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Chapter Twenty
At breakfast, Papa discussed the new shop Samuel
insisted on having built for his business. Though he was smiling as he talked, there was a guilty edge
to his voice. Our new benefactor had
promised me a pony and each of my brothers, even Nehemiah, special gifts
too. Samuel’s reply, when Papa
said he was being too generous was “You can’t take it with you,” and yet Papa
now asked us to wait until the old man recovered in case he had a change of
mind. As Nehemiah and I
eavesdropped that morning, we heard Papa caution Mama about the generosity of
dying men. He and the children
would be taking advantage of Samuel in his delicate condition. Mama, who had been promised a new oven,
herself, reluctantly agreed.
Nehemiah and I crept away from the window and walked
glumly down the path and into the orchard in back of our house. After the episode in the cave, we were
forbidden to go further than the orchard, which seriously limited our chances
for adventure today.
After screwing his face up in thought, Nehemiah
asked “Is it true you want to be a soldier of Rome?”
“Yes,” I pursed my lips thoughtfully, “I dream about
it all the time.”
“Does your Papa know?”
“My whole family knows,” I answered with a sigh.
“They think I’ll outgrow such foolishness, but I haven’t outgrown it yet.”
“Then I want to be a soldier too!” exclaimed
Nehemiah.
Studying the small, skinny boy a moment, I realized
he was serious. Fighting the urge
to laugh, I embraced him to hide the grin on my face. I couldn’t imagine a more sorry recruit for Rome’s legions,
but, as Papa always said “time would tell.” Perhaps, he would grow into a big, powerful man like
Cornelius or Longinus. And,
perhaps, I thought breaking into giggles, Uriah would become a camel driver or
my brother Simon would become a palace scribe. One swift gust of wind and—pffft!—Nehemiah would be gone!
“Why are you acting like that?” He gave me a hurt
look.
“Ho-ho, because, I’m proud of you!” I hiccupped and
wiped my eyes.
“You don’t think I can be a soldier?” Nehemiah
frowned severely. “I’ll show you one day!”
“Oh yes, listen everyone,” I hollered through cupped
hands, “Nehemiah shall be the greatest warrior of Rome!”
With his darting points for eyes, pale skin and a
ghostly thin frame, it was impossible for my friend to look fierce. I felt unkind for laughing at him, and
I apologized profusely, but Nehemiah would not be consoled. He swore on his parents’ graves that he
would be as good a soldier as me.
I was impressed with the conviction in his voice, but it was shouted
from a tiny mouth and punctuated by small, bony hands. The sound of Mama shouting from the
backyard saved Nehemiah from further humiliation and me from being pummeled by
his little fists. When we were
close enough to understand what she was yelling at the top of her lungs, we
forgot our silly conversation and raced toward the house.
“Is
it time for lunch?” had been my first response.
“I
said we got a letter from Jesus!” She jumped up and down excitedly.
“Did
you hear that?” I turned happily to Nehemiah. “He’s only been gone a month and
already he’s sent us a letter!”
“A
special courier brought it to us,” she explained out of breath. “The letter
came from Egypt!”
“A
special courier?” I cried in disbelief. “All the way from Egypt?”
This made me run even faster, causing me to trip and
fall as I charged up the path.
Nehemiah whooped with joy himself, catching up with me as I climbed back
on my feet. Together, we scrambled
into the house where the family gathered at the table. James and Joseph, who had been helping
Papa, were already seated. Simon
trotted in nonchalantly from the front yard, the twins scampering past to take
their seats. A scroll was clutched
in one of Papa’s fists, a celebratory mug in one hand.
“One of your Roman friends brought us this!” He
grinned at me, as I sat next to Nehemiah in the middle of the table. “Seems as
though Joseph of Arimathea has connections.” He waved the document, taking a
slurp of wine. “Look at this boys.
Imperial couriers, riding all the way from Egypt, relayed this to a
Roman dispatcher in Sepphoris.
Joseph of Arimathea’s seal is on the scroll.”
“Read it Papa!” I bounced up and down on my stool.
“Very well,” he said, breaking the seal with his knife.
“Let’s hear what Jesus has to say about Egypt. . . .It begins, ‘To Papa and
Mama and my Brothers—James, Joseph, Simon, Jude, and Nehemiah—’ ”
“He included me!” Nehemiah squealed and clapped his
little hands.
“Shut up!” hissed James.
“Greetings from Jesus bar Joseph in Alexandria,
Egypt,” Papa continued with a flourish of one hand, “Joseph of Arimathea sends
his salutations. My first letter
will be brief. There are problems
between Joseph’s sons and I, which will require arbitration by their father, but
I’m not worried. The Lord watches
over me, and I’ve made friends with Joseph’s guards, especially Loftus, one of
the Nubians. Though Joseph claims
all of his guards acknowledge the One God, I’m not certain that any of them,
especially Loftus, is actually a convert to our faith. Loftus wears a carving of a little
serpent around his neck, which he kisses for good luck. Once when Matthias whispered a threat
to me, when his father was out of earshot, Loftus glared at him and said ‘Do
not threaten Jesus. Your father
pays me for protection. That
includes Jesus too.’ You were
right Papa, the Lord works in mysterious ways!”
Papa paused and looked around the room, stunned by
the beginning of the letter. Mama
was, as the rest of us, hanging onto his words. We all gave him a dumbfounded look. Unable to comprehend the meaning, the twins began squirming
impatiently, so Mama allowed them to go outside.
“Well,” James shrugged, “he seems to be in good
hands.”
“Loftus is a warrior!” I exclaimed.
“But I don’t understand.” Mama gave Papa a worried
look. “Why would Joseph’s son dislike Jesus? What did Matthias whisper in his ear?”
“Please Mary,” chided Papa, “I’m reading exactly
what Jesus wrote. Perhaps he’ll
tell us soon.”
“As Jesus was saying,” he said, sipping his
wine, “Joseph and his sons went
into Alexandria for business, with Glychon and Tycho accompanying them as
bodyguards, leaving Loftus and Strabo, the Nubian guards, as my protectors. Strabo is not very friendly, but Loftus
chats with me in Aramaic as well as Greek. Ever since Matthias whispered into my ear, he has been
anxious to know what he said. I
told him the truth—please don’t be alarmed—but Matthias said ‘You’re not
touched by God, you’re touched in the head!’”
“Uh-uh!” I interrupted, “Samuel said Jesus was
touched by God!”
Papa’s eyebrows shot up. “He said that?”
“Uh huh,” I nodded vigorously, “it was a secret.”
“If it was a secret,” sneered James, “why’d you tell
us?”
“Jude,” Mama tsk-tsked, “Samuel told you and I that
in confidence. Shame on you!” “I
didn’t want to burden you with Samuel’s comments,” she explained to Papa. “I,
like you, prefer to think of Jesus as a normal, healthy boy, but I’ve been
having a lot of dreams. Jude is
correct: Samuel and I believe Jesus is touched by God.”
“Humph,” Papa shrugged, “what’s that expression I
heard Jesus say?” “Ah yes,” he replied thoughtfully, “ ‘I’ve been kicking
against the goad.’ ”
My brothers grew restless. I remembered Jesus accusing me of that too. I understood Papa’s reluctance to admit
that Jesus was divine, but, as everyone else at the table, I was anxious to
hear more of Jesus’ letter. Mama
reached out to break his reverie.
“Joseph,” she pulled his sleeve, “the letter!”
“Oh yes, the letter.” He blinked his eyes, awakening
from his thoughts. “Jesus now gives us a description of Alexandria, beginning
with his visit to the Great Museum. . . .‘Joseph and his sons returned from
their business trip, but did not accompany us to the museum. He explained that he and his sons had
already seen the sights of Egypt and Loftus would be my guide until we entered
the library portion of the museum and met his friend Demetrius, who would give
us the final tour. I think Joseph
sensed the jealousy his sons had for me, and I can’t really blame them. He talks to me constantly about matters
they can’t yet comprehend. It’s
hard for them to understand how someone my age could carry on such
conversations with a Pharisee.
When we stopped in Jerusalem to drop off his wife, he insisted on taking
me to the Temple to meet a few of his friends, who were priests. As you know, the Sadducees don’t
believe in an afterlife, whereas the Pharisees, as we, believe that when we
strive for righteousness in our faith, we go to heaven. Much of the Pharisee’s belief in this
doctrine is based upon the Book of Isaiah, who foretells the arrival of two
very different saviors, a conquering hero, like King David, and a suffering,
spiritual Messiah, who is despised and rejected by the Jews. Isaiah, however, like Ezekiel, only implies
that there’s an afterlife. The
truth is, I argued with Joseph, the Torah barely touches upon the subject of
reward and punishment after death.
It’s as if there’s a whole new half of the Torah yet unwritten, perhaps
to be finished when the Messiah arrives.
I know, by God’s wisdom, that there are two realms: Paradise and Gahenna. If we don’t strive for righteousness,
we go to Gahenna, which the Romans call Tartaros and the Greeks call Hades, but
how could I argue this point with Sadducee priests, who base their views on
such solid scriptural ground. So I
decided, my family, to use the weapons of the philosopher and logician. Though I was respectful to my elders, I
found myself arguing in favor of the Pharisaic and rabbinical belief, by first
pointing out how strange it was that even the pagan Romans and Greeks believed
in an afterlife and yet the Israelites, who obey their Lord more than any
people on earth, should not, if the Sadducees have their way. It is, in fact, unnatural not to worry
about what happens after one dies.
I quoted from passages in the Torah that support an after life, though I
realize how few they were in comparison to the scriptures not offering that
support. Did not the Lord
translate Enoch, Elijah, and Moses directly up into Paradise without
death? Where did they not go, if
not to heaven? The priests laughed
and shook their heads. Joseph was
also amused but his sons were resentful and muttered complaints at my
audacity. Zadok, one of the chief
priests, asked me if perchance I might rewrite Holy Scriptures. Yet he embraced me, as did his
associates, and, placing his hand on my head, gave me a blessing by quoting the
priestly blessing: The Lord bless and keep you, make his face shine upon you
and be gracious to you. The Lord
lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.’”
After taking a sip of wine, Papa waited a moment for
our reaction, which came slowly as Jesus’ words registered in our minds. I scratched my head. James and Joseph frowned. Simon yawned, and Nehemiah had a blank
look on his pale face. We all had
heard Jesus talk strangely before.
Mama struggled with something—perhaps another vision—but would not share
her thoughts this time.
“Very bold,” murmured Papa, glancing at the scroll.
“I’m glad Jesus kept most of that from the priests. I wonder if his benefactor considered his opinions to be
heresy. His suggestion to Joseph
that the Torah is unfinished should have been considered blasphemous by the
priests. And yet his attempt to
prove there’s an afterlife isn’t new.
Pharisees, such as Joseph, believe in it. We believe it, as do most of the folks in our town. But to express this view to Sadducee
priests and defend it on logical grounds is another matter. Essentially, the Torah ignores the
afterlife. I never thought much
about this, and I would never have imagined that Jesus would argue about this
discrepancy in our holiest books.
Men have been stoned for less.
I can’t help wondering if Zadok was being polite to the Pharisee in his
good humored dismissal of our son.”
On that note, as we, his patient family, considered
his words, I heard my brother Joseph murmur something to James. Both of them sneered, as if they were
not surprised our eccentric brother had gone too far. I gently elbowed Simon awake before Papa gave him a rap on
the head. Nehemiah’s deadpan
expression implied that he was ready to fall asleep too, as was I. Mama frowned at James and Joseph and
bent forward on her stool, trying to hear what they said. Papa’s deep, resonant voice grabbed our
attention once more as he resumed the reading of Jesus’ letter. The substance of my brother’s first
exploit displayed his great love of Creation—a welcome relief to what came
before.
“Despite my heresies,” wrote Jesus, “I appeared to
have left the temple in their good graces. Nevertheless, I began my journey on the wrong foot in
my effort to point the priests in the right direction. With this said, you might understand
why I had mixed feelings about my separation from Joseph and his sons, as
Loftus, Strabo and I entered Alexandria’s Great Museum. To be honest, I had been looking
forward to our first stop in this huge complex of buildings: the gardens. Loftus was eager to show me this
department, since it was his favorite part of the museum, and he promised not
leave one corner of it unseen by my eyes.
For several hours we wandered through the many interlinking zones,
avoiding the pagan statues as much as possible. There were many different kinds of plants and animals I had
never seen, including ones from every province of the empire, many also brought
from remote corners of the earth.
The trees, bushes, and flowers reminded me of Mama’s garden. I will not hide from my disdain at
seeing Lord’s creatures locked up in cages, but I confess that I marveled at
the variety, size, and color of so many furred, feathered and scaled
beasts. One particular fellow,
whom Loftus called an ape, looked very much like a hairy little man. He and his family swung from trees
growing up inside the high cages.
Next door to the apes were smaller creatures, with tails, yet faces like
tiny old men. There were many
different kinds of these small furred people. From all manner of horned and un-horned four footed beast to
the wondrous elephant, we’ve heard about at rabbinical school, Loftus lead me
to a great pin, where a large, angry-looking beast with a sharp horn on his
nose idled next to other smaller members of his kind. Loftus also showed me all manner of fierce-looking
creatures, including lions and leopards, but also striped cats from far off
India, whom he claimed the Romans now preferred in killing criminals in the
arena.
The scaled creatures, though they are blessed too by
God, frightened me somewhat. There
were all sorts of colorful snakes and lizards from tiny fellows to giant
crocodiles, who sprawled lazily around a great enclosed pond. Alas, I remember so many wondrous
creatures, but the ones I think Mama would like the most were the many birds in
the great garden of Alexandria, in which a huge statue of the conqueror,
himself, stood in the center, as if guarding the assemblage of beasts. I know you would not approve of such a
pagan carving Mama, but you would clap your hands with joy at these feathered
treasures: cranes, duck, geese, and so many birds, whose names escape me
now. In one special set of cages
there were birds of prey, including eagles and hawks. I felt great pity for such fliers and hunters, who were
thrown scraps of meat and dead fish for food.
As we arrived at the last sector of the gardens,
Loftus led me into a specially enclosed area. As we looked down into ponds filled with brightly colored
fish, I regretted the fact that we Galileans ate so many of them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we ate only
vegetables and fruits? I’ve never
liked the gory sacrifices in the temple.
In one incredible portion of this domed room there was a much larger
pool of water and large fish-like creatures swimming playfully around as other
spectators watched. These
creatures had intelligent eyes Papa, I’m not exaggerating, and Loftus told me
that they were, in fact, not fish at all, but sea leviathans, whose cousins
grew to be much larger than ships.
Salt water from the adjacent bay was cycled in, he explained, so that
they would feel at home, but such creatures, above all others, yearned to be
free, for their domain was the Great Sea.
We left the gardens in search of Demetrius, the
chief librarian. Loftus had
brought bread, cheese, and grape juice in his pack, so we stopped and sat
beside a fountain, that was so crowded with Egyptian, Greek and Roman deities,
it hurt my eyes. Strabo, who had
barely said a word, pointed to a naked goddess and grunted. I will probably have to undergo some
sort of purification rite after everything I’ve see on this trip. I forgot to tell you about the many
pagan statues in Alexandria. On
every corner and every niche an idol to Egyptian, Greek, and Roman deities can
be seen. The idol bedecked
fountain in the garden symbolized in my mind the plight of the Gentile, who are
unsure which god is correct.
Soon we were discovered by Demetrius, as we began
searching for the hall of scrolls.
At first, the librarian was startled by the Nubian guards. If you think about it, how many tall
black warriors accompanying a Jewish youth would be seen walking about in the
Great Museum? Nevertheless, I was
greatly impressed at his cordial greeting and expeditious presentation of the
scrolls.
Demetrius expected me to be awed by the vast
repository of scrolls in the library portion of the museum, but the impressions
left on my mind of God’s creatures in those wondrous gardens seemed far greater
than a great, unfriendly hall filled with the writings of long dead men
pigeonholed in endless, featureless stacks. It was much too quiet for my tastes. Signs were posted everywhere in Latin,
Greek, and Egyptian demanding silence in the library. Nevertheless, Loftus, Strabo, and I politely followed the
portly little Greek as he began his tour.
At first, we were treated to a long-winded introduction
of the history of the museum, including a scathing indictment against the
Romans for burning the first museum down.
My protectors and I were weary from our long journey and subsequent trek
through town and we found ourselves yawning during this phase of our
outing. I realized how unkind this
was to poor Demetrius and, as we passed a fountain in the hall, I splashed
water onto my face. As Loftus and
Strabo grumbled under their breaths and exchanged scowls, I attempted to put on
my most attentive face. With this
mindset and simple effort, I found myself drawn gradually toward the great
minds of history. The first sector
of study, the religious tracts, Demetrius boasted, held scrolls from the Hebrew
Torah, as well as documents from Zoroastrian, Hindu, Buddhist, and many pagan
religions. These selections, which
he explained briefly, caused my protectors to grumble that much more. I immediately requested a closer inspection
of the documents, but Demetrius said he would make note of this and allow me to
personally inspect the scrolls after the guided tour. I don’t know whether or not Joseph of Arimathea, who is a
Pharisee, would approve of me looking at heretical or profane works but the
short description Demetrius gave me of some of the great religions of the world
wetted my appetite. I had the
sudden urge to spend many days in this great building sampling the writings of
religious teachers, philosophers, and scientists. The thought came to me from Papa that knowledge, itself, is
not evil and, in fact, the lack of it has caused great evil in the world. Perhaps, in many cases where knowledge
isn’t righteous, it’s better for us to know the enemy. How can a wise man do good, if he’s not
able to avoid temptation? If,
perchance, a scroll advises us to do evil, will not the Spirit deflect it?”
Papa stopped in his recitation to draw a breath and
take a long sip of wine. Mama
displayed an enigmatic smile and nodded, which I can write down as
illumination, for indeed Jesus’ mother knew him the best. There were many things that Jesus had
said that troubled me, however, that I could, at my untutored age, barely put
into words. Judging by James and
Joseph’s scowl they had questions too, yet Simon, his eyes half-closed and head
bobbing, appeared to be once more falling asleep. Nehemiah sat patiently beside me, his hands folded and eyes
forward. Except for the sound of
the mug clunking on the table, all I could hear were the twins romping happily
in the yard. Papa looked around at
us, both a frown and smile playing on his face.
“There are many issues in this letter,” he mumbled
reflectively to himself.
“What does this mean?” I made a face.
“Yes,” asked James, “why does Jesus want to read
pagan scrolls?”
“Those are good questions.” Papa smiled. “Just where
did Jesus learn all those big words?
I sense a rebuke in your attitude James. Do you disapprove of him learning about the world?”
“I do,” James nodded, “and so does Joseph. Ever since he brought that stupid bird
back to life nothing’s been the same.
Jesus is special. We all
knew that. But now he’s touched by
God. It makes me sick to listen to
him carry on. Do you think his
brothers will ever have the same opportunity he’s had living in this backwoods
town?”
“That’s enough James! Shut your mouth!” Mama jumped up excitedly from her stool.
“There-there, it’s all right,” Papa said. “I know
he’s jealous. If I was Jesus’
brother, I’d be jealous too.”
“Really?” asked James. “You’d be jealous?”
“Yes, of course,” answered Papa, patting his head.
“Don’t forget,” he wagged a finger, “I was a child once. There are moments, as
Jesus’ father, that I’m envious of him for the adventures he’ll have.”
“Someday I’m going to see the world!” I cried. “I’m
going to see all the places that Jesus saw and more!”
“That’s the spirit!” Papa reached down and ruffled
my hair. “When your mother and I were in Egypt, we never would have dreamed of
touring Alexandria. “There’s a big
world out there boys,” he declared, looking around the table. “I’ll never stop
you from seeing it for yourselves!”
Mama glared at Papa but said nothing. James and Joseph looked in disbelief at
our father, as Simon sat groggily on his stool. Nehemiah’s blank expression was impossible to read, though I
was certain he shared my goal.
Papa had given my own dreams a seal of approval. I wondered if it might not be his wine
talking again, but I beamed happily at him as he drained his mug and returned
to the scroll dangling in his hand.
“Well,”
he sighed deeply, “our Jesus has left us with many riddles. I can’t wait to read about his next
adventure!”
“Hump!” James and Joseph grumbled. “There’s more?”
“Joseph,” Mama murmured, tugging his sleeve, “let’s
take a break so I can check on the twins.”
Simon, who had found Mama’s supply of grape juice,
had to use the cloaca. James and
Joseph had no such excuse and were forced to sit there at the table with
Nehemiah and I, as Papa looked forlornly at his mug.
“You’ve had enough,” Mama whispered to him as she
passed back into the room.
Replacing his mug with a freshly picked clump of
grapes, Mama settled down at the opposite end of the table as Papa looked
blankly at the scroll. It seemed
obvious to me that substituting wine with grapes, from which it was made, would
not satisfy Papa at all. I was not
sure if Mama’s frown was for his tipsiness or what he had said. It was the first time I had seen her
frown at him. She caught my
expression and smiled, as if to ease my concern. It had not occurred to me yet that my parents had different
expectations of Jesus: Papa saw Jesus as an adventurer and Mama, because of her
visions, already saw a dark road ahead.
It was also, as I look back, a matter of father’s denial of the obvious
versus mother’s gradual acceptance of Jesus’ divinity.
As I listened to Papa read the exploits of my oldest
brother, the importance of Jesus’ education escaped me entirely, and yet I was
interested in portions of his opinion-ridden report. He was an adventurer as I would one day be. I was consumed with envy for what he
was seeing and experiencing. We
had been told by Samuel that he might even visit Rome. And yet, not all of Jesus’ letter
commanded my attention. So far,
much of the scroll was rather dry and loaded with spiritual observations. In his deep, booming voice, Papa
resumed his reading, drawing my attention back like a moth to a faltering
flame.
“. . . .We reached the Pharos Lighthouse by a narrow
strip of rock that connected the tiny island to the city of Alexandria. This journey, Milo, our new guide,
explained would have been dangerous during high tide. Tourists such as ourselves have been swept into the bay and
drowned. Loftus and Strabo, my
protectors, were much more interested in this adventure than the library. Already the tall, magnificent
lighthouse loomed mightily in our vision, and I could not imagine anything in
my journey with Joseph of Arimathea surpassing this structure. But of course I had not yet seen Greece
and Rome!”
With those words I jumped up and down excitedly in
my seat. Papa frowned at this
interruption, but Mama smiled tolerantly at my enthusiasm, while James and
Joseph, who were jealous of Jesus, continued to scowl.
“My energy was dauntless,” continued Papa. “As we
walked up the steep wooden staircase that wound up to the great mirror of
Pharos, I thanked my Father for the long hikes I took in the hills of Nazareth
in communion with Him. My limbs
were strong, as were the tree trunk-size legs of my guards, but poor Milo,
whose normal duties were in the map room of the museum, was almost spent when
we reached the second level of the lighthouse.
Already, I had a marvelous view of the bay and the
ships sailing in and out of the harbor.
Though winded, Milo took this opportunity to give a brief history of the
lighthouse. He explained to us
that the building was built of marble blocks joined with lead mortar. In the center cavity, which ran up
through all three levels of the building, fuel for the fire and other materials
were raised from the ground floor.
We had actually seen the pulleys in operation as we ascended the stairs,
and, at one point, saw a pallet of wood being transported to the top.
After a long break, in which Loftus bragged about
previous exploits, Strabo grew impatient with the delay and offered to carry
the little librarian up to the top.
Milo, however, insisted on continuing on his own, as long as we stopped
frequently to rest. On the way up,
we passed other tourists moving up and down the structure, visitors from every
corner of the empire. Milo
confessed wearily, as we approached the top, that the Pharos Lighthouse was the
most popular attraction in Alexandria.
Few visitors or patrons of the library cared to spend time in the map
room or stroll through the endless stacks of dusty scrolls. Tourists would rather see the gardens
or the lighthouse and then visit the hundreds of religious shrines in town.
I was quite excited when we reached the mirror
room. It was, Milo explained
wearily, made of wood and polished sheets of metal that had been riveted to the
frame. Of course, we could not look
directly at the mirror if the sun was shining into it. During the daytime, our guide told us,
sunlight shining on the mirror produced a blinding flash. At night, the fire stoked by the
attendants, turned the great mirror into a giant lamp, with a similar
effect. Whether by sunlight or
fire, the mirror could be seen by sailors several Roman miles away. Because of the possibility of foul
weather and overcast days, the flames in front of the mirror were eternal. Atop this room, which was suffocatingly
warm and smoky, was a huge statue of Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. At the level on which we stood there
was a wide balcony. Avoiding the
great, hot lamp, we stepped back to the railing for fresh air. On the balcony Loftus and Strabo found
vendors selling refreshments, and I discovered the most incredible vista I had
ever seen. No hill had ever
offered me such a view. Not only
could we see the entire harbor and distant ships approaching, but we could see
a great swath of Alexandria.
Loftus and Strabo were unimpressed, since they claimed to have seen much
greater places, which included the Great Pyramids of Egypt. When I asked Loftus if Joseph would
take us to these wonders, he shook his head and told me it would be too great a
detour. Joseph had no business
contacts in that desolate place but I could ask him myself. I told Loftus, however, that I would be
content if this was the last the wonder of the world I had seen.
Walking down the staircase was, of course, much
easier than walking up. Milo,
though exhausted, was able to make it to the bottom without a break. Due to boredom perhaps, as we made our
way down, Loftus chatted with me about the miracles I was alleged to have
performed. Strabo perked up, as
did Milo. He asked me if it was
true that I had brought a dead bird back to life. I explained that it was my Father who had performed the
miracle. He then asked me if it
had been my Father who had caused a storm to pour from the sky. I admitted this too, but I made it
perfectly clear who was responsible and that I had prayed for each
miracle. Loftus asked me if I had
prayed to the Jewish God or one of the many Roman or Greek gods and, if so, I
must be a powerful priest. I
explained that there was only one universal God and all believers were
priests. All three men seemed to
be thinking about what I had said, for when we reached the bottom level and
stood there waiting for Milo to regain his breath, I suffered their scrutiny. Loftus did not accept my
explanation. In spite of my
protests, he believed that I was just being modest. He had heard many priests, in many religions—all were
fakes. The Jewish priests were the
worst. Speaking for the first
time, Strabo suggested that it was more likely that I was a sorcerer, who were
known to harness the power of the gods.
Loftus nodded in agreement as did our guide. Loftus and Strabo, I realized with disappointment, were
still pagans. Wiping his brow,
Milo said that anyone who could perform miracles had to be more than a priest
or even a sorcerer; he had to be at least a minor deity to perform such magical
deeds.
I returned to the city with my protectors somewhat
depressed. How can I extol the
greatness of our faith if I can’t prove to them the power of prayer? Prayer is the language of God. Miracles are expressions of God’s
grace. But the problem is more
basic than the Gentile’s inability to understand miracles. My new friends find it difficult to
believe in one God. To Gentiles He
is merely one more deity among thousands.
Will they ever understand that our God is not merely the Jewish god? . .
. He is God!”
With this exclamation, Jesus’ first letter
ended. A long pause followed his
brief farewell, which Papa mumbled under his breath. He seemed to study the last page a moment as we stirred on
our stools. I shook Simon awake to
prevent him from getting in trouble.
Mama looked up with a flicker of disappointment, expecting much more.
“Is that it?” She frowned.
“That’s it.” He shrugged. “ ‘Your loving son and
brother, Jesus.’ The scroll ends there—nothing more. Perhaps he had to get it off quickly with some of Joseph’s
other letters.”
“Perhaps,” replied Mama. “It was, after all, brought
by a Roman courier.”
“I’m hungry,” Simon mumbled, “what’s for
dinner?”
Papa sat down the scroll, yawned expansively, and
stretched his arms. Staring
vacantly at his uneaten grapes, he shoved them over to Simon. I could tell that the letter had left
an impact on everyone, except Simon.
I was uncertain about Nehemiah.
Stirred by Jesus’ adventure, I had begun daydreaming about my white
horse and own adventures as a Roman soldier, but the last page struck a note in
my mind. Loftus, Strabo, and Milo
could not accept Jesus explanation for his miracles. In thinking that Jesus might be a great sorcerer, they were
having the same problems with his divinity that we, his brothers, had when he
cured the dead bird. There had
many other issues in Jesus correspondence, but it was his perception of the
Lord that brought forth the first objection.
“Well,” Papa said looking around the table, “what do
you think?”
“What does Jesus mean by ‘universal God?’” James
gave him a troubled look. “We are the Chosen People. Isn’t our Lord here for Israel alone?”
James had asked an important question. One day Papa’s words would ring true as
Jesus set forth on his mission to spread the Word. Walking around the table, he placed a big calloused hand on
James’ head.
“Did Joachim teach you in synagogue that the Torah
was written only for the Jews?
That sounds like something he’d say. Didn’t Isaiah imply that God was intended for the
Gentiles? I think Jesus would like
to convert those pagan guards. Is
that so bad?”
“I suppose not,” nodded James reluctantly, “if
Isaiah doesn’t mind.”
Papa ruffled James’ hair. Mama reached out and squeezed his hand.
“What about you?” Papa moved behind Joseph, who sat
with a permanent scowl on his face.
“He said it again,” Joseph spat, “he called God his
father!”
“Ah, he always says that.” I made a face.
“Yes, Jude’s correct.” Papa now gave me a pat.
“We’ve all heard him say it. That
would make him a minor god in many pagan’s eyes, but that’s not what Jesus
means.”
“It’s not?” challenged Joseph. “Is God his
father? If you’re not his father,
who is?”
Mama rose up as if she might strike Joseph
again. Papa waved her off curtly,
a worried frown registering on his face.
Once more it seemed that our parents were keeping a great secret from
us, one that should have been obvious even to the twins. Perhaps, deep down in our hearts if not
our minds, we already knew, and my parents were simply in denial. It could also be that God, Himself,
told them to keep us in the dark.
Whatever the reason was, our family gathering to hear the reading of
Jesus first letter had ended.
James, Joseph, and Simon departed into the backyard in starkly different
moods—confusion, anger, and indifference, respectively, while Nehemiah
expression, as usual, was impossible to read.
My mind was a mixture of all three moods. I was confused but also upset by my
brother Joseph’s words. Yet I was
also somewhat indifferent because I suddenly had the urge to romp around with
Nehemiah until dinner time. As my
friend and I scampered around the house to the path leading to the orchard, I
heard Joseph discussing their status as adopted sons and James’ response.
“We were adopted after our parents died, but what of
Jesus? Are we to believe that he’s
really a son of God?”
“Wait Nehemiah,” I whispered, grabbing his arm.
“It’s how Jesus talks,” I heard James explain.
“Before Jesus left, Samuel almost said he was the Son of Man. What does that mean?”
Pausing a moment as we turned the corner, I shushed
Nehemiah and cupped my ear.
Nehemiah cupped his ear too.
“I don’t know what any of this means?” Joseph
replied in a muted voice. “Who’s this person we’ve called brother all these
years?”
“Our parents know,” James said thoughtfully, “but they don’t want us to know. . . To tell you the truth, Joseph, I’m not so sure I want to know!”
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