Friday, September 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
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?”
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?”
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
ABC in Obama's Camp?
I've picked up on some hoopla about ABC devoting an entire day to supporting Obama's health care reform including broadcasting their nightly newscast from the white house. I read one conservative publication that condemned it, and two liberal publications, one of which defended it and the other that said they would take a wait and see approach.
In my simplicity, I guess I don't get it. I mean, if it were a news story, every network would be covering it. Since they're not, then it's not. That only leaves two possibilities. Either ABC is shamelessly in Obama's camp but refuses to admit it. Or this is some kind of documentary thing. That's what the one liberal publication used as its defense, comparing it to NBC doing a documentary from the white house during the Bush years. But if it is a documentary, then why would they do their newscast from there?
For me, the deciding factor as to what this really is occurred on the night before the election last November when ABC broadcast a full hour of free publicity for Obama, practically begging people to vote for him, under the guise of a TV show called Boston Legal. This shameless promotion was condemned by no one that I know of, probably because any conservatives that might have watched it already knew ABC's position, so felt no comment was necessary.
I don't mind networks favoring one politician over another, or one political party over another. I just hate it that they all pretend that they don't.
In my simplicity, I guess I don't get it. I mean, if it were a news story, every network would be covering it. Since they're not, then it's not. That only leaves two possibilities. Either ABC is shamelessly in Obama's camp but refuses to admit it. Or this is some kind of documentary thing. That's what the one liberal publication used as its defense, comparing it to NBC doing a documentary from the white house during the Bush years. But if it is a documentary, then why would they do their newscast from there?
For me, the deciding factor as to what this really is occurred on the night before the election last November when ABC broadcast a full hour of free publicity for Obama, practically begging people to vote for him, under the guise of a TV show called Boston Legal. This shameless promotion was condemned by no one that I know of, probably because any conservatives that might have watched it already knew ABC's position, so felt no comment was necessary.
I don't mind networks favoring one politician over another, or one political party over another. I just hate it that they all pretend that they don't.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Surgery et al
What a day. Kim was supposed to have eye surgery at the Clinic today, but while we were getting ready to go this morning, she broke a tooth while flossing. Guess she doesn't know her own strength. These surgeries require 3 days of traveling an hour each way. Monday we go up there for pre-op testing. Then Tuesday we go up for the surgery. Then Wednesday is post-op.
We called the doctor who said they would cancel the surgery and reschedule at a later date. We knew this would probably mean at least a 3 week wait. We found a walk-in dental place where we had to wait about an hour to see a dentist. But once Kim got into the chair, it didn't take long for the dentist to fix her up with a filling. She'll have to go back sometime for a crown. After we got back home we decided to call the Clinic back to see if they could still take her. They said yes, so we drove up there and she had the surgery done.
Originally she was supposed to be there at 12:30. We actually got there at 2:30. But things went well, more or less, and we were able to leave for home around 6:15. So in the long run, everything worked out well. She was able to have the surgery, and we think we finally found a dentist.
We called the doctor who said they would cancel the surgery and reschedule at a later date. We knew this would probably mean at least a 3 week wait. We found a walk-in dental place where we had to wait about an hour to see a dentist. But once Kim got into the chair, it didn't take long for the dentist to fix her up with a filling. She'll have to go back sometime for a crown. After we got back home we decided to call the Clinic back to see if they could still take her. They said yes, so we drove up there and she had the surgery done.
Originally she was supposed to be there at 12:30. We actually got there at 2:30. But things went well, more or less, and we were able to leave for home around 6:15. So in the long run, everything worked out well. She was able to have the surgery, and we think we finally found a dentist.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Myrtle Beach Trip
I worked until midnight Sunday night, and after I got home, we decided to go ahead and get ready to leave rather than sleep for a few hours. I figured I’d not want to get up if I went to sleep and since it was at least a 12-hour trip, we wanted to get there while there was still part of the day to enjoy. We got on the road a little after 2.
As it was, I drove for about 2 ½ hours and then pulled into a rest area and napped for about 30 minutes, then did the same thing again a few hours later. We had to get the key to the place at another location about 5 miles away, so that added time, but we got into the condo about 4:00, which I thought was pretty good for having to drive the whole 665 miles myself.
There were a few surprises waiting for us in the condo. The patio door was stuck due to a bent and rusty track. At first I couldn’t get it open at all. Later I figured out that if I lifted the backside of it carefully, so as not to jam my fingers, I was able to pull it over the bent area and get it open. We then just left it open for the rest of the week, which turned out to be fine. Even when we had the violent thunderstorm on the last night, it wasn’t enough to get the living room carpet wet.
At first we couldn’t find any towels or washcloths, but then we found them in the dryer, although they weren’t dry. The sheets that were folded up on the master bed were also wet and had to be redried. All together there were 4 bath towels, 1 hand towel, and exactly zero washcloths in this unit that sleeps eight people. There were also no kitchen linens. For 3 bathrooms, there was a total of one-half roll of toilet paper. There was also no dish soap.
There were other minor problems that were not irritating by themselves, but under the circumstances, they also added to the perception that we were not exactly in a high-class joint.
We were too tired to do anything about it right then, so we waited until Wednesday morning. We drove back over to the Century 21 office, where we had gotten the keys, with a written list of these complaints so they could notify the owner, or whoever. Then we went over to WalMart to buy all the missing items we needed. Since we were only going to have three people rather than the five who were invited, we just bought some washcloths, and called Ralph to have him bring his own towels. It wasn’t until Thursday that someone called us to discuss these problems. The person said they would bring over some towels, which they never did, that they would tell the owner about the patio door, (I’m guessing the owner already knows about it), and that as far as dishwasher soap, they don’t provide it. I told the lady that this was the first time we had ever rented a condo in which dishwasher soap was not provided. After all, we are required to wash the dishes before we leave, so most owners consider it common courtesy to provide the soap.
The name of the condo is The Summit in North Myrtle Beach. It is better avoided for future reference.
Once we got over this initial hurdle, the rest of the week was rather grand. Well, that is excepting my usual $40 poker losses to my brother. But that’s just my life, and I probably wouldn’t know how to handle it if I actually won.
Kim and I got to take our usual walks on the beach, although she didn’t find many shells worth keeping this time. We think the gulf side has better shells. We got to spend a lot of time just relaxing on the balcony listening to the waves (my biggest reason for going in the first place). We went out for the obligatory seafood dinner, a buffet this time. And Ralph took us on a sightseeing drive down as far as Murrell Inlet and back, mostly because he got bored after I was forced to quit playing poker, having reached my loss limit. I got to make my Books A Million run. And we stumbled onto a discount bookstore in a shopping area called Tanger. That’s quite an outdoor shopping center. There must be a hundred stores there, mostly clothing, but other stuff as well. Anyway, I couldn’t believe how cheap the books were in this bookstore. And they were new current books, not used. Recent books by Dean Koontz, John Updike, John Grisham and Ted Dekker, among others. An illustrated coffee table version of David McCullough’s 1776, which lists for $65, sold for $14.99.
I got $283 worth of books for $86.
I would have kept going, but I didn’t want to hold up the others any longer.
Saturday night, our last night there, Ralph went ahead on home. Kim and I sat on the balcony as a rather violent thunderstorm went out over the ocean. It’s amazing how much louder thunder sounds when it’s out in the open rather than in the city. The lightning show was rather fascinating, and it’s always fun to count the seconds between lightning and thunder so you can figure out how far away it is. When the lightning and thunder are virtually simultaneous, the noise is deafening.
As it was, I drove for about 2 ½ hours and then pulled into a rest area and napped for about 30 minutes, then did the same thing again a few hours later. We had to get the key to the place at another location about 5 miles away, so that added time, but we got into the condo about 4:00, which I thought was pretty good for having to drive the whole 665 miles myself.
There were a few surprises waiting for us in the condo. The patio door was stuck due to a bent and rusty track. At first I couldn’t get it open at all. Later I figured out that if I lifted the backside of it carefully, so as not to jam my fingers, I was able to pull it over the bent area and get it open. We then just left it open for the rest of the week, which turned out to be fine. Even when we had the violent thunderstorm on the last night, it wasn’t enough to get the living room carpet wet.
At first we couldn’t find any towels or washcloths, but then we found them in the dryer, although they weren’t dry. The sheets that were folded up on the master bed were also wet and had to be redried. All together there were 4 bath towels, 1 hand towel, and exactly zero washcloths in this unit that sleeps eight people. There were also no kitchen linens. For 3 bathrooms, there was a total of one-half roll of toilet paper. There was also no dish soap.
There were other minor problems that were not irritating by themselves, but under the circumstances, they also added to the perception that we were not exactly in a high-class joint.
We were too tired to do anything about it right then, so we waited until Wednesday morning. We drove back over to the Century 21 office, where we had gotten the keys, with a written list of these complaints so they could notify the owner, or whoever. Then we went over to WalMart to buy all the missing items we needed. Since we were only going to have three people rather than the five who were invited, we just bought some washcloths, and called Ralph to have him bring his own towels. It wasn’t until Thursday that someone called us to discuss these problems. The person said they would bring over some towels, which they never did, that they would tell the owner about the patio door, (I’m guessing the owner already knows about it), and that as far as dishwasher soap, they don’t provide it. I told the lady that this was the first time we had ever rented a condo in which dishwasher soap was not provided. After all, we are required to wash the dishes before we leave, so most owners consider it common courtesy to provide the soap.
The name of the condo is The Summit in North Myrtle Beach. It is better avoided for future reference.
Once we got over this initial hurdle, the rest of the week was rather grand. Well, that is excepting my usual $40 poker losses to my brother. But that’s just my life, and I probably wouldn’t know how to handle it if I actually won.
Kim and I got to take our usual walks on the beach, although she didn’t find many shells worth keeping this time. We think the gulf side has better shells. We got to spend a lot of time just relaxing on the balcony listening to the waves (my biggest reason for going in the first place). We went out for the obligatory seafood dinner, a buffet this time. And Ralph took us on a sightseeing drive down as far as Murrell Inlet and back, mostly because he got bored after I was forced to quit playing poker, having reached my loss limit. I got to make my Books A Million run. And we stumbled onto a discount bookstore in a shopping area called Tanger. That’s quite an outdoor shopping center. There must be a hundred stores there, mostly clothing, but other stuff as well. Anyway, I couldn’t believe how cheap the books were in this bookstore. And they were new current books, not used. Recent books by Dean Koontz, John Updike, John Grisham and Ted Dekker, among others. An illustrated coffee table version of David McCullough’s 1776, which lists for $65, sold for $14.99.
I got $283 worth of books for $86.
I would have kept going, but I didn’t want to hold up the others any longer.
Saturday night, our last night there, Ralph went ahead on home. Kim and I sat on the balcony as a rather violent thunderstorm went out over the ocean. It’s amazing how much louder thunder sounds when it’s out in the open rather than in the city. The lightning show was rather fascinating, and it’s always fun to count the seconds between lightning and thunder so you can figure out how far away it is. When the lightning and thunder are virtually simultaneous, the noise is deafening.
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