Twenty-Eight

So he knew. That statement had to refer to Judas, which meant that Matthew was relieved of any responsibility for warning Jesus that Judas thought that whatever was giving him miraculous power was driving him insane.

Matthew also was aware that Judas had to have realized that Jesus knew about his doubts--or not "doubts," really, since he seemed so confident of his theory. Not happy about it, because he still loved Jesus--or so he said--but he could not believe in him, or at least certainly not as God. And his theory did make sense, if God were just some impersonal force, and not YHWH, who actually spoke to Moses out of the burning bush--or was that another angel? Or simply a story? It was all so confusing!

But even if it was an angel, it showed that spiritual beings were personal things, did it not? How could they be impersonal, when human beings were far superior to impersonal forces, however strong? Unless it was merely a story. But then what of Jesus's mother, and Mary's demons? And if it were an impersonal force, how could it be superior to us? We could not withstand an earthquake, but no one--except the pagans perhaps--thought that earthquakes were superior to us, with our minds. And even the pagans personalized these forces, to make it possible for them to worship them. No, God was a person or nothing.

So if it was a question of believing in Jesus or believing Judas, Matthew would take the side of Jesus--even if it meant becoming like Philip, and simply swallowing contradictions whole--except in Matthew's case, it would be with the grain of salt that there was some resolution somehow, somewhere that escaped him at the moment. Perhaps Philip felt the same way and was not as unintelligent as he seemed. Perhaps he had learned to trust more than the rest of the students.

At any rate, granting Jesus to be God--How fantastic!--but granting it, there was a solution somehow to this particular paradox. Conceivably, Jesus would break of parts of his body and give them to his followers to eat, as he had done with the bread and the fish, and somehow bring it about that this would not be repugnant and sickening. It was all but unthinkable, but not absolutely inconceivable, given how he could multiply the bread.

Matthew realized that the sequence of events was no accident. His speech had to be taken in the context of this miracle, and of his walking on the water, calming the storm, and bringing the boat instantly to shore. He was showing his students, at least, that if he could make the sea support him and command the elements themselves, then he could do anything he said he could do. Somehow.

And it seemed clear to Matthew that as he spoke at first, he was saying that the "bread that came down from heaven" was himself and that believing in him was in a sense "eating" it. But as the discourse progressed, something occurred to him, because of his stroking of his beard. Obviously, something by which he could make it possible for people actually to eat the meat which was his body and drink his blood. And that had to be why he insisted upon it, and why he would not explain it away even to the Twelve when they were alone. Exactly what that way was would have to be left to later, apparently.

Still, Matthew recoiled in horror at the prospect of eating human flesh. It was the worst of sins!

Well, if not that, then what?

Transform his body into bread, somehow, as he had transformed the water into wine? Then when one ate it, it would seem simply like eating bread. "This is the bread that comes down from heaven," he had said. But how could he do such a thing? But in the case of the wine, the wine afterwards was not really water; it had become something different. How could he transform his body into bread without having it cease to be his body? It made no sense.

Or perhaps what he would do would be to transform bread into his body in some way. But then we would be back to the same problem of eating a human body. Of course, since Jesus was God--how easy it was now to say "since" instead of "if"!--then eating his body would not destroy it, but rather would somehow transfer his life to ours, whatever that might mean. --Unless the transformed bread still seemed to be bread. That would seem no more repugnant than eating bread, even though in actuality it would be eating his body.

But how ridiculous all this was!

And yet, perhaps something like that was what occurred to him! It was as preposterous as eating some part of his body, but it was not absolutely inconceivable; Matthew had just conceived it, for instance. But how could he do it?

How could he still a storm? How could he make five little loaves of bread feed thousands of people? How could he bring dead people back to life?

But even if he had the power, as God, to do it, why would he do such a thing? But he had said why, had ne not? "Just as my living Father sent me and I live though the Father, anyone who eats me will live through me." This was his way of giving us his life, apparently. Perhaps his life was the "eternal life" he was always talking about. We would no longer live with our own lives--or perhaps not live merely with our own lives--but with his life, perhaps in a sense similar to the one--if he really was God--in which he lived a human life but also the life of the Father. "I live through the Father," whatever that meant.

Perhaps, because we would then live with his life, which presumably was eternal, that was why we would live an eternal life. And in spite of how Judas interpreted this, it must mean that we would never die, must it not? Will he explicitly say some time that his followers will never die?

Because, in this speech he had all but said he was God, that his name was YHWH, "I AM." --And, come to think of it, did he not say when we saw him walking to us on the water and shouted in terror, "Do not be afraid. I AM." To be sure, we all took it to mean, "It is I," but what he said was "I AM." Was this accidental, or did he say this in just this way before this speech for a reason?

Matthew decided he would have to keep a lookout on what Jesus said from now on to see if he would use "I AM" referring to himself in such a way that he was claiming to be YHWH, and whether he predicted that those who believed in him would never die, and not simply use the ambiguous phrase (at least to Judas) "eternal life." Judas would predict this, no doubt, thinking that his insanity would drive him to do so. But if he really was God, then the demands of logic would also force him to become more and more explicit, especially if the Reign of God was to be the Reign of Jesus, because that is who Jesus was. And somehow this new Kingdom would involve eating Jesus's body, Matthew fervently hoped transformed somehow. It would have to be so, if it was to be so at all. But who knew? So many strange, impossible things had already happened.

Another task Matthew set for himself was to keep a closer watch on Judas. He now had confirmed to himself that his suspicions of Judas were not simple jealousy--and what had he to be jealous of, after all, he reminded himself--but there was something wrong about Judas. He was dangerous. "A devil." That was very strong language.

Very few people would have realized that Judas was the one Jesus was referring to. Judas had been quite clear that he had not dared to voice his theory to anyone but Matthew--and Mary! And Mary! She was there! What would her reaction be to what Jesus had said? She could not avoid the implication. Perhaps that was the reason he had brushed against her, to speak to her about it, and warn her not to relate it to anyone! Perhaps he was misjudging Judas!

But then, what of John? An accident, because he was preoccupied?

But then why was he "a devil"?

--Poor Mary! No wonder Matthew had not seen her! She must be devastated, not only at what Jesus was saying about himself, not having the evidence Matthew had from Joseph and his mother, but at what he had said about Judas, with whom she was clearly madly in love, however much she might try to fight it.

Once again he saw in his mind's eye Judas brushing against her the other night, and brushing against John shortly afterwards. Yes, "jealousy" or no jealousy, Judas would bear watching. If Jesus was safe from him because he knew, Mary was not, and God knows what Judas intended about John! Was it some kind of insult? Was he telling him he knew something damning about him? It seemed clear, on second reflection, that he was letting Mary know that he was aware of her interest in him, and probably indicating to her that he was not averse to its blossoming into something. Perhaps he was letting John know that, whatever secret John had, Judas knew of it and could use it against him if he wished? Or was it simply an accident? Both could not be accidental.

Of course, John could take care of himself, young as he was. He was easily twice as strong as Judas. So perhaps there was not anything to worry about there. Still . . .

Matthew had kept to himself while he tried to untangle the knot Jesus had made in his life, and from time to time, he also noticed that Mary had made no attempt to approach him during these days after the fateful speech, whether out of deference to what she must have seen was his perplexity, or whether she was trying to sort out what was her own reaction to what had happened.

He looked for her, and observed that she now was paying attention to Judith, who had been despondent for quite some time, but when Mary was speaking to her seemed to revive, and bustle about, going from the camp and returning at night, reporting to Mary what she had done.

This made Matthew wonder what had happened to David, and so he sought him out, finding him sitting by himself staring out at the lake and the hills on the other side.

"Is anything wrong, David?"

"Wrong? No." He looked off into the distance. "Life, perhaps."

"Life? What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Is it Judith?"

"That is part of it." He was silent for a while, and then said, "She told me," and he looked at Matthew with tears forming in his eyes, "that she did not wish 'to associate with one who had been dead.' I felt like telling her that returning to life was anything but my desire! And it was not! I wish I were still dead, however horrible it was!"

After a silence, Matthew said gently, "It was horrible?"

"I cannot remember exactly what it was like, but I recall that it was unspeakably horrible. And then someone or something told me that I was being called back for another chance, and I woke up as they were taking me to be buried. I saw you. You saw me also."

"I did indeed."

"I fail in everything I do! I cannot bear it!"

Matthew assumed that he was referring to Judith, but did not think it prudent to press him.

All he could think of to say was, "David, you know not how much I long to help you in any way I can."

David looked over at him with a face of infinite sorrow. "I believe you. You are so good." And then he turned away and cried, "Oh, why are you so good?" and broke into uncontrollable sobs, weeping as if his heart would break.

Matthew stood there, stunned, not able to leave, and yet thinking that David wanted him gone--wanted him out of his life, for some reason. Suddenly, David spun back to face him and wailed, "Why could you not be like that Judas?"

"Like Judas?"

David closed his eyes in pain. "I should not have spoken. Forget it."

"No. What about Judas?"

"I only meant that I knew what to do with Judas; I know not how to deal with you!"

"David, listen. Believe me. You have no need to 'deal with me.' I am--or at least I wish to be--merely your friend, that is all." He almost reached out to put his hand on David's shoulder, but thought better of it. "But what of Judas?"

"Oh, it was nothing. Merely that he 'wished to be my friend' also--until I found out what he meant by 'friend.'"

Matthew was shocked. He did not know how to phrase the question; finally, he said, "Did he do something?"

"He tried. I told you I knew what to do with him. He tried only once."

Matthew was silent for a long while. Then he said, "But why then did you wish that I was like Judas?"

Now it was David's turn not to speak. After a while, he answered, "It was not as it sounded. I merely meant that I could hate Judas. I know what hate is. But how can I hate you? I have tried and tried to find a reason for hating you--at least as you are--and I can find none. I fail in everything I do!"

Matthew did not know what to say. David had been around Jesus for so long, and he had made absolutely no impression on him, in spite of the fact that he had brought him back to life. Perhaps it was because he had brought him back to life. He remembered Gideon's remark about the bruise on his neck, as if he had been hanged. Perhaps he had hanged himself, because he could not bear to go on living, and now he had to live and live. For hate. Perhaps to turn his hatred of himself into his hatred for everyone else. And he hated Matthew because he had no reason to hate him!

"David, if you could see into my soul, you would have many, many reasons to hate me. I can barely tolerate myself."

"I do not believe it!"

"It is true nevertheless. I try, and I also fail in all I do." He thought of the jewels that beckoned him more and more powerfully as the days went by.

"You do not! You turned away from being a tax-collector, and you gave away what you had. I saw it. Believe me, I saw it!"

"That was not my doing. I could not have done it had Jesus not given me the power to do it."

"Oh, Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! All I ever hear in this place is Jesus! As if he were God, or something!"

As if, indeed. If David only knew what Matthew had just been thinking of!

After a pause, he said, "David?"

"Yes?"

"How shall I say this? I have--reason to believe that Judas might be a threat to us. Apparently he was to you, but you overcame it."

"He was never a threat to me! I spit on his kind of threat!"

"Still, I would be very careful. He is a very dangerous person."

"What could he do? Kill me? He could not do me a greater favor!"

"I know not what he could do, but he is an extremely intelligent man. If he wishes to do you harm, he will find whatever it is you care about--your mother, for instance--and use it to destroy you."

"My mother? How could he do her more harm than I have? You know not what I have done to her. But your Jesus saved her, just as he 'saved' me!" There was bitter irony in that last phrase.

"Well, but what I wished to say was that you could do all of us--me--a favor by seeing what Judas is doing, and if it is anything suspicious, telling me about it so that I can 'deal with it,' as you say."

David looked at him, and Matthew could see that there was a light that began faintly to dawn in his eyes. He at least seemed to have a purpose for living now.

"I will see what I can do," he said, and lapsed again into thought, but Matthew saw it was a different kind of thought than the despair he had found him in. Matthew left without disturbing him further.

As he walked away, he mused at how drastically young people took rejection. Judith was the trigger for this. He had seen how lively and interested he had been when Judith came to his attention. It must have been another death to hear her say that she would have nothing to do with him because he had been dead, as if this were some kind of sin he had committed, or a disfigurement of some sort.

Well, he would find someone else eventually--or not. Matthew thought of himself. And then of Mary. At least he had a friend; it was pleasant to realize that she was there. And she was so very beautiful, and she tolerated him!

And he spent the rest of the afternoon filled with Mary, without being the least aware of what was happening to him.

The next day, Jesus was preaching in the synagogue in Capernaum, and Matthew, in the crowd closest to him, noticed Mary over by the doorway, near where the crowd that had come to hear him was overflowing. There was a stirring from outside, and eventually word came through to the front that Jesus's mother and relatives were at the door, wanting to see him.

"Who is my mother?" said Jesus when he heard this, "and who are my relatives?" He raised his hand and waved it over the congregation. "Here are my mother and relatives. Anyone who listens to what God says and acts on it is my mother and my sister and my brother."

Nonetheless, he curtailed his discourse and went outside, where he found his mother and a number of people Matthew had not met; obviously his relatives.

"I would not disturb you," she said in calm voice, "but they insisted that they wished to speak with you as soon as possible--and finally, I told them I would see what I could do."

"They understood well the best approach," said Jesus. Then he turned to a group of two or three others who were with her. "But you knew that there was no necessity for this. I am still what I was; I have not changed from the time we played at castles and soldiers in these very streets. I am not some Caesar, who grants audiences."

"True," said a thin, pale man, half a head taller than Jesus. He was a little younger, it seemed, perhaps in his late twenties. He fingered his robe nervously, and temporized, "It was the crowd. We tried to get by them to see you, and could not force our way in--and we thought that if you knew we were outside, you would come out to meet us."

It was obvious that this was a half-truth, perhaps even a little less. At least in this man's case, the fact that his playmate had become a miracle-worker and a preacher of such intense power had intimidated him.

"Actually," said a very brown man whose beard was beginning to be grizzled, though his hair was still black. He had enormous eyebrows and a nose rather more sharp than most, "I was the one who wanted to see you before I left to go back to Alexandria. We are both too busy, are we not?"

"I do seem to be rather occupied at present, James," replied Jesus. "I am sorry I did not make more leisure to have a long chat. You leave soon?"

Ah, thought Matthew, this is the "little cousin James" that was Jesus's companion in Egypt!

"--morrow, I fear. Business. But I have heard much about you--in fact, there are a few stirrings as far away as Egypt, would you believe, and not simply among the relatives you have there, either. Not much, you understand, but your name begins to be mentioned now and again. And that was my real motive for speaking to you. You must leave this place for Judea so that you will have an audience for what you do. People do not do great deeds in secret, they want to be noticed. If you are a magician, you must go show yourself to the world."

"If," thought Matthew. Clearly, another skeptic. They must all be so, or they would be his followers.

The others nodded, and the first one said, "The Festival of the Booths is coming. You could come down with us. We would be delighted to have you."

Jesus smiled at them, and said, "Thank you for your concern, Joses--to all of you," with a special nod at James, "but the right time has not come for me yet. For you, any time would be a good time, because the world does not hate you. But the fact is that it hates me, because what I do proves to it that its deeds are evil."

James tried to make a demurrer, and Jesus answered his thought, "No, I am deadly serious. You go down to the festival; I cannot accompany you, I am afraid. It might be dangerous."

They made polite noises of insistence, but they were short-lived. The rumors of Jesus's wild statements had doubtless reached them, and these last remarks of his tended more than anything to confirm suspicions that he might indeed be mad.

"Well," said James, "I thought it a good idea to propose it; but I can see that it has already occurred to you, and doubtless you have good and sufficient reason for what you are doing. As to me, of course, I must go and make myself ready for the journey. Some one of these days, we must get together and talk. And if you ever do come down to Alexandria, my house, as always, is open; and you can be sure that I will put in a word in certain circles and see to it that you are well received. From what I have been hearing, if you continue as you have been doing, there will not be a sick person left in Galilee or any of the surrounding countryside."

The others murmured assent, and each found an excuse to leave. They clearly did not know what to make of this new person, for all of his protestations that he had not changed.

Finally, only Jesus' mother remained, greeting all the students, who were overjoyed to see her--especially young John. She walked back with them to the place where they were staying, which was not an encampment this time, but various houses in and around Capernaum. The mother apparently was staying there also, not in Nazareth.

As they walked along, with Mary Magdalene more or less beside her, but with two or three others intervening, Matthew studied Mary's reaction. She was obviously impressed by the--what should one call it? Queenly--dignity the mother had, and her obvious sense that whatever happened was to the good, because Jesus would not allow it to be otherwise.

Matthew wished he had a faith that strong. But after all, she had lived with him for some thirty years--though, he thought, she did not look to be much older than thirty herself. She was one of those women who reach the prime of life and seem to stay there for decades. It was fascinating to contrast her beauty with the striking loveliness of the other Mary. Mary's beauty was all but overwhelming, but beside Jesus's mother, one could see that it was--studied--and her projection of innocence was an act that she had rehearsed so often that it became habitual. Jesus's mother's was simply what she was. That was what explained her. She was what she was; she seemed to reveal her whole self, with nothing whatever to hide; and what she revealed was a soul that glowed, as Joseph had said.