He snickered.
And with that, all of the insights that had coursed through his brain were gone as quickly as they had come. He felt shallow and empty.
“Well, you believe what you believe, and I will believe what I believe,” he said.
“That’s fine,” Alexander answered calmly. “But, Father, I ask you: What is it that you do believe? You know the prophecies. Do you not believe them? Or do you believe in them but just don’t believe this is time for them to be fulfilled?”
“I think it’s the latter. I believe them, but this is not it.”
“Well,” his son replied. “That’s bold. Do you have evidence? Why are you so sure? Why do you know Jesus is not the one in the prophecy?”
Simon laughed defensively and waved a finger at Alexander. “You won’t draw me in with that. Challenging me because I feel I am right? Clever!”
Alexander was not amused. But neither was he angry.
“This is not a trick, Father. It’s a real question. If you don’t believe it, is it because you believe something else? And if so, what is it that you believe? And why?”
Then, with just a spark of his temper shining through, Alexander added, “And why is your belief any more valid than mine?”
This has become less about learning and more about sparring, Simon thought in exasperation.
“Look, Alexander, I don’t know. I just don’t think this man Jesus, good as he may be, is the promised one.”
“Father, don’t you understand? I respect your right to think that. I’m just asking you to give me one reason you believe that.”
Simon was silent, and angry. All had been so good in his family. Just weeks ago, he and Alexander had been enjoying their time together on the road. He was satisfied with his life, his marriage, and his children. Why did this Jesus person have to disrupt everything? And why couldn’t he, Simon, get away from it? No matter where he turned, there was always someone talking about it. And now it had found its way into his own family.
Simon stood near the edge of the roof, pretending to admire the sunset. And though Alexander remained by his side, his gaze also fixed on the setting sun, Simon could feel the emotional distance growing rapidly between them.
All night, Simon thought about his discussion with Alexander—or was it an argument? He was perplexed. Why was his son so moved by these stories when he, Simon, felt only confusion? As he dissected their conversation, he realized that he was not mad at his son; he was uncomfortable. This was his first child! He knew this boy well. It had been nearly two decades since Alexander began traveling with his father, learning the trade, working side by side day in and day out. They had rarely gone more than a few days without seeing each other. Simon knew Alexander’s great strengths; and there were so many. He also knew his weaknesses; and there were so few. Just days ago, if he had been asked to guess his son’s reaction to these tales, he would have answered without hesitation that Alexander’s feelings matched his own.
It scared him to know he was wrong. But he couldn’t figure out why it scared him.
His son did seem different, but in only good ways. He had remained patient when Simon intentionally pushed his patience. There was a feeling of peace about him. He was calm—confident, even.
However, the most prominent thought that kept coming to his mind was the question Alexander had asked him. “But, Father, I ask you: What is it that you do believe?”
Simon suddenly realized with incredible distress that he did not know. He could recite some of what he had heard his whole life, but this question was deeper. What was it he actually believed? This frightened him. How had he had lived more than fifty years and not truly pondered and answered this question?
He tossed and turned as his son’s question repeated itself over and over again in his mind.
Finally, as the night sky began to lighten, Simon gave up on sleep. Levi’s home was large and had afforded both he and his son separate rooms. He crept quietly to where Alexander was sleeping to wake him. They planned to travel north today, toward Capernaum, and would need to get an early start so they could supply the merchants along the way before the daily markets opened.
Simon also knew that getting back to a routine on the road would relieve some of the tension between them. He peered into the room where Alexander was staying and was just about to speak when he realized the room was empty.
Rather than worry, Simon felt a sense of pride swell within him. The empty room meant that Alexander must already be up, likely preparing their animals and goods for the day’s travels. What discipline! Another one of Alexander’s many strengths, he thought as he exited the house. He walked around back, pleased with how well the day was starting out, and found his son just finishing up.
“Well done!”
“Thank you, Father. I wanted to be able to help you get ready to leave the best I could.”
Simon stopped and looked at his son. “Help me? Aren’t we going to Capernaum?”
His son looked down at the ground for a moment before raising his head to meet his father’s eyes. “No, Father, I am not going . . .”
“Alexander!” Simon exclaimed. “If this is about last night, I was tired, and I am sure . . .”
“No,” he said quietly. “This has got nothing to do with last night. I would have told you then had things not become so tense. I had already decided not to go with you.”
“And when did these plans change?”
Alexander did not answer that question but instead addressed the one he knew his father really wanted to ask. “Jesus is here. He has returned from Jericho, and he is teaching the people. I want to hear him, to understand more of what he is saying.”
Simon was not surprised. One of the many concerns he had turned over in his mind during the night was that this would happen. He had hoped they were just the churnings of fear that always seemed to accompany sleepless nights. Clearly they were not.
“Alexander, I understand. Well, no, I do not understand, but I know it is important to you. But is it more important than . . .”
“It is, Father. It’s that important.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“I don’t need to. Whatever you compare it to, this is more important.”
His son then softened his tone a little, and his eyes changed from determination to compassion. “Father, you know how much I love you, and you know I would never try to hurt you. I worried that telling you this would hurt you, so if you understand nothing else—though I wish you would—understand this: This is so important that I risk hurting you to do it.”
“So important to you, you mean?”
“No! So important. Period. It is important to everyone, and to you.”
Simon said nothing else. He walked around Alexander and finished the job of packing the animals. Without looking at his son, he asked flatly, “Will you be keeping any of the spices to sell, or should I take them all?”
“If it’s all right with you, I will take just one camel’s worth. That will give me enough to make my way home.”
Simon nodded, again without looking. He then continued working for a moment before saying, “Pick the one you would like and load up what you want.”
“Well, one thing I know is I’m not taking that one,” Alexander said, trying to lighten the mood as he pointed to the older animal he had shunned earlier in their travels. Simon remembered the reference but forced himself not to smile. That carefree relationship with his son was a lifetime ago. It was gone now. Simon was determined not to show any friendliness. Alexander could tell, and if he was at first offended, he now appeared only to be frustrated.
They finished packing while also avoiding standing next to each other to minimize the awkwardness of the silence. When he was ready, Simon pulled on his lead camel, which prompted the others to follow. He walked to the gate, then stop
ped. Turning halfway so that his son could just see his profile, he spoke one more time. “Do you know when you will make your way home?”
“I don’t, Father. But I will not be long behind you. Please tell Devorah.”
Simon nodded once more and began to walk again.
His son called out, “Shalom, Father. God keep you and be with you until we meet again.”
Simon did not reply. He tried to hide the weariness of his step and the heaviness of his heart as he walked down the road and turned out of sight.
Simon found the remainder of his trip to be profitable, but he took little joy in it.
As he worked his way through the towns and villages along the road to the coast, he was continually met with throngs of people heading in the direction from which he’d come. The groups were never as large as those he encountered during Passover season; but they were still quite significant. More people on the roads meant more people frequenting the markets along the way. And this, of course, meant there were more merchants in need of his goods. Although it would keep him from getting home as quickly as he’d hoped, Simon decided to take advantage of the situation. After all, at least while trading, he was able to get Alexander off his mind. Jesus has certainly done one thing for me, he thought to himself. He is drawing crowds.
As Simon worked, he continued to divide his earnings, saving half for Alexander. He tried to convince himself it was out of caring for his son, but deep inside, he knew it was a feeble attempt to bring comfort to himself, to preserve things the way they had been.
Eventually he found his way to Ptolemais, where he planned to secure passage on a ship that would carry him across the Mediterranean and back home to Mara. Sometimes he traveled on Jewish ships, which he preferred. But Roman-captained vessels came and went more frequently, so he often found himself traveling with people he’d rather avoid. He knew, though, that if he laid low, it was unlikely that anyone would speak to him on the journey.
On this occasion, he had timed his sales well, trading the last of his goods a day before arriving in the port city. He had then sold his travel bags and his camels to incoming traders looking to do exactly what Simon had just done. And so, today, as he waited at the port, he was left with only his money, hidden carefully beneath his garments.
He found a place to sit on the wall by the sea, where he could watch for incoming ships. If he was not picky about the travel accommodations, he knew he’d be able to find a ship headed in the right direction in a matter of hours. But it was early still, and the winds were light, so there were no ships in sight at present. He sat back and let the sun play on his face. Ah, he thought, something familiar.
As he relaxed, he looked around, surveying the water that shimmered in the morning sunlight and watching the last of the fishermen head out with their nets. He enjoyed being in busy port towns, where a variety of people from all over the world worked and lived together. He turned his head one way and then the other to loosen his neck. On that second turn, he found himself gazing up at Mount Carmel, a few miles distant. He paused, then turned his body to fully face it.
Mount Carmel held a special fascination for him. One of the few scripture stories he remembered hearing in his youth was that of the prophet Elijah challenging the priests of Baal, which had occurred right there on the slopes of Mount Carmel generations and generations ago. The people of Ahab had trespassed the commandments of God. Elijah was repulsed by their wickedness and by the depravity of the priests, who spent their days succumbing to an idol god. He directed Ahab to gather all of Israel to the mount. There, Elijah forced them to confront their indecision, saying, “If the Lord is your God, follow him. But if Baal, then follow him.”
He called for two young bulls to be brought forth as a sacrifice. He gave one bull to the priests of Baal and told them to prepare it for slaughter upon the altar. But rather than light a fire in the conventional fashion, they were to call on their god to send down a flame to ignite the wood and burn the sacrifice. He would keep the other bull and do the same on a separate altar. Whichever god answered with fire, he proclaimed to the people, would be the one, true God.
The wicked priests prepared their bull and began calling on Baal to ignite the sacrifice. From morning until noon, they yelled, “Oh, Baal, hear us.” But no fire came down. Elijah mocked the priests, suggesting that their god must be talking to someone else, or perhaps he was on a journey, or maybe he was asleep and they needed to wake him. They continued pleading to Baal, cutting themselves and crying out, to no avail.
When it came time for the evening sacrifice, Elijah built a second altar, laying out twelve stones for the base to signify the twelve tribes of Israel and building a wooden platform to set atop the stones. He dressed his bull and placed it upon the altar. And then he dug a trench around the altar.
He asked the people to collect four barrels, each filled to the brim with water, then directed them to pour the water over the altar. They were made to repeat the task twice more. Finally, he filled the trench surrounding the altar with water. And then Elijah called boldly out to his God: “Hear me, O Lord, hear me, that this people may know that thou art the Lord God, and that thou hast turned their heart back again.”
God heard Elijah. Almost immediately, fire came down from the heavens, so much fire that the flames burnt the sacrifice, the wood, the stones, and the dust round about it. Not a drop of water remained in the trench. Those watching fell upon their faces and proclaimed Elijah’s God the Lord.
Simon loved this story because he admired Elijah’s conviction and certainty. However, it meant even more to him because his wise father, after telling the story, would compare Simon to Elijah. He would pull him close and tell him he was strong like Elijah, that he had seen Simon make difficult, correct decisions. As an adult, looking back, Simon realized that this was his father’s way of letting his son know he was always watching, always ready to build him up and support him. Whenever his father would retell the story and liken Simon to Elijah, he would always finish with a warning: “My son, never permit yourself to be double-minded like the people of Ahab. Choose one way or another and live by it. A man who lives in the space between his choices is of no use to anyone.”
Simon committed to his father’s challenge every time.
Suddenly, in this quiet moment beneath the shadows of Mount Carmel, Simon felt like a bystander watching his own life and actions play out in front of him. When he thought of the last few months, in particular, a question permeated his mind.
“What has happened to me?”
But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone—though not without leaving an echo of sadness in him. His attention was drawn to the docks, where a ship had put in. Several men leapt off and were unloading baskets of grain. Simon walked up and caught the attention of the captain, rapidly securing passage.
Within an hour, the ship was again at sea.
Simon was somewhat pleased with how it had worked out. The ship was typical, about fifty feet long, which provided room for him to sit in relative quiet and minimize his interaction with the Roman captain. Roman sailors were tough men and known to challenge the Jews they took on as passengers for no apparent reason other than sport. Simon paid full price for his passage, and as such, was not given any responsibilities. The winds were at their back. With two stops between Ptolemais and his home port, he would be only four or five days on the water. After that, it was an easy half day’s walk up into the hills to his family.
During the first afternoon, as Simon was sitting and reflecting on his journey, the captain came to his side.
“May I join you?”
That was an unusual question. A captain never needed permission to be anywhere on board his own ship. Simon prepared himself for a prodding.
“Of course,” Simon replied cautiously.
The man sat next to Simon on a grate that covered the opening to the storage holds below
. Simon looked toward the stern at the raised deck, where a young boy was controlling the rudder. Without following his gaze, the captain said, “Don’t worry. He’s my son. The last of six. He’s fourteen but has been sailing with me for several years. He knows this ship as well as I do. When we run with a steady wind like this, I give him a chance to pilot the ship. You’re safe.”
The captain was unusually friendly. Simon smiled and opened up. “I wasn’t worried. My sons have worked with me as well. I trust an earnest young man’s ability if his father has set a good example.” He then felt a wave of melancholy come over him, and he thought of Alexander, how their relationship had been and how it seemed to be now. He needed to think of something different.
“You are Roman?” Simon asked.
The captain smiled and waved his hand slowly around him. “You see my ship. It is Roman, is it not? Her markings are Roman. There is Roman grain below, and we are sailing the perimeter of the Roman Empire. Does not seem to leave much question, does it?”
The answer seemed deliberately vague, which intrigued Simon, so he emboldened himself and replied, “Yes. All these things are Roman. But I asked if you were.”
The captain smiled again. “I . . . live in Portus, twenty miles from Rome. If that makes me a Roman, I suppose I am.”
“Then I will leave it there.”
“It’s fine,” the captain replied. “I have nothing to hide. I suppose I just have a difficult time saying I am Roman. I enjoy many benefits of being part of Rome, but I am troubled by so much of what is done in the name of Rome that I refuse to hand them my identity.”
They were quiet for a minute, and the captain said, “So, you seem to find a great deal to look at as we sail. Is this your first time at sea?”
The Last Man at the Inn Page 6