Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  Ephraim looked around at the milling crowd. The streets were full, but everyone seemed to be standing around waiting. “So where is Jesus?” he asked his father.

  David pointed. Across the street from where they stood was a large stone house with a courtyard behind a stone wall. “He’s in there.”

  Ephraim’s mouth dropped. “In the customshouse?”

  David nodded.

  “Surely he is not paying tribute. What taxes would he owe?”

  David smiled quietly. “I don’t think he’s paying taxes or customs.”

  Now Rachel moved up to stand beside her husband. “Isn’t this the house of Matthew Levi the publican?”

  “It is,” David said, suspecting what was coming next.

  That even took Leah aback. “He’s with a publican?”

  “Yes.” David smiled briefly. “Ironic, isn’t it. First he forgives a man of his sins. Now he has gone into the home of what most people consider to be one of the vilest of sinners.”

  “Not just a sinner,” Ephraim said darkly, “but a traitor as well.”

  The acrimony in his son’s voice neither surprised nor disturbed David. It was a feeling widely held among their people. In the Roman system, publicani, or publicans, usually Romans of wealth and power, bid for the right to collect taxes in the various provinces. To be a publicani was a highly lucrative position, because whatever a person could raise above the flat assessment levied by the emperor was his to keep. Vast fortunes had been made through this system, and Rome encouraged it because it brought in the state’s revenues with a minimum of effort. The fact that the system encouraged graft, extortion, and corruption made little difference to them.

  Within the provinces the publicani would contract with local tax collectors, also called publicans, who would see to it that the taxes in each area were collected and sent on up the line. These local publicans were paid on the same basis—a flat-fee assessment—and as with their masters, they too often extorted the people for as much as they could. Hatred for the publicans was common throughout the empire, but in the province of Judea bitterness ran especially deep because not only did they rob the people, but they were seen as directly aiding in the support of a pagan regime. The depths of those feelings were best illustrated by the fact that the scribes had legally classed the publicans with harlots, heathens, and highwaymen. Their testimony was not acceptable in the courts, and their contributions to the temple or the synagogue could be refused, though often they were not. The scribes even went so far as to declare it lawful to falsify statements of assets, swear falsely, or use almost any other means to avoid paying taxes.

  “Matthew is not like some publicans,” David said to Ephraim. “You know that. He’s always been fair with us.” He frowned. “If it had been Matthew making that assessment last fall instead of Absalom, that whole thing with the Romans would never have happened.”

  “That may be true,” Ephraim said, “but still, Father, surely Jesus knows better than to consort with a publican.”

  Leah said nothing but watched this exchange closely. She, too, had been shaken to learn that Jesus was in the house of one of the publicans. Then a strange thought came into her mind. How was it that her father seemed to know these various outcasts? He was friends with a Roman centurion. He defended a publican. What else was there she didn’t know about him?

  “Be careful, Ephraim,” her father was saying. “Remember the lesson that the prophet Samuel was taught when he was sent to the house of Jesse to choose a successor to King Saul.”

  Ephraim was still staring at the house across the street, but Rachel had snapped around at that. When Ephraim didn’t respond, she gently nudged him.

  He turned. “What lesson?” he asked, his mind only half focusing on his father.

  David had seen the look on his daughter-in-law’s face and saw that she understood. “You tell him, Rachel.”

  She began to quote softly to her husband. “‘And the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him; for the Lord seeth not as man seeth. For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’”

  Now Ephraim was listening, and Rachel saw the impact of the words on him. “That is one of my favorite scriptures,” she said.

  David spoke slowly now. “The world would define what a man or woman is by what they do, what they wear, where they live, how they make a living. God, on the other hand, says that it is what is in the heart that determines what we really are. And I can tell you this: Matthew Levi—publican or not—has a good heart, and blessed be God for that. We desperately need some tax collectors who have some integrity.”

  Leah’s eyes were shining suddenly, and when she went to speak, her voice caught. She swallowed quickly, then took a breath. On impulse, she went up on her toes and kissed her father on the cheek.

  His eyebrows shot up. “What was that for?”

  “Because I like your heart too, Papa.”

  They said nothing more. Ephraim and Rachel talked quietly off to one side, and while she couldn’t hear what they were saying, Leah was pleased to see that, unlike Simeon, her oldest brother was still open to considering the words of their father.

  That was tested further, however, when ten minutes later Jesus finally reappeared. As Jesus came out of the house, Matthew was part of the circle of disciples who followed immediately after him. That sent a murmur of disapproval through the assembled crowd. At the first opportunity, David left his family and moved up beside John. They whispered together for a minute; then David fell back again.

  “What?” Ephraim asked as soon as he had rejoined them. “What were you asking?”

  David paused for only a moment, then spoke firmly. “Jesus has called Matthew to be one of his disciples.”

  “Just like that?” Ephraim said, clearly disappointed.

  David nodded, looking suddenly a little depressed.

  “What, Papa?” Leah asked. “I thought you were just telling us not to judge others on outward things.”

  He looked surprised. “That’s not what is bothering me. I think it’s wonderful that Matthew has been called.”

  “Then what?” Rachel asked.

  “It’s just interesting who he has called to follow after him. Andrew and Peter. James and John. Philip. Nathanael. Bartholomew. James the son of Alphaeus. Every one different from the other. He’s called fishermen. He’s called a Zealot. Now he’s called a publican.”

  “A Zealot?” Ephraim exclaimed.

  “Yes. He called a man named Simon a few days ago. He’s not from Capernaum, so you probably don’t know him. But he is a follower of the Zealot way.”

  “Does Simeon know that?” Leah asked.

  “No.” David sighed. “Whatever it is they were doing before, each of these men has now been called to follow Jesus and become fishers of men.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?” Rachel asked, still sensing that something was bothering her father-in-law but not sure what.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  But Leah now understood. Maybe he’ll call a merchant next, Papa. She almost said it aloud, then decided it would only embarrass him. She slipped an arm through his and pressed against his shoulder, loving him more at that moment than she had in her entire lifetime.

  III

  Simeon saw the crowd while he was still a full block away. He slowed his step, picturing Leah’s reaction when she saw him. It wasn’t something he relished, particularly if there were others nearby. Deciding he would stay on the periphery of the crowd, then tell his family later that he had come, he slowed his step and moved closer to the buildings. He was not trying to hide, just be as unobtrusive as possible.

  As he joined the crowd, he quickly realized that there was no way he was going to get close enough to Jesus to hear them. Fine. At least he had tried.

  He fell in behind a group of rabbinical students from the yeshiva that was held in the main synagogue. They
were in a state of high agitation, talking about forgiveness of sins and consorting with publicans. Simeon tried to make sense of it, but he caught only snatches of their conversation and quickly moved off. These young men reminded him too much of his Uncle Aaron when he was younger.

  “Let me through. I need to get through.”

  Simeon turned. Without meaning to, he had worked his way about four or five deep into the throng now. Behind him, just coming up on the crowd, a man was calling out and trying to push his way into the crowd.

  Simeon started to look away, then went cold. Like himself, the man was clean-shaven and wore his hair, which was peppered with gray, cropped close to his head. At first Simeon saw only the man’s face in profile, but then he turned, calling out to the crowd again. It was as if someone had shoved a fiery javelin between Simeon’s ribs. He gasped, his eyes gaping at the man before him. It was Sextus Rubrius, the Roman centurion.

  The people surged in around the man, and Simeon lost sight of him. He shook his head, dazed. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Surely a Roman soldier would not venture alone into a crowd of Jews, especially here in the Galilee. Without conscious thought, Simeon pushed forward, shoving people aside, straining to see the man again.

  And then Simeon was just a few feet behind the man. He was still shouting, his voice rough and commanding, and people were making way for him. Now Simeon had a clear view of his back. There was no question. This was the Roman. He was not in his uniform or armor, but neither had he tried to disguise himself as a Jew. He wore the short skirt favored by the Roman working class and a leather vest fastened with metal hooks around a cotton tunic. He wore a belt but no scabbard, either for dagger or sword.

  Simeon’s stomach twisted sharply. So it was true. His attacker was back in Capernaum. People cried out or muttered angrily at Simeon as he pushed hard to keep up with the man. His fists were clenching and unclenching spasmodically, and there was a sudden bead of perspiration on his upper lip. With a start he realized that he too was unarmed. That brought him back to rationality. His statement to his parents that he no longer cared about the centurion, only the Roman tribune, was now completely forgotten. The desire for revenge was like a roaring furnace.

  Then rationality partially returned. What was he going to do if he caught up with him? Still breathing hard, Simeon slowed his step, falling back a little to give himself some time to think.

  Others around them now realized who was calling out for them to move aside. “He’s a Roman!” someone cried. “It’s a soldier. Watch out.” A woman turned and saw him and grabbed her child, a look of horror on her face. Rubrius paid them no mind. He clearly had an objective, and nothing was going to deflect him.

  They rounded a corner and entered a wide plaza near the main well of Capernaum. The crowd spread out as they poured into the open space. Simeon pulled up short when he saw the centurion stop. He seemed hesitant all of a sudden and looked around, his head sweeping back and forth as he searched the crowd. Cautious now, Simeon moved in until he was no more than two or three feet off to one side and behind him.

  Simeon tensed. The centurion had seen something. He went up on the balls of his feet, waving an arm back and forth. “David!” he called. “David ben Joseph.”

  Rocking back, his jaw going slack, Simeon now saw the man to whom the soldier was waving.

  IV

  David ben Joseph drew in his breath quickly when he saw who was shouting and waving at him.

  “Who is it, Papa?” Leah asked.

  Everyone around them was turning. Just ahead of them, Jesus and the disciples had also stopped and were turning around.

  “Excuse me,” David said, grim-faced. He started away, moving toward the shouting man.

  And then Leah went rigid. The crowd was moving back, making a path for the two men, and she had a clear view of the older man, who was coming toward her father. She had last seen that face some six months before in the courtyard of their home.

  Her hand shot out, and she clutched at Ephraim’s arm. “It’s the centurion,” she whispered.

  “The centurion?” he said dumbly, not comprehending.

  “Yes! The one who attacked Simeon.”

  One hand flew up to Rachel’s mouth. “No!” she said.

  “We’ve got to stop him,” Ephraim cried, lunging forward.

  Leah wasn’t sure if by “him” he meant their father or the centurion, but she leaped after him and dragged him to a stop. “No, Ephraim. It’s all right. Father knows him. Come on, I want to hear.”

  David came to a stop a few feet from Sextus, his eyes fixed on the Roman’s face, hardly believing what was happening, remembering with cold dread the promise he had made to Deborah just a few days before. “Shalom, David,” Sextus said, greatly relieved.

  “And peace to you, Sextus Rubrius,” he said gravely.

  Suddenly the hardened veteran was fumbling awkwardly for words. “I—I heard that your son is all right now.”

  “Yes. Thank you. He’s fully recovered.”

  “I am most pleased to hear that.”

  “I understand. Thank you.”

  Around them the people were moving in closer, muttering and whispering darkly. David ben Joseph, one of Capernaum’s most influential citizens, was speaking with a Roman officer? David was vaguely aware of his children coming up behind him, but his eyes never left Sextus’ face.

  “Do you know the man they call Jesus of Nazareth?” Sextus said abruptly.

  David reared back a little. “I have heard him preach.” Then he was suddenly wary. “What of him?”

  “I need to find him,” the Roman said, anxiety noticeably raising his voice in pitch. “Is it true that he heals the sick?”

  “Yes. That is true.”

  “My servant,” he started. “You know him, I think. Jepthah, son of Abraham?”

  “Yes, I do know him.”

  “He is very sick, nigh unto death. I thought—” His eyes dropped. “I know I am not one of your people, but when I heard that Jesus heals, I wondered if . . . ” He couldn’t finish.

  “He’s goyim!” someone hissed just behind them. “Jesus won’t speak to him.”

  There was a tiny tic near the corner of one eye, but other than that it was as though Sextus had not heard. “Would you speak to Jesus for me, David? It is not for me that I ask. It is for Jepthah. And he is one of your people.”

  The pleading in his voice pierced through any last hesitation David had. “Yes, of course. Come with me.”

  Sextus fell back a step. “No, just—”

  David shook his head. “Come. It’s all right.”

  As the Roman fell into step behind her father, Leah was struck with an image from earlier in the day. The sight of a leper had sent a wave of revulsion through the crowd. Now Sextus Rubrius was creating a similar reaction, only this time there was open hostility amidst the disgust. Strangely, she felt a sudden burst of pride when she saw that her father did not respond to it one way or the other. The two men seemed deaf and blind to the muttered calls, the shaken fists, the twisted faces as they approached the place where Jesus and the others stood watching what was transpiring.

  David went straight to Jesus. Again, as with the leper, Jesus did not seem either surprised or upset that David brought with him a Roman soldier. There was a look of interest, almost curiosity, mixed with the wonderful calmness that he always seemed to wear. To Leah’s surprise, it was Jesus who spoke first. “Shalom, David ben Joseph, merchant of Capernaum. Peace to you.”

  David was taken aback that Jesus had called him by name. “And to you, Master,” he said, stammering a little. He turned. “Rabbi, this is—” There was a moment’s hesitation; then he straightened. “This is a friend. His name is Sextus Rubrius.”

  “Shalom, Sextus Rubrius,” Jesus said pleasantly.

  “Peace unto you, sire,” Sextus answered in excellent Aramaic.

  “Master,” David went on, hurrying now. “Though this man is a Gentile and a Roman soldier, I would sp
eak in his behalf. He is a friend to our people. He loves our nation and has even helped us build a synagogue.”

  At that Leah turned around and looked at Ephraim. Had he known that? Ephraim shook his head quickly.

  Jesus nodded and looked at Sextus again. “What would you have of me?”

  The centurion’s face fell, his mouth twisting with concern. “Sire, I have a servant at home. One of your own people. He lies sick and is grievously tormented.”

  There was a brief pause, then, “I see. Then I will come and heal him.”

  An audible gasp exploded from the crowd. Jesus had said it as simply as if he had just been invited into the synagogue and not into the house of a Gentile, and a Roman soldier at that.

  Sextus Rubrius was as shocked as the crowd. “Sire,” he stammered, “I—Lord, I know your customs. I am not worthy that you should come under my roof.”

  Jesus said nothing, but one eyebrow lifted in question, as if to say, “Do you think that is my custom?”

  Rubrius hurried on. “I am a man used to being under authority, sire. I also have men under my command. If I say to this man, go, he goes. If I say to another, come, he comes. When I tell my servant to do something, he does it.” Now he straightened and looked Jesus directly in the eye. “Sire, if you speak the word only, my servant will be healed.”

  Now it was Jesus who seemed surprised. For a long moment he stared at Sextus, searching his face. Then he turned to Peter and Andrew and the others standing with them. “I marvel at what I have heard. I have not found this kind of faith in Israel.”

  Ignoring the astounded looks on their faces, he turned to speak to the crowd. “I say unto you who have witnessed this man’s faith, many who are not of Israel shall come from the east and the west and shall sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness.”

  “What!” someone shouted. “Are you saying that the Gentiles—”

  “And there,” Jesus went on calmly, “those who think they are the children of the kingdom shall weep and wail and gnash their teeth because of what they have lost.”