Leah pulled a sour face. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
He took Leah by the elbow, and they joined the rest of the family. As they sat down, Leah looked at her mother. “Ephraim and Rachel said something happened today, I was just asking Simeon—”
Her mother raised a hand. “Please. I am sure your father would like to talk about this as well.”
David’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Deborah, I . . . ” He just shook his head.
“No, it’s all right. I don’t want everyone walking around the house whispering as though Simeon and I were sick or something.”
That startled Simeon a little. He was the one who had stalked off in the middle of Jesus’ sermon and had been surprised when his mother had come home upset as well. Since his father and mother had returned home, no one had spoken of the afternoon’s experience.
Young Joseph was watching his mother closely, sensing the emotions simmering just below the surface. She saw the anxiety in his face. “This is not something of great concern to a ten-year-old, Joseph. You are welcome to stay, but if you would rather go out and play—”
She got only that far, and he was up and away. “Thank you, Mama.”
For what seemed like a very long time, no one spoke. The silence grew heavier and heavier. Finally Deborah looked at her husband. “Go ahead, David. Tell them what you thought.”
He shook his head slowly. “What I think isn’t important for now. I know what you and Simeon thought when he began speaking about—” He took a breath. “Look, I understand more than you think, even though I never had most of my family killed in front of my eyes, nor have I had a Roman centurion nearly cut me in two with his broadsword. I am not going to try to tell you that you are wrong for feeling as you do.”
“But you don’t agree,” Simeon said, the bitterness still too strong in his mouth to hold back his words. Then seeing the hurt in his father’s eyes, he went on hurriedly. “To be honest, I really liked some of the things he said. I’m like you in that way, Father. I like a pragmatic approach to life. That’s why Uncle Aaron and I clash so often. He is so theoretical, so lofty. Jesus was very practical.” He turned to Leah. “For example, he said we shouldn’t have to swear an oath and invoke the name of Jerusalem, or the temple, or God. We should be so filled with integrity that we just say yes or no, and that is as good as an oath.”
“I like that,” she said.
“He also talked about judging others,” Deborah noted, also wanting to let David know she had listened with an open mind. “He said we should make sure we correct our own faults first before we try to change someone else.” She smiled at David. “I know you didn’t think I was accepting anything of what he said, but I did.”
She turned back to her two children. “He said when we give alms, we should do it in secret, not to be seen of men but for God. I liked that. I’ve always found it bothersome when we’re on the Temple Mount and some rich man blows the trumpet so that everyone will take notice while he drops his money into one of the contribution chests.”
“Me, too,” Leah said. “They are so pompous.”
Now David came in. “He said the same thing about prayer, that we shouldn’t make loud prayers on the street corners so that men will think we are righteous. We should go into our closets and pray in secret. Then God, who hears in secret, will answer us. In fact, he talked a great deal about the importance of what we are inside and not just outside.”
Leah shook her head. Rachel told her that Simeon had left in the middle of the sermon, but no one was talking about that. She turned to her brother. “You got up and walked out?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
David raised a hand quickly. “If your mother or Simeon want to tell you that later, they can. I just want to say one thing, and then I’ll say no more.”
“No, Papa!”
That brought all of them around. Leah was as gentle as a dove in her nature. To hear her speak with such forcefulness was a shock.
“I want to know what Jesus said that made you so angry, Simeon. I can’t understand why you are all so upset unless I know.” She looked at her mother, her eyes showing hurt. “I’ve heard Papa talk about Jesus so much, I wanted to hear him too. So tell me.”
Surprised by the intensity in her daughter, Deborah sat back. “I’m sorry, Leah. You are right. You are old enough now to be part of this.”
“It’s all right. But tell me now. I want to know.” She looked at Simeon, but he waved her off with a jerk of his head. He was still seething, and repeating it would only make him boil again all the more.
So Deborah sighed and summed it up as quickly as she could. “The Law of Moses says that we are to take eye for eye and tooth for tooth. It is to make sure that justice is served. But Jesus said we are to live a different law. We are to love our enemies, to bless them that curse us and pray for those who take advantage of us and use us despitefully.”
She paused, but Leah only watched her, not seeming to be shocked or surprised at all by what she said. How different she was, Deborah thought. And how ironic. Normally it was mother and daughter who bonded closely together, or father and son. But it was Simeon who had inherited his mother’s fire, and it burned in him like a bucket filled with brimstone. While she was close to all of her children, it was Simeon and she who were bound together with this undefinable core of passion. Leah, on the other hand, had inherited her father’s gentle nature, his patience and goodness. Like Deborah and Simeon, David had a special closeness to his only daughter.
Thank heavens, Deborah thought. She did not view that part of her that she had passed on to Simeon as a blessing and was grateful she had not also given it to Leah.
“Don’t stop, Mother,” Simeon said tightly when she didn’t answer. “Tell her the rest of what he said.”
There was a pained look on David’s face, and she knew it was because of the anger he saw in his son. She sighed and went on. “He also said that if a Roman compels us to carry his pack for one mile, we should offer to take it a second mile.”
Finally, Leah was shocked. She stared wide-eyed at her mother, and her mouth was partially open. “He said that?” she exclaimed.
“He didn’t actually use the word Roman,” David pointed out. “Just that if a man compels you to go a mile, go with him twain.”
There was a soft exclamation of disgust from Simeon. “And how many Jews do you know who will force another Jew to walk a mile with them?”
Realizing his mistake, David said nothing more.
Now the fire had erupted, and Simeon raced on. “He said that we should love our enemies, pray for those who mistreat us. He said if we are smitten on the right cheek, we should turn the other as well.”
One hand came back, and he yanked his tunic free to show the ugly scar there. “So according to Jesus, after that centurion cut me down I was wrong not to have staggered back to my feet begging him to do it again.”
“That’s not what he said,” David came in.
“Not in those words, but that was what he meant.” He whirled back to Leah. “And that Roman tribune who took you and Mother captive—we’re supposed to love him too, pray for his well-being.” The words spat out like drops of molten steel.
He swung around to his father. “By the way, the centurion is back.”
David started, then nodded. “I heard that this morning.”
“But you weren’t going to tell me.”
“Simeon, I—”
“Oh, don’t worry, Father. I’ll not be seeking him out. Actually, it’s the tribune I want. And when I find him, I won’t be turning the other cheek again.”
Deborah stared at her hands, pressed tightly together in her lap. One part of her wanted to leap to her feet and shout encouragement to her son. Another part of her had gone as cold as the waters from a spring. This was her legacy to him, and someday he would find the Roman officer and make good his vow. And the chances that he would not return to her were very good.
&nb
sp; “That’s what Jesus taught,” Simeon hissed. He looked at Leah, but everyone knew he was speaking to his father. “That’s what this new Messiah would have us do. Well, sorry if I couldn’t stomach any more of it. That’s why I left.”
Leah looked at her mother, almost sorry that she had triggered this outburst. Silence filled the room. Simeon stood facing them, his chest rising and falling. Finally he looked directly at his father. “All right, Father. I’ve had my say. Go ahead. Say what you are feeling.”
He didn’t look up but only shook his head.
“No, David,” Deborah said. “You have always taught us to say what we think. Don’t be angry with us when we do.”
He straightened. “Do you think that is what it is? That I am angry that Simeon speaks what is in his heart?”
“Then what?” Leah said. “I want to know what you thought, Papa.”
Simeon was gradually calming down. He moved over and sat beside his mother. “Yes, Father. Leah is right. I have spoken my mind. Now I would hear what you have to say.”
“I would simply ask you some questions,” David finally said.
“All right.”
Deborah nodded as well. “We are listening.”
“Why only the right cheek?” David asked, his voice thoughtful.
“What?” Simeon felt David had totally lost him.
“Jesus said that if a person smites us on the right cheek, we should turn to him the other also. What happens if a person hits us on the left side of the face? Do we get to strike back?”
Deborah was watching her husband, her face puzzled. “I don’t understand what you are saying, David.”
“Think about it for a moment. If I, being right-handed, as most people are, strike you on the right cheek with my open hand, how will I have to do it?”
Finally it was Leah who saw it. She began to nod. “I have to strike you with the back of my hand.”
“And if I strike you with the back of my hand?” he asked, leaving the question hanging.
Leah was excited now. “It is a great insult. It is how we show our utter contempt for another person.”
“Yes,” David cried. He lifted his right hand and made a quick movement, as if he were striking another person on the right cheek. “The very gesture is insulting.” He turned to Simeon. “I don’t think for a moment that Jesus was saying that we cannot defend ourselves from an enemy. He’s not talking about a threat to our lives; he is talking about a threat to our pride. A blow on the cheek is not life threatening, but men have been known to kill one another over such a petty insult as a slap on the face. Well, what if we don’t care what men think of us? What if all that matters to us is whether God accepts us or not?”
Deborah looked dubious, but she was thinking. There was a certain logic to what he was saying.
“Next question. How do you suppose God tailors the weather for each individual person, based on their personal righteousness?”
Leah’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what Jesus said?”
Simeon glared at her, knowing exactly what his father meant by the question. “No.”
David went on, half musing. “Being the Almighty God, I suppose he could make the sun shine only on those he loved and the rain fall only on those he wishes to bless.”
Leah still looked bewildered, so Deborah came in, with just a trace of irritation tightening her voice. “What your father is referring to is that Jesus said that God sends his rain on the just and the unjust. The same with the sun. He used that as the reason for loving your enemies.”
David leaned forward, peering at Simeon. “So what did he mean by that?”
Simeon flung out one hand. “Don’t ask me. I can’t make any sense out of what he was trying to say.”
To everyone’s surprise, it was his mother who responded.
“If you don’t have an answer, Simeon, just say so. Don’t be petulant.”
“Never mind,” David said quickly. “So, Simeon, do you consider the Romans to be human beings?”
Suddenly wary, Simeon answered slowly, “Of course.”
“Do you think they are children of God?”
Simeon hesitated.
“I’m not talking about his spiritual children, those who follow and believe in him. I’m talking about whether or not God created them.”
Simeon balked, sensing he was being led where he might not want to go. “That doesn’t excuse for one minute what they do, Father.”
“He didn’t ask us to excuse our enemies, Simeon,” came the soft reply. “He asked that we love them.”
“Don’t, David!” Deborah cried, holding up one hand. “Don’t even say that again.” Her lips were trembling as she tried to fight back the tears. The memories of her father had surged in again, causing her stomach to twist sharply. She didn’t realize that tears now streaked her cheeks.
When David finally spoke, he did so with infinite gentleness. “I told you, I have no right to condemn how you feel. All I know is this. The last words Jesus spoke as you left, Simeon, were these: ‘Be perfect even as our Father in heaven is perfect.’ I believe that is the key to understanding why Jesus said what he did. God is the model for us. Only as we become like him can we ever hope to return to his presence.”
He looked up. “Can we honestly believe that of all his children, God feels love only for the Jews? That he hates all the rest of them?” He shook his head slowly. “What Jesus was teaching us was not about carrying packs or praying for men who sell women and children into slavery. It’s not about who we can hate and who we can’t hate. It’s about being like God, about being more like our Father.”
He stopped, and no one spoke for a long time. Deborah still did not raise her head. Simeon was staring out the window. Finally David stood up. He started away, moving very slowly, as if burdened heavily. Then he stopped. He didn’t turn, but they heard a soft exclamation of amazement. “And we thought that what the Pharisees demand of us is hard.”
Chapter Notes
While we know that Peter had a wife and probably a family (see Matthew 8:14; Luke 18:28–29), we do not know his wife’s name. The author has given her the name Anna rather than always referring to her abstractly.
The Sermon on the Mount is given in its entirety in chapters 5–7 of the Gospel of Matthew. Mark and Luke make reference to the same teachings but do not include it all in one sermon as Matthew does. Other teachings of Christ on marriage were included here for purposes of the novel (see Mark 10:2–12).
The reference in the Mosaic Law granting the right for bills of divorcement is found in Deuteronomy 24:1. Three statements from near contemporaries of Christ indicate how casually the sanctity of marriage was treated by some men at this time. The school of Hillel said, “If the wife cooks the husband’s food ill, by over-salting or over-roasting it, she is to be put away.” Rabbi Akiba, who lived sometime after Christ, said, “If a man sees a woman handsomer than his own wife, he may put her [his wife] away, because it is said [in Deuteronomy], ‘If she find not favor in his eyes’” (as cited in Talmage, p. 384).
Flavius Josephus, the Jewish historian, is proof that such counsel was taken to heart, for in his autobiography, he says, without a trace of remorse, “About this time, I put away my wife, who had borne me three children, not being pleased with her manners” (as cited in Clarke, 3:74).
The suggestion that being smitten on the cheek was a grievous insult comes from such passages as Job 16:10 and Lamentations 3:30.
Again for purposes of the novel, some of the scriptural passages have been paraphrased.
Chapter 16
For the reasoning of mortals is worthless, and our designs are likely to fail, for a perishable body weighs down the soul, and this earthy tent burdens the thoughtful mind.
—Wisdom of Solomon 9:14–15
I
15 May, a.d. 30
The family of David ben Joseph of Capernaum had secured the gates to the courtyard, locked the doors to their house, finished their evening prayers, a
nd were preparing for bed when they heard a loud pounding on the courtyard gate. David gave Deborah a surprised look. It was not unusual in the merchant business for David to have visitors after dark, but not this late. Many homes were already shuttered for the night. Knowing the servants had already retired, he slipped on an outer robe, took one of the small hand lamps, and walked through the house to the front door. He opened it and stepped out onto the stone landing. “Who is there?” he called.
“It’s Shana. I’ve just arrived from Beth Neelah.”
II
“You came down alone at night?” Deborah asked, concern written across her face.
“Yehuda and Daniel are preparing things for the beginning of the harvest. They could not leave.”
Simeon, Leah, and Joseph had all come from their rooms to join their parents in the main sitting room. Shana looked around at them, her eyes lingering for just a moment longer on Simeon. Then her head came up proudly. “I am not afraid. I know the way even in the dark.”
“What’s wrong?” David asked. Brave or not, Yehuda would never have sent her down to Capernaum alone unless there was a serious problem.
“It’s Naomi,” she said to Deborah. “She has taken very ill.”
“No!” Deborah exclaimed. “What is it?”
Shana shook her head. “We’re not sure. High fever. She’s very weak. She keeps asking for you. Teresa asked if I would come and tell you.”
Deborah shook her head gravely. Her cousin was almost ten years older than she was, which put her in her mid-fifties, an age that many women never reached. She had been a widow now for almost four years and had moved back to Beth Neelah to be close to her oldest daughter. If Teresa had sent for her, then Deborah knew that this was not just a minor illness. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” she said.
“I’ll go with you,” Leah said.
But Deborah shook her head immediately. “The harvest season is just beginning. There is too much to do here. Your father needs all of you.” She looked to David to confirm that.
Though he didn’t want her to have to go alone, he finally nodded. “Do you want Simeon to escort the two of you back up to the village?”