by Jane Lebak
Jesus patted the work bag. “I’m some kind of carpenter.”
Nothing more for a while. Jesus looked tired, but not as tired as the soldier. Jesus said, “Your tools weigh a lot more than mine do.”
A huff from the soldier. “Because I have to do a lot more than you do.”
Jesus said, “Oh, come on. My tools make houses.”
The soldier said, “My tools make empires.”
Jesus drew a sharp breath, and he looked up for Raphael, who moved around front of the walkers.
My father’s tools, Jesus thought to him. They’re carpenter’s tools. And this soldier is using his tools to make…well, war and obedience and safety. But what about my real Father’s tools?
In this moment, Jesus reminded him so much of Gabriel enmeshed in a problem, although Jesus could cast the whole question in an emotional and spiritual light that Gabriel at his best never achieved. Jesus kept thinking out loud to him, but the words faded and the thoughts became a series of impulses, so rather than answer, Raphael sent encouragement.
My Father’s tools are mercy. And patience. Love. Anger. Redirection. Jesus shook his head. Water. Manna. Wine. Words. Humans. Touches.
Jesus picked up speed and tucked his head as he walked, and the Roman unconsciously increased his pace to keep up with him.
What can I make with those tools? Jesus half-thought, half-prayed, and Raphael kept himself out of the prayer because he could feel the Spirit interacting with Jesus: what better guide was there? You make an empire with swords. You make a house with hammers and an adz and a bow-drill. But what do you make with mercy, love, the law, and the word? What do you craft with souls?
Raphael limited his work to guiding Jesus’s steps, keeping him from stumbling under the weight of the Roman's gear as well as his own and the new gear he was picking up in his mind. What did God use to create history? Time. Justice. Mercy. Good will. But more than that: God used mistakes as well. God used stubbornness. The more Jesus thought, the more Raphael realized God used everything. Everything – maybe God had even used his own abandonment of Gabriel during that wretched punishment.
Jesus's thoughts inverted the problem, a technique for which he could probably thank Gabriel: was there anything God didn't use? Lies? Well, God didn't use lies of His own, but He'd used Joseph's brothers' lies to bring the people down to Egypt. He'd used Pharaoh's hard-heartedness to bring the people out again. He'd used the destruction of the Temple itself to bring about pure monotheism and end idolatry forever.
Is there anything so wretched and brutal that the Father can't use it? Jesus thought to Raphael.
Raphael sent back, Can you come up with anything?
Disobedience: used. Adultery: used. No, actually, these things weren’t used as much as converted. Weakness. Despair, Jesus thought. I don't think despair is of much use to the Father because despair itself prevents its own usefulness.
He kept thinking. Physical pain. But maybe it teaches the one on the receiving end? Or maybe the ones helping? More walking, more of him reaching into Raphael's power to pull on his reserves, and Raphael gave it all. The Spirit bore a crackling energy now, like a mother offering milk to a hungry baby, and Jesus's spirit was drinking it in.
The Maccabeans certainly died heroically. That mother and all her sons. That was a cruelty God used to inspire others. If evil itself can become a tool in the hands of God, then what remains? Everything is in His workbag.
The Roman said, "Here we are," and Jesus looked up. And gasped. They'd stopped a stone's throw from a crucifixion.
The Roman lifted his gear from Jesus's shoulder, but Jesus had his eyes riveted to the pair of crosses, the men transfixed in agony and needing to trade pain for each breath. "God have mercy," he whispered.
"Maybe your god does," said the Roman, "but you’re looking at another one of my tools." He laughed out loud. "Just be glad you didn't have to carry that bit of my gear."
Jesus shivered. The sun lay on the cusp of the horizon, and two men had hours more until they died.
And that? Jesus prayed. That's a tool too? Men harming men?
Jesus didn't move as the Roman walked toward his comrades without so much as a word of thanks. May I do something for them? he prayed, but it wasn't time, urged the Spirit. Time for compassion, yes, but not time for power.
Jesus sat on the side of the road, his back aching and his legs trembling, and he finished the last of the food in his bag. Raphael wrapped around him, wings over Jesus's shoulders.
What can I build with that? The prayer flowed through Raphael, and he presented it toward God, adding his fervor but nothing else. No answer came back through him. Instead, he could feel the Spirit deep in communion with Jesus's heart, so Raphael just waited on the outside, waited and longed and wondered what the pair were saying to one another.
Seven Archangels: Sacred Cups is available in Kindle and print formats. Check it out!