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Chapter Eight

Shechem

It was true that throughout Jesus’ life he wasn’t deceitful and never lied. I can personally attest to this fact. As far as I know he never knowingly sinned even as a child. And yet, after telling us that our ultimate goal was Capernaum, which would be our base of operations, we stopped at several towns in Samaria and Galilee along the way. This was a great disappointment to the fishermen, who had families in Capernaum. Though it really made no difference to me, James was having second thoughts about joining our group. The key words here, I suggested to them, was ‘ultimate,’ which left much leeway for preaching on the way to Capernaum. There is no question that these stops would be important in Jesus’ ministry. Galilee was awakening from its long, spiritual sleep under the old order where Pharisees and priests decided what folks believed. It appeared Samaria would awaken as well. Now, with the simple message of repentance and salvation, each man and woman who have a one-to-one relationship with God, without intermediary priests or graybeards telling them how to pray.

For most of this period, the number of disciples remained the same. Of course, we had no idea Jesus had in mind twelve, not eight, apostles, that would later be supplemented by seventy more disciples who would preach the good news. For this early part of his mission, we remained small. Even the number of converts who followed us would grow gradually—a handful here and a handful there. At each stop, Jesus would preach, we would assist him in baptism, and, after staying for a day or two, go on to the next town. Abstract concepts such as the Word, which were too complicated for ordinary minds, were left for his fireside chats with us. Doctrine and points of law stressed by Pharisees and rabbis were absent. John the Baptist’s familiar shout, “Repent, the day of the Lord is here,” would be followed by Jesus’ promise that all men could be saved by God’s grace if they repented of their sins and, through baptism and repentance, were born again.

We had no idea at the beginning of the next phase of Jesus’ ministry, that Jesus would add four disciples to our circle and the number of converts would require adding seventy more people to baptize and spread the word. This was many weeks away. When we arrived at our first stop on the way back to Capernaum, we were still a small band of eight disciples and six converts, still not clear on what Jesus had in mind. Why were we in Samaria? Why couldn’t we just go home? We were stunned by Jesus’ next detour when we reached the fork in the road. The fishermen and newly saved were already homesick. Haunting James was the notion we might minister to Gentiles, and here we were approaching Shechem, another Samaritan town. In an effort to lessen our anxiety, perhaps, Jesus took the opportunity to explain its history. Shechem, now a mere shadow of its former self, was the first city Abraham reached after leaving the pagan city of Ur. Back then, Jesus reminded us, there were few differences between Gentiles and Jews. In fact, Abraham, our first patriarch, was the first to teach our people there was only one God. It was in Shechem that Abraham built an alter to honor God, and, because of his loyalty him, where God promised Abraham to give his people the Canaanite’s land. It didn’t matter that the Canaanites owned the land and had been there for centuries; they were pagans. They didn’t count. Part of the covenant, which demanded obedience to the Hebrew God, was that all males, beginning with Abraham, himself, be circumcised. In what might have surprised the ignorant fishermen, if they were listening, was the fact that there were, in fact, no circumcised Jews then. “In those days,” I teased James, “everyone was a Gentile!” Because circumcision was one of the greatest barriers keeping Gentiles from joining our faith, this had always struck me as significant. Though it was done, Jesus explained, to separate us from the pagans, this excuse didn’t satisfy me. It never had. If we had removed the requirement of circumcision, who knows how many Gentiles would have become believers. James would have none of this. In a muted voice, as Jesus explained how God tested Abraham by demanding he sacrifice Isaac to him—a notion harkening back to pagan days, he took issue with my heresies. That moment, as the others walked ahead of us, my brother James had remained at the end of the march alongside of Bartholomew and his cart, as he gave me a sound scolding. As Jesus digressed from the historical details of Shechem to the foundation of the old faith he was now challenging, his words didn’t seem to register in the fishermen’s rustic minds. Even as Shechem loomed ahead, they shuffled along wearily, as if taking no notice of where they were. As we approached this town, I wondered when they would wake up. Smiling with mirth up at Bartholomew after this observation, as I listened to James rebuke, I mentally counted: 1, 2, 3, 4…. Like sleepwalkers awakening in bad dream the fishermen looked around as buildings loomed up around them.

“Hold on, Jesus,” John sounded the alarm, “we’re still in Samaria. We should camp off the main road!”

“Yes, master.” His brother James agreed. “We might not be so lucky this time.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Jesus chided them. “Where’s your faith?”

At this point, everyone—disciples and converts—uttered a collective gasp. We had assumed when we reached a fork in the road we would continue north, but Jesus led us down the side road and straight into the next town.

“Uh, Jesus,” Peter grew panicky, “why’re we stopping so soon? Did you plan this stop? John and James are right. We’re still in Samaria!”

“This will be even easier than Sychar,” Jesus explained calmly. “My cousin preached here. As in Judea, he was the forerunner. These people are prepared for the word!”

The fishermen looked at him in disbelief. After muttering hysterically under his breath, Andrew tapped his shoulder. “Oh Jesus,” he tried being respectful. “Wasn’t your cousin arrested here? There’s plenty of towns up north. At least wait until we cross the border!”

“I listen to my Father,” he replied forthrightly.

I trotted quickly up to Jesus. Speaking on behalf of the others, I said discreetly, “Psst, Jesus! If John was arrested here, what makes you think the authorities won’t arrest you too?”

“Because,” Jesus replied impatiently, “they didn’t arrest John—Herod’s men did.”

“Yes.” I sighed. “Who do you suppose told Herod? Is it possible that Sychar was an exception. Next time at the communal well we might all get lynched.”

“Jude.” He gave me a wounded look. “Are you playing the Devil’s advocate? I know your mind. You’re not that frightened.”
“No,” I said from the corner of my mind, “but the others are frightened. Even our brother James is scared.”

Jesus studied me a moment. I had forgotten that he did, in fact, know my mind. He could read my thoughts and actions like a scroll. The truth was, of course, I was tired of listening to the disciples’ and converts’ complaints. Their fears were their own problem. In this respect, Jesus was right: where was their faith? I wasn’t exactly sure yet what I believed in, but I believed in him. Another issue surfaced in my mind as we strolled through town. Jesus had the potential to make this journey interesting and fun. The miracle in Cana and even what happened in the temple were exciting points. I also found episodes at the river entertaining too. But this wasn’t fun. Except for Jesus, I was surrounded by grumbling and whimpering people. We all knew Jesus was guided by his father; he told us this enough. That was fine with me—I don’t doubt this a bit, but what was his plan? Would we travel throughout the Roman Empire spreading his message? How far would this go? Other than the catchwords provided by John and a few additions he added himself, his message could be boiled down to “Repent and be saved.” That wasn’t a plan. There wasn’t a map or instructions for us to follow; all we had was the information in Jesus’ mind. Was this going to replace two thousand years of our history. If our stop was any indication, Jesus—through his father’s command—was making this up as he went along. Perhaps, if he performed a few more miracles, it might liven up this group. Simply telling us that it’s his father’s will wasn’t enough.

That very moment, as thoughts swirled in my head, Jesus once more read my mind. “Jude,” he scolded, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You worry too much. Stop doubting me. Go back and comfort your brother and Bartholomew. Leave the others to me!”

Once more, I was ashamed of my actions. I, more than any of Jesus’ followers, understood his powers. I’ve been an eyewitness throughout my life. In this town, however, I was suddenly filled with misgivings. I wasn’t certain why exactly; it was just a feeling. The disciples and converts fears seemed contagious. Here we were inside Shechem, another Samaritan city, with only Jesus to protect us. I remembered what happened in Cana when Andrew, Philip, and I cowered behind Jesus as he confronted a mob. This time there wasn’t a mob—just unfriendly stares as we passed citizens on the road. In whispers I tried bolstering James’ and Bartholomew’s courage. Looking ahead at the others, I noticed that only Peter and Barnabas, among the disciples and converts, were not muttering fearfully to themselves. After we found the center of town, as we had in Sychar, three women were taking turns drawing water from the well. Nearby, stood a graybeard and two younger men, idling by the well. All six of these citizens, after turning to face us, displayed the same scrutiny people gave us on the road.

“Stay in back of me,” Jesus murmured discreetly. “I’ll do the talking. Don’t lose your nerve!”

As in Cana, we huddled like sheep behind the Shepherd. I sensed that the villagers were predisposed against us. Cousin John, who was here recently, flashed into my head. Breaking away from the others, a graybeard scuttled over, punching the dirt with his cane. More timidly the young men and women followed behind. How he figured out we were Jews, where we came from, and even what we did for a living, impressed me greatly. At first, he didn’t seem like a threat. Once again, I appeared to be wrong.

“You’re a Nazarene,” he said to Jesus. “I can tell by you hair and beard. The others are Galilean fishermen, which, by their dress, is obvious too.” “You, however,” he studied the converts, “are a mixture of Judeans and Greek-speaking Jews.” “And you.” He said, pointing his cane at James, “judging by the ink in your fingernails are a scribe, yet you’re dressed like a Galilean.” “Like you.” He looked over at me with crooked smile.” “All Jews nonetheless,” he concluded proudly. “I can point out Syrians, Romans, Greeks, and Egyptians, too.”

“You are indeed a seer!” I gave him a look of respect.

“I am Jesus bar Joseph.” Jesus bowed politely. “These are my companions.”

Glancing back protectively, he whispered, “Have no fear!” Not distinguishing disciple from convert, he introduced his followers. John held Deborah’s hand to comfort her. Bartholomew sat petrified in his cart. Everyone attempted to smile bravely as Jesus called out our names. Fidgeting under his gaze, the graybeard frowned impatiently. The Samaritan women seemed only curious, but there were snarls on the young men’s sparsely-bearded faces. During the introductions, more townsfolk appeared, until there was suddenly a crowd, mumbling with discontent.

With a sudden jerky movement, the graybeard announced crossly, “I’m Ahab. What business do you have in Shechem?”

Because Jesus couldn’t lie, he came straight to the point: “I come bearing good news!”

“Good news, you say?” Ahab sneered. “Like that rascal John?”

“Yes,” Jesus answered quickly. “John was the forerunner. I come to fulfill scriptures—”

“Scriptures?” Ahab interrupted. “What scriptures? Beelzebub’s scroll?”

With commanding strength, Jesus did something new. Very selectively, as I understand it now, he presented the least controversial of the prophesies, carefully using the word prophet, not Messiah or any of the terms the Baptist used. To refer to most of the Messianic prophecies and use such terms would have incited the townsfolk. As it turned out, of course, it was Jesus’ message that antagonized members of the mob.

“For those who seek the truth,” he cried, “lend an ear. For those whose hearts are stone, hearken to the words of Moses. We all know Moses, as we do Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Moses promised that a prophet would deliver his people. Like John, he prepared the way. Moses was a stranger in the land of the Midianites, as I am a stranger in the land of the Samaritans. All of us—Midianite, Israelite, or Samaritan are children of Abraham and sons of Jacob. I am that prophet for Jew, Samaritan, and Gentile, sent to heal the broken hearted, give hope to the poor, and bring a new dispensation for sinners. The law has been your only guide. But I’m here to tell you that God’s free-giving grace is a greater guide. As the Jewish priests, Pharisees, and scribes have made it, the law has become a sterile and unsatisfying thing. All that is really needed is repentance of sins and acceptance of God’s grace. You’ll be forgiven for your sins, born again, and be rewarded with paradise—life-everlasting. You, who’ve been denied the temple in Jerusalem, open your hearts, clear you mind of hatred, and simply heed the word—”

“Lies! Lies!” Ahab shook his cane. “Where is this written? Moses never said that!”

“It’s what that Baptist was saying,” explained a man in the crowd. “He promised a deliverer too.”

“Yes,” a woman piped, “he also attacked Herod. They arrested him for that. I hope they cut off his head!”

“Are you a troublemaker too?” the old man asked.

“I come in peace,” Jesus said serenely. “John was a righteous man.”

“No.” The graybeard shook his head. “John was a stupid man!”

A portly fellow stepped forward then, pointing accusingly at him. “You included Gentiles with Jews and Samaritans. You make them equal to us? The Gentiles are pagan! They eat pork!”

“Their priestesses are prostitutes and they sacrifice children to their gods!” A second woman wrung her fist.

Jesus bristled at their attack upon John and their stubbornness yet kept his temper. I thought of James words then: “Don’t throw pearls before swine,” which applied perfectly to this bunch. Why was Jesus wasting his time on these people? I wondered The citizens of Sychar had been impressed with his personality but, with the exception of Mariah, none of them were baptized that day. This group looked like they wanted to stone us. At the very least they would chase us out of town. By now, judging by the mood of the crowd, I gathered that Jesus’ inclusion of the word Gentiles was his greatest error. I would be quite happy if they let us leave peacefully without issue. Jesus, however, would once again win over his audience—this time in a way that simple folk understood.

“Lord,” he cried, “your mercy for this stiff-necked people is boundless!” With his eyes shut tightly, his first two fingers and thumb raised, and remaining fingers closed, he called out loudly, “Miriam, daughter of Hur, come forth!”

Abruptly, the restless crowd was silent. The disciples and converts looked on with bated breath.

“What’s he doing now?” James whispered into my ear. “He’s acting really weird.”

“Don’t worry” I reassured him. “Jesus knows what he’s doing.”

“I dunno,” Bartholomew muttered, “That’s a mean crowd. This better be good!”

Peter, who would one day be called the ‘Rock’, stood alongside of him now. Andrew moved up beside Jesus, as did Philip. While John comforted Deborah, his brother James joined the other four fishermen in a united front. Moving up to join them, Barnabas, Mark, Arrius, and Marcellus stood bravely with folded arms. Standing alone behind them, Anna’s withered face shone with expectation and illumination, which I shared. As Bartholomew remained seated in his cart, my brother James and I took our places beside the male converts. On each side of Jesus we stood our ground—a solid line, not knowing where this would lead. Sunlight now glistened on Jesus’ light brown hair, his shadow stretching forward into the crowd. Looking heavenward, he prayed quietly a moment. When his eyes opened, a frail-looking girl in her teens stood before him, staring into space with clouded, unseeing eyes.

Jesus took her hand now and, moving through the crowd, stopped at the well. Raising up one of the buckets set aside by the women, he sat it momentarily on the edge of the well.

“Do you believe in the grace of my Father, Miriam?” he asked, taking both of her wrists.

“Yes, rabbi,” she said faintly.

“Do you repent your sins, my daughter, so that you’ll be reborn in spirit and live in God’s grace from this day forward?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she murmured, “I shall.”

“Do you believe in paradise, your reward, and accept death as a gate to life-everlasting?”

“I know you’re the savior John promised!” she cried out in a strangled voice. “Jesus save me. I’m a sinner. I believe! I believe!”

Reaching into the bucket, he brought out handfuls of water, saying solemnly, “I baptize you with water, my daughter, to wash away your sins. You are reborn—in the Spirit—into a new life. This gift is freely given. Because of your faith and to awaken the sleepers in this town, my Father will give you a second gift, Miriam.”

As he released the water over her dark hair, he splashed some of it onto her face. Closing her sightless eyes, she gasped. There was a resounding intake of breaths in the crowd, as Jesus placed his left and right palm over each respective eye and prayed silently again.

“Miriam,” he shouted now, releasing his hands, “open your eyes. Behold your new life!”

Miriam opened her eyes, blinking for a moment as the daylight shocked her brain. As they surrounded Jesus and the girl, the disciples, converts, and townsfolk were speechless, for there in the once colorless, clouded eyeballs of Miriam were two beautiful black crystals glistening with tears of joy.

“What is this?” Ahab grumbled aloud. “Is this sorcery or trickery, Jesus? Would you make yourself God?”

A man rushed forward, exclaiming, “This is no trick, Ahab. You’re the one whose blind. Miriam, my youngest daughter, has been blind since birth!”

“Hah!” Ahab said mockingly. “You brought your family here from Sychar, Hur. We never see that child. You keep her hidden away. Are you in league with this magician? No one can heal the sick except God. This man is a Nazarene, leading a band of dirty Galileans and Judeans. I heard about their Jewish messiah. He’s supposed to come in glory, a flaming chariot, not with this ragged bunch.”

We were dismayed by Ahab’s slander, but Jesus ignored him completely. With Miriam and her father present and his disciples close by, he took this opportunity to offer salvation to the rest of the crowd. Thankful that Jesus restored his daughter’s sight, Hur allowed Jesus to say the expected words of grace and baptize him. Unlike the illumination witnessed in the Judean converts, however, he appeared to be embarrassed when Jesus sprinkled well-water over him. Taking Miriam’s hand afterwards, he whispered “Thank you” and disappeared with her into the crowd. There was, in fact, as in Sychar, a great reluctance to step forward.

This might have been a defining hour for Jesus. From a man who didn’t even believe in the Messiah, a suggestion of Jesus’ identity was suggested, but was cast in a negative light. Though many Samaritans were dazzled by his miracle, his message, at best, received a mixed reaction: from polite curiosity, as in Sychar, to silent opposition. Though Miriam had used one of the Baptist’s less defining names, there was, as I understand it now, the unmistakable implication that day that Jesus was the Promised One spoken of by Isaiah and the Savior foretold by John. Ahab’s referral to the Jewish messiah, though spoken mockingly, was based upon the old man’s intuition, which played well so far. He had accurately picked out among us who were Galileans and Judeans and was even able to single out the Greek-speaking Jews and to narrow it down further by singling out Jesus as a Nazarene and, seeing the ink on James’s fingers, identify him as a temple scribe. In his bird-of-prey gaze I saw the same recognition and denial I saw in Pharisees’ and priests’ eyes, who suspected who Jesus might be. Ahab, I sensed, knew exactly who Jesus was—the title included in Peter’s full recognition of Jesus that would earn him a special place in Jesus’ heart: the Messiah. At this stage, however, it was unspoken, only felt, as a prickling at the back of the neck of his disciples and converts. Being a great prophet or even a deliverer of sorts was one thing, but considering Jesus’ simple message, modest attire, and rustic supporters, being the Messiah was quite another. This reality would grow slowly for the disciples, as well, as the converts, after each miracle and sermon. Except for one cryptic passage in the scroll of Isaiah about a suffering servant, the long awaited Redeemer of Israel was supposed to, as Ahab suggested, come in glory as an earthly ruler similar to King David. As Ahab correctly saw, the Jews believed this man would smite the Roman oppressors and bring about a new age. Even Isaiah writes about this warrior king, canceling out it seems the other version in his scroll…. Jesus clearly wasn’t this man.

At least in Sychar the crowd grew; it didn’t shrink. When Jesus went on to explain his formula for salvation, the people began to disperse. Like the citizens of Sychar they may have thought Jesus was just one more crazy prophet like John, the Baptist. In fact, instead of preparing the way for Jesus, as John had done at the river, John’s fiery lapse into attacks against Herod Antipas may have muddied the water for him. Ahab’s conflicting accusations that Miriam’s father was somehow in league with the stranger and that Jesus was a sorcerer, likely influenced the crowd, too. It could also have simply been their resentment at having a Jew preach to them. The first thing Ahab did was make fun of Jesus beard and hair and his followers’ Galilean, Judean, and Greekish attire. But the differences between Samaritans and Jews, I would learn that night from Jesus, was much greater.

The hour had begun inauspiciously when Ahab appeared. Jesus had made a valiant effort but the flight of Hur and his daughter seemed like the final straw. Nevertheless, this day was a great milestone in Jesus’ ministry. He had restored sight to a girl blind since birth. Contrasting the mood of the crowd, were the reactions of the faithful. The men in our group were slack-jawed at first, jabbering in amazement amongst themselves. Deborah and Anna were weeping. Because James and I had seen Jesus once resurrect a dead bird and heard about the miracles he did when accompanying Joseph of Arimathea in his travels, we were less impressed. Unlike Cana, in which our mother forced his hand, Jesus had purposefully tried to grab the Samaritans of Shechem’s attention. It was quite startling, but not as impressive as resurrecting a dead bird or turning water into wine. Also affecting James’ and my enthusiasm was the attitude of the Samaritans. They were a peculiar and fickle lot. Ignoring the spiteful graybeard, several townsfolk had touched Jesus’ robe as if he, himself, held magical powers, and yet none of them wanted baptism and salvation. They had, Jesus must have silently concluded, missed the point entirely. Soon, after he studied the crowd, I saw him heave a sigh. Dissent in the crowd, though not at the level of stoning fever, had been ignited by the graybeard. It seemed as though many of the Samaritans did in fact think Jesus was some sort of sorcerer.

Retreating a distance from us, a group of men listened to Ahab continue to make his case. Jesus prayed a moment, staring sadly up at the sky. When he was finished, he said only a few words, “We shall leave now!” and turning his back on the crowd, led us out of the town.

******

As we made our way through town, the disciples and converts were relieved to put Shechem behind them, and yet they were excited about the miracle Jesus had just performed. The miracle had served to move them further along in their discipleship. Jesus was, if nothing else, a great prophet and miracle worker. Yet this is hindsight. At the time, they didn’t understand who he was. Neither did James and I. What troubled me most as we made camp was why the Samaritans rejected his message. Already I had thought of a few reasons. I shared my earlier reflections as we sat by the fire. Jesus said nothing a moment, leaving me to wonder if I my reasoning was faulty.

Looking across the flames as we ate our evening meal, he tried explaining the problem. James and I understood him, but the fisherman and Judeans stared at him blankly at times. Though comprehending his words, James, like the others, was drowsy and ready for a night’s rest. After eating a few morsels of food, Bartholomew was already asleep. I had the special feeling then, similar to those moments in our youth, when Jesus counseled me on my actions or behavior. He looked squarely into my eyes, without blinking, speaking directly to me.

“There are many reason why the Samaritans are so stiff-necked,” he said thoughtfully.

“I don’t understand them at all,” I said glumly. “I’ve been thinking Jesus…They’re so different from us. That may be at the root of it. I heard they’re a mixture of Syrians, Greeks, Jews, and many peoples. We’re a pure race—God’s chosen. They talk differently and act differently than us. They even dress differently. They wear wild colors and I noticed that many of the women don’t wear veils. They saw our differences from them at once. The first thing that old man did was make fun of your beard and hair and our dress—”

“That’s not the reason, either,” he interrupted curtly. “It lies deeper than that. The greatest difference, which makes it so difficult for me to reach them, is their religion. The Samaritans have a different set of scrolls than us. Unlike Jews who pray toward Jerusalem where the temple resides, the Samaritans face Mount Gerizim to pray. More importantly, Jude, is the Messianic portion of our faith. You recall John promising our people a savior. Until his attacks on Herod, that was his message. The Jews believe in a coming redeemer who will bring in a new age and most of them believed in an afterlife—elements that would seem to make Jews more susceptible to my teaching. Even pagan Gentiles, Syrians, and Egyptians believed in some form of afterlife. Samaritans, who don’t have that promise in their scrolls, have no such expectations. There is no mention of a messiah or an afterlife in their religion. What I presented to them must have sounded incomprehensible and was just too strange to accept. Whatever the reason, Jude; at the end of the day, there was only two converts made—Miriam and her father. Her father was so worried that he might offend his fellow citizens he grabbed his daughter’s hand and fled.” “I still believe,” he added, staring into the fire, “that I planted the seed.”

“Perhaps.” I nodded reluctantly. “You planted a few in Cana and Sychar too. Just the same, Jesus, let’s leave Samaria.” “Don’t waste pearls before swine,” I quoted James. “Galilee will be more fertile ground.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “there’s many towns in Galilee. That’s where my Father has been leading us, but I haven’t given up on the Samaritans. There’s one more place we shall visit: Aenon. John was more successful in that town. Our father even did business there.”

“Jesus!” I gripped my forehead in despair. “You’re wasting our time! Why bother with this province? It’s cursed. Let’s just concentrate on the Jews!”

“Please don’t argue, Jude.” He held up his hand. “My Father speaks. I must obey!”

What could I say to that? I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Jesus was not the one to give up. Citing John’s success in Aenon, especially after he got himself arrested, was a poor argument. Our father had customers in many places in Palestine, not just this province. What was noteworthy about Aenon?

He seemed to choose his words carefully now, as I sulked a moment. “I’m not here just for the Jews. I’m here for everyone: Jews, Gentiles, even Samaritans. It won’t be easy, especially with our people, who are expecting someone I can’t be. That is the most important part of the message. I bring them spiritual rebirth and the promise of eternal life. The message is one thing; it is clear and easy to understand, but I must convince them of who I am.”

“That’s easy.” I yawned. “You’re the Lamb of God—the Anointed One.”

Jesus gave me a probing look. “Jude, do you understand what that means?”

“Yes,” I parroted some catch phrases, “the Anointed One is a great prophet. You’re bringing to Galilee, Judea, and Samaria a new religion. The old religion will pass away and be replaced by God’s grace—”

“There’s more.” He waved dismissively “That’s enough for now. We have much work to do, Jude. The Samaritans merely need convincing, but many Jews have already made up there mind. The Gentiles, who have many gods, have a better chance of accepting the truth.”

“Really?” I jerked awake.

“Yahweh is just one more god in their pantheon,” Jesus expounded. “They have no preconceptions as do the Jews and Samaritans. They will barely recognize the God I preach to them.” “All this will come later,” he conclude, rising to his feet. “We have a long trek ahead of us to Aenon. For now, little brother, get some sleep.”

In spite of my regret that we weren’t leaving this dreadful province, I was greatly moved. Jesus hadn’t called me little brother for a long time. Though he kept referring to his family in a wider since to include everyone who was a follower, I was, through our parents’ adoption, more than just a disciple. I was, as James, his brother. He had shared his thoughts, confiding his misgivings to me exclusively, as the others slept. I felt special. Jesus and I were the last ones to settle on our pallets that night. I wasn’t certain he was asleep as he lie next to me near the fire. I never once in my life saw him sleep. I sensed, as I drifted into slumber that he was much more than a prophet, and yet it seemed too fantastic to believe. If he was, in fact, the Messiah, the priests and rabbis have had it wrong. Centuries of waiting by our people for a warrior king, as written down in our holy scrolls, have been interpreted incorrectly…. How was this possible? I asked myself drowsily. Who was that other Messiah spoken of by Isaiah? How is it that only a few passages in scripture gives a true picture of this man? I didn’t know what the answer was then, but a great expectation filled me now.

In the days ahead, Jesus would be tested again, and we would be tested too: in Samaria, Galilee, and Judea. That night by the fire, however, Jesus had only hinted at the difficulties ahead. We, his followers, would grow spiritually, our doubts fading with each new miracle and sermon, accepting, despite contradictions in prophecy and tradition, Jesus’ interpretation of himself. Against the forces of tradition and two thousand years of history, the priesthood, scribes, rabbis, and Pharisaic custom, and the diversities of peoples, our simple faith would be matched.

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