Mary was a stately woman in her mid thirties, perhaps a bit heavy for her height, but so graceful in motion that she gave the impression of extraordinary lightness. She was dressed in black, as befitting a widow. A light black tunic rested on her round, youthful shoulders and fell in skillful folds down to her sandals. Her hair was not veiled, but uncovered in the Alexandrian style. It was drawn back on two sides of a central line and rolled into a ball resting on her strong feminine neck. Her eyes were unnaturally large, for they’d been split when she was a baby. Eyebrows and eyelashes were artificially blackened. Her body breathed a refreshing scent of heliotrope with a touch of sweet spearmint.
Most Greek Jews lived in the new section of the city northeast of the ancient walls up on Mount Scopus opposite the Sheep Gate. They were accustomed to spacious houses, with gardens and colonnades, and so they didn’t live in the old crowded sections. Mary’s house resembled a Greek temple with a garden behind it enclosed in a peristyle. This was where she normally arranged her banquets. Though she was expected to maintain a certain modesty in her lifestyle, being a widow and a member of the Charitable Sisterhood, she also felt it her duty to add to the splendor of Jerusalem, so that visitors might leave with the memory of high culture and magnificent hospitality. The latter obligation overruled the former, and this was why she kept such a grand house with gardens and many servants.
Barnabas arrived early, since etiquette demanded that he take part in the reception, although he would have done it anyway due to his high affection for his sister. A large ring sparkled on his right hand, and the black mantle of a scholar covered his thin tunic. He found her in her spice garden, where she spent most of her time. After formal greetings, the conversation went something like this.
“Is everything all right, Joseph? You look restless.”
“I heard news in the Temple courts today that made my knees go weak.”
“Talk in the Temple courts is always disturbing. Please don’t tell me another revolt is brewing.”
“No, no revolt. At least not the physical kind. It’s a revolt of words and of the spirit.”
His sister smiled. “One of those? A storm of words will pass easily enough, as long as we keep the voice of Jacob, and not the hands of Esau.”
Barnabas could not smile with her. “Sometimes a storm aroused by words doesn’t die so easily. Many things happen in the Temple courts that are soon forgotten, but words have been said there that’ll live forever.”
Still his sister wouldn’t take him too seriously.
“Let it go, brother. I have news to cheer you up. Tonight we have as our guest the happiest and most fortunate of all women. Zipporah’s coming. I’m impatient to see what new device she brings to capture the heart of the most handsome man in Jerusalem.”
Joseph took his sister’s hand. He knew how concerned she was over his unmarried state and that she had her heart set on Zipporah, the daughter of Philip, the rich president of the Cilician Synagogue, as a sister-in-law. He was grateful, but he couldn’t give his sister the answer she wanted.
“Let her bring all the devices she wishes,” he said. “She’ll not approach the loveliness of my sister.”
A faint blush came to Mary’s face. She knew Joseph was sincere, and that in his eyes, she really was the loveliest of all women. But the words gave her no delight. They were just his way of putting things off. In his eyes every woman she found for him was utterly unworthy in comparison.
“I’ll go to those who sell magic potions, my brother, and ask for one that diminishes a woman’s charms, so your eyes may see others rather than me.”
“It’ll make no difference. The moon is even more lovely shining through a cloud than when the sky is clear.”
Mary placed her fingers on her brother’s mouth, for she saw John entering the garden.
The boy was also dressed for the festival, wearing a silk tunic with a sort of toga thrown over it. The toga was embroidered with figures of animals, not exactly in keeping with the Pharisee tradition. No matter how long they lived in Jerusalem, the Hellenists were never able to completely abandon the customs they’d brought with them. It was almost like they could never completely refrain from paying tribute to alien gods.
As excited as the boy was to see his uncle, he remembered his manners and bowed before his mother, greeting her in the proper manner first. Then he turned eagerly to Barnabas while Mary went to supervise the last details of the reception.
There was much love between John and his uncle. John had been fatherless since childhood, and he gratefully accepted his uncle as his spiritual guide and teacher. He also came to him with all the problems that troubled his young heart, and he did so now, immediately storming his uncle with questions.
“Is it true what they said in the Temple court this morning, that Messiah has already come and we didn’t recognize him and he was put to death?”
“Who told you this, my son?” asked Joseph, astonished.
“Some of the servants were there this morning and heard it from the mouths of the messengers themselves. They’re all talking about it. Even my Greek teacher, Sadaus, has heard of it.”
“The Holy One of Israel would not conceal the truth,” answered Joseph, piously. “If this is of God, we shall soon witness the great day. And if God has not built this house, then the builders have labored in vain.”
“They say that the prophets said that Messiah had to suffer. Is that true?”
“Those men did indeed quote the prophets to strengthen their arguments. But you must return to your studies. We’ll talk about this at a more fitting time.”
But the lad was not to be put off.
“They say he’s the first to rise from the dead.”
“Don’t let your attention wander from your studies.”
“How can I think of my studies if Messiah has come?” asked the boy, excitedly.
Barnabas didn’t answer, but in his heart he thought, “The wind carries news of Messiah on its wings, and babes and sucklings testify.”
It was now getting on toward evening, and in the east, darkness could be seen coming up over the hills of Moab. Uncle and nephew left the garden and went out to stand with Mary as the guests were beginning to arrive. They stood together on the wide terrace of the house, with its mosaic floor and its colored hangings, to greet their guests. Each synagogue group would arrive separately, led by its president. In the outer vestibule the overseer was stationed with his assistants to lead the visitors to the terrace entrance.
A group from the Alexandrian Synagogue was the first to arrive, led by their president, Antonius. Philip, the dignified president of the Cilician Synagogue, to which Barnabas and Mary belonged, even though they were Cypriots, brought his group next. Nicanor and Timon came from the Synagogue of Antioch Syria, followed by groups from the synagogues of Cyrene and Libya. There were even Cappadocians, and visitors from as far as Lystra. Perhaps the most distinguished visitor among the Hellenists was the preacher Stephen, whose Greek oratory was the pride of his congregation.
Even among the visitors from abroad there were faces familiar to Mary and Barnabas, for their father’s ships had plied between Salamis, the capital of Cyprus, and the cities of Pamphylia. Many merchants who’d visited them in their island home were now their guests in Jerusalem.
Three continents, Africa, Asia, and Europe, were represented in the multicolored crowds moving back and forth through the alleys and colonnades of the garden. The stateliest wore togas, as Roman citizens, although not all Roman citizens wore them. The young man Saul, his sister, brother-in-law, and nephew, as well as others from Tarsus, didn’t wear togas, even though they were Roman citizens. They wore the simple dress of their countrymen.
Following custom, the men were received by Barnabas and his nephew and offered refreshments of fruit and wine, while Mary presided over the reception of the women in another hall. Later, the men and women came together in the cool of the evening under the cypress trees by the pool, where a soft light glowed from the tops of the columns. Small groups gathered around the most recent arrivals from abroad, each seeking news of relatives and friends in the homeland or of public events. News was not very fresh, of course, since it could take weeks for a journey from afar. But it was the best obtainable. Of special interest on this occasion was news from Pamphylia and Lysias. The emperor Tiberius had put his favorite counselor, the Jew hating Sejanus, to death and had come under the influence of his pious aunt, Antonia. The condition of the Jews in that region had taken a turn for the better as a result. The Greeks there no longer desecrated the Jewish houses of worship and had changed their attitude, which, if not friendly, had at least become correct.
“In our country,” observed one Jew from Galatia, “the gentiles are on excellent terms with us. Many of them come to our Sabbath services, and some have even taken up the study of the Torah.”
“In our city many women have let themselves be baptized and are part of our faith,” reported one from Damascus. “I think maybe half the women have done that.”
“In Iconium and Lyconia many Greeks have converted and some have even been circumcised.”
A pilgrim from Pisidia reported how a group of Greeks in Antioch wanted to be converted, so the congregation sent a letter to the Pharisees in Jerusalem, who in turn sent a messenger to Antioch. The messenger had been able to convert only the women, because when the men found out they’d have to be circumcised, they refused.
The sarcastic and mocking voice of Saul was heard, “The gentiles are such heroes in the arenas. They’ll fight with gladiators and wild beasts, but mention circumcision and their hearts turn to water!”
A Jew of Pamphylia answered, “It’s not cowardice that stops them. It’s the glorification of the human body. They’re taught from birth to worship bodily beauty, and it’s against their nature to mar its perfection. Many Greeks say that if we’d make this one exception, they’d gladly accept our other laws and commandments.”
“In Lystra, God-fearing gentiles have also asked for concessions in the purity laws, besides circumcision. If we’d be content with just baptism, like the women, they’d become Jews.”
“And what else? Maybe they’d like us to throw out all the laws and commandments. They want it both ways. They want a share in the inheritance of Jacob, but still enjoy the things of earth. Whoever wants to enter under the wings of divinity must bring a sacrifice. They must be holy and pure.”
Again, it was Saul who raised his voice, apparently unaware that many of those present felt it unbecoming for him to make himself a spokesman in the presence of so many important people. His friend Barnabas, who was standing at his side, plucked gently at his sleeve.
“Well, the rabbis need to do something,” interposed a Phrygian Jew. “God’s hand is knocking on Gentile hearts. Some of them gave us money to buy sacrifices for them. Many came part of the way with us and acted as our escorts to guard against robbers. When we got on the ship, they were sad to see us go. They send their prayers through us to the Temple, their blessings to Jerusalem, and their submission to the God of Israel.”
The man’s words made an impression on the listeners. Other pilgrims joined in the conversation.
“Yes, it’s time, and more than time, that something be done for the Gentiles. The grace of God is being poured out on them, their eyes are opening to the light of the Torah, and their hearts are drawn to the God of Israel.”
“But the rabbis stand at the gates and won’t let them enter,” said Philip, the president of the Cilician Synagogue.
Had a person of lower standing offered such words, there would have been a sharp retort. Coming from him, they were accepted in silence.
But in the silence, another voice was heard, “From east and west we hear the voices of the nations, saying, ‘Come, let us go up to the mount of God.’ Yes, the God of Israel is knocking on Gentile hearts, just like Zechariah prophesied. ‘In every place the smoke of sacrifice goes up, and gifts are brought in My name, for My name is great among the nations, says the Lord of hosts.’ For even in their idols, they worship the one living God of Israel.”
It was the preacher Stephen who’d spoken, and his voice quivered with exaltation as he lifted up his arms and his face, on which the light of the stars fell.
There was a moment of silence. Then someone asked, “What is the special merit of Israel that draws the hearts of the nations?”
“It’s the holy Sabbath that Israel alone possesses,” answered one.
“No, it’s the belief in the resurrection,” answered another.
“Not that either,” said a third. “It’s the coming of Messiah. The Gentiles hear that Israel waits for him, and they too want a share in the kingdom of heaven.”
“Weren’t there men in the Temple today, preaching that Messiah has already come, that he rose from the dead, and told them to tell Israel and the world about it?”
“Yes, I heard something about it,” declared Philip. “The word was spread in our synagogue.”
“There was talk of it in our synagogue too,” added an Alexandrian Jew. “But they were just simple and ignorant Galileans.”
“They were disciples of the one they call Messiah, and he appeared to them after his death.”
“Their words are spreading like wildfire. What do our leaders think of it?”
“The hour has indeed come for You to send your deliverer of righteousness,” cried Stephen, and lifting up his hands he uttered the benediction the sages had formulated for the God-fearing Gentiles, “May Your compassion be awakened toward the God-fearing Gentiles and send to all of us the reward of those who do Your will.”
* * * * *
After the guests had gone, Barnabas, the young Levite, remained in the terrace garden deep in thought. His eyes were focused on the dark blue curtain of the sky, spread over the great black walls of the hills of Moab. From below came the glitter of the Dead Sea. The whole world lay open to the grace of God, and Joseph Barnabas sat with the loveliest of the daughters of Jerusalem, Zipporah.
Urgent warmth breathed out of the night. The plants, which had gathered the heat of the sun all day, were overloaded with sweetness, which they spilled out on every hand. A long time they sat together, comfortable in each other’s presence. It seemed they were drawn together into the warmth and silence of the night.
“Why has the gift of prophecy been taken from Israel?” Zipporah suddenly asked. “Why are there no prophets like there were long ago? Are we worse than our ancestors?”
No one answered her, nor did she seem to expect an answer. She seemed to be just thinking out loud. She went on as if talking to herself.
“Sometimes I feel the time is near when He will pour out His spirit on everyone, like he promised the prophets. I feel prophecy will be renewed in Israel, and He will send His spirit, not just to the learned and wise, but also to the simple. And on us women, too. His spirit will cover everything, and we’ll see things in another light. Sometimes I think I’m filled with power like a fruit filled with ripeness. Like Hannah, I’m drunk, not with wine, but with power that fills me so that my insides cry out and my lips tear open. I speak, but I don’t know what the words mean. I just know that God is speaking through me.”
“All of us burn with a thirst for deliverance, and all of us long for God like a drink,” answered Barnabas.
“This is different. I long to lift up the banner of my people and sing the song of triumph and deliverance, like Deborah. Sometimes the spirit is so strong, it fills my heart, and it seems like a door opens, and a message comes from heaven in fiery letters, and I drink it in and cry out for the salvation of all Israel.”
Barnabas looked into the girl’s face. Her eyes blazed like stars, sending forth a mystic fire and filling him with both bliss and terror.
“Zipporah, how lovely you are. It’s like Deborah’s risen in you and your word will light new hope in Israel.”
“Since when does God need the help of women?” came a voice from the corner darkness. “Woman is an impure vessel, for her one desire is toward man, and the God of Israel will not use her.”
The hardness of the voice revealed the presence of the young man Saul.
“The times of prophecy are gone. Today the heavens are closed to us, and Israel is in darkness. God speaks today through the mouth of learning and His law. We must turn to the Torah with all our strength and consecrate ourselves to it completely. Only through the Torah will we find the Holy Spirit,” answered Saul loudly.
Barnabas asked, “And by what road do we reach the Torah?”
“By withdrawal, separation, and dedication. It’s the path of the Pharisee. Dedicate yourself wholly to the Torah, and let no woman stand between you and it. It is jealous and demands your entire soul. Long for it. Let all your manhood be given to it. This is prophecy for today. How can a woman dedicate herself to the Torah when her every thought is given to the man and everything she does is an ornament with which to snare him? Even her prophecy is an ornament to snare you and take you captive.”
There was a clear echo of jealousy in Saul’s sharp tone. He was in a war with this woman for the soul of his friend.
Zipporah rose quickly and answered, “Saul of Tarsus, it’s not only men who can separate themselves from the world for the love of God. Woman can also conquer all other desire and dedicate herself to God. You are right. The spirit of prophecy is jealous and demands eternal virginity from the woman. Now I understand the words of Solomon, ‘Blessed is she who is barren and without impurity.’ I thank you, Saul, for you have spoken well.”
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