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Chapter
Fifteen
When we arrived at Peter’s house, his wife Esther
and mother-in-law Dinah gave us a glowing reception, hugging us one-by-one as
we traipsed through the door. The smell
of roast stew, lentils, and pastries, was a wonderful reminder of what we were
coming home to. As soon as we entered
the house, its interior also smelled of sweat and dust, so the women brought in
basins of hot water to wash our feet. A
feeling of well being and belonging overwhelmed me, as the women tended to our
needs. But when they saw the waif we
brought along with us—the last to enter appear at the doorstep, their faces had
dropped. Not everyone caught this
reaction. Most of the disciples were
tired and hungry; I couldn’t blame their lack of concern. Bernice, Peter’s daughter, of course, ran to
embrace Mary, but she gave everyone
a glowing reception, so technically she didn’t count.
Because Mary seemed slightly addled herself, she and
Bernice became fast friends. Later, I
would learn that neither Mary nor Bernice were really daft. They shared a common trait of excess
cheerfulness and silliness, which made them appear that way. Tonight, after, having our feet washed,
rinsing off our faces, and putting on clean tunics, we shared a common meal,
seating ourselves casually on the floor along the four walls of the room. Esther, Dinah, and Bernice served us, took
their portions, and sat along one of the walls. After the Shema uttered clumsily by Peter and a short blessing
given by Jesus, we plunged ravenously into our stew. While we avoided banter at first, Mary shamelessly sat next to
Jesus, chattering about our exploits.
For a moment, when she skirted a forbidden topic, I
thought Jesus might scold her or at least cut her off, but he let her ramble on
until the very end.
“… It’s true—all of it,” she said, smiling at
Esther, who sat glaring at her from across the room. “Those silly old men with
their long gray beards wanted to stone me, but he saved me and gave me a new
life.”
She reminisced unabashedly the entire episode from
when she awakened from darkness until her rescue from certain death. If Esther and Dinah had been any other Jewish
matron, they would have shown contempt for this foolish girl. Mary hadn’t been drunk. Why she came clean so soon, we will never
know. Until, we learned better later,
we figured her ordeal had left her slightly mad. Peter, however, who felt she had shown great disrespect for the
women and his daughter’s more delicate ears, felt compelled to scold her.
“Mary,” he tried holding his temper, “…you obviously
don’t know any better. You’re safe and
sound here and will begin a new life, but you must never repeat that
again. My wife and mother-in-law are
kind-hearted souls, but you’ll make no friends among our neighbors and friends
with that story.” “Mums the word!” he placed his finger to his lips.
“Peter, Esther, Dinah, Bernice,” Jesus looked around
the room at each of them, “if you believe in me, believe it when I tell you
that Mary is, in deed, a new woman. Her
happiness overwhelms her. She has no
guile.” “In the future,” he said for
Mary’s benefit, “she’ll keep this secret in our company—a miracle as great as
any seen. She is as example of how far
one can fall and be brought up to God’s grace.
You have much to teach her. She
has much to learn.”
“So that just makes everything dandy,” James
grumbled under his breath.
“Let’s give her a chance,” I whispered back.
Bartholomew, who sat next to me, overhearing our
exchange, agreed with me. By the look
on their faces, all of the disciples had been shocked by Mary’s honesty, yet
had nodded in agreement with Jesus’ words.
Even Peter, having shown less forbearance, gave Jesus a nod. The one exception was expected. Jesus was patient with James because he was
gradually changing—if not in words, in deeds.
Despite his instincts as a stickler for the law, he remained loyal to
Jesus and the Way. He would accept
Mary, as he had everything else repugnant to his nature. Considering his original goal to become a
scribe and his training with Nicodemus, he had, in many ways, sacrificed more
than the rest of us. Jesus had made
Capernaum his home base, allowing the fisherman to see their relatives and
friends frequently. James had been
cutoff from his world, and, like myself, the fishermen hadn’t lost a
long-sought career, as had James.
Unlike him, we had nothing to lose.
These were heady days, as we followed the
Shepherd. In the coming days, though,
when Jesus finished gathering members of his inner circle, sealing their number
to twelve, our resolve would be tested.
Jesus would require much more of us.
We would have to assist him not merely in baptismal rites but as
preachers, ourselves. That night in
Peter’s house, however, we had no thought for tomorrow. With full bellies, a measure of wine, and
simple fellowship, we were like children in Jesus’ eyes, caring only for today.
“Jude,”
James murmured as we settled in our pallets, “do you think Mary’s mad?”
“A little,” I answered half-seriously. “Anyone would
be a little touched after her ordeal.”
“She acts like a tart,” he grumbled under his
breath. “She’s going to rub Mama wrong.”
“I hope he doesn’t pack her off to Nazareth,” I
replied. “Mama has enough on her plate.”
Watching her bed down beside Jesus, James
disagreed. “Our mother may be the one
person to tame that wench. Here in
Peter’s house, she better keep her hands to herself!”
That very moment, Jesus stood up, mumbled something
to Mary and left the house. I remember
him walking at night from childhood. It
seemed as though he needed little or no sleep.
But this time, Jesus seemed irritated.
I suspected that he might have scolded Mary for her brazenness. Acting upon impulse now, I waited just long
enough for James to fall asleep, and then slipped out of the house.
Had he been tempted by that wench? I wondered or, when he appeared to scold
her, was it merely a matter of decorum?
In partial moonlight, moving like a ghostly specter in the glow, Jesus
gazed up to the sky. I wanted to
discuss the issue playing on my mind, but I knew he was in communion with
God. Watching him from the shadows of
the house, I saw something no one else had seen. Suddenly, the clouds fell away, allowing the moon to fill the
sky. The black shadow of a great bird
or bat fluttered passed its brilliant surface, disappearing into the adjacent
clouds. I was so startled I must have
yelped. Looking in my direction, Jesus
beckoned. His voice faint, so as not to
waken the household, he called to me.
With my heart beating and head swimming with questions, I ran over to
him, embraced him then stood there trying to shape my words. The issue of Mary and the question I wanted
to ask him paled now in significance.
“…That was him, wasn’t it,” I asked in a trembling
voice, “the Devil. What does this
mean?”
“Once before in the Wilderness he appeared to me,”
Jesus replied wistfully. “He’s my Tempter, Jude, not that child. Make no mistake, little brother, we’re at
war with him now.”
“We?” I impulsively clutched my throat.
“Yes,” He reached out as if to bless me, “he will
tempt you too.”
“Did he send Mary to tempt us.” I blurted foolishly.
“Is that why she’s here?”
“No,” said Jesus, shaking his head. “Your greatest
challenge—all of you, is turning your back on this world. That means all of the temptations of life,
not just matters of the flesh. When our
number is sealed, I will send my disciples out on their own. You must be strong, Jude—physically and
spiritually. Say nothing of what you
saw to the disciples. They’re not
strong enough yet; this would frighten them greatly. I’m sorry you witnessed this event, but you must keep it to
yourself. My Father wanted you to see
it; otherwise you would be sleeping in innocence as the others. No longer are you innocent of this
knowledge, Jude. You have seen Satan….
He’s out there, waiting to place snares and pitfalls in our path. You’ll see him in the actions of Pharisees,
priests, and scribes. You’ll hear him
in the voices of our enemies. You’ll
feel his presence in the crowds, sometimes while alone in the darkness or as a
phantom in your sleep. He may appear as
old hermit, an ugly crone, a handsome man or beautiful woman, even as a child. But you’ll know him, Jude. You see things clearer than the others,
little brother. You and James have been with me since the beginning. You’ll know evil when it’s here, but
remember this: he can’t hurt you…. He wants mostly to hurt me, and he won’t give
up, Jude. The Devil knows its days are
numbered now. I bring a light into the
world never seen before, but it has only just begun. It would please the Tempter and his familiars to snuff out the
light, so we must be ever so vigilant.
For ages, Satan has worked through his familiars…. Now, he’s here in
person. I saw him, and you saw
him. Yet, having failed to bend my
will, he’ll inhabitant the hearts and minds of our enemies…even some of our
friends.”
******
The night I learned of Satan’s presence remained a
secret until now. As I write these
lines, all of the apostles, except Luke, are dead, leaving me, as the last
disciple, to pass on Jesus’ sacred writings to Luke. On that night, though, after seeing its shadow against the
brilliance of the moon, I would know Satan personally. From that day forward, I sensed even then, a
war between good and evil had begun. I
wonder now, if the Baptist’s acknowledgment of Jesus as the Lamb of God had
been the signal for Satan to return full force to earth. I have always believed that men are quite
capable of doing evil on their own, without blaming God’s purpose or the
Devil’s wiles. Surely, however, in the
deeds of Herod the Great, who had the children of Bethlehem murdered to
preserve his kingship and in the actions of the priests, Pharisees, and scribes
who jealously resented the good news, there was proof of Satan’s wiles. I saw him in the flesh—a bat-like specter in
the sky, the symbolism of his form against lunar light quite plain to me: a
force of darkness against a force of light.
Jesus was, by his own words, the light.
Though the correct words for him still escaped me, I knew he was much
more than a preacher or prophet. He was
God’s emissary, truly the Messiah, and yet I knew Jesus didn’t like that
term. Well aware of the traditional
conception of Israel’s deliverer, he preferred such humble names as teacher,
preacher, and shepherd.
During my restless slumber, I dreamed that the
specter in the sky touched down as a grotesque, shadowy creature with yellow
eyes, claws on hands and feet, and a serpent’s spiny tail. Jesus called out to him the words he called
out in the wilderness, “Get thee behind me Satan!” but this time it had no
effect. Nevertheless, Jesus face was
fearless. His blue eyes sparkled with
purpose, a snarl playing on his face.
Still, though Jesus stood his ground, his great enemy came forward, its
tongue flicking out of its mouth, its eyes rolling crazily in his ghastly head,
muttering blasphemies too vile to record, until I heard a voice in the dark sky
above, call down to me, “Jude, Jude, wake up!”
Looking up into the very face I saw in my dream, I
reached out shakily to make sure he was real.
“It was awful,” I muttered, drenched in cold sweat, “I-I saw it
again. This time it was much more
terrible—”
“Shush, little brother,” he whispered, clamping his
hand over my mouth. “Remember what I told you, Jude. Keep this to yourself.
Mums the word!”
“Oh yes.” I blinked, looking around the room. “I
forgot…. But it was horrible Jesus—”
“I’m sure it was,” he cut me of. “You’re sweating like a slave!” “We all have
bad dreams,” he tried playing it down. “You have an active mind, Jude. Nightmares are generated by fear. You must think pleasant thought before
falling to sleep.”
Jesus’ words sounded simplistic to me. I was well aware of my overactive
imagination and fears. This was
different. I wanted to give him details
of my nightmare while fresh in my mind, but thought better of it. My dream was too closely related to my
experience last night. In fact, I
suspected it might be an omen, and Jesus had enough on his mind without
worrying about this. Fortunately,
everyone was still asleep and didn’t overhear our whispering back and
forth. After pulling off my tunic, I
retrieved a dry one in my pack, slipped it on, and then followed Jesus out of
the house. This time, as we emerged,
the sun had just brimmed the distant hills.
Recalling times in the past, when Jesus and I watched the sun come up, I
once more felt special.
“Well,” I laughed nervously, “no
sign of him.”
“He’s out there,” Jesus reassured
me. “Come, little brother, this is our time—just you and me. Before the others awaken and we begin anew,
let’s take a walk.”
“Where shall we go?” I asked,
looking around at the sleeping town.
I could hear a dog barking in the
distance, and the murmurs of early-risers, shuffling off to work. As we approached a row of boats as yet
unattended, some of which belonged to Peter, we heard Zebedee, John’s and James’
father, shout, “Where’s my lazy sons?”
Turning toward the swarthy, sun
splotched man, Jesus answered cheerily, “Still asleep. I’ve been pushing them too hard. God’s business is hard work.”
“Infernal foolishness; that’s what
it is,” grumbled Zebedee. “Peter’s business is going to ruin because of his
absence. The fishermen Peter hired are
lazy, like my sons. They’re asleep
too.”
At first Zebedee appeared to be a
grouch. After seeing his snarl and
hearing a sour laugh, however, I could tell he wasn’t serious. Upon reaching the fisherman, Jesus was given
a bear hug and slapped on the back.
Afterwards Zebedee broke into banter about current events.
“Well, it’s tax day today,” he said,
lifting his net into a boat. “Them Romans want their tariff on our goods. They’ve raised it, you know—ten per cent
more, in fact. The townsmen are getting
sick of it. I told my men to steer
clear of Capernaum today. I don’t want
them to get their heads busted.”
“Before the Romans, it was the
Greeks.” Jesus shrugged. “In the end,” he added thoughtfully, “our Lord is the
master!”
“Always
the one with the fancy words,” teased Zebedee. “I can’t understand why you need
my two sons. They’re not the brightest
lamps in Capernaum. What are your
plans, Jesus? You’re not one of them
prophets, are you. We had enough of
them. Judah’s rebellion cost us many of
our children. Their mother’s
worried. I am too. There’s trouble brewing in Galilee, Jesus;
there surely is.”
“Oh?” I
felt my heart surge. “How so?”
“You haven’t heard?” he asked, gazing back at
Capernaum. “Some fellah and his gang’s been robbin’ caravans—killin’ some. Now he’s stirrin’ up young hot heads, trying
to make trouble for Rome. Mark my word,
Jesus. That publican they’ve sent us is
in for big trouble. I don’t like the
mood in town. I don’t like it at all!”
Glancing at Jesus beside me I
noticed a change in his demeanor. He
was silent, in deep thought it appeared.
The smile had faded from his face.”
“… I know who it is,” he finally uttered. “It’s Barabbas.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Zebedee snapped
his fingers, “his father was a thief and murderer too. Got himself crucified, he did. That Barabbas is going to meet the same
end!”
“What’s wrong Jesus?” I studied him
a few seconds. “…. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Not a ghost,” Jesus finally
murmured, “…the future.” Turning to me, as Zebedee returned to his task, he
signaled me with a toss of his head, as if to say “It’s time to go!” “Thank you for the information,” he said in
a strained voice. “I’m worried about that publican.”
“As you should be,” Zebedee replied,
climbing into his boat, “I remember folks stoning one tax-collector. One poor fellow was thrown off a cliff.”
I knew, of course, that Jesus was
worried about more than the publican.
The very name Barabbas, whom my mother once tried to help, made me fear
for Jesus that much more. That moment
two sleepy-eyed youths arrived belatedly on the scene. Zebedee scolded his helpers profusely, but
managed during the diatribe to wish Jesus and me a good day.
As we retraced our steps back to
Peter’s house, the subject was changed entirely to small talk, but I wasn’t
fooled.
“That Zebedee is a rascal,” he said,
forcing out a laugh. “I wonder if poor Esther and Dinah are fixing
breakfast. We’re a terrible burden on
them, you know… My burden has become others’ burdens. She must be reimbursed somehow—”
“Jesus,” I asked, touching his arm,
“… do you see something in the future I should know about?”
“The Lord speaks, and I listen,” he
answered enigmatically. “You know everything you need to know.”
As we entered the house, it was
filled with grumbling and groans. It
was obvious that most of the fishermen had drunk too much wine. Last night, even James had succumbed to the
vine. Peter, who loved the vine
himself, had the presence of mind to stay sober for his family’s sake and
Bartholomew didn’t need to be suffering from the effects in order to whine and
groan, but Andrew, Philip, John, his brother, and James were in bad shape this
morning. As the women fixed us our
morning meal, Mary chattered with Peter’s daughter, making the din of noise
even worse. No one saw Mary drinking
wine, but with her bubbly, uninhibited personality it was hard to tell. Jesus wasn’t happy with what he saw. Esther and Dinah stood with their hands on their
hips, frowning with disapproval at the hung-over men. Looking around the room with disappointment, Jesus announced
calmly, “This has to change, Peter.
When I’m not around you must shepherd these men.”
“But you’re our shepherd,” Peter
answered tritely.
“When I’m gone, you are!” Jesus touched his chest to make his point.
Both honored and dismayed, Peter seemed bewildered. One day, Jesus’ informal designation would
mean much more. Now, it struck me as humorous. Anywhere else—in Jethro’s, Moses’, or
Nicodemus’ house, Peter would, after a drinking bout, be clasping his aching
head along with the others. This
moment, he went around the group barking orders: “Hurry up, men! Splash water in your faces! Get yourselves presentable! We have more work to do!”
Esther had a special remedy for
drunkenness that she undoubtedly gave Peter at such times. I never found out exactly what it was, but
it must have tasted horrible. Like
children forced to take mother’s elixir, they made faces and gagged. The best part of Esther’s treatment was
eating a hearty breakfast. According to
Esther, food absorbed much of the wine, like a sponge—a Roman contrivance now
used by Jews. What her treatment
couldn’t do was remove the headache entirely from over-drinking. That would be their punishment, both Esther
and Dinah agreed.
“Too many fine men have been killed by the vine,”
Dinah scolded, “all for the love of drink!”
“We’re in your debt.” Jesus bowed to
the women, as we departed. “We’ll repay you when we have the funds.”
“Nonsense, preacher,” Dinah replied
in a folksy manner, “we’re just doin’ our share.”
“It’s the Lord’s business,” Esther
explained more to the point. “You owe us nothing, sir. We must all do our part!”
Touched by their sincerity, Jesus
bent forward and kissed each of their cheeks.
One day in the future, this would be called the kiss of peace among
members of the Way. Now, it caused the
women to blush. Gathering us together
in front of the house now, Jesus saw that something wasn’t right.
“Mary,” he said, wagging a finger,
“I thought I explained this to you. For
now, you must stay with Esther and Dinah.
All right?”
“Okay,” she answered in a pouty
voice, “if I must!”
“What’s wrong with that woman?”
Peter asked when we were out of earshot.
“She wants to help,” Jesus explained
sympathetically, “but she’s not ready yet.
I wanted to place her with my mother for a while, but your wife offered
to let her stay. Don’t under estimate
her, Peter. Someday Mary Magdalene will
make her mark.”
“How is that possible?” Peter
frowned. “What mark would that be? The
way she carries on—babbling and such, she seems addled in the head.”
“She went through an awful ordeal,”
Jesus reminded him. “Let’s give her a chance!”
“My thoughts exactly!” I piped.
“She’ll make money for us selling doves.”
“Perhaps.” Jesus cocked an eyebrow.
“Let’s let her decide. Mary’s a changed
woman. Her path is still hidden from
her.”
******
So, during the next phase of our
journey, Mary Magdalene, as Jesus dubbed her, would be left with Esther and
Dinah in Capernaum. No one suspected
how important this woman would one day be.
Though pleasing to the eyes, she was, at this stage in her spiritual
development, a flighty-headed nuisance, who was getting on everyone’s
nerves. That Jesus revised her name as
he had Peter and Matthew, who were his disciples, and given her such a surname,
actually made no sense. He didn’t
change any of the other disciples’ names.
None of us could have known how strong-willed and enterprising she would
one day be. Of course, on the subject
of Mary Magdalene, I wasn’t very objective.
She was, to use John’s words, honey to the eyes. I’ve never seen a more naturally beautiful
creature in my life. With these thought
whirling in my head, I wasn’t prepared for the commotion waiting for us in
town.
As he walked in the direction of
Capernaum toward a destination only Jesus had planned out in his mind, I
thought about my unworthy daydream, certain that John and some of the others
had similar thoughts. Having heard of a
mule owner in town, Jesus had decided to retire Bartholomew’s poor beast in
exchange for a fresh mule, but Peter insisted on giving it to Bernice for a
pet. Peter, Jesus, James, and I
discussed the merits of Peter’s idea for a few moments, everyone agreeing that
Elijah, the name Bartholomew had given his mule, had served the Way honorably
too, and deserved his reward. With the
goal of finding Akiva, the mule owner, we approached a crowd of protestors, who
were shouting at someone in their midst.
With spears, crisscrossed, a detachment of Roman soldiers had cordoned
off an area between the edge of the crowd and the publican’s table. The fear on their faces was so conspicuous,
several youths in the mob, jeered at them, calling them jackals of Rome and
other unflattering terms.
Though the morning was still young,
the publican had already collected a table of coins, which his assistant
scooped into bag and handed it to one of the guards. The sight of this exchange caused most of Jesus’ disciples to
grumble with resentment.
“That man couldn’t be a Jew,” Andrew
was arguing with Bartholomew. “No Jew would betray his people like that.”
“He’s a Jew, I tell you,”
Bartholomew pointed accusingly. “I’ve seen that man before.”
“Where have you seen that fellow?” Philip
challenged. “There’s hundreds of publicans in Galilee and Judea. They all look the same!”
Bartholomew had, as fishermen might
say, waded into deep waters. Flashing
me a frightened look, he clamped shut his mouth, afraid they might dig into his
past. It appeared as though what he
divulged might have led to further questions.
Fortunately for Bartholomew, though, Andrew and Philip attention was
drawn elsewhere. All of us were, in
various degrees of severity, disturbed by the publican’s presence, James and I
much less so. James had studied to be a
scribe. In the minds of the disciples
scribes were almost as bad as tax collectors.
James had no right to throw stones, and neither did I, who had, in my
travels, mingled with Gentiles and eaten forbidden food.
The publican’s assistant, a gangly
youth, now fled the scene, and yet the publican held his ground. The young man’s expression was
resolute. With eyebrows dropped in
anger, and dark eyes staring unwaveringly at the mob, he remained fixed at his
station. As the townsfolk, in defiance
of the four Romans gathered stones to toss as him, I pulled Jesus sleeve.
“Jesus,” I
whispered shrilly. “Those guards aren’t enough to stop them. Do what you did for Mary. Stop that mob!”
“So,” Jesus murmured, “I should wave my hands and poof!
they disperse?”
“Yes!” I said aloud.
“Miracles aren’t always necessary,”
he replied calmly. “There’s also persuasion.”
Jesus moved out in front of us,
walking without hesitation toward the publican.
“What’s he doing now?” asked James.
“He’s going to stop them.” I
grinned. “Jesus isn’t afraid. He once
quieted a storm!”
“Jesus,” Andrew called through
cupped hands, “let the Romans do their job!”
“He knows what he’s doing,” John
decided.
Peter set his jaw. “Let’s go men!” he cried,
lurching forward.
I was right in step with him. With the exception of Bartholomew, who
remained in his cart, the remaining disciples followed Peter’s example. Standing with our shepherd, we witnessed a
very strange event. Here before us was
a symbol of Roman oppression, worse because it was a Jew in service to our
oppressor, and yet Jesus called out to him, “Matthew! Break the shackles of your class. Free yourself. Follow me,
Matthew, collect souls instead of dues.”
“Rabbi,” the publican replied, “my name’s Levi. Matthew’s my Roman name.”
“Would you like to be a new man?” Jesus edged
closer. “Levi is you past!”
“I am what I am.” The publican shrugged.
Jesus’ shadow fell over him. “Once, long ago, to
Moses, my Father said that. Yet he has
many names. He has sent me forth with a
new message, Matthew: a wondrous Kingdom awaits those who repent their sins and
choose the light.” “This,” he motioned to his table and the crowd, “is
darkness. I bring clarification of our
religion—the promise of heaven, denied by priests and restricted by the
Pharisees’ laws.”
As Jesus spoke, we witnessed another
transformation. The change that
happened to Mary might have been more dramatic, but it happened too quickly:
one moment she was an unhinged demoniac and then next moment she was, save her
disheveled clothes and mud-splattered hands and face, apparently normal. The transformation for Matthew came more
slowly. It was as if a battle was in
motion inside his skull. There, in the
darkness holding the publican fast was a relatively high-paying job. Publicans not only were paid a significant
wage for profiting from their people but also received a percent of duty on
products and industries and poll tax on all adults, which were perceived as
blood money by our people. Here, among
our small company, in the light, there was, judging by Matthew’s expression,
hope for a better life denied to him by his sin. Frankly, I don’t think he was anymore of a sinner than me, but,
as Jesus reached out to him, their gaze became locked, Matthew eyebrows fell,
his jaw slackened, and eyes filled with tears.
“Rabbi, I’m a sinner,” he said, pointing to the mob.
“Whatever respect they have for you will be gone if you persist!”
Matthew’s
title for Jesus, ‘rabbi,’ was a common form of address. Jesus had been called this countless times
before. Before, when Jesus was called
this, however, it merely displayed respect.
As a preacher, this additional label, which meant the same as teacher to
Greeks and Romans, seemed inappropriate, considering the fact that rabbis, like
priests and Pharisees represented the old religion. Now, because of the significance of this moment, it seemed to
have gained greater meaning. As Jesus
performed the sacred rite in front of the crowd and the Roman guards, we knew
he was much more.
Jesus signaled for a water skin (a dipping motion,
using his fingers). After watching this
event with curiosity, the mob was incited by what followed.
“What’s that man doing?” shouted a Pharisee.
“He’s Jesus,” answered a woman. “I heard him speak.”
“He’s a fool, that’s what he is,” a man replied.
In our company, there were mostly groans, until
James muttered aloud, “This is insane!”
“Matthew bar Alphaeus,” intoned Jesus, oblivious of
the crowd. “Do you repent your sins and seek God’s grace, which brings you
salvation and everlasting life?”
“Yes,
rabbi,” Matthew’s voice broke, “but this is a mistake.” “Look at them.” He
pointed again. “They won’t forgive you!”
“He’s right,” spat a townsman, “that man’s a traitor
to his people.”
“We’re tired of these bloodsuckers!” a woman
shouted.
Busy with their attempt to hold back the crowd, most
of the guards were practically useless, yet one of them broke ranks to pull
Jesus back from the table.
“Matthew,” Jesus continued, shaking off his grip,
“you’re born again. Receive this living
water. In the name of the Father and
Holy Spirit, I baptize you with water as a symbol of your new life.”
“Is he mad?” asked the Roman.
“If so,” answered Peter, “it’s a divine madness!”
After pouring water from the skin on Matthew’s head,
Jesus prayed over him, then reaching down to grip his shoulders, said, “Rise
Matthew and follow me!” “Greet your brothers in the Way!” he added, pointing to
our group.
At this point, several voices rang out in protest as
Matthew joined our band and we attempted to leave. Finally, the mob broke through the cordon of spears, surging
toward us as witless rabble, and we heard those dreaded words: “Stone them! Stone them!”
Before they had a chance to gather stones and the
Roman guards could attack them in self-defense, Jesus shouted out in a
thunderous voice, “Be silent! Leave us
be!” A distant peel of actual thunder
followed, then deathly silence, and, without further fuss, the crows
dispersed.
The four Roman guards looked at Jesus with awe.
“Who is this man, who brings thunder to a clear
cloudless sky?” one of them marveled.
“He’s a god or demigod,” a second one concluded
“I bring you a gift from God,” replied Jesus,
holding out the water skin as if it was a living thing.
“Rabbi,” a
third guard cried out, “give me these living waters.”
“And me too.” A fourth stepped forward.
All four men, in fact, lined up for the rite, as
well as several men and women, who had earlier fled God’s wrath. We, Jesus’ disciples, could scarcely
believe this turn of events. Despite
the absolute seriousness of this situation, seeing Roman soldiers step forth
for baptism into the Way caused hysterical giggling among our ranks.
“This is incredible!” Peter said from the corner of
this mouth.
“Jesus could convert the entire Roman army if he
wished!” John’s eyes twinkled with mirth.
I agreed wholeheartedly. Soon, because of the importance of this occasion, our reaction
was stifled by a frown from Jesus. This
meant, of course, we had to assist our shepherd. I moved quickly ahead of James to an attractive young woman, as
did John. For a moment, James and I
almost quarreled with him, but decided to back off and grab the next ones in
line. James was forced to take a
crippled man, who was behind her. I
found myself face to face with a young man, who to my dismay, was covered in
spots.
The four Romans now followed Matthew’s example. Here they stood, a publican in the service
of Rome and his guards, bedazzled by Jesus of Nazareth. Unlike the Roman soldiers, who waited
anxiously for their turn, Matthew looked on expectantly, probably wondering
what came next. Now that he was a
convert to the Way, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Was he still a publican? Or should he quit and devote his life to the
Way? As Jesus and the other disciples went about their business, I stood there
wondering what to do, myself. What if
the young man had leprosy? I asked myself.
Confronted with an impossible situation, I wanted to bawl. Jesus, I noted, worked quickly on the
Romans, perhaps wanting to finish up before they changed their minds. Afterwards, all four soldiers stood aside
blinking in bewilderment at what they had just experienced. Glancing over at me finally, Jesus noticed
my dilemma, smiled patiently, and signaled for me to find someone else. This I did quickly. Even James was on his second initiate when I
tried making up for lost time.
The crippled man, who walked as if he had palsy,
grinned foolishly after James gave him the rite, happy to be part of the
Way. James then found another initiate,
a man who stood with his wife and young son.
Jesus gathered both the cripple and young man with spots now, led them
away from the proceedings, and, looking at the sky, uttered a silent prayer. As I said the words to my subject, I could
barely concentrate nor could the other disciples focus on their tasks. Pausing, before more baptisms were
administered, we watched Jesus performed two miracles at once. The Roman soldiers scrambled over to witness
this event. Everyone—converts and those
still waiting in line, in fact, formed a circle around the three men. To the astonishment of Gentiles and Jews
alike, Jesus quietly cured both the cripple and diseased man. I wasn’t certain what disease the young man
had, but, as soon, as Jesus touched his forehead, his spots quickly vanished,
and when he embraced the cripple, and demanded quietly, “Be still!”, the young
man stopped jittering, his eyes cleared, and tears flowed down his cheeks. Snapping his fingers, the young man, who
once had spots, did a happy jig. The
other man walked around, staring at his limbs, which no longer shook. At this point, I hurriedly completed my
first baptism and, before any of the others had a chance or Jesus did it himself,
took aside the man cured of spots.
After saying the words and baptizing him, I felt obliged to say
something more.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t cure you.” I said
shamefacedly. “That was cowardly. Only
Jesus has special power.”
“You’re learning,” he replied cheerfully.
“Oh yes.” I shrugged. “I have much to learn!”
“I’m Justus,” he announced, extending his hand
“My name’s Jude.” I replied, shaking his hand.
“Jesus is my brother.”
Looking at me with great respect, he exclaimed.
“You’re very fortunate, Jude. Jesus is
a great healer. Some say he’s the one
we’ve been waiting for: the Messiah!”
******
Justus wasn’t the first to make such
a claim, but he was the first to proclaim that title out loud. Jesus, of course, was much more than that,
and yet he shunned titles, especially those pointing to the long awaited
Messiah of Israel. One day, after the
resurrection, Justus would become a possible candidate to replace Judas and
make his mark as an evangelist in Gaul, but now, like the other converts, he
wasn’t quite sure what to do. The man
cured of palsy, however, slipped away quietly with family members, who, had
listened but refused baptism themselves.
As suddenly as they had begun, the baptisms were finished. Except for gawkers on the sidelines, most of
the converts complied with Jesus’ instructions to spread the word among their
family and friends. The important
exception was Justus, who, having been cured as well as saved, was reluctant,
as had been Mary, to be left behind.
Matthew, of course, was now a disciple, whose path had been set by
Jesus. The only others remaining were
the four guards, who had no family and friends, except in Rome.
“Rabbi,” one of them stepped forth,
“we know you’re a man of peace. How can
we, soldiers of Caesar, serve your god?”
“As Gentiles, your road’s the
hardest,” counseled Jesus. “You must obey orders and still follow God’s
plan. Because you have not read our
holy scriptures, you have much to learn.
For now, the plan begins simply: remain faithful to the one God, through
prayer and vigil; do no evil against men, women, and children, whether Gentile
or Jew; and stand fast for the greatest miracle of them all.”
“What miracle is that?” asked Peter.
“Yes, Jesus.” I said, noting his
troubled expression. “What a strange thing to say!”
“Do you know the mind of God?” he said mysteriously.
“I listen and He leads.”
“Rabbi.” Matthew pointed to his table. “What about
me? I was a publican. What do I do now?”
“Don’t worry,” one of the Romans
exclaimed, “Rome can find another publican.
You have a new master now!”
“Yes Matthew. Follow me,” Jesus said, crooking a finger. “Become God’s publican. Instead of taxes, gather souls!”
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