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Chapter Thirty-Two
Reminiscence
As I Looked ahead to my future, I was again filled
with doubt. Aulus, Rufus, Fronto,
and Ibrim would return in good graces to the Galilean Cohort, while I returned
to the life of a carpenter’s apprentice, exactly what I had hoped to escape. Apollo, the only other survivor of our
original journey, had a less certain future. Though the unpredictable Egyptian never liked me, ridiculing
me every chance he had, I felt sorry for him. The fact that he had not been present to see us off was our
first topic on the road south.
The men were sullen during the first mile south,
partially because they were suffering the effects of wine. I was not certain about Aulus. Perhaps he was thinking about his
friends Decimus and Vesto, who had not survived. It seemed unfair that a rogue like Apollo would live while
all those other good men died in battle.
Clearing my throat I asked off-handedly, “Will
Apollo recover from his wound?”
Rufus, who rode behind me, snorted. “Who cares?”
“I don’t,” Fronto said gruffly. “I never trusted the
man.”
“He would’ve killed you if he could!” Ibrim called
out from the rear.
“Don’t worry
Thaddeus,” Aulus finally replied, “Apollo’s wound wasn’t bad. He decided, like you, to go home. His wife lives in Alexandria, which is
probably where he is now.” “For the time being,” he added, looking back from
his saddle, “the Galilean fort will be our home.”
“Aye,” the others muttered reflectively.
“But young
Thaddeus is going to be a carpenter,” Fronto grumbled.
“Thaddeus doesn’t want to be a soldier.” Rufus
heaved a sigh. “.... He’s going home.”
On that note, we rode awhile in silence on the
highway heading toward the coast.
The auxilia seemed disappointed with my decision. I was too, but I knew I was doing the
right thing. I would be glad to
see my family. In a delayed
reaction to the subject, Aulus now said in my favor. “Thaddeus is lucky.
I’m glad he has a family and home.”
“Someday,” Ibrim said in jest, “I’m going to pay our
carpenter a visit. I might need
one of his mules.”
“What are you going to with those beasts?” Aulus
glanced back at me.
“I’m not sure,” I said with sigh, checking the line
tied to my saddle horn. “Towing four mules it tricky, but once I get them home
I’ll let Jesus and my father decide.”
“You decide for yourself!” Aulus snapped. “You’ve
spent these months becoming a man; don’t let anyone speak for you lad, not even
your father and brother Jesus in spite of his fine words. Those mules belong to you; you’ve earned
them!”
Taken back by his support, I was also offended by
his words. Ambivalence was one of
my curses. I could understand
Aulus’ sarcasm about my oldest brother.
I gave Decimus and him the impression that Jesus was a demigod by my
fantastic tales, but a son’s duties to his father, especially a Jewish father,
should have been understood by my friend. On the other hand, Aulus, with his Roman pragmatism
and soldier’s logic, was absolutely right about two things: I was a man now, and the mules were my
property to dispense with as I saw fit.
Glancing back again at my mules, I nodded
thoughtfully. “You’re right, Aulus.
The truth is, I’m not sure how long I can stay in Nazareth. It’s not only my mules and Roman
gladius I take home, I bring mental baggage as well. I have, as Jesus wanted, learned much about the Gentile
mind. One thing I learned is that
they’re not that different than Jews, but the differences are important. I’ve eaten forbidden food, killed men
in anger, and said and done many other things that my people consider
unclean. I have no intention of
going to the Temple to expiate my sins as Elisha wanted, and yet, for a while
at least, I must return to my life as a carpenter’s apprentice and dutiful
son. That’s not going to be easy. What the legate offered me in Antioch
is greatly tempting. In spite of
the dream I had and my desire to see my family and friends, I’m a different
person now. I can’t go back to
that quaking, immature youth who left the Galilean fort.”
“Now, now, you’re still a youth Thaddeus.” Aulus
shook his head. “You’re not that changed by your friendship with us. After all you’ve been through, you have
a good heart. You’re still a good lad.
You have a good family and folks that love you. A soldier scribe is a fine thing, but
that’s important too. The army is our
family, not yours. What I meant
was that you must stand on your own two feet. If you must be a carpenter, be your own man. If you decide to take Aurelian up on
his offer, just make sure it’s what you want. You’ve earned the right to decide for yourself, but you’re
young, Thaddeus. You have plenty
of time.”
“That he has,” Fronto mumbled.
“Hah,” Ibrim declared, with a flourish of his hands,
“eighteen summers is a mere pittance in the wheel of time.”
“The question is, Thaddeus” Rufus asked
half-seriously, ‘are you a good carpenter?’”
“.... No,” I admitted after some thought, “my
heart’s never been in it. But then
neither have my other brothers.
Only Jesus shares my father’s love of wood.”
Ibrim, who rode next to me awhile, pulled out a
small metal flask.
“Tell us more about this brother of yours,” he said,
allowing me the first drink.
It struck me as strange that moment that I had told
Elisha’s guards and the prefect of the Antioch Cohort, himself, about Jesus
miracles and yet failed to tell these men. They were all that was left of twelve men, who had helped
shape my life. The spirits
touching my tongue were strong and vile.
Though I lost my breath a few seconds, my eyes watered, and I was
immediately light-headed from the spirits, I forced a smile as I returned the
flask.
“Well,
let’s see,” I muttered, gathering my wits. “... I was instructed not to bring
this subject up.”
“About
your brother Jesus?” Ibrim frowned.
“Now
Thaddeus,” Aulus looked back thoughtfully, “Decimus didn’t want you to preach. He said nothing about him.” “You
think very highly of your brother Jesus.” He raised an eyebrow. “He’s a good man. I’d like to meet him someday, and I’d
like to shake the hands of the man who raised such sons. You’re fortunate to have such a family to
go home to, but you must make your own way in life.”
“My own brother was my family,” Rufus
reflected aloud, adding, “...I have no family now.”
“I
have only sisters,” Ibrim said drowsily. “I haven’t seen my people in years.”
“Well,
I’m an orphan,” grumbled Fronto. “My family and people are slaves!”
Already
after only a short while during our trip south, because of too much wine and
not enough sleep, my riding companions were weary and out of sorts. I also detected a spiritual malaise. I knew we wouldn’t make very good time
today. It would be a long journey
ahead. If I had read my dreams
correctly, poor Jesus had a great burden now. He needed my assistance, and, in spite of my ambivalence, I
missed my family sorely—Jesus the most.
Unfortunately, because we were traveling the coastal route and the sense
of urgency seemed obviously absent in my friends it was going to take a long
time. I could do nothing to
expedite our trip. As before,
because of the boredom of travel and camp life, they expected me to entertain
them. This time, however, I
wouldn’t be talking about my people’s history. What I would tell them was not written in our holy
scriptures. It was something I
personally witnessed: Jesus sermons, miracles and the letters of his wondrous
travels. How could I possibly
describe him to their untutored minds?
The very thought of Jesus and my family had made me homesick. There were times during my travels with
Elisha and his guards and back at in Antioch when I was on the verge of
tears. I wished we had some wine
instead of Ibrim’s spirits.
Perhaps, I thought hopefully, that crafty Ibrim had managed to slip a
flask or two of good Greek wine into his saddlebag. I had been foolish in drinking his concoction, because now,
I too was out of sorts with spiritual malaise. Nevertheless, I told myself stout-heartedly, glancing around
appraisingly at my friends, the hour has come. I will tell them what I know of Jesus, my brother, but this
time I wouldn’t mince words. I
would tell the truth. I doubted
very much that they would believe my fantastic tales. If nothing else it would enliven their flagging spirits and
generate an interesting conversation for us until we stopped for the night.
******
Because
we weren’t traveling through hostile county and were so close to the coast, we
drew together in an undisciplined group as the mules trailed behind me,
returning to single file or two-by-two formation only when traffic met us
head-on, until finally, at a slow pace, when I reached a climactic point, we
stopped altogether off the road.
Drawing upon my God-given memory, I started at the
beginning of Jesus life.
“Before I start,” I warned them, “no one believed
what I told them about Jesus. What
I’m about to tell you, I didn’t even share with Aurelian, not that it mattered,
since he wouldn’t believe me either.
But it’s the truth. I
couldn’t have dreamed up such an incredible tale. The fact is I can scarcely believe some of the story
myself. There were times during my
childhood when I would stuff my fingers into my ears, close my eyes tightly,
and sing loudly, in order to shut out his babbling. Jesus was always a strange boy. It’s hasn’t been easy
being the youngest brother with him at the top. As the oldest son, he was always treated specially, and yet
half the time he was not doing his chores like the rest of us; he was wandering
the hills alone, talking to himself.
The only time he played with us was when he was playing physician,
curing all manner of small beasts, even dogs, of sickness and maladies. Yet, in spite of what we learned from
him about nature and healing, my brothers and I thought he was deranged.”
“Then
one day,” I paused, searching my memory. “Jesus found a small sparrow in
mother’s garden, half dead, on its last breath. Usually he would apply various herbs to affect a
healing. Many times the dog, cat,
or small animal just needed food and rest. That day, however, his efforts to revive the bird had
failed, so he began blowing air into its tiny beak, an act that horrified James,
Joseph, Simon, and me. I was tired
of Jesus airs and strange ways. My
father had been repairing the rabbi’s roof that day. When I told him what Jesus was doing, he took me by the hand
and hurried back to our house. The
rabbi, of course, was shocked by this unclean act. I was certain that Jesus would finally get punished. He was long overdue. When my father and I arrived in the
garden, however, my mother just stood there, with my twin sisters cringing
behind her skirts, a look of astonishment, perhaps horror, on her face. Something wonderful was about to happen
that would forever change our lives.
Jesus, who had been holding the small birds in the palms of his hands,
raised his arms, and released the sparrow into the sky. In his peculiarly deep, though child-like voice, he
said: ‘Fly away sparrow. Fly to my
Holy Father’s kingdom and tell Him I know the secret!’ ‘Secret, what secret? Did you tell him Mary?’ asked my
father, flashing Mama an accusing look. ‘I told the boy nothing,’ she shrugged,
comforting the girls, whose mood had turned to fear. ‘Jesus is playing a
children’s game.’” “But it wasn’t
a game,” I looked dreamily at the heavens. “...Jesus had performed his first
miracle.”
“No,
Thaddeus,” scoffed Aulus, shaking his head, “that would make him a god.”
“Or
demigod,” Rufus offered thoughtfully. “Many men have such gifts. You’ve heard about Hercules, Aeneas,
and Achilles. Look what they did!”
“Now Rufus,” snorted Fronto, “when’s the
last time you saw a demigod in the flesh, let alone one that’s a child?”
“Yes,
Thaddeus.” Aulus looked around at the group. “Surely that sparrow must’ve been
alive. The dead, whether beasts or
men, don’t return.”
“Really?”
the Gaul replied airily, “What about the Phoenix rising from the ashes or
Osiris, whose body was torn asunder yet returned to life.”
“You
don’t believe that nonsense.” Aulus made a face. “Apollo, the Egyptian, told us
those stories. He wasn’t
serious. In fact, he was drunk. You’re not even a Roman or Egyptian,
Rufus. Why would you say such a
silly thing?”
Rufus
and Fronto broke into laughter and Aulus suppressed a smile, but Ibrim gave me
a curious look. “Why would Thaddeus lie?” he muttered, sipping from his
flask. “...Let him finish. There’s more to his tale.”
Already
Aulus and Fronto doubted my words.
Aulus would, as he had before, only humor me. Rufus had obviously spoken in jest, and Ibrim appeared to be
slightly intoxicated, which seemed to discount the sincerity of what he just
said. Because it would only get
more fantastic for these men, I was hesitant about continuing. Despite their disbelief, I had
succeeded in two of my goals. The
subject, if nothing else, gave us something to talk about, and I had awakened
them from their malaise.
Unfortunately, they didn’t take me seriously. I couldn’t blame them, of course. I hadn’t believed it myself.
“Go
on, lad.” Fronto reached over to gave me a nudge. “This is getting
interesting.”
“Yes,”
Rufus suppressed a smile, “we enjoy your wild tales.”
“Why?”
I sighed with disappointment. “You
don’t believe me—none of you. I’m
not making this up. I’m not
addled. I saw it with my own
eyes.”
“I
believe that you believe,” Ibrim declared with a belch. “My mind’s
open. Let’s give poor Thaddeus a
chance.”
Was
Ibrim serious? I wondered that moment.
In the past, Rufus had shown the most interest in my stories. Though he just poked fun at me, he had
seemed to be half serious. That
moment, on their way back to the fort, a contingent of Roman cavalry galloped
toward us. As the wind blew northward,
a cloud of dust began rolling our way.
The optio riding in front raised an arm, jerking his thumb sideways, as
if to say, “Move aside!” Reacting
quickly, Aulus gave his horses a kick, “All right men,” he barked, “let’s not
block the road. Thaddeus can
finish this story as we ride.
“Very
well,” I said with a nod, “but I’ve only just begun.”
“Where
are you men headed?” the optio bellowed through cupped hands.
“We’re
going home,” Aulus answered cheerily, “to Galilee, southward along the Great
Sea.”
“You’re
wise to take the old road,” he cried, as they rode past, “the desert route is
no longer safe—a highway of cutthroats and thieves. The Nabataens and their allies are up in arms. It looks like we’re going to have to
wipe those rebels out.”
“You
mean Fabius, Legate of the Fifth Legion.” Aulus nodded, shielding his eyes from
the sun. “I wished he’d been there before. We lost eight men there. Good luck—all of you.
They’re a murderous lot!
“Thank
you,” he called back as they continued on their way, “have a safe journey. Give Longinus, my old friend, my
regards.”
Hearing
that familiar name, my homesickness swelled in my chest. Longinus, a hard-bitten Roman
centurion, like his prefect Cornelius, had befriended my family. He had seemed skeptical about my desire
to join the legions. I wondered
what he would think of me now. As
I sat daydreaming in the saddle, I was jerked awake when Ibrim tapped me with
his bow, and resumed my narrative where I had left off.
“...We were stunned both by what Jesus had
said and done.” I said, glancing protectively back at my mules. “I wanted to
believe that the bird that Jesus supposedly brought back from the dead had
really been in the dark sleep and awakened naturally as many creatures do. Perhaps it had merely been knocked
senseless after slamming into a tree.
It was even possible, I reasoned as we stood in silence that day, that
Jesus did, in fact, revive him,” “...but it was much more than that,” I added
wistfully. “Jesus had brought it back from the dead.”
“Incredible,”
Ibrim mumbled.
“Yes,”
I confessed, “it’s hard to believe.”
For
a moment, our small procession halted again, this time at a fork in the road
leading to the sea. The four men
sat uneasily in their saddles with baited breath.
“When
Jesus spoke those haunting words, my father took him aside to talk to him
alone. James, Joseph, Simon, and I
snuck down to the meadow where they stood. I remember my father questioning him severely about his
outlandish claim, but the most important thing I heard that morning I still
find troubling.
“Jesus?”
he looked into my brother’s blue eyes. “Did you really bring back that dead bird?”
“Yes,
father,” he answered without hesitation, “through the Holy Father, I brought
him back.”
“So
it’s true,” father said, raising his eyes to sky. “….It has begun. Thus sayeth the Lord!”
“Mother
of Zeus!” Aulus gasped.
“Let
him continue,” Fronto raised a hand, “...this is getting good.”
Feeling the Thracian’s powerful hand on my shoulder,
I cleared my throat, brushed a tear away from my eye and continued my
story:
“After that day, Jesus wandered around in a daze, talking to himself, and
becoming a spectacle to our neighbors and friends. Most the townsfolk simply thought he was addled in the head,
but Joachim, the town rabbi, thought he was a blasphemer and heretic, driven by
Satan’s power. The hostility of
townsfolk grew after they heard Joachim’s fiery sermons. Though it began with the incident of
the sparrow, Jesus was not totally to blame. Our family had always been considered eccentric. After Mariah, the town witch, was
threatened with stoning, our father gave her and her delinquent son Michael
sanctuary. On behalf of the
townsmen who had rallied in front of Joachim’s house, a small band of roughians
led by Reuben, the tanner, vowed to burn down our house. Before they could act upon their
threat, however, Cornelius, prefect of the Galilean Cohort, sent men to spirit
Mariah out of town. The prefect
also insured us that our family would be protected by his men. After Rueben and his cohorts, in
defiance of the Romans, set fire to Mariah’s house, Jesus prayed for rain. The skies opened up those moments,
flooding the gardens and collapsing the roofs of many homes. Reuben and his band became outlaws that
night. This event, together with
the unrest in Galilee, created a permanent presence of Roman sentries in
Nazareth and neighboring towns.
Though most Nazarenes begrudgingly accepted our protectors, many
townsmen remained resentful.
Though it all seemed to have started when Jesus cured that bird, several
elders blamed Joseph, his father, who had shielded a witch, collaborated with
Romans, and sired a heretic son.
“Because of the resentment in Nazareth, we had few friends. To find customers requiring carpentry,
Papa was forced to go to other towns.
His sons became outcasts in town.
Just when it seemed as though everyone had turned against us, however,
Samuel, a venerable Pharisee, befriended our family. Not only did he help find clients for Papa’s business, he
found a remedy for one of our family’s problems: Jesus. It was decided that Jesus would
accompany Samuel’s nephew Joseph of Arimathea on his trip, thereby removing
this reminder of our family’s eccentricity and also giving Jesus a chance to see
the world.
“With his controversial son out of town, things
quieted down for our family.
Father’s business increased, and his family’s prestige gradually began
to return. Jesus’ journey with
Joseph of Arimathea shaped his views about religion and the nature of God, and
yet the letters he sent to our family were considered too heretical to share
with anyone else. In deed, Jesus
said many strange things, but mostly his letters were filled with information
about his experiences and the places he had seen. In company with Joseph’s guards, he visited the Pharos
lighthouse and museum in Egypt, the great buildings of Greece and Rome, and
seen countless other wonders most Galileans would never see. During his
trip, as explained in his letters, Jesus’ notion of a universal God for Jew and
Gentile alike was shaped. This belief, shared by the Prophet Isaiah,
seemed to have been proven by his discovery of the pedestal for the Unknown God
in both Greece and Rome. Jesus had
written many controversial things in his letters, but this notion of the
universal God bothered James and Joseph the most. When Jesus returned home and shared his views with
listeners, the reminder of his heresy was rekindled in their minds. After all the Lord came to the Chosen
People, not pagans and Gentiles.
Had not the Jews been given the Promised Land?
“Make no mistake, my friends,” I said, slapping my
knee, “by the standards of Pharisees and rabbis, Jesus was and is heretic. For me the most incredible things in
his letters were not his views. I
had heard Jesus talking strangely many times before. It was those miraculous things forced upon him during his
odyssey with Joseph of Arimathea.
The third and fourth miracles after incident of the sparrow and the fire
at Mariah’s house occurred during his voyage to Greece and later on route Rome
when their ship almost capsized at the sea. Jesus tamed both storms with his prayers to God. Unfortunately, this caused jealousy
among the Pharisee’s sons, Matthias and Levi. When Jesus claimed that the pedestal to the unknown god was
proof of the Gentile yearning for a universal god, even the Pharisee, his
benefactor, rebuked him. He found
Jesus questioning nature annoying at times. Yet later, during a visit to one of Joseph’s clients in
Gaul, Levi, his youngest son, grew gravely ill. Close to death, Levi lingered in the dark place as Jesus
again prayed to God. The physician
called in to heal Joseph’s son had applied all of his medicine and science but
it took but a few words from my brother to bring him back to life. Joseph was jubilant, and yet his oldest
son Matthias was resentful of him, saying to Jesus, “who do you think you are
Beelzebub Lord of the Flies?” The
jealousy that he felt for my brother boiled to a head one day in Simon of Cyrene’s
garden when he physically attacked my brother. Jesus believed Matthias would have killed him. Once more, however, he called upon the
Lord, this time to cast out the demon in the Pharisee’s son—”
“Ah,
it is like the jinns,” Ibrim muttered to himself.
“How
many miracles is that now?” Fronto turned to Rufus.
“Six,”
Rufus muttered in disbelief, “...that’s more than Hercules!”
“Continue,”
Aulus said hoarsely.
“There’s
not much more,” I exhaled wearily, “at least not of a miraculous nature. Though he behaved himself, Matthias was
never the same after his exorcism.
Levi became Jesus’ friend.
During this visit, Jesus and Joseph’s guards explored the caves near Simon
of Cyrene’s estate where they found writings of the Old Ones, the people who
lived in Cyrene before the arrival of the Greeks from Thera. Jesus was interested in all knowledge,
from the most insignificant leaf lying in our yard to the Pharo Lighthouse,
which he and Joseph’s guards visited in Egypt. Nothing escaped his awe; everything, he believed, was part
of the Lord’s design.
“When Jesus returned from his odyssey he was different, much more mature, and
yet, in the most important ways, he was the same. He had learned, among many things, to keep his opinions to
himself until the right moment.
The mystical glow in his blue eyes when he left with Joseph of Arimathea
would return at times, but he had learned to laugh at himself. The urgency in his grasp of God and our
religion was replaced by conviction and patience in what he believed. I’m still not sure of his plan or what
he might do with his life, but he no longer took himself seriously. He accepted, with determination, his
responsibility as the oldest son, working faithfully to learn the trade of
carpentry in our father’s shop. To the annoyance of James and Joseph, he
quickly mastered this craft as he did everything else. As he assisted
Papa in the shop, he met new and old clients, who saw a side of him none of us
had seen. Instead of walking the hills in dreamy meditation or irritating
townsfolk with strange speech, Jesus concentrated on being a good carpenter and
becoming, to all appearances, an ordinary brother and son.” “This then,” I
almost whispered, “is the Jesus I left behind in Galilee...I pray to God that
what I fear the most has not turned our world upside down—”
“What
are you saying?” Aulus interrupted. “Is Jesus all right? Is someone ill?”
“If
my dreams are correct, yes—my father!” I looked away, fighting back tears.
“I’m
sorry we can’t go faster,” he consoled gently. “We’re taking the safest
route. We’ll try to cover as much
time as we can on the coast.”
“I dunno,” Fronto mumbled, scratching his beard, “I
think you made a mistake. Those
mules aren’t as important as your family.
You’re lucky to have one. I
would’ve sold them in Antioch and found passage on a ship.”
“They’re
all I have to show for this,” I replied, patting my mule and glancing
protectively back at the others. “I was nearly killed during my odyssey—several
times. I was treated horribly by
those men and almost made a slave...Yet I don’t regret it.” “I would never have
met you,” I said, looking around at the group. “My brother once told me that
true friendship is often more valuable than family. Blood is not the only bound. I will miss Decimus, Caesarius, and the others. Perhaps, if you’re still at the
Galilean fort, I’ll see you men again.
I don’t know if I’ll join Aurelian as a soldier scribe, but I’m glad I
became the owner of five mules. I
can’t conceive of not bringing these faithful beasts home.... They’re one of
the miracle experienced in my life.”
“Thaddeus,”
Aulus replied hesitantly, “...we’re not all staying in the Galilean fort. I’m retiring. If my orders are worth the paper they’re written on, I might
get a plot of land somewhere in Galilee or Judea. Aurelian’s seal is on the scroll.”
“I
haven’t made up my mind,” Fronto seemed conflicted. “According to our orders,
it’s up to us.”
“Well, I came too close to death this time.” Rufus
shook his head. “I might just muster out and work the docks in Joppa, until I
manage passage to Gaul.”
Ibrim, who appeared to be inebriated, laughed
foolishly, waving his small hands. “I am not a shepherd. I’ll never return to the herding or
farming, like my kinsmen—never.
The army is all I know.”
“Our family befriended a shepherd named Oudeh,” I
reflected for his benefit. “They seemed to be a happy lot, but the townsfolk in
Nazareth think they’re all a bunch of thieves.”
“Oudeh?” Ibrim made a face. “I have a uncle with a
similar name. Odeb was a drunkard,
who beat his wife, and chased off his children. He was an evil man!”
Ibrim was becoming progressively drunk, ranting
about his hatred of his family but also about his mistreatment in the
army. Fronto pointed out teasingly
that he, like his uncle Odeb, was becoming a drunkard too. Nothing was said about my narrative,
however. Until this small talk had
died down, I was certain that they were dodging the subject. Then, so typical of my Gentile friends,
they began idly commenting on the fantastic tales of my brother.
“Well, I’ve said enough about him,” I said,
shrugging my shoulders. “.... What happened after he came home might seem
rather boring.”
“Like I said before.” Aulus gave my mule a pat. “I
want to meet this miracle worker.
If I get myself a little plot of land, maybe he can build me a house.”
“You don’t believe me,” I concluded glumly. “Very
few people do.”
“As Ibrim said,” he quoted him, “I believe you
believe it. We Romans have to see
things for ourselves.”
“I want to believe you,” I heard Fronto utter, “but
it’s too fantastic to believe.”
“What is real?” Ibrim muttered aloud. “The mind plays tricks on us. The heart is our greatest guide.”
What
Ibrim said was true. In fact,
Jesus had said as much himself. I
glanced back at Ibrim with a smile.
I knew Aulus wasn’t serious about Jesus building him a house. Like Rufus and Fronto, he looked very
tired, worn out by his service to Rome.
Perhaps to drown his own unhappiness, Ibrim had taken to strong
drink. I said a prayer for my friends. I felt sorry for these men, especially
Aulus, who would be given a pittance for his long service. As the road narrowed sharply and we
could smell the Great Sea, our small band lapsed into silence, each of us
wrapped in our own thoughts. Had I
made an impact upon them with my stories about Jesus? I asked myself.
So far the answer seemed to be no, but then as Rufus’ horse trotted up
alongside of me, he leaned discreetly to the side as he held his reins, and I
heard him say in a low voice as if he didn’t want the others to hear, “I
believe you Thaddeus. When you go
home to Nazareth, I’m going home too.
I’m finished with the army—this life isn’t for me, but I have a feeling
our paths will cross again. I
think someday I will meet your brother too. This god you speak of has given him great power. I want to know this man!”
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