Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den
Chapter Ten
With the exception of Amram and
Baruch, who insisted on accompanying us to the border, none of the Samaritan
converts followed us to Galilee. There
were two reasons for this: one practical and one strategic. It was not practical for a horde of converts
tagging along like camp followers.
Unless Jesus used his powers, feeding such a crowd, not to mention
protecting them from angry Galileans, would be impossible. More importantly, I believe, was that fact
that it was strategically unsound.
Rather than collecting converts here and there, it was much better to
leave them where they were to spread the word among their fellow citizens or
wherever they might be. Jesus was quite
adamant about this. Even Job, whose son
he resurrected, was forbidden to follow.
Though they protested when we reached the border, Amram and Baruch, the
staunchest Samaritan converts, were also turned back.
Before entering Galilee, the two
men bid goodbye to us, promising, as did their fellow-Samaritan converts
earlier, to spread the word. On our
way into the province, Jesus insisted that we start preaching with his
supervision. In the future, we would be
sent out in twos to spread the word, but we had much to learn before preaching
on our own. After we crossed into
Galilee, the villages between the Samarian border and our main destination were
numerous, so, to save time, we only ministered to those settlements closest to
the main highway to Capernaum. Jesus
appeared to be in a hurry now, as if he had little time. The reason he gave us for skipping over many
towns and villages was based upon practicality again. It was simply not practical nor even humanly possible for he and
his followers to cover all of Galilee and Judea and he believed that those who
heard the word and especially those accepting baptism would spread the word
themselves to other communities. If
they were traveling merchants, this meant that the message would spread
throughout the empire.
Peter had become the most
enthusiastic baptizer, but he was a terrible speaker. On the other hand, my brother James was the best speaker, but,
due to his lingering fear of contamination, was the least enthusiastic
participant in the baptism rite. Though
I had no experience in front of crowds, I was able, because of my near-perfect
memory, to recite the basic message of repentance and salvation. As long as Jesus was satisfied with my
efforts, I kept it simple, performing the baptism expeditiously. Only Barnabas and Mark, among the converts,
made the attempt at preaching and mastered the skill of baptism. Bartholomew required a great deal of
training, as did the remaining followers, whose expertise would grow at each
stop on the way. Jesus preferred full
emersion in a body of water, but that was almost impossible until we reached
Capernaum, where the greatest harvest would begin. Extra skins of water were carried in our packs and Bartholomew’s
cart to accommodate us during each gathering.
This method of baptism was easier and faster, though less spiritual in
Jesus’ mind.
Before we traveled much further,
Arrius and Marcellus bowed out of the procession with the excuse that they
missed their families. It was
disappointing to Jesus, but they promised him they would share the good news
with townsfolk when they reached home.
To John and my dismay, Deborah, who was becoming a great distraction,
was advised by Jesus to return to her home town in order to spread the word
too. Jesus had been also worried about
Anna, the old woman, since we left the river.
Like Bartholomew, who should also have been advised to leave, she was
too old and infirmed to continue. On
their way through Judea, Arrius and Marcellus promised to escort Anna and
Deborah to their homes. A greater
disappointment to Jesus then was the decision of Barnabas to return to his home
in Jericho and Marcus to his home in Jerusalem when the others traveled back to
Judea. Suddenly, at a rest stop between
towns, our number was, including Jesus, reduced to nine.
This would, I report in retrospect, change when we
reached Capernaum, when our numbers would increase to eleven. Until we reached this point, we made
countless, unscheduled stops. In fact,
other than the goal to reach Capernaum, Jesus had no apparent schedule. Until the disciples began writing down the
events of his life and message, nothing was recorded. Thanks to the memory the Lord blessed me with, I’ve been able to
write my chronicles, but back then no one, not even John, who would one day
write a gospel, three epistles, and a book of revelations, took notes during
our travels. There was no map to guide
us, itinerary, or agenda of things to do.
Everything we did came at the spur of the moment out of Jesus’ head.
The good news he wanted everyone to hear competed
with the stories spread by travelers of the miracle worker who changed water into wine,
restored sight to a blind girl, and raised an infant from the dead. Jesus would have preferred that people be
swayed by the message, not the messenger.
As if he they saw him as a magician or sorcerer, rustic minds were
overawed at his displays of supernatural power, many of whom saw it coming from
him, rather than coming from God.
Despite this problem, he explained to us, this shallow level of
comprehension still drew them to the message.
Against the great enthusiasm generated by his appearances in various
towns and villages, however, there was a different reception by religious
leaders and magistrates, who saw the good news as a challenge to established
order and religion. Jesus warned us about
this threat several times. His cleaning
of the temple and the tongue-lashing he gave to the priests had created a dark
undercurrent of protest in Judea and Galilee.
As I would learn later, Caiaphas, the high priest, after hearing about
the incident in the temple, merely sent out spies to find out more about Jesus,
but after his alleged miracles and successes, he grew alarmed and created a
special committee to investigate Jesus’ activities. We knew nothing of this committee of priests and Pharisees, but
were aware of the spies on several occasions.
During one stop, Jesus pointed out men in the audience, busily taking
notes with scroll and feather. Peter
wanted to eject them from the crowd, but Jesus said it would only make matters
worse. That Jesus had serious enemies
among Caiaphas subordinates and the Pharisees would have alarmed us greatly now
that we knew we were being watched. It
was one more glimpse he saw of the future that he protected his disciples
against. Only James and I, as King
Belshazzar, saw the writing on the wall.
The powers that be and our
brother appeared to be on a collision course.
Fortunately, we couldn’t have imagined how calamitous it would be.
******
As we traveled north into Galilee, the villages in
which Jesus spread the good news netted small harvests. The upside was that, unlike the larger
towns, there were fewer hecklers in such small communities. Most of the audiences were curious
townsfolk, drawn by Jesus’ reputation.
At the center of each town, Jesus was able, as at Sychar and Sebaste, to
preach to passersby and, with our assistance, baptize some of them at the
community well. On a much more smaller
scale, the pattern we had seen in Judea and Samaria continued: common people
were eager to meet and hear the new prophet but most of the town elders, especially
the Pharisees and rabbis, greeted him with suspicion and distrust. The large numbers of converts we attained at
the River Jordan and in Samaria had bolstered our confidence, but now as we
trekked north, that confidence would be challenged: first in Nain and then, of
all placed, in Nazareth.
Fortunately, our ordeal in Nain ended quickly. As soon we entered this town, we were beset
by a deputation of town elders, including prominent Pharisees, who had heard of
the heretic preacher from advocates recounting Jesus message and miracles. Ironically, a trend was developing in which
well-meaning supporter’s glowing reports predisposed graybeards and religious
leaders against Jesus, who saw his wonders as sorcery and sermons as blasphemy
against God. Because of their success
at turning the town against us, not one convert was made in Nain. It was, until we arrived in Nazareth, our
worst reception, but it was at least short-lived. As Jesus attempted to preach, the elders and Pharisees incited
the townsfolk so badly, we were literally shouted out of town.
Though it left a bad taste in our mouths, we felt
relieved we hadn’t been stoned or pelted with rotten fruit. After our experience in Nain, Jesus decided
to put off preaching anymore until we visited Nazareth, our next stop. There was, inexplicably, a sudden urgency in
his stride. We barely stopped to
rest. Perhaps, I suggested
half-seriously to James and Bartholomew, he was receiving more orders from
God. Until we visited Nazareth, Jesus’
success in Galilee was quite modest and, with the important exception of Nain,
without incident. For the most part, Nazareth would be, for most of
the disciples, just one more town in an endless cycle of preaching and
baptism. Jesus, James, and I, though,
were filled with great expectation.
This was our home town. We had
family, friends, and neighbors that would surely be receptive to Jesus’ message….
Boy, was I wrong!
Almost immediately, though it came subtly this time,
I detected hostility. I’m certain Jesus
and James saw it too. Ethan and Jubal,
the very same elders who had greeted Amos and I sarcastically when we returned
from the River Jordan, were walking down the main street of Nazareth as we
entered town. Eight footsore travelers
straggled in and a mule and cart in which Bartholomew—long since departed from
his old home, looked around fearfully at the men.
“Oh this it not good,” he groaned. “Of places to
stop! We’re back in Nazareth. Why did he bring me here? I should’ve stayed in Capernaum. I was safe there. I know those two men, Jude.
What if they recognize me? I was
once a wanted man!”
It would have been a revelation to some of the
disciples had they overheard, but Ethan’s and Jubal’s voices blared over his ramblings.
“So,” Jubal crowed, “the miracle worker’s back!”
“Yes, Jesus,” Ethan’s voice boomed, “we heard about
your exploits in the temple—during the Passover too. It’s wonder they didn’t arrest you for such sacrilege. A merchant in town even claims you “used
sorcery to perform miracles. Is that
true.”
“You have said it,” Jesus replied calmly. “News
travels fast.”
“All of Galilee has heard about you!” Ethan hobbled
over, stabbing the ground with his cane.”
Walking up to the cart, he eyed Bartholomew
quizzically but said nothing.
“I know what,” Jubal suggested, “let’s gather the
townsmen in the synagogue. Rabbi Eli
will be glad to call a meeting, so we can hear your message.”
“Humph,” Ethan’s voice crackled, “do I know you?”
“Leave him alone.” I stepped between them. “Bartholomew’s
not well.”
“Bartholomew?” Jubal frowned. “I knew a Bartholomew
once…”
Stomping over, with doubled fists, Peter roared
angrily, “You heard him. Leave
Bartholomew alone!”
The two men retreated quickly, mumbling amongst
themselves, then continued on their way.
Coming down the same road were friendlier faces, the elder Habakkuk and
my family’s friend Ezra, who rejoiced at Jesus’ return.
“You’re back!” Habakkuk shouted, holding up his
staff. “Praise the Most High.”
“We’ve heard great thing about you, Jesus.” Ezra ran
up to clasp his hand.
Jesus turned and introduced the fishermen,
Bartholomew, James, and I as his disciples, after the two men announced their
names.
“Don’t let those men bother you.” Habakkuk embraced
Jesus warmly. “They don’t speak for the town.”
“We sure hope so!” declared Peter.
“What is
their problem, anyhow?” protested Philip. “That was really rude!”
“Awe, they’re always cantankerous.” I reassured them.
“Ethan’s never liked us very much.
Jubal sounds like he might be drunk.”
“Are they really going to assemble a town meeting?”
muttered Bartholomew. “I’ll stay put…. No sir, I’m not up to that.”
“You can rest at my mother’s house.” I gave his
shoulder a pat. “…. You’re safe there,” I murmured discreetly.
“It’s going to be very crowded.” Jesus sighed. “She might not be too pleased.” “As for a meeting.” He smiled wearily at the
elders. “Whatever the Rabbi Eli decides.
We must first greet my family.
Please join us if you wish.”
Nodding their heads amiably, both Habakkuk and Ezra
joined our procession to Joseph bar Jacob’s house. Though my father had been dead for a while, it would, by custom,
always be Joseph, our father’s, house.
I wished he could know Jesus now; he would be so proud. Looking around, I saw other townsfolk
appearing hear and there, but no one rushed over to greet Jesus as Habakkuk and
Ezra had. It occurred to me, in spite
of Jesus’ success so far, that there might be others in Nazareth sharing
Ethan’s and Jubal’s views.
******
When the door opened, the remaining members of our
family greeted us, except Joseph, who had, we would learn, returned to
Sepphoris. There was a mixed reaction
at first. Mama grabbed Jesus and
squeezed him happily, embracing James and I almost as an afterthought. Simon, our brother, shook our hands and gave
us brief hugs, giving us equal affection.
My twin sisters Abigail and Martha embraced their long lost brothers
tenderly, especially Jesus, the man of the hour. All four of them looked passed Jesus at the strangers with
frowns, as if they had forgotten the incident at Cana and Jesus’ calling to
spread the word. Of course, I couldn’t
blame them. Any respectable Jew would
cringe at having such a grimy, smelly, unwashed bunch in their home.
After Jesus presented the fishermen to our family
(Bartholomew needing no introduction), Mama quickly introduced Simon, Abigail,
and Martha, then launched into summary of what had happened while Jesus, James,
and I were gone. Rabbi Joachim, the
previous rabbi had died, Ezra’s daughters, Joanna and Meira, were both married,
Noah, who lived across the street from Joachim and his wife, was sick and not
expected to live, my friend, Isaac, one of James’ friends, now lived in
Jerusalem with his new wife, and the Romans were patrolling Galilean towns again,
looking for a new bandit gang. After a
flood of additional information, including Joseph’s position as scribe in
Sepphoris and the pending wedding of Abigail to Jeroboam, James and my friend,
our heads were spinning. Apologizing
for her flighty-headedness, Mama raced around straightening up the kitchen and
preparing us a meal. Jesus asked
Abigail and Martha to fetch a few pales of water so that he and his men could
spruce themselves up. A dip in a river
or stream would have been better, but at least we could wash our faces and
rinse the dust off our hands and feet to be more presentable.
During these preparations, Habakkuk and Ezra
departed. They had said nothing about
Jesus’ new stature. One day, along with
Mama, Simon, Abigail, and Martha, they would, with their wives and children,
join the Way, but they would prove to be the exceptions in Nazareth.
For an hour or so, as Jesus and his men splashed
water on themselves and then snacked on bread and cheese while Mama prepared a
proper meal for tonight, I took my turn sprucing myself up, grabbed a hunk of
bread, and led Bartholomew’s mule into the backyard to munch the grass with the
other mules. Our family’s mules had
served me will in my travels. Though I
hadn’t named Bartholomew’s beast, I had pet names for each of our mules. Mama had wanted to rent them out while I was
gone, but, after their ordeals with me, I insisted on retiring each of them as
beasts of burden. They were pets
now. I recalled my decision that when
Bartholomew had finished using his mule, I would buy it from him and retire him
too. As I walked among our family
mules, stroking them and calling them each by their pet names—Elijah, Moses,
David, and Solomon, Jesus appeared suddenly with a bowel of grapes.
“Tsk-tsk, Jude,” he scolded playfully, “you named
your mules after Israel’s prophets and kings?”
“Yep.” I grinned. “I plan on calling Bartholomew’s
mule, Jacob, after grandfather, when he’s mine.”
“You rascal.” He tousled my hair. “This is all one
big adventure for you, isn’t it?”
“Most of the time,” I answered truthfully, “not
always. That episode at the temple gave
me a jolt and I don’t like you endangering your life like you did in Jerusalem
and Samaria. But it’s been exciting. I got that baptism stuff down pat.”
“Down pat, you say.” He laughed, chewing on a grape.
“You really find this exciting?”
“Yes, I do.” I nodded, the image of Deborah flashing
into my mind.
“You’re not worried about the dangers or pitfalls?”
He searched my face.
“No, uh-uh.” I shook my head. “What is there to worry
about?”
“Very well.” He eyed me slyly, stroking one of the
mules. “You had your moments of hesitation.
At first, you had your doubts.
All of you did. Now you pitch in
eagerly and seldom complain. I think
you’ve fit in nicely with our group.”
“Well,” I admitted, chewing on a grape, “many things
have changed: the fishermen have finally accepted me; Bartholomew, who was once
our family’s enemy, is my friend; and James, who used to get on my nerves with
his self-righteous attitude, is now a disciple like me. I would never had guessed it.” “And I’ve changed too,” I searched for the
words. “…I have a purpose now. I’m not
sure what it is…. I just know it’s there… in the future.”
“The future?” Jesus stared into space a moment. “… You
have no idea, Jude. You do realize that this isn’t a game? You’ve traveled much more than the
fishermen, even James. After some of
the things you’ve gone through this may seem like child’s play.” “But it
isn’t,” he added, searching my face. “As a Greek runner might say, this is the
first lap. The race is young,
Jude. This isn’t a game!”
“I know that.” I sighed. “This is serious
business. We’ve seen you do impossible
things —so many, in fact, that we’re almost taking them for granted. We expect you to use your God-given powers
when needed. But it’s much more than
miracles or theatrical feats. Your goal
is to revise our religion, which has fallen into error. They—the powers that be—don’t understand
that. They see you as a heretic and
blasphemer. If anything frightens me,
Jesus, it’s not all these stops we make; it’s what lies ahead. It’s like you’re stirring up a hornets’
nest—”
“Jude,” he interrupted impatiently, “have faith. Who is leading me? Am I not the vessel of God?”
“Well,… yes.”
I heaved a sigh. “I suppose so…”
Vessel of God was yet another name that dodged the
issue of who he was. As if I needed to
be reminded, Jesus now lectured me on the purpose of his mission: bring people
the good news (men and women could be saved by God’s grace alone); encourage
them to repent their past deeds; and accept baptism as a symbol of their rebirth
into a new life. It seemed, as I
listened to him, that the afterlife promised to the saved was the lure or bait
to entice sinners. Without it, what was
the point? We might as well be
Sadducees or nonbelievers. The ill
defined or non-existent after life in Samaritan and Gentile religions also
seemed pointless. What was the sense in
praying for earthly rewards if you permanently died or became, as the Romans
believed, mere shades flittering mindlessly about? Of course, Jesus never said anything about this. He tried keeping it simple for common folk. Other than his explanation of heaven—a place
were we would greet our loved ones and live in eternal bliss, he would, only on
rare occasions, refer to that opposite province, he called hell, a region where
sinners, who hear the good news, and don’t repent, will join all other evil men
and women in everlasting torment forever more.
Normally calm when listening to Jesus, I found myself
trembling and staring blankly into space, as he added details to this
description:
“What kind of place is hell?” he asked rhetorically,
as he often did when making a point.
“Moses beard!” I groaned.
“Surely, I
say unto you,” he answered himself, “hell is like the Valley of Gehenna, in
which sits Golgotha, Jerusalem’s huge public rubbish dump where dead bodies and
trash are burned continually.”
“Dreadful!” I tempted to plug up my ears. “Perish the
thought!”
“It
is the rubbish heap of the damned.” His
voice raised progressively, “a smoldering fire—brimstone—burning continually,
but also an abyss: a place where the damned burn in the outer darkness—an
eternal, fiery prison with no escape.”
Though he had mentioned this place before, it has
always been briefly stated, spoken almost in passing. Not only did he place imagery in my head, there was an urgency in
his tone this time. It was almost as if
he had been there—an eye witness to the underworld, the abode of the
damned. As I tried dispelling this
vision, I awakened to the sound of his voice.
“Jude, Jude!” he said, shaking me gently. “I’m sorry I frightened you. My Father speaks through me. On behalf of sinners, it frightens me too.”
“All right,” my voice quivered, “your father told
you, but where in scriptures is all that written? I heard those words before; hell and Gehenna are Greek concepts,
aren’t they. I thought the wages of sin
was death, not that terrible place!”
“It’s not mentioned in the Torah,” Jesus admitted,
“but it exists just the same. Where do
you think evil men and women go when they die unrepentant?”
“…. Hell,” I answered reluctantly.
“Mankind knows right from wrong,” Jesus explained.
“This knowledge began with Adam. God
gave people the choice of eternal life or damnation. The problem is, Jude, this choice has been ill-defined and
cheapened by all the many laws observed by Sadducees and Pharisees. For the Sadducees, one is considered good by
observing the laws, and benefits in this life.
Most people are poor, however, scratching out meager lives. For the Pharisees, one is considered good by
observing the laws in order to have eternal life. On the one hand, the Sadducee pauper has no reason to live a
righteous life. Sin, especially great
sin, has to be accounted for or what’s the point? On the other hand, those Jews believing in paradise, are burdened
with hundreds of laws they neither understand and can keep. How can they have reassurance of eternal
life following the Pharisee’s rules?”
I felt my muscles relax that moment. “Phew!… There’s
no purpose—my thoughts exactly. If you
tell me something is true, I believe it.
If nothing else, Jesus, the specter of hell, fire, and damnation you
described should convince listeners.”
Jesus thought a moment. “You’re right about one thing.
Hell or Gehenna is a Greek notion.
That part of the Roman’s underworld is called Tartarus, a place of
torment just as bad. As you can see,
even the Gentiles are familiar with hell.
I hate to scare people, but it’s true: this will convince some
listeners. The fear of God, which the
prophets, priests, and Pharisees emphasize to make people behave has been
effective for centuries. Now, however,
we bring them a God of love. I would
much rather convince them with the reward of paradise, than the fear of
damnation.” “I will pray for guidance about this,” he added looking toward the
house.
Forcing a smile, I shuddered at this new vision of
hell even our ancestors didn’t know. “I’ll pray too,” I said obligingly. “I
just wish you hadn’t filled my head with this.
It’s bad enough to die and disappear into nothingness as the Sadducees
believe, but fire and brimstone forever?
That’s horrible!”
Jesus embraced me, whispering, “You don’t have to
fear, little brother.”
“I don’t” I replied dubiously. “Really?… How can you
be certain?”
“I just know.” He pointed to heaven. “You must have
faith.”
That moment I believed him totally, without
reservations. The peace I felt knowing
this I would carry the rest of my life.
“Your road will be long and hard,” he added, looking
into my eyes. “You’ll be tested by Caesar, himself…. but you’ll prevail!”
“What do you mean, Caesar?” I was taken back. “Please explain.”
“Do you trust me, Jude?” He stood back and frowned.
“Of course.” I nodded promptly. “Completely.”
“Then knowing you have eternal life, what does it
matter?”
Once more reminded of Jesus’ promise, I quickly
replied, “Not a bit.” (Jesus, after all, never lied.)
“There’s something else.” He gave me a worried look.
“When you were out here with the mules, Mama told us more about the bandit gang
in Galilee. Do you remember my
namesake, Jesus Barabbas?”
“Yes.” I scowled. “A real scalawag!”
“Well, he’s more than that now.” Jesus raised an
eyebrow. “Since his father Abbas’ death, he’s been ‘Barabbas, the bandit leader
and highwayman.’”
“Well,” I tried being glib. “At least he’s not called
Jesus. One Galilean with that name is
quite enough!”
After seeing Peter signal to him from the back door,
Jesus began walking back to the house.
“This isn’t funny, Jude.” He looked back with a
frown. “Barabbas’ gang is robbing and
murdering innocent travelers. A courier
from Cornelius, the Galilean prefect, warned Rabbi Eli of this. In the coming days, there’ll be Romans
patrolling Nazareth and neighboring towns.
I appreciate Rome’s vigilance, but they’ll be watching Galileans for the
slightest bit of trouble. Already there
are spies reporting everything we do to the authorities. Barabbas has just made our task that much
harder!”
“Jesus!” Peter yelled through cupped hands. “Rabbi
Eli is here. The town counsel is having
a meeting at the synagogue.”
Pausing a moment, Jesus closed his eyes, as though
God was talking to him that moment. I
had seen this before and wasn’t surprised, but Peter called out, “Jesus? Are
you all right?”
“You’d think by now he knew you were praying,” I
grumbled.
“Peter’s learning,” Jesus said from the corner of his
mouth. “Like still water, his qualities runs deep.”
“If you say so,” I whispered begrudgingly. “He’s
loyal and tries hard. I give him credit
for that.”
******
When we entered the house, Rabbi Eli ran up to greet
Jesus. Habakkuk and Ezra had returned
with the rabbi. The room was filled
with family members, friends, and disciples, who stood mumbling amongst
themselves. In spite of the rabbi’s
friendly demeanor, a feeling of urgency pervaded the crowded room.
“It’s good to see you,” he cried, embracing Jesus,
“—all of you!” he added glancing at James and I. “Your mother invited me to
dinner, so we’ll have plenty of time to catch up. Tomorrow morning the townsfolk will meet in the synagogue. Years ago, during the unrest in Galilee, we
had a Roman presence in Nazareth.
They’ll be patrolling towns in Galilee, including our own now that this
Barabbas is afoot. This morning I sent
word to your mother about the new threat.
Valen, a centurion from the Galilean Cohort, arrived at my house with
the news.”
“What happened to Longinus?” blurted Simon. “Wasn’t
he our centurion before!”
Jesus looked over at Simon, holding his finger up to
his lips.
“Habakkuk asked me the same question.” Eli smiled at
Simon. “A while back, Longinus told me he was being reassigned to
Jerusalem. You’d think that might be a
promotion to be stationed in our holy city, yet he didn’t seem happy about it.”
A strange look appeared in Jesus’ eyes. This look, like the reaction he had when
Peter told him about the town meeting, I now understand as an unspoken
revelation he received from God. The
specter of Golgotha must have flashed in his mind. Closing his eyes a brief moment, he prayed. Once again the fisherman asked him
discreetly if he was all right. Jesus
looked at Peter tolerantly as a father would his child. None of his disciples, except James and I,
recognized his facial gestures for what they were. Even James was ignorant of what I suspected: the town meeting
would be a defining moment in Jesus’ ministry and, secondly, Longinus was
important in Jesus’ future. Though that’s
all I knew, I felt a rush of fear. I
was reminded of his reputation with the authorities and the fact that Caiaphas
spies and agents were watching his every move… Now the Romans, always on the
lookout for troublemakers, would be watching him too.
Awakening to reality, I heard Eli say something else
troubling. The bandit gang would be on
the town elders’ minds, but it appeared as though they were also worried about
Jesus new message.
“In what way are they concerned?” Peter asked
defensively. “Jesus says nothing against the Torah. What he brings is salvation and peace.”
“Of course.” Eli held up a hand. “They simply want
reassurance.”
“Reassurance?” I stepped forward. “What kind of
reassurance?”
“Just clarification, a few facts—” Eli tried to
explain.
“Clarification?” I looked at him disbelief. “It’s
perfectly clear: all Jesus is offering is what the Pharisees already
believe. He just explains it
better. What possible clarification do
you need? It’s so simple, Eli: repent,
be reborn in the Spirit, and have ever-lasting life. Even Samaritans have accepted his words.”
“What?” Eli gave me a dumbfounded look. “… He said
what?”
“He said repent and be saved!” John stomped his foot.
“Jesus speaks on behalf of God!”
”Yes!” exclaimed our brother James. “I was a doubter,
myself. Now I know he’s the Promised
One. Any fool can see that. He’s performed miracles in Cana and
Samaria. That high priest is worried
that people might have some hope!”
That moment I was proud of James. He had come a long way. Unfortunately, as my Greek friend might say,
he had, by calling Jesus the ‘Promised One’ actually elevated his status. Rabbi Eli and Ezra shook their heads in
dismay.
“Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph the Carpenter?”
A furrow appeared in Ezra’s brow.
“Surely, you’re not claiming to be the Messiah,” the
rabbi tottered on his feet. “Please Jesus tell me this isn’t so!”
“He said no such thing!” Simon cried.
“Yes he did,” Ezra pointed accusingly at James. “We
all heard it. The ‘Promised One’ is
another name for the Messiah. Jesus
didn’t deny it. Why would he say such a
thing?”
“What have I done?” James heaved a broken sigh.
“Don’t feel bad,” I consoled him, as Ezra and Eli
muttered amongst themselves, “Jesus said as much himself.”
“Yes,” Jesus admitted sadly, “but it wasn’t my
doing. I would rather my Father, not
men, define me. It’s the message, not
just the messenger, that’s matters.
What’s in a name?”
Though James had spoken the truth, he had unwittingly
made matters worse for Jesus in Nazareth.
Our neighbor and the rabbi were momentarily speechless. Their shocked appearance—wide eyes, gaping
mouths, and wringing hands—spoke loudly.
For several moments, Andrew, Philip, John’s brother James, and even
Bartholomew stood up for Jesus, describing the crowds, the baptism, and details
of his miracles. Simon, though coming
to Jesus’ defense, appeared bewildered by this all. Stunned into silence now, Mama and the twins were beside
themselves with worry about Eli’s and Ezra’s reactions. Everyone else were outraged at the rabbi and
Papa’s onetime friend…. Everyone except Habakkuk. This old man, I recalled then, had the greatest expectations for
Jesus. A look of illumination filled
his dark eyes.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured. “…. I’m not
surprised. You’re the one we have been
waiting for.”
Habakkuk had said this so faintly, only those closest
to him—Jesus, James, and I—heard his words.
The greater meaning of his declaration would come later for me. For now, it confirmed my own suspicion. He was, we had known from the beginning, a
great teacher, preacher, or prophet and likely much more…. Even the title
Promised One, Deliverer, or Messiah didn’t seem enough…. Who was Jesus? I
wondered that moment. Once again, his
hand had been forced.
Striking his palm with the side of his hand to signal
silence, he shouted above their voices: “I come in peace, not war. I have no desire to divide our people, only
to unite them in faith. Tomorrow at
your meeting, Eli, I will answer any questions the elders have. Please, don’t be alarmed with my disciples’
fervor. They’re good men. What we bring is a reaffirmation of the
doctrine of eternal life. My Father has
given me new insight. I speak for the
Lord.”
“Your
father?” Ezra frowned severely. “You said that before…. Aren’t we all his
children?”
“You have said it.” Jesus said wearily with double
meaning. “He listens to us all.”
“So you merely speak for God.” Eli stroked his beard.
“That’s not so bad.”
“Enough!” Mama waved irritably. “This room is too
crowded. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Everyone—it’s a nice evening.” She made scooting motions with her hands. “We
shall add Papa’s work bench to our kitchen table and eat outside.”
******
Mama’s decision seemed highly irregular at first and
quite rude, but this distraction as well as Jesus’ words had managed to calm
the group. As a team, the disciples,
rabbi, and elders placed Papa’s long workbench next to the kitchen table in the
backyard, adding the chairs and stools available, including unfinished pieces
from the shop. Goodwill prevailed, as
we waited to be fed. For the period of
time it took for the twins and Mama to finish preparing the evening meal, we
gathered around the table and bench. It
was difficult avoiding the subject of Jesus identity, so we shared small talk—the
death of Joachim, the old rabbi, the Roman sentries that would soon patrol our
town, and Barabbas, the new menace in Galilee.
Peter recalled, as a child, the rebellion in Galilee and Judea, in which
hundreds of men were crucified. Andrew
and Philip, who had personally seen a man crucified, bitterly denounced this
cruel punishment. These topics were
depressing, especially now that the Romans were back in force. Slipping away those moments, Jesus, James,
and I separated from the others, wandering down to the olive trees at the
perimeter of the yard.
I had fond memories of our orchard and the ancient
ruins we discovered on our property.
My friend Michael and I kept secret the trail leading to the ruins in
order so play our childhood games. When
my parents found out about our exploits, Papa explained that our hideout was
the remnant of a pagan temple and
forbid me to go there anymore. It was I
recalled, where I found Reuben the bandit, our family’s enemy, whom Mama nursed
back to health from wounds received escaping Roman justice. Looking back from the orchard at our house,
I could see Bartholomew, who once owned that name, sitting apart from the
others on a tree stump. Habakkuk and
Ezra hadn’t recognized him, but I remembered all too clearly the trouble he
brought on our house. James walked
silently alongside of us, as I reminisced about those days.
“The past isn’t important unless we repeat our
mistakes,” Jesus interrupted. “It’s only important if we don’t learn by them
and fail to do better. In this way
knowledge is rebirth and ignorance is death.”
“Mistakes you call it,” I grumbled. “I forgive
Bartholomew—we all do, but what he did back then were hardly mistakes.”
“Besides,” I reminded him. “You’re perfect.
You don’t make mistakes. Reuben,
not Bartholomew, had been an evil man.”
Jesus, who couldn’t lie, was silent, proving my
point. He had lectured me briefly in
common sense faction, without spiritual overtones, and yet the meaning was
clear: Bartholomew, the disciple of Jesus, had been reborn. Reuben, the bandit leader and highwayman, a
bad man, was dead. Bartholomew was,
like all of us, a new man.
“Can people be forgiven for any sin?” asked James.
“Of course,” Jesus replied, “nothing is impossible
with God.”
“What about really bad persons?” I frowned. “Can King
Herod, who had children murdered, and Barabbas, whose gang murders innocent
travelers, be forgiven too.”
“Yes,” Jesus said without hesitation. “If a man or
woman prays hard enough for forgiveness, God will forgive them. Until the moment that person dies, there is
a chance of grace.”
“You mean up until the very last moment?” James
looked at him in disbelief.
“Until the last second!” Jesus clarified. “In the twinkling of an eye!”
“I wouldn’t tell people that,” James shook his head.
“Folks will live a life of sin right up to their last breath.”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “Knowing your plan of
salvation, they might make up for lost time.”
“Ah, but that’s the catch.” He raised a finger. “No
one knows when they’ll die. Life is
filled with pitfalls, and no one is immune from disease or danger. Knowing this threat, those seeking salvation
won’t wait. Remember this: death comes
quickly like a phantom. For the saved
it doesn’t matter when, but for the damned it is final!”
James and I shuddered at the thought. Jesus’ promise of my salvation seemed almost
to good to believe. I was hardly a
perfect soul. I could tell by his
expression that James also had concerns.
For several more moments, the three of us meandered to the ancient
ruins, which brought the subject of Michael and my exploits up again. It was a welcome relief from all this gloomy
talk. From the ruins, we found a second
trail that led to Jesus special place.
After inspecting his secret cave and nearby grove of fruit trees that we
visited repeatedly as children, we trekked down the trail leading to the
boundary of our property, looking out on the Plain of Esdraelon and the road
leading to Jerusalem. It was then that
we saw the Roman sentries riding the perimeter of Nazareth.
“Look,” exclaimed James, “there already here!”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Jesus heaved a sigh.
“Jesus,” I said thoughtfully, “I know it creates a
problem, but we need Roman protection.
The last time they were here, they were our friends.”
Alluding to a name used by the prophet Daniel, Jesus
replied cryptically, “From the Jews, the Son of Man will be delivered to the
Romans. The Romans will be the
instrument of God’s will.”
That moment as James and I digested his statement,
Jesus lapsed into communion with God again, praying deeply to himself. Respectful of his state of mind, we waited
until he was finished and we were on the way back to the house, before asking
him questions.
“Hey, what was that about?” I jerked his sleeve.
“Yes, Jesus,” James demanded. “Daniel mentions that
name, but I don’t remember that passage.
He never said anything like that.
What did you mean?”
“My Father talks and I listen,” he answered
enigmatically.
“Oh that explains everything!” James threw up his hands.
“Listen, I think I understand.” I snapped my fingers
excitedly. “God is saying that you’re in danger. If that’s the case, you must stop provoking the authorities,
Jesus—maybe tone it down a notch.”
“I do God’s will.” He looked irritably at me. “When
will you understand?”
I clasped my forehead is dismay. “I understand
exactly, Jesus. God doesn’t want you
stoned, beheaded, or crucified. Your
mission has only just begun. You have your whole life ahead of you. Why stir things up?”
“Would you defy God?” He looked at both of us.
“Whatever He asks of us we must do. Am
I any greater than the prophets our people murdered?”
“Yes,” I replied unequivocally, “you are greater than
them.”
“Greater!” James set his jaw.
“Then, if this is so,” he said, placing his arms
around our shoulders, “have faith in Him who sent me. You also must sacrifice for the truth!”
******
That very moment, we heard Mama shout, “Come and
eat!” Everyone else was already seated,
as she and our sisters brought out roasted lamb, lentils, and bread. Lamps had been set on the table and bench in
anticipation of the setting sun, the faces of the diners glowing with
expectation. As we sat down with the
others, though, our heads were filled with Jesus’ troubling words—a much
greater expectation than food. The
fishermen and our family members knew nothing of his strange prediction. I wanted to believe that God was merely
warning him to be more careful, but I hadn’t heard Jesus’ silent prayer or the
revelation entering his head. I could
tell that James was concerned too.
Belying the dark thoughts swirling in Jesus head, was his spirited Shema
and concise, well thought out prayer of thanksgiving. Added to his special gifts was his ability to control his
feelings, which allowed him to rise above his emotions as he did now at the
table. Whether preaching, in discourse
with critics, or healing the sick and lame, he always kept his head, moving on
to the next order of business. Despite
his inner strength, however, I wasn’t fooled.
Jesus had seen something dark and terrible in his future.
Was it merely a warning, I asked myself, or a
premonition of things to come? Jesus
words, “From the Jews, the Son of Man will be delivered to the Romans…,” would
haunt me in the days ahead. Taking
advantage of the wine Mama provided, I drank several cups, hoping to wipe those
words from my brain. Following my
example, James drank more wine than usual, himself. While we drank and ate, we listened to the fishermen boast of
Jesus exploits, envying them for their innocence. Bartholomew had squeezed in beside me still self-conscious of his
past.
“Well,” he whispered enthusiastically, “I guess you
were right. No one recognized me. I’m in the clear!”
“Bartholomew,” I replied discreetly, using Jesus’
words. “Get this in your thick skull. You were born again. Stop worrying so much. You’re a new man!”
Looking down the table at me as if he heard my words,
Jesus smiled, nodding with acknowledgment.
Breaking into the fishermen’s discussion now, he gave us an inspiring
talk meant for his family and disciples, but there was no question that it was
intended especially for James and
me.
“My family and friends,” he addressed
us warmly. “Some of you are troubled by the path ahead. Already, despite our success in Judea and
Samaria, you’re worried about the reception we’ll receive in Galilee. It appears as though the high priest has
nothing better to do than send his agents into crowds to spy on us. The sudden reappearance of Barabbas in
Galilee only made matters worse. Now
that Roman sentries are back in order to protect Nazareth from his gang,
there’s an added concern. After Judah’s
insurrection, Rome will tolerant no rebellion.
Assemblies of noisy people make them nervous. They expect the worst when a self-styled prophet shouts epitaphs
against Rome and will deal harshly with insurrectionist calling for the end of Roman
rule. After all, in the Gentile mind,
we Jews are a stiff-necked people. Our
predecessors, Saul, David, and Judah Maccabees, were warrior kings. But we aren’t warriors; we’re missionaries,
spreading the good news. Our mission is
one of peace. A new religion, as the
priests and Pharisees see it, doesn’t worry the Romans. They’re pagans, who worship many gods—all
equal in the emperor’s eyes. Until God
wills it, the high priest bows to Rome’s will.
His wish is to incite the Pharisees, scribes, and priests against us, if
not to prove we speak blasphemy, to make them believe I threaten the
peace. But once again, I bring peace
and you’re emissaries of peace. The
shield of God goes before us. So don’t
be concerned with the future. In a
state of grace, we own the present. The
future is in God’s hands!”
******
As I listened to Jesus, I was somewhat
comforted. I truly believed he meant
what he said. I could even accept that
our path was God’s will and, at least for a spell, we were under his protection. What I couldn’t get out of my mind was his
reference to that shadowy character, ‘the Son of Man,’ and the implication that
he would be handed over to the Romans by the Jews. Like James, who sat plunged in thought across the table from me,
I tried, to no avail, blotting out his words with wine. Tumbling later that evening onto my pallet
for a welcomed night’s sleep, I awakened the next morning in much worse shape.
The first voice I heard was Jesus.
“Wake up, you rascal,” he scolded, giving me a shake. You shouldn’t have drunk all that wine!”
Looking up through a fuzzy haze, I blinked and rubbed
my eyes. The pounding in my head was
merciless as I tried to focus on the spinning room. I remembered having a nightmare: Roman sentries were chasing us
up a hill brandishing swords. I could
see Jesus Bar Abbas ahead, still a child in my nightmare, beckoning me
playfully to accompany him to the ruins where I once found Reuben. Michael appeared suddenly, shouting
obscenities at the legionnaires. From that
point, my recollection was patchy. When
I stood finally on my feet, the dream faded quickly to the back of my
mind. Vaguely, I was aware of my
concern for Jesus, my dread dulled by his words of comfort at the table. “I must trust him. I must have faith,” I mumbled over and over, as I followed the
other disciples example and prepared myself for the day.
After splashing water onto my face, I saw James
talking to Simon. I could tell he was
in as bad a shape as me. None of the
other disciples had been as foolish as us.
We were greeted silently with frowns and grins, as we joined them for
breakfast. The buzz of conversation
during our meal was about the probable topics of the meeting this morning at the
synagogue: (1) what was Jesus up to?’; (2) why was he and his followers
traipsing around Palestine claiming to spread the ‘good news?; (3) just what
was his message, anyhow?; (4) did it conflict with the Torah; (5) was it
blasphemous or heretical; (6) and who was he to challenge the priesthood and
temple, claiming he speaks for God?’ I
was surprised that the disciples raised such rational questions. They weren’t quite the dullards James and I
suspected. The reason I numbered these
questions was to give emphasis to each of them. Worded various ways, they would all be covered in the heated atmosphere
of the synagogue during the hour Jesus gave an accounting of himself, but would
almost be forgotten in the confusion and pandemonium that followed.
******
Despite Jesus’ comforting words, the disciples were
nervous about the pending meeting. After breakfast, after each of us made water
in the shack Papa had built, we gathered up our strength and followed Jesus to
the synagogue. Mama, Simon, Abigail,
and Martha stood in our front yard waving anxiously at us as if we were
embarking on a long, dangerous trip (which we, in fact, were). I looked back that moment, envying Simon,
the simplest of my brothers. While
James and I were heading into harm’s way, he stood there in the morning sun,
dimly aware of the dangers we faced. As
a mother, Mama’s fears were more general.
She might have recalled Simeon’s warning then: “A sword shall pierce
your heart!” Perhaps Abigail and Martha
shared some of her worries, but it was probably similar to Simon’s brotherly
concern. None of them, I was certain,
could be as worried as poor Jesus, who, as Peter put it this morning, was
walking into a ‘lion’s den.’
When we arrived, the synagogue was full of town
elders, including Nazareth’s Pharisees.
We could also see Habakkuk and Ezra’s faces in the room. After a brief prayer and introduction by
Rabbi Eli, the congregation erupted into questions, including the ones the
disciples thought might be brought up.
I can’t speak for the other disciples, but my head swam with
apprehension and I actually felt dizzy, as if I might pass out. The most important questions about the
nature of Jesus mission (what exactly was his message?; was he planning on
replacing the Torah with it?; and why was he spreading his message among the
cursed Samaritans) were answered simply by him. After explaining the simple formula for salvation (repent ones
sins, accept God’s grace, be baptized as a sign of renewal, and be reborn in
the Spirit to have eternal life.), I hoped those pompous men might be impressed,
but most of them were offended by what they thought were Jesus’
pretensions. Though Habakkuk could see
nothing wrong with his religious formula and outreach to peoples, Ezra agreed
with the majority that we were defiled in Samaria. Of equal importance was the question of Jesus’ attitude about the
Torah. After strongly affirming that he
was not replacing the Torah, which seemed to appease many of his opponents, he
argued convincingly to some that the Samaritans, after all, worshiped the same
God, and should be brought back into the fold.
With the exception of the majority’s rejection of his message, which was
still significant, Jesus managed well under the circumstances.
When a final question from Rabbi Eli, himself was
raised, however, Jesus was placed in an impossible situation.
“…Who do you claim to be?” the rabbi asked
hesitantly.
“Oh no,” groaned James. “I was worried about
this.”
It felt like a betrayal to us. How could Jesus answer such a question? In spite of the recent disclosures made to
us, he had avoided giving a direct answer to this until this moment. Now, in front of Nazareth’s rabbi and
elders, his moment of truth was here.
Mindful of the implications of Eli’s question, we whispered fearfully
amongst ourselves. We were terrified of
this bunch. Though I had lived in
Nazareth all my life, most of them were strangers to me. As James and I, the fishermen were beside
themselves with fear. I could imagine
how frightened poor Bartholomew was.
Jesus didn’t answer immediately.
Walking up to the front of the room he stood behind the Torah, opened it
to a passage, and from the prophet Isaiah and read aloud:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. He anointed me to preach the message to the
poor. He has sent me to proclaim
release to the captives, to recover sight of the blind, to set free those who
are oppressed, and to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord!”
Closing
the book, he looked out at the stunned audience, exclaiming, “Today Scripture
has been fulfilled in your hearing!”
After regaining their wits, the elders, especially the graybeards,
comprising the chief elders and Pharisees, shouted out angrily at Jesus. Many of them rent their garments (the
official sign of religious protest and grief).
One portly elder demanded that Jesus be taken out and stoned. Raising his trembling hands against this
mob, the rabbi counseled prudence.
“Order! Order!
This is a house of God!” he cried impotently.
“Stone him! Stone him!” a chorus of voices responded
Wringing his hands in despair Eli
repeated his demand. Habakkuk and Ezra
elbowed through the crowd toward us, making shooing motions, as if to say, “Go,
get out, before they tear you to shreds!”
While most of the audience was livid with rage, many of Jesus’ critics
were merely puzzled by his claim. “Who
is this other Jesus?” an elder
muttered in dismay. “Is this not Joseph, the Carpenter’s son?” My heart was beating so loudly, I could
scarcely hear what Jesus said next.
Finally, as I felt James pulling me from the crowd, I heard Jesus cry
out angrily, “Truly I say to you: no prophet is welcome in his home town.”
After that point, words that Luke had gleaned from onlookers, would spell from
Jesus lips, but his reply was drowned out in my ears by shrill screams of rage
from the mob and James shouting into my ear, “Jude, wake up. We have to get out of here!”
After this point, matters moved
quickly. For a few terrible moments, it
appeared as though Jesus had finally gone too far. While James and I followed the fisherman out of town, I stopped a
moment to assist Bartholomew. Looking
back at the crowd surging out of the synagogue then, I could see the men grab
Jesus and carry him toward our house.
“To the cliff! To the cliff!”
someone cried, and I knew exactly where they were going. In Jesus secret place on our property there
was, in fact, a cliff overlooking the Plain of Esdraelon and Jerusalem
road.
Leaving
Bartholomew in his mule cart, I raced after the crowd. Close on my heels was James and the
fishermen. Frantically, we tried breaking
through this mob, but we were greatly outnumbered. More people, who hadn’t attended the meeting, among them women
and younger men, joined in what looked like a lynching. Peter’s nose was bloodied by a man’s fist,
and I was shoved to the ground. Mama,
Simon, Abigail, and Martha stood by helplessly, after being pushed aside by
friends and neighbors.
The mob might either stone Jesus, hang
him, or, more likely, throw him off the cliff.
As our family and the disciples followed Jesus’ antagonists, we wept and
wrung our hands helplessly. Bravely,
Peter attempted to wrestle Jesus from the mob.
James had been slapped senseless by a portly woman and my ears rang
after someone shrieked “Death to Jesus’ followers!” into my ear. Andrew, Philip, John, and his brother James
had been elbowed and knocked aside as Peter was beaten again. Refusing to give up, I took a different
trail through the orchard in order to circumvent the crowd. Brambles and thorns tore at my skin and
clothes as I negotiated this seldom used path, until, breaking through a
clearing near the ruins, in unhallowed ground, I forced my way through the
bushes and tall grass until I entered the main trail. At that point, in their bloodlust, the crowd seemed unaware that
I had joined their ranks. Entering the
narrow path, passed Jesus’ cave, toward the clearing near the cliff, they
carried him aloft. Caught in the flow
of vigilantes momentarily, I managed to side step them, scrambling up an
incline and pushing my way through the prickly undergrowth, reaching the far
side of the clearing. I had no idea how
I might stop them from throwing Jesus off the cliff. My first impulse was to throw rocks at them, which I did without
compunction. Landing a stone on the
head of one graybeard, then another off the shoulder of a younger man—both of
whom had their hands on Jesus, I followed this effort up by scooping handfuls
of gravel and pelting the crowd.
Several of them broke ranks to attack me too. I couldn’t blame James, Simon, and the fishermen for not standing
with me. Only I knew about the secret
trail and the way of circumventing the mob.
“Dear God, save us!” I screamed, preparing myself for
the worst.
“Let’s get him,” someone cried, “he’s
that blasphemer’s brother!”
“Brace yourself,” a voice entered my
head.
Just as the crowd raised Jesus up to
throw him to his death and at the very moment they began pummeling me with
fists, another miracle—this time straight from God struck the mob. A tremor, reminiscent of the occasional
earthquake rumbling through Galilee shook the ground. Fearful that the cliff would crumble and take them with it,
Jesus’ antagonists released him and the men hammering me with blows drew back
in terror. I can scarcely explain what
happened next. One moment, as diehard
vigilantes regained their composure and laid hands on Jesus again, it seemed as
if he would finally be tossed down from the precipice and the other men would
finish me off. The next moment, after a
second temblor, I saw Jesus, his face radiant with light, gliding like a
phantom through his attackers, who, caught in knot of bodies, scrambled down
the trail. Because the trail was too
narrow to allow passage, men and women slapped and punched each other in order
to save themselves. I had cowered below
the six men pummeling me unable to see.
Now raising my head up from the ground, after they had fled, I witnessed
a transfiguration. I record this in
retrospect, for this concept was alien to me then. Yet I felt a presence then: a deep, abiding warmth and peace. At the same time, a shadow fell over
me. One day that shadow would stretch
across the Roman Empire, but for now I recognized who it was.
His hand reached down for me to grab now. “Hold tightly, little brother,” he said,
pulling me to my feet. “We’ll wait, until their gone.”
There were bruises and scrapes on me from the
brambles and beating, but Jesus was unscathed.
As if nothing serious had happened, he chatted with me about the
wondrous panorama below the cliff.
“Behold, Jude.” He spread his arms. “One day the
whole world will hear my message!”
“Jesus,” I said, tugging his sleeve, “I’m greatly
impressed, and I’ll dream about this moment until I’m old and gray, but they
almost killed us. Let’s get out of
here. Those people still want your
blood!”
Amused by his triumph over ignorance, as if what I just saw was but a trifling event, Jesus stood with me for several moments until it appeared as though the coast was clear. When we greeted our family and the disciples at the foot of the trail, there were no townsfolk in sight, but Jesus decided that moment not to put our family in any more danger. As Mama hastily prepared snacks for us on our journey, Jesus promised her all was well. The evidence on his body should have been enough to convince her he was invincible. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on him, and yet he had just been seriously manhandled and almost thrown to his death. As we loaded our extra food into Bartholomew’s cart, the old man apologized for not being much help. Later, on the road, I shared with James and him the experience I had by the cliff. It was difficult explaining just exactly what took place. It was even more difficult to explain this event to Peter and the others, and yet no one was really surprised at Jesus spectacular escape. He had changed water into wine, healed a blind girl, and raised an infant from the dead. What I experienced on the precipice felt to me like his greatest miracle, something I could scarcely understand, let along explain.
Next Chapter/ Return to Table of Contents/Writer’s Den