by Krishna Rose
Uncle Joseph finally arrived in Scetis. Shortly thereafter we abandoned our safe haven in the hills, leaving behind our new friends, to travel forth from the port of Alexandria—to Gallia, which was to become our new home.
Pale, frail, and gaunt, The Mary seemed weary, as though she had given up on life. Jesu stayed beside her, reminiscing and holding her hand inside his heavily bandaged palm. The Mary, humbled by our attentions, said she would be fine by grace of the Lord. But we were all anxious for her health and prayed for her protection.
Jesu did not want to leave Judea—but he had a deep sense of purpose. His covenant with the Lord was to find the lost tribes, who over hundreds of years had spread across the continents. This act of rekindling hope in the hearts of our people, would be his final and total fulfillment of scripture. Without it, his mission would not have been complete and the title of Messiah would not have been his to hold.
CHAPTER 19
EAGERNESS
Eagerness is when one gives wholehearted dedicated commitment to a specific purpose in order to achieve a goal.
Jesu, still unable to walk, was carried by stretcher onto the ship, dressed in the garb of a poor mendicant. With his face and body smeared with dust to darken his coloring, and his long hair and beard shaved, he looked anything but a King.
My Uncle Joseph’s ship was broad, wide, and significantly larger than the others in the bay. It had upon its deck, two tall masts with canvas sails to propel us, harnessing the power of wind. Twelve rowed galleys with oars were manned by an Egyptian crew. This afforded us greater speed and control, both of which were apparently needed, as cyclonic storms were frequently a problem for ships passing the route we were to follow.
Our vessel was to be steered by a large pair of stern-mounted oars which could be maneuvered to travel in any desired direction. Also onboard were a crew of men whose job it was to raise and lower the sails and do all manner of tasks at hand. They were all well-experienced sea men—so my uncle assured me—while also being trained soldiers from the Egyptian army. There were a total of seventy-two people onboard.
We were to follow the Phoenician tin-trade route along the coast to Antioch, past Greece, Kyrenia, and Sicilia, eventually to Massilia in Southern Gallia. This was the main thoroughfare used by my uncle’s crew, so they were familiar with it.
Things were extremely unstable in Alexandria. There had been a number of anti-Jewish revolts. It was no longer safe for us to remain. Within days, the wind favored our seafaring travel, and so it was, that we came to leave homelands. As we watched the shores of Egypt and Judea disappear into the distance for the last time, we were all steeped in a melancholy mood. The Mary especially seemed heavyhearted, for she left behind her son, her husband, her sister, and a lifetime of friends who were to remain in Judea, quite possibly never to be seen again.
I was glad to be gone from there. No longer did I wish to be affiliated with a culture who saw fit to execute a man or woman for any cause, for I believed that life is never ours to take.
The boat’s crew were not told of our identities, and they seemed entirely disinterested in their cargo. The rest of our party wore the cloth of slaves, so as not to rouse any suspicion. If asked, the tin mines of Cornwall were our eventual destination. Caiaphas had eyes everywhere, so we took no chances. He offered a handsome ransom to merchants in the vicinity of the sea ports, to keep watch for suspicious travelers leaving by boat. He had anticipated and suspected our attempt to escape. Yet when the Lord is with you, no man can prevent the eager course of your destiny.
We rode on a favored eastern wind, upon the Tyrrhenian Sea, traveling towards the Viennoise province, where the River Rhone is received by the ocean. The ship constantly rocked from side to side, as well as persistently lurching up and down in the rising and falling changeable waves. The crew were loud, shouting orders to one another whenever the winds turned. When I hoped that I might finally get some rest, the baby would wake, crying loudly for his milk. Therefore sleep was not easily come by. The men were especially rowdy at night. They liked to drink and play card games and no care was given towards the ship’s passengers, for we were of no special consequence.
We played our roles expertly. Uncle Joseph, Nicodemus, and Maximus and his wife, Marcella, spoke to us indifferently. They ate with the men and slept separately from us. Most of the sailors’ talk was of women, war, and politics. Though soon their conversations were replaced by trivialized gossip, reporting sightings of the risen Messiah who had been crucified in Jerusalem and miraculously resurrected. They debated on the subject, placing bets in their drunken stupor as to whether he would be found dead or alive.
Multiple sightings of the risen King had been reported, much to the chagrin of the Sanhedrin. The crew laughed loudly as they dramatically reenacted Caiaphas and his fanatical hangers-on, who like flatterers, licked the boots of their commander for crumbs to feed their ambitious appetites. The sailors seemed to like the idea of a man who, much like a hero, had outwitted the bullish Sanhedrin and militant Romans. Hearing them jest, we laughed quietly amongst ourselves, taking satisfaction in our cloak-and-dagger getaway.
The Mary was, it seemed, quite unreachable. We tended her with herbal remedies in the hope of bringing strength to her body, but her stomach was weak to the sea. The journey bore down hard on her, and she had already been fragile at best.
Word was, Brother James was now irrefutably head of the Jerusalem Church. Due to his pliable nature, he was managing to preach in the city without disturbance from the rabbinate. He knew how to tread carefully without stimulating too much emotion or forcing his ancestry. He taught according to the laws of the Torah, and spoke of his brother only in private, amongst his brethren—behind closed doors and in a hushed voice.
James always kept a cool head, therefore he was able to participate in temple programs without a stir. He had been watched and questioned for months after his brother’s disappearance, and the leaders were finally confident that James knew nothing—nor even seemed to care much for his brother’s whereabouts. He was no longer considered a threat. So they turned to more engaging problems, like how to stamp out the fire within the rumor mills, of Jesu’s Messianic resurrection and the growing flock of believers.
Our family, friends, and followers had gathered around James for spiritual leadership and counsel. The Jewish people loved him. He was often seen on his knees praying and crying inside the temple, sometimes for days at a time—until his knees were calloused and bleeding on the floor. Indeed, for those Judeans who did not believe Jesu to be the anointed one, James himself had become a leading hope for that title.
Our son and heir was peaceful during the day, relishing in the comings and goings of the people onboard who liked to stop and smile at the child. Jesus Justus glowed like a star, cooing sweetly, basking in knowledge of how blessed he was. Sarah-Tamar however, was moody and circumspect. She had removed herself from our company, preferring to sit gazing at the ocean for long stretches of time.
The Mary had very quickly become gravely ill. Weak from lack of water and food remaining inside of her, it became a real problem for us. Jesu made a paste of healing balm from our supply of herbs and had me wipe his mother’s pale-faced brow with it. This seemed to calm her fever, as afterwards she talked with us a while, even managing to sip fennel and peppermint tea, which settled her stomach.
Against our wishes, Jesu, feeling responsible for the stress his mother had to bear at his expense, began to fast from all food, taking only a little water unto himself. Soon, dark rings shadowed his eyes, until I pleaded with him to give it up. However, my pleas fell on deaf ears and our journey became fraught with worry, for we now had two dangerously ill passengers onboard.
From Jesu’s wrists and feet, pus and blood seeped. At night, while the sailors were distracted playi
ng cards, Martha and I would clean them using pain-relieving remedies. Afterwards applying poultices of powdered yarrow and comfrey root to stop the discharge. Swathing his wounds with fresh bindings, we determinedly endeavored to keep the poultices in place for as long as possible. Though Jesu suffered in silence, we could all see his affliction. Never once did he complain.
One night when the ocean was calm, brimming over with emotion, he opened up heart and soul about his trial and crucifixion. The moon was full and much closer to the earth than usual. Being so grandiose in the sky, it created an eerie backdrop to Jesu’s profundity. It would be the first and only time he spoke of it. No one had dared, up until this point, to brave asking him of it. We had in fact, all of us, danced around it awkwardly.
“I should like to explain to you something of what I was subjected to during the trial and crucifixion—and in death,” he said swallowing hard. He wanted and needed to talk about it. It would be a healing for him and we were all eager to hear him speak after so long.
“First I was taken to Caiaphas’s father-in law’s house, Annas, where I was stripped and tied like a donkey to a post in his courtyard. The priests and scribes shouted accusations at me, waving their fists in the air, as if I were a monstrous criminal. They insisted that I was guilty of blasphemy and violating the laws of Shabbat. Some argued that I induced demons to perform miracles like healing the sick and raising the dead—by way of sorcery. At one point, they alleged that I had declared myself to be the son of God. These men in robes, who claimed to be God’s holy men, stood red-faced, legs spread, arms crossed, with proud dispositions, prepared to watch a gory spectacle at my expense,” Jesu recounted, his chin trembling.
“A strong slave man, upon their bidding, struck me hard—while the rabbis mocked me. Ordered to beat me with whips and metal hooks. The pain was so great that I fell to my knees unable to stand. No strength did I have left in me. The men who had gathered there to witness my undoing, cackled and taunted me like evil spirits. While Caiaphas stood, surrounded by his minions, satisfactorily rubbing his hands together, greedy for blood and ultimately my death.
“I wanted the Lord to strike lightning on their heads! Yet for His sake, I endured the impossible. Restraint and tolerance were to be of utmost importance in my plan of seeing this to completion. Such is the world of fickleness in which we live, that no life has meaning unless and until it endures such a tragedy as mine. And only then does it come like nectar upon the lips of the masses,” he reasoned thoughtfully.
“Crucifixion is a gruesome thing . . .” he said, trailing off as he recalled for us the terror of what had transpired. “When the nails were hammered into my wrists, they were sharp and swift. But my feet . . . oh . . . the anguish was unimaginable. For it was upon my feet that I rested the full weight of my body to avoid suffocation. Still now, I can feel their rasping, solid strength, stripping peace from me,” he revealed. And as he turned his head away shamefully, I saw all the color drain from his face.
“Though the Lord was with me, my suffering He did not remove,” he said solemnly. “The Lord stood by and watched while I suffered, just as He bears witness to the innocent lambs who shed their blood on the altar.” We wiped our tears into our cloth, hearing him speak thus, for so weighty were the truth of his words.
“Even so, I did not waiver,” he said, collecting himself. “At one point, I cried out in my delirium. Yet somehow I remembered why I was there . . . and I endured for the Lord’s sake. I was a prisoner shackled by physical pain, but all of your prayers came to me like a river to the sea and brought me forth. In truth, the judgements and deeds of our people were as sharp and as heavy as the nails which tore my flesh from bone,” he confessed.
“Laughing at my humiliation, without hint of shame, the soldiers mocked me, ‘Where is your God now, oh King?’ Still, I remained steadfast. My lungs seared hot like fire and my heart beat so hard in my chest, that I gasped for air. Even so, they threw their insults at me. ‘Where’s your throne, prisoner? Not so high and mighty now, are you?’ they jested. Moment to moment, I moved between agony and ecstasy, like a play of Heaven and Hell upon my soul, which hung like a drop of honey to the edge of a leaf.”
The Mary cowered together with her children John, Jude, and Mary-Salome, while her longtime friend Mary-Jacobi nestled in close behind her, resting her hand on The Mary’s back affectionately, as she listened with difficulty to her son’s sorrowful renditions.
“I saw you Mother, darning my bleeding heart as I released my soul unto death,” he sobbed. “The clergy had met to decide my fate and their lust for blood had broken me. But you lifted me up. And Marjan. I saw you as you searched for my soul in the darkness—even though I was right there before you with thorns upon my head for a crown,” he sighed.
“At that time, a voice behind me said, ‘You are the rising sun lifting all unto Paradise. Take this cloak unto your holy spirit, for the day is done,’ and a mantle was placed about my shoulders. When I woke from this vision, I was still upon the cross and Uncle Joseph was offering me a sponge on a stick from which I drank. It was saturated with a strong liquid and since I thirsted, I suckled at it like a babe at his mother’s breast, despite its bitterness. Then a warmth, like a hearth fire poured through me until I felt no pain and all was still.”
“When did you realize that you were dead?” Jude asked him, fascinated. His own brother had been into death, to return and tell the tale of what lies beyond. Jude wanted details!
“When I left, there was a light. At first it was soft and it beckoned me reassuringly. I could not remember who I was, nor where I had been, as I moved towards it. A delicate sound surrounded me . . . that of fluttering wings, which lifted me up to a wondrous place where everything was drenched in white light. There, I beheld my birth father, Prince Antipater,” he said, smiling in his mother’s direction, and heartbreak came visibly upon her face. She whimpered into her cloth—a lifetime of grief suppressed out of need.
“Mother,” he continued, “my stepfather Yosef also came to greet me,” he said soothingly. “And my cousin John held his hands out to me, reaching for me. And when I came upon them, they wept and cradled me in their arms. I was alive, yet not in this body.
“My feet stood in cool shallow water which restored me. And it was then that I realized I was bleeding—though I felt no pain nor could I remember why I was hurt. My cousin came beside me and kissed my hands, which were broken and bloody, yet still I could not understand why I was wounded.
“Familiar voices in the distance called my name, yet I was not drawn to follow their cries. Only later did I realize that they were your sorrowful lamentations. I drank of a sacred spring and its water was sweet. It quenched my thirst, which I realized was great. At that time, my father, Prince Antipater, lifted me into his arms. Wading through the water, he carried me into a temple which had a thousand golden pillars that shone like the sun. A strong fragrance was inside. There swirled about us a mist, which in the light, seemed to vacillate around the open sanctuary in an unusual way. I shivered for it was so beautiful.
“He lay me tenderly and without effort upon a stone slab at the front of the chapel. The stone felt soft beneath me, not cold or hard like it is here on earth. Covering me in flower petals, soon thereafter, a group of singing angels flew down from above—to where I lay. Coming beside me, they anointed me with oil, rubbing my open wounds with their hands which had light streaming out of them. Afterwards, I looked at my wrists and feet and no more blood was there. But when I lifted my hands to my head, there was still the thorny crown upon my brow. My finger pricked and it bled. The angels at once stopped singing. There was a strange silence afoot. Even their wings made no sound, though they were still moving.
“Everyone stared, as if amazed that I had bled, yet no one spoke, for words were not needed. Our minds were as one. There was such a
great peace,” he reported, “and that Jude—was when I realized that I had died,” he said, smiling at his little brother.
“At once, I was gone from there, and I found myself alone in the middle of a garden with twelve forests. Each forest, uniquely resplendent, tempted me to enter and seek things, which in that moment, I knew I had always longed for. The trees sang a sonorous chant that was wholly and entirely absolute. I saw no faces, yet there were shadows of children moving between the forest bowers, who I presumed were the source of the laughter I heard.
“They beckoned me from within the groves, to join them,” he said heaving a gratifying sigh, pressing his lips tight together to keep himself from smiling. “A sound so sweet, whistled in the wind. It called me . . .” he continued. “Nowhere have I heard a song such as this. A joyous tremor ran through the heart of me, washing me in its poetic meter. The birds, stunned, were all suddenly still and quiet. No sound was made, for all within the forests were enthralled by the melody which rang out. It pierced the mind sharper than any sword.
“My eyes opened wide, so that I could discern the faces of those who were there hidden. I shall try to describe with this mouth what I was blessed to see, yet truly, no words are valuable enough to decorate what I wish to describe. The ground shone, for it was made of valuable jewels. It was by the light of them, that I could find my way in the dark.
“Wish-fulfilling trees and flowering vines laden with sweet-smelling fruits grew throughout the land, while hundreds of colorfully decorated animals grazed freely with heavy milk sacks and ornaments around their necks. As they moved about, I could hear the tinkling of soft bells blending with the sweet music. I shiver now, even by memory of such tender melodies.