The Gospel According to the Son (7 page)

I lived among those twelve men who were ready to follow me, and hoped that I could teach some of them how to cast out demons, for then I could send them forth to preach. To do that, however, they needed to come closer to me. I could rely on Simon Peter, but I could not as yet be as certain of the sons of Zebedee, James and John, nor of Andrew and Philip and Bartholomew and Thomas, and another named James, and Thaddeus, and Simon the Canaanite and Judas Iscariot, of whom I have spoken. He, I knew, could not be taught. He was too proud. Last of all was the publican Levi, who was also called Matthew, but since he was not the same Matthew who wrote a gospel, let him remain as Levi.

In choosing these disciples I aroused much dissatisfaction among the Pharisees. When I would eat meat in the house of Levi, many sinners also sat with us, and some were tax collectors. Heavy in their hearts that they worked for the Romans, they were full of shame before their fellow Jews. So they had need of me.

Yet when the scribes and Pharisees saw us eating together, they said: "How can he mingle with these dregs?" I was not eager to increase the absence of good feeling that existed already between these Pharisees of Capernaum and myself, so I answered: "They that are whole have no need of the physician. They that are sick need much. I am not here to call the righteous to repentance but the sinners."

I debated how to tell these Pharisees that sinners, having encountered the Evil Spirit, may even come to feel repugnance for their old appetites, whereas the pious think only of protecting themselves from the temptations of Satan, so they fester within.

Besides, I was happy to eat with sinners. Some of Levi's friends were unwashed (for Levi was loyal to poor friends), yet by coming to know such people, I began to wonder about the godlessness of many who were rich. They did not use their wealth to make others happy, whereas here, at the table of Levi, among these poor sinners, I saw how there might be much petty injury each could do to another, yet there was also much simple pity that they would feel for those beside them. So the faces of the poor at Levi's table had a dignity like the grain of unpolished wood after it has been exposed to the warmth and wrath of sun and rain.

I also knew that such an argument would hardly satisfy the Pharisees. They would say: "The disciples of John the Baptist fasted. Why don't your people do the same?" And so pious were their voices that at night I would brood over those Jews who spoke for my religion and drove away sinners.

But there were many questions for me. Why did I seek out men who would rather eat and drink than pray? Was it that those who boasted of how they were children of Abraham did not believe that more would be demanded of them than good attendance at the synagogue? I would tell myself that a feast was being prepared in heaven where the pious would be cast out. Only the poor and the sinful would be invited to the banquet. And with that I would drink my wine and wonder at how much I drank. In my family, wine had been reserved for solemn occasions. Now we drank at every meal.

These publicans were rarely solemn. Still, I trusted the good spirit between us. It was not a time to fast. There was much to prepare for the Lord. To fast would make us gloomy, and we would become like those who praise God with their words but remain so afraid of other men that they can never praise Him by bold deeds.

Such were my thoughts while drinking wine. I could bring salvation to sinners. But my head whirled with vertigo. There was so little time, and so many obstacles to foresee. What of the pagan who might seek baptism? Would he be ready to cast out his idols? Would his own family then cast him out?

These differences with the Pharisees of Capernaum were made worse when my publicans walked through the fields on the Sabbath and plucked ears of corn. The Pharisees said: "To harvest on this day is not lawful." And when I answered, my voice was in a race with my caution, yet my words gained the victory. I said: "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."

On the next Sabbath, when I entered the synagogue a laborer was there and he had a withered hand. Many Pharisees, much aroused, watched to see if I would heal him. I could see that they were waiting to accuse me, so I thought to say no to this laborer.

As soon as he spoke, however, I was helpless. He said: "I used to be a stonemason, but then my fingers were smashed. I plead with you, Yeshua, give me back a good hand and then I will not have to beg for my family's food."

I could not refuse. I said to him: "Stand forth."

I asked of the congregation, "Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath?"

No one could answer. They did not have the courage to say "Cure him." The hardness of their hearts (and no heart is so hard as the timid heart) infuriated me. I spoke to the man, saying: "Stretch forth your hand," and when he did, I did not even have to touch it; at once I could see how his hand was restored as whole as the other. Yet I also felt anguish. Most of the Pharisees left in outrage. I had to conclude that a time might come when I would go to war with some of my own people.

Later that night, a Pharisee from the synagogue who knew an officer of Herod Antipas living in Capernaum told Peter that Herod was now considering whether this Yeshua of Nazareth ought to be stilled. I decided that I would do well to look for a cave on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. For Yeshua of Nazareth would not seem the Son of God to the officers of Herod, only a poor Jew.

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Yet I was not alone. My disciples accompanied me, and with them came many others. The word had passed through the hills and valleys of Galilee, even into the mountains. I, however, did not feel ready to speak. My disciples were now obliged to comport themselves as soldiers and become my guard. Nonetheless, I could feel the desire of these people to touch me, and I gave way until they were too many and I lost the power to cure. Truth, their fingers so implored my flesh that I had to live with my own bruises when day was done.

I told my disciples to find a small ship and let it wait in a cove of the Sea of Galilee. Once on board I would be near shore but apart, and thereby could preach from the prow, only returning to land long enough to lay hands on a few.

While waiting, I went up onto a mountain. Many followed. I came down by another path to a town near Capernaum and entered a house where I was welcome. But another multitude surrounded this house. There were even two scribes from Jerusalem among them.

Before long I heard that one of these scribes had said to another, "Since he is the prince of devils, Beelzebub is able to cast out other devils." The danger I had been expecting was near. Even as I was earning more and more knowledge of how to cure, so was a plague of ill spirit spreading. The righteous could only see my efforts as the Devil's labor: For how could a modest man like me command miracles? Already many were saying that I was ready to deny the Ten Commandments and the myriad of laws surrounding them. Whereas they, good Pharisees, prayed for a world where all were law-abiding. So I knew that I must speak to the two scribes from Jerusalem. And when I looked into their eyes, I had hope; they appeared to be wise.

I said: "You compare me to Beelzebub. But if I am a demon who is able to destroy other demons, am I not also destroying myself? When Satan can cast out Satan, he has become a house divided. Do we not know that a kingdom divided against itself cannot stand?"

These scribes went away, their faces stern. Severity can also be the expression of those who have no reply.

It was a day of many ills. Two messengers came to this same house from John the Baptist. He had spoken to them while in the prison at Machaerus. Now they were furnished with questions to ask. "Are you the one who is to come?" was John's question. "Or am I to look for another?"

My disciples were distrustful of Johns disciples. They said: "The Baptist is jealous of you."

I would not believe that. If John no longer said that I was the one to follow him, it was because he had heard I was consorting with sinners. In how much distrust must John now live! The walls of a dungeon weigh upon thought; they bend certainty. John might no longer know me. Could he understand that my power to work miracles was a sign that the Lord was not displeased that I sat at table with sinners? Could John not see that I was still his messenger? I said to the two people who had come from John: "The lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. Demons are driven out. Those with palsy no longer tremble. Blessed is any man who shall not be offended in me." And I sent these two messengers away. But among my own people, I defended John: "Among those who are born of women," I told them, "there has not risen a greater man than John the Baptist." Now, my disciples did not understand. They could only hear my words as a diminishment of myself.

Not even with all they had seen were my disciples certain who I might be.

To this same house now came my mother with my brothers, James and John. Standing outside, they called for me. But a multitude was all about and I did not hear them. Then one man cried: "Behold, your mother and your brothers look for you." I still did not reply. I had heard that my mother was arguing with my followers. She had said that I was wrong to perform cures on the Sabbath and so must be full of devils. My brothers said worse. They said that I was not of a proper mind. They had come to take me home. Indeed, I had always known that my brothers were jealous of me. So when the man cried out again, "Behold, your mother and your brothers look for you," I answered, "Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?" And I stared at all in the room as if I had need of every man and woman there. I said, "These are my brothers! Those who are with me. For he who does the will of God is my brother and my mother."

Later, I would hear that my mother wept when my words were repeated to her. How I wished to gather those words back. I owed much to her, even if our ways together had never been smooth. She had lived in so much fear. When I was young, she had made me afraid of Romans, too afraid. And she was lacking in pride when she spoke to wealthy Jews; she felt they were more important than herself. All of this had served to feed my anger.

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In the evening, being not without remorse at what I had said about my mother, I felt a need to go to the sea and said to my disciples, "Let us pass over to the other side."

Now, they had been feasting in every house that welcomed us. They had certainly noticed that the rich in these towns around Capernaum were often ready to receive us. So my disciples ate well and drank much and had few cares. But I needed peace.

In these weeks many sick people had been conducted to me, and many who were mad; also those with sore limbs. I had tried to heal them all. And when the Holy Spirit passed from my heart to my hand, one touch could make them well.

Yet at such times I would recall the leap I had not taken on the invitation of the Devil. Now, even as the grace of healing passed from my hand into the body of whoever was before me, I could still feel the mark of cowardice on my own flesh. For it is cowardly to fear death as I had feared it. Now I would make amends by recalling my shame. That was just. I would not be proud of my good deeds. I would brood upon my hour with the Devil. Had I given some of my fealty to him?

Such sentiments would return whenever I found people whom I could not cure. I saw darkness in their eyes, and that could make them seem like angels of Satan. I knew I had need again of the sea, or of a lake as large as the Sea of Galilee, so that I could free my breath of thoughts as heavy as these.

I told my closest followers to send away our multitudes. By evening, when most were gone, we walked quickly to a ship; still there were some who followed and embarked after us in smaller ships. Whereupon a great wind swept across the water.

The waves beat upon our vessel. Some washed over the bow. If others were terrified, I knew nothing of their panic. I was sleeping peacefully. Such peace had been given to me by the rocking of the ship. Yet when my disciples awakened me, it was to say, "Many boats are about to founder. Master, do you care if we perish?"

So I said to the wind, "Be still." And soon there was calm. In truth, I do not know if I can say that this miracle was mine. Even on awakening I could sense that the end of the storm was near. Yet I was pleased to say: "Why are you all so fearful? Have you no faith?"

I could hear them, one to another, saying: "Who is this man? Even the seas obey him."

Now, the wharf where we landed was in the country of the Gadarenes near the shores of Decapolis, a pagan city in the land of the gentiles. I was not easy. This was neither our land nor friendly, and we had come to a beach beneath high cliffs containing many tombs.

From one of these tombs descended a giant, and he was carrying a torch. His spirit was so unclean that the fire of the torch blazed fiercely with the force of his breath. Quickly, he came toward me. No one of my followers, not even Peter, was ready to resist this man, for as all could see, he was a son of the Nephilim, the fallen ones. His ancestors had been angels who lusted after women and fathered children who grew into giants. These pagans, huge men, brought carnage and disorder to everyone.

Yet even as I said, "Peace," he stopped.

Having stopped, he said, "No man can bind me. No man can command me."

"Then of what are you afraid?"

"Of all things," he replied. "I live in the darkness of these tombs, and I weep. With sharp stones I cut my flesh. But of you I have heard. I worship you."

"What have you heard?" I asked.

"That your eyes have a great light," he said, "and your name is Jesus. Or so I have heard from those who dare to speak to me." And by the trembling of his lips I saw that he was ready to call upon his strength but only in the name of blind strength.

"Many speak in terror of who I am," he said. "I contain more devils than any other. I adjure thee: Torment me not, Jesus! I give warning."

I was not without fear; this man was as powerful as a large bull. Moreover, the fellow was filthy. His hair grew into his beard, and his locks were like the fardes of thick rope that hold a ship to its mooring.