Now when Alexander walked the dusty roads of the Empire with him, he lovingly taught his son the trade: how to identify the best spices, how to negotiate price, which cities brought in the most sales, which roads he should take and which he should avoid, how to recognize people with ill intent and pass them by without drawing attention, and all the nuances of being a merchant.
Simon taught Alexander everything he knew, told him everything he’d learned, shared everything he’d seen in decades of travel. Except one thing. That knowledge he kept to himself. Talk of it did nothing but disrupt the world, his world, and he could see no benefit in sharing that he’d been there on the night this child—this so-called king—was born.
◆ ◆ ◆
In time, Alexander became a man and married Devorah, a young woman from their village. They lived just a short walk from Simon and Mara. They too had sons.
This is life the way it should be, Simon thought. Predictable and stable. There is no need to disrupt it.
He was grateful the stories of the child’s birth and the events that followed it were heard only rarely now. At times, months would pass without any mention of them. When something did come up, Simon would find a reason to disengage from the conversation and suggest that he and Alexander move on to another camp. Simon knew that Alexander was aware of the story of the baby. He also knew that Mara held fast to the belief that the child’s birth was, indeed, the fulfillment of prophecy. And he knew that Mara often shared her beliefs with their children. He never contradicted her teachings in front of the children, but he did try to balance them by teaching Alexander that when traveler talk turned to speculation about the baby or the prophecy, it was just better to walk away.
Simon told himself he did this because he loved his family. Because it was his duty, to which he was dedicated, to provide stability and predictability. It was a gift he gave those he loved. And it seemed to work.
For a time.
Early one spring, in the year Alexander turned thirty, the two of them made another trip to Judea. Simon found current market prices to be so advantageous he purchased four camels in Joppa, rather than the usual donkeys, and acquired as many spices as the animals could carry. Upon arriving in Jerusalem, however, he realized his folly. Nearly every other seller had done the same. As a result, it was nearly impossible to find buyers. He and Alexander tried their luck in some of the surrounding towns but found conditions there to be no different.
After a long and unsuccessful day, the father and son sat in silence around their evening camp fire.
Finally, Simon spoke. “I have been thinking, Alexander. I have an idea.”
“Yes?”
“I think we need to get away from Jerusalem. Galilee has always been profitable for us. Why don’t we head north?”
“That makes sense.”
“But here is my idea. Why don’t you take two of the camels and follow the route through Jericho and then up the Jordan River. It may be just far enough away to be different. I will head north and west, sell all I can, and replenish in Caesarea. We will both head to Tiberias and meet there. You remember Levi?”
“Of course, we’ve stayed in his home many times,” Alexander said.
“Whoever gets there first will just wait for the other,” Simon said.
They had split up several times before. His son knew the strategy when traveling alone was to find a caravan—of which there were plenty—and stay just ahead of it, always keeping it in sight. He would be far enough away not to get involved but close enough that robbers would be deterred from targeting a single man walking.
“That sounds fine,” Alexander said. “One condition, however . . .”
“What is that?”
“You take that older one. That animal has a desire to hurt me. Whoever sold you that one must still be laughing.”
His father smiled. “Done.”
He then continued. “I would think, perhaps, three or four weeks?”
“I’ll miss your company, but I will take advantage of the solitude.”
In the morning, the two men rose well before dawn to get as many cool hours on the road as they could. Simon put his arms around his son and hugged him. “God be with you until we meet in Galilee.”
His son smiled and returned the hug. “You know, I have a feeling he will. And God be with you.”
Something about the way Alexander said it caught Simon’s attention. He did not know why, so he pushed it out of his mind.
With that, the two men, each with two camels in tow, parted ways.
Simon’s journey west led him through Emmaus and Lydda to Joppa, where he refreshed his goods and turned north, traveling up the coastal Roman highway to Caesarea. In Caesarea, he restocked once more and again continued northward, toward the hilly terrain of Mount Carmel. Eventually he turned inland, crossing the Plain of Esdraelon and arriving in the mountainous region south of Mount Tabor. There, he spent several days visiting towns in the area and quickly ran through his supply of wares. His hunch had been right: outside the vicinity of Jerusalem, sales were much better. So much so that instead of heading straight through Galilee to Tiberias, he decided he would return to the coast and replenish his stores before reuniting with Alexander.
His plan was to walk northwest to Ptolemais, a busy city on the Phoenician coast. The port there was well developed and provided easy landing for the numerous large trading ships arriving daily. In Ptolemais, Simon knew he would find a vast selection of goods. His plan was to empty his bags—by selling through his current supply of spices—in the Galilean villages he passed along the way. He would visit as many of these small towns as possible, avoiding only one: Nazareth.
The most obvious reason for this decision was that of all the towns along the route, Nazareth was quite possibly the smallest and was, therefore, not likely to elicit many sales. But Simon had an additional motive for avoiding the village. During his travels of the past few years, he had heard talk—unsubstantiated talk, he told himself—that the child born three decades earlier in Bethlehem was now the man called Jesus who lived in Nazareth. Simon had no desire to find himself near the epicenter of such rumors, especially if there would be no economic advantage reached by stopping there.
◆ ◆ ◆
His plan worked out exactly as he’d hoped: his bags were empty when he arrived in Ptolemais, and he was able purchase enough new goods to stuff them to their seams before leaving for Tiberias. His route east, back through Galilee, would not include any stops, for he hoped to reach Levi’s home as soon as possible. He was anxious to see Alexander again.
A few days later, when Simon arrived at his old friend’s home, Alexander was there waiting for him.
“Father!” Alexander exclaimed as he saw him. He swung his arms around him exuberantly.
“Hello, son. I see you have made it safely. Did all go well?”
“More than well, Father,” he said almost anxiously. “It all went so well! Beyond my hopes. I have so much to tell you.”
His father chuckled. One of the little pleasures of this vocation was sharing stories of the road—dangers encountered along the way, strange and exotic people met in different lands, transactions of an unusually successful nature.
The table was already set for dinner, however, and so the stories would have to wait. Levi and his family joined Simon and Alexander for the meal. As the group ate, they talked of the goings-
on in the region. Occasionally, however, Simon noticed that one or another of the individuals at the table would pause, as if he wanted to mention something new but was afraid to share it. A moment of awkward silence would ensue, and then the conversation would pick back up.
When they finished eating, Simon said to Levi, “If it’s all right with you, my son and I will go to your roof and catch up on each other’s lives since we parted.”
“Of course,” his friend said with
a tone that made Simon almost curious. Simon saw Levi and his wife exchange a quick glance but shrugged it off in his rush to visit with Alexander.
Once up on the roof, Simon was eager to hear more about the unusual experiences Alexander had hinted at. “Tell me, did you find success?”
“I did,” Alexander said. “My bags were empty when I arrived! Those cities along the Jordan get so few visits from traveling merchants that there was no problem with demand, or price. All went very well.”
Simon sensed that his son was holding something back, but he didn’t broach the subject.
“I think, perhaps, my son has surpassed me,” he said instead. “I am proud of you.”
“Thank you, Father. And you?”
“Things also went well for me. I replenished three times, which is why I took so long getting here. I found the same thing. Once out of Jerusalem, prices were quite acceptable. I suppose we needn’t have split up.”
Alexander took a breath, then replied, “I am glad we did.”
Simon was a bit surprised. “Tired of me?” he asked jokingly.
His son enthusiastically looked at him. “Father, something happened on this journey. I have been so anxious to tell you about it.”
“Is that why everyone kept looking at each other so strangely at dinner? I don’t think Levi and Avigail have shared that many intense glances since they were newly betrothed.”
“Yes,” his son smiled. “This is controversial, and it’s dividing people. I think they were not sure how you would react.”
“Well, now you have my attention. Go ahead.”
His son leaned toward him, “Father, when I passed through Jericho, there were many people on the road, all heading the same direction. We began talking. They had just come from an oasis there in the wilderness outside the city. Do you know this man they call Jesus?”
Simon feigned ignorance. “Is this the man some claim is the prophesied one come to save us from the Romans?”
His son sat back. “Father, I’m surprised. I did not know you paid attention to these stories. Yes, this is the one. You know of him?”
“I have heard his name. Was he there at this oasis?”
“He was! There was also a man there they call John the Baptist. They say he lives a spartan life in the wilderness, though he comes from a line of priests. He teaches people principles that he says were given to him directly from God.”
“Is he an expert in the law?” his father interrupted.
“No, that is what is so interesting. He . . .”
“Then if he is not, why listen to his claims that God is talking to him? Isn’t that sacrilege?”
“Perhaps if he was not hearing from God. But, Father, I think he truly is.”
There was silence between the men for a long period. Finally, Simon asked quietly, “What makes you think so?”
“It is hard to explain. When I heard what he taught, something inside me whispered it was truth. He speaks of care for the poor. If you have two coats, and another has none, he says, you should give one to him. He told the publicans they should be exact in their taxing and take no more than appropriate. And to the soldiers he said, ‘Do violence to no man.’”
“But these things,” Simon replied, “are not new things. We have always been kind to the poor. We have all complained about the publicans and their taxes. And to tell the soldiers not to do violence? Isn’t that like telling our donkeys not to bray?”
“Perhaps, but he is saying it out loud. We have said those things in hushed tones to one another but never to the publicans and soldiers. He speaks to them directly, confidently, in public.” Then, speaking more carefully, Alexander went on. “And, Father, we’ve seen many without a coat, when we have had plenty. But have we always shared what we could?”
Simon became defensive. “Alexander, we have always been generous. You know we have offered food and more to those we passed who seemed to be in need. But they have to deserve it. I will not hand something to a beggar who refuses to work or to try to improve his own condition.”
Alexander fell silent. Finally he asked, “And who decides if they deserve it, Father?”
“I do! As you need to. Alexander, you will quickly have nothing if you give to everyone who asks. Does this Jesus person also suggest that? How does one live in the world that way?”
Simon was becoming agitated, so Alexander tried to calm him down.
“Your point is right, Father. I don’t understand all of this—it’s new to me too. All I know is that I did not hear ‘Give him your coat if you think he deserves it.’”
Simon looked away. He was a devoted father. He had not only taught his children good values but had shown them the way to survive in a world that would not seek to serve them. He felt misjudged.
Alexander trod carefully. “Father, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’ve taught me well, and I recognize this. But these teachings are both interesting and confusing to me. It would help me if I could tell you more without you getting angry.”
Simon looked back and nodded. Despite the internal struggle he felt, he wanted to support Alexander.
“There is so much more. He warns them that if they do not repent of these things, they will suffer before God. Yet, at the same time, he tells them they can repent and that God is willing, anxious, to forgive them.”
“And does anyone listen to this?” Simon asked.
“Many do. John says that if they wish to be forgiven, they need to be baptized, and they line up in droves to be baptized by him.”
“But,” Simon protested, “who is this John? How does he claim authority to do this? He speaks more broadly than our leaders in the synagogue, but he has no authorization?”
“Well, this is one of the amazing parts. He claims authority, but not from any man.” Again, Alexander paused. “He says he was called directly by God.”
“So he is called to command us to repent because we can’t take care of ourselves?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s that what he teaches is different. This kindness to others, this honesty. And, yes, he warns us that if we do not honor these things, we will suffer God’s wrath.”
His father stood and looked out at the horizon.
“Son, I don’t know what to tell you. You heard someone tell you this—you did not even hear it from the man himself. But you claim to know that this John hears directly from God because you just . . . know it?” Simon paused. “Well, I am now hearing you tell me the same things, and I feel none of it. Why is that, if what you say is true?”
“I don’t know. But there is still more.”
His father sat back down and looked at him. “Oh yes,” he said, “we still need to bring Jesus into the story, don’t we?”
It wasn’t really a question. It was a statement. A derogatory one.
Alexander ignored him. “These people I walked with, they said that John has been preaching for a few years, and he has said multiple times that his mission is to prepare the way. He is to prepare the way for one he calls ‘the Lamb of God.’ He said that this man will take away the sins of the world. He also said that when the man was ready, he would come to John to be baptized. Well, while they were there, this man did come, and it was Jesus. John knew he was the one—the Lamb of God—as soon as he saw him, and he called him the Son of God. Jesus asked John to baptize him, and John said he was not worthy; it was he who needed to be baptized by Jesus. But Jesus insisted.”
Simon just stared at his son.
“And, Father, this is the most amazing part. John told others that when he baptized Jesus, the Spirit of God came upon Jesus in the form of a dove.”
“Form of a dove? What does that mean?”
“I am not sure, but they said John attested to it. And he heard a real, tangible voice from heaven say, ‘This is my Beloved Son.’”
Simon sat quietly
for a while before asking, “And you believe all of this?”
Alexander stood and walked closer to his father, who had sat on a bench by the edge of the roof and was looking away from his son. The younger man knelt, took his father gently by the shoulder, and turned him so they were looking at each other eye to eye. “I do. I think he speaks the truth. I cannot tell you how I know exactly, but I just know. I believe all of it. Every word.”
“And, son, you know I love you. But what if I told you I think you are foolish and being deceived?”
Simon felt a little guilty as the question slipped out of his mouth. Alexander was a great man, Simon knew, but he was also known to have a fiery temper on occasion. And because his son’s absolutism about the topic infuriated him so much, he had asked the question with the intention of provoking that temper.
The fiery passion, however, did not make an appearance.
Alexander’s reply was calm and measured. “Father, I would not be offended. I wish you did not think that, but I respect your right to think differently. Most importantly, it will not change what I believe.”
Simon’s memory took him back twenty-five years, to a time when he was about Alexander’s age. He was sharing a fire with a fellow traveler and, in like fashion, had tried to provoke the traveler. But the traveler, in a fashion almost exactly like Alexander’s just now, had replied, “I know you don’t share my belief. But it does not change what I believe.”
For a moment, or perhaps for less than a moment, something happened. It was as if one had lit a candle in the wind. The flame had gone out quickly, but then some errant spark had brought it back to life, reigniting and brightening it.
Suddenly, Simon was not annoyed. He was curious. No, he was desirous. He needed to know what it was that made the traveler all those years ago, and Alexander this very night, say almost the same thing about the same Jesus. Furthermore, there was a deep craving inside Simon to believe in something so surely and completely.
But there was a second emotion that came quickly after the first: fear. Something scared Simon about the idea of believing so strongly, of knowing for certain. There was a comfort in ambiguity. But this, this was foreign—a feeling without precedent for him. He did not know what to do with it, and so he separated himself from it.
The Last Man at the Inn Page 5