Twenty-One

Jesus apparently not only wanted to do something private with Matthew, but wished to leave them alone to digest what had developed. Again, one of his multitude of purposes, one, it seemed for each person that he affected by his actions. It was impossible if he was a man, but what one would expect if he was God.

The implications of all that he had done were stupendous, and, of course, Judas Iscariot was taking careful note of everything; he was mentioning to Simon and Andrew as Thomas joined them that it was obvious that Jesus was filled with the Divine Spirit in a way even beyond what the prophets "including such as Elijah and Elisha were. They had to invoke God, while the Master simply does miraculous things as if by his own power." John, who really did not enjoy group discussions, held himself a bit aloof from them, but within earshot.

"As if?" said Andrew. "You think it is not by his own power?" Did he not say explicitly, thought John, that "the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins"?

"Well, clearly, it is by the power of God. They are perfectly right; only God can forgive sins. But 'The Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins.'" So Judas had noticed this. How would he interpret it, then? "Either he is saying that he is God, or he is claiming that God has given him this power. But God is a spirit, not someone with flesh and blood. So the only reasonable thing to do is say that he is a man somehow filled with God. Either that, or he is a liar."

"Or," said Simon, "he is God."

"And you can see how absurd that is, I hope."

Simon, who could and could not, made no reply. Thomas seemed to be a bit nervous, as if he had found out (from Mary, in that discussion at the wedding?) something that made him think it not absurd. And of course John has Jesus's own words that somehow he was "one and the same" as the Father, and John suspected that this meant much more than that he was "filled" with the "One" or some cosmic force. It was possible, he supposed, but he had severe difficulty in thinking of the Creator, who called himself YHWH--even in his mind he did not really pronounce the word--was some indifferent "force." Judas had to be mistaken on that. Too much of Scripture made no sense, as far as John could see, on that hypothesis. But, of course, Judas had gone through the whole course of interpretations that John had shied away from. Who knew what one could make of Scripture if one tortured it as those in Annas's school were wont to do?

But it had to be said, however, Scripture gave no hint--far from it--that God could somehow be a man while remaining the infinite, single, only God. Still, Jesus would have to be "one and the same" as God, or he would be claiming that he was God's "son" in the sense of the pagan heros, who were children of some God who had relations with a mortal.

That, clearly, was absurd. The other implied that God somehow "limited himself," while in another sense remaining infinitely beyond the limited "version" of himself--or something. But was not this also absurd? John paused and pondered. Could one limit oneself, while not actually being limited? "Could I," he said to himself, "make myself less in some sense? Well, I could keep my eyes closed and go around as if I were blind. In a sense, I could not see, even though I could still see, if I opened my eyes. So it is fantastic, but not completely absurd, I suppose. And if it is false, how can a man cure a cripple, claiming to do so as God, and how could God allow such a deception? He would be sanctioning blasphemy. So it must be that the Father--whoever he is--and Jesus are in fact one and the same thing."

But something in him still recoiled strongly at accepting this. It went against every idea he had formed about God. But had not Jesus insisted that we must change our way of thinking? John's head began to ache. And how would he--John--ever convince anyone else of this, if he could not even convince himself?

Jesus joined them after a while, looked over at John with a rather amused smile on his face, and then said to everyone that Matthew had an errand to perform, and would rejoin them on the morrow.

The next day, Matthew came up and joined them. He was near John, and John approached him to ask if it would be possible for him to teach him Greek.

"Indeed?" said Matthew. "Can you read? Hebrew, I mean."

"Yes," said John.

"Are you a quick learner?"

"They seemed to think I was at the school where I was seeing if I should study to be a rabbi."

"Indeed!" said Matthew again. "You were but a fisherman, I thought someone said."

"Well, my father had other plans."

"But nothing came of them."

"Well, I found that that sort of thing was not really the life I wanted to devote myself to."

"And then you met Jesus."

"Well, it is a long story,"

"No doubt. Everything to do with Jesus is a 'long story.' But you think you could learn Greek if I taught you." He thought a bit. "Why not?" he said. "We could meet for a bit in the morning and I could have something for you to study that day, and then the next morning, we could review it. I think we could manage."

"Thank you, Matthew. I would be very grateful." And sure enough, they had their little meetings, and John began to learn how to read and write Greek from then on. Matthew seemed pleased with his progress, on the whole.

Matthew then went to Jesus and invited the group to a feast on the evening of the following day, and Jesus accepted. "I will bring but the ten or twelve close to me; otherwise, your servant might be overwhelmed." Matthew assured him that he could bring however many he wanted, but Jesus said that that was certainly sufficient.

But after this conversation, they wandered over to join Andrew, with Matthew keeping himself in the background as they discussed things.

The group was at that time going around the different towns and villages in Galilee, collecting followers who joined them and left more or less at random, into a synagogue if there was one, where Jesus announced that the reign of God was about to begin, and that the people would have to acquire a new way of thinking.

"Could he mean that what Isaiah prophesied was really going to come to pass?" asked John of Andrew.

"You mean where everything would be at peace with everything else, lions and lambs and so on?"

"Exactly."

"That has to be a metaphor, John. Lions eating hay like oxen? Really, now."

"Well why not?" replied John, becoming a bit red-faced at being flatly contradicted. "Has he not cured all sorts of diseases with nothing more than a touch, and driven out demons? Why could this not be a sign that the whole world would be transformed?"

"No, no, you understand nothing, both of you," broke in Simon the Revolutionary, with his usual refrain. "The 'new way of thinking' means that we have to get out of our minds that we will be under the Romans forever, and that they cannot be defeated. If we do not get rid of that attitude, no new kingdom is possible."

"You always see everything in terms of a revolution, Simon," answered John."But there must be more to it than that--if that is even in it."

"What do you mean, 'even in it'?" retorted Simon. "If God is going to become King, then Caesar will have to be dethroned, will he not?"

"Not necessarily. Remember, the first Herod was king some years ago, and we were under Rome then. There is kingship and kingship."

"There is such a thing as a spiritual kingdom," put in Andrew, where we look at things in a different way, rather than actually having a different government. Especially if God is the one who is King. How else would he govern? Is he going to set up a throne in the clouds or something?"

"Nonsense!" said Simon, and John added, "In that case, the whole thing is a waste of time, it seems to me. If everything is going to be the same, and we are simply going to pretend that it is all new and wonderful, what has happened except that we have been deluded?"

"Exactly!" said Simon. "As long as Rome has us under its thumb and is bleeding us to death with its taxes, we will be in misery, and what is the point of denying it?" John saw Matthew shrink back trying to avoid notice. It was as if Simon had cut him across the face with a whip.

"And then what is the point of all the miraculous things Jesus is doing?" added John.

"Need there be a point, except that these people are in distress?" asked Andrew. "Jesus sees them and cares about them, and somehow has the power to cure them, and so he does."

"You are not paying attention, Andrew." replied John. "He does not cure everyone; only those who he says 'believe.'"

"Well, that is easily explained by saying that what they believe is that they will be cured. It is quite possible that the power Jesus has will only be effective if someone is convinced that he can do whatever it is."

"No, no, they are signs. Signs of what it will be like under the reign of God. He says so, in plain language."

"To me," answered Andrew, "it is anything but plain. There are all kinds of things that this new Kingdom, if there even is a physical kingdom, could be like."

"As to that," said John, "he told me, now that he has acquired the number he was looking for, that he will soon lay out the principles of this new realm of God." He looked over at Matthew, and so did Andrew, with a not-very-welcoming glance.

"You will see," said Simon the Revolutionary. "He will begin appointing generals soon."

"From us?" laughed John. "I can see Andrew here, and perhaps yourself, leading an army. But the rest of us? Now that would be a miraculous transformation."

"All I can say is, remember Judas Maccabeus. Who would have thought beforehand that he could do what he did?"

John did not reply. What was the use? The conversation became general, and John began to feel the pressure of being in a group, so he dropped to the side--and noticed Thomas approach Matthew. Interesting. Perhaps Thomas was looking for another who was clearly more despised than he--because he was obviously not sought after by those who knew he was--or had been--a drunk. He edged a bit closer.

"So what do you make of all this, Levi--or rather Matthew, is it not?" he said.

Matthew looked a bit surprised that anyone would condescend to speak to him, but answered as if all were normal, "I know not, frankly, quite what to make of it--Thomas, am I right?"

"Thomas," he answered. "You are a rapid learner."

"In my former business, I had to be. But it is far too early for me to be more than simply bewildered by it all."

Thomas laughed "If you think it bewildering now, wait a few months! He loves to speak in riddles, and then is surprised when we do not understand them. I am convinced that he thinks that we are all dolts--and I am half convinced that he is right, except in one or two cases, and I have a suspicion that you are one of the exceptions."

"Well, I know not how exceptional I am," said Matthew. "I have overheard a few rather intelligent discussions already."

"Really? I did not notice that you had been near Judas."

"You mean the one they call Thaddeus?"

"No, he would qualify as one of the dolts, I think. I myself am on the borderline, if you are curious, but I think I can recognize brains when I encounter them." Matthew seemed annoyed at Thomas's habit of nodding his head as if he would hit one with his sharp nose. "No, I meant Judas Iscariot, the Adonis of our little coterie," and he nodded in Judas's direction. Matthew, like everyone else who first saw him, was impressed by his striking good looks.

"No, I have not had the pleasure of meeting him."

"The honor, you mean." He obviously thought that something of a faux pas, and said, "But I am being unkind. Judas is a very fine person; he is a priest, in fact, who heard Jesus speak and was convinced that he had the makings of a great leader. And Judas, who is brilliant, and learned to boot, would enjoy, I think, being associated with a great leader. He has no ambition to be a leader himself; he is too much of a theoretician; and besides, it might require disarranging a hair or two from time to time."

Thomas was too much of a cynic, from John's point of view. People seemed automatically to react unfavorably to Judas. John still liked him, in spite of the fact that he could not accept his "theory" of Jesus, if it could be said to be that developed. Of course, Thomas, who was a friend of Ezra's, might have heard about Ezra's attempt to speak to him. That, if true and not a misinterpretation on Ezra's part because of hypersensitivity, was definitely a mark against him.

"--fancies himself as the one who has the leader's ear and advises him--or in other words, can steer him into doing what Judas wishes."

He hedged: "But you may have gathered that you must take what I say with a good deal of seasoning, because I have a deserved reputation of being a cynic. He is, by the way, our treasurer, unless now that you are here, the office is to devolve upon you." John wondered how much of the cynicism, which he did not notice in Samuel, was due to Thomas's drink.

"Upon me? I fondly hope not!"

"Indeed? You have dealt with money all your life, have you not?"

"For that very reason. I fear I might have become too fond of it. It would be like having a drunk in charge of the wine cellar." That was interesting. Matthew was now clearly afraid of money. Just as John was afraid of certain people, such as Ezra, and Judas--and Andrew, though it seemed that Andrew was safe.

As was Jesus. He was handsome, and would be attractive, if he were not so obviously a superior being. John loved him, but as one loves a father, not a--a potential partner. Or whatever it was that John both sought and avoided in these people.

Thomas was saying, "--long as you brought up the subject of drunks, and the worst is bound to come out at some time, it might as well be at the outset, and from the supreme authority on the matter. I, you see, am myself a drunk--a drunk who no longer drinks, to be sure, but I am always on the verge, so to speak. If I did not rely on Jesus, I would be in constant terror that I would start again tomorrow, and--in the state I am now in--I realize that the day after tomorrow would be catastrophe. Actually, That was why I dared approach you. You are a tax-collector, and I am a drunk. We are both reprobates, in our own way, and I know not if you sense the opprobrium that all the others are fighting to--"

So John was right. Thomas had approached him precisely because he felt him a fellow outcast. How sad. He was saying "--tell me, of course, that I am seeing things. That is true; I do see things--things that, are there, that perhaps they themselves do not see. But they try, the poor things, and who can blame them? I am even becoming accustomed to it, as I am sure you will also." John was wondering if there was some way he could make Thomas feel more comfortable--and possibly Matthew. Certainly, if they knew what was going on in his mind, they would realize that he was perhaps even more despicable than they, with the exception of the fact that he had not--as yet--acted on his urges.

"I have a great deal to become accustomed to," answered Matthew, and repeated pensively, "A great deal."

Thomas then said, "But let me introduce you to Judas; he really is a fascinating person in many ways. Our pride and joy, in a manner of speaking. Judas!" He turned. "Come over here. I would like to acquaint you with the man who now calls himself Matthew, now that he has abandoned his treasonous ways"

Judas walked over, and said, "I hope Thomas has not been poisoning your mind about us. We do try."

"He has said as much."

At this point, John wandered away, and found Andrew. His heart suddenly told him that perhaps Andrew was not as safe as he thought, but he really had no fear of anything untoward happening, and so he said, "And so what think you, Andrew, about our new acquisition?"

"You mean Levi? Or I mean, Matthew? Well, if the Master chose him, I suppose he sees some value in him as a follower, though I doubt he will be one of the inner circle."

"You do? I got the impression that he was precisely waiting for Matthew--or perhaps was waiting, and then Matthew seemed to be the one he was waiting for."

"What do you mean?"

"I have noticed that Jesus knows things beforehand only in a sense. Have you seen him stroke his beard?"

"Stroke his beard?"

"At the wedding, when his mother asked him about the lack of wine, he stroked his beard in thought, and then at the Passover, he stroked his beard before he took off his cincture and asked me for mine."

"He did, now that you mention it."

"He seemed to recognize in both cases, 'This is the moment,' as if he had been anticipating it, but was not certain beforehand what shape it would take. And I think I remember when he came back from seeing that Nicodemus or whoever it was, he said to Simon something like, 'It is not what I would have planned, but it will do.'"

"Interesting. Are you saying that at the Passover, he was expecting that something was going to happen that would give his--what would you call it? Ministry--a start, and the animals there told him, so to speak, 'this is it'?"

"Something along those lines. At the beginning, for instance, I suspect he knew that something significant would happen when he was bathed by John, and the dove and the thunder were something he recognized as 'This is what I was anticipating,' without necessarily having a picture of it beforehand in his mind. And when he saw us, he knew that we were to be two of his followers, though he had not probably thought of us that way when he was doing carpentry work for me years ago."

"I think what you are getting at is that the God-aspect of him, if I can call it that, knows things in a different way than the man-aspect, and the man-aspect recognizes it when it happens as the God-aspect anticipates it."

"It looks as if that is as good a description as any."

He laughed. "But what monstrous nonsense we are talking!"

"On the other hand, Andrew, how else account for him? I cannot accept Judas's view that he is full of the force that built the universe, as if that force were a power and not a person."

"No, I think Judas is mistaken in that."

"Then if he has the power to forgive sins, and if only God can forgive sins, and if God is 'my Father,' what else could it be but that he is God limiting himself somehow."

"But there is some difference between him and the Father. Otherwise why give him another name? And why pray to him, as he clearly does? All night, sometimes. He does not sleep on those nights he goes off to pray. I followed him once."

"Still, he told me that 'the Father and I are one and the same thing.'"

"He did?"

"He did. And he said that he would tell everyone some day, when they were prepared to hear it."

"Perhaps, then," said Andrew, after some thought, "the Father is God-as-infinite, and Jesus the man is God-as-limited, or something. And so the limited side of him prays to the infinite side of him."

"Or something." John now laughed in his turn.

"I am happy that no one is listening to us," said Andrew. We are all but talking rubbish."

"Still, who are we to think that we can comprehend the Infinite? Is it surprising that what we say sounds paradoxical? Jesus, whatever he is, is a paradox."

"I know. That is what I find suspicious about Judas. It looks as if he thinks he comprehends. And I think the reality is far, far, beyond what he imagines it to be."

"I'm inclined to agree. But I suspect that Judas will learn, as the facts become clearer."

"I wonder."

"Really, Andrew! You too?"

"I am sorry, John, but there is just something about Judas that does not--" He let the rest of the sentence hang, for lack of a way to finish.

"Well, we shall see. What is this now?

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