Twenty-Four

'But there is something else about what he says that concerns me more than this," broke in Andrew. The others looked at him.

"What is that?" asked Mary.

"Some of the things he tells us we should do make no sense. True, we should forgive our enemies, if we wish to be forgiven ourselves. It also makes sense to love one's neighbor as oneself. Fine. But why give your tunic to a person who steals your cloak? If your cloak is gone, you need it more than he. And he stole it, after all. Why reward him? Why go two stadia with a person who has forced you against your will to go one? I can see forgiving my enemies, but why do them favors?"

"Does he say that?" asked Mary of Matthew.

"Oh, yes," he answered. "He said it in so many words, in fact, even before he started telling stories."

"No wonder, then, that he put things into stories. It does not sound fair."

"That is the point," said Andrew. "If I am no better than anyone else, I do not see why I should consider that I am worse. Remember that story he told the other day, Matthew, about the people the landowner hired to work in the vineyard? I do not see that at all."

"What story was that?" asked Mary.

"It was about a man going to hire harvest workers by the day," said Matthew. "He went out in the morning into the marketplace where the day-workers were waiting to be hired, and hired all the people theree for a denarius apiece. And--"

"Wait. What was wrong with that? That is a fair wage."

"That is not the problem!" said Andrew, growing heated. "He went out in the middle of the morning, and at noon, and in the middle of the afternoon--and even an hour before day's end--and hired more workers he found and told them he would pay them. And then when he did pay them, he gave each of them a denarius!"

"Even the people who worked only one hour?"

"He even paid them first! So that the others could see it! Now you can say, as Philip did, that they were all treated equally, because they all got the same wage, but that is not my idea of equality! All I can say is that if I were one of the ones who had slaved the whole day long and received no more than someone who spent only an hour at it, I would resent it, and rightly so! You cannot convince me that I had no right to resent it!"

"Well, now," said Matthew, "he did ask those people what their problem was, because they had, after all, agreed to work for a day for a normal day's wage."

"Yes," said Thomas, "but Andrew has a point. What difference does that make? It is still the case that one person worked twelve hours for the same wages that another worked only one hour for,"

"Yes, but supposing he had hired no one else. Would they have complained about their wages when he paid them?"

"Of course not," said Andrew, "but--"

""Well, then."

"Well then what? He did hire others! And he paid them the same!"

"But how are the ones he hired first harmed because he gave them a fair wage?"

"Because they were not treated fairly! They did more work and yet received no more for it!"

"But all that says, Andrew, is that he treated others with special generosity. It does not say that he treated anyone badly. They received a just day's pay for a day's work."

"You honestly do not see the problem?"

"I see it," said Thomas. "And I am inclined to agree. There must be a different meaning hidden here somehow. Perhaps he is saying that we all will receive the same reward for our labors after we die, but it will be so much greater than anything we could have desired that it will make no difference."

"I do not see it. I do not see how it could make no difference."

"In my case," said Matthew, "I can see that you see a problem, and I see what it is. And perhaps Thomas's solution is correct. But it seems to me that the point is that there is no injustice unless one compares oneself with others--and that is evidently what the story says. Do you have a problem, Thomas, with the fact that you are not as strong as Andrew?"

"What has that to do with it?" said Thomas.

"Thomas, it has everything to do with it. The Master in heaven--the Father, to use his terms--has not made us equal; but if we have what we need, how are we harmed if others are more gifted?"

"But," said Andrew, "this is not gifts; he was speaking of what one earns from working! I care not if Nathanael here, or even Judas, is more intelligent than I; I care nothing that Zacchaeus, or Lazarus of Bethany, or--or you when you had it--have more money than I. What use have I for money? It is the principle of the thing!"

"Well, if you care nothing that others have more than you, why do you resent it if they receive more?"

"I tell you, it makes no difference to me what they have! What I resent is the fact that people are not being treated equally."

"And what I am asking is why, if in practice it means that they get something that you apparently do not want anyway?"

"Because they are no better than I!"

"Ah, I think we are coming to the point, Andrew. Who says that having things makes one person better than another?"

Andrew looked at him with disgust. "Of course, how could anyone who would stoop to tax-collecting be expected to understand what I am saying?"

Matthew's face flushed. "Oh, I understand very well, my young friend. Very well. In fact, somewhat better than you, if I may venture an opinion. But what you say simply proves my point--and, I suspect very strongly, the point the Master was trying to make. I had all the 'wages' any man could ask for, and with precious little effort; and you obviously think it did not make me any better than you. It is quite clear, in fact, that you consider yourself better than I. And you may well be; it makes not the slightest difference to me. But your real problem does not lie in the fact that you consider everyone to be equal; it is that you really consider yourself better than others. You will condescend to be treated equally; but it is intolerable if you think someone else is preferred to yourself."

Without a word, Andrew rose and strode away from them. Nathanael, who had been watching in silence all this time, said, "You are, of course, perfectly correct, Matthew. It is another instance of the kind of thing I was speaking of." And he too rose, bowed to Mary, and also left.

But here was more grist for his mill. Jesus cared for each person individually, and each person was to look on himself individually, not compare himself with others. He certainly said that we were not to sit in judgment over others, that we should take the board out of our own eye before we presumed to take the sliver out of another's. Each person's virtue or vice was between himself and God--Jesus, if you will--and not a matter for comparison with others.

And this apparently went for other differences. We were each endowed differently: some, like Andrew, with great strength, some, like Judas with great intelligence and good looks, and some with practically none of these gifts. And some, Nathanael thought, like myself, with riches, and many without. And it was a blessing to be poor.

How, a blessing? There was the obvious answer that it made one long for the Reign of God. But it was also true that it did not allow one to take advantage of others; one had to trust in God, not in oneself. Trust: there was the word again. And did not Jesus say, "Do not be worried about what you are to eat or what you are to wear. Your Father knows you need all this. Concern yourself with the Reign of God, and all of it will be supplied."

Trust.

But it was all beginning to make sense; what seemed so irrational had reason after all. Nathanael thought that it was definitely true that he was in the right place.

Nathanael did not often engage in conversations, as he had with Andrew and Matthew; he preferred to listen in, to glean what he could without the give-and-take joining in involved. One day, he noticed Matthew and Judas in earnest colloquy, with Mary listening in again, silently this time. Judas seemed to act as if she were not there. Nathanael walked behind some bushes and listened, as Judas was saying, "It is unthinkable. God is not that sort of thing. Those gods do not exist and cannot exist. Our God is the only God there is, and he is a spirit, not a male in heat."

"Of course. But then, what are you driving at?"

"Simply that, since he believes that he is God--God the Son, if you will, since he does not believe he is some kind of hero like Hercules; he knows too much about God for that--he is looking for the right moment to inform people of it, and some day, he will find it, and the people . . . will kill him. He foresees it himself."

"But this is terrible! Dreadful!" said Matthew.

"It is tragic! He is without question the greatest man, and the holiest man, who ever lived. No one has ever been in closer contact with God; but the very source of his greatness is destroying him, little by little, every day. I know not what to do about it; as I said, I have not uttered a syllable of my fears until today. If I were to so much as suggest it to anyone but you, I would probably be killed myself!"

"I cannot believe it."

"I fear that you will not have to, and quite soon. Now that I have pointed it out to you, you will see it happen yourself. It is like one of those Greek dramas. His statements about himself are becoming wilder and wilder, as he thinks we are more and more prepared by his wonderful deeds to accept them; and eventually, he will say something no one can accept--something so outrageous that no sane person can even listen to it--and he will be denounced to the Council. I know; I am a priest myself, remember, and I know that they are already looking for something that will remove him from bothering them. His lack of meticulousness about the Sabbath does not endear himself to them, especially when he makes them look foolish for objecting to it."

"So you think that he will finally say something openly blasphemous."

"I do, because he will not think it blasphemy, because he will sincerely believe it to be true. And once he says it, they will bring him to trial, and he will be too honest to deny the charge, precisely because he believes it to be true--and believes it sincerely, since he is mad. And he will die."

"You mean he will literally be crucified?"

"I fear so. Unless--unless the Power that courses through him gives him some spectacular means of escape at the crucial moment. But in a way, that might be worse, because then he will have won the conflict with the authorities, and we will be ruled from then on by a man who is convinced that he is God. But as I say, the Power, I think, enables him to save others; but I do not think it will be effective if he turns it upon himself. You see, what I consider inevitable is that the Council will find some way to twist what he says into sedition against Rome--and this will be simple if he lets Simon the Revolutionary have his way to the least extent--and once Rome comes on the stage, then it will be out of our hands, and all the force of the whole far-flung empire will be against him. He sees this too; because after all, he is saying that he will be crucified, and we do not crucify people. Yes, you will see him hanging on a cross."

"No!"

"He has said so in so many words."

"But he keeps adding that he will come back to life on the third day afterward, like Jonah."

"Ah, well, of course, he would come back if he were really God, to prove that this is what he is. But . . ."

"No! No! No! It cannot be! You are mistaken!"

"I am sorry Matthew. You have no idea how sorry. Perhaps I should not have told you."

The conversation seemed to be ending, and so Nathanael walked away before they could notice him. So Judas clung to his theory that God was a "power" that flowed through Jesus somehow, and that Jesus's statements which seemed to indicate that he thought that he was God were signs that the power was driving him mad--and therefore, he would say something outrageous, and be denounced and crucified--and not come to life on the third day, because he was not God, but a madman that the Power that "emanated Itself" into the universe happened to overwhelm, and would then discard.

It was possible; it was even plausible, if one did not consider the miracles too closely. And what of Mary, with the demons inside her? These were "powers" also--spirits--but they had personalities and conversed with Jesus, cowered before him as the Son of the Most High God. No, the question was not whether Jesus was mad, but whether Judas were reasoning himself out of being a follower. Nathanael could not see how anyone could believe what Judas believed and continue to follow Jesus.

This occupied him for several of his nightly walks, which he had rather begun to enjoy lately; the dark held very little terror for him after all these--months now, he realized--that he had been doing it. The quiet and peace of the woods now soothed his soul, and made his mind clearer. He almost laughed at himself that he had had a deadly fear of such a simple thing as darkness.

He looked over to his left with a start, a shock suddenly going right through his body, at a shadow a little distance away that seemed to move, and then realized that it was Ezra, almost totally invisible, except when he passed into a patch of moonlight. He smiled at how soon his complacency was shattered by nothing. Evidently Ezra liked walking in the dark woods also.

But as he watched him, he seemed to have a purpose of some sort--and then he saw Judas ahead of him on the narrow path. And he was headed toward Mary--and was that not Matthew off in the distance, watching her? The woods were crowded this night, it seemed.

And Judas walked by her as if he did not see her, brushing lightly against her back. She reacted, but did not turn around immediately.

Both Ezra and Matthew noticed this. It could easily have been accidental; it was such a light touch that perhaps Judas did not even advert to it. and Mary, when she turned, looked in the direction of Judas, as if to follow him; but then thought better of it.

It could have been accidental, but the one he touched was Mary, the famous prostitute who was perhaps not totally reformed. It gave one pause.

He decided to follow Judas to see if he went on and then paused, waiting for her; and almost laughed at the little procession behind Judas: Matthew, Ezra, and then himself. They were all so intent on Judas that they did not see each other or him.

But the really interesting thing was that young John happened to be standing, looking at the stars in an opening in the trees, when Judas did exactly the same thing to him. John spun around, his fist clenched, but when Judas went on as if he had not noticed that he had touched him, he looked at him for a few moments, and then went his own way. The other two took as careful note as Nathanael did. Either Judas was totally lost in thought, or it was deliberate.

What was happening? Had Judas become disillusioned with Jesus because he was not acting according to Judas's notion of the way to ingratiate himself with the Pharisees, and so he was trying to--what? Seduce Mary, and John? Mary probably needed little seduction, but why John, of all people? Or was he trying to provoke John? There was something there, but Nathanael could not fathom what it was.

Given what he had heard earlier, it seemed that Judas could bear watching. Ezra also seemed to think so, though Matthew's part in this night's spy-session was probably because he was watching Mary longingly. He seemed captivated by her, though as far as Nathanael could see, she gave him no encouragement in the woman-man department; she treated him like an old uncle, something which, if he was interested, must have galled him intensely.

There was much going on under the surface in this little group.