The fishermen shrugged and shifted their gazes from one to the other.
Yakov interrupted. “Friends, you laugh and all, but do you truly know why this man’s wife needs him at home? No, you don’t. Then you cannot criticize him, because when you chide someone, the judgment returns right back to you.”
Chagrined, the fishermen patted the young man’s back and asked him to keep an eye on their families while they were away.
The five men reached the village of Bethsaida by noon. As they rested by a riverbed, Yeshua brought out his shaving knife.
“You have a choice,” he said, thumbing the sharp blade. “Would you make a formal commitment to serve God?” He combed his fingers through his hair, which had already grown to his shoulders. “Or will you stay as you are?”
The men looked from one to another. “Is it allowed?” they whispered.
But Yakov stepped forward and knelt before Yeshua, his head lowered. Smiling, Yeshua splashed water onto his brother’s head and put the knife to work, carefully shaving the contours of Yakov’s head. One by one, the locks of his long hair fell into the water and floated into the lake. When Yakov stood and straightened his back, bald as a newborn, he promised to stay forever clean and to always serve God. Without another moment of hesitation, the others knelt before Yeshua, ready to take the vow.
On an outcrop overlooking the lake, they shared a meal of flatbreads with cheese, honey cake, and apples. With their hunger appeased, it was time to meditate.
“It’s more difficult to pray when your belly is too full or too empty,” Yeshua said, and he showed them how to sit with a straight spine and allow God’s energy to flow through them.
“Yawn and stretch. Relax your shoulders and move your head from side to side to loosen up. Just so. Rest your hands comfortably on your thighs, palms up. Now breathe. In and out. Focus on the breath moving in through your nose, circulating through your chest and down to the pit of your belly. Then release your breath through your mouth.”
As the men breathed in and out, their wrinkles softened and their limbs settled at ease.
“Imagine a ray of light rising up from the crown of your head, reaching higher and higher until it touches the heavens and connects with God. Yes, just so. Repeat in silence, to yourself, ‘I am the light,’ over and over until you believe it. And then, listen inward. Still your thoughts so that you can hear God speak. Breathe in and out—and listen. If stray thoughts enter your mind, bring your attention back to the ray of light at the top of your head and connect with God again.”
At last, having guided his disciples in the way of meditation, Yeshua closed his own eyes and opened his chakras one by one. He connected them, one to another, until they were in balance and his energy was one with God. So deep was his trance that he didn’t notice the sun setting and the others, having emerged earlier from their meditative state, chatting louder and louder.
When at last he returned to consciousness, he was pleased to see his friends looking carefree and rested. With their bare heads, they reminded him of the monks in Kapilavatthu. Although curious about their first meditation, Yeshua did not want to break their blissful spell. He wanted them to think of meditation as something natural and uncomplicated. He didn’t want anyone to become discouraged when comparing their experience with someone else’s. It took time to find a personal connection with God. It had taken him years.
The night hung heavy by the time they rolled out their mats to sleep under a cluster of sycamores. Bats whizzed in and out of the trees, rustling the branches, but the five pilgrims slept serenely protected by the oneness of God.
In every village they visited—Kheresa, Hippos, and Philoteria—people invited Yeshua to heal a sick uncle, a lame mother, or a blind sister. In one village, he relieved the symptoms of a leper with a mixture of garlic, thyme, olive leaves, and red wine. In another, he used faith to help a disabled man move his limbs. In yet another, he brought a widow’s son back from near death, sending God’s healing energy into him.
Wherever they went, Yeshua always took the time to share a story. “A man had prepared a feast and sent his servant to invite the well-to-do men of the town. The servant approached the first man, saying, ‘My master invites you to feast with him tonight.’ But the man dismissed him, saying, ‘I am sorry, but tonight I must meet with some merchants who owe me money.’ The next guest answered, ‘I have recently purchased a new house. I must stay and oversee the repairs. I cannot spare any time today.’ Another said, ‘My brother is getting married, and I must prepare the banquet. I shan’t be able to come.’ Yet another responded, ‘I must collect rent from the people on my land. Tell your master I have no time for debaucheries.’
“When the servant returned to his master, he said, ‘All the guests you invited made excuses and cannot come.’ At first, the master was furious, but then he told the servant, ‘Go to the town and bring back anyone you meet so they may attend my feast, to eat and drink with me and be merry. Since all the wealthy men and the merchants are too busy making money, I will never invite them again into my house or that of my father.’”
“Did the man invite the poor men so his food wouldn’t go to waste?” one villager asked.
“Not only that. He realized that people who deal with money often prefer wealth over their friends. They are lost in the physical world, and they will never find the entrance to God’s Kingdom.”
“What’s it like, then, this kingdom?”
“It’s like a mustard seed—the smallest of all seeds. But when it falls on cultivated soil, it grows into a plant so big it can shelter all the birds of the sky.”
“Where can we find it?”
“It’s already here, where you are. All your lives, you have listened to rabbis who learned about God and his kingdom from scriptures. But did these teachers pause to feel God in their hearts? Have they ever listened to the voice that speaks inside them? Or have they only repeated the stories they were taught, never considering if they were true or not? You have accepted the stories because you have heard them spoken as the truth, over and over. But listen, if a rabbi says, ‘The kingdom is in the sky,’ you will find the birds are already there. And if they say, ‘The kingdom is in the sea,’ you will find the fish swimming there. Do you think God lives among the fish? With the birds? Yes, he does, but he also lives everywhere else. God’s Kingdom is both within you and outside you. And when you truly know yourself, you will know you are a true son of God. You are one with God.”
The farther they traveled, the more Yeshua worried that people came to see him only for healing. He yearned to empower them, teach them to recognize the light of God within themselves so that they could spread this awareness. If only they would listen.
Galilee was his home. These were his people. Then why did he feel at odds with them? What was missing? He understood their resentment toward Herod Antipas, the shameless tetrarch who had built his new city Tiberias on the site of a Yehudi burial ground and then married his niece, his half-brother’s wife. He sympathized with their grievance toward the Roman prefect Pilatus, who had turned the holy city of Jerusalem into a Roman town. Why wouldn’t they hear his message? All they wanted was an easy resolution to their woes.
“Heal me, Yeshua!” they cried, and they latched on to him, demanding his help. But whenever his treatments didn’t succeed, they called him a fraud. Everyone just used him for their personal gain. And if the healing did succeed, they left without listening to his message. They weren’t interested in hearing that healing the body was pointless because the body was nothing but a reflection of the inner being. What needed to heal was the spirit, the soul. If only he could make them understand—truly understand—that everything around them was an illusion created by their minds, they could teach others, who in turn would teach others, until the world was filled with people spreading the good news.
“I just want them to wake up,” Yeshua said one night as he slumped down next to Yakov, “and all I find is people intoxicated with
the cheap wine of simple wants and needs. No one is thirsty for enlightenment. They’re drunk on the proof of God’s power I just showed them, but when they sober up, they’ll realize they have missed their chance to attain eternal life through oneness with God. My soul cries for them. They’re blind in their hearts.”
Shimon, the quiet fisherman who had been one of the first to comprehend Yeshua’s mission, put his hand on Yeshua’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your light shines brightly. Those who are ready will understand. The rest, well, perhaps their time will come later.”
“You’re like a rock, Shimon,” Yeshua said, and patted Shimon’s hand, “so stable and secure.” He smiled. “From now on, we will call you Kephas, the Rock.”
Yakov laughed. Kephas blushed, but laughed, too. It was a good name, an honor.
Later that night, Yeshua lay awake, thinking. If he stopped healing the sick, people would suffer. If he continued, his message would be diluted, if not ignored. The Upanishads taught that “Like the waves in great rivers, there’s no turning back of that which has previously been done. The soul is like a lame man—bound with fetters made of the fruit of good and evil.” Perhaps the sick and weak were paying for deeds committed in a previous life. Maybe his healing took away their opportunity to learn from their mistakes. Was he hurting people rather than helping them? Perhaps forgiveness was the greater lesson? If they could forgive themselves, they could also heal themselves.
He almost laughed out loud. From now on, he would no longer heal every sufferer—he would instead teach them to heal themselves. Yeshua looked at his sleeping companions. They would understand. Of course they would.
Chapter THIRTY
Lake Kinneret, Galilee, AD 27
As the days grew colder, their pilgrimage changed from a journey of healing to one of teaching love and forgiveness. Holding the lessons in a large tent they carried with them, the gatherings attracted hordes of people who passed by, seeking warmth, but then stayed to hear the uplifting message. By the time they reached Tiberias, they had initiated several men and women into their group.
“He who drinks from my mouth will become like me,” Yeshua said to those who had come to listen, “and I will become he. When this happens, everything hidden will be revealed. If you have ears, hear me.” He scanned the crowd, making sure everyone was paying attention. “There is nothing that is hidden, and no secrets that will not come to light. Spread this message to others. Shout it from the rooftops. For what use is the lighting of a lamp and letting it shine under a cover? Share the light; place it as high as you can so that everyone who enters your courtyard will see it and rejoice.”
Not everyone appreciated this new practice. Those who had come to see miracles or to be healed were disappointed when all they found was an ordinary man with a foreign accent who told confusing stories. When they left, muttering obscenities, Yeshua sent them love from his very being and continued to speak to those who stayed.
“Once there was an honest farmer who sowed good crops in his fertile fields. But one night, his neighbor sneaked in and planted weeds among the wheat. Soon, both the wheat and the weeds sprouted. When the servants realized what had happened, they became frantic. They told the farmer they would pull out the weeds so that the harvest wouldn’t be destroyed. But the farmer refused. He said, ‘If you pluck the weeds, I fear you will also pull out good wheat with them. But don’t worry; at harvesttime, the bad weeds will stand out clearly amidst the good wheat, and then you can easily pull them out.’ The servants left the field alone. The wheat grew strong and healthy, and in the end the bad weeds met the destiny they deserved. You see, the good wheat is love. The weeds are envy, judgment, and fear. Love will always grow strong and prevail if you treat each other with kindness and love.”
By now, Yeshua’s group of disciples had grown to several dozen men and a few women. They wandered from village to village along the shore and set up their tent camp by the lake, where they took purifying baths and prayed together. Yeshua taught them that eating fish or animal flesh was detrimental to the spirit, and that immersing themselves in the water at dawn cleansed their souls better than any animal sacrifice. Every evening, after the daily lesson, they relaxed by the fire and shared anecdotes, much as Yeshua had done when he traveled by caravan. Now, however, he sat back and listened to his companions’ insights and dreams.
One day, a friendly Pharisee named Abimael invited Yeshua to dine with him in his home. Yeshua accepted gladly, hoping he would be served something other than the stale bread and cheese he consumed most every day.
Seated on soft cushions around a low wooden table in Abimael’s fancy dining room, Yeshua politely declined the stuffed chickens with mint sauce. Instead, he happily devoured the lentil stew, carrots cooked with cumin, honey-baked figs, and fresh pomegranate juice.
While Abimael’s wife cleaned away the empty platters, Yeshua lounged back on the cushions and took the opportunity to learn more about his host.
“My dear friend, tell me about your teachings. You and I worship the same God, do we not?”
Abimael rubbed his beard and took a sip of wine. “Certainly, but we are the true believers. You understand? The true!” His sentences were exclamations, as if every word teemed with revelation. “We, the Pharisees, are the disciples of Aaron; he taught us to bring mankind closer to the Torah. Not like those foolish Sadducees who are imprisoned by the exact letters and words of the scriptures!” Abimael laughed so hard at his clever words that his belly bounced against the table. “Such brutish men, how can they not realize that ignorant men cannot be—will never be—saintly. No, we are the wise, you and I. We listen to the Lord and we understand him very well.”
When Abimael lifted his cup to propose a toast, the door flew open with a bang. A woman in tatters, her nakedness barely veiled by a threadbare tunic, threw herself at Yeshua’s feet and covered them with kisses, letting her long, tangled hair sweep the marble floor.
“Get up, you whore!” Abimael banged his fist on the table. “Out, woman!”
She ignored him and continued bathing Yeshua’s feet in kisses.
Abimael scrambled to his feet and yanked her up by the hair. He shoved her toward the door. “Get out of my house, filthy witch.”
Yeshua grabbed on to Abimael’s arm to calm him. “Sit down. Let this poor woman be. Please.”
Abimael hesitated for a moment before letting go of her hair. Reluctantly, he sat down again, staring at the woman at Yeshua’s feet.
Her eyes were damp with sorrow as she lowered her head and used her long hair to wipe her tears from Yeshua’s bare feet.
“Don’t let that harlot touch you,” Abimael cried out. “She’s… repulsive!”
But Yeshua didn’t see a fallen woman; he saw a lost girl who was humbling herself at his feet.
“Let me tell you a story,” Yeshua said. He raised his cup to his host.
“I will gladly listen.” Abimael smiled, but a false note betrayed his irritation.
“Two people owed a moneylender a lot of money. One owed him several hundred denarii, the other fifty. When the loans came due, neither could pay him back. The moneylender—who was a good and honest man—decided to forgive the debts of both men. Now tell me, which of the two men do you think loved the moneylender more?”
Abimael scratched his beard again, holding his gaze high to avoid looking at the woman crouching at Yeshua’s feet. “The man who owed more money?”
Yeshua reached over and touched Abimael’s hand. “Exactly.”
He cupped the woman’s chin and raised her up to stand before him. “Look at this woman. When I arrived, you didn’t bring me a bowl of water to wash my dusty feet. But this worthy woman, she wet my feet with her tears and dried them with her own hair. You didn’t offer me a kiss, but she has been kissing my feet from the moment she entered. Whatever sins she may have committed in the past, they are forgiven because she has shown me love. You say you know God better than the Sadducees? Then you will know that God is lo
ve. If you love only a little, you’ll be forgiven a little. And if you love a lot…”
Abimael turned away from Yeshua and gulped down his wine, too angry to look at his guest.
Yeshua smiled at the girl.
“Go,” he said, and gently pushed her to the door. “Your faith has saved you. Leave in peace.”
The woman closed the door behind her and walked away, her head held high.
Chapter Thirty-ONE
Magdala Nunayya, Galilee, AD 28
By the time they returned to the northwest side of Lake Kinneret, Yeshua was tired of everyone expecting him to be perfect all the time. Some days he simply wanted to be Yeshua, not a teacher or a leader.
In Magdala Nunayya, a half day’s walk from Capernaum, he told the others to pray by the lake while he went into the village. He wandered through the market, looking at the same dried fruit, salted fish, eggs, goats, chickens, textiles, and ceramic jars as could be found in other dusty towns. The same fat merchants, busy wives, and grouchy husbands. People were the same everywhere. In fact, if he squinted, this market could be in Palmyra or Susa, in Jagannath, Benares, or Kapilavatthu. People had the same basic needs everywhere, and most were content as long as their stomachs were full and they had a roof over their heads. Yet in every corner of the world, priests lured them in with false promises, persuading them to follow their particular version of the truth.
Yeshua watched the crowd until his head swirled and his stomach pinched with hunger. Time to make his way back to the others.
“Rabbi!” A boy with an entire ocean contained in his eyes appeared by his side. “Come. Please come.”
How could the boy know him? They had arrived in Magdala only that same morning.
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