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Chapter Twenty-Nine
The
following day found Jesus, on his on initiative, back in the shop, sanding a table
leg that had been clamped to the workbench in an unfinished state. It was true that he had, before leaving
on his trip, taken over his responsibilities as the oldest son, but it hadn’t
really taken hold until today.
There was blazing conviction in his blue eyes. I was the first to see this wondrous sight—Jesus, not
wandering in the hills or sitting under a tree in the garden, but acting as a
carpenter’s apprentice once more!
I ran to tell Papa who was still eating breakfast. When James and Joseph, who saw me race
past, discovered Jesus in the shop, they grew angry. Jesus was working on the table Papa had assigned to them,
diligently, without pausing to gaze into the unknown. There was sweat beading on his forehead. He was whistling happily under his
breath without a care in the world.
James exploded in rage when Papa arrived to see this miracle for
himself.
“What
is this?” he asked, gripping his head. “After all these months shirking your
duties, you just walk in and take over?”
“Yes, Jesus,” Joseph shouted accusingly, “you never
cared about carpentry. You’re a
daydreamer and idler. What’re you
trying to prove?”
“Enough,” said Papa, waving his hands, “leave Jesus
alone!”
“What is happening?” Mama called from the kitchen
window.
“James and Joseph are picking on Jesus!” I jumped
and down excitedly.
Jesus now tried to diffuse the argument brewing.
“That’s all right Papa, I don’t blame them. After being away so long, I had no right—this is their
project, not mine.”
Papa shook his head vigorously. “That is nonsense, Jesus. This is a business—we all share the
workload. What difference does it
make who works on what?”
“It’s not fair,” Joseph ranted, “we’re the ones who
helped your business, not him!
“Yes, Papa,” cried James, “we’re the ones who did
all the chores, and he comes home and gets a fine feast! While he wandered the hills talking to
God, saw the world and reaped the rewards, it was we, Joseph and I, who slaved
in your shop.”
“My sons!
My sons!” Papa spread his hands. “Don’t begrudge Jesus for whom he
is. That’s God’s doing. He is also a fine carpenter. You, yourselves, have done well. I appreciate everything you’ve done,
but it was right and proper that Jesus was given a feast. Your brother is back now—safe from
danger. Embrace him and be
thankful that he is home!”
These words I would hear later, though worded much
differently, when Jesus gave we, his disciples, and a crowd of Galileans the
parable of the Prodigal Son. Now,
as Papa spoke it, it fell on deaf ears.
James and Joseph threw up their hands in despair then fled from the
scene.
By now Mama, with Simon and the twins trailing
behind, had arrived in front of the shop.
Ebenezer, one of the Pharisees in town we rarely saw, just happened to
be passing by that moment, and slowed down to cup his ear. James and Joseph had run into the
orchard, hollering insults against their heretical, “show off” brother. I was not surprised by Joseph’s
behavior, but this was a setback in James’ acceptance of Jesus. Papa, though very upset, tried to
console Jesus, who was on the verge of tears. Simon and I stood back in shock, as Mama glanced sheepishly
back at the road. I was angry with
James and Joseph, but I felt sorry for them for the punishment awaiting them
now.
“You’re not to blame for your brothers’
mean-spiritedness,” I heard Papa say to Jesus, “I’m very proud of you for
returning to the shop. You’re a
good woodworker, my son, but your mother and I know God has plans for you.”
“I’m not a carpenter Papa—James and Joseph are,”
Jesus argued gently. “Please don’t punish them for my sake. They feel as if I’m an intruder, coming
back the way I did. I should not
have touched this table—”
“Yes,
you should,” Papa interrupted, handing him the shaver. “Please continue, while
I round up those malcontents. I
will not tolerant this behavior in my house.”
“Joseph,
Joseph.” Mama grabbed his arm. “There are people watching us!”
On
cue, after Mama’s words, we looked at the road to catch sight of three more
onlookers: Habakkuk, Malachi, and Jubal—all fair weather friends of my parents,
sniffing out heresy again.
“If
you punish them harshly,” Mama counseled sternly, “you will make them resent
Jesus that much more!”
“Well,
Mary,” Papa sighed heavily, “what do you suggest I do?”
Sitting down heavily on a stool, as Mama searched
for an answer, Papa glared at the elders malingering on the road. From this point on, my parents talked
in muted conversation, which made it difficult for Simon and I to hear without
inching ever closer.
“You heard what our sons shouted about Jesus.” Papa
dropped his head into his hands.
“
‘Jesus, servant of Beelzebub?’ ‘Jesus, who thinks he’s a god?’ Those are dreadful things, Mary, said
against their own brother.”
“Childish things, Joseph, and silly things.” Mama
placed her tiny hand on his wooly head.
“For mere children, James and Joseph have witnessed drastic
changes. They’ve stood back and
saw their oldest brother do strange and wondrous things, but they’ve suffered
because of Jesus’ strange ways. They
have also suffered because their parents gave sanctuary to a woman considered
to be a witch and then adopted her son, who the townsfolk thought was also
possessed. Now we’ve adopted the
nephew of a woman, who was a priestess of a pagan religion. Our son has been called by the town
rabbi a heretic and blasphemer, and we are now under the protection of the
Romans, which to our sons make us collaborators against our own people—”
“Enough,” groaned Papa, “you made your point
Mary. For someone who can’t read,
where did you get such wisdom?”
I let out a gasp as Mama gave Papa a strange look,
her eyes moving to the sky.
“Don’t answer that,” he said with a grin. “It came
from the Lord, right?” “Come
here,” he crooked his finger, “let’s show our neighbors we’re not having a
fight.”
Mama sat on his knee with a twinkle in her eye. Looking back over the years, it’s
difficult for me to believe that my mother was a virgin, though Jesus admitted
it to me himself. There was too
much affection and love between my parents. This time, of course, they were concerned about more rumors
spreading in town. It was, I
sensed even then, far too late for that.
Just these last moments James and Joseph launched more insults against
Jesus. Ignoring their rants, Papa
rocked the little woman on his lap back and forth gently as Mama once did,
herself, to my brothers, sisters, and me.
I looked at the table he had been working on and saw nothing wrong with
his efforts so far. Sanding was
something even Simon and I could do without much supervision, but shaving was
another matter altogether since it reshaped the wood. Jesus must have understood this too. Papa had unintentionally handed him the
wrong tool. Laying the ominous
shaver down, he picked up the sanding block and resumed sanding the table leg
with careful, even strokes. Simon
and I sat down quietly in the shop and watched, as Papa and Mama murmured
amongst themselves. With nothing more
to hear, the four men across the street continued on their way. Habakkuk, the original eavesdropper,
waved at Papa before ambling down the road.
Perhaps inspired by God, Jesus told us the story
about the carpenter and his workers.
I don’t recall ever hearing this repeated during my discipleship with
him, and yet it was his first parable.
This would become his favorite method of moral teaching to his
disciples. Some of his greatest
parables, such as the Prodigal Son, were inspired by events with his family in
Nazareth. At the time, in fact, I
thought this story was intended for Papa and his sons, until Jesus added the
last line, which I know now was intended for posterity.
He blue eyes flashed with illumination as he said,
“There was a carpenter in Galilee, who divided his work among his sons. Half of the sons worked hard all day
but loved not their chores, while the other half did their chores in
light-hearted good cheer but did poor work. When the carpenter saw the finished woodworks for each half
of his sons, he saw smiles on the faces of those who shirked their work and
frowns on the others who slaved all day.
Knowing that cheerful workers would remain faithful, while unhappy
workers would resent carrying the workload, the carpenter paid the hard workers
more money, but also paid the shirkers too, taking special care to train these
cheerful fellows in order to make them good workers too.” “In this way,” Jesus
said, looking up at the sky, “the self-righteous are rewarded and those seeking
righteousness may find the right path.”
One day, Jesus would explain to me privately that
this parable, as the Spirit moved him, was intended for his family only, and
yet he confessed to me that it had a greater meaning. In a wider sense, he clarified, James and Joseph, in their
closed-mindedness, were likened to the self-righteous Pharisees, and Simon and
I, in our carefree attitude and acceptance of Jesus, were likened to the common
folk, who were slackers like ourselves.
One day, he would scold the Pharisees with the rebuke “I come not for
the righteous but for the sinners,” but that hour in front of the shop, it was
a message of tolerance, aimed at James and Joseph, and also his youngest
brothers who must become good workers too. Unfortunately, Jesus had mentioned “money” in his parable. Mama didn’t have a clue, at first, but
the reaction in Papa was swift.
Upon hearing the word “money,” his ears pricked up, jaws dropped, and
eyes widened in alarm. Before
Jesus had finished, Mama had climbed off Papa’s lap, and Papa was on his feet,
shaking his head in dismay.
“Now, calm down Joseph,” she said with concern,
“Jesus was just telling us a story.”
“Are you serious?” He stared at him in disbelief.
“Am I to pay James and Joseph for helping me in my shop?”
“Yes,” he grinned, giving Simon and me a pat, “and
we three must endeavor, under our father’s tutelage, to become carpenters too.”
“What does that mean?” Simon wrinkled his nose.
“It means Papa will teach you and Jude to be
apprentices like James and Joseph and that I, as the oldest son, shall attend
to my responsibilities, learn the business, and not waste time wandering the
hills.”
Simon and I clapped our hands and cheered this
news. Papa stood there frowning at
Jesus, as Mama tried calming him down.
“There, there, Joseph,” she murmured, “take a deep
breath, stop frowning. That’s it,
smile. You knew this moment was
coming.”
“Jesus,” he exhaled his name, “—always the
do-gooder. You also said that
James and Joseph are self-righteous yet must be rewarded for their work. You’re right on one account; those two
don’t love their work. You’ve been
much too kind with them, Jesus.
Sometimes, if I don’t stand over them, they do sloppy work. Always they must work under duress. Do you really think they deserve to be
rewarded after the way they acted today?”
“No,” Jesus explained, tilting his head, “not a
reward for bad behavior, only a payment as wage earners. It will encourage them if you actually
pay them and, as wage earners, give them a sense of pride.”
“I can’t afford that,” Papa said flatly. “I had to
buy special lumber. I’ve been
saving to rebuild the shop.”
“Did not Samuel offer to give you money for this?”
asked Jesus bluntly.
Mama, Simon, and I nodded with approval at his
reminder. An agitated look fell
over Papa’s face as he looked around at the group. Draping an arm over his shoulder, Mama cooed softly, “Now
Joseph, Jesus is right. Samuel
offered to pay for this. It’s your
pride that prevents you from accepting help.”
“Pride nothing,” he fumed, stomping his foot, “it’s
plain wrong. I don’t like the way
you’re all ganging up on me. I’m
surprised you would suggest such a thing, Jesus. Did the Lord tell you this?”
“Yes,” he nodded slyly, “accepting charity is not
wrong. You said so yourself when
you helped your neighbors. It’s
spirit in which it’s taken that matters most.”
“That would be greed.” Papa uttered a bitter laugh.
“You think my neighbors would be charitable to me?”
“They might not,” Jesus confessed, “but we’re the
family of Joseph bar Jacob. Did
not the Hillel once say “What’s offensive to you, don’t do to
another?”
“Hillel?” muttered
Mama. “Whose Hillel? Where does he
learn these things?”
“He was probably a
scholar,” Papa snorted. “He certainly wasn’t a carpenter. It says in the Torah, ‘an eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ Moses
wrote that!”
Jesus laughed at his
wit. Having been reminded of his
vast knowledge, Mama beamed with pride at Papa too, but Papa wasn’t won over by
our smiles. He was, thanks to Jesus,
being shamed into paying us as wage.
Until hearing Jesus’ story, I hadn’t expected being paid at all. Like Simon, I did as little work as
possible, especially in the shop, and yet Jesus, who included slackers such as
us, implied we would get a wage too.
Papa must have read the expectation on my face. As I stood there alongside of Simon, he
raised an eyebrow, smiling wryly at me.
“Humph,” he grunted, “I suppose you’ll be wanting a
pony.”
“Uh huh,” I nodded eagerly. “I’ll save up and buy it
myself?”
Papa folded him arms and shook his head. “Jude—you rascal! It’s bad enough I have to pay Jesus,
James, and Joseph. What makes you
think I can afford to pay you and Simon, too? Samuel has said several strange things lately. I think he’s addled in the head. Right now, I must decide what punishment
is fitting for two of my sons.” “Do you agree with your mother,” he called to
Jesus, “that James and Joseph shouldn’t be punished?”
Jesus nodded, while Simon and I vigorously shook our
heads.
“Does not Proverbs tell us ‘the man who spares the
rod spoils his child?’” he challenged.
“James and Joseph aren’t little children anymore,”
came Jesus reply; “they’re almost as old as me.”
“Then they should grow up,” snapped Papa. “I’m
running a business here!”
“Why won’t he take Samuel’s gifts?” I whispered to Simon.
“I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go spy on
James and Joseph. Boy they’re
gonna get it now!”
As my parents and Jesus discussed punishment and reward, I hoped Papa
didn’t give in, but I knew it wouldn’t be resolved this hour. Whether or not they would get punished
for their misbehavior or get paid for their lackluster work, Jesus would follow
Hillel’s adage. One day it would
be rephrased by him when he was speaking to the multitudes, but that day it
seemed very indulgent after what James and Joseph had said. In a way Jesus was, as he would one day
counsel his disciples, turning the other cheek. Hopefully, if he had his way, Simon and I might also get
paid. Until then, we would continue
being one of those cheerful workers in Jesus’ tale.
“Papa,” I interrupted artlessly, “can Simon and I go
visit Nehemiah at Samuel’s house?”
“No,” he shook his head, “I’m still not comfortable
with you children wandering around town with rumors of Reuben being on the
loose.” “Which reminds me Mary,” he gave her a concerned look. “Our two malcontent sons are roaming
the hills where Reuben and members of his gang were spotted.”
“The Romans are protecting us,” I reminded Papa.
“Oh yes,” Papa groaned again, “ I just wish they’d
be more discreet.”
That very moment Falco and Priam, two of Regulus’
men, saluted us as they finished making another pass from the orchard to the
front yard. Papa groaned but Mama
grinned and waved. Simon and I ran
over to inspect their short swords, which the Romans called a gladius. Already, I knew several of the soldiers
in Nazareth. Leto, Gratian,
Diblius, and Zeno, the other guards we met in Odeh’s camp, were at this moment
patrolling the hills in back of our house. Regulus, himself, I suspected, would ride past our house,
during his rounds, checking various posts in town. Credit for our special relationship with the Romans,
however, began with Cornelius, whose duties, as prefect of the Galilean Cohort,
kept him moving around many Galilean cities and then Longinus, the centurion
responsible for the legionnaires patrolling Nazareth and other Galilean
towns. Because Regulus was
directly in charge of the sentries patrolling our property and the nearby
hills, he had become the most important Roman to us now. He had, as Cornelius and Longinus,
promised that Rome would watch over us.
I knew Papa was as grateful as Simon and I. The Romans seemed to be here to stay. With rumors of Reuben and his thugs
lurking about and reports of bandits on the roads, even Ezra begrudgingly
accepted this as a fact. This was,
of course, more reason for James and Joseph to be rebellious. We had become in Joseph’s words
collaborators—Roman-loving Jews.
Mama nevertheless fed the guards and gave them
wine. Simon, who had grown to
admire the Romans too, also collaborated with the Romans, as Mama and I, by
giving the guards fruit from our garden and freshly baked rolls. James and Joseph added to their list my
crime of corrupting Simon, who saw no profit joining forces with them.
Not withstanding James and Joseph, Falco and Priam,
unlike the other four sentries, had quickly grown fond of our family. Simon and I pranced and skipped around
the big burly Romans who ruffled our hair and beamed at my parents, as they
ducked into the shop. With
Ebenezer, Habakkuk, and Jubal lurking about, they didn’t want to be seen
collaborating again with Romans, but it was, as Ezra told Papa before, “closing
the barn after the cows escaped.”
The two men followed my parents into the shop, giggling, as if it was a
game.
“Where are you-uu?” Priam teased.
“It’s hide and go seek,” chimed Falco, looking down
at me, “like we played as kids.” “I bet you and Simon play that a lot, eh?” He
winked at us.
“No,” Joseph called from the side of the house, “we
pretend we’re killing Romans. Go
away leave us alone!”
“Shut up, you idiot,” James tried hushing his
brother up.
We followed the sentries across the yard. Peeking bravely out of his shop, Papa
put on his best face and greeted the Romans. Jesus stepped out into the sunlight eliciting immediate
recognition in their dark eyes. In
the background, we could see other Romans riding past and Ebenezer, Habakkuk
and Jubal, reappearing on the side of the road, yet Jesus was unconcerned with
such notoriety and stood there chatting with the men.
“Ho!
There’s that world traveler!” Falco called in good cheer.
“Been to Rome no less,” bubbled Priam. “Last time I
been to Rome, I was a raw recruit.
Hey, is that true what everyone says?”
“That depends,” replied Jesus, receiving a pat on
his shoulder. “What did you hear?”
“That you brought a dead bird back to life,”
answered Falco.
“And you caused it to rain to put out a fire,”
replied Priam.
“He did.
He did indeed!” Simon piped.
“Jesus did a lot more than that!” I frowned
indignantly.
“Are you men hungry?” Mama called from the darkness.
Priam removed his helmet and scratched his graying
hair. “Well, some of the little woman’s baking would be welcomed.”
Simon ran into the house to rummage through Mama’s
pantry. He could run quite fast at
such times. Jesus seemed amused
with this scene. As we waited for
Simon to reappear with bread or honey rolls, Papa looked self-consciously back
at the road. At the soldier’s
prodding, Jesus admitted to the miracles but gave God the credit for the
deeds. Out of modesty perhaps, he
failed to mention his miracles during his travels. He denied, as they insisted, that he was, himself, a
god.
“Anyone, if he or she prays hard enough, can do the
same things,” he promised them unequivocally. “I am but an instrument of the
Lord!”
Papa cringed.
Priam looked at him in disbelief.
Falco now studied Jesus as if he might, after all, be addled in the
head. After whispering to each
other, Priam and Falco looked across the yard, their hands shielding their eyes
from the sun.
“Those other boys hiding from us?” Falco gave Papa a
troubled look.
“No,” Papa said defensibly, “they’re not
hiding.”
“They don’t like us much, do they” grumbled Priam.
“Sounded almost seditious a moment ago.”
“Seditious?” pondered Papa. “That’s a rather strong word.”
“I must apologize for what Joseph said.” Mama’s
countenance appeared in doorway to the shop.
“I heard him say nothing wrong.” Falco gave her a
surprised look.
Though wearing a faded blue dress and white
headband, her stark blue eyes and milk white skin startled the men. Papa laughed hysterically at their
reaction. For a moment, I had been
afraid my brother Joseph would shout out more insults against Rome. I had also wondered if Papa would take
issue with what Priam had said. I
wasn’t sure what seditious meant, but I was sure it wasn’t good.
“It’s my third oldest son, Joseph, we beg pardon
for,” Mama explained, shaking her head. “Neither Joseph nor James speak for
us. They’ve been upset a long time
because of our association with Rome.”
“Well, there’s good Romans and bad Romans,” replied
Falco thoughtfully, “just like there’s good and bad Jews. That Reuben fellow is a bad Jew.”
Papa sighed with relief. Jesus, who seemed to know the mind of God, was, as usual,
unruffled. Simon, Mama noted with
dismay, now walked up with a tablecloth filled with rolls and a flask slung
over one arm. We would learn later
that the flask was not filled with wine.
For several moments, after he passed around the rolls and offered the
sentries the flask, we watched the men devour the rolls and slurp down the
juice. I regretted that there
would be no rolls left for the other guards or, for that matter, us. When they had finished, Falco thanked
Mama profusely. Priam wiped his
stubbly beard, studying Simon and I for a moment with a jaundiced eye.
“You children should stick around the house awhile
until we find Reuben and his band.” He frowned severely. “Until we catch them
rascals, this town won’t be safe!”
“He’s right boys,” said Falco, ruffling our hair.
“There’s no telling where they might be.”
Though I had talked bravely to Simon about exploring
the hills, I agreed with Priam.
Jesus and my parents agreed with Priam too. We listened to Priam and Falco discuss the latest rumors
about Reuben and his band. He and
his cohorts in crime had been spotted in Sepphoris, Bethel, and Nain, but
reappeared in Nazareth just this week.
Many of the townsfolk lied to protect these murderers, and it was a
certainty that they were being hidden at various “traitorous” houses in
town. Reuben had been seen and
reported by the shepherds and many of concerned Jews, but everyone, even the
crusty Odeh, were afraid of collaborating with Rome. . . everyone that it is
except my parents, who were now under Rome’s protection, thanks to Regulus and
his men.
Priam and Falco thought it best if James and Joseph
be brought home just to be safe.
The boys needed a firm hand during this crisis. Papa realized, as did the rest of us,
that the Romans meant well, but the two boys would consider it an utter
betrayal if they were dragged home by the guards. Young Joseph, though behaving as a child, had actually
insulted Priam and Falco. When
Regulus suddenly appeared on the road, they took the opportunity to call out to
the optio. A look of horror fell
over my parents’ faces. Hand in
hand they raced after the men.
Jesus suddenly disappeared, I hoped to bring in our brothers, himself. I was torn between finding out where he
had gone and listening to the conversation taking place by the road. Simon and I stayed close behind our
parents, fearful that the Romans would, in fact, take matters into their own
hands. James and Joseph would, of
course, never forgive any of us if they were chased down by a pair of burly
Roman guards.
Priam didn’t tell Regulus what Joseph had said. He simply said that the boy was
disrespectful and, eyeing Papa, added that he needed a good thrashing. The important matter, both he and Falco
insisted, was that none of Papa’s sons should be roaming the hills while Reuben
and his gang were on the loose.
Papa and Mama agreed with them and they promised to discipline James and
Joseph but begged the optio to let them bring in the boys in without
interference from the guards.
Regulus, who had already witnessed the boys’ dislike of Romans, was
immediately predisposed to teaching them a lesson. I remember the momentary dread I felt, which was my first
experience with Roman caprice.
Since then, through my years growing up as the brother of Jesus and then
as his disciple, my admiration for Roman soldiers matured to respect and
wisdom. The Romans can’t be
trifled with. Simon and I, with
mouth agape, reacted as children when the optio shouted at Papa and we broke
into tears.
“No, Joseph, this it not the first time one of your
sons spoke seditiously about Rome.
There are many other youths in Nazareth with this attitude but none in
households being guarded so well by our men. Did you know that James and Joseph heckle my men every day?”
“No!” We all uttered at the same time. This was a revelation even to Simon and
I, who had snuck into the orchard several times to watch the Romans hike
past. Obviously, our encounter
with the Romans at the shepherds’ camp had not been the first time Regulus’ men
passed through.
“We said we were sorry Regulus,” Papa sounded
desperate, “and we promised to punish our sons. Please don’t make an issue of this!”
“You obviously can’t control your sons,” the optio
pointed accusingly, “or they wouldn’t continue insulting your protectors like
this.”
“We were unaware they were heckling your men,” Mama
said tearfully. “Why didn’t someone tell us this before now.”
“No one told you?” Regulus looked at her in
disbelief.
I felt a sudden pang of guilt, since I had recently
heard James and Joseph showing the Romans disrespect, but I was unaware of all
those other times, so I held my tongue.
My parents argued with Regulus for several moments. Papa confessed his disappointment that
they would show such impatience for mere boys when there were many adults in
town who might be harboring murderers in their homes. When Regulus demanded to know their names, Papa realized his
mistake immediately and tried to downplay his words.
“I-I have heard only rumors,” he sputtered, gripping
Mama’s hand. “Reuben and his friends have relatives in this town. Do you want me to incriminate my
neighbors?”
“Yes,” Regulus sneered, “have you forgotten the
hatred Reuben has toward your family?”
“I haven’t seen Reuben since that night,” Papa
muttered almost to himself. “This has all gotten completely out of hand.”
“Regulus,” Mama implored gently, “you don’t
understand our people. We have
strived to be good citizens and honor Rome. We are so grateful for your protection against our
foes. But please don’t force my husband
to speak ill of our friends and neighbors on hearsay. Already, many of them resent us because of the Romans in
town.”
Something in Mama’s speech or expression caused the
look on the optio’s face to soften.
Though he continued to frown, a crooked smile registered slowly on his
face. There were times when I
wondered if our mother, like Jesus, might have special powers. When he looked back at Papa, his
expression hardened again and yet, to our great relief, he didn’t press Papa to
inform on townsmen who were relatives of Reuben and his friends. What helped change the subject,
however, was the sudden appearance of Jesus, James, and Joseph in the
yard. With a long switch, Jesus
was coaxing the two boys to move ahead of him as if prodding a pair of stubborn
goats.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” he called out
cheerily.
My parents broke into hysterical laughter. The three Romans studied this strange
procession with mirth.
“Where did you find them?” asked Papa. “Did you
really use the switch?”
“No,” Jesus replied, coaxing the boys forward.
“James and Joseph know they’ve gone too far. They come at their own freewill. They have something they want to say.”
“We’re sorry,” James was the first to speak. “Please
don’t be angry with Papa for what we’ve done.”
Regulus stood there in front of Joseph, who had a
belligerent look on his face. It
was clear to everyone when Joseph mumbled his apology that he was not sincere,
but James was visibly frightened with the Roman presence in front of our
house. It was Joseph’s voice we
heard heckling the guards, not James, and yet Joseph just stood there glaring
at the Romans, his look belying his words.
Regulus swaggered over to Joseph now, his hands on
his hips, his crooked smile turning into a smirk. “I know your brother’s sorry. I heard it in his words and saw it in his eyes. The question is, ‘are you sorry?’ I was told that it was you, not James,
who insulted my men. Yet I see
only anger and resentment on your face.
You’re not sorry Joseph; you’re just angry you got caught. Why do you hate us so? Explain this to me, Joseph son of
Joseph.”
Joseph thought for only a moment before a flood of
pent-up emotion poured out of his mouth.
Much of what he said was repetitious, unintelligible rage but I could
make out key phrases, I’ve heard other citizens in Nazareth mutter: “The Romans
look for reasons to persecute our people. . . They don’t respect our religion
and tradition. . . They bleed us dry with taxes.” There was nothing original in Joseph’s criticism. When he was finished, Papa and Mama
sighed wearily. I was glad that he
didn’t come up with anything personal, such as “The Romans stink of garlic or
they tromp on Mama’s garden.”
Joseph could not look Regulus in the eyes, which for a Roman was an
insult, in itself.
“Is that all?” A snarl played on his chiseled face.
“You think we haven’t heard that before?”
Falco laughed derisively at Joseph’s effort. “Persecution, taxation, lack of
respect. You can’t come up with
anything better than that?”
“There the same reasons we get everywhere we go,”
Regulus sighed heavily. “We’ve heard this a thousand times!”
“Well,
you listen here boy,” spat Priam, “We didn’t choose to be here. We came with the legion. I’d much rather be stationed in Rome or
Greece. It was Pompey who planted
the Eagles in your so-called Promised Land. I’m getting pretty tired of ingrates like you blaming us for
that.”
“Do you even know why you hates us?” Regulus studied
Joseph’s expression. “It might be fashionable for hothead Jews like you to hate
Romans, but to take this general attitude and apply it us personally is unfair,
unreasonable and unjust. We, my
men and I, have done nothing wrong to you. Are you, Joseph, to blame for your father’s sins?”
It was a question that would plague Jesus in his
coming ministry. For now I saw
Jesus eyebrows raise from that inner voice that he called “my Father.” It had begun with Adam and Eve. Throughout the Torah, I would learn,
the Lord appeared to visit punishment on succeeding generations for Adam and
Eve’s original sin. Once again,
from a pagan Roman, Jesus would here words he would one day incorporate into
his parables, that I, Jude, would be witness to.
My father, who had also been moved by the Roman’s
words, walked over to the third oldest son. Jesus, Simon, and I also crowded around Joseph. It was Mama, who had smote Joseph
before for his attitude, who sprang forth with righteous anger in her blue
eyes.
“You
ungrateful child!” She shouted tearfully. “Where did you get such hate? You couldn’t accept Michael and even
little Nehemiah in our house.
Since you found out that you were all adopted, you can scarcely accept
us as your parents. You’ve always
been jealous and resentful of Jesus for his special ways.” “Your hatred toward these men is undeserving
and a disgrace to your father’s house.” She wrung her finger in Joseph’s
face. “These Romans are here to
protect us from our enemies, and yet you curse them and call them names. Instead of apologizing as James, you
cannot even look at them. Are they
worse than the men who wanted to stone poor Mariah or that awful man who wanted
to destroy our house? Are they
worse than Herod, our one-time king, who had hundreds of children killed, just
to destroy our first born son?”
Mama’s
hand flew up to her mouth. Joseph
winced at her words but said nothing.
She, with her usual thoughtlessness, had brought up a sore subject. More importantly it was a topic too
controversial for Roman ears.
Fortunately, my parents were able to avoid explaining a story they
barely understood themselves by Joseph, himself. Whether through earnest feeling or the necessity of pleasing
our mother, he stood forth, looked squarely into Regulus, Priam, and Falco’s
eyes and declared “I have sinned against you and shamed my parents. I beg your pardon. I promise never to cause problems
again. Please don’t blame my
father for sin.”
It
had been stated in reverse of Regulus question, which caused me to clap my
hands with delight. Priam and
Falco frowned with disbelief at Joseph’s remorse, but Regulus appeared to be
satisfied with what he heard, strapped on his helmet, and mounted his
horse. Papa promised the optio
that there would be no more trouble from his sons. Regulus nodded curtly and gently kicked his horse. Jesus smiled at the Romans, bid them
good day, and began walking across the yard. Papa studied Joseph a moment but said nothing, then
accompanied Mama, arm-in-arm, to the house. Simon and I giggled foolishly, as the Roman officer
road away. Left to appraise
Joseph, with James standing nervously nearby, were two of our most important
sentries.
“Time
will tell.” Priam sneered at them, as they swaggered away. “We’ll see how sorry
that Joseph-fellow is when Papa and Mama aren’t around.”
“You
keep an eye on that brother of yours,” Falco called to James. “You just
didn’t get caught.”
“I’ll
watch him,” James said in a quivering voice. “I give you my word.”
And
so ended James and Joseph’s rebellion against Rome. Simon and I ran off to romp in the orchard until
dinner. That evening our family
would pay Samuel a visit to see how Nehemiah and the old Pharisee were
feeling. Though he rightly
deserved it, Joseph would not be punished this time. We would, in fact, all pretend that we were a normal family
again. Another milestone had been
reached in our household: Joseph and James had made peace with Rome. How genuine Joseph’s contriteness was
would be shown in the days ahead in his silent display of contempt for the men
guarding our house, but, with the exception of James, his confident and
co-conspirator, he would never utter a word of contempt for the Romans in
earshot of the rest of us again.
******
Our
visit to Samuel’s house that evening would be short, just long enough for Mama to
bring him some of her lentil stew, check on Samuel and Nehemiah, and discuss
their condition with Abner, the physician. We were all encouraged about Nehemiah’s recovery. With the proper diet and the special
potions concocted by the physician, his condition would continue to improve,
Abner reassured us. Soon, when
Abner would have to leave Samuel’s house to make his rounds, Nehemiah would be
able to come home with us. From
that point, added the physician, it was up to God. Samuel, as old and infirmed as he was, had improved enough
to take short walks if assisted by his servants. It would be good if Mama and the rest of us continued to
visit him once or twice a week to keep his spirits up.
During this period, when Jesus had retaken his
rightful place as the oldest son, James and Joseph appeared to have accepted
their plight among the younger sons.
It was assumed by Papa that Jesus would eventually inherit his
shop. Such an inheritance would
end when Jesus mission began, but, of course, no one knew about this then. Though it was customary for the oldest
son to take control of the family business, we knew our kind hearted brother
would share it with us or at least employ us as carpenters too. None of us wanted to think about Jesus
birthright, since it meant Papa would be dead. Our sisters wouldn’t have to worry because they would find
husbands to provide for them, but we, the younger sons, would have to serve our
oldest brother or fend for ourselves.
If he ran the shop, Jesus would be a generous master. Unless the shop expanded its business,
however, it seemed unlikely to me that we could all be employed. Simon and I were so far down the line,
it made little difference to us when Jesus claimed his birthright, but it was
one more bone of contention for the second and third oldest sons.
One day, as Simon and I tagged along with our
parents to Samuel’s house, Jesus stayed behind to resume his trade. As he had boasted that day Priam and
Falco paid us a visit, he would continue to learn the craft. While Papa was away, James and Joseph
would presume to be his teachers.
There would be no more idling in the hills! James and Joseph, who secretly resented Jesus, would take
this opportunity to heckle and taunt him as they had years before. Neither my parents, Simon nor I would
ever know the substance of their conversation, but when Papa returned home and
found James and Joseph working diligently in the shop and Jesus nowhere in
sight, he grew suspicious, as did Simon and I.
“Where is your brother?” Papa asked James.
“Jesus said he would show me how to use the
scraper.” I looked around with disappointment.
Joseph looked up from the tabletop he was sanding.
“Are we are brother’s keeper?”
“Careful. . . .Cain asked that same thing of God,”
replied Papa, looking at each son.
“Cain slew Abel.” James said in a matter-of-fact
tone. “We can’t slay the Son of God with mere words.”
Papa flew into a momentary rage. “Don’t call him that. He never made that claim. Did you boys say something mean to Jesus? Where did he go? Why did he leave the shop?”
“We said nothing mean to our brother,” said James,
blowing the dust off the leg he was scraping. “Suddenly, during our training, he stomped his foot and
stormed from the scene.”
“Training?
I can image how that went!” Papa gave out a bitter laugh. “What did you
teach Jesus today?”
Joseph replied. “I was teaching him how to sand with
the grain correctly.”
“And I showed him the proper method of evenly
scraping the wood,” declared James. “Is it our fault Jesus is always day
dreaming and walking in the hills?”
Papa seemed too upset to respond. Wringing his finger severely, he left
on an ominous note. “So help me, I’d better not find out you’ve been mean to
him again!”
Jesus would not deliberately tattle on us unless we
were doing something unsafe or were harming someone else, but unfortunately
Jesus couldn’t lie. Simon and I
knew that Papa would not force him to inform on his brothers, especially on
such a trivial matter.
Nevertheless we watched Papa stormily exit the shop and charge down the
path. Looking angrily over my
shoulder, I followed Simon out the shop door. James and Joseph were up to their old tricks. Jesus had already withdrawn back into
the hills. I sensed, as did Papa
and Simon, that our brothers had, in fact, made Jesus feel badly as he learned
the trade. Suddenly, as we had so
many times before while spying on the shepherds or Romans, we began dogging
Papa’s trail.
Soon, after we snuck from bush to bush, enjoying our
new game, we looked ahead to see Papa pause in the same clearing he had taken
Jesus, after he cured the dead bird.
There, not far from a rock at which he knelt to pray, Jesus stood
looking up to the sky. Carefully,
as we had on that day James, Joseph, Simon, and I eavesdropped on Jesus and Papa,
we hid behind the same bushes and craned our ears to hear.
“Jesus,” Papa called out gently, “I know they’ve
been taunting you. I don’t know
what they said to you, but you can’t give up like this. My shop will yours someday. I know you’ll always look after your
brothers. It’s a good thing you,
not James or Joseph, are my oldest son.
I promise you that I won’t leave you alone with them anymore.” “Come
back to the shop,” he said, walking up to grasp Jesus shoulders. “. . . Your
mother is worried. Simon and Jude
are upset too.”
“Yes, my little brothers are glad I’m back,” said
Jesus, wiping his eyes.
“Tell me one thing my son.” Papa heaved a loud sigh.
“You have the ability to see into people’s hearts. What is wrong with James and Joseph. Will they forever remain angry with
you, your mother, and I?”
“No,” Jesus answered slowly, “. . . but their anger
for the Romans was so exaggerated, I think it was misplaced. It was their resentment for being
adopted and the fact I was born of the flesh from our mother that caused their
recent outbursts. . . They don’t understand Papa. I don’t completely understand myself. But we both know that carpentry is not
what God wants me to do.”
After what Samuel had said, this statement didn’t
surprise me. Perhaps it was
because I didn’t want to face the truth, but I hoped that Jesus would stay with
us as long as possible. Though I
could not bring my self to think about it, I wanted Jesus to take over from
Papa, but I sensed that he would be a great religious leader someday. This realization had grown in me since
the day he departed on his journey, but I think the seed of this knowledge had
been planted in my mind that day Jesus cured the dead bird.
Inexplicably Papa and Jesus spoke in muted voices
now, so Simon and I took the cue and slipped back up the path to our front
yard. There, on the garden bench
beneath the fig tree, Simon turned to me with a question I had pondered for a
long time.
“Jude,” he asked, reaching up for a plum. “What does
God want Jesus to do?”
I thought a moment. “I dunno…something important. Even he doesn’t know.”
“That day, after curing the bird,” Simon said
thoughtfully, biting into the plum, “Jesus said many strange things. Mama said strange things too: Jesus was
born in a stable, men brought him gold, Herod killed all those children. A little while ago, she started talking
about Herod again. Our parents
have many secrets. There’s more
they’re not telling us.”
“Yeah,” I sighed wistfully, “. . . more secrets”
Simon struggled unknowingly that moment with a great
truth. “Those words he said that day—my father, not our father—my father.
. . . Just who is Jesus suppose to be?
“I don’t know,” I answered with a shudder, “Jesus
doesn’t know that himself.”
“Hah!” Simon said, munching on his plum. “Jesus
knows everything. You said so
yourself!”
As sat there chewing on the fruit, I found his
nonchalant curiosity about this subject repulsive as he devoured the plum. I wanted to stuff fingers into my ears,
drum my feet on the ground, and chant “la-la-la” until he went away. Instead, I looked him squarely in his
dull eyes, picked a plum, and tossed it symbolically into yard. “Simon,” my voice quivered, “I don’t
want to think about this anymore, all right? There’s a reason why we don’t understand this…I sense
this. I feel it in my very
bones. I’ve even dreamed about
it. Do you really want to know?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head thoughtfully, “I don’t. It’s scary. No, let’s go find some berries!”
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