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Chapter Fifty-Two

 

The Callings

 

 

 

So far my path had been straightforward enough.  After the ordeals of youth and travails of a young man, I found myself as a member of the twelve.  Though I experienced the Holy Spirit, I hadn’t yet received my orders from the Lord.  That would come later.  The waiting would begin to wear on me, but I had nothing better to do.  Unlike my brothers James, Joseph, and Simon, I had no occupation.  I had been an adventurer and slacker.  When Jesus met John the Baptist at the River Jordan, my life suddenly changed.  Despite my misgivings at first, I decided to join his band.  Wherever they went, I was there.  Like the others, I was a witness to His miracles and deeds.  I was chosen to help spread the word.  Ever since Jesus called me to the twelve, I knew what was expected of me.  Though there were dangers on the road, I worried little about tomorrow, concerned only with the affairs of the day.  What followed our interlude in Capernaum, however, when the twelve finally splintered apart, and we went our own separate ways, is more complicated.  Jesus was no longer physically in our presence.  Peter had been in charge, ruling our actions with a stern, uncompromising hand.  His guidance and inspiration, though intolerable at times, kept us together after the crucifixion.  In the days following Jesus’ reappearance and our shared experiences with the Holy Spirit, which strengthened our resolve, he kept us focused on our mission.  By Peter’s relentless enthusiasm and example, he led us, in an effort to make us ready for the pitfalls ahead.  Now, as apostles and disciples, we were entering an undefined and shadowy period in our service to the Lord.  Soon, at least for some of us, we would get our final orders, not from Peter, but from the Holy Spirit—the voice of God, Himself.

After Peter’s latest revelations, we would, when the call came, go out by ourselves or in pairs rather than as a total group.  Despite what he said to Bartholomew and me, he was unclear about this.  The only thing we knew for sure was the message we would spread.  What we had learned from Jesus and from practical experience with Peter, our new leader, must be shared with the world.  In Peter’s vision, guided by the Lord, we were both farmers and shepherds now.  After the seeds we plant in various places take root, congregations (or flocks) will begin to grow, then new disciples, as shepherds, themselves, will take the staff to lead the new flocks, until one day, the entire world will have heard the word and become believers—one great ecclesia propagating the word.  This was the strategy.  Considering the rejection I had seen from many of our own people, however, this grand plan, which Jesus and now Peter believed would happen, seemed unreasonable.  Not only did we have to contend with the religious leaders and practically every Pharisee and scribe encountered, we would have to contend with the Gentiles—the Romans in particular, as a group, rather than the few individuals drawn to our faith in the past.  They were, as the fishermen might say, untested waters.  Despite Jesus’ insistence that we preach to Jews first before going to the Gentiles, there was no way to separate Jews from Gentiles when confronting a crowd.  Many cities in Syria, Perea, and Decapolis were cosmopolitan, in some cases with a majority of pagans, who needed to hear the message too.  Considering Jesus vision of the world, how could we minister to and baptize only the Jews?

Not only the scope of our mission, but its content was worrisome.  We carried with us a revolutionary conception of the Hebrew god that, on the face of it, had more in common with the pagans, who worshipped more than one god.  When we did begin to preach in some far corner of the empire, we would have to explain this complex deity: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.  These three natures of God were still difficult for even us to digest.  How could we explain this to simple people, if men such as Lazarus didn’t fully understand?  For that matter, the notion of being born again had confounded even the Pharisee Nicodemus.  How could we explain such concepts to ignorant people, whether Gentile or Jew?  The Holy Spirit, the important differences from the old and new faith, and the very meaning of the crucifixion and the resurrection would also be difficult to explain. 

After much thought, I remembered Jesus’ original message.  It provided a simple list for people to follow: believe, repent, and be baptized into a new life.  From the beginning, this formula had seemed to work well.  Hundreds of converts had joined up during the days following Jesus’ greatest sermons, understanding only this basic formula for salvation.  His crucifixion and resurrection, which defined him as the Son of God as well as the Christ, immediately changed all of this.  Now added to the message of the Risen Christ, was an even more difficult concept for believers to understand: the Holy Spirit.  Not only was our message controversial, the messenger had become controversial, as well.  There were now three deities combined into—God the Father, God the Son, and God, the Holy Spirit, that James called the Godhead, a concept even I had found difficult to accept.  James and Bartholomew agreed with me that we must keep the message simple among rustics.  Save them first and then enlighten them, if possible, we suggested to Simon, Matthew, and Thomas.  The five of us also decided to keep this to ourselves.  We had no idea what the fishermen were saying or doing right now, but I had a hunch they had watered down the message too. 

What mattered was what we would say or do when receiving the call.  Then, on our separate paths, we would, like Peter, be guided by the Lord.  As we waited for orders, our service in Palestine would be used to sharpen up our preaching skills.  The great majority of Palestinians, Peter reminded us, had heard the good news and just needed convincing.  If that was true, I told Bartholomew, why bother with the details?  In many cases we were preaching to faint-hearted believers and slackers, as well as fence-setters, who might never be convinced.  Considering this logic, our current time in Galilee might be an exercise in futility, but it was good practice for the future and kept our minds sharp.  For a brief time, this pattern of our lives was simple but worthwhile.  The first thing I did when we returned to Capernaum, of course, was to find Mary Magdalene and share my thoughts with her.  Lately, she had a dreamy, far off look about her.  Clearly, as it should be, I had lost her to Christ.  Though Peter told the men they would receive separate missions, which meant they might not go out in pairs, for the time being we reverted to our previous couplings when Jesus first sent us out.  Mary, who was especially blessed by Jesus, needed no one but herself.  After going out to check on the flock and preach to small crowds whenever they appeared, the apostles and disciples returned to Peter’s house to share our experiences and compare notes. 

Included in Bartholomew’s and my schedule was a visit to Bethany to visit Lazarus and his sisters, but mostly, I confess, to spend time with my dog.  Where it not for Peter’s wife and mother-in-law, I would have brought Micah home with us.  Ashira, Lazarus’ servant, who took care of him, gave him affection, and taught him tricks, was rightfully his master now.  At times it seemed as though I might, in my service to the Lord, never see him again, but then I would recall something Jesus said to me: “On those lonely nights, when it’s just you, the stars, and the Lord above, Micah will give you great comfort…. He’ll  always be your dog!”  Everything else during my wait seemed to be in flux, but Micah was an unchanging constant.  With his special blessing, my brother had given him to me.  It may sound heretical, but it was as if a piece of Jesus lived in him.  Micah was one of his miracles, an unexpected gift and reminder of his god-like powers. 

During our rest periods in Capernaum, to while away the time, Bartholomew and I visited the chapel built for the congregation in Capernaum to chat with Azariah and Yoshabel, its shepherd and shepherdess or strolled along the shoreline contemplating the days ahead.  Though Mary Magdalene had matured greatly and often seemed in another world, I also visited her as much I could.  Most of my time, however, was spent with Bartholomew.  Because of Peter’s apparent blessing on our partnership, I assumed I would continue watching over the old man.  Like the others, we grew more anxious in our leisure.  Why was the Holy Spirit so silent?  Why hadn’t we received the call? …. Would the Lord send Bartholomew and I out alone, on separate paths?

 

******

As was expected of us by Peter, Bartholomew and I moved around Galilee in his cart, visiting various communities, as the other men likewise paired off visiting other towns.  In this leisurely fashion we, the apostles and disciples, did the Lord’s work in Palestine, until the expected pattern finally set in.  Peter had told us it would happen sooner or later.  He had already received his first set of instructions from the Lord.  He would, he explained to us, oversee the congregations in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and Decapolis and when new congregations were established he would shepherd these too.  Though James, Lazarus, Azariah, and his wife were also called shepherds, as would be the leaders of new congregations, Peter was, at least for the time being, the Shepherd.  Now, after we returned to Peter’s house, we noticed that Andrew and Philip were missing.  A courier arrived shortly before our arrival with a message, written by him on their behalf, announcing Andrew’s intention of visiting Asia and Philip’s intention of visiting Greece.  A rambling message followed in which Andrew and Philip gave details of how they were contacted—Philip in a prophetic dream in which a young child appeared telling him he must go to Greece, and Andrew in the clear light of day in which a voice told him to feed His children in Asia.   As impressive as these callings were, all I could think of was, ‘He’s going to break Bartholomew and me up… I’m going out alone!’  The implications of this—the first apostles called singularly to preach the word—shook us all greatly.  Who would be next?

 

******

            In the following weeks, as Bartholomew and I tried to concentrate on our chores as preachers spreading the word and as spiritual guides for backsliding and recalcitrant converts, we suffered the increasing loss of our companions, dreading when our moment came.  To make matters even glummer for me, Mary Magdalene disappeared into the hills, seeking visions and counsel from the Lord.  Most of the original pairs designated by Jesus had changed.  Peter had no partner, so Andrew had picked his old fishing mate Philip, both of whom were now far away, preaching the word.  Simon chose Matthew to travel with him now that Judas was gone, and because my brother James had his own ministry in Jerusalem, Thomas was left with the disciple Justus.  Of the apostles, only John and James and Bartholomew and I were the original pairs.  Because they weren’t selected by Jesus, four of the disciples and the new apostle had no pattern to follow and could pair off more easily.  Barnabas, a friend of Mark and his mother, had picked the younger man as his companion, and Cleopas naturally chose his longtime friend Matthias, now a member of the twelve.  Jonas, who had never had a partner, was the only one of us not be paired off, and was sent back to his hometown to preach. 

            Each time we met in Peter’s house, our numbers were reduced.  In each case, as Peter had instructed his men, a courier—someone close to the preachers, would return with the news.  In the end, after our numbers continued to dwindle, only Bartholomew and I remained.  As I make this entry, all I can tell the reader is where the other ten apostles and disciples where at the time they sent their messages.  After Andrew and Philip failed to report in, messengers for the apostles had arrived to explain their whereabouts in Asia and Greece.  Only a few days later, a messenger arrived from Thomas and Justus, telling us they had been called to Syria.  Of all the preachers, they appeared to have the easiest missions.  Nothing was said about how Thomas and Justus were called.  Two days later Mark, instead of a messenger as Peter instructed, returned with a letter from Barnabas.  According to Barnabas’ note, as he and Mark passed through Perea, an old Samaritan asked him why Jesus had forgotten his people.  In a dream, Barnabas accompanied a stranger, whose preaching was second only to Jesus.  He had no idea who this man would be.  Though he assumed they were in Samaria in his dream because of the request of the Samaritan, he couldn’t be sure.  Missing in what he believed was a vision was the presence of Mark.  Seeing his meeting with the Samaritan as a sign and accepting his vision as a further stage in his service for the Lord, he sent Mark back to Capernaum to deliver the news.  These circumstances gave the young man a reprieve.  Because of the note, which Peter accepted as the Lord’ will, Mark joined Bartholomew and I in our lonely vigil as we awaited Jesus’ call. 

Who could have guessed that Barnabas, like Luke, would one day become the disciple of Paul of Tarsus, a Pharisee who would first persecute members of the Way?

 

******

During our wait, more letters arrived.  A courier brought a message from Matthew and Simon, who were in Persia, that detailed their success in villages, but, like Thomas and Justus, they claimed no spiritual experience.  Whether these men had thought we would assume they were called or simply forgot to include this information, remained a mystery.  Judging by Andrew, Philip, and Barnabas’ experience, the Lord had his own plans for them.  The fact that some of the apostles had kept their original partners so far, gave Bartholomew and I hope.  It appeared as though, by the Lord’s silence, James and John and Bartholomew and I might be destined to stay together.  At least two of the men, Matthias and Cleopas, admitted in their message to not having a prophetic dream or religious experience at all, deciding on their own initiative to remain in Cilicia where the ‘pickings were good.’  It seemed as though Peter’s reach as our shepherd went only so far.  Also making Bartholomew and I feel better was the attitude of Mark, who seemed happy where he was.  Peter, who would remain in Capernaum using Mark as his scribe, was also content to stay put.  Despite the fact that most of the apostles and disciples were on their own now and didn’t need his guidance, Peter’s calling, at least for the time being, was as Shepherd of the Way.  He interpreted Barnabas’ note not only as the Lord’s calling for Barnabas but also as a sign that Mark should remain behind to help with the ecclesia.  He wasn’t concerned with the Lord’s silence toward Bartholomew and me.  Until the Lord gave us all further instructions, there was much that we could do to help him manage our congregations in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and Decapolis, without traveling to distant lands.

For several weeks, though our numbers diminished, our routine remained the same.  Finally, from the remaining apostles in Palestine, a letter arrived from John, who explained that he and his brother James had gone their own separate ways.  James remained in Tyre, after healing a Pharisee’s wife.  Nothing more was said after this miracle.  In his note, John, who offered no explanation as to his brother’s plans, made the boldest claim of any of the apostles or disciples.  Written in his own flamboyant style, he claimed that Jesus appeared in a dream telling him to go to Ephesus and feed his sheep, implying, as Andrew had, he would shepherd his flock.

            Peter shook his head, after Mark read the message. 

“Well, that’s just like John,” he laughed sourly. “Most of the men downplayed their calling, but John was called by the Lord, himself.  He now fashions himself as a shepherd!”

            “I bet he was drunk!” grumbled Bartholomew.

            “The question is,” I replied thoughtfully, “why didn’t Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Justus, Matthias, Cleopas, and James claim divine guidance?  That’s most of the men!”

            “I don’t know.” Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe they had it or maybe not.  Perhaps the Lord didn’t tell Mark to go home, but Barnabas’ note and the fact he sent him home seemed like a sign.”

            “I never received a sign,” Mark frowned. “You gave me a sign, Peter, when you asked for my help.”

            “Well.” I sighed wistfully. “He hasn’t called Bartholomew and me either, and I was Jesus’ brother!”

            “This isn’t your faults.” He glanced at each of us. “Look at me; I’m the Rock.  He told me to feed his sheep.  Until I’m sure Azariah and his wife are ready, though, this is my assignment.  I’m sure it’s only temporary.  Someday, he’ll send me out too.”

            “Just you?” Mark frowned.

            “No, both of us.” He patted Mark’s head. “You’re sticking with me.” “I’m certain you two will also get the call,” he added, looking at Bartholomew and me.  “I just hope the Lord keeps you together.  You make a good team.  Pray on it men.  I have a feeling, you’ll be hearing from Him soon!”

 

******

            Peter’s feeling proved to be accurate.  My calling, however, was nothing like I expected.   As it happened for some of the apostles and disciples, I had thought that the Lord would give me a sign, even arrive as the Holy Spirit if I prayed hard enough, but there was no prophetic dream, voice in my head, or other heavenly sign.  The very next day after Peter’s prediction, as Bartholomew and I strolled down the shore, watching fishermen pulling up their nets, it happened in stages.  At first, it merely provided a topic for conversation.  In the distance, on the nearby hill, a man on a camel sat motionless—a dark silhouette against a sunlit sky.

            “You see that?” I turned to Bartholomew.

            “What?” He followed my finger, squinting his eyes. “…I’m half blind.”

            “Him.” I jabbed the air. “The man on the camel.”

“Oh him,” he acknowledged, shielding his eyes from the sun. “That’s strange.  He’s sitting so very still.  What’s he up to?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, feeling a prickling at the back of my neck. “He seems to be watching us.  Even his camel’s still.  They’re like statues on that hill.”

Then the statue moved.

“Uh oh.” Bartholomew gasped. “He’s trotting toward us.  Let’s go back to the house.”

“No, wait,” I caught his arm. “He’s alone…. There’s two of us.  There’s fishermen on the lake.  Peter and Mark aren’t far away.  Let’s see what he wants.”

As we stood there by the lake watching his camel clop slowly forward, I sensed the importance of this encounter.  Closer and closer the rider approached.  The awkward, ambling gait of the beast belied the regal demeanor of the man, whose resplendent gold-threaded robe was complimented by a silver laced turban on his head.  Looking down at us, he nodded and touched his forehead and chest in the manner of desert nomads.  Speaking to me in my own tongue, however, he introduced himself, which turned out to be my first shock.

“I’m Ibrim.” He grinned. “…. You recognize me, Jude?”

“Ibrim!” I cried.

That moment, blazing into my mind, were the memories of my travels in the East.  Had it not been for this man, I wouldn’t have survived those ordeals.  Here he was, obviously a rich man, and yet, having come out of nowhere, he was riding alone, without an escort.  What did this mean?  After all these years an old friend appeared as I waited for my call. 

“Stay with us in Peter’s house?” I offered, as he climbed off his mount.  

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t wish to be a bother.  My people are camped over the hill.  Your friend Peter may not want a Gentile in his house.  For that matter you would be polluted if you entered my tent.”

“Nonsense,” I waved dismissively. “Don’t forget, Ibrim, I rode with Gentiles.  I’m certain Bartholomew doesn’t care.”

“Not a bit,” replied Bartholomew.

“Very well,” Ibrim stroked his beard. “I’ll water my camel in the lake, while you tell your friend were you are.”

Quickly, with great expectation, I ran to Peter’s house to inform him of this event.

“You say he was on a camel and lives in tent?” Peter mumbled in disbelief. “We don’t see many desert nomads.   Humph, I must this man!”

I had merely wanted to tell Peter where Bartholomew and I would be.  Instead I had given him a preliminary introduction of Ibrim.  I led Mark and him back to the lake where Ibrim and Bartholomew stood chatting amongst themselves.  I said a silent prayer that Peter wouldn’t insult my old friend.  Mark also spoke imprudently at times, and Bartholomew, for that matter, often spoke his mind.  After introducing Peter and Mark, I stepped back in anticipation.  Taking the reins of his beast, Ibrim led him on foot, as we followed, extolling the beauty of Capernaum and peace he found in it’s people, not ready to divulge the real reason why he came.  As we reached the crest of the hill and looked down, all four of us gasped at once.  Clearly, Ibrim had come up in the world.  From a sly, borderline thief on a horse, whom I had distrusted when I first met him, he had become a desert merchant or chief.  His campsite displayed great wealth.  A great striped tent stood below, banners flying from its poles, surrounded my smaller multicolored tents.  At least two dozen camels were corralled in the encampment, along with horses and mules.  Countless men, and a fewer number of women, perhaps slaves or servants, wandered to and fro.  A retinue of armored men on horses, who must have been guards, waited at the foot of the hill for their master as we approached.

Speaking to them in his language, which I hadn’t learned, I caught the Nabataean word for friends (sadiq) preceding the names of his guests, obviously an introduction, followed by the names of his guards in our tongue to make the introductions complete.  Almost immediately the stern glares of his men softened to grins and approving nods as we proceeded to the main tent.

            At this point, I expected Peter and Mark to recoil at the notion of entering a Gentile’s tent, but without comment they followed us in.  A feast of forbidden food and delicacies we weren’t supposed to eat sat on a table.  In a muted voice I reminded Ibrim that Jews didn’t eat pork, shellfish, and pickled eel (although, when I rode with him I had eaten pork and even snails).  Peter suggested we eat the fruit, nuts, and sweetmeats, which weren’t forbidden.  Without further fanfare or even a blessing, Ibrim motioned for all of us, including his guards, to be seated.  Wine was poured into Greek mugs decorated with depictions of pagan gods.  Bartholomew was a worldly man like myself, but I felt the urge to apologize to Peter and Mark for this display.  Once more, though, as I had been when we decided to enter the tent, I was surprised at their tolerance of Ibrim’s airs.  All four of us, despite the forbidden food on the table, feasted on an array of fruit—grapes, pears, peaches, figs, dates, almonds, and cherries—many of which had been introduced to our land by the Romans.  There were also shelled almonds and other more exotic nuts in bowels and a great variety of sweetmeats I had not tasted since my days in Antioch.  Soon, the unwatered Falernian wine began to take effect on us.  With a presence of mind, rare for myself in the face of temptation, I finished only one goblet, as did Bartholomew who also wanted to keep his wits, but Peter and Mark drank two goblets during our feast, loosening their tongues as our host explained why he was in Capernaum.

            “My friends,” he began graciously, “you honor my tent with your presence.  Because I’m a man of the desert and a Gentile, most Jews wouldn’t set foot in my camp.  Yet here you are with your leader, Peter.  For our people, he would be called a tribal chief.” “Because you are their leader,” he addressed Peter, “I ask you, the shepherd of his flock, for permission to have Jude return with me to my people.”

            “What?” Peter’s mouth dropped. “Is this why we’re here?”

            “Yes, of course,” Ibrim frowned. “I’ve traveled hundreds of Roman miles.”

            “Jude is waiting for his calling,” explained Mark.

            “I am too,” mumbled Bartholomew. “Where does this leave me?”

            “You can come to,” Ibrim waved a bejeweled hand. “I heard about this Jesus, who became a god.  Later, I heard about his death and return to life.  Once I lived in Galilee, where he preached and performed his miracles, but I returned to my people and, alas, missed it all.  I’m sorry I waited so long.  But one of the men in my tribe claims that your king rose like the Phoenix from the dead.  I’ve known this man all my life, and he never lies.  As I traveled to your land, more stories popped up here and there.  Other people made the same claim.  I once met Jude’s brother in Nazareth.  Who would have guessed this Jesus, the son of a carpenter, would be the Messiah and King of the Jews.  I want to know this king.  I want my people to know him too.  What better person to tell the story than his brother Jude, my friend?”

            Mark was dumbfounded.  Peter’s startled expression was transformed.  A look of illumination fell over his face.

            “That’s it Jude,” he said solemnly, gripping my shoulder. “The Lord has spoken.”

            “But I received no call,” I replied to him, “not so much as an inkling.”

            “Few of the apostles and disciples claimed to have divine inspiration,” reasoned Peter. “Some of them said they were called, but only John appears to have had a message straight from our Lord.  We all know He moves in strange ways.  This man came a long way to find you, Jude—no one else.  That was the Lord speaking, not mere chance.”

            “All right,” I sighed deeply. “…. What about Bartholomew?”

“I’m sorry.” He looked at the old man. “The Lord didn’t call you.  It’ll be a long trip into Arabia.  You’re too old for such a trip.  Your cart wouldn’t last, and your mule would die.”

“So?” Bartholomew snarled. “I’ll ride a camel.”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “That would kill you!

“It would be a death sentence,” Mark decided. “Arabia is a terrible, godforsaken place!”

 “Stay with Mark and me in Capernaum,” Peter reached across the table. “There’s still much to do.”

            “No—absolutely not!” Bartholomew slammed down his mug. “I’m sticking with Jude!”

            Peter’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.  “It’s out of the question!  You’re staying put!”

            “Wait, my friends,” Ibrim said, fluttering his hands, “I know many men older than Bartholomew who ride camels, but I also have horses and mules.  He can ride in one of my carts on pillows if he wishes.  Don’t let that be an issue.  I see no reason why he can’t come along.”

            “Because he wasn’t called!” Peter folded his arms. “That you asked for Jude only is significant—a sign in itself.  The message seems clear.”

            “Not so!” Ibrim disagreed. “I came for Jude, but I didn’t know about his friendship with that man.  If your God put them together as companions, why would I split them apart?  The desert is not so harsh.  In fact, the sulfur springs in my land would be good for his old bones.”

            “There, you have it!” I looked challengingly at Peter.  “Bernice can take care of the mule and watch his cart until we get back.  I agree with Ibrim: this is Bartholomew’s calling too.  Please Peter, let him go!”

            “Yes, Peter,” Ibrim said impatiently, “I thought you were a reasonable man!”

            “Hold on a moment.” Peter thought a moment. “…. I’m happy your people want Christ, but let’s be sensible…. Tell me, Ibrim, how long will Jude be there?”

            “Not that long,” Ibrim promised. “He’ll be back before winter.”

            Peter smiled at Bartholomew.  “All right, that’s not forever.  It’s only a short while.  When Jude returns you’ll back together again.  How’s that sound?”

            “…. I don’t know,” Bartholomew grumbled.

“Jesus would want you to wait,” offered Mark. “He wants you alive to spread the word.  He doesn’t want you buried in some foreign land.  Come on Bartholomew, as a favor to Peter and our Lord, say yes!”

“What do you think?” Bartholomew looked to me for an answer. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I’m not happy about it,” I confessed reluctantly, “you’re my best friend, but I can’t be selfish.  It would be a difficult trip.  I’m sure they’d try to make you comfortable, but I’m sorry Ibrim; though your offer to Bartholomew is generous, I’ve been in the desert.  I was once held hostage by desert bandits.  It can be a dreadful place!”

“It’s up to you, my friend,” Ibrim spread his palms. “I remember the story of your ordeal.  Your God tested you greatly.  I strongly believe your Jesus is a new god.”

Peter and Mark recoiled at this blasphemy, but I took it in the spirit it was given.  Very likely, it occurred to me, Ibrim had forsaken his mother’s people and returned to banditry, at least for a period of time, which would explain his horses, mules, slaves, and large number of camels.  Yet the fact that he was an old friend, who helped save my life, and his sudden, timely appearance, cancelled out my doubts.  To my relief Peter and Mark were too shocked to protest this time.  Bartholomew, like myself, was used to such Gentile attitudes, and, though no one but me knew about it, had been a bandit, himself.  It was true, I thought as I contemplated my future, the Lord moves in mysterious ways!

“Very well,” Bartholomew finally agreed, “…. I’ll wait.  The Lord has a plan for me!”

 

******

            When I returned to Peter’s house to grab my pack, I felt as if I was being rushed by Ibrim, which was probably true.  My family had gotten along well with the shepherds who lived nearby in Nazareth—a Nabataean band similar to desert people encountered in my travels.  The Nabs, as they were scornfully called, weren’t popular in Galilee.  Though they were relatively harmless, themselves, they acted as intermediaries for stolen goods, a supplementary income to shepherding and selling wool.  Unlike the sheepherders who lived more sedentary lives, their kinsmen, the desert nomads, had a reputation as bandits and thieves, and Ibrim’s father’s people, were likely in this group.  I was half convinced Ibrim was a bandit leader, himself.  The Romans might even have a bounty on his head.  With this in mind, I was filled with misgivings, and yet Peter had given his blessing to the mission.

I had just enough time to embrace and say farewell to all my friends before I left, including Peter’s family.  Esther, Dinah, and Bernice said goodbye first as I departed from the house, and then Azariah, Yoshabel, and several members of the original seventy appeared by the roadside with Peter, Bartholomew, and Mark.  Many of the well-wishers were tearful.  After all, I was going into the wilderness of Arabia where wild, desert men lurked—the sons of Ishmael, who robbed and murdered Jew and Gentile alike.  Surely, I would perish preaching to those pagan barbarians.  I knew, of course, from my own experience, that many desert nomads were good, simple people.  On the other hand, together with my traveling companions, I had encountered fierce nomads, who plundered and killed for a living, and I had been taken captive by one such band.  I therefore tried not to contemplate why Ibrim was now wealthy and had so many goods.  This question filled me with anxiety and misgivings.  Where, I wondered, would this strange man lead me?  Before settling down with his Syrian wife, his father had belonged to a tribe of desert nomads and yet he became a farmer and herdsmen.  Obviously, Ibrim had taken a different path.  Questions now swirled in my mind…. After being a Roman scout, why hadn’t Ibrim returned to his mother’s people, instead of the past lifestyle of his father?  Why hadn’t he married a wealthy Greek or Syrian wench and settled down as he once planned?  His newfound wealth must have come from somewhere.  Was he a merely a traveling merchant… Or, having  joined his father’s tribesmen, was it something more sinister. 

Those dreadful words, ‘bandit’ and ‘murderer’, loomed in my mind, and yet I hoped my suspicions were wrong.  Peter, himself, had given it his blessing, I reminded myself.  My mission was decided by the Lord.   

            “Return as soon as you can!” Peter shouted through cupped hands.

            “And we shall be a team again!” Bartholomew’s voice cracked.

            “Wait!” I said, clasping my forehead. “What about Micah, my dog?”

            “What about him?” Peter frowned.

            “It’s on the way,” the words rushed out. “It would be so easy.  We can stop on the way in Bethany and take him along.”

            “Out of the question.” Peter shook his head. “The desert’s no place for him.  Those people eat dogs!

“He’s right.” Mark agreed. “If you love Micah, leave him with Ashira.  She loves that dog.”

            That moment, as I considered their words, and others wished me well, a familiar voice called out in the distance.  Suddenly, Mary Magdalene appeared, racing across the field near Peter’s house, arms outstretched, shouting my name over and over: “Jude!  Jude!  Jude!”  Embracing me shamelessly, as I met her in the field, she then whispered close to my ear, “I love Jesus.  Next to Him, I love you most in the world!”  I couldn’t have heard a more joyous message.  Along with the Holy Spirit, she would bring me comfort in my travels.  Glancing briefly in the direction of Ibrim’s camp, I turned back to her, kissed her boldly on the lips, and murmured, “If only we could be like other people again, I would make you my wife, but you, Mary Magdalene, are married to Christ.  I too am bound to Him.  We met at the wrong time and the wrong age, and yet what happened to us is so right.  Serving the Risen Christ, we’re no longer masters of our fate.  There’s no detours in the road, Mary—not for us, only His will.  That force greater than us takes me away, and yet I’m at peace.  I know you’re at peace too.  Our love was finally spoken.  I will take it with me into the desert, into the wilderness, and everywhere I go.  Knowing this will make me stronger and less afraid of death.  I’m loved by Mary Magdalene, whom Jesus praised and blessed.  That’s enough for me!”

            With that said, I pivoted and began my journey into the great southern wilderness few Jews dare travel.  With only my pack and the clothes that I wore, I was going into the unknown, more so than any time in my life.  Even the Romans, with all their might, feared this region.  For all my fine, noble thoughts, I fought a wave of hysteria as I approached Ibrim’s camp, wondering whether or not I would ever see Mary, Peter, and Bartholomew again.

 

 

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