The Kingdom and the Crown

by Gerald N. Lund

  Miriam moved over closer to this woman whom she was coming to love and respect so deeply. “Papa says we may be in Rome as long as a year. I hope not. I hope they’ll catch Ya’abin sooner than that. But however long it takes, when we return, I’m coming back here to listen to Jesus. And this time, it won’t be in secret. If my father doesn’t like that, well then . . . ” She shrugged.

  “If your father doesn’t like that,” Deborah said firmly, “then you will just come and live with us. You and Livia both.”

  “We would like that,” Miriam said, touched by her offer. “I already feel like we are part of your family.” Then she blushed slightly as she saw the look Leah was giving her and remembered their earlier conversation on the seashore.

  “It has been a wonderful time for us,” David said, “to have the four of you here. All of you are welcome in our home at any time.”

  Lilly started to answer, then broke off at the sound of a cry from behind them. They all turned to look. A small group of people were pressing their way through the seated crowd, calling out for everyone to make way. An older man was in the lead. He had a husky young man in tow, a boy that looked to be fifteen or sixteen years old.

  Miriam looked more closely at the boy, struck by several oddities. She saw that he was very distraught. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were covered with dust. There were dark smudges on his face. She couldn’t tell if they were dirt or bruises. The boy’s eyes were wide and vacant, with deep, dark circles beneath them. He seemed unaware of those around him as his father—Miriam assumed it was his father—led him forward. He stared off to one side, keeping his eyes above the heads in the crowd.

  “Master!” The man in the lead cried out. “Master, help me.”

  Every eye turned to Jesus. He set aside the bread he was eating and stood up. He started forward, coming directly toward where Miriam and the others were seated, which was the closest path to the approaching group. David stood and motioned for the others to follow his lead. They needed to make room so there would be a place for Jesus and the man to meet.

  “Master, I beseech thee,” the man cried, letting go of the boy’s hand and running forward. “Look upon my son, for he is my only child.”

  Jesus glanced at the boy, who shuffled to a stop when his father let him go. “What is it?” Jesus asked.

  The man dropped to his knees at Jesus feet, clutching the bottom of his robes. “Lord, have mercy on my son. He is lunatic and sore vexed.”

  Miriam turned quickly to look at the boy again. The man had used a word whose general meaning was “demented” but which literally meant “moonstruck.” She felt a shudder run through her body. Though many physicians weren’t willing to confirm the connection, it was common folklore that severe seizures were caused by the influence of the moon.

  “Master,” the father cried, almost wailing in his anguish now, “the boy has a dumb spirit. Usually he is speechless. But then suddenly the spirit will take him, and he will cry out. It throws him about, sometimes into the fire, other times into the water. He foams at the mouth and gnashes his teeth terribly. The spirit tears at him and hardly leaves him alone.”

  Peter, John, and others of the Twelve had stood and followed Jesus and now nearly surrounded the two figures. The man glanced at them; then his eyes dropped. “I brought him to thy disciples, Master, but they could not cure him.”

  For a long moment, Jesus didn’t move; then finally he turned as well. No one man had been named. His eyes swept across all of them, and Miriam saw the disappointment there. Each of them stared uncomfortably at the ground.

  “O faithless and perverse generation,” Jesus said sorrowfully, “how long shall I be with you? How long shall I suffer you?”

  He swung back to the father and lifted him up from his knees. “Bring the boy here to me,” he said gently.

  A look of joy sprang into the man’s eyes. He turned and quickly went to his son. However, as he took the boy’s hand and started with him back toward Jesus, the boy suddenly stiffened. His eyes rolled up into his head, and his body began to jerk convulsively.

  “No!” the father cried, grasping his son by the shoulders. Miriam saw his fingers whiten as he tried to hold the boy steady, but the power unleashed in the young body was far too violent, too explosive. The boy yanked free. An agonizing scream was torn from his throat as he fell to the ground, his body seized by terrible, violent tremors. He clutched at his chest. Then the hands, like claws, tore at his stomach. As the head rolled back and forth, covering the cheeks with dust, Miriam gasped in horror. White bubbles were coming from his mouth as his jaw clenched and unclenched furiously. All around them people shrank back, as though a wild beast had suddenly been loosed in their midst.

  Jesus moved forward to stand beside the father, who stood horrified and helpless, watching his son torn by the terrible force within him. Jesus seemed neither surprised nor dismayed at what was happening. He laid a hand on the father’s shoulder. “How long has this trouble been upon him?”

  The father half turned, and Miriam saw tears in his eyes. “Since he was a little child.” He shook his head, fighting for composure. “The spirit seeks to destroy him. O Lord! have compassion on us. Help us!”

  Jesus moved slightly, until he looked directly into the man’s face. The father had started to turn back to his son, but he stopped as Jesus’ eyes locked with his. “If you can believe,” Jesus said softly, “all things are possible to him that believeth.”

  The man seemed not to comprehend; then suddenly his mouth twisted. The tears spilled over. “Lord, I believe!” Then his face crumpled. “Help thou my unbelief!”

  Jesus nodded, gripping the man’s shoulder briefly. Then he stepped past him so that he stood directly over the boy. All around, people craned their necks or leaned forward to see what he would do. On the ground, the boy still twitched and moaned, rolling back and forth in the dust.

  “Thou dumb and deaf spirit!”

  Miriam jumped as did those around her. Jesus had cried out with a commanding voice that cracked like thunder.

  “I charge thee to come out of this boy and enter no more into him.”

  The boy’s body stiffened as though he had been stabbed. He screamed out in terrible pain, his fingers tearing at the ground. Then as suddenly as the attack had come, it was gone. There was a great shudder, an explosion of breath, and the body collapsed. One last shudder rippled through the prostrate form; then he was still.

  No one moved. Every eye gaped at the two motionless figures—one lying on the ground, the other standing above him, looking down calmly upon him. The father stared at his son, his face white with shock. Miriam realized she, too, was suddenly having trouble breathing.

  “He’s dead!” a man’s voice cried out.

  “O mercy!” a woman exclaimed, “the evil spirit has taken his life. Look! He’s dead! He’s dead!”

  That broke the silence of the crowd. Others took up the cry, and it leaped from mouth to mouth.

  The father stepped forward. Stricken, he looked at Jesus. “Master?” It was like the cry of a young child, pleading for help, pleading for comprehension.

  Jesus turned his head. To Miriam’s utter surprise, he smiled as he reached out and laid a hand on the father’s shoulder. Then, totally ignoring the tempest of voices, he leaned over and took the boy’s hand.

  Miriam gasped. The eyelids fluttered; then, after a moment, they opened. The head lifted, turning as the boy looked around. The dark eyes were no longer vacant and tormented but clear and bright and alert. A sob tore from the father’s throat as Jesus pulled the boy up to a sitting position. The Master leaned over and whispered something in the boy’s ear. He responded with a nod and a soft laugh; then Jesus helped him to his feet and gave him a gentle nudge toward his father. With a cry of joy unlike anything Miriam had ever heard before, father and son fell into each other’s arms.

  Miriam’s throat constricted, and something inside her breast twisted sharply. Then, realizing what it
was, she gave way and began to weep with joy.

  II

  They were walking slowly, moving eastward toward Capernaum. There were only about thirty or forty of them left. The multitudes had dispersed, many to noise abroad the fantastic news of what they had just seen. As Deborah looked around, she realized that this was very much the same group that had been at their house for supper a week or so before. She was pleased. It was a group that felt comfortable with each other. There were no strangers here.

  Jesus was at the head of the small group. The Twelve were around him in a half-circle. The rest followed behind. No one spoke. They were still overwhelmed by the healing of the young man.

  Deborah glanced at Miriam. Miriam seemed particularly subdued, and Deborah wasn’t sure if it was because of the healing or because they would be leaving Capernaum in the morning. She felt a pang of sorrow at the thought.

  “Master?” The voice up ahead of her cut off her thoughts.

  Deborah saw the Lord’s head turn, but she was near the back of the group and could not tell who had spoken nor to whom Jesus now turned.

  “I’ve been thinking about the young man back there.” Maybe it was Nathanael, she thought, still trying to see.

  “Yes?”

  Deborah quickened her step so she could hear better. The others were moving in closer as well.

  “You heard what his father said. He brought the boy to us, your disciples, and we could not help him.”

  “Yes.” Jesus stopped, and the group circled in around him.

  “Why could we not cure him?” the questioner asked in obvious sorrow.

  “Because of your unbelief.” Jesus spoke without condemnation, but simply and frankly.

  To Deborah’s surprise, Andrew picked up the questioning. “Yes, you said that before, Lord. But we’re trying to understand. What is it we did wrong?” He pursed his lip, deeply thoughtful. “I guess in a way, we are like the boy’s father, Master. We believe, Lord, but will you help our unbelief?”

  Jesus nodded slowly, accepting the spirit in which the request was made. “It is a matter of faith. If you have even as much faith as the grain of a mustard seed”—his hand swept out toward the hills that rose sharply from the level of the Sea of Galilee to the west of them. Most prominent was Mount Arbel, which ended in a sharp precipice that plunged almost straight down to the lowlands around the Sea of Galilee. “If you have the faith of even a seed of the mustard, you could say to this mountain, ‘Remove hence to yonder place!’ and it would be removed.”

  That brought soft exclamations of surprise and shock. The eyes of Jesus only became more penetrating. “With the faith of which I speak, nothing shall be impossible to you.”

  Deborah saw the eyes of the apostles drop, and they began to shuffle uncomfortably in their places. They had asked to know what they lacked, and Jesus had told them forthrightly and without any attempt to soften it.

  Jesus watched them, noting their discomfort; then he added one thing more. “Nevertheless—”

  Their heads came up, and they were suddenly hopeful.

  “Nevertheless, this kind cometh not out except by prayer and fasting.”

  With that he turned and began walking again. Deborah waited for a moment, then moved up to join her husband, who fell in with Peter and Andrew. David, seeing her, reached out and took her hand.

  “Will we ever have that kind of faith?” Peter asked of no one in particular.

  Andrew just shook his head, clearly troubled.

  “What do you suppose he meant by that last statement?” Ephraim asked of Peter.

  Peter looked up. “Faith is the key, but I think the Master was saying that some things require greater power than others, so you seek to increase your faith by adding fasting to your prayer.”

  Matthew was just behind them, listening intently. He moved forward to come up alongside them. “Isn’t that what the scriptures teach us?”

  They all turned, and Matthew looked a little embarrassed, but he pressed on. “Remember what the Psalmist said?” He began to quote, somewhat self-consciously, “‘I humbled my soul with fasting; and my prayer returned into mine own bosom.’”

  Deborah saw that Miriam, Leah, Ezra, Lilly, and Livia were listening too, curious about what was being discussed.

  “And when the prophet Daniel, laden with sorrow for the captivity of Israel in Babylon, sought the Lord’s help, he said, ‘And I set my face unto the Lord God, to seek by prayer and supplications, with fasting, and sackcloth, and ashes.”

  “How do you do that, Matthew?” Peter asked sheepishly. “I thought I knew the scriptures, but you come up with passages that don’t even sound familiar to me.”

  Matthew colored slightly. “When you are a publican, your circle of friends is somewhat restricted.” He smiled, almost like a shy boy. “That leaves a lot of time for reading.”

  “Well said, Matthew.”

  They all looked up in surprise. They had been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed that Jesus had drifted back to join them.

  “Master, I wasn’t presuming to teach—”

  Jesus cut in with a gentle wave of his hand. “It pleases me when you seek truth and understanding among yourselves.”

  “Master?” It was Peter.

  Jesus turned to him.

  “You have taught us about prayer before—about what our prayers should contain, and that we should pray in secret so that our Father can reward us openly. Since we lack sufficient faith, is there anything more you would have us understand? Why prayer and fasting?”

  Jesus nodded immediately, stopping while once again everyone moved in closer. “I would speak a parable unto you, to teach you that men ought always to pray, and not lose heart and give up.”

  “Say on,” Peter said meekly, clearly pleased that his question had brought a direct response.

  “There was in a city a judge. This judge feared not God, neither regarded man. And there was a widow in that city, and she came to the judge, saying, ‘Avenge me of mine adversary.’”

  He let that sink in for a moment, then continued. “And the judge would not for a while. But afterward he said within himself, ‘Though I fear not God, neither regard man, yet because this widow troubles me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me.’”

  He stopped again, looking around the circle slowly. “Hear what the unjust judge saith. Shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them?”

  There was evident surprise when it became obvious that he was finished. That was it? Miriam wondered.

  Jesus watched their expressions, smiling at their bemusement. But he said nothing more. He started walking again, leading them back to Capernaum.

  III

  Capernaum 12 July, a.d. 30

  Miriam watched in the semidarkness as Ezra put her leather case in the back of the carriage. He shoved it forward, then put Livia’s in beside it. He leaned over the backboard, pushing and tugging to make sure things were secure. Finally, he turned to the others. “I think that’s it. We’re ready to leave.” He looked up at the sky, which was just lightening in the east.

  Deborah turned toward where the gate that led into their courtyard stood open. “David! They’re ready to go.”

  There was no answer. Ephraim looked at his mother. “I’ll go get him.”

  “He said he had to get something,” she answered, indicating for him to go back into the house.

  As Ephraim left, Ezra stepped forward and began to check the harnessing on the team. The six women turned their attention to one another, realizing that this was the moment they had all been dreading. Tears were very near as they began to say their good-byes, vowing that they would see each other again.

  “Will you kiss Boaz and Esther good-bye for us?” Livia asked Rachel.

  “I will. They both wanted me to wake them up, but Boaz especially just can’t do without his sleep.”

  Miriam touched her arm. “It’s
much too early for them, but do hug them tightly for each of us. We love them both.”

  Rachel’s eyes were suddenly soft. “Last night as I was putting them to bed, they both talked about how much they’ll miss you.” She looked at Livia. “Then Boaz—my sweet little Boaz—sat straight up in bed and folded his arms and said, ‘I go Rome with Livie.’”

  “Oh,” Livia cried, “did he really?”

  Rachel was struggling to keep her voice level. “Yes. He adores all of you, but you, Livia—you are his Livie. You really made a friend there.”

  “Don’t,” Livia protested. “I can hardly bear the thought of not seeing him again for a year or more. And Esther too. They are such sweet children, Rachel.”

  “For a two year old, Boaz has such a tender heart,” Deborah said.

  “I told him that Rome was a long, long ways away,” Rachel went on. “That it might be dangerous for a little boy.” She had to stop and swallow quickly. “You know how he’s always talking about bears. He always wants Ephraim to check outside and make sure there are no bears around before he goes to sleep. He’s always going to fight the bears when he gets big.”

  “That’s all he ever talks about,” Leah said with an affectionate smile. “And he’s so dramatic about it.”

  They all laughed, for that was the perfect description of Rachel’s youngest. He could be so serious when he talked. His face would screw up. His eyes would become enormous, and he would use his hands as though he were a merchant in the marketplace. It was not unusual for him to entertain a whole room of adults with his conversations—especially when he was talking about bears.

  “Well,” Rachel continued, “when I told him that he couldn’t go with you, that it might not be safe, his eyes got real big. He wanted to know if there are bears in Rome.”

  “Did he really?” Deborah exclaimed.

  “But before I could answer,” Rachel went on, “he shook his head with great solemnity. ‘I no care,’ he said, sticking his jaw out like he does. ‘I go with Livie. I keep her safe from the bears.’”

  That did it. Livia, who was usually the most controlled of them all, turned away and dropped her head. Miriam and Deborah fell into each other’s arms, weeping. Leah and Lilly clasped hands.