The Last Man at the Inn

by R. William Bennett

  Simon reached up, put his hand on Alexander’s arm, and then blacked out.

  Simon felt a cool cloth on his forehead. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. After several blinks, he saw Mara’s face close to his. She was crying silently, stroking his head. He put his arm around her and weakly pulled her close. He looked around and saw Alexander and Rufus there with him as well.

  Simon then noticed that the day had become cloudy and dark. He looked past Mara to see dozens of people in front of him, crying and holding each other. There was no more chanting or yelling. He looked up toward the hill, and saw there, against the clouds, the silhouettes of three men—each hanging lifeless on a cross.

  Mara pulled back from him, and Simon asked hoarsely, “Is it done?”

  She nodded and began to cry again. Rufus and Alexander sat down next to them, their eyes fixed on the crosses atop the hill.

  Without removing his gaze, Alexander said quietly, “When he died, the earth shook.”

  Simon stared. He could not remove his eyes from the scene on the hill. He tried to burn it into his memory, to never forget. He stared at the Messiah, taking in as many details of his appearance as possible in the waning light. He looked at the other two men, one on each side of Jesus, and saw their legs badly mangled. As he looked back to Jesus, he saw that despite the nails in his limbs and a wound at his side, his body hung unbroken. The Savior’s head was down upon his chest. Simon could see, against the sky, the acute detail of the thorny crown that remained on his head. Simon looked because he had to. He must remember it exactly as he saw it.

  In time, the crowd thinned, and the soldiers began unceremoniously taking down the bodies of the crucified, as if they were removing trash. A Jewish leader dressed in the robes of the Sanhedrin stood over the body of Jesus, watching the soldiers. When they had finished removing the nails, the man handed the soldiers a scroll. They looked at it, shrugged their shoulders, and allowed the leader to direct what appeared to be some of his servants to carry the body down a path and out of sight.

  Alexander lifted his mother; Rufus slowly helped Simon to his feet.

  “Come,” Alexander said. “I think we should go back.”

  The four of them walked slowly down the hill from Golgotha.

  The next day was the Sabbath. All of Jerusalem was in confusion. There were those who felt relief—glad this preoccupation with Jesus was finally over, that a political nightmare had come to an end. There were those who believed that the promises God had made them (since Abraham’s time!) were now destroyed. And then there were those who were not sure what had happened but who knew that, somehow, God’s purposes would continue to be fulfilled.

  All of Simon’s family—children and grandchildren—were gathered at Eber’s home. Eber and his wife were also followers and quietly mourned with them. There was very little discussion between any of them because there was simply nothing to say. They could do little but turn the events of the previous day over and over in their minds.

  For most of the day, Simon was silent. Mara attended to the wounds on his neck and hands, and he drifted in and out of sleep. His younger children took turns sitting by him, leaning close. He would periodically look at their faces and try to comfort them with a smile or a squeeze of the hand.

  Near the end of the day, both Eber and Alexander ventured out for news. When they returned, they sat in the open courtyard by Simon and called the others to gather around.

  “It is difficult to find the truth,” Alexander began. “Speculation and rumor are everywhere. There are so many who wanted the crucifixion, and so we had to be careful who we spoke with. We did not feel safe around those who favored it.”

  “That Sanhedrin you saw,” Eber said, “appears to be a man called Joseph. He comes from Arimathea, west of Jerusalem. People are saying that he did not support the sentencing and that he asked Pilate for the Master’s body. Joseph is apparently a wealthy man and has a grand tomb in a garden near Golgotha. Joseph took him there and had him buried.”

  “What of the apostles?” Mara asked.

  “We don’t know,” Alexander answered.

  He paused and sighed deeply. “We could not find them. Perhaps they have gone into hiding for their own safety. There are so many followers, like us, who all seem to be wandering around trying to determine what to do. This is not what anyone expected.”

  No one offered anything else.

  A short time later, as Simon’s head became clearer, he noticed that Rufus, Alexander, and Mara had gone off by themselves to the roof. From his seat in the courtyard, Simon could see them quietly speaking. He stood, wincing at the pain he felt in his back and legs. And then, slowly, he straightened up and somewhat unsteadily crossed the courtyard and started up the steps to the roof. His sons noticed him as he came near the top and leapt up to grab his elbows, ushering him to a seat by Mara. After making sure he was comfortable, they sat down, and Rufus spoke.

  “Father, this thing you did yesterday . . .”

  Simon put up his hand immediately. “We will not speak of it.”

  “Let me just say this,” Alexander interjected. “His followers, everywhere we went, were also speaking of you and what happened.”

  “Let it end there.” Simon cut him off. “Trust me. We should speak of the Messiah. Nothing else.”

  Each of them sat quietly, unsure what to say. Finally, Alexander said, “I did not think it would end like this. I don’t know what to do.”

  Simon sat up, more alert, but not without great pain.

  “Why, Alexander, why don’t you know what to do?”

  Alexander looked at him with concern. “Father, I know you’re recovering. You were passed out for hours yesterday at the foot of the cross. Do you not recall that he is dead? It’s over.”

  Simon did not look at Alexander, nor did he answer the question. Instead, he looked out at the view of the city, finally saying, “Alexander, did you know your purpose three or four days ago?”

  Alexander answered, “Of course. On those days, I was here in the city, and when I was not listening to Jesus, I was in the street teaching.”

  “Teaching what?” Simon asked.

  Alexander spread his hands in confusion. “Teaching what the Savior taught. Sharing his new commandments and the promises he made if we follow them.”

  Simon turned back to them all. “And why wouldn’t you continue doing that today, and tomorrow, and the next and the next? Are his teachings no longer true?”

  Alexander was quiet, breathing heavily as he pondered Simon’s words.

  When he didn’t answer, Rufus spoke quietly. “Father, what should we do?”

  Simon felt a great confidence fill him, his heart fairly burned in his chest. He surveyed the faces of his family, who had all patiently waited for him to come to accept Jesus as the promised Messiah. He looked at his two older boys, who had each bravely taken their places as devout disciples, teaching hundreds the messages of Jesus. They now looked to him to give them direction.

  And he knew what to say.

  “I am sad, as you are,” Simon said warmly. “We will all never forget what we saw yesterday. But it is more important, so much more important, that you remember what we have felt and learned these last months and years.”

  He smiled. “All of you are so far ahead of me; you were so much more accepting of the truth when you heard it. But through your love and long-suffering with me, I too now believe.”

  Simon turned in the direction of the hill where Jesus had taken his last breaths. “Yesterday, as I stared at the cross, I tried to mark everything I saw in my memory. What kept coming to my mind were these words: ‘Remember always, he overcomes all.’”

  Simon looked back, his eyes on fire. “If what Jesus taught was true yesterday, then it will be true tomorrow. He is counting on us, each of us. What shall we do now? I am not sure but for this: I canno
t hear what I have heard, and in caring for my fellow man, not go and share it. All I know is that as soon as I can, I will begin.”

  He slowly lifted his arm and put it around Mara.

  She said only, “And I as well.”

  “And I,” said Rufus.

  “And I,” said Alexander.

  For the rest of the evening, the tone of the family’s conversations changed. They were hushed and reverent in honor of what had transpired. But they spoke of ideas and plans and what they would do to carry the word forward.

  When Simon awoke the next morning, he felt significantly better. He was sore, but he was able to stand up straight and walk without help.

  Alexander and Rufus had left the house early to search for more information. When they did not return, Mara became worried. She did not speak of it, but Simon could tell. He walked close to her.

  “They are safe. I feel sure of it.”

  Then, changing the topic, he said, “I’m going to get our animals ready. I think we can leave today.”

  Suddenly, everyone heard the door in the courtyard burst open. Alexander was yelling for the family, who gathered quickly in front of him. Tears were streaming down both his and Rufus’s faces. Alexander tried to catch his breath. Without gathering his composure, he panted as he spoke.

  “He is risen!”

  The family erupted in joy and questions, crowding anxiously around the two men.

  Simon, however, stood back from the group, his arms folded, and just watched his family. He quietly uttered a prayer of thanks for the Messiah and for this family of faithful men and women who loved God.

  Mara noticed that her husband was not in the group and, finding him, walked over. With a big smile and through her own tears, she asked, “What do you think of all this?”

  He just smiled and then softly said, “Let’s talk later.”

  Alexander and Rufus had little information, but the family kept pressing them for more and more, and so they repeated what they knew.

  Alexander began. “A woman called Mary—who has spent much time with Jesus and his apostles—and a few other women went to the tomb this morning to anoint the Lord’s body. On the evening before the Sabbath, a large stone had been rolled in front of the tomb’s entrance. The stone was so large it took several men to move it. Guards were posted in front of the stone to assure that no one could enter to steal or desecrate the body.”

  “But this morning,” he continued, “when the women arrived, the guards were gone, and the stone had been moved. They went inside and discovered that his body was gone. As they mourned, a man appeared to them, seemingly out of nowhere. He told them that Jesus was not there because he was risen.”

  “How did the people who told you this learn of it?” Batya asked.

  Alexander turned toward her. “Because this angel, which is what I suppose he was, told the women to get news of it to the disciples. When Peter heard the news, he ran to the tomb to see for himself. Word of it is now everywhere.”

  The group was quiet. They were all overcome with amazement, but most were asking themselves something else, something only their friend Eber had the courage to voice.

  “You know I am a believer, but I have to ask, because I think the Sanhedrin will ask too: How do you know he is risen?”

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “I mean,” he continued, “how do we know that the women—who were surely emotional—did not make this up in an effort to explain what had happened to the body? How do we know that this ‘angel’ was not just a gardener who knew nothing and was playing them for fools?”

  No one said anything.

  Simon, who was seated on a rock at one side of the circle, began slowly pushing the end of a stick through the dirt at his feet. One by one, each family member heard the quiet motions of the stick. And, one by one, they turned toward Simon, suddenly knowing—somehow—that he would give them guidance.

  Sensing everything around him, Simon looked up. His face was peaceful; there almost seemed to be a light emanating from him.

  “We know he is risen,” he said simply, “because he told us this would happen.”

  Everyone looked confused, but then Alexander’s face suddenly showed understanding. He and Simon smiled at each other, and Simon continued.

  “Alexander, remember when you told us how Jesus taught that we must take up our cross and follow him?”

  “Of course,” Alexander said quietly, his admiration for his father evident on his face.

  “At the time, you also told us something he had said, that I think we have forgotten. You said he had told them he must go to Jerusalem to be tormented and suffer at the hands of the chief priests and others, to be killed, and then . . .”

  Alexander interrupted, taking over from his father. “And then rise again on the third day!”

  With a somewhat embarrassed look, he continued, “I don’t suppose I really understood what he meant by risen at that time. I thought it must have been symbolic. After all, once someone is dead . . .”

  He stopped and looked at his father, silently asking for more help.

  Simon spoke softly. “Alexander, you told me there was a young boy he raised from the dead.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was the young son of a widow.”

  Simon nodded.

  Alexander continued. “And there was another—a girl. We were told not to speak of it, but I suppose now it is acceptable to say. She is the daughter of a man named Jairus, in Galilee. She had passed days earlier, and Jesus commanded her to rise again.”

  Rufus then spoke. “I have heard in the streets that just before Jesus came to Jerusalem, there was another. A man who had been dead and buried for four days.”

  “But, Father,” Alexander interrupted. “Jesus did these things himself. This time it is he who is dead. Can he raise himself?”

  Simon looked down again and stirred the dirt.

  “My son, my son . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked up with moist eyes. “My dear son. It was you who had the courage to believe years before I did. It was you who was committed to leave your employ and follow him. You had the commitment to move your family. Alexander, were it not for you, I would not be here today. I would be lost in my own doubts and disbeliefs. But you showed me what it is to believe. This morning, when you returned with the news that he had risen, you could barely talk through your excitement.”

  Simon looked at his son with compassion and went on. “But, my son, whom I honor, when you just now weighed our worldly understanding against what has happened, you let doubt confront you and give you pause. Alexander, you—we—need to hold fast to what we know. This will not be the first time the world will challenge us.”

  “You are saying we need to remember what he did when he was here?” Alexander said. “To remember the miracles.”

  A tear rolled down Simon’s cheek. “Yes, I am saying remember, but I am saying something more important than that. Whether he ever performed miracles or not, whether he ever raised someone from the dead or not, I know he is risen because he told us he would rise. And I believe what he says . . .”

  Simon’s voice cracked. “I believe because I know, and I know because here, in my heart, he has testified to me of the truth. And now I need nothing else except the knowledge of what he needs me to do for him. And when I know that, I will do it.”

  Simon looked at the faces of his family, pausing on each one to smile and look them in the eye, eventually resting his gaze on Alexander. “This is what I believe about our Savior, which I know to be true. It is not that I feel it, it is that I know it, as I know my own name. He is the Son of God as he has told us, and what he has taught us is true. I would sooner lay down my life than deny it.”

  No one spoke for a long time. It was a peaceful solitude, not awkward. There, in a courtyard in the middle of the Holy City, ami
dst a little huddle of believers who had witnessed both the death and resurrection of the Savior, the Spirit descended upon them, affirming the things Simon told them.

  In searching for words to describe it, Alexander would later say, “It came upon us like a dove.”

  The following morning, Alexander arose and heard his father out in the courtyard. He walked out to find Simon packing the donkeys.

  “You are ready to leave?” Alexander asked as he patted his father on the back.

  Simon looked at him as he was closing one of the bags. “I am.”

  “Where are you going—back to Cyrene?”

  “Perhaps so. Perhaps not.”

  Alexander looked quizzically at him.

  Simon stood up and patted the donkey. “Do you remember when you first came back home after hearing Jesus? Do you remember what you told us?”

  “Well, I told you a great deal. There was so much that had happened. Which part do you mean?”

  “The part about the fishermen. You told us that the Savior approached them and, as I recall, he asked them to leave their nets and follow him, and just like that, they did it.”

  Simon laughed. “You looked at us all and, wide-eyed, said, ‘Just like that, they followed him!’”

  Alexander shook his head as he remembered. “Yes, it was Peter, the one who stood first and washed his hands and started walking. Then Andrew, James, and John.”

  “Well,” Simon said, looking him in the eye. “If the Messiah will accept a lowly fisherman, perhaps he will accept a lowly merchant. I am leaving my nets, and I am ready to follow him.”

  “And I.”

  Both men turned to see Mara coming up behind them. “We are all ready, my faithful husband.”

  Soon thereafter, the small caravan of Simon’s family left the home of Eber and stepped out into the world. They walked forward, unsure where their next steps would take them but absolutely certain that if that was where Jesus wanted them to go, they would go there and do what they could to spread the word.