Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Deborah and David sat together, with Simeon, Ephraim, and Rachel on either side of them. They had gotten there early enough to find a thick patch of grass and weeds, which gave them comfortable seating. They were facing uphill, though here near the top the ground was not very steep. From this height—probably two hundred feet above the level of the water—the entire length of the Sea of Kinnereth was visible. It stretched about twelve miles to the south and five to six miles from east to west. The air was hazy with the humidity, but one could still make out the shape of the shoreline. It was because it was shaped somewhat like a harp, a kinnor in Hebrew, that the lake was called Kinnereth.

  Deborah was quite amazed at how many people had come from Capernaum and the surrounding areas. The hillside was almost filled, three or four hundred in all, she guessed. They sat in a wide semicircle, all facing up the gentle slope and slightly to the west. About fifty paces or so below the crest of the hill, Jesus of Nazareth sat on a low mound on the hillside that served as his bench. Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John were all seated just in front of him. Each had his wife beside him. The place had been chosen well. The slight downhill slope and the westerly breeze worked together to make Jesus’ voice clearly distinguishable even to those farthest away from him.

  Deborah had decided before they left home that she would keep an open mind in this matter, in spite of her strong feelings. She owed that much to David. He had said little to her about Jesus since their return from Nazareth. That left her with a feeling of sorrow, for she knew that he conversed with Andrew and Simon Peter about Jesus often and had gone out to see him and listen to his teachings. She was determined that she would not let this come between them.

  As they came toward Tabgha to the place of the meeting, moving slowly in the throngs that filled the road, they had seen Anna and the wives of Andrew, James, and John up ahead of them. David nudged Deborah and pointed. There was Anna’s mother, walking beside her daughter, as healthy and normal as any of the other women. Deborah had again marveled. That was another reason she was determined to be open about this.

  Once the last of the stragglers was seated, Jesus began. He spoke loudly so as to be heard, but it was not what one would call an impassioned speech. His voice was calm, and it was more like he was reasoning with them than trying to convert them. He started mildly enough as the crowd quickly quieted, giving a series of brief statements that all began with the Aramaic ashar, which literally meant “to go straight forward,” but in common usage meant “to be blessed, to be fortunate, or to be happy.” “Blessed are the meek. Blessed are those who are poor in pride and humble in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” At first some of his statements seemed a little odd—such as “blessed are those who mourn”—but as he went on, the several blessings taken as a whole made a nice summary of the happiness that came to those who chose a spiritual life.

  He next talked about being a good example, using an analogy of putting a candle on a candlestick instead of hiding it under a bushel or being like a city set on a hill that everyone sees. Deborah thought that was a nice way to remind his listeners that as children of Israel they should be better than the world. At that point she reached out and took David’s hand, which won her a warm smile from him. She could also tell that Ephraim and Rachel seemed impressed as well. Simeon, however, sat on the far side of them, and she couldn’t see his face to tell how he was taking all of this in.

  On impulse, Deborah had asked David not to tell Simeon about Peter’s mother-in-law or about the blind men. Like his mother, Simeon was not very open to the idea that Jesus might be the Messiah. He too had almost refused to come to hear him teach—until David had told him it was his mother’s suggestion. He was here, but his heart was not. She hadn’t wanted him to come because of the sensational stories. She wanted him to hear Jesus for himself, so they could talk about it as a family later that night.

  Jesus paused now, as though he had finished one thought and was deciding what to say next. He leaned forward, speaking in great earnest. “Think not that I am come to destroy the Law, or the prophets.”

  That brought Deborah’s head up. That was exactly what the scribes and Pharisees were saying about him, that his claims and his teachings were contrary to the Law of Moses. “He has no formal learning,” Aaron had thundered after the Nazareth experience, “and yet he seeks to overthrow all that Moses said.”

  “Truly I say unto you, until heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the Law, till all be fulfilled.”

  Deborah looked at David with wide eyes. That was an affirmation of unmistakable clarity and was startling, to say the least. The jot, or yod, was the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet, barely a scratch compared to the other letters. The seraphs, or tittles, were no more than tiny marks that helped the reader distinguish between letters. It was a common saying among the scribes that it would be better that heaven and earth pass away rather than to have the smallest letter or even one dot in the Law changed. Now Jesus had turned that saying against them. He was not calling for an abandonment of the Law. He was telling the people, if she had heard him right, that they were expected to fulfill the Law to the fullest. Wait until she told Aaron that!

  Because she was thinking about Aaron at that moment, what followed next hit with even greater impact. “For I say unto you, except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

  He stopped as a stir rippled across the assembled multitude like the wind stirring the leaves of a vineyard. People turned to each other in surprise. More righteous than the Pharisees? Had they heard that right?

  Rachel, who sat beside her mother-in-law, was staring at Deborah. “How could anyone possibly be more righteous than Uncle Aaron?” she whispered.

  David was shaking his head. “He didn’t say that our adherence to the Law should be greater than theirs,” he explained. “He said our righteousness should exceed theirs. I think he’s talking about what we are inwardly, not what we do outwardly.”

  Rachel’s mouth opened in a large O, and Ephraim, her husband, began to nod slowly. So did Deborah. Now that made more sense. And then Deborah decided maybe she wouldn’t mention any of this to Aaron after all.

  Simeon was leaning forward too, but he had focused on something else. “Did you hear that, Mother? He spoke of the kingdom.”

  That was right, she thought. He had mentioned the kingdom. If there was one thing everyone seemed to agree on when they talked about the Messiah, it was that he would be a king, that he would bring forth the kingdom of God. Before she could answer, however, Jesus, who had seemed content to let the reaction to his words go for a few moments, began to speak again.

  “You have heard that it was said by them of old time, ‘Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment.’ But I say unto you, that whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.

  “Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ But I say unto you, that whosoever looks on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”

  “See,” David whispered triumphantly. “He’s saying that it’s not enough to look at the outward commandments; it is what is in our hearts that matters. Anger leads to murder. Lust leads to adultery. That’s where he wants us to focus.”

  Deborah watched her husband with some amazement. That was exactly what Jesus was saying, but none of them had seen it. Had he heard some of this before from Peter and Andrew?

  Jesus went right on with his comparisons between the old and the new. “It has been said, ‘Whosoever shall put away his wife, let him give her a writing of divorcement.’”

  Deborah’s head jerked up. Now there was something that had long been a source of great anger to her and one of the few things over which she bitterly argued with Aaron. In the Law of Moses it said that a ma
n could give his wife a bill of divorcement “if she found no favor in his eyes.” It also added, “because he hath found some uncleanness in her.” Shammai, the great doctor of the Law, had interpreted that last comment to mean that she had been unfaithful to her husband. That Deborah could understand. But Hillel, the other leading sage of their time and the one Aaron honored and accepted, interpreted the first part of the scripture much more liberally. He said that a man had the right to divorce his wife if she displeased him in any way—if he no longer loved her, if she cooked a meal badly, or if he saw another woman who was more beautiful than his wife.

  That infuriated Deborah. More than one woman she knew had been divorced—literally tossed out by her husband—and left to fend on her own. Some had even been forced into a life of harlotry in order to support herself and her children. It was a great evil in Deborah’s eyes, and she leaned forward with intense interest now, daring Jesus to support such an insane interpretation.

  “But I say unto you,” he went on, “that whosoever shall put away his wife, saving for the cause of fornication, causes her to commit adultery.”

  Yes! She felt a burst of exultation. He was not going to stand with Hillel. Good thing. If he had she would have stood and walked away, no matter what David thought.

  “Moses suffered you to write a bill of divorcement to put a wife away”—he paused, and Deborah saw his jaw tighten, and there was indignation in his eyes—“but this Moses did because of the hardness of your hearts. From the beginning of creation, God made male and female, and he told them that for this cause should a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife and that the two of them should be one flesh. If they are one flesh, then they are no longer two. Therefore, what God has joined together, let not man put asunder.”

  Deborah wanted to shout aloud. Yes! Yes!

  She realized that David was watching her, his eyes filled with joy as he saw her reaction. She still held his hand, so she squeezed it happily. Whether this man was the Messiah, she wouldn’t say. But her initial reluctance to listen to him had evaporated. Here were teachings that resonated within her. This was a teacher she could follow.

  She was so surprised by it all that she listened with even greater attention as he continued with this pattern of comparing the Law of Moses to a new and higher law. He was talking about swearing oaths and how foolish it was to swear by Jerusalem or by the hair of your head, as if invoking those things made one whit of difference.

  “Let your communications be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.”

  Again there was a burst of warmth. That was the perfect description of the man she had come to love so deeply. There were no empty promises, no solemn vows with David. If he said he would do something, it was as good as a written bill of agreement.

  Again Jesus paused for a moment or two to let his words sink in and to let his listeners respond with each other. He shifted his weight on the small mound, leaning forward now as he spoke earnestly.

  “Judge not, that ye be not judged,” he went on, “for with what judgment you judge someone, you shall be judged by that same judgment. And with whatever measure you measure things out to others, so shall it be measured unto you. And why do you behold the mote that is in your brother’s eye but cannot see the beam that is in your own?”

  Deborah smiled and saw that her children were smiling too. There was a metaphor from the mind of a carpenter, she thought. A mote was a speck of sawdust, a common annoyance when something was being sawn. It was so tiny as to be almost invisible and yet could be a great irritant. But the word he had used for beam was a carpenter’s term. A beam was one of the large boards used in constructing the framework for a house or the support for the roof.

  “Will you say to your brother, ‘Hold while I get the mote out of your eye’ when there is a beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! First cast out the beam from your own eye. Then you shall see more clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

  Simeon leaned forward and looked at his mother. “Now there is some practical religion for you,” he called softly. “I think I’ll share that one with Uncle Aaron.”

  She laughed. It was interesting how many of them were thinking about Aaron and the teachings of the Pharisees as Jesus spoke.

  “You have heard that it hath been said, ‘An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.’”

  Good, Deborah thought. Here comes another comparison between the old law and how we should really live it. The statement about an eye for an eye was one of the most famous in all the Law of Moses. Some would even say it captured the entire essence of the Law.

  “But I say unto you,” Jesus went on, “that you resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite you on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

  Suddenly it was as if a chill wind had sprung up and blown across the assembly. There were soft gasps and low cries of astonishment. What was this? Turn the other cheek if you were struck?

  “And if any man will sue you at the Law and take away your coat, let him have your cloak also.”

  Once again Simeon leaned forward so he could see his mother, but now she could see the shock in his eyes as well. But if they had been surprised at what Jesus had said thus far, what came next turned Deborah to stone.

  “And whosoever shall compel you to go a mile, go with him twain.”

  Her hand shot to her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a rapid movement and jerked in time to see Simeon go up to his knees, his fists clenched, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on the face of Jesus. Deborah was suddenly sick. There was only one person who could compel another to go with him for a mile. A Roman! By law a Roman soldier could stop any person—old, young, healthy, infirm—and force him or her to carry his pack for one Roman mile. The legionnaires reveled in that right and used it mercilessly as a way of proving their complete superiority over their subjects. It was insulting. It was humiliating. It was hated by every Jew who chose to call himself a Jew.

  “Give to him that asks of you, and from him that would borrow something of you, turn him not away.” If Jesus was aware that his words were being hurled out into the crowd like great rocks from a catapult, he gave no sign. He spoke calmly and slowly enough to let each concept sink into their minds.

  Deborah pulled her hand away from David’s, recoiling from the words that poured down upon them. Simeon turned, staring at her in total disbelief. She dropped her head, staring at her hands, which were now clasped together in fierce desperation, barely aware that they belonged to her. A low, angry undercurrent of sound rippled across the hillside as people turned to each other in astonishment. This was the Galilee, and he dared to preach of appeasement and surrender here?

  Jesus went on. “You have heard that it hath been said, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy.’ But I say unto you, Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you, and do good to them that hate you.”

  Deborah heard a sharp gasp, and only after a moment did she realize it had come from her son. Simeon was on his feet, his body as stiff as a rod, his fists balled so tightly that his knuckles showed white. Ironically, his tunic had fallen open to reveal the angry scar that ran across his chest, as if to shout to the world, “They gave me this, and you ask me to forgive them?”

  “Simeon!” It was David. His eyes were wide and stricken. He was motioning to his son to come over and sit down beside him. Simeon glanced at him once, and Deborah saw that his eyes were like the ice brought down from Mount Hermon. Then, as others stared at him, Simeon spun around and started away, walking swiftly in and out among the people. As he went, first one and then another arose and followed after him. Seven or eight in all walked down the hill and out of earshot of the man who sat on the mound of dirt and taught the people.

  Deborah could feel her husband’s eyes upon her, but she didn’t look up. It was all she could do to stay where she was. If it wouldn’t have shamed David even more than Simeon had shamed him, she too would h
ave plunged away. For now there was a horrible image before her eyes. It was not of that day in the courtyard when Simeon lay in a pool of his own blood and she and Leah were dragged away in bonds. It was of a day many years before that. She was fifteen years old. She could still feel the prick of the spear at her back, making her lift her head to watch as they drove the nails into the hands and feet of her father, then dragged him upwards and hung him on the cross, where it would take him another three days to die. This was the lesson Rome would teach the families of the Zealot rebels. And this was the enemy Jesus wanted her to love. These were the ones who cursed her and her mother and every other rebel Jew in the hated province of Judea. And she was supposed to pray for them?

  She closed her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze out the image that filled her mind and the words that were hammering at her ears here on this hillside above the beautiful sea that lay behind them.

  III

  They ate in silence except to ask for food. Leah and Joseph watched the three of them, wanting badly to ask what was wrong but not daring to.

  After supper was over, they left the dishes for the servants to clear and went up on the roof to visit in the cool of the evening. Simeon and Leah were the last to climb the stairs and were behind the rest of the family. Leah leaned close to her brother. “Simeon, tell me what happened. Why are you and Mother so upset?”

  He stopped, putting a finger to his lips.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m fifteen, Simeon. I’m not a child anymore, even though everyone seems to treat me like I am. Tell me what happened.”

  He looked at her, realizing that she was right. She was not a child any more than Shana was a child. But he still did not want to talk about it. “Leah, I—”

  “Simeon? Leah?” Their mother’s voice came to them clearly from above.

  Simeon pulled a face. “Yes, Mother?”

  “If we are going to talk about it, we’ll all talk about it together.”