doctor, has a PhD in cardiovascular neuroscience, and is a prolific writer. He is currently working on a second novel.

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© 2014 Eyitemi Egwuenu. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/18/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5899-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5898-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-5897-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014902016

Scriptures taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright© 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Author’s Notes

Part 1

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Part 2

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

Part 3

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Author’s Notes

So when Christ had received the sour wine, He said, It is finished! And bowing His head, He gave up His spirit.

—John 19:30

TETELESTAI (Τετελεσται) is a Greek word that means It is finished. It is the last word that Jesus uttered as he hung, dying on the cross. It is the singular word on which the destiny of the human race depended, and still depends. Τετελεσται, the Novel, is a work of fiction. This fictional account is woven around actual events as recorded in the Bible about the betrayal, trial, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

Angelic Hierarchy

Traditionally, the Christian Angelic Hierarchy categorizes Angelic beings into nine separate orders, namely: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principlalities, Archangels, and Angels. While there may be biblical passages that allude to some of these orders, there is no conclusive biblical basis for this rigid classification. In the traditional categorization, Archangels are considered a distinct class of Angelic beings. However, this is not my impression, as I consider this definition too narrow. The term Archangel is from the Greek, Archangelos, meaning Chief-Angel. Therefore, my submission is this: any Angel that belongs to a high-ranking Angelic order as described by Christian tradition, for example, Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones and Dominions, could be said to be a Chief-Angel, a High-ranked Angel or an Arch-Angel. So, although Lucifer is specifically a Cherub, I refer to him at times as an Archangel because Cherubs are High-ranking Angels or Arch-Angels.

It is my hope that in the telling of this story, the immense love of God Almighty for mankind, and the sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, on humanity’s account will be evident.

I have also decided to use Yeshua, the Hebrew version of the name Jesus, and Elohim, for the name of God.

—Eyitemi Egwuenu

For my mother,

who taught me how to read.

And my father,

who showed me the magic in a pen.

Part 1

Golgotha

. . . He shall bruise your head,

And you shall bruise His heel.

               —Genesis 3:15

Prologue

I thirst!

That was the mournful cry from the twisted figure hanging on the cross.

Michael, Prince of the Angels, commander of the hosts of Heaven, watched in horror as the Son of God, Yeshua, uttered those words of eternal agony and despair. Across the vast space of the Heavenlies, the immortals of the Celestial Sphere,—Seraphs, Cherubs, Elders and Watchers, amongst others, peered through the parted sky, as they leaned on the clouds, their gazes transfixed on the Earth, where a cosmic drama was being enacted. They watched with growing disbelief and horror as the race of men hung God on a cross.

All of Creation strained and agonized with the Creator, and wondered at the sheer audacity of mankind. Darkness, like great sheets was in several layers upon the face of the Earth; the sun had seen enough, and could not bear the sight any longer,—it could not hang in the sky and lend its light to this abomination on a hill outside the walls of Jerusalem, and watch as mankind crucified his Maker. Even the stars and the moon which usually sleep by day, and roll out their splendour and majesty only in the darkness of night had scurried off into their hiding places, and were absent in the dark sky,—they would not be witnesses to the pathos in His voice: The One who first called them into existence with the command, Let there be light!, now cried in tired agony:

I thirst!

As terrible as the utterance from the figure on the cross was, it was not the words alone that petrified Michael; it was what he saw next that stunned the senses of the Archangel. A dark spot had slowly cropped-up on both feet of Yeshua, and they appeared to grow even darker in intensity as Michael focused on them. Both spots grew larger, giving off strands of dark green tentacles which twisted and turned like twigs, as they grew even larger. Snake-like, these branches spread over Him like the threads of a million nets enclosing a prey; starting from his feet, and then to his legs and thighs. Next, the dark threads curled around his torso and clutched at His neck and head in a vice-like grip. The tentacles tore through his skin,—they burrowed through muscle and tendons like malignant roots, exploring every tissue. They wrapped their eerie leashes around His heart, and from there, through his blood vessels, they spread furtively to every corner of His body as if urged on by the beats of His weakening heart.

Impossible! Michael whispered. This cannot be happening!

Across the vast distance of the Heavenlies, Michael could sense the all-pervading presence of evil emanating from this ‘thing’ that latched onto the man on the cross,—wave after wave of a malevolent aura pulsated from this dark lattice as it continued to spin a web around Yeshua. Then, in a sudden flash of insight, his righteous heart realized what it was that wove a deathly grip on the Anointed One:

It was Sin!

The Son of God, Yeshua, was being made Sin!

Gabriel! Michael called out, his voice, a trembling blend of authority and alarm. Even as he called, his eyes roamed across the vastness of their realm, to the very edge of the Celestial Sphere, to the Pethak, the portal, that connected the Heavenlies to the physical world, from where Gabriel watched.

Was that supposed to happen? Michael asked, referring to the dark tentacles that had invaded Yeshua.

No! Gabriel replied, the brevity of his response raising more questions than answers.

His death was supposed to be symbolic. Gabriel continued. "His righteous blood, alone, was supposed to be a propitiation and ransom for mankind. He was not meant to carry on His person the weight of sin, let alone be made Sin."

Any idea why this is happening? Michael pressed.

I don’t know. Gabriel responded in a pained voice. "He is being transformed into Sin,—into the very essence of Iniquity. How is this part of the plan?"

Neither of the Archangels wanted to contemplate the implication of the Son of God being made Sin,—it was too terrible a thought to ponder, but they did not have to wait for long. Suddenly, the voice of the Anointed One filled the solemn winds of Heaven in a pang of pain, woe and alienation as none of the heavenly beings had ever heard in all of their long existence:

Eli! Eli! lama sabachthani!

My God! My God, why hast thou forsaken me!

Michael trembled, and with him, Heaven and its Hosts trembled as well,—hundreds of millions of celestial beings staggered and lurched suddenly as Heaven itself was jolted by that cry of anguish. It was more than a tortured cry of desolation and angst. It was more than just a cry of pain or agony. It was a sword,—a death blow, struck at the heart of Creation itself,—the Son of God, was parted from his Father,—Yeshua, the only begotten Son of God was separated for the first time since the dateless past from Elohim.

There was another massive jolt, bigger than the first, and this time it did not peter out completely, but was sustained as a continuous tremor. Michael steadied his footing, his eyes scanning the Heavenlies, his thoughts roving,—searching for answers in the events as they unfolded before him. He directed his sights again towards the Pethak, the doorway to the world of the race of men. Gabriel was still there, and apart from the trembling, nothing else seemed amiss. In the same sweeping gaze, he turned his attention to the scene beneath the parted clouds. Yeshua was still on the cross,—a dark, grotesque and bloodied mass, deformed beyond all recognition. Michael winced,—a fog of exasperation welled up in his heart; he smothered it, as he averted his eyes from his mangled Lord. What was the source of this constant trembling in the Heavenlies, he wondered? And, as if in response, there was a deafening explosion. The blast rattled through the ether in continuous waves rocking everything in its path. From the corner of his eyes, Michael saw Angels knocked off their feet, and those in flight, flung violently in several directions.

Then, slowly, darkness, like a great shadow, spread across the landscape of Heaven.

Darkness in Heaven!

Never in his long life had he seen the splendid radiance of the Heavenlies wane into a shadow. Instinctively, Michael looked towards the North of the celestial realm,—towards the divine and constant radiance of Unapproachable Light, where the Throne of God stood, on the Mounts of the North. Immediately, he saw the problem:

The Host of the Seraphim who stood on the Mounts of the North,—fifty fierce warrior-guardians who blazed with white fire, and were sworn to defend the Throne, had been dispelled by a strange Dark entity.

And even worse:

The Light!—the Glory of God, had dimmed, and was fading out!

The Light of the Heavenlies,—the Life of all Creation was being extinguished. The unthinkable was happening. A Dark Cloud, dark as the pits of Tartarus, the nether regions of Sheol, surrounded the Throne at the edge of the dying Light, and was engulfing it,—a Darkness that was not there before,—a Darkness that was slowly but surely, sucking up the Light of Elohim.

Elohim was dying! he thought.

Michael stared in disbelief, numbed, as he watched the impossible, happening. And, for the first time in his long existence, the mighty Prince of the Angels felt a strange sensation in his heart that lasted for the briefest fraction of a moment.

He felt fear!

Not even aeons ago when the mightiest of Archangels, Lucifer, had led a rebellion against the Heavenlies, did he feel fear. Not even when the war broke out all across the Heavenlies and he battled with the Son of the Morning and a third of the Angelic host, did he feel fear. Not even when the conflict hung in the balance, when it seemed the Shining One would triumph and lift his seat above the Throne of God,—not even then, did he feel fear.

He was not afraid then because the Lord of Host was with him. But now, this was different: the Lord of Host was dying!

Death was killing what cannot die!

Eternal death was consuming Eternal life!

In a quick series of flashbacks, the events of the last two Earth-days sped through his mind, and his emotions flared in consonance with the image of each memory,—the anger, the rage, the elation, the horror, the angst and now,—the fear!

Fear! . . . an emotion unknown to the Angels of Heaven. But then, no Angel had ever beheld a sight like this before,—no Angel had ever looked across the vastness of endless space at the bright blue ball, called Earth, that was hanging on nothing, with such horror before,—or looked towards the Throne of God, only to see a swiftly gathering Darkness enveloping the Unapproachable Light of Elohim.

No Angel had ever seen God dying!

Gabriel! . . . hurry! hurry! to the Throne! hurry! Michael cried out.

Michael’s senses were in a riot: Lucifer, the Shining One has triumphed! he thought.

If Lucifer, the Son of the Morning is victorious, . . . if this was the death of Elohim, . . . if this was the end of the Heavenlies, then, he, Michael, and the Angelic host will gladly perish fighting for their Lord,—till the very end!

In a flash, like a lurid blaze of lightning, Michael leapt into the ethereal winds of the Heavenlies, his wings fanned out in all their majesty and glory as he sped towards the Throne, with his mighty sword flashing and a battle cry rising from his lips. In unison, as if on cue, every Angel in every region of the Celestial Sphere made their way Northwards, towards the Throne of God, to confront a sight that none had ever witnessed in all the annals of the Heavenlies.

1

I t was evening. Darkness kept vigil over the sleepy garden. A mournful hoot from an owl rippled through the still night air. Bright pinpoints of light pranced about as fireflies wove a dance within the maze of leaves, branches and darkness. The night sky was decked with the unnumbered sparks of starlight and at the horizon, behind drifting solitary clouds there was a flush of silver,—harbinger of the mellow splendour of a rising moon. To the west, the skyline was screened by the majestic rise of the Mount of Olives. The tall cedar trees on the slopes faithfully kept watch with the stars,—their elegant trunks leaning on the night, swaying lazily,—their branches, whistling a dirge in the wind.

The surreal quiet of the garden was only punctuated by the low voices of twelve men. Yeshua had just had supper with his disciples and had on a suggestion from Judas, decided to take a stroll on the plains of the Olives, in the garden of Gethsemane. His disciples were tired; they had spent the whole day and a greater part of the day before preparing for the supper they just had. It was unlike any other they had before. They gathered in the upper room of a complete stranger who was willing to let them have it for the period without any fees. He had even offered to provide the wine for the supper. They thought it strange at first that a man could open his home to thirteen strange men. Yeshua had told them where they would find him, but it turned out that Medad, for that was his name, said that he had heard of Yeshua, and was grateful to Him for restoring his niece, Jarius’ daughter, back to life.

The evening was far spent. They were exhausted but they could not sleep. So many unusual things had happened and so many cryptic statements had been made on this strange night that seemed longer than any other. They had noticed that Yeshua appeared troubled; He had this far-away stare in His eyes, and often he would look at them and smile reassuringly, but that only accentuated their concern. What was this expression of perpetual torture that lurked on his face in the last seven days? What was the burden that weighed so heavily on his heart, and bent his shoulders in a drooping curve? In the three years they have been His disciples, He has said so many unusual things. They were still trying to wrap their minds around most of it. Yet, his utterances have only become weirder in the last week. They have never seen him angry or irritable,—not even when he had been slighted in a Samaritan village, and they had solicited that He called fire from Heaven to avenge Himself.

He had scolded them severely for such a thought.

But only this week, as they passed by the synagogue, when they entered Jerusalem, He was annoyed at the traders in the temple. Now, the disciples found nothing particularly odd about trading in the temple,—it had being going on for years, so they were surprised at the level of anger He displayed by taking a whip and chasing the moneychangers and traders out, and overturning their tables and wares. And, as if that was not weird enough, He said the oddest thing they have ever heard:

Destroy this temple and in three days I will rebuild it!

What a statement to make and what a place to say it. They knew he was the Son of God,—they had witnessed many mighty deeds that He had performed, but what did He mean by that outburst?

At supper they all had been in particularly happy spirits,—sharing jokes and trading jibes at one another. He was silent for the most part, but He had punctuated their jovial camaraderie with, One of you will betray me.

Why would any of them do that? They had been with Him for three years. They had given up their trades and professions to follow Him. They had nothing to go back to. He alone was their sustenance. Why would they put all that at risk by betraying Him?

Lord, is it I? Peter had asked, and they all had followed in kind, expressing the same query, but His answer had not helped in untangling their confusion.

He who dips bread in the same dish with me will betray me.

There were twelve of them sharing the same sauce with Him. How did his answer help in identifying the culprit?

None, whatsoever.

Except of course, you wanted to take as an affirmative, the rather cryptic comment He made to Judas Iscariot when he had queried Him:

You have said so.

It made no sense that Judas would betray Him. He was one of the twelve and a trusted member of their group. He was so trusted in fact that they let him act as treasurer for their money. Judas was also an ardent advocate for the liberation of Israel from the Romans. Why would he, knowing that the Christ, Yeshua, was the saviour of Israel, throw away the best chance and perhaps the only chance of their ever winning their freedom from the Roman Empire. And where was Judas right now anyway, they all wondered.

This night, the son of man will be betrayed into the hands of sinners.

Lord, do not speak like this. Peter said, You burden our hearts with it. We can not understand the torture you place on yourself by repeating these things.

I do not wish to make you sad my friends. Yeshua said, smiling, the light of joy returning to his eyes. You all will be fine, except for one,—the son of perdition. You will be sad at my departure, but your joy shall be restored. Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.

We have been with you three whole years now, James said. Wherever you go, there, we will go.

Yeshua looked at the ground, a pained smile on His lips. In the hushed light of the moon, he looked pale, and His face was drawn. He lifted His head and stared at James. I know you mean well, James. All of you mean well. He added, turning to look at every face as He spoke. And I pray that your spirit will be strengthened, and that none will lose heart in the coming days. He stopped talking for a while, appearing to be deep in thought and then resumed.

But, tonight, you all will desert me. The shepherd will be struck and the sheep will be scattered. A sudden foray of voices rose, as each disciple tried to assert their faithfulness,—each one insisting that they would be with him till the end.

Even if they all desert you, Peter said, Lord, I will not.

Peter, the rock. Yeshua replied. You are rugged and faithful. I do not doubt your heart, but tonight, you, the rock, shall be a reed,—fragile, wavering, and changeable.

I promise You, I will be iron to the very end. Peter insisted.

Yeshua put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulled him tenderly to Himself. Before the cock crows twice today, you shall deny me three times.

Never! Lord! Peter protested. I will do no such thing. I give you my word.

Yeshua smiled at him reassuringly. I will take your word that after you have been restored, that you will comfort your brethren. Will you give me your word on that?

There is no need for me to be restored. I will not deny you.

Yeshua sighed as he stared long and hard at Peter, His face, a mingled expression of compassion and regret. He turned and walked away from them towards a canopy of trees. Peter, James and John followed Him while the others remained seated, discussing amongst themselves the things He had just spoken about. Peter caught up with Him and persisted in his resolve that he would never deny Him.

Peter Bar Jona, Yeshua said, Satan has asked for you specifically,—to sift you as wheat, but I have prayed for you. Your heart will not fail. All will be well eventually,—restore your brothers. I have prayed that you all will be one, just as Elohim and I are one. Stay, and pray with me here awhile.

He walked away from the three towards a recess between two boulders. He stood there motionless with His back to them, and stared into the darkness.

What was He doing? The three of them wondered.

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Yeshua walked away from His three closest disciples. The time had come He realized, when He must face the prospects that lay ahead alone. Crucifixion was a horrible way to die, but it was not the nails or the cross that pounded His heart with unspeakable dread,—it was what He was about to become!

If the race of men were to have any hope of redemption, He must become the accursed one on the cross. He stood with his back to His closest confidantes as He peered into the darkness of the night. Slowly, the dark screen in front of Him came alive with scenes flashing past in quick succession:

Fire torches,—the crowd with their spears and swords,—the Sanhedrin shaking their fists at Him,—the cries of save yourself filled the air,—the crack of the whip,—the screams of agony that followed,—blood! blood! blood! flowing down an altar. Two hands holding a cup,—offered it to Him,—the hands drew closer,—He could see the red holes in both hands,—they held the cup,—they offered it to Him,—beckoning Him to drink,—He looked inside the cup and all He saw was a dark void,—a yawning pit of vileness and wickedness,—the abhorrent stench of Sheol, and the desolation of hopelessness.

Yeshua shuddered!

Summoning His will, He reached out His hands to take the cup. He paused. And, slowly, He withdrew His hands. He could not take this cup,—revulsion compelled him to look away. He let out a tortured cry. A dark vapour, darker than the night rose slowly from the cup. The dark mist twisted and rolled, coalesced into a sinuous cord that coiled, snake-like, in the turbid night air.

The cord of blackness hissed loudly as it floated towards Yeshua,—a glistening, undulating Serpent. Hissing and shrieking, forked tongue flashing, it curled around Him, sniffing as it slipped from His head, down His back and underneath His arms with furtive reptilian fluidity. Yeshua trembled violently, His head bowed, and groans thrilling through His frame.

The globulous Darkness thickened around Him, letting no light in. Imprisoned.

He howled. He screamed. A dull thud, as He fell on his side,—writhing,—His mind, cooking in a fire of its own making.

The Darkness raged! Yeshua’s mind burned!

Leaping tongues of fire licked His skin and beyond to the bones,—stripped away all screens, revealing the ugly skeleton beneath the pretty flesh. Dark wings beat up a cloud of ashes; cremated desires and hopes.

The Darkness raged!

A million shadowy forms swarmed around Him; myrmidons of the Darkness. A howl. A scream. A scent in the air bared sharp talons to the moon’s gleam,—drooling in mad ecstasy at the whiff of the hunt,—Shrieking hounds yearned to let blood.

Yeshua’s mind burned!

The children of the Darkness emerged from the mist,—cruel contortions,—bubbling from the Earth. Chasms of horror gaped in foul eructations. Pale apparitions drifted in and out of the belly of Night.

Yeshua’s mind burned!

His blood is warm, His heartbeat, strong,—the pounding beckoned to the Darkness. His breath is fresh, His nostrils flared,—His wheeze, a symphony, entreated the mist. Ghouls sought heat from His body,—their claws scraped on stones, whetting their points. They clung to His suit of flesh. Gnawing.

The Darkness raged!

The pact was broken at the base of the Tree. The Serpent coiled around the stem, stung its roots,—envenomed the fruit. A branch of lightning unzipped the Darkness.

Dark drops fell.

Rain.

Blood!

Yeshua came back up on his knees.

There was a roar, followed by an echo of