The Silence of Gethsemane

by Michel Benoît

  In my teaching, this word would never take the place of “happiness”. Buried deep within me, it would shake me to the core whenever I came across any kind of suffering.

  A moment later, some people came from Jairus’s house to say that his child was dead – there was no point in troubling the rabbi any further. I insisted on going back to his house with him, entering the room where the dead girl lay and taking her lifeless hand. By the time I left the house, she had got up and was walking about and eating. I strictly ordered the leader of the synagogue, the members of his family and his servants not to tell anyone about what had just taken place.

  Like compassion, rebirth is buried deep within the mystery of God’s creation.

  27

  I remember this period of time in the way dreams come back to us at the moment of waking: amid the haze, individual moments are as vivid as if we have actually experienced them. It was a whirl of healing and teaching, although the sequence of events is lost in the back roads of my mind. All that matters now is what remains of them, the feelings and convictions that are still strong.

  Since people’s minds seemed to be closed to parables I decided to stop using them for a while, and began teaching in maxims again, scattering them wherever I went.

  Hillel once said: “If I am not for myself, then who will be?” Now I was a public figure, forever in view, I jealously guarded the time I spent on my own, when I was able to relive my experience in the wilderness, moments that were essentially for me. It was then that I gradually developed my ideas for the new Law. No longer afraid to be myself, I dared to get to the heart of the matter: I now felt ready to make a head-on assault on one of the bastions of Judaism.

  “You have heard that it was said: ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth!’”

  The lex talionis is a permanent monument to our inability to understand each other, to see things from someone else’s point of view, to look into the eyes of an adult and see the child that he or she once was. It perpetuates a primitive society based on hatred and inexpiable revenge passed down from generation to generation within a single family, neighbourhood or village.

  “But I say to you, do not resist an evildoer. Quite the reverse…”

  To allow yourself to be struck, stripped of your clothes, pressganged without resisting is to overturn the Jewish Law, which lays down the means of redress available to the weak to protect them from the strong. This was going much further than any of the pagan philosophers, who teach self-mastery and indifference in the face of aggression. It was the first time that a doctrine of non-violent resistance had been propounded in Israel, but it was the only way to curb the fiery dance into which the Evil One leads us, chained together by the shackles of vengeance.

  The Essenes had made this cast-iron rule even more inflexible. Any Jew who didn’t follow the ways of their sect would no longer be regarded as their neighbour and brother, but as an opponent to be fought and destroyed. Alone in Israel, they openly preached hatred of one’s fellow man, who was now the enemy. Without mentioning them by name (everyone would know whom I meant), I continued:

  “You have heard that it was said: ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, love your enemies! For if you love only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others?”

  To love only those whose ideas, opinions and way of life we share is to legitimize the barriers set up by a sick and divided society, undermined by internecine conflicts. Among the crowd I noticed several people bristle – they had clearly spent time among the Essenes, whose view was that “those who are not with us are against us”.

  This was the first time I had broached the subject of boundaries, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Yet still the Pharisees remained silent. After the death of John the Baptist, concerned to hear me challenging the laws of the Sabbath, they had been circumspect in their questioning – did I still regard myself as a practising Jew? I left them in no doubt about where my loyalties lay: disputing the way a commandment is enforced isn’t the same as declaring it invalid. And yet now…

  “Again, you have heard that it was said to those of ancient times: ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’”

  They pricked up their ears. In Israel, the practice of oath-taking forms the basis of daily life. In a world riddled with envy, malice and conflicting interests, how was it possible to know who was telling the truth and who was lying? Since it involved God as a witness and third party, an oath taken in his name guaranteed that a claim or testimony was true, meaning that an innocent person would not be punished, a shopkeeper would be paid and a creditor would get what he was owed. But the One I found in the wilderness couldn’t be used to serve human interests in this way.

  “But I say to you: Do not swear at all! Neither by heaven, for it is the throne of God, nor by the earth, for it is his footstool.”

  By abolishing the age-old use of oaths, it was the first time I hadn’t simply modified the Law – I was now revoking it, there was no other word for it. I was claiming that human relationships should be based on mutual trust and respect, not Divine authority. God is in heaven – but here on earth it is for us to establish a civil society that is worthy of him, not justify our actions by having recourse to his authority.

  To do this was to announce the end of theocracy in Israel. I ought to have been arrested on the spot. I think it was only the atmosphere of popular euphoria in which I lived and worked that prevented disciplinary action being taken – although not their feelings of resentment.

  These weren’t shared by all of the Pharisees, among whom there were naturally differences. Some of them were still well disposed towards me, even invited me to meals in their homes. These I felt I could trust.

  During one of these suppers there was an incident that still fills me with a comforting glow whenever I think of it, even now. It was a quite formal occasion, we were reclining on couches round a table in the middle of the room. Then in came a woman without any head covering, whose long, flowing hair advertised the fact that she was a prostitute. In the silence that promptly descended, this woman, whose very touch would make you unclean, and simply ought not to have been there, slipped past the other guests and took an alabaster flask from the front of her low-cut dress. I felt her hot tears on my feet, her hair drying them, the brush of her lips. The room was filled with the strong smell of perfume – she had her hands on me, she was massaging my ankles! My host sat speechless, eyes bulging. This creature had dared venture out of the gutter where some of those round the table sometimes went to call on her, safe in the knowledge that the wall of opprobrium that surrounded her would safeguard them and their reputations. By touching this unseeing, oblivious rabbi, not only was she sullying him, but also the pillars of society who were gathered here; she might even recognize one or two of her occasional clients, she had to be dispatched whence she came or there might be a scandal.

  Not once had the woman spoken. I looked deep into her eyes, listened to what they were saying: all I am able to do is love, they said, to make you understand this I am using the tools of my trade, my untied hair, my sweet, gentle lips, the perfume that men find so enticing, my caresses. But what of my tears of anguish! O Rabbi, tell me that your God will not condemn someone for the crime of love!

  I turned to the Pharisee:

  “Simon, I have something to say to you.”

  “Master,” he replied, “speak.”

  Because she had so much ground to catch up, this woman had run the distance in an instant. The only way she was able to express her thoughts and feelings was by these actions; it was for me to tell her that love had the power to release her from the clutches of Evil, that no fall is permanent or beyond God’s sphere of influence. By entering this house she had proved that she believed in forgiveness, thus overcoming the barriers of shame and ignominy. In the same way, her faith would help her to be reborn. From this day forward she would live and love
quite differently – the Pharisee and his dinner guests needed to hear this as much as she did.

  “Because of what she has just done, I tell you that her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; for she has shown great love.”

  Then I said to her:

  “Your sins are forgiven, your faith has saved you, go in peace.”

  There were two occasions when a woman gazed into my eyes – this one now, and another that came later – and both will be imprinted on my memory for ever. Even if I failed as a prophet, even if I was unable to help Israel fulfil its destiny, perhaps these two gazes alone might mean that my life wasn’t lived in vain. Tonight, I can still feel her eyes burning into me like divine love.

  28

  My words heard by crowds of people, acclaimed wherever I went, leaving a trail of healings behind me, having questioned the enforcement of several laws and abolished one of them without suffering any consequences – it was a time when I truly believed that I could do anything. I was offering Israel the opportunity to be reborn, and this nation whose joints had seized up over the years was going to take hold of it with both hands, regain the prophetic spirit of its youth, bend the knee before God once more. I could, I should set up a popular movement. I had to expand my activities, become a permanent presence in Galilee – I had to involve the Twelve.

  All they had done so far was to follow me obediently everywhere; calling themselves my disciples was a delusion. If I was able to tell when people were sick in body and soul, detect how far some of them had come already, if I could help them to their feet, then why couldn’t Peter, Andrew, James, John and the others do the same? Every minute of the day, hadn’t they witnessed the tide of compassion that flowed out from me to those who were shackled by Evil, sweeping away the barriers that stood between us? Although not close, was the fellowship we shared not strong enough for them to play a part in my campaign of renewal?

  I had to try at least. So I decided to send them out into the surrounding villages, in the same way the Essenes travelled the countryside; like them they would go out two by two, taking nothing for their journey – no bread, no bag, no money in their belts, no spare clothes. Yet unlike the people from Qumran, who are only allowed to stay with members of their sect, they would rely on traditional Jewish hospitality, lodging wherever they were offered accommodation. Remembering what had happened in the Decapolis, I simply told them:

  “Greet no Gentiles on the road. Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

  Just like they had seen me do, they would bear witness to the healing of the sick. But should their actions be followed up by words, as mine were? Were they able to teach? I had only given them a vague outline of the new law, and knew they hadn’t grasped the full implications of the word “joyful”. So I told them to confine themselves to the Baptist’s teaching: “You must be converted!” Yes, they were probably capable of that.

  Meanwhile, I would go away to a deserted place.

  To drink deeply from the wellspring of silence. And see Satan fall from heaven.

  When they got back they were in seventh heaven. As my followers they had been welcomed everywhere as messengers from On-High. My reputation, the stories they told about my healings had turned people’s heads – particularly their own. They had taken on the mantle of Elijah without having paid the price in tears, and if the sick felt better after meeting them, then they took sole credit for the healing.

  Cracks began to appear in my rosy optimism. Would I be able to convey the sense of Awakening to them, they who hadn’t experienced the torment of the wilderness like I had?

  Without offering any explanation, I commanded them to get into the boat and come away to a deserted place by themselves. What they needed was solitude, so they too could drink at the well of silence.

  But it was now impossible for us to go anywhere without being noticed. No sooner had we come ashore than we were surrounded by crowds of people who had hurried there on foot from the neighbouring villages. Oh, but now it wasn’t Pharisees come to savour the delights of a debate, or wealthy dinner guests fed on honours and distinctions, but a distraught and wild-eyed flock, the people of Israel wandering around like sheep without a shepherd. At the sight of these people abandoned to their despair, I was shaken to the core. They were the same ones whose harrowing existence I had promised totally to transform. Once more I spoke to them of justice and forgiveness, of peace and sharing with others – in a word, about happiness, which up till now I had used as a ploughshare to carve out a brand-new furrow.

  Dusk fell quickly. My disciples came to me and said:

  “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now very late… If you send them away hungry they might faint on the way, and some of them have come a great distance!”

  As I have already mentioned, from the start of our itinerant life, whenever we found ourselves in an isolated spot our benefactors would send whatever food we needed. I glanced round: the crowd was quite large and becoming restless; then among the toing and froing I saw a small train of mules arrive, laden with baskets filled to the brim with bread and dried fish. People had seen me cross the lake, seen the crowd gathering.

  By people, I mean the wives of our patrons. Once again they were there when they were needed.

  I asked everyone to sit on the grass, helped my disciples unload the mules then told them to share out the food:

  “You give them something to eat.”

  As they walked through the crowd, hands stretched out from every side towards the bulging baskets. Among the confusion no one had noticed the provisions arriving or me taking charge of them, but they could all see the outcome – as much food as they could eat! Cries of wild excitement ran through the crowd, which were soon taken up by my companions – the rabbi had produced all this from a few loaves, as the Prophet Elisha had done with the bread and oil. A miracle! It was a miracle!

  A miracle… Their desire for marvels prevented them from understanding what had happened, which to me was the very image of what I expected to see in the new Israel: wealthy benefactors ensuring the needs of the poor were taken care of, voluntarily sharing their food with them, and then this impromptu supper on the grass, evocative of another feast – the one we will all eventually partake in in God’s presence on the day when social differences no longer exist!

  But by now no one was listening to me – they all wolfed down their portion then set off for home. I would have rebuked my disciples for not quelling this insane rumour and allowing the crowd to believe it was a miracle, but my strength and courage failed me.

  I told them to pick up what was left, which was scattered over the grass. They gathered up far more bread and fish than our small group were able to eat – so they filled several baskets with what remained and sent it back to the people who had so generously provided it.

  Overcome by great weariness, I watched the mule train leave.

  If only these disciples, whose hearts were hardened by delusions of grandeur, would go home too! I told them to get back into the boat and go on ahead of me to Bethsaida, where some of them lived. Telling them that I preferred to walk, I said I would go round the shore and catch up with them later.

  But as soon as they had hoisted the tiny sail, I headed away from the lake. Tonight was for me alone, the mountain my sole refuge and witness.

  29

  There were several subsequent occasions when, disheartened by the Twelve’s attitude, I decided to spend the night praying on my own. This was highly unusual for a Jew, for whom prayer involves addressing God in public – generally by chanting the eighteen Ritual Blessings, which only takes about forty-five minutes. So what did this rabbi of theirs do by himself for the whole night?

  They couldn’t understand. How could I describe the process of slowly entering deep into the silence, stripping everything away until the mind is empty of thoughts, and you stand face to face with a Presence that words cannot describe and which is beyond physical perception, yet whose reality gradually exer
ts its influence, seemingly of its own accord? No: during these long nights I never spoke, not even inwardly. Would I fill the void that divided me from God with chatter? Give him a detailed account of my various moods? He knew everything, without me having to utter a word.

  I listened. I calmed and quieted my soul. It was inside me like a little child, a weaned child with its mother.

  Who was it who decided that God is male? The Jews have always seen him as a grave-faced patriarch who rules over Israel, the father of the nation, the father of the king, the father of each and every one of us. Yet in the soothing peace of the night I discovered a loving side to him, like a mother suckling her child.

  God the father? This was also God the mother, bending over me, surrounding me with sweet, boundless love.

  Legendary figures would sometimes appear before my mind’s eye, men such as Elijah or Moses, whose epic tale provides some of the most beautiful passages in the Law. All Jews revere them, yet no one ever dreams of identifying with them – but in these nights of breathtaking silence I came to realize that I was destined to live my life as a continuation of theirs. Like Elijah, I would be hounded by priests and tyrants. Like Moses, a burning bush would refuse to tell me its name so I could come to know God’s fatherly affection and create a new name for this relationship, something that was unheard of in Israel. And, like Moses and Elijah, I would live and die alone, face to face with the One God.

  The next morning something happened that would fill me with self-doubt, as well as shattering my illusions about my disciples.

  I found them in the midst of a large gathering for whom they were the centre of attention, arguing with some Scribes. As soon as people saw me they rushed over and overwhelmed me with boisterous greetings. So what had happened in my absence?