Seventeen
And sure enough, when they arrived at the--one could only call it mansion--the next day, there was Matthew, with the boy behind him, both dressed in fine linen, Matthew welcoming them in a kind of embarrassed way, as well as a number of what turned out to be tax-collectors, all standing by awkwardly, as if wondering whether the new guests had any idea what they were.
As the servers passed around the wines, Andrew heard Nathanael whisper to Thomas, (who was drinking water) that the wine was almost up to the wine Jesus made at the wedding. Thomas looked at him with longing, but did not take any. Andrew thought this very admirable; the "new Thomas," it seemed, was indeed the real Thomas.
It was a fairly tense dinner, because, except for Jesus's students, no one knew anyone else to talk to. Evidently tax-collectors did not form a guild, and perhaps were at odds with each other; they were in competition, after all.
But the wine had not been very diluted, and its relaxing influence spread rapidly. People began to speak rather more freely after a short time, and the dinner soon could be said to be a success. Afterwards, people kept their cups and rose from the table, looking over the house and talking.
Suddenly, Jesus let out a piercing whistle and ran out the back, where the dogs (about which the guests had been warned) had been chained. Matthew sprang up and followed.
Andrew, like all the rest, sat frozen for a moment in shock; there was definitely a commotion of some sort back there. Jesus seemed to have shouted something--a command to the dogs?--and of course Ezra tried to go out, but Matthew stood in the doorway, blocking the exit, as he watched openmouthed what Jesus was doing. (Ezra tried to see over his head, but could not do so without actually leaning against him, and gave up.) Interestingly, Nathanael was blocking the only window that provided a view.
Whatever it was did not take long, and Matthew came back inside, followed by Jesus and one of the tax-collectors, whose eyes looked as if he had narrowly escaped death, though there was not a mark on him or his clothes. When asked what had happened, he simply protested that he was fine, but that he thought that he should be getting home. He thanked Matthew perfunctorily, and went out the front, where a crowd had gathered outside the gate, to find out if it were really true that Jesus was consorting with tax-collectors and sinners.
Thomas, with Andrew following closely, went up to Nathanael, who had just spoken to Matthew, and asked, "What went on?"
"Matthew asked me not to speak of it, and so I cannot say, but it is probably what you thought it was."
Ezra, who was, as always, present, said, "So he is Master of vicious dogs also."
"He is Master of everything, it seems. Everything," and he added, "Thank God!" Andrew thought, Well, it fits. The dogs knew him and obeyed him because he was the Master of masters.
A few days later, Jesus informed the group that his father had died. He took Simon, James and John, and, interestingly, Matthew, and went to his funeral, leaving Andrew more or less in charge.
Not that there was anything to be in charge of. The rest of the group spent time speculating why Jesus had not cured his own father of whatever sickness he had, but no one had a really satisfactory answer.
Jesus and the four returned, without any great sorrow on their faces. Apparently, they had been told, or had found out, that Joseph's leaving this life at this point in Jesus's career was for the best, and presumably Joseph knew it. After all, at least until the Kingdom was inaugurated, we would all have to die. Andrew speculated that if Jesus was not accepted as King, however, if "this temple was destroyed," then that was something that Joseph would find unbearable. But did that mean that Mary would also die?
Well, Jesus presumably knew what he was doing, and the four who had accompanied him were told enough of it to agree.
After Jesus and the others returned, the group happened to be in Cana for something-or-other, and a military officer, accompanied, interestingly enough, by the soldier who was with Matthew at the tax-booth, approached Jesus and begged him to go down with him to the city and cure his son, who was very ill and about to die.
"You people!" said Jesus. "Unless you have proof and see miracles, you do not believe!" Jesus had not been performing cures during this period, perhaps out of respect for the memory of his father, but Jesus's remark sounded pretty harsh. Perhaps there was something more going on here. The man was a Gentile, after all, in the first place, and probably had heard a rumor that Jesus could cure people, but was not too sure about it, and whether he as a Gentile would qualify as a beneficiary. Jesus may have been signaling to him that it was not presumptuous to approach him.
In any case, the remark did not deter him; he was obviously desperate. "Master, please!" he said. "Go down before my son dies!"
Jesus looked at him, stroked the beard on his chin, and answered, "You may go. Your son will live."
The man opened his mouth as if to make a protest; but closed it when he looked into Jesus' face, thinking better of it, and turned and left. Evidently, he had mustered a bit of faith that Jesus could perform the cure--even at a distance, and even with a word. This required, as Andrew considered the situation, a good deal of faith.
Of course, what alternative did he have? Give up, and then his son would certainly die.
The soldier gave a glance back at Matthew, as he pivoted to go. Andrew wondered if the officer had managed to believe that his son would in fact live, or whether his action was one of despair.
This was answered on the next day, when the soldier returned alone, finding Jesus, to whom he gave a rather substantial gift from the father, remarking that the father had met a slave on the way home, who told him that the fever had left his son, and he wanted to waste no time in thanking him for restoring him to health. He had himself continued to his house to be with his son. Jesus accepted the gift, and handed it over to Judas for the group.
So, thought Andrew, the commander had sufficient faith, and we now learn that Jesus need not even be there in order to perform a miracle; it was enough for him to say that it would happen. Obviously, the son did not have faith; so it was enough that someone involved have it. This seemed to indicate that Jesus could perform any cure if he wished, but that his policy was not to perform one if he did not find any faith in anyone involved. It would be interesting to see if this theory survived the tests of future cures.
It also meant that one did not necessarily have to be a Judean to receive the benefits of Jesus's miracles--which was consistent, if Jesus was to become King of the whole world after establishing himself as King of Judea.
The soldier, dismissed, then sought out Matthew. They had a rather extended and earnest conversation that Ezra tried to learn about; but he was not "invisible" to the soldier and was warned off. (Matthew had never so much as acknowledged that he existed, for some reason).
"Well, Longinus, I wish you well," said Matthew finally, loud enough so everyone could hear.
"And I you, Levi-Matthew, in your new life," replied the soldier.
"If it lasts."
"Oh, it will. You are hardly a fanatic, but I see the signs."
"Well, we shall see about that also." And the soldier left, humming quietly in his cheerful way.
That night Jesus excused himself from the group and went up to pray on a mountain overlooking the "Sea" of Galilee from the north. The others, Matthew now among them, stayed back halfway up (because on these occasions Jesus wished for privacy), on a kind of saddle that was still rather high. David, interestingly, slept beside Matthew that night, saying practically nothing, as was his wont. Andrew wondered whether he and Matthew had been reconciled because of the feast and their time spent together, or whether he still (if ever) had notions of vengeance, and was waiting for the opportune moment. It would obviously not do to kill Matthew with everyone there, looking on. Of course, perhaps the initial impression Andrew received was wrong--though, thinking back, it did look like a glance of intense hatred, and he was over-eager to "assist" Matthew at the feast. Well, the Master would keep watch, he was sure, and it was really none of his business.
The following morning, shortly after dawn, Jesus came down from the heights, looking refreshed He called over a small group of twelve, Matthew finding to his surprise that he was one of them, and told them that if they were willing, they were to be his emissaries to the various towns of the area. If the crowds that were gathering wherever he went were any indication, he needed emissaries to extend himself.
"It is time," Jesus in fact was saying, "for the good news about the reign of God to spread more rapidly than I can manage by myself. You will represent me, not only by announcing what you have basically heard me say, but also by confirming by signs similar to mine that the world is indeed about to undergo a change. I will begin to spell out rather more explicitly what the reign of God will be like; you will see. I will give you instructions later on about what you are to do."
By this time, word had spread as to where Jesus and his followers were--not that they had tried to make a secret of it--and a huge number of people of the area began to gather round on the saddle of the hill, bringing their sick and crippled for Jesus to cure--which he did, spending the morning at it. Andrew thought that he could have used his emissaries that very day, there were so many to cure.
Around noon, he went back up the mountain a short way, with by now quite a throng of people on the saddle below him, in a kind of natural amphitheater. He stood up and held up his hands to catch their attention and said,
"You have asked about the reign of God and how you are to change your way of thinking. Attend, then: It is a blessing for you to be poor, because then you have God for your king;"
"To be poor?" said some. "I am poor, and it is anything but a blessing!" "Silence! We cannot hear!""
"--hungry now, because then you will have your fill. It is a blessing for you to suffer now, because you will find happiness. It is a blessing for you when people hate you and drive you away, and ostracize you; on the day this happens, leap about for joy, because you have a great reward in heaven; your ancestors did the same to the prophets.
"This is insane!" "It is mad!" "He has a devil!"Then how can he cure everyone?" "Be quiet!"
"--comfort here now; it is a curse to be full now, because then you will be hungry; it is a curse that you enjoy life now, because then you will suffer; and it is a curse to have everyone speak well of you, because your ancestors praised the false prophets in the same way." He paused to let what he had said sink in.
This was a development. The things that people thought were curses: poverty, hunger, suffering, hatred, and ostracism, were blessings, and the blessings of comfort, satiety, enjoyment, and a good name were curses--now--because apparently in the Reign of God things would be reversed.
Andrew could see that Jesus might be counseling people to put up with the "blessings," because soon they would turn into blessings when the Kingdom was established, but why are they supposed to be blessings now? And the same went for the curses. One might say that comfort was only temporary, and would vanish once the Kingdom came; but in what sense was it a curse now to live a life of ease?
The people were gasping with astonishment. What could he mean? How could it be a blessing to suffer and a curse to enjoy life? Someone near John said, "Then we should cause people to be poor and hungry, and do them a favor? It makes no sense!" Andrew tended to agree. A curse is a curse, whether it is temporary or permanent. How can it be a blessing?
Well, he thought, perhaps it was a blessing because it directed one's attention away from the life he was living, and fixed it on the life in the Kingdom. And a life of comfort was a curse, because it made one complacent for the life he was living, and so tempted him to pay no attention to the fact that things would be very different. Obviously, a person who was enjoying life did not long for anything more than a prolongation of this life, and would be anything but eager for it to turn upside down, as Jesus seemed to be hinting.
In that sense, it had reason, Andrew supposed.
Jesus went on, "You heard it said, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'; but I tell those of you who can hear it, love your enemies and do good to the ones who hate you; pray for those who threaten you. If someone slaps your cheek, turn the other one for him to slap; if he takes your cloak, give him your tunic as well. Give to everyone who asks, and if someone takes what is yours, do not demand it back. In short, do to everyone else what you would have them do to you."
"This is even worse!" said the man who spoke earlier. This went directly against Andrew's grain. All his life, Simon had been preferred to him, when he was the more capable, and all his life, he had resented it as unjust. Now Jesus seemed to be saying that "justice" was the very opposite of what Andrew had always thought. "Do not care if someone mistreats you," was what he seemed to be advocating. How could one do that? And more, why should one do that?
Obviously, Andrew had not "changed his way of thinking." He hadn't, because he had seen no reason to do so. And Jesus had offered no reason why this was the more virtuous action. Why act directly against one's own interest? It was one thing to treat everyone equally, "to love your neighbor as if he were yourself," but why love your neighbor more than yourself? Why subordinate yourself to him?
Around him, people were saying, "This is not an explanation of the Law; it is something he has made up." "Who does he think he is? Another Moses?"said another. The listeners began a lively--and loud--discussion among themselves at how Jesus was apparently teaching them on his own authority, and not like the Scripture scholars. Some scoffed at it, but others said, "But I repeat: If he does not have God behind him, how can he do what he does? You saw that man simply get up and walk when he merely touched him!"
And that was Andrew's dilemma: If he was right (and Jesus in effect said he was right), this was the same Being who was the Author of the commands dictated to Moses. Those dictated to Moses made sense; but how could this make even more sense? To Andrew, it made no sense at all; but there had to be sense in it, if Jesus were commanding it.
And as if to confirm this, Jesus said, "Do not think that I have come to do away with the Law and the prophets; I have come to fulfill them, not abolish them. I tell you this: as long as heaven and earth last, not the dot on one i or the cross on one t will be removed from the Law--not until everything is all over. And so if any man sets aside the least command in the Law, he will have the lowest place when God begins his reign, and anyone who keeps the Law and teaches others to do so will rank high God's kingdom. In fact, unless you show that you are better than the Pharisees and Scripture scholars, you will not even enter God's kingdom."
"I am not too certain that I wish to be in such a kingdom," said a man. "We have burdens enough already."
What this meant to Andrew was that there was some way of understanding this (which eluded him at the moment) which was compatible with the Law and the Prophets, and which in fact fulfilled them--but he could not for the life of him fathom how.
And Jesus kept on, "And do not be evaluating others' conduct, or your own conduct will be evaluated. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and things will be given to you--good measure, tamped down, and overflowing will be poured into your pocket; because the standard you use for measuring others will be the standard you are measured by.
"That, at least makes sense," thought Andrew, and a man beside him said exactly that. "Treat everyone fairly." "Yes," said another, "but then why not slap the person who has slapped you? That is what is fair to my way of thinking, as well as the other." "It is not the same thing," said the first. "I see no difference," was the answer. Nor did Andrew. His head was beginning to ache.
"Can the blind be guides for the blind? Will they not both fall into the ditch? A student is not above his teacher; at best, when a student finishes, he will be equal to his teacher."
"I am not certain," said one, "that I wish to be a student of this teacher. 'Turn your other cheek to be slapped' indeed! Not my cheek. My fist, perhaps!" Andrew longed to be a true student of this teacher, but could not imagine how to manage it.
"How is it you can see a speck in your brother's eye and not notice the board in your own? You fraud; take the board out of your own eye before you presume to take the speck from your brother's."
"And you do the same," shouted someone. "Are you perfect? Who do you think you are?"
The trouble is, thought Andrew, that they do not know who he "thinks he is." He "thinks" he is God Almighty, because he is God Almighty, or everything he has done up to now is a sham and a fraud--and I know too much to think that it is a series of magic tricks.
Jesus was going on, though the crowd was becoming louder and louder. Interestingly, though, his voice rose above it. "--call me 'Master! Master!' and not do what I say? I will tell you what a person who comes to me and listens to what I say and puts it into practice is like: he is like a man who was building a house, and dug deep and laid its foundation on bedrock; and when the flood came, the river burst on that house, and it withstood it, because it was built on rock. But the one who hears me and does not act on it is like a man building his house on sand. The river rose, and the house collapsed into a heap of rubble."
That was the end of it. Andrew was reeling from the verbal blows he had to everything he thought he knew. He wandered around for a while, and happened to hear Nathanael--Bartholomew--talking to John. John was saying something close to what he thought, so he stopped to listen to their conversation
"--because" said John, "they would make you look forward to the Reign of God and not wed you to the life you were living. It would be easy to change your way of thinking."
Very good, thought Andrew. What I myself thought.
"All right. But why let someone slap you a second time? Why give him your tunic if he steals your mantle?"
John thought a bit. Here was where the difficulty began. "It could be the same sort of thing, could it not? I have not thought it through as yet, but could it not be that it would be part of not caring what happened to you now, knowing that in the Reign of God you would not have any suffering?"
"In other words, nothing makes any difference now, because it will all turn out well soon, so why fret over injustice? It will not count in the long run."
"I must say I find that hard to swallow, but it sounds as if this is what he was saying."
"I am inclined to agree. I suppose my thinking has not changed all that much."
"Nor mine," said John. If someone slaps me, he would have a bloody nose before I could even think of turning the other cheek!"
"Still, there is a point there, if you think on it dispassionately. If he slaps you, how have you undone the slap by doing damage to him? You have just compounded the evil." John pondered a bit. "On the other hand, inviting him to slap you again compounds it also."
"There is something we are missing," mused Nathanael. "Perhaps it has something to do with not paying attention to yourself."
"You mean, letting the other person have the satisfaction of pummeling you? I do not see it."
"Well, he in effect said it."
"Yes, but how does his continuing in evil benefit him? So if I care for him, why should I let him do a greater evil than he has done? So even if I care not for myself, because in the Reign of God all will be happiness, should I not care that he cease his evil ways? Should I not put a stop to them with my fist?"
Nathanael laughed. "I suppose if you could do it with a heart full of nothing but love for him, hoping that he too would enter the Reign of God with you, where you would embrace each other, then Jesus would approve. The question is whether anyone could ever manage such a thing."
"Well, I fondly hope I will never get into a situation where I will have the problem."
"What I hope is that some day we will begin to understand what this is all about."
"True, we have a long way to go."
"And if we do, imagine what it will be like for all the rest of the people that we will be trying to prepare for the Reign of God!"
"Yes, that will be an adventure! Sent out as heralds to announce something we have only the foggiest idea about."
"It fills me with terror."
"And not only you, Bartholomew, believe me." And with that they parted, leaving Andrew where he was before he heard them, except that he knew he was not alone.