06 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 Six.
S I X
Where the gentle Jezreel surrendered itself to the dramatic escarpments of the Jordan Valley sat a town of two cultures. The Hebrew settlement of Beth-Shan occupied a knoll the height of twenty men, with sides so steep they could not be scaled while brandishing a weapon. A narrow track circled the knoll to the summit where a sturdy gate kept its residents safe.
Surrounding the northern base of the knoll was the Roman town known as Scythopolis, which guarded access to the Jezreel from the East. It was here that the landward arm of the Via Maris swung north to follow the river to the Sea of Galilee and beyond. Here also was a stone bridge which arced over the noisy violence flowing within the river’s deep channel.
As the lead wagons of the caravan turned south off the Via Maris, most of the valley was in deep shadow. The mountains of Samaria were tall and often ran to the river’s edge, casting the valley into early dusk. One after another the column of wagons left the late afternoon sunlight and plunged into sudden, claustrophobic twilight. The procession skirted the neat Roman administration buildings, the villas and barracks. A theatre, though incomplete, revealed Rome’s long-term intentions.
The caravanserai was located to the south of the town in a large vale surrounded by steep cliffs on two sides and the river’s chasm on the third. The walled compound divided this area into two distinct sections. North of the square towards the settlements was designated for wagons and carts. The area south of the walls was for animals.
Josef followed the wagon in front as the column made a great loop so the lead vehicles once again faced north. In the morning, the caravan would cross the Jordan by the Roman bridge and follow the eastern bank south.
The light of the first cooking fires pressed dusk’s grasp into retreat as Metlip led the horses away, heading towards the pens south of the caravanserai.
Crouching, Iesu leaned close to a smoking stack of kindling and blew short, hard breaths, which only created more smoke. Maryam lowered herself to her knees on the far side and copied him, though she released her breath in a steady stream. Almost immediately, a flame wriggled into sight. A few more breaths had the flames catching hold on the larger stakes. Straightening, Maryam couldn’t keep a smile from her face.
“Now you know,” she said.
He nodded. “Indeed.”
When Metlip returned from arranging care for the horses, he brought with him skewers of fresh-slaughtered lamb. He knelt by their fire but was prevented from setting them to roast by Maryam and Mother. Instead, his mistress sent him to join Iesu and Josef, who sat together on the ground on the far side of the flames. Metlip started towards them, then veered in the wagon’s direction. Reaching in, he pulled two rolls of joined leather from the bed. As an afterthought, he also retrieved a pair of thin leather cushions. Unrolled, the leather aprons kept the dirt from their garments and the cushions would soften his master and mistresses’s time on the ground.
Neither Josef nor Iesu had noticed his efforts until one length of leather unfurled in front of them, and still he needed to gesture to make them understand he wished them to sit on it. Once resettled, they returned their attention to the women, who seemed to bond as they prepared the meal.
It was not enough for Josef. “Why would you marry such a woman as this, one who has debased and defiled herself?”
“She no longer condemns herself,” Iesu replied. “She has confessed, repented, and earned forgiveness.”
Josef shook his head. “Still, she is a dishonoured woman. And again, you have disobeyed me. When I found you with her — ” he paused, searching for words. “No. Even before that, when I heard the gossip of how my son, who should have been labouring in my shop, had helped a whore humiliate a respected merchant — ”
“Entitled adulterer.”
“A respected merchant, threatening his reputation. You brought shame to our family. I forbade you to see her. And then to find you with her — ”
Iesu took the accusations without flinching. “First, do you say the merchant may cheat a whore? I applied what I had learned of the law from you to gain justice for one who might least expect it. Second, I sought to ensure the rule of the caravanserai that every bargain must be honoured, even if it is with a whore. What exactly are we arguing, Father?”
“She is unclean. She shames you. She shames us.”
“Do you recall what I said when you discovered us walking outside the caravanserai? I will repeat what I told you, for my words are as true now as they were then. I never denied my affection for her, but I never entered her chamber. She was my friend, and the choice to trust me or not was yours.”
“She is a whore.”
“Was. By circumstance, Father, not by choice. I am redeeming her honour. How is she different from my mother, who would have been dishonoured had you not married her?”
“Your mother was never dishonoured.”
“Only because you prevented it. Would you have married her had she birthed me first?”
“Of course.”
“But she would have been debased and defiled as you accuse my betrothed. Why can I not do what you would do in my place?”
“She is a fine woman, Brother,” Metlip said. “The love you share is a joy to behold.” He saw Josef prepare a comment and so added, “Would that all love could show itself without recourse.”
Josef met his gaze and kept his peace.
Soon after, Mother found herself hustled away by Maryam to take her seat on the cushion set beside her husband’s. Maryam served Josef first, handing him a flatbread wrapped around chunks of roasted meat so the food would not drip on his robes. She brought the same for Mother and then Metlip. Iesu’s bread held goat’s cheese and dates.
“Why does Iesu get cheese?” the slave asked. “You said you had no time to buy any this morning.”
“I spoke truth,” Iesu answered. “Am I at fault because you did not think to ask if there was any brought from home?”
“So long as some remains,” Metlip mumbled around a mouthful of food.
“There is, Metlip,” Maryam assured him, taking her seat next to Iesu. She also ate the roasted lamb.
Addressing Metlip’s quizzical look, Iesu said, “I learned to spurn meat from those among whom I dwelled for a time.”
“Who — ? No. Begin at the beginning,” prompted Metlip. “Master and I found you on the Via Maris, and he delivered you food and coin, albeit with a rough tongue.”
Iesu nodded, casting a quick glance at his father, whose attention was on eating his food without dripping on himself. “Indeed. I recall that day and the shock of being exiled from my home. From that sudden stroke of fate, I found myself adrift, rootless and without a destination. My future felt as confined as the slopes of the eastern Jezreel. I followed the road, my thoughts random and lacking sense, until the heat of the day turned my steps for the shelter and shade of the groves lining the heights.
“Refreshed by the cool breeze, I climbed to a summit and glimpsed the Jordan Valley beyond the western peaks. Even what little of it I could see was glorious in its majesty. My tensions eased. I sensed a purpose then, though I could not define it. My steps lightened and, as evening approached, I looked for a suitable place to rest.
“Then, as I descended through an olive grove, I spied men tending a fire and preparing food while others cared for their beasts. What struck me was how they laughed and bantered as they worked, each of the four taking part, as if none held rank over the others. I approached them and made myself known. Three of the four greeted me then turned away, but the one squatting beside the fire returned my greeting and then asked the purpose of my journey.
“A good question,” I replied, thinking what I should answer, when my lips moved of their own accord. ‘I seek God.’
“He stood then. I marked him for a foreigner by his height and his green eyes, unheard of among our race. His companions, though, were Hebrew.
“I am Judas,” he said, ‘of the community at Qumran above the Salt Sea, and these are my fellows. Forgive their poor manners, but they are not accustomed to conversing with those not of our sect.’
“Should I continue on my way?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said. ‘We share your quest for God. We are Essaious.’
“Essaious!” Josef barked. “They are base. They blaspheme and reject the priests and ignore their judgements, just as they eschew most of Moses’ laws. The rest they twist beyond meaning.”
“They are — ” Iesu hesitated a moment, seeking the right words. “They have a unique view of the world, it is true, Father, but it is no less valid than another. May I continue?”
“Please,” Mother said, then met her husband’s gaze. “Your father may listen or take his leave, but I wish to hear more.” Josef sat straighter and crossed his arms.
“And I,” Metlip agreed.
“‘We seek His truth through knowledge,’ Judas told me, ‘and cross the land in search of scrolls and parchments which might better reveal His purpose.’ He pointed to a modest pile of wrapped bundles and leather bags stacked in the centre of the camp. ‘We are returning from Capernaum with works unknown to us, which we will add to our library. We copy them to share among our brothers — some we sell to earn income for the community. When all have read a fresh work, we will discuss it to winnow its truths.’
“I saw in Judas a kindred spirit, and we talked into the night. He told me of his community beside the Salt Sea and the rules of his sect, these Essaious. He described them as a brotherhood of equals, sharing all duties and distributing food and other resources without favour. They owned nothing as individuals, he said, devoting all to the community.
“One thing puzzled me. Judas was not a Hebrew, yet he was a member of these Essaious, trusted even to venture in search of new wisdom. ‘I am Syrian,’ he told me. ‘The Essaious welcome everyone, no matter their race. All must undergo three years of apprenticeship, but then they are equal to everyone else, their opinion as valued as any other.’
Iesu reached out and took his mother’s hand in his. “They live by the same principles you taught us, and hour by hour my desire grew to see this place — Qumran above the Salt Sea — this place without crime, without sin, dedicated in every way to a righteous path. Though the others argued against it, Judas invited me to join them.”
Releasing Mother’s hand, Iesu picked up the wine skin propped between his feet and swallowed a few mouthfuls. Glancing about, he held it out, smiling when Metlip took it from him. Josef looked as if to say something, so Iesu continued his tale.
“The community itself was well kept, with many clear pools fed by aqueduct from nearby hills, their fields sufficient to supply their needs. Never had I felt so welcomed.”
“Yet you left,” Josef murmured, as if to himself.
“I was exiled.”
Mother inhaled sharply. Metlip laughed. Josef scowled.
“Let me explain,” Iesu said. “For seven moons I lived with them, intent on joining their brotherhood. I shared their labours and their harvest. It was there I decided I should be a healer, for they had scroll upon scroll listing treatments for sicknesses and disease and how to discern one affliction from another. The tonic I applied to the cloth that relieved Mother’s distress was but one of the many remedies the Essaious taught me. Each day I learned and toiled, and shared the love of the brothers.
“And each evening, I listened eagerly to all the diverse opinions on this subject and that, and offered my own. Often, the debates would stretch over several evenings, and not only because each had leave to make his case. The Essaious believe there is truth in unanimity, that if all could be persuaded of a thing then it must be true.
“As I said, the Essaious are the most inclusive of all Hebrew sects. The opposite is also true. They are equally intolerant of anyone who is not a member of the sect. Hebrews and Gentiles alike share the disdain of the Essaious. Yet that was not why I left. Those seven months were a paradise of brotherhood and companionship, of vigorous and expansive debates.”
“Why were you sent away from them, then?” asked his mother.
“Two scrolls held above all others among the Essaious,” Iesu answered. He raised a finger. “They call the first the ‘Community Scroll’, which specifies the rules under which we lived — and there were many.” A second finger joined the first. “The second was the ‘Scroll of War’ and they brought this scroll out to read but once each year. It was the one solemn occasion I witnessed during my time there. This scroll was twelve paces long unrolled, and it took all day for the High Priest to read it. That day, no man laboured. Conversation was forbidden, save that which served the day. It was the sole time we fasted, though water fresh from the aqueduct was in abundance. Instead, everyone bathed at dawn and then gathered to listen to the High Priest.
“The scroll described the core beliefs of the Essaious and formalized their claim to be the ‘Sons of Light,’ while all others were the ‘Sons of Darkness.’ The scroll professed that in time the Father Above and his army of angels would descend on the earth and smite any and all who were not Essaious.”
“I see, now,” said Metlip, chuckling to himself.
“See what?” his mistress asked.
“Why they cast Iesu out.”
Waving the Nubian to silence, Mother said, “Let him speak.”
“I endured the reading in silence, but when we gathered the next dusk, I asked the High Priest why they expected the Father Above to do battle for them. He looked at me as if I had lost my wits. ‘To make Heaven on Earth,’ he said. ‘To reward our fidelity to His Word’.
“I answered him thus. ‘Are we so lazy, so incompetent, that we must rely on God to do for us that which we may accomplish through simple choice? Not only is our dependence on the Father Above disrespectful to Him, as if we are naught but helpless infants, but it also restricts our potential to reach for that which would impress Him’.
“None, not even the High Priest responded, such was their shock at my words, so I continued. ‘The Father Above endowed each of us with free will so we may choose our actions. He has availed us of the possibility of Heaven on Earth, but we must achieve that state ourselves, by our own choice. He will not do it for us.”
“Did you last the night, then?” asked Metlip.
“Yes and no,” his brother answered and then enjoyed the confused expressions around him. “Yes, in that it took all night for everyone to voice their justification for a charge of blasphemy and my death. But recall, I said they do nothing if they cannot enjoy a unanimous decision. One voice held against the rest. Judas, who argued that my logic had merit, even if my conclusions were wrong. He proposed banishment, which was accepted for no other reason than the brothers were exhausted and hungry and wished the matter closed.”
“Exiled from Nazareth, banished from these Essaious,” Mother said. “Not actions you would expect from someone prophesied to save his race. Next you will tell me they arrested you.”
Iesu and Maryam shared a glance that Mother missed.
“I think I have heard enough for tonight,” the older woman announced. “Sleep well.”
Metlip stood and stretched. “You have God’s own luck, Brother. Or perhaps you test His faith in you.” Turning to Mother, he said, “I will ready the wagon for you, Mistress. Is there anything else you wish?”
Mother held her hand out. “Yes. Please help me up.” Once standing, she kept her grip on his arm as they walked the short distance to the wagon.
Josef watched as Metlip methodically unrolled the other leather aprons, systematically sliding the gussets over the hooks lining the underside of the wagon bed. When he returned to collect the pair of panels they sat on. Josef stood and handed the two cushions to his slave as well, then sat back down.
“Father,” Iesu continued, “we would lose you in their library for days — weeks even. I would never have believed such a collection of texts existed had I not had opportunity to study them. There were scrolls and parchments of such variety that it was difficult to choose which to read. But one thing I learned there I have longed to discuss with you.”
Satisfied with Metlip’s care of his wife, Josef turned to his son. “And what is that?”
“Were we not taught that Moses’ laws are absolute, unadulterated from their first recording?”
“Of course,” his father replied.
Iesu shook his head. “Not so, Father. At Qumran, I read several versions of the Tenakh. While most differed from another in minor details, a few were uniquely arranged and others omitted parts or contained additions found nowhere else. There were as many versions of the Book of Esther as I have fingers on a hand, each with details non-existent in the others.
“I understood then that these could only be the works of men attempting to interpret what they thought the Father Above expected of them. More importantly, though, they were not the Father’s words.”
“Do you blaspheme?” Josef shouted.
Iesu remained calm. “No, Father. Far from it. I do not deny the righteousness of the Torah, nor its value to our people. But the inconsistencies speak for themselves.”
Josef stood and faced his son, his fists clenched. “I will not hear this — from the very mouth of my son.”
“Be at peace, Father. I did not speak so to spark your anger. When you taught me, you said I must always find my own truths within the sacred texts. I only applied your wisdom to my studies. Perhaps at another time you may allow me to cite specific examples which led to my conclusions. This is not the time.”
These last words were to Josef’s back as he strode away.
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