The room was quiet. Simon looked down for a long time, something welling up inside him.
Alexander and Devorah waited patiently.
“This is what you meant, isn’t it?” Simon finally asked. “This feeling I have now, this is what you felt? This is how you knew it to be true when you first learned about Jesus and his baptism by John?”
Alexander nodded, smiling through the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks.
Simon spoke again. “This feeling . . . it is what you call the Holy Ghost?”
“Yes. The Holy Ghost! He is sent to us in the name of the Messiah to testify whenever there is truth. He has promised us that the Spirit will teach us all things,” Alexander responded.
Simon recalled the conversation he’d had with the captain months before and said quietly, “When we are taught that if we ask, he will answer . . . is it through this spirit that he will answer?”
Alexander exclaimed, “Yes, yes! Father, Jesus does not ask us to accept his teachings without proof. There is proof! It is this spirit that is the proof. But it is not proof in the worldly sense.”
At that moment, Simon remembered something. The cave. Bethlehem. The shepherds. He was suddenly there, but not as he’d been before. More than thirty years ago, when he had stood outside that cave in Bethlehem, he stood on the periphery, watching from a distance. But tonight he was in the middle of it. He grabbed his son’s and Devorah’s hands fiercely, as if to hold on to the feelings in the room. Three decades of listening, thinking, and questioning converged. Suddenly, somehow, he knew he was ready for something more.
Silently, in his heart, he asked.
Within his heart, it was given him.
In the morning, Simon packed up his animals and returned to Alexander’s home.
As soon as Alexander saw him, he looked surprised. “I thought you were staying a day or two?”
Simon finished tying up his animals in the courtyard. “I did. And I decided to stay a day, not two.”
Alexander looked uncomfortable. “Are you bothered by our conversation last night?”
“No, no, no,” Simon said as he put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “No, not at all. I just would like to think about it for a while. I can do that better as I move on again.”
Alexander seemed disappointed. “Of course, that is your decision. However, I have an idea. How would you like to go hear Jesus speak today?”
“I thought of that,” Simon said. “But I am not ready. Last night was beyond comprehension for me. I need to ponder it more.”
Alexander responded quickly. “Father, we don’t need to speak with him or even stand close to him. But given all you have felt, don’t you want to actually hear him for yourself?”
Simon sighed. “I do, my son, I really do. It is hard to explain, but it’s too soon.”
As he said it, he knew it sounded disingenuous. But he couldn’t say out loud that he was afraid. It was his fear that was too hard to explain.
Alexander looked to his wife somewhat pleadingly, hoping she could say something to change his mind.
She turned to face Simon but spoke to Alexander. “This is a personal journey for all of us, Alexander. I think your father will know what to do and when to do it.”
Then, directing her comments to Simon, she added, “Father, I have never been happier than having you with us as these things have come close to your heart. Please, come be with us as often as you can, for as long as you like. Our home is your home”—she smiled before going on—“wherever that happens to be at the moment.”
Simon nodded and thanked his daughter-in-law by clasping her hand between his.
He then addressed Alexander. “Son, please try to understand. Everything you have given me has meant so much, and I will pursue it. But at this point, I would like to get on my way, finish my trip, and return home to your mother.”
“Well, to be honest, I don’t understand,” Alexander said, trying not to sound frustrated. “But you know I support whatever you need to do.”
“All right then,” Simon said with a quick change of tone. “Where are my grandchildren?”
He found them out back, and they each hugged him long and hard, begging him to stay.
“I will be back. Don’t worry.”
He gathered his few things and went to his animals in the yard. Alexander and Devorah followed him out. He thanked them both, promising one more time to return soon. And then he backed slowly out of their yard, keeping his eyes on them until the last second. It was not lost on him that not far from here, not that long ago, he had left Alexander, but with his back turned—both literally and figuratively. On that day he was silently and intentionally sending a message of disapproval. On this day, he desired to overcome that memory, to replace it. When he reached the road, he waved his arm high over his head and yelled, “Shalom!” with as big a smile as he felt.
The contrast did not appear to be lost on Alexander either, who said the same thing he had at that last parting. Last time it felt to Simon like a plea, but this time it seemed an affirmation. “Shalom, Father! And God be with you until we meet again.”
Simon turned, satisfied and peaceful, and began his journey.
As word spread of Jesus’s teachings, Simon now actively sought out news. In the villages, as he sold his spices, he asked what others had heard. Sometimes he found people like him, who were also seeking; and their discussions would go on for hours. Other times he met individuals who disdained such talk and despised “that man”; those conversations would end abruptly. Though he was not proficient at it yet, he tried to respond to the latter with a smile and a kind word.
Sometimes he met those who seemed unsure and confused or who wore suspicion on their faces as a facade for their lack of confidence. It was these he enjoyed finding most. He worked hard to comfort them by explaining that he was just a step or two ahead of them on the path—that he had been right where they were. He affirmed their need to question and that they were still good people if they had not yet decided what to believe. He then would gently ask if they wanted to know what had changed him. “If only as something to think about,” he’d add. Usually, cautiously, they would say yes, looking around them as if to be sure no one else could hear. He would offer to sit with them and, again and again, he would explain that this was only his story, that each man and woman must travel this road in their own way. But if he could help, he was happy to do so. He also assured them there was still much he did not know. He was never hesitant to admit he didn’t know the answer to a question. He promised on these occasions that the next time he was with a true follower, he would ask for answers—and that they should too.
Humility had not been unknown to Simon in the past, but now it surfaced in a new and more vibrant way. His humility encouraged him, it brought him joy, and it made him an enthusiastic student. He loved camping with others along the side of the road and talking with them late into the evening. Something happens around a fire in the night, he often thought. People seem so much more willing to share their feelings. As he sat with fellow travelers, acquaintances for no more than an evening, there would frequently be both doubters and believers with him. He learned much as he listened to other believers explain Jesus’s teachings to those who were more skeptical.
He started to restrict his travel to the areas of Judea, Samaria, and Galilee—where Jesus was also spending his time. When traveling these roads, Simon could get news that was only days’—sometimes hours—old, rather than the weeks’ old news he got in regions closer to his home. He stayed abreast of exactly where the Messiah was whenever possible, because he knew there he would also find Alexander.
Sometimes at the roadside encampments, his newfound friends would ask if he had seen Jesus. When he said no, they would excitedly tell him where he might find him. He always thanked them but never sought him out.
When Simon fin
ally returned home, he brought the latest news of Jesus: his healings of the sick, his profound parables, his miraculous feeding of the multitudes with only a few loaves and fishes, his raising of the dead, and the men he called apostles, who came from very different backgrounds but were united in their complete and total devotion to his teachings.
At home, Simon was likewise able to catch up on the happenings there. Rufus had contributed to building a small community of followers. In fact, many referred to his carpentry shop as a synagogue, much to the dismay of the orthodox in town. Rufus assured all who were interested that it was nothing but a tradesman’s workplace, and then continued his teaching and listening and comforting of those who came while he worked the wood.
The weeks turned into months. Before Simon realized it, almost three years had passed since Alexander had encountered the witnesses of Jesus’s baptism and learned about the gospel.
Simon returned to the road, never tiring of his encounters there. He began to feel like he had heard most of the questions people had and that he was prepared with answers. Though his life had changed, he found comfort in the predictability of his new existence. So it was surprising to him when one evening, something gave him pause.
He was west of Jerusalem, near Lydda. Evening had come, and he was settled around a fire with three other men, none of whom knew each other. When Simon was near the Holy City, or anywhere in Galilee, he seemed to hear nothing but stories of Jesus, and this night was no different. One of the men asked Simon question after question, seemingly focused on learning everything that Simon believed. Simon was enjoying sharing his experiences when the man interrupted him.
“So you must be a disciple?”
Simon stopped. He knew of disciples. He spoke of disciples. But he had never considered himself one. He answered, but tentatively.
“I am a follower, if that’s what you mean.”
The man sensed Simon’s brief hesitation and quickly asked another.
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, are you a disciple?”
Simon looked at him, unsure what to say next.
The other man grabbed a stick and poked at the embers of the fire. “You are not, then.” It was more a statement than a question.
At first Simon was not comfortable being called a disciple. Now he wondered if he should be offended that this man did not think him one.
Simon’s confusion showed as he tried to explain himself. “I believe what Jesus teaches. I try to keep the commandments as I know them, and though I have much to learn, I do my best.”
The other man just kept looking down into the fire, shaking his head. “No, you are not a disciple.”
Simon replied sharply, “Why do you say that?”
The man looked at him. “It offends you that I know you are not a disciple?”
There was no apology in the man’s tone. Nor did he seem to be prodding Simon. He seemed more factual than anything else.
Simon decided he was making it worse by talking, and instead poked at the embers as well. The tension was palpable, and the other two men, silent so far, looked at each other before standing to go tend to their animals.
The man went on. “These men, these disciples, I think they are excessive. Some of his apostles are supposedly fishermen, or at least they were. Jesus told them to leave their nets, and they did, without hesitation. I don’t know what Jesus does for food or to afford a place to sleep, but apparently he doesn’t care if anyone else has to find a way to provide.”
The man looked up again. “What he teaches is fine. But he does not seem to acknowledge there are lives to be lived, responsibilities, needs.”
Simon paused, not knowing what to think.
“So what makes you say I am not a disciple?” Simon asked.
The man looked up, almost surprised. He waved his hands at the animals. “You are a merchant, like I am. You are working. You haven’t walked away from your vocation to follow him.”
Simon replied, still unsure what to think, “And you feel everyone must do that to be a disciple?”
“Seems so,” the man said. “These people who follow him in droves, I don’t know how they can work if they are there, every day, listening to him.”
Simon stared into the fire, not seeing anything.
“And this meal,” the man said.
Simon looked up. “What do you mean?”
“You cooked your food awhile ago, and then you ate it.”
“Disciples don’t eat food?” Simon asked sarcastically.
“Of course they do, but they bless it first. I didn’t see you do that.”
Simon replied, his voice weak, “I do when at home.”
Now the man looked at him and then laughed out loud. “That, my fellow merchant is not discipleship—that is wisdom! I do too, and, as you know, that keeps a wife happy. Out here it doesn’t matter.”
Simon did not answer. The man kept talking, but Simon didn’t hear a word he said.
For the rest of the trip, Simon rarely conversed with others in the evening. When possible, he found rooms where he could be alone. When he could not secure a room, he either sat by himself at the roadside camp or joined a big group where he could remain silent and unnoticed.
When he returned home, he met Mara at the outskirts of town. It had become their tradition, so much so that he would delay coming into the village just to enjoy the anticipation of waiting for her. She came to him with open arms and hugged him. Then, as if she could sense something, she took him by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length.
“What is it, Simon?”
“What is what?”
He feigned ignorance, but he was terrible at concealing anything from Mara.
“Something is troubling you. Did something go wrong on your trip?”
“It was good enough.”
He took her arm and began walking back. She clasped his hand but gave him his silence.
◆ ◆ ◆
The following evening, Rufus and his family joined Simon, Mara, and their other children for dinner. Rufus updated him on all that had been happening in town, but when he asked Simon about his own travels, the father said little.
“I did not see Alexander and Devorah this time, and it was mostly all trading, so not much to share.”
Rufus found that odd and looked at his father questioningly until he saw Mara signal with a slight shake of her head to go no further.
After the sun set, they retired to the roof and the cool evening air. Eventually, conversation was replaced with quiet. Some time later, Rufus asked, “Father and Mother, may I ask you something?”
Mara looked at him inquisitively. Simon just continued staring into the sky.
“What would you give up to follow him?”
He let the question hang in the silence.
Simon froze. At first he wondered if Mara had said something to Rufus, but then he remembered that he had told her nothing of it himself.
“It would be easy to say ‘everything,’” Mara said, stirring Simon from his thoughts.
“I believe I feel that,” she continued, “but I have not been asked to do so, so I am not sure. I hope I would.”
Simon said nothing.
“Father?” Rufus asked after a while.
“Why do you ask me that?”
Rufus could likely tell he had touched on a delicate subject for Simon. Again, Mara signaled him; but this time he ignored her warning.
“First of all, I did not ask just you. I asked you both. Second, I have been thinking about it. A man came through town a week ago, and he found his way to my shop. He shared a story I had not heard before.”
“A parable?” Simon asked.
“No, not this time. He said he was in a crowd and witnessed this when it happened. A man had come to Jesus asking for guidance. He appeared to be a man
of means, perhaps even a government official of some kind. He wore fine clothing and had some men with him who seemed to be his servants. Despite his wealth, the man seemed quite humble and sincere. He referred to Jesus as ‘Master’ and then began asking him what he needed to do to gain eternal life.”
Rufus paused.
“Go on,” Simon said quietly.
“Well, Jesus told him to keep the commandments. This man asked him which ones, and Jesus began quoting the commandments given to Moses. The man then replied that he had done those things and asked what he still lacked.”
Again Rufus stopped.
Simon turned his head toward his son. Well?” he asked expectantly.
“He told the man to sell all that he had, to give his proceeds to the poor, and then to follow him.”
Simon now sat up. “And did he?”
“No,” Rufus said. “This surprised the man who spoke to us. He said this ruler had seemed so dedicated. But when Jesus told him those things, he only looked forlorn and, without a word, walked away.”
“Do you think that’s fair?” Simon asked, sounding troubled.
“I definitely agree that it seems hard,” Rufus responded. “But the man was asking what he could do to gain eternal life. Seems to me that the value of the desired gift is significantly greater than what Jesus was asking him to give up, don’t you think?”
“Of course, but still . . .” Simon’s words drifted off.
“But still what?” Rufus would not let it drop.
Simon tried to organize his thoughts.
“It’s like your mother said, it’s easy to say you would give up everything. I think it would be much harder to do.”
He paused, then continued. “Rufus, you ask these questions and say these things so easily. Are you sure you are really meaning what you say? You would give up your carpentry shop without a second thought if Jesus came and asked you to follow him?”
The Last Man at the Inn Page 10
