Chapter Twenty-One
J
erusalem was in a festive mood. People milled about excitedly, happy faces of children playing, merchants hawking, the dust of the streets, palpable. Families walked together taking in the wonder and celebration of it all. While many of the children and even some adults wore costumes and masks, older men ambled about stately and serene, unaffected spectators. They had seen it many times before. They were amazed but not unpleased at how the younger generation could be so stimulated, yet they remembered when they had felt the same way. Years have a way of altering perspective.
Suddenly a loud cheer arrested everyone’s attention. It came from the direction of the synagogue. Another cheer and loud shouting. Some began to move in the direction of the sounds when another shouted, “It’s the Megillah! Hurry!” At that, almost everyone in the streets, shouting, hurried toward the synagogue. The older men, arms folded smiled in pleasure. In a moment where one heard cheers, the noise of boos and hisses issued forth, along with the brackish sound of noisemakers. They arrived to find the synagogue already packed with people so all they could do was stand outside and cheer when they heard everyone else cheer and boo when they heard everyone else boo. On the podium sat a man reading,
“And the king loved Esther more than all the women, and she found favor and kindness with him more than all the virgins, so that he set the royal crown on her head and made her queen instead of Vashti.”
Again, the people cheered wildly, clapping their hands and jumping up and down. It was the fourteenth of March, known to the Jews as the month of Adar, and this was the Feast of Purim. It had turned the entire city of Jerusalem into a gigantic carnival. In every synagogue the Scroll of Esther, or “Megillah,” was being read. Whenever the name of wicked Haman was read, loud shouts and boos and children waving groggers, the loudest noisemaker one could imagine.
The word Purim is derived from pure, or small a stone used in casting lots, the method Haman used to establish the day in which he would massacre all the Jews. Purim occurs one day after Nicanor’s day on the 13th of Adar. This from the decree of almost 200 years ago to annually celebrate the defeat of Nicanor by Judas Maccabaeus. So, the Feast of Purim had taken on a double significance that further intensified the merrymaking. The readings continued enthusiastically, with great drama, punctuated with shouts, cheers, boos and groggers. The garish costumes and masks helped the people express their rejoicing in remembering that Esther had to conceal her Jewish origins when she became queen.
Jesus made his way through the festivities deliciously alone, having left the twelve and the disciples in Galilee. His purpose in coming to Jerusalem was actually to see Hermas ben David, his father’s old friend. He continued through the city and beyond its walls to Bethlehem, the place of his birth and the home of Hermas. By now, he would be in his sixties. He remembered coming to this home when his family came to Jerusalem for Passover and other occasions. He thought of the times they had come for Purim. He felt an ache of nostalgia as he recalled happy times. Soon the house was in view. A fine house, a villa with colonnades and a reflecting pool. Hermas ben David lived well. He was met however, not by his expected host, but by a Roman soldier of high rank. A tribune, perhaps? A general? Jesus did not know. Military rank had always been so esoteric to him. For such a person to be here was not particularly remarkable, since Hermas ben David was a man of wealth and power.
The soldier in gleaming uniform, his short combat sword at his side spoke first, “Welcome, Jesus,” he said, “It is good to see you again.” He smiled and held out his arm for Jesus to clasp in traditional Roman greeting.
Jesus, a bit nonplussed but in control of himself said, “Have we met? Do I know . . .“ Recognition. “Urbanus! I -- I can’t believe it! How long has it been?”
“I believe the last time was when I chased you up a tree. Let’s see,” he laughed, putting his hand to his chin as if in somber recollection, “You must have been about twelve. After that you were playing with one of your little friends, ah . . .
“Eben! His name was Eben. Why did I climb a tree?” he asked, embarrassed that he could not remember.
“I think you were pretending you were cat, a tiger perhaps.”
“And you?”
“A great nubian hunter, of course!” They both laughed out loud.
“There was an incident. You disappeared for three days and our families were in an uproar about it.”
“Yes,” said Jesus with a soberness that approached embarrassment, “I guess I frightened everyone rather badly.”
Seeing his discomfiture, Urbanus good-naturedly made the most of it, “What was that excuse you gave?” laughing.
Jesus smiled embarrassed, “That I was about my Father’s business.”
“I guess your parents must have loved that.”
“They were less than impressed. I’m afraid it was just the beginning of my adolescent itchings.” While Jesus understood that this assessment was probably closer to the truth than he wished, he nonetheless remembered the insistent pressure within him on that occasion. His “itchings” had persisted through his adolescence, some holy thing that only intensified as he matured.
“Jesus!” The voice of an older man cried out. Hermas ben David’s hair and beard were a dramatic mixture of white and black. The smile on his face genuine and joyous. Like Jesus always remembered him, he was dressed impeccably but his posture, his uneven gait bespoke of advancing years. He held out his arms, into which Jesus unhesitatingly walked. They embraced warmly with affectionate kisses on each side of the face.
Jesus followed Hermas into the luxurious home, his son the soldier, came after. A fire crackled in the hearth, removing the bite from the early spring chill. Through the casement, blue mountains against a bright gray sky could be seen on the horizon. Noise from the streets drifted into the lovely home. Bethlehem was a microcosm of her larger sister, Jerusalem. The center of the room occupied by a large mahogany table polished to a brilliant sheen, surrounded by silk covered cushions all the same color. On the table lay certain items that Jesus knew instantly were matanot la-evyonim, or gifts for the poor. This was another tradition of Purim. Jesus knew that there were other gifts as well, or mishloach manot, gifts to be sent to distant relatives and friends. Julia, now graced with light streaks of gray in her hair, having greeted Jesus with warmth and delight, served the men wine, grapes, bread and melting cheese. And then, without the slightest embarrassment, sat down with the men to participate in conversation. She did not intend to miss a thing. Such a bright, intelligent woman could no more be regulated to her quarters than the man Hermas ben David himself. She was in every particular, his intellectual equal. It was not a fact that Hermas did not notice and appreciate. Indeed, he felt complimented that this woman had chosen to love him, bear his children and be his wife. Any man would be proud and humbled for the blessing she brought to his life. Julia spoke first.
“What brings the son of Mary and Joseph so far from his home? Or should I address you as the Son of God?” The gentle smile on her lips showed no intent of disrespect.
“I see my reputation has preceded me,” said Jesus wryly. “Really aunt Julia, I am surprised there were no trumpets, heralds or carpet of red to welcome me,” he said with mock seriousness. They laughed at the absurdity. A pause, “Actually, I have no business, no regal purpose, no compelling news to bring you. I think I have come because I know I am welcome, and quite honestly,” he lowered his head slightly, “I could use a little of that right now.” Julia instantly reached out to touch his arm.
“No one could be more welcome in this house,” she responded.
“May God grant this home always your sanctuary, Jesus,” Hermas added. Urbanus remained silent, observing, smiling approval.
Julia continued, “From the day you were brought into our home, almost from your mother’s womb, you have been our son as well. You spent almost two years living here. Do you think that you did not find your way into our hearts in that time? Jesus ben Joseph, or Jesus ben Yahweh, whoever you are, we love you as we love our own son.”
That cued Urbanus, “And I, little brother. I was but a boy with great dreams when you came into our lives. I remember the star, the Magi. You were something of a celebrity then. With me you will always be a celebrity, and,” gripping the handle of his sword, “my protection and my blood are always at your disposal.” His mother looked at him with palpable love and tangible fear.
The conversation and pleasantries continued for several moments before Jesus realized that Julia had absented herself. She was gone for only a moment when he saw her enter the room with a tray in her hands. Odd-looking pastries were on the tray. He instantly knew by the familiar aroma what they were. Delicious, mouth watering Hamantashen!
It was time for Jesus to be excited, “Haman’s Hat!” he exclaimed. I haven’t had those since I was a child.
“Haman’s ears,” corrected Hermas, “or so some say. Personally, I disagree. Ears do not have three corners!” with feigned disgust. The pastries were usually served only on Purim. Each had three corners and was filled with prunes and sweet poppy seeds.
“My mother used to make these,” said Jesus recalling fond memories.
“So does every Jewish mother. She no doubt still makes them.”
Such warm, fervent hospitality touched Jesus deeply. “I have not erred in coming here. You honor me with your love and faith. And my brother,” speaking to the soldier, “your sword shall never be drawn in my defense, but it is comforting to know it is there.” He waited for the emotion of the moment to pass and said, “Knowledge of your generosity to me and my parents may never be known . . .
“We did not do it to be known!” said Hermas.
“I know that, and so does my Father in heaven.”
There was a noticeable change in the expression of Urbanus. “You speak of Yahweh as your Father as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Jesus,” spoke Hermas. “Tell us of him. What is he like?”
“I have two fathers in heaven now. My father Joseph is gathered to his fathers. He too, is in the bosom of Abraham.”
“We heard,” from Julia. “We were grieved.”
“I did not even attend his funeral,” said Jesus quietly.
“As you say, Jesus, he was not there. He was in your Father’s care.”
Jesus considered for a moment. It is odd that this loving family should remind him of the obvious. He knew that Joseph now enjoyed the literal presence of God, yet to be reminded by people who loved him seemed somehow remarkable. “You know how the scribes and others have intellectualized God. He is the subject of study and ponderous theological discussion. So, it is now and so shall it ever be. In this way, men hold him at a distance. It is perhaps more comfortable for them in that way. But the Father will not be put in a book, nor confined in theological philosophy. My Father is much like any other father. He wished to reproduce himself. That is why we are created in his image. He wished to look upon his child, his children, and see himself. To see and experience their love for him, love given freely — of their own choice to do so.
“You speak of love as though it were tangible,” spoke Urbanus, “as though it were something we could see, feel or touch. Isn’t love, as we know it, an unwitting sentimentality? An infatuation?”
“The soldier has spoken,” said Hermas wearily. “My son has become a Roman, Jesus. He speaks of human experience through cold objectivity, as though the issues that sway men were a matter of military precision.”
The mood of the soldier shifted from pleasant to irritation, “I have seen love cripple more men than it has ennobled,” he quietly replied. “And yes, father, I do enjoy the structure of the military. It plans. It is organized. It gets things done. There is not much quarter for the lack of emotional discipline. My enemy does not ask my permission or inquire as to how I feel about it before he divides my head with his sword. The ‘issues that sway men’ as you put it, are best settled by force — the force of a benevolent theocracy.” The eyes of the son gazed without blinking at those of his father.
“I have raised an Alexander,” said Hermas. This was clearly a subject over which father and son had deep differences. “A theocracy, you say? You speak, I suppose, of the divinity of Caesar?”
“If he were not divine, he would not be Caesar!” Urbanus shot back. “How do you suppose one becomes master of the world? There is no army, no force, no will on earth that can withstand him. He is the most powerful man on earth. How can you not revere him, father?”
“You just said it yourself. He is a man, not a god. I cannot revere such a despotic, poisonous ass!”
“Stop it! Both of you!” from Julia. “I will not have the men I love going at one another. Urbanus, I have never heard you speak to your father in that tone.”
“It is because of me,” said Jesus evenly. “I think what I represent goes against the things that have meant the most to Urbanus. He is not to be faulted.”
“I am not sure I understand. Jesus, how do you mean that you go against the things that mean the most to me? Do you oppose Caesar? Do you oppose the seat of power that provides for you? That keeps you safe from enemies of the state?
“Urbanus, Urbanus, my son! Your heart is afire with naive idealism,” from his father.
“Naive idealism!?” The soldier stood, furious. “And what is this drivel that we hear from this man?” gesturing at Jesus. “Naive, you say? This is not naive,” grasping the grip of his sword. “This is not naive,” bringing his arm and fist forcefully across the eagle on his chest. These are real, my father. And may whatever gods there be help the pathetic souls who stand in their way!” The fury in his son’s eyes would have melted lead. The moment of tense silence in the room seemed more like an hour when Urbanus abruptly turned strode out the door.
“Urbanus!” cried Julia.
“Let him go,” said Hermas.
Jesus stood and followed him outside. In the yard, the sun glinting on his brass helmet Urbanus turned and pointed at Jesus with his finger, “Stay away from me Jesus of Nazareth! We may have been friends in childhood, but now we are men. I am an officer of the Roman court and you . . ? You are a . . . I don’t know what you are! I care not a fig for the silly stories of your birth, but by Caesar, go against me and I’ll witness for myself the day of your death!” He stalked away leaving Jesus alone and hurt.
Urbanus! Urbanus, my dear brother. So you have spoken, so it shall be.
