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Chapter Twenty-One
Between Jesus’ first and second letter nothing
important happened to our family, except a change in Papa’s carpentry
business. Papa’s relentless
woodwork in his shop was paying off.
Some credit must be given to James and Joseph, though they sometimes
worked begrudgingly in Papa’s shop.
Thanks to Joseph of Arimathea influence, Papa’s reputation had gleaned
clients from neighboring towns.
Some of the Nazarenes had forgiven our imagined heresies, and we still
had a small circle of loyal friends.
But the events surrounding Mariah’s rescue and the beating Papa gave the
rabbi for insulting Jesus were at the back of most the townsfolk’s minds. Though Joachim had stopped hurling
polemics against us in the synagogue now that Jesus was gone, he would never
forgive Papa. He would always
consider Jesus a blasphemer for his alleged miracles. The relatives of Reuben, Josiah, and Asa would also continue
to give us hostile looks as they passed us on the road. There was a rumor, no one seriously
believed, that Reuben’s gang was back in Nazareth and hiding in family members’
homes.
Though not a yet a drunk, Papa was drinking more and
more wine. His recent libations
worried his family, especially Mama, whose Uncle Ahab had died of strong
drink. Something—Jesus absence, the
unfriendliness of townsfolk, or the long hours working in his shop—troubled
him. With Jesus gone, matters also
grew worse for Nehemiah and I.
James and Joseph, without Jesus’ interference, teased us
unmercifully. They couldn’t get
over the fact that we were all, except Jesus, adopted and our parents had taken
in another orphaned boy. They
resented Nehemiah, as they had Michael, and seemed bent on driving him
away. By their warped standards,
they thought I was a turncoat, who preferred an outsider to them. But the truth is they had always
treated me as a nuisance and pest.
Simon, in everyone’s opinion, remained the same lazy and shiftless soul,
sometimes siding with us against James and Joseph but more often teasing us
too. When Papa was busy, Mama
would occasionally intervene when were being tormented. We seldom tattled, however, since this
would have made my brothers even more resentful of my friend.
Samuel, the Pharisee, had recuperated enough to pay
us an occasional visit, but he was growing increasingly frail and sickly
looking each day. Many times we
visited Samuel to save him the walk, which gave Nehemiah and me a chance to
escape James and Joseph’s pranks.
That day before the second letter from Jesus arrived, Nehemiah and I
swept the floor of shavings and sawdust, while James and Joseph assisted Papa
in sanding furniture in the shop.
While they finished up their chores, Mama asked Nehemiah, Simon and I to
help her in the garden awhile before we scampered off. As we picked weeds from a row of herbs,
we heard hoof beats on the road in front of our house. This time we actually saw a courier
ride up to our house and hand Mama a letter—a lean, scruffy-looking fellow with
a mangy beard, smelly clothes, and a patch on one eye. I was disappointed that this man
represented Rome. He looked more
like bandit or cutthroat than a courier.
After dismounting, he growled a greeting to us as we stood by the
gate. Announcing himself as
Justin, imperial mail carrier, Papa returned the courtesy for he and Mama, then
introduced his sons, as they arrived, one-by-one. Even the man’s horse, a wild, uncombed mare, seemed too
unfriendly to be ridden by a representative of Rome. Nevertheless, this time, at Papa’s insistence, Mama fed the
traveler and gave him a flask of wine.
The courier swaggered back to his horse, clutching his flask, his one
good eye moving restlessly in his shaggy head.
We were all called into the kitchen after he rode
off, where, as before, Papa stood holding a mug of wine. It had seemed like such a long time
since we had heard from Jesus. All
of us, especially myself, were anxious to hear about his exploits. I know Papa was glad to hear from Jesus
too, but it also gave him another chance to drink more wine. In Jesus’ second letter, which arrived
several weeks after the first, we were taken by Papa’s voice across the Great Sea.
“Dear family, it is I, the oldest son, bringing you
greetings from Athens, Greece.
Today,
as we met Portius, a rich Jewish merchant, at Piraeus, the Port of Athens, I
was filled with high expectations for the city of philosophers. Here walked Socrates, Plato, and
Pythagoras. Not far from where we
disembarked, sits the Acropolis and the finest sculptures in the world. Athens, once the home of Pericles and
the host of the Olympic games, was a city where Greek culture reached its
peak. Joseph of Arimathea, as a
Pharisee, assured me that there were many works of art in Greece that were not
idols, but we must still avoid entering pagan shrines. This was of course difficult in such a
city. Practically everything in
Athens was dedicated to their pantheon of deities. Our first stop, however, was the grand estate of Portius,
where we dined on delicacies I had never imagined. Have no fear, my parents. Portius’ Jewish cooks and bakers gave us food fit for King
David, not King Herod’s, table.
One entertainer sang verses from Psalms and Proverbs, while a pair of
dancers interpreted the words in a graceful, though controversial, mime. These renditions made us
uncomfortable. I was not used to
seeing the holy word performed by entertainers. It was Joseph, confessed later, much too Greek for his
tastes.
As we began our tour the next day, courtesy of
Adelphos, a freedman employed by our host, we were taken by carriage through
the main street. Joseph disdained
the custom of being carried around in a sedan by slaves. Our carriage was pulled by four great
white horses instead. The driver
was not a slave, Adelphos informed us, though he admitted to once being a slave
himself.
Our first stop was to a beautiful stadium where the
Greeks performed their plays. This
seemed harmless enough until we began walking down the stone path leading to
the gate of the stadium. On each
side stood a naked woman holding a torch.
Adelphos explained sheepishly that these were not goddesses, just
beautiful women pleasing to the eyes, but Joseph very appropriately asked
Matthias, Levi, and I to avert our eyes.
Loftus, Strabo, Glychon, and Tycho also promised not to look up at the
statues, as Joseph requested. And
yet, as we entered the stadium, I looked back at the guards and saw them
giggling foolishly amongst themselves.
I wouldn’t tell Joseph that Loftus and Strabo were not god-fearers or
that I felt they were still pagans, who, in their own way, had mocked God. It was not my place to criticize my
benefactor’s guards; it might even insult him, especially if he already
suspected this himself. Perhaps, I
reasoned, he was hoping to set an example for them, as you did for us
Papa. I have been praying for them
constantly, but so far God, in His infinite wisdom—or humor—has allowed matters
to remain as they are.
According to Adelphos, the stadium, which seated
several thousand citizens, would be showing a play by Euripides tonight. He took us backstage and showed us some
of the scenery and cloth backdrops used for various plays. Make believe trees, mountains, and
buildings as well as paintings on cloth of people, animals, and profane forms
reminded me that all peoples outside the radiance of the Most High lived in a
make-believe world and in the shadow of pagan gods.
To avoid setting
foot in idol-ridden temples and seeing pagan rites, Joseph allowed us to look
only at the outside, not the inside, of the buildings we passed. Many of them, he admitted, housed great
works of art. Some of the statues
visible from the street were not naked at all and were, for that matter, not
gods or goddesses, but Greek heroes and politicians, clad in finely carved
armor or robes. In the garden of
Artemodorus, however, rows of deities closed in upon us suddenly and quite
innocently, as our guide froze in his tracks. He apologized profusely. Once again our guards snickered amongst themselves. Joseph frowned gravely, as he shooed us
back down the path, but, as we exited these unhallowed grounds, I glanced over
and saw a pedestal that lacked a graven idol on its top. It was, I thought at first, merely
awaiting a new addition to this menagerie of finely sculptured Greek gods, but
then my eyes were drawn to the inscription beneath the vacant platform that read
“To an unknown god.” I thought
then about Isaiah’s reference to a universal God and Noah, who being neither
Jew nor Gentile served such a god.
I realized then that the pagan Greeks must also yearn for an omnipotent
and omnipresent deity to replace the stone counterfeits collecting in their
temples, along their streets, and even in their parks. I was so greatly inspired about this I
immediately shared my views with Joseph, who was shocked that I would say such
a thing.
“The
Greeks like their Roman masters don’t wish to offend foreign deities,” he explained
severely. “This equivocation doesn’t deserve commendation but condemnation.”
“There is no unknown god!”
He wrung his finger. “Our God, is God and though inscrutable is
well known to our people.”
The
words of the Father rushed into my head
“You
have spoken truly,” I replied respectively. “There is only one God, but he has
been felt by many peoples. The
empty pedestal is one, among countless strivings by ignorant peoples. We are the Chosen People. Our mission is not merely to preserve
the Word but to spread the word—to the Greeks, the Roman and all peoples. I believe that the Greeks will one day
share the One God with us, as all peoples who hear and believe the Word.”
“Oh,
how do you know that?” spat Matthias. “Shall we cast pearls before swine? You’re no more than a child. You would
teach Joseph bar Ibrim, a learned Pharisee, about our faith?”
“This
is heresy!” Levi cried, with a look of horror. “He speaks blasphemes against
the Most High!”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Joseph, shaking his head. “I
know Jesus’ heart. He has great
knowledge of the Torah and Prophets.”
He placed his hand on top of my head as if in
blessing. After quietly
admonishing his sons for their reaction to me, he gently took me aside. Loftus and Strabo moved between us and
Joseph’s sons to insure our privacy.
There was a twinkle in Joseph’s eyes.
“Jesus,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone,
“what you said isn’t in the Torah, is it?”
“No,” I confessed, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Where did you learn this?” He asked in a guarded
whisper. “What possessed you to counter two thousand years of our history?”
“My Father.” I looked him squarely in the eyes.
Joseph gave me a knowing smile, but said nothing
more about my views of the unknown and universal God. The next day we visited a business contact of his in the
city, but nothing really exciting happened to us in Athens after my discovery
of the pedestal to the unknown god.
I will write as soon as I can when the opportunity avails itself. I’ve covered the most important aspects
of our trip to Greece.
Your
Son and Brother ---- Jesus
When Papa read Jesus’ last words, James and Joseph
sat there grumbling again amongst themselves. By now, I was quite bored with this session. Simon’s eyelids were fluttering
violently as he tried staying awake.
I wanted to hear about Jesus’ adventures in a foreign land, not this
religiously inspired report.
Though he promised to write soon, I was greatly disappointed that he
didn’t tell us more. I sensed
that, in order to make his points, he had skipped over many important
details. What was his voyage over
the Great Sea like? Is that all he
could say about Greece? Clearly,
he was more interested in greater issues than the details of this world. Now, as I recall the events of our childhood,
I realize that his report was—and is today—much more. Where had a fifteen-year-old youth heard such things? Though, as a child, he studied the
smallest insect or flower, he also saw the greater picture. He believed that everything, including
such grand designs, revolved around God.
God was at the center of all things large and small. But to children, such as Simon,
Nehemiah, and me, his lofty speculations were becoming tedious and, for James
and Joseph, downright heretical to our beliefs.
Papa, who had saved a measure of his daily ration of
wine, took a sip and studied his wife and sons. The twins were off playing somewhere in the yard. Their chirping voices in the distance
made me wish I was out there, too, with no thought of Jesus’ letter in my
mind. When Jesus was here we were
unconcerned with the outside world.
That day, after Jesus’ second letter, I sensed that he was discovering
more about that shadowy purpose even he couldn’t comprehend. It was, I know now, the stirrings of
his divinity, as the Messiah and Son of God.
Mama had a look of alarm on her face as she had after the reading of the first letter. Though she and Papa were in denial, they must have known about Jesus divinity, but the rest of us were still in that fog Samuel spoke of when Jesus embarked on his trip. Even with Jesus far away, the mystery continued to unfold gradually before our eyes.
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