Haran said:
“Something lives in you...your mother has called my attention to it,an inner voice. When I heard you declaim in the synagogue I perceivedit.”
So, it is my privilege to help, merge dream and fulfillment: Ibelieve it is a privilege no other man has had: I am the husbandman.
Come unto me ye who labor and are heavy laden and I willgive you rest...suffer the little children to come...
Tonight I see the world shining in their eyes; I hear hope in theirprattle.
Tent
Shevat 12
Years ago I experienced the greatness of the Sinai desert, its cragsand dunes, the heat and cold. I came to understand its desolation,its loneliness, its calm and fury. Now, during these troubled times,I long to return to the Sinai...have a lizard sit beside me, mystraw-covered basket filled with golden dates.
In the Sinai I perfected my Greek to a greater extent and studied theclassical Hebrew until it came easily. The history of man became animportant part of my meditations. Silence and the simoom became partof those devotions.
A tiny plant sprouted outside my tent and withstood the heat, coldand winds. It was my companion and incentive, a little calendar inleaves.
I found the same plant growing at Qumran, behind the monastery. WhileI studied there it survived several sand storms.
Locusts, dates, bread, honey—the wilderness taught me the true tasteof food. During the months since the wilderness I have eaten well,too well, but the taste is lacking.
I have not thought as clearly as I thought when unencumbered by men.There, each morning was mine, each evening was mine. Worship was asnatural as breathing.
My tent flaps billowed. They were pinned back every night by thestars. Heat and thirst were often there yet a sense of praise wasforemost. Wonderment was on top of a dune. As I slept a mirage mightcome and bathe me in its cool water.
I slept on my boyhood blanket, one woven by my mother. She wove itwhen I was ten.
Nazareth
Shevat 15
I am leaving Nazareth—leaving home.
It is farewell to friends and places, all I have loved. Only inmemory will I walk along the orchard creek and hunt for crayfish,think and stare as a boy thinks and stares. I had several pals... Wehad niches in cliffs where we often hid. We had an old fig we likedto climb; there was a cave where we lit fires. We found menhirs anddolmen—strange, strange things! In Galilee we had a stout little boatand we’d drift, drop anchor, fish for chromis and watch the pelicans.
There’s a feeling to my Nazareth: the stars are brighter there, thesun seems a little bigger, the wind a little cooler. How good it wasto turn a corner and think: Mama’s home...supper is almostready...Papa’s working in his shop.
Nazareth
Shevat 20
Today was cool and windy.
I visited Simeon. I visited Mark. I visited Jude. I called on thecaptain, who has been transferred to Nazareth. His son sat in my lapa while. I did not say good-bye although I lingered at each place. Iwanted to feel the peace of each place and keep it with me. I did notneed to talk much. Being with friends was all I asked.
Oh, how the wind blew me along, flapping my cloak, flapping the olivebranches, the weeds and the papyrus.
How hard it is to write.
Nazareth
Before I left home Father displayed the gifts of the Magi on his workbench, first removing his tools and shavings. He locked the door andlit two candles. Mother—so excited—seemed to be seeing the star asshe handled the gifts.
“They haven’t changed... Joseph, you’ve taken good care of them! Oh,they’re so beautiful!”
And she knelt in the sawdust, the gold cup in her hands, its jewelsredder than I had remembered. I had forgotten the gifts were sobeautiful.
“Where have you kept them...in the synagogue? The geniza?” I asked.
Father nodded, frowning.
“We have decided to present them to the elders...tomorrow...at themeeting. They’ll become the temple possessions. It’s different withyou going away... Mother and I have decided...”
But I wasn’t listening; I was absorbed in Mother’s appreciation asshe handled the gifts, kneeling or half-kneeling, smiling; hershoulders lost some of their age. The myrrh box interested me, itsaroma still evident, its chased lid yet untarnished. Mother liftedthe clasp. The clasp was set with green stones. She called myattention to the ornamented hinges. She held out the gold cup to myfather...
“I wish you hadn’t worried about the gifts,” she said with a sigh.“We ought to have enjoyed them...now we can see them at the temple...Look, Jesus, at this handle...ah, those were strange days inBethlehem... God was with us...”
I loved her for her dreams and sacrifices.
I loved the hints of youth and beauty in her face.
Nazareth
Shevat 25
Tomorrow is my last day here.
As I lay on my pallet I heard rain lash our roof; I heard the wind inthe trees. Then my mind dropped back and I remembered Mother singing,crooning to me, as I lay sick as a boy. I remembered songs in theevening. I heard her laughter as we played jacks. I smelled herbarley bread... I smelled roasting lamb... Father was in hisworkshop, his plane sliding; he was singing. As a child I loved hissinging.
Now, silent, worried, he works in a preoccupied state, bothered byfrequent visitors, concerned about my future. “It is wrong of you togo to Jerusalem, wrong to throw yourself into the hands of yourenemies.”
There will be no more Festivals of Light.
At Nazareth I used to have a pet goat.
Memories... I can not tolerate juvenile memories any longer. I am notan old man. Memories must not impede my ministry.
There must be beauty. Life must have beauty.
Jerusalem
Shevat 29
Thy rod and Thy staff will comfort me...yeah, though Iwalk through the valley of death yet will I be with Thee.
As I walked into Jerusalem I heard those words. It was dusk. Animmense caravan choked the air, camels, drivers, gapers. Again Ithought of Herod and the innocents: city life brings Herod to mind.The Kittim are evident on the main streets: helmets, standards,shields.
A camel sank to the ground beside me, eying me, begging for kindness.Trumpets blared.
Crowds circled the temple, some chanting, some bearing fruit, somewaving palm fronds. Flares burned. On two giant candelabra, perhapseighty feet high, torches smoked, guttered.
Shall I be able to help the people of Jerusalem? Shall I remain? Myloneliness here was so unlike the loneliness of the desert.
I was to meet Judas who was to take me to friends. When he did notcome I bedded down in a booth of branches, with cattle nearby.
I slept and woke to their animal sounds, without dread. Someoneroused the oxen, then the sheep; the beasts wanted to be fed andwatered. Nobody disturbed me. Probably I was considered a herdsman. Idreamed until a child brought me a cup of water: holding it outprettily she asked: “Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” I said.
“My papa is taking care of the oxen.”
Opening my pouch I offered sugared dates to the girl.
I found Judas at the home of a mutual friend. I had never seen him sowell dressed. He drew me aside and gave me money from our treasury.He seemed forlorn. I am told he is having a love affair with thedaughter of Pilate. Marcus, the son of a senator, has describedPilate’s daughter as a beautiful, talented, ruthless woman. Marcusand I sat on a garden bench and he enthused about Jerusalem: “Sounlike Rome, so much more oriental—can it be we are free of ourpenates here?”
That evening I stayed in the house of Leonidas Clibus. My windowswere olive tree windows. Garden paths circled a tiny fountain wheresomeone had tossed fresh oleander blossoms, red blossoms.
A copy of Horace lay on a circular table by my bed; lamps and rugs,hangings and x-shaped Roman chairs, cushions and inlaid boxesbrightened the room. Propped on a cushion I read Horace for hours;when my candles dimmed a slave brought m
e fresh candles and volumesby Lucretius—recent translations.
...What’s this wanton lust for life
To make us tremble in dangers and in doubt?
All men must die and no man can escape.
We turn and turn in the same atmosphere...
I went to sleep preferring the thoughts of Horace: his love ofnature, his fondness for rustic surroundings, his boating on theriver Aufidus, his fishing. He liked to play ball. I could visualizehim, as a boy, when wood pigeons covered him with leaves as he slepton a hillside.
Clibus’ Home
Adar 6
T
here are children here. What priceless looks they give. I love theirdelight in simple things, their warmth, their trust, so obvious, soquick. Truly, theirs is a special kingdom. I am happiest when theyare around me, as they were yesterday in Clibus’ garden. It was abirthday party for his daughter who is six. I told stories as theysat around me. What laughter, giggles. A little boy brought me a toadand put it in my hand, saying:
“It’s for you, Atta.”
Clibus
Of course I miss the great library at Qumran. The beautiful libraryin his home is a fraction of that monastic collection but beardedClibus has invited me—with widespread arms.
A delicate bronze of Minerva stands on a plinth at the window end ofthe narrow room.
A book on my lap, I watched a golden Persian cat steal about, stifflyindependent.
Though I can not read Latin I can understand titles and the names ofauthors and I appreciate handsome volumes, ancient volumes, familytreasures.
Minerva—I used to think of visiting Rome and Athens.
Adar 15
I spoke to a group near the city gate. I was aware that officialswere present, Sadducees.
I saw men dragging a woman, kicking her, letting her fall. She hadbeen caught in adultery. When she was brought to me I suspected atrick. Why should I pass judgment when officials were in the crowd?Authorities wanted me to break the law by passing judgment.
I was shocked by the woman’s fear, her beseeching face. As she stoodby me a soldier hit her with a chain. Men yelled: “Stone her, stoneher!” When a man shoved her to her knees she hid her face in herarms—pretty, a country girl, I thought.
To give myself time to think I wrote on the ground with a stick. Iwrote and obliterated words, watching the crowd and the woman. Ismelled death. It was in the smoke of sacrifices burning in the city.It was in the crowd around me. I had never smelled the death of aperson.
Taking in the street ruffians and the officials I said, in a loudvoice:
“Look at her, at her torn clothes. Do any of you know her? Think. Godeep inside. Think. Let the man who has not sinned throw the firststone. You accuse her...where is the man? Go home, all of you. Haveyou no pity? Remember the commandment: Thou shalt not kill. We arenot animals! Let her go... I repeat, let her go. Go home—all of you!”
I helped the woman to stand. Someone had thrown ashes on her face andI bought water at a shop and washed her face and hands and bought oilfor her cuts and bruises. Matthew found us and brought her food.
“Where can I hide?” she asked us. “What is to become of me? They willcatch me...beat me... Master, master...what shall I do?” Her wordsmixed with sobs.
Matthew and I helped her out of town, beyond the gates. We sent herto the home of Talus where Luke cares for the sick.
I returned to Clibus’ library but I was too disturbed to read. WhileI sat there, the Sayings of Moses spread before me, Affti, Clibus’Egyptian wife, brought a pillow and sat by me. She is as beautiful asMiriam; to have her there was a comfort but her words were notcomforting:
“It isn’t safe for you to preach in Jerusalem... Your faith is forthe little towns and villages where the Romans have less influence ornone at all...
“When James was here a month or so ago he mentioned going to Rome. Doyou wish him to preach your gospel there?”
She went on to urge me to send apostles to Egypt.
“There are more than seventy of you now... I hope you can send two ormore to my country...to preach in the villages...you are neededthere.”
That evening, after dinner, she rapped on my door: she is very tall,very elegant; dressed in an Egyptian gown, she made a little bow, andpresented me with a bronze stylus.
“It will be better than your wooden one,” she said.
While enjoying my stylus someone brought me a dish of lemon paste.
Sadly, more than twenty years have passed since our Nazarethsynagogue acquired a scroll. Our scrolls are in tatters and all areasked to refrain from using them. Learning this, Clibus has offeredseveral scrolls.
“I’ll send two of my men...one to carry the scrolls, the other to seethat the first man doesn’t wander off.”
Perhaps little Nazareth may have a worthwhile collection someday.
Jerusalem
Adar 20
My enemies come closer.
Verily, I say unto you, the man who climbs the sheepfoldwall is a thief. He who enters by the gate is theshepherd. To him the porter opens and the sheep hear hisvoice and he calls his sheep by name and leads them...
My parable is realistic but people do not listen. They push oneanother, talk.
When I encountered a blind man, a man who had never seen during hislifetime, I sent him to the Siloam pool. He bathed there and at mytouch his sight became normal. He stumbled, fell, rushed about,shouted. Trembling he raced for home. He brought friends and therewas great rejoicing. Then, stunning everyone, authorities questionedme rudely. Because he defended me and called me his healer he was putin jail.
I had to go before the local magistrate, affirm his honesty; then hewas freed. I said to the magistrate:
“I came into this world to help men see...”
Last week I cured lepers on the Jericho road, men and women, all inrags. All were afraid of me, afraid of themselves. I thought I couldchange their minds but their minds were in tatters like theirclothes. One man thanked me, a young man from Tyre; the others,quarrelling, pushing one another, tearing at their rags, left theroad to crawl into a cave.
I asked the man from Tyre what he knew about the others but he couldnot concentrate on what I said: he was so moved, so pleased, soenraptured over his health he stood in front of me, smiling,laughing. He kept holding up his arms and hands—showing me. I askedhim about people I knew in Tyre. He shook his head, laughed, kissedmy hands, rushed off. A caravan was passing, camels, drivers,onlookers; he disappeared among the camels, the dust.
Jerusalem
Adar 25
Today I received a message: the mebakker at Qumran has invited me toreturn to the monastery for a second residency. He wants me toinstruct others in the Messianic Rule.
I am no longer in accord with Qumran’s rigid communal life: suchsharing would be difficult for me; certainly none of my discipleswould understand.
But I think of the Qumran desert; I think of the cliffs and cavesnear the monastery. Morning and evening shadows! What great fogs usedto engulf us!
Urusalim
Adar 28
I spoke outside the temple and, as I spoke, men and boys picked upstones to throw at me.
Sadducees want me excluded from the temple; others want me excommuni-cated. They stamp me an untouchable. Such intrigue! How am I to helpmankind? My disciples urge me to leave Jerusalem. The world isbeautiful, they remind me: Go to Cana, go to Bethlehem, to Galilee,to Jericho. Date groves. Olive groves. Roses. As if I needed areminder.
This afternoon I walked about Solomon’s city to an impressive ruin, aseries of roofless rooms, fallen columns, weeds growing throughmarble floors, lizards on walls. Birds dotted the sky. I tried toimagine the regal furnishings of Ptolemy’s time. Underfoot werehieroglyphic slabs, a cartouche among them. I climbed old stonewalls, were they Nehemiah’s walls when he fortified the city? I founda broken scarab and remembered Egyptian words my mother taught me asa boy. In the street below the vast ruins a Roman soldier talked withanother Roman s
oldier. Herod’s workmen were capping stone pillars.Tall men in dark red robes, red turbans on their heads, proddedcamels, heavily laden animals. Were they Syrians?
Somewhere along the way I met a blind man led by a boy. The sun sentsweat down the boy’s face. Tired, they sat by a spring where womenand girls were filling jars. People recognized me and soon a crowdformed, as I rested. The blind man, wearing a sash woven with gold,white-bearded, tall, erect and proud, asked about me. The boywhispered desperately to him.
“It’s Bartimaeus and his son, from Jericho,” a woman said.
“Son of David, have mercy on me,” Bartimaeus pled, speaking softly.Then he cried:
“Lord, have mercy, that I may receive my sight. Are you Jesus ofNazareth? Will you help me? Will you touch my eyes? I must seeagain.”
I sat close to him and talked to him, the aura of his faith evident.As we talked I realized he could see: his expressions were sostartling. He embraced his son. Erect, silent, he stared about him.Everyone was silent. Fumbling a little, he walked away; then, hereturned and knelt by me and kissed my hands.
Christ's Journal Page 4
