The Breaking of Bread

From the day he heard Stephen preach, Barnabas’ spirit had no rest. He knew about the rabbi of Galilee because he’d seen him in the Temple court in a circle of his disciples teaching about the last days shortly before his death. Barnabas wasn’t sure why he remembered this particular rabbi, for one was always hearing teaching on the last days in the Temple courts.

Probably it was because he’d seen this same rabbi just a few days later when Roman soldiers were hounding him through the narrow streets toward Golgotha with clubs in their hands. He knew he’d never forget that horrid scene as long as he lived. The man’s white mantle was soaked in blood and sweat, as he lay prostrate under the heavy cross. Never would he forget the sight of the man struggling to his feet under the blows of the soldiers, or the way he lifted his head with its crown of thorns. His white, bloodless face was ringed by beard and earlocks, and though his lips were knotted in pain, his eyes were filled not with sadness and despair, but rather pity.

Barnabas had felt utter frustration and shame that day. Here he was, hurrying to the Temple to prepare his Passover sacrifice, and forced to witness these brutal Roman soldiers trampling underfoot what Israel held sacred. They were dragging to his death a Jewish rabbi who’d done nothing more than persuade himself that he was Messiah, the hope of Israel. Humiliated and sickened by his own helplessness, Barnabas fled the scene. He rushed to the Temple, hoping to find refuge and renewal of his faith. He thought that in the flame of sacrifice that rose from the altar to heaven was the hope of Israel.

Barnabas sang the verses of the Psalms loudly and exaltedly that day, clinging to God more strongly than ever. He tried to convince himself that someone who was abandoned to the base savagery of the Romans, and dragged through bloody dust, could not possibly be the highest glory. How could the most shamed and humiliated be the supreme Authority?

In the weeks since then Barnabas had seen the rabbi’s disciples on a number of occasions. They came to the Temple courts in groups, sometimes in the morning, but more often in the afternoon. Sometimes one of them would preach a sermon about the wonders their rabbi had performed, of his promise to return to them after his death, and of his fulfillment of that promise. Normally, they were led either by the short bearded Jew named Simon bar Jonah, or by the broad-boned John.


One evening Barnabas decided to follow the disciples to their meeting place. He was amazed at the multitude waiting there. How incredible that in just a few weeks they’d won so many souls. Some of the women were preparing the common meal over brick ovens in the open street. Men arrived carrying baskets of flat cakes. Others brought out their own meals from their wretched dwellings, while still others were preparing meals to be carried away. Most of them belonged to the poor classes of the lower city, but here and there Barnabas recognized some of the prominent members of the Greek-speaking synagogues, although they also wore the clothes of the poor and helped the disciples set the tables for the common meal.

Slowly, and with some difficulty, Barnabas worked his way up to the house. He noticed the woman whom the disciples treated with special honor by greeting her whenever they entered the room. She was an old broken woman seated on a mattress, and was supported by another, younger woman. Her gray hair and half her face were covered by her widow’s veil. There was sorrow and pain in the visible half over her lost son. But in the deep pools of her eyes there was neither anger nor bitterness, but only compassion.

The woman who supported her seemed to have aged suddenly, for her face was young, but her hair was gray. Her skin was alabaster yellow, and her eyes were filled with a gentle, pious light. She was also treated with respect by the disciples.

The great room with the balcony open to the sky was dark and filled with shadows. No lamp was lit. There was silence for a while, so quiet that people’s breathing could be heard. Then Simon rose up, his face and beard hidden in the darkness and only his eyes shining through. He raised his arms and prayed.

“Father in heaven, praise and glory be Yours. You sent Messiah to us, so that he might die for our sins, and You raised him up even as You promised through the prophets. Now send your grace and benediction on us. Open our hearts, that we may receive Your truth, and that the fear of You may live in us. Bring us closer to You, and make us worthy to see his coming in our days. Amen.”

Those who were already members of the congregation surrounded Simon, James, John and the other disciples. Those who were not yet members stood at a distance, and one of them called out, “Tell us, what can we do to be saved in Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth?”

Simon gave the answer. “Repent and be converted, so that your sins may be wiped out. Turn to Jesus, for he has already come as a sacrifice for us and for you, to cleanse us all of our sins and to make us worthy of acceptance into the kingdom of heaven.”

Then John rose and said, “Don’t be weighed down with gold or silver when you enter in. Bring neither fields nor houses nor any earthly goods. Leave your possessions together with your sins on the other side of the threshold before you knock on the door of the kingdom.”

“I had a house and a field. I sold them, and I lay the gold at the disciples’ feet,” said a short, heavy man in a rich garment, as he approached the inner circle.

“No, my son, you had neither house nor field. You came naked from your mother’s womb, and you’ll return naked to the womb of the earth. And when the Lord awakens you to the resurrection, you’ll come with neither house nor field. You will come only with your good deeds, and they will cloth you,” answered Simon.

“I have no house and no field, and I bring only my limbs and my body, and I lay these at the feet of the disciples, that I may be accepted into the bond of Messiah,” said a tall, powerful man known to be a day laborer.

“No, my son, neither your body nor your limbs are yours. You borrowed them from the Creator. Can you make your body whole again when it’s been broken by age or sickness? Nothing is yours, all belongs to the Lord,” said Simon.

“Rabbi, I have nothing at all except my sinful soul, which I lay before Messiah!” cried a lame beggar, who crawled forward supported by another cripple.

“My son, you’ve given more than all the others, for you’ve given what is truly yours,” said Simon, placing his hand on the beggar’s head. “For nothing is yours, except your sins. Your sin is forgiven through the death of the lord.”

So they came, one after another, leaving whatever worldly goods they had at the disciple’s feet. It looked like about 15-20 people were received into the congregation that evening, all of them children of Israel.

Barnabas could see that most of the new converts were poor, some even beggars who lived in Jerusalem. Others had recently arrived as pilgrims and chosen to stay in Jerusalem. But there were also a few who were men of means, who wanted to assure themselves of a part in the resurrection.

Simon approached the newcomers and asked, “Do you believe with perfect faith that Messiah died for your sins, and rose from death after three days, and that he will come with the clouds of heaven, sitting on the right hand of power to judge the tribes of Israel, and that he will restore the Kingdom of Israel and purify the world into the Kingdom of the Almighty?”

The neophytes answered, “We believe with perfect faith.”

The women were asked the same questions as the men, led by Susannah, the mother of the Zebedees.

The sons of Zebedee led the male converts to baptism. The disciples repeated these words, “In the name of the God of Israel and of the Lord of hosts I baptize you in the name of Jesus the Messiah, and I receive you into the holy congregation of his believers.”

Afterwards, the disciples said, “Happy are you who’ve been judged worthy of this privilege. May we see the Ancient of Days come riding on the clouds of heaven to begin the Kingdom of the Almighty on earth.”

The new converts answered, “Amen.”

“You are now our brothers,” exclaimed the other disciples, embracing the newly baptized.

The women of the congregation performed the same ceremony over the women proselytes.

Baptism was common in Jerusalem and generally attracted no special attention. Nevertheless there were a host of witnesses around the pool, mostly from the poor neighborhood.

When everyone returned to the dwelling in the David wall, they were met by the other disciples with a benediction, “Blessed are they who come in the name of God and of the lord Jesus. You are our brothers and sisters in the lord Messiah.”

And the disciples greeted the newcomers with the kiss of brotherhood.

The stars had come out by this time, and the women lit the oil lamps. The disciples, new and old, stood up, turned their faces toward the Temple, and repeated the evening Shema, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.”


After the evening prayer the disciples sat on the stone floor, while others stretched out a long bamboo mattress that served as a table. The leading disciples sat at the head with Mary, who was led to her place on a low stool by Mary Magdalene and Susannah, who then sat at her feet. The other women remained standing at the door behind the curtain, but certain women were allowed to enter, for they carried baskets and pitchers of olives, vegetables, and milk. They placed the containers of food on the table, and the flat cakes of bread were brought to Simon and John. A hollowed gourd with wine, and a cup, were also placed before them.

On this day, Simon was acting as prayer leader. He lifted up the flat cakes and, in a voice that trembled with piety, called out, “Let us pray as our lord Jesus taught us, ‘Our Father, who is in heaven, may Your name be hallowed. May Your kingdom come. May Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Yours is the Kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever, Amen.”

The congregation answered, “Amen.”

“Furthermore,” Simon continued, “he taught us that the table at which we eat is like an altar, and we are here to bring a sacrifice. Let us therefore bring our daily bread as a sacrifice to God.”

The congregation waited in silence, and Simon continued, “This is how our lord did it when he was here with us. He took the bread and broke it into small pieces, and handed it out to us, saying, ‘Take and eat, this is my body.’ And he took the cup of wine, said a benediction over it, and gave it to us, saying, ‘Drink of it, for this is my blood, the blood of the new covenant, which is shed for the forgiveness of many.’”

So Simon took the bread, broke it into small pieces, and distributed the pieces, saying, “Just as the wheat on many hills has been brought together to make this bread one, even so, our Father in heaven, bring all Your congregation together from all the corners of the world into Your Kingdom, through Your servant, Jesus. Amen.”

The faithful took the fragments of bread and ate.

Then Simon poured wine from the gourd into the cup, and lifted it up, saying, “This is the blood of the new covenant poured out for the sins of many.”

Then he drank from it and passed the cup around for the others to drink. After the men had taken a sip, the cup was passed through the curtain, so the women too could drink of it.

A period of silence was observed while this was going on. Then Simon lifted the wooden bowl, took out two olives, and passed the bowl on. He did this with each bowl of food. Each of the disciples followed his example.

Then Simon said, “Our rabbi taught us that when we sit together to break bread, we should praise and thank God with the songs of David. Let us do so now.”

Another disciple responded, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

“He leads me beside the green pastures,” chanted the congregation, and when the psalm was ended, there was another period of silence.

Then Simon gave a short message, “Our lord taught us, ‘If you bring your sacrifice to the altar and remember that you’ve quarreled with your brother, leave your sacrifice on the altar and go first to your brother to ask forgiveness. Then return and offer your sacrifice.’ And he further taught us, ‘You’ve heard it said to love your friends and hate your enemies. But I say, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven.’”

“And something more he taught us," called out John. “Don’t do your charity to the sound of trumpets. That’s the way of the hypocrites in the synagogues and streets, so that men may praise them. I tell you they have their reward. But when you do charity, don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing, so that your charity may be in secret. And your Father, who sees in secret, may reward you.”

Several other people offered words as well, and still another broke into song, “Blessed is the generation whose eyes have seen him. Blessed be the eyes that wait for his coming.”

As other voices came from all parts of the room, they settled into a sort of rhythmic chanting, as if the assembly was seeking its way into the utmost intimacy of the Jewish hope and probing the depths of the mystery of Messiah and of the end of the world. Even the voices of the women were heard.

Then Simon spread out his arms and cried, “Come holy servant of God, come to your congregation and sit with us. Break bread with us, for you gave of your bread, which is your body. Come anointed one, bless us and purify us with the grace of your presence.”


As Barnabas came down from the dwelling, he found a group of men and women of the poor neighborhood gathered before the ancient wall. Among them he saw camel drivers, artisans and weavers. They stood there listening to the joyous sounds coming from the dwelling in the David wall. The women had little children in their arms or clinging to their aprons.

And all of them were pressing close to the entrance that led to the dwelling, crying, “Let us too enter, that they may put their hands on our children and bless them.”

The Preacher Stephen

Who would have believed that the tidings of Messiah, preached by simple Galileans just a few weeks ago, would have spread so rapidly in Jerusalem? There was no corner of the city where it wasn’t talked about. The number of believers grew mightily, and not just among the poverty stricken in the lower sections of the city where the apostles lived. There were plenty of adherents among the Hellenists on the heights. Stephen, the most famous of the preachers, became a convert and spread the word of Messiah from synagogue to synagogue.

It was a hot afternoon in the month of Tammuz, during the time of year when Jerusalem lies under the skies like a heated limekiln. On such days people would search out any niche they could find for protection from the heat, including assembling in the synagogues where they could also refresh their souls with a little learning.

On this particular day, the Cilicians assembled in their synagogue to hear a sermon delivered by Stephen. Among those in attendance were Saul and Barnabas.

The Cilician Synagogue was unique among the synagogues of Jerusalem in that it didn’t occupy a central court like other synagogues. It stood on a series of terraces on the rim of the lower marketplace, where the city descends to the Kidron valley. Some of the buildings served as both sleeping quarters for pilgrims from Asia Minor, and as places of assembly and recreation. It wasn’t just a place for prayer, but a place for rest and discussion as well. As such it wasn’t restricted to the spiritual needs of the people. In an hour of need, anyone could turn to the synagogue. It might be a local member who fell on hard times, a merchant who lost everything, or a new arrival who needed a place to sleep.

Now Stephen wasn’t tied down to any one synagogue. He was a wandering preacher going anyplace Greek-speaking Jews assembled. He had a large following, and whenever he appeared in an Alexandrian, Cyrenean or Cilician synagogue, the building was filled to overflowing. It wasn’t just that he was a master of their language. He thought like they did. He was one of them, having been born and raised in Antioch. He was well versed in the prophets and Psalms, which he’d studied in their Greek translations. He’d also studied the stormy Jewish-Hellenistic books, the Wisdom of Solomon, and the vision of the Sibyls. But his belief in a Messiah for all mankind was drawn directly from the prophets Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Amos.

As he stood in the Moses seat that hot afternoon, there was a sense that something different was about to happen. A man of some forty odd years, he had a flaming yellow beard and red locks that framed his pallid, shining face. His blue eyes were covered with a misty film of exaltation.

Lifting his hands high, he began as he always did, starting at the beginning, taking nothing for granted. He told the story of God’s covenant with Abraham, the sacrifice of Isaac, and Jacob’s dream. He told them of the election of David and the prophecies of Isaiah. When he came to the Hellenistic books, he painted a terrifying picture of the last days.

“The world is being swallowed in the jaws of sin. God has withdrawn and the spirit of evil now has complete control over it. Men are worse than the beasts of the field. They chop their little ones into pieces on the altars, and turn against the laws of God and nature. Therefore God turns away from them. Judgment day is nigh. There will be war between heaven and earth, and a rain of fire will be sent down from the clouds. Man and beast will flee from the fiery arrows and hide in caves and hollows, but destruction will surely find them. There will be thick darkness and the sweat of terror will cover men’s bodies. The mountains will split and roll into the valleys. The seas will spew forth their waters and drag mankind into the deeps. And wherever the waters cannot reach, the earth itself will open up and swallow those whom the fires of heaven have not destroyed.”

The audience was seized with panic. First the women, then the men started wailing. Some wrung their hands, while others smote their breasts.

“Threefold sinners are we all!”

“How shall we save ourselves?”

The voice of the preacher rose above the tumult, “But God will have compassion on the remnant of Israel. He prepared the cure even before he ordained the affliction. And that is the Son of Man who was with Him before the creation of the world. The heavens will open, and the Son of Man will appear in the clouds surrounded by legions of angels. Then all creatures will fear and be silent before him. The mighty of the earth will quake and tremble. They’ll come before his throne and abase themselves before him. Then he will awaken the dead and order eternal peace. He will abrogate the law, for there will be no wickedness or evil. Goodness will be the natural impulse of creation, and peace will reign on earth.”

By this time, looks of bewilderment could be seen on some faces. People started murmuring things like, “Abrogate the law? Goodness will be the natural impulse? Who is this Son of Man who was with Him before creation?”

Then a direct challenge came out of the corner, “Who is this Son of Man?”

“It’s the King Messiah, who has already come, and we did not know him. The righteous man whom we allowed the wicked to put to death, and whom God raised from the dead!” cried the preacher.

People turned to each other in agitation. Many voices were raised now.

Stephen continued, “He is the one God has elected. He is the righteous man who came to obtain forgiveness of our sins through his death. He is Jesus, the King Messiah!”

There was a long interval of amazed silence. Not a breath was heard. Finally, one trembling voice was heard, “Yes, I saw the righteous man when he fell under the burden of his cross. His strength was gone, but the wicked men beat him cruelly.”

“What? The one that was hanged on the cross – the King Messiah?”

“He suffered for our sins, as it is written, ‘He shall bear the sins of many,’ the preacher continued to exclaim. “For he let himself be bound like a lamb led away to the slaughter. He is the Son of God!”

“May your mouth be stopped by serpents and scorpions for the blasphemy you speak! Who do you call the son of God?”

“The righteous man is called the Son of God!”

“No! Israel is called the son of God. He is our Father and we are His children.”

The preacher took up the challenge. “Are we concerned here with words, with clanging cymbals? What word can describe him? By what name should he be called? Can he be contained in a word? This is the one you prayed for and have waited so long for. He’s the fulfillment of your hope and the reward of your labors. He justifies all your sufferings and gives meaning to your lives. Without him, all is meaningless.”

“But that is the Almighty and the Eternal you describe,” said a voice through the frightened silence that followed. “These things can be said of no one else.”

“The Almighty is the God of Israel, and His Messiah sits by His right hand, and is the instrument through whom God will judge the world. He stands between God and us. He knows our sufferings, for he was among us and is one of us.”

“Does God need an assistant? Curse him who says God needs a helper.”
“Shut this man’s mouth!”
“Drag him before the Sanhedrin!”
“But he’s our preacher!”

* * * * *

Later that evening two friends sat on the terrace of the synagogue looking down into the valley of the lower city. Many spirals of fire rose from the huts there where the wives of the poor were preparing the pitiful evening meal. A black vastness hovered over the valley, which seemed designed to crush the inhabitants of the lower city and keep them from becoming other than creatures crawling on the face of the earth. Up above, where the friends were seated, the stars were clearly visible.

Saul and Barnabas had been shaken to the core by the preaching of Stephen, and sat in silence, each in his own thoughts. But while Barnabas was eager to talk about it, Saul looked grim and kept biting his short fingernails. Several times Barnabas tried to break the silence, but Saul would scarcely answer, and then only with a bitter grimace.

Finally, Saul was able to digest the full meaning of that afternoon’s sermon, and he spoke out.

“If we are to accept everything he said about Jesus of Nazareth, then we must all fall down before him. We must abandon the Torah and all that Moses taught. A new world order will begin and all nations will fall under it. If this doesn’t happen, then we know that his words are all written in sand, and all who repeat them are blasphemers.”

“But who says Messiah must be according to what the preacher said, like he were a second Authority, God forbid! Messiah is sent to us, to restore the Kingdom of Israel.”

“Not so. The Kingdom of God is for the whole world,” cried Saul fervently. “I agree with the preacher there. I’ve never heard it brought out so clearly before. If only he hadn’t applied his words to one who was hanged, then he would be my best beloved brother.”

“Do you believe that Messiah is a second Authority?”

“I believe with perfect faith that he stands between us and God, and all authority is given into his hands.”

“No, no,” protested Barnabas, “King Messiah comes only for Israel, to restore the kingdom. That’s what the prophets say.”

“It’s only the little of faith who wait for such a Messiah. I tell you Joseph, that such a Messiah is not worth the price we’ve paid.”

“But why can’t we be like all the other people?” asked Barnabas.

“Are we like other people? Haven’t we been beaten and humiliated daily for Messiah’s sake? Haven’t we denied ourselves the joys of this world for his sake?”

“But I’m weary of carrying the burden of the world. I’m weary of being the scapegoat for the sins of others. Isn’t Israel worthy of being an end to himself?”

“But Israel is the light of the world. We are not asked if we will do this or that. We’ve been elected for this task, to carry the yoke of the Torah, until God sends a redeemer of flesh and spirit. And then he’ll bind the nations and bring them into the granary. For such an Israel no price of suffering is too high.”

Barnabas gazed at his friend with both wonder and envy. It wasn’t just in his words and voice that Saul’s exaltation was evident. By the light of the moon, Barnabas could see the pent-up bitterness and resentment vanish from Saul’s face when he talked about Messiah. His face was now radiantly beautiful.

“And what you said about Stephen. Would you really hand him over to the Sanhedrin? Why would you do that?”

“Because he is my best beloved brother,” answered Saul quietly.

From the Ends of the Earth

On that day of Pentecost, Joseph Barnabas’ sister Mary arranged a great reception for the leaders of the Greek-speaking or Hellenist, community of Jerusalem. The widow of a wealthy Cypriot wine merchant, Mary had settled in Jerusalem after her husband’s death to be closer to her brother, who would be considered her official protector, the comptroller of her estate, and her only son’s spiritual guide. Mary had enrolled her son, John Mark by name, in the Alexandrian Synagogue so that he could be trained in the strictest traditions of the Pharisees. For his secular studies, including instruction in the Greek language, she kept a Greek philosopher she’d purchased in the slave market of Tyre.

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.”

And with that she turned from the two young men and withdrew.

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How come there's no way to indent paragraphs in the blogs on this site?

1 - First Fruits

The following series is adapted from "The Apostle" by Sholem Asch

Chapter 1

FIRST FRUITS

Seven weeks have passed since that memorable day when Jesus of Nazareth was crucified on the hill of Golgotha by command of Pontius Pilate, and it’s time for the festival of first fruits. Countless pilgrims bring their offerings to the House of the Lord. For the most part they’re Palestinian Jews, because the only fruit acceptable for the offerings at this festival must be grown on the soil of the Holy Land.

Included among the worshippers is a large group of poor, homeless and forlorn people coming down from the Mount of Olives. They were hardly noticed by the festive crowds yesterday, when they traveled up the narrow winding path leading from the Kidron Valley into the Akra quarter, for this is a common sight. The Akra quarter has long been the home of Jerusalem’s poor. Their gray, tattered coverings of burlap stand in stark contrast to the multi-colored dress of the holiday celebrants. They wear no sandals, and their heads are uncovered. Their sackcloth clothing is tied around the waist with rope. Some of the women wear the black veil of widowhood, and there’s one in particular whose tall, slender figure and air of stately sorrow brings to mind the memory of Naomi returning to her native city from the fields of Moab.

The men in this group are powerful and muscular, their beards and faces covered with the dust of the road. They brought large bundles of household goods, such as bamboo mattresses, folded tents, and basins, on their broad backs. Their food consists of onions, cucumbers, lettuce and flat cakes. It looks like they’ve come for a long stay.

The group went directly toward the ancient King David wall opposite the muddy Siloah spring, where the caves rise tier upon tier in the massive wall. Traditionally, this has been the refuge of the homeless. The people already here welcomed the new arrivals, waiting at the foot of the vast ruin to help the women up the narrow steps to the upper tiers. The men pitched their tents side-by-side on the damp level in front of the wall.

The hot street here is now filled to overflowing, and the dust, coming in layers with the east wind never really settles, but hangs in a low cloud around everyone’s feet. It’s stifling. Some people find shelter in the shadows of the rich houses in the upper city near the Temple entrance. Others cluster under awnings of sackcloth or branches the shopkeepers have put up to keep the sun, dust, and flies from their goods of wine, flour, and vegetables. Still others find refuge in the niches between the houses in the alleys of the lower city.

And even when it seems that not another foothold remains in Jerusalem, the crowds of pilgrims continue to pour in. Each group comes marching in to the sound of flutes and timbrels, a sacrificial ox leading the way. Farmers who live nearby have brought fresh vegetables. Those from farther away bring vegetables that’ll stay fresher over a longer period of time. There are yellow sheaves of wheat in rough-hewn baskets, while here and there one can see the flash of a finely made golden tray heaped with figs and held high by the jeweled hands of an aristocrat.

The festival of Pentecost will be featured today, the most joyous of all Jewish festivals, for it commemorates the giving of the Ten Commandments at Sinai. Many Jews, who live too far away to bring first fruits, have come anyway just to be a part of the Pentecost ceremonies and to sing verses from the Psalms while listening to the Levites blow the silver trumpets and play on the harps. In the most central court of the sanctuary, white-robed priests offer up sacrifices. The whole Temple is a stormy ocean of colors, a pageant of fantastic costumes, and ten thousand faces are raised eagerly to the light that streams from the central sanctuary.

There are Jewish visitors from Babylon in their long mantles, and Jews from Cilicia and Cyrene in cloaks of woven goat’s hair. There are Jews from distant regions of Asia whose faces are bronzed almost to blackness, whose bodies and limbs are lean and bony. There are Jews from Persia and Medea, with long curled beards and thick-plated black hair. There are poor Jews from the provinces of Arabia, whose only covering is a white sheet. And there are even Jews from Rome, proudly wearing the toga of their adopted city.


Several men are standing off in a corner of the Temple court at the center of a crowd of curious pilgrims. Their dress and bearing is Galilean: sackcloth robe, with bony arms and legs protruding, high heads thickly covered with black curls, tangled beards, and flashing eyes. But that’s not what draws attention. It’s what they’re saying and the way they’re saying it. They‘re telling a marvelous and incomprehensible story with wild and eager gestures, as if they’re feeling the story as they tell it.

The principal speaker looks to be middle aged, as if it had came on him all at once rather than gradually. His dense, bristling beard and his close curls are half black, half gray, but his eyebrows, like his eyes, have the luster of youth. His earnest face, furrowed with the marks of labor and tribulation, is impressively sincere and truthful looking. But his voice carries even more conviction than his appearance, for though he keeps it low, it rings with inspiration. His language is a mixture of Aramaic and Hebrew, and though his listeners mostly speak Greek, yet they seem to understand him.

Incredibly, he’s telling them that the Jesus that Pontius Pilate had crucified on Passover was none other then the promised Messiah, and that he’d risen from death. Even more amazing is the man’s ability to quote verse after verse from the Psalms and prophets that foretold how Messiah would suffer and how God would raise salvation for Israel from the seed of King David. This Jesus showed himself to his disciples after his resurrection, ate and drank with them, and commanded them to carry these tidings to the children of Israel. He told them to say that before many days would pass, he would come down from heaven, and the Kingdom of Heaven would begin on earth.

Some of the man’s listeners vividly recall the gruesome scene while others have a vague recollection that something happened. Still others, recent arrivals in the city, have no clue what he’s talking about. But the passionate speech of the Galilean is obviously stirring deep memories of hopes and dreams in most of them.

In some, though, it stirs up the bitter taste of disillusionment and shame.

One man says, “So early in the morning, and already so full of wine.”
“Not only with wine, but with the poison of the Evil One,” says another.
But a third voice says, “These men don’t talk like drunkards.”

“Whoever heard of a man rising from the dead?” says one man loudly, passing his fingers gracefully through the strands of his beard. The colored girdle around his waist shows him to be a Sadducee. “These men should be driven from the Temple court for spreading such lies. A man’s reward is given him in this life, good things if he’s righteous and punishment if he’s wicked. Don’t listen to these ignorant Galileans.”

Hearing this, a young man pushes his way through the crowd, until he stands side by side with the Sadducee and face to face with the men of Galilee. He glares at the latter with one fierce and challenging eye, which seems to concentrate the power of two into the one. His other eye is almost closed, the heavy lid lying lifeless over the pupil and leaving just a glimmer of white at the bottom. Clearly the young man had heard both the preaching of the Galileans and the comments from the Sadducee.

With a contemptuous grimace of his tight lips and his thin, hawk like nose, he says, “No, not for their belief in the resurrection. It’s only you sad Sadduccees who deny that. They should be thrown out because they exalt a man who was hanged. ‘The curse of God rests on him that’s been hanged.’ That’s what the scripture says.”

At this the preacher turns toward the Sadducee and the young man, lifts his arms, and cries, “This fulfilled the sayings of the prophets who said that Messiah must first suffer. Hear the words of the prophets, “We wandered like lost sheep, each of us went his own way, and God put on him the sins of us all. He was oppressed and tormented, and he did not open his mouth. He was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a young sheep is dumb before the shearer, so he opened not his mouth.’”

“How do the words of the prophets come so easily to these men,” says a baffled bystander. “These men are Galileans. Isn’t that the fisherman from Capernaum who followed the rabbi while he lived?”
“See how the spirit of God rests on them! They talk like educated men, but they never received any formal teaching.”

“Jews!” cries the young man hotly. “They are misleaders and blasphemers! They’ve given the name of God’s anointed to a man who was hanged!”

He would say more, but just then he feels a tug at his elbow. Another young man, evidently a friend, has by now worked his way to the front of the crowd. In contrast to his friend, his bearing is sedate and quiet. Tall and graceful, his face framed in a young beard, his curled hair parted and falling on either side of his forehead, he looks like an heir of some rich family from another province.

“Saul,” he says gently. “We’ll be late for the morning session of Master Gamaliel.”

“You’re right Joseph,” answers Saul. “The babblings of these Galileans would even rob us of our rabbi’s lesson.”

And as abruptly as he’d pushed his way forward, he now turns and pushes his way out of the crowd.

* * * *

The two young men hurrying across the court to the arcade where the illustrious Gamaliel is to deliver his festival lesson are non-Palestinian Jews. Saul, older and shorter, is all motion and restlessness, as if quicksilver runs in his veins rather than blood. He comes from Tarsus, a famous town in Cilicia. Like all pious Jews, his father sent him to Jerusalem to sit at the feet of the great rabbis to learn the Torah and the ways of godliness. His friend hails from Cyprus, a rich province famous for delicious wines, incense, and copper mines. His father, a descendant of Levites, sent him to Jerusalem as well, but his purpose was to learn Levitical service, and to take part in Temple ceremonies like singing songs of praise on the fifteen steps before the sanctuary when the priests offer sacrifices. But his father also went a step further and bought him a parcel of land outside Jerusalem. This allows him to claim the same rights and privileges as someone born there, and makes him feel less like a stranger.

Both of these men grew up in the heart of the gentile world, a world of sin, whoredom and despair. They’ve seen complete moral chaos and utter bestiality, and they cling to the one hope in the storm, the Rock of Israel. They believe with all their heart that there exists just one salvation for man, and they’ve come to Jerusalem to be filled with the spirit of the rabbis and the words of the Torah. They are both proud to be called disciples of Gamaliel.

Gamaliel is the teacher in Israel. He has a great house frequented not only by pupils and rabbis, but also by other men of worldly learning, wealth and influence who feel drawn to the Pharisees. Every Pharisee from abroad who has sufficient means arranges to have his son sent here. To be a pupil of Master Gamaliel is not only a matter of pride, it’s also necessary for one who dreams of a career. Besides that, it’s a guarantee of an education in the best tradition of the great Hillel.

As they rapidly thread their way through the crowd, Saul continues the criticism his friend had interrupted.

“A crucified Messiah? Where’d they get this stuff from, the heathen? Are we Canaanites, or something? I’ve seen enough of these outrages at home. If they want to try planting these abominations in the garden of Israel, then I say tear them out by the roots!”

“But Saul, how can you compare heathen beliefs with what these men were preaching? They quoted our prophets. They don’t deny our beliefs. On the contrary, they call men to repent and prepare for the great day to come. Don’t you find it astonishing that their quote from Isaiah exactly fits the death of their Messiah? And don’t we also believe in the resurrection as they do? I don’t know, Saul, it seems there’s something in their words we need to think about.”

“Joseph!”

The sharpness of the older man’s voice brings his friend to a halt. Saul stares at him with his one blazing open eye, while his lips tighten ominously. To Joseph, it even seems like Saul’s half closed eye is examining him with equal intentness, boring into his secret thoughts.

After a pause, they continue on their way.

“The hope of Israel, one who was hanged?” bursts out Saul. “The one who’s going to come on the clouds with legions of angels and harvest the nations like sheaves? The one God anointed to be a light to the people? The one the Gentiles took and slaughtered like a sheep, and he didn’t call the heavenly hosts to rescue him?”

“But didn’t you hear the man quote from Isaiah, ‘He was led like a lamb to the slaughter,’ and ‘for the sins of my people he was wounded, and he made his grave with the wicked?’ They’re not saying he was punished because he did evil. They’re saying he freely took our sins on himself, and was wounded for our sin.”

“You mean--?” asked the young man of Tarsus and stopped again for a moment, keeping his eye sternly on his friend.

“I – I personally don’t mean anything. But I do say that the words of those men have put thoughts into my head.”


There is silence between them for the rest of the short distance to the arcade where Master Gamaliel has already started preaching. His seat is a raised stone built into the curve of the wall. The older pupils sit on low benches, while the younger ones stand behind them in a semi-circle. Master Gamaliel is a man of slight build, advanced in years, but of majestic appearance. By custom, his head is covered with a kind of black veil that falls over his shoulders. His long white beard reaches down almost to his girdle and frames a grave, wrinkled face.

The lesson he chose this morning doesn’t deal with law or religious observance. It’s devoted to the rules of conduct and the principles of human relationships as taught by his illustrious grandfather, Hillel. Master Gamaliel adds his own commentaries and observations to these rules and principles.

As the two young men approach, they hear Gamaliel say, “Choose a rabbi and teacher who will keep you from the ways of doubt. Man has only one enemy, his own uncertainty. If you have doubts, find a teacher and ask him. Do not be forever uncertain as to whether you are doing your duty. God desires good intentions, for if your intent is pure, all is pure. If you know that there is one who sees your thoughts, and before whom you must make an accounting for all your deeds, you will never doubt. The fear of God will keep you on the right path. So find yourself a teacher and place yourself under authority.”


Returning through the tumultuous Temple court afterwards, Saul and Joseph ponder these thoughts, each in his own way, applying them to the events of the day. Their hearts are stirred by a new restlessness.

“Those were beautiful words the Rabbi spoke today,” says Joseph. “Man needs a guide. He needs the awe of authority, a thread to hold to. Otherwise he’s a lost sheep.”

“Not just man,” murmured Saul. “The whole world must be brought under the command and guidance of authority.”

Coming to the outer court they see that the preaching Galileans are no longer there. But the crowd that had heard them was. Small groups of Jews, both Palestinian and foreign, are discussing the strange things they heard, creating a veritable babel of voices.

A tall Babylonian is swaying back and forth, his arms lifted to heaven, as if a holy spirit possesses him. “Father in heaven!” he calls. “Can it indeed be that you’ve sent us a deliverer?”

A Persian Jew talks in a dreamy voice, “I heard with my own ears what these messengers said. Every day for forty days he appeared to them, exactly as he had in life. He sat with them and broke bread with them.”

“Look at that!” exclaims the young man of Tarsus. “This is what the Galileans have done. The heart of Jerusalem is steeped in longing for deliverance, like woven linen is steeped in oil waiting for the fire at the water pouring ceremony. What will happen if a spark should fall on the drenched heart of Jerusalem?”

“If?” repeated Joseph. “The spark has already fallen. Don’t you hear what these people are saying?”

Age

Sometime around age 35 I was struck with the realization that I was no longer young. Or to put it the way I did at the time, I'd lost a step. It wasn't anything drastic. I just realized that I no longer had quite the speed or endurance I'd had before. And so I pronounced myself middle aged.

Yesterday Kim and I started out on a hike. The first part was an uphill climb of fairly moderate steepness, and about half way up my legs were tired enough that I actually wondered for a moment what I was doing there. Once we got to the top of the ridge, I was fine the rest of the way, even on subsequent climbs, so it was probably just the lack of warm up. Still, I felt like I should not have been that tired. For as much hiking and biking as we've done this summer, I should be in good enough shape that such easy climbs are not going to make me tired. At least that's the way it was in the past.

Which makes me wonder if perhaps I've entered the next stage of life, whatever that might be. It can't be old age, of course, since I'm not yet even 60. So what term to use? Upper middle age perhaps? I've never broken down the stages any smaller than young, middle, and old, but maybe I should do that. The first part of middle age was the realization stage, when I began to understand that things don't come as easily as they did before, and I would have to make adjustments to deal with it. The middle stage of middle age would be the acceptance stage where I learned to live with it. There's probably no wake up call for that stage, because I just segued from one to the other.

This last stage I'm calling the uh-oh stage. It's hitting me that I may not be old yet, but I will be before I know it. So far this stage has been marked by two things. One, as I've already stated, is the tiredness and lack of strength, and the feeling that the same amount of exercise doesn't seem to yield the same results as before. The other is fear; not fear of death, certainly, although I've always been afraid of half-dying. It's more like fear for our financial future. At some point we will retire and our incomes will go down. We've tried to take some steps to alleviate that, but is it enough? At a younger age, if there's not enough income, you go out and get another job. But that's not as much of an option for the elderly.

Well, that's as far as I've gotten in my thought processes about this "problem." Physically I'll continue to hike and bike for as long as I can. Financially I'll try to make the right decisions to take us into our future. Other than than, all we can really do is trust that the Lord will work out the rest.

Just Walkin in the Rain

One of the bad things about Kim's eye disease is the loss of income through all the time missed from work over the years. But there are many good things, such as being able to spend more time together, particularly hiking and biking. Also about once a year, we get caught in the rain in the middle of a hike, either because we didn't check the forecast ahead of time, or because I felt we had enough time to beat a rain that was forecast for "later." Put those two things together, and you have today.

Since Kathryn was working and Kelly had softball, we decided to go out to Texas Roadhouse and then a hike on the towpath afterwards. As we were driving north to where we would be hiking, I should have taken the hint at the fact that the cars coming in the opposite direction all had their headlights on. But when we got to the parking lot, it appeared the rain was still well to the north. This did not last.

I knew our turn around place was a little less than 2 miles from where we started. As we walked, the first drops began to fall. I made the comment that it would probably start getting heavy just as we got to the turnaround, the farthest point away from the car. These are the only types of situations where I tend to be a true prophet. Apparently we now had to see it through for the proof.

As we were heading back, and the rain was getting heavier, I again correctly prophesied that the rain would let up about the time we got back to the car.

We often tend to see those little thumb-nail sized toads when we're hiking. But apparently, when the big rains come, it's the big frog-sized toads that like to come out. We saw several hopping across the towpath, and Kim managed to step on one that she didn't see. Leave it to the blind woman.

At any rate, we made it back none the worse for wear. There was an interesting incident on the way home. Coming down route 8 about a mile from Steels Corner Road, we suddenly had to brake, because two of the three lanes of traffic seemed to be stopped. After stopping, I realized that this was nothing more than Blossom concert traffic. This was like twenty minutes before the concert was due to begin, and traffic was backed up onto route 8 for three-quarters of a mile. So we knew that the traffic on Steels Corner would be bumper to bumper for the three miles to Blossom. As we passed by we could see the traffic waiting to get off of northbound route 8 was backed up quite a ways as well. When you throw in the three major cross streets that would also contain traffic wanting to get there, I couldn't even begin to imagine how long it would be before these poor people would get to their seats. Or to their hunk of lawn. One can feel even more sorry for the people who have lawn tickets. I mean, even if the rain stops, the lawn will be soaked.

Oh well, there was no particular reason to tell that part of the story. I could have said that it gives me sort of a perverse pleasure to see such a thing happen to people going to a hard rock concert. But that would be truly jaded, wouldn't it?