Fifth Gospel (8 page)

J
ESUS OF NAZARETH

H
e often reproached me and instructed me like a child. And yet every night I looked forward to her coming and I grieved when dawn came, always sooner than I wished it.

In the day, when amongst my many duties I thought on all that Lea had told me, I felt both fear and joy. Fear that I was losing my sanity, and joy for what I was gaining because of it. Unable to reconcile these two disparate emotions, I kept myself busy.

Countless days
passed devoted to our survival. Sometimes I was so exhausted I could hardly walk and yet each night, by some miracle, I came awake when I heard her say,

‘Shall I continue?’

My heart would give a leap then and I would answer, ‘By all means, my dear!’ My ears would fall receptive to her words and I would pick up my quill again with anticipation.

One such night
, she continued to tell how Mary could not find her son, Jesus, upon their journey home from Jerusalem,

‘She did not know that
Jesus was missing,’ she said, ‘until they had reached Sichem. It was the eighth day after the great Feast of Passover and the company from Nazareth had lawfully left the city to make their way home by way of Jericho, to avoid passing through Samaria – a land defiled.’

‡

The children often followed behind in the daytime, mingling freely, seeking out companionship, singing, telling stories, throwing stones and sticks in the air, or at shrubs. But it was in the evening, when the camp was formed and the tents were pitched and the members of each family came together, that Mary looked for Jesus and realised that he was missing.

Immediately she went to Mariam’s family tent, t
hinking he would be with Yeshua who had taken ill in Jerusalem, but she found Mariam alone, sitting beside her son’s listless body muttering prayers.

Worried
Mary set off with Salome to walk among the tents calling out her son’s name, but none had seen him. Ordinarily, this would not concern her, for Jesus did not disdain his own company and would often take himself to some quiet corner to play his flute. It was the onset of darkness that concerned her. Where could he be?

As night fell over the desert she clutched the woollen shawl over her shivering shoulders and bit her lip to prevent herself from fainting. She had not felt
well since their arrival in Jerusalem and now her heart seemed to be loosening its rhythms during this fruitless search. When she returned to her family tent Joseph resolved that they must not wait for sunrise. They must return in haste to Jerusalem to look for their son, knowing Mariam would go on with the caravan to Nazareth, for the sake of Yeshua.

The journey was difficult
in the night, with only the waning moon to guide them. When she and her husband arrived, weary, thirsty and hungry, the sun was already high and a great wind was sweeping the city.

Fear bit into Mary’s heart
when she entered through the gates but she did not give it a voice. She kept her face calm and serene as she walked, glancing this way and that, calling out for Jesus. The bazaars that occupied the ever-rising rows of streets, thronged with noisy Hellenists, Galileans, Judeans and Jerusalemites competing for the best ironware, the most practical clothes, good wood, fresh bread, fruit, vegetables, fish and spices. No man had seen her son. In the upper city markets they asked if anyone had seen her boy, but it was the same.

They looked until nightfall
. Exhausted they found lodgings and rested, but Mary’s sickness had increased with her sorrow and concern. In her feverish sleep, she heard the song of a night bird and it was woven into her dreams with an Arab tale that she had often told Jesus. It was the tale of a Nightingale that loved a white rose. The bird sang the most beautiful songs to it each night, but only from afar for fear of its thorns. One night, beneath the swollen moon, having drunk her fill of song and emboldened by love the Nightingale resolved to embrace the rose. She clasped it to her breast, which was pierced through by a thorn. Thus she sang the most beautiful song she had ever sung, pressing the thorn closer and closer to her heart, a song of sacrifice and true love found. In the end, having stained the rose with her own heart’s blood, she died and the rose, in mourning, forever after bloomed red.

Mary
had woken from this dream crying out.

‘No! Not my son! Not yet! Not Yet!’

In the morning of the third day, gathering what strength was left to her she resolved to join her husband and his relatives in their search for Jesus. They made their way beyond Herod’s palace and crossed the bridge that spanned the valley of the Cheesemongers, which connected the eastern and western hills. Staring down at the lower city they called out his name. Dust flew up into Mary’s face, since the wind was born anew and wove around her dress and made it come to life with movement.

The wind said,
Go to the temple.

She had heard this
wind-voice before and it had never failed her, so she directed the others to climb terrace upon terrace, towards that great edifice of marble. When she neared the royal porch where the priests and their families mingled, she did not pause to show courtesy but hurried instead towards the Temple itself. Once through the porch to the court of the gentiles she swept them with her gaze, her heart hammering out its paces without rhythm and her forehead wet with perspiration.

A
silent crowd had gathered here to listen to the members of the Sanhedrin, for it was the custom of the elders to come out to the terrace of the Temple on Sabbaths and feast days to teach the people and to listen to their questions. She made her way through the knotted crowds and a sudden and great relief entered into her heart when she saw her son, but it was mixed with amazement because Jesus was among the priests and scribes, discoursing with them!

When her husband and Salome
had caught up with her they were equally astounded. Mary near fainted then and would have fallen if they had not caught her.

‘Wife!’
Joseph voiced into her ear, ‘Can you not see how he is safe?’

But
she trembled all over for she knew he was not safe. She looked at him closely. Her son held his head erect, his fair eyes, clouded with dreams since birth, now darted sharply to this man and to that, flecked with fire. He was altered! It was as if a different spirit now lived inside the boy and was moving the mechanism of his thinking. For how else could she explain to herself the sight of him questioning the rabbis, when only a week before he could barely recall the most basic teaching?

‘Why do you sacrifice the beasts?’ Jesus was saying to them
, as sharp as a nail.

An old man dressed in the garment of a scribe answered with paternal irritation, ‘It is God’s command
, for the sins of the people.’

‘
But David tells us it is a sin itself to bring before God’s face burnt offerings,’ Jesus returned. ‘Isaiah tells the same. The last lawful sacrifice was for the sake of the people of Israel, when a ram was killed in place of Abraham’s son, Isaac!’

The scribe laughed
, and looked down with condescension, ‘Child! Do you presume to know more than the wise men and the priests of the Temple of Israel?’

Jesus looked at him. ‘Wisdom
does not live only in the souls of priests and a Temple is not always made from marble and gold.’

A young
rabbi asked the boy, ‘Tell us, child, what is the greatest commandment in the law?’

Jesus turned to
him and said, ‘There are two: love the Lord with all your heart; and love your neighbour as you love yourself. On these two commandments hangs every law.’

A man in the crowds said, ‘He is smarter than you
, Gamaliel!’

There was a round of
laughter.

Mary
did not look to see Gamaliel for her eyes were guided to another man, the high priest Ananias. He stood some way from the others, dressed in resplendent fine linen over which he wore the breastplate studded with gold and gemstones. His eyes met hers and what they reflected did not come from a heart dwelling in goodness. In that gaze she saw an old serpent coil itself, green and oily and smooth and it spoke to her thus:

Heavenly Eve
! You may have escaped me in Paradise, but your heavenly child shall suffer all the tortures an earthly man can bear, and you shall not be there to comfort him!

Th
e force of this communication pierced her heart and she made a shout, ‘Jesus!’ and she broke through the crowds to go to him and to take him by the hand, ‘We have worried three days for you and looked for you, come with us now…let us go home!’

But in her son’s
eyes she saw the fire of a powerful spirit, wise in years. These were not the soft-spoken eyes of her son.

‘
It is time for me to be in my father’s house, mother, and to be about my Father’s business.’

And
it was so.

‡

‘But how do the two families become one, Lea? There have been great disputes over whether Jesus had brothers or not. Some have said yes, while others have argued that the brothers mentioned in the bible were only his cousins.’

‘
Well,
pairé
, it is like this: Mary did not recover from her illness and died soon after their return from Jerusalem, but not before she whispered her dying wish into her husband’s ears: that he take Mariam into his house, to be a mother for their child and a good wife in his bed. And that is why, after an appropriate time passed, Joseph the Carpenter married Mariam and the two families became one. The brothers mentioned in the bible are actually only step-brothers, while James, the young son of Cleophas, the one who goes on to become a disciple, was a cousin. You see how natural it is?’

I
saw it and I did not know what to say. I wrote instead.

T
HE RABBI

G
amaliel
was so impressed with Jesus of Nazareth that he asked the child’s father to permit the boy to stay in Jerusalem and to come, from time to time, for instruction in his Academy.

But t
he boy had only been with him for some days when his mother died suddenly and he had to return home. In truth two Passovers would pass before he could come again to Jerusalem and by then he had grown into a young man of fifteen springs, tall for his age and upright of bones, with fair hair and eyes shining intelligently from out of that heart-shaped face.

Gamaliel
was the son of Simon and the grandson of the famous Rabbi Hillel. Like his father and grandfather before him he was a Pharisee – a doctor of the law – and although he was not yet thirty springs he had been marked for greatness. He liked to indulge his imagination by classifying his many pupils in the same way that fishermen classified their fish, and it had worked well for him, that is, until Jesus came to him for instruction. For Jesus defied categorisation.

Yes,
Jesus was well educated and could apply his knowledge to answer the most puzzling questions with eloquent perspicacity, but he did not wish to answer questions, his desire was always to ask them! Never before had Gamaliel found a pupil with knowledge and understanding who had no wish to proclaim it!

Jesus always came in autumn and remained with Gamaliel through
out the winter, learning the deeper truths and laws of the tradition of Israel. But as soon as spring announced itself, he would leave again for his home in Nazareth to help his father with his Carpentry. He came and went, and the short months they spent together grew precious to Gamaliel.

During his stays, when he was not being taught at the academy
, Jesus would go for long walks on his own. Gamaliel knew this because the boy would later take him to the lower city, or else to those places outside the city walls to show him what he had found: the poor and the wretched, the beggars, the lepers and the insane. Afterwards he would ask Gamaliel, in the cool and quiet of the Temple court:

‘What do the priests and scholars and scribes do for those poor souls, rabbi? What good are all their sacrifices and hymns and rituals, all their learning and commentary, all their scrolls and parchments and laws
– if they do nothing for the suffering of their people?’

The sadness and anguish in
Jesus’ voice seemed to go deep into his heart, and Gamaliel could think of nothing to ease this pain or to answer the questions that plagued him.  In truth, Gamaliel soon realised that he could teach Jesus nothing more, for the young man’s soul seemed to be nourished from a source far beyond Gamaliel’s comprehension; a secret fount of wisdom, which Gamaliel could kindle, but to which he had no access.

Now
, as Gamaliel and Jesus sat together on the terrace of the Temple court, he observed the sky, milk-blue and cloudless with only a hint of spring in the air, and he was certain that the time for the youth’s final leave-taking was at hand. He felt such a sadness for it that he resolved to ask Jesus if he would like to remain at the Temple permanently and be proven worthy of an elevated position. Prudently, he broached the question by asking Jesus how he passed his time in Nazareth, when he was far from the Temple and his teachings.

‘I work
with my father,’ he answered, simply.

Gamaliel
nodded with a knowing smile, ‘All work is profitable, Jesus, but do you think such work is worthy of your understandings and talents?’

Jesus looked at him
with a bland eye. ‘You have taught me many things, rabbi, but my father also teaches me.’

‘
Of course he does. Can you tell me then, what have you found to be the most important teaching of all?’

A
long time passed in quiet but Gamaliel was patient, sensing the birth of a new intimacy. Would he finally know what truly lived in the soul of this remarkable youth?

When Jesus spoke
, however, his voice was different, weighty and burdened, so that even his face seemed cast in darker tones.

‘I
have learnt that whatever is made by a man will one day turn to dust, like the tables my father builds; that all that begins in the world must have an end. But I also know that there exists something that has no beginning, and no end.’

‘What is that
, Jesus?’

‘T
ruth, master Gamaliel. That is what lies behind all that is made. And it does not change from person to person, from aeon to aeon, but lives above all things and exists even before a man can know it…this truth belongs only to God.’

Gamaliel was pleased
. ‘And what is man, among these truths?’

‘Man is truth and falsehood combined.
In a man’s heart there is wisdom, which is his feminine part, and in his head there is the possibility of intelligence, which is the masculine; to bring both together in the body and the soul, is to birth the spirit in a man.’

Gamaliel
was astounded at the wholeness of his answer. It made sense of that Hermetic riddle, which had plagued him since his time with the Therapeutae: the riddle of a stone that is no stone at all but is derived from three and two and one. Now Gamaliel knew what it was!

B
ody, soul and spirit; male and female; in one human being!

His heart
soared with enthusiasm! How simple and graceful! How elegant it was! He sat forward, stumbling over his words, asking in an excited fashion if Jesus would remain in his academy, telling him of the many things they could explore together, and the possibility of his advancement. Forgetting he was a rabbi, he laughed with joy and let all his feelings come out. But when he was finished he noticed that Jesus had said nothing, and that his head was bent downwards. He admonished himself then, for being too hasty, too forward, too brash and forceful, and wondered if he had trampled on the sapling in search of the water jug.

‘
I thank you,’ Jesus said, raising his head again, ‘but I will not stay, I must leave here and go in search of knowledge.’

Gamaliel
’s heart sank. Perhaps he had not known how much he loved his friend until that very moment. ‘Leave here? But Jesus, the Sanhedrin is the greatest centre of knowledge in the world!’

‘
That may be…but it does not expound the knowledge I seek.’

‘
What knowledge are you after?’

‘
Forgive me, master Gamaliel,’ he said, looking at him. ‘but you have always told me to be frank with you and so I will be frank. I will tell you that your logic and codes are fine and beautiful, your laws and regulations shimmer and glitter, and yet…they die away to nothing in my ears. They die away because behind them there is no experience. They are,’ he searched for the words a moment, ‘only shadows of the truth…forgeries.’

Gamaliel
was slighted –
forgeries
! He felt the blood rise to his face. ‘Listen to me, Jesus! Do not mock the tradition of Israel, which was given to us so that we, the chosen people, might prepare for the Messiah!’

‘
I am not mocking it,’ Jesus said. ‘I am only telling you the truth as I know it.’ His coloured eyes held Gamaliel’s as he spoke, ‘Tell me, what hinders the coming of the Messiah?’

Gamaliel
was flustered by this directness and looked away. ‘You know as well as I that there must first come repentance and good works…’

‘
Repentance and good works?’ Jesus asked with raised brows while beneath them those tranquil eyes were a-fire. He stood and walked to the porches. ‘Is that what Elijah tells?’

Gamaliel was annoyed that
his friend was so querulous a mood, and said harshly, ‘No…Elijah…tells that He will come when His voice is heard!’

Jesus
began to pace the terrace, his body full of nervous activity. ‘Yes! He will come when his voice is heard...but where are the ears that can hear it over the rabbis quoting their quotes?’ he paused in his pacing to give Gamaliel a sideways glance, ‘Your teachings have dulled your ears and have fashioned eyes that are trained only on kings, and priests arrayed in resplendent robes, only on those who sit on thrones, or in the cool shades of the Temple courts. How will your ears hear Him and your eyes recognise Him if He comes among the poor and the lowly, or if He is seen speaking to gentiles and idol worshippers?’

Gamaliel
watched him a moment before making his voice cool and laconic, ‘When He comes to us we will know Him because we have the words of the prophets in our ears; those who tell us how to recognise Him!’

Jesus took this into consideration. ‘Then you will not know him in your heart
, is that what you say? You will only know him if he fits the image you have made of him in your mind?’

Gamaliel, confounded, replied, ‘It is in the way of young men that they desire to know everything for themselves, in their hearts. But you must be satisfied with what those who came before you have left you, those who could still hear the voice of God. You will travel the world and you will not find a man who can teach you to be a prophet.’

Jesus
stopped his pacing to look at the sky. ‘For that I need no teacher…’ he said, ‘what I need is someone who can help me understand what I already see and hear!’

Gamaliel
raised his brow. ‘What did you say? Are you telling me that you can hear the voice of God? That you think you are a prophet?’

Jesus
closed his eyes, and let the meagre sun wash over his face a moment. ‘He speaks to me, and there are times I near understand it…times when I think I know what He says…’

‘What
does he say?’ Gamaliel was breathless for his answer.

Jesus
looked at him. ‘He tells me…that we have forgotten our Fathers in the heavens.’

Gamaliel
took this in. He searched in his repertoire of answers for something that would make him seem wise and helpful but found nothing. After a moment, he settled for this,

‘
If what you say is true, you should stay! You can teach others to hear the voice…in time, your teaching itself will make you wise, wiser than me, wiser even than my grandfather before me, for you will teach from experience!’

Jesus shook his head
, wincing as if Gamaliel’s words were hurtful. ‘No! Stop! Don’t you see? I will be no greater and no wiser! I will become a dead man like you are becoming! Dead…’ He pointed to the Hall of Polished Stones, ‘like those men in the Sanhedrin who use cheap tricks and enchantments, incense, sacrifice and song to deceive the people and themselves!’

He
reined in his temper then, and his face grew soft. The man who spoke now was so different that even his face appeared to have lost its dark shadows. ‘Forgive me master,’ he said, ‘I don’t mean to insult you. Just the opposite, I am grateful to you for helping me to understand that mine is a different destiny and that I must find a place where I can live it.’

Gamaliel
was slighted and wounded…perhaps also a little envious. ‘I have listened to you throw in my face everything that I hold dear, everything that sustains our people!’ he said, quietly, angrily. ‘I hope your soul is not falling into heresy, for if you speak like this to others there is no telling what the priests will do. They can unmake a man with just one word!’

Jesus considered
this and blinked and nodded, as if he were fixing these words to the nub of his heart. ‘The priests may unmake me and perhaps they will, that is true, but they can never unmake the truth. That, rabbi, is imperishable!’

He
turned to go, and Gamaliel stood, for he realised, despite his anger and hurt that he was losing his friend. ‘Our paths may be different ones,’ he called after him, ‘I grant you that, Jesus! But must our friendship be over? I would like it to be renewed one day…if by then you still love your teacher.’

Jesus paused
, and his voice was gentle over his shoulder when he said, ‘I do love you, rabbi, but I love truth more.’

With that he was gone
, leaving the young rabbi looking after him, dazzled and puzzled, full of wonder and woe and confusion, as if he had seen the sun at midnight, or the stars poking out of a midday sky. What should he think of such strange and shocking words, spoken so mightily by the young Jesus of Nazareth? If they were true then all his life, which had so far come to pass, and even that which was yet to come, had been, and would be, founded on an untruth, on a falsehood. Such a thought could have made Gamaliel sink to his knees had the marble floor not been taken from under him!

He consoled himself
, with the thought that Jesus might be of the lineage of David and a fine student, but in the final analysis, he was only a youth full of notions. He was not a teacher or a prophet – he was not a priest or a king.  Still, such words, such words…

This uneasiness lingered in Gamaliel’s heart
for many years before he would understand it. In that far off time he would be standing upon the same spot, but he would not be puzzling over the student full of despair who was walking away into the spring afternoon, he would be marvelling in recognition of a man who was not a student, or a teacher, not a prophet, a king or a priest, but the hope of all Jews and the consolation of all Israel.