05 The Father, the Son & the Slave
You know the Passion narrative. This is not that tale. This is the story behind the gospel and governed by the history and politics of the time. It is the story of a father, his estranged son and the slave caught between them. This is Chapter Five.
F I V E
Josef walked beside his son, ahead of the others in the wagon. The two men were forced to lean backwards to compensate for the steepening incline as the Jezreel narrowed and dropped into the Jordan’s escarpment. Josef looked over his shoulder regularly to reassure himself that Maryam was not, in fact, going to lose control of the wagon and crush him.
“Return to carpentry?” Iesu repeated his father’s statement as a question. “I think not, Father. You are aware as I the limits of my skill. I would never be the craftsman you are, and even Metlip’s skills surpassed mine when he was still a child. I can do greater good as a healer and teacher.”
“You have squandered the effort I invested in you.”
“You have Metlip, who learned from watching you teach me and now exceeds my skills in every way, so your efforts were not wasted.”
“It was all I had to give you.”
“No, Father. My knowledge of the law is due to you. My skill to read and compose in Aramaic, Hebrew, Latin and also Greek. Yet you held back what I desired most of all.”
“What was that?”
“Love.”
“I loved you.”
“Indeed. But you were loath to show it, offering unrelenting criticism in its stead. Never would you praise when you could point out a flaw or blemish until naught but disappointment coloured your opinion of me.”
“My purpose was to push you to achieve your potential.”
Iesu chuckled. “Though you never asked how I saw my own potential.”
The road curved, gently at first, to accommodate the growing incline, but soon twisted back on itself. More than once, the Roman engineers had no choice but to carve huge cuts into the rock so the road could keep a safe angle of descent.
“What future do you see for yourself as you walk from here to there, living on the charity of others? What will you have at the end of your days?”
“What should I have, Father? Wealth? I shall have wealth — riches tallied in the joy I fostered in others and the joy I earned from doing so. A wealth of satisfaction from healing those lacking any other succour, the treasure of a life dedicated to the Father Above. What could be greater reward?”
“You will end up like those you now help, destitute and begging for scraps. And if you are to marry, you must provide for your wife.”
“I will. The Father Above will provide all we need. Have faith.”
“Faith.” Josef made it sound like death. “Come home, Iesu. All I have will be yours.”
“Better to leave it to Metlip.”
“How? He is a slave.”
“Free him.”
“I cannot.”
“If not you, then who?”
“It would only open past wounds in the town, and I am too old for battle.”
“Too old, or too fearful of what a wound might reveal?”
“A balance exists which is acceptable to all.”
“Except Metlip.”
The road’s incline continued to increase in step with the narrowing valley, until the slopes became bare rock, too steep to harbour anything besides lichen at the base of the stone lining the little stream. The defile curved southward, stubbornly refusing to reveal the Jordan Valley.
As if summoned, Metlip materialized beside Iesu bearing the shallow bowl replenished with dried grapes and honeyed almonds, a wineskin on his shoulder. Without a word, he slipped into the space between the two men.
Josef was relieved at his slave’s timely arrival, as his son could no longer press the sensitive subject of the Nubian’s status.
“What did you do when you left?” Josef asked his son.
“Discovered my purpose.” Iesu gazed ahead, anticipating his first view of the Jordan Valley. He never tired of how the two sentinels, Tabor and Gilboa, seemed so envious of the valley’s beauty they resisted revealing it, their slopes slowly retreating until, at the very last, the river valley burst into view in all her magnificent glory as the gift from the Father Above that she was. But not yet.
“And what is that?”
“What is what, Father?”
“What did you discover your purpose to be?”
“To share a new vision of God, neither wrathful nor vengeful, intent on testing and punishing us as the old books say, but rather as a loving and merciful Father Above. A God who does not discriminate based on race or wealth. A God who welcomes every one of His children as an equal unto Him.”
“A God who insists you serve Him best as a beggar rabbi?”
Iesu laughed. “Not at all, Father. We take in far more than we need. We distribute most among the poor. I am fed and clothed. What would it say about me — about the Father Above — if I were to speak about charity and equality, yet live like a prince?”
“Where did you go?”
“From the mountains to the sea and the desert between. My goal, so I thought, was to journey to Jerusalem and study the strengths and limits of the law. But it took me near to a year to arrive there, only to find the city held stale minds and deaf ears. So I traveled to Capernaum, a city as different to Jerusalem as night is to day. Where Jerusalem forever fawns over the past, worshipping myths and blind to reality, Capernaum reaches for the future with both hands. It feels like the centre of the world from its proximity to Damascus, where Aegypt, Rome and the Silk Road meet. Capernaum’s markets overflow with all the world’s produce, the air teeming with fresh ideas.”
“What did you find on your journey south?” Josef pressed.
“More questions — but answers, too, answers which became the foundation of my teaching.”
“Such as?”
“The Father Above, the One True God, loves all of his children equally as parts of Himself, and so we should reflect that love, to Him and to each other. In so doing, we honour each other and achieve peace among nations.”
“Who are your audience?”
“Any who will listen. Gentile or Jew.”
“You preach to Hebrews, God’s chosen, separate from and superior to other races?”
“An old myth to unify the tribe during times of submission. The Father Above knows no favourites. But our people are a hard sell. I have had greater success in the North, where Jews there hold less tightly to the mitzvot and treat more easily with Gentiles. Though smaller, Capernaum has more wealth than Jerusalem, shared more evenly among the people. The city bristles with opportunities in trade and the possibilities of the future. It is a wonder to behold.”
“Would you die for your God?” asked Josef.
There was a brief hesitation before Iesu answered. “If I must. Would you die for yours, Father? I think not. For all your piety, you have no faith.”
“I obey God’s laws.”
“Knowing law is not belief, and though obedience may make you look pious, it is not faith. You do not allow yourself faith in the Father Above because you do not believe you deserve Him. You know the mitzvot, yet are lost among them. You seek a path which does not exist and berate yourself for not finding it. You may find but one thing thus — self-loathing.”
Maryam held the reins just taught enough that the horses shortened their steps against the growing incline, her left hand pulling the wagon’s brake in kind. The caravan’s pace had slowed as the afternoon progressed, and mounted guards moved up and down the column, enforcing greater space from one wagon to the next. As a result, Mother was breathing more easily now, her attention on her husband and son up ahead, Metlip between them.
For a moment, Maryam saw Metlip as a father walking his sons, and smiled to herself.
The younger woman had known to expect some version of the confrontation with Iesu’s father and had prepared her defence of her past. But then Josef had stormed away, and Maryam had more to say. She wanted everything out in the open — she determined she would not live with any secrets unaddressed or resentments unanswered. Gathering her resolve to say all she needed to, she turned towards Mother and found the older woman looking at her.
“My son is different, yes?” Mother stated. “Changed. He has learned to curb his temper, thank God, because this is the longest they have spoken without the both of them shouting since — “ She broke off, her eyes creasing as she thought. “Well, for a very long time. Josef has a temper, but Iesu’s rage was unequalled. So I thank you.”
“Thank me?” Maryam answered. “I had naught to do with it. Not that I ever witnessed my beloved truly angry. Still, I have noticed an underlying worry he will not speak of. Not to me, at least, nor to his disciples. Not even to Judas. I hoped he might reveal it to his father.”
Mother’s attention returned to her son. “There are other changes, too, things only a mother might notice. He has a resolve which was not there before his exile, and confidence. Yes. I think I like how my son has changed.”
Maryam steadied her resolve. She had things to say. “Mother,” she said, “there are some things that need be said — that I need to say — so they may not haunt the future.” Maryam took a deep breath. “I did proposition Josef, once. In the caravanserai. I had watched him before. He was so — composed. His clothing was always clean, he bore himself like a prince. He stood out from the rest by his lack of odour, if nothing else.
“I remember him most for his utter disinterest — not just in me, but for womankind — and perceived then his preference for his own sex. I know now I was wrong, or he would not be wed to you.”
Mother glanced away, needing time to school her features. She was not ready for this near stranger to learn all of her family’s secrets.
“How did you meet my son?” Mother asked. “Did he — ?”
Maryam laughed. “No,” she said. “I never propositioned him, nor did he seek my services.”
“I did not mean to suggest you did.”
“No?”
“Well — ”
Maryam laid her hand on Mother’s arm, held it there. “Your son is the only man ever to offer me help without expecting payment, in coin or otherwise. He helped me find justice.” Maryam looked at her husband-to-be walking with his father and brother, her smile creasing the corners of her eyes. She made no move to wipe a dusty tear that ran down her cheek.
“A merchant cheated me of my fee and moved on. But eventually, he returned in a larger party and I again demanded he pay me. Again, he refused. His companions laughed at my humiliation and I fled. Then I noticed a figure standing nearby, and though he watched me, he said nothing. I took him for a customer, but I was in no mood for men. ‘Leave me,’ I shouted. ‘As you wish,’ he replied, ‘but I may help you find justice’.
“Justice?” I growled. ‘There is no such thing for the likes of me.’ I would not deter him. ‘Everyone deserves justice,’ he replied, ‘even you, if you but reach for it.’ I looked at him then, seeing him truly for the first time, and while a part of me noted his youth and the richness of his tunic, persuading me to think him much like the merchant, his eyes held the conviction of his words and I held my peace.
“You appealed to the wrong person,’ he said. ‘You must speak to his wife.’ I thought he meant to rile me further. ‘Wife?’ I asked. ‘He has no woman with him.’ Iesu smiled then, and I knew I could trust him. ’She is in that wagon,’ he continued, pointing at a particularly ornate one with silks tied in the windows. ‘You must remind her of the one law of the caravanserai — all bargains must be honoured.’ But I was in no mood for patience. ‘And so?’ I demanded. ‘Tell her that her husband used you but refused your fee. Tell her you are applying to court and that you have someone to speak for you. Me. Tell her that her husband may win, but she will be revealed to be so poor a wife that her husband seeks other women. If he loses, she will share his shame. With either verdict, she loses face.’ I walked straight to the wagon and made my case to the wife. She listened in silence, and when I was done, she asked me to wait. She sent for her husband, and after a brief conversation inside her wagon, he presented me with twice my fee. Iesu became my friend. He came to me when he could and we spoke of anything and everything.”
“Did you leave with him?”
“No. But he came to say farewell. I was devastated — and knew in that moment I loved him. I said as much and he declared the same for me. ‘But you must wait,’ he said. ‘I will send for you’.
“A year later, he sent Judas to seek me in the caravanserai and I walked away from my previous life. Since then, I have never left Iesu’s side.“
The older woman relaxed. The younger one took it as encouragement to continue. She glanced forward to confirm her distance from the men walking ahead as she said, “Iesu told me your tale of his birth.”
Mother flinched, inhaled a sharp breath, unseen by Maryam. “And? You think me mad, yes?”
Turning her gaze back, Maryam held her palm up. “Never, Mother. I believe your son is the Messiah our people — all people — need. You are his mother, and holy in your own right.”
“For a time, I thought I was mad. Or possessed by demons.” Mother paused, as if she would say no more, but as Maryam thought of an additional question to ask, the older woman continued. “I was still a girl, marriage a distant dream to escape my father, a wine-maker who saw himself cursed with three daughters whom he tried to forget in one jar after another. My mother had died long ago. My eldest sister was wed and with her husband’s clan. Sarah, my other sister, was unwed. I was the youngest. So who was I to be visited by a spirit and told I would bear the Son of God? Even now it sounds like raving.”
“Were you frightened?”
“Terrified. By the time the angel departed I was drenched in sweat, the encounter burned into my memory. Sleep was impossible, but I dared not wake anyone. What would I say that would not earn me a beating? I went out to the courtyard and searched the heavens for a sign, but none came. My terror abated, and I found the memory held no lingering fear.
“Over the next days, I revisited the memory, and with each recurrence the better I felt, but then it came to me that my visitor could have been a demon with intent to seduce me. I needed to talk to the priest, so the next day I rushed through my chores, completing them while several hours of daylight remained. I ran to the synagogue, sat unmoving as I waited for my turn to speak. But I am a woman and they ignored me. Even when darkness came, I stayed, certain a beating awaited at home. Finally, I was alone with the priest.
“Why are you not home performing your duties?” he asked me. My work was complete, I told him, but I needed to speak with him. ‘Where is your offering?’ I had nothing and saw that my effort was for naught — save the beating. I cried. My body shook so that I could not catch my breath.
“I revealed the entire encounter to him and he listened through the whole.
”It was just a dream,’ he said.
“No. The angel stood in my chamber,’ I replied.
“Angels do not visit daughters of wine-makers. More likely a demon. Are you possessed?’
“His words seemed to confirm my worst fears — or so I thought. ‘No,’ I insisted.
“How would you know?’ he pressed.
“It did not approach or threaten me.’
“So. Not an angel. Perhaps not even a demon. Is it a tale to hide a sin? Were you violated?’
“No. Never.’
“Not violated. Then you sinned by choice? With whom?’
Mother glanced at Maryam. She had the younger woman’s full attention. “Now there was an option more frightful than possession. Being labeled an adulteress. ‘No,’ I stammered. ‘There was no one. I have not sinned.’
“The truth will emerge with time’ he said. ‘Go home now. Tell your father you were with me and not to beat you. It can wait until your belly swells.’
“I had no other visitations and believed it truly was a dream. Until — until I missed two successive courses. I was lost. I could share my condition with no one. Who would believe me? I saw I had but one choice. That night, I waited until my father and sister slept, then crept from my pallet. I took nothing with me save my sandals and walked to the cliff that drops from Nazareth to the valley floor.
“I said a prayer begging God’s forgiveness and made ready to jump, when a voice behind me asked, ‘Is it a scandal you seek?’ The surprise of it held me, and I turned to see a young man in a rich mantle holding his arm out to me. It was Josef.
“He did not approach, merely spoke in his quiet way. He asked why I felt I must end my young life. I was obviously not a slave, as he saw neither bruising nor hunger on me. ‘What other reason could there be to ruin such a beautiful night?’ he asked. ‘Are you in debt?’ He offered to share his coin, if that would ease my burden.
“Why would my death be a scandal?’ I replied.
“Our deaths. Finding us both at the base on the same morning, you an unwed maiden and I, a stranger? Can you imagine the questions your family would face?’
“I do this to save them from my shame’.
“I abandoned my own life for just that reason,’ he said. ‘Shame. I, too, may never return whence I came. And please come away from that ledge.’
“He bade me sit beside him on the rocks. Then he spoke of the view of the valley below us, and the Roman road dividing it. He likened it to a river that flowed in both directions, enabling trade between peoples and prosperity for all. At the last, he told me of his own sojourn from Jerusalem — for there lay his old life — and how the sorrow that coerced his exile diminished with each step he took and every stranger he befriended.
“Until I climbed this ridge,’ he said, and understood that regardless the distance from his home, he would never escape his shame, and he saw how a single step into the night would provide a final solution.
“His stories drained my determination, his voice lulled me into comfort. When he ventured his first questions about my plight, I answered without realizing, until my ordeal escaped my lips and my fears lay at his feet.
“But where I expected condemnation, I found compassion. He accepted my truth as his and thanked me for revealing my predicament. He assured me he could see a solution if I but allowed him to share his tale.
“The result, that night, of two strangers who met, conversed and pledged to wed in a single encounter was the sign from God I had been seeking. I have never regretted a single day. Well, maybe one or two.”
Mother went silent, lost in her memories. Maryam studied Josef, adding these additional details to her impression of him.
Mother had more to tell. “My father wanted none of my marriage to Josef. The winery was failing, my father had debts and Josef was just another mouth to feed. Josef used what coin he had to placate the creditors, but it was not enough to pay all my father owed. So he harnessed his donkey and led it away, insisting he would return that night and that as his future wife, I must trust him.
“Return he did, without his donkey or the possessions that had burdened it. Instead, he held up a purse, earned from the sale of the scrolls and codices that were all he carried from his home. It was enough to maintain the winery and finance a few changes, like lining the tub with coarse cloths. Such a simple thing, yes? Yet the effects were wondrous.
“After we danced on the grapes, hours were saved by being able to gather and lift the pulp all at once. And when we had collected the juice that remained, we would twist the cloth into a tighter and tighter ball, squeezing out even more juice to increase our yields. He built an inclined wooden shelf, wide at one end where we emptied our baskets and narrow at the other where it met the lip of the tub. It allowed us to notice bad grapes and remove them with ease.
“Immediately, the quality of our wine improved. Then, faced with a shortage of labour, Josef collected the orphans of Nazareth and nearby villages and apprenticed them. Freed from the stress of begging and abuse, the orphans showed their gratitude by hard work, until there were no more local grapes. So then my husband and his orphans ranged through Galilee for the surplus grapes of other vineyards to keep the winery open. We prospered, and it silenced my father.
“My pregnancy was easy — until the end.”
“What changed?”
“Josef discovered we were being hunted, so we fled in the night. Herod, father of Antipas, dreamt of a child born to rival him. And though it is said the rival’s shadow stole Herod’s light, the dream revealed no clue by whom or where from the threat lay. His answer was to order the murder of any male child born less than a year past or yet to be born in the next year.”
“But Herod ruled from Gaza to Galilee. How did you escape? Where did you go?”
“Aegypt.”
Josef glanced at Iesu. “They banished you. I — we — suffered our own exile within the town. Our neighbours shunned us, my business stalled. Had it not been for your mother’s looms and the quality of her cloth, we might well have been beggared.”
“Hypocrites,” Iesu said.
“In desperation,” Josef continued, “I built a chair — almost a throne — and gifted it to the Sadducee Jerem for his support. Despite his words to my face, nothing changed.”
A smile crept into his voice. “And then the greatest day of my life. Marcus, stopping at Jerem’s estate to pay his respects, noticed the chair and commented to his host. He asked its origin, but Jerem called it a gift, reluctant to disclose further even when Marcus pressed him. But Jerem’s wife, overhearing, exclaimed it was the work of a local artisan. Me.”
Josef paused a moment to steady his voice. “Yes, the day Marcus rode through the gate will always count as the best of my life. I can recall every detail.
“I remember the flush of fear when faced with a mounted Roman soldier and his escort, but then I saw Jerem’s servant loitering behind them and my fear shifted to curiosity. I asked as to his business, and he said he sought the carpenter Josef. I replied I was he and the Roman dismounted, removing his helm and naming himself — Marcus Salvo, Tribune and Quartermaster of the Tenth Legion — and that he had come to peruse my work.
“Now, I am not one to let my time idle, and I have four apprentices to keep busy so, lacking sufficient commissions, I had begun to make traveling pieces which I took to the markets in Sepphora and Megiddo. Marcus examined every piece, even those which were incomplete — to evaluate the craftsmanship within, he said. He saw the details that I alone thought to see. He admired my craftsmanship. And that smile — ”
“I recognize your craftsmanship, Master,” the Nubian said.
Josef seemed to catch himself. “Of course you do, Metlip. That goes without saying. Marcus purchased the greater portion of finished pieces and placed orders for more. He stayed all afternoon and into the evening, dining with us.” He gave a little laugh. “But it was wine which brought us together. He sent one of his escort back to their camp to retrieve wine which I never imagined existed. Wine from his home estates.”
“You invited him into your home?” asked Iesu.
“I did,” replied Josef, his tone defiant.
Iesu nodded. “You broke the law? To do so must have weighed on you, even such a ridiculous law denying Gentiles welcome in your house.”
A faint echo of Iesu’s voice resounded from the close granite walls. Josef glanced about to make sure no one heard, then nodded.
“You make me proud, Father,” Iesu added, his voice lowered.
“Marcus arrived a stranger, but he left a friend. Since then, our friendship has grown with every visit.”
“Father,” Iesu answered, “I regret the sorrow and strain you endured in the aftermath of my exile. But do you not see how you were rewarded? Your business has prospered beyond hope because of it. Had I remained, you would not have built the chair you gifted Jerem. Marcus would never have seen it and thus never had reason to seek you out. You might never otherwise had reason to turn your talent to your clever traveling tables and stools. Your trials pushed your efforts in new — and profitable — directions. Do you not see the hand of the Father Above in these events? It is clear to me.”
Josef said nothing, his head lowered in thought, his thumb spinning the golden ring on his finger.
“Perhaps Iesu speaks truth, Master,” Metlip suggested. “We are far more busy now than we ever were before he left.”
Iesu went on. “His hand is clear in all that befell me. First, He led me to a place where I witnessed the joyous fraternity and cooperation enabled by shared beliefs and common goals, where all took their turn to speak and all voices held equal value, where both duties and bounty were shared without preference. These became the foundation of my teaching.
“From there, the Father Above revealed the glorious secret of His intent — and my purpose — through a simple, but crucial, purifying ritual in a river with Johannen, known as the Baptist.
“And finally, He granted me audience with Lucifer himself, who tempted me from my path while he taught me to couch my message in stories easily kept in the memories of all who heard them, who shared his secrets to command attention in the delivery of those tales and showed me healing techniques from across the world.”
“I wish to hear everything, Brother,” said Metlip.
“I am not sure I do,” Josef said. “I will join your mother. My feet are unused to such a long march.”
Metlip watched his master approach the wagon, saw Maryam hand the reins to Mother and jump from the bench. Though Josef needed no help to climb into his seat, the slave noticed that his brother’s betrothed stayed within reach if his master had difficulty. She smiled as she caught his gaze.
“You impress me more and more,” Metlip told her when she joined them. “Thank you.” With a final glance towards the wagon, Metlip addressed Iesu.
“I must tell you something, Brother,” Metlip said. “You may differ in view on many things, but never doubt his love for you. The day you were exiled from Nazareth, your death was closer than you know. I was waiting for you outside the synagogue when they dragged you to the cliff and I ran for my master. It was Josef’s gold paid to Jerem which prevented the people from throwing you to your death. He was the father who saved you, not the Father Above.”
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