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Chapter Four

Jesus’ Ministry Begins

I had been there at the very beginning, when Jesus was called by John the Baptist. I heard John introduce him to his disciples, witnessed him baptize Jesus and turn over his chief disciples to him. Then I watched Jesus walk into the wilderness of Judea where he was tempted by Satan and tested by God. That day in Cana, when Jesus took me into his confidence, implying that he would become much more than a teacher or roving preacher, I became convinced finally of what I must do. Peter, Andrew, Philip, John, James, and Bartholomew were chosen to follow Jesus. Like it or not, regardless of my misgivings, I would follow him too.

I would, in fact, be the only one of Jesus’ brothers to join him at this stage. Despite the implications of that night, James was not quite ready to join. His studies with Nicodemus in Jerusalem, he explained sheepishly, were incomplete. Not only did he have an obligation to his benefactor Nicodemus, but he had found employment in the temple as a scribe. I, on the other hand, had no employment except assisting Simon in the shop. After our experience in Cana and Jesus miracle, being a disciple sounded like it might fun. Why not join up? I told myself. I had nothing better to do. Though the Apostles would list me last among the disciples, I was, like it or not, one of them now. There was no turning back. In a short while, James would answer Jesus’ call, too.

When my family departed on the mules from Cana, Andrew and Philip stayed behind with us. Fortunately for James, who wanted to return to Jerusalem quickly, Ichabod, a merchant friend of Jethro, had business in the holy city and offered to lend him a mule. Though Nazareth was but a short distance from Cana, Mama, Joseph, Simon, and the twins were invited to ride along too. Only Jesus youngest brother, however, had joined up. Disappointed that James, Joseph, and Simon wanted no part of it, he stood there with his disciples watching the procession ride out of town. I couldn’t blame our brothers for avoiding our trip, especially James, who had studied hard to become a scribe. I had been tempted for just a moment to join them, myself. Where we were heading only Jesus knew. I would have preferred riding on a horse or mule, but a sense of adventure filled me as we strolled down the road. Bartholomew’s slow gait and condition would decide our pace. For a long while I avoided talking to the old man. He had fled Nazareth to avoid being caught and crucified by the Romans; I had no intention of calling him out. He was Bartholomew the disciple now, not Reuben the bandit, so I would address him as such.

Falling back to the rear of the procession, I gave him a cheerful look. “So Bartholomew,” I drawled slyly, “you’re one of Jesus’ chosen now. Are you really up to this? My brother has big plans. There’s no telling where he might go.”

He looked at me wearily. “I know you recognize me, Jude,” he murmured. “It’s been a long time.”

“Who am I to judge you?” I bowed respectfully. “Jesus believes in you, Bartholomew. You’re a new man now—one of his disciples.”

“Yes, I suppose.” He paused to gather his breath. Leaning on his crooked cane, he mopped his brow with his sleeve, and bringing the water skin hanging from his shoulder up to his mouth, took a long swig. “Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth. “The question is, Jude, what are you?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted in an offhand manner. “I suppose I’m a disciple, too. After all, I’m our leader’s brother. After what Jesus did in Cana, I decided to tag along.” “Here I am!” I grinned cheerily.

“Bartholomew,” Jesus called through cupped hands, “are you all right?”

The old man replied in a croaking voice, “I’m fine. Just taking a breather.”

“He’s slowing us down,” John grumbled.

“Yes,” his brother James huffed. “He can’t possibly keep up.”

“Jesus,” Philip joined the conversation. “Bartholomew’s too old for this. “He’s sick and worn out. It’s going to kill him.”

“You underestimate our brother,” scolded Jesus. “The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.”

On a dark day, we would hear those words again. That moment, during that bright, sunny day, it was just one more strange thing Jesus said. At just that point, we stopped suddenly to refresh ourselves. I won’t say it was another miracle, but in a dry, treeless expanse of road, the water appeared to flow out of bare, jagged rock. Jesus, who seemed to have unlimited energy, gathered together his small flock and, standing on a small boulder, gave his first important speech, followed by a prayer, which my friend Luke recorded in his scroll.

“Children,” Jesus cried, raising his arms, “today you witnessed God’s wonders, but we have just begun. It won’t be an easy journey. Our circle will grow, and there’ll be more followers to spread the word. Unfortunately, you won’t see your loved ones for weeks at a time. It may too much to bear to leave them behind. From this day forward, the Spirit guides me I know not where, so if any of you have unfinished business at home, now’s the time to make a decision. Where my Father leads me is a crooked path filled with thorns and briars. You must, if you decide, forsake the past and look to the future. The soul of Israel sleeps and needs awakening. We must wake them up and bring a new religion upon the land…. Let us pray!”

This stunning announcement, spoken so calmly, left us speechless. Decrepit worn out Bartholomew, of all people, raised his hand. “Jesus,” he uttered in a gravelly voice, “teach us how to pray.”

A collective groan went up. We were tired and hungry. The thought of going to faraway Jerusalem so Jesus could preach filled us with dread. Many years ago, Jesus taught his brothers the way to pray, but he had not given us the words in the prayer.

Shutting his eyes, he lowered his head and clasped his hands together in prayer. “Follow my example, he directed. Here are the words: ‘Our Father, which art in heaven; hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.’”

“Did God tell you this?” Andrew blinked innocently.

“Yes.” Jesus smiled. “I’m guided by the Spirit.”

“The Spirit?” Andrew wrinkled his brow.

“You said God told you.” Peter also frowned. “What then is the Spirit?”

“Remember this,” Jesus held up three fingers, ticking them off one-by-one. “God sends the Spirit who fills us with the Word. Whereas the Law of Moses rules our bodies, the living Word, which you will bring men and women, shall live in their souls.”

This wasn’t enough for them. The disciples gave Jesus blank looks.

“What is the Word?” Philip frowned. “How can it be alive? Speak plainly Jesus. We’re simple men.”

So these are your disciples! I thought, watching Jesus shake his head. I had heard him talk about these concepts, so they weren’t new to me. Even so, Jesus’ explanation sounded like common sense. Though John the Apostle, would one day devote an epistle to defining the Word, he, like the other disciples found Jesus discussion difficult to grasp. No one could have known that the Word was, in fact, the Son of God. At this stage in my spiritual development, this fact was even beyond me, but these fishermen seemed especially dense. What I found most galling that hour therefore was the depth of their ignorance. I would learn later that only John, among the fishermen, could read our sacred scrolls and write down his thoughts, and yet one day five of the twelve apostles, including myself, would record Jesus’ life and ministry on earth. At this stage in their spiritual development, such concepts as the Word were foreign to them. I shouldn’t have blamed them. Unlike James and Joseph, who knew better and were merely stubborn and close-minded, these men were uneducated. It wasn’t just the concept of the ‘Word’, a difficult notion even for me. Peter and Andrew didn’t understand the ‘Spirit.’ Bartholomew didn’t even know how to pray. Though, I couldn’t fault their ignorance, Jesus’ selection of the fishermen mystified me. How could these fellows be of service to him? To spread his message why would he pick uneducated rustics? There were many educated men in Galilee and Judea, some of whom lived in his hometown. Why had he gone to Capernaum in the backwaters of Galilee to select these men? Despite the power I saw in Jesus, himself, this seemed like an inauspicious start.

It occurred to me, as we munched on the snacks Jethro provided for us, that Jesus hadn’t really asked me to come along. Perhaps, I reasoned as we continued on our way, I would simply be a follower like Cleopas and Matthias. Those two men, like me, weren’t rustic fisherman; they were educated men, like James and Joseph: worldly merchants and ‘part time disciples,’ who could come and go as they pleased. That would be fine with me. Jesus’ inner circle, which he appeared to be building, seemed to be too restrictive. I liked my freedom. Though they hadn’t a clue as to why they were here, they followed him like sheep. In fact, later in Jesus’ mission, they would see him as a shepherd and hang on his every word. I had grown up with Jesus. He was my brother and friend. To have him lord it over me would be an intolerable state of affairs. And yet, if I tagged along, that is what he would do. He wanted full time disciples, men who would forsake their families and work to follow him.

There were moments when I regretted my decision to tag along. Had I been impulsive and foolish? I felt out of place in this unwashed group. They smelled of sweat, garlic, and fish. Though I was Jesus’ brother, most of them treated me as outsider. It even appeared that Andrew and Philip’s friendliness evaporated when we left Cana. No one else in my family had joined this trek. Why was I here? I, alone, represented Jesus’ family. I wouldn’t have expected Simon to leave the carpenter’s shop, but James and Joseph, had they not shied away, would have added sophistication to this group. They were like Cleopas, Matthias, and myself, at least educated. I would have someone to carry on a decent conversation with, rather than the grunts and snarls I received from those men. Alas, James and Joseph, selfish and pigheaded as they were, had never been comfortable with Jesus’ thoughts.

To make me feel even more isolated, Jesus walked at the forefront of our procession chatting away with Andrew and Peter about his vision. I could scarcely here him at the back of the line. Because of Bartholomew’s infirmities, I was forced to trail behind the others, feeling obliged to assist him when he stumbled and paused for breath. Bartholomew was, in fact, the only member of our band, other than Jesus, himself, to pay attention to me. He was a completely different man than the Reuben, who once threatened my family. Time and circumstances had molded him. After discussing his reason for being here, I marveled at his naiveté. The fact that Jesus called his name as he slept under a tree struck him as a miracle. No one told Jesus, he claimed, and yet it was Philip, the old man’s friend, who led him to this old man. Couldn’t Philip have whispered his name to Jesus? I wouldn’t argue this point with him and question Jesus, but no one but Bartholomew saw this as a miracle that day. A miracle was bringing a dead bird back to life or quieting a storm. A miracle was turning water into wine. At any rate, it wasn’t a sound reason for Bartholomew to join up. He was too old and infirmed to be a disciple. My doubts increased, as we fell back further and further. After listening to his account of this event, it was apparent that he had doubts too.

“Why would Jesus pick someone like me?” he asked, after reminiscing on the subject.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “…. I’m just tagging along.”

Huffing and puffing, he held onto my arm, all the while tapping his cane on the gravel below. “Oh well,” he muttered, “I haven’t done anything important in my life. Jesus is a great teacher, perhaps a prophet—”

“Really” I looked over at him. “John the Baptist said he was the Lamb of God. He implied Jesus would take his place.”

“Jesus isn’t like John,” Bartholomew cackled. “He’s special. I heard about that John. Andrew and Philip were bewitched by him, not me. What kind’ve prophet would traipse around the desert eating grasshoppers and snails, huh? That man’s mad. I heard he’s been attacking Herod Antipas and his wife. How stupid is that? Andrew says John changed his message when Jesus came along. Jesus is the Promised One, he said, so he turned over his operation to him. Now John’s attacking Herod, the Tetrarch. That man’s a damn fool; that’s what he is…”

Bartholomew prattled on a moment, as old men do, about Herod divorcing his own wife to marry his brother’s spouse (the reason why John went on the attack), until losing his breath. Looking faint and red-faced then, he leaned heavily on me as if he would pass out.

“Hey,” I called to Jesus through cupped hands. “Bartholomew’s not well. What’s the hurry? Slow down!”

“That’s what I thought,” John said to Jesus. “Bartholomew’s not up to this. Let’s drop him off at the next town? We can pick up him later when he’s rested up.”

“He’ll never be rested up,” his brother James grumbled. “He’s too old to travel.”

“What mission is this exactly?” I grew irritable. “The Baptist didn’t retire. He’s on a different subject now: the antics of Herod Antipas. What is this all about?”

Peter looked back with a frown. “Weren’t you paying attention, Jude? We follow Jesus now. We’re supposed to spread the word.”

“Oh yes, of course,” I said sarcastically. “Are we talking about words or the Word?”

That moment, Jesus took me to task. “Jude!” He beckoned, crooking his finger. “We need to talk.”

“Uh oh,” snickered Peter as I walked up to Jesus. “He’s in trouble now.”

Bartholomew sat down on a rock gasping, as Jesus led me a ways from the group.

“Jude,” Jesus scolded, “you’re hearts not into this. You have no respect for these men.”

“Me? I don’t have respect?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Your men treat me as if I have the plague. I am an outsider to them. How is it that you call them your brothers and slap their backs when you ignore me as if I’m not here.”

“Listen,” his voice softened, “I tried to explain this to Mama: I have a greater family now—the people I met in Capernaum—all of those who choose the Way.”

“The way?” I wrinkled my forehead. “What way, Jesus. I thought this was a mission. And what mission is this? You and John are great teachers, and yet John wears animal skins and preaches to rabble and you have these fishermen who haven’t a clue to who you are. I know, more than anybody except Mama, about your powers. I am your brother and friend, and yet I am excluded. You didn’t even invite me; I just decided to tag along.”

Looking over at Bartholomew, Jesus heaved a sigh. “Bartholomew insisted on coming with us, but John’s right. He’s too old and worn out for the trip to Jerusalem. At the next town, we’ll find him a mule cart to ride in. You can, if you wish, go home any time you wish.”

In the dusty heat of the Galilean desert it felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown in my face. Jesus wasn’t dismissing me; he was giving me the opportunity to back away. Immediately awakened from my surly mood, I stammered, “No… not at all. I’m sorry I doubted your mission or way… A mule cart is a good idea for Bartholomew. The poor man’s ready to drop.”

He studied my face. I’m certain he saw doubts lingering in my mind. “Jude,” he placed a hand on my shoulder, “you’re a traveler. Already you’ve seen much in your short life. You don’t have to join my band, but if you do, you’ll see wonders beyond your greatest dreams.”

“What do you mean?” I caught my breath. “…. More miracles?”

“No,” he grew testy, “ not everything’s based upon miracles. I wish Mama hadn’t forced my hand. The Word is far greater than slight of hand.” “For now.” He smiled wearily. “You have a good heart, Jude. You’re a good friend to our old enemy. You will watch over Bartholomew for me during our journey. I will need your help in getting James on board too. I was saddened that he decided not to join.”

Jesus had, I realized, officially acknowledged me as a disciple. “What about Joseph, Simon, Mama, and our sisters?” I asked light-headedly. “Are they joining up too?”

“No.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Just you two. Mama is one of us in spirit, but she’s not up to the journey. The others are not ready to give up their lives…. If you follow me on my travels, Jude, that is exactly what you must do.” “Do you understand that?” He gave my arm a squeeze.”

“Yes,” I mumbled with a nod, “…I do.”

******

Jesus knew my mind better than me. He knew I wasn’t sure, and yet he was giving me a chance. I had traveled throughout Rome’s eastern empire—its length (Galilee to Tyre) and breadth (Antioch to the border of Parthia). During this odyssey I had experienced many things, including capture and slavery by bandits but also travels with Elisha, a rich merchant, who introduced me to Saul, a young man, I would meet again one day as Paul of Tarsus. I had met and befriended Roman, Greek, Egyptian, and Syrian adventurers, and learned to shoot a bow and fight with a sword. Looking back now, I can appreciate some of my odyssey. It helped mold and make me who I am. When I began my journey with Jesus, however, these previous exploits, with the exception of Elisha, my benefactor, and my Roman, Greek, Egyptian, and Syrian friends, were spiced with dark, unsettling memories. The desert bandits had treated me cruelly. Had I not been considered a valuable commodity by the bandits, I would have been killed with some of my friends. In spite of my hardships and travail, however, my exploits and misadventures had conditioned me. Thanks to my Gentile friends, my benefactor Elisha, and my travels in the East, my mind was opened to different customs and thoughts, preparing me for the journey ahead.

I sensed, with mounting expectations, after the water-to-wine miracle in Cana, that this might be a great adventure, too. I just hoped it wouldn’t be dangerous. I had enough of that. My family and I were worried about Jesus’ safety as he traveled about. He had a way of speaking his mind. Would he begin challenging authority as John was doing against Herod? Would there be highwaymen lurking on the side of the road, as there had been on the way to the River Jordan? If we met such rogues would Jesus be able to beguile them again? …. Just what did my brother have in mind?

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