Nazareth

Nazareth

Luke 4:14-30 <> John 6:25-65 <> Mark 12:10

My morning stroll was blessed, for the air was warm and soft, the hillsides laughed with new grass and wildflowers sang their delight. It was a lovely contrast to my rough night in Nazareth’s caravanserai. Not only was most of the straw absent from my pallet, what little remained was festered with vermin. On waking, I could not determine which was the most onerous, my aching bones or the pestilential itching.

The inn’s offering of stale bread, hard cheese and sour wine held no appeal. The handful of builders there spoke only of wood and stone as they drank their sikra, letting me know this Greek sojourner held none of their interest.

I had come to Nazareth hoping to find someone who had known Jesus and might be willing to speak to me. Being of Greek origin, I was oft confounded by the Levirate Law that forbade Jews from conversing with Gentiles. Moreover, enquiries about Jesus often evoked suspicion and, at times, no little unpleasantness. Only when I was in the company of Simon Peter or John or James did I find relief.

Nazareth‘s townsfolk were, for the  most part, rough builders who worked at the nearby city of Sepphoris, grain-croppers with chaff-pecked hair, shepherds reeking of sheep; a tumble of Gentiles and Jews. Rustic in its charm, Nazareth was. I understood how some said, ‘Can anything good come from Nazareth?’

Not my concern on this glorious morn. As I trekked up the road from the inn to the top of the hill, the words of the psalmist came to me: let the fields rejoice and everything in them … let all the trees of the forest sing for joy … let the rivers clap their hands … let the mountains ring with exultation. Indeed! What a splendid place was the Galilee, blessed by the hand of God.

Two, three years back, when I first visited John in Capernaum, that most ardent follower of Jesus, he taught me to pray. As I gave thought to the Creator of all things, morning was all the more glorious. Words of praise flowed to my heart and I was given to song , “O Adonai, glory upon glory, joy upon joy, may your peace reign in this land forever.”

At the brow of the hill, I breathed deeply of Galilee’s air. The Plain of Esdraelon below lay rich with fields of wheat and barley, orchards of figs and lemons and olives. God’s promise: the land of milk and honey.

From behind, came a voice. “Shalom, Luke. Blessed morning.”

I turned to see a friend sitting back to the wall of the synagogue. “Shalom, Shual.”

“Ah, my friend! So good to see you. Many months have passed since last we met.”

He was an interesting man, this Shual. Sharp of nose, pointed of ear, quick as an arvot fox. His red hair and beard were now shaded with grey, more than when we’d last met. His keen, dark eyes still laughed with a spring-like youthfulness. Ever amusing, Shual’s spirit flickered with a come-and-go wryness. More often than not, he made me laugh. I replied with a tease, “Had I known that in my sojourn to Nazareth that I would find you, I might have been tempted to return to Kythera.”

“Hah! Luke, if I did not know you better, I would be offended. But come! Let us repair to my home for bread and conversation. I have cheese and fruit, and ah! Fresh pomegranate juice!”

“Wonderful! Truly, Shual, I must say it is a delight to see you here. Lead the way.”

Shual and I had met in Jerusalem in the year following Jesus’s execution and his startling resurrection from a tomb. It was that very event which garnered my attention, enough so that I left Kythera for Jerusalem to learn whether or not it was true. A holy man raised from the dead?  In those early days, I was eager to learn the truth of this Jesus, be he Messiah or meturaf, messiah or maniac?

As it was, once I gained Shual’s trust, he became an emissary of sorts, putting me in touch with men and women whom, he assured me, could convey reliable accounts of this Jesus.

For as long as I remained in Jerusalem, it had been a most fruitful alliance. Once my mission to record the events of Jesus’s life sent me to Capernaum, Shual and I lost touch. It was good to see him again.

Shual’s home, halfway down the hill, was a small stone cottage, neat and well-shaded by olive trees. A wave of his hand showed me to comfortable seats in the courtyard. “We shall visit here, my friend. My sister is feeling poorly and wishes to rest. Take your ease. I shall return quickly.”

The sight of the fruit and cheese and bread gave my stomach happy grumbles, letting me know I hungered more than I realized. “Fresh spring water in that pitcher, Luke, pomegranate in the other.”

“So, Shual, I did not know you had a home in Nazareth. I thought your roots were firmly planted in Jerusalem.”

“Oh, my, ’tis a gnarled story, Luke. Nazareth is the place of my birth. It is my refuge as well. Here, I am safe.”

“Oho! Tales of troubles? I have ears to hear.”

Moments passed as Shual stared at nothing. He finally spoke. “Where to begin, where to begin. Well. Unlikely that you know Jesus and I were boys together here in Nazareth. After Herod died, Joseph and Maryam and Jesus returned from Mizraim and settled here. We were neighbors.” He pointed, “Their home is there, across the alleyway. Our imas shared recipes and came to one another’s aid when childbirth was near. Our abbas were both builders, workers of stone and wood..

“We were of an age, Jesus and I. As children, we played, we explored, and found mischief together every day. Ima said we were two beans in a pod. When we were older, my abba, Hezir, and Joseph, Jesus’s abba, declared it was not too early to learn a trade. They made small hammers and chisels for us, taught us how to use them. Thus we were apprenticed on in the arts of construction. Nonetheless, Jesus and I, we still found time for mischief.

“Along with builder’s skills, our abbas taught us to be diligent, both in matters of faith and of work. Do everything as unto Adonai, they said. And we did. Well, we tried. To be honest, I tried. It seemed to come naturally to Jesus.”

A scowl captured Shual’s face,. His eyes darkened. I glanced at his hands and saw his knuckles had gone white. His voice was a rasp of stone on stone. “After we had come of age, Jesus and I were repairing a rock wall on Hagab’s home here in Nazareth, Hagab lives just down the road. Joseph and Abba were at Sepphoris, building a yeshivot, an academy for Rabbi Hanasi. While erecting an interior wall, stone supports gave way. A roof beam loosed and fell, striking Joseph squarely on the head. Images of that day haunt me yet, Luke … Joseph’s body wrapped in a shroud … workmen carrying him home. I remember Jesus’s face the moment he saw his abba was dead. Pale as parchment, it was.

“For a time, it was as if he swallowed his grief. That did not last. One day, I was passing by the wadi to the south, there” – he pointed – and I heard what I thought was an animal cry out. Thinking it had been grievously wounded, I went to see. It was Jesus, bent nearly in two, rending his heart of grief for his abba. Never have I heard such anguish. As dearly as I wished to comfort my friend, I left him to his sorrow. That was no time to intrude.

“Days later, Hezir and I went to Gamla, the construction chief at the academy. Father pleaded for support for Jesus’s family. Gamla’s response was a sneer and spit on my father’s sandals. We went next to Rabbi Hanasi, who, with empty eyes, said, “I am sorry, Hezir, Shual, but there is nothing to be done.” We well knew Hanasi had ample funds for the yeshivot but none for Joseph’s family. It was as if Hanasi had never attended to the words of Moses, to provide for the fatherless and widows who live in your towns, that they may be satisfied and God will bless the work of your hands.

“On that day, Luke, my father changed. A cold fury seized his heart. His fists, a-tremble before Hanasi’s face, his roar that of a bull: this shall not stand! Hanasi’s fear shone on his face, leaving him to stammer and hurry away.

“At home, Abba took my arm, informed Ima that we would be away for a while. Next I knew we were in Jerusalem, searching for a man named Yehudah ben Hezekiah. He was not an easy man to find, but you know, ask the right questions in the right places, seek and you shall find.

“And so it was that we joined the Achava. The Brotherhood.”

“The Zealots.”

The clap of Shual’s hands caused me to start; his holler, even more. “Yes! It was ours to strike against Antipas and Rome! Eagerly, we joined the Zealot’s ranks and later and it was not long before we were introduced to a sect with a darker purpose. The weeks passed as we learned arcane skills in the school of stealth and mayhem. When we were deemed ready, irony of ironies, our first skirmish was on the royal palace in Sepphoris! Abba took special care to seek out Gamla and may I say, he did more than spit on the man’s sandals.

“It was our aim to wreak as much havoc as possible, then flee into the night. Alas, we met more resistance than expected. Legionaries were wary of such action and lay in wait behind walls and shadows. The fighting was fierce but short-lived. We were outmatched, but most of us managed to escape. Three did not.”

Bitterness etched Shual’s words. “One of them, Luke, was Hezir. My abba. Rome’s reward for his so-called treachery? Crucifixion!”

Silence hung between us long enough for me to wonder if Shual had more to say. Then I saw the rigid jaw, the fists gone to stone, the shade of raw hatred in his eyes as he turned to me. “It was not enough that my abba was killed by Roman justice. Three days later did Ima witness a gang of legionaries, fall out of a tavern, sloshed with strong drink. I knew how her mind had become distraught with grief. Close enough to witness what happened but too far away to rescue her, I watched her madness take hold. With the screech of a harpy eagle, her hands raised like talons, she flew at the men. You killed him! You killed my husband!

“You know how the soldiers all carry the ever-present short sword at their sides? With one brutal swipe, a soldier drew his sword and backhanded Ima’s head with the flat of the blade. Before she fell to the ground, he sheathed his sword and resumed his drunken stroll as if nothing had happened.

“Paralysis took me. I could not move. My scream lay stillborn in my throat. Finally – the legionaries were gone – I hurried to Ima and knew at once she was dead.

“And that, Luke, was the moment my soul died. A spirit of revenge poured over me in relentless waves, it filled my very being until there was room for nothing else. Then and there, I vowed to avenge my parents ten, no, a hundred times over!”

Shual’s sigh was a gust of wrath. “Perhaps you can still glimpse a shadow of that dark lion that filled my heart?”

It took effort to keep my expression from showing my disgust, for as a physician, I had long ago vowed to preserve life. I could not tell if I succeeded or not. Shual’s eyes were onyx, his words, flint and I knew not if he saw me as an enemy.

Shual continued: “Thereafter, whenever we Zealots made an attack, the Roman Governor at that time, Valerius Gratus gave his special troop, the Legio Fretensis, free reign for retaliation. Those legionaries roved without restraint from city to town, town to village, tramping back alleys, country roads and city streets, intimidating here, terrorizing there. Beating. Maiming. Stealing. Raping. Killing. The slightest murmur of resistance was silenced with Roman steel. Behold the Pax Romana.

“No less diligent but decidedly less brutal was the Mishteret Hamakdash, the temple police, dispatched by High Priest Annas. Enforce the Levitical Law, he charged them. Subdue the ha’aretz, the rabble, was more like it … but take care not to harm them too greatly. They are, after all, the ones who pay the taxes.”

I asked, “This was done with Herod Antipas’ sanction, I presume?”

“Oh, indeed. Our grand Tetrarch of Galilee gave his thumbs up to any activity that would curry favor with Rome. I’m sure you know how he dealt with Yohannan, the Baptizer?”

I shuddered at the thought of the Baptizer’s head being served up before Antipas on a silver tray. As a citizen of Greece, I was well aware of how Rome had opened its insatiable maw and gobbled up all the cities bounding the Mediterraneum Mare. In return for submitting to Roman occupation and governance, Caesar Augustus had blessed the empire with his imperious pronouncement, ‘I am the long-awaited savior who has put an end to war! I have set all things in order! Behold my Pax Romana! My gospel, My good news! Behold the new freedom! Justice! Peace! Salvation! I have done this for you, My people! All is for you!

Empty words flow from a hollow heart.

The patina of Augustus’ benevolence was quickly tarnished in the acid of rampant taxes levied across the Empire. Taxes were exacted on food, commerce, occupations, customs, travel – every product, craft, art or activity capable of producing revenue. It was said that one should take care if you sneezed, for Rome might then tax you for the air you used. The insult to Israel was crowned by Augustus’ sneering edict: ‘Hear, all who abide under the Pax of Rome … I am now a god. All subjects of the Roman Empire will worship me – even you intractable Jews.

As if that were not enough, Herod Antipas took up his father’s compulsion for building one edifice after another while at the same time the High Priest Caiaphas plunged his fingers deeply into the Temple taxes. Israel suffered doubly for as the purses of politicians, priests and aristocrats grew fat, the poor became mired in poverty – as if that was even possible.

Shual said, “For a time we Zealots lived like vermin, hiding by day, marauding by night. We held the notion that anyone who accepted Roman rule was Israel’s enemy. Whatever plunder, pillage or chaos we were able to wreak was a strike against Roman oppression. We found much work for our cunning little sicas.”

Reaching into his tunic, Shual withdrew a sickle-shaped blade set in a smooth haft of brass. “This.”

The cutting edge glittered like a quarter moon in the month of Elul. I grimaced, gave my head a shake. This was unexpected. “You have surpassed Zealotry. You are a Sicari. An assassin.”

With a flick, he tucked the knife away. “Yes, to my regret. There was a time I shed Roman blood with relish. Not exclusively, though, for not all enemies of Israel are Gentiles. By the way, I keep this only as a grim reminder of my former trade.”

“You no longer serve the cause?”

“Luke, my being a sicarii meant I was a finger on Adonai’s hand. It engaged my entire being. Not only was I retaliating for the terrible injustice done to Ima and Abba, I was helping to prepare the way for the Messiah’s coming! The work was simple and came easily … cut and run, cut and run. Soldiers, certain Sadducees, even a few Pharisees knew our wrath. How easily we blended in the marketplace, the theater, at synagogues and temple. You know, it takes only moments to slash a throat, then disappear into the throng like a makak.”

Like a cockroach, I thought. How apt.

“Is that disapproval I see in your eyes, Luke?”

Obviously I could not hide my revulsion. “And what do I see in yours, Shual? Glee, is it? Triumph?” I wanted to spit.

“Far from any semblance of joy, friend. It is anything but. Try remorse.”

“Pardon me if I am not convinced. And do not call me friend.”

“I understand. However – you should know I learned the error of my ways from Jesus himself.”

I lifted my cup, drank some water. “Fine. Tell me.”

“We Sicarii were convinced that very soon, God would raise up a second Son of David who, with sword in hand would once and for all time redeem Israel from our oppressors. Centuries of Babylonian, Assyrian, Persian, Seleucid, and now Roman stench? Enough! Did not the Prophet Isaiah promise that on the Day of the Lord, He will punish with His fierce sword? Were not the Jews His chosen ones? Had he not spoken promises to Isaiah and Ezekiel to deliver Israel from her enemies?

“In all of Israel, factions abounded. Sadducees deferred to Roman rule with the same ease they embraced the stylish fashions of Greece. The Pharisees turned their regalia and posturing into a garish theater that glorified only Caiaphas’ greed. And the Essenes? The poor fools removed into the desert, believing isolation to be the same as protection.

“Not for the Sicarii! We were the men of action. The Sword of Righteousness was in our right hands! Wreak havoc! Inflict death! Mete destruction! Turn the tide! It is the Sicarii who will usher in Yom Adonai!”

“And Jesus changed your mind, you say? How!”

“Ah, Luke, he did not merely change my mind. Despite my stubborn resistance, he changed my heart! But first, allow me a drink of water. Then I shall tell you how.”

Shual took so much time to raise his cup, drink, then set it down. I wanted to shake him, so eager I was to hear more of Shual’s story.

“Like many,” he said, “I had heard rumors of a teacher named Jesus – hardly an uncommon name – going from town to town throughout the Galilee. His teachings about the Kingdom of Heaven, were new and refreshing. It was said people were being healed from illnesses, cripples made whole, the sight of the blind restored, lepers cleansed of their disease! Should anyone be afflicted with a demon? With the pronouncement of but a single word, they were delivered!

“In Jerusalem, the Legio Fretensis and the Mishteret Hamakdash had redoubled their effort to rid the country of the Sicarii. To my sensibilities, this was a most opportune time to visit my sister, Hala, in Nazareth.

“I arrived the day before shabbas. Hala, of course, insisted that I accompany her to synagogue and on our way, she mentioned that Jesus, from our childhood, had returned to Nazareth and will be teaching at the synagogue this very evening!

“Truly? My old friend Jesus! Here in Nazareth at the same time? He was here? Could he be this same Jesus I had been hearing about? Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles! I would soon find out.

“Our synagogue is small and simple, Luke, but there are lovely carvings of a menorah, a flower set between two lambs on the lintel, leaves and vines and grapes every here and there. Oh, and a pot for manna along with Aaron’s rod. It is a fine place for worship. A welcoming, comforting place.

“We arrived early. Removed our shoes. Found seats, Hala in the women’s gallery, I toward the back in the men’s. I wanted to wait until after shabbas to meet with Jesus.

“Last to enter were the zeqenim, the elders. They took their seats before the Holy Ark of the Torah. Giddel, the chazzan who assists Rabbi Betzalel, set out the cup of wine. He lighted the shabbas lamp to make ready for the qiddush, the benediction. Last to arrive were Rabbi Betzalel and Jesus.

As Jesus entered, I caught whispers from the women’s gallery … oh, my, isn’t he so good looking … so strong … is he married … my daughter. I stifled my laugh.

“He looked much the same as when I saw him last, not long after Joseph’s death. Aged, of course, the creases at his eyes were deeper, careworn, but there was a difference about him – a lightness. A peace. A joyousness.

“Rabbi Betzalel rose. He welcomed Jesus. His introduction was warm. Giddel gestured to a seat. Jesus sat. Rabbi Betzalel began to pray, to which I must say, Luke, caused me to wonder if the man might never run out of words.

“Finally, according to custom, the rabbi requested that Jesus come to read from the Scriptures of the Prophets.

“Giddel drew aside the curtain of the Ark. He removed the scroll of Isaiah. With a bow, he handed it to Jesus. Taking a step up onto the reader’s platform, Jesus set the scroll on the desk from which scrolls are read.

“Unrolling Isaiah’s’ scroll took some time. It is a lengthy one. When he came to the chosen Scripture, he lifted his head and looked at all who had come to worship.

“It is written!” His voice filled the room. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me because He has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the ones in exile. He has sent me to recover sight for the blind. He has sent me to free the oppressed. He has sent me to proclaim the Year of the Lord’s Favor.’ He stopped. He set the scroll on the luah.

“Confusion roiled the air! What was this? Isaiah’s’ words do not end with, ‘to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor! There is more, we know the words … and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion — to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.

“Slowly, carefully, Jesus rolled the scroll. He handed it to Giddel. He took his seat. With falcon’s eyes and owl’s ears, everyone watched, everyone listened for what was yet to come. What would he do? What would he say?

For a time, as they say, the silence was deafening.

“Finally Jesus spoke and I recall thinking how odd that his voice carried the shade of sorrow, for as he uttered his words, it was if thunder struck the synagogue. There was no mistaking his words. This day, he said, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing. Amen and amen.

“Women buzzed like bees. Men brattled like tzitzikis. What! Is this not the son of Joseph and Maryam?. Is he not of Nazareth? Do we not know his brothers James and Jacob, Joseph and Simon, his sisters, Mary, Salome? Did he truly say he is the one who came to free prisoners, to give sight to the blind? What is this … this effrontery!

“Again, Jesus spoke. Many will call upon me and say, what you have been doing in Capernaum, do so here in Nazareth! But I say to you, just as it was in Elijah time during the years of famine and many widows lived in Israel, Elijah was sent to none of them, Rather, he went to a widow in Zarephath, near Sidon. And just as it was in the time of Elisha, many lepers were in Israel but he went to Naaman of Syria and cleansed only him. Truly I say to you, no prophet has ever been accepted in the town of his birth.

“Well, Luke, you may as well have taken a fresh-caught nuna from the Sea of Galilee and slapped me across my face with it. As if a storm of resentment and anger suddenly rained upon everyone, Betzalel stood, his face red with rage. Fists in the air, his shouts of Blasphemy! Blasphemy! sounded as if they came from a gored ox. The chazzan’s face was a ripe tomato of anger.

”Furor seized the synagogue. Women screamed, men hollered, ‘Seize him! Cast him out! Stone him! Stone him! Blasphemer!

“Rough hands grasped Jesus’s arms. Men dragged him bodily from the synagogue. No! This is wrong! screamed in my head. No! … this cannot happen … do not do this … this is Jesus … he is my friend!

“I struggled to reach him. I could not. Like God raining burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah, outrage spewed out from the Nazarites, transforming them into a mindless force with but one goal: killhimkillhimkillhim! Shouts of blasphemy! sacrilege! blasphemy! were deafening. Luke, they were like a tidal surge, those villagers! They dragged Jesus out the door and up the hilltop, stopping at the very brink. Like a drumbeat, a single icebound chant pounded the souls of everyone there: stone him!”

“I was near the edge of the hilltop. Below, from the Plain of Esdraelon, lights glimmered from Megiddo where Gideon had put Midianites and Amalekites to the sword.

“Luke, in the midst of this furor, I had this most unearthly sense that something greater was at play here. Esdraelon is not only the site of ancient battle, it is also the place of prophecy, where, come the light of a blood-red moon, the Messiah will rise up and vanquish forever all the forces of Samael. There, the prophecy of the Day of the Lord will be made complete! Prophecy fulfilled!

“Then a very strange thing happened. As if a great cloud of stillness descended upon the hilltop, everything stopped. A shudder seemed to move through the throng. With a shake of his arms, Jesus loosed the hands that restrained him. To this day, I cannot describe the look upon Jesus’s face other than to say it was undeniable. At once, peace and power lit his eyes. Perfect peace and undeniable power, Luke! They were as one! How is that possible?

“Rabbi Betzalel bent, took a stone from the ground with both hands. He stood, arms raised high, ready to strike Jesus. Jesus looked at Betzalel and it was as if the rabbi himself turned to stone. His arms halted in midair, then dropped The stone fell to the earth.

“I searched the throng for Giddel, for I held no trust for the man, but he was not to be seen. Neither did I see Hala nor Maryam.

“With eyes filled with sorrow, Jesus gazed at the crowd. He took a step, just one. He looked at the people around him, eye to eye, face to face. He took another step, and another and another, and Luke, it was like the Red Sea parting before Moses.

Like sheep, we stood, bowed and baffled as Jesus left Nazareth behind.

“I was stunned. We all were. What had happened? Luke, I had no answer. No one did and as I gaped at the others, I saw we were all crowned with confusion. The Rabbi? As a bewildered as any.

“As we dispersed, our mutterings resembled the sound of bleating. I hurried to our home, wanting to see to Hala. She was in tears, but knew not why. I tried to assure her the upset was over, that she need not fear. The thought of sharing a shabbas meal? Out of the question but we needed to eat something. I gathered bread and olives, some cheese. We ate in silence. It was not long before Hala said she needed to sleep. As for myself? All I could think of was to catch up with Jesus. I made my farewell my sister and ran.

“My hope was that he was returning to Capernaum, for that is where he had come from. I ran, hoping to close the distance between us. I was grateful for a bright moon and stars to light my way, but come Mount Tabor’s heavy woodland, the road was cast in deep shadow. Ahead, I glimpsed a solitary figure. It must be Jesus – but a second figure appeared, clad in a dark cloak. This one darted from shadow to shadow and I could see he was not trying to come alongside Jesus. No. He was stalking him.

“I hurried, drawing close to the dark figure. That stature, that gait, I knew who it was. Giddel.

“Oh, Luke! No good was to come of this. I ran faster, trying not to let my footsteps alert him. As I closed on him, I saw a club in his right hand. I knew what Giddel intended, to complete the punishment Betzalel began, to dash Jesus’s brains upon the ground. I knew what I must do.

“To this day, I am not sure where my burst of speed came from, but mine was the speed of a gazelle. Giddel neared Jesus, raised his club high, ready to smash Jesus’s head. I drew my sica, marking the span between my blade and Giddel’s throat. At the very moment I was ready to strike, Jesus stopped. He turned and held up his hand. In a calm voice, he said, Shual! Giddel! Stop.

“In that instant, Giddel halted. He tried to speak but his voice was that of a frog. His club fell to the ground. Me? My tongue was wool, my arm weighed of lead, my fingers were of oak. My sica slipped from my fingers.

“Jesus spoke with kindness. Giddel, you have followed me with a club in your hand. You seek to punish me,? Tell me what evil I have done.

“Giddel raised his chin. His voice quavered like wind in the reeds. “You … you … you said you were the Messiah … the anointed one! That … that cannot be! You come from Nazareth! We know you! Your mother is Maryam! Your father was Joseph. He … he was not of royal blood … he was a builder, a tekton! You cannot be the Messiah … he … he must come from the Holy One!

“Giddel wiped his eyes, rubbed his nose. With his hands raised, he hollered, Blasphemer!

“Jesus answered, Giddel, you have spoken the truth but only in part … the Son of Man did not blaspheme. Do you not know Isaiah prophesy that the Messiah shall come from a shoot of Jesse, who is a father of Nazareth? Take heart, friend, for so it is written.

“Luke, I swear Jesus’s smile illuminated the night when he said the words, Friends, the day will come when you will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of Heaven.

“Well, Giddel fell to his knees, begged Jesus’s forgiveness, which, of course, he granted. Humbled, Giddel stood and made way back to Nazareth. Me, I stood there like a stump, not knowing what to do, what to say.

“Jesus came to my side. He said he found it is good to see me again, that he had noticed me in the synagogue, and the hilltop. He invited me to walk with him, that we may talk together. He wished to get back to Capernaum before sunrise. It had been many hours since he had eaten.

“We spoke of many things on our walk, memories of our childhood years, our antics, how our little adventures were full with joy and laughter. Sadness marked our memories of Joseph’s death and of Hezir’s, of Ima’s.

“At Capernaum, we went to the home of John, we were greeted warmly, fed generously, and slept peacefully. Later, Jesus and I strolled along Galilee’s shore. I was enjoying the beauty of the place, the serenity when Jesus spoiled it. He said, ‘Shual, you have shed much blood, have you not?

“I remember touching my sica, concealed at my breast. I answered, Yes, my friend, I have.

“’And you know the words God has spoken, how he will require an accounting from each person who has taken the life of another?

“I told him yes, I was aware and that it weighed heavily on me. Then, he asked me if I still believed that taking lives was the way to rid Israel of evil.

“Well, Luke, never had I given thought to what I had been doing as  evil. Jesus’s words surprised me.”

“What did he say?”

“Shual, he said, your sins are forgiven. Set your vengeance aside. Vengeance belongs only to God.

“Immediately I felt a churning in my spirit, a turmoil I did not understand. But Jesus was not done.”

“And?”

“Luke, you know how the beard becomes snarled with knots if you do not tend it with oil and comb? Well, that describes my spirit when Jesus asked, Shual, do you believe in me?

“Whuf! Luke, you could have pushed me over with a wheatstraw! Jesus was asking me if I believed he was the Messiah and it was like the hilltop at Nazareth all over again. Only now it was just me and Jesus.

“Luke, I tell you, I wanted to believe him, to believe in him. Truly I did. But, to my shame, I could not. Not then. I … I could not make it measure up!”

Shual rubbed his cheeks. He slapped his palms together, then his knees. My own eyes widened as his voice keened with failure.

“From age to age, we Jews have been assured by learned rabbis, how the Torah speaks of a Messiah, a Son of Man who will come from the line of David to restore the land of Israel. He will heal the land and restore it. God’s Spirit, will rest on the Messiah and he will reign over the New Heaven and New Earth with justice and peace.

“Try as I might, I could not bring Jesus’s words and what I knew of him to harmony. Should I fail to await the true Messiah’s arrival, I would deny the Chronicle of God’s deliverance of Israel from Egyptian slavery. Was Jesus calling me to reject the Torah and the prophets? No! This could not be! This man before me was Jesus, my boyhood friend whom I had known longer than any other save for his own family. All those years we played and worked and argued and bickered together, we experienced those times, those days, those events. They were real, they happened. Now he says I am to believe he is the Anointed One? My mind threatened to break! How is this possible? No! No! This cannot be!”

Shual raised his hand to his breast again, not to touch his sica but to lay it upon his heart.

“Luke, it was like my disbelief was a great oaken door that stayed me from telling Jesus, this man that I loved, the one thing I dearly wished I could tell him.

It was made doubly worse for then I felt my heart twist Jesus’s words into ashes of betrayal for he was asking me to believe something I knew could not be true.

“I left him that day and made my way back to Nazareth.

“It was a few days later when I attended to news of where he was teaching. One day he was at Hazor, the next in Ramah, then Jiptha, then Merom, and so it went all ‘round the Galilee. I was drawn to where he was and would there lose myself in the crowds that pursued him. Desperately, I wanted to know … was he who he said he was? And yet, Luke, my heart’s desire to avenge Israel from the stain of Rome, to herald the coming of the true Messiah held fast, bound in constant battle against Jesus’s words.

“I was among the thousands on a hillside when he spoke at length of the Kingdom of Heaven, then fed them all from a single basket of bread and fish. I was there when he spoke to a woman crippled from birth and commanded her to walk, and she did! I saw him place his hands on a leper and watched as the man’s skin returned to health. With a gesture of his hand, he restored the sight of a man, blind for many years, in an instant. So many times, I listened to his teaching, watched him heal and restore men, women, children from illness and injury. To any who do not believe in my words, he said, believe in the miracles, for they testify to the One who sent me. And yet I could not.

“I was in Jerusalem the day Jesus came through the Golden Gate, astride a donkey, cheered by hundreds of hopeful ones. Cries of hosannah filled the air, deafened the ear. Palm branches waved in celebration. Hosannah! Save now! The Messiah has come! Save now!

“I stood amidst the crowded courtyard when Jesus stood before Pilate and the cries from the High Priests Annas and Caiaphas, Crucify him! Crucify! chilled my soul. I saw Roman soldiers take him, then scourge the flesh from his back with a flagrum, then slap him and strike him with their fists and spit on him. Hail, King of the Jews, they cried, and his coronation was a mockery of thorns. With the crowd, I followed as he dragged the crossbeam through Jerusalem’s streets. I watched from the crowd as Roman soldiers hammered nails in his arms and feet. When they raised him on the cross, my heart cried out within me and I could do nothing but weep. Yet all the while, Luke, I failed to give voice to belief or unbelief.

“The urge to run, to hide, to purge this horror from my heart was strong. Yet I stayed. It was late in the day and I was standing as close as I dared. I heard him say ma’shalem … Avi, beyadkha afkid rukhi. It is finished. Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. And then he breathed out his life.

“Was he the Messiah, Luke? I did not know. What I long held as true kept me from hearing Jesus’s new words. Today, I look back and see so much evidence … the teaching, the healing, the miracles, how they all cried out for the Messiah! But at that moment, the Messiah of Israel hung on a cross and would surely die even before he had an opportunity to confront Rome? Where were the white horses? Where were the rolling clouds, the heavenly host come in glory? Jesus’s chariot? It was a donkey! Had there been legions of angels, they were well hidden.

“The next day, a pall of sorrow loomed over the city. Dark clouds kept the sun at bay. The chill in the air was, many noted, unnatural for that time of year. Little activity showed out-of-doors, most of the shops were closed. Families huddled in their homes.

“I was surprised to realize my devotion to the Sikarii had ebbed. Shedding Roman blood held no thrall. Immersed in doubt, the only recourse that appealed was to return to Nazareth. There I could again earn my keep with hammer and chisel. Stone and wood would be my salvation.

“The following day, I was making ready for my trip when a friend brought me news. He is alive! Word that Jesus lives spread throughout the city like fire gone wild. Where? Where is he? The Pool of Siloam! He is at Siloam!

“I ran the streets of the Ophel as if I were mad. As I rounded a corner, the pool came in sight and I saw him! There! There he is! Jesus! He’s alive, speaking words of grace to men, women gathered ‘round. Come to me, he said, all who are weary and burdened … repent of your sins … the Kingdom of Heaven is near … take the good news to heart … your Father in Heaven give eternal life to everyone who looks upon the Son of Man and believes in him.

“Try as I might, Luke, I found no hiding place in the midst of that crowd. Jesus’s eyes caught mine, he smiled and beckoned to me and I could not resist. Shual, he said, come to me. Come.

“I went to him – how could I not? My eyes filled with tears as he embraced me as a father embraces his child. Again, he asked, Shual … do you believe in me?

“Yes, Lord.

“In that very moment, Luke, cool water quenched my flames of revenge and rage and cleansed my soul. A new peace rose up within me and I remember thinking how this was not unlike being born a second time.

“Jesus’s eyes and mine held. Joy and forgiveness and love pierced my heart.

“Yes. Jesus was the Messiah. I knew this to be true. More, I knew that Jesus ha-Messiah had not come among us to rid Israel of Rome! No! His coming to us as an infant, as a child, as a man was for a far greater purpose. In answer to the voice calling, a way was prepared in the wilderness, a way made straight in the desert, a highway for The Lord’s coming, for every valley shall be raised up, every mountain made low, rough ground made level, rugged heights a plain that the glory of God be revealed for all peoples of the earth to see as one. Luke, Jesus came to heal the sins of Adam!

My struggle to understand all Shual was telling me left me gasping for breath. What was that old saying my old Yahyah, Grandmother Adara, favored … oh, yes … I scarce can take it in. Shual waited patiently for me to breathe.

“Shual, you give new meaning to what little I have begun to understand about Jesus. What you said, your sica truly is naught but a reminder? You have left the way of the Sicarii behind?”

“Aye, in truth. I vowed to Jesus and to God, never again shall I take a life.”

I said, “Forgive me for judging you in haste, Shual. It was wrong of me to think you still relished your trade in blood. But this brings me full circle. When we met at the top of Nazareth’s hill … what were you doing there?”

“Mmm, what I do every morning. I go to the hilltop to make my morning prayers.”

“And?”

Much in the way a bee brightens at the discovery of a garden of flowers, such was the joy in Shual’s eyes.

“Luke, you know how small homes devoted to the worship of Jesus have sprung up like spring blossoms throughout all Israel, in Corinth and Ephesus and Colossae? How Simon Peter and John and Matthew, and now this rabbi, Paul serve them, teaching the words of Jesus and the will of God? Well, I lead one such house of worship right here in Nazareth. And Giddel. He and I teach together.”

 

Copyright © 2024 Peter K. Schipper