The Artifact (54 page)

Jesus liked to preach standing above his audience from some elevation as he did that day on a hill outside the town of Ramah. His basic message of consideration for others as the road to salvation was absorbed unquestioned by the majority of those gathered, to whom this philosophy was reminiscent of the Torah, yet foretold greater immediacy in his ‘End of the World’ and ‘Kingdom of God’ prophecies, which bordered on the arrival of some “
Deus ex machin
⁹⁰
.
” On that occasion, however, his closing admonition to the apparently mesmerized crowd seemed to encompass his entire philosophy in a simple and succinct manner that captured the heart and mind and spirit of every person present.

“...therefore, every one of you is the son or daughter of the Father, brothers and sisters each to the other, equal in the eyes of your holy Father who reigns in heaven. So, neither shall you harm or slight or demean your siblings in any way; nor shall any wealthy or powerful person castigate a common man or beat his slave; nor shall a common man defraud his master.

“Resist evil and oppression wherever you find it. For the Father did not anoint His Chosen People to see them suffer at the hands of godless despots.

“Show compassion to your brethren and to your own being. For the Father created the person you are, with attributes to nurture and faults to correct. Therefore, be at peace within you; do not harbor anxiety or guilt for God-given inadequacies. He will not hold you responsible for what He created.

“Everyone of you that treats his brethren with kindness and respect in this life will be treated likewise by the Father at the End of this World, and enjoy our resurrection to eternal life after mortal death. This is the goal you must attain on earth: to earn the right to sit with the Father in peace and unity and happiness forever. Commit no evil act; strive to be righteous; do unto others as you would have others do unto you.”

Jesus raised his arms to a cloudless blue sky, eyes closed, white robe brilliant in the shining sun reflecting on his clean shaved cheeks, his garment billowing in the gentle breeze rustling his shoulder-length hair. I felt rooted to the ground, oblivious of all but him, staring at a man I had known, supped with and slept beside from my birth, stunned at his radiant transformation, the immense, almost tactile power of truth and conviction exuding from atop that sloping knoll. Suddenly aware of motion around me, I realized the multitude had risen to their feet, standing with eyelids shut tight, arms raised wide to the heavens in apparent communion with one another, Jesus, and their common Father.

An overwhelming sense of humility and confusion surged through mind and body in a chill shiver. Had I underestimated this man? Was he in fact a messenger from God? Was God speaking to all Judea through the lips of my brother? Or was he simply a good man schooled in the Torah by rote, glib and charismatic with the same ancient message revised and temporized with today’s problems, simplified with parables to sound exceptional?

The crowd dispersed in thoughtful silence. Priests and Rabbis conversed in low tones with Pharisees, as I followed the progress of Jesus and his disciples speaking together in a huddled group as they walked across the field toward the west.

I was perplexed by his holy admonitions, guidelines and pronouncements made that day, compared to the revolutionary messages like his “Render to Caesar...” comment and public argument with Judas that Judah implied had been rehearsed. Although it did not occur to me at the time, I subsequently realized that Jesus had cast the grape farmer in the subtle persona of all Jews, and the succored thief was surrogate for the Roman Empire. Jesus resisted harsh retribution by the farmer for the unconscionable transgressions of the thief posed by Judas; yet the questions he asked were clear and provocative: “How much oppression can God expect us to endure before exacting retribution, or allowing us to do so?”

There were many other healers, self-anointed prophets and holy men preaching throughout Judea and all of Palestine who attracted larger crowds; but they taught the Torah, and to my understanding, none deviated from it as Jesus did, nor urged people to depart from their community of family and village to follow them. Few, if any, had the temerity to include the subtle suggestion of rebellion in their pious teachings.

I must confess that my thoughts were in turmoil at that time, more so than during my Roman enslavement or years with Fabian when my singular goal was survival. I had returned from Rome to the Galilee the previous year, when Jesus had been preaching well before that time, a late beginning for a holy vocation at the advanced age of his thirtieth year. It was not until I started following him as an inconspicuous observer, listening to his progressively less ambivalent message, alert to the constant attendance of the Zealots, that I began to fear for the safety of my brother, as did Judah. Jesus may have been aware of my presence, but did not acknowledge me or I him for several weeks after I began regular attendance of his sermons.

During that time, I remained as inconspicuous as possible, retreating with his listeners to a tavern in their village where I took a room for the night, while Jesus and his six or eight constant followers set up camp in the countryside.

On one occasion I witnessed Jesus applying his surgical knowledge to a man without sight, whose mother had bound his eyes with a dirty rag. Jesus removed the covering, washed away the caked dust and mucus, and used a tiny blade to skim the clouded spots from his orbs. The man was elated that he could discern light and objects. Jesus applied an ointment of herbs to the eyes and re-wound a clean cloth about his head, instructing his mother to wash it daily and reapply the salve for a week.

Under ordinary circumstances, such treatment by a physician would be remarkable to peasants, but in this case took on a different dimension. As I walked to the center of town amongst witnesses to that event, they marveled at the ability of Jesus to make a blind man see. By the time I was seated in a tavern that evening, a few of those Jews who had heard my brother speak, then observed the treatment of the afflicted man’s vision, were regaling other townsmen and travelers with the tale of a healer who performed the miracle of restoring sight, vying for association with and proximity to Jesus during the act as he did so.

I have witnessed many times that human inclination to make ourselves seem important to others by claiming witness to or participation in an extraordinary event. Yet in concert with my brother’s God-sent message, that propensity seemed to elevate Jesus to a mystical level above his peers. In spite of the small gatherings he commanded, compared to other healers, for some reason his reputation as a holy worker of miracles spread throughout the Galilee faster than other contemporary so-called prophets.

His encounter with lepers was another example of erroneous reports, this time through the mistake of language. Jews speak Aramaic in public, often Hebrew in the home, plus struggle with the Latin of Romans and Greek of most erudite gentiles. It was in translation from the reports in the Aramaic translation of the word ‘clean’ to Greek that Jesus was credited with making lepers whole, when all I observed him do was wash dirt, secretions and encrusted flesh from their unattended extremities, horrible sores and lesions, then administer a soothing mixture of ointment and herbs to their great relief and comfort. When that tale came back to townsmen in the ubiquitous language of Aramaic, then spread by gossip in Latin and Greek, my brother’s application of medical knowledge turned into yet another curative miracle.

The most outrageous incident, however, the one that inspired me to confront Jesus regarding his advocacy and circumstances, involved the incredible tale of bringing a man back to life after death. How in the great, good name of Yahweh could any man believe that? As it happened, Martha, from Bethany, an acquaintance of our sister Mary Magdala
⁹¹
, came to Jesus with a plea to see to her brother who had lain without consciousness for four days after a kick in the head by their ass, so lifeless that they had already prepared Shiva for his ultimate death. Jesus seemed at first reluctant to accompany Martha, promising instead, the resurrection of Lazarus at the World’s End, when he would surely enter the Kingdom of God. Martha was not pleased with that answer and appealed to Mary to urge her brother to treat Lazarus with his miraculous surgical skills, so her own brother might regain his wits and continue his life on earth. Whereupon Jesus questioned Martha’s belief in his healing powers, not once, but strangely to me, several times before agreeing to go to her brother’s home.

I had sorrow for Jesus walking to Bethany, because I had seen men in a similar state from bloodless head wounds in the arena and knew that a man unconscious for several days had little chance of recovery. The women had goaded Jesus into impossible circumstances.

For that reason, I doffed my hat, approaching my brother and sister with a nod of acknowledgement, accompanying them with Martha into her house. Lazarus lay on his pallet in a darkened back room with closed eyes, slack lips, his chest immobile under a thin cloth. Jesus grasped his hand for several moments, then took a polished piece of metal from his shoulder sack and held it under Lazarus nose.

“Well, he lives,” Jesus announced without enthusiasm, “but with almost no breath.”

Then he examined the side of his head where the kick of the hoof had caused a large lump and a healing cut that Martha had cleaned of blood. There seemed nothing for Jesus to do. Yet he did instruct his disciples to carry the supine man, pallet and all, out in the fresh air and daylight, onto a long table under the shade of the awning extending from the entrance to the house. Jesus called for a cup of water, then dripped it in between the man’s parted lips from the stool he sat on beside him, praying softly, stroking Lazarus’ arm, occasionally spilling drops of water into his mouth. I approached my brother to ask if there was anything I could do, but he seemed to have drawn within himself and before I could speak, Mary took me aside. “He needs to be undisturbed at a time like this, Shimon.”

I smiled at her. “Has the little sister become his replacement wife?”

“Our brother has little concern for his own personal needs on earth. Someone must see that he eats, wears a clean robe, shaves his beard, washes and cuts his hair.”

“If he is still maintaining a different appearance after almost ten years to keep his identity from Roman retribution for the deaths of the legionnaires who murdered Rebekah,” I told her, “he seems in the process of creating another far dangerous reputation.”

We were the same height and I leaned in to kiss her cheek. “We both have similar concerns despite addressing them in different ways.”

She touched my arm and turned back to sit near our brother as I joined the surprisingly large crowd seated on the grass or milling about, some respectful distance from the house. Upon questioning Thomas, whose twin was also a constant associate, I learned that not only did a good many followers from the previous gathering accompany us to Bethany, but also relatives and friends from nearby Jerusalem had come to pay Shiva to the purportedly deceased Lazarus. This did not augur well in my mind for a sensible conclusion to this developing situation.

At sunset, Martha hung a lamp out under the awning where Jesus remained throughout the cold night beside Lazarus, alternately tending to the unconscious man, stroking his bare skin under his blankets, giving him water and kneeling in prayer. I stayed with him for a while, until Mary reclined on a pallet by his side ready as always to anticipate his needs. Martha provided a blanket for me to sleep outside with the disciples and many followers who had gone into town for their meal, but returned with lanterns to lie in wait in the field.

Sometime before dawn I was awakened by the exultant screams and laughter of the women whose high-pitched joy was quickly joined by the arisen assemblage attempting to push under the awning to marvel at the previously insensate Lazarus returned to consciousness, and the astounding miracle preformed by Jesus in bringing him back from that potentially lethal stupor. The men who had spent the night in vigil lingered well past the rise of the sun that morning, relishing their presence at this momentous event, elaborating its significance and portent amongst themselves.

As I had feared, when their midday hunger drove them into town, their garrulous account of Lazarus’ regained consciousness through the surgical ministrations of Jesus began the heralding of his God-given power which they asserted had raised a man from the dead.

When he heard of this miracle, my brother James also came the short distance from Jerusalem to the home of Martha and Lazarus in Bethany and sought me out to learn the details of the event before approaching Jesus.

We were seated under a shade tree beside the path to the town considering how we might correct the erroneous gossip that would certainly bring our brother’s rebellious message to the attention of the authorities.

“How can it be credited?” I asked. “Is there not one intelligent man in all of the Galilee?”

“Our people are being put at their limits by the Romans,” James said, “and the insistence of the strict interpretation of our laws by the Sanhedrin. They will adhere to anyone who offers them relief from either.”