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So far my path had
been straightforward enough. After the
ordeals of youth and travails of a young man, I found myself as a member of the
twelve. Though I experienced the Holy
Spirit, I hadn’t yet received my orders from the Lord. That would come later. The waiting would begin to wear on me, but I
had nothing better to do. Unlike my
brothers James, Joseph, and Simon, I had no occupation. I had been an adventurer and slacker. When Jesus met John the Baptist at the River
Jordan, my life suddenly changed.
Despite my misgivings at first, I decided to join his band. Wherever they went, I was there. Like the others, I was a witness to His
miracles and deeds. I was chosen to
help spread the word. Ever since Jesus
called me to the twelve, I knew what was expected of me. Though there were dangers on the road, I
worried little about tomorrow, concerned only with the affairs of the day. What followed our interlude in Capernaum,
however, when the twelve finally splintered apart, and we went our own separate
ways, is more complicated. Jesus was no
longer physically in our presence.
Peter had been in charge, ruling our actions with a stern,
uncompromising hand. His guidance and
inspiration, though intolerable at times, kept us together after the crucifixion. In the days following Jesus’ reappearance
and our shared experiences with the Holy Spirit, which strengthened our
resolve, he kept us focused on our mission.
By Peter’s relentless enthusiasm and example, he led us, in an effort to
make us ready for the pitfalls ahead.
Now, as apostles and disciples, we were entering an undefined and
shadowy period in our service to the Lord.
Soon, at least for some of us, we would get our final orders, not from
Peter, but from the Holy Spirit—the voice of God, Himself.
After Peter’s
latest revelations, we would, when the call came, go out by ourselves or in
pairs rather than as a total group.
Despite what he said to Bartholomew and me, he was unclear about this. The only thing we knew for sure was the
message we would spread. What we had
learned from Jesus and from practical experience with Peter, our new leader,
must be shared with the world. In
Peter’s vision, guided by the Lord, we were both farmers and shepherds
now. After the seeds we plant in
various places take root, congregations (or flocks) will begin to grow, then
new disciples, as shepherds, themselves, will take the staff to lead the new
flocks, until one day, the entire world will have heard the word and become
believers—one great ecclesia propagating the word. This was the strategy.
Considering the rejection I had seen from many of our own people,
however, this grand plan, which Jesus and now Peter believed would happen,
seemed unreasonable. Not only did we
have to contend with the religious leaders and practically every Pharisee and
scribe encountered, we would have to contend with the Gentiles—the Romans in
particular, as a group, rather than the few individuals drawn to our faith in
the past. They were, as the fishermen
might say, untested waters. Despite
Jesus’ insistence that we preach to Jews first before going to the Gentiles,
there was no way to separate Jews from Gentiles when confronting a crowd. Many cities in Syria, Perea, and Decapolis
were cosmopolitan, in some cases with a majority of pagans, who needed to hear
the message too. Considering Jesus
vision of the world, how could we minister to and baptize only the Jews?
Not only the scope
of our mission, but its content was worrisome.
We carried with us a revolutionary conception of the Hebrew god that, on
the face of it, had more in common with the pagans, who worshipped more than
one god. When we did begin to preach in
some far corner of the empire, we would have to explain this complex deity: God
the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. These three natures of God were still difficult for even us to
digest. How could we explain this to
simple people, if men such as Lazarus didn’t fully understand? For that matter, the notion of being born
again had confounded even the Pharisee Nicodemus. How could we explain such concepts to ignorant people, whether
Gentile or Jew? The Holy Spirit, the
important differences from the old and new faith, and the very meaning of the
crucifixion and the resurrection would also be difficult to explain.
After much thought,
I remembered Jesus’ original message.
It provided a simple list for people to follow: believe, repent, and be
baptized into a new life. From the
beginning, this formula had seemed to work well. Hundreds of converts had joined up during the days following
Jesus’ greatest sermons, understanding only this basic formula for
salvation. His crucifixion and
resurrection, which defined him as the Son of God as well as the Christ,
immediately changed all of this. Now
added to the message of the Risen Christ, was an even more difficult concept
for believers to understand: the Holy Spirit.
Not only was our message controversial, the messenger had become
controversial, as well. There were now
three deities combined into—God the Father, God the Son, and God, the Holy
Spirit, that James called the Godhead, a concept even I had found difficult to
accept. James and Bartholomew agreed
with me that we must keep the message simple among rustics. Save them first and then enlighten them, if
possible, we suggested to Simon, Matthew, and Thomas. The five of us also decided to keep this to ourselves. We had no idea what the fishermen were
saying or doing right now, but I had a hunch they had watered down the message
too.
What mattered was
what we would say or do when receiving the call. Then, on our separate paths, we would, like Peter, be guided by
the Lord. As we waited for orders, our
service in Palestine would be used to sharpen up our preaching skills. The great majority of Palestinians, Peter
reminded us, had heard the good news and just needed convincing. If that was true, I told Bartholomew, why
bother with the details? In many cases
we were preaching to faint-hearted believers and slackers, as well as
fence-setters, who might never be convinced.
Considering this logic, our current time in Galilee might be an exercise
in futility, but it was good practice for the future and kept our minds
sharp. For a brief time, this pattern
of our lives was simple but worthwhile.
The first thing I did when we returned to Capernaum, of course, was to
find Mary Magdalene and share my thoughts with her. Lately, she had a dreamy, far off look about her. Clearly, as it should be, I had lost her to
Christ. Though Peter told the men they
would receive separate missions, which meant they might not go out in pairs,
for the time being we reverted to our previous couplings when Jesus first sent
us out. Mary, who was especially
blessed by Jesus, needed no one but herself.
After going out to check on the flock and preach to small crowds
whenever they appeared, the apostles and disciples returned to Peter’s house to
share our experiences and compare notes.
Included in
Bartholomew’s and my schedule was a visit to Bethany to visit Lazarus and his
sisters, but mostly, I confess, to spend time with my dog. Where it not for Peter’s wife and
mother-in-law, I would have brought Micah home with us. Ashira, Lazarus’ servant, who took care of
him, gave him affection, and taught him tricks, was rightfully his master
now. At times it seemed as though I
might, in my service to the Lord, never see him again, but then I would recall
something Jesus said to me: “On those lonely nights, when it’s just you, the
stars, and the Lord above, Micah will give you great comfort…. He’ll always be your dog!” Everything else during my wait seemed to be
in flux, but Micah was an unchanging constant.
With his special blessing, my brother had given him to me. It may sound heretical, but it was as if a
piece of Jesus lived in him. Micah was
one of his miracles, an unexpected gift and reminder of his god-like
powers.
During our rest
periods in Capernaum, to while away the time, Bartholomew and I visited the
chapel built for the congregation in Capernaum to chat with Azariah and
Yoshabel, its shepherd and shepherdess or strolled along the shoreline
contemplating the days ahead. Though
Mary Magdalene had matured greatly and often seemed in another world, I also
visited her as much I could. Most of my
time, however, was spent with Bartholomew.
Because of Peter’s apparent blessing on our partnership, I assumed I
would continue watching over the old man.
Like the others, we grew more anxious in our leisure. Why was the Holy Spirit so silent? Why hadn’t we received the call? …. Would
the Lord send Bartholomew and I out alone, on separate paths?
******
As was expected of
us by Peter, Bartholomew and I moved around Galilee in his cart, visiting
various communities, as the other men likewise paired off visiting other
towns. In this leisurely fashion we,
the apostles and disciples, did the Lord’s work in Palestine, until the
expected pattern finally set in. Peter
had told us it would happen sooner or later.
He had already received his first set of instructions from the
Lord. He would, he explained to us,
oversee the congregations in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and Decapolis and when new
congregations were established he would shepherd these too. Though James, Lazarus, Azariah, and his wife
were also called shepherds, as would be the leaders of new congregations, Peter
was, at least for the time being, the Shepherd. Now, after we returned to Peter’s house, we
noticed that Andrew and Philip were missing.
A courier arrived shortly before our arrival with a message, written by
him on their behalf, announcing Andrew’s intention of visiting Asia and
Philip’s intention of visiting Greece.
A rambling message followed in which Andrew and Philip gave details of
how they were contacted—Philip in a prophetic dream in which a young child
appeared telling him he must go to Greece, and Andrew in the clear light of day
in which a voice told him to feed His children in Asia. As impressive as these callings were, all I
could think of was, ‘He’s going to break Bartholomew and me up… I’m going out
alone!’ The implications of this—the
first apostles called singularly to preach the word—shook us all greatly. Who would be next?
******
In the following weeks, as
Bartholomew and I tried to concentrate on our chores as preachers spreading the
word and as spiritual guides for backsliding and recalcitrant converts, we
suffered the increasing loss of our companions, dreading when our moment
came. To make matters even glummer for
me, Mary Magdalene disappeared into the hills, seeking visions and counsel from
the Lord. Most of the original pairs
designated by Jesus had changed. Peter
had no partner, so Andrew had picked his old fishing mate Philip, both of whom
were now far away, preaching the word.
Simon chose Matthew to travel with him now that Judas was gone, and
because my brother James had his own ministry in Jerusalem, Thomas was left
with the disciple Justus. Of the
apostles, only John and James and Bartholomew and I were the original pairs. Because they weren’t selected by Jesus, four
of the disciples and the new apostle had no pattern to follow and could pair
off more easily. Barnabas, a friend of
Mark and his mother, had picked the younger man as his companion, and Cleopas
naturally chose his longtime friend Matthias, now a member of the twelve. Jonas, who had never had a partner, was the
only one of us not be paired off, and was sent back to his hometown to
preach.
Each time we met in Peter’s house,
our numbers were reduced. In each case,
as Peter had instructed his men, a courier—someone close to the preachers,
would return with the news. In the end,
after our numbers continued to dwindle, only Bartholomew and I remained. As I make this entry, all I can tell the
reader is where the other ten apostles and disciples where at the time they sent
their messages. After Andrew and Philip
failed to report in, messengers for the apostles had arrived to explain their
whereabouts in Asia and Greece. Only a
few days later, a messenger arrived from Thomas and Justus, telling us they had
been called to Syria. Of all the
preachers, they appeared to have the easiest missions. Nothing was said about how Thomas and Justus
were called. Two days later Mark,
instead of a messenger as Peter instructed, returned with a letter from
Barnabas. According to Barnabas’ note,
as he and Mark passed through Perea, an old Samaritan asked him why Jesus had
forgotten his people. In a dream,
Barnabas accompanied a stranger, whose preaching was second only to Jesus. He had no idea who this man would be. Though he assumed they were in Samaria in
his dream because of the request of the Samaritan, he couldn’t be sure. Missing in what he believed was a vision was
the presence of Mark. Seeing his
meeting with the Samaritan as a sign and accepting his vision as a further stage
in his service for the Lord, he sent Mark back to Capernaum to deliver the
news. These circumstances gave the
young man a reprieve. Because of the
note, which Peter accepted as the Lord’ will, Mark joined Bartholomew and I in
our lonely vigil as we awaited Jesus’ call.
Who could have
guessed that Barnabas, like Luke, would one day become the disciple of Paul of
Tarsus, a Pharisee who would first persecute members of the Way?
******
During our wait,
more letters arrived. A courier brought
a message from Matthew and Simon, who were in Persia, that detailed their
success in villages, but, like Thomas and Justus, they claimed no spiritual
experience. Whether these men had
thought we would assume they were called or simply forgot to include this
information, remained a mystery.
Judging by Andrew, Philip, and Barnabas’ experience, the Lord had his
own plans for them. The fact that some
of the apostles had kept their original partners so far, gave Bartholomew and I
hope. It appeared as though, by the Lord’s
silence, James and John and Bartholomew and I might be destined to stay
together. At least two of the men,
Matthias and Cleopas, admitted in their message to not having a prophetic dream
or religious experience at all, deciding on their own initiative to remain in
Cilicia where the ‘pickings were good.’
It seemed as though Peter’s reach as our shepherd went only so far. Also making Bartholomew and I feel better
was the attitude of Mark, who seemed happy where he was. Peter, who would remain in Capernaum using
Mark as his scribe, was also content to stay put. Despite the fact that most of the apostles and disciples were on
their own now and didn’t need his guidance, Peter’s calling, at least for the
time being, was as Shepherd of the Way.
He interpreted Barnabas’ note not only as the Lord’s calling for
Barnabas but also as a sign that Mark should remain behind to help with the
ecclesia. He wasn’t concerned with the
Lord’s silence toward Bartholomew and me.
Until the Lord gave us all further instructions, there was much that we
could do to help him manage our congregations in Galilee, Judea, Perea, and
Decapolis, without traveling to distant lands.
For several weeks,
though our numbers diminished, our routine remained the same. Finally, from the remaining apostles in
Palestine, a letter arrived from John, who explained that he and his brother
James had gone their own separate ways.
James remained in Tyre, after healing a Pharisee’s wife. Nothing more was said after this
miracle. In his note, John, who offered
no explanation as to his brother’s plans, made the boldest claim of any of the
apostles or disciples. Written in his
own flamboyant style, he claimed that Jesus appeared in a dream telling him to
go to Ephesus and feed his sheep, implying, as Andrew had, he would shepherd
his flock.
Peter shook his head, after Mark
read the message.
“Well, that’s just
like John,” he laughed sourly. “Most of the men downplayed their calling, but
John was called by the Lord, himself.
He now fashions himself as a shepherd!”
“I bet he was drunk!” grumbled
Bartholomew.
“The question is,” I replied
thoughtfully, “why didn’t Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Justus, Matthias, Cleopas,
and James claim divine guidance? That’s
most of the men!”
“I don’t know.” Peter shrugged his
shoulders. “Maybe they had it or maybe not.
Perhaps the Lord didn’t tell Mark to go home, but Barnabas’ note and the
fact he sent him home seemed like a sign.”
“I never received a sign,” Mark
frowned. “You gave me a sign, Peter, when you asked for my help.”
“Well.” I sighed wistfully. “He
hasn’t called Bartholomew and me either, and I was Jesus’ brother!”
“This isn’t your faults.” He glanced
at each of us. “Look at me; I’m the Rock.
He told me to feed his sheep.
Until I’m sure Azariah and his wife are ready, though, this is my
assignment. I’m sure it’s only
temporary. Someday, he’ll send me out
too.”
“Just you?” Mark frowned.
“No, both of us.” He patted
Mark’s head. “You’re sticking with me.” “I’m certain you two will also get the
call,” he added, looking at Bartholomew and me. “I just hope the Lord keeps you together. You make a good team. Pray on it men. I have a feeling, you’ll be hearing from Him soon!”
******
Peter’s feeling proved to be
accurate. My calling, however, was
nothing like I expected. As it
happened for some of the apostles and disciples, I had thought that the Lord
would give me a sign, even arrive as the Holy Spirit if I prayed hard enough,
but there was no prophetic dream, voice in my head, or other heavenly sign. The very next day after Peter’s prediction,
as Bartholomew and I strolled down the shore, watching fishermen pulling up
their nets, it happened in stages. At
first, it merely provided a topic for conversation. In the distance, on the nearby hill, a man on a camel sat
motionless—a dark silhouette against a sunlit sky.
“You see that?” I turned to
Bartholomew.
“What?” He followed my finger,
squinting his eyes. “…I’m half blind.”
“Him.” I jabbed the air. “The man on
the camel.”
“Oh him,” he
acknowledged, shielding his eyes from the sun. “That’s strange. He’s sitting so very still. What’s he up to?”
“I don’t know,” I
replied, feeling a prickling at the back of my neck. “He seems to be watching
us. Even his camel’s still. They’re like statues on that hill.”
Then the statue
moved.
“Uh oh.”
Bartholomew gasped. “He’s trotting toward us.
Let’s go back to the house.”
“No, wait,” I
caught his arm. “He’s alone…. There’s two of us. There’s fishermen on the lake.
Peter and Mark aren’t far away.
Let’s see what he wants.”
As we stood there
by the lake watching his camel clop slowly forward, I sensed the importance of
this encounter. Closer and closer the
rider approached. The awkward, ambling gait
of the beast belied the regal demeanor of the man, whose resplendent
gold-threaded robe was complimented by a silver laced turban on his head. Looking down at us, he nodded and touched
his forehead and chest in the manner of desert nomads. Speaking to me in my own tongue, however, he
introduced himself, which turned out to be my first shock.
“I’m Ibrim.” He
grinned. “…. You recognize me, Jude?”
“Ibrim!” I cried.
That moment,
blazing into my mind, were the memories of my travels in the East. Had it not been for this man, I wouldn’t
have survived those ordeals. Here he
was, obviously a rich man, and yet, having come out of nowhere, he was riding
alone, without an escort. What did this
mean? After all these years an old
friend appeared as I waited for my call.
“Stay with us in
Peter’s house?” I offered, as he climbed off his mount.
“No.” He shook his
head. “I don’t wish to be a bother. My
people are camped over the hill. Your
friend Peter may not want a Gentile in his house. For that matter you would be polluted if you entered my tent.”
“Nonsense,” I waved
dismissively. “Don’t forget, Ibrim, I rode with Gentiles. I’m certain Bartholomew doesn’t care.”
“Not a bit,”
replied Bartholomew.
“Very well,” Ibrim
stroked his beard. “I’ll water my camel in the lake, while you tell your friend
were you are.”
Quickly, with great
expectation, I ran to Peter’s house to inform him of this event.
“You say he was on
a camel and lives in tent?” Peter mumbled in disbelief. “We don’t see many
desert nomads. Humph, I must this
man!”
I had merely wanted
to tell Peter where Bartholomew and I would be. Instead I had given him a preliminary introduction of Ibrim. I led Mark and him back to the lake where
Ibrim and Bartholomew stood chatting amongst themselves. I said a silent prayer that Peter wouldn’t
insult my old friend. Mark also spoke
imprudently at times, and Bartholomew, for that matter, often spoke his
mind. After introducing Peter and Mark,
I stepped back in anticipation. Taking
the reins of his beast, Ibrim led him on foot, as we followed, extolling the
beauty of Capernaum and peace he found in it’s people, not ready to divulge the
real reason why he came. As we reached
the crest of the hill and looked down, all four of us gasped at once. Clearly, Ibrim had come up in the
world. From a sly, borderline thief on
a horse, whom I had distrusted when I first met him, he had become a desert
merchant or chief. His campsite
displayed great wealth. A great striped
tent stood below, banners flying from its poles, surrounded my smaller
multicolored tents. At least two dozen
camels were corralled in the encampment, along with horses and mules. Countless men, and a fewer number of women,
perhaps slaves or servants, wandered to and fro. A retinue of armored men on horses, who must have been guards,
waited at the foot of the hill for their master as we approached.
Speaking to them in
his language, which I hadn’t learned, I caught the Nabataean word for friends
(sadiq) preceding the names of his guests, obviously an introduction, followed
by the names of his guards in our tongue to make the introductions
complete. Almost immediately the stern
glares of his men softened to grins and approving nods as we proceeded to the
main tent.
At this point, I expected Peter and
Mark to recoil at the notion of entering a Gentile’s tent, but without comment
they followed us in. A feast of
forbidden food and delicacies we weren’t supposed to eat sat on a table. In a muted voice I reminded Ibrim that Jews
didn’t eat pork, shellfish, and pickled eel (although, when I rode with him I
had eaten pork and even snails). Peter
suggested we eat the fruit, nuts, and sweetmeats, which weren’t forbidden. Without further fanfare or even a blessing,
Ibrim motioned for all of us, including his guards, to be seated. Wine was poured into Greek mugs decorated with
depictions of pagan gods. Bartholomew
was a worldly man like myself, but I felt the urge to apologize to Peter and
Mark for this display. Once more,
though, as I had been when we decided to enter the tent, I was surprised at
their tolerance of Ibrim’s airs. All
four of us, despite the forbidden food on the table, feasted on an array of
fruit—grapes, pears, peaches, figs, dates, almonds, and cherries—many of which
had been introduced to our land by the Romans.
There were also shelled almonds and other more exotic nuts in bowels and
a great variety of sweetmeats I had not tasted since my days in Antioch. Soon, the unwatered Falernian wine began to
take effect on us. With a presence of
mind, rare for myself in the face of temptation, I finished only one goblet, as
did Bartholomew who also wanted to keep his wits, but Peter and Mark drank two
goblets during our feast, loosening their tongues as our host explained why he
was in Capernaum.
“My friends,” he began graciously,
“you honor my tent with your presence.
Because I’m a man of the desert and a Gentile, most Jews wouldn’t set
foot in my camp. Yet here you are with
your leader, Peter. For our people, he
would be called a tribal chief.” “Because you are their leader,” he addressed
Peter, “I ask you, the shepherd of his flock, for permission to have Jude
return with me to my people.”
“What?” Peter’s mouth dropped. “Is
this why we’re here?”
“Yes, of course,” Ibrim frowned.
“I’ve traveled hundreds of Roman miles.”
“Jude is waiting for his calling,” explained
Mark.
“I am too,” mumbled Bartholomew.
“Where does this leave me?”
“You can come to,” Ibrim waved a
bejeweled hand. “I heard about this Jesus, who became a god. Later, I heard about his death and return to
life. Once I lived in Galilee, where he
preached and performed his miracles, but I returned to my people and, alas,
missed it all. I’m sorry I waited so
long. But one of the men in my tribe
claims that your king rose like the Phoenix from the dead. I’ve known this man all my life, and he never
lies. As I traveled to your land, more
stories popped up here and there. Other
people made the same claim. I once met
Jude’s brother in Nazareth. Who would
have guessed this Jesus, the son of a carpenter, would be the Messiah and King
of the Jews. I want to know this
king. I want my people to know him
too. What better person to tell the
story than his brother Jude, my friend?”
Mark was dumbfounded. Peter’s startled expression was
transformed. A look of illumination
fell over his face.
“That’s it Jude,” he said solemnly,
gripping my shoulder. “The Lord has spoken.”
“But I received no call,” I replied
to him, “not so much as an inkling.”
“Few of the apostles and disciples
claimed to have divine inspiration,” reasoned Peter. “Some of them said they
were called, but only John appears to have had a message straight from our
Lord. We all know He moves in strange
ways. This man came a long way to find
you, Jude—no one else. That was the
Lord speaking, not mere chance.”
“All right,” I sighed deeply. “….
What about Bartholomew?”
“I’m sorry.” He
looked at the old man. “The Lord didn’t call you. It’ll be a long trip into Arabia. You’re too old for such a trip.
Your cart wouldn’t last, and your mule would die.”
“So?” Bartholomew
snarled. “I’ll ride a camel.”
“No.” Peter shook
his head. “That would kill you!”
“It would be a
death sentence,” Mark decided. “Arabia is a terrible, godforsaken place!”
“Stay with Mark and me in Capernaum,” Peter
reached across the table. “There’s still much to do.”
“No—absolutely not!” Bartholomew
slammed down his mug. “I’m sticking with Jude!”
Peter’s eyes narrowed and his
nostrils flared. “It’s out of the
question! You’re staying put!”
“Wait, my friends,” Ibrim said,
fluttering his hands, “I know many men older than Bartholomew who ride camels,
but I also have horses and mules. He
can ride in one of my carts on pillows if he wishes. Don’t let that be an issue.
I see no reason why he can’t come along.”
“Because he wasn’t called!” Peter
folded his arms. “That you asked for Jude only is significant—a sign in
itself. The message seems clear.”
“Not so!” Ibrim disagreed. “I came
for Jude, but I didn’t know about his friendship with that man. If your God put them together as companions,
why would I split them apart? The
desert is not so harsh. In fact, the
sulfur springs in my land would be good for his old bones.”
“There, you have it!” I looked
challengingly at Peter. “Bernice can
take care of the mule and watch his cart until we get back. I agree with Ibrim: this is Bartholomew’s
calling too. Please Peter, let him go!”
“Yes, Peter,” Ibrim said
impatiently, “I thought you were a reasonable man!”
“Hold on a moment.” Peter thought a
moment. “…. I’m happy your people want Christ, but let’s be sensible…. Tell me,
Ibrim, how long will Jude be there?”
“Not that long,” Ibrim promised.
“He’ll be back before winter.”
Peter smiled at Bartholomew. “All right, that’s not forever. It’s only a short while. When Jude returns you’ll back together
again. How’s that sound?”
“…. I don’t know,” Bartholomew
grumbled.
“Jesus would want
you to wait,” offered Mark. “He wants you alive to spread the word. He doesn’t want you buried in some foreign
land. Come on Bartholomew, as a favor
to Peter and our Lord, say yes!”
“What do you
think?” Bartholomew looked to me for an answer. “Do you want me to stay?”
“I’m not happy
about it,” I confessed reluctantly, “you’re my best friend, but I can’t be
selfish. It would be a difficult
trip. I’m sure they’d try to make you
comfortable, but I’m sorry Ibrim; though your offer to Bartholomew is generous,
I’ve been in the desert. I was once
held hostage by desert bandits. It can
be a dreadful place!”
“It’s up to you, my
friend,” Ibrim spread his palms. “I remember the story of your ordeal. Your God tested you greatly. I strongly believe your Jesus is a new god.”
Peter and Mark
recoiled at this blasphemy, but I took it in the spirit it was given. Very likely, it occurred to me, Ibrim had
forsaken his mother’s people and returned to banditry, at least for a period of
time, which would explain his horses, mules, slaves, and large number of
camels. Yet the fact that he was an old
friend, who helped save my life, and his sudden, timely appearance, cancelled
out my doubts. To my relief Peter and
Mark were too shocked to protest this time.
Bartholomew, like myself, was used to such Gentile attitudes, and,
though no one but me knew about it, had been a bandit, himself. It was true, I thought as I contemplated my
future, the Lord moves in mysterious ways!
“Very well,”
Bartholomew finally agreed, “…. I’ll wait.
The Lord has a plan for me!”
******
When I returned to Peter’s house to
grab my pack, I felt as if I was being rushed by Ibrim, which was probably
true. My family had gotten along well
with the shepherds who lived nearby in Nazareth—a Nabataean band similar to
desert people encountered in my travels.
The Nabs, as they were scornfully called, weren’t popular in Galilee. Though they were relatively harmless,
themselves, they acted as intermediaries for stolen goods, a supplementary
income to shepherding and selling wool.
Unlike the sheepherders who lived more sedentary lives, their kinsmen,
the desert nomads, had a reputation as bandits and thieves, and Ibrim’s
father’s people, were likely in this group.
I was half convinced Ibrim was a bandit leader, himself. The Romans might even have a bounty on his
head. With this in mind, I was filled
with misgivings, and yet Peter had given his blessing to the mission.
I had just enough
time to embrace and say farewell to all my friends before I left, including
Peter’s family. Esther, Dinah, and
Bernice said goodbye first as I departed from the house, and then Azariah,
Yoshabel, and several members of the original seventy appeared by the roadside
with Peter, Bartholomew, and Mark. Many
of the well-wishers were tearful. After
all, I was going into the wilderness of Arabia where wild, desert men
lurked—the sons of Ishmael, who robbed and murdered Jew and Gentile alike. Surely, I would perish preaching to those
pagan barbarians. I knew, of course,
from my own experience, that many desert nomads were good, simple people. On the other hand, together with my
traveling companions, I had encountered fierce nomads, who plundered and killed
for a living, and I had been taken captive by one such band. I therefore tried not to contemplate why
Ibrim was now wealthy and had so many goods.
This question filled me with anxiety and misgivings. Where, I wondered, would this strange man
lead me? Before settling down with his
Syrian wife, his father had belonged to a tribe of desert nomads and yet he
became a farmer and herdsmen.
Obviously, Ibrim had taken a different path. Questions now swirled in my mind…. After being a Roman scout, why
hadn’t Ibrim returned to his mother’s people, instead of the past lifestyle of
his father? Why hadn’t he married a
wealthy Greek or Syrian wench and settled down as he once planned? His newfound wealth must have come from
somewhere. Was he a merely a traveling
merchant… Or, having joined his
father’s tribesmen, was it something more sinister.
Those dreadful
words, ‘bandit’ and ‘murderer’, loomed in my mind, and yet I hoped my
suspicions were wrong. Peter, himself,
had given it his blessing, I reminded myself.
My mission was decided by the Lord.
“Return as soon as you can!” Peter
shouted through cupped hands.
“And we shall be a team again!”
Bartholomew’s voice cracked.
“Wait!” I said, clasping my
forehead. “What about Micah, my dog?”
“What about him?” Peter frowned.
“It’s on the way,” the words rushed
out. “It would be so easy. We can stop
on the way in Bethany and take him along.”
“Out of the question.” Peter shook
his head. “The desert’s no place for him.
Those people eat dogs!”
“He’s right.” Mark
agreed. “If you love Micah, leave him with Ashira. She loves that dog.”
That moment, as I considered their
words, and others wished me well, a familiar voice called out in the
distance. Suddenly, Mary Magdalene
appeared, racing across the field near Peter’s house, arms outstretched,
shouting my name over and over: “Jude!
Jude! Jude!” Embracing me shamelessly, as I met her in
the field, she then whispered close to my ear, “I love Jesus. Next to Him, I love you most in the
world!” I couldn’t have heard a more
joyous message. Along with the Holy
Spirit, she would bring me comfort in my travels. Glancing briefly in the direction of Ibrim’s camp, I turned back
to her, kissed her boldly on the lips, and murmured, “If only we could be like
other people again, I would make you my wife, but you, Mary Magdalene, are
married to Christ. I too am bound to
Him. We met at the wrong time and the
wrong age, and yet what happened to us is so right. Serving the Risen Christ, we’re no longer masters of our
fate. There’s no detours in the road,
Mary—not for us, only His will. That
force greater than us takes me away, and yet I’m at peace. I know you’re at peace too. Our love was finally spoken. I will take it with me into the desert, into
the wilderness, and everywhere I go.
Knowing this will make me stronger and less afraid of death. I’m loved by Mary Magdalene, whom Jesus
praised and blessed. That’s enough for
me!”
With that said, I pivoted and began
my journey into the great southern wilderness few Jews dare travel. With only my pack and the clothes that I
wore, I was going into the unknown, more so than any time in my life. Even the Romans, with all their might,
feared this region. For all my fine,
noble thoughts, I fought a wave of hysteria as I approached Ibrim’s camp,
wondering whether or not I would ever see Mary, Peter, and Bartholomew again.
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