Review this Book   Get your Signed copy today! Kindle Edition Download to your Nook (eBook) Download from Apple iTunes (eBook) Download from Smashwords (eBook) Amazon Barnes & Noble.com Unique 3-Part Biblical Novel Kobo Google Play Books Category:  Holidays Publisher: WestBow Press ISBN-10:  1973686619 Type: Fiction Pages: 324 Copyright: March 9, 2020 ISBN-13: 9781973686613 Price: $2.99 (eBook) GREAT GIFT IDEA!: Give this Award-winning Intriguing literary, historical fiction novel of Biblical and Roman times; A powerful blending of lives of seekers who might have lived then told with a unique eclectic writing style. Makes a great gift to give for Christmas, as it covers the coming of the Wisemen and the slaughter following the birth of Christ. Give this Award-winning Intriguing literary, historical fiction novel of Biblical & Roman times. Step back to Ancient Jerusalem at the time of Christ and of the historical Roman Empire, and ask: What could a cynical, non-conformist dry-goods salesman, a disgruntled blacksmith, and a musing mendicant all have in common? The answer: Down deep, they all seek something better; and eventually, they all find the childlike faith and humility required to enter God's kingdom and find true fulfillment.  The non-conformist, Manaheem, Herod’s foster brother, helps Herod foment an insurrection against Pontius Pilate, using the blacksmith, Barabbas, as insurrection leader, to the dismay of Barabbas' Godly but fearful wife. The mendicant, a young man named Timotheus, joins with an older mendicant completely unsympathetic to his musings. Meanwhile, Pontius Pilate’s wife pushes him to take over Herod’s kingdom. When the insurrection fails, non-conformist, Manaheem, tries to blackmail Herod, and Barabbas turns to robbery, enlisting the aid of our two mendicants. Manaheem almost loses his one true love, his former wife Claressa, also a non-conformist, with whom Manaheem is trying to re-unite. The robbery goes bad, and Barabbas and the mendicants are caught, tried for murder and sentenced to death by crucifixion. Barabbas is also charged with the insurrection against Pontius Pilate. NOTE. This novel has been revised and expanded and is out now in the 2nd edition both in print and as an e-book on Smashwords, B&N Nook, Amazon Kindle, Apple iBooks, Kobo and GooglePlay.  Instead of the Epilouge, this 2nd editon has PART III, which covers the early church and the reaction of the rulers to this new sect called Christians.  It employs those characters who were still alive at the end of Part II and adds some new ones. Did Claressa embrace Manaheem's new-found faith? What happened to the bereaved family of Benjamin? Did Joseph, the oldest son get to go to Rabbi school? Did Barabbas continue to follow the master and did his wife and children join him? And was Pontius Pilate able to forget about his decision to crucify Jesus and did he become the strong ruler his wife wanted him to be? These and other questions are answered in PART III. The new characters added include Saul, who becomes Paul, Herod Agrippa, the nephew of Herod Antipas, who wants to take over the latter's territory, and Caligula, the crazy son of Emperor Tiberius and friend of Agrippa. NOTE:Last  year (2020). it was revised again with historical accuracy fact checking and fine-tooth-comb editing and re-published through WestBow press, a division of Thomas Nelson and Zondervan. NOTE: .Remember this novel makes THE PERFECT CHRISTMAS GIFT, especially since Chapter 3 is an extended  flashback to the coming of the magi (wise men) and the slaughter of the innocents.after Christ's birth   Order your signed hard cover gift copies now for only $16.99 total (incl. S&H) in the AD signed bookstore (Click "Get your signed copy today" above.) Thanks, James M. Becher                 Excerpt Part I Chapter 1: The Challenge Plant the right seed to get the right plant. —Anonymous It had been a long, tiresome trip and a trying search. The city of Jerusalem was a teeming metropolis, alive with people from all walks of life. Surely here, he thought, he would find the type of man he was looking for. Surely, there was at least one man in Jerusalem with insight, drive, and motivation, who could be inspired and trained to lead a small insurrection. First, he tried the cloth shop owner, a short stocky old man with a withered look about him, whose name, according to the mosaic on the doorpost, was Benjamin. He first tried to sell the owner some goods, as that was his main line of work. But the old miser had already stocked up for the next three or four months, so he made a note to check back. As he wrote, he began talking about the evils of the Romans, and their incessant taxation. Benjamin never flexed a muscle. “Doesn't bother me any,” he said. “I'm rich enough to retire. I only keep this shop going for something to do.” He could see that he would get nowhere with this fellow. So, he left politely and thought he would try the other end of the spectrum. As his black and white carriage passed along the dusty streets of Jerusalem, he caught sight of a beggar, sitting by the side of the road. Perhaps this was his man. He stopped the carriage and spoke with the mendicant, who seemed surprised to see a gentleman of his appearance stop and converse with the likes of himself. As he continued the conversation, he could see that the beggar, who was short of stature and somewhat elderly, was obviously both uninformed and apathetic about the political situation and how it affected his daily life. The beggar stared blankly at his visitor, apparently puzzled by the whole incident. He was also clearly offended when the man started to leave without giving him any money. The stranger apologized, and, opened his pouch, pulling out a handful of small change to drop into the beggar's cup. So, the stranger thought to himself as he rode along in his unique looking carriage, it's not to be the rich shopkeeper, nor the poor beggar. Both are completely apathetic to the situation, the first due to his money, and the second because of his ignorance. No, the type of person he was looking for must be somewhere between the two—perhaps, that brawny blacksmith, whose huge frame caught his eye, as he rode slowly by the large open shop window with the lattice shutters tied on either side. He pulled the reigns and stopped to get a better view, but he smith moved. So, he slowly rode on a little further and was able to catch another glimpse of him through the large open door with the inscription overhead which read: BARABBAS'S BLACKSMITH SHOP. PLAIN AND FANCY METAL WORK. He could see right away that this was a hard-working man. Certainly, he was not rich like Benjamin. Neither did he look to be as ignorant as the beggar was. Yes, this must be his man. He'd give it a try. Beads of sweat poured from Barabbas's forehead, as the crackling sparks flew upward, some of them hitting and bouncing off of his rough, black leather apron like so many flitting fireflies. As he finished the plain bronze plate he had been working on, he hung it up to cool. He wiped his face with his huge white handkerchief and sighed deeply. The day had been long, and he was hot and tired—tired of standing over the scorching fire all day, making plane plates and kitchen knives. He'd had few calls that week for the fancy plates and shields he so liked to make. If only he were rich like that cloth shop owner who had stopped by a few days ago to replace a kitchen knife his wife had lost. When Barabbas had asked him how his business was, he'd replied, “Not too good right now, but I don't care. I only keep my shop open for something to do.” If I had this man's money, he thought, then, I could make what I wanted to, or not work at all if I didn't feel like it. Perhaps, he should try raising his prices and cutting corners. He did want his family to enjoy the best. But it was the Romans who really bothered him. They'd take every shekel you made in taxes if they could. And what do they do with it all? He wondered. This city could certainly stand some improvements. But any improvements we hear of never seem t' reach us here. They don't care for our people. They'd kill you if they got a chance, just like they did my grandfather. After he’d given them his best efforts, they’d turned on him and crucified him, along with the Spartan captives on the Appian way. Although Barabbas was only 12 years old, and that was over 40 years ago, he would despise them forever for that. They're all tyrants, he thought, and murderers at heart! And the local rulers aren't any better! There's that putrid puppet, Pilate, always bowing and scraping to that Cyclops, Caesar, and his hired helper, Herod! Everyone knows they add to the taxes they're required by Rome to collect in order to fill their own coffers. Laws are passed for their political expediency rather than for the good they might do. And then there are those Roman soldiers, always parading up and down. They've even added a tax of their own, supposedly for their upkeep. Yes, things are truly in a terrible state! All these thoughts were running wildly through his mind that afternoon, when the door opened, and in walked one of them, a Roman soldier in the flesh. He cringed. The unwelcome visitor inquired about the sword hanging on the back wall, but when told the price, declined to buy it, saying, “I'll wait until the next increase in the soldier's tax. There is another half-shekel raise scheduled, you know.” —As if it wasn't high enough already! The smith nodded patronizingly, though all the while something inside of him wanted to take the down sword and thrust it into the soldier's back as he turned to leave. But he thought better of his compulsion and reached for another piece of bronze instead. As he carried the metal to the hearth, he made every effort to present a calm exterior. In a moment, the soldier was gone. Barabbas breathed a sigh of relief as he began the formation of another plate. But the soldier's exit was soon followed by the entrance of another figure who was very strange-looking. He wore a pitch-black tunic with a wide white belt and a black hat with a white ribbon. His stern face sported a big black mustache, but no beard. The mustache curved down and then up on the sides like one of those fancy door knockers Barabbas used to make. It connected nicely with his bushy black and white sideburns. He looked very strange indeed, and a bit frightening! He stood for a minute, looking the place over. Then, he smiled politely and motioned for the proprietor to come toward him. “Yes, sir?” Barabbas said politely, as he carefully laid his work aside and walked to the counter. “I'd have come quicker, only I was working on that plate and was afraid to drop it. May I help you, sir?” He noticed that, despite the stranger's odd appearance, he still had the look of a Jew about him. The stranger's penetrating eyes wandered over the profusion of fancy cups, plates, knives, shields, and other objects displayed for sale and rested upon the large sword hanging on the back wall. “That sword there, of what does it consist?” “Why, it's made of the finest iron available, sir. Nothing but the finest.” “Well, how sharp might its edges be?” “Why, sharp enough, sir. Sharp enough to split a rock, or pierce a wall, or—or—or—” “Or,” ventured the stranger, lowering his voice, “slit a Roman soldier's throat?” “Yes! Or slit a Roman soldier’s throat, confound 'em! Now I've gone and said it, haven't I? I’ve finally said what's been brooding inside of me. I suppose you're one of 'em in disguise, or one of their spies. Well, arrest me, if you will, and have done with it. Our lives are without hope anyway under your wretched tyranny!” The stranger smiled benignly. “Relax, my friend, relax. I'm Roman in citizenship only. . . .by no means in sympathy. Despite my divergent appearance, do you not see the Jew in me? I was born a Jew, just like you. But I was raised in a somewhat different environment. Having the chance, I determined to be my own man, to dress, talk, act, and think as much as possible on my own, without any outside influence.” “Then, you are not a true Jew.” Barabbas was still on the defensive. “A Jew follows the precepts of the fathers: the law, the prophets, and the Talmud.” “I believe in the basic spiritual truth behind these teachings. But every man must be free to find the meaning of this truth for himself and to apply it to his own life as he sees fit. It is the spirit of these things that is important, not the letter. Look at you! Where has following the letter gotten you?” Barabbas's mind was racing, and he started to speak. “Uh—” But the stranger raised a finger, smiled, and continued: “Ah, but it did my heart good to hear you speak those treacherous words a moment ago. For, I, myself, feel the same way. Those Romans are truly tyrants and must be stopped!” “Ah-ha!” The smith's face brightened. “So! You’re not one of them! Ah! I'm safe! And I have someone with which to share my rebellious attitudes!” “Indeed you do!” Exclaimed the stranger, who had been glancing toward the doorway every now and then to make sure no one entered. He now leaned over the counter and spoke more softly and yet more emphatically, so as to ensure his listener's full attention. “And I'm certain there must be more who feel the same way about things as we do!” Most likely. If only they would speak out!” “And why do you think they do not?” The smith's brow wrinkled. “I never thought much about that, but the only reason I can think of is fear. We're all afraid to say anything.” “Exactly! If only we could all find each other, as you and I have, and all band together. . . .” The stranger's voice trailed off as he turned and glanced at the sundial outside the window. “I must be leaving now,” he added, starting toward the door, “but, we shall meet again, my friend.” “What about the sword? Do you want to buy it?” “Not at this time. Perhaps later. Shalom.” He raised his hand in a parting gesture. That was all. The stranger left as suddenly as he came. Yes, he mused to himself, as he untied his two sleek black and white horses, certainly this blacksmith will do nicely. He made a note of the shop's location. He then mounted his unique carriage, (long and shiny, black and white.) He quickly grabbed the reins and in no time the carriage was on its way. He would go now and report his success. Later, he would return for another visit with this blacksmith, when the latter had a chance to think and become even more resolute. As the mysterious stranger walked through the shop door and out into the dusty street, Barabbas began to think. He thought as he closed up shop and got ready to go home. He thought as he walked all the way up the dirt street to his ordinary looking home. He thought, Perhaps it would be possible. “If only we could all band together—” That was what the stranger had said, wasn't it? But, how? How could it happen? If only— Should he tell his wife, or not? She'd certainly be against the whole idea. She greatly resented the fact that her father had been brutally executed for plotting against the life of Herod, the great. She knows things are bad, but she'll just say, “We might as well grin 'n' bear it,” or “We'll get along somehow.” They had gotten along so far. But things were getting worse. Who knows, he wondered, if another insurrection might not succeed? If enough people could be gathered together to fight— But that’s a big "if". Well, too late now for any further mental deliberation. The ‘little tigers’ had spied him coming and were running out to meet him as usual. Big and boisterous, short and stocky, petite and ladylike, all three of them descended upon him at once, pulling and screaming. “Shalom, Abba!” “Daddy, you're home!” “Peace, Daddy!” “Peace yourselves, you little bunches o' joy!” He said, reaching out his big brawny arms to enfold them. As they approached the doorstep, she appeared: a tall, thin, golden-haired vision of beauty. Her apron was still on, as she stepped decisively up to her huge husband, smiling radiantly. “Barabbas! You're home late today!” “But not by much, Deborah dear. An important customer came in just as I was closing.” “Well, come here you big brute and let me feast my eyes upon y'!” But it wasn't only their eyes that met. “Mmm, mmm!” “Wow! Momma’s kissin' Daddy!” “Mmm!” As much as he enjoyed her kisses, his stomach told him it was time to think about supper. “Alright, alright! Enough of this for now! I'm tired 'n' starved half to death!” “Supper'll be ready in just a minute, dear. Come on, sit down and wash your tired feet. Th' water's already poured.” “Can I help y', Daddy? Can I?” “ken I?” They tugged and pulled at him from all sides. “I want t' help, Daddy.” “Now, Caleb, you helped me yesterday. It's Jason's turn.” Alright. Then, I’ll get y'r slippers.” “I wanna get Daddy's slippers!” “No! I asked first!” “Now, you kids stop your bickerin'! I'll get my own confounded slippers!” “I heard that, Barabbas! You know you shouldn’t talk like that, especially in front of th' children!” “Now, Deborah! All I said was I'd get my own confound—” “But you didn't have t' say ‘confounded’!” “Oh, alright, then! I'll get my own slippers! Confound it!” “Barabbas! When will you learn? Why, I'll bet you don't talk like that to your customers! Just because you're home, you think you can—” “My foot, Deborah! You make such a fuss over one little word! Tend to th' supper! I'm starved!” The sound of Barabbas's heavy tread upon the bare floor was heard as he walked deliberately to the bedroom. Then there was a bang, as he flung the door open. Entering, he grabbed a pair of rough leather slippers and returned to his chair to sit for the washing of the feet by the eldest son, Jason. When the feet were washed and dried, Jason slipped the sippers on his father's feet and turned to go. “Hey, where do you think you're going'? Aren't you forgetting something? You know emptyin' th' pan is part of the job." “Sorry, Daddy, I forgot.” He picked up the pan and left. Barabbas sat and waited. The joy of being home after a hard day's work had taken his mind away from the mysterious stranger and his exciting challenge. He was really hungry, and the aroma of Debora's delicious lentil stew wafting through the room made it all the worse. What could be taking her so long in the kitchen? But just then, he heard again the patter of tiny feet. “Daddy, supper's ready.” “Well, it's about time! I'm half starved to death!” “Me too, Daddy!” “Now, what could you have done to get so starved?” He asked, putting his arm around his little daughter as they walked toward the kitchen table. “I helped Momma clean th' house.” "That's my girl! We'll have to see what can be done about that,” he whispered. As they took their seats, he perused the feast of stew, barley bread, cheese, and fruit before him. “Ah, a meal fit for a king!" “Oh. Barabbas! You say that every night.” After supper, and the reading of the Torah, they got the children ready for bed. Then, they got ready for bed themselves. Thus, the night went by without Barabbas telling his wife about the stranger's strange visit. No need. He could discuss it with her tomorrow if she was in a better mood, or maybe next week, or next month, or maybe never. Sleep was long in coming that night. What was it that the stranger had said? “If only we could all band together—.” But, no! It's utterly impossible. He glanced at his sweet wife, sleeping so peacefully at his side. What did she really know of all this anyway? It wasn't her grandfather whom they crucified for no reason. She didn't even keep up with all the raises in taxes. As long as they managed to get by she was happy. But, he mused, if things keep up, we might not be getting by for long. If only something could be done! Then, his mind turned to the stories of the holy scripture: stories like that of Gideon, who defeated the whole Midianite army with only three hundred men; of Samson, who slew a thousand men with the jawbone of an ass; of Joshua and the walls of Jericho; and of Jehoshaphat, who defeated the enemy through song. The next thing he knew, the golden rays of the morning sun came streaming through his window. He awakened with a curiously combined feeling of despair and hope. [end of Chapter 1] ------------ End of Chapter 5: ! There must be some point– some purpose for existence! But where is it? Is there no answer? Is there no answer?’” Part I Chapter 6: Another Seeker Most men live lives of quiet desperation. —Henry David Thoreau The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder… —Thomas Carlyle Manaheem's question has echoed in minds of many men. Men search For fame, for pleasure, For contentment without measure, For earth's vain illusive treasure, Men still search. For something firm and lasting, With life's temporal ills contrasting, And it's fleeting joys surpassing, Men still search. Barabbas was searching, though he might not have realized it, and it was his searching that made him take such careful note of Manaheem's words when this mysterious stranger visited his shop. The fact of Manaheem's searching is evident from the last words of the preceding chapter. Pilate was searching, and also his wife with him. She, in fact, really thought (though mistakenly) that she had the answer: more power and authority (take Herod's place). Let me then introduce yet another in the list of searchers. . . one more among the ranks of those who, though they may even recognize and name the true object of their search, know not its true source, nor where it can be found. As far as this world's goods are concerned, he was quite poor. When he was small, his father had been forced to sell their farm cheaply, since it was unable to compete with the Roman farms which used slave labor. Since his father didn't know any other trade, and. thus, found it hard to find steady employment, the proceeds from the farm were soon exhausted. Then, his father died unexpectantly. So, he was set on his own at an early age without schooling or knowledge of a trade. He had been poor all his life. Yet, along with his physical poverty, he was spiritually poor as well. There was no real peace or happiness in his life, and he felt this dearth immensely. He had sought for peace and happiness in many ways, such as seeking new friends, losing himself in books, or in his own imagination, getting involved in games and song. He even tried getting drunk once, on a friend's money. Nothing seemed to help. The object of his search always seemed to elude him, like a speck of light, dancing and beckoning in the darkness, now a rod, now a yard, now a foot, now a few inches distant, then vanishing to leave him in total darkness of heart. His initial attempts to find work met with no success. He kept trying desperately, lying about his qualifications, and thus, acquiring a lack of that self-respect and poise for which employers look. Attributing his inevitable failure to that enigma, fate, he took what to him was the only way left. He inflicted upon himself the weary life of a mendicant, trusting hopefully, and often disparagingly, in those who passed him by (a hundred million passing in a hundred housed day, or so it seemed) for every scrap of food, every shred of clothing. What kind of man the mendicant Who on the corner begs, Who has no decent clothes to wear, But sits in shreds and rags? Has he no pride, this human being, To lean on others so? What makes a man a mendicant? How can he stoop so low? What kind of man the mendicant? Look inward you who ask; For every man 's a mendicant Behind his haughty mask. .... CHAPTER 21 The following day, Herodius was again with Herod in the palace when a messenger of the guard knocked and entered. “Sorry to disturb you, your majesty, but some of John’s disciples are below and wish to see the prisoner. Shall I escort them the dungeon?” “No! No one may see the prisoner but me. Tell them to be gone.” “Yes, sir.” Herod went to the window to watch his command carried out. The guard relayed the message, but the disciples refused to leave. “We’ll wait” insisted a spokesman. “Perhaps he’ll change his mind.” “Suit yourselves,” yelled Herod to the surprised disciples below, “but you may have a long wait.” Then, moving away from the window, he said to Herodius, “Well, my dear, why don’t we pay the prisoner a visit.” “Whatever for?” “Why, it should be fun – a little diversion from all this planning. Come, you’ll enjoy it.” And so they walked together down the dimly lit corridors and stairways that led to the dungeon. As soon as John heard their footsteps, he began to cry out at the top of his voice, “Repent, sinners! Repent! Repent!” As they approached the cell, and he could make out, through the dim light, who it was, he yelled out, “Herod Antipas, and Herodius! You must repent of this terrible sin and folly!” “Quiet!” yelled Herod. “Don’t you ever give up? What is it that makes you so persistent? Almighty God didn’t help you very much, did He? And what about the one you’ve been preaching about, who’s supposed to be the Messiah? Where is he? Why doesn’t he come here and perform a miracle to release you? Where is your God now, John, and your Messiah?” ***** Perhaps he’s right. Where is Jehovah God? Why did He allow me to be imprisoned like this? Why am I forced to live in this dreary dungeon? How can my message be propagated now? Or maybe it’s not supposed to be propagated any more. Maybe my time is finished, since he has already been manifested. But what about him? Is he really the Christ? Is he really the promised Messiah as I’ve proclaimed? Is my cousin and childhood playmate really the one who is to be our deliverer? If so, why doesn’t he deliver me from this prison? Perhaps Herod is right. Perhaps he is not the Christ after all, and we should expect another. But how can we know for certain? At least I know him to be an honest person. Why not ask him and see what he says? ***** “Well, Herod, perhaps you’re right.” Herod tried not to show his surprise at John’s answer. Turning to his lover, he said, “You see, dear, he’s weakening.” Before she could answer, John spoke again. “I need to know for certain. Herod, if you could do me one small favor, I would greatly appreciate it.” “What might that be?” “Send for some of my disciples and tell them to go to Jesus and ask him whether he is really the one to come or if we should look for another.” “You want me to send for your disciples and send them to this Jesus to ask him if he is really the Christ?” “If you would.” “Hmmm. It might be interesting. I wouldn’t have to send for your disciples, actually. Some of them are here now. They wanted to see you, but I refused, and they refused to leave.” “Some of my disciples are here?” “Just outside.” “Well, couldn’t I tell them myself? If you told them, they might not believe the message was really from me.” “Well,…” “Come on, darling,” urged Herodius, “let him see his disciples. What harm could it do?” “Oh, alright. I’ll go and call them in, but only a few of them. We don’t want a riot on our hands.” So Herod went out and brought two of John’s disciples into the dungeon. He and Herodius stood by as the three spoke.” “John! How are you?” “As well as can be expected in this dark, damp place.” “Are they feeding you alright?” “Well, it’s not locust and wild honey, but it will do. Listen, guys, I want you to do something for me.” “Anything John. Just name it.” “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in here and I’ve been having some doubts about my cousin, Jesus. I want you to go to him and ask him whether he is really the one to come. Ask him if he is the Christ, or if we are to look for another.” “But John, I thought you were certain about him. You told us he’s the Christ.” “I know. But now I’m not sure. Would you please do as I say and bring me back the answer as soon as you can?” “Certainly John. As soon as we can.”

Review by Viviane Crystal of Crystalreviews.com
Beneath every human beings virtues and foibles, a singular hunger lies waiting for a revelation which will create a powerful direction that supercedes all other human goals. James M. Becher takes the reader back to the lifetime of Jesus Christ, into the homes, conversations, and deeds of ordinary and extraordinary individuals who were so deeply affected by the birth of this man.
Meet Manaheem, Herod's foster brother, who on one hand attempts to influence history by helping his brother to unseat Pontius Pilate, the Roman Procurator, and on the other hand who knows there is something more to life than the grasping machinations he plans and which his brother carries out.
Observe Pilate, the ruler who holds a most undesirable position of authority in a world so unlike the Rome he loves and whose spiritual wife attempts to influence her husband from committing acts sure to doom his political career and damn his all too human soul.
Watch Timotheus, a beggar, who is deeply affected by Jesus' appearances but whose openness is constantly redirected by his companion, Lucas's, desire for more money.
Finally, meet Barabbas, a simple blacksmith who is engaged to carry out a coup against Pilate and who turns to robbery after the political plot fails. On the one hand he is portrayed as any ordinary crook but on the other hand has the same innate needs that will promise less futile struggling and more peacefulness and security. The man whose death sentence replaces that of Barabbas continues to haunt him so much that he follows the condemned prisoner's path and demise to its very last moment.
Earthly plots fail and the horrendous dying process Jesus experiences, accompanied by a desperate plea to God, compassionate words, and a moving surrender to his mission, affects everyone involved in this momentous event.
Read this book to discover the fictional yet all too probable, and powerful, effect of one man sent to speak to the heart of every human being within this novel and those who read it.
Very nicely written, J. M. Becher!

Reviewed by Viviane Crystal
(http://www.crystalreviews.com/authors/b/becher.htm)

Review by Rudelle Thomas in the January issue of Divine Eloquence (http://divineeloquence.divineministries777.net)
Of Such Is The Kingdom is a fictional novel based on Biblical truths. James Becher has artfully taken the events surrounding Jesus' time here on earth and told what could have been from each characters perspective. The story has a powerful message that has clearly been displayed throughout the novel. Mr. Becher takes you through a wide range of emotions from beginning to end. As you turn the final pages having just been taken through Jesus' last days on earth, you are left not only feeling grateful for what He's done for us, but also hopeful and joyful, knowing that the Gospel of Jesus Christ affects and changes the lives of all who hears it. This is a great novel that I'm sure you will enjoy!

REVIEW BY BLUE INK
Reviewed by BLUE INK:
What were the thoughts, feelings, and actions of ordinary people during Jesus’ time? Who exactly was the insurrectionist Barabbas who was spared crucifixion by Pontius Pilate? While the New Testament concentrates on the familiar central story, author James M. Becher weaves a fictional tale inspired by that curiosity in Of Such Is the Kingdom. Becher mixes historical persons and fictional peripheral characters — all on a quest to discover their fundamental life's purposes — in this plausible plot to accompany the biblical story.
The tale begins with the cynical Manaheem’s recruitment of disgruntled Barabbas in a plot to overthrow the governor Pontius Pilate, which unfortunately goes awry. Barabbas recruits the third main character, Timotheus, to help him rob a wealthy shop owner, simply for monetary
gain. But that lands them both in jail. Eventually, the three share insights gained from their missteps, including the near-miss of Barabbas’s execution, and from their encounters with the itinerant rabbi, Jesus. Finally, the characters understand life’s higher purpose. The author’s goal to bring first century Jerusalem to life is largely well executed.
....
Becher presents a cohesive tale. He includes all the familiar characters
and happenings of the early New Testament. Their actions are true to form, and the invented characters fit in nicely. Those not overly familiar with the Bible won’t be lost, however, because the book stands on its own without need of prior context.
Overall, this is an intriguing read. Those seeking a work rooted in Christian ideals will find it enjoyable, and non-Christians may also appreciate the timeless account of striving to find one’s purpose in life.