Much low and unhappy murmuring came back to me from these Pharisees. Within the synagogue, in the presence of the altar, I was speaking of the natural uncleanliness of man, who, as he lives, must pollute. My words were offensive to the altar.
But I was speaking as well to my followers, and I did not cease: "What enters from without does not pass into a man's heart but into his belly, and goes out again into the drain." And they heard me whisper to myself, "That dirt which is on a man's hands is nothing." Now, I said aloud, "What comes out of a man, however, can defile him. From a man's heart issue evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, blasphemy, pride, even the evil eye."
My indignation mounted until I could not go on. Such a sudden fury had arisen in me that it took my breath away. These Pharisees scolded others for not washing when they did not know the sum of their own evil. Of course, they were terrified of evil from without! They were terrified even of the dust of the road and the mud of the fields. For as they saw itùand only in this manner could they seeùit took no more than one mote of non-observance to unbalance the scales within. Dirt, to them, was a sea of sin. But where in any one of them could one find a love of God that was ready to sacrifice all that they had?
I left the synagogue. Before the night was done I had even cured a man who was deaf and had an impediment in his speech. This was done by no more than putting my fingers in his ears, whereupon he spit; then I touched his tongue, causing him to look up to heaven and sigh. With that I said: "Be opened." His ears opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed; he spoke. I smiled. For now the Pharisees would have to say (and their speech would be most elevated): "He obeyeth not the law of washing, but he maketh the deaf to hear and the dumb to speak."
On another occasion when I had been followed to another wasteland of the desert where I had hoped to retire for the day, again there was nothing to eat. This time we had seven loaves, and again I broke them into pieces and gave them to my disciples, who passed them on, rank on rank, file on file, and all were satisfied.
But those hours on the mountain when I had given my sermon were no longer near to me. On that day I had not spoken to my people with words that the Lord offered my tongueùno, I had declared my love for Him, and so the words had been mine. Now life was filled again with duty. For that reason, I would suppose, I had many thoughts concerning Moses. He had had to listen to the children of Israel weeping in the wilderness. His followers had said to him, "Who shall feed us? We remember the fish we had in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our soul is dried away." And no one of these children of Israel had been pleased with the manna God sent down. They had gathered it and pounded it and baked it in ovens and made cakes of it; but it tasted like oil of coriander. Every man was lamenting at the door of his tent. Even Moses was displeased. He said to the Lord, "Why have You laid the burden of all these people on me? Have I begotten them? It is too heavy for me."
And Moses asked the Lord to let him die, for his life was misery.
The Lord said, "Your people shall eat until this food comes out of their nostrils and is loathsome to them."
And by now I had a full understanding of why Moses was exhausted. Fatigue of the spirit is like a twisting of the limbs; new pain enters into the old.
One day, on the road to Bethsaida a blind man was brought to me at the gate; I took him by the hand and led him out of the town so that no one would witness the cure.
And when I had spit on his eyes and put my unwashed hands upon him, I asked what he saw.
He looked up and said, "I see men who look like trees that are walking."
I replied, "That is because men, like trees, bear a fruit of good and evil."
Then I put my hands on his eyes again, and he was wholly restored and saw every man clearly. I sent him away to his house and told him not to speak of it (although I knew he would), but I was not certain how long I could go on with these cures without exhausting myself. I was coming to believe that God, at the cost of supporting me, might be suffering His own weariness. But this thought I did not care to say even to myself.
There were nights when I would awaken and not know who I was. Once, passing through the town of Caesarea Philippi, I asked my disciples: "Who do they say I am?"
And some answered that I was said to be John the Baptist. Others spoke of Elijah. Still others told me: "They do not know, but think you are one of the old prophets."
And I said, and my heart was pounding: "But who do you say I am?"
And Peter? it may be that he was thinking of how I had walked upon the waterùasked gently: "Can one say that you are the Christ?"
Since I felt like an ordinary man in all ways but one, I could love Peter for the strength that his conviction gave me. Now I knew with more certainty than before that I must be the Son of God. Yet how could I be certain of that if no man recognized me?
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I was coming to comprehend that one must enter the darkness that lives beneath every radiance of spirit. And I wished to open my apostles to such a truth. I told them of a dream that had visited me each night for seven nights; it was a dream that the Son of Man would go to Jerusalem and be denied by the High Priest and be crucified.
On hearing it, my disciples said, "No, you will live forever. And we will live with you."
Then I knew why darkness lies close to exaltation. If they loved me, it was for my power to work miracles, not because I might teach them to love others. They wished to preach like me, but only to increase their own power, not to preach with love. So I rebuked them, saying: "You savor not the things that be of God but the things that be of men." In the silence that followed these words, the dream was upon me again.
"If I am killed, I will rise again after three days," I said. But I did not know if I spoke the truth.
I looked into their eyes to see if their souls were open. For at just this moment, the miracle of faith would be present or would not. In their eyes I saw no more than a heaviness of spirit. It was the heaviness that speaks of concern for oneself. I had wanted to drive them toward faith, but now I realized that I, too, was not acting out of love for others but was looking for power to convince them. So I sighed at the intricacy of the heart. And they sighed after me, as if we all knew how close we had come to truth yet also knew how far away we were.
On another day, not long after, I wanted to be close to Peter and to James and to John. Had I not begun my ministry with them? So I chose to lead them up into a high mountain, and we were there by ourselves. A cloud followed. And I knew that a cloud like this had been overhead in the hour when Moses raised his tabernacle on Mount Sinai, and the cloud had descended to cover the altar.
In that time, the children of Israel had been in the desert for forty years. At each place where the cloud came to rest, they had pitched their tents. And they only moved when a stirring of the cloud told them to take up their journey again.
Here were we, at rest beneath another cloud, and Peter said, "Master, let us make three tabernacles: for you, for Moses, and for Elijah."
Straightaway, he built them. The cloud above us did not move, and the sky was without sun. Yet my raiment was shining. It seemed to be as brilliant as the light that must surround the souls of the just. Then I saw Elijah. He was standing beside me. Next to him was Moses.
I said to my three apostles, "What do you see?"
Peter answered, "I see nothing; he who sees God will surely die."
At that moment a flame rose from the first tabernacle, and Peter said: "You are the Christ."
I shook my head. Even at this moment, I could not be certain. Once more I told Peter of my dream: I must go into Jerusalem, and there I would die. But how could death come to the Son of the Lord of Jerusalem?
Peter said: "Put it far from thee, Lord." He would not accept my dream. If Satan could disguise himself as an angel of light, why could he not also come before me as Peter? So I said to him, "Get thee behi
nd me, Satan."
Tears came to his eyes. I knew then that I still felt a great urge to come closer to these apostles. And of them all, Peter would be the first. I wanted Peter to know the beauty that was in his soul. As I thought this, the power of God rose in me and the terror of my dream was lessened.
Yet I could not keep the Lord's power for long. As we walked down the mountain, Peter and James and John fell into dispute on who would become the greatest among them. Perhaps they believed my dream after all and so were thinking of who could replace me. I was silent until we returned to Capernaum. Then I gathered my twelve and said: "If any of you is filled with the desire to be first, know that he shall be last."
At that moment, as if I had called for a fine example to show just such a difference, a young man came up to us and knelt before my feet and asked, "Good Master, what shall I do? How may I inherit eternal life? I have observed all the Commandments from my youth."
In his eyes I saw that he had a desire to please, and so I said (and this was also uttered for my apostles): "Sell what you have, and give to the poor. Then you will have treasure in heaven."
But the young man was not happy; he confessed that he had many possessions and was loath to lose them. I said: "Many sons and daughters of Abraham are living in filth and dying of hunger. Your house is full. How much goes to them?"
He went away.
I remarked to my disciples, "How hard it is for the rich to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!" But some of my people now murmured unhappily. I said: "Children, it is painful to trust in riches. You will learn that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven." They were astonished, saying among themselves, "Who, then, can be saved?" And one of them, whose face was hidden by the others, muttered, "God enriches those He trusts. Why else is there high regard for wealth?" Another said, "If not the rich, who can be saved?"
I said, "No man can be saved if he counts his money." At which point Peter would remind me: "We have left everyone to follow you."
Now I had to tell myself that my disciples were but men, and lived among small passions; they were no better, and no worse, than other men. All the same, this dispute among my apostles over who came first had left me rigid with wrath. I said to them: "Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." They did not hear the mockery in my voice.
No, they liked this saying. Had I discovered the largest passion among my men? To be forgiven their debts? It was clear that they would not be equally forgiving to the debts owed them.
I had been looking for an army of men whose souls were so pure that they would need no swords. Instead, I had gathered a few followers who argued among themselves over who would sit to the right of me and who would be first when I was gone. So many miracles, so little gain.
I could know each one of my disciples by looking into his eyes, but each had eyes that changed by the hour; discontent licked at the edge of their loyalty. Did the great wrath of my Father come from knowing that His chosen people might be more loyal to Satan than to Him?
In my dream on this night, I heard one angel say: "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. Whoever believes in Him shall have everlasting life. For God did not send His son to condemn the world but to save it."
How I hoped that the angel spoke truth! For then I would be like a light sent into the world. Yet men seemed to love darkness more than light. I awoke, then, in confusion. For I did not know whether I was here to save the world or to be condemned by the world. Each night I heard a command in my sleep, but the voice was my own; it was there to tell me that I must leave these lands where people waited to touch my garment and go instead among the proud of Jerusalem; I must enter the halls of the Great Temple, even if my days would then be numbered by the fingers of one hand.
I thought of how King Herod had wished to kill me. What a bloody creature was man. The wrath of my enemies was like the heat of hell-fire.
No matter how, I knew that I must lead my followers to the Great Temple, and suffer what would await me there. And I must do this soon, even if there was no time of year less auspicious. For Passover approached. Jews from all of Judea and Galilee would be coming to Jerusalem. In truth, no one of us Jews could forget that this feast was in memory of our flight from Egypt. To find a new land, we had wandered in the wilderness for forty years. Yet when we were there at last, we thrived. Later, through our sins, we lost it. Now Romans ruled over us. In many years, there had been riots of the Jews against the Romans at the time of Passover, large riots. No time could be more perilous for entering Jerusalem than now. The memory of the glory that had been lost was with all of us.
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I girded myself to start the trip, but was obliged to wait in Galilee. On no day were my twelve men able to agree on the hour of departure. Even on the morning we were finally about to leave, there was further distraction. Levi had disappeared. We knew that he was drinking wine in alleys with men and women who had not wished to join us. My other apostles were furious: "We remain eleven of twelve," they said. "Let us go."
I said: "If a man has a hundred sheep and one of them goes astray, will the man not go into the mountains to look for the lost one? If he brings back such a sheep, he can rejoice more than over the ninety and nine."
Peter said: "Lord, when I was a boy, I lived with my uncle, who was a shepherd. So was I also a shepherd. And it was not our practice to chase lost sheep. We worked to guard the good ones."
"No," I said. "The Son of Man has come to save what is lost." I heard God sigh. For a thousand years the children of Israel had been His. And in this time so many had been lost. I waited for Levi.
That evening on his return, Levi was distraught. A man who will drink through the day feels near to the anger of othersùit is why he drinks. That can be his shield. Was Levi keen to the wrath awaiting us in Jerusalem?
That night I preached for a long time, but it may have been to soothe my own unrest. In truth, I continued to speak even when I saw the light leave the eyes of my apostles. They had heard my words before. Still, there were new faces among us, and I chose to instruct by parable. I had come to learn that all of us, having been created by the Lord, possessed much of the Lord's pride. One learned best when free from the yoke of a preacher. It was better to feel full of His spirit by one's power to solve a riddle.
Therefore, I offered this parable: The Kingdom of Heaven, I told them, was like a man who planted good seed in his field; yet while he slept, his enemy came and sowed bad seed upon it, and these weeds appeared with the good wheat. One of my listeners spoke out: "Should the servants of the householder pull up such weeds?"
"No," I answered. "For you will uproot the wheat as well. Let weeds and good grain grow side by side until the harvest. Then, only then, should you bind the weeds and burn them. And bring the wheat into the house."
But I had another question for myself. How well could the Lord's angels separate good from evil? My journeys had shown me the cunning of men. And priests were more cunning still. What if there was a temple before the gate of heaven that was not unlike a customshouse? Through such gates could slip many an evil person.
Over and over, I had been learning that to my fellow men it mattered less whether they were tall or short, lean or wide, of noble features or ugly, even strong or weak. In one way all were the same: Greed was their guide.
So when Peter said to me, "We have forsaken all and followed you; what shall we have in return?" I replied with another parable, and it was for Peter.
A man hired his laborers for one denarius a day and sent them into his vineyard. As the hours passed, he hired more in the third hour and more again in the sixth and even in the ninth hour.
At the end of the day, he told his steward, "Call the laborers and pay them." Each man, whether from the first hour or the ninth, received one denarius. Since the first supposed that the last would receive less, they complained. But the householder told them, "Did you not agree to work for o
ne denarius? Take what is yours and go. I will give as much to the last man as to you. Let the last be first and the first last."
I was uplifted by the force of my voice and spoke with such strength that the Lord whispered: "Enough! In your speech is the seed of discontent. When you are without Me, the Devil is your companion." And I felt as if the Lord held a thorn to my brow; I no longer knew to whose voice I listened. And I understood that to be the Son of God was not equal to being a Prince of Heaven but instead was my apprenticeship in learning how to speak simply and with wisdom, rather than by bewildering others with the brilliance of one's words; it was to knowùmost difficult of allùwhen the Lord was speaking through me and when He was not.
While we waited and worked to keep our spirits together, I had my times of doubt. I had labored in so many ways to reach the hearts of my fellow Jews, good men, even pillars of the community, but so many had wanted nothing to do with me.
It was then I had the longest conversation I would know with Judas. For, in an hour of doubt, I asked him: "Why do they not join me? How can they not wish to enter the Kingdom of Heaven?"
He was ready to tell me. "It is," Judas said, "because you do not understand them. You speak of the end of this world and our entrance into another realm. But a moneylender or a merchant does not want this world to end. He is comfortable with his little triumphs, and he wishes to be able to brood on the losses of his day. So he is at home with everything that proves a little cleaner or a little filthier than it was supposed to be. He lives for the play of chance. That is why he is so pious when he does not play. He suspects that the Lord would never approve of chance, yet here is he, enjoying life to the degree that it is a game and not a serious matter. Except for money. Gold is the center of philosophy for such a person, and salvation is there to contemplate in one's thoughts, but not in one's actions. He could even live with what you say about salvation, except that you ask for too much. You tell him to give everything of himself to it. So you offend him profoundly. You want the world to end in order that glory can come for all of us. Your merchant knows better. A little of this, a little of that, and the Highest One to be reveredùat a great distance, of course."
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