shrilled. I grabbed my taliss, the one Father gave me. Knotting it into a whip I struck the money from a table. Coins spun. An exchanger howled. I lashed another table, upset it, then another. A crowd jeered as I demanded that they honor the temple.

“This is man’s place of worship. You offend God. Look, what you’re doing... take your money away...you know our temple is sacred. God’s temple is a temple of peace.”

Later, when a judge demanded an explanation, I saw my own disrespect, my own violence. He was a lanky, stone-like figure, grey-haired, grey-faced, palsied. He understood my rebellion, the rankling perturbations of my life.

“I’m a Greek,” he said. “I realize your alienation. I’m new here. I have much to learn. When a man revolts there is usually well-grounded reason. But be care­ful! The next time there may be fines or punishment; another man may not be lenient.”

ÿ

Heshvan 9

That night, after scourging the temple, I dreamed of home: I was working at the carpenter’s bench, making a three-legged stool. I finished smoothing the legs and sat on the floor, Whitey beside me. She was playing with a heap of shavings.

Again I had that illusion that time was mine, that the sunshine and flies and smell of olive oil and earth would never leave me. And I thought, as I worked on the stool, how pleased Mother would be when I finished it for her birthday. I glanced at a mark on the wall and wondered if I had grown taller.

ÿ

Galilee

A storm. The lake. Two fishermen drowned. Tents blown over. Next day as I bury the dead a little girl comes and throws herself at my feet, a flower clutched in her hand. What does death mean to her?

ÿ

Heshvan 11

Wearing dirty work clothes I was readily admitted into the prison at Machaerus, a citadel high above the countryside. Guards shrugged as I entered. A door clanged with a terrible crash: I was in John’s cell. Kissing me, hugging me, we embraced: as always I felt he was part of me.

“How are you, cousin? I thought we would never get to see each other again...in all those rags they didn’t know you. You chose a good time; there has been an ugly quarrel going on...we have new guards. Here, here, sit by me.”

John has been imprisoned five months and is chained to the wall, a loop around one leg, letting him move a few feet. Rattling the chain, he nodded and grinned at me. I did not understand what he whispered. When he was certain we were alone he grasped his chain and forced it open, first one link and then an­other. Though he had been a wrestler and farmer I was amazed. Free, he clasped me in his arms.

“It’s a great trick...nobody knows...I can get up at night and walk around... maybe there’s a way to get out of here.”

How often we have been taken for brothers because of our red hair; we trim our beards the same way; our faces are much alike except that mine is leaner. We were brothers as we talked, sitting on the stone floor, the chain between us.

John urged me to leave Capernaum.

“You can’t go on preaching there. Antipas has men on the lookout for you. He’s as cruel as Herod, you know that! Go in hiding for a while, Jesus. There’s no good in it if both of us end up in chains. Our ministry will fail.”

I had concealed bread and fruit in my clothes but John would not eat while I was there. I gave him a comb and he combed his beard and head, grimacing, laughing. I asked him to change clothes with me: “You can put me in chains,” I said.

An empty cell, stone walls, chains, the Dead Sea glistening dozens of feet below, a cold floor, a little food...what could I do?

“Are there other prisoners on this floor, John?”

“I never see them... I’m not allowed outside.”

“You know that we are trying to free you.”

“Don’t run any risks.”

“We aren’t afraid.”

“I have enough to eat...time to pray.”

“We need you.”

He bowed in prayer.

To be born anew...that is our hope for mankind.

I went away embittered. Think of it, I left a comb and some bread and fruit for a great man, a man of God. As I walked through the night I heard and re-heard those words:

“May the Lord bless thee and keep thee, the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance and give thee peace.”

Peace inside stone walls.

When shall John and I meet again?

ÿ

Peter’s

Heshvan 19

I have preached in the synagogues at Cana and Capernaum during the last few days. I do not like preaching indoors. The sky is best and weeds and grass make the best floor. Old laws become new laws outdoors. I stress repentance and faith—the time is now at hand. I try to speak with authority and yet avoid rigid precepts.

Usually I walk alone. Being alone, from time to time, is essential: there is a peace in the company of one’s own shadow. After every meeting I am again surrounded by questioners, most of them respectful, some are quite idle and oblivious of anything but themselves.

At Capernaum, as I spoke, swallows flew in and out, swooping low. I won­dered, as I watched them, are we the interlopers, have we usurped their place? For me birds epitomize the highest form of beauty.

Near Capernaum I met an officer as I rested under trees along the road. His horse was lathered with sweat and the man was tired; he leaned forward in the saddle and eyed me critically, in silence. I asked him to dismount and rest.

Joining me he said he had heard of my miracle at the wedding and my cure of the street beggar. He brushed dust off his immaculate uniform. Wiping his face he scrutinized me, then pled with me to come and heal his son who was, ac­cording to his doctor, dying of fever. I shared fruit and he introduced himself; he admitted he had sought me as a last resort. I pitied the young father, fond of his only child, yet so skeptical. Rising nervously, catching his horse’s bridle, he urged me to go to his home.

“I can’t wait any longer... You don’t seem to understand that my son is dying. Ride to Capernaum. Take my horse. Ride...help my boy. Master, cure him...he has been ill with a terrible fever...for days... I must find help if you can’t help...”

“Ride home,” I said. “Your son will live; from this very hour he will improve. Ride home in peace...do not hurry... God has answered your plea, our prayers.”

I felt my faith attend the boy as he lay in bed. For a little while he became my son—the son I would never have. I blessed him. My faith, God’s grace, would renew the child. My power was adequate. I did not need to travel to Capernaum.

Never looking back, the officer rode off, dubious, angry. A breeze clattered dry leaves above me.

I knelt in prayer.

ÿ

I am troubled because there are so many sick in the world.