by Gary M Burge
“You are different,” the elder continued. “You do not share their love of power and war.” He glanced back in the direction of the camp and Appius’s villa. He then looked at the three silent elders, who nodded.
“What is your name? Your full name?”
Tullus was nervous. The elder was reaching out to him, connecting, closing some gap. The elder was in control of the conversation, and everything in Tullus screamed that he needed to be more Roman, more authoritative, wear his uniform as if he owned it.
“Tullus son of Onias, from Emesa in Syria.” Tullus felt as if he had divulged a great secret. No one in Legion Gallica had asked him about Emesa. They had treated him as if he were nameless.
The elder leaned in uncomfortably close. He was looking in Tullus’s eyes as if he could see through them. He seemed not to blink, and it was unnerving.
“Onias the oil trader?”
It was a moment Tullus would never forget, a moment set apart from every other moment he had lived through. He had told no one about his father’s occupation, not even Appius. Does this elderly man know my father? Tullus pushed these thoughts from his mind daily: that his family might be known, known even here and now. The destruction of Emesa was a dark thing he could not bear to revisit. It haunted him regularly, but above all, the fate of his family troubled him deeply.
“Yes. My father was a merchant, he traveled to Judea, and he sold to the markets in Syria and Phoenicia. But that was before the Romans destroyed Emesa.” Tullus found his pulse rising, as if the elder held some secret, some knowledge that he desperately needed to hear. Nothing else mattered at that moment. Not Rome. Not Capernaum. Nothing else.
“Did you know my father?”
The elder seemed to be savoring the moment. He paused for what seemed an eternity. He seemed to know he was about to offer a gift, a sacred word that could transform this young man’s world. “I do know Onias,” he said. “And I know he is well. As is your mother. The people of Emesa—those who did not rebel—they escaped and are returning to their city and rebuilding it. And your father is among them.”
Tullus rarely cried. But at once he was overcome, choking with a mixture of emotions he could barely comprehend: joy, relief, yearning, love. His family was alive! Now he could allow himself to think of a future. A future with them. A future that went beyond his assignments with Gallica and Appius. Suddenly Rome felt more distant, and he felt less attached. He was wearing the uniform of a foreigner.
The elder then reached out with both of his hands and clasped Tullus’s shoulders. “And you are one of us, young Tullus. The blood of Abraham flows in your veins. Welcome home.”
At this the elder embraced him. Without warning, the other three did the same, and Tullus immediately was flooded with embarrassment, shame and shock. His family did not talk about this. His father never practiced this faith, though Tullus vaguely knew that their “tribe” came from this region. But other tribes lived in Emesa, and Tullus’s father always said that such origins made little difference. Their family observed some of the rituals of the Jews, but so did many other Syrians and Greeks living in Emesa. Tullus was incredulous. I am one of these people that I have been sent to help rule. And at once, he knew: this was a secret he had to keep from every Roman he knew.
As Tullus and the elder, who now introduced himself as Tobias, laughed and talked along with the other three elders, a courier interrupted the men. He was a soldier who worked at the villa with Appius. He was out of breath and was carrying desperate news—his face betrayed him.
Tullus immediately gathered himself and instinctively disguised any familiarity or intimacy he had with these men. He immediately became Roman, just as Appius had mentored him.
“Tullus.” The man was breathing heavily. Marcus had required that the men wear much of their battle gear when they entered the village.
“Appius sent me. It’s Livia. Something is wrong with her. There is blood. And Appius fears she will not only lose her child but lose her life. He wants to know whether there are physicians in this place.”
“Do we not have a physician apprentice among our men?”
“No. We have none. Appius is afraid. Tullus, Livia may die.”
Tullus turned to Tobias and the other elders in desperation. He too was afraid. Not only for what this death would mean for Appius, but what this would mean for him.
“Follow me.” Tobias took Tullus by the arm and began walking quickly through the narrow lanes of the village.
8
Capernaum’s Midwife
Tobias was not simply an elder among the Jews of Capernaum; he was the elder presiding over the community. He resolved complaints, made judgments on inheritances, reconciled neighbors and, as the most literate man in the village, he was the local authority on matters of religious law. But Tobias also had strong sentiments when it came to the land and its occupation. He was not interested in compromise with the Romans—and he felt the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem were too often complicit in Rome’s hold on the nation. He believed firmly in the Messiah and was convinced that when Messiah came, he would bring deliverance from Gentile occupation and ignite a revival of Israel’s life.
Rome had offered peace—the Pax Romana—but the price was subjugation to Roman military rule. Tobias believed that God alone could give peace, but it would appear only when righteousness returned, when God’s reign resumed in Judea, and the law was obeyed. God’s faithfulness to his people never wavered. But their faithfulness to him often did.
Tobias also knew the families of Capernaum better than anyone. And he knew immediately where to go to seek help for Livia.
Tullus, Tobias, the camp courier and the other elders cut a swift path through the village until they arrived at the small house of a man known as a practitioner of healing. He was lettered and had an excellent knowledge of laws pertaining to health and recovery. He and Tobias consulted regularly, especially in matters of hygiene, because both believed—the Torah taught them—that the regulation of hygiene (the separation of the ill; the washing of wounds and so on) was God’s means of preserving them. But they were also clear: it was God alone who brought healing when they needed it. Any other remedy using potions or incantations was magic. And the healer did not practice magic.
In the street Tobias prompted the soldier to retell what he knew. The healer and his wife—both elderly—listened carefully and glanced at each other frequently, comparing conclusions. The woman, Tullus learned, was the village midwife.
“She is with child?” the physician asked.
“She is but has barely begun to show,” Tullus answered.
“Did you say this is a Roman woman?” Tullus flinched, not liking how the physician asked the question or that he thought it mattered.
“She is,” Tobias said. “And she is with the centurion.” Tobias saw the healer take a step back. His interest in the case had visibly diminished.
“And you, Tobias, would have me enter there and offer help?” the physician asked.
“Not to do so would be to invite his anger,” Tobias said. “I do not like it any more than you, but we must think about the village. This man has the power to help us or destroy us.”
“And to come near her, to enter their household, would render us all unclean. I do not help Romans.”
At this the physician’s wife, the village midwife, stepped into the middle of the men. She spoke with anger and a barely veiled disgust. “None of this matters. A young woman needs us and so we go. Her name is Livia? We are walking. Now.”
Looking at Tobias, she spoke with her finger pointed: “And do not even mention anything to me about idols or Gentiles, Tobias.”
“But, Mariam, there is the matter of the law. . . .”
Idolatry and the Jews
Based on the second commandment (“You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below,” Ex 20:4), Jews prohibited the construction of sculptured images,
which they termed idols. This was a constant area of conflict from the Old Testament era right through the Greek and Roman periods, when idols were commonplace. That Appius has a collection of statues of Apollo would not be surprising. Nor would it surprise anyone that Tobias found them abhorrent.
Even the early Christians had to struggle with this. Jewish Christians found Roman idolatry offensive, and they asked Gentile Christians to avoid “food polluted by idols” (Acts 15:20). Paul refers to idols frequently and describes conversion to Christ as turning “from idols to serve the living and true God” (1 Thess 1:9).
“And there is what must be done! You men may discuss this for all I care. I am going to tend to her care. And I will not talk about it.”
Reaching into the doorway of her home, she picked up a small birthing stool and immediately began walking briskly in the direction of the villa. The men abruptly ended their theological discussion about Gentiles and purity before it could reach full bloom. Tullus struggled to keep pace with the midwife, ready to give directions, while an entourage of men followed: Tobias, three village elders and the village healer. The young Roman courier followed alone at the rear.
When they arrived at the villa’s gate, Gaius was waiting for them. A look of desperation and panic creased his face. He was facing something he could not control. And Gaius was rarely not in control.
As Tullus and the midwife had approached the villa, it was evident that the men following them were slowing down. They had committed themselves to separation and resistance as long as Rome dwelt in this land. So when they reached the gate, the midwife immediately turned on her heel and stared directly at her husband, who had planted himself some distance away with Tobias. She said nothing. Nor did she have to. Almost immediately he stepped away from Tobias and joined her as they discussed with Gaius what had happened.
Gaius led them into the inner courtyard and directly to the far rooms where Appius and Livia slept. Tullus had not yet visited this side of the villa, but now, with the physician and his wife at his side, he felt he had license. Gaius, Tullus and the two Jewish healers soon were at the door, where Appius greeted them.
“She is stricken by fever,” Appius said, “and talks about terrible pain. . . .”
Mariam saw the bed across the room and walked in even as Appius was still talking. There she found Livia, pale and trembling in fear. Her bedclothes were soaked with sweat. There was blood on the bed linens.
Placing her wrinkled hands on either side of Livia’s face, Mariam spoke gently but directly as the young woman focused.
“My name is Mariam and you are Livia. Do you understand me, Livia?” Livia nodded. “Tell me what you feel.”
Tullus was amazed how quickly Mariam took charge of the scene. Within moments she was giving orders. Even her husband was watching in amazement.
Fever
Throughout the Roman era and until quite recently, fever was not understood to be a consequence of some other disease or injury. Fever was a disease of its own and had to be treated separately. For any who were schooled in Greek or Roman medical academies, the problem was one of imbalance. When the body overheated, heat was in the blood, which needed to be released to restore balance.
Mariam does not attempt this but instead uses hygiene and food to strengthen Livia. Hot water scented with cinnamon was a common medicinal beverage. In the ancient world scents or aromas were understood to have strong medicinal effects.
“We need room in here. Leave us and wait outside.” Mariam’s eyes quickly scanned the growing crowd of men. Then she looked to Tullus. “Bring me hot water and cinnamon. And oil mixed with myrrh. This woman needs to be bathed and readied. And bring me linen. As much linen as you can find.” Tullus ran from the room to collect his assignments. Appius ushered the men into the courtyard.
Mariam studied Livia as she began to remove Livia’s bedclothes. “You are birthing, my dear. But the child is not formed.” Livia shuddered. “Do not be afraid. I have seen many of these and you will be well.” Livia began looking about the room aimlessly, her eyes unfocused.
“Livia, look at me.” Mariam spoke directly into her face, holding her again. “Are you afraid?” Livia nodded, while Mariam continued with a voice like that of a centurion. “I am not afraid. Look at me, Livia. I know what must be done. I will not leave you this day, Livia. I will not lose you.”
Livia began to cry but never stopped looking into Mariam’s eyes. “Repeat these words with me, Livia. ‘I am the Lord who heals you.’ Say this with me.” As Mariam spoke words from her Scriptures, Livia began to repeat them. With each repetition, strength and confidence seemed to return to her.
Tullus appeared shortly and found Mariam now moving Livia to the side of the bed and then on to her birthing stool. He handed Mariam everything she requested and then backed quietly from the room to join Appius and the others outside. Mariam and her husband had matters well in hand.
The wait in the courtyard seemed interminable. The men stood looking at the floor. They could hear Livia cry out again and again, while Mariam’s steady voice continued in reassuring words and tone. Still, Appius’s fear would not be eased. As time wore on, he aimlessly wandered in the villa’s neglected garden, even taking an interest in examining the stones laborers were collecting for a new fountain.
Much of the day wore on like this. Mariam’s husband would emerge and ask for more oil or water. And then he would disappear again. Finally Mariam stepped from the room and spoke directly to Appius. “You have lost your child. But God has been good and he has saved its mother. Livia has been bathed and cleaned and is now stronger. She must remain in bed for three to four days and do no work. Come for me if anything is amiss. But I shall return in the morning to check on her.”
An expression of gratitude was on Appius’s lips, but the woman was quickly gathering her things and readying her departure. She was done. She left as directly as she had arrived. They walked toward the gate, and Mariam looked quickly at the statues and sculptures in Appius’s collection. When she saw the dogs and the deer, Tullus thought he saw her close her eyes and shake her head.
Tullus escorted Mariam and her husband to the gate, and after a moment’s hesitation, he asked if he might walk with them back into the village.
The two of them nodded. “You did well today, Tullus,” Mariam offered. “I can see that Livia trusts you.”
“Thank you. Both of you. You saved our household today.”
“Give God the praise, young man. We do little compared to him. I have seen women die in such times as this. And when they are saved, it is God who saves them.”
Here she stopped. And she looked directly at Tullus in a way that made him apprehensive. “Did you pray for her?” Tullus was stunned. No one had spoken like this to him before about religion.
“No. I do not know how.”
“I learned today that you are one of us, Tullus. Is this true?”
“It is.”
“Is this a secret?” Mariam’s look seemed severe, and Tullus hoped it was sincerity.
“I have told no one in my household.”
“So you should know how to pray and who it is that answers prayer, Tullus. And it is not any of those idols in that house. They are useless. But you belong to a God who is alive. Do not forget this, young Tullus.”
“And my secret?”
Midwives
Most of the villages in the Roman world had midwives who oversaw women’s pregnancies and births. We should assume that such women tended to Mary at Jesus’ birth, even though they are not mentioned. Birthing was always done at home, and it was considered a very dangerous passage for a woman (see 1 Tim 2:15). During Livia’s miscarriage, Mariam uses the Scripture to help Livia focus. This text, “I am the Lord, who heals you,” is from Exodus 15:26.
Figure 8.1. A woman giving birth on a birth stool
Roman medical writers wrote extensively about childbirth and the qualifications of a midwife. In the second century A.D., a famous Roman physician
named Soranus of Ephesus penned, “A suitable person will be literate, with her wits about her, possessed of a good memory, loving work, respectable and generally not unduly handicapped as regards her senses [i.e., sight, smell, hearing], sound of limb, robust, and, according to some people, endowed with long slim fingers and short nails at her fingertips.” Soranus also said that the midwife should be of sympathetic disposition (though she need not herself have borne a child) and keep her hands soft, so she would not cause discomfort to either mother or child.a
aSoranus’ Gynecology, trans. Owsei Temkin (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1956), 1.2.4. See also P. M. Dunn, “Soranus of Ephesus (circa A.D. 98-138) and Perinatal Care in Roman Times,” Archives of Disease in Childhood: Fetal and Neonatal 73, no. 1 (July 1995): F51-F52.
“It will remain so. You must watch after this young woman. Make sure she eats and especially drinks as much as she can. She has lost much blood, and she will be weak. You can do this, but I am less sure about the other men in that household.”
With this, Mariam turned and walked toward her house, her husband following.
For days Appius went in and out of Livia’s room, pacing the floor, looking for signs of healing. Mariam arrived every morning. And from the first day Gaius learned that when she was attending to Livia, he was expected to busy himself with other things. Tullus looked after Livia’s welfare as well, but Gaius quickly took charge of her care and made it clear that Tullus ought to have other duties to attend to. He preferred that Tullus stay away from this side of the villa. After four days Livia seemed improved.