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Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Samuel’s
Homecoming Feast
The
event held in my honor at Samuel’s estate filled me with misgivings. I reminded both Jesus and my mother
that most of our friends and neighbors might not understand my association and
exploits with uncircumcised pagans, but we felt obliged to attend. Samuel had supported my parents when
most of the townsmen had turned against them. He was, considering the many projects he has given our
carpentry business, a benefactor for our family. He was responsible for introducing his nephew, Joseph of
Aramithea to Jesus and encouraging his nephew to take Jesus along on his
travels, which, along with his loyalty to our family, helped both my parents
and Jesus’ reputation in town.
“Drink
lots of wine,” Simon whispered to me, as we walked as a group to Samuel’s
house.
“I
plan to!” I said from the corner of my mouth.
Jesus
looked back at me that moment as if he had overheard this exchange, but he said
nothing. As he and Mama guided
Papa by his frail arms, Jesus, like Mama, was more concerned with Papa’s
health. Against the physician’s
advice, Papa insisted on attending Samuel’s party. Jesus and my parents were, I was certain, also concerned
about the guests at Samuel’s feast.
If Ezra’s reaction was any indication, the dining hall would be filled
with curious and suspicious townsfolk.
Fortunately, only my family and, thanks to my big mouth, Tabitha, knew
the full story. According to
Mordechai, Samuel’s chamberlain, only those townsfolk considered to be our
family’s friends had been invited, yet there were men, walking among the guests,
who had recently protested the presence of Gentiles in our house. Tabitha had been invited because she
was once a member of our household, as were Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz,
accompanying their parents, who were now on good terms with our family.
In
away, I wished my friends hadn’t been invited. If wine loosened her tongue, as it often did to mine,
Tabitha might disclose details about my ordeal. I should never have divulged those embarrassing details to
her or bragged to Jethro, Obadiah, and Boaz. I didn’t want my fair-weather friends to make a big fuss
about my fighting skills or the guests at the party to know that I had been
paraded naked, like a prize pig, on the auction block.
In
spite of my misgivings, I was proud to have Tabitha at my side as our party
paraded up to Samuel’s house. Now
that Tabitha lived with her uncle and was a young woman, Mama had been forced
to accept her as my special friend.
Everyone in our group, family and friends alike, were in a happy,
carefree mood. It was, in one
respect, as if I had never left.
Though I felt different inside, Nazareth—it’s people and buildings—were
exactly the same. Unfortunately,
James and Joseph, always complaining and finding fault with their plight in
life, also hadn’t changed.
Although they enjoyed Samuel’s feasts, they acted as if it was all a
great chore. Before we left the
house, they had been instructed by our parents to put on a good face for my
benefit. Their main grievance was
against Jesus but they also resented me.
I had been allowed to traipse along with Gentiles on an apparently
aimless adventure, not following the law, returning contaminated and
unrepentant; yet here I was the guest of honor at Samuel’s feast. Joseph, of course, was especially
resentful. At least James, like
myself, had struck out awhile on his own, while he had been forbidden to
leave. James, for his part, though
he had been studying the law in Jerusalem and dutifully returned to help in the
shop, received no welcoming party.
I couldn’t blame them for their resentment; I just hoped they, like
Tabitha and loud-mouthed Boaz, held their tongues.
On
the way there, which took time because of Papa’s insistence on walking on his
own two legs, a few young people tried fishing for information but Jesus fended
them off with his clever wit. When
Jethro, as expected, asked what it felt like to kill a man, Jesus answered him,
in the Jewish manner, with a question, “How would you feel, if it was you?” Malachi, perhaps influenced by his
father Eleazar, asked a more serious question, “Will you be purified in the
temple after your association with Gentiles,” and Jesus gave him an answer I
would one day hear as an apostle, “the temple won’t wipe away your sins. Whitened sepulchers appear clean but
are decayed and corrupted within.”
Then suddenly big, lumbering Boaz, appeared with his parents by the
road, and hollered, “There’s Jude, the warrior, who fought the desert people
and killed two of their men!” To
Jesus and my parents’ dismay, it was Simon, who cried out, “No, Jude killed
eight men, six of them at one time!”
This
would set the tone for the conversation at our feast. As we approached Samuel’s estate, I noticed that the
venerable Habakkuk was walking alongside of his friend Ebenezer and his wife. Several other elders and their wives
had, in fact, joined our procession.
By the time we arrived at Samuel’s great oak door, our assembly had
grown considerably. Already,
thanks to Jethro and Malachi’s questions and Simons boast, there was an
undercurrent of discord in our ranks.
“Is
it true?” Ezra asked Papa as we
waited to be seated in the main hall. “Did Jude really do that?”
“Simon,
you dolt!” Papa snapped.
“Malachi’s
correct,” Ichabod, the merchant, said in a kindly voice. “Jude has spilled much
blood.”
“Joseph’s
not well.” Mama hugged Papa protectively. “Let’s not dredge this up.”
“That
remark about whitened sepulchers,” Habakkuk murmured, as he took a seat across
from Jesus. “…. You didn’t mean the temple, did you?”
“Remember.”
Jesus bent forward discreetly. “…. It’s merely stone. Men built the temple.”
“Where
did you read that?” Habakkuk bristled. “That’s not written in the Torah.”
“The
Spirit moved me,” Jesus whispered faintly. “…You understand that.”
“Yes,
of course,” the old man nodded, stroking his beard, “…the Spirit…I remember.”
Jesus
had been referring to that time, shortly after returning from his journey with
Joseph of Aramithea, when he gave a sermon to the townsfolk and came to that
part about the Book of Life.
Habakkuk, who had questioned him the most that day, gradually mellowed
in his disagreement with Jesus on several of Jesus’ heretical views. When he asked, as he had just then in
Samuel’s house, where Jesus found this information, Jesus explained that it was
revealed by the Spirit, which he explained that day was the living Word of
God. Greatly perplexed, Habakkuk
had asked Jesus if he was in the Book of Life, and Jesus told him that he had
nothing to fear. Those earlier
words from Jesus’ sermon, though unsaid, were understood in the old man’s
eyes.
Because I sat
close to Jesus, I heard this exchange.
Habakkuk nodded silently.
I’m not sure whether anyone else heard their words. Soon, in a quivering voice, as two
servants held him up by his elbows, Samuel was saying the Shema, then, after
garbling through it, signaling for his chamberlain to give us a speech. In the company of our family’s friends,
Mordechai officially, in glowing terms, welcomed me back to Nazareth. For the remainder of the meal, our host
reclined on a couch, too weak to sit for even a short while. I had been
nervous after hearing all the chatter in the room, but I felt suddenly peaceful
that moment. My family had a great
Pharisee as its benefactor. What
did I have to fear with Jesus as my brother? Throughout my perilous journey, thoughts of him had
comforted me and kept me from going mad.
Had we been alone I would have embraced my oldest brother. In all his infirmities Samuel had kept
himself alive because of a vow he made the day Jesus left on his odyssey. He promised to stay alive until Jesus
went on his mission. No one,
apparently not Jesus, himself, knew when and what that would be. Yet it occurred to me that moment that
this day was not far off. Not long
ago, Mordechai, the chamberlain, and Abner, Samuel’s first physician, had
admitted to my parents that Samuel was living by God’s grace.
I realized then that something was happening to Jesus now
that I was home. After I worked
hard at my job in an effort to live up to his expectations, I noticed this
change. Perhaps, I had reasoned,
my enthusiasm had taken a load off his mind. Mama told me that my return had been like a balm to him. What I saw tonight, however, was
something more. That dreamy look I
once saw in Jesus’ eyes had been absent for a long time. Now, here at Samuel’s feast, his eyes
flashed. Had that brief, discreet
conversation with Habakkuk brought it back? Or was it something else? The Jesus I had seen in my visions had been under great
duress. For the first few days
after I returned, there was a worried, almost frantic look on his face as we
worked to meet the schedule, but, as I applied myself in the shop, that
expression soon disappeared. “Jude, the little warrior, is back!” he would
tease me. With all four of his
brothers helping him in the carpentry business, how could we fail?
Habakkuk could not have
known Jesus was, in fact, the Living Word. For that matter, no one, except Jesus, himself, could have
fully understood what he meant by the Holy Spirit. Learned men, for all their knowledge of the Torah, were
blinded by tradition and details of the Law. Yet the Book of Life, in which was written his name,
Habakkuk chose to believe. This
moved Jesus greatly as he saw illumination in the old man’s eyes. That day at the feast, I could not
imagine what Jesus purpose or mission in the world would be or know how much
our efforts would be accelerated to the meet deadlines Jesus set for himself,
but I knew those moments, as I listened to Mordechai speak, that the day was
coming…. It was just a matter of time.
As I thought about Jesus
quiet discussion with Habakkuk, Tabitha whispered foolishness into my ear:
“Jude, the Gentile killer!”
“I’m no such thing,” I
whispered defensibly. “Many Gentiles are my friends!”
Jesus elbowed me gently,
placing a finger before his lips.
Malachi, who sat beside Habakkuk had overheard me too.
“What did Jude say?” he
muttered to Ebenezer. “Did he say that he has Gentile friends?”
Ebenezer looked across the
table at me and shrugged. “I’m going deaf, Malachi. Mostly, I see lips moving and heads nodding. If he was in the company of Roman
soldiers, of course he was among Gentiles!”
During
this muted exchange, I could hear the chamberlain extol my great
adventure. Perhaps, at Samuel or
my parents’ request, he gave no details of my trip, only a vague outline of how
I began my journey with fellow travelers in Galilee and, after traveling to
Tarsus with a merchant Pharisee, wound up returning whence I came. Polite applause followed. No one believed this watered down
summary of my adventure. I was
certain that the topic of conversation might gravitate to Jesus, if Habakkuk
chose to discuss Jesus’ heretical words, but the old man sat in thoughtful
silence, as the servants brought our food and poured our wine. It was, during the munching, slurping,
and burping at Samuel’s feast, that the whispers back and forth about Papa’s
sickly pallor and his errant son, erupted sporadically into remarks and
questions aimed at my father but mostly at me.
“Joseph,” Jubal called from
end of the table, “I heard your shop’s doing great now that Jude’s back.”
“Yes, yes,” Papa replied
thinly, “he’s a great help.”
“You think you’re going to
make a carpenter out of Jude?”
“Yes, yes, a fine
carpenter.”
“You don’t look good.” I heard
Mama say.
“Welcome back Jude!” Naomi,
Ezra’s wife, chimed.
“Yes, Jude,” Nathaniel
chortled, “you had yourself quite a romp.
I heard you’re quite handy with the sword!”
“Well, I suppose,” I said,
looking into my mug, “…. I learned a few tricks.”
“I’m not surprised,”
muttered Jesse. “Had his own band of rascals, that Jude. He’s a sly one—a real scrapper!”
“Awe, that’s not true,”
Tabitha purred into my ear, “Ju-ju’s a lamb.”
“Well,” Jared, who sat next
to Mama commented, “I think he’s a fine lad. He’ll be a fine carpenter someday!”
Though I appreciated his
support, I cringed at the thought.
Jared, Tabitha’s uncle, after years if being a drunk, was one of the few
speakers who were sober. Most of
the others sounded tipsy. Some of
them grew obnoxious.
“Is what Simon said true?”
Malachi asked, gulping down his wine. “You really kill those men?”
“Yup,” Ichabod said with a
belch, “eight of’em, that’s what he said.”
“Humph,” snorted Caleb.
“Jethro said it was only two.”
“Simon’s a fool,” I muttered
to myself. “Why’d he tell them that?”
“Which is it, Jude,”
Ichabod’s friend Adonijah called out, “two or eight?”
I recoiled at their
scrutiny. Jesus patted my hand as
more diners commented on my adventure with Gentiles. When I remained silent for a few moments, Jeroboam and Isaac
began asking James and Joseph questions about my journey. I tried filtering it out by
humming to myself. Though I was
feeling my wine, I managed, with Jesus restraining hand, to hold my tongue, but
I was greatly annoyed with many of Samuel’s guests.
“Why are you humming to
yourself?” Tabitha asked with a giggle. “You sound deranged.”
“They
want me tell all,” I looked into her green eyes. “Promise me you won’t tell what I told you, Tabitha!”
Mama bent forward, after
yanking my shirt, and whispered to Tabitha and me. “Don’t say a word—not one word!”
“I won’t.” I sighed. “Simon
will do it for me.”
“Me neither,” promised
Tabitha.
“And why not?” Boaz, who was
eavesdropping, piped. “He should be proud!”
“Hah,” snorted Jeroboam,
half-seriously, “eight men aren’t so much. Samson killed more men than that!”
“Samson wasn’t very bright,”
grumbled Caleb. “He was fooled by a woman…blinded and made a slave.”
In an attempt to redirect
the conversation, Mordechai stood up and spoke directly to Papa.
“Joseph,” he said, glancing
sympathetically my way, “you have a fine bunch of sons. They’re all going to be fine
carpenters.”
“Not Jude,” crowed Boaz,
“he’s a warrior!”
“Shut up,” Horib scolded his
son, “that’s quite enough!”
“Jude is an amazing lad,”
Papa was saying weakly to Mordechai, “and he wants to move on.... It’s too soon
for him to relive his ordeal.”
“Ordeal, what ordeal?”
Malachi looked around the table. “I thought it was an adventure.”
Papa
slip was as great as Simon’s. Not
only did I kill eight men, I had suffered an ‘ordeal.’ On the one hand, I would have to relate
the miraculous even at the imperial station. On the other hand, I would be forced tell them about my
humiliating experience as a slave.
Neither of these episodes did I want to explain. Ebenezer, who could scarcely hear,
himself, was, like Mordechai, and some of the other guests, also sympathetic,
and yet he only made matters worse.
“Jude,”
he said, raising his mug, “tell them in your own words what happened on your
trip. Get it off your chest!”
“Yes, get it off your
chest,” Ichabod seconded.
“Tell us what really
happened.” Malachi sneered. “Did you really kill eight men?”
Several other voices echoed
their sentiment, including a few of the wives and their children. At that point, Jesus stood up,
conflicted by his own belief to always tell the truth, and shouted:
“Silence! The intention of this
feast is to welcome Jude back into our town. It’s not an inquisition. Enough of the story has been told. Looking back into your lives, don’t you have memories you
want to keep to yourself? How many
of you have done hurtful things to your family or neighbors or done
embarrassing things you’d rather forget.
The Lord knows Jude’s travail, just as he knows each of your distress.”
“Let us toast Jude for coming back alive and well and rejoining our town!” He
raised his mug in salute.
Everyone, even my critics,
stood up then and held up their mugs.
Afterwards, after a closing prayer by the chamberlain, the guests filed
out gradually, many of them squeezing my hand or patting my shoulder. Jesus had shut them all up by reminding
them of their own secrets. He had
also made them feel ashamed. From
that day forward, only my family and Tabitha, daughter of Jared, the baker,
knew of my ordeal. The miraculous
aspect of my killing of eight men, which no one would believe, was also kept
secret. Our host and his
chamberlain received everyone’s thanks and well wishes as they left the
hall. Taking him aside, I thanked
Mordechai especially for his judiciousness in how he told my story. Samuel’s guests now returned to their
humdrum lives. On the way to our
humble home, Mama and Jesus again guided Papa on the dusty road, James and
Joseph chatted with their friends, and I walked in silence beside Tabitha
holding her hand.
******
The first thing that I did
that evening, after walking Tabitha home, was check on my mules. The enclosure we had built for my five
beasts was working out quite well.
Fortunately, all five mules were males, so the herd would remain small
and not become a burden to our household.
There was abundant grass on our property as well as other succulent
plants for fodder. The three boys Jesus
hired to feed and water the animals had been eager to exploit their business
success and returned frequently, themselves, to check on my mules. Upon entering the gate, the first one I
fed a handful of grass to was Gladius, my personal mount. After stroking the faithful mule
awhile, I gave my other animals the same treatment. Because of the outcome of the party (thanks to Jesus), I
felt at peace, especially here with my pets. Absorbed those moments with memories of my journey, I stared
unseeing into space. I was,
because of God’s design and perhaps a bit of blind luck, alive today. What kept me sane, however, were
thoughts of my family…and Jesus working in the shop.
That moment, quite
coincidentally or by plan, a shadow stretched across the ground. One day, I’m certain now, it will
stretch across the world. That day
he was still Jesus, my oldest brother.
He stood there in the yard, a distinctive silhouette against the evening
sun. He had been studying me that
moment. Shutting the gate behind
me, I walked toward him.
His first words were, “I
don’t know who I am, Jude…. I never told anyone this. It would make people think I’m insane. The truth is I think God has a plan for
both of us. What it is, though, is
in God’s mind.”
“I thought you knew
everything,” I laughed softly. “…You don’t know who you are? You’re Jesus, the
carpenter of Nazareth.”
“For now, Jude.” He laughed,
draping his arm around my shoulder, “…But we’re on God’s time. He controls our steps.”
******
That night, after supper,
all of us sat at the kitchen table discussing Samuel’s feast. James and Joseph, though occasionally
gloomy, had stopped complaining, at least around Jesus. Accept for the discussion at the party,
in which they tried dodging questions about my trip, they let the subject drop. Not once, in fact, since I came home
did they openly criticize my association with Gentiles or ask me more questions
about my ordeal. Simon apologized
to me for his lapse of judgment but no one scolded him after his show of
remorse. Martha and Abigail had
looked at me with awe before. I
wasn’t sure whether it might not also be shock. But I was just Jude again. I was home to stay now. On that evening when Papa was still with us, they were young
girls again, giggling and teasing me about holding hands with Tabitha. I was glad Tabitha no longer lived with
us. If I courted her, as I planned
on doing, it would be awkward, much like romancing one of my sisters. It would be no more acceptable to
Mama than it had been before.
Papa reclined on a special
cot Jesus had improvised for him that allowed him to both lie down, and when a
lever was moved, notch up the cot until he was in a sitting position. In my lifetime I’ve never seen anything
like it again. Jesus explained
that it would be too expensive to recreate and make a profit. Until he left us, in fact, we built
inexpensive furniture, repaired broken pieces, and worked on larger projects
such as Samuel’s new stables, which gave the business the greatest
revenue. When the topic changed to
business, however, we grew increasingly drowsy.
“Have you worked on the
stables again?” Papa asked, as we sat drinking our punch.
“Tomorrow, Papa.” Jesus
reached down to pat his shaking hand. “I must first take measurements for the
gates. They’ll be completed
soon. Our latest project was finished
yesterday. We’re on schedule,
Papa. James, Joseph, Simon, and
Jude have been a big help. We’re
free to finish the stables now.”
“We’re not free; we’re
Jesus’ slaves,” Joseph whispered to James.
No one seemed to have heard
him except James and I. As Papa
and Jesus discussed the plans for completing Samuel’s stables, which Jesus
designed, himself, Joseph cupped his hand over James’ ear to elaborate on his
grievance. I was impressed with my
oldest brother’s ability to sketch out precisely the design we had
followed. Now that this project was
nearly completed, I wondered anew if there was anything Jesus couldn’t do. Though he might not lie, he had
stretched the truth about James, Joseph, and Simon’s help in the shop. At most, their work was adequate, when
they were actually working. They kept
their complaints to themselves, but did no more work than was necessary,
slacking off when Jesus wasn’t around.
Most seriously, was the probability that none of them wanted to stay any
longer than they had to before going their own ways.
Once more I felt sorry for
Jesus, vowing once again, as I watched him humor Papa that I, Jude, his
youngest brother, if no one else, would stand fast. In spite of their marginal efforts and tacit obedience, our
brothers were shirkers, who had no intention of staying put. Jesus must have felt their resentment,
especially Joseph’s. Yet against
my advice, he refused to inform on them.
It would, he explained to me in private, only make them more resentful
if he told Papa. So here I was, I
thought, sitting with the people who mattered most in the world. How could I be conflicted and feel such
peace? James and Joseph were
plunged into gloomy silence and Simon guzzled down punch as if it was wine, as
I tried to keep a happy face. Mama
paused in her conversation with Jesus and Papa, to comment on my progress in my
work. How ironic I thought, as I
thanked her, wishing, like Simon, that I could get tipsy tonight. Because of my oath to Jesus, I was a
prisoner, if not a slave, in the shop. I was still an apprentice. In the near future, however, I would, Jesus promised, become
a full-fledged carpenter…. Moses bones!
I mentally groaned. My life
was not my own! For Jesus had a
great destiny; I knew this now.
When that day came, as I knew it would, I would be forced to stay. I was certain that Joseph would leave
at the first opportunity and James would return to his studies with
Nicodemus. Without Jesus
restraining hand, even Simon might strike out on his own, as I had, leaving me
alone in the business. Since
Papa’s health only seemed to worsen, I might become Nazareth’s only
carpenter.
I shuddered at the thought,
and yet strangely enough, as I contemplated what, in my normal frame of mind,
should be a dreaded fate, the possibilities this afforded didn’t seem that bad. Jesus had taught me all the basics of
woodworking. He had more faith in
me than I did myself. To my
surprise, I was turning out to be a fair carpenter. Someone had to keep the business going in order to take care
of my family. Why not me? After all, there was, in addition to my
parents and sisters, Tabitha and my mules to consider. When I compared what I had in Nazareth
to what I might have riding as a soldier scribe with the legions, it seemed
clear enough—a known future was weighed against an uncertain path. Nevertheless, the wanderlust of seeing
the world would return at times, as I toiled at my work. The thought that I might one day strike
out on my own again would take a hold of me and fill me with mixed
emotions. I would recall my
adventures with my Gentile friends but also my ordeal with Hamid and his men,
balancing the good with the bad.
At one point, I had only my mules as friends. My dreams of Jesus and the carpenter’s shop had kept me from
going mad. When Elisha, the merchant Pharisee, rescued me from slavery, I felt
as if I had been given second chance.
My desire to return home to my family was, for a while, my only goal,
until Aurelian, prefect of the Antioch Cohort, made me a tempting offer. After all my disappointments, I could,
whenever I had enough of Nazareth, return to him with the promissory scroll,
given to me before I left the Antioch fort, to fulfill my fondest dream. I didn’t have to return next month or
even this year. There was still
time. The scroll was open-ended…or
so I thought.
“Jude, Jude,” Jesus broke
into my reverie, “…. come down to earth. You’re home now, not on the road…”
Awakening from my daydream,
I looked up from the table at his smiling face, realizing as I sat amongst my
family that Jesus was right. It
was where I belonged. I was home,
and that is where I must stay.
******
In the months following
Samuel’s feast and subsequent to my return home, my brothers and I continued to
work as apprentices to the oldest son.
I convinced myself to give up my dreams (at least for awhile) and
became, to James and Joseph’s disgust, Jesus’ right hand man. I toiled diligently during this
period. When I wasn’t in the shop
or with my family, I was with Tabitha or my mules. When I wasn’t with them, I was strolling the hills of
Nazareth, occasionally in the company of my fair-weather friends, Jethro,
Obadiah, and Boaz, who continued to question me about my adventures. I would give the same “safe” answers
during each meeting, until finally, their visits grew infrequent and they
ceased probing my past. In fact,
except a few random visits by Boaz, the visits ended completely. It appeared that I was still tainted in
the minds of Gideon and his friends, but most of the townsfolk of Galilee left
me alone. Gradually, they accepted
me, without questions or quizzical looks.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t accepted myself. Who was I now—Jude the carpenter or Jude the adventurer, a
young man who killed eight men?
For brief moments my mind would return to the dusty roads of Galilee,
desert of Syria, and sojourn with the merchant Pharisee to Tarsus where I met
Saul. It seemed understandable
that I missed my Gentile friends and even the narrow-minded Pharisee who saved
my life, but why did I think about Saul of Tarsus? My future was here in Nazareth. Why did I ponder upon a lost
dream? That my future would
include that strange young man would never have occurred to me, and yet I
thought of him often. I also
thought about Aurelian’s scroll.
I had begun to pray for
guidance, especially in the company of my pets. Of all the compromises I had made in my service to
Jesus, they were non-negotiable. I
would not, as James suggested, sell them to Menalech, just because he had the
facilities to take care of my mules.
My pets would not be rented out as pack animals as Menalech would do;
they were retired from such hard labor.
They had earned a long rest.
James told me that my beasts were my link to my past and I had to break
the link to move on, but Jesus, himself, said no such thing. Like me, he loved animals. The very thought of the Temple
sacrifice made him sick. The fact
was, of course, my mules were a link to my great adventure. They had, along with my dreams during
my ordeal, kept me sane.
Though I had to relinquish
my dreams of becoming a soldier scribe, each day I spent with my family,
Tabitha, and my mules, reminded me of how fortunate I was just to be alive.
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