Seven

Suddenly, Matthew felt as if he was about to faint; the stress of the previous night and this hellish day fell on him all at once. He staggered after Jesus up to the others--there must have been a dozen or so--when Jesus said, "You must sleep first. And perhaps think a bit on the morrow. We will take you home and then return for you, if you keep to your intention. I should tell you that the soldier will also return. He finds it difficult to believe that you will abandon your life."

"I cannot go back. I cannot."

"But you must assure yourself that this is not simply fatigue speaking. When you are fresh, it is possible you will see things in a different light."

"You should know I will not."

"Perhaps. But it is you who should be assured of it above all."

"Whatever you say. I know not even who I am now--or what. I know nothing."

The others made no attempt to speak to Matthew, and were murmuring softly among themselves. Even in his dazed state, it occurred to Matthew that they could not bring themselves to consider him a companion of theirs, and yet were afraid to suggest to Jesus that he was not fit to join them. Jesus kept him by his side, gently supporting him as he stumbled along the seemingly interminable distance to his house.

For a moment, Matthew wondered that Jesus knew where they were going, and then thought that of course Jesus had helped build the house, and that in fact that very morning he had accompanied Matthew there. That very morning! It seemed a decade ago!

He looked up at Jesus, and said, "If you would permit it, I would speak with your father when I can."

Jesus thought for a moment, and something seemed to occur to him. He said, "We can do that--perhaps even tomorrow, if you wish. Clearly, today would be premature. I should inform you, however, that he is not very well."

"I am sorry to hear it."

"He is not in distress, but he is quite weak. He is not the man you once knew."

"None of us are."

"There is much truth in that."

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the journey, as the sun began to set over the hills of Galilee and the shadows lengthened. Shadows lengthened over Matthew's mind also; he could not picture himself in this new role of student--of what?--and it was just as impossible to think of himself as returning to the agony and torment of this day; everything darkened into a kind of oblivion.

Finally, they arrived at the fence around his house, and the dogs emerged, snarling. Matthew spoke sharply to them, and they slunk away. He turned to Jesus, wondering whether to thank him or what, and Jesus said, "We will be here at sunrise or thereabouts."

"Yes," Matthew answered, and they left. He opened the gate and staggered toward the house.

"You have returned, Master," said Gideon as he opened the door. "I was concerned! You look exhausted!"

"I am alive. I will go to bed."

"But you must eat! I have broth and meat--some lamb--and bread, with some vegetables."

"Very well, I suppose--if I can stay awake long enough." And he lay down at the table and almost fell asleep as Gideon was bringing in the food. As he began to taste it, and especially to drink, he revived somewhat.

After a short while, he said, "Gideon."

"Yes, Master."

"I think, Gideon--I am not sure of this, but . . . I think that we should give a feast."

"A feast?" The look of astonishment on Gideon's face would have made Matthew laugh if he were capable of that much exertion.

"A feast. I am too tired to think of it at the moment, but it seems somehow fitting. I think I may have have died, and perhaps come back to life. Perhaps. . . Perhaps. In any case, my life will be very different from now on." If it continues at all, he added to himself.

Gideon was too dumbfounded to reply.

Matthew managed to stumble into the bedroom and even undress before he collapsed onto the bed and slept--if one could call it sleeping. The day mixed itself up in his dreams, with the farmers going off into trees and hanging themselves, and each time they did, it was his father, and he woke screaming, bringing Gideon to his side, when he had to tell him that it was nothing, to go back to sleep.

He would lie there for a few moments trying to stay awake, but was so exhausted that his eyes would close, and the whole process would be repeated.

Eventually, the image of Jesus appeared in the midst of the nightmares, and somehow he was able to work his way through the dream without actually waking--until somehow he would be gone, and once again the hanged man swung before him, and he screamed and sat up in a sweat.

He now remembered that this had happened before, that first night when he had seen his father; and that was why he his mind, in self-defense, had never allowed him near anything connected with him. How else could he have decided to become a tax collector, of all things? Of course, he had not really associated his father's death with taxes; it was his mother's nagging and his own misbehavior that he had thought was responsible, he remembered.

He decided, somewhat to his surprise, to pray for his father, on the chance that perhaps there actually was a God. There certainly seemed to be, or how could what happened to him this day have happened?

And he fell asleep again, now into that black sleep that is beneath all dreams.

He awoke with a raging headache, and noticed that, though it was still dark, the sky through his window (which looked east) had begun to separate itself from the ground. It lacked perhaps an hour for dawn to become evident. He turned over and tried to sleep, but realized that the pain was too great. How could he face the day? It was worse than that time he had experimented with wine, to see what being drunk felt like.

Could he actually follow after this carpenter? How absurd it sounded! But he knew how to preach. He remembered how he had held the audience spellbound until he had challenged them by saying that because of their lack of faith he would not produce in Nazareth the wonders they had heard of. He certainly produced a wonder in Matthew, however. He recalled the look when he quoted, "set broken people free."

Broken was no longer the word for Matthew! He could barely move! But the man would be here soon, and in any case Gideon would soon have his bath water ready and something for him to eat. He rolled out of the bed onto the dirt of the floor, and managed to push himself up and stagger out of the bedroom, holding onto the wall.

Gideon was already moving about, feeding the dogs, probably. The heated water was there; Matthew dipped the cloth in it and bathed himself, and as he moved began to feel somewhat more human. The headache was lessening a bit.

"Master!" exclaimed Gideon as he walked in, the voice sending a sword through Matthew's brain. He winced. The slave saw it, and continued more quietly, "You have finally wakened!"

"Finally?" answered Matthew. "It is the usual time."

"You do not know? You slept the whole of yesterday! I was beginning to be frantic with worry!"

"Yester--Did anyone come?"

"Yes, Master. That soldier, and another, with a group of people around him. When I told them you were asleep, the solder told me to say that your friend had replied and said that he was not displeased at what you had done, and that Longinus would see you from time to time, and that if you were ever in Jerusalem he himself would welcome you."

He would, would he. With chains, perhaps. But then, if he were going to do that, he would probably seize him immediately, now that Longinus had him in his power. No, it probably meant that he was free to go. That was a relief; one did not leave Rome's employ easily.

"Did the other man say anything?'

"He said that he was not surprised, and that he would return on the morrow--that is, today."

All was not lost on that score, then, either. Perhaps. Whatever it meant being a follower of his. Apparently Rome was concerned enough about him to risk losing a very good tax-collector to keep track of him. If the incident by the Jordan reached Pontius' ears--as it probably had, since his ears were all over Judea and the environs--it probably warned him to take note.

Matthew wondered if he were inadvertently getting into a political movement, but then thought it unlikely. Why would Jesus have singled him out, of all people--clearly, a collaborator with Rome--if he were plotting to become another Judas Maccabeus?

Matthew lay down beside the table on the dining-couch and found that every muscle and bone in his body screamed in agony. He had not had exercise like yesterday--no, like the day before yesterday--for decades. He thoughtfully and gingerly began breaking his fast. What would his life be like in a year? Tomorrow, for that matter? Today? He could see nothing before him, and behind him was only ashes.

He had barely finished his breakfast when the dogs made a terrific commotion outside, fortunately not really disturbing his headache, which had abated greatly with the food. Some of it must have been due to fasting all the previous day. He assumed that Jesus and his entourage--or whatever it was--was out by the fence.

"They are here, Master," said Gideon, and Matthew struggled to his feet. Since he had already made himself as presentable as he could manage, he hobbled out and spoke sharply to the dogs, who reluctantly left their posts 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.

"If one can call it 'life,'" returned Matthew. "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," said Matthew.

"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."

"Well, perhaps not put them back. 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."

"They will find me not a very good companion in any case. 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 he took him over to the group, which had gathered a little apart, murmuring to each other, and introduced him. Matthew lost most of the names as soon as he heard them, except that they seemed to come in pairs. There were a couple of Simons and a couple of Judases, and Jameses, a few with Greek names like Andrew and --Philip, was it?--and it seemed when he was introduced to Bartholomew, he called himself "Nathanael." Bartholomew was a patronymic, of course. But it was all most confusing. And someone called--who was it? Yes, Thomas.--"Didymus," which means, "The (singular) twin," but it seemed his twin was not there.

Well, things would sort themselves out eventually, Matthew supposed. He was pleased to think that even in his present state, so much of the introductions remained in his memory--though he was confused as to which name belonged to which person.

Jesus 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 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.'

Matthew looked up in shock, but Jesus did not catch his eye and went on, "'I fast twice 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!'

"And the point is 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."

There was a silence. Matthew's face flamed. He had seen him, then. But no--he had not yet entered; he and the Pharisee, if that is what he was, were alone. How--? And then he noticed everyone looking at him. The group, it seemed, had not had Jesus tell them a story before, and its obvious application to Matthew was evidently supposed to indicate to them what their attitude toward him should be.

One of them came up and asked, "Were you 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."

But clearly the story was meant for him as well as the others. Did it signify that he had somehow left the synagogue virtuous? How was it possible? How could all of his evil simply be erased? He remembered how in the synagogue, that was what he was really begging for, knowing that it was impossible. But it was impossible for Jesus to have known what he was saying. It was impossible for thunder to have spoken. It was impossible for Jesus to have escaped the crowd.

He could not understand.

--But if it were possible! Perhaps a new life could begin, after all!

Another, follower, Matthew thought it was Philip, 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." Which was true. That was the time.

"Oh. I thought I saw you when--but it is of no consequence."

Two of the others, whose names Matthew had forgotten, were intently discussing the story among themselves, and did not seem to realize that Matthew was within hearing distance. "But how can he say that the Pharisee did not leave the Temple virtuous?" said one, a veritable giant. "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? Does recognizing what you are absolve you from your sins?"

Matthew shrank as if stung, but the two took no notice. The other, thin and lanky, answered, "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." That was true, was it not? So was Matthew indeed forgiven?

"But he had to pay," first one countered. "His beloved son was killed." Matthew shrank back in fear. How much he would have to pay!

"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?"

"I think, Andrew, that we have entered a new order of things." So the giant was Andrew. He had immense shoulders and muscular arms and hands. He had not led a scholarly life, clearly.

Perhaps in this new order, for some reason, the punishment would not be as severe.

"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!"

The thin man could have been a scholar, something consistent with the slowness of his speech and motions. "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?" Aha! So Bartholomew was the one called Nath--something--Nathanael.

He paused for a moment. "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?"

Another brief pause. "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."

"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.'" It sounded as if he were a scholar, like the ones they called the Scribes.

It occurred to Matthew that he could perhaps become a Scribe himself, since he knew how to write. But he would have to study Scripture, something he had completely neglected, except to learn Hebrew from it.

"Yes, I know." Andrew was saying. "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." God was to take over as King? Was that what this was all about? No wonder Pontius was interested!

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."

Matthew moved away before they noticed him, and walked apart somewhat. The others did not seem overly eager to make him one of them, in any case. Matthew certainly did not believe that he had managed to acquire a while new way of thinking; he could not think at all, at the moment--except to wonder whether what Jesus said actually applied in his case. Were his sins actually forgiven? Removed?

Whatever that meant.