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Chapter Eleven
The Problem Child
In spite of Jesus’ claim that Michael was my
brother, Michael didn’t act like a member of our family. For a very long time, as my
father attempted to rebuild his reputation in Nazareth, his business was
limited to townsmen waiting for woodwork or repairs to their homes. He was forced to travel to nearby
communities where, on less hostile ground, he and my older brothers repaired
fences, broken furniture, and roofs.
Inexplicably, my brothers transferred their blame for Mariah to her
son. They wouldn’t dare tell
Michael how they felt or physically mistreated him. My parents, who treated him kindly enough, would not allow
that. James and Joseph’s silence,
however, spoke loudly to my friend.
During our chores, at our meals, in our free time, or when Papa, Jesus,
James, and Joseph returned from doing carpentry or repair work, they acted as
if Michael wasn’t even there.
Other than myself, only Simon, who joined me in helping Mama in the
garden when not sanding wood or sweeping out the shop, gave Michael any
recognition. For Simon, however,
it was a begrudging acknowledgement, much like he gave my other friends. I thought my brothers, particularly
James and Joseph, might get over it after awhile, but it only got worse. There was, I must admit, one advantage
to this situation. As the youngest
son, I had been given the least amount of respect from my brothers. For once in my life I was not at the
end of the pecking order in our house.
That place was now taken by Michael, the witches son.
Of course, when Papa and Mama were watching them
closely, James and Joseph were polite to Michael as they were to Uriah and
Nehemiah. It was, however, the same
forced politeness they showed Cornelius and his men when my parents were
around. Otherwise, they glared and
snarled at people they didn’t like, which sometimes included me. Often James could be reasoned with, but
Joseph held grudges, and he would never forgive me for me wanting to be a
soldier for Rome. I showed
partiality to the “enemy,” as he saw it, which was true in many respects. I admired the way the mounted sentries
galloped down the road, commanding respect, if not awe. Occasionally, I would catch Cornelius,
himself, ride into town on his big white stallion, lash its reins to a fence
post, then climb majestically off his horse. Because of our neighbors and my brothers’ resentment
for the Romans, I remained in the background, watching him remove his shiny
helmet to wipe sweet from his brow.
Along with his flowing red robe, and glistening armor, the plumed helmet
was the trademark of the Roman officer.
Of everything that made him a Roman knight, though, I admired his white
horse the most. I had wondered
those moments whether or not Cornelius visited other sectors too. I couldn’t hear what he said to Papa,
but it probably had something to do with the town’s security. After the fire and his encounter with
Mariah, he had taken special interest in our corner of Nazareth. Papa would look self-consciously around
as they chatted, aware of the implications. Already we were considered an eccentric family by our
critics; now we had become collaborators with Rome.
All things considered, therefore, it wasn’t merely
the fact that Jesus was considered a heretic and our family harbored a witch
and had adopted her strange son, our relationship with the Romans caused
mounting resentment from townsmen.
Because of recent agitation in Sepphoris and neighboring towns, attacks
upon caravans and travelers by Abbas and his band, and the recent crisis caused
by Reuben and his men, Roman presence in Nazareth had grown that night before
Mariah’s flight to Jerusalem from an occasional squadron of soldiers sent from
the Galilean Cohort to a permanent occupation force in our town. Ezra, who paid us a rare visit, told
Papa that the prefect, himself, had warned the elders against civil
disobedience. They had never found
Reuben and his band, but Cornelius promised the elders that he would arrest and
hand over for judgment to the procurator in Jerusalem the next troublemaker or
townsmen caught with a torch. The
events surrounding the rescue of Mariah had much to do with the Roman
occupation in Nazareth, since it resulted in the actions of Reuben and the fire
at Mariah’s house, but the reasons for a military presence, it was obvious, ran
deeper than local agitators running amuck. Added to the offense taken by the rabbi and his crowd for my
brother’s heresies and parents aid to Maria, was the blame heaped on us for the
Roman presence in our town.
Though I was ignorant of the long-term effects of
association with Romans, I knew that most of Nazareth’s citizens felt safer in
their hands. I was, for my part,
quite satisfied with this state of affairs. Cornelius, who I admired greatly, appeared to be our
personal protector, and I was quite happy that we would never see Reuben and
his friends, Josiah and Asa, again.
Of course, I was thinking as a child. The prefect might be able to make the townsmen behave, but
he couldn’t force them to do business with Papa. It would just take time, Papa promised, for his friendship
with Ezra to mend and for his customers to return. I believed him, especially when Jesus promised the same
thing, himself. At this point in
my life, I could care less about the general unrest in Galilee or the bandits
recently reported on the roads.
Except for my brothers’ attitude, everything seemed to be getting back
to normal in our home.
Then one day, as Jesus, James, and Joseph returned
home after repairing Samuel’s roof, resentment for Michael erupted in our
yard. It began with smoldering
looks from the second and third oldest son. As Michael stood dejectedly beside me, I asked as politely
as possible, “Why can’t you be nice to our new brother?” Such a mild question, I recall,
resulted in a terrible storm of words from Joseph and James.
For a moment, there was silence in the garden. Exhausted from his many labors, Papa
was the first to enter the house, so James and Joseph waited a moment in order
to answer my question. Jesus stood
beneath the fig tree, a suspicious look on his face.
“That son of perdition,” James snarled, “will never
be my brother!”
“Per-dish-un?” Michael made a
face. “What does that mean?”
“It
means your mother’s a witch,” exclaimed Joseph, “and you’ve ruined Papa’s
business in town!”
“Yes,”
growled James, “and it’s gonna get worse the longer you stay!”
“That
will be quite enough,” Jesus snapped, grabbing James by the collar. “In the
first place, the Lord, Himself, has placed Michael in our care. You two should be ashamed for not
welcoming our new brother.”
“What
are you gonna do,” Joseph sneered, “tell Papa?”
“No,” Jesus turned swiftly to Joseph, pulling him up
to his face. “If you as so much as frown at Michael again, you shall answer to
me!”
We could see mother’s frowning face at the
window. Papa stuck his head out
the door and asked us what was wrong.
Not wanting to admit what they had said to Michael, however, James and
Joseph never told Papa about the threat Jesus had made. It was, I realize now as I recall Jesus
anger during his ministry at the moneylenders in the temple, his first outburst
of righteous anger. That moment I
grew even closer to my older brother, though I was disappointed that he didn’t
throttle them both on the spot.
“I have spoken,” he dismissed them finally. “Go in
peace. As long as you live in this
house, you’ll abide by the Lord’s will.”
James and Joseph were furious at Jesus’ words. I wasn’t sure whether they feared
Papa’s anger at finding out they were mistreating Michael or if they were
affected by Jesus’ warning, but they fled the scene, running around the garden,
down the path that lead through the olive orchard and into the hills. Placing a hand on our shoulders, Jesus
smiled gently at us, muttered “amen!” and then, as Michael and I discussed this
wondrous event, disappeared suddenly as he so often did, appearing again, I’m
certain, somewhere in the hills or on the Shepherd’s Trail. I didn’t know whether James or Joseph
had fled into the hills, themselves, and I didn’t care. This would be disobedience in Papa’s
mind—a serious breach of his authority, but, of course, I reminded myself,
recalling the incident of the sparrow, Jesus answered to a ‘higher
authority.’
I felt comfort in the knowledge that Michael and I,
as well as our family, now had four protectors: Papa, Cornelius, Jesus, and, most importantly, God. How could we not feel safe under the
protection of such guardians?
******
With
nothing left to do after finishing our chores, Michael and I amused ourselves
by teasing the twins awhile as they picked vegetables from the garden. Neither Abigail nor Martha talked very
much. Until recently, when they
had warmed up to Jesus, I had begun to wonder if they had not grown addled or
mute. Suddenly, as we peeked over
a bush and pelted them with pebbles, Jesus reappeared. Abigail and Martha would never have
told on us. No harm was done, and
in fact the twins giggled foolishly, as the seeds bounced off their blond
heads. But Jesus was not amused.
“Jude,
come forth,” he beaconed with a crooked finger.
“Uh
oh,” Michael swallowed heavily, “he caught us!”
“I’m
sorry,” I mumbled, shuffling from the bush.
“You
too, Michael,” he called, with a chuckle, “don’t try to hide. Adam and Eve made that mistake, and
look where it got them. “That’s it my brothers,” he gripped our shoulders
again.
Michael and I stuck our lower lips out, as Abigail
and Martha stood there giggling at us.
“Now
tell them you’re sorry,” he said to us. “You know it’s not right to tease our
little sisters.”
“Sorry!”
I chimed.
“Sorry
for what?” Jesus laughed softly. “You can do better than that.”
“We’re
sorry for throwing seeds at your dumb heads!” I exclaimed.
“But
they’re laughing at us,” Michael pointed out, “and you’re laughing too!”
“Come
on my new brother,” he ruffled Michael’s hair, “tell the twins you’re sorry
too.”
“All
right,” Michael threw up his hands, “I’m sorry Abigail. I’m sorry Martha. I’ll never throw seeds at you again.”
Our
parents were standing in the doorway smiling tolerantly at our antics. Jesus patted both our heads, tweaked
our cheeks, and took us aside as the girls continued to pick vegetables for
Mama’s stew. Standing back
thoughtfully and folding his arms, he commended us for our remorse. I was relieved that he was not angry
with us, as he had been with James and Joseph, yet Michael seemed upset. It was that same unreasonableness he
had shown with our friends Uriah and Nehemiah. Even when he was obviously wrong, he found it difficult to
admit it without resentment. I
would soon learn how serious this personality flaw was in Michael, but for the
moment I accepted the mild rebuke from my oldest brother. The very next thing he said almost
startled me, for it was as if he had read my mind. Without telling Michael, whom I knew would not approve, I
had the urge to talk to Uriah. I
heard Papa tell Mama that Joachim had snubbed him again as they passed each
other on the road, but perhaps the rabbi, like his son, secretly wanted to make
amends with us. I expected no
peace from Nehemiah’s household.
His aunt had acted quite addled in the head. Now, as Michael and I stood before Jesus listening to his
suggestions how we could better occupy our time, he interrupted himself, with
an incredible idea.
“After you help the twins bring
vegetables in to Mama, why don’t we walk over to Rabbi Joachim, so you and
Michael can make peace with he and his son.”
“What?”
my mouth dropped in disbelief.
“No
way,” Michael folded his arms. “He called my mama a whore.”
“I
know,” Jesus sighed, “and Nehemiah’s aunt thought she was a witch.” “But all
that is behind us,” he reminded us. “Mariah will be starting a new life. The town will not blame Michael for the
suspicions they had for his mother, unless he acts guilty and hides in our
house. We must all go forth with
our heads held high in Nazareth.
You both must look the rabbi and his son directly in the eyes.”
Michael
ran away into the hills. The idea
didn’t really appeal to me either, and yet I felt that Michael was overreacting
again. After a short while of
assisting Simon, the twins, and me pick and clean vegetables for mothers stew,
Jesus bent down and whispered for my ears only, “Come, let’s go. Michael doesn’t want to visit the
rabbi’s house. Perhaps he needs
more time.”
“But
I wanted my friend to be there,” I protested softly.
“No,
Jude,” Jesus shook his head emphatically, “you don’t want Michael to come
along—not yet. Please, my little
brother, before evening falls.”
Simon,
who had no desire to visit the rabbi either, followed the twins into the
house. As Jesus took my hand,
however, Papa’s voice stopped us in our tracks. Walking up to Jesus with a troubled look in his eyes, with
mother not far behind, he clasped both of our shoulders.
“Jesus,”
he said gravely, “we’ve suffered much for your sake. I know what you and Jude must do. We must all, as a family, make peace with our town, but in
spite of Cornelius’ promise of protection, many townsfolk believe we gave
sanctuary to a witch. Most of
them, Joachim included, think you’re in league with the devil or touched in the
head. Our guards can’t be
everywhere during their watch.
They’re not going to be much help after you get yourselves ambushed,
maybe stoned!”
“Yes,” Mama joined in, “many of those ruffians
resent the Romans; they’d just love to catch you unawares. I haven’t even seen our guards
yet. Until they settle into a
routine, you boys stay put—at least until Cornelius or one of his officers
returns.”
“Believe
me my parents,” Jesus replied with great conviction, “no one will dare harm
us—not with the Lord watching our steps.
I thought you trusted my judgment.
Didn’t God send rain down from heaven upon Mariah’s burning house and
protect our house from those who blamed us for her escape? Didn’t I, with the Lord’s guidance,
lead you, Papa, Ezra, and my brothers through the hills and into my cave?
“True,
all true.” Papa spread his palms. “I can’t argue with the wonders my tired eyes
have seen, but all it would take would be one errant rock thrown from
concealment, and you or Jude could be injured. You might even get killed. Didn’t Moses write “thou shall not to tempt the Lord?” The saintly prophets were murdered by
jealous and suspicious Israelites, who didn’t understand their mysterious and
miraculous ways. We all know
you’re special Jesus, but you mustn’t take chances. Wait awhile longer until this mood dies down—at least until
we’re comfortable with our guards.”
“Papa,
Papa,” Jesus said gently, “you don’t understand. It’s hard for you to see what’s in my mind. I can barely understand it myself. But I would never tempt the Lord. He guides my every step, even now, as
Jude and I go to the rabbi,” “with your permission,” he added quickly. “I would
never disobey you or go against your will.”
Mama
shrugged her shoulders with resignation.
Papa thought about Jesus’ words a moment and looked down at me, as if I
had something to say, but I didn’t, because I had great misgivings about
visiting the rabbi and his son. I
thought that Jesus was very brave, considering the rumors spread about him in
town, and yet I wasn’t so sure that we would be welcome in Joachim’s house or
that we might not get ambushed as my father feared.
What
came out of my mouth was therefore a great surprise to me, as I looked up into
Papa’s eyes. “I have an idea,” I
said faintly. “Jesus and I don’t have to go by ourselves.”
“What?”
His mouth dropped. “You want me to come along?”
“Humph.” Jesus
frowned. “That might be a good idea, Papa. We could all make a goodwill jester at the same time.”
“Jesus,” Papa stroked his beard nervously, “I spoke
harshly to the rabbi the last time he was in our home. I practically threw him out of our
house. I might be less welcome
than even you!”
“Please Papa,” teased Jesus, pulling his arm, “don’t
be afraid. I’ll protect you.”
Jesus
was going to protect Papa—how things had changed! I giggled hysterically at the prospects ahead. Mama and the twins, who had been
listening to our conversation, broke into light-hearted laughter.
“Where’s
Michael?” asked Papa as the three of us reached the road.
“I
don’t know,” I said, looking back nervously, “he might be in the hills. That’s where James and Joseph went.”
“What?”
Papa cried. “They’d better not!”
“No,”
the all-seeing Jesus said, shaking his head. “They’re sulking in the orchard. Michael’s sitting beside the pomegranate bush in the
backyard.”
Mama
must have accepted Jesus’ argument that God would watch over us. I had seen her eyebrows raise when
Jesus said he would protect us. A
smile played on her lips as she turned, with the twins in tow, and walked back
to the house. Who needed the
Galilean Cohort? We were protected
by God! I wasn’t sure whether Papa
really believed this, but I think Mama did. After what I had seen so far, so did I. Jesus glanced back at me as he led the
way, but he said nothing. As I
walked, as calmly as possible, I tried to do as Jesus said and hold my head up
high. Papa looked defiant, as our
neighbors gathered in their gardens and front yards to stare at us, while my
oldest brother, always proud, strutted down the road. When we reached the street leading directly into town, we
could see Noah, a recluse, standing in the doorway to his small house and on
the corner where an ancient fig tree towered above the ground, an assortment of
idlers lurking nearby in the shade.
We were thankful that we didn’t have to pass through the center of
Nazareth, and yet our greatest fear lie ahead of us when we reached our
destination—the rallying point for the town’s vigilantes and where Uriah and
Nehemiah had betrayed our friendship that terrible day.
“Now
let me do the talking.” Papa sighed. “When I knock on the rabbi’s door, stand
in back of me. If he sees your
face Jesus, he might explode. He
considers you to be a heretic and blasphemer. And Jude, Joachim might still be angry with you for
corrupting his son.” “I know
that’s not true, Jude, and we know that Jesus isn’t a blasphemer, but let me
greet him first, all right?” He looked back for our acknowledgment.
Jesus
nodded. It was certainly all right
with me. Though respecting his
powers, I had great misgivings about our visit. As we waited in the background, Papa rapped gently on the
door he had built for Rabbi Joachim and for which he had still not received
payment. My saintly father was
often paid with smiles instead of livestock, produce, or coins. Like all the other men in town, Joachim
would pay when he felt like it.
Papa believed in the honor system, and he had too big a heart to make a
fuss about his fees. Perhaps, I
told myself, that is why Joachim wasn’t answering the door. When I aired my thoughts to Jesus, he
agreed. That was, he explained in
a whisper, why our family was so poor.
After that explanation, Jesus lapsed into troubled silence. We both sensed that the rabbi wasn’t
going to answer the door.
“Maybe
he’s at the synagogue,” I offered lamely.
“No,”
Jesus shook his head, “there’s no synagogue today.”
“You
think he’s afraid of Papa.” I frowned severely.
“I
think he’s afraid of the truth,” sighed Jesus, “but it’s me he’s afraid of, not
our father. The Lord must bring
him to his senses. It’s enough
that he knows we came.”
After
watching Papa stand patiently at the rabbi’s new door, I realized how much I
despised that fat little man. He
had, though he pretended otherwise, incited the townsmen against Mariah. I also despised his fat little son,
whose treachery (or so I thought) helped fuel the conflagration following my
friends’ and my visit to her house.
Since we stopped attending synagogue, the rabbi had slandered Jesus
because of what happened that day.
Though my original thoughts have been transformed in my chronicle into an
adult train of thought, what happened this day helped shape my views on
religion, as primitive as they were at ten years old, making me the apostle I
am today. Not only did the
narrow-minded rabbi and those hypocritical townsmen spurn my father for helping
a widow and her son, but they shunned him now as he attempted to make
peace. Most of them would not do
business with him. The townsmen
would not let their children play with my brothers and I. They were, my mind searched for the
words, unforgiving as well as vengeful, and the rabbi, because he was a holy
man, was the worst of them all.
I wouldn’t grow up to be like my neighbors, I
promised myself. As I turned on my
heels, I also vowed to one day leave this backwoods town and never return. Only the restraining hand of Jesus kept
me from running all the way home.
“We must support Papa,” he said, pulling me along by
my collar. “When the rabbi answers the door, he won’t invite Papa in. The mind of the Lord is
incomprehensible. When the rabbi
does open the door, he will rebuke me, not Papa. That’s when his problem begins.”
I flashed Jesus a worried look. “What problems? How do you know that?”
“He told me.” Jesus pointed dramatically.
“Of course,” I said, following his finger up to the
sky, “. . . God. Did He tell you
what kind of problems? Is he going
to punish Joachim if he doesn’t make peace?”
Jesus sensed my misgivings, but I couldn’t help
it. I thought he had misled us
this time. Why couldn’t he perform
another miracle that would change the rabbi’s mind? Now, he seemed to be implying that this was part of God’s
plan. The rabbi wouldn’t forgive
my father or Jesus. He probably
blamed me for corrupting his son.
Nevertheless, as I dragged my feet, I felt a twinge of excitement. Jesus—or God—seemed to have something
up his sleeve. Papa looked back at
us before he knocked one more time.
“Come along,” Jesus prodded, “and you’ll see.”
“All
right.” I stuck out my lower lip. “But I’d rather go home!”
Suddenly the door opened and Hannah,
Joachim’s portly wife spoke. She
peered out just enough to expose her identity, an unfriendly gesture in itself,
but it was her words that caused Papa to fly into a rage.
“Joachim
is sick and does not wish to see you.”
“Joachim
is fine!” Papa’s voice rumbled. “As I passed by today, he was chatting like a
magpie to Gideon. He ignored me
then when I waved to him, as he has been doing for several months. But he will ignore me no more,
Hannah. I wish to make peace with
Nazareth, and I will begin with the rabbi of our town!”
Hannah
slammed the door shut. Papa began
pounding so fiercely on the door I thought it would shatter. Several of Joachim’s neighbors stood
gawking on the road, as I wept for my father. Jesus was praying feverishly now. When his fists failed to work, Papa shouted at the top of
his lungs “Open up Joachim, you coward!
What kind of rabbi turns the town against an old friend? You’re a hypocrite! You don’t deserve to be the rabbi for
our town!”
Jesus
had stopped praying. There was a
strange light in his eyes and glow on his tanned face. Suddenly, a great gust of wind blew
through the hills, forcing the eavesdroppers to shield their faces from dust
churned up in the road and prevent their garments from blowing over their
legs. Some of the townsfolk were
almost blown as tumbling weeds down the road and screamed in rage and fear
through the swirling dust. I
noticed with amazement that the small area where Papa, Jesus, and I huddled
together was unaffected by the gale.
Papa gave Jesus a suspicious look, both a frown and a smile playing on
his bearded face. I was laughing
hysterically at the spectacle, while Jesus, who did not appear to be finished
praying, opened his eyes suddenly and pointed a straight unwavering arm at the
house.
“Rabbi,
come forth!” He whispered faintly.
“What
did he say?” Papa looked down at my grinning face.
“He’s
gonna give the rabbi what-for!” I shouted above the torrent. “I hope God sends
lighting bolts down and cooks them all in that old house!”
Jesus
now spoke in a loud adolescent voice “Lord God, if it be your will, bring peace
to Nazareth. Lift the shadow of
the Evil One from this town!”
By
now there was only a handful of gawkers on the road leading into Nazareth. The wind continued to blow, the dust swirl,
and the rabbi’s house rattle violently, as we three stood safely in a vortex in
the midst of the storm. Just as
suddenly, however, the commotion stopped.
A dead calm, as I had seen on hot summer days, followed. Slowly, the door creaked open, a plump
bearded face poked out, eyes popped wide in fear. One by one, following the rabbi, Joachim’s small
family—Hannah, Uriah, and little Rhoda—filed out into the daylight. To accent this event, the sun had begun
to set, so that the evening shade made Jesus shadow stretch for many paces
toward the house and the small remnant of townsfolk scurry a safe distant from
the bewitched house.
The implications, I now realize as I look through
the lens of time, were unmistakable, though we couldn’t understand it then: the
message of my oldest brother would one day spread over the earth. For now, however, he was my wondrously
eccentric brother and Joseph bar Jacob’s remarkable and unpredictable son. That was enough for us. The question was, as I studied the
terrified expressions on rabbi Joachim and his family’s faces, ‘how would the
rabbi react?’ Had this knocked
some sense into his fat head? Or
was he such a self-righteous and embittered man, it would, in fact, take a bolt
of lightning to make him see the truth?
I
had preferred a more fiery awakening, but all Jesus could muster up was a dust
storm that swept spectators away and shook the rabbi and his family out of
their house. For a moment, as the
little fat man turned and motioned for his wife and children to go back inside,
Hannah, Uriah, and Rhoda shook their heads, too shaken to return to that spooky
place. So the rabbi did the next
best thing and prodded them into the backyard, out of earshot for what came next. I glanced back, after hearing muted
conversation, and saw a few more brave souls returning to eavesdrop on this
event. Samuel, the Pharisee, had
come the closest, a look of wonder on his perspiring face. In back of him were Habakkuk and his
wife Rachel and two Roman soldiers further on, slowly riding by on their
steeds. As Jesus and Papa stood
side-by-side, with me wedged safely between, Joachim swore an oath at Uriah who
snuck back into the front yard to wave at me, turned swiftly on his sandal, his
turban hanging rakishly over one eye and, in uncontrolled rage, pointed an
accusing finger at Jesus.
“Son
of perdition! You have bewitched
my house, but I refuse to be intimidated in my own yard. If you strike me dead, you do it in
front of witnesses. Will you
destroy the whole town for one misbegotten witch? Do the demon armies of Beelzebub miss Mariah so much? What are you proving by this
demonstration of your black art?”
Papa
had reached his limit of patient and charged Joachim as he stood there waiting
for Jesus to reply. Both Jesus and
I attempted to restrain him, Jesus grabbing his waste and me grabbing his arm,
but Papa drug us along with him, until getting a grip on Joachim’s tunic. As he sent one blow into the rabbi’s
screaming face, I watched in hysterical humor as Joachim’s turban fell off to
expose a baldhead. Fortunately for
the rabbi, the legionnaires arrived just in time to prevent our father from
doing Joachim great harm.
“Papa,
stop this at once!” cried Jesus.
“Priam,”
a big burly Roman barked, “grab the fat man, and I’ll take the other.”
“Be careful Falco,” a second beefy, square-jawed man
cautioned, “this man’s
Cornelius’
friend, Joseph bar Jacob—the man, whose house our men guarded that night.”
I
felt dizzy after hearing that. I
great sigh escaped by laboring lungs now that it seemed as if Papa would not be
arrested. After the two Romans
pulled them apart, however, Joachim wrung his finger at Papa and swore
unintelligibly awhile. Looking
back over the years, I still chuckle at this hypocritical little man, who had
shown his true colors when put to the test. During that fateful hour, in front of spectators, we
witnessed a new low even for him.
“Soldier,
I want that man arrested for disturbing the peace,” he now turned his wrath
upon our father.
“You
slandered my son’s good name!” growled Papa, his fists still doubled up with
rage.
The
Romans, cursing under their breaths, each gripped one of Papa’s arms. Joachim now gave the two soldiers a
complete outline of the events leading up to this hour, from the discovery that
Mariah had given wine to his son to the disclosure that she was a witch. For good measure, he added the episode
of Jesus putting out the fire, but gave Satan credit for my brother’s
diabolical powers. Glancing over
at him, the two legionnaires listened intently to his fantastic tale.
“Please
Priam and Falco, his argument is with me!” Jesus looked beseechingly at the
soldiers.
“So
you’re Jesus,” Priam murmured with awe. “Why you’re no more than a colt.”
“Is it true what this fellow says?” asked Falco, a
cynical look on his bronzed face. “Are you a sorcerer? Was that woman your father saved really
a witch?”
“Mariah was sick from wine,” Jesus explained,
glaring at Joachim, who cowered behind Priam’s back. “I merely pray for
guidance and follow God’s will.”
“You—a mere child—claim to be the Son of God,” the
rabbi accused, spittle flecked on his beard, “but you pray to the devil and
follow Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies!”
“Who told you he was the Son of God?” Papa’s mouth
dropped in disbelief. “Jesus never made such a claim. How dare you, a man of God, spew this filth about my son
praying to Beelzebub!”
Falco told us to be silent a moment. A third rider had appeared on the road
during this discussion. I wished
Cornelius were here but it appeared to be one of his officers he had left in
command. Unlike the first two who
tied their horses’ reins to the rabbi’s fence, the third soldier, a younger and
more dashing man, galloped into the front yard garden, trampling everything in
his way. Joachim made a face and
we could hear Hannah wail, but the officer, who seemed important because of his
cross-wise plume, looked down at the rabbi with utter contempt. Following behind the horseman came a
crotchety figure we recognized at once.
“Is this the one?” He called back to Samuel.
“Yes, centurion.” The old man cackled nervously.
“He’s not a bad fellow, just excitable.
No need to punish anyone for a little disagreement. Please sir, this is not a riot or
insurrection; its an argument between friends.”
Who was he talking about? I wondered. The
rabbi was no longer our friend.
Had Samuel betrayed us or had he merely been questioned by the officer
on the road? The answers to my
questions came quickly, when the officer dismounted and handed Falco the reins.
“My name’s Longinus,” he announced, gripping Papa’s
forearm, “centurion of the Galilean Cohort. Samuel told me about you. You’re Joseph the Carpenter. These must be your sons.”
“That’s correct,” Papa replied, nodding his head,
“Jesus and Jude. The centurion’s
well informed.”
“Samuel told me about many of your
neighbors.” He glanced back at the idlers on the road. “This one must be
Joachim, the rabbi.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve heard about you. You’re a rabble-rouser. I’ve been told by eyewitnesses and eavesdroppers that you
also slandered this man’s son. The
prefect warned me about men like you.
Joseph bar Jacob, because of your fellow conspirator’s treachery, is
under the protection of Rome.” “Listen up, all of you within earshot,” he
bellowed in a rich baritone voice, “I know you’re skulking out there
somewhere. Anyone harming a member
of his household will answer to me and Cornelius, Prefect of the Galilean
Cohort. There will be no more
disturbances in this backwoods outpost on my watch.” “…. Is that understood
Joachim, the rabble-rouser?” he inquired in low voice, taking the rabbi
aside. “I’ve had a belly full of
self-righteous, trouble makers like you.
You stand up holier-than-thou in your synagogues yet preach murder when
anything disagrees with your dogmatic little world.”
Joachim was nodding bleakly
but said nothing more, as the centurion turned to Papa and looked him squarely
in the eyes.
“Joseph, you must hold your temper. I would do the same if he slandered a
son of mine. But the next time
come and see me if you can’t wait until the prefect is back in Nazareth. It would be a good idea, I think, if
your son were to visit an uncle or aunt far away from this town. If this is not possible, keep a tighter
rein on him, until this mood blows over.”
“Thank you centurion,” Papa replied grimly, “after
today, we shall need Rome’s protection for sure!”
“Yes, of course.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Cornelius
and I are meeting with the elders tomorrow. He’s already talked to many of them. The guard posts are manned, and mounted
sentries patrol your town. We
Romans are sticklers for details.
Right now our manpower’s spread thinly, but Abbas, the bandit chief, and
the unrest in Nazareth have made this corner of Galilee important. The prefect’s especially worried about
what happened to your family. Of
course, it’s not the only reason why we’re here. As you probably noticed we’ve had our eye on your town for
quite some time.”
“We’ve noticed.” I nodded eagerly. “I first met your
leader, Cornelius, on the bridge.
He came in person to our home.
He’s our friend!”
“Ho-ho, so you are.” He looked down with mirth. “The
prefect told me about your meeting.
Thanks to his visit, I’m in charge of this backwater town.”
He was
smiling when he spoke in jest.
Joachim’s neighbors, however, were alarmed by this scene. This Roman meant business. Looking past Papa at the spectators,
the centurion’s smile faded. “Attention!” he shouted at them. “Spread the word
to your friends and neighbors: until Nazareth’s safe, expect patrols day and
night and around-the-clock. Get
used to your guards. Show them
common courtesy. Be nice! Officers are assigned for each sector
of town to oversee each watch and report disorder, but I’ll be making the
rounds frequently, myself. Mark my
word: I know who the hotheads in Nazareth are. I’ll be paying particular attention to this part of
town.” “I want no unlawful
assemblies,” he cried out in a booming voice. Behave yourselves.
By Jove, you’ll treat my men with respect. Rome is watching.
There’ll be no more anarchy against your neighbors or disrespect for
Rome!”
With the exception of Samuel, the Pharisee, the
small crowd dispersed. The old man
stood by the roadside, as Joachim’s neighbors scuttled back home. After a silent signal from their
leader, Priam and Falco began walking toward their horses. An awkward silence followed as the
centurion gripped his reins and whistled to his horse.
“Keep an eye on your children,” he counseled Papa,
“especially your oldest son.”
Papa reached up in the Roman manner once again as a
show of respect. Jesus followed
Papa’s example. The centurion bent
down to grip Papa and Jesus forearms one-by-one and, because I couldn’t reach
far enough, shook my hand. Turning
his black stallion sharply to the left afterwards, he clopped through Hannah’s
spice garden, broke down her fence, and galloped grandly back down the
road. When I looked back at my
brother, he had that special look on his face. Nodding faintly to himself, it appeared as if he was once
again praying. Now, as I write
down this episode, I wonder if he had not prophetically recognized Longinus,
the officer who would one day be assigned to keep order in Jerusalem during
that terrible night when everyone, even I, ran like frightened sheep into the
night. This moment, however, I
found myself admiring the centurion’s military manner and great black
horse. I stood there trying to
decide whether I wanted a big white horse like Cornelius or one like Longinus,
when I felt someone shaking me gently.
Papa was saying “Jude, Jude, come along boy. Are you okay son?”
“Huh?”
I blinked several times.
Looking
around, as a sleeper awakening from a dream, I couldn’t see the rabbi or his
family anywhere in front of their house.
Because of the rabbi’s humiliation, they were all probably cowering in
the backyard. Samuel hung back
timidly on the side of the road, watching us, as he leaned wearily on his
staff. I felt very tired after all
this commotion, and was ready for a nap.
Perhaps interpreting my mood as trauma, Papa gave me a fatherly hug,
took my hand, and led me back to our house. Jesus followed moodily behind, so very quiet that Papa
glanced back several times to ask him if he was all right. I shudder at how shallow my child-like
mind had been. After meeting
Longinus, all I could think of again was becoming a Roman soldier and having a
fine horse. Jesus, who had the
God-given ability to see in the future, had seen that dark day at Golgotha when
Longinus looked up at him on the cross and said, “Truly, this is the son of
God!”
******
Samuel,
whose ancient legs could barely support his crotchety frame, called out thinly
in the evening air “Jesus! Jesus!”
Still half-believing he had informed on us to the Romans, Papa told us
to ignore him. He swore to Jesus
and I that he would never speak to any of the town elders again. As we reached our house, however, we
looked back and saw the old man still hobbling down the road.
“Joseph, may I talk to Jesus?” he called, out of breath
and ready to collapse.
“Papa, Samuel’s not well,” Jesus said, looking back
with concern. “Let us hear what he has to say.”
“They can all go to Gahenna for all I care!” growled
Papa.
Without asking for permission, Jesus ran to Samuel
to help him the rest of the way.
Knowing the heart of Jesus, Papa sighed heavily, and met them at the
gate. When we passed through our
door, Papa was begrudgingly supporting Samuel’s other side. Samuel’s face was ashen, his breathing
labored, and he seemed ready to collapse.
I had entered first to tell mama about Jesus latest miracle, but also to
sneak a honey roll before dinner.
Mama caught me in the act, playfully slapped my hand, and did a double
take when she saw Samuel, the Pharisee, being escorted into the room. Papa and Jesus sat him gently down at
the table and mama placed a cup of water in his shaking hand. Standing back to study our guest, we
waited for him to speak. He had
gone to a lot of trouble to talk to Jesus. Papa had a terrible feeling, he would later confessed, that
our lives were about to change.
“Samuel, are you all right?” Mama finally asked.
“Age, that’s all,” he wheezed, “time is my enemy
now. I was coming to your house to
tell you about my nephew Joseph of Arimathea. But then I was caught in a dust storm and I heard Joachim
screaming those foul things.”
“You didn’t inform on us?” Papa eyed him
suspiciously.
“You heard the Roman,” Samuel waved impatiently, “he
went straight for the rabbi. The
Romans hate his kind. You thought
I was spying on you, eh? Well, I
wasn’t. On my way to your house, I
heard Joachim’s voice. I had to
get close enough to hear him clearly, but I want you to know I don’t believe a
word of it.”
“You don’t?” Papa sat down next to him. “. . . What
do you want Samuel?”
In remarkable clarity for someone who had moments
ago seemed to be on his last legs, the old man reached across and took Jesus
hand. “Joseph, because of my
standing with the elders of this town, I’m going to tell them just how special
this young man is. Whether they
listen to me or not, is another matter, but I believe that Jesus is in danger
here. One day, when the Romans
aren’t watching your house closely, Reuben and his thugs might reappear and do
him great harm, but it’s not merely Reuben I fear. There are many young men, not just old ones, who believe
what the rabbi and the elders say about your oldest son.” “ I don’t, of course”
he looked back at Jesus, “but I’m just one voice among many. Things will never get back to normal
for you and your family with this controversial youth in your midst. I heard what the Roman said to you
about Jesus leaving Nazareth. He’s
right Joseph. And I have just the
solution for you now.”
“Don’t tell me,” Papa groaned, glancing at Jesus, “Your
esteemed nephew, Joseph of Arimathea.”
“Yes,” Samuel nodded obliquely, “but you left out rich
nephew. I wrote to him about
Jesus, and he wants to meet him.
That was months ago after I visited your house. Dreadful night that was. Now, time is of the essence and I have
taken the liberty of sending another message to my nephew, asking him to come
soon. He is a Pharisee but also a
merchant and travels all over the empire.
Jesus will learn many wondrous things and he’ll be safe.”
“Samuel, I think I know him.” Jesus studied the
talkative old man. “I remember someone greeting him in the temple. He was there in the audience as I
talked to the religious teachers in Jerusalem.” “Papa,” he turned to our father, “it’s good that I go with
him. I’ll come back some day, and
by then, with men like Samuel and Ezra’s help, the mood in Nazareth might have
changed.”
“Has the Lord told you this?” Mama wept softly.
“Yes, Mama.” He reached up to clasp her hand. “I
have,” he searched for the words, “these feelings. . . But when I heard Joseph
of Arimathea’s name, I knew instantly who he was
. .
. He’s part of the plan.”
“What plan?” I frowned. “Why does Jesus have to go
with that old man?”
“My nephew’s not old,” Samuel cackled. “I’m
old. Jesus, I’m afraid I won’t be
around when you two return.”
“You will live to see my mission begin.” Jesus
gripped Samuel’s gnarled hand. “Please watch over my family.”
“I promise,” Samuel’s eyes, already watery, swam
with tears, “until my last breath.”
As we sat considering Samuel’s offer and Jesus
strange words, Michael entered the house, carrying a gnarled limb resembling a
club. Not far behind Michael,
Simon, James, and Joseph arrived, one-by-one. Before plopping down on a stool, Simon, rude as always,
immediately asked mother what was for dinner. “Stew and biscuits,” she answered with a frown. James and Joseph were in a bad mood, as
they had been when they left, but this time James, the last to enter, clutched
his head as if he had been injured.
Waving his club, Michael announced hoarsely, “They won’t bother me
anymore!”
My parents gasped. Mama’s hand flew to her mouth. Simon, who had obviously arrived from a different direction,
also seemed shocked. But I knew
Michael, and I wasn’t surprised.
Not having heard his side of the story, I suppressed a smile. Papa immediately fetched the club,
opened the door, and threw it into the yard.
“Michael,” he bellowed, “is that true? Did you hit James with a stick?”
“Yes,” Michael answered calmly, “he and Joseph threw
rocks at me, so I ran up to Jesus’ cave.
I found this club in there, and when James tried to enter I popped
him. I’m sorry but I’d do it
again. The townsmen wanted to
stone my mother, but James and Joseph aren’t going to stone me!”
“Is that true?” Papa confronted the boys. “Did you
throw rocks at Michael? Why would
you do such a thing?”
“They were small stones,” Joseph explained lamely.
“We were just teasing him. We
didn’t mean any harm.”
“Let me see that,” mother said, pulling James hand
away. “You’re not bleeding. Humph,
it doesn’t look so bad.”
“What about you Michael?” Papa studied Michael, as
he and Simon sat devouring a bowel of grapes. “You don’t look harmed.”
“I’m a good dodger,” he said through a mouthful of
grapes.
With the mention of his cave, Jesus had smiled at
Michael. The thought of James and
Joseph chasing the wily Michael and then Michael popping James with his club
caused Simon and I to burst finally into laughter. Soon my parents and the twins were laughing along with
us. The only ones not laughing were
James and Joseph. Michael, wiping
his mouth with his sleeve, grinned foolishly and blushed. Samuel, the Pharisee, not knowing what
to make of our family, smiled faintly.
“How did that club get in your cave?” I whispered to
Jesus. “Did you leave that there?”
“The Lord will provide,” Jesus gave me one of his
folksy witticisms.
“Then its settled,” Samuel, the Pharisee, began to
rise from his stool.
“I suppose so,” Papa replied wearily. “Much has
happened today. Mama, why don’t we
find another place for our new friend?”
Samuel shrugged in submission. Mama stood up after hugging Jesus and
went around hugging everyone in the room, except James and Joseph, who sulked
at the far end of the room. When
she reached the Pharisee, she hugged his frail bones more gently before he
settled back on his stool. For a
moment, I wondered, after watching Mama’s actions, if she had lost her wits but
soon realized that she was merely showing her support for Jesus. So, in this spirit, I rose up, gave her
a hug, then walked over to my estranged brothers, James and Joseph, and hugged
them too. With these displays of
emotion, everyone laughed again—a forced, embarrassed chuckle this time that
belied what we really felt. This
was a bittersweet moment. Even
Simon and Michael could see this.
Jesus was reaching another milestone in his life. A great Pharisee was going to take our
oldest brother to distant lands.
For this I admired him very much and vowed to one day do the same.
“Joseph, my husband, the Lord has great things in
store for our oldest son,” Mama announced bravely. “We will meet with this man
from Arimathea. If Jesus wants to
learn great things, I will not stand in his way.”
“Neither shall I,” agreed Papa, patting Jesus’ head.
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