Behold the Man

by Bodie Thoene

  This morning, above the hills of Galilee, the great cloud of starlings swarmed through the sky again in synchronized spirals. Jono spoke to the little bird as he walked the dusty road. “We will continue to follow your family, my friend.”

  Soon the path became packed with other travelers, all moving in the same direction. “Where is everyone going?” Jono asked a family nearby.

  The young peasant pointed toward the flock of birds. “We are bringing our little girl to the great healer. Yeshua is his name . . . Gentiles call him Jesus. Look there! Even the birds of the air follow him.”

  Jono’s gaze swung to the peasant’s wife, who carried a small, paralyzed girl. “Great healer? A sorcerer is here in the Galil?”

  “No sorcerer. A man of God. Where have you been that you don’t know about Jesus?”

  Jono answered, “Home. Ethiopia. Then Rome and in Jerusalem these past few months. I am a freeman now and traveling home.”

  The farmer replied, “Come and see his miracles! He heals all who come to him and ask. He speaks and the lame, the blind, the demon-possessed become well and whole.”

  “And you hope that this Jesus will raise your child to be whole?”

  The mother nodded eagerly. “If we can get close enough, then I am sure he will.”

  Jono joined them. “I will come with you and see if this is true for myself.”

  “You will, after today, carry back a great story to your people,” the peasant assured him.

  Jono pressed forward with the throng as the ever-changing geometric patterns of birds moved out over the crystalline surface of the lake.

  As Marcus galloped toward the barracks in Tiberias, his heart and conscience wrenched. He should have known Vara would try something. He should have taken Carta with him to Machaerus. On that ride he had realized that Carta was not merely his servant, or the boy he had rescued from the Cherusci during the Battle of Idistaviso. The boy was the closest thing Marcus had, and perhaps would ever have, to a son. He had trained the boy, seen him grow up, spent most of his days with him.

  When he reached the officers’ barracks, he tossed the reins into the air and leaped off Pavor even before the horse had halted.

  Quintus attempted to block his entry. “Marcus,” he reasoned, “I know what happened. But you can’t go in—” Marcus rammed the guard sergeant to the side and hissed, “Stay out of my way.”

  He stormed into the room. As soon as he started to close on Vara, though, the Praetorian stabbed Marcus’s forearm with a knife. Ignoring the pain, Marcus punched Vara in the jaw, then started to strangle him.

  A second later, Marcus felt a blow to the back of his head, and two legionaries pinned him to the ground.

  Vara got up, rubbing his throat, and said with a raspy voice, “I’ll see you crucified for this.”

  Then a voice spoke from the hallway. “Not so fast. What is this?”

  Marcus looked up. Tribune Felix, the one who had betrayed him. What was he doing in Tiberias? Marcus now had nothing to lose. He’d be nailed to a cross by morning. “Ask him what he did to my servant . . . if you don’t already know,” he said with bitterness.

  Felix frowned. “To Carta? No, I don’t know.”

  Vara blustered, “When the centurion was not at his post, his slave refused to answer my questions about his whereabouts. So I punished him.”

  “He raped the boy and broke his neck,” Marcus shouted.

  “What of it? It’s only a slave. Worth thirty silver denarii. Here, take it,” Vara said callously. He flung a leather pouch on the floor.

  Marcus struggled to rise, but the two legionaries continued to hold him down.

  “Take the centurion to my office,” Felix ordered. “Tie him to a chair for now.” Turning to Vara, he said in a steely tone, “It is time for you to return to Caesarea. You have two hours’ head start, to gather some guards to protect you. Now, get out!”

  Once in his office, Felix ordered the legionaries to leave and shut the door. “Contrary to what you think, I did not betray you. Since my family has influence in Rome, Pilate decided to hedge his bets in case Sejanus falls out of favor with the emperor. So I am the new commander of First Cohort.”

  “Then what happens to me?” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

  Felix untied Marcus’s bonds. Removing his scarf, he used it to bind Marcus’s injured arm. “Nothing. But that is on the condition that you go back to Capernaum. Leave the feud alone.”

  Marcus had no choice but to agree in order to go free. Then he took his leave without another word.

  Pavor waited outside, grazing on the sparse tufts of grass near the barrack entrance. Marcus mounted, blood from the knife wound trickling down his arm despite the scarf binding it, and galloped away toward his home in Capernaum . . . and Carta.

  Chapter 32

  The man named Yeshua, or Jesus, sat on a hillside above the Sea of Galilee and addressed the crowds.

  Jono guessed there were perhaps twenty thousand people between him and the prophet, even though at his great height, he towered above them all. Men, women, and children pressed in—as many Jews as an entire army.

  Most of the people were well and whole. But others, like the child of the peasants walking next to him, were clearly unwell. All those around Jono seemed to be poor farmers, people of the land.

  At that moment Jesus gestured toward the starling flock. His voice rang out clearly over the heads of the people. “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.

  “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

  “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

  “So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.”8

  When Jesus finished teaching and came down from the hillside, Jono joined the great multitudes that followed him.

  Suddenly the crowds parted as the stench of a leper filled the air.

  The leper made his way toward Jesus and knelt before him. “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

  Jesus touched the leper. “I am willing. Be cleansed.”

  Immediately the man was cleansed of his leprosy.

  And Jesus said to him, “Tell no one, but go your way. Show yourself to the priest and offer the gift that Moses commanded as a testimony to them.”9

  Astounded at what he witnessed, Jono followed closer, still carrying the starling in her cage on his shoulder.

  When Marcus returned to Capernaum, a large grouping of men and women were gathered around his door.

  His heart leaped. Did Carta die? A deep ache set in. Or is this the death watch? If so, there was still hope.

  But as he dismounted from Pavor, he saw what he never could have imagined—tears of compassion for him, a Roman. He bowed his head as his emotion threatened to overflow. Ran
ks parted in respect and friendship as he neared his front door.

  Entering his home, he caught his breath. The nearness of losing Carta overwhelmed him.

  Joanna held Carta’s hand. He wheezed weakly. Marcus fell to his knees, took the boy’s hand, and kissed his fingertips. He couldn’t bear to look at Carta’s face. The wounds of knowing what the boy had to suffer were too painful.

  Marcus felt helpless. There was nothing he could do to stop death.

  “Marcus, this is Mary of Nazareth,” Joanna said. “She is watching and praying with me.”

  He glanced up. The woman gazed at him with compassion. She had dared to enter the home not only of a Gentile but of a Roman. His gratefulness knew no bounds. “Thank you.”

  Mary caressed Carta’s auburn hair. “I have a son also.”

  “Carta is . . .” At last Marcus voiced the truth. “. . . like my son.”

  “Mary is the mother of Jesus. Staying at Shim’on’s house,” Joanna explained.

  The burly fisherman welcomed Jesus’ kin into his house now? Indeed things had changed.

  Then the memory of Jesus healing the crippled child swept over Marcus. “Your son, dear lady, is the only hope I have.” He wept. “Which means I have no hope, for I am not a Jew. Why would Jesus help me?”

  “You must ask,” Mary said gently, “or you will never know. What you have been cannot change. Just be what you will be now. So get up, and go seek my son.”

  When she ushered Marcus to the door, Philip and Avram were waiting outside. Marcus’s voice broke as he asked them, “Will you go to Jesus, on my behalf?”

  That very minute Philip, Avram, and the elders of Capernaum left to seek Jesus.

  Jono made his way with the crowd toward nearby Capernaum. They stopped in an open field, and Jesus again began to speak.

  “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who mistreat you . . . Do to others as you would have them do to you . . . The good person brings good things out of what is stored in his heart. The evil person brings evil things out of what is stored in his heart. For out of the overflow of the heart he speaks.”10

  Jono grappled to understand how one could love his enemy. That an evil person did evil was easy to grasp. But how to bring out the good in a good person in such a dangerous time? He saw himself as a good person, yet in his heart he knew he harbored hate.

  For so many years, after he had fallen to the Roman champion Marcus Longinus, he had been enslaved . . . until the goodness in Claudia had set him free. He had also grown to deeply respect Marcus, who had chosen life instead of death for Jono. Now that enemy was the closest thing he had to a friend.

  Chapter 33

  Marcus sat numbly by Carta’s side while Joanna and Mary put his house in order—scrubbing the crimson stains from the walls and floor, sweeping the ashes into the fireplace. He knew they were preparing for the inevitable funeral.

  What if what Marcus asked was impossible? Or improbable, because he and Carta were not Jews? He shuddered.

  When Jesus had healed the crippled child, he had said that faith was what was most important. Where do you find faith? Marcus asked himself. When a situation is completely out of your control?

  He thought of the crippled child’s father and his actions. The man had staggered forward with the child, certain that if he could only reach Jesus, his son would be healed. Marcus thought of Kuza, falling at the feet of Jesus, begging for the rabbi’s help.

  So perhaps faith is believing that Jesus is able to do something and asking him to do so? Marcus pondered. Even if what you ask seems impossible? He buried his head in his hands.

  Then he heard a loud shout from outside. “Jesus of Nazareth is coming!”

  Marcus leaped up and ran out of the house even without gathering his sandals first. He squinted up the road. A crowd approached—so many that it appeared as if the road itself was moving. Jesus was at the forefront.

  Hope surged, drowning out the hopelessness that had nearly crushed him.

  When Jono entered the village of Capernaum along with the crowd following Jesus, he was startled to see his former enemy and now friend, Centurion Marcus Longinus, running barefoot toward the healer.

  And then, when he was merely feet away from Jesus, Marcus bowed his head, in the same manner of respect as he would give to a commanding officer. Jono had seen it before, many times.

  “Sir?” Marcus hesitated. He looked up. Jesus’ expression must have encouraged him to continue speaking. “My servant is paralyzed.” He appeared to fight for control. “He has been terribly tormented.” His voice was broken—not like the strong, battle-hardened Roman centurion Jono knew him to be.

  His servant? Carta? Jono wondered. What has happened to the bright boy who is always with Marcus?

  Jesus asked Marcus, “Shall I come and heal him?”

  Marcus fell to one knee. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, having soldiers under me. And I say to this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

  When Jesus heard Marcus, he marveled, and said to those who followed, “I have not found such great faith, not even in Israel. And I say to you that many will come from east and west, and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the sons of the kingdom will be cast out into outer darkness.” Then Jesus said to Marcus, “Go your way; and as you have believed, so let it be done for you.”

  Jono, towering over the crowd, witnessed this and saw Quintus running to meet Marcus. “Centurion! Centurion! Carta is healed, sir!”11

  The uproar in response to the healing swept through the crowds like a wave. Now everyone wanted to follow Jesus.

  Marcus looked back to where the crowd of mourners had gathered around the front of his home. Doubt edged into his mind. Marcus shoved it back. He walked back toward his home.

  He fought with himself. Be like Kuza and the father of the crippled boy. Jesus said it. I only need to believe it is so, and it will be so.

  Such faith went beyond all human reasoning, but Marcus chose to believe it.

  As he neared the doorway, there was movement. Then a slender figure emerged. It was Carta! Alive and . . .

  Marcus stared. Not even a bruise marred the boy’s face.

  “Master!” Carta called as he ran to meet Marcus. “Are you all right? Has something happened? Why is there such a crowd of people here?”

  Marcus marveled. Even the boy’s memory of the horrific event had been erased.

  Tears coursed down Marcus’s cheeks. He opened his arms to Carta and embraced him. He stroked his hair, then kissed the top of his head. “My boy, my boy! Yes . . . I am all right.”

  And now, finally, for the first time in his life, he was.

  Chapter 34

  Jono fought against the current of humanity to move closer to Marcus’s home. At last, Starling in hand, he was only feet from the door when two burly men—fishermen by the smell of them—barred his way. They looked at the bird in the hand of the giant. By their expressions and swiftly exchanged glances, Jono thought that perhaps they considered mocking him. However, they’d likely thought better of it after eyeing Jono’s size.

  “Halt!” commanded the one who appeared to be in charge.

  Jono lowered his chin and peered down his nose at the bulky fellow who seemed almost child-sized in his presence. “I have come to see Centurion Marcus Longinus,” Jono growled.

  “We know the centurion,
but we do not know you.”

  “I am a freeman,” Jono explained. “A citizen of Rome. I have a name he will remember from former days.”

  “Well?” The first fisherman stared at the starling. “There is much that has happened here today. I can’t say he will care that there is a large black man here with a starling in his hand.”

  Jono drew himself up even taller. “Then tell Centurion Marcus Longinus this. His old enemy and dear friend, the freeman Jonathan Selasi, Prince and Champion of the King of Ethiopia, and citizen of Rome, stands in the heat at his door.”

  “With a little starling in a cage,” laughed the second fisherman. “A princely companion indeed.”

  Jono replied, “The bird is a good omen among my people . . .” He paused, then decided to embellish the story a little, translating it in terms that might move these simple guards to action. “The sign of a messenger. And if a messenger with the importance of myself is turned back from the gate, a plague shall descend upon the one who rejects him.”

  This was not true, but the story indeed stirred the first man into action. He peered nervously around and then toward the skies, as if judgment might descend that instant. Then he stammered, “In that case . . . yes. I will tell him you have come.” Within seconds, the fellow disappeared.

  Jono glared at the remaining man, who backed away from him.

  Minutes passed before the first man returned. “Centurion bids you come. He says . . .” The fisherman reddened. “I must welcome the bird heartily.” He turned to the bird. “So, hail and welcome, little bird!”

  Jono glowered. “That’s more like it.” With a few short steps, he rapped on the lintel.

  With a joyful laugh, Marcus threw back his door and grasped the big man by his shoulders. “Welcome, Prince Jonathan, my dear enemy and friend! I hear you are a freeman now and a citizen.” He quirked a brow. “I am indeed curious to know how such transpired.” He gestured toward the starling. “And you have brought a good omen. Today my servant Carta is saved from death.”