The Kingdom and the Crown

by Gerald N. Lund

  Still reeling, all Simeon could think of to say was, “And will you?”

  He shook his head. “That is not the answer.”

  Simeon jerked forward. “How can you be so sure, Father?”

  “Because I know this is not the way to solve our problem.”

  A burst of irritation swept through Simeon. “And what if it is? What if this is all that Jesus has been waiting for?”

  Both of his parents registered shock. “Jesus?” his mother finally said. “You think Jesus will be part of this?”

  “No.” He took a quick breath. “But what if he’s waiting for the right time to proclaim himself? What if he’s waiting until our people can finally unite in a common cause?” He looked at his father. “You said it yourself, Father. You said that if we could ever once become as one, we wouldn’t need the Messiah. We could drive out the Romans by ourselves.”

  “I said that?”

  “Yes! And it’s true.” Now his words came tumbling out. “Suppose Jesus knows that if he reveals himself too early, the Romans will move in to stop him. But when the time is right—”

  The incredulous look on his mother’s face stopped him. “You think that?”

  He nodded, suddenly not as sure as before. “I know he teaches love and peace, and I accept that too. But remember when he taught us how to pray? He told us to pray that God’s kingdom would come. And yesterday, you heard what he said. ‘I come not to bring peace, but a sword.’ I think he’s giving a few veiled hints to tell us that when the time is right, he’ll step forth and claim the reins of leadership. He will proclaim himself as the promised Messiah.”

  “He has already proclaimed himself as the Messiah,” his father said softly.

  Simeon’s breath exploded outward as he shook his head. “Not in the way I’m talking about! Maybe, Father, just maybe I am the one who is right this time,” he said hotly. “Maybe it’s you that heard wrong.”

  “Simeon—”

  But he rode right over his mother’s soft warning. “What if that’s the reason Jesus told us we had to carry a soldier’s pack for an additional mile? What Roman is going to worry about a man who teaches submission? And by the way, I think that is why Jesus was willing to help your Sextus Rubrius. What better way to assure the Romans that he isn’t a threat to them?”

  “Ah, Simeon.”

  The pain was so evident in his father’s voice that it made Simeon wince. He stiffened and sat back. “You’re not going to try to stop me, are you, Father?”

  Their eyes met and locked; then his father slowly shook his head.

  “I have to go, Father. I’m sorry, but I have to.”

  “I know. But revenge is a seductive mistress, Simeon. Be careful that you do not go for the wrong reasons.”

  “I’m not after revenge,” he cried, “I’m after justice! I want Pontius Pilate to know that there is a price to be paid for extorting exorbitant and wrongful taxes.” His eyes hardened. “I want to teach a Roman tribune that there is a God who watches over his children and who does not ignore the brutality and viciousness of evil men.”

  “And you are to be the instrument of that justice?” his father asked sadly.

  “Well, why not?” he shot back. “Didn’t God use Gideon and Joshua and David as instruments to punish those who would destroy our people? Isn’t that how he works?”

  “Oh, Simeon!” his mother exclaimed. “What have I done to you?”

  He swung around in surprise. “You?”

  Her eyes were swimming now. “It was I who set your feet on this path. I am the one who put the sword in your hand and the hate in your heart.”

  Anger flashed up. “No, Mother. It was you who gave me the courage to do what is right. Jesus said that yesterday too. If we don’t have the courage to die for him, then all will be lost.”

  She just shook her head and looked away. Painful silence filled the room. He was pleading as he spoke again. “That was what Jesus said yesterday, Father. You heard him.”

  David gave a deep sigh. “Yes, I did. I heard him, but I didn’t hear what you heard.”

  Simeon stood up, sorry that he had come down, sorry that it had come to this. He hadn’t intended it this way. He had wanted to have a quiet Sabbath with his family, then slip away. He had hoped that the next time he talked with his parents, he wouldn’t have to explain anything. They would see for themselves.

  “I would like to say one thing,” David said, looking up at his son.

  Simeon let out his breath in a long, soft sound. “You know I will carefully consider anything you say, Father.”

  “There have been many who were valiant servants of God who have taken the sword in defense of the kingdom, Son. And not just men. Your mother was named for one who led Israel in battle and won a great victory. That is not what concerns me.”

  “Then what?”

  “Perhaps there was never a more valiant and brilliant warrior than King David. Goliath was only the beginning. He united the tribes of Israel and ushered in the golden age of Israel. But—” He stopped, and again pain played around his mouth and in his eyes.

  “But what?” Simeon asked, not wanting to ask but unable to stop from doing so.

  “Do you remember what the women used to sing about David that so infuriated King Saul and eventually led to their estrangement?”

  Simeon felt a sudden twitch. He knew instantly what his father was referring to. “‘Saul has killed his thousands,’ he quoted softly, ‘but David his tens of thousands.’”

  “Yes. That’s how he made the kingdom of Israel into a world power.”

  “But?” Simeon asked again, knowing there was a purpose in this.

  “But there is one story that is often lost in all of that. As David consolidated his power and gained wealth, he went to the prophet Nathan. ‘I live in a palace,’ he told him, ‘and the Lord still has nothing but a tent for his house. I should like to build a temple to the Lord.’ Do you remember what happened?”

  Simeon sensed that this was going in a way that wasn’t going to be what he wanted to hear. “Yes. Nathan at first was pleased, but that night the Lord told him that David would not be privileged to build the house, that one of his sons would.”

  “That is correct. In the writings of Samuel and the book of the kings, we are not told why the Lord said that, only that it wouldn’t be David’s privilege. But in the chronicles, we are told the specific reason.”

  Simeon felt a touch of shame. He should know this as well as his father, but he had no idea what was coming.

  “I read this again just last night before going to bed,” David said slowly.

  “What does it say?”

  “According to the chronicles, David called Solomon to his side one day and told him that it had been his plan to build a house to the Lord, but that the word of the Lord had come to him saying, ‘Thou hast shed blood abundantly, and hast made great wars. Thou shalt not build an house unto my name, because thou hast shed much blood upon the earth in my sight.’”

  He was looking at the floor as he quoted softly, and Simeon was grateful that he was, for his face was burning as though with fever.

  His father said no more. There was no need. “Father,” Simeon started, choosing his words with great care. “I have never rejoiced in warfare, nor in the shedding of blood as some do. But there are times when evil men leave us no choice but to take up the sword.”

  His father got slowly to his feet. “I know what you are, Simeon, and it gives both your mother and me great satisfaction. You are a son the likes of which few parents are privileged to have.” Suddenly there were tears in his eyes. “We know that you must do what you must do, but go with God, Simeon. I do not want to put doubts in your heart. I do not desire to make your hand hesitate when the time comes to strike. But open your heart to his voice. Let your hands carry out only his will. Promise me that, and I shall say nothing more.”

  Simeon looked at his mother. Her eyes were filled with tears now as well. Finally he look
ed back at his father. “I will,” he said simply. “I would have it no other way.”

  David stepped forward and put his arms around his son. “Then go with God, my son. And may he watch over you in whatever is to come.”

  II

  Simeon hung back as his family saw Jesus and some of the Twelve standing outside the synagogue and went up to greet him. After this morning Simeon had nearly decided not to go. He had almost volunteered to stay home with Esther and Boaz instead of having Rachel leave them with a neighbor girl. But he didn’t. He was grateful there had not been a greater confrontation between him and his father, and he also knew that if he left now it would only add to his mother’s sorrow. So he went. Now he started to slip around the crowd. He would go in and save a place on one of the center benches for himself, his father, and Ephraim. It was obvious the synagogue would have standing room only again this morning.

  To his surprise, Peter saw him and moved quickly to intercept him. “Shabbat tov, Simeon.”

  “Shabbat shalom, Peter.” They gripped hands and shook them firmly.

  “And how are things this morning?” Simeon asked him, afraid Peter had something in mind.

  Peter shook his head. “Other than the Pharisees, everything is fine.”

  “Not Aaron?” Simeon asked quickly.

  He nodded sadly, glancing sideways at Simeon’s mother.

  “What did they do?”

  Peter blew out a disgusted breath. “We went out early this morning. Jesus wanted a chance to be alone with the Twelve, to have a chance to teach us. As we were coming back, the first of the crowds were waiting.” He shrugged. “Jesus doesn’t seem to mind, but it would be nice to have some time alone with him now and then.”

  “So what happened?” Simeon asked.

  “We were coming through a field of wheat. We hadn’t eaten breakfast before we left, so we were getting a little hungry. Since it is the time of the harvest and the heads are ripe, some of us started breaking off the heads of grain and rubbing them between our hands in order to get the chaff off. Then we ate them.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Simeon said, remembering how the Pharisees warned even a tailor not to stick his needle in his robe lest he forget and be guilty of carrying his “tools” on the Sabbath day. “They accused you of harvesting.”

  Peter nodded, his mouth twisting. “How did you guess?”

  “I have Uncle Aaron as my teacher,” he said sourly. “Remember?”

  “Well,” Peter continued, “the minute they saw what we were doing, it was like someone had dropped a dog in a litter of cats. They were dancing and spluttering like crotchety old mares. ‘Why do your disciples do that which is not lawful on the Sabbath?’ they demanded of Jesus.”

  “And how did he answer that?” Simeon was curious now.

  “It was interesting, actually. He told them that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. And then he said that the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath and that we had not done anything wrong.”

  There it was again. Simeon was struck once more with how eminently reasonable Jesus could be. Simeon liked that very much. If it just weren’t for all of the other questions. He shook it off, determined not to get that chain of thought started again this morning.

  “Good for him.” Simeon motioned toward the door. “We’d better go in or we won’t get a seat.”

  “Yes. I’ll get the others.”

  III

  The main synagogue in Capernaum was much larger than the tiny one in Beth Neelah or even the one in Nazareth. Capernaum was a large, prosperous town, and it required much more space to accommodate those who came each Sabbath. It seated close to three hundred people, but even then it filled quickly, and the latecomers had to stand around the perimeter or look through the windows to try to hear. As in all synagogues, the men and women were separated by a wooden latticework partition. It was open enough that Simeon saw that his mother and Leah and Rachel had found a seat near the back. Simeon recognized many of the people he saw, but numerous strangers were there as well—from the surrounding villages, he supposed.

  Then he frowned. Coming through the door was Amram and several others of the scribes and Pharisees. Uncle Aaron was with them. Aaron glanced once in their direction, sniffed loftily, then refused to even look at them again. He studiously avoided looking in the direction of the women. Through the lattice Simeon saw the sadness in his mother’s eyes as she watched her brother turn away. Simeon’s anger deepened when one of the officers of the synagogue made those along the front row give up their seats to the latecomers.

  Saddened for his mother, angered by Aaron, he turned his mind to other things. After a few minutes, Jesus entered and was also shown to a seat near the front—probably at the insistence of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue, in gratitude for what Jesus had done for his daughter a few days before. Simeon watched him settle, noting the hostile looks from Amram and his group, the curious looks of those who were strangers to this synagogue, and the pleased looks of those who had chosen to be his disciples.

  Then Simeon let his thoughts take him to other places. In a short time he would be off for Beth Neelah. He was anxious, glad that the time had finally come for action. This had been a frustrating visit home. Up there, he would know exactly what he was doing. The air would be cooler and clear of the daily haze, and that would do the same for his mind. He would gather his men, and they would begin their preparations. He wouldn’t allow himself to wonder whether things were going to work out as he hoped. Only time would tell him that.

  Through the recitations of the Sh’ma and the amidah, the eighteen benedictions, Simeon tried to stay focused, but he was not overly successful. He counted up the men that Yehuda and Daniel were even now gathering in to their band, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. He would have to decide how best to utilize them when the actual raid got under way. He took mental inventory of their weaponry, noting what had to be mended, made, or purchased. He laid out in his mind what training would be most critical and where it could best be done. He thought of Shana and smiled inwardly. She was not torn with questions. She loved him and desired only one thing, and that was to stand at his side and make him happy.

  When Jesus stood up and a sudden hush fell over the congregation, it caught Simeon by surprise. All shuffling and movement of feet stopped as Jesus covered his head and moved to the bima, or central platform. By tradition he ascended the platform on the side nearer to his seat. When he finished, he would descend on the farther side. Totally attentive now, Simeon watched as the carpenter from the hill country of Galilee moved to the wooden lectern that was in the center of the bima. This was called the migdal etz, or “tower of wood.” From that position, whoever was teaching stood with the scriptures laid out before him. So Jesus was going to teach.

  The hush seemed to deepen as Jesus reached his place and looked out upon the congregation. Then, to Simeon’s surprise, he did not look down and begin to read from the scroll that was on the stand. Instead, he turned until he was looking directly down on the group that included Amram and Aaron. That they were angered that he should be standing in the spot of the teacher was evident from their eyes. That they were taken by surprise when he turned and looked at them was clear from the way they suddenly began to squirm in their seats.

  “I would ask a question,” Jesus said, his voice low and rich and calm. He paused, letting the moment build in tension; then he turned to his left and looked at a man who sat near the end of one of the long stone benches. This was a man Simeon did not know. He was probably from Bethsaida or perhaps Chorazin. “Rise up and stand forth,” Jesus commanded the man.

  Everyone watched as the startled man got slowly to his feet. His face had gone suddenly crimson. Instantly there were gasps of surprise and shock as the congregation saw the man’s right hand. Both arms hung loosely at his side, and both of his hands were visible. But both hands were not the same. The left was normal, but the right hand was a shriveled, twisted shadow of what it should
have been. Sometime long ago, whether at birth or through some terrible disease, the hand had been stricken. It was withered to where it looked like the hand of a skeleton. The knuckles bulged grotesquely. The skin of the fingers and thumb was stretched tightly over the bones. The sinews along the back of his hand showed like strips of rope on a fisherman’s net. Simeon was close enough that he could even see that the fingernails were dark and gray, indicating the lack of life that lay beneath them.

  When the man realized that everyone was staring at his hand, he slipped it quickly into his robe so that it was no longer visible, then stared numbly at the floor.

  Jesus’ voice jerked everyone back around. He was looking at Amram and his colleagues again. “Tell me. Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath day?”

  Amram flinched, and Peter’s words just minutes before came back to Simeon. The confrontation that had started in the wheat fields was not over, not for Jesus.

  “What say ye? Is it lawful to do good or to do evil? To save life or to kill?”

  The group of Pharisees did not so much as blink. There was no movement, no expression, except for a cold, hard anger in their eyes.

  Jesus shook his head, indignation tightening his jawline. “What man of you, should he have a sheep and it fall into a pit on the Sabbath day, would not lay hold on it and lift it out?”

  There was only one answer to that. The Law of Moses allowed such. It was commonly referred to as the “ox in the mire” rule. To work to save the life of a trapped animal was acceptable on the Sabbath.

  Jesus gripped the podium and leaned forward, his lips compressing into a tight line. “How much more then is a man better than a sheep?” He began to nod. “Yea, I say unto you, It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath. I am grieved for the hardness of your hearts.” Then he moved again, turning away from the Pharisees to the man who stood with bowed head and flaming face before him.