The Madonna and the Political Prisoner, Chapter 18/2

We eventually reach the city of Jericho with its Roman army garrison and many imposing buildings rebuilt in the Roman style since the damage to the city caused by the invading army many years ago. Joshua did the rounds of the synagogues, as was his habit, though he found himself initially refused entry to a couple and banned from speaking there until our crowd of followers threatened to turn ugly and the priests and rabbis relented for fear of starting a riot that the Roman soldiers would seize as an opportunity for cracking a few skulls open.

At one of these synagogues we were greeted by a couple of rabbis who seemed more sympathetic than usual and were invited to dine back in the house of one of them, a man named Simon, who had also brought some of the other synagogue officials, both scribes and teachers, to the meal. I think this Simon was a little put out when we all turned up, the women as well as the men, and he hastily set aside a room for the women only, where some food was assembled, though not, I noticed, as handsomely displayed or of such fine quality as that prepared for the men.

We are now therefore reclining in the next room and can hear the conversation between the men. We have soon finished the food put before us by the servants – this man must be very wealthy, I keep seeing another servant I’ve not noticed before. Goodness knows how many servants or slaves he owns! The men are still eating next door – I fear my Joshua can’t be eating much because the other guests all keep plying him with questions which he politely answers. They must be talking about one’s duty to give alms to the poor, because I hear one of Simon’s guests, possibly one of his sons, asking if any rich man could get into the kingdom that Joshua had been describing. There is a sudden guffaw of laughter when Joshua cracks a joke about it being easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than a rich man to get into the kingdom. I don’t get it at first, but Mary explains to me that one of the narrow gates into the city is nicknamed the ‘Needle’s Eye’ because it’s so narrow and only pedestrians can walk through it. They obviously don’t take Joshua seriously, because I hear him emphasise afterwards that he means it.

“I’m sorry to labour it, but I mean it. You’re all wealthy. I know you give alms to the poor, but you make sure you keep more than enough to keep yourselves in this style of comfortable life. If you really wanted to experience the joys and satisfaction of the kingdom, you’d give it all away and come and be my disciple like these men here.”

“It’s easy for them,” I hear someone shout above the hubbub that has greeted this statement. “They didn’t have much to start with, so they didn’t have much to give up. And they’re used to your nomadic lifestyle. We couldn’t cope with that.”

“Exactly, that’s what I’m saying. That’s why it’s so hard for someone who’s wealthy. There are too many things to protect and maintain so that the priorities in life get swamped. That’s why the poor and oppressed find it easier to accept my teaching. They’ve little to lose. Little of material wealth anyway. Don’t think it’s that easy though. These men have given up much to be with me. Their families, their homes, their jobs and they are ready to risk the dangers we face when I speak of things that are unpalatable to the rich and the influential.”

At that moment Mary mutters something to me that I cannot catch and then I see her draw a jar from her bag and she gets up and without a further word pushes past the servants into the room where the men are reclining. A sudden hush falls and I hear a chink and gasps of horror. What has happened? What has Mary done? Has she assaulted someone? Has she hit someone with the jar? What has suddenly made her so angry? Are we all going to get involved in a brawl and be thrown out? Then I hear Simon, in the deathly silence, exclaim.

“What is she doing? What a waste!”

There is a sudden pungent smell of exotic ointment, a fragrance that fills both rooms, is almost overpowering, blotting out the smell of food and sweat.

“The stupid woman, if she didn’t want that ointment, she could have sold it and given the money to the poor. That’s what you’ve just been talking about. Why can’t you get your own followers to live up to the things you’re saying? Don’t expect us to do as you say if your own disciples and their women don’t.”

“Don’t criticise the woman. Mary is my friend and she is showing her love and gratitude to me for the way I’ve been able to help her these past few years. Don’t you give gifts to those you love? You can do that and give to the poor as well – they won’t go away. And she’s just done what you, Simon, or your servants, failed to do. We’ve had a long and tiring day. We are hot and sweaty, our feet are dusty and no-one gave us the courtesy of the usual cooling water at the door to refresh us and cleanse our feet. Mary has just made up for your lack of attentiveness and what’s more, she’s done it in a way that – whilst it might seem excessive to you – is a symbol of her complete acceptance of my message and the existence of the kingdom in her very heart. Don’t moan about her. She’s an example to you and all your guests here.”

“But how well do you know this woman? Is she purified? Has she been a sinner? Why are you letting her do this to you? Are you not in danger of being unclean yourself? If you continue to live with such people you can’t expect us to let you into our synagogues and talk as a rabbi yourself unless you can prove to us your repudiation of sin and loose living just as John the Baptiser did near here a couple of years ago.”

“Now you praise John. Did you go out and hear his word? Were you baptised?” There is a silence. “No, I thought not. So he was an ascetic. He kept himself pure and challenged others to turn from their wrong-doing. I do it a different way, but to the same end. So I mix with sinners, the so-called riff-raff you and colleagues like you often accuse me of mixing with. But if I don’t go to those who need to hear my message, how will they hear? So I do mix with them, I’m not ashamed of that and many do respond to my words. Which is more than you and some of your fellow priests and rabbis do. You think you are sinless, you have no need of my message. So be it. It was interesting though that when some of your colleagues brought a condemned woman to me in another town and I permitted anyone without sin to throw the first stone, no-one felt able to look me in the eye and take up the challenge.”

These words have silenced most of the conversation and there is obvious embarrassment.

“Are you admitting then that this woman is a sinner?”

“No, her past is no concern of yours or of my followers or of mine now. She is a faithful and loyal follower, the giver of hospitality. She is kind and considerate. The love she has for me and my cause has eradicated any fault she may have had in the past. And if your attitude was like hers, your past sins would be forgiven too.”

“What right have you to forgive sins? Surely that’s the prerogative of the Lord God, Jehovah, only. Your speech is treading dangerously close to blasphemy.”

“If you are part of the kingdom of God, you are children of God. God is your father. You are part of the family. The family can forgive, indeed must forgive if the family is to live in harmony.”

I expect James is bridling now. Joshua will soon have upset them all. I’m not sure accepting this invitation was a good idea. At least Joshua has his own disciples around him. Most of them are burly men, I don’t think Simon and his well-to-do guests will try anything silly, but it’s not going to improve relationships with the religious authorities if potentially sympathetic rabbis like this feel upset. Then one of the younger of Simon’s guests tries to break the embarrassment by asking another question.

“So how will we be judged? Are you saying that God will automatically condemn any of us who’ve not given all our worldly goods away? Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

“I didn’t say it is impossible – just hard. I have friends who are comfortable and learned. One is even a member of the Sanhedrin though he doesn’t shout about it, as he feels he can be of greater help if he’s not counted as an obvious follower of mine. Your colleagues force that on him by prejudging what I say and do, so that if he declares himself as a supporter and believer in my message, his views would immediately be discounted.

And not all rich men are obsessed with the maintenance and expansion of their wealth. Some are satisfied, are thankful for what they have and use their resources to help others. If you feed and cloth the poor, tend to the sick, seek justice for the oppressed and the wrongfully accused, show mercy to those who admit their faults, God will accept you. If you see the divine in each person that you meet, however wretched their circumstances, then you are blessed indeed and a member of God’s kingdom, whether you recognise it in your words or not. On the other hand, there are many who say the right words, obey their religious rituals and scruples who think themselves saved, but if they are not compassionate, if they ignore or neglect the pain and needs of their fellow human beings, what is their religion worth? It becomes words only, an empty shell – and an empty shell is what such a person is.”

We leave in the end. They are civil to us, but there is palpable tension. I relax as we go out of the house. Some of the disciples are shaking the dust from their feet as they put their sandals on. Despite the hints, still no-one has offered them any water to wash in. At least we know we all have hosts who are generous and gracious and are solicitous of our welfare. It’s already dark and Joshua, who’s been leading the way, nearly stumbles across a young child beggar lurking in the doorway of a wretched hovel that’s been thrown together against the wall of a villa. He turns to Judas.

“Give this child some money from our purse. She’s been here all day and no-one has given her anything. He stoops and picks up the child and looks into her eyes. At first she looks frightened.

“When did you last eat, child?”

The little girl, filthy dirty, just shakes her head.

“John, fetch the Rabbi Simon and tell him to bring some of the food we left over to feed this child and to take back to her family.” Simon Peter immediately offers to go.

“Master, I’ll go. He won’t refuse me.”

“No, Peter, let John go. He’ll be more diplomatic and Simon will come out with him. You’ll just bully him into giving you food. I want him to notice this girl and realise that she’s here near his gate every day. It may stir his humanity.”

So we wait. And Joshua’s right. John comes back with Simon and one of the servants carrying two baskets filled with meat and bread and grapes and figs. They hand them both to the girl. She looks unbelieving at both baskets laden with such food as she’s never seen before. She can scarce lift them from the ground for they’re so heavy and she’s so undernourished.

“Accept a child like this, Simon, and it’s as if you receive me. You laid a feast on for me. Feeding this child, even if you think she’s of no value, is just as important. She’s as valuable to God as I am. She’s here every day. I’m not.”

“I’ll see she and her family are fed each day. I’ll have one of the servants send a basket of food here daily. And I’ll check if there are others nearby. You’re quite right. I’m fortunate and I have a responsibility to the poor in this neighbourhood.”

“You see,” says Joshua turning to all of us, “our meal in Simon’s house has been worthwhile. “Simon, in helping this young girl you’ve done me the honour. God created her, she is of his family. So you must see God in her. Every day you help her, just think that you are feeding me.”

I think Simon is a little embarrassed at what’s just happened. Joshua has put him on the spot and he’s reacted the only way he could without refusing co-operation outright. I wonder if Simon will be as good as his word when we are no longer here.

“He will,” says my son when I tackle him later and air my doubts. “He’s learned a lesson. He’ll change. One of his sons will keep him up to it. That was not a servant he came with him. Didn’t you recognise he was one of his sons?”

I shake my head. There were so many men in Simon’s dining area I wasn’t sure which were family and which guests.

“That’s a rich man who might just squeeze through the eye of the needle,” he says grinning, “though he’d better not try to bring too many camels with him!”

* * * * *

After a number of days spent in Jericho, where the news of Simon’s lesson spread and a number of other rich Jews started looking to the welfare of some of the beggars found daily on their streets, we moved on taking the road back towards Jerusalem, planning to stop off with our friends Lazarus, Martha and Mary in Bethany on the way. Magdalene Mary told me all about their last visit to this home – it was apparently shortly after Joshua had met and helped her and had taken her under his wing out of the city and had stayed for a while with our friends. I’d heard rumours that Lazarus had been unwell and that Joshua had cured him, but apparently that was nothing as dramatic as the real story – not how Mary told it anyhow!

“He was dead,” she stressed with great emphasis. “He’d been in the tomb for several days. They’d sent for us because they knew we were in the city, but we thought we were too late. Well, at least I and the disciples did. Yeshua seemed very upset when he found out and Mary and Martha were distraught, then Yeshua actually summoned him from the grave and out he came, just like a ghost. We were petrified. Martha was the only practical one and rushed off to get him some food. Yeshua actually told us to tell no-one about it, but the story sped like wildfire because nearly everyone in Bethany had attended his funeral so his appearance caused a sensation.”

I studied Lazarus closely, I couldn’t help feeling curious. He looked quite normal to me and he acted as he’d always done. I found it difficult to believe that he’d had such a dramatic experience. It was his sister, Mary, who confirmed it. My mind is just reeling. The widow’s son in Nain, the story about the young girl who was a daughter of the synagogue official, and now Lazarus. If he can do that, can he do anything? How does he decide whom to help? He could spend all his time bringing the dead back to life. I asked him later that evening.

“I do bring people back to life all the time, but not literally in the way you’re thinking.”

“But why these? These three? Have you brought others back to life?”

“Because I was there and there was a particular distress at their deaths. And, I have to confess, I was moved to tears by the outpouring of grief that I encountered. I just could not stand by and do nothing when it was within my power to help. And perhaps too, although it was not my prime motivation, there was the opportunity to demonstrate by that vivid symbol that my words, or the obeying of my words, could bring the souls of men to life – even those considered to be totally lost to decent society.”

We attended the local synagogue on the Sabbath and Joshua was given the opportunity to speak – he’d been speaking every day in the market place, but he was well known in Bethany and the local rabbis and scribes could not deny his powers as they had been so vividly demonstrated in their midst. Joshua had taken the opportunity once again to stress the need for justice and compassion to all people, obligations far greater than the religious rituals that so dominated the daily lives of many of the people, particularly the older more traditional Jews. He’d been a little upset that many of the Samaritans that had joined us had been excluded from the synagogue. One or two of the Samaritan women had sneaked in with us and we’d made no effort to prevent them and I think a few men had pretended to be Joshua’s disciples and had got in too.

Anyway, he’s completed his talk and handed the scripture scroll back to the priest and sits awaiting the usual questions. He’s obviously made his point about the priority of some religious observances over others, because the first question comes very quickly from a rabbi in the congregation – presumably not a local man, but possibly one of the argumentative ones who harassed him in Jericho.

“Well, teacher, you’ve told us that it’s most important to have compassion rather than obey the religious duties laid down by Moses and other prophets in our holy scriptures. So, get to the point. What, in your opinion, exactly is the most important law of all?”

Joshua doesn’t hesitate.

“There are two that are equal and above all others – in fact, these two sum up all the intentions behind the other laws and commandments. The first is to love God with all your faculties – your mind, your heart, your very soul and spirit. And the second, which is equally important, is to love your neighbour as much as yourself. If you obey these two commandments everything else will follow.”

Of course the rabbi decides to quibble. He can’t let Joshua appear to get away with that and better him. So he comes back with another question.

“So who is my neighbour? What do you mean? The person who lives next door to me? Someone from my village? Do you include my neighbour’s wife and children?”

“Everyone who needs you, everyone. Let me put it this way. There was once a traveller on the road up to Jerusalem who got attacked by thieves – a not uncommon experience on this road as I guess you know. The bandits wounded him and robbed him of everything he had and left him lying on the roadside unconscious. Then a priest came by and looked and crossed the road to the other side because he was hurrying to take part in a sacrifice in the Temple and he didn’t want to be contaminated by the man’s blood that he could see on his body. Then, a little later, a Levite came upon him, and he scurried off also without helping him, because he feared that he too might be attacked by the bandits if he stopped and he was conscious of the religious artifacts he was carrying which had been entrusted to him.

Finally, a Samaritan, yes one of the nation despised by so many Jews, came by and he went over and looked and saw immediately the state the man was in and took pity on him despite the danger and cleaned his wounds and lifted him onto his own donkey and stopped at the next lodging place where he asked the innkeeper to look after him and paid for the man’s stay. Who, then, do you think was neighbour to the wounded man?”

“Well, obviously the man who took pity on him. But your story is a little far-fetched. What Samaritan would dare to come to the assistance of a Jew? You’re not really including them in your commandment, are you? Presumably you’re saying that any Jew is our neighbour and not just those of our own street or village?”

“Look! Many Samaritans have welcomed me and accepted my message. And Romans! God is the Father of mankind, all men, women and children, Jew and Gentile. Love and respect all people. Only then will you be truly children of the Lord God, Jehovah Almighty. My message to you is that you can all become the children of God, your Father God. Therefore everyone will be your brothers and sisters, all we be related to you because of your relationship with God, the Father.”

The rabbi who asked the questions looks crestfallen. He is silent, doesn’t, can’t answer Joshua. He looks sullen, frustrated and just shakes his head. Others in the congregation who might have asked further questions are then silent. No-one wants to say any more. Perhaps they don’t want to be seen to be as foolish as the rabbi. Even James seems amused. Perhaps they feel Joshua has just said it all and there is nothing more to say. As Joshua says so often, ‘Stop arguing about religious and ritual niceties, just go and do as I say!’