Sebaste

Our destination, as Jesus had been forced to admit when asked, was Galilee. We set out that morning with our packs on the road to Jerusalem, detouring north to Galilee, happy to be putting Judea behind us. With the exception of Bethany where Jesus’ cousins lived, the memory of our reception in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, soured our attitude toward this province. Ironically, with the exception of Lazarus and his sisters, the citizens of Bethany weren’t very receptive either. Of course, greater effort had been made to preach the good news in Galilee, Decapolis, Samaria, and Perea. Now, our ultimate destination was Jesus most successful area of preaching and sermonizing: Capernaum.

Before this destination, to our disappointment, he stopped at an important city that had been missed during his preaching in Samaria. Considering his desire to gather the Seventy and send them out on their own, as he had his disciples, this seemed strange at first, but then Jesus must follow God’s plan. Whatever his father wanted him to do, he did without hesitation, however illogical or reckless it seemed. As he pointed out many times, we didn’t know the mind of God. Jesus, after all, was the Shepherd and we were merely the sheep.

One benefit of this detour, I had thought, would be the absence of Pharisees, scribes, and temple agents who wouldn’t contaminate themselves in this ‘accursed’ land. Of course, we no longer felt contaminated. Our success in a few Samaritan towns had changed our attitudes completely about these people. Jesus’ parable about the Good Samaritan summed up his affection for them. Despite the great reception we received from small groups in villages and travelers, however, Jesus’ goal wasn’t to stop here and there on the way as he had before. There wasn’t enough time, he explained. What he wanted was a large audience, as he had in Galilee and Decapolis, who, after hearing his sermon, would spread the word, themselves. This method of spreading the word, using sermons and storytelling, had almost replaced our original efforts at conversion. The exceptions were those individuals requesting baptism. To be cured by Jesus, of course, included healing the spirit as well as the body, which was followed by baptism into the Way.

On the day we entered Sebaste, Samaria’s largest city, our eyes were both dazzled and offended by what we saw, for this was, judging by appearances, a pagan city. As Jesus explained, the town ahead of us was once called Samaria, once the capital of the Northern Kingdom of Israel before its conquest by the Assyrians. Centuries later, it was renamed by the Romans, our latest conquerors, after Emperor Augustus, with the Greek equivalent to Augustus’ name, Sebaste. Added to the confusion this might give the fishermen was the fact the Romans named the entire province (or remnant of the Northern Kingdom) Samaria. So here we were in Sebaste, the ancient capital, the most pagan of Samaria’s cities, as Jesus gave us a history lesson. All that mattered to us was the fact it was another Samaritan city. Temples to Roman and Greek gods as well as the statues of the deified Emperor Augustus were seen everywhere. There were, Jesus announced, however, God-fearing people here. In fact they greatly outnumbered the Gentiles. Unfortunately, many of the Samaritans here were dressed like Romans and Greeks, so it was sometimes difficult to pick them out. News of Jesus, the Great Physician, had preceded him, because almost immediately groups of men and women gathered by the road. Our greatest fear was that he would be forced to heal a stream of citizens, who would also have to be baptized into the Way. As it turned out, however, Jesus was single-minded this time. Though we didn’t have a clue, he knew exactly where he would begin preaching.

In most of Samaria and elsewhere in our land there always seemed to be a hill nearby for Jesus to preach his message. Without such a place, preferably with a river or lake close by, we would be limited to the town squares, which were too small for large crowds. Close to the northern limit of the town there was in fact such a hill, but also the ruins of the previous city on which Emperor Augustus had Sebaste built. Already James had been scandalized by the excessive amount of pagan art and statuary. Now finally, as Jesus hopped lithely atop the crumpling feet of a long lost god that sat on the highest point of the hill, James found his voice.

“Jesus, look at where you are,” he cried. “Consider the symbolism here: Jesus, the famous preacher, preaching at a pagan temple. What will the God-fearers think? The Pharisees, scribes, and priest are already heated up. If word of this gets out, it will fan the fire!”

It was, even to my liberal mind, a sound argument. Who knows, as Simon pointed out, whether or not agents of the temple have followed us here. “Go to the adjacent hill,” Peter suggested. “It’s shorter but clear of taint.” Everyone, in fact, agreed with James and Peter. Judas, who was a nonconformist himself, was the only one not questioning this move. Meanwhile, as the people arrived below the crest where the ruins sat, there didn’t seem to be much protest. This encouraged Jesus to remain perched on the highest of the two hills. After all, as Judas pointed out, it was difficult to tell just exactly what Jesus was standing on. It appeared, upon close scrutiny, to be two giant feet, but there wasn’t anything else visibly indicating it was a pagan shrine. Therefore, as he gathered his thoughts, Jesus stood boldly on Samaria’s ancient past speaking to men and women representing its future. To add to this strange setting was Bartholomew alongside his trusty mule, trudging with staff-in-hand, like an ancient patriarch up to the summit. Settling around the speaker on portions of the platform on which the giant feet sat, we felt conspicuous. Below my very feet, almost camouflaged by grass, was the head of god or goddess, fortunately hidden from view. What the other disciples and probably many of Samaritan’s citizens didn’t know about this city was that paganism had existed here long before the Kingdom of Israel and the repopulating of Samaria with foreigners after its fall. When Abraham entered this land, it had belonged to the Canaanites. Even after its conquest by our people, paganism thrived for centuries, even among the children of Israel. I remember reading an obscure passage about the Israelite King Omri, who allowed pagan Syrians to live in Samaria, which explained the giant feet and remnant of a statue.

With this contrast as a backdrop, Jesus gave the Samaritans of Sebaste an important sermon.

“Citizens of Samaria,” he shouted at last. “You are despised by Jews but love by God. What does it matter what the Pharisees, scribes, and Jerusalem priests say about you? They represent a tired order that judge everyone on the letter of the law. I speak to you of the spirit of the law, which is defined by your personal relationship to God. You don’t need a temple in a great city. You have your own sacred mount. Even so, all things built by men are temporary. Faith is everlasting. The Jews are looking for a messiah, who will sweep away the Romans and, alas, the Samaritans as well. I come to share a secret with you: that Messiah is already here. But he brings you salvation, not the sword, for what use is power, riches, and kingdoms that, as the temple on which I stand, crumble and vanish with time?”

Upon this introduction, which tactfully brought up the subject, Jesus clearly implied who he was, and yet said nothing about being the Son of God. (That would be going too far with this bunch.) What he also succeeded on doing was to preach the word and sermonize at the same time. Weaving the good news into several of his favorite parables and repeating portions of his message to the Five Thousand in Galilee, he ended his sermon with the prayer he taught his disciples. Though not as receptive as the Galileans, the Samaritans had shown great interest. As expected there was a small assembly requesting conversion, and also a line of sick, lame, blind, and addled people expecting cures. Jesus was forced to perform the rite with our assistance. Fortunately for us, the number of supplicants remained relatively small, but the line for healing grew perceptibly as Jesus worked his miracles. This meant, of course, more baptismal rites. Because there was no body of water near our hill, we had to improvise. The water from all our water skins and those of the participants finally ran out, so that, for the last few people healed that day, we had to search for skins of water among the departing audience.

When it was all over, we were, once again, spent. Some of us could barely make it down the hill. Jesus required Peter and Andrew to assist him down the hill and Bartholomew had to be lifted bodily onto his mule.

******

That night, as we made camp on the pagan shrine, I heard Peter scolding Jesus again. This time, as we sat around the fire, everyone was in complete agreement: Jesus was being taken advantage of by people. He could only do so much. As Judas had said earlier, he was wearing himself out.

“Master,” Peter lectured him boldly, “I know you’re the Son of God, but here on earth you’re also a man. Like I said before, you can’t keep this up. There’ll always be sick, blind, and crazy folks. You can’t cure them all. Lazarus didn’t ask to be cured. Some of those people in line weren’t nearly as sick as him. A man has spots on his skin and—zap—he has leprosy! I have spots on my skin. Who, at my age, doesn’t? That old woman they brought you, who they said was mad, was laughing like a jackal. She wasn’t possessed; she was old and addled in the head. That’s what happens when people get old. The youth with the headache caused by a fall, that fellow with the broken arm that turned out to be a sprain, the man with the spots, and boy with the sore on his nose. Jesus, you can’t heal every cut, scratch, spot, or sore you see. It’s bad enough that people that really need cures—cripples, blind men, demoniacs, or deaf mutes— continually seek you out. Many of those people have traveled from afar to be healed. Most of your cures today were for locals, taking advantage of this occasion. I know how important the title ‘the Great Physician’ is to you, but in many cases, that’s exactly what you are to these people. After you cure them, of course they’ll accept conversion, but does it take?”

Jesus, who must have been impressed with Peter’s argument, answered with a question: “How would it be if a physician shunned certain patients or the shepherd turned away his sheep?”

“I thought we were your sheep.” Thomas blinked stupidly.

“Why do you worry about my health?” Jesus looked squarely at Peter. “You think my Father will let me wither away? I think it’s you who is weary of all these healings.” “This is true for all of you.” He looked around at the group. “No one said the road would be easy…. Just you wait, men. When I’m gone, it will be even harder. You must toughen up. Be like Bartholomew’s mule. Do you hear him complain?”

Following this comparison, a smattering of laughter followed in our ranks, but Jesus use of a physician and a shepherd to support his argument struck us as absurd. It hadn’t addressed Peter’s concern at all, and yet Jesus had made his point. That night, after everyone found their pallet and James, Bartholomew, and I looked up at the stars, we listened to the disciples chatter idly amongst themselves. Obviously, Jesus was out of earshot or they wouldn’t have said what they did. It seemed strange, almost blasphemous to speak ill of Jesus now, but I’m certain he was privy to it all.

“He claims to be the Messiah and the Son of God,” grumbled Judas, “but he’s not a man of reason. A reasonable man would see through some of those folks. Half of those people in line were dressed like Gentiles. After he cured them, I bet they went right back to their pagan gods.”

“Some of those people were in a bad way,” Matthew replied thoughtfully, “but many of them had injuries—not illnesses. You can’t cure clumsiness. What about that old lady, who looked like she was a hundred years old. You can’t cure old age either. There’s always going to be sick people everywhere you go. Plagues wipe out whole populations. People are murdered or drown at sea. Can Jesus cure that?”

“Jesus has a different way of seeing things,” conceded Peter. “He’s not like us—”

“We know that,” Philip interrupted. “Everyone knows that. That explains nothing. You were right the first time, Peter. Jesus can’t cure them all!”

“Let’s talk about the real issue here,” Simon cut in suddenly, “Jesus’ safety. Somehow we have to make him see reason. He keeps talking about his death. His role as physician isn’t the problem; it’s his role as a preacher. Pharisees, rabbis, and now priests are dogging his trail. There’s spies everywhere. I even spotted a few in today’s crowd.”
“What?” I called out. “Are you certain? Even here in Samaria?”

“Yes,” affirmed Simon, “don’t forget I was a spy too!”

“Moses beard!” I cried. “And you say that they’re following us—they’re are on our trail?”

“Uh huh.” He assured me. “Temple spies are easy to spot. I can also pick the ones in disguise. They sometime dress like Greeks.”

“Whoa!” Bartholomew jerked awake.

“Wait just a minute,” James sat up. “That’s ridiculous, Simon. If they’re dressed like Greeks, how would you know?”

“By their shifty eyes,” he said with conviction, “and the fact they write things down.”

Peter stood up that moment his voice trembling with concern. “Simon—you moron. Why didn’t you tell us? You saw them on our trail?”

“Calm down Peter,” a voice called from the darkness. “Simon told me, but I’ve known all along.”

“Really?” Peter mumbled. “I knew they were out there…but dogging our trail…. It’s like they’re closing in.”

“Why do you act so surprised?” Jesus emerged with a torch in his hand. “One of them was a scribe we met in Galilee. He was dressed like an ordinary Jew. Many of them are in disguise. Only the Pharisees are consistent. They never wear disguises. You won’t see them in Samaria, but it’s them you should fear the most.”

“There are enemies everywhere!” I shuddered.

“Those spies sent out by Caiaphas merely write down information, and the scribes are like swarms of gnats, but the Pharisees in other provinces stir up discontent. There will always be scribes, but the Pharisees’, like the priests’, days are numbered!”

“Oh.” John laughed sourly. “Is this more prophecy? I hope the priests don’t hear that.”

“All of this.” Peter’s arms spread wide. “The constant stops, healings, and whatnot are fine Jesus. It’s what you’re here for and are supposed to do. But sooner or later those jackals will corner you when Rome isn’t watching. They tried it in Nazareth, your hometown. What’s to stop them in one of those little villages in Galilee without a Roman presence? In Capernaum you were safe. Almost everyone loves you there. Even here in Samaria, you’re safer than you were elsewhere. You told us not to tempt the Lord. Is it because you’re his son that you tempt him now?”

This time Jesus remained silent instead of arguing the point. Several of us agreed with Peter’s thinking. Now, as I look back, part of me wished that Jesus could have stayed in our beloved town. He would still be alive. But Jesus was our shepherd. Considering that he was also the ‘lamb’, this is still hard to digest. Though the most powerful man on earth, as Judas rightly saw, Jesus was, as I understand it now, still the sacrifice. That night, among the ruins, however, we were in denial. In spite of his dire prediction, we refused to accept it. It was just too impossible for us to believe. He remained our shepherd, and we were like frightened lambs. After tossing his torch onto the fire, Jesus sat on the giant foot, staring into the flames, his mind set on the future.

“Go to sleep, men,” he commanded gently. “We have a long trip ahead. Capernaum will be our last stop!”

******

Despite Jesus troubling concession that Capernaum would he his last stop, we looked forward to arriving in this friendly town. It was not merely our home base; it was where it all began for Jesus and his earliest disciples. In Peter’s small house we would be greeted by his family and lovely Mary Magdalene. For that brief time, we would share each other’s fellowship unencumbered with other people—the sick, lame, curious, or cynical, and for a brief time be simply men, not disciples of the Messiah and Son of God.

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