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Chapter Fourteen
The Journey Begins
When Joseph of Arimathea finally came to take my
brother with him on his trip, only a small group, those faithful to my father’s
house throughout the controversy of Mariah’s escape and tolerant of Jesus’
peculiarities, came to bid him farewell.
The exception, which made it seem worse, was the silent vigil of Longinus
and a detail of Romans, sent by Cornelius to watch over us at this special
time. This would give our enemies
something more to talk about. To
make matters worse, it looked as if it might rain, which would be a bad omen
for the journey. All members of
the family of Joseph put on their best faces, even James and Joseph. Mama wept. The twins, Abigail, and Martha, wept. Simon and I wept too. Michael had fled to the hills to show
his grief. What had not changed
since the grand event thrown by Samuel, the Pharisee, was the surliness of
Josephs two sons, Matthias and Levi, who looked at Jesus as an usurper of their
father’s affection and esteem. I
knew, of course, that this wasn’t true.
Joseph of Arimathea had more concrete reasons for taking my brother
along.
Samuel came to visit us a few days ago to explain
these reasons, perhaps to bolster my parents resolve by showing them what an
educated and worldly man his nephew was, which only heightened their
fears. While Jesus sat at the
table with our parents listening to the old man’s prattle, Simon, Michael and I
eavesdropped again below the window.
James and Joseph were working in the shop, and Mama was busy in the
garden, assisted by the twins.
Samuel explained to my parents, though I wonder now if the all-seeing
Jesus didn’t already know, that Joseph of Arimathea was not merely a Pharisee
and successful merchant but he was a man of great learning. Along with his understanding of
religion and vast knowledge of our people’s history, Samuel told them that his
nephew had also studied philosophy and was interested in astrology, in spite of
the potential heresy in such thought.
This interested me very much after watching Jesus study so many
things. I had I accepted his
estimation of this man without argument, but I was still suspicious of Samuel’s
nephew. This man saw Jesus as an
oddity to be studied up close.
Jesus, himself, had studied all manner of plant, animal, and rock to
understand the mystery of life.
Now Jesus was Joseph’s mystery, and I feared for his safety on the long
adventurous road ahead.
With the hour upon us, Mama wrung her hands and
cursed Papa for ever agreeing to this trip. We could not console her without bringing down her wrath, so
we stopped trying. Embracing Jesus
once more before he climbed up into Joseph’s fancy coach, I bid him goodbye and
tearfully turned away. Jesus
lifted the twins up and hugged them one-by-one. Simon surprised us all by his grief. Papa, James, and Joseph were more
solemn and dignified, and yet were forced to pull Mama away from the coach, as
she pleaded with Jesus to change his mind.
“Jesus, I had a bad dream about this,” she called
out finally. “I didn’t want to worry you, but you must not go with that man!”
“Awe, you’re always having bad dreams,” pshawed
Papa. “Please Mary, Joseph of Arimathea will take care of our son.”
“No, my dream was real,” she screamed, as they
pulled her away. “Don’t you see, I have the gift. I’ve always had the gift.”
“What’s she talking about?” James asked Papa. “Did
Mama have a prophetic dream?”
“Yes, Mama, what was your dream?” asked Jesus
pulling open the flap back and looking out of the coach.
For several moments, as Joseph and his sons waited
inside, the Nubians and Syrian guards sat uneasily on their mounts. Phineas, the driver, smiled
good-naturedly, as he reined in the four black stallions pulling the
coach. Jesus now gave his
apologies and stepped out of the coach.
As I came close to behold one more time the mighty black warriors
guarding the merchant and his sons, I could hear Matthias and Levi grumbling
inside. As Jesus approached our
mother, the clouds broke for just a moment, the sun lighting our portion of
Nazareth as if the Lord had finally gave his blessing to their trip. But mother could not be consoled so
easily.
“You remember the night Reuben and his friends fled
Nazareth?” She looked at Jesus pleadingly, gripping both of his arms.
“I remember,” Jesus answered with a frown, “but you
must not worry about those men.
Rome never forgets. After
they almost killed that soldier, Cornelius and Longinus will continue hunting
for them. Reuben, Josiah, and Asa
dare not come back.”
Mama sounded desperate. “In my dream, Reuben and a
band of brigands attacked your encampment in the desert. I remember Joseph of Arimathea’s voice
shouting for his guards. I
remember torchlight and other voices, one of them—the gruff voice of Reuben,
shouting ‘where is he? Where is
the Son of Man, that I may strike him down.” “Then I awoke next to Joseph,” she
smiled weakly. “He was snoring as usual.
I never told him about my dream.”
“Then let me calm your fears,” said Jesus, taking
her small hands. “The dream speaks for itself. It was unfinished.
I can imagine the ending.
God help Reuben and his band if they go against Joseph of Arimathea’s
guards.”
“But Jesus,” Mama cried, “what if I have another
dream, and there is an ending?
What if Reuben does strike you down?”
“That won’t happen Mama.” Jesus kissed her hands.
“Have you forgotten who is watching over me and our house? The Lord will be with Joseph Arimathea
and his guards too. Please give me
your blessing as Papa has. I won’t
go unless you do.”
Mother whispered “Very well” to Jesus, kissed his
forehead, and then pivoted on her heel.
We all rushed forward to embrace him one final time. Jesus once more lifted up each twin,
kissed their beaming faces, hugging his mother, father, and each brother
tenderly again.
As Jesus reassured Mama for a third time, I could
hear Matthias ask his father in the coach “Who is the Son of Man?” It sounded like nonsense to me, until I
heard Joseph and his sons discuss the meaning of these words.
Matthias’ replied “In the Psalms and Book of Job
there is reference to frail, corruptible humanity, which the Psalmist called
‘Son of Man.’ What a strange thing
for that fellow in her dream to say.”
“You forgot the Prophet Ezekiel,” Joseph began to
quote, “‘Son of man, stand upon your feet, and I will speak to you.’ When the
Lord spoke to me, the Spirit entered me and set me on my feet. I heard him say ‘Son of man, I send you
to the people of Israel, a nation of rebels, who’ve rebelled against me, whose
fathers transgress against me to this day.’”
“Sounds like us all right,” Papa called from a
distance.
“The Romans have enslaved our people,” grumbled
James.
That moment Joseph, affected by his own words,
looked out of the coach, a troubled expression on his face. I knew it had been more than an
exercise of he and his son’s knowledge.
Samuel, the Pharisee, who had already visited our house earlier this
morning to say goodbye, appeared suddenly. Perhaps he had never left and had been idling by the road,
but his reappearance would partially answer the riddle of Mama’s dream. The fog began to clear, just a little,
that moment. Both men turned and
looked at Jesus—a moment that would haunt me until it was clarified one day by
Jesus, himself.
In a thin, wavering voice that rose increasingly
until he almost lost his breath, Samuel quoted from the Prophet Daniel: “I saw
in a night vision, in the clouds of heaven, one like the Son of Man, who came
to the Ancient of Days and was presented to him. To him was given dominion that
all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him, an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away, and a kingdom that shall never be destroyed.”
“Ah,” exclaimed Jesus, “another prophecy of the
Messiah—one of my favorite passages!”
As the coachmen waited patiently, Papa and my other
brothers stood by listening to this exchange. No one understood where this was leading. My own illumination would come
later. The two Pharisees seemed
troubled by Mama’s dream, the more so because it did, in fact, seem
prophetic. Jesus had tried to make
light of all this with light-hearted words, but I sensed that in the words “Son
of Man” there was a relationship between the prophets quoted by these learned
men and Mama’s dream. I drew
close, from sheer curiosity, rather than bated breath. Nothing seemed to surprise me anymore. Joseph of Arimathea put his arm on
Jesus’ shoulder and led him back to the coach. While the remainder of my family lingered in the background,
I stood close to my mother. She
was breathing heavily, as she did many times working in her garden or carrying
water from the well. The old
Pharisee now spoke to her in a muted voice. Though I didn’t understand it yet, I alone, among my
brothers, heard Mama and Samuel’s strange conversation.
“Mary,” Samuel reached out a frail hand to touch her
face, “tell me the truth. Have you
ever heard those words before?”
“What words?” Mama looked innocently into his face.
“The Son of Man.” Simon searched her blue eyes. Her pupils were without guile. Already the Pharisee knew the answer.
“No,” she answered with a sigh, “but I understood it
when Reuben said he would strike him down.”
“Mary,” he whispered. “Don’t trouble your blameless
mind with dark thoughts. Jesus is
still in many ways a child and too young to accept who he might be.”
“Might be?” She inclined her head.
“Yes, might, not will,” he exhaled, stroking
his beard, “there is an inconsistency to all this. It could have been nightmare based upon your own fears. “Also, Mary,” he added thoughtfully,
“what are these images doing in your head? Why didn’t Jesus have that dream?”
For a moment, as they stood there, the sky turned dark
again as the clouds regrouped.
“It’s an another omen!” My brothers gasped. Recalling Jesus and my encounter with the specter in the
orchard, however, I wondered if it was not the Evil One, himself. Papa called to Mama impatiently to let
them proceed, but she gripped Samuel’s sleeve and, as I craned my ears, asked
under her breath “Who is he Samuel?
I gave birth to him. I
raised him. I saw his
miracles. To me he’s still a
carefree boy. Who’s my son suppose
to be?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered with a shrug. “I think
he’s been touched by God, like the prophets, themselves. Moses, performed miracles and so did
Elijah. If I can believe what I
heard, Mary, your son has done them one better.” “Humph, that business with the
sparrow—very troubling.” He made a face. “And, oh yes, casting out demons—In
deed!—and making it rain. Good
gracious, what am I to believe?”
Mama seemed disappointed by Samuel’s
equivocation. Though this analysis
is hindsight on my part, even then, I could see illumination growing in the old
man’s face. All his training as a
Pharisee and man of logic was being put to the test.
“I think…,” he groped for words, “Jesus will one day
be a great teacher or rabbi.
Joseph of Arimathea is about to introduce him to the world. What an education that will be. Frankly, Mary, I’m not sure my nephew
would believe in Jesus’ miracles, which is just as well for the boy. This journey will get Jesus away from his
critics in Nazareth and show him, in gradual stages, what he’s meant to do.”
“Meant to do?” her voice trembled. “. . . . Please
Samuel, I’m a simple woman. I
don’t even know how to read. What
did those words ‘Son of Man’ make my son?”
“If your dream has meaning as you believe,” Samuel
continued in a strained voice, “the words Son of Man indicates that he’s the
deliverer—the one we’ve been waiting for.”
“No, no,” she clutched her mouth fearfully.
“Now-now,” he tried making light of it, “I didn’t
say he was. After all,
Jesus is the town carpenter’s fifteen year old son, not a royal prince or
traveling magi. For pity’s sake,
woman, this is Nazareth, not Jerusalem.
I’d be happy to see him become a great teacher, like Hillel or Shammai. He certainly has the mind!”
Samuel had answered her question indecisively and in
an off-handed way, yet there was great concern in his gaze. Though I hadn’t a clue yet what all
this meant, I knew that all these words—Samuel, Mama, and the merchant’s were
important. I had been standing
behind my mother and heard everything she and Samuel said. Samuel frowned at my subterfuge but
then reached down to pat my head.
His voice was low now, as if what he was about to say should not be
overheard.
“ I
once told my long departed wife that I hoped I would live to see the Messiah
come. I suppose my bones will be
gathered up into the bosom of Abraham before then. My tired eyes and failing ears have seen enough. I won’t see the Messiah or your son
again in this life.” “All this
talk about miracles and Jesus being touched by god will make our fellow
Nazarenes think Jesus is deranged,” he warned Mama gently. “We must wait and
see what God has planned for this prodigy. I won’t be around when he finds out. I have lived long enough.”
“But Jesus said you would live to be really old,” I
exclaimed too loudly. “He said you would live to see him go on his mission.”
“Mission?
That could mean many things, Jude, but so he did,” Samuel laughed softly
to himself. “Does he not seem grown up now? I dare say, he’s more mature than my nephew’s sons.”
“No,” replied Mama, stroking my locks, “he’s still a
child. If Jesus told you that
you’d still be alive, it means only one thing Samuel. Jesus has a great purpose—a mission on earth. You’ll live to see this happen.”
“Ho-ho,” the old man’s eyes twinkled with mirth,
“now that would be a miracle, wouldn’t it? Considering my great age, do you honestly believe that
Mary? How long do you think I want
to live?”
“A long time.
It’s true, Samuel. I
believe what Jesus said,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.
Then their eyes locked: the dark raptor eyes of
Samuel and unnaturally blue eyes of my mother. They looked down at me and smiled as if I shared their
understanding, but that would come later for me. What I write now is written in retrospect, as a disciple of
the risen Lord. I was still ten
years old the day Jesus’ odyssey began.
I was very confused by all this talk. I could tell that Mama, Samuel and Joseph of Aramithea were
perplexed too. After hearing
mother’s dream, I feared the worst for Jesus safety. I don’t care what Isaiah, Ezekiel or Daniel said.
When the caravan, with Joseph’s fabulous coach in
the lead, made a wide turn in the fallow field by the road, I waved goodbye to
Jesus, my brother, whom Samuel now implied was touched by God. I also waved at the guards, though their
hard gaze was now set upon the road ahead. I didn’t want to believe that Jesus was this Son of Man the
Pharisees spoke of, let alone the Messiah (a notion that even my parents could
not possibly except). The cloak of
mystery surrounding Jesus, I now understand, was kept in place by his Father,
and yet the truth was staring all of us, Samuel included, straight in the
face. In spite of all the wondrous
things that had happened to us because of Jesus, we loved him just like he
was. But we were in denial. This I can see so clearly now.
As I stood watching the distant coach, horseman, and
camels laden with merchandize disappear in a great cloud of dust, doubt crept
into my stubborn mind. I wondered
if he would come back different after his trip. For the first time I could remember in my short life, I had
to accept certain facts about Jesus at face value. I could not hide from his divinity—or whatever Samuel or
Mama might call it. I had seen his
miracles with my own eyes. I had
heard the wisdom from his mouth and seen his effect upon others. I witnessed tenderness from my brother
that I would find in no other man.
If these traits made him the Son of Man or something even greater, it
was too overwhelming for me that day.
Yet suddenly, as I thought of the words Reuben said in Mama’s dream “Son
of Man, I shall strike you down,” I was filled with dread. I didn’t know then what I know
now. The symbolism in the dream
pointed to one terrible and wonderful event that Jesus, himself, predicted, but
we, his disciples still couldn’t accept: his death. What could this dream really mean? The Messiah couldn’t die. Was he not indestructible? Is it any wonder back then that a mere child was so
overwhelmed?
Confused yet filled with a strange peace, I found
Samuel’s hand on my head. My
family moved slowly toward the house.
Papa was the first one to enter, pausing long enough to wave at
onlookers on the road.
“Shows over!” he called out wryly.
“There,” Samuel sighed heavily, “you’re a good boy
Jude. Give an old man a hand. Do you suppose your mother will fix us
all some lunch.”
“Yes,” I replied, chewing on my lip, “but what does
all this mean?”
“I would answer it better if I understood it clearly
myself,” he answered cautiously. “Your mother doesn’t want to burden you
children with this. I also think
you’re much too young.” “Besides,” he added with a cackle, “she, and I, barely
understand it ourselves. We’re
treading on matters not explained in scriptures. There are things about this that defy our very tradition.”
“This is,” he struggle for a word, “. . . a great mystery. I hope my nephew takes my advice and
doesn’t ask Jesus too many questions.
All those words you’ve heard, Jude, and all the things you’ve seen are
emerging as shadows in a fog.
Their muted voices are telling us their secrets one-by-one. Perhaps we aren’t ready for the answers
yet and the Lord will tell us in His own good time.”
“Good,” I offered eagerly, “Jesus likes
mysteries. He’s always looking at
animals, plants, and rocks.”
“Jesus is a mystery,” his voice dropped low,
“and our ignorance is the fog—a God sent cloud, hiding its answers
inside.”
“I remember once,” I sputtered, jumping up and down
excitedly, “in the orchard light came through the clouds and lit Jesus’ face.”
Samuel nodded, as we entered though the gate and
walked up to the house. Abigail
and Martha were laughing inside.
“I heard about that day.” His pace slowed. “Rumor
has it Jesus breathed life into a dead bird.”
“Jesus did breath life into that bird.” I nodded
enthusiastically. “I was there. I
saw it with my own eyes!”
“Fascinating.
Quite incredible. And that
other story,” he said, pausing in the garden, “about Jesus causing it to
rain. What a storm that was. Did you see that too?”
“Yes,” I exclaimed, “he put out the fire. Later he cured Mariah by saying ‘be
calm!’”
“Humph!” Simon grinned thoughtfully. “Casting out
demons? I’m not sure about that
one.” “Tell me the truth,” he cackled with glee, “was Mariah really a witch or
just addled in the head?”
Unable to answer without lying or telling the awful
truth, I hung my head and kicked up a sod, which told him exactly what he
wanted to know.
“Don’t worry Jude,” he said, with a twinkle in his
eyes, “she won’t bother you again.
Jerusalem is a long way away.”
Having
put on a cheerful face, Mama stuck her head out the window and chimed in a
cooing voice “Oh, Samuel, would you please join us for lunch?”
Amused
yet troubled by my reaction, Samuel dropped the subject. “Thank you Mary,” he called to my mother,
“you’re most kind. Ho-ho, Jude has
been entertaining me with stories about Jesus.” “I hoped your right about his
mission, young man,” he murmured to me as we walked up to the door. “I’d like
to be around when he returns!”
“You
will be!” I gave him an impish smile. “The fog will lift. Jesus isn’t a mystery, Samuel. He’s going to be a carpenter like Papa
or maybe he’ll become rich and famous like Jesus’ new friend.”
“No,” Samuel whispered discreetly from the corner of his mouth, “your brother is not like us, Jude. He’s very special, perhaps even touched by God. You must get used to this fact!”
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