by Bodie Thoene
Avel stroked the sparrow on Emet’s shoulder, then smiled up at me. “He’s talking to us, boys.”
I nodded.
Jesus continued, “There’ll be great tribulation, unlike anything ever, from the beginning of the world until now, and never to be equaled again.”
My stomach churned as he described the terrible days that will come before the end of the world.
“The sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken. At that time the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky, and all the nations of the earth will mourn. They’ll see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with great power and glory. And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other . . . when you see these things, you know that it is near. Right at the door.
“I tell you, the generation that sees these things will not pass away until all these things have happened. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.
“No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Before the Flood, people were eating and drinking and marrying up to the day Noah entered the ark. And they didn’t know what would happen until the Flood came and took them all away. That’s how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field. One will be taken and the other left behind. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill. One will be taken and the other left. So pay attention! Keep watch! You don’t know what day your Lord will come . . .”10
Jesus spoke to us for a long time about his final return to Jerusalem and the end of the world.
The sun sank low in the western horizon as his teaching finally came to an end, and the last of our questions were answered. I knew he was not only speaking to us that day, but to those who would come after us. There were some among us who listened with disappointment.
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me in. I needed clothes, and you clothed me. I was sick and you looked after me. I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
“Then the righteous will ask, ‘When did we do these things for you?’
“And the King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth: whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ ”11
The sun was setting, but I felt he spoke to me. “Even if all you have to give in my name is a cup of cold water, you will not lose your reward.”
He finished teaching us and said quietly, “As you know, the Passover is in two days. And the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.”12
Some among the women began to weep quietly. Other disciples argued with him. The one named Judas turned his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied Jesus. It was right then that I was sure it had been Judas whom we had seen outside the door of the Chamber of Hewn Stone.
Jesus and Judas locked eyes with a hard look. I knew there was no event to come that would surprise the Lord. The Cup of Joseph, which I had believed contained such hope, had taken on a new and tragic meaning.
A heaviness hung over us all as Jesus departed for Bethany with his disciples.
I returned to Jerusalem with the Sparrows to await my final instructions from the Lord.
Chapter 35
In the morning I awakened to my mother’s voice outside in front of the new shop. She was singing to the rhythm of her loom shuttle:
“He is mighty.
He is mighty!
May he soon rebuild his house.
Speedily, speedily,
and in our days!”
I sat up from my bed.
Hallelujah was already at the window. “Listen to our new mother sing!” Hallelujah said with awe in his tone. “Look! Look!”
Red rubbed his face. “Hallelujah, what’s happening?”
I did not wait for Hallelujah’s reply. I rushed to the window, and the other boys crammed in around me. A crowd of people twenty deep was in front of the new shop. There was my mother, singing and weaving, as the brand-new sign was being hung above the door by a workman on a ladder.
“He is distinguished;
he is great.
He is exalted!
May he come soon
and rebuild his house.
Speedily, speedily,
and in our days, soon!
God, rebuild.
God, rebuild.
God, rebuild your house, soon!”
For a moment the early-morning sun glinted on the red and gold gilded letters of the sign.
“What’s it say?” asked Timothy, who could not read.
Red demanded, “Does anybody know what it says?
The brothers chimed in, “BEIT. ‘House.’ I can’t read the rest.”
“The first word is house,” I agreed.
Hallelujah shook his head in wonder. “What colors are those? Somebody tell me the names of the colors on the sign.”
“Hallelujah, look! Red is the color, just like the color of Red’s hair.”
“And gold is the color like the sun.”
Hallelujah breathed a long sign of approval. “Ahh . . .”
Timothy asked me, “But what’s the sign say, Nehemiah? You can read. Tell us!”
I was lost for a moment in the words of the song as my mother sang. The crowd grew larger as her voice drew them. “Rebuild! Rebuild.”
I answered, “The letters in gold on the new sign spell BEIT TALLITOT. ‘House of Prayer Shawls.’ ”
Someone in the crowd called, “House of Prayer. But where are the shawls?”
Another cried, “I have come all the way from Cyprus and was told by my brother to bring him one like our grandfather bought from this shop. But where are they?”
As Mama’s song came to an end, my father stepped forward, smiling. He raised his hands high to silence the questions. “The House of Prayer Shawls is once again open! Look! The most beautiful tallitot in the world will be on the shelves and available this afternoon.”
All heads turned to scan the Street of the Weavers. At the bottom of the lane, I spotted my three brothers with a string of a dozen donkeys loaded with baskets. Ezra was in the lead. Beni panted at his heels.
I shouted, “Ezra! Beni!”
My dog barked and ran ahead. Ezra waved. “We’ve got them!” he shouted. “Father sent us to Joppa and to the house of every relative to collect them. Look—we’ve brought them!”
A cheer went up from all the people. We boys rushed from the rented house to swarm around my brothers to help unload the cargo and carry prayer shawls, Shabbat tablecloths, and scarves to fill the shelves.
“Sometimes miracles happen,” Papa said as Mama embraced him. He instructed my elder brothers to wash and eat and then return to help stock the shop for what would surely be a rush of customers.
My mother clasped Papa’s hand and bounded up the stairs of our new home.
At Ezra’s command, Beni lay obediently outside on the threshold like a sentinel.
I followed Mama and Papa upstairs.
“The Lord has rebuilt,” Mama whispered. They stood before the painting my father had commissioned for our large room above the shop. “The flowers. The Great White Hart. The colors in the water. Perfection, Lamsa. As it must have been . . . our mountains as they were when Eden was still there.”
Papa and Rabbi Kagba gathered the young Sparrows, who had never experienced a proper Passover meal.
“There is no leaven in this house . . . nothing to clean out,” Rabbi Kagba taught. “Leaven represents sin in the heart of men. Like a spot of yeast goes through all the dough, a little bit of sin will spread through a man’s heart. That’s why for the Feast of Unleavened Bread we sweep our houses and clean out every crumb. In the same way we sweep our lives clean of every crumb of sin.” The old man leveled his gaze on us. Red blushed as he asked, “Boys? Have you any sin in your life? Confess it now and sweep clean your inner house. Make your heart ready for the coming of the Lord. For he truly is coming!”
Red blurted eagerly, “Oh, Rabbi, I can tell you! I am crammed full of leaven and that’s a fact. Stale bread, that’s me. Feed me to the birds! I’m so full of yeast and sin like no boy you ever met. My fare has been stolen bread and apples and such at least once a week from the souk. If I counted the dried apricots I have crammed in my pockets. There’s never, never enough to eat and so . . .”
Rabbi Kagba put a hand on Red’s arm. “And so, your heart you have swept clean. You will never steal so much as a single apricot again. And now, my boys, we begin new life in a brand-new house.”
Papa concurred. “So, boys, that is why we have not broken bread in our new house before now. No crumbs of leavened bread. We have reserved sharing our first supper in the upper room for this Passover . . . the Feast of Unleavened Bread.”
As workmen carried furniture up the steps, I sat on the window ledge and watched. Mama stood before the painting with her arms crossed, head tilted, and chin slightly raised like a little girl in awe. She studied every detail, each brushstroke and color of Eden. Leaning very close, she gazed into the hart’s amber eyes and asked me, “Is this what he looks like up close, Nehi?”
“Yes,” I replied. “When I look at him, it’s like seeing an old friend. Mama, he is waiting for Messiah to redeem the world, just as we are.”
Mama hung red curtains she had woven around the window, framing the glory of the Temple Mount. A long table of polished, striped acacia wood was the centerpiece. She had been weaving the fabric for red and gold cushions for many weeks. Now the pillows were covered, and I helped her carry them upstairs.
“When Jesus is King,” she said with satisfaction, “my dream is that he may one day eat supper with his disciples right here in our upper room. I would cook for him and, with strong, steady legs, climb these stairs and place the steaming platters in front of him.”
I did not tell her the sorrows I had seen in my vision, or what Jesus had said about being crucified. I think she would not have believed me anyway. Who could imagine such a thing coming true? She would have said my vision was only a bad dream brought on by exhaustion. She would have said that Jesus was just telling another parable. Perhaps he only meant to teach us something important.
But I was certain of what I had seen, and I couldn’t guess what the lesson of such a parable could be.
Mama gathered us boys, and calling the Sparrows her sons, we went to the potter’s shop together. After what seemed like hours, she selected and purchased new dishes, matching clay cups, serving platters and trays, painted with vines and clusters of grapes. Red, Timothy, Jesse, Obed, Hallelujah, and I helped carry the crockery home in a cheerful procession. The boys had eaten from broken shards of pottery, but never from unbroken plates.
Red declared he would feel like he was the richest boy in the world if only he could ever eat one meal from such finery.
My mother gazed at him with amazement. “Well, it’s all for you! This Passover! Such a meal we will share here!”
So the room was ready for our first supper.
The Day of Preparation dawned. The Sparrows and I rose early and went with Papa and Rabbi Kagba to select a lamb. I never liked this part of the Passover tradition. The choosing of an innocent, perfect lamb for sacrifice always seemed a sad thing to me. Even in our mountains, where lambs from my father’s flocks were plentiful.
In Jerusalem the stock pens were crowded with tens of thousands of lambs born and raised in Bethlehem. They were set aside for the very purpose of dying as sin offerings.
Papa knew what was good and best and better among the pens of milling sheep. He examined them all and finally picked an animal from the lambs that had not yet been washed. It was his intention that the Sparrows would learn to wash it and brush it, using the day to prepare it for slaughter. By the end of that time, the boys would be attached to it.
In this way they would learn the hard lesson that the sin of all men required the atoning death of a gentle and beautiful creature that knew nothing of sin. It was a hard lesson to learn. I knew that firsthand. I recalled vividly the sadness and shock I’d experienced when the innocent lamb had died in my dog Beni’s place. It was far different in my mountains, when we lived our days with the sheep, than simply purchasing a chunk of meat in the city marketplace.
While Papa taught the Sparrows something about the care and feeding of lambs, Rabbi Kagba and I set out together to draw water from the well to wash it.
Hand-over-hand I helped pull up the bucket and pour it into the ceremonial jar. Rabbi Kagba balanced it on his shoulder, and we headed back toward home.
We had just turned the corner of our street when I spotted Peter and James walking toward us.
I waved. “Shalom! Peter! James!”
“Look!” Peter’s brooding face broke into a smile. “It’s Nehemiah and the rabbi.”
“Shalom,” Rabbi Kagba greeted them. “Is everything well with your master?”
“Aye.” Peter nodded. “Jesus sent us to find you—that is, I think he meant you. He told us to come to the city. He said a man carrying water would meet us and . . . we’re to follow you.”
My teacher’s eyes misted with emotion. “The first supper . . . ah, yes. So it will be as I dreamed it would be. Come along, then. Follow us.”
My father knelt in the dirt as we approached. The boys stroked the baby lamb and spoke kindly to it as boys often speak gentle words to small, dumb creatures. The lamb was sitting across Red’s lap. It laid its head against his shoulder and closed its eyes.
Papa stood as Peter and James approached. “Shalom, brothers. Is your master well?”
“He is well and sends his greetings.”
“Jesus is coming into Jerusalem for Passover?” my father asked. “In spite of everything?”
“He is,” James replied. “With the twelve of us.”
Peter added, “The teacher asks if the room is ready so he can eat Passover with his disciples?”
My father’s face lit with understanding. “I have just the place for your master. The upper room in my new house. Everything new and ready—no meal ever before eaten there. Please, if you will do me the honor. I’m unworthy that Jesus should enter under my roof, but if the Lord will only come and bring his disciples here to my new house, you’ll see. New dishes and cups. Please, yes, the table is ready. The room is prepared. If Jesus will eat the first supper here beneath the roof of my house, then my house and my family will be blessed forever.”
“He told us you would say that.” James’s eyes were somber, not like a man looking forward to a celebration. “Yes. Jesus will come to your house for dinner this evening.”
My thoughts flew to Joseph’s silver chalice. Not only would I present it to Jesus tonight, he would take his first drink from it in the upper room of my home!
Peter said to me, “And he told me, ‘Nehemiah will have the cup ready.’ I don’t know what cup he means, boy, but I suppose he knows . . . and you know, Nehemiah?”
I nodded but did not speak. Peter�
��s gruff voice and wild looks somehow always caused me to lose my voice.
My father embraced James. “You can’t imagine the joy! After my wife was healed—she would walk a thousand miles to fix a meal for Jesus. It’s her dream to feed him. Well, that’s a woman for you. And her prayer! She mentioned it again only this morning.” He mimicked my mother’s voice, “If only I could cook a meal for Jesus!”
Peter said, “I heard she’s a good cook.”
Papa exclaimed, “Such a cook she is! But I promise if she never cooked another meal, she wants only to cook supper for Jesus. Could there be such an honor? Serving Jesus his Passover supper as he prepares to enter into his kingdom?”
“Why am I surprised?” Peter asked. “So, it’s settled. I suppose it was always settled. We just didn’t know the details—upper room of the weaver’s shop. Thank you very much. Tell your wife thanks as well. And now Jesus has sent us fishermen to select a lamb. I’m not very good at it. I get attached to the little things before I carry them home.”
Papa put a hand on Peter’s arm. “No, please. I am a shepherd and the son of a shepherd. This morning I selected the best lamb of the flock from Bethlehem. My boys are washing its fleece right now. What an honor it would be if Jesus and his close friends would accept the lamb I had intended to be offered for my family. If Jesus would accept the sacrifice from my hands for his good and the good of his friends, even though I’m not worthy for him to enter under my roof, then I’ll be doubly blessed!”
The arrangement pleased everyone and sent my mother spinning with joy. Jesus the Lord, her Healer and Redeemer, was coming to bless her upper room by breaking bread there.
A steady stream of pilgrims flooded the shop to purchase prayer shawls as Mama prepared the supper for our special guests.
My three elder brothers manned the counters for two hours and then the shop was closed as preparation for Jesus’ arrival continued.
It was mid-afternoon when Mama brought me in to the back room. Everything smelled of clean woolen fabric, fresh paint, and newly sanded wood. The shelves were stocked with fabrics made famous by the weavers of my family. I felt proud.
