27 The Father, the Son & the Slave
You know the Passion narrative. This is not that tale. This is the story of a father, his estranged son and the slave caught between them as they journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem. This is Chapter Twenty-seven.
T W E N T Y — S E V E N
A light wind from the North kept the night air free of smoke, for which Solon was grateful, but in the dim light of the slivered moon the army of sleeping pilgrims looked to him like so many souls rising from the earth.
Solon held the wine skin for Josef to take, but the carpenter watched the flames fluttering among the charred faggots. As the Greek pulled the bladder back, the movement caught the older man’s attention, and he took it and drank.
“Should I leave you in peace, Master Josef?”
“Oh. No. Please help me finish this.” He offered the skin back to Solon. “I was trying to think of what troubles my slave. Never in his life has he behaved so, and what confuses me further is that his despair is from a loss. But what loss? He is a slave. A most excellent slave. Intelligent, respectful and — never tell him this — a better carpenter than I. Yet still a slave, owned not owner, with nothing to lose. And yet — ”
“A person, then,” the Greek suggested.
“Yes, Solon,” Josef said, “that must be it. Iesu has been away for three years, and now he and Maryam will wed and depart for Aegypt. Who knows when they will return?”
“They have a special bond, your slave and your son. Greater by far than the bond I share with my brothers.”
“They are like brothers,” Josef agreed. “Even more so. It was Iesu who noticed the child near dead in a slaver’s cage and persuaded the slaver to release him into our care. From that day, they were inseparable. Metlip sat with Iesu through every lesson, watched him labour in my shop, and then did Iesu’s work so my son could study our laws.”
“Iesu mentioned no laws,” the Greek replied. “Are there laws I should know to count myself among the baptised?”
Laughing, Josef lifted the wine skin from Solon’s hand. “No, my friend. Iesu’s sect is not like mine. We Hebrews live by over 600 Mitzvot — commandments dictated to Moses by God — that guide every aspect of our lives. My son’s faith has but one law. ‘Love your neighbour as yourself,’ and by so doing you adhere to your personal covenant with Him.”
“The Father Above.”
“Yes. They are the same. And not.”
“How is that possible? The same and not.”
“My people see God as fierce and demanding of our obedience in return for his protection and preference above all other men. Iesu — your baptised — view Him as a father, loving and merciful and forgiving.”
“But you do not follow Rabbi — who is your son. Why, when offered those choices?”
Again, Josef stared into the dwindling flames.
“Until your son baptised me,” the Greek continued, “I saw the gods as superior humans, stronger than our masters yet sharing the same cruel appetites, only to greater degree, and men subject to their capricious and petulant desires. No more. Now, I am responsible only to the Father Above to adhere to my covenant with Him by acting in His best interests. I know now that God made me who I am, and He loves me as I am.”
Beside him, Josef’s body twitched.
The darkness hid his reaction from the young Greek, who went on. “What prevents you from embracing personal responsibility for yourself before the Father Above, Master Josef?”
Josef drew a deep breath and sat straighter. Turning to face Solon, he smiled. Though fresh tears on his cheeks glistened in the firelight, he said, “Nothing, it seems.”
“Why, then, the tears, Master Josef?”
“You have told me what I could not hear from my son, and I thank you.”
Solon, ever vigilant, noticed the ghostly forms approaching from the West. “Your son returns,” he said, and pointed the group out for Josef. “I will sleep now, for I have a long journey to the sea if I am to find passage before Passover.”
“Until the dawn, my friend,” Josef acknowledged, and the Greek left. Josef sipped from the bladder and watched Iesu and his betrothed steer between the silent pilgrims, the disciples following. He stood to meet them, and though his son held a hand up for his patience, Maryam greeted him.
“I did not think to find you awake so late,” she said, “but I am glad of it.” She gestured at the wine skin. “Is that water?”
Josef held it out for her. “Wine. From Nazareth.”
“I have missed the wines of Galilee,” she added, lifting it to drink. Afterwards, she handed it back and turned to face her companions, who each in turn received a quiet blessing from Iesu before going to their rest. Peter stood aside, waiting to be the last, so Judas came to the fire. Josef offered him wine, but the Syrian declined.
“Does something keep you from sleep, Master Josef?” he asked.
“No, Judas, but I am grateful for your concern. Are you satisfied with my son’s plan for tomorrow?”
“I am,” Judas replied, nodding. “And except for a brief reunion with my betrothed, I will not leave his side tomorrow. You have my word.” With Maryam’s leave, Judas sought a space among the others to sleep.
Peter demanded more of Iesu’s time than the rest combined, as if the disciple could not bear to leave Iesu’s company, but eventually he stiffened at something Iesu said and then nodded reluctant acquiescence. Iesu turned away from him and approached Josef and Maryam.
“Father,” he said, “I am glad to find you up. Our debate took more time than I expected, but it was important for everyone to have a voice and necessary to achieve unanimity of purpose. Is there any wine left?”
Maryam rested her hand on Iesu’s arm before he could take hold of the wine skin. “I am tired, my Heart,” she said. “Do not make me wait too long.” She kissed his cheek and released her grip on the bladder. She was about to turn away when Josef cleared his throat.
“A moment, Maryam, I beg you. I wish for you to hear this, too.”
“What is it, Father?” Iesu asked.
“I understand, now,” Josef explained. “I accept you are the Messiah and I see the truth in your message. I wish you to baptize me.”
Josef felt himself squeezed by Maryam’s embrace. “The Father Above answered my pleas,” she said. Leaning her head back to meet Josef’s eyes, her joy was clear. “I wanted nothing more than for Iesu’s message to find you, Father.”
She hugged him once more, then stepped back. “You are a great and noble man, Master Josef of Nazareth, and I will do you proud.” Maryam opened her mouth to continue, but wiped her eyes and turned towards the wagon.
“It will be my honour to baptize you, Father,” his son said as he watched Maryam walk away, “but it must wait until after the wedding. I cannot do it here, now, and tomorrow will be impossible. I will keep it my priority for the day after.”
A moment later, a stench in the air assaulted them. The wind had changed direction and now reeked of blood and death.
“Here is the perfume of the Sadducees,” Iesu said, near spitting the words. “Malodorous and fetid, and further proof of the need for change. Why would the Father Above sanction the slaughter of His creatures as homage to Him? How does the death of one of His own respect His gift of life?”
His tone caught Josef by surprise. Its bitter cadence had always signalled the onset of his son’s temper, but in the last few days Josef had thought Iesu had matured beyond it.
“There is only one true sacrifice. Self-sacrifice — ” Iesu paused, and Josef saw his eyes widen in sudden comprehension. Iesu shrugged with resignation, frowned, and then lifted his gaze to the sky.
“What is it?” Josef said, but Iesu ignored him. “Iesu. What haunts you, my son?”
Iesu turned, opened his mouth to speak — but did not. Josef had never seen such sadness on his son’s face and pulled him into an embrace. “Tell me,” he whispered, as Iesu returned the gesture. “There is nothing you cannot share with me.”
Iesu held him for a moment longer and then let go. “Not this, Father. I cannot bear for you to share this burden.”
Josef shook his head. “No. All the more so, then.”
“You believe me to have a special path, one defined by the Father Above,” Iesu said, and Josef nodded. “But have you ever considered what cost it might entail?”
“And what is that?”
“My sacrifice.”
“God desires your death?”
“He desires us to know His love and live to share it. My sacrifice will endow His message with the power to endure.”
“Does God lack the patience to grant you a lifetime? Do you know the hour of your death?” When Iesu remained silent, Josef continued. “Iesu. Do you know when God expects you to die for Him?”
“No. I have spent long hours thinking of it. I can only surmise that I will recognize the moment when it is upon me.”
They woke to rain. It came as dawn broke, thin and cold though it did little to dampen the resurgent fires spread among the waking pilgrims. The wind had shifted again in the night, returning to the seasonal northern flow, and more than one among the baptised preferred the damp to the thick and cloying stench of death that originated in the Temple Mount.
The drizzle accelerated the day’s preparations, so an extensive crowd had quickly gathered before the Essaious Gate, waiting for it to open. While they parted for Iesu and his companions, the sheer mass of people slowed their progress.
Set in the city’s southern wall, the gate’s primary purpose was to accommodate the strict bathing rituals of those Essaious visiting Jerusalem by providing easy access to public pools nearby. The sect lodged in their own communal quarter just inside the gate along the western side of the road that dipped into a shallow valley before it climbed to the Temple Mount.
Iesu walked with Maryam and Solon, who had made his farewells with Josef, Mother and Metlip and was eager to be on his way to the coast. His departing embrace with Iesu was cut short by a sound part sigh and part cheer from the base of the great wall announcing the gate’s opening, but as that sound dwindled, sharper protests replaced it, the voices growing more angry by the moment until they were crowned by a scream.
Iesu redoubled his efforts to reach the wall, but it was Solon who forced a path, using his leather-wrapped bundle of armour to encourage those too slow to stand aside. As they pushed through the leading edge of the crowd, the pair faced a line of temple guards holding their spears levelled towards the mass of people.
Iesu stepped into the narrow space between the two sides and turned his back to the spears.
“Please,” he called out to his followers, “be quiet, else you will wake the nobles in the Upper City.”
Laughter replaced the shouting, and his supporters dropped the volume of their indignation. Satisfied, he turned back to the guards. He noted a few Romans watching from their posts atop the wall, but there were none among the Temple guards arrayed before him.
“By what right do you deny these people access to their city?” He walked forward as he spoke, halting inches from a spear tip. A heavy thump sounded behind him, but he ignored it as he swept his gaze across the line of men.
A Sadducee slipped from the crowd developing behind the guards like blood from a wound. He gathered the hems of his scarlet robes and strode forward, though he was careful not to get too close.
“Who are you?” Iesu asked him, “And why are these people denied entry to Jerusalem so close to Passover?”
“My name is not for such as you,” the Sadducee growled. “It should be enough that I am a Temple priest and my word is law. I deny them.”
“You are not the law, priest. You uphold the law, and I will know by which laws you have made judgement.”
“What would you know of law,” the priest sneered. “You are a beggar, a labourer at best. You could not understand the law if I spoke it to you.”
“I insist. Quote the laws behind this act.”
The Sadducee drew himself up and adjusted his robe but said nothing.
“There is no law that supports you, priest. I know this because I know our laws as well as you.”
There was only one peasant who claimed knowledge of the law equal to the priests. Recognition dawned on the Sadducee’s face. “Take him,” he ordered his men.
Iesu stepped back, afraid he might have pushed too hard. But then Solon dodged past him and engaged the spears with his gladius. Iesu had seen Solon’s impressive skills as a cripple, but now the Greek seemed to fly among his opponents, disabling or disarming a guard with each fluid stroke. He used the sword’s edge to knock a spear from a man’s grip, but the flat to stun.
Then the Sadducee was alone, those of his men not rendered senseless moaning over broken arms and knees. A cheer went up from the crowds on both sides. Solon sprinted towards the priest and the man dropped to his knees, forgetting the mud that stained his garments.
“You may not harm me,” the Sadducee blurted. “It is the law.”
“I am Greek, not Hebrew, and so not bound by your law,” Solon replied, and raised his sword as if to strike.
One of the Romans disappeared from the parapet. “Hold, Solon,” Iesu said as he stepped through the injured men. “I am Iesu of Nazareth, known as the Nazarene. I will hear the laws supporting your denial or you will stand aside.”
“I followed my orders,” claimed the Sadducee. “Man this gate. Prevent you and your blasphemers from entering the holy city.”
“Whose orders?”
“Annaias.”
Movement behind them made them turn, but none of the guards were ready to challenge the angry Nubian who guarded the Nazarene’s back. Iesu held his arm out and helped the priest stand. Only now did the man learn of the state of his robes, emitting a low moan.
“Go to Annaias and tell him I will hold him to the law.” Hiking his hems, the priest pushed into the opposing crowds, shouting for space.
Iesu looked at Solon to thank him and found a wide grin on his face. “I did as you taught, Rabbi,” the Greek announced. “None are dead, neither are they debilitated. I used as little force as necessary.”
“You understand the covenant after all,” Iesu replied. “I am glad to call you friend, Solon. Now go before the Romans arrive with reinforcements.” The Greek stuffed his gladius into the pack and tied it. Without looking back, he vanished among the spectators.
Metlip and some other men dragged the guards to safety between the buildings lining the roadway, and the newcomers flooded into the city. Disciples surrounded Maryam, and behind them Josef held the reins of the wagon.
“What happened?” Mother asked, taking in the guards.
“Solon defeated them all when a priest ordered them to arrest Iesu,” Metlip answered.
“Oh. And Iesu?”
“Unharmed, Mistress,” the slave said. He pointed a short distance uphill. “They await us there.”
He led the way, walking before the horses and warning people who ventured into their path. Between warnings, he tried to absorb all he saw. The scale of the city was overwhelming, to be sure, but the street leading uphill seemed to serve as a border of sorts. To his left, the buildings were modest but well-maintained, and all the activity he observed was a group effort, unhurried yet thorough. The quiet order contradicted the noisy chaos of the right hand side of the street where many structures were derelict and the residents’ activities anything but useful.
The number of disciples surrounding Iesu reduced as they left in pairs to whatever tasks he set them, though a good number of those supporters passing by slowed or stopped to get a look at his brother.
A distant, muffled shout from further uphill got his attention and a moment later, young Jered peeled from the column of those approaching the gate. Metlip was too far away to hear what he said, but Jered’s message inspired an almost frantic level of urgency. Iesu lost his persuasive tone and issued instructions. Once received, the disciples melted away. When only Judas and Jered remained, Iesu spoke to his first disciple, who then left with the youth in tow.
Iesu and Maryam walked to the wagon. “Metlip,” Iesu said, “no questions. Just come with us. Mother, Father, please continue up the street. We will meet you in a few minutes.”
The slave obeyed, following his brother and Maryam into the quiet of the Essaious quarter. Iesu turned uphill when they passed a few structures and stopped. “Jered said the priest was returning with a contingent of Romans,” he informed the Nubian, “and since he saw you, I would not risk him taking you to get to me.” As Iesu spoke, Metlip heard the unmistakable rhythmic slap of Roman sandals. The three continued uphill when they could no longer hear the legionnaires.
“Wait at the Tower Gate four hours before sunset and Judas will come for you,” Iesu told his parents. “I think you will like our choice of setting. It is a quiet, ancient olive grove called Gethsemane. It is a little distance from the city, but it is an easy walk.”
“Do you have lodgings?” Josef asked his son.
“Do we?” quipped Mother. “You still have not answered me, husband.”
“Yes,” Maryam answered. “Modest but suitable for the short time we are here.”
Mother remembered something and twisted to reach into the wagon’s bed. When she straightened, she held two plain linen bundles. She handed one to Maryam and the other to her son. “I think that is how it goes. If I am mistaken, you will know, yes?”
Metlip climbed up beside Mother and Josef guided the wagon up the incline. The lefthand structures lost their uniformity and grew in size and luxury the higher they climbed. Those on the right just seemed to become more densely inhabited and more decrepit, if that was possible.
Jerusalem offered Metlip more than extremes of wealth and industry. He encountered his first beggar. The man was ageless from emaciation and used a crooked tree limb as a staff. He made eye contact with Metlip and held out his hand. Without conscious thought, the Nubian retrieved Mother’s sack of provisions from behind the bench. He pulled some bread from it as he turned back to find one beggar had become many. Fingers snatched the bread away, then other fingers took hold of the sack and their food disappeared.
He leapt from the bench into the road, scattering pedestrians, and moved in the direction the thief had run, but stopped when he could not see them. Behind him, Josef halted the wagon.
“Metlip!” he called. The slave scanned the scene again for the culprit. Nothing.
“Metlip?” Mother asked. “What is it?”
“I lost the provisions.”
“What?” demanded his master. “They are right here.” They weren’t. “Where are they, Metlip?”
“A crippled man held his hand to me and I thought to share our food. But then someone else grabbed the sack and ran away. I am sorry, Master. I was not expecting that, and it happened so quickly.”
“It was an accident,” Mother soothed. “A lesson learned.”
“A lesson?” Josef barked as he got the wagon moving again. “We have lost not just our food but a sack special-made to store it.”
“Husband,” Mother said, “the boy did not know about beggars. Now he does.”
Somehow, Mother’s sympathy only increased Metlip‘s embarrassment. His master’s anger he could weather, but Mother’s affection he cherished above all else and he knew Josef disapproved, so when she displayed it in front of her husband, it felt like betrayal.
Yet, Jerusalem was not ready to release the Nubian from its spell, and wonder overwhelmed Metlip’s shame as they neared the Temple Mount. He would never have imagined that a structure of this size was possible. A building to rival a mountain.
A monumental staircase shaped like an arm bent at the elbow dominated the Southwest corner of the Temple Mount. The lower arm comprised five short flights with broad landings that ran parallel to the western face. The uppermost landing led to a long, uninterrupted flight perpendicular to the lower flights and gave entrance into the outer court of the temple. Several streets converged here then ran under a grand arch that supported the longer stairway.
A pair of temple guards managed traffic here, forcing Josef to wait while a series of elaborate, curtained palanquins discharged members of the Sanhedrin along a curbed pathway at the base of the stairs. One well-dressed elderly man held Josef’s attention as he walked towards the wide stairs to the Outer Temple.
“Do you know him, Master?” asked Metlip.
“My father,” replied Josef. Mother and Metlip stared at Josef, but when he said nothing more, neither pressed him.
From that point on, the slave only knew the richly robed man. He forgot all else as he watched Josef’s father wash his feet and then climb the stairs unaided. The wagon was close to passing under the arch when the old man turned to begin the long flight to the Outer Courtyard and glanced down.
Metlip saw his master’s father halt, head cocked, to stare down at the wagon and then found the old man’s gaze on him. They held each other’s eyes until Metlip passed under the arch.
Soon after, Josef guided the horses left on to a narrower street and right onto another.
“Where are you taking us, Josef?”
“To find lodging, dear wife.”
“Here?” she pressed. Only walled palaces lined this street and Mother felt certain none took in guests.
Her husband slowed the horses outside a high wall, broken only by iron-studded black timber gates that hid the palace within from public view. Then Josef climbed down from his bench and tugged several times on a thick rope hanging at the side of the gate.
