Land Of Silence Part 24

A letter arrived from Ethan. It did not mention money or the workshop or Calvus or the past.

He wanted to bring Rachel to Tiberias so I could meet her.

I am traveling with my daughter to Capernaum in three weeks so she can tarry with her mothers relatives. We will stay at the house of Jairus, the man I mentioned earlier. He is the ruler of the synagogue and was my wifes cousin. Rachel adores his daughter, Lilit. Though Lilit is twelve"three years older than Rachel"the two are fast friends. May we stop at your house on our way back from Capernaum so that I can introduce Rachel to you?

This request astounded me. I could not fathom the reason behind it. Why would Ethan drag his daughter to my house? To her, I was nothing but a stranger, a shadow in her fathers past. With this infernal sickness leeching the life out of me, I could be nothing to her, not even a kindly aunt offering frequent hugs and generous presents.

For all my misgivings, I could not resist the offer. The child for whom I had prayed over so many years, the little girl I had grown to love without ever meeting, would soon be at my house. I could see her, hear her, know her a little. To behold her in the flesh surpa.s.sed all my imaginings.

I also knew that this renewal of my acquaintance with Ethan could shred my heart to pieces. He was already awakening feelings and desires I had long since put to sleep. The very sight of Ethan made me long for things I could not have. Marriage. Family. Love. Belonging. I needed fort.i.tude to resist this futile temptation. I could resist offers of financial help and Calvuss empty overtures and even the appeal of an early grave by my own hand. But how was I supposed to resist love?

I witnessed this with my own eyes, when I traveled to Capernaum with Chuza last week, Joanna said, her face radiant with a feverish light. Jesus was speaking at a house in Capernaum. Many of us had gathered there to hear his teaching. People filled the courtyard and even sat outside, near the windows, in order to hear him.

The air inside was stale from the proximity of too many bodies. But no one stirred. He speaks with such authority that we hung on his words with no thought for our comfort.

There was a sudden commotion above us. You shall never guess what happened next, Elianna. A group of men had brought their friend to receive prayer from Jesus. The invalid was a young man, with a thin face and dark, suffering eyes, paralyzed from the waist down and confined to his mat. They had carried his mat over to the house where we were, hoping to see Jesus, but could not get through the great crowds. So they climbed to the roof, removed the tiles, and lowered the man down through the hole, until he landed at the masters feet.

I chuckled. What did the owner of the house say?

No one noticed! We were all laughing and cheering. Then Jesus motioned for us to quiet down and everyone grew still. He looked toward the ceiling and smiled. I see you have faith, he said to the mans friends. Then turning to the paralyzed man, he said, Young man, your sins are forgiven.

I gasped. He said that?

He did. There were several Pharisees and teachers of the Law present in the house at that time. Apparently, they did not like Jesuss p.r.o.nouncement of forgiveness, for by their reckoning, only G.o.d can forgive sins. Jesus must have sensed their displeasure, for he said to them, Why do you question this in your hearts? Is it easier to say Your sins are forgiven, or Stand up and walk? And then turning to the paralyzed man, he said, Stand up, pick up your mat, and go home!

Well, he is certainly bold. What happened when the young man remained on his mat, gaping at him?

He did not remain on his mat, Elianna. In front of our eyes, that young man jumped up, picked up his mat, and went home, praising G.o.d so loudly we could hear him halfway down the lane. Then everyone raised such a deafening cheer you could not hear anything but shouts of joy for a long time.

I frowned. The paralyzed man walked?

As well as you and me. What do you say now, Sister? Are you starting to believe that Jesus is a true prophet?

I see that you believe it, I said with caution.

There is something more I must tell you. He prayed for me.

Did he?

Undeterred by my wooden tone, Joanna continued her story. Something in her voice, her manner of speaking, even the faraway look in her eyes made the hair on my arms stand on end. This was my beloved sister I knew so well, and yet there was some intangible difference about her. Joanna had never seemed this content to me, nor had I seen such a joy in her countenance, not even on her wedding day.

He has the gentlest eyes I have ever seen, she said. It was like being bathed in love, having his gaze rest on you. Chuza had taken time away from work concerns to come with me, and he asked Jesus to bless me. The teacher laid his hands on my head. At first, I felt a peace I have never known. I could feel the sorrow of every miscarriage strip from me. Before long, another strange thing happened. The fears I have carried through the years fell away. Fear of losing Chuzas love and ending up alone. Fear of his parents increasing criticism. Fear of being a complete failure as a wife. I was being washed, layer after layer, my soul cleansed of its many burdens.

Without warning, I felt my knees give and I collapsed, crying and trembling. At that very moment I knew I had been healed. I knew I would bear a child. A healthy child.

I froze. I could not deny the deep peace that seemed to have settled upon Joanna. But the certainty of her hope alarmed me. How disappointed she would be when her expectations came to nothing. When she continued to remain barren. I remembered those nights when I had lain in my bed with a knife clutched in my hand because hope had disappointed me.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, the Proverbs taught. A truer word was seldom spoken. I smiled for Joannas sake, feeling sick inside.

Sometimes the evidence of our senses and the testimony of the worlds wisdom are plain wrong. Sometimes the Lord is busy forging victory when the mind expects only defeat.

I had believed in the brutal futility of Joannas hope in a mere man. But G.o.d, who knits miracles from the fragile threads of our faith, knitted a miracle in my sisters womb. After so many years of barrenness she became pregnant again. Never have I been so happy to be proven wrong.

I had the effrontery to remain worried and to doubt. She had lost three babies. Though she remained unshaken in her faith that this child would be born healthy, I could not help but fear she would yet again taste the bitterness of disappointment. This time, however, I was not nearly as contemptuous of this Jesus of Nazareth.

Come with us, Elianna, Joanna pleaded with me. Chuza and I are going back to Capernaum to hear him speak.

I think not, beloved.

You still doubt him?

I laid my head on my knees, feeling weary to the marrow of my bones. He is either a cheat, in which case it would be a waste of my time to come and see him, or a true prophet of the Lord, in which case he shall not want me and the taint of my uncleanness to come anywhere near him.

I think you are mistaken. He is holy; I have no doubt of that. But in his holiness, he welcomes the brokenhearted, the sinners, the weak. I heard him say, Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. You are weary, my beloved sister. You carry such a heavy burden. Come to him, and let him give you rest.

I went still. The Nazarenes claim captured my soul as deftly as a fisherman catches fish in his nets, for those words were a close proximity of G.o.ds own proclamation through the prophet Jeremiah, which had seized my heart so long ago.

For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languis.h.i.+ng soul I will replenish.

These were the words I had clung to for years. Words I did not yet know how to fully live. And now a man spoke them as if he were himself the fulfillment of them. I will give you rest. An ordinary man with the power to end weariness, to dispense G.o.ds rest to those who carried heavy burdens. What I could not do for myself, this prophet claimed to be able to do for me.

Could such a promise be fulfilled?

Could I afford to ignore the offer, no matter how hard my disappointment if he lied?

TWENTY-NINE.

When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refres.h.i.+ng springs.

PSALM 84:6, NLT.

I TRAVELED ALONE to Capernaum, where this Jesus often visited. Joanna, though healthy, had started to feel the sickness that plagued many pregnant women and could not face the journey, and Chuza found himself preoccupied with the approach of one of Herod and Herodia.s.s many banquets. I left Keziah behind because I knew she would care for Joanna. I dared not leave my sister to the ministrations of her censorious in-laws. With Chuza engrossed in his demanding work schedule, my sister would need Keziahs attentive presence.

In a way, I preferred traveling alone. I would prove a nuisance to anyone who came with me. By myself, I wouldnt cause my traveling companions an additional inconvenience with the limitations of my condition. I carried my own pillow and bedding so that I caused as little aggravation for the innkeeper as possible. With my cautious preparations, they would not have to wash everything after my departure. Nonetheless, I had to part with a good deal of denarii, which I could not afford, in order to make myself welcome.

It was said that Jesus crossed the Sea of Galilee often and spoke in different parts of the region from day to day. No one knew for certain where he would show up next. Nonetheless, the crowds managed to somehow sniff out his location and gathered around him whenever he approached. I needed only to remain in Capernaum for some days and wait for him to show up again.

In an ironic twist of G.o.ds incomprehensible plans, Ethan also was near, staying with Jairus the synagogue leader. I did not seek him out. I planned to return home in time for his promised visit. Trying to contact him in the house of his wifes relatives would prove an awkward imposition.

The two men who most consumed my thoughts were within my reach. Jesus of Nazareth and Ethan Ben Ezer. Yet I could touch neither.

I fell asleep a bare hour after arriving at the inn, depleted by my short journey. Anxiety had dogged each step of my travels. What if Jesus proved a fake? What if I was never healed? What if Ethan gave up on me and I never saw him again?

Fear is a tenacious force. Even through the coils of sleep I felt it nip at my heels. Felt it chase me down and catch me and laugh as it won.

That fellow you came to see, the innkeepers wife said in her rough Galilean accent. He is on the hillside teaching.

You mean at this moment?

She snapped her fraying rag at a fly marching over a tray of dates. According to my servant who just walked past there, he has already drawn heaps of people. You better go before you miss the entertainment.

Thank you. Can you please give me directions to the place?

One of our boys is going that way. You can follow him.

An impressive crowd had gathered around the hillside near Capernaum to listen to Jesus. I had rarely seen so many people in one place. A sea of people, squashed together, hanging on the words of this one Galilean. Male, female, child, adult, it seemed not to matter. They were all drawn to him.

I dared not go close lest I touch someone by accident and cause a furor; instead I lingered to listen alone from afar. His features were a blur from where I sat. He seemed a surprisingly ordinary man. His clothes were not fine and he wore no jewelry that I could see. I could hear his voice, which the hillside carried with clarity"deep, strong, and certain, with a sweet warmth I had never heard in another voice.

But to you who are willing to listen, I say, love your enemies! Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who hurt you.

The crowd hushed, breathless, wordless. No one stirred one hair. I understood their stunned silence. The shock of those words went through me like an earthquake that utterly capsizes everything in its path. Love my enemies? Love Decimus Calvus? Do good to him? Bless Avigail, whose sharp tongue had pierced me more than once? Pray for Calvus, not that he be punished, but that he be blessed? That he prosper and be happy? Is that what he meant, this Jesus?

Then I wondered what would have happened if my father had done this for me. When I failed to care for Joseph as I should have, when I caused his death, what if instead of rejecting me, he had loved me? Blessed me? Prayed for me? How different my life might have been if my father had been able to live by these words.

But to love Decimus Calvus? He was not even sorry for his actions. He felt no shame for anything he had done. How could I even begin to forgive the misery of losing Ethan? And with him, the workshop, our house, everything we owned. One part of me truly believed that not marrying Ethan had been the best gift I could have given him. But a deeper part of my soul mourned that loss. It still cut me when I thought of it. Every lonely night, every empty day, every silent hour slashed at me with its sharp edge. Ethan was like a perforated wound that refused to close.

I was to forgive that? Pray for the one who had caused such an incurable wound and felt not one grain of regret? How could I? The answer came simple and fast: I could not.

In the days that followed, I had the opportunity to witness Jesus minister to the pressing crowds many times. Once, a centurion sent some of our peoples elders to the teacher, asking for his help. The Jewish leaders speaking on behalf of the centurion pleaded with Jesus. He has a valued servant who is gravely ill and will soon die. Please come to his aid. If anyone is worthy of your help, it is this centurion, for he loves our people and our nation. He even built a synagogue for us with his own money. Their sincere defense of a Roman centurion astonished me. Why would respectable Jews show such devotion to one of our enemies?

Jesus did not seem to share my misgivings; he went with them, a crowd following his footsteps closely. I lagged behind everyone at a cautious distance. When we were still a short way from the house, several Jewish men approached Jesus and introduced themselves as friends of the centurion.

Lord, one of them said to Jesus, our Roman friend has sent us in his place. We are to tell you to trouble yourself no further. There is no need for you to come within, for as he said in his own words, I am unworthy to have you under my roof. Such an honor is too high for me. I did not presume to come and meet you in person for the same reason. But if you would deign to speak a word right here, where you stand, I know my servant will be healed. For I too serve under the authority of my superior officers, and have authority over the soldiers in my cohort. If I want something done, all I have to do is speak the words. I say come and my soldiers come; and I say go and they go. Lord, I know it is the same with you. You only have to speak the words, for you have the authority to heal my servant.

The crowd gasped when they heard this unusual declaration. Humility like this was rare to find in any man. But in a Roman?

I am amazed, Jesus said as he turned to the crowd. I tell you, I have not seen faith like this Romans in all of Israel. He sent the friends of the centurion back to the house with a word of encouragement. The crowd lingered outside the door, wondering what the outcome would be. I noticed Jesus standing with his eyes closed, smiling as if he knew something the rest of the world could not comprehend. I could not remove my gaze from him. His mere presence drew me like a fire in the middle of a frozen desert.

A few moments later, the door burst open and one of the friends of the centurion flew out. He is healed! The centurions servant is healed! At this moment, he is sitting up and eating a big bowl of stew. He has not been able to eat in three days. He is perfectly recovered. An hour ago, he was at deaths door. But one word from the master and he has been restored to health.

A deafening cheer pierced the countryside. I thought the crowd might trample Jesus in their ecstatic fervor. Like an immovable force he stood, unimpressed by the praise. You would think the ardent approval of men meant nothing to him.

I lowered myself onto a large rock jutting from the side of the road, my movements slow. What power was this? How could a mere man speak healing to someone he had not seen or touched? And yet Jesus seemed utterly unaffected by the furor of admiration he had caused. I was witnessing something untouched by the corruption of this world and it confounded me.

A woman with a warm smile approached me. I am Mary. I noticed you sitting here alone and thought I would come to greet you.

I am Elianna, I said woodenly. Though she seemed friendly enough, I could not welcome her amiable conversation. I worried that if she discovered the nature of my illness, she might alert the crowd and force me to turn away. But she did not seem interested in my history.

The master always bestows blessings wherever he goes, she said. There are no ordinary days when you follow Jesus.

Do you know him well?

I accompany him and his disciples whenever I can and contribute financially to his ministry. He healed me of the evil spirits that had tormented me for years. I owe him my life.

He allows a woman to travel with him?

The smile blazed. It made her plain face look radiant. There are several of us amongst his faithful followers, and he draws more disciples with every pa.s.sing day. He welcomes women as readily as he welcomes men. Never have I felt so safe as when I am in the presence of Jesus.

You have no cause to doubt him?

Doubt him? She had an open face that seemed devoid of subterfuge. Kneeling by my side, she said, He is my teacher and my Lord. More still, he is the promised Messiah. He has come to set the captives free. Once, I was such a captive. Now, I am free.

I frowned. Noticing a stain on my skirt, I rubbed at it, distracted. But it proved too stubborn; I could not remove it. That is quite a claim, I said. He is not the first man to have made it.

But he is the only one who has given sight to the blind, made the lame walk, restored hearing to the deaf. Though he wields indescribable power, he remains humble. No one is too low for him. Several weeks ago, after a long walk, when we had stopped to partake of a simple meal, the crowds brought their children to him. Children! Dirty feet; runny noses; wailing, smelly infants. His disciples tried to send them away, crying, For shame! Do not bother the master with these young ones. Gather them to the arms of their wet nurses. They do not need a rabbi yet. But Jesus said, Leave the little ones alone. Dont prevent them from coming to me. G.o.ds kingdom belongs to them. Then he laid hands on each one and prayed for them.

I have seen him forgive sins, not with mere words that land in your ear like an empty puff of air, but with the power of G.o.d. When he proclaims forgiveness, lives change. People turn inside out and become new.

His closest friends, the twelve that travel everywhere with him, once saw him calm a storm at sea with a simple proclamation. Even death cannot withstand his power. Last week, just as we were arriving at Nain in Judea, we noticed a funeral procession by the city gates. We questioned the crowds about who the body belonged to and were told that he was the only son of his widowed mother. How bitterly she wept, that poor woman. Her sobs racked her thin flesh so that she could hardly breathe.

The masters eyes softened as he watched her distress. I love to see that look on his face, for I know a miracle is not far. Compa.s.sion becomes a weapon of warfare in Jesuss hands. No heartache can stand against it.

Do not weep, he said to the widow. The woman gaped as Jesus walked up boldly and touched her sons bier. Everyone came to a standstill"pallbearers as well as the great crowd who had gathered for the funeral. They must have thought him completely insane! They were even more stunned when he said in a loud voice, Young man, I say to you, arise.

He said that aloud? What happened then?

Mary started to laugh, silent wisps of air escaping her open lips. The dead man sat up.

No!

She nodded. That wasnt nearly so enjoyable as when he started to speak.

What did he say?

He said, What is all this commotion about? Mother, have you been crying? I feel a little tired. Why am I lying in this place?

I cannot remember everything. But Jesus took hold of him and drew him out of the bier and handed him into the arms of his weeping mother. Perhaps you understand now why I say Jesus is the Messiah. G.o.d has visited his people just as the crowds proclaimed that day.

Mary left to join her friends shortly after sharing these astonis.h.i.+ng revelations with me. I had witnessed the healing of the centurions servant. But could I believe what Mary was saying? The sick healed, the dead raised, the forces of nature itself bound by the power of the words issuing out of this mans lips? If all these reports were true, then even our greatest prophet Elijah could not compare with Jesus and the magnitude of his deeds.

As I walked to the inn, my steps heavy with fatigue, one thought haunted me. Love your enemies. I had yet to ask Jesus for anything. I had yet to draw near enough to look into his eyes and be acknowledged by him. But irrationally, I felt he had asked something of me. If he had spoken my name out loud that day on the hilltop, his command would not have felt more personal. Pray for those who hurt you. An unshakable conviction filled me with irresistible force. He had asked me to do this one thing. Love, love, love Decimus Calvus; pray for him. Bless him.

Likely, I would never come near enough to Jesus to receive his prayer. He might be welcoming to little children, but I doubted he felt charitable toward a woman who would bring him the disgust and inconvenience of an unclean touch. Still, I felt a compunction to do his bidding. Forgive the man who had ruined my life.

At the inn, in the corner of my small chamber with its crumbling walls, I collapsed on my squashed pillow. Lord G.o.d, I have been walking through the valley of weeping for so long. Please transform it into a place of refres.h.i.+ng springs. Please, Lord, teach me how to pray for my enemy. Change my heart so that I can bless Decimus Calvus. Bless Avigail. Then a new revelation dawned that made me stop breathing. Help me forgive my father for not forgiving me.