Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  But seeing Aaron was not his greatest shock. Not far from where Jesus was sitting, Simeon saw a plumed helmet. Peering more closely, he recognized Sextus Rubrius. He was alone and stood back from the rest of the crowd, as though assigned to make sure nothing got out of hand. But Simeon saw that the centurion was listening as intently as the others.

  There was a stir among the crowd, and Simeon turned to see what had caused it. There was a third surprise. Matthew, the publican who had been converted to Jesus in Capernaum, then called to be one of the Twelve, was leading a group of three other men forward. One look at their dress and Simeon knew who they were.

  He felt a nudge and looked down at Esther. “Who is that?” she asked.

  “The man in the front is Matthew Levi,” he explained. “He’s from Capernaum. He’s a close friend of Jesus. The others are all publicans, friends of his, I would imagine.”

  Simeon wasn’t the only one who had recognized this group for what they were. An angry murmur rippled through the crowd. The man seated on the floor directly in front of him stared for a moment, then spat in disgust. “Publicans!” he muttered.

  If Matthew was aware of the stir he was creating, he gave it no heed. He went up to the Master and began introducing his friends to Jesus. Jesus spoke amiably with them and shook their hands. When the introductions were done, Jesus invited them to sit down nearby.

  Before they were even seated, Azariah called out, sputtering like a setting hen knocked off her nest. The chief Pharisee didn’t speak to Jesus, but to the assembled people. “This man—” Azariah flung one arm in the direction of Jesus—“receives sinners, as you can see for yourselves.”

  Dozens of heads began to nod, and the angry mutter swelled. The tax collectors were almost universally hated, especially by the common people who could least afford their assessments. Matthew watched the accuser with a calm expression, but the other three had dropped their heads, their faces flaming.

  Azariah, pleased with the response from the people, cried all the louder. “These men are despicable. They serve Caesar by sucking the blood of their own people. Yet Jesus treats them as though they were equals. I have learned that he even sups with them in their houses.” That last was added almost in horror.

  The mood of the crowd had turned darker. Simeon watched closely, prepared to take the children away quickly if things began to unravel.

  Jesus was seated on one of the stone benches as he taught. He watched Azariah for a moment, then stood, letting his eyes move across the crowd. That silenced the murmuring immediately. Azariah stepped back to join his colleagues, smugly convinced that he had done the necessary damage.

  “What man of you,” Jesus finally said, looking directly at the group of Pharisees, “having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, would not leave the ninety and nine and go into the wilderness after that which is lost, until he find it?”

  Simeon’s eyes moved automatically to his Uncle Benjamin. Being a shepherd was his profession, and Simeon saw that he was listening raptly.

  “And when he has found the lost sheep, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he returns home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost.’”

  Now his eyes burned with indignation, and he looked directly at Azariah. “I say unto you, that likewise there shall be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repents—” his voice was suddenly biting—“than over ninety and nine just persons, who need no repentance.”

  Simeon winced. That was not just a barb. That was a shaft sent right to the heart. The Pharisees knew it too. They were so proud of their righteousness, so quick to condemn those who weren’t as holy and pious as they. Azariah looked as if he might have apoplexy. His companions were looking at each other in shocked outrage.

  “Or consider this,” Jesus went on, speaking to the multitude again. “What woman having ten pieces of silver, if she were to lose one piece, would not light a candle and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it? And when she finally finds it, what will she do? She calls her friends and her neighbors together, saying, ‘Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.’”

  Again his head swung around to look at the muttering group before him, but when he spoke, he spoke to the crowd. “Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

  The Pharisees were forgotten now as Simeon gazed at the Master. He was not speaking of lost sheep or lost money at all. He was talking about lost souls. Simeon looked down and to his surprise saw that Esther was listening closely too. The stories had caught her attention.

  Now Simeon saw people gesturing angrily for the muttering Pharisees to be quiet. When they did, Jesus continued, this time his tone more mild and thoughtful. “A certain man had two sons,” he began, “and the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me.’ And the father agreed and divided unto his two sons his property.

  “And not many days after that, the younger son gathered all that he had received, and took his journey into a far country. There he wasted his substance with riotous living.”

  Jesus stopped, giving them a moment to put that picture into their minds.

  “And when the son had spent all that he had, there arose a mighty famine in that land. And the man began to be in want, and he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country to be his servant. And the man sent him into his fields to feed swine.”

  There was almost an audible groan from the crowd. In a matter of two or three sentences, the Master had painted a picture of the grimmest of circumstances. Under the Mosaic Law, swine were unclean animals. Though certain other animals and birds were also unclean, pigs had come to symbolize all that was polluted and impure. Not only would Jews refuse to partake of swine’s flesh, but they would not raise pigs or even let them into their villages and towns. The very word was considered to be an abomination. For this young man to end up as a swine herder dramatically conveyed the depths of his fall.

  Jesus watched their eyes, seeing the shock and revulsion. Then he went on, emphasizing each word carefully. “So desperate was the condition of this young man that he began to fill his belly with the husks that the swine ate, because no man gave unto him.”

  Simeon felt his stomach twist a little. It was one thing to have to care for pigs—but to eat with them?

  Jesus moved over and sat down again. There was not a sound beneath the portico now. Even Azariah was watching Jesus intently.

  “Finally,” Jesus went on, “the young man came to himself, and said, ‘The hired servants of my father have bread enough and to spare, yet I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father and will say unto him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee. I am no more worthy to be called thy son. Make me as one of your hired servants.”’

  “Then the son arose and returned to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said unto him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in your sight. I am no more worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring forth the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his hand and shoes on his feet. Bring hither the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and be merry. For this my son was dead, and is alive again. He was lost and is found.’”

  Jesus stopped again. No one stirred. Every eye was upon him. For a moment, Simeon thought the Master had finished, but then Jesus’ chin lifted up. He turned and looked directly at Azariah and his group, then swung his gaze to the sour-faced Sadducees on the other side.

  “And they began to be merry, rejoicing that the son had returned. But the father’s elder son was in the field. As he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants over and asked what these things meant. And the servant said to him, ‘Your brother i
s come and your father has killed the fatted calf because he has received him safe and sound.’”

  Jesus’ voice became heavy with sorrow. “And the older son was angry and would not go in. Therefore came his father out and entreated him to come in. But he, answering, said to his father, ‘Lo, these many years have I served you, neither transgressed I at any time your commandments. Yet you never gave me a kid that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as your son is come, which devoured your inheritance with harlots, you have killed for him the fatted calf.’”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Simeon saw the Sadducees spin around and stomp away. Azariah’s eyes were flashing indignantly. In another flash of insight, Simeon understood. Here, in the personalities of these pompous men, was epitomized the mentality of the older brother. Instead of rejoicing that the publicans, the “sinners,” were returning to the family, were “coming home,” they were angry and resentful.

  Azariah mumbled something to his associates, and they too turned and flounced away.

  Jesus watched them go, then turned back to the crowd. “And the father said unto his older son, ‘Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is yours. But it was good that we should make merry and be glad. For your brother was dead and is alive again. He was lost and now he is found.’”

  Chapter Notes

  The three parables shared here are found in Luke 15. They were given by Jesus one after another in response to the criticism of the Pharisees that Jesus was mingling with publicans and sinners (vv. 1–2).

  Chapter 22

  Why is this night different from all other nights?

  —Passover Haggadah, 9

  I

  Bethlehem 10 April, a.d. 31

  Strictly speaking, Pesach, or Passover, actually consisted of two distinct feasts or festivals—the Feast of the Passover itself, in which the lambs were sacrificed at the temple and then taken to the homes of the people to be eaten that night, and the Feast of Unleavened Bread which followed it, wherein all leaven was purged from the home and only unleavened bread and cakes could be consumed. The first took place in a single day; the second lasted for the remainder of the week. In reality, the two festivals had become one and generally were what was meant by the Feast of the Passover. Since in the Jewish way of tracking time the new day began at sundown, the celebration of the festival began on Passover Eve.

  In preparation for the event, and in keeping with the commandment given more than a thousand years previous, the house of Benjamin in Bethlehem had been thoroughly cleansed the night before. Benjamin the shepherd-priest, and his wife, Esther, along with the rest of the family, had made a careful search of every room in the house, using small candles. Every trace of leaven or yeast, including any products that might contain leaven, was removed. Since bread made with leaven spoiled quickly, leaven was a symbol of spiritual corruption and decay. Every home in Israel had to cleanse itself of even the tiniest hint of corruption in preparation for the Passover.

  By the time Simeon arrived back in Bethlehem with two weary children that afternoon, the rest of the family were back as well. Deborah and Aunt Esther carefully washed the paschal lamb that Ephraim had received from the priests at the temple and put it on a spit over a bed of hot coals. Now, as the sun sank low in the sky, there was a general scurrying in the house to get everything ready. Leah and Simeon were given charge of the seder plate, with Esther and Boaz solemnly helping them. This was no ordinary meal they would be eating tonight. Everything about it was spelled out with great formality in the oral traditions, and the various items used as part of the meal were partaken of in a strictly prescribed order. Seder was the Hebrew word for order. The tradition of arranging things in perfect order had become such an important part of the meal that it was often called the Seder meal, and the evening of Passover was frequently referred to as Seder Eve.

  Aunt Esther stuck her head through the door. “Hurry, children, the sun is almost down.”

  “It’s ready,” Leah said. “Everything is in place.”

  “Good. Simeon, go check with your father and Uncle Benjamin. See if the lamb is ready.”

  “They were taking it off the spit a few minutes ago,” he answered with a smile. It was always like this—the last-minute urgency, the wild bustle to have everything ready, the breathless excitement as the moment drew near. Passover was a most solemn time and yet, simultaneously, it was a time of great joy and celebration.

  Deborah and Rachel came out of the house. Deborah carried two pitchers of wine, which she sat on each end of the table. Rachel carried the plate of matzos, or unleavened bread, covered with a white cloth. She placed it near the center of the table. Deborah looked at her cousin-in-law. “Are you ready for Elijah’s cup now, Esther?”

  “I think so,” Aunt Esther said. “Yes, go ahead and fill it.”

  Malachi the prophet, who lived some four hundred years before, had once given a very specific prophecy. He said that Elijah the prophet would return before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord. It had become tradition, based on that prophecy, to assume that Elijah would appear to announce the coming of the Messiah and that he would do so on the eve of Passover. It would be a terrible embarrassment, one of the Rabbis had decided, if Elijah should happen to come to a family’s Seder meal and there was no place for him. So in every home in Israel this night there would be an empty chair and a place set at the table. Typically, the chair was tipped up against the table so that no one would inadvertently take Elijah’s place. Deborah carefully filled the wine cup so that if Elijah should choose this particular house as the one to which he would come, he would know that he had been expected and was welcome.

  Aunt Esther looked around one last time. The other women held their breath, waiting. They were the guests. Aunt Esther was their hostess. Finally, she nodded with satisfaction. “Get the men,” she said. “It’s time.”

  II

  11 April, a.d. 31

  Since Jerusalem was a city of steep hills and narrow valleys, the precise moment of sundown was not left to each person to decide. The last rays of the sun left the valley bottoms as much as fifteen or twenty minutes earlier than it did the tops of the ridges. Basing the start of Passover on such imprecision would not be seemly.

  The official signal for sundown each Sabbath was given from the Temple Mount. One of the priests stood on the ramparts of the temple with a shofar, or ram’s horn. Caiaphas, who was high priest at this time, stood nearby, one eye on the sinking sun. As it began to disappear behind the western hills, he raised an arm. The shofar was lifted to the trumpeter’s lips. All around, everything became hushed. Slowly the glowing orb became thinner and thinner, and the shadows stole across the hills. It seemed to hesitate for one last, lingering moment; then it slipped behind the hills and the final rays faded away.

  The high priest dropped his arm. A blast of the ram’s horn sounded out across the great courtyards of the temple complex. It was a mournful but piercing sound. Instantly it was picked up by dozens more, priests with their own shofars stationed around the city. The sound rippled outward from the Temple Mount in every direction. Within no more than a minute, the shofars were sounding even in the villages surrounding Jerusalem.

  Benjamin stood at the end of the table, his head turned toward the window. Everyone was in his or her place. They too looked at the open window in hushed expectation. When the sound of the ram’s horn floated in through the window, there was a ripple of excitement; then Benjamin turned to face the family.

  He lifted his eyes to heaven and began to recite in a low and solemn tone: “Blessed art thou, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who dost create the fruit of the vine. Blessed art thou, Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who hast chosen us above all peoples, and hast exalted us above all tongues, and has hallowed us with thy commandments. And thou hast given us, Lord, our God, with love, Sabbaths for rest and Seasons for gladness, Holy days and times for rejoicing. Blessed art thou, Lord, our God, King of the Universe
, who dost sanctify the Sabbath, and Israel, and the Festivals. Amen.”

  “Amen!” Together all those present lifted their cups and drank the wine down. They were small cups used especially for the Seder meal.

  Benjamin moved closer to the table. Before him sat a small laver of water and a folded towel beside it. Moving with slow deliberation, Benjamin washed his hands, then dried them with the towel. He moved around the table to where the plate of unleavened bread sat covered and waiting. He removed the cloth and set it aside, then lifted the matzos plate and held it high.

  “This is the poor bread which our fathers ate in the land of Egypt. Let anyone who is hungry, come in and eat. Let anyone who is in need, come in and make Passover. This year we are here. Next year we shall be in the land of Israel. This year we are slaves. Next year we shall be freemen. Amen.”

  “Amen!”

  Replacing the plate of bread on the table, he nodded at David and Ephraim. Both took a pitcher of wine and refilled the cups. When they were done, the family lifted their cups and waited. Benjamin looked down the table at Boaz and nodded. Boaz looked nervously at his mother. They had rehearsed this over and over. As the youngest male present, the next part was his.

  Boaz got to his feet. He straightened to his full height, cleared his throat, and then asked, “Why is this night different from all other nights, Uncle Benjamin?”