From the Shores of Eden

by Shelley Penner

  Yeshua smiled and replied, “I would wear that title with pride and consider it an honor.”

  Shanna suddenly stiffened, staring down the road toward the village with a scowl. “What has Andrew done now?” she muttered in dismay.

  Striding toward them came the village priest, dragging Andrew roughly by the arm and looking like thunder. Shanna ducked inside to call her parents and Jonas came out to greet the priest as he arrived out of breath and puffing.

  “Shalom, Father. Thank you for escorting my son home. We feared he had gotten lost.”

  “Lost indeed. Elijah found him in the vineyard, stuffing himself with grapes. Childish mischief is one matter but breaking the Lord’s commandments is another entirely. You’d best put a leash on this boy before he does permanent damage to his soul.”

  “Yes, Father. I’ll do my best,” Jonas said mildly, easing his son out of the man’s grasp. “I’ll talk to Elijah myself and pay compensation for the grapes.”

  “You need to punish that boy severely!”

  Yeshua could see that the priest would dearly like to administer that punishment himself. This man, who gave him lessons on scripture four days a week, had always seemed a such kindly, humble soul. Yeshua had never seen him so angry.

  “Yes, Father. I’ll see he understands how wrong it is to steal. He’ll do penance by working in Elijah’s fields this harvest with no payment. Thank you, Father, for your guidance in this matter.” Jonas turned away, sternly gesturing his son toward the tool shed behind the house.

  “What’s going to happen to Andrew?” Yeshua asked anxiously.

  Peter shrugged, looking amused. “Father will give him a few strokes across the backside with a switch. Likely he’ll have to stand to watch us eat supper, then go to bed hungry. But that shouldn’t prove too great a hardship since he’s full of stolen grapes.”

  Yeshua had never in his life been struck by any adult. Though Andrew was nearer to his own age, he felt closest to Peter, who had become like a big brother to him. But he still felt fond of Andrew. Physical punishment from an adult seemed a terrifying prospect. But the breaking of a commandment seemed equally terrifying.

  Peter saw his dismay and said reassuringly, “It was a childish misdeed, but he has brought shame on our entire family. He deserves this punishment.”

  It seemed such a small transgression, to take what nature freely offered, and grapes tasted so temptingly sweet. How could one man claim to own what God put on earth for all men’s use? And if Yeshua should ever be tempted into committing such a sin, how would the family of Jonas react then? Would Yeshua lose the friendship that felt like food and drink to a starving soul?

  “Will Jonas ever forgive Andrew?” he asked anxiously.

  Peter smiled. “Of course. Father punishes us so we know our actions have consequences, but he always forgives us. It hurts him as much to punish us as it hurts us to receive his punishment. Because he loves us.”

  Later that evening, just before they all retired, Yeshua saw Jonas take Andrew aside and hug him, letting him know before bedtime that he was forgiven. He still needed to do penance, but he could go to sleep knowing his father loved him.

  * * *

  Three years later, Yeshua sat in the library at the temple, surrounded by priests and intensely aware of the father he barely knew sitting behind him, observing the testing. Question after question they asked him and he answered with calm assurance he had gained, not just through intense study, but through the love of friends and the confidence of knowing and enjoying an honest trade. He answered as he knew the priests expected, but in his heart he disagreed with much of their doctrine. Jonas and Zebadee might be commoners, but they were honest and kindly men, loving fathers and husbands. They were not ‘unclean’ because they loved their wives. And the women Yeshua knew, starting with his own mother, were neither temptresses nor tools of Satan. They possessed their own wisdom, different from priestly wisdom, but not unholy. Through friendship, Yeshua had gained happiness and through that joy he had begun to recognize that goodness and beauty existed in everyone and everything. The earth and nature vibrated with God’s shining spirit. How could it be corrupting or unclean when it came from God? Yeshua expressed none of these ideas, not wanting to shame his father before the priests, especially since many considered his brother James, now eight years old, Joseph’s legitimate heir.

  Yeshua’s studies had taught him not just the doctrines of the Essene order, but the basic politics of the temple. He knew the order was composed of the highest echelons of Levite priesthood and Hebrew aristocracy, stripped of their wealth and exiled to this desert wilderness when they refused to submit to Rome. They believed they had lost God’s favor generations earlier when He allowed the Romans to desecrate the Holy Sepulcher and destroy the temple in Jerusalem. For the most part, Essene men remained celibate, believing women an unclean and corrupting influence when they needed to win back God’s favor. They called themselves ‘the Poor’, depending on donations and tithes from hardworking commoners to feed them while they dedicated their lives to prayer and studying the ancient scrolls. But to maintain family bloodlines, the aristocracy needed to produce children, so a separate, female order kept young girls of noble blood, called Maries, in virginal seclusion until they matured enough to become vessels to produce a new generation.

  Yeshua also knew the Essene order remained divided into two factions: the Pharisees, warlike zealots who wanted to rise up against their Roman overlords and take Jerusalem back by force, and the Sadducees, a peace faction led by the High Priest, Jonathan Ananas. Decades before Yeshua’s birth, the Essenes began evangelizing amongst non-Hebrew populations as far away as Egypt and Rome, gathering and initiating gentile converts and charging a ‘ransom’ for their souls, thirty pieces of silver that went into the order’s coffers to help finance a rebellion. With the new millennium fast approaching, Yeshua knew that the Essenes expected the heir to the throne of David to command that rebel army, a new Moshe to lead their people out of captivity and the aristocracy out of exile. He wondered how, even with God’s approval, a handful of poorly trained zealots could hope to defeat the battle-hardened and disciplined troops of Rome.

  The priests nodded and murmured amongst themselves, judging his performance. Yeshua knew the words of the scriptures as well as he knew the landscape of his own heart. His heart and the doctrines didn’t always agree.

  He had noticed how the common people, for the most part, seemed content to ply their trades and live out their lives, training their children to continue after them. Paying taxes seemed an inescapable burden and whether those taxes went to Rome or to their own government made little difference in their lives. As long as they could earn a living and raise their children in peace, they remained content.

  With the Hebrew leadership focused mainly on recovering lost fortunes and regaining control over their lands, the common people received little or no consideration. The priests held absolute power over their religious lives, referring to them as ‘the Unclean’ because they kept wives and raised families. A common man could only petition God at the temple through a priestly mediator, and only for a price. If he wanted to make a sacrifice to ensure God’s blessings on the birth of a new child, or to honor the wedding of his son or daughter or the death of a loved one, he needed to make the journey to the temple and pay dearly for the privilege of having a priest make the offering in his name.

  Yeshua waited in silence while the priests conferred, his head full of doubts and questions he didn’t dare voice. At last, they came to some sort of agreement. They gestured his father forward and Joseph advanced to meet them, joining in with their murmuring and nodding. A moment later he approached Yeshua, his bearded face unreadable. However, his hand on the boy’s shoulder gave a distinct sense of finality. They exited together. As they started back down out of the mountains on a pair of asses, the silence between them felt to Yeshua like an increasing, crushing burden on his spirit. He didn’t know w
hat to say, whether it was safe to ask his father the questions that pressed against his heart, wanting expression.

  Every year in the winter season Joseph came to their home, stayed a month, sharing his wife’s bed, and then disappeared again for another year. The only variation in this pattern came with the birth of James in September, the most propitious season for births, the time when all legitimate births occurred in the dynasties. Not in February like Yeshua’s birth. Every year when Joseph arrived, he seemed a little different, a little older, a little more distanced by another year of unshared experiences. Every year Yeshua felt that gap more keenly. Jonas, Peter’s father, whose kindness and wisdom provided a much-admired role model, seemed more like his father than this detached, silent man at his side. At last, he screwed up his courage and asked his most pressing question.

  “Father?”

  “Yes, my son?”

  “Did I pass their test?”

  Joseph smiled down at him. “You did well. I felt very proud of you.”

  Yeshua sighed with relief, then dared to ask, “What happens now?”

  Joseph nodded his approval of the inquiry. “When next I come to the village for the month of family life, you will return with me afterwards to the temple. There you will learn and prepare for your initiation and the responsibilities of adulthood. You will live in the novice’s residence with other boys of the family dynasties and take lessons from the priests.”

  “Will I ever get to see Mother and James again?” He didn’t mention the families of Jonas and Zebadee, doubting his father would care about his friendship with the fishermen, except to disapprove of him associating with the Unclean. He hadn’t yet realized that, through his years living in the village with his mother, he too was considered Unclean.

  “You will. Each year when I travel to the village for the month of family life, you may join me for that visit. And after your initiation you will be expected to undertake a mission, teaching amongst the Unclean, renewing the faith of the common people and seeking new converts, winning new souls to the Truth of the One God.”

  * * *

  The transition to temple life proved difficult for Yeshua. He found the priests stern, demanding and devoid of warmth. He missed the friendly kindness of Peter and Jonas, the loving gentleness of his mother and Hannah. He shared sleeping quarters with eleven other dynastic boys, mostly older, who had already trained at the temple for several years. A separate sleeping room housed the orphans, boys who had lost their parents to disease, accident or conflict and had no other family to take them in. Most of the dynastic boys grew up in an annex to the Women’s House with a sense of privilege and arrogance, knowing they belonged to the ruling class. They treated the orphans with contemptuous superiority. But Yeshua, having grown up in Bethsaida with commoner friends and the taint of an untimely birth, felt more akin to those orphans. He didn’t like the attitude of the dynastic boys. As the son of the David, legitimate or not, the orphans viewed him with wary deference, even more so because he treated them with consideration and respect.

  Consequently, for the first few years, Yeshua found himself primarily alone and friendless, an outsider to both groups. He concentrated on his studies and kept his own council.

  Yeshua discovered that, even in the priestly hierarchy, the orphans remained at a disadvantage. The hierarchy consisted of three tiers, with each of three sublevels having their own particular roles to fill. At the bottom stood the Angels, made up of newly initiated young men and adult commoners. Angels from amongst the orphans worked as servants, waiting on their superiors, cooking and cleaning, some into old age without ever advancing higher. Dynastic Angels went on missions, sometimes to foreign countries, where they preached the word of God to gain converts, ‘ransoming souls’ to fill the war chests of the rebel army.

  Once they advanced to Archangels, the young men, both orphans and dynastics, were entrusted with running messages and training to fight. Then, with additional education, they could become Principalities, teachers in the temple or lay priests, ministering to the Unclean. And that was as far as any commoner could advance.

  The second tier consisted of Powers, who acted as security guards and behavioral monitors, then Virtues, who took confession, gave counselling and encouragement, and the Dominions, who regulated the duties of lesser angels.

  Only royalty and Levites, members of the priestly tribe of Levi, could advance to the third tier, which consisted of the Thrones, who presided over judicial matters and presented the prayers of the common people to God; the Cherubim, who acted as scribes and guardians of the sacred; and the Seraphim, the exalted esthetics doing research, copying scrolls and setting doctrine. At the pinnacle of the hierarchy stood the High Priest, the Voice of God, and the David, the Hand of God, king of the Hebrews. At the bottom were the boys in training, like Yeshua, not yet initiated, called putties.

  By the time Yeshua had trained at the temple for almost three years, he had gained a reputation amongst the teacher class as a level-headed, conscientious student, obedient and respectful. They had no idea what rebellion simmered beneath the surface.

  * * *

  One of his instructors assigned Yeshua to Zacharias, the old herbalist, an ancient man who frequently needed a youngster with a strong back to help him. The old man found Yeshua not only kind and helpful but also an eager and clever student with a keen interest in the healing arts. Over the following years, working together, enjoying their common interests, they became fond of one another. Zacharias belonged to the Sadducee peace party but maintained a strong conviction that God would intervene to restore the aristocracy to their proper place. As he and Yeshua weeded the garden one day, the old man requested, “Tell me a story as we work, my son, to help to keep our minds entertained while our bodies labor. You have been learning the parable technique in your classes lately, have you not?”

  “I have, Master Zacharias. Let me meditate on this assignment for a few moments,” Yeshua replied. He had gained both wisdom and confidence through his years of training and to this point had hidden his doubts well. Having grown up amongst the common people, he had the unique perspective of seeing the Essene order from the outside, despite his elevated status as the eldest son of the David. After a short period of thought, Yeshua began his parable.

  “A farmer has a small field of grass and a flock of six goats. Five of the goats give good portions of milk and produce kids every spring. The sixth goat, the proudest, most beautiful of all, from the best bloodlines, remains barren and therefore produces no milk. She leads the flock but consumes three times as much as the others, and food remains scarce. What do you think the farmer should do?”

  The old man squinted, his rheumy eyes narrowing as he deciphered the riddle of the story. Or so he thought. “The barren goat should go into the supper pot, for she takes much and contributes nothing. The herd will then choose another leader from amongst the productive goats.”

  Yeshua nodded and said solemnly, “God is the farmer. The goats are the common people. Who do you think the lead goat represents?”

  The old herbalist’s eyes widened. “Us? The Essenes? But we spread the word of God and increase his flock.”

  “For a price,” Yeshua pointed out dryly. “And what do the Gentiles, or even our own people, receive in exchange for this ‘ransom of souls’? A white pebble with their Hebrew name incised on it. They’re not even allowed to cross the dooryard of the temple. They’re not allowed to partake of the Purity, the sacred bread and wine. Even the lay priests are not permitted to drink the wine, only water. So if the goats in the story represent the common people, what do you think the goats’ milk represents?”

  The old man shrugged, thinking the answer obvious. “The productivity of the Unclean.”

  Yeshua shook his head. “The milk represents love, the one thing the common people have in abundance that the priesthood and the Essenes have cut out of their lives. Love provides food and drink to the spirit. And it begins with
the mother that your doctrines so scorn and fear. The power and weakness of the Universal Masculine is fear — fear of the unknowable, the uncontrollable, and the ability to generate fear in others in order to gain power over them. The power and weakness of the Universal Feminine is Love, for the Mother will forgive her children any transgression. The milk of the Mother is the unconditional love that inspires her to protect her loved ones, no matter what the cost, no matter how wayward or how foolishly they act.”

  “Are you saying you think God is a woman?” the old man demanded uncertainly, half joking.

  “No, Grandfather, I am saying God needs a bride, a feminine power to balance his masculine power, love to balance fear, forgiveness to balance judgment, and a reunification with the common Earth.”

  “Sacrilege! You speak like a heretic!”

  “Perhaps. But the common people have been long neglected, milked of their prosperity to feed the aristocracy’s dreams of restoration.”

  * * *

  A new boy named Bartholomew joined the ranks of the putti. He came from a wealthy family, but his demeanor seemed far different from the other dynastic boys. A handsome, strong young man, he looked almost old enough for first initiation. He seldom spoke and seemed completely withdrawn, spending much of his time alone in brooding silence. As the months passed, he made no attempts to fit in. When the other boys tried to tease him out of his moodiness, he just turned away. Yeshua sensed a deep emotional wound in him and began watching carefully, intuition warning that Bartholomew stood on a spiritual precipice from which he might choose to plunge to his death.

  One day after the evening meal, Yeshua found Bartholomew sitting in the garden, bowed in an attitude of utter desolation. Without a word, he sat down beside the young man, silently offering the comfort of a friendly presence. After a moment, Bartholomew stirred and looked at him.