Man in White

by Johnny Cash

  “Are you using the synagogue for a storehouse of grain?” Saul asked jokingly.

  Baanah laid the wheat on a table just inside the door. The table was almost covered with all sorts of grain as well as baskets of beans, radishes, cucumbers, leeks, onions, berries, melons, and pots of honey.

  “Tomorrow is the sixth day of Sivan,”Baanah said, smiling. “Doesn’t that fact tell you something?”

  Saul was embarrassed. He had lost all track of time in his work. “Of course,” he said. “It’s the Feast of Weeks.”

  Baanah sat down on a bench, wiping sweat from his face.

  “Tell me what to do. I’ll help,” said Saul.

  Baanah paused, then bowed his head, understanding that Saul would not discuss his “mission” that was bothering him so very much. “Wherever you like,” he finally answered. “The lamps need oil, and the ceiling has cobwebs in the corners.”

  “Rest,Master,” said Saul, striding into the large room furnished with the bare necessities. There were benches for the congregation of men on the main floor and a half balcony for the female worshipers above. At the opposite end of the room was the ark for the holy scrolls, covered with a rich, golden-bordered, velvet tapestry, the only expensive thing in the building. In front of it were the platform and the reading table. Some of the benches were moved to the side, and the floor was still wet where the rabbi’s wife had mopped it.

  Saul placed flowers in vases that hung from the balcony columns. Suddenly he started singing:

  When the Lord turned again

  The captivity of Zion,

  We were like them that dream.

  Then was our mouth

  Filled with laughter,

  And our tongue with singing:

  Then said they among the heathen,

  The Lord has done great things for them.

  The Lord has done great things for us, So we are glad.

  Baanah, sitting on his bench at the door, smiled to hear Saul’s song. Possibly the man can find some joy in his life, Baanah thought. Even though he cannot sing, at least he is trying. His countenance has been only fierce and foreboding up until now, so let him sing.

  Saul walked to a storage room and brought out a large jar of olive oil. He went to each of the hanging lamps and, pulling them down by their adjustable brass chains, dipped a cup into the jar and filled the lamps. He sang more loudly:

  Turn again our captivity, O Lord,

  As the streams in the south.

  They that sow in tears

  Shall reap in joy.

  He that goes forth weeping,

  Bearing the precious seed,

  Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,

  Bringing the sheaves with him.

  Saul finished filling the lamps. He then moved past Baanah, singing with armfuls of grain and fruits and vegetables, loading them into a cart at the door. His song being finished, he now began joyfully reciting Scriptures appropriate for he occasion. The everlasting covenant:

  While the earth remains,

  Seedtime and harvest

  And summer and winter

  And day and night

  Shall not cease.

  Having loaded the cart and seeing that the room was becoming darker, he took the tinderbox from the niche just inside the door. With the flint and steel he lit a tiny lamp, with which he proceeded to light the hanging lamps. He chanted:

  Moses stretched forth his hand

  Toward heaven,

  And there was a thick darkness

  Over the land of Egypt three days.

  They’d not see one another,

  Neither did anyone arise

  From his place for three days,

  But the children of Israel

  Had light in their dwellings.

  Saul returned the hand lamp to its cubicle, then looked back into the room. The lamps were beautiful to him. He stood gazing at the rich tapestry covering the Torah.

  And the Gentiles

  Shall come to thy light,

  And kings to the brightness

  Of thy rising.

  He noticed the cobwebs on the ceiling, and as he began erasing them with a broom, he thought again of the children of Israel in bondage in Egypt. They had been held like the moths in these cobwebs. The all-powerful hand of the Lord delivered them, he thought as he jammed the broom into a corner of the ceiling.

  Tomorrow, the forty-ninth day after the second day of Passover, was the celebration of the giving of the Ten Commandments on Sinai, as well as the sacrifice of firstfruits. In his mind as he worked, Saul saw the finger of God write the commandments in stone—the Decalogue, the fountainhead of all Law. He recited the commandments as he worked. “I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not worship idols.

  You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Honor your father and your mother . . .”

  “You shall not kill,” the voice of Baanah ben David interrupted Saul. A chill went up Saul’s spine; then he felt a quick flash of anger.

  Baanah stood searching Saul’s face for . . . for what? He didn’t know.

  Perhaps some explanation that all the death and destruction reported to him recently had not really been at Saul’s hand.

  “What else can I do for you, Master Baanah?”

  The old man turned and went to his bench. As he sat down, he said, “The high priest sent a steward looking for you three times in the last day.”

  “What does the high priest want with me?” Saul asked.

  “The steward said he wants to talk to you,” said Baanah.

  Saul said, more to himself than to the rabbi, “What does he want to talk with me about?”

  Baanah paused. “Probably the same thing I would like to talk to you about.”

  Saul’s eyes became cold, defensive. “And what is that?”

  “Go to the high priest,” said Baanah. “You should go now.”

  Saul took with him to the Temple Cononiah and Shemei. The two were faring better with Saul’s successes. They wore new robes and sandals. Cononiah sported a large lapis lazuli ring on his finger. The finger in it, however, was still dirty. They stood grinning behind Saul as they eyed the elegant office chamber of the high priest.

  “You sent for me, Master Jonathan?” Saul asked.

  The high priest arose from his couch and paused before speaking, looking first at the two Hebronites, then back at Saul. “Yes,” he said. “Sit down.” He indicated a comfortable, linen-covered armchair. Then after a pause and a nod in the direction of Saul’s attendants, he added in a light manner, “It will not be necessary for your companions to stay. I am not going to interrogate you.” Saul motioned for the two to leave the room as the high priest resumed his seat.

  He studied Saul before he spoke. He tapped his fingers on the arm of his couch and looked his visitor up and down. “You look ill, Saul,” he said.

  “I am quite well,” he replied.

  “Pardon me for playing the concerned father, but you have lost weight, your skin is yellow, and your hands are trembling.”

  The high priest paused, then continued. “Piety is a principal virtue, Saul, but I must remind you that the sages call a pious fool the man who endangers life and limb in strict self-disciplinary measures.”

  Saul sat up straight and faced his host, holding his hands together between his legs. “Thank you for your concern, but I am more than thirty years old. I have always managed to fend for myself.”He paused and looked down at his hands. They were trembling slightly. “I confess to you, though, that I have lost sleep and meals in the constant deployment of my mission.”

  “Your sister came to see me,” said Jonathan. “She is worried that you will be ill, pushing yourself to the limit of endurance in all undertakings. She asks that you visit her again for some food and rest.”

  “Sarah would be a mother to me also,” said Saul. “Between the two of you, I am well looked after.” He paused
, then added, “I suppose a good night’s sleep after a bowl of Sarah’s hot soup would be a good thing.”

  “Your sister is your kerovah, your nearest relative,” the high priest mused. “She feels that she bears a special responsibility of love and support for you. And, Saul,” he continued conversationally, “perhaps it is the mothering instinct in her, but in her goodness she feels obligated to help you in whatever your endeavor. To not do so, she would feel guilty and cruel.”

  The high priest had much to talk to Saul about, and he relaxed on his seat, hoping that Saul would do the same. Saul did not, however—he remained sitting up with his hands clasped between his knees, ready to hear what this meeting was about. Jonathan ben Annas took his time. I must be careful with that temper, he thought. A man needs all his wits about him to deal with this one.

  “Your sister,” said Jonathan, “had a friend with her when she came to see me at my home.”

  Saul stared at him inquiringly.

  “Jemimah is the daughter of an innkeeper from Jericho,” he continued. “A strikingly beautiful woman. She appears also to be a modest, retiring woman, virtues indicative of strength and piety. All these qualities in a woman are much to be desired by a man of such true Jewish spirit as yours.”

  He waited.

  Carefully Jonathan continued. “I understand that at one time you were going to marry her.”

  “There was no betrothal binding us,” said Saul.

  “A man needs a wife,” Jonathan said boldly.

  “God did not will that I marry Jemimah of Jericho, Father,” Saul said. Then suspiciously he asked, “Does Jemimah have anything to do with my invitation to a hot meal and a bed? Is she a guest of my sister?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he replied. Then quickly, “Saul, do you not find it in our traditions and ethics to marry and propagate our race?”

  Saul bristled slightly. “I find it in the Law, Father, to serve God with all my body and spirit. I have always known that the good fortune of most men of marrying and raising children is not mine. There is no share of time in my life and work for a family.”He finally smiled at the high priest, to the latter’s great relief. “So you would be matchmaker, would you, as well as father to me?”

  Saul relaxed and leaned back, for it appeared that Jonathan was going to take his time getting down to business.

  The high priest was unrelenting. “I believe, Saul, that God’s work can be accomplished better by a man whose needs are taken care of at home between workdays. There is no substitute for the means to fulfillment in a man which is the duty and joy of a wife. To be more specific, conjugal relations are necessary for the overall health and well-being of a man; they give a man more self-esteem and respect for his own body, which attains satisfaction, thus freeing his spirit.”

  Saul paused, carefully weighing his words before he answered—he wanted to make a simple, straightforward reply that would end the conversation on this subject. Finally he said,“Father Jonathan, I learned these things from the time of my induction into divine service. But from that day I have known that God was not to allow me such luxury. Such comforts as you describe are for yourself and others. I do have female companionship in one area of my life, although I cannot seem to control it, and that is in my dreams. But then if I begin to tell you of my dreams, it would require days.” Saul stopped, then focused back in on the thing he hoped would be his final response on this matter. “I shall never attain position, prominence, and importance such as you have as high priest, over all Jews, but as sure as the sun rises in the east, I am sure that God has set me apart for a special work. Now,” Saul said, pausing, “now I feel like I have begun that work for which I was born. Nowhere in my consciousness do I find a wife and family a part of that plan.”

  When the high priest didn’t answer but only stared as if meditating upon what he had just heard, Saul concluded, “In the practical course of working his way in my life, the Most High gives me power and consolation to overcome my human frailties of temptation. I find peace in his Word and fulfillment in his service.” Saul was finished. With that he relaxed a little and looked away from Jonathan with an attitude of final release from the subject.

  Jonathan slowly arose and paced in front of Saul, glancing down at him. Finally he shook his head and sat back down, facing Saul. “Celibacy,” he said, “is part of the Naziritic vow. Obviously you have made that vow.”

  Jonathan became a little uncomfortable, and a little angry. This man was a stone wall. They sat silently, staring at each other for a while, then finally Saul relented.

  “I will afford myself the luxury of a bowl of hot soup and a soft bed tonight,Master. Thank you for transmitting the invitation.” Then he added thoughtfully,“The food for sure, but the soft bed only if Jemimah of Jericho is not a houseguest of my sister.”

  Saul waited. The high priest took a chalice of fruit wine mixed with honey from the tray brought in by a Temple servant only seconds after he rang a tiny bell on his desk. Saul politely declined the offer of a drink.

  “Saul,” said Jonathan, “my information sources tell me that death and serious injuries resulted from your arrests in the Synagogue of the Isles of the Sea.”

  “Whose death,Master?” Saul asked.

  “The Greek Aristotle died from your flogging. One Barnabas, a Cypriot, is recovering from a sword wound, and another, an older man, will die from a sword wound. This information has been investigated, and its source is a Greek physician in Bethany.”

  Saul paused for a moment, then asked, “Are you asking me if this is true, Master?”

  “No,” said the high priest. “I was simply stating what was reported to me. I was also led to believe that you personally inflicted the wounds on these two men.”

  “People resist,Master,” said Saul. “Force is sometimes necessary to accomplish the arrests. I did not arrest the Cypriot Barnabas. I let him go so he would lead me to others of this sect. His illness explains why he has not been seen.” Saul paused thoughtfully. He decided to go no further in explaining the incident in the Synagogue of the Isles of the Sea.

  “Justice cannot be effective unless tempered with mercy, Saul,” said Jonathan.“Mercy is indispensable to justice.”

  “Compassion is at times a strange sentiment to manifest,” Saul replied angrily, “especially when I am being assisted by a contingent of barbaric Romans. Hereafter,Master, I shall require no assistance from them in the discharge of my mission. I shall take with me only Temple guards and servants.”

  “The Romans would find a Temple contingent moving through the streets of this city highly suspect,” warned Jonathan, his voice rising also. “You shall cooperate with the Romans.”

  It’s his money and position and his own precious skin that he is concerned for, thought Saul. He felt his own face flush in anger, but he managed to control himself.

  “Our forays will be done at times and in places not frequented by them, Master,” Saul reasoned. “This sect has gone underground; they gather in private homes of converts or sympathizers.”

  “The majority of them have dispersed to other cities,” Jonathan replied, calmer now, “to cities of the Decapolis. Following the death of Stephen, they went into Samaria and throughout Judea. I was notified that within a very few days they joined other assemblies in Antioch, Damascus, and Alexandria. The sect of Jesus will gather wherever synagogues are open to them.” He paused. “For some reason, Damascus seems to have a community that welcomed them into brotherly love. An ambassador of King Aretas of Arabia informed me that the disciples of the Nazarene number in the hundreds there, and the congregation is growing daily.”

  Saul was breathing deeply and his hands were visibly trembling again. He stood up, bowed to the high priest, and, groping for words in his distress from the news just related, said, “In these cities where my fellow Jews are taking unreasonable liberties in public worship, they shall become corruptible liberties in public worship; they shall become corruptible even in the eyes of the G
entiles. When a Gentile finds a Jew unworthy, he misjudges the whole household and faith of Israel. Our people in all these cities should strive to live the kind of life that brings no disrespect to Israel and thereby to the Holy Name. I shall go to Damascus, then to Antioch and Alexandria, to every city that harbors these defilers.”

  The high priest slowly arose. “You are more determined than ever, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “More so,” said Saul boldly. “More so!”He bowed again, and then he was out the door.

  Jonathan smiled and sipped from his chalice of fruit wine. A good man has gone into the abyss of fanaticism. At least he will be in Damascus, he thought.

  Out of the city walls, across the Kidron Valley, and up the slopes of the Mount of Olives, Saul marched with his raiding party of Temple guards, servants, and the two witnesses, Cononiah and Shemei. Through the ancient olive trees his witnesses now led him into Gethsemane, which means “the place of the olive press.”Here much of the oil used in the city’s lamps, stoves, and kitchens was rendered. Oxen hitched to a long pole walked in an endless circle, turning the large stones that pressed out the oil. After going through a refiner, it was poured into six-gallon stone jars and stored in a warehouse.

  These groves, the mill, and the warehouses, all of which covered half the western slopes of the Mount of Olives, were owned by a man named Joseph from the Judean town of Arimathea. Joseph was a member of the Sanhedrin, an upright and godly man, well loved in spite of his wealth. Joseph had sat in council on that early dark morning a few years ago when the Nazarene was tried and turned over to Pilate.

  In Joseph, the Nazarenes had found a friend. They worked for him occasionally at the olive press and in the warehouses storing and loading the oil for shipment. And they gathered in the warehouse of the Arimathean for worship services. It was fitting for them that a place of worship covered the very spot where Jesus was arrested. This was the place where his disciples had abandoned him, fearing the Romans and the Temple guards.

  Joseph owned a cargo ship that docked in Joppa. Every season his ship, laden with oil, plowed the waters of the great sea, westward and out through the Strait of Gades and Tingis, through the Gates of Hercules, up the stormy Atlantic coasts of Hispania and Gallia, across the Channel of the Engels to Brittanium. There the olive oil was sold or traded for tin ore. Great carts of the ore were freighted down to the harbor from the tin mines up the river and loaded onto Joseph’s growing wealth. Each year upon the return of his ships, his tin ore was eagerly awaited by the tinkers on Jerusalem’s street of the tinsmiths.