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Reflections
It was not easy being the brother of
Jesus. My life and those of my parents,
brothers and sisters were blessed by his presence, and yet we were, for a time,
also persecuted for this association. In
my first scroll I wrote about the family of Jesus and that period in our
childhood when Jesus began to discover his godhood. I must confess that this period, though it had great spiritual
significance for us, had harmed Papa’s carpentry business in Nazareth and
helped damage our reputation in town.
On
the day Jesus performed his first miracle by bringing a dead sparrow back to
life the truth of his divinity, kept secret for so long, flew heavenward on the
wings of that tiny bird. Unwilling to
accept death as a finality even as a child, he had prayed quietly as his
brothers looked on, feverishly blowing life into the small carcass in what
looked like purest heresy to us. Papa,
who had been repairing the rabbi’s roof and had not seen the miracle, himself,
asked Jesus if the bird had really been dead.
When Jesus nodded then looked up dubiously at the sky, Papa replied
simply “So it’s true. It has begun. Thus sayeth the Lord!” With that declaration, which my brothers and
I overheard, Papa begrudgingly acknowledged Jesus special relationship with
God. As if God’s countenance shined
down that moment, a dark cloud passed overhead and yet Jesus eyes had blazed
without sunlight and his face glowed as if from inner heat.
After the incident of the sparrow, Jesus began
acting strangely, wandering the hills in back of our house and becoming a
spectacle to neighbors passing by. For
a time, he was considered by many townsfolk to be addled in the head. Some less charitable souls, such as Joachim,
the town rabbi, even called him a heretic and blasphemer after the miracles he
performed. Yet Jesus was not to blame
for all of the hostility growing in our town.
Papa had given sanctuary to Mariah, a woman suspected of being a
witch. Before townsfolk could pull her
out and stone her, he had enlisted the aid of the Romans to assist him in
spiriting her out of town. When Rueben
the tanner and his friends set fire to Mariah’s house and Jesus called upon the
forces of nature to put it out, this apparent miracle flooded the gardens and
collapsed the roofs of many homes. In
his synagogue the rabbi claimed that Jesus had used the power of Beelzebub to
bring forth the rain. All things considered,
therefore, Jesus was a reminder to townsfolk of the anger they felt toward the
house of Joseph, who had shielded a witch, collaborated with Romans, and sired
a heretic son.
Because of the mood in Nazareth, my family had few
friends. Papa was forced to go to other
towns to find clients for his carpentry business, and we felt like outcasts in
our town. Just when it seemed as though
everyone in Nazareth had turned against us, though, Samuel, our friend and
benefactor, gave Papa a remedy for our dilemma: Jesus would accompany Samuel’s
nephew Joseph of Arimathea on his trip, thereby removing this reminder and also
giving Jesus a chance to see the world.
Jesus travels with Joseph of Arimathea, in fact, helped shape his views
about our faith and the nature of God.
During this period, with my controversial brother out of town, Papa’s
business increased and our family’s prestige gradually began to return. With Jesus gone, one of the main reasons for
our unpopularity in Nazareth had been eliminated. What was that old adage? Out of sight and out of mind. In spite of this fact, we missed our
eccentric brother. There had never been
a dull moment with him around. We never
knew what he was going to say or do.
The letters he sent to us during his journey dazzled
our minds. He had visited the Pharos
lighthouse and museum in Egypt, the great buildings of Greece and Rome, and
seen countless wonders most Galileans would never see. It convinced me that I must one would day
embark upon such an adventure, myself.
In his letters, brought by a courier to our house, his notion of a
universal God for Jew and Gentile alike was shaped. This notion, which the Prophet Isaiah also believed, was given
credibility in Jesus’ mind by his discovery of the pedestal for the Unknown God
in both Greece and Rome. Sprinkled in
his scrolls was the same heresy we heard when he was home, but his notion of
the universal God bothered my brothers James and Joseph the most. We were, Joseph would remind Jesus, the
Chosen People. The Lord had come to
Abraham, not Ramses or Caesar. We, not
the Gentiles, had been given the Promised Land. It was a refrain that fell on deaf ears. Jesus, of course, we would one day know, had
come for the Gentiles too.
When he returned from his trip, he was different,
much more worldly, and yet in many ways he was the same. He had simply learned to hide his divinity
and keep many of his lofty opinions to himself. The dreamy gaze was replaced by a look of determination. He fully accepted his responsibility as the
oldest son, working tirelessly to learn the trade and assist Papa in his
shop. To the vexation of James and
Joseph, the second and third oldest sons, he quickly mastered the craft,
performing well as a carpenter as he did everything else. His presence in the shop, helping Papa
finish furniture pieces and supervising his brothers, brought him into contact
with new and old clients, who saw a different side of him even Papa had not
seen. The oldest brother had
transformed into a full-fledged participant in the carpentry business, seldom returning
to the visionary or miracle worker, who townsfolk had thought was a heretic and
blasphemer. Instead of walking in the
hills to communicate with God and provoking our neighbors by his strange speech
and actions, Jesus devoted his time to his trade and his family and became an
otherwise ordinary brother and son.
There were, of course, exceptions in
the period following Jesus return. In
my second volume, The Family of Jesus, I have noted these lapses. Occasionally, by accident or design, he
would slip and show his Godhood. His
eyes would blaze with an inner light and he would appear to hear voices or
stare into space, as if he saw something we couldn’t see. But then, when God had finished with him, he
would blink, look around after tumbling back down to earth, and resume his work
or conversation, as if he had awakened from a short nap. No longer did he blurt out the visions in
his head or wander away from the house unless he was on a nature hike with my
brothers, our friends, and me. Despite
his efforts, however, his days as carpenter, we sensed, were numbered. His time, as a member of our family,
couldn’t last. We had always suspected
that someday he would, with his many gifts, make his mark upon the world, and
yet we had thought that it might be as a great rabbi or teacher. The clues had been there from his childhood
in both word and deed. Considering the
temptations of the world, his blameless life was extraordinary. He had performed several miracles and given
us glimpses of his divinity, including more than one reference of his future
meeting at the river with Cousin John, a forewarning of when his ministry would
begin. Yet it was just one more strange
thing uttered from Jesus’ mouth. His
sudden disclosures of important concepts such as being born again, the living
word, and constant revelation for the faithful, which I experienced myself,
were much too awesome to grasp. Though
our hearts were stirred by his words, his constant referral to God as “my
father” and all the other clues, including his miracles and sermons that might
indicate what his purpose and mission were, failed to register in our
minds. That our Jesus was the expected
deliverer was just too fantastic for us to believe. We were in denial. The
world would have to wait many more years before John, the Baptist, made his
fateful call. We were in no hurry to
share him with the world.