“I’ve seen you shadowing me. Have they assigned you as my guard?” he demanded bitterly.
“They have not. I just sense that you feel very lost and alone. We don’t have to talk if you’d rather not, but I am here to listen if you desire a friendly ear.”
“Just leave me then. I don’t need your priestly counselling.”
“No. I’ll not leave you to fight this battle alone.”
Bartholomew brooded in silence for a while, as if debating how to get rid of this unwanted presence. Then, as if trying to shock Yeshua into retreat, he said, “I have committed sins for which there is no pardon. My soul bears a stain that can never wash away.”
Yeshua nodded seriously. “You condemn yourself harshly. I can think of few sins that cannot be forgiven a repentant heart. Perhaps you will feel better if you speak of these sins. I can promise your confidence will remain completely private and I will try not to judge.”
At first Bartholomew remained silent. Yeshua just sat beside him, enjoying the warm sun and hoping to ease this young man’s despair with his friendly presence. At last Bartholomew spoke.
“I was a shameless, arrogant fool, believing that wealth and birthright gave me the privilege of doing whatever I pleased. I did things that shame me now in retrospect. My father tried to control me, but my mother doted on me, so I paid no consequences for my actions. My father kept many slaves, including a young woman named Myra, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She was at least fifteen years my senior, but I didn’t care. I wanted her. When I made advances, she gently turned me away. It infuriated me that a slave would dare to spurn me. I beat her until she no longer fought me and then I raped her. I shaved her head and dragged her to the slave market and sold her.
“Another slave girl, Tamara, saw what I did but she called no one to stop it, hoping she might replace Myra as my father’s favorite. Not until later did she go to my father, again hoping to win his favor by betraying my misdeeds. Instead, he condemned her to the same fate as Myra, beaten, shaven and sold. I had never seen him so angry. I thought Myra just his bed warmer when my mother felt too ill. But he loved her. He told me I had raped and sold my own mother. His wife, the woman I called Mother, could bear no children, so she begged him to find a slave girl to bear a child for her. And he came to love Myra, though while his wife lived he could not acknowledge that love. So I, with my cruel, selfish behavior, have ruined five lives. He has disowned me and exiled me here to this temple, to celibacy, so I might learn to control my behavior. My father will never forgive me.”
Yeshua considered the story with a thoughtful frown. “Your father wanted you to learn that your actions have consequences. But a father also forgives his children because he loves them. There is a thing you could do to earn his forgiveness, to atone for your sin and to prove yourself repentant.”
Bartholomew just looked at him, eyes filled with pain and faint hope.
“You can find this woman, Myra, whom you wronged. Find her and beg her forgiveness and then reunite her with your father.”
“I tried, right after he told me what I had done. But the slavers had already sold her to a caravan travelling south and I had no way to follow. I have no idea where she might have ended up. Even if I could find her, I have no money to buy her freedom. All my life I have lived off my father’s wealth, so now I have no way to even support myself while I search.”
Yeshua smiled. “Come,” he said, “I will teach you how to make and cast a fishing net. Then, if you catch several fish, you can sell them to earn money. If you catch only one or two, you can at least feed yourself. Searching for Myra will teach you many lessons. You will face many temptations, but the soul untested by desire gains no strength.”
* * *
A few days later, Bartholomew disappeared. Putti rarely ran away from the temple and those who did were usually the older orphans, seeking some better future than lifelong servitude or fighting as soldiers in a war that would gain them nothing except an early death. Only Yeshua had any idea why the young man fled and he said nothing, even when their teachers assigned the putti to help search the grounds for the missing student.
Another year passed, then one day Joseph came to visit Yeshua. Despite the fact they both lived at the temple, they saw little of one another on a day-to-day basis. Each had their own duties to perform and different schedules they needed to follow. Joseph found his son in the scroll room, studying in the section allowed for putti.
“My son,” he said, “I would like to speak with you in private.”
Yeshua glanced around, as if only then realizing he shared the scroll room with several others. He followed his father in obedient silence out into the garden, where they sat on a stone bench beside a small fountain.
“What is it, Father?” he asked, suddenly anxious that something might have happened to his mother, James or Hannah.
“The time has come for your initiation. I want you to understand the choices you will need to make.” Joseph considered for a moment while Yeshua waited in respectful silence. Yeshua already knew his first choice would be whether to live the life of a celibate dynastic in the temple, visiting family only once a year, or taking up a mission in the world of the Unclean as a lay priest. But Joseph didn’t even mention those possibilities, just assuming Yeshua would choose to follow in his footsteps.
“You know I have allied with the Pharisees, the nationalist zealot party. Our objective is to restore Israel to its former glory, with a David on the throne and a Zadokite priest ruling the temple in Jerusalem. We have waited and prayed for such a restoration. Now, soon, the turning of the millennium will arrive, a thousand years since Moshe led our people out of Egypt. Your cousin, John, believes we should set aside our militarism and trust in the prophecy of Isaiah. John insists that Heaven will intervene in some dramatic way, just as it did in Moshe’s time. So we wait, but we prepare as well. When Roman rule becomes too oppressive, we make our feelings known with small harassing attacks. But we wait for some sign from Heaven, for a new Moshe to appear to lead our people out of captivity once again. You, as my eldest son and heir, could become that leader.”
“The nationalist party does not accept me as heir. They call me illegitimate.”
“Yes, I know. That fault was mine and it seems unfair that you should have to pay the price. But joining the zealots could consolidate your position. If you ally yourself with them, they will be more likely to support your claim to the throne.”
“I grow weary of the instability of my position,” Yeshua admitted. “One day I am the heir and the next I am illegitimate, depending on who holds power at that moment. Perhaps James would make a better Moshe anyway. He certainly seems more inclined toward aggressive behavior. The village priest needed to discipline him several times.”
“But he’s only a child yet, just beginning his training. If God should decide that tomorrow is the day for the new Passover, our people will need a leader, someone older than James and stronger than a sickly old man like me.”
Yeshua sighed. “I will consider these things, Father. I dislike the eastern orthodox doctrines of the nationalist party. I dislike them selling our beliefs for money to fund their army and excluding those baptized Gentiles from participating in the Purity. And I must confess, I feel little inclination to re-establish an elitist caste system. I know this is not what you wish to hear, but my heart is with the peace faction and the more liberal western doctrines. However, I will pray on it and listen for God’s guidance.”
“Remember the laws of Moshe, my son — honor thy mother and thy father.”
“I do honor you, Father, but our Heavenly Father may have other plans for me, and I must honor Him above all.”
* * *
In the desert caves of Qumran, Yeshua sat meditating and praying for many days as part of the initiation rituals. Toward the end of this time of solitude and prayer, Satan came to him in the form of Boethus, the leader of the Pharisee party. The Saducee p
eace party called Boethus Satan, the opposer, because as leader of the zealots, he opposed Ananas, the high priest and the Voice of God. When Joseph, the David, allied with the Pharisees, it lent Boethus added authority and validation. To convince Yeshua and James to join his party as well would give him the full backing of the royal line and an edge over his political opponents. And with Yeshua weak and mentally vulnerable after weeks of intermittent fasting, he might prove easier to persuade. First Boethus did his duty by testing Yeshua on the doctrines, posing him hypothetical situations. Yeshua calmly replied with quotes from scriptures.
Then Boethus offered, “If you follow me, I can make you king.”
But Yeshua did not trust this man. His leadership smacked of arrogance, personal ambition and a quest for material gain. Yeshua felt little doubt Boethus would sacrifice the entire royal family if he thought he could usurp the power of the throne.
“I follow only the Voice of God,” the young man replied.
Believing the young man meant he allied with the peace party, Boethus demanded, “Would you be a prince of peace or king of the Jews? With my acceptance of your claim to the throne, you could take precedence over your brother and rule after your father.”
“I am the son of God,” Yeshua replied, “both of Joseph, the god on earth, and of our Heavenly Father. What need have I for thrones and crowns when I will sit at my Father’s right hand in Heaven? You cannot tempt me, Satan, for I follow God’s Voice in my heart. Wherever and however I proceed, as prince or king, you will walk behind, not before me.”
Baffled and angered by what he saw as arrogance from a student who had always remained quietly obedient, Boethus retreated. A short time later, Ananas entered and also tested Yeshua, finding him well versed in the scriptures. Then the high priest, fearing the young man might choose to follow his father’s path, began trying to convince him to join the peace party.
“You know I have always supported your claim to the throne. The Voice and the Hand of God should work together in accord.”
Yeshua looked at him wearily and replied, “God speaks to me in my heart and His Voice is not your voice. You speak too often of power and control, of punishment and retribution.”
Ananas hesitated, insulted. But if God truly did speak to Yeshua, it could mean this young man was the long-awaited new Moshe. Or that voice could be the trickery of the Enemy. “What does He say?”
“The Voice of God speaks of Love. The Voice of God speaks of forgiveness.”
“Even for those who break God’s Laws?”
“Yes. Who needs more deeply to know a personal relationship with God than the sinner? Here in the temple, you hoard God like a personal treasure, hidden and withheld from the people. They can only approach God through you. You wield fear of punishment like a club to force the wayward back into line. But if we all loved one another as God loves us, would his laws not remain engraved in our hearts? No one would covet the wife or possessions of a loved one but would rejoice for his good fortune. And who would murder or steal from one they loved? The fear you teach generates anger, despair and violence. Love generates peace and cooperation.”
Ananas also went away baffled and disturbed. A short time later, four angels arrived with bread and wine to break the initiate’s fast.
* * *
On foot, Yeshua followed his guide, an Angel named Elijah, deeper into the mountains. In a small, remote valley surrounded on three sides by sunburned cliffs, they found the Women’s House, the home of the Maries. As a member of a dynastic family, producing an heir remained one of Yeshua’s primary responsibilities, so choosing a bride would lead to the final act in his initiation, betrothal.
Rather than a single dwelling, a cluster of buildings and a tower actually formed the Women’s House, all built out of stone so pale and pure it looked as if someone had carved them out of ivory. A thin waterfall cascaded down the east wall of the cliff to water the lush oasis of trees and gardens that enfolded the community in a green embrace, looking like a little piece of paradise.
Elijah led Yeshua to the main building and knocked. One of the older Maries, plain faced and silent, ushered them inside. Likely she had been passed over by the young men in her youth and ended up a permanent resident, a house mother to the young girls. The building’s interior seemed chilly and dimly lit after the brilliant sunlight and heat outdoors.
“I am Elijah, son of Abner, and this is Yeshua, son of Joseph the David, come to choose a bride.”
“Yes,” the woman acknowledged the introduction solemnly, “we have expected you. My name is Mary Rachel. Please follow me and I’ll take you to the High Mother.”
They found the community leader in the herb garden, sleeves rolled to her elbows as she and two others harvested mint and balm and tied them into loose bundles for drying. She straightened with a hand to her lower back as if it pained. She appeared old but strong, her expression stern, almost disapproving, as if she resented having to surrender one of her wards to the care of any man.
“Your father visited us several months ago,” she told Yeshua. “He felt his health failing and knew he might not be able to attend your betrothal ceremony. So he picked out a number of girls he thought suitable, from whom you may choose a bride. But, first, I know you have come a long way and you must feel weary. We have prepared the guest house in expectation of your arrival. Mary Rachel will show you the way and provide refreshments for you. The girls will need some time to prepare themselves for your inspection.”
Yeshua nodded politely and smiled. “At their convenience and yours, High Mother. While I must admit I feel eager to meet my life partner, I would not wish to rush the ladies or make them feel uncomfortable.”
The guest house sat apart from the rest of the buildings, shaded by date palms and olive trees. Furnished with four pallet beds, a small brazier for cooking simple meals, and an eating area with a low table and cushions for seating, the single room looked comfortable but not luxurious enough to encourage prolonged occupation. Mary Rachel provided a basin of water to wash the dust off their feet, then laid out a humble meal of bread, olives, figs and dates with clean, sweet spring water to wash it all down. Then she left them to rest with the admonition not to wander unattended through the gardens, so as not to frighten or sully the reputation of any Maries going about their daily chores.
Hours passed before Mary Rachel returned. Yeshua and Elijah rested and talked, bored and wishing they could explore this beautiful place. The two young men knew one another only by reputation. As the eldest son of the David, everyone in the temple knew Yeshua by sight, but Elijah had, until recently, lived away, carrying out a mission in Syria. While they passed their time in conversation, Yeshua discovered that Elijah had come of Mary-age four years ago and experienced the choosing and betrothal. He volunteered to guide Yeshua through what, for him, had proven a pleasant and thrilling experience. His own wife went with him on his mission, and they now had a two-year-old son and a solid, loving relationship. He had rejected the celibate life soon after he met her, and he felt no regrets over that decision.
Yeshua thought about what he wanted, what his father wanted, what the priests wanted. None of those wants corresponded. The priests would love it if he sacrificed his life in a completely celibate, priestly dedication to God and left the kingship to his brother, James. It would certainly solve the controversy over his legitimacy. Joseph wanted him to obediently follow a path chosen for him, to live a fragmented family life as his father had and become the new Moshe to lead their people out of bondage to Rome. But what did Yeshua himself want? He thought about it in brooding silence for a long time and prayed for guidance while Elijah dozed on one of the pallets. He decided he wanted what Jonas and Shoshanna had, a true partnership, each playing their roles, different but equal and supportive, raising children as a family, tight-knit and united by love.
He changed out of his dusty travel clothing and donned fresh robes in readiness for the choosing, wondering what p
reparations the Maries undertook that kept them busy so long. At last, the young men heard a knock at the guesthouse door. Elijah rose to respond, looking refreshed and almost as eager as Yeshua.
Mary Rachel waited outside. She nodded warily, her expression almost sullen. She knew whatever choice Yeshua made, she would lose a sister, not necessarily to a happy situation. “The Maries await you in the assembly hall, Master Yeshua. Please follow me.”
The two young men fell in behind her. She led them across to the main building and around to the back, where a long, narrow hall formed an attached wing with its own entrance so male visitors need not taint the halls of the Women’s House. The High Mother met them at the entrance and led the two young men forward to face a line of eight girls.
Yeshua eyed them uncertainly. They looked beautiful, every one of them, cheeks flushed with hidden emotion, eyes downcast demurely, awaiting his decision. They looked like dolls, wooden and slightly unreal. The High Mother introduced them, “Mary Salome, Mary Ada, Mary Martha, Mary Rachel, Mary Sarah, Mary Deborah, Mary Leah and Mary Naomi.” Each of the girls genuflected as they were presented. To Yeshua’s eye they looked almost identical, not so much in appearance as in expression and submissive attitude. Not one of them appealed to him, despite their obvious physical charms.
“Mary Martha excels at cooking,” the High Mother praised. At a flick of her hand, the girl in question fetched a plate from a nearby table and offered Yeshua a honey cake, sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. “Mary Ada has a singing voice as lovely as any bird’s.” A sloe-eyed beauty stepped forward and sang a short song of praise to God, her voice as sweet as the honey cake and lacking all expression. “Mary Deborah plays harp and flute with exceptional skill.” The young woman played a long run of rippling notes on the stringed instrument. “Mary Salome dances with exquisite grace.” Mary Deborah took up the flute and played a lively tune while Mary Salome spun and whirled around the floor with willowy suppleness and innocent seduction, the only one who showed a hint of personality behind the trained perfection.
From the Shores of Eden Page 25