Michael never lost eye contact with Jesus. When his view was blocked, he stood. Yochanan mirrored his every move.
Jesus stared at Michael, taking a few steps forward, His head now above a small group of women huddled near a small tree. “My friends,” Jesus said. Then He paused. “Some of you have traveled many steps to join me on our path to salvation.”
The crowd stilled. “Many of you are taking your travel slowly as your once strong legs have become weakened from age or sickness. There are those who are without food some days or are without treasures. And there are some here who are children, innocent yet burdened with your plight.”
He smiled. “It does not matter. We are here today as one. We are here to join my Father in his Kingdom.”
The quiet of the crowd was numbing, more peaceful than Michael ever experienced. Yochanan kept still, eyes closed, whispering soft prayers.
Jesus moved from east to west as hordes of people encircled Him, hoping to touch His hands or robe while the apostles cleared a trail. He stopped in front of two men.
“Why should we follow a man who tells us even the poor and the thieves deserve God’s love?” asked one man, his arms folded in defiance.
“My father’s Kingdom awaits everyone. Those who have sinned often, those who do not. Ask my Father for forgiveness with your heart.”
His feet anchored in the fertile ground, Jesus fixed His gaze on the men. One carried a long, narrow spear. When the man tightened the grip on the weapon, Jesus grasped his arm. Several apostles raced to His aid but Jesus stopped their advance with a wave of His hand. “When the world strikes you with force, seek those who wish to join you in peace. Beware of those who say they believe in my Father’s Kingdom but do nothing to find men of peace. Let the swords of hate whither in eternal death as the doves of peace are given a place in my Father’s Kingdom.”
Jesus released His grip on the man’s arm. A dove rose from the spear and floated to the sky. The crowd murmured and rose. Michael’s eyes widened as he watched the dove ascend to the heavens.
Jesus strolled several feet higher on the hill. “My children,” He said. “Those who believe victory can be won by swords will not find a place by my Father’s side.” He walked toward Michael and Yochanan. “Seek out those who comfort, those who love, those who provide shelter, those who feed the hungry, and those who clothe the naked.”
A man with a scarred face and a mangled leg leaned on his cane and shouted, “You tell me not to use my sword. Look at what the Romans did to me!” His voice shook with anger as his hand fiercely clenched the wooden stick. He tried to limp toward Jesus. “You better tell your Father they should burn in hell for what they did.”
Jesus held an intent and sympathetic stare on the man.
“Will I be in heaven for what they did to me?” the angry man continued, ranting. “Will they burn in hell?”
Jesus faced the anguished man and steadied his hand. “My friend,” He said, softly. “It is not for us to judge another man’s words or actions. When my Father asks us to come before Him, it will be He who makes the final judgment.”
The man steadied himself on his cane, his face full of sorrow. He lowered his head and remained quiet.
Jesus flashed a comforting smile and turned away, walking back up the hill. “There is no answer for those who have hurt us,” He told the crowd. “The only answer we need is when my Father calls us to his Kingdom. Only He will have the final answer.”
His voice became more firm, almost amplified. “Beware of those who judge the weak, the sick, the poor, and the sinners. Beware of those who deceive with false promises in exchange for your treasures.” His voice trailed off as He comforted a woman holding a sick little girl. He held the mother’s hand, His presence mending the distraught woman’s grief. Jesus touched the child’s hand for a moment, His face full of empathy. “Woman, do not cry,” He said, wiping away the tears under her eyes. “Be strong.”
“How can we speak to our Father?” a woman cried out, running a few steps behind Him and kneeling in reverence.
Jesus responded, never losing contact with the mother’s hand. “There are many ways,” He said. “Comfort your neighbor when she is ill. Feed your brother when he can not work. Clothe your sister when she is cold. Shelter your friends when they have nowhere to go. Love your enemy when he is wounded.”
He released His hold on the woman as she screamed in joy. The little girl struggled from her mother’s grasp and stood.
Michael’s heart raced. “My Lord,” he whispered. “My Lord.”
“Seek out my Father through prayer,” Jesus cried out.
“How?” shouted a man from an area higher up on the hill.
Jesus walked slowly in the direction of Michael and Yochanan.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,” His voice boomed. “Thy Kingdom come…”
Michael got to his feet and lowered his head as Jesus stood in front of him.
Yochanan stood too. “I am not sure what to do,” he whispered.
“Thy will be done,” Michael joined in. “On earth as it is in heaven.”
Yochanan’s eyes widened. Michael’s voice trembled as he said the words along with Jesus. They were the only two speaking. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation.”
Michael dropped to his knees as Jesus held onto his arm. “But deliver us from evil.”
Jesus paused and signaled the crowd He was done.
“Amen,” the crowd yelled in worship.
A woman knelt before Jesus.
Jesus lifted her up with His right hand. “Woman, I see you are troubled today.”
“I am, Rabbi.”
“Do not be troubled. Pray to my Father, let your heart beat openly for His help, be strong with your faith, disregard the temptations of this world. Go home to your families, cherish these words. Live these words. Beware of the many who speak my words with beauty yet do not live them. Beware of those who attract the masses and ask you for your treasures. Be humble in the face of glory.”
Jesus disappeared among the apostles as the crowd began to disperse.
Michael looked at his friend. “Incredible, isn’t it?”
“I need to talk to Him, Michael.” Yochanan was met by four apostles and a woman with long, brown hair.
“What do you need with the Rabbi?” asked the biggest man.
“He’s a follower, Peter,” interjected the woman. “Do you want to speak to Him?”
Peter frowned.
“My friend would like to express some thoughts with the Rabbi,” said Michael. “He means no harm.”
“When the Rabbi is ready, I will ask Him.”
Yochanan nodded.
The crowd milled around Him. They could see an old woman with a wooden stick talking to Him while several apostles kept guard like the secret service protecting the President of the United States.
I wonder which one is Thomas? Is that John? He looks the youngest. I know Peter. Where is Judas? I don’t see him. I wonder where he is.
Yochanan interrupted Michael’s mental guess-the-apostle-game. “My friend, how is it you know what the Rabbi says as He says it?”
Michael hesitated. He looked over at Jesus and shrugged. “I don’t. It seemed familiar to me.” Yochanan eyed him and Michael admitted, “It was the first time I said it with any feeling in many years.”
“Many years?”
“Many sunsets ago.”
“So this is a prayer you have heard many sunsets ago?”
“How can I explain? It’s something I’ve heard before but never felt compelled to say from my heart. Until today.”
Yochanan gave a confused look. “My friend, each moment the sun moves up or down, as I get to know you, I know less of you.”
Michael smiled. “I can see why you say that.”
There were only a few more people left chatting with Jesus. “Have you ever
spoken to Him?” Michael asked.
Yochanan shook his head.
A few minutes later Peter came over. “My brother, come with me.”
“May I come too?” Michael asked.
“The Rabbi requests only this brother.”
A hand on Michael’s back startled him. “The Rabbi will speak to you as well.”
The woman smiled, her long hair falling halfway down her back. Her light blue eyes distinguished her from other women in this time. She spoke with confidence, her body language assertive, unlike the average female in Jerusalem. “What is your name, brother?”
“Michael.”
“I am Mary. Some call me Magdalene.”
Michael stared at her.
She smiled. “How long have you been following the Rabbi?”
“A long time.”
“How did you hear about Him?”
Michael studied her narrow face with its high cheekbones. The wind rustled the bangs over her eyes, and he noticed her lips were small and thin. “My friend told me about the Rabbi teaching in the hills. I wanted to hear Him speak.”
She waved her hand around at the crowd. “It was wonderful to see the many children here, listening. He was very pleased today.”
“Can you tell me more about Jesus?”
She looked at him with a curious expression. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything, everything. What is it like to watch Him, to listen to His words, see Him among the people?”
“You listened to Him today. He is drawn to the weak, the sick, the oppressed. His message is simple and clear, easy to understand. Love each other, respect each other, help one another. He always warns of those who say they believe but cloud His message with their own desires for power and gold.”
“Do you think the Rabbi will let me speak to Him?”
“Michael, you can speak to Him whether you stand with me on this hill or with your family in a far away town. I will see if He is finished talking to your friend.”
She walked up the steep incline and disappeared behind a tree. Michael sat beside a rock, the same one used by Jesus as a podium only an hour ago. He leaned against it for support. He pondered Mary’s words.
A hand reached down and hoisted him up. Jesus handed Michael a cloth. There were faded spots of red all over it. Michael examined and touched it. It felt soft yet worn as he put it close to his face to breathe in its scent. The feel and smell gave him a warm, sanitizing sense of peace.
“Let this cloth cleanse your soul from the troubles of the past and invigorate your heart,” Jesus said. “Why do you burden yourself with so much that you cannot change?”
Michael felt the strength in Jesus’ tone. “I don’t know.”
“I will talk to you the way you can understand. My Father understands our failures. Pray to Him. Be aware of those who stand before you in beautiful and big places and repeat my words with their hands out for gold and silver. They do not represent me. It is not important where you pray to my Father. These are the most important ways you can be with my Father.”
Jesus’ expression was stern, yet filled with sympathy. “Walk with me, Michael. There is much good happening in this world, even from those who hurt you. You need to open up your heart and find the good around you.”
Together they walked side by side up the hill. Jesus led him behind a tree and into a deep cave. Despite being several yards inside the mountain, a light illuminated the massive area.
Michael passed a man who sat on the ground, talking to a few apostles. “I loved picking her up,” he said to them. “She had the most wonderful smile. We would take trips to the river. She was a gift…”
His voice faded but Michael recognized it was Yochanan’s, his face glowing as he told his story. Jesus led Michael deeper into the cave, passing images of men and women, children chatting and playing. Many lives were being played out before him.
“Michael, let me talk to you man to man. You have spent a good part of your life in worry, fragile from what you believe will happen in the future. You seem to want to live in the days that have passed instead of the one you have now.”
Jesus led him into a structure familiar to Michael, one he recalled during his days as a young man in Richmond Hill. Michael leaned against the wall. There in front of him was a scene he had played over in his mind so many times before.
He was mesmerized and stared as he was taken back to his bedroom on the third floor of the house he was raised in. It was there he sought refuge from his father’s wrath so many times.
The crammed room was the same as he remembered. A single bed pushed against the wall, a dresser, a record player, one small window, and a tiny black-and-white TV resting on a metal chair, its rabbit ears drooping to the floor.
He was twenty-two and scared, racing up to his room in fear. He slammed his bedroom door shut, preparing for another verbal battering. He spun his favorite record, yet not even the strains of Bruce Springsteen’s powerful voice and resounding lyrics from the song Badlands could build a wall around him from the mental mauling on this day.
The muffled conversation downstairs between his family and relatives added to his anxiety as the sound of Jim’s footsteps stomping up the stairs made his heart palpitate painfully.
Michael lay on his bed motionless – much like his mother had the last two weeks before she wilted away from breast cancer. Unlike his mom, he was able to see and move his arms and legs.
The closer the sound of Jim’s thumping footsteps became, the tighter his hands clenched the top of the wooden bed frame, as if he were clinging onto a raft in an ocean storm. Despite the lack of air conditioning and ninety degree heat, he closed the only window in the room and covered himself with three blankets.
Maybe he won’t see me. Maybe he’ll leave me alone. I hope Aunt Ginny calls him back.
Michael loved his mom’s sister, Ginny. She understood him, loved him, and listened to him without judgment. Aunt Ginny gave him his first memorable toy, a Casper the Friendly Ghost doll that talked. It still lay underneath his bed. He reached desperately to touch it. Yes, Aunt Ginny will talk to him. She’ll stop him from coming up the stairs. Yet the creaks grew louder, tingling his spinal cord and back of his neck.
Slam.
Jim pushed the door open so hard it ricocheted off the wall and back against his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Michael closed his eyes and held his breath, still clinging to the hope that Jim would leave the room.
Jim grabbed the back of his neck, pulling off the blankets in one motion. “Get up. How dare you come up here and listen to that music. Your mother is dead. Is this how you show your grief?”
“No.” Michael trembled, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”
Jim stomped over to the record player and turned the music off. “You don’t care.”
Michael swallowed hard.
Jim yanked on his arm, forcing him to sit up. “How could you relax at a time like this?” He shoved him so hard that Michael fell back on to the bed. “I said get up,” he shouted, his face contorted in anger.
“Okay, okay. I’ll…come down. I just need a few minutes alone –”
“What is wrong with you? You act like this is just another day. How could you not even be upset over this?” Jim’s neck and face turned a deep red. “How? Answer me.”
Are you kidding me? How could you even say such a thing? Of course I’m upset. I loved her too. I’m not going to break down in front of you or anybody else in this family just to prove my love for my mother. Michael wanted to say all that out loud but he restrained himself.
Jim let out a furious growl and hovered over him, arms folded, lips stitched together in rage. “You don’t want to be part of this family, do you?”
Michael kept staring at the ceiling, mentally willing his father to leave. He knew that it didn’t matter what he said. The old man would disagree or ridicule him. Again, he remained quiet.
“I’m not going
to waste any more time talking to you,” Jim yelled. He stormed out of his room, whacking the door a couple of times with his fists. “He doesn’t care or have any respect for what his mother went through, Ginny.” The cruelty in Jim’s tone slammed into Michael’s soul, shattering his spirit. “He doesn’t care about anybody but himself.”
“Kick him out, Dad,” Connie said, walking up the stairs. “He has no heart. He didn’t even cry when Mom died.”
“He’s so cold,” Jim said. “He’s thoughtless and selfish.”
As he’d done many times in the past, Michael put his emotions in lockdown mode, working hard to block out Jim and Connie’s continuing conversation. “Kick him to the curb, Dad,” she said. “Teach him a lesson.”
This time Michael surrendered. I don’t want to live anymore.
He waited until everyone in the house left. He stood up and made his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen before heading outside. This was going to be the day.
He headed directly to Forest Park, a nice wooded area filled with brush – a perfect place to die alone.
The sun’s rays cast its light onto the quiet of the green grass near a tall oak tree – his final resting place. He pulled out his suicide weapon from his pocket – a knife – the same knife he’d used many times over the years to enjoy grilled steak. It would now be his swan sword.
Two men jogged up the hill and briefly interrupted Michael’s plan with their loud chatter. He waited for them to be out of sight, holding his breath in anticipation. He held the knife a few inches away from his heart. “Dear God, please forgive me.”
A man on a bike rolled by, startling him again, his boom box blaring the song Badlands. Its final verse, a rallying cry to confront the challenges of life, shouted with vigor.
Michael listened to the words and repeated them several times in his head. For the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside, that it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive…
He looked at the steak knife in disgust and threw it to the ground. “No.”
I won’t let them beat me. Never. I’m not leaving until God tells me it’s time to go. And only then will I say goodbye.
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