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Chapter Forty-Six

A Division Of Labor

Peter’s ambition had gone far beyond what Jesus intended as a more gentle process. I wondered what Jesus would think of his high-handed methods. Taking his role as shepherd as justification for this drastic move, he had given Sosthenes the order to lead the three thousand Jerusalem converts out of town, without a backward glance. While the elder led the multitude out of the city, a specter I can only imagine, the inner circle retired to the upper room. Before rejoining the flock, Peter had important business to finish. The first order of business, he insisted, was to find a replacement for Judas, so that our number would again be twelve. There were several likely candidates, all of whom were assembled with us today: Mark, Barnabas, Cleopas, Matthias, Justus, Jonas, and Azariah, who had come with his wife Yoshabel. Though it might have seemed unfair to Mary Magdalene that the replacement couldn’t be a woman such as herself, Jesus had picked twelve men. Fortunately for us, Mary was in Capernaum or she might have objected to this injustice.

My first reaction, which I blurted out without thinking, was, “What does it matter how many apostles there are? Isn’t this just a formality? We’re all going out to preach!”

“My thoughts exactly!” James frowned.

“This is important, Jude!” Peter said huffily. “There must be twelve apostles. The Lord spoke to me about this. We have to have order in the ecclesia: apostles, disciples, and servants. You men outside the twelve, not selected, remain disciples, while our women shall act as servants, taking care of the sick and hungry among our members.”

I had wanted to continue this argument. The number twelve might have been symbolic for the twelve tribes of Israel, but why not the number ten for the Ten Commandments? For that matter what was wrong with the number eleven? Unless Peter was talking about a dream or vision, I don’t remember Jesus suggesting we fill the vacancy left by Judas. No one else in our group had made such a suggestion. This appeared to be Peter’s opinion.

At first, he was going to simply take a vote by the show of hands, but this brought groans from some of the men, since there were women in the room. It seemed to Matthew, Simon, Bartholomew, and I that the women should also be allowed to vote. Quite tactlessly, we believed, John’s brother raised the notion that only the original disciples should decide who the replacement should be. It didn’t matter to James that Joanna, Susanna, and Mark’s mother had experienced the Holy Spirit and made great contributions for the welfare of our group or that Mary Magdalene, not present to speak for herself, had actually done some preaching, too; they were still women, so they couldn’t vote. Instead of arguing the point, my brother James suggested that we pick a candidate from a jar blindly, which would allow the Lord to decide. Because this removed the women as a factor in our decision-making, the nay sayers agreed. Somewhat perturbed with the men’s attitude, Mark’s mother went downstairs, found a vase, knife, sheet of parchment, quill, and ink, and set it curtly on the table. With John’s assistance, seven squares of parchment were cut out, names of the candidates were written on each slip, folded, and dumped into the vase. Since he was our shepherd it was up to Peter to make the pick. Rolling up his sleeve, he mumbled a prayer (perhaps praying that his choice would win), reached in, and selected a slip. Pulling it out, he squinted, handed it to John, who called out with a touch of disbelief, “Matthias!”

“Humph?” Peter raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Matthias it is!” “I would’ve picked Barnabas.” Matthias replied humbly. “He was one of the first converts!”

Barnabas, who had seemed relieved he wasn’t chosen, shook his head and embraced the twelfth member, as did Mark, Cleopas, Justus, Jonas, and Azariah, who heartily congratulated the new apostle, making me wonder if they weren’t relieved too. Frankly, considering the fact that Azariah had sold off his property and goods before leaving Capernaum, I would have picked him. Matthias, though a likeable, easy-going fellow, was a man of few words and seemed half-asleep at times. Azariah, on the other hand, was a firebrand, who brought many members on his own into the Way. Matthias had, in fact, been right when he said Barnabas was a better choice. Though he had left little mark on the original ecclesia, this big, bold Galilean would one day join Paul in establishing more ecclesias, a chore the little Pharisee couldn’t have done alone.

While the remaining apostles joined the disciples in welcoming Matthias into our group, the new apostle thanked us for our congratulations but didn’t seem that happy, himself, he was in the twelve. Turning to the next order of business, as the women served us a snack of goat cheese, grapes, and fresh bread, his words reflected the plight of women in the Way. Like Peter’s orders, given by proxy to Lazarus, the instructions he now gave Joanna, Susanna, Mark’s mother, and Mary Magdalene in absentia once again struck me as high-handed. As servants, the lowest rung of stewardship in the ecclesia, it would be their responsibility, after picking their own selection of helpers from the converts, to insure that the multitude found quarters and were fed regularly. The status of the women in our midst—Mark’s mother, Joanna, and Susanna, three self-reliant and highly respectable women, was totally ignored, as was Lazarus, a disciple not even considered as replacement for Judas, and his sisters (not even mentioned as servants of the Way). Aside from the greater issue of transplanting three thousand converts, who were expected to give up everything as had Azariah and his wife, and be gathered into one, mixed bag of Jews speaking different tongues, was a tremendous burden on Lazarus, his sisters, and their town. Now the women had the monumental task of overseeing the welfare of the ecclesia.

It was unclear during our meeting with Peter, whether the Jerusalemites would stay in Bethany or move to Capernaum. So far, during our meeting in the upper room, Peter had selected a replacement for Judas and made Joanna, Susanna, Mark’s mother, and Mary Magdalene, in absentia, caretakers of his flock. (Nothing was said about the roles of Lazarus’ sisters). On the face of it this seemed like a demotion for the four selected women and would be hard, thankless work, but it also gave them an element of power. While the men were out preaching the word, they would, judging by what Peter said, be in charge of the other women, who would cook, clean, and take care of the children, while the men were away.

After clarifying this division of work, Peter turned to the final and most important matter in the upper room: the work ahead for the apostles and disciples. Put simply, the question was what came next?

“My brothers and sisters,” he said, looking around the table, “the harvest was good, but not great. In the field of the Lord, there’s much to be done.”

“So,” Andrew teased, “we’re farmers again, not fishermen, gathering wheat instead of fish.”

“Herdsmen too,” Philip snickered, “tending his sheep.”

“And don’t forget.” John chuckled. “Also pickers—in the orchard of the Lord!”

John’s brother giggled foolishly. Everyone, in fact, except Peter laughed.

“This isn’t funny,” he scolded us, “not one bit! You know better than this Andrew. You too Philip. John and James—of all people to not make light of it! This is serious business: the reason why we were chosen.” “All of you!” He wrung his finger. “Wipe those smiles off your faces. This will be no easy task. Galilee, Judea, Perea, Syria, Decapolis, and Egypt are just a few of the places we must spread the message.”

“Will we go out in twos as we did before?” I had the presence of mind to ask.

“Yes,” Peter replied with a nod, “why not? It depends on where the Lord leads us, but I think that’s a good idea.” “Right now,” he added, glancing over at Azariah and his wife, “Jesus wants us to prepare the converts. There are about five thousand members just in Capernaum, so this will be a big job!”

“Wait a minute!” Simon raised a hand. “Did Jesus just tell you that? Are there really that many converts there?”

“Yes, I hope so,” he answered dubiously, “unless some have slipped away. There were five thousand at the last count.” “We have to hold them together.” He clasped his fingers as he made his point. “Make them one community of believers: those in Galilee, Judea, Samaria, Perea, Decapolis—everywhere touched by the word.”

“Nurture them,” James said thoughtfully

“Yes,” Peter agreed, scratching his beard, “they must learn to stand on their own.” “We must make them fishermen and harvesters for the Lord,” he mixed his figures of speech. “Right now, after being pulled in, they’re safe in our net. Soon, as the net weakens, many will slip away. Like the farmer sowing wheat from the tares, what is left will be worthy of the Lord.”

“What about those disciples in Capernaum?” John’s brother asked. “Are they going to pitch in? Shouldn’t they help us with this horde?”

Looking over at Azariah and Yoshabel again, Peter chose his words carefully. “You’ll have plenty of volunteers among the new converts. Those in Capernaum will stay where they are. They’ll need guidance, too, of course. I’m glad Mary Magdalene is still there. She’ll be a great leader among the servants. I plan to send Azariah and his wife back to manage this congregation.” “How would you feel about that mission?” He grinned at the couple.

Yoshabel looked at him in disbelief. “What?” she cried. “Are you serious? We sold everything—our home and goods before coming here. We’ll have nowhere to stay!”

“Don’t worry,” Peter cocked an eyebrow. “You sold them to Ezekiel, a backsliding member. I’ll have a talk with that man. The seventy, which is now seventy-four, will need your house as a meeting place. Their task will be to assist you and Azariah in managing that group. Until I get your home back, you can stay with my mother. Your husband has managed our congregation in Capernaum very well. You, Yoshabel, have a powerful voice too. Together, as a team, you’ve kept them in line. I need you both there to shepherd that flock.”

Azariah smiled with pleasure. “How about that?” He looked around at the group. “We’re shepherds!”

“No,” Yoshabel corrected him. “You’re a shepherd. I shall be like Rachel a shepherdess!”

“We’re all shepherds,” Peter said wistfully. “In the field of Lord, we are also sowers, who must sift out the tares. Together in His service we must be many things!”

Now, as he looked over at James, I felt a prickling at the back of my neck as if something else, even more surprising than Azariah’s and Yoshabel’s elevation, was about to occur. Walking over to my brother, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and said more solemnly this time, “You’ve been a faithful member of the twelve, always steering us back to reality and keeping us in conformity with the Lord’s words. I know you would be a great voice out there. Your knowledge of the scriptures and understanding of the Pharisee’s and scribe’s minds could be used as a weapon against their barbs, but it could also be used to bring the fainthearted who returned to Jerusalem back into the Way. That is why I’m asking you to stay in our holy city as its shepherd. Those, who can’t separate themselves from the old faith, need guidance. Those, who simply fear losing their homes, goods, and livelihood, also need an example to follow.” “What do you say, James?” Peter embraced him, and then holding his shoulders firmly, stared deeply into his eyes. “Will you be the shepherd in Jerusalem? Your friend Nicodemus, your old teacher, lives here. Now you’ll be their teacher and bring them back to the Way!”

Everyone stood in shock. I was, of course, especially stunned. My older brother, who I grew up with and grew to respect and admire as a member of the twelve, who shared my doubts, misgivings, and joy in the service of our brother and Lord, would stay behind in the upper room, as we went forth to spread the word. I felt conflicting emotions for him then: pity, admiration, and, because of the lingering threat of the Sanhedrin, fear, and yet I was quick to compose myself and give him an encouraging smile.

“Yes, I will be honored,” James replied with little hesitation.

“Good!” Peter slapped his back. “We now have three new shepherds: Azariah, Yoshabel, and James.”

Peter, who saw the other women as mere servants, had made an important exception with Azariah’s wife. Yoshabel, who fancied herself as a shepherdess now, frowned, but everyone else, including myself, came forth to congratulate James and give Azariah and Yoshabel our approval.

Taking him aside afterwards, I talked to James privately. I was greatly disturbed with Peter’s action. As all his other moves today, it struck me as high-handed.

“James,” I began, looking self-consciously over at the group. “I don’t like you being left behind.”

“We’ll keep in touch,” he reassured me, gripping my hand.

“Of course,” I sighed, gathering my thoughts. “…. Peter has taken a lot upon himself. He speaks with the authority of Jesus, but he presumes too much. Jerusalem was unkind to us: it took our brother and tried to persecute us, too. For most of the converts forced to leave, it’s their home and many people look to it as their spiritual abode, but I’ve grown to hate it. As Jesus told us, it murdered its prophets and it murdered our Lord. You be careful James! Don’t forget what happened here: the arrest, trial, and crucifixion of our brother and the attempt by Caiaphas and his cronies to entrap his disciples. Don’t tempt the Pharisees, scribes, and priests. Gather together the converts here, but don’t trifle with the Sanhedrin. Avoid the temple, where you might be tempted to speak. You are, like the rest of us, a marked man. The powers that be are just biding their time!”

“Don’t worry,” James replied calmly, “they didn’t bother us during that commotion in the street or by the well. They let those converts exit Jerusalem unmolested. If they were going to do anything they would have done something by now. The upper room will remain my base. It was here that our brother and Lord met with us, returning in the Spirit. It was here that Peter truly became the Rock. He’s a true leader now. Jerusalem is not our home, no more than Nazareth is our home. Capernaum, where the fishermen cast their nets, where Jesus gave his great sermon, and where he sent out the Twelve and the Seventy, is our home. But there’s no place completely safe. There will always be graybeards and angry young men plotting against us, even in Galilee. We are a threat to them, Jude. We bring people a simple message all can understand, without the need of temple sacrifice. People no longer need Pharisees, rabbis, and priests to interpret the Torah and intercede for them. The good news has made it possible for everyone, Jews and Gentiles alike, to be reborn with eternal life, without ever setting foot in the temple and without rituals that they don’t understand. For these reasons, Jude, I—all of us—will never really be safe!”

“Whoa!” I marveled at his summary. “…. You said it all!”

James had grown from a doubter, as Thomas continued to be, to a seeker as myself, and then, as I witnessed that moment, a potential bulwark of the Way. Jerusalem, after all, though having negative connotations for us, had one positive reminder that superseded the arrest, trial, and crucifixion: the Resurrection of our Lord. In this way, it occurred me, James was, more than any of us, blessed. He was going to be Peter’s shepherd in the holy city, a place where Jesus had risen, triumphing over death—a city, though hostile to the Way, where our faith was really born.

******

Late in the afternoon, after the women served us an early supper, we began our trek to Bethany. As Mark gave James the key to the house and glanced back at his childhood home, I noticed a look of uncertainty on his face. James, however, beamed with purpose and pride. He had been stationed in Israel’s holiest city to nurture faint-hearted members who couldn’t quite make the commitment. Alongside of him, stood Asa and Benjamin, two young men who didn’t accompany the exodus from Jerusalem and were appointed by Peter as James’ disciples. No one among the apostles, disciples, and converts, whether they lived in Jerusalem or somewhere else, knew if they would ever return to their homes. Like other members of the original twelve, I was used to being away from my family, but members like Mark, who hadn’t been on the road those years with Jesus, must have felt some misgivings. Susanna, a demoniac, had become an outcast in her city and Joanna, also reportedly cured of her demons and now a fugitive from her husband, grinned happily as we exited the gate, but Mark’s mother, like her son, looked back with trepidation as we left.

None of us knew what the future had in store for us. Yet I shared with most of the twelve, a sense of destiny and purpose. We were, we knew, on a course Jesus warned might be fraught with danger and travail. This, I feared, was especially true for James, who had stayed behind. Despite the hazards we might face, however, it was going to be a wondrous journey, in which, filled with the Spirit of the Lord, we would preach, act as leaders, ourselves, and even, as Christ had done on occasion, use our gifts of healing.

As we approached Lazarus’ town, the sun was in decline, but Peter’s spirit was high. He seemed tireless now, chatting with us constantly on the road. Filled with great energy and faith, nothing was impossible for the shepherd. Almost immediately, though, as Bethany loomed into view, we could see trouble ahead. Near Lazarus’ home, which sat at the edge of town, there were hundreds of men, women, and children standing idly around, none too happy because of the wait. Romping amongst this multitude, Micah caught sight of me and was suddenly frolicking at my feet. Having spotted us from his window or door, Lazarus also ran out to greet us. Not far behind him, moving through the idlers, Martha, Mary, and Ashira likewise appeared. More and more people wandered in from the nearby town those moments, drawn by the shouts of friends, with looks of fear, expectation, and disdain. Some, Lazarus reported, had returned to Jerusalem or, turning back at the gate, never actually left, but most of them had stuck it out. For the first time I could remember, Lazarus showed irritation. Many of the so-called believers in Bethany had refused to give the new converts lodging, he explained. Some of them, after looking out and seeing this mob, wouldn’t even open their doors. Peter’s mood now darkened as he looked at the multitude gathered near the house.

“How can this be?” He clasped his forehead. “What’s wrong with your town? How could they be so cruel?”

“They were overwhelmed,” Lazarus began explaining. “Bethany’s a small town.”

“So is Capernaum,” Peter shot back. “That’s no excuse. They’re not that small. Where’s their charity? Where’s their faith?”

“You expect the impossible.” Lazarus shrugged his shoulders. “That mob arrived all at once, without warning. Even if our citizens opened their doors, there wouldn’t be enough room.”

“Well, to blazes with them!” Peter shook his fist. “Capernaum, my town, wouldn’t have acted that way! No sir! My people don’t behave like that! They opened their doors to converts. They would never have shut them out!”

“I’m sorry,” Lazarus spoke frankly. “What do you expect? Bethany is, in fact, much smaller than Capernaum. They’re not the same kind of people you have in that town. These are Judeans, not Galileans, who keep to themselves. Those folk Sosthenes herded in are a mixed bag of people, not cut from the same cloth. Unlike us, they speak different languages. Some of them were beggars, outcasts, even a few prostitutes. The townsmen were probably too scared to let them into their homes. Many of those who returned to Jerusalem, wealthy merchants and their wives, were also frightened off. Martha, Mary, and I have done all we can for them. We’ve given them all of our available food, water, and blankets. Until you take them back to Capernaum, where they might be more welcomed, they’re going to get very hungry out there. Fortunately, the sky is clear and it’s a warm day. But this is spring, not summer. At this time of year the weather’s unpredictable. Before rain clouds gather, Peter, you must either let those people go home who have homes or take them back to Capernaum. Tonight will be hard enough for them without food and shelter. Who knows? Tomorrow, even tonight, it might just rain!”

Peter was growing impatient. “Thank you for your help.” He placed a hand on Lazarus’ shoulder. “I’ll take it from here!”

“Take what?” Lazarus frowned. “This is a serious situation Peter. You blame my fellow citizens, but you should’ve planned this better. Where are you going to get food for these folks tonight? We have nothing left for them to eat!”

“Humph!” Peter set his jaw. “All things are possible with the Lord!”

“Oh really?” Lazarus frowned. “Jesus taught us not to tempt the Lord. He wants us to do what is in our means. This isn’t in our means, Peter. You really think he wanted this?”

“I don’t think, I know!” Peter replied, folding his arms.

“Oh,” Lazarus recoiled, “you presume to know the mind of God? You sent me a horde of footsore, hungry people, who deserved a lot more than this after making such a commitment. Could even the people of Capernaum could house this group? Even if we had the room, you expect ordinary people—not Jesus’ inner circle who are tried and tested—to open their doors to strangers, many of whom are beggars, low lives, and women of ill-repute. They can’t tell by looking at that mob who may or may not rob them of their goods. Jesus never told you to tear people from their homes and livelihood and make vagabonds of them. I heard him speak often enough to know that!”

“Enough!” Peter waved dismissively. “You’ll just have to trust me. The Lord guides my steps. I do as he bids.”

“The Lord isn’t this capricious.” Lazarus shook his head. “Moses had a plan. You remember that story? He didn’t dash off recklessly. God was with him each step of the way—”

“The Lord is with me each step of the way,” Peter cut in. “He’s with me right now.” “By the way,” he added testily, “you got it wrong. After all this and what happened to you personally, you don’t seem to understand who I’m talking about. No one knows the mind of God. It’s his Son, Jesus of Nazareth, who I listen to, speaking on behalf of his father who guides my steps. Now, after what happened in the upper room, we know that his Spirit—the third part of the Godhead, is with us. You will understand this when you receive the Holy Spirit!”

“The Holy Spirit?” Lazarus wrinkled his nose. “…. You mean the Spirit of God? What’s the Holy Spirit?”

As I eavesdropped on them that hour, scratching Micah’s head to keep him quiet, I couldn’t help laughing to myself. I knew that God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit would be difficult to explain to most believers. It appeared as though even Lazarus, whom Jesus raised from the dead, still didn’t quite understand. Peter was asking a lot of him. Despite the divine force behind Peter’s actions, I couldn’t blame Lazarus for being upset. He was normally easy-going and calm, but, after his ordeal with the converts, he was at his wits end. Peter had made him look bad with his fellow townsmen and given him an impossible task. Nevertheless, at the same time, with a degree of incredulity at times, I knew that Peter did, in fact, speak for the risen Christ. Unlike many fair-weather believers, who might not understand why Peter wanted to gather them all into one community, Lazarus’ faith was strong, yet steeped in a mystery he was just now coming to grasp. He thought the sacrifice demanded upon the multitude was unreasonable and, after seeing so many people go away from Jesus’ sermons to share the news with family and friends, thought it right and proper that, like his sisters and himself, they should return to their lives. But Jesus had also told us not to worry about our needs and that we should be willing to give it all up to serve him. It’s true, as Lazarus maintained, that he sent converts off to propagate the faith, themselves, and need not sacrifice family and work, but he had made it clear to many of us that sacrifice was necessary for salvation. Seen in retrospect, Jesus expectations for the Way’s general population had never been clear. Perhaps, as revealed to Peter in another revelation, the Lord expected more from the Jerusalem converts…. Who was I to question the Rock?

As I listened to their conversation, I stopped snickering. My smile faded, as I looked out at the crowd. Bored by my inactivity, Micah whimpered faintly, nuzzled my face, and licked my cheek. I envied his innocence that moment. Jesus had expected only one thing of him: be my dog. The rest of us, I sensed, would be tested sorely and face trials and tribulation. Sanctified by the Lord or not, I saw the futility in this crowd’s position. Except for the few who might find lodging in this snobbish town, it appeared as though the remaining converts would go to sleep hungry tonight. Though they might have good reason not to let some of the Jerusalemites into their homes, residents in Bethany could have at least taken in their children. At this point, I envied James for being away from this mess. Our fledgling ecclesia appeared to be having its first crisis. As I strolled amongst the converts awhile, I listened to their complaints and doubts. I pitied them for placing themselves in Peter’s hands. Most of these people appeared to be having second thoughts right now. Who could fault them for wanting to go home? Though they had accepted the Lord as their savior, Bethany—the town where Lazarus was raised from the dead, had rejected them. Considering its importance in Jesus’ ministry and the fact its citizens were converts, themselves, this seemed unconscionable, and yet who could fault them for distrusting this mob. Many of the new converts, I noted as I mingled among them, did, in fact, look like riff-raff and fallen women. A few that I spotted had shifty eyes and that crafty look I had seen in thieves. Lazarus was right, I told myself. Peter should have taken this into consideration and planned better. Out in the open, without food, they were in a hopeless situation. Seen another way, the citizens of Bethany were forced, by common sense, to behave selfishly and uncharitably, in a way Jesus would have scorned. I not only felt sorry for the multitude and Lazarus for being in the middle, I felt sorry for Peter. He had asked too much of these fair-weather believers and created a crisis for the new converts and himself.

Now, on the subject of weather, the worst scenario occurred in Bethany. Looking up at the sky that moment, I observed a cloud mass creeping in after only a few moments blocking out the sun. “Moses beard!” I gasped. “A storm front!” Startled murmur erupted all around. After glancing up repeatedly in disbelief, I noticed the storm front darkening from gray to almost black, consuming the entire sky. Soon, I felt a drop on my nose and, after that, another. At first it was only a few drops of moisture, but then, as if Lazarus warning had caused bad luck, it began to rain: light sprinkles at first, then a heavier shower, until finally it turned into a downpour, quickly drenching the land.

While hundreds of hapless converts ran around looking for shelter beneath the few trees on the hill, most of our small group, including Micah, ran for cover into Lazarus’ house. The fear of being struck by lightning in such a deluge seemed to overshadow everything else. Peering out of the open door, I stood between Martha and Mary watching Peter stand there in the rain, looking up angrily at the sky.

“This isn’t good Lord!” he shouted at top of his lungs. “My people are hungry and tired. Now we have a storm. They’re wet. I’m wet. Is this a test? Have I disappointed you somehow? Have I overstepped my bounds? ”

“Is he cursing God?” Mary asked stupidly.

“No, silly,” replied Martha, “he’s praying. He’s praying to Jesus, not God.”

Like many believers, including Lazarus, the two women didn’t quite understand. “Jesus is God,” I reminded Martha and Mary. “I know that now. Peter’s feeling guilty now. That’s why he’s worried about disappointing Him and overstepping his bounds.”

Needless to say, I was quite worried. This seemed to be more than a spring shower. Why had it so suddenly appeared? As Peter lapsed into silence, muttering to himself, I wondered if his concerns might be justified. Hadn’t Jesus, as Lazarus pointed out, always warned us not to tempt God? Peter had certainly done that today. These thoughts were unworthy of me, however. I was no better than Thomas now. When the rain was so thick and we could barely see Peter and the poor people caught in the downpour, his booming voice was heard again, this time praying loudly in a plaintive voice. We could hear in the midst of the rain, “Please Lord, forgive my doubt. Help your children. They’re hungry, tired, and wet. Stop the rain. Feed them as Moses fed the children in the wilderness. Because of our enemies, this land is a wilderness, too. Save them from the storm!”

In deed, as Lazarus saw, Peter seemed to think of himself as another Moses. By now the apostles, disciples, Lazarus, and the women were crowded by the door or looking out the window, waiting for what came next. Fortunately, Azariah had made good his promise to have Peter’s roof repaired or we would be at the mercy of the storm too. As people continued to stuff their bodies into the small house, the very walls creaked from the excess.

Peter had, like his apostles, been given the gift of healing. Did this gift include something like this? Jesus had once tamed the storm, but he was the Lord; Peter was still a man. For several moments, as he prayed silently, several more of the people outside crammed themselves passed us into the house until it could hold no more. That moment, as we stood in almost solid mass, we wondered if the new roof might cave in as the walls and rafters shook, and then, suddenly, the rain stopped. Sunlight streamed through the clouds, onto the land and through the doorway and window into the house. Running outside to witness the aftermath of this event, the apostles, disciples, and women embraced Peter on all sides. Many of the converts who could elbow their way through us, tried to clap his shoulder, grab his arms or hands, or grip his robe, and one old woman, even grabbed his leg.

“Enough!” He said in laughing voice. “Ho-ho, I’m merely man. You have witnessed the power of the Lord—Jesus whom his adversaries crucified, but who arose from the dead. Remember this whenever you doubt him. If you pray hard enough brothers and sisters, you too can stop the rain. You can move mountains. All things are possible if you’re saved by His blood and believe!”

Hundreds of men, women, and children surrounded our circle. There is some controversy over whether this was really a miracle, however. According to Lazarus, it wasn’t uncommon for it to rain in the spring. Rather than being a miracle, which made the downpour seem capricious for the Lord, it could just as easily been a coincidence this time of year. Thomas, the doubter, as was his nature, was the first to express this view. I saw some of the others, including a few nearby converts nod in agreement. I wanted to believe, as Peter explained, this was the power of the Lord. One moment it was a deluge, and the next moment, it stopped. The sky was clear and the sun burned brightly as if it had never rained at all, but Peter’s ability to sway this many people was quite remarkable—miraculous in itself.

The apostles, even Peter, were obviously uncertain how to record this event, which is why it’s not found in their writings, except, of course, mine. If the rain hadn’t been a test of our resolve and its conclusion a miracle invoked by prayer, its sudden cessation, if nothing else, was an incredible coincidence for the multitude, which helped bolster their faith. What followed this event took longer to occur and appeared to require a second prayer, which Peter uttered after gathering the multitude on the hill where Jesus had appeared for the last time. These people, after all, were still hungry, and they needed to be fed. They were fidgety and out of sorts. Many of them, despite Peter’s apparent miracle, were probably ready to return home. When Peter went on to tell the story of Jesus birth, mission, death, and resurrection, something else remarkable occurred. As if his prayer had a delayed reaction, a large group of men and women, including the few converts finding lodging in town, arrived with baskets of bread and cheese, very possibly everything they could spare. At least, if this wasn’t an outright miracle, Peter had shamed the people of Bethany into supplying us with food.

Peter’s self-confidence had been restored that hour. The remaining words following his account of Jesus life, deeds, and victory over death, were followed by a benediction and parting words for the multitude in advance of their departure the next day for Capernaum. As the chief witness to the risen savior, his last words that day would become included in the testimony given by the apostles, disciples, and servant to initiates at home and in the field.

Peter raised his arms as if to encompass everyone. “Men and women of Jerusalem,” he shouted hoarsely. “Gather close. Lend an ear, open your minds, but listen with your hearts. During the crucifixion, when Jesus died for your sins, he replaced temple sacrifice with his blood. He was, as John the Baptist claimed, the Lamb of God. The good news he brought the world is that you no longer have to reply on the ritual of priests or direction of Pharisees, who think they know best. Everyone who believes and follows his will can be likened to a priesthood of believers. You are your own temple for God. Yet the good news, which we give to the world in the Way or Ecclesia, won’t replace the old faith; it’s a fulfillment of it. Everything in the old religion was but a prelude to the arrival of the Christ, clearly foretold by the prophets whom people of Jerusalem murdered for preaching the truth. In this way, the person of Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ—God the Son and God the Holy Spirit, proved the prophets to be right and caused the old and new religions to become one. Though everything that happened to Him was predicted in the old religion, Jesus brought to the world new revelations not mentioned in its scrolls. All people can be saved by grace, he promised: a personal, not a public relationship with the Lord, simply understood and followed. Although believers should be charitable and not worship earthly things, good works is now secondary to grace, and the strict letter of the old scrolls is replaced by a simple formula: believe and be saved by the blood of Christ. When Jesus rose from the dead, he proved that all men and women could likewise defeat death. Like Him, they will have everlasting life, if they believe in Him, repent, and follow in His ways.

“For those who don’t,” he added ominously, “there’s but one path: perdition. Those men and women who hear the word and reject it are already damned, for when they die, they will have lost heaven. Those who are too fainthearted to follow in His footsteps and waver in their faith, also place themselves in peril. No one knows the hour of their death, when they will await judgment: heaven or hell. No one can cheat the sting of death. As all who are born of women face death, all who believe and are saved in the blood of Christ are born again and shall have eternal life. Woe to those, who have only one birth; they’re forever lost. It would have been better if hey had never been born. In the blink of an eye, when Jesus returns to the living and dead, it will be as a judge, not savior, and then it will be too late!

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