Jesus and the Pharisees: A Conflict of Kingdoms
A Historical Novel Based on the Gospels
(Matthew 12:9–14; Mark 3:1–6; Luke 6:6–11)
The synagogue in Capernaum was filled that Sabbath morning. Its stone walls echoed with quiet prayers as men gathered in their places, women standing silently at the back. The scent of old scrolls and oiled wood mingled with the warm dust of gathered feet. Jesus entered, His presence drawing the eyes of all like iron to a magnet.
Among them sat a man with a withered hand. He kept his gaze lowered, trying to make himself invisible. Life had taught him to shrink from notice, for pity and disgust often felt the same when seen in others’ eyes.
But that morning, another set of eyes watched him closely – not with compassion, but calculation. The Pharisees, standing tall in their fringed garments, leaned toward one another, whispering.
“They watched him, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him.” (Mark 3:2)
Jesus knew their thoughts. He turned His gaze from the Pharisees to the man with the withered hand.
“Come here,” He called gently. (Mark 3:3)
The man looked up, startled, then slowly rose and stepped forward into the centre of the synagogue. Silence fell, so deep it pressed upon the chest. Even the children dared not shift.
Jesus looked around at them all – their suspicious eyes, their unspoken challenge. His voice rang with clarity that cut through the silent tension.
“I ask you,” He said, His eyes meeting theirs one by one, “is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?” (Luke 6:9)
No one answered. The Pharisees’ lips remained sealed, but their jaws tightened. Their silence screamed louder than words.
“And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart…” (Mark 3:5)
Then He turned back to the man and said simply:
“Stretch out your hand.” (Mark 3:5)
The man hesitated, shame battling hope. Slowly, tremblingly, he extended his hand. Before the eyes of all, twisted fingers straightened, skin smoothed, and the shrivelled muscles filled out with life. His hand was restored, whole as the other. A gasp rose from the congregation, and tears spilled down the healed man’s face as he flexed his fingers in wonder.
But the Pharisees felt no awe, no joy. Instead, rage surged in their chests, dark and choking.
“The Pharisees went out and immediately held counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.” (Mark 3:6)
Outside, under the glaring noon sun, they huddled in whispered plots. Their hatred grew that day like a shadow stretching long across Galilee, for they could not tolerate a man who healed the broken when their laws said, “Wait.”
And within the synagogue, Jesus stood silent for a moment, watching the healed man cradle his hand to his chest in trembling gratitude. Then He turned and left, His sandals stirring the dust of the doorway as He walked back into the light, leaving behind a room divided – some hearts softened by mercy, others hardened by pride.