Twenty-Nine

Well, the claim was now unmistakable. Twist and turn as one would, there was no way to construe what Jesus said but that he was in existence before Abraham, and that he was God in existence before Abraham; and that Abraham new it and rejoiced that he would come down in human form to save the world.

From its sin.

To save Nathanael from his pusillanimous vacillations and inaction. And his stupid murderous intentions.

Somehow.

And give him "eternal life," which now seemed to be that he would never die. This was not the afterlife of the Greeks, being absorbed into divinity and losing their human uniqueness; this seemed to mean that each person would stay living forever.

And he had already proved this, had he not, with David and Jairus's daughter, bringing them back to life? They were dead, but not really dead. Perhaps one was alive in a sense even if dead, and could return to one's bodily life. --Could Samuel, for instance?--And those who were alive when the Kingdom came into existence would never have to undergo death.

Would life make sense thus? Perhaps. If the horrible things that happened in this life could be transformed when the Reign of God began.

But how? If Samuel came back to life, there would be the absurdity of a twin who was younger than his twin. And how could he transform what was horrible into what one would rejoice over? How could he transform the death of Samuel into something that Nathanael--and not only Nathanael, but Thomas and his father--would admit was better than if he had lived? That was impossible, was it not? That the horrible events of this life were but steps toward one's cherished goal?

There would be myriads of such absurdities. Well, but if he is God, or God from God, he could devise a way that it could make sense. He evidently thought he could conceive a way for everyone to eat the meat of his body without throwing up, and without destroying it.

It was too much. How could all this be understood? But then, how could all the things that had happened have happened? How could he know what others were thinking and say just what could forestall their stupidity?

Because evidently to murder Judas was stupidity for some incomprehensible reason.

But it would all make sense when the Reign of God began; and if it were to begin, it would be soon, within the year, perhaps within weeks!

And if he was I AM, who created the world for a rational purpose, how could it not be true?

Even if Jesus himself died? Were killed? Crucified? Even if he failed so spectacularly?

Yet, could it be that the failure itself was a step toward a consummation that was even more glorious than anything any of them had been able to imagine--even than his success would have been? He would use the greatest sin of the world to save the world from all of its sins, including that sin against his very self, and in the process make the result better than if his hearers had not sinned in rejecting him.

It boggled the mind. But that had to be what it was all about, and why he did not want Judas killed.

All that was wonderful, if true, but it did not alter the fact that Nathanael was still afraid of everything, not least of himself, and that he had resolved to kill Judas and, in a moment of madness, himself, and that the transformation in his case had been so insignificant that he dared not call himself a student of Jesus, let alone his Emissary. How could he represent Jesus, when he had been intending to violate what Jesus stood for? Not only did he not love his enemy and pray for him, he hated him and wanted him dead. He hated him still.

"Pray, then, for him," said his conscience--and he could not bring himself to do it. "Perhaps," he told himself, "I will not kill him, but how can I pray for him? He is going to betray the greatest man who ever lived! He is going to betray God Himself! God Dear God, let him not do so! That is the best I can do. I am worthless! And I cannot even rid the world of my worthless life!"

Brooding thus, sometimes articulately, but most often simply in a fog of despair, he passed the days that followed, only half attending to what was happening.

Once, he heard Jesus say, "But I am a good shepherd. I know the ones that are mine, and my sheep know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I am ready to give up my life for the sheep." He looked off into the distance, and went on, "And I have other sheep too that do not belong to this flock; I have to shepherd them also, so that they will recognize my voice, and there will be only one flock and one shepherd."

And then he sighed deeply, and said, "And this is why the Father loves me: because I am ready to give up my life, and then take it back again. No one is going to take it from me; I am giving it up of my own free will. I have the right to give it up, and I have the power to take it back; this is the command I have from my Father."

The power to take it back. God grant that this was not a delusion! But if it was, so was "I AM." It was so hard to believe that it was not a delusion! In spite of all the miracles. He had even recently cured a man who had been blind from birth, and there had been a great to-do about it, since the man claimed that Jesus was a man of God, and the Pharisees, who wanted him to be an impostor, excommunicated him for it.

He had to be "I AM." and a voice within him said, "because you want so desperately to believe it. Are not you as deluded as he is?" and he answered himself aloud, "What delusion can make a man blind from birth see? This is no madman."

Perhaps.

Always perhaps.

Ezra, who had not seen him for a while, came up to him one day, and said, "Do you know what that--fiend!--did to Thomas?"

"To Thomas again? What?"

"Thomas was musing, and accidentally bumped into him--or he put himself in Thomas's way. Nothing accidental happens with him."

"You were watching him?"

"David and I have formed a team to keep him constantly in sight. We have been learning much. If I cannot kill him, I can find enough evidence about him so that someone the Master has not forbidden can take up the matter. Perhaps Andrew. Perhaps we can bring him to trial in the Reign of God, if somehow he does not betray Jesus.

But in any case, I saw them talking together for a while, it seemed about the incident of the canteen, and at the end of it, Judas reached in and grabbed that wineskin Thomas keeps in his tunic, and slashed it, spilling everything onto the ground."

"Dear God! He all but killed Thomas!"

"Of course, he claimed he was doing Thomas a favor; that he never drank from it anyway, and kept it as a crutch. Now he would have to trust solely in Jesus."

"Poor Thomas! Poor Thomas!"

"I came very close to killing him at that moment. I cannot bear this; I must leave, at least for a time. I think I will go back to Galilee, to see if I can do something with Thomas's parents, so that he can be reconciled to them. The mother will listen, at least, I am sure."

"That might be some consolation to the poor man. God give you success, Ezra."

"Farewell."

Which left Nathanael again alone with his thoughts. He could not bear to go to Thomas to try to console him. Console! As well be consoled by the angel of death! Perhaps Matthew could help. Another instance in which Nathanael was completely impotent. Why was he walking the earth?

The next day, they went over to Bethany, where Martha was busy preparing the meal, and Lazarus was not present, having told Martha to inform Jesus that pressing business had kept him in Jerusalem that night

Thomas was there, and so were the other students, all of them mirrors, it seemed, of the way Nathanael felt. He saw Matthew looking for Mary; but something else had happened to him also; it was not simply that he had been deprived of his beloved--Incredible! One's beloved the most notorious prostitute in the country!--but something else had taken away his reason for living also.

Perhaps that was what was required. If one was to be a true follower of Jesus, one had--as he had said! As he had said in so many words!--to abandon his very self, and become nothing, and live only for Jesus. One had to give up everything that made life meaningful, so that Jesus alone would make one's life meaningful.

It was too much. He could not do it. No one could.

And then Mary emerged. She, too, had evidently had to give up everything that made her life meaningful; and even without Martha's and Lazarus's knowing who she was, she now was in as great a despair as Nathanael, or Thomas, or Matthew--or all the rest of them. "We must be making progress," said Nathanael to himself with bitter irony. "We are taking up our crosses daily--that horrible cross which is one's very self! And she is only carrying it. Wait till they find out who she is! Then the meaning of the cross will be clear to her!"

Nathanael shuddered to think what it would be like when he was hanging on his own cross. God grant that it was no more than a metaphorical one, and he would not literally be hanging there beside Jesus!

Jesus was talking with Mary on a bench, in full sight of everyone, but it was so clearly personal that no one went near. Mary said practically nothing, making only laconic answers. Suddenly, Martha came out and said, in a voice clearly meant to be overheard by everyone, "Master, does it not concern you that my sister has left me alone to take care of waiting upon you?"

"Martha, Martha," said Jesus. "So much is important to you, and you have so much on your mind. But there is only one thing that matters. Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken away from her."

Martha looked indignantly at the two of them, and marched back into the house, muttering (also for all to hear) that unless someone took the worse part, those who chose the better part would do so on empty stomachs. Jesus laughed, and resumed his conversation. Nathanael also laughed at the insertion of a bit of comedy into what was obviously Mary's catastrophe.

Mary then began to be more and more earnest, and finally said aloud, "Stop! Stop!" covering her ears.

"Mary, Mary," said Jesus audibly, "you worry too much."

"Master," she pleaded, "listen to me! I am no one, I am dirt, but listen to me! If you say such things in public, they will kill you!"

"I know. It does not matter."

"It matters to me!" she almost shouted.

How desperately it mattered to Nathanael! How could it not matter? And how could it not matter to Jesus? He did not understand it at all!

Mary said again in a loud voice, "I do not want to be chosen!"

Nor did Nathanael. But what could either of them do? They did not choose Jesus; he chose them, for some--he hoped rational--purpose that would come to light eventually.

Perhaps.

They returned to Galilee after that, and Nathanael did not see Ezra for a while. He assumed that he was busy spying on Judas, which to Nathanael was an exercise in futility. Jesus did know what he was doing--though no one else could make head or tail of it--and any "evidence" Ezra uncovered would make no difference. Indeed, Jesus doubtless knew more than Ezra would ever discover.

Perhaps what he was trying to do was give Judas the chance to change his way of thinking--to abandon his theories about Jesus--and be saved. What he wanted was for everyone to be saved, even his bitterest enemies.

Though while he was there in Galilee this time, he minced no words about his enemies.

"You are doomed, you hypocrite Scripture scholars and Pharisees! You lock people out of the Kingdom of God! You do not go in yourselves and will not let anyone else in either! You travel over sea and land to make one convert, and when you have made one, you turn him into twice as much of a son of hell as you are!

"You are doomed, you blind guides! You wash the outsides of your cups and plates, but inside they are full of graft and corruption! Blind Pharisees! Clean the insides of your cups and plates first, so the outside will be clean!"

It gave Nathanael a certain ironic satisfaction to hear this, in one sense; but it made it clear that the authorities, who were mainly Pharisees, were not won over by such talk. The "gentle, kind Jesus," if he ever existed, had changed. "Do not think I have come to bring peace on the earth," he said once. "I came to bring a sword, not peace!" and he told how families would split into enmity because of him.

And yet, he was to save the world from its sins. But it would evidently be in spite of itself.

Ezra appeared beside him at one point, and said, "I bring you at least some good news in this descent into destruction. I went to the house to see how things were, and the cottage is closed. I suppose if we wanted, we could go back there and live."

"You mean they are living together?"

"They are. And she told me that for the most part, he treats her as he did when they were first married. She looks twenty years younger."

"Thank God! I may have done something with my worthless life after all!"

"It is anything but worthless, Bartholomew. Of course, it is not all roses--or if it is roses, there are thorns there, which she did not mention, but Rachel did. He forgets himself from time to time. But she said that once or twice he has even apologized."

"A miracle!"

"Apparently, it was worth the anguish. I would not try to see him, however. From what I saw, he would--at least now--die rather than admit that he actually learned something from you. He 'explains' it by the fact that she has finally come to her senses."

"Of course he would. But frankly, I am not over-eager to see him myself. But I rejoice nonetheless. Hallelujah!"

"Praise God indeed. Praise Jesus!"

"Amen!"

"But I also have sad news. I was also here to help reconcile Thomas with his parents. And he is reconciled with his mother, but, though he cured his father as you cured your mother--."

"No!"

"Yes, indeed. His father had fallen into the very trap Thomas had fallen into, and was almost as far down into the pit--though his mother was keeping him clean. Thomas went and cured him, being sent, as you were, by Jesus; but when he recovered consciousness, he screamed at him and drove him away."

"Dear God! After all he has been through! Do you think he will begin drinking again himself?"

"Oh, no; not after he saw his father. If he had had any thought of it, that drove it completely from his mind."

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Well, I have a little idea. There is one thing that might prevent the father from slipping back. They know me and for some reason like me, and listen to me. I will suggest to him that if he continues drinking, he is imitating Thomas!"

"Dear God!"

"You see, he has no idea that that is what he is doing to himself; and, I regret to say, he loathes the very thought of Thomas. I think it might shock him into staying sober."

"What an upside-down world we live in!"

"It is that."

"Thomas can only succeed in curing his father if the father hates him enough to stop drinking from spite! And, though in my blundering way, I managed to cure my mother and bring them together, I too must be exiled from them. What could ever make my father look upon me again?"

"Well, I suspect it is not completely hopeless in either case."

"I see no way out of it."

"I see no way out of most of the mess each of us has made of our lives; but I think he does. He told Thomas to pay attention to what happens to Lazarus."

"Whatever does that mean?"

"I know not. But remember, Lazarus is still ignorant of who Mary is--or perhaps not, now, if Chuza's Joanna has had a chance to talk to him."

"Dear heaven, do you think she has?"

"I would not put it past her. She has no malice, the poor thing, but she blurts whatever comes into her head. And she must be bursting with the news."

"If Jesus can solve this problem, then I can believe he can do anything, and that everything will come out right in the end!"

"It is very hard to believe in him, is it not, in spite of all the evidence. One keeps saying to oneself, 'It is too good to be true,' especially when one sees that things do not immediately right themselves."

"Well, we can but go on. What else can we do?"

"Trust."

Nathanael laughed. Then he said, "Poor Thomas!"