Chapter Twenty
J
ohn the Baptist is a Nazarite. He has been one since birth. All he has ever known is hardship in living. It is not only a way of life for him, it is a philosophy. It is all he knows. Therefore, in a palpable sense, John had far more in common with Asher and the scribes than he did Jesus. Yet, the enormous difference between John and Asher is that John recognizes Jesus for who he is. Asher gags at this. John believes, and thoroughly. Asher and his ilk hold Jesus in contempt. John saw himself as closing the old; he sees Jesus as opening the new.
At the same time of Matthew’s supper, the followers of John’s teaching and preaching and the followers of the Pharisees were keeping a ceremonial fast. Some of John’s people had come to the occasion. I thought that somewhat odd. Why would someone who is fasting come to a feast? No doubt, they were curious about Jesus, but still, it seemed more than a bit incongruous to me. One of them, David ben Adoniram by name, approached Jesus as he was taking a sip of wine. I recognized him because I had seen him often hanging about in the crowds that followed Jesus. It seemed he always wanted to walk among us but for reasons known only to him, could not. I know he, like his mentor, believed deeply, but simply could not leave his austere existence. He believed in its “rightness,” I suppose. This is reflected in his question to Jesus. An honest one, I thought, “Why do we and the Pharisees fast often and make petitions, but you and your people do not fast — you eat and you drink?”
Jesus turned to face his questioner and immediately smiled, “David, son of Adoniram! How good to see you again!”
“Thank you teacher. I do not mean to be impertinent.”
“Of course you didn’t,” said Jesus, “And you weren’t. Thank you for asking an honest question. I will try to give you an honest answer.”
“Try, teacher? I do not believe you capable of anything else.” It wasn’t fawning or flattery. David was such a literalist that it never occurred to him that Jesus was not speaking explicitly. He could not recognize the subtleties of idiom. Jesus smiled again, accepting the plain if somewhat clumsy, complement.
We must realize that David ben Adoniram was at a disadvantage here. He no doubt felt considerable discomfort not only in the strangeness of his surroundings, but in his empty stomach as well. Matthew’s banquet was a sumptuous affair and there was much hearty laughter, something to which David in his association with the Nazarite, was unaccustomed. Jesus smiling, answered sensitively, “Perhaps you do not understand how profoundly you are bound by tradition and liturgy. I came to release you from all that, but I do understand how hard it is for you to hear that. You believe too completely that these things have value.” Then Jesus shifted his position so that he could face his questioner more directly. “Listen David, can you make young men at a wedding party fast? Have you ever seen them mourn at a marriage ceremony?” And then a quiet change affected his expression, as if a fleeting, painful thought crossed his mind. He continued, “There will be time enough for fasting, David. Time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them. They will fast and mourn and make petitions as you say, then.”
By this time, most of the noise of the party had subsided. We listened as he tried to illustrate, “You do not tear a piece of material from a new coat and sew it on an old one. If you do that, you will have ruined a new coat. When washed the patch from the new coat will shrink and pull away from the old and tear it. Both are ruined.”
Jesus had a remarkable way of coming up with these simple metaphors which in context, revealed compelling truth. He wasn’t finished, “Likewise, no one pours new wine into old wineskins.” For a moment, I wondered why Jesus spoke of wine to a man who would not touch it. It occurred to me that perhaps David was not yet a full Nazarite. As I mentioned earlier, he did seem drawn to us. Jesus turned to address us all, “If he does, when the new wine begins to ferment and expand, it will burst the skins, and both wine and the wineskins will be ruined. That is not how it is done. New wine must be poured into new wineskins so that both may be preserved.” Then back to David, as if gently teasing him, “And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, ‘The old is better.’”
David ben Adoniram smiled. It won’t be long, I thought.
But let us not forget the question, “Why do you enjoy yourselves and we deny ourselves?” The point Jesus made was that new and old do not ordinarily provide a stable or productive mix. Put them together and both are destroyed. Let them be themselves and both retain integrity. Jesus was not saying that fasting was better or worse, just that one should not encroach upon the other. In the first story, Jesus was not saying that the coming of the new is intended to repair the old. The new is to replace and fulfill the reason for which the old has become useless. In the second, the new is to connect to that which can accommodate it, accept it and grow with it. His final comment is true of wine. It is also true of him. He is both new and old. He is both Messiah and Ancient of Days. Like fine wine, he is the natural and procedural consequence of an old and holy intent. Our brother Paul later put it succinctly, “The Law was our schoolmaster to bring us to Christ.”
