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Chapter Twelve

The Centurion’s Servant

On the way back to Capernaum, Jesus would stop travelers and preach to them. Most of them listened to him politely, though a few grew irritated and shooed him away. I’m ashamed to say that James and I were embarrassed for him, as were the fishermen, but Jesus remained cheerful, even laughing at some of the verbal abuse. It was, in fact, our human frailties that made his sensitive to public derision. Gradually our shyness and squeamishness was fading with each baptism.

Finally, at a rest stop where a small village loomed up on the side of the road, Jesus met a sheepherder and his son, tending sheep in the nearby hills. After hearing him speak, the two men agreed to baptism at a stream nearby. In Jesus’ view if one person is saved among a hundred, the effort was worth it. After the question and answers used in this rite, Jesus led them to the water source, as Andrew and Philip guarded their sheep. The symbols in this encounter—shepherd and sheep—was not lost on us. Because the water in the stream was too shallow for emersion, Jesus scooped water up with his hands, sprinkled each of them, and, as he had with other converts, asked them to spread the word.

Compared to the previous numbers brought into to the Way, the baptism of two sheepherders was not that impressive, but Jesus used this opportunity, to lecture us on humility.

“Are you proud?” he turned to ask us.

“Well,…” Peter answered hesitantly, “that depends.”

“And you?” He pointed to John.

“Who isn’t?” John frowned defensively.

“What about you?” He looked squarely at me.

“Yes,” I said unequivocally, “I’m proud.”

He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “At least you’re honest. There’s nothing wrong with pride for the right reasons. “This hour wasn’t one of them,” he addressed us all. “You were embarrassed at the reaction I received from some of those travelers. They reacted out of impatience and fear. Get used to this reaction on our journey. At least they didn’t throw rotten fruit or stones at us. Had they not been tired or fearful of strangers on the road, their reactions might have been different. I’ve seen great progress in each one of you, but there’s still room for improvement. As a group, I scold you about this. Consider the misery of doubt and urgency in such men. Be patient, tolerant, and humble. Pray for these virtues and they will come.” “… Now, individually,” he added after a pause. “I offer these nuggets of advice. Peter: speak more clearly, so the initiate understands what you’re trying to say. Andrew: you’re speaking too loudly. You’re frightening them. Both of you are nervous; I understand this. Relax and let it come easily. The words will come into your head. Now John and his brother James speak well, but are not always taking the baptisms seriously. When you dunk a young woman, you must look beyond her looks. All of those coming to us—men, women, or children—are equal. Seek them out equally and have pure thoughts. You, Philip, often hesitate when a misshapen person approaches. You, too, must discard you prejudices and look at the soul within.”

Looking at Bartholomew in his cart, Jesus shook his head, “You have a pure heart. In fact, you’ve come a long way. Though you’re improving, however, you complain too much. It comes almost spontaneously out of your mouth. I know you have aches and pains and my Father knows this too. When you feel distressed, pray. I’ll pray with you. You’re mule is also tired, Bartholomew. I think the rest in Capernaum will do you both good.”

Looking at James and I now, he sighed heavily. Placing his hands on our shoulders, he laughed softly. “And then there’s my brothers, James and Jude. What can I say? I’m amazed at how James, a student of Nicodemus has stayed with us so long. Nicodemus is a Pharisee, stifled by the law, and yet he’s on the path, as are you James. Try not to be squeamish when you think something is unclean or will defile you. Your facial expressions, such as the snarl you give rustics like that shepherd and his son, are quite obvious.” “As were your expressions in the beginning.” He looked at me. “Your biggest problem isn’t shyness, squeamishness, intolerance, or impatience. It’s that special insight inside you. Unlike the others, even our brother, you feel you know me better than them. You’re blessed with certain feelings, Jude. You look into the future and see shadows, but don’t concern yourself with them. If it wasn’t for your questioning nature and fears for me, your efforts would almost be perfect.”

Jesus prayed aloud, asking his father to give us patience, wisdom, and spiritual strength, so that we wouldn’t worry about tomorrow. On the face of it, it seemed as though I had gotten the least amount of criticism for my performance, but in truth, my task—to not worry about the shadows I saw in my mind—was daunting, in fact, much more difficult than what the others faced. At times, the fishermen acted like children on an adventure, James, who was more concerned about being defiled, didn’t have my insight, and Bartholomew was too concerned about his bodily ailments to worry much about anything else. Nevertheless, I felt special. Jesus had to be impartial with his disciples, just as he wanted us to be impartial with future members of the Way, and yet on occasion, he would tousle my hair, call me little brother, and chat with me about trifling things. He had expected little from me, and yet he singled me out with what sounded very much like a compliment.

Those moments when it was my turn to receive Jesus’ advice, James made a face. Not long afterwards, as the disciples chattered amongst themselves, he turned to me, and asked,

“What did Jesus mean when he said you’re blessed?”

“Oh,” I thought quickly, “he just meant my memory. I remember practically everything he did. I’m bound to be more pessimistic than you.”

“Humph,” he said with a scowl. “I could’ve of used your memory in Jerusalem.”

Of course, that wasn’t what Jesus meant at all. When the fishermen overheard this exchange, they frowned, and shook their heads. Perhaps it sounded as if I was trying to he high and mighty. James had always been envious of my almost total recall. Often I sounded condescending to the fishermen. What I had to hide and overcome was my feeling that they were dullards. That most of these men would write inspiring accounts of Jesus’ life and interpret his message now seems miraculous. During the earlier days of our mission, I could barely carry on a decent conversation with them. At times, they had given Jesus blank looks when he used big words; it took a long time for them to comprehend some of Jesus’ concepts; and yet, in the end, they expounded great wisdom.

Though they might not have understood what Jesus said to me this hour, they resented the brotherly attention he gave to James and I, especially the affection given to me. Somehow, I told myself, I had to lessen that resentment. Those moments, when I worried about this problem, Jesus walked far ahead of us lost in his thoughts. The fishermen now took issue with the fact Jesus singled me out.

“I though we were all brothers,” Peter said to Andrew.

“You know the expression,” Andrew replied, “blood is thicker than water.”

“That’s a stupid expression,” my brother snorted. “So is wine and vinegar.”

“That’s not the point.” Philip snarled. “He means you’re of the same blood.”

“And that’s not fair.” John glared at James and me.

“Yeah,” exclaimed his brother. “In Capernaum, Jesus said we’re all family.”

“We are one growing family,” I began explaining. “What Jesus said was true, but he’s James’ and my brother—that’s a simple fact.” “The truth is,” I added, looking back at James, “we’re not of the same blood. None of our brothers and sisters are!”

“Jude, shut up!” James cried.

Awakened from his reverie, Jesus whirled around, looking at me in disbelief. James, well aware of our adoption by our parents, knew I had, in fishermen’s jargon, treaded into deep water. Jesus thought so too. Thanks to my big mouth, the truth was out.

“What does Jude mean?” asked John. “He said he was your brother, Jesus. You’re not of the same blood?”

Because Jesus couldn’t lie, he answered directly with the facts. “My mother gave birth to me,” he said calmly, “but afterwards, out of the goodness of their hearts, my parents adopted the other children.”

“Whoa!” Peter slapped his forehead. “James and Jude are adopted?”

“Yes,” Jesus exhaled, “as were Joseph, Simon, and the twins.”

“Huh?” John gave him an incredulous look. “Abigail and Martha too?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, glancing at me. “I didn’t think to tell you, but there’s no shame in it. James, Jude, and their brothers and sisters have become fine adults.”

“Your sisters are beautiful!” piped John.

“Beauty is in here.” Jesus pointed to his chest.

“I always thought it was strange, them being blond and all,” Andrew muttered aloud, “not at all Jewish in appearance.”

“Well, look at Jesus,” blurted Philip, “he’s got blue eyes.” “Come to think of it.” He snapped his fingers, “so does Mary, Jesus’ mother.”

“You idiot!” James whispered into my ear.

“What have I done?” I groaned. I had gone beyond treading into deep waters. I had, as my Greek friend would say, opened a Pandora’s box that not even Jesus could fix.

“Listen men,” Jesus said, raising his arms up for silence, “there are many Galileans with blue eyes and blond hair. What have I told you? Look inside people, not outside. There are no singularly handsome men or fair maidens in heaven: all are equal in God’s eyes. Jude merely spoke the truth.”

Bartholomew, whose red hair had turned gray, understood what Jesus meant more than anybody. Knowing our secret all along, he gave me a sympathetic look as Jesus took me aside.

“I’m sorry I have to bawl you out,” he chided, “but they’re not ready for that portion of the truth. The fact is, in their untutored minds, the admission that you and James were adopted will make you all more equal. In the end, you’re indiscretion has served a purpose, but in the future watch your tongue. You were doing fine until you said, ‘We’re not the same blood!’ Think before you speak!”

“I-I’m sorry,” I replied shamefacedly. “I was trying to make a point. It just spilled out!”

“It certainly did!” he snapped, giving me a shake. “That was none of their business. You were very indiscreet, Jude! Promise me you won’t bring this up again!”

I heaved a broken sigh. “It won’t happen again,” I swore, “I promise!”

******

From that day forward, I would try keeping my thoughts to myself. Jesus was right: I must watch my tongue. As he also pointed out, however, my indiscretion had served a purpose. The fishermen began treating James and me differently after that day. We were, after all, in their minds, not blood brothers and were therefore on more or less equal footing with them as disciples. Andrew, Philip, and John gave me sympathetic looks as Jesus and I walked back to the group. During a rest stop, John’s brother James walked up to me, patted my shoulder and thanked me for my honesty; he and the other fishermen had grown tired of my airs. Peter admitted that his uncle Benjamin had been adopted too. To perpetuate this feeling of goodwill, I tried very hard not to talk down to them and listen to them intently to show them I was one of the men. Though James remained irritated with me for awhile, he finally joined me beside Bartholomew’s cart, as we approached Capernaum, admitting that my slip had actually made matters better for them. Following my example, he tried harder to fit in.

Though Nazareth was our hometown, the distant glimmer of the Sea of Galilee was like returning home for us too. Peter had a wife, daughter, and mother-in-law there. All of the fishermen, except Bartholomew (if counted as one of them), had been born in Capernaum. Like James and I, they had to overcome their homesickness during the journey. Now because Jesus had decided to make it our home base, Capernaum would become James and my home too.

As we made our way down the hill leading into the town, a distant rider rode toward us, reminding us of the time Moses bar Nablis had approached. The similarity of the two scenes would be all the more remarkable when the man called out Jesus name. Almost immediately, my brothers and I recognized who it was. It was Regulus, once an optio on patrol in our town for Longinus, First Centurion of Prefect Cornelius’ Galilean Cohort. Bartholomew, who had once been chased as a fugitive by Longinus’ men, recognized him too.

“Oh no,” he muttered fearfully, “it’s him!”

“Don’t panic!” I called discreetly. “He won’t recognize you. You’re no longer Reuben the bandit. You’re Bartholomew, Jesus’ disciple!”

Regulus, whose red cape bellowed in the wind, raced at breakneck speed on his black steed. On his helmet, we noted, was the plum of a centurion. He had come up in the world. Jesus returned his greeting, scurrying out to meet him on the road. All of us drew close, anxious to hear the discussion. As was the case with most of the events in Jesus’ life, this would be recorded by his apostles. What the writers failed to capture, however, was the background of this singular event. Here was a stern Roman officer, who had looked down on my family and the townsfolk of Nazareth, arriving as a supplicant, seeking Jesus’ help.

“…Jesus,” he said with great emotion, “I have heard of you. Your reputation precedes you. Clementius, my faithful servant, told me you’re a miracle worker. I didn’t believe it. For me, everything I believed was always black and white, right there in front of my face. Now it’s not. My servant Clementius, an old soldier, who once saved my life, is dying. The doctor in Sepphoris told me he will soon be dead, but Clementius believes you can cure him. I’ve never seen such conviction in one man.”

“You must be exhausted.” Jesus looked up with concern. “Did you ride all the way from the Galilean Fort?”

“No Sepphoris,” he replied, climbing off his horse. “Things haven’t gone well at Galilean Cohort. There’s been a shakeup at the fort.”

“To Cornelius and Longinus?” I blurted.

“I’m afraid so.” He looked down sympathetically. “Matters have deteriorated greatly. The new governor, Pontius Pilate, thought Cornelius was too soft on your people. I did too. He was cashiered out of the legions and the First Centurion, Flavius Longinus, was reassigned to Jerusalem. I was promoted to centurion, myself, but the new first centurion is a Jew-hater, handpicked by Pilate. I’ve grown fond of my neighbors in Sepphoris. You’re good people, Jesus. I know that now.”

Jesus, we could see, was deeply moved. Climbing off his horse, Regulus removed his helmet and wiped his brow, his voice husky with emotion: “Recently, when I was riding with my men, a traveler from Cana told me a strange story. He said a man in his town changed water into wine. I laughed at him and thought that was ridiculous. Then just the other day, another fellow—a Samaritan merchant in Sepphoris told me a man cured a blind girl and brought an infant back from the dead. Just how coincidental is that, Jesus, that I heard these stories only days apart as my friend Clementius lay dying in his bed? Clementius calls himself a god-fearer—the name your people have given to non-Jews who believe in their God. Even his physician has heard of you. Some call you a prophet. My Roman friends think you might be a new god. All I know, Jesus, is what Clementius told me. There’s too many stories to discount your miracles out of hand.”

“I have no wife or children, only my servant.” He paused, heaving a sigh. “…. I-I’m sick to death of my pointless life. Clementius, in spite of his pain, isn’t afraid to die. His only concern is for a son in Rome he hasn’t seen in years. I-I want to believe like him Jesus, but I’ve seen too much killing and ugliness. Our Roman gods are made of stone; they’re dead and lifeless. Vascus, the new prefect, ordered the slaughter of one hundred villagers for stoning a soldier who raped one of their women. I was there, helpless against the bloodlust of my men…. It broke something inside of me...” “Jesus,” he cried out finally, “save my friends life and save me!”

For the first time I could remember in his ministry, Jesus was speechless. Knowing full well that Regulus was a Gentile, the fishermen stood there in shock. Now that Regulus appeared to be on our side, Bartholomew was, as I, greatly relieved, light-headed with delight. That a Roman centurion would say such a thing, was a first. History was being made this very moment. I felt it acutely, more than at any other time in our journey why we were following Jesus, and why we must spread the good news. Because of his training as a scribe, James, naturally looked upon what followed with doubt and disbelief, but the rest of us, like Jesus, were deeply moved.

“… Regulus,” Jesus spoke finally, motioning for a water skin, “this isn’t complicated. It will be the easiest thing you’ve ever done in your life, bringing you peace, joy, and eternal life. Are you truly repentant for your sins?”

“Yes,” Regulus answered, kneeling on the ground.

“Do you believe in God’s heeling grace and life everlasting?”

“I do!” Regulus bowed his head.

“Then, with this water, I baptize you into your new life. You are spiritually reborn!”

This was strange even for Jesus. He had just baptized a Gentile. The centurion rose up shakily and, in the Roman fashion, gripped Jesus forearm, then stood back, recalling why he originally came. “Now please, there’s no time to waste,” he cried, wringing his hands. “Save my servant. I fear it may already be too late.”

“Sepphoris it too far,” Peter exclaimed. “We’ll never make it time!”

“Yes, Jesus,” nodded Philip, “he’ll already be dead.”

The other disciples agreed with Peter and Philip.

Regulus waved irritably. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t expect Jesus to travel to Sepphoris. Even if he did, you Jews consider yourselves contaminated in a Gentile’s house.”

“That’s true, Jesus,” James protested, “this man is an uncircumcised Roman.”

“James, let the man speak!” Jesus scolded.

“I am a centurion, who leads men. If I tell them to do something, they do it.” He snapped his fingers. “You are a man of God, who can do wonders, who merely has to command it for it to be done.”

“It’s my Father who works through me,” Jesus corrected him. “Surely, I say unto you,” he added, glancing back at James. “I’ve not yet seen faith as great as Regulus and his servant.”

“But he’s a pagan Gentile,” James grumbled.

Closing his eyes, Jesus took on an attitude of prayer. For a few moments, he talked silently to God, as Regulus looked on expectantly. Though Jesus clearly included all peoples—not just Jews—in his mission, the disciples were dumbfounded by this departure. When Jesus opened his eyes, he looked with great compassion at the Roman.

“Regulus, this hour your servant has awakened and is asking for food and water. He’s well and blessed by God for bringing you into the Way.”

Once again Regulus embraced Jesus but this time the Jewish way. After hugging him tightly, he took stock of himself, straightened his shoulders, and saluted Jesus as he would a comrade in arms.

“From this day forward,” he cried out, “I pledge my life, honor, and my sword to God. In his service, I live and die!”

Though he sounded very much like a gladiator, I broke ranks from the others and ran to shake his hand. Also moved by this demonstration, Peter, then Andrew, and one-by-one the other disciples, followed my example, until only James stood apart, stewing in his thoughts.

“Come here, my brother,” Jesus beckoned. “This man is our brother. You merely have to follow me. For a Roman to say such a thing is no easy matter. Unlike you, he will, from this day forward, serve to masters: Caesar and God!”

******

With great faith, as Jesus believed, Regulus finally relaxed. Plainly, though illumination glowed from his eyes, this was a man driven beyond human endurance. Slumping wearily onto a rock by the road, he looked eastward toward Sepphoris, satisfied that Clementius would live. Jesus sat down beside him a moment. The two men murmured back and forth awhile as would two old friends. In spite of their respect for the Roman’s new allegiance to the Way, a discontent returned to the disciples as they pondered what this meant. No one dare repeat what James had said, until Regulus and Jesus, stood up and walked a ways from the group. Jesus was obviously counseling the new convert to the Way. It was especially irksome to James, who had remained isolated until he detected a consensus in the group.

Out of earshot from them now, he said with great bitterness, “Jesus castes pearls before swine!” I would hear these word again during Jesus ministry. Now, they underlined the rift between Gentile and Jew. Not familiar with these ugly words, the fishermen were startled by James’ anger.

“I’m just confused,” Andrew scratched his head. “John baptized only Jews at the River Jordan. I was surprised when he reached out to the Samaritans, but at least they’re circumcised and they’re not pagans.”

“Precisely!” spat James. “Regulus isn’t only a pork-eating pagan, he’s uncircumcised!”

“I’m a little puzzled myself.” Peter studied James. “But that’s pretty strong. That Roman traveled a long way, non-stop. He must’ve had great faith.”

“Well, he’s still a Gentile,” observed John. “How does this fit in with the Baptist’s plan?”

“What just exactly is John’s plan?” Peter frowned.

“Don’t you remember?” I looked at Andrew and Philip for agreement. “John’s the forerunner—a voice crying in the wilderness!”

“That’s right,” Philip nodded. “He said it often enough.”

“Humph!” grumbled John. “He’s said a lot of strange things!”

“He called Jesus the Lamb of God,” his brother reflected. “How strange is that?”

“And the Anointed One.” Andrew frowned.

“Jesus made it plan he doesn’t like labels.” I reminded them. “He doesn’t want to upset religious leaders. Let’s face: we have a good idea who he is.”

“That’s not the point.” James waved irritably. “You men have changed the subject. Jesus just baptized a Gentile. We all suspect who he is. Everything I’ve read points to a Jewish messiah. Jesus makes no claim to that, but what else could he be?”

“Are you serious?” John looked at him curiously. “I heard about the Jewish Redeemer. Isn’t he a warrior king like David?”

“No,” I interjected. “… Isaiah contradicts himself. I read his scrolls. On the one hand, he promised a savior who will smite our conquerors and set up a new kingdom. On the other hand, he talks about a suffering servant, who comes in peace, like Jesus… Isaiah also says in those passages that he will be a light unto the Gentiles.”

“It’s a matter of interpretation,” James tried justifying his prejudice. “A light unto Gentiles might mean he’ll set an example for them. It doesn’t mean they’ll be brought into the fold. Nowhere in the Torah do the prophets reach out to Gentiles. The old faith and the Way are intended for Jews, not Romans and Greeks, which should make us question the baptism of Regulus—a Gentile and soldier to boot!”

“Let me get this straight,” Peter scratched his jaw. “What your saying is all Gentiles are a lost cause. They won’t be saved or go to heaven. What if they become circumcised and become Jews, themselves. That would make a difference.”

“That sounds very reasonable.” John nodded.

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, “I’ve know couple of Syrians who converted to our faith.’

“That’s just it, though,” I objected. “What Jesus is preaching isn’t the old faith. He’s preaching something brand new. Regulus didn’t have to be circumcised. Why should any Gentile have to go through that dreadful procedure.”

“It’s the basis of out faith.” James said stubbornly. “God ordered Abraham to circumcise himself, his household, and his slaves as an everlasting covenant in the flesh.”

“Ah but those are the key words:” I countered. “covenant in the flesh. When Jesus speaks of God’s grace, he isn’t talking about snipping off foreskins or forcing people to live by impossible-to-keep-laws. When people choose the Way, it’s simple, painless rite: a baptism of the spirit, not the flesh.”

“Bah!” spat James. “Those trips with Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, and Syrians have corrupted you. Now you reject our tradition?”

“There’s another key word,” I shot back, “tradition—not religion. Before God commanded Abraham to mutilate his privates, he was a god-fearer like Regulus’ servant. God wanted that procedure done to separate us from pagans. Now that’s changed. One day, I bet everyone will hear the good news—Romans, Greeks, Syrians, Egyptians, Edomites—slaves or free. Jesus so much as said so himself.”

“First: snip-snip-snip.” James gestured with his fingers. “That comes before conversion.”

Peter shuddered. “I see Jude’s point. We were all infants when that was done. Would a grown man allow himself to be cut?”

“Ugh.” John made a face. “I sure couldn’t!”

“I don’t know,” his brother pursed his lips. “You heard our father and the rabbi. I never heard Jesus say things like Jude. It’s pretty clear in our religion.”

“Our religion?” Bartholomew came alive. “What do you mean our religion? Isn’t the Way our religion now?”

“Of course,” James replied curtly, “but my name sake’s correct. Let’s go by what Jesus says, not Jude. He’s never questioned circumcision. Painful or not, Abraham was following God’s law.”

And then I said it, without even thinking: a basic truth that John the Baptist, himself, had implied. “Jesus has replaced the law!” I cried.

Everyone shook their heads this time. This made no sense to them, especially James. What I meant was that Jesus simple message replaced the Sadducee and Pharisee’s demanding reliance of law as opposed to grace. It was true, at least for now to placate Jews, that Jesus had said nothing against our laws nor had he spoken against circumcision, which was a requirement for the old faith. We were, however, bringing a new faith to people—a point we all agreed upon. Jesus was a the very center of the Way. John had said, “Behold the Lamb of God,” implying that Jesus’ death would replace the old religion’s butchering of untold numbers of animals and birds, hence the Leviticus’ laws, but that realization was a long way off. Now, to quote the fishermen again, I was once more in deep water.

“Jesus replaced the law?” Bartholomew said from the corner of his mouth. “… Did God speak to you personally, Jude?”

“Jude.” Peter stroked his beard. “Did Jesus say that?”

“Well….” I looked at the ground.

“You know he didn’t.” James pointed accusingly. “That’s heresy. You made that up!”

Andrew gave me a dumfounded look. “It sounds like something Jesus might say, but what does that mean?”
Once again, I had spoken indiscreetly. Gathering my thoughts, wishing I had kept my mouth shut, I explained my interpretation of John’s message and my take on the Way’s break from tradition, which only made matters worse. James tore his vest, and staggered away from me as if he had been wounded. There was dead silence among the others. Bartholomew, though puzzled, was amused.

“Ho-ho.” He laughed at my foolishness. “What do the sheepherder say? You stepped into it, Jude. I wouldn’t second guess Jesus, if I were you.”

That very moment, Jesus appeared suddenly in the group. Regulus was grinning with amusement after hearing this exchange. Though unsmiling, Jesus gave me a forbearing look.

“What is my little brother up to now?” he asked me directly. “Did God whisper in your ear?”

“Bartholomew said that.” I replied defensively. “I said no such thing!”

“Very well,” he scolded gently, “but you mustn’t speak for me. That only confuses your brothers.” “…. But you’re close to the truth!” he bent over and whispered in my ear.

“What?” I gasped. “…. Are you sure?”

“Sure of what?” James perked up his ear. “There should be no secrets among us.”

“Oh, it’s no secret,” Jesus smiled at him. “Our brother has my best interest at heart.”

******

Jesus’ answer to James, explained nothing, and yet the fishermen appeared to be satisfied. Though it would take these simple men awhile to fully accept my views on pagan conversion, they had come a long way in trusting Jesus, whom, I was certain, would one day change their minds. Isaiah, after all, predicted that the Messiah would be a light unto the Gentiles. Already, in Regulus’ conversion and his servant’s great faith, this had been proven true.

Influencing even my thinking, however, was the long held view, reinforced by the prophet, himself, that our deliverer would be a warrior king, who would smite, not convert, the Gentiles. This troubling knowledge was difficult for me to argue against. Having been delayed by Regulus’ appearance, Jesus’ cure of his servant from afar, and his discussion with the new member of the Way as we argued about this remarkable event, we finally entered Capernaum, our home base. All of us, even the sullen James, looked forward to a day’s rest, Peter’s wife’s and mother-in-law’s cooking, and a respite from being fishers of men.

Regulus, the source of James’ crisis of faith, didn’t enter town with us, insisting on returning to Sepphoris at first light after resting his horse for awhile. He had, he confessed airily, caused enough trouble, and yet he had, because of his conversion, been an important milestone in Jesus’ mission. He had become the first Gentile convert—uncircumcised at that, a feat Jesus would repeat in Capernaum. He had, because of this controversy and blessing, made an impact on our lives. Before we parted ways with Regulus on the road leading into town, all of the disciples, except James, wished him well. Clearly, I told Bartholomew later, this wasn’t the same ill-tempered optio we knew in Nazareth. Though he looked and even acted outwardly as a Roman officer and legionnaire, the inner man, as Jesus called it, had changed. He had been reborn. Since we would soon be back in Capernaum, we gave him the remainder of our food and water. In good cheer, Peter gave him an extra blanket he carried, and Philip gave him the remainder of his wine he had been saving for a special occasion. That moment, when he was astride his black stallion again, he reassured Jesus that he believed his servant was cured, but there was still doubt in his voice when he bid us goodbye. How a Roman soldier, let alone a centurion, would be able to live righteously in the Way, remained an unspoken and unanswered question as he rode away.

“Regulus is twice blessed,” exclaimed Jesus. “He has lived by his sword; now he must live by the Word. The way ahead will be hard for you men, but, if not for the Spirit of the Lord, nearly impossible for him. You men are up against our tradition and history. How much harder will it be for a soldier up against Caesar and Rome? Yet for all of you—Jew and Gentile, there is a glorious reward. The forces of darkness themselves may buffet and tempt you. Religious leaders and magistrates might threaten you, but you will prevail….on earth and in the Kingdom to come.”

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