“I’m so grateful most of our family has been united in following Jesus,” Deborah said. “It’s hard to believe it’s been only a month since we were baptized.”
For the most part, Livia seemed content to listen to the others, but at that, she looked at Deborah quizzically. “When we were here before, Simeon had not yet been baptized. Is that still the case?”
Miriam’s head came up at that question.
Deborah shook her head. “At the time the rest of us were baptized, Simeon was still searching for answers. When he finally began to find them, you three had come with the news of the trap at the pass. Things unraveled quickly after that, as you remember.” Her eyes dropped, and her voice filled with pain. “Now I don’t think he considers himself worthy. I fear he may think he is not a true disciple.”
Leah suddenly had an idea. “Maybe since you have decided to be baptized, Simeon will be baptized too. He’s feeling much better about things now.”
Just then, out on the boat, Jesus stood up. A murmur swept through the crowd, and the Twelve began to motion people to settle into their places. Jesus was obviously about to begin. The family was at a spot where the beach was a combination of sand and small, smooth pebbles, so they sat down right where they were.
“I suppose he’s on the boat to avoid being swamped by the crowd,” Lilly suggested.
Deborah nodded. “That, and as you’ll see in a moment, the water provides a natural amplification of his voice. It’s almost like being in the bottom of an amphitheater, or cupping your hands when you shout at someone.”
Almost all of the multitude were quickly seated, and a hush fell over the crowd. Jesus let his eyes move across the hundreds of faces, a look of pleasure in his eyes; then he began. “Behold, a sower went forth to sow.”
Two things struck Miriam at once. First was that Deborah was right about the effect of speaking from the boat. Jesus’ voice was neither elevated nor strained, yet they could hear every word with perfect clarity. Second, she had last heard that voice suggesting to a hostile crowd that whosoever was without sin should be the first ones to cast a stone at a hapless woman. The moment she again heard its rich, deep resonance, a sense of peace and satisfaction swept over her.
“And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the wayside, and the fowls came and devoured them up. Some of the seed fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth. They immediately sprang up, because the soil was not deep there, but when the sun was up, they were scorched. Because they had no root, they withered away.
“And some of the seed fell among thorns, and the thorns sprang up, and choked them. But other seeds fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit. Some brought forth an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold.”
Jesus stopped and sat back, searching the eyes that were fixed on him. Then with more gravity than before, he said, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.”
III
An hour later, Jesus was done and the crowd broke up. Deborah got up and went over to see Anna and Peter, but the others with her stood and talked about what they had just heard as the people swirled around them. Each was clearly disappointed in what had happened. That was the only comforting thing to Miriam about the morning. She was not the only one who had ended up puzzled by what Jesus had said.
After talking about the sower planting his seeds in various kinds of soils—an odd thing for a farmer to do, Miriam thought—Jesus had gone on in a similar vein. He gave one short allegory or analogy after another, in each case prefacing it with, “And the kingdom of heaven is like unto . . . ”
“Help us, Leah,” Miriam said. “You and Rachel have listened to Jesus much more than we have. What did we miss? He was teaching us about the kingdom, and some things were clear. The pearl of great price, for example. That made sense. The kingdom should be so precious to us that we would give whatever it takes to acquire it. But the story of the farmer and the seed really seemed strange to me. For one thing, why would anyone plant their seed in rocky ground? Or among the thorns?”
Leah shook her head. “I’m not sure. To be honest, we’ve not heard Jesus teach quite that way before. I thought he was going to go on and tell us what his stories meant, but he didn’t.”
Rachel who had been listening quietly to this point, broke in. “Think about it for a moment. How does a farmer plant his grain? He puts a bag of seed over his shoulder, then walks along casting handfuls of seed out in long sweeping movements. Sowing that way is called broadcasting.”
Ezra’s head bobbed in agreement. “That’s right. So it would be natural that as he walks along, some of the seed would fall on the wayside, or the paths that border the field. There the ground is so hard, no seed could grow. And he doesn’t deliberately throw seed among thorns. Remember, when he is sowing, the thorns haven’t come up either. It’s only later that they choke out the good seed.”
“All right,” Miriam said, “that makes more sense.” She had grown up in Jerusalem, but she had a good understanding of how a farmer worked. “But why would he throw seed among a pile of rocks?”
“Not rocks,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “Stony ground.” She smiled at the look that won her from both Livia and Miriam.
“Rocks? Stones? What’s the difference?” Livia asked.
For Rachel, this part of Jesus’ teaching had been especially significant. “Let me tell you what I picture he meant. As you know, there are many, many places in Israel where the ground is strewn with rocks. In fact, we have a saying in our country that when God created the world, he gave one of the angels a huge bag of stones to distribute evenly across the earth. Naturally, he started his work in the Holy Land, but just as he circled overhead, the bag broke.”
That was met with an appreciative chuckle from all. Throughout much of the country, miles and miles of rock walls marked the efforts to clear the land so it could be planted.
“But there are rocky places,” Rachel went on, “and then there are stony places. You have all seen a threshing floor.”
Miriam instantly saw what Rachel was suggesting and began to nod. Ezra and Lilly were nodding thoughtfully too. Livia, whose life had been even more limited to cities, shook her head. She knew what a threshing floor was, of course. One did not travel far from Jerusalem without seeing large areas where the soil had been swept away, leaving the smooth, flat limestone exposed—a “floor” made by nature, not by man. Here sheaves of grain were brought from surrounding farms and threshed on the hard, flat surface. But she didn’t see how all of that related to the parable.
“Well,” Rachel came back in, “when you think of stony places, don’t think of a place with boulders scattered about, think of something like a threshing floor, only where the stone is covered with a thin layer of soil. Perhaps it is no deeper than the thickness of two fingers. From the surface, it looks perfectly fine. In fact, you can’t really tell from looking at it that it is different from regular soil. But just below the surface is hardpan, solid rock that the seed cannot penetrate. It will grow up for a time, but once summer comes, it dies very quickly.”
“Ah,” Livia said slowly, understanding now. “The seed can’t grow deep roots and it withers in the sun.”
Rachel nodded, but then her face fell. “I understand the imagery Jesus used. That’s clear. But why did he tell us that story?” She shook her head. “What was he trying to teach us? Was he trying to warn us of some spiritual danger? I’m sorry. I’m not sure.”
Leah turned to look to where Deborah spoke with Peter, Anna, Jesus, his mother, and Mary Magdalene. “Maybe that is what Mother is asking Jesus,” she suggested. “Maybe she can help us understand.”
But a few minutes later, when Deborah rejoined them, it was not to talk about sowers and seeds. “Good news,” she said.
“What?” Leah and Rachel asked.
“I have asked Jesus if he would have supper with us tonight.”
Miriam drew in her breath, hardly daring to ask. “And?”
“And he agreed,�
�� Deborah said happily. “Anna, Peter, Jesus’ mother—they all will be coming.” She sighed happily. “I think we had better go to the market and get something ready.” She looked at Leah. “Could you go to Phineas’s home and see if he can hire some help for today?”
IV
Capernaum
The spacious courtyard of David ben Joseph, merchant of Capernaum, was filled with people. They sat on benches, stools, and small wooden chairs. They sat on the stone steps that led to the rooftop, and some simply sat down on the paving stones wherever there was an open space. Here and there, others leaned against the stone wall, content to stand so they could see and hear better. Jesus sat near the center of the courtyard, his mother on one side of him, and Anna on the other. Livia, Lilly, and Leah were just behind them, talking with Mary Magdalene. At the moment, they were visiting quietly in pairs or small groups, waiting for the rest of the men to rejoin them.
When the meal was finished, David had told Deborah to take their guests out to the courtyard while he and Simeon and Ephraim helped their hired servants clear everything and put it away. Peter, Andrew, James, and John were up immediately, offering their assistance as well. Ezra did as well. More would have stayed too, but David insisted that there wasn’t enough room and sent them outside.
Deborah looked around, counting idly. It shouldn’t have surprised her how the numbers had swelled from the initial invitation. Even though only the closest of Jesus’ associates and disciples had come, counting her own family and guests, it was still a large crowd. Rachel, Deborah’s daughter-in-law, sat with the wives of Andrew and James, listening but not participating for the moment. She had brought Esther and Boaz with her, but as soon as supper was over, young Joseph had asked if he could take his niece and nephew out to play. So many adults in the house did not bode well for children, he was sure. Rachel had gratefully given her consent and was enjoying the chance to visit.
She turned to look the other way. To Deborah’s surprise, Livia was on a bench near the fountain, speaking to Luke, the family physician, and a long-time friend of David’s. Deborah overheard snatches of Greek. Of course, she thought. Livia was Greek, sold into slavery with her family and finally rescued by Miriam’s father. Greek was her native tongue. Though he was Jewish, Luke also spoke fluent and very literate Greek. Much of what was known about medicine had been developed and codified in Greece during the golden age of Athens centuries before. Luke had taken up the language early so that he could study those texts for himself. Deborah’s eyes softened. It must be a wonderful thing for Livia to have someone to converse with in her own tongue.
Luke served as the physician for Peter and Andrew’s family as well and so had been introduced to Jesus early on. Like David, Luke almost instantly accepted Jesus as the Messiah and had been a loyal disciple ever since.
Through the window, Deborah saw shadows moving back and forth and heard a heavy thud. The men were putting the extra tables away. She let her eyes come back, still counting. With her own family and their visitors from Judea there were ten, not counting Joseph and the grandchildren. With the Twelve and their wives—John, the youngest of the apostles, was not married as yet—there were twenty-three more. James and John had also brought their aged parents, Zebedee and Naomi, and Bartholomew and his wife had their two oldest sons, handsome and respectful young men. Andrew’s father-in-law rested on a bench with his eyes closed. That made five more.
There was also Luke and his wife. In addition, Matthew the Publican had invited a neighbor who was just beginning to accept Jesus as the Messiah. Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus, made two more. And, most important of all, Jesus himself.
Deborah shook her head. Forty-four in all, if she had counted correctly. That was a record, even for her. As the wife of one of Capernaum’s successful merchants, she often hosted suppers for David’s associates or clients. But two dozen had been the most she had ever served at one time. It gave her a sense of pleasure and satisfaction to know that things had gone as smoothly as they had.
There was an air of expectation and excitement in the group. Some, like Miriam, Livia, Ezra, and Lilly, were eager, new followers of Jesus. Others had been with him from the first. All had come hoping that in this more intimate setting perhaps he could and would say things he might not share with the multitudes.
Deborah let her eyes come back to Mary and her son. The resemblance between them was notable, but not striking. Until they laughed. Then it was unmistakable. It warmed Deborah to watch the tenderness between them and the great deference and respect Jesus held for the woman who had given him birth. Anna said something to Mary, which brought another smile as she looked up at her son. He slipped an arm around her waist, and when she leaned in against his shoulder, he bent down and kissed her on the top of her head.
The sound of the door opening brought Deborah around. The men trooped out with David bringing up the rear. All conversation immediately died as they made their way to where wives and family waited for them. Deborah was especially pleased to see Ephraim and Simeon sit down together. The tension of the night before was now completely gone.
As the last person got settled, everyone turned to Jesus and waited. To their surprise, that only seemed to amuse him, and he said nothing. The silence stretched on for several moments, until Peter finally stirred. “Master?”
Jesus turned to his chief disciple. “Yes?”
“Today, when you were speaking to the people, why did you speak to them in parables?”
Miriam shot a quick glance at Deborah. On the way home, they had shared their perplexity with her. Had Deborah told Peter to ask for clarification?
Jesus eyed the stocky fisherman thoughtfully for several seconds, but before he could speak, Matthew answered his fellow apostle. “Did not the writer of the Psalms, speaking of the Messiah, tell us that ‘He will open his mouth in parables; he will utter things which have been kept secret from the foundation of the world’?”
Every head turned to look at the man who until a few weeks before had been a tax collector, one of the detested publicani who collected revenue for Rome. David, who now sat beside his wife, was not one of those who was surprised by the comment. Matthew was somewhere near David’s age. He wore a skull cap on his balding head. Eyes that were solemn and filled with wisdom looked out from beneath heavy black brows. The lower part of his face was covered with a dark but thin beard giving some hint as to what his hair must have looked like when he was a young man. David had been one of the few who knew Matthew well, and they were longtime friends. David had told Deborah that within the inner circle of the disciples, Matthew was greatly respected. He was wise, experienced, and balanced in his counsel. His knowledge of the scriptures was prodigious—in spite of the fact that the Pharisees accused him of being unlearned in spiritual things. He had an uncanny ability to link things that Jesus did or said to the prophecies of old. As Peter put it, Matthew did not speak up often, but when he did, all the rest of them listened.
John looked at his colleague with respect. “Does it really say that in the Psalms?”
Jesus chuckled softly. “It does, John.”
“Oh.”
Everyone turned back to see what Jesus would say next. He only smiled at Matthew, showing his approval.
“So,” Peter persisted, “why do you teach us in parables?”
Jesus turned slowly as he looked first at Peter, then the others of the Twelve, and finally the rest of the people. “It is a good question. Here is the answer. To you, it is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven, but to the people it is not given. There is a principle of spiritual knowledge, which is this: Whosoever has, to him it shall be given, and he shall have more in abundance. But whosoever has not, from him it shall be taken away, even that which he has.”
He stopped, watching the puzzled looks that appeared on many of the faces around him. “Therefore, it is for this reason that I speak to them in parables, because they seeing, see not. And hearing, they hear not, neit
her do they understand.”
“Master, I—”
“Yes, Peter, speak on.”
“Master, I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean when you say that those who have, receive more and those who have not, have it taken away?”
“Could it mean,” James broke in, “that some people hear your teachings, but they don’t really hear them? Many people read the scriptures, but they read with their own eyes, and see only what they want to see.”
“Yes, James. And in people such as that is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah, which says, ‘By hearing, ye shall hear, and shall not understand. And seeing, ye shall see but shall not perceive.’”
“Are you speaking of the Pharisees, Master?” That came from Nathanael.
“I speak of any who will not hear and accept spiritual truth. Well did Isaiah say of them, ‘For this people’s heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed. They do this lest at any time they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.’”
“But,” Miriam whispered, speaking almost to herself, “don’t we want people to be converted?”
Jesus turned. Miriam had forgotten that she was just a few feet away from the Master; she could see he had heard her clearly. He turned to face her, though his eyes took in others, too. “But blessed are your eyes, for they see. And blessed are your ears, for they hear. Verily, I say unto you, many of the prophets and righteous men of old have desired to see these things which you now see, and they did not; and to hear these things which you now hear, and they were not privileged to hear them.”
He turned back to Peter. “So hear now therefore the parable of the sower.” He paused, as if he knew that what he was about to do would have to be digested carefully.
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