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Chapter
Thirty-Nine
The Bosom of Abraham
When we arrived home, Martha
and Abigail were weeping and wringing their hands. Papa was nowhere in sight. Mama ran immediately into their room and let out a chilling
scream. All of us knew immediately
what was wrong. Suddenly everyone,
except Jesus who managed to keep his head, were wailing and gnashing their
teeth.
“Make him better, Jesus,
your prayers are strong,” she begged pitifully.
“I can’t,” he said, weeping
silently, “…Papa’s dead. He’s now
in a better place. You shall see
him again. We will all see him
again…Let us gather around him and offer our prayers.”
“Words,
always words,” Joseph spat. “We should never have gone to Uriah’s house. It was too much for Papa’s heart.”
“It was his time,” Jesus
said calmly, “the Lord’s will.”
“Hah,” James cried bitterly,
“you don’t know that. Why did he
take our father and not Joachim and his fat son?”
Mama pulled the blanket over Papa’s face as James, Joseph,
and Simon wailed and gnashed their teeth, then fell piteously on top of him,
sobbing uncontrollably as Jesus and I looked on. Upon this act of finality, our brothers ran into the
backyard, overcome with grief. I
was numb with grief, myself, yet I followed Jesus example and kept my head. I wanted to comfort Mama, but I didn’t
know how. Her longtime husband and
confidant was dead. When I reached
down to comfort her, she turned and spat at me like a cat.
I had never seen her like
this. Her voice sounded like a
curse. “Bah!” she hissed. “James’ right.
Why would God take Papa, a righteous man and not that old rabbi and his
son? You should never have left
Jude. You were always a willful
child. It was too much for your
father’s heart!”
“Mama,” Jesus said in my
defense, “that’s not true. Papa
gave his blessing when Jude left, and he’s returned—”
“Hah,” she cut him off
bitterly, “and how long will it be before he runs off on another adventure? Oh yes, I heard him boasting to
Simon. Did you know that the
prefect of Antioch offered him a job. Of course you do Jesus; you know everything. I’ve seen that wonder-lust look in Jude’s
eyes—”
Mama caught herself, brought
her fist up to her mouth, and let out a muffled scream. Despite her present delusion, she was
more observant than I had imagined.
Though I wasn’t trying to brag to Simon at the time, I shouldn’t have
told him about the scroll Aurelian gave me. Simon couldn’t keep a secret. I should have destroyed the scroll, but I couldn’t. Mama’s suspicions were correct: I was
still tempted. The scroll
was, despite everything I endured, a trophy, symbolizing a turning point in my
life. When I attempted an apology,
it caught in my throat. All I
could manage was “Uh, I’m sorry.”
For an indeterminate period, as my mind reeled with her rebuke, I
listened to Jesus’ prayer, which sounded almost too eloquent for the occasion:
“Lord, you who created the
heavens and earth and made man and beasts, accept the soul of this righteous
man, the husband of our mother, our father, and faithful friend of many, that
someday we shall join him in paradise….”
On and on Jesus prayed,
covering a long list of Papa’s deeds on behalf of family and friends, until
Mama had heard enough. Raising her
hands and shaking her head, she rose up shakily with our help.
“Jesus, Jesus, Joseph is
right this time—enough with the words.
We know your father’s in heaven.
Must you go on so? Let me
have my grief,” “…alone!” she added, pointing to the door.
“Very well.” Jesus bowed.
I
was now doubly stunned. First Mama
rebuked me, now Jesus. She was
obviously not in her right frame of mind.
We returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table deeply
troubled. After a short while, our
brothers and sisters (who had fled to the front yard) straggled dejectedly into
the house, but no one, not even Jesus spoke. Our Jewish custom of burial loomed ominously in our minds,
unsaid but hanging as a shadow in our small house. Although the preparation of the dead and funeral ceremony
itself were sacred and reverential, the burial was an awful affair. According to custom, we had one day to
bury Papa. That was a law of our
people. I remember how everyone
scrambled around frantically to organize the funeral and burial of my friend
Nehemiah. What followed this haste
to get him into the ground was a gloomy ceremony—one of the worst memories of
my life. The Romans, on the
other hand, I learned from Decimus and Aulus, were in no hurry to bury the
dead. This was true, I learned,
for other pagans as well.
According to Fronto, the Thracian ceremonies he recalled were almost a
festive affair. For the Romans,
the corpse was, as in Jewish manner, washed and dressed in its finest clothes,
but lie in state for eight days, instead of one, allowing a transitional period
as relatives and friends paid their respects. Upon the eighth day, instead of being rushed through a
funeral, patricians and plebeians alike were paraded to the funeral pyre or
burial site accompanied by musicians, mourners, and guests. In addition to my friend’s burial, I
had witnessed a few townsfolk and my aunt’s funeral—none of which were anything
but a grim display of grief, rather than the celebrations given by Gentile
peoples. Of course, I kept these
heretical thoughts to myself.
As
Mama carried on in the next room, Jesus stood up, now fully in charge. His voice carried the authority it
would have when James and I were his disciples. This time there was no grumbling from James and Joseph.
“James,
go inform Rabbi Aaron. Joseph—you
go to Ezra’s house. Mama will need
his wife Naomi. You Simon and Jude
must spread the word. Don’t simply
go to our friends houses; go to Gideon and his friends’ houses. This includes Joachim’s house. Uriah might not be able to attend, but
he deserves to know.” “When Mama calls you to the room, you Martha and Abigail
must give her your support. You
must be strong. All of you must be
strong during this dark hour.”
******
And
so it happened—the day we had dreaded: Papa’s weak heart had finally given
out. Many would say that he had
gone to the Bosom of Abraham—an ill defined place where the righteous dwelled. Though rabbis and Pharisees believed in
an afterlife, as did the common people, the Jewish concept of heaven had, until
Jesus explained it, seemed strange and inadequate. There was Gahenna, called Hades by the Greeks, the abode of wicked
souls, more clearly defined by the Torah, and a dark, mysterious place called
Sheol where both the righteous and unrighteous dead were kept, but no Elysian
Fields, as in Greek mythology.
Before Jesus defined the afterlife for his family, then for his
disciples, who spread the doctrine of eternal life to Jews and Gentiles alike,
the afterlife had been a shadowy realm.
Even during that hour, as we began our grim tasks, and in spite of Jesus
vision imparted to us of Paradise, I was unsure where our father was. I had felt the same way when Nehemiah
died and, for that matter, when those filthy bandits butchered and ate one of
my mules.
Where
did they really go? I wondered fleetingly, scanning the sky, while following
Simon down the main road. Was it
up there in the sky, as Jesus implied, when he raised his eyes heavenward to
pray….Or was the Land of the Dead located in the underworld as many pagans
believed? After all of my talks
with Jesus and his efforts to turn me into a right-thinking Jew, I was thinking
like a Gentile again. Because of
my association with Roman, Greek, and Eastern pagans, cynicism had tainted my
views. Not one Gentile had
accepted my harsh, invisible god.
I had seen too many men die with little or no ceremony to not feel
cynical myself. Nevertheless,
regardless of my doubts and despite the mystery of death, I knew the Sadducees
were wrong. It didn’t end with the
grave. However strange and
unknowable it might be, there was an afterlife. Jesus, though not clear about the matter, had said so,
himself…Papa was there now waiting for us.
When
I related my thoughts to Simon, he laughed hysterically at my foolishness. We were on a gloomy, unchartered course
in our lives. Simon was the least
philosophical person I had ever known, the last person for which to air such
views, but I felt a sudden, comforting illumination in sharing my feelings with
him.
“What
does it matter, Jude,” he scoffed, “right now, in this life, Papa’s dead.”
“No,
only his body,” I insisted, “the Spirit is immortal. Jesus told me this.
Wherever Papa is, he’s at peace.
There’s no dark sleep, Simon.
Death brings peace.”
One
day, as a disciple, I would share this insight with Jesus. Simon seemed to feel little comfort at
my words. At each house we stopped
at, we took turns delivering Jesus simple message: “Joseph, the carpenter, our
father, is dead. Please be at the
synagogue by noon.” Everyone we
contacted, even Papa’s enemies and fair-weather friends, showed some level of
shock, sadness, and disbelief. For
Samuel, a benefactor for our family, we were afraid that the news might be too
much for him, so we left the message with Mordechai, his chamberlain, who,
after renting his tunic, openly wept.
Several of our friends also wept.
We were aided in our grim tasks by the three boys who watered and fed my
mules. I gave them a few coins,
instructing them what to say to the townsfolk in their sector of the town. After completing their errands, James
and Joseph also joined us in our mission.
For the remainder of that hour the four of us covered the remainder of
Nazareth. When we were almost
certain that every household had been notified, we returned home. From a distance, we heard that eerie
wail women: Mama, joined by two or three of her friends, we could not tell
whom. Jesus told us to wait in the
shop, until it was time for the funeral.
After meeting the rabbi at the synagogue for instructions, several men
would volunteer for grave-digging, while the remaining townsfolk would visit
our home to pay their respects. As
my brothers and I waited in the shop for this first ordeal to be completed, we
were hailed by visitors from the road.
Men and women who had shunned our family in the past were now our long
lost friends. It made me
sick. Where were they when Papa
was alive?
In
spite of my excellent memory, everything seemed muddled that day. In accordance with Jewish custom, Papa
had been washed, dresses in best garments, then wrapped in a shroud—all of this
done without my brothers and my help.
Even Jesus was prevented from interfering with this important rite. Except in later years during Lazarus’
funeral, I never heard so much wailing from women, and it didn’t stop at our
house. All the way to the
gravesite near Samuel’s estate, and during the ceremony conducted by Rabbi
Aaron at the synagogue, women who had never visited our house wept and pounded
their temples. Several of Papa’s
men friends rent their clothes as a sign of grief, but never carried on like
that. I remember Jesus praying at
the gravesite as he had for Nehemiah and, of course, Aaron’s eloquent sermon,
and I was surprised to see the old rabbi in the synagogue paying his
respects. All my thoughts,
however, became jumbled that moment Papa was lowered into his grave. After it was all over, I, like my
brothers, walked around in a daze.
Our
father was dead. Mama was a mental
wreck. Our home was visited by a
stream of mourners, many of whom had never been our friends. Even considering the crises our family
faced in the past, these were the darkest days of our lives. James and Joseph now felt trapped in
the carpenter shop. On the very
day of the funeral, out of earshot of Jesus, I heard them talking about leaving
home. Even Simon threatened to run
away. If it hadn’t been for the
promise I had made to Jesus, I would have been tempted myself. The scroll given to me by Aurelian
beckoned me now. It was a way out
of this humdrum life. Yet,
during the prescribed period of mourning, as disheartened as we felt, we tried
to comfort our mother as much as possible and stay close to home. Throughout it all, Jesus must have
known about our feelings. On the
third day of visitation, several unexpected townsmen arrived at our house. Jesus had closed the carpenter’s shop
during this time. Fearful that his
brothers might rebuke Mama’s guests, Jesus gathered us together and led us into
the backyard. I entered the
enclosure and stroked each of my pets, focusing my attention upon the one that
carried me so far. James, Joseph,
and Simon reached in that moment to pat a mule, while Jesus chatted lightly
about human nature.
“Tell
me,” he asked, raising two fingers, “Why does it take death to bring us
together? What is it about simple
folk that brings the best out of them at such a time?”
“Hah!” Joseph tossed his head. “We’re not
together. Many of them are the
same, mean-spirited souls!”
“Yes,
Jesus.” James made a face. “I saw Ethan approaching our house, and what’s that
old bag of wind Gideon doing in our home?
They’re not Papa’s friends!”
“Perhaps
guilt.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Why else would they come around?”
“Just
maybe,” Simon suggested half-seriously, “they want to make sure he’s dead.”
“Shame
on you,” Jesus cuffed Simon playfully. “No one hated that good man.” “…. Jude’s
right,” he added thoughtfully, patting my mule, “guilt, as much as sorrow,
brought them to our house. And
that is a foundation…a beginning…. Do you not remember our special holiday, the
Day of Atonement?
Suddenly,
at what seemed like an inappropriate time, Jesus uttered something that he
might one day have said to his disciples: “Guilt, if it leads them to contrite
hearts, is a good thing. If not
put right by righteousness and good deeds, it festers and hardens the
heart. So it was with Ramses and
Herod. Greater are those, who
confess to God to unload their sins, than those who grind their teeth with
puffed up pride. Such bravery is a
hallow game…”
His
voice trailed off to a faint whisper.
As I look back, I realize, that, reworded differently throughout his
ministry, Jesus had said much the same thing to his disciples. He had just given us a brief sermon on
forgiveness of sins and salvation that had nothing to do with the Day of
Atonement, but that moment in the mule enclosure it sounded utterly
strange.
Joseph
had been correct. “Whoa, where’d that
come from?” he asked, looking around the group. “Didn’t I tell you?” he grinned. “I saw it coming. Jesus is talking strangely again!”
“Yes,
it’s true.” Simon nodded. “You can see it in his eyes.”
“Jesus,”
James said with concern, “that came out of nowhere. Ramses, Herod…puffed up pride? What’s that about?
“Huh?”
Jesus grunted, blinking his eyes, as if awakening from a nap. “I…I’m sorry,
that did come out of nowhere!”
As
James and Joseph retreated to a corner of the enclosure and muttered amongst
themselves, Simon studied Jesus dreamy expression. Despite everything I knew about my oldest brother, I still
wondered if he might be addled in the head.
“Jesus,”
I whispered, “are you all right?
You’ve been under a lot of strain.
Are you talking to your Father again, like those times you
wandered the hills?”
“Not
talking, Jude,” he murmured with a nod, “I was listening. You know my mind. You’ve had your share of visions, have
you not?” “I’m sorry,” he interrupted himself, “This is no time for
preaching. It’s at least an hour
until noon. Let’s all take a
walk.”
“Well…all
right,” I shrugged.
Simon
looked at him in disbelief. “A
walk? Right now?”
“I
must talk to you,” he explained softly, “It’s important. Come, let’s go to my favorite spot.”
Caught
off guard by his change of mood, James and Joseph stood there in the yard with
blank looks on their faces. Simon
and I trotted after Jesus as he led us down the Shepherd’s trail, up the side
path, past Jesus’ special cave to the lookout point he had chosen as his
favorite spot. Grumbling under
their breaths, James and Joseph followed reluctantly in the distance. I had a feeling that Jesus might say
something else strange at this point.
He had that look in his eyes, but this time he was clear and straight to
the point.
“My
brothers,” he called out, as James and Joseph approached, “one day I will have
to leave Nazareth. You must decide
which one of you will become the carpenter in my place.”
We
were speechless a moment as he explained his vision. “The Lord has put me on notice: when I hear his call I will
leave. I will know it as a sign:
it will come with a messenger into town.
Then I must go!”
His
four brothers groped for words. We
were beside ourselves with anger and shock. Simon clutched his forehead in utter disbelief, Joseph threw
a tantrum, pounding his temples and kicking up dust, and James let out a loud,
wounded howl. I felt as if I might
faint as I had in the past, but it passed as I sat down on a rock.
“Great
beard of Moses,” I groaned, “I knew this was coming. We all knew!”
“It’s
nonsense!” James shouted, “This doesn’t make sense. How could you even contemplate leaving now that Papa’s
dead?”
Jesus
gazed into the unknown. “It’s not
my design… It’s God’s plan. Until that day we, the sons of Joseph, the carpenter,
must work hard and save money to care for Mama, now that he’s gone.”
“God’s
plan—what rubbish!” spat James.
“I
had this feeling.” Joseph shook his head in dismay. “That look in his eyes…all
those silly things he says. Now
this!”
“You
said one of us is going to be the carpenter,” Simon gave Jesus a trouble look.
“That’s certainly not me. James,
Joseph, or Jude can do it, not I.”
“Will
it’s not me!” James snarled.
“Nor
I!” Joseph stomped his foot.
“Well,”
I said to myself, “after that silly promise I made, I guess that leaves me.”
“When are you leaving,” I tried being calm, “…a week, a month, a year? Why are you telling us this now?”
“I
won’t know the hour or day,” he explained, looking squarely at me. “You must be
prepared.”
“Jesus,”
I replied, looking away in terror. “Are you talking to me? When you say you, do you mean me
or us? Simon is useless,
and James and Joseph won’t stay.”
James,
Joseph, and Simon nodded eagerly at my accusations. That moment, he placed a hand on my head as if he was giving
me a blessing.
“Don’t
worry little brother,” he spoke cryptically now. “You have a purpose too—I’ve
known this for quite some time.”
“What
purpose is this?” I asked, feeling a surge of hope.
Did
this mean I didn’t have to be a carpenter?…Or was this another way of telling
me I would one day take his place?
I decided, with fleeting hope, not to press the point.
“Tell
us Jesus,” James came forward anxiously, “who will it be? I must finish my studies with
Nicodemus. I’ve told you this.”
“That
goes for me.” Joseph stood beside him clinching his fist. “I have my own
plans!”
“Humph!”
I looked around at my brothers. “It can’t be Simon; it must be me!”
“Oh,
Simon is going to surprise all of you,” Jesus said, ruffling his hair. “He’d be
a fine carpenter if he set his mind to it.”
“No,
I wouldn’t.” Simon shook his head.
“Don’t
worry my brothers.” He took us all in at a glance. “The Lord will decide.”
“Could
this be years instead of months?” I probed. “What if God waits a long time?”
“So
be it!” Jesus raised his hands.
“That’s
good enough for me,” I heaved a sigh.
“Me
too,” Simon agreed.
“I
guess it’ll have to do,” James muttered to Joseph as Jesus led us down the
trail.
“It’s
rubbish!” Joseph cried.
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