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Chapter Fifty-One

Looking Ahead

When I awakened the next morning, once again beside my brother James with Bartholomew nearby, I lie there a few moments, my head banging like a Syrian gong. Bartholomew was snoring loudly and James, as lay on his back, still had a wine mug in his hand. I don’t remember how much wine I personally drank, probably no more than the others, but I felt foolish for over doing it. James, normally a moderate drinker, also got drunk. I didn’t blame him. Like Peter, who would oversee the congregations in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and Decapolis, he was responsible for hundreds of new converts, whereas the rest of us had only ourselves to account for now. Tomorrow, and the days following would, of course, test us as apostles and disciples. So, it seemed right and proper that we had one last celebration. Who knows what lie ahead on our separate paths?

I would regret parting with my longtime companions, especially my brother James, who, as Jerusalem’s shepherd, must stay behind. Since Peter agreed that it would be a good idea if we went out in twos, I got him to agree, even before our final meeting, that Bartholomew would be paired up with me. I explained to him that Bartholomew needed someone to watch him on the road. Considering the impatience shown by many of the men, I didn’t trust any of them to watch over my friend. The mule would also need caring for during our journey, and we would have to stop frequently to give him a rest. Knowing how problematic Bartholomew would be, Peter seemed impressed with my selflessness. In view of the obvious benefits it had, though, it was to my benefit to make such an arrangement. In spite of the difficulties in watching over Bartholomew, being his partner had important advantages: I could ride next to him in the cart when I got tired, we could carry more supplies, and, when weary of the cart, I could switch to riding the mule. It was much better than walking everywhere we went.

Because of the intake of wine during our last night in Jerusalem, the apostles and disciples fell asleep in various corners of the room. Upon awakening, I remembered my conversation with Peter about Bartholomew after our feast, but scarcely anything else. The next thing I recalled was waking up again with a ringing head and queasy stomach, this time with Peter standing over me, nudging me with his sandal. “Get up,” he was saying, moving to the next sleeper, “there’s no time to waste!” I could have sworn Peter was tipsy, like myself, last night, but he was up and about now, pumped up with the same energy he brought to Jerusalem. Using the same rude tactic he used on me, he managed, within minutes, to rouse the entire room. On each side of me, groaning and grunting like everyone else, James and Bartholomew rubbed their eyes, staring up uncomprehendingly at first, then cursing under their breaths. I had seen Bartholomew drunk many times, but it was uncommon for James to drink so

much wine. The three of us had at least made it to our pallets before blanking out. Before Peter had finished rousing the sleepers, I noticed Andrew nearby, his nose pressed into the table, his goblet still clutched in his hand. Peter shook him roughly, and then went on to awaken the others, some of whom were also slumped onto the table while others were sprawled in various positions and places on the floor. After I struggled to my feet, I looked around at this shameful scene and laughed.

“Peter,” my tongue rolled thickly in my mouth, “look at-em! How’re you gonna get’em on the road?”

“Don’t worry about them.” Peter wrung a finger. “Worry about yourself!”

“Jude,” James called to me, “I shouldn’t have drunk so much. It must be late morning.”

“It is!” Peter snapped. “I let you men sleep in. I slept in a bit, myself.” “Up! Up! Up!” He clapped his hands. “Get washed up, men. Clear your heads, and let’s get some food in you. It’s not that late. There’s enough daylight for you to get on the road. It’s important that we get started. Get up, you slackers, we have much to do!”

Even in my dulled state of mind, Peter’s expectations seemed unrealistic. I saw him drinking goblet after goblet last night, and here he was barking orders, a bundle of human and spiritual energy, unfazed by all that wine. The rest of us were hung over and barely awake, and yet he wanted us to jump up and greet the day. No one dared argue with him, though. In fact, none of us were in physical or mental condition to protest. Somehow, he managed to get all of us onto our feet and give us our first set of orders for the day: get cleaned up and, if there was a clean tunic in our packs, put it on. Because he felt they would be less conspicuous, he sent Mark, Justus, Jonas, Barnabas, and Cleopas to fetch water to wash our selves. Though this seemed quite unfair and risky to the five disciples, Peter shamed them into accepting the chore, by picking out five alternate men, including myself, who would brave the street. After they slipped out on this errand, Peter ordered us to tidy up the upper room. There were dirty platters, goblets, and pieces of food lying on the table. Someone had vomited in the corner, which had to be mopped up. All of our packs were lined up along the wall, ready for travel, and, apparently as a second thought, Peter sent me on a special mission.

Taking me aside, he thought a moment. “….You know Nicodemus better than me.” He pursed his lips. “We need a good map, Jude. Do you think he might have such a thing—one of those Imperial Roman maps we can use to plan our routes?

The thought of going out there again, especially by myself, was unsettling, yet somehow I found my tongue. “I guess so,” I sighed. “He’s a man of the world. He certainly should!”

“Well, we need it,” he replied, patting my shoulder. “If you can, bring Nicodemus or his chamberlain with you, all the better! I don’t know Latin. He-he, I barely know how to read.”

“Well, I read it,” I frowned slightly. “Greek, too. So does James.”

“All right.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But we still need more of his supplies. He brought a lot of provisions, but that won’t last. We’ll use Lazarus and my house to store reserves.”

“All right.” I nodded. “Why not? Nicodemus and Nathan are members now. They’ll want to see us off.”

Despite my agreeableness, Peter seemed quite pushy. He expected everyone, even a venerable Pharisee, to hop to it upon his command. Once again he was taking advance of Lazarus, too. There was no use pointing out how presumptuous this might appear. At times, Peter had no tact whatsoever, behaving as if he was immune to danger and couldn’t be stopped. This morning was such a time, and yet I clearly understood the urgency. We needed plenty of supplies. A good map was essential to our plans as missionaries spreading the word. We couldn’t simply go out blind, roaming every which way, hoping to find fertile ground. We needed to plan our moves, and we needed a place to return for rest and re-supply. After the disciples returned with our water, it was poured into eight large bowels Peter found in the kitchen. All seventeen men quickly washed themselves, combed out their matted beards and hair, and sat down at the table to await their morning meal. Since I had a special mission, I moved swiftly, grabbing a hank of bread and piece of goat cheese before clomping down the staircase and rushing out the door.

“Time is of the essence!” Peter reminded me. “We need Nicodemus’ map and, if possible his presence, as soon as possible. He’s seen much of the world.” “You must hurry!” he added, pointing to the staircase. “We must be on the road before noon!”

“Noon?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” He frowned irritably. “Now go!”

Making scooting motions with his hands, he barked, “Don’t dally Jude, go!”

When I exited Mark’s house, I looked both ways before entering the street. Despite the miraculous nature of our release from Caiaphas’ clutches, I was still wary. I would be glad to put this city behind me—the sooner, the better. Nevertheless, Peter’s expectations of being on the road seemed unrealistic. I could understand why he wanted us to get out of Jerusalem, but we could, if it was necessary, stay with Lazarus again, and leave from his house early the next morning. We had to look at the map and make some sort of decisions as to where we might end up, which would surely take awhile. As I scurried toward my destination, I felt conspicuous on the street. It struck me, as quite likely that Peter’s sense of urgency to leave Jerusalem, which I shared with him, wasn’t the only reason he wanted us to get on the road. Could it simply be that he didn’t want us to push our luck? Perhaps, because he was pumped up with such overwhelming purpose, his thoughts were befuddled. In any case, his excuse that we must get on the road quickly, which implied, by its urgency, that we would start our missions, seemed quite irrational. If we left in the late afternoon, as I suspected we would, it would soon be night, and we would each have to find a town to stop at if we didn’t make camp. That wasn’t sound thinking. It made no sense at all. So what was the rush?

Hopefully, I told myself, as I approached Nicodemus’ house, Peter would understand his folly and suggest we stay at Lazarus’ house until the next morning. If he didn’t, I would suggest it myself. Soon, after I raised the iron ring and rapped on his great oaken door, Nathan, the chamberlain, appeared himself. In the background, in casual household dress, stood Nicodemus, rubbing his hands expectantly.

As I entered the house, both men embraced me like a long lost friend.

“My master’s health has never been better,” exclaimed Nathan. “He’s not the same man!”

“The Lord did this, not me,” I reminded him. “I was merely honored with the task.”

“Well, there’s a look of great purpose about you,” noted the Pharisee. “What brings the brother of our Christ to my house?”

“A map,” I answered promptly. “We need it to plan our missions. Peter wants a Roman map, if you have one—a map that covers the Roman world.”

“I have one indeed,” replied Nicodemus, “I’ve collected quite a few, but the names on my imperial map are in Latin.

“Imperial map?” I nodded with understanding. “I can read Latin, as well as Greek. Peter would like you to come to the upper room,” I added quickly. “Both of you, in fact.” I glanced at Nathan. “You should be here for our send-off.”

“Of course,” Nicodemus said, turning to a servant. “Tell Ozimandis to prepare my coach,” he ordered gently.

“Oh yes,” I said hesitantly, “…. Peter wonders if you could bring more food.”

“No problem.” Nicodemus snapped his fingers. “Nathan, tell my cook to load the coach as he did before, this time with two weeks of stores.” “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s all my coach will hold. I caught a glimpse of your packs. They won’t hold more than seven days for each of you.”

“That’s plenty,” I smiled. “You’re more than kind. This must be an imposition on you, Nicodemus. I’ve never seen Peter in such a hurry. We have to get out of Jerusalem, but it’s more than that. Maybe you could talk some sense into him. He needs to calm down.”

“Peter is listening to the Holy Spirit,” replied Nicodemus. “He told me this. I can’t imagine what that would be like. All of a sudden, a voice enters his head, telling him to do this and do that. Have you felt it, Jude?”

“Uh huh.” I said thoughtfully. “Several times, but I’ve only heard it once inside my head.”

“From what I gather,” suggested Nathan, “you don’t have to hear Him; you feel Him.” “…. He motivates you,” he searched for words, “… like when an inspiration enters your mind. Where did it come from? Why did it suddenly appear?”

“That’s true.” I agreed. “Often I feel compelled to do things, which seem more like an urge. Words pop into my mouth from out of nowhere…. When I’m healing someone, I feel it especially. Before the Lord healed you Nicodemus, I actually heard a voice say ‘Bid him to rise!’”

“Yes.” Nicodemus nodded his head. “You have the gift, Jude. During that awful business—the trial and crucifixion—I felt God’s presence: a compulsion that overcame my cowardice. Because of it, I knew my life would never be the same. For you and Peter, however, it comes from the Risen Lord, as a revelation, an actual voice telling you what to do. God spoke to Moses and Elijah directly. Peter, who has continual revelations, is especially blessed. “Come on men.” He motioned toward the door. “Let’s not keep him waiting. He’s a firebrand now, lit by the Spirit of the Lord!”

******

When we arrived in the upper room, Peter and the other men were waiting expectantly. Soon, if Peter had his way, we would be on the road, each with our own path in the world. Almost immediately, with Nathan and my help, Nicodemus spread the big map out on the table. Several goblets were necessary to keep it flat, while the Pharisee pointed out to us the important provinces and boundaries of the Roman Empire. It seemed plain enough to James, Matthew, Simon, and I, who knew Latin, but for the fishermen, who hadn’t traveled beyond Galilee and Judea, it appeared to an be overwhelming odyssey. The many cities and towns shown within the empire were mind-boggling enough, but Nicodemus’ map also included far away places, such as Persia, India, Ethiopia, and Seres Despite Peter’s sudden spiritual wisdom and insight, he was as ignorant at the other fishermen about the world. His fascination with the territory available to us was almost childlike in scope.

“This place you call Seres.” He pointed at the map. “Tell me about those people. Are they civilized? It’s at the edge of the world!”

“I’ve never been there,” admitted Nicodemus. “It’s a most mysterious place. They have, I was told by a merchant, yellow skin and slanted eyes. They don’t like foreigners very much, but Roman merchants, like my friend, bring back carts of silk, a thread almost as valuable as gold.”

“And what about this place?” Peter pointed to India. “Have you been there?”

“No, of course not.” Nicodemus said impatiently. “I haven’t been to Persia or Ethiopia either. My business travels kept me safely inside the empire. Seres, Persia, India, and Ethiopia are outside of Rome’s protection.” “You’re not considering those places, are you?” He frowned.

“I had a dream last night,” Peter confessed, scratching his beard. “I looked out and saw a great wall. It stretched endlessly over rolling hills. I couldn’t see the people’s faces—they were mere shadows, but from the top of the wall they shouted at me in a strange, musical tongue—”

“So it wasn’t a revelation.” Nicodemus sighed with relief.

“No, just a dream.” Peter laughed at himself. “There were no revelations about our destinations. This troubled me, until I recalled the randomness of Jesus’ exploits. I’m afraid each one of us must decide upon his path.”

“Stay inside the boundaries,” advised Nathan. “I wouldn’t advise Gaul or the German frontier either. There’s plenty of fertile ground in the Roman Empire. Stick to safe and secure lands.”

“What about India and Persia?” Thomas blurted. “Those must be out of bounds too!”

“Yes, of course.” Nathan nodded. “If it’s outside Rome, forget it!”

“That’s good advice,” agreed Nicodemus, “and I would go a step further. Your main concern, after all, is the Jews, is it not? I heard about what Jesus told you: first the Jews, then the Gentiles. As far as Gentiles are concerned, there’s plenty of them in Galilee, Judea, and Perea. The provinces of Syria and Cilicia also have countless villages to spread the word. Avoid Rome if you insist on visiting Italia. Roman citizens are a fickle lot. Small towns, like the ones in Judea and Galilee, are better than cities, where all manner of rabble abide.”

“That makes sense.” Andrew pursed his lips.

“Yes,” John agreed heartily. “Look what they did here in Jerusalem.”

“I hate big cities!” His brother scowled. “Jerusalem’s the worst!”

“Simple people, for a simple message,” I chimed. “Jesus loved the poor and downtrodden the most.”

“That was the Jesus we knew.” Peter sighed. “The Jesus in my head is a different sort. Since the resurrection, I’ve been listening to the Holy Spirit. He hasn’t told me where we’ll go. Who knows where that will be. When the moment comes for each of us, we’ll know what to do.”

The men groaned. I could see bewilderment in some of their faces. I understood what he meant, but dullards like Thomas, Andrew, and Philip were totally confused. Despite my comprehension, I looked at him in disbelief.

“So.” I took a deep breath then exhaled. “You mean, ‘as he Spirit moves us.’ The Lord will tell us, Himself, where to go, right?”

“Right.” Peter gave me a nod.

“And how will he do that?” Thomas made a face.

“I don’t know.” Peter shrugged. “…. Perhaps in a dream or a flash of knowledge, like knowing suddenly when to drop your net. After his return, Jesus has told me what to do. He will also tell you. His words, in dreams or wide awake, keep popping up in my head. Yet he once told me to follow my heart, not my head, on lesser matters: what to eat and when to make camp, that sort of thing. You men will have to use common sense at times. But on the larger matters, such as how far you must go and where to spread the word, it will be the inner voice that you must heed.”

As if he had read our minds, Matthew asked, “What if it never comes?

“Yeah.” Thomas blinked. “Sometimes my heads a blank.”

Philip snickered. “Your heads always a blank!”

“What your saying,” I said solemnly, “is we must wait until we get the call.”

“Exactly.” Peter placed a hand on my shoulder. “Right again, Jude!”

“I just thought of something,” Simon looked around the table. “What if we hear the

voice, but it tells us to go to India, Seres, or some other awful place like Persia or Britannia—the land of the blue painted men?”

“Then,” Peter said, drawing in a breath, “you must go!”

“You’re not serious.” Nathan stared at him in disbelief. “At least stay within the empire. Outside its borders Rome has many enemies. The Bretons, Germans, and Persians hate us. I’m sure those other people hate us too. I have heard stories about how foreigners are treated in far away lands. Unless you’re in disguise, you might be stoned or torn limb from limb. The Bretons burn people in wicker cages and the Germans disembowel their victims.”

“You’re frightening them,” Nicodemus scolded his chamberlain. “I’ve heard those stories, too. Many of them are untrue.” “The point is,” he said, looking around the table, “you’re going into regions where we know little about the people. You’re going into the unknown, always a fearful place.”

“All right.” Peter raised his palms. “Outside the borders, it’s a dark, unfriendly place, but the fact remains. Jesus told us we would suffer for his sake.”

James, my brother, summed it up simply: “He is Lord. We are his servants. If we’re called, we must face the unknown. Everywhere we go, whether it’s in Galilee, Judea or out there, we face the unknown. That’s the price we pay for being messengers preaching the word.”

******

Peter now ordered us to study the great map. For those of us who could write, it was advisable to sketch out the boundaries, important cities, and mountain ranges, and make special notes based on Nicodemus’ comments. We were to disregard Nathan’s gloomy forecast, he insisted, though I jotted down that information too. Despite what I had feared—that Peter would point to various countries and cities, saying you go here and you go there, we were left with temporary reprieves. No one had to go anywhere yet, until they were called, as Jesus had once been called by John the Baptist, and, as Jesus and now Peter were guided by the Spirit, which told where to go. Like Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Bartholomew, and my written observations, John’s notes would provide the fishermen and himself with guidelines. Peter, who would be entrusted with Nicodemus’ map, of course had the greatest burden to bear. As he had throughout his leadership, he would continue getting directions from the Lord, but right now the Lord appeared to be silent.

After discussing the pitfalls ahead with us and giving his advice on how to behave in the Gentile world, Nicodemus bowed to Peter’s fortitude. After one last meal together before leaving Jerusalem, he graciously gave us his blessing, promising to pray daily for our safety. Nathan apologized for his intemperate words, but his warning remained stamped in our brains. I had one last mission in Jerusalem: retrieve Bartholomew’s cart and mule. On the way back to his estate, the Pharisee said little. He was, as was Nathan, still troubled by Peter’s stubbornness. I knew Peter was correct. Jesus had made it plain it wouldn’t be easy. I wouldn’t attempt to press this point with them, for, indeed, I shuddered at the thought. When I was ready to leave with the cart and mule, Nicodemus said something to me that would haunt me in the days ahead.

“Remember, Jude” he called to me as I took the reins, “there are two inner voices—the Lord’s and Satan’s. You’ll know which one to chose. As brother of our Lord, you might think you have to do more than others. This isn’t true. Don’t test God to prove your worth, that’s purest folly. Perhaps because he takes it for granted, Peter neglected to mention the most important communication between the Lord and us: prayer. Pray for wisdom, my son. If not in revelation or sudden inspiration, He’ll answer your prayer and tell you what to do. I may not see you again in this world, Jude, but we’ll meet in His Kingdom. You’ll have a long life. I know this to be true. Sooner or later the call will come. Until then, pray and wait patiently for His voice.”

******

Soon after I arrived at Mark’s house, we were loading the cart with supplies, most of which would be stored at Lazarus’ house. Nicodemus had given us far more food than we would need. What we didn’t cram into our packs, we would give to the poor or give to Esther and Dinah for the converts in Capernaum. Fearful that we might become drunks during our idleness, wine was left out of our packs. On the way to Bethany, however, Bartholomew discovered a jug under the seat in his mule cart that had been overlooked. This discovery cheered me greatly. Also adding a spring to my step, as we traveled to Bethany, was a decrease in the sense of urgency. As I had hoped, we wouldn’t begin our missions until the morning. Perhaps Peter had another revelation or simply had second thoughts. It had been decided, after studying the map, that until our calling or when the Spirit moved us further afield, we would remain in familiar grounds: in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and Decapolis.

As we approached Bethany, Lazarus, his sisters, and a group of converts came out to greet us. Running ahead of them as before was Micah, my faithful dog, with Ashira not far behind. After the recent horde of converts Peter brought to his town, Lazarus must have been on the lookout. One moment Bethany loomed into view and the next moment they were there in the distance, waiting anxiously at the edge of town. Though he tried putting a good face on it, Lazarus must have been weary of our visits. Even though new converts had been settled in Capernaum by Peter, there were, on each side of Lazarus and his sisters, a number of hangers-on mingled in with Bethany’s followers, who were undoubtedly a great burden on their household and Bethany’s small congregation. The fact that we brought so much food with us would lessen the strain on his resources. Peter now decided to turn the food over to Lazarus, instead of taking it to Capernaum, a supply that would supplement the food eaten by his men. It was, however, small comfort to Lazarus’ sisters who would have to wait on us hand and foot. Here we were again, arriving without warning. Lazarus and his sisters never knew when we were going to appear. Already, their house had become a second home for Jesus’ apostles and disciples. Now, I suspected, because of Bethany’s location between Galilee and Judea, it would become a way station for preachers passing through.

That evening Lazarus’ sisters prepared a feast for us. After our meal, as the women cleaned up the kitchen and we sat around the crowded room, we were encouraged by Peter to dredge up our own reflections of the week’s events. As Micah nestled beside me, his head on my lap, I found it easier to suffer these narrations. After hearing the account Peter gave to our hosts and listening to the fishermen swap tales, my eyelids grew heavy. Micah was already asleep. Each of us gave a similar account, which was basically the same: from our first arrest and miraculous escape from jail, until Gamaliel’s intercession, which forced Caiaphas to set us free. Out of politeness I joined the discussion, but found the exercise tedious. We had talked about this in the upper room, and we talked about this on the road. Earlier, as soon as we arrived, we told the crowd waiting for us our story, and now we were giving our reports again. Would more versions of the story make it anymore more true or real? I was growing tired of the subject and envied Micah his slumber. Looking across the room, I caught sight of Martha, Mary, and Ashira leave the kitchen, dabbing sweat from their foreheads as they slipped out of the house. Jumping up with sudden inspiration, I scurried after them. Because we frequently stepped out to use the cloaca, no one questioned me. My real purpose, of course, was to stretch my legs, get some fresh air, and chat with the women a spell.

Quick to awaken from his nap, Micah followed me as I slipped out the door. As Micah and I left the house, we found the women standing by the lake, staring vacantly at the water, exhausted by their labors.

Though Mary recoiled at his affection and Martha gave Micah a timid pat, Ashira reached down happily to scratch his neck.

“That was a wonderful meal,” I cried cheerfully, “you cooked all my favorites: fish, lentils, and greens. Those pastries were fantastic!”

“Thank you.” Martha said graciously. “We had little time.”

“Yes,” agreed Mary. “It was too short of notice to have lamb.”

“Oh, he’s just being polite.” Ashira smiled slyly.

“No” I smiled at her. “I really did!” “Lamb is overrated.” I tried sounding convincing.

“It really is. That fish was cooked to perfection. I loved the lentils and greens.”

To be honest they hadn’t prepared my favorites. I preferred lamb or fowl. The pastries were, in fact, quite tasty, but the fish was overcooked, the lentils unseasoned, and I didn’t care for greens. Considering the time frame, though, it wasn’t bad. The three women had little time to prepare a special meal. Mary was in a testy mood. Martha and Ashira, who did most of the work around the house, including preparing our meal, just looked tired.

“You men are fortunate,” Mary murmured softly. “Men can be apostles or disciples but women must be servants. That’s what Peter calls the women in your group. Lazarus thinks that way too. Sarah, Miriam, and Hannah were prophets. Deborah was a judge of Israel. Without Eve, where would you be?” “Women are the slaves of men,” she decided sadly. “It’s always been like that. It’ll never change!”

“You are the master of your destiny,” I replied thoughtfully. “Women are just as important as men, sometimes more. My mother ruled our house. She still does.”

“That’s not the same.” She shook her head. “Your mother’s the mother of our Lord. That makes her special.”

“Listen Mary,” I spoke discreetly, “you’re special too. I saw that the first time I spoke to you. The Lord decides who’s a disciple and who’s a servant, not Peter, not anyone else.”

“Really?” Martha awakened from her lethargy. “…I’ve wanted to believe that, but Lazarus thinks I’m foolish. Mary’s right. We’re expected to find husbands, have babies, and be some man’s slave. What if we want to preach? What if we want to serve the Lord?”

“Then you should!” I turned, gripping her shoulders.

Of the two sisters, Martha had always been my favorite. I was glad to hear her say such a thing. Recalling my experience with Mary Magdalene, I addressed all three women now: “Jesus, my brother, picked men to be his first disciples, but everyone can serve. Mary Magdalene and I preached to citizens in Capernaum. One day I’m certain she will be a great tool for the Lord. You, Martha, Mary, and Ashira, can be too. Don’t let Peter or Lazarus tell you differently. Jesus’ resurrection freed us from the old order. Don’t forget Lazarus’ resurrection. Because of that, you Martha, have a special place in Jesus’ heart!”

“Lazarus is like our father.” Martha shook her head. “He keeps us under his thumb.”

“We’re imprisoned in his house.” Mary folded her arms. “He won’t let us go out on our own.”

“And I’m just a servant here.” Ashira looked down at the ground. “What can I do?”

“Well, this isn’t right,” I grew irritated. “You make Lazarus sound like a tyrant.” “Tell me,” I asked, looking back at the house. “Do you want to serve the Lord?”

“Yes!” Martha and Mary answered and Ashira nodded her head.

I thought about this a moment. The question I asked sounded innocent enough, but it could be interpreted in a wider sense. Despite my sympathies, I was wrong to encourage this line of thinking. Once again my mouth had gotten me into trouble. How could I retreat from my opinion? Should I retract what I just said? I would be betraying both Lazarus and Peter if I didn’t fall back, and yet I somehow I must be truthful without crushing their hopes.

“…. Look Martha, Mary, Ashira,” I said carefully, “as long as you live in Lazarus’ house, you’ll be under his thumb. In accordance with our tradition, whether its managing sisters or servants, he rules the house. In general, our tradition has made women’s lives difficult, especially when they’re unmarried. Ironically, Ashira, your path is simpler. All you have to do is quit and find employment somewhere else. For you Martha and Mary, because your Lazarus’ sisters, it’s more difficult. Unless you can earn you’re own way outside of his house, as Ashira can, you’re trapped here. Your brother’s a good man. He loves you and wants to protect you. The best way for a Jewish woman to be protected in his mind is to be married. If your husband is as enlightened as my father was, you’ll at least have the freedom to speak your mind. If he’s not enlightened and like most Jewish men, you’ll not have such freedom…. Your best hope is to learn a trade, like Ashira, or find a good man. Otherwise, you’ll be a woman, alone, footloose, and at the mercy of the world.”

“What trade could we do?” Mary looked at me in disbelief.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “There’s not much open to women.”

Ashira, who seemed uncomfortable with this topic, stooped down and stroked the dog.

Recalling Mary Magdalene, I might have suggested that Mary try her namesake’s trade of selling doves, but thought better of it. For a while, Mary Magdalene had also been a prostitute—a fallen woman. Instead, I turned to the great women of our people.

“You’ve heard about Abraham’s, Isaac’s, and Jacob’s wives. They helped shaped the Patriarchs’ thinking. Had it not been for Isaac’s mother Rachel, his brother Ishmael, not Jacob, would have been the father of the Israelites. Don’t forget Hannah, who influenced her son Samuel, a great prophet, and Ruth, the ancestor of our Lord. There are countless examples of important women in our history.”

“But this is a man’s world,” Martha pointed out. “We can’t earn a living. Those women you mentioned had husbands. Even your mother relied on her husband. She couldn’t, like you men, strike out on her own to preach the word. That’s what Mary and I want to do.”

Despite my better judgment, I couldn’t argue with her. Lazarus’ sisters looked expectantly at me. Though she tried concentrating on Micah, I could see interest in Ashira’s eyes, too. A warm feeling came over me, similar to but subtler than my experience in the upper room. I knew it was the Holy Spirit…. Jesus was speaking to me on Martha, Mary, and Ashira’s behalf.

“…. Then… you must do it,” I replied hesitantly after a pause. “…. Preach the word! Pray about this, my friends. Jesus knows you hearts, but if you strike out on your own, know this: You’re journey will be hard and, at times, filled with pitfalls, yet your spirit will rejoice in your service. Working in the field of the Lord is the greatest trade. Nothing you’ll ever do is more important than sharing the good news. Go home, think hard on this, and pray for guidance. The Lord will tell you what to do!”

******

Though moved by the Spirit, I was filled with misgivings. Micah’s warm, furry body next to me, normally a comfort, failed to dispel my mood. I had just given Lazarus’ sisters and his servant my blessing to spread the word. What would happen if they confronted Lazarus, quoting to him my inspired words? What would he think? For that matter what would Peter think? In spite of my feeling of grace, I felt disloyal to our host. Peter, who considered women to be nothing more than chattels, would consider my advice reckless and foolhardy. When Bartholomew asked me what was wrong that night, I confided my foolishness to him. His response, as he drifted off to sleep, was what I wanted to hear.

“Did the Lord really speak to you?” he asked groggily.

“I felt him,” I searched for the right words, “…. It was the Holy Spirit.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he grumbled. “Do as he says.”

“Thank you!” I replied, closing my eyes.

Bartholomew was right. As Peter, I had been given an order. The Lord had spoken. With that thought in mind, after giving Micah a pat, I fell quickly asleep. When I awakened, after untroubled slumber, I readied myself for the journey ahead. At breakfast and the moments afterwards as Lazarus, his sisters, and the servant saw us off, and I gave my dog a hug, nothing was said about Mary, Martha, and Ashira becoming preachers. We barely made eye contact, but I knew it was on their minds. It had been decided by Peter that we would return to Capernaum, our home base, to await our callings. During the meantime, we would minister to the congregation there or, if the Spirit moved us, preach in Galilee, Perea, Judea, and Decapolis, until we received the call. I would at times ride next to Bartholomew in the cart or, when the old man was tired, walk beside the mule, holding its reins as I led him down the road. Those days we spent in Capernaum would have been peaceful were it not for the future looming ahead. None of us knew when our orders would come…. Would they appear in a dream, a vision, or a sudden feeling like the Holy Spirit? After several days, my greatest fear was that I might not get it at all.

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