Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “The seed is the word of the kingdom.” He stopped again, and Miriam realized that what he had just said was the key to the whole parable. The seed was the word of God.

  “When anyone hears the word and understands it not, then comes the wicked one, like the fowls of the air, and snatches away the seed, or the word, that was sown in his heart. This is he which receives the seed by the wayside.”

  Miriam looked at Ezra, who sat beside Lilly. That was exactly what Ezra had said earlier. The wayside was too hard for any seed to take root.

  Ironically, Simeon thought of his Uncle Aaron at that moment. Aaron was an honest man, filled with integrity, deeply determined to put his life in harmony with God. Yet, in this one aspect, his heart was like the roadways of their country—hard as flint, without even the tiniest crack in which the words of Jesus could take hold.

  “But he that received the seed into stony places,” Jesus went on, “the same is he that hears the word and immediately with joy receives it. Yet he has not root in himself. He endures for a time, and the seed begins to grow, but when tribulation or persecution arises because of the word, then is he offended.”

  Jesus stopped again to give them time to consider his imagery. Rachel caught Livia’s eye and smiled. Not rocky places, stony places, she seemed to say. And Livia saw it now. Some people were like that thin layer of soil. They immediately accepted the word of God, but there was no depth to their commitment. It didn’t take much heat to see them wither away.

  As for Miriam, she was almost floating. A sense of revelation was on her. It was as though Jesus had lifted a hood from over her eyes, and now she was clearly seeing the picture he had painted for them earlier that day.

  Jesus began again. “He that received seed among the thorns is he that hears the word but then allows the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches to choke the word, and he becomes unfruitful.”

  Like my father. Miriam was startled by that thought and yet instantly saw it was true. And not only of her father, but of so many others of the rich and powerful that came to their home in Jerusalem. Choked by the deceitfulness of riches. What a powerful way to put it.

  “But he that received seed into the good ground,” Jesus said, “is he that hears the word with gladness and understands it. These bear fruit because the soil is good. And some soil brings forth an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

  He stopped, looked at Peter again, and smiled gently. “This, Simon, is the parable of the sower.”

  Peter had a look in his eyes that suggested to Miriam that he had experienced something very much like she had just experienced. “I understand,” he murmured. “Thank you, Master.”

  Then another insight came to Miriam’s mind. The word parable came from mawshawl in Hebrew, meaning a proverb, or a similitude. But in Greek, it was a much more vivid word. Para was a prefix meaning “alongside” or “parallel to.” Bolay was the verb meaning “to hurl,” or “to throw,” such as in the word ballista, the catapults used by armies. Thus, a parable was literally to throw or place things side by side. That was exactly what Jesus was doing. The seed was the word. The soils were different kinds of people. She shook her head quickly. No, not people. Different states of the heart. A difference in how people accepted the word.

  Now the word mawshawl took on greater meaning for her. It was a similitude. Jesus was taking things from the natural world and making them similar or parallel to things of the spiritual realm. And then Miriam remembered the last words Jesus had spoken after completing the parable of the sower. “Who hath ears to hear, let him hear.”

  Miriam bat Mordechai, daughter of one of Jerusalem’s leading and most powerful citizens, sat back, marveling at what was happening to her in a courtyard in Capernaum.

  Chapter Notes

  The first scriptural mention of Mary Magdalene, who figures so prominently in the accounts of the crucifixion and resurrection, is found in Luke 8:1–3. There she is mentioned as one of those who were among the followers of Jesus. Luke records that out of Mary “went seven devils” and that she and other women had been “healed of evil spirits and infirmities.” We are not told what these infirmities were, so the details given in this account are only the author’s suggestions.

  Hollywood and popular literature have typically portrayed Mary Magdalene as a reformed prostitute. This comes from the fact that in some Christian churches, Mary is thought to have been a harlot prior to being healed by Jesus. She is even today seen by many to be the patron saint of prostitutes, and in some places harlots are still called “Magdalenes.” This tradition, which has no basis in scripture, seems to have been derived from the fact that just prior to his introduction of Mary, Luke gives an account of an unnamed woman who was likely a harlot (see Luke 7:36–50). However, though Luke introduces Mary Magdalene shortly after that account, he does not in any way imply that it is the same woman and, in fact, he speaks of them as two different people.

  Another argument against this conclusion is that typically prostitutes in the time of Jesus were of the poorest classes of society, often forced into their terrible life in order to survive. Yet Luke tells us that these women, including Mary Magdalene, “ministered unto him of their substance,” suggesting that Mary Magdalene was likely a woman of some wealth (see Clarke, 3:417; Dummelow, 2:1122; Who’s Who in the Bible, 287–88).

  One of the difficulties in writing a historical novel based on the four Gospels is that the scriptural record provides very little personal information about the details of Jesus’ daily life and the people who were part of it. For example, there is no Gospel account of Jesus explaining the parable of the sower at a supper at someone’s private home. However, while it is necessary to fill in additional details required for a novel, the author has nevertheless stayed in harmony with what is known.

  In this case, we are told that it was after he had taught the parable that the disciples asked him why he taught that way (see Matthew 13:10; Mark 4:10). We also know that Jesus often dined with people, both those who believed in him and those who were critical of him. In fact, it was such a common occurrence that the Pharisees used it as a basis for criticizing him (see Matthew 11:19; Luke 7:33–34). For this reason it seemed plausible that Jesus would be found in such a setting and use it as an opportunity to teach his more intimate disciples.

  The author has not taken similar liberties with the teachings of Jesus. What Jesus teaches in the novel is always based directly on what the scriptural record gives to us.

  In a similar fashion, we have little detail about the personal lives of the principals in the New Testament accounts. Even in the case of Jesus, the dominant figure of the Gospels, we are given very few details about his physical features, clothing, or personality traits. We know that he was thirty when he started his ministry and that Mary had four other sons and at least two daughters with Joseph (see Matthew 13:55–56). Beyond that there is virtually nothing.

  Likewise, with the Twelve we get only snippets of information. We know Peter was a fisherman and that he was married because we are told that Jesus healed his “wife’s mother” of a fever (Matthew 8:14–15). However, his wife is never named nor are we told if they had children. In the case of some of the apostles, we have nothing but a name. However, we can extrapolate certain things from what we know about the culture of that time. For example, we know that the emphasis on marriage was so strong in the Jewish culture that it is almost a given that the adult men were married and had children. They would have come under strong criticism from the religious leaders if that had not been the case. Because John was likely the younger of the two sons of Zebedee, always being named after James when both are mentioned, I have shown him as still not married at this point.

  Matthew, whose Gospel is unique in that he constantly shows us how Old Testament prophecies were fulfilled by Jesus (see, for example, Matthew 1:22–23; 2:15, 23; 4:13–16), is the one who notes that Christ’s teaching in parables fulfilled a Messianic prophecy (compare Matthew 13:34�
�35 with Psalm 78:2).

  The apostle Paul called Luke “the beloved physician” (Colossians 4:14). Many modern scholars think Luke was a Gentile converted to Christianity, probably after Christ’s death. However, as one well-known scholar notes, there are many, “ancient and modern,” who believe that Luke is the unnamed disciple who saw the resurrected Christ on the road to Emmaus (see Luke 24:13–35; see also Clarke, 3:500). Luke is the only one to record that account in detail. Not naming himself would be in keeping with the practice of other Gospel writers when placing themselves in the narrative (see John 13:23 and Matthew 9:9 as examples). To have Luke in Galilee at this time shows a personal preference of the author and should not be construed to mean I think the issue is conclusively settled.

  Chapter 9

  Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

  —Matthew 11:28

  I

  Capernaum 30 June, a.d. 30

  David gave one last wave, called out one last farewell to their supper guests, then shut the heavy wooden gate behind them. He turned to the others who stood watching. He went to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. “Well, that was a wonderful idea, Deborah.”

  “I should have done it before,” Deborah murmured happily.

  “Oh, no,” Miriam exclaimed. “If you had given this supper any earlier, then we wouldn’t have been here.”

  “True,” she answered. “And I am so glad you were.”

  “It’s been a wonderful day,” Lilly said, touching Deborah’s arm. “Thank you again for having us here. It is all that we hoped for and more.”

  “Much more,” Ezra said.

  “So,” Leah asked eagerly, looking at their four guests from Joppa, “did you speak with Jesus about being baptized?”

  Lilly, Ezra, Miriam, and Livia all nodded at once. “We did,” Ezra answered. “Jesus said to meet them where we were today, at about the second hour tomorrow morning. He asked James and John to baptize us.”

  “That is wonderful,” Deborah said. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’ve never been happier,” Miriam replied. “When Jesus was teaching us tonight, it was like my spirit was soaring. That’s when I knew I had to be baptized. I don’t care what Father says, or will say, when he finds out. I’ve been looking for this my entire life.”

  “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Simeon asked, speaking directly to Miriam.

  The disappointment was instantly evident. “Aren’t you?”

  A smile stole slowly across his face. “Actually, yes I am.” Now he looked at his mother. “That’s why I asked Peter tonight if he would mind being there tomorrow too.”

  For a moment, it didn’t register, then she threw herself at him. “You asked Peter to baptize you?”

  “Only after I asked the Master if that was acceptable to him.” He laughed at her expression. “I told you I was going to try to show more faith. Well, isn’t this the first step?”

  He was instantly surrounded by everyone trying to congratulate him. Leah couldn’t believe it. “Really, Simeon?” she cried over and over. “You’re really going to be baptized?”

  “Yes, little sister. If Jesus will have me in the kingdom, which he said he would, who am I to hold back?”

  “I am so happy, Simeon,” his mother whispered, clinging to him tightly. “It’s the best thing you could do to make things go right.”

  David gripped his son’s hand. “Son, there is nothing you could have said that would give us greater pleasure.”

  At last it was Ephraim’s turn. He grabbed Simeon by the shoulder and shook him gently. “Good for you, Simeon. Good for you.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to Jesus tonight about your plan?” Deborah asked as things finally subsided a little.

  Simeon shook his head. “No, everyone was around, and he was with his mother.” He shrugged. “But I still feel that this is what I need to do. I’m not torn like I was before.”

  “Simeon?”

  He turned to Ephraim. “Yes?”

  “Are you still committed to trying to bribe Pilate?”

  He winced. “Couldn’t we use the word ransom?” he said, keeping his voice light. But finally he nodded. “Yes, I am, Ephraim. I don’t see any other way out of this.”

  “I still think it’s wrong.”

  “I know that.”

  “But if you really are committed to that plan of action, then I have a suggestion.”

  Simeon couldn’t hide his surprise. “You do?”

  “Yes. Make it three talents.”

  That brought a swift reaction from Simeon and several of the others. If anything, Rachel was even more shocked by what Ephraim had said than Simeon was. “Three?” she cried.

  “That’s right. One for each prisoner.” There was a sudden brusqueness. “If you really are committed to this, then do it right. One talent per man. That’s language Pilate will understand.”

  “Wait a minute,” Simeon exclaimed. “Who kidnapped my brother and left this man in his place?”

  “And you can take the third talent from my part of the inheritance.”

  Simeon had started another quip, still shocked at what he was hearing, but that stopped him short. He stared for a long moment into Ephraim’s eyes. “Thank you,” was all he could finally say.

  II

  Ephraim and Rachel went home to see how Joseph had fared with Esther and Boaz. Deborah was exhausted, and she and David retired immediately after that. Ezra and Lilly stayed to talk for another half hour, then they too left the night for the young.

  Leah, Simeon, Miriam, and Livia stayed down in the courtyard rather than going up on the roof. The night had cooled, and the air was pleasant. They pulled their chairs around the fountain and settled in. For well over a minute, they were quiet, each caught up in their own thoughts; then Miriam spoke. “Who would have thought it that day you and Yehuda showed up at our camp in Samaria? None of us even knew about Jesus then, and now the three of us are being baptized on the same day.”

  “That is something,” Simeon agreed, thinking back to that morning that now seemed like years before, even though it had been just a few months.

  Miriam’s eyes suddenly were filled with teasing. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time, Simeon, son of David.”

  Surprised at her sudden formality, he nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Do you remember when we stopped to have lunch at the spring of Harod that day you rescued us?”

  “Of course.”

  “We were just getting ready to leave and you asked Livia a question. You said, ‘You’re not Jewish, are you?’”

  “I remember that very clearly,” Livia said with a tiny smile, knowing what Miriam was up to. She had talked with Livia about this before.

  “I do as well,” Simeon said. “Livia said no. She said she was Greek.”

  “No,” Miriam cut in quickly, “I said she was Greek.”

  “Oh,” Simeon grunted, seeing the trap. “Yes.”

  Her voice dropped to a low growl as Miriam mimicked his angry tone. “‘Do you see your slave as an ox who cannot speak for herself?’”

  Leah, who had pulled her chair alongside Simeon’s and had her hand resting on his arm, drew back in shock. “You said that?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Oh, yes,” Miriam said gleefully. “He nearly took my head off. Gave me this lecture about slavery and the Law of Moses. Said it didn’t make any difference whether we had given Livia her freedom or not. Walked up and down my back with hobnail boots when I said she wasn’t a slave, only a servant.” Again she dropped into a parody of Simeon’s voice. “‘Only a servant! If you call a donkey a horse, it doesn’t change the fact that he is still a donkey.’”

  Livia laughed heartily at the look on Simeon’s face.

  Leah was staring at him. “You really said all that?”

  He looked away. “Something like that, I suppose,” he mumbled.

&nb
sp; Miriam wasn’t about to let that pass. “Not something like that. I remember very clearly every word.”

  “So,” he growled, on the defensive now, “is there a question somewhere in there?”

  “Yes. I just realized it tonight. Your family hires servants. Your father has a chief steward, just like mine does. Your mother had three women here tonight helping with the cooking. So how come you were so high-handed with me about having a servant?”

  For a moment, he was caught without a word. He hadn’t seen that question coming at all. “Well,” he began, obviously groping, “it’s not the same.”

  Her look was scathing. “Why isn’t it?”

  “Well, for one thing, our servants were more like employees who used to come in on a regular basis, but they had their own homes. They were paid a wage. Now, of course, since Mother and Father were baptized, we use them much less.”

  “True, but that wasn’t the case when you said what you did. You think the fact that they lived somewhere else makes all the difference?”

  Simeon turned to Livia, recovering sufficiently to go on the offensive. “Are you paid a wage?”

  Livia had been enjoying the interchange to that point. Now she visibly flinched. “Well, no, but I—I have everything I need.”

  Simeon shot Miriam a triumphant look, but she fielded it blandly. “And that makes all the difference?” she needled him again.

  “No,” Simeon said, suddenly very quiet. “Here’s the difference, Miriam. None of our servants ever felt like we owned them, like they were our property. They were employees. That’s all.”

  Her face colored and she started to answer, but Simeon turned to Livia again. “Answer me honestly, Livia. Do you ever have the feeling that Miriam’s father owns you, that you are his property?”

  Livia’s head dropped and her cheeks flamed. Miriam just stared at her. It was answer enough.

  “And while I know it is no longer the case,” he said, more softly still, “did you ever have that feeling about Miriam?”

  Livia bit her lip, looked up quickly at Miriam, then away again.