Fourteen

When they began to go into the field to take their rest for the night, as had become their custom, Andrew heard Jesus say, as he had expected, "I believe that we now will have the nucleus I was waiting for. We will see."

Andrew thought for a moment, and concluded that this was consistent with his theory that Jesus did not choose his immediate followers for the qualities they could bring to his enterprise of changing the way the world thought, but because they were specially needy and required his keeping close watch on them. And that once again made Andrew wonder what it was about him that needed Jesus's supervision. Clearly, it was not some obvious sin, like drunkenness or tax-collecting, or even Nathanael's laziness (or perhaps cowardice). Was it something he had to learn that Jesus would have to take care to explain?

All he really wanted was a world where justice prevailed, and people were treated fairly. What could be wrong with that? Perhaps he did not have a correct notion of fairness. What else could it be, if he had to be taught something?

In any case, Jesus's statement that this Levi was going to be part of the nucleus raised eyebrows among the group. That a tax-collector, of all people, would not only be one of them, but part of the nucleus, whatever it was, was going to take even more getting used to. Practically everyone was profoundly shocked--except, interestingly, young John, who also seemed to have been expecting this. He would have to sound him out on the subject some day.

The next day, however, when they went in the morning to see Levi, his slave came out and told them that he was still asleep, that he had been exhausted from the previous two days when he had had no sleep, and that he did not feel it right to wake him. Jesus seemed to be expecting it, and agreed to return on the morrow.

As they left, they noticed that the soldier also appeared, and, receiving the same message, reported something to the slave. Permission from higher authority? The "friend"?

So there would be a kind of spy among them. Of course, what had Jesus to hide? If he could overcome the difficulty of Roman occupation somehow, then doubtless he could do it in the open. Who knew? Perhaps he could change their way of thinking as well as that of the Judeans. If the whole world were to enter a new phase with lions lying down with lambs, then why not?

Of course, the little matter of the "friend" was not lost on Simon the Revolutionary, who expostulated at considerable length on the topic, certain that he was Pilate himself. He said to John that Jesus was "putting the whole enterprise in danger."

"If," answered John, "the 'whole enterprise' means rising up militarily against Rome."

"Well, what else could it be? The 'reign of God,' after all."

"A thousand things. But what would you, Simon? Would you prefer that there be a spy in our midst who (a) is known to be a spy, and (b) looks very much as if he is going to be loyal to us, or would you have one whom no one is aware of?"

"I would prefer to have none at all!"

"Of a certainty. But the question is whether Pontius Pilate would prefer that, as long as you have brought him up."

"His preferences are not worth a copper to me."

"Perhaps not, but he has been known to act upon his 'preferences.' And the type of spy he would select, if he were selecting one, would in my opinion likely be someone like yourself, who gave every appearance of being against him to disarm us."

"Are you accusing me of being a spy for Rome?"

John was about to make a hot reply, but at this point, Nathanael broke in, "Not at all, Simon. But John has a point. If Rome is interested in finding out what is going on among us (and I suspect they have more than a passing interest with the talk of the Reign of God), then we can live much more comfortably knowing who their liaison is than not."

Andrew was of two minds about Levi. Presumably his sins were (or would be) forgiven, but he had a great deal to answer for. The question was what he would have to do to make amends for the damage he had wrought--and it had to be considerable--enormous. Who knows if people had committed suicide because he had taken away their last mite? As to whether he would be a spy for Pontius Pilate or not (supposing the "friend" to be Pilate), this did not bother Andrew a jot. Jesus doubtless knew everything that Levi would say, and could prevent whatever he wanted. He even seemed to know who the "friend" was, based on his response to the soldier. No, there was nothing to concern oneself with on that score.

But Andrew had the suspicion that how Levi would be treated by Jesus was going to test his notion of fairness. Would Jesus be fair to Levi's victims as well as to him, and how? He almost conceived the idea that if Levi did not have to make restitution (as he suspected he would not), he would have to disagree with Jesus's treatment of him--and then caught himself before he actually passed judgment on the Almighty. "I do not understand," he said in anticipation of what he was sure would happen.

The next day they returned, and Levi hobbled out, obviously still the worse for wear, and spoke sharply to the dogs, which only reluctantly gave up their desire to feast on the students, and returned growling to the back of the house while he approached the gate.

"You have returned to life on the third day, I see," said Jesus. Third day? Did not Jesus say something about "three days"? Ah. "Destroy this Temple and in three days I will rebuild it." Coincidence?

"If one can call it 'life,'" returned Levi. "I am as dead as I am alive."

"Ah, well, your new life is barely born, and you are still feeling the pains of the birth canal."

"I am feeling pains, truly," he returned.

"Do you still wish to follow me and learn from me?"

"I cannot see that I have any alternative. I am totally at a loss. I know not what you are; you are certainly not the one I once thought you to be. But you seemed to be saying that you could put back the pieces of me that have been scattered all over the ground." Again, hints that Levi knew Jesus previously.

"Well, perhaps not put them back," Jesus was answering. "The self that you were is not something you are proud of and would have restored, is it not?"

"There is wisdom in that."

"That is why I said a new life has been born, if you would choose to live it. It is your choice, however."

"As I say, what choice do I have? I cannot go back, and I see no way forward. What would a tax-collector who renounced tax-collecting do? How would I live?"

"Well, you can try what I have to offer, and we will see."

"What I cannot understand is what possible use you could have for me, given what I am, in whatever it is you are doing."

"Ah, well if it comes to that, there are many things you could be useful for. You can read and write well, in several languages, and we know your skill with money. But that is beside the point, really. The point really is what can be done for a sheep that wandered off as a lamb and has fallen among wolves. The others, here, of course, are not quite convinced as yet that you are not really a wolf. They will learn."

Andrew noticed that Jesus was confirming his idea of why Jesus chose people. True, he admitted that Levi could be useful for his knowledge of languages and accounts, but, as he said, that was not really the point. The point evidently was that he had fallen into sin, and Jesus wanted to pull him out.

And his victims? What of them? Nothing, as he had expected.

"--find me not a very good companion in any case." Matthew was saying. "I have been alone most of my life, and have forgotten how to act with others. Even my slave and I barely speak. I hope they will be able to make allowances, not only for what I was, but for what I am."

"It will be good for them, fear not." And as he took him over to the group, which had gathered a little apart, murmuring to each other, to introduce him, Andrew was wondering whether he would be able to "make allowances" for all the people Levi had fleeced. It would be difficult, to say the least.

Jesus then said, "Let us proceed to the house, and I think it would be useful as we go if I told you a little story. I tell this just to you and not the crowds at the moment.

"Two men once went into the Temple to pray, one a Pharisee and one a tax-collector. The Pharisee stood there and whispered this prayer: 'My God, I am grateful to you for not being greedy, dishonest, and adulterous like other people--or even like this tax collector.'"

Andrew reacted with a shock. It was obviously a story about Levi, the "broken man" of the synagogue, and another person, who was virtuous. It was as if the story was directed at him.

Andrew noticed that Levi understood the story to involve himself. Had there been another man--presumably a Pharisee--in the synagogue that morning, up at the front? He could not remember. Of course, Jesus had set the story in the Temple, not a synagogue--but that was of no consequence, Andrew thought.

Jesus was continuing, "'--a week, and I pay my tithes on everything I own.' The tax-collector, however, stood in the back of the Temple and would not even raise his eyes to heaven; he only kept beating his breast and saying, 'My God, please have mercy on this sinner!'

Levi turned pale, and Andrew concluded that indeed Jesus was talking about him. What great sin had brought him into the synagogue that morning? Doubtless he had never set foot in the place before. How would he dare? Those around him would seize him and throw him off the cliff, as they had tried to do with Jesus.

"--point is," Jesus continued following his custom of acting as if nothing was happening, "that he was the one who left the Temple virtuous, not the Pharisee. Everyone who elevates himself will be lowered, and one who lowers himself will be elevated."

Andrew took in his breath. He knew it. He left the Temple virtuous, in spite of all his sins! And the Pharisee, who had done no wrong, did not! If this was the world of the Kingdom, the world of the Kingdom was upside down! In his outrage, he almost blurted his famous, "It is not fair!" but caught himself in time and managed to say to himself, "I do not understand!"

There was a silence. The paleness suddenly left Levi's face, and it flamed crimson. And then he noticed everyone looking at him. The group had not had Jesus tell them a story before, and its obvious application to Levi was evidently supposed to indicate to them what their attitude toward him should be. But how could one simply erase a lifetime of such damage to others by beating his breast and saying he was sorry? There had to be more to it! But what?

James the Owl came up to Levi and asked, "Were you (hem) ever in the Temple, Levi?"

"Call me Matthew, please. That is the name I was born with, and I now no longer have to disguise it. The one I wished to avoid now knows who and where I am. No, I was never in the Temple. It is a story. You must ask him if it applies to me, and how, if at all."

No one was fooled by this, of course, and everyone, Andrew saw, took it to signify that Jesus was telling them that he had left the synagogue with his sins, whatever they were, forgiven.

Of course, Jesus did not exactly say that he forgave the man's sins, but that the man's attitude induced God--or better "allowed" God, who "did not want the death of the sinner but his repentance"--to forgive him. Still, Jesus was clearly indicating that Levi was now virtuous; and if he was "the beloved Son" of the Almighty, then this was now the fact, hard as it was to accept.

Clearly this Levi--Matthew--was struggling with the same concept. Finally, it seemed to occur to him that if it were possible, perhaps a new life could begin, after all.

Philip, who could not let go of an idea, came up to him at this point, and said, "Did I not see you in the synagogue in Nazareth, a couple of mornings ago?"

"I have been in that synagogue but once in my life." "Oh. I thought I saw you when--but it is of no consequence." Andrew saw through this. A couple of mornings ago was the "once in his life" that he had been there.

Andrew, as they walked along, was beside Nathanael. He turned to him and said, "But I do not understand the story at all," he said. "It makes no sense."

"Why do you say that?" asked Nathanael.

"Well, he said the Pharisee did not leave the Temple virtuous, and he did nothing wrong, and in fact did any number of virtuous things. And the tax-collector" he looked around to see if Matthew was nearby, but missed seeing him "was not only a sinner, but admitted that he was."

"But he was sorry for it."

"Well, what of that? He did nothing about it. If I murder someone and then say I am sorry, does it bring him back to life? What of his wife and children? How am I exonerated by saying that I am sorry?"

"Spoken like a virtuous man, Andrew. I have a suspicion that in the Reign of God, things are not going to be as you expect them to be."

"But how can he say that the Pharisee did not leave the Temple virtuous?" said Andrew. "In what had he sinned? He did everything he was required to do. Who pays tithes on everything? And what did the tax-collector do except admit that he was a sinner? What I require to know is how recognizing what you are absolves you from your sins."

"Clearly, there is more to it than that. The tax-collector was beating his breast and begging for mercy, after all. He was hardly bragging at how clever he was at sinning. He wished forgiveness, and forgiveness was granted him. It is a question of attitude, I suppose. Remember David after Bathsheba, and his psalm. He was forgiven."

"But he had to pay," Andrew countered. "His beloved son was killed."

"True. But he was forgiven, and so was the tax-collector. We know not what he had to pay afterwards."

"Well I think he should have mentioned it. Why should sinners simply have everything wiped away as if they had done no harm?"

Nathanael paused, pondering, and finally said, "I think, Andrew, that we have entered a new order of things."

"It seems we have." answered Andrew. "Especially since the Pharisee's virtue did him no good. I might grant what you say about the tax-collector, but why should the Pharisee's virtuous acts count for nothing? Explain me that!"

"You notice how proud he was of everything he did? 'Not like the rest of men,' or whatever he said."

"Did you notice, Bartholomew, that he expressed gratitude to God that he was as he was?"

True, but . . ."Yes, but he had a list of all his good deeds ready to hand. Why was he praying thus to God, reminding him of all that he had done for him? One does nothing for God! God is infinite; he needs nothing from us."

"Then why does he require us to do things?"

"Obviously, for our sake. They make us better--"

"You see?"

"But not if we do them as if we were doing favors for God, or bargaining with him. No one bargains with the Almighty." Was that the Pharisee's sin, thought Andrew. How?

"But it is not fair! It is not just!"

"You sound like what Ezekiel says the Master said about the Israelites when they complained that he was not fair in punishing a man who had been virtuous his whole life and then committed one sin and in forgiving a notorious sinner who then turned and became virtuous. He said something such as, 'Am I unfair, Israel, or is it you who are unfair? If I reward the man I reward him for his virtue, not for his previous sins, and if I punish the man, I punish him for his sin, not for the previous virtue.'"

"Yes, I know." Andrew answered. "I have heard the Scripture, and it has always bothered me."

"Evidently, you do not see things as God sees them."

"And you do, I suppose."

"Put it this way: I am willing to consider that there may be another way of looking at things. And to return to this story, the Master's point was that those who elevate themselves will be lowered, apparently whatever the reasons they can give for elevating themselves, and those who lower themselves--and I suppose, beg for mercy--will be elevated, whatever they have done. Perhaps that is because of the way things will be when God takes over as King."

"It seems a rather easy way to escape the consequences of one's acts."

"I rather suspect it is anything but easy. It requires a whole new way of thinking--and after all, the Master is constantly saying that we must change our way of thinking, since God is about to begin his rule over us."

Andrew paused, and then said in a rather disgruntled tone, "I suppose I have not managed it, then."

"I doubt if any of us has."

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