by Ted Dekker
At first I dismissed this retreat into himself as completely understandable. But on the second night I saw with more clarity. We were alone in the courtyard, having shared bread, and he was eager to leave.
“You go to find him now? It’s late, Saba.”
“I would be alone.”
“Yes, of course. But you’ve been gone all day. We’ve hardly exchanged a word. You might stay with me for a little while.”
Normally he would immediately agree to such an invitation. Now he turned his face away from me. “Yes, my queen.” This out of obedience rather than desire.
I felt wounded. Worse, I was surprised that I would be.
“What is it, Saba? You seem distant.”
“I am here, my queen.”
“Are you? Where is your mind? With Yeshua, of course, but will you not love me as well?”
“Yes…Yes, always.”
But his heart wasn’t in his words.
“And yet?” I rose from my mat and crossed to his, then sat down next to him, placing my hand on his arm. “Saba, speak to me…”
“I find that I have become a slave to my affections for you,” he said softly. “How then can I follow his teaching?”
Then I understood. Yeshua’s teaching: If anyone comes to me and does not hate their father and mother, their wife…
I removed my hand. “I’m not your wife. And if I was, what does it mean to hate?”
“To let go,” he said. “To make of no account…He speaks of the chains of affection for this world.”
“Then you would make me of no account?” I had been so enraptured with Yeshua’s promise to save Talya that I’d given little thought to this difficult teaching. And thinking of it now, I was sure that Saba must be wrong.
I was also hearing his confession that he found himself enslaved by affection for me.
The former nagged at my mind; the latter did not bother me.
“You are my closest companion, Saba, not my husband.”
He glanced at me. “Yes…” But there was some pain in his eyes, and I regretted being so blunt. My words didn’t properly express my own affection for him.
He was struggling with his emotions for me, thinking they distracted him from seeing Yeshua’s kingdom clearly. And had not my own desperate need to save Talya made me blind too?
Yes, but there had to be another way of seeing such bonds.
“Stephen says you cannot truly love someone unless you also hate them,” Saba said. “Only when you release all expectation of them can you love them without condition, as the Father loves all.”
These teachings cut at my heart. You could not serve both the system of the world and the Father, Yeshua said. But wife and son? This was impossible. The teaching was opposite the way of the world—and my way as well.
“You would hate me so you can love me,” I said, aggravated.
He hesitated, then rose.
“I don’t know…” He remained still for a moment, then turned. “I must leave.”
I watched my tower slip out the back gate. He was shaken by his affections for me. Saba, so strong, would have no great challenge in forsaking himself or his desires for anything the world could offer him—this I had seen many times.
But when it came to me…I was a different matter.
Saba was in love with me. Secretly I cherished this realization, now made so plain.
And if anyone could sever his affection for a woman to walk in the realm of Yeshua, it would be Saba. This was also plain.
I silently pondered all of this as I lay on my sleeping mat in Mary’s room that night. We would know what Yeshua meant soon enough. Tomorrow we would be with him.
THE SUN was already in the western sky the next day when Arim burst into the courtyard.
“We go to Jerusalem!” he cried.
Mary, who was sweeping some spilled flour, spun. The broom dropped to the floor. “Now?”
“Yes.” Arim had made no secret of his hope to see the great city. “Jerusalem!” He hurried for his saddlebag, which contained his prized boots.
Saba strode in. “We go to Jerusalem.”
“I’ve told them.” Arim pulled out his boots and set about dressing himself for the occasion.
Saba dipped his head. “We must hurry, my queen.”
My queen…whom you would hate so you can love.
Mary and Martha were already scurrying about, grabbing their shawls, throwing bread into a basket.
“It’s late!” Martha said.
Mary’s face was pale with anticipation. “It will only take an hour on foot.”
“We have nowhere to spend the night!”
“We will return for the night.”
“We can’t travel in the dark!”
Mary spun to her sister. “Stop worrying, Martha! He calls for us. It is Yeshua.”
We didn’t need the camels, Saba said, urging us out of the house. All would walk. The disciples were already leaving from the west side of Bethany.
“We must go, my queen.”
“There’s no need to call me queen here, Saba. Only Maviah.”
He caught my eye but said nothing.
“We can catch them on the mount,” Mary said. “It’s shorter this way. We can meet them going up. Hurry!”
We followed her out the back gate and up the same small path along which Mary had led me when I’d first come.
“Hurry!”
We hurried. Over the knoll, through the olive trees, while Mary explained why this path was shorter than the one through the village. We would surely come upon them just over the next rise.
My heart pounded as much from my anticipation as from our climb. He was my savior, you see. I and my son and Saba and all of the outcast Bedu in Arabia hung in the balance: death at the hand of Kahil, and life at the hand of Yeshua.
All thoughts of my exchange with Saba the night before were gone.
Arim overtook Mary, urging us on in his new boots. “This way! It will be even faster.”
“No! Stay on the path!”
He corrected his course, eyeing Mary. “Yes of course. Then I will carry your bag.”
“She can carry her own bag,” Martha objected.
He reached out for it anyway, and Mary gave it willingly. I saw the look that passed between them. They were fond of each other? I hadn’t noticed until then.
In less than five minutes we crested the second rise and pulled up, taking in the scene below us with a single glance.
He was there in the wadi, on the path that eventually climbed the Mount of Olives, walking just ahead of his inner circle. Directly behind them: Simon, walking with a cane, Lazarus, very much alive, and Stephen, who was waving at us to join them.
A group of perhaps sixty or more—men, women, and children—followed fifty paces behind the disciples, buzzing with excitement while respectfully keeping their distance.
But my eyes were for Yeshua.
Yeshua, who walked with his staff, wearing the same clothes he’d worn to Simon’s house, hooded beneath a blue-and-white mantle. Yeshua, keeping to himself as he walked toward Jerusalem.
Yeshua, who slowly turned his head, looked up the hill at us, held his shrouded gaze for a few paces, then faced forward once again. I couldn’t see his expression.
Mary and Martha were already plunging down the slope. “Hurry!”
I felt Saba’s guiding hand on my elbow. “We must hurry, my queen.”
A gentle breeze cooled my neck.
“I told you, Saba. Don’t call me queen.” And then I ran.
We joined Stephen just behind the disciples, now ten in all, who gave their master space after his time with the crowds. They spoke in hushed tones, aware of the danger that going into Jerusalem presented.
Peter turned back, slowing for us to catch him. I had spoken to him only in greeting before, but now his eyes were on me. Gentle brown eyes tinted with green, filled with confidence.
He smiled. “You are Maviah…”
; “Yes.”
He matched our stride. “The master says that you are a queen from Arabia. From among the Bedu, deep in the desert.”
Yeshua had spoken of me to them? My pulse quickened.
“Yes. We are outcasts who have been crushed by the Thamud in Dumah.”
“And Judah? Where is he?”
Saba answered for me when I hesitated. “Judah has been taken by the sword.”
Peter glanced at Saba and shook his head, tsking. “I am sorry. He was a good Jew with a wild heart.” To me: “And you, are you now Saba’s wife?”
“He is my right arm,” I said quietly. “But no.”
Peter nodded, looking ahead. “Yeshua speaks highly of you both, though you aren’t Jews. Perhaps you will follow his Way and make good Jews in the desert.”
To this I had no response. Peter obviously understood Yeshua only within the Jewish context. I didn’t know enough of their religion to be a convert, much less to make more good Jews.
“He is more than a prophet, you understand,” Peter said softly. “I would gladly give my life for him. He brings a new kingdom in peace and love. The world will then know their king. You understand this?”
“Yes.”
“Then you too will be a part of that kingdom.” He paused. “He would speak to you and Saba soon.”
I blinked. “He would?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Stay close. Now I must rejoin the others.”
I watched Yeshua, who continued to walk alone, and I tried to imagine what he was thinking. The air was full of excitement, and yet I wondered what burdens Yeshua held close to himself, there on the path ahead of us.
His words about his own journey, spoken to me on my previous visit to Galilee, whispered through my mind.
To the Hebrews it will one day be written of me: “During the days of Yeshua’s life on earth…Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered.”
Had he already suffered all he needed to suffer to learn this obedience? Surely. Or was he still to learn more?
Around me, all were speaking as we ascended the Mount of Olives, and I as well, but all the while my eyes were on Yeshua, walking ahead, always ahead, leading the way.
We had come to a small vineyard that drew his attention. He stopped on the side of the path, studying the tangled vines and leaves. He looked back at us. The disciples too had stopped, giving him space.
Then he dipped his head, making his intentions known to his disciples, who knew his way.
Peter turned and beckoned us.
I hesitated, but Mary nudged me from behind. “Now,” she whispered.
“He calls us,” Saba said, striding forward already.
Arim followed on our heels, not to be left out, though Peter hadn’t specified him. We hurried through his inner circle, which parted for us.
Yeshua looked at each of us and yet I felt as though he was looking only at me. So close to him, the air was heavy and my heart was pounding wildly.
“Arim, always the eager one,” Yeshua said with a smile.
Arim stared at him, grinning sheepishly.
“Walk with me.” Yeshua resumed his stride up the path. Behind us by ten paces, the disciples followed, and beyond them, the crowd.
“Do you know vines, Saba?”
“I have known them,” Arim said. Arim, always the eager one.
Saba cleared his throat. “Yes, master.”
“But do you know the vine?”
To know. Not to know about.
“Listen to the truth as I will tell it to the others,” Yeshua said, facing me. I looked into his eyes. Eyes that beckoned me like an ancient memory, daring me to listen. “Will you know?”
“Yes.” My mind swam in the intoxication of his gaze.
Yeshua looked at the path ahead.
“Then know that I am the true vine.” He paused. “My Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so it will be even more fruitful.”
This was familiar imagery to me. My master in Egypt had tended a small vineyard beyond the house. Careful tending of the branches by pruning away the rubbish produced far more fruit.
So he would prune away the waste in me…
“No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.” He turned to me. “Do you understand this, Daughter?”
Did I? I thought so.
“Yes, master.”
“If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing, but if you remain in me…” He paused. “Ask whatever you wish, and it will be done.”
The promise of such power to ask anything—I could feel it in the air. If such power came by remaining in Yeshua, which was true faith, how then did one remain in him? This had been the essence of Saba’s question.
Is surrender the means to sight?
Surrender. But surrender of what? My own son?
“You have many questions, Daughter,” Yeshua said in a gentle voice. “And you, Saba.”
We had come to a large olive tree, and Yeshua stepped off the path into its shade.
“Arim, will you do something for me?” he asked, turning with a smile.
“Anything. Only speak it, and it will be done.”
“Bring Philip and Andrew to me. Wait with them until I call.”
Arim twisted toward the disciples, who were waiting. He began to go, then spun back and bowed. “It is done. I will bring Philip and Andrew immediately.”
“When I call.”
“Only when you call.” And then he was off.
Yeshua walked up to the tree, placed his hand on the gnarled trunk, and looked up at the branches. He was carrying a burden that I could not fathom, I thought. But when he turned to us, his gaze was even.
“They study the scriptures diligently because they think that in them, they have eternal life,” he said. “Tell me once again, Saba…What is eternal life?”
“To intimately know the Father.”
“And where is his kingdom?”
“Neither here nor there, but within and among us even now, as you have said.”
“And would you walk in this kingdom, Saba?”
“It is the only thing that matters now.”
I could feel Yeshua’s presence, like something that could be breathed.
“Many will come in my name…They will deceive many. Beware of false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves—you will know them by their fruit. Good trees bear good fruit, but bad trees bear bad fruit. And what is this good fruit?”
“To love neighbor as self. All is summed up in this: love the Father with everything, and love neighbor as self.”
“Even so, know that many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord…did we not do many mighty works in your name?’ And I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you.’ Do you have ears to hear this, Saba?”
Saba stared as if he were a young boy. He spoke with a slight tremble on his lips. “Many religious ones will represent you without intimately knowing you or the Father—they will only call you Lord and claim your name, doing mighty works. But they have no good fruit, the truest of which is love without judgment, because the Father judges no one.”
Yeshua nodded once. “Neither do I accuse you before the Father. I did not come to judge the world but to save it. I do not judge, but the very words I have spoken will judge those who do not accept them.”
“Neither you nor the Father judge,” Saba said. “The Law is the accuser. The Law and your teachings judge those who are of this world. But you and those who follow you are not of this world. We only live in it.”
Yeshua smiled. “You hear my words well. In it. And in this world, you will have trouble. But take heart, I have overcome the world.”
He shifted his gaze to me.
“Do you understand, Daughter?”
“I think so…”
“C
an you forgive? Can you surrender? Can you live without judgment? Can you love even your enemy?”
His teaching from Galilee flooded my mind.
“I…I think so.”
The breeze lifted a strand of a hair edging from beneath his mantle.
“Do you remember what will be written of me?”
That through his suffering he learned obedience…
“Yes, master,” I breathed.
“But they will write more: ‘Once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him.’ So then…can you, like me, also obey?”
I felt a tear slip down my cheek. “Yes.”
He stepped up to me, then lifted his hand and wiped away my tear with his thumb.
“We won’t be together much longer, Daughter, but I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. The world will not see me, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.”
He was speaking of the orphans—all of us and the children, I thought. And Talya. My heart soared.
Yeshua removed his hand and looked between us. “The Father will send you a helper to be with you forever. The Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him because they neither see him nor know him. But you know him. He lives with you and will be in you.”
My mind swam. His words were like a fragrance—I could not fully understand the scent nor explain why it affected me so; I could only know it.
There under the olive tree with Yeshua, I knew his love and power and truth far beyond what my mind could comprehend. I knew it in my heart, where love is revealed in a way never grasped by the mind alone.
I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss his feet, as Mary had. I wanted to scream of my son’s deliverance for all to hear. I wanted to throw my life away and live in Yeshua’s presence always.
But I stood still, like the tree behind him. Breathing in his fragrance.
“Thank you…” I managed. “Thank you, master…”
“Soon, Maviah…Very soon.”
“Yes, master.”
He slowly turned his head and stared at the knoll fifty paces up the path. Beyond this was a small village called Bethphage, Stephen had said. And beyond Bethphage, a garden Yeshua often prayed in, called Gethsemane. Then the Kidron Valley, which led up to the celebrated city.