I made straight for the inn, a simple but quite large clay-walled house, with a spreading tent-like awning erected over the entrance, stretching low and wide, open on all sides, as if to tempt passers-by with a sample of the shady relief to be had inside.
After the hot white air of the open road, stepping into the inn was like descending into a cool dark vault. The promise of the outer awning was more than fulfilled. I sat at the nearest table, and sensed rather than saw two people seated some distance away, and the owner approaching me from the curtained entrance to his private quarters.
I ordered a cup of wine, some cheese and barley-bread, which I knew would leave me near destitute, and while the landlord went to fetch it I shook off my sandals to cool my feet on the stone floor. On first entering I had splashed my face with water from a large stone jar standing by the door, and now as I sat waiting I smoothed the last drops of water from my beard as I tried to adjust my eyes to the gloom. I glanced round at the only other patrons- a man and a woman sitting by the opposite wall. The man had his back to me, and all I could see was his robe, but of the woman I could see more than enough.
A harlot.
Though modestly dressed in black, her scarlet lips and cheeks, her Kohl-blackened eyes and her plentiful silver jewellery- fine chains hung with small coins bound loosely about her black hair, her neck, her wrists and ankles, all this spoke too plainly of her profession. It was plain that she might once have been a handsome woman, but her circumstances, whether pre-determined or chosen, had made her now otherwise
I did not notice the landlord return, and I started, embarrassed at being caught staring at such a woman. As he set down the cup and plate, the landlord leered-
“If you want Mary she’ll be with you directly she has finished her prayers”.
The woman yelled, not angrily, more as if it seemed to be expected-
“Shut up you pig’s bastard! Just because the only talk you understand is money and filth, you get jealous when I have clean conversation with a gentleman!” then adding almost as an afterthought- “-even if he is a virgin and a rabbi” and threw one arm about her partner’s neck, as she leaned towards him, laughing still. The man had not stirred. He had merely held up his hand in a gesture of warding off the landlord’s initial remark, and the hand was long, slim and half-cupped, in a manner I had seen before- at Cana, and again in the synagogue at Nazareth. I do not know when I first realised that I had caught up with Jesus; possibly it was his calm, his stillness, his manner so benign and yet authoritative. The control of his face and body always seemed to say ‘we both know my strength; I need not prove it to either of us’. Still without turning, he spoke-
“Come. Join us”.
I hesitated, angry, ashamed, disappointed.
“You are welcome”.
I picked up my cup and platter, and walked towards them, still barefoot. The harlot looked at me, and I felt even more ashamed as she exclaimed-
“This one’s keen. He’s undressing already! He’s bringing his supper to swap half for half of your sweetmeats”.- and here her voice was suddenly husky and her eyes inviting, as she drew up straight, smoothed her hands down her bosom, and added-
“-but I can tell you this one’s no virgin”.
Then she laughed again but more lazy and soft, almost musical, and I stood at their table in speechless anger. Jesus turned with a smile so warm that I was distracted enough to let him take my arm and let him draw me down onto a stool.
“You must not be so much at the mercy of other people’s weaknesses. You must be yourself, as God made you. Yes, even you, Judas”.
This stressing of ‘even me’ puzzled me not a little, though at the time I was too confused to dwell on it. If I had questioned it I wonder, how close would the answer have been to the truth, which has poisoned me now, for so long?
“There he goes again” said the harlot.
“Not yet introduced and he’s preaching again”.
“It is Judas, is it not?” he asked.
“Judas Iskeriot”.¹
Judas, I want you to meet my friend, Mary”.
I ignored the introduction, and pleaded-
“Why? Why do you keep such company?”
Then I was surprised to hear this Mary say quite seriously, and calmly-
“I asked him that”.
“And what was my answer?”
“Oh- you tell him, Rabbi”.
“Because my purpose is with all God’s children. The immoral are no less in need of love than the pious, who need help just as much as the immoral. All are sinners”.
“So you start small, eh Rabbi?” countered the woman- “with one lazy whore and one-what?” this last at me. Before I could answer ‘clerk,’ Jesus said, still smiling-
“But you are both especial; Judas in particular is a charge laid on me, and I am a greater charge laid on him”.
“And what of my charge?” bandied the harlot.
“Mary, you know your sins are many, and they threaten to destroy you”.
“I know this!” she snarled- suddenly all fire and fangs, like a wild she-cat facing death at the end of the hunt- facing but not accepting- “Your God gave me a beautiful body- incapable of any labour save one! He gave me a beautiful mouth but put no food in it! He gave me loving arms but no husband to caress- only greedy strangers! He gave me soft white breasts but no rightly fathered child to nurse- only a mal-formed dead thing, half infant, half dog!² and after your good God had done all these good things for me, I survived- the only way I know!”
And here, she collapsed across the table, sobbing, or would have done, had Jesus not risen, quickly, and taken her up into his arms, clasping her tightly to him. He kissed her hair, lightly, many times, and as she lifted her face in her amazement, which was no less than mine, he kissed her eyes , her brow, her cheeks, her lips, quickly, lightly, like the gentlest of lovers, murmuring all the while-
“Hush, calm yourself. I am here. I am with you. Do not be afraid”.
Then Mary struggled to turn away, whimpering-
“No master. No! I am-“
“I know who you are, Mary”.
He was at her back now, for she had turned away and he wrapped his arms around her, speaking over her shoulder.
“-and the time will come when you will know who I am. You will know and you will come like a lamb to the safety of the shepherd’s fold. Not for a while, perhaps. Do not try to understand, yet. None could in so short a time. Not many will see as you have seen. All the wisest men in the world could not see in this bright light, and seeing, understand it on a moment. But promise me, Mary”- and here his voice was strangely urgent- “promise me that when you have need of me, you will not delay for a second. You must run faster than the wind. You must not tarry for I know not yet how little time I may have here, and when you need me, I may be in need of you. Promise?”
“I promise. My- Lord?”
“Do not call me Lord, yet. Come! -and here his tone lightened- “-sit down and we will share Judas’ cup and cake. It is not robbery, for he will share more than one cup with me”.
He took up the cup, offered it first to Mary of Magdala, then to me, saying-
“The fruit of the vine, trodden by men, then raised up by God to our service”.
And we each drank. Then he picked up the bread, broke it, and gave it to each of us, saying-
“The fruit of the earth, which men have ground down and God has proven to give us life. Thank you for these gifts, Father, and for the gift of each other”.
All this while, I had been sitting as one turned to stone, or as one in a dream, fully aware of events, but completely incapable of participating by so much as the slightest twitch of a single muscle. My mind was reeling!
This had not been like in the synagogue, when he had spoken of all mankind, nor even like at Cana, when he had acted for the good of two families, one distantly related to his own. Here he had concerned himself with one, just one, of the most unfortunate, despicable and unclean of human creation. And his concern had been so much more intense, his eyes brighter, his voice more urgent, his words cutting deeper into conscience, and yet his smile so warm, so loving, so all embracing.
You may read the pious, artless scribblings in the two so called gospels and you will find plenty of ‘Jesus did’ and ‘Jesus said’ but you will find no ‘Jesus smiled’. How could they have been there? How could they have seen his smile and not remember?
As we ate, Jesus spoke to us, almost continuously, quietly, forgetting to eat, himself. He told us things which I was to hear him say so many times. He spoke of love which knows no barrier, love which envelops the whole world, love which forgives offence, which rejoices in even the colour of a child’s eyes, or the line of a blade of grass. Things which almost tear my heart asunder. The memories are so sweet and warm, and yet so sad, so cruel in their picture of a paradise so close and yet so closed to me for ever.
We sat there into the early evening, and about the time of sunset, we heard the noise of people approaching in some agitation. The noise came closer, and eventually several people entered the inn, led by an official looking man, obviously of certain means. When he saw Jesus, who had turned to observe the newcomer, he stopped, hesitated, then asked-
“Are you the one?”
“Did my Father send you?”
“A stranger told me I would find you here. My son is dying. I have come from Capurnaum and I fear that he may be already dead when I return. Can you help him?”
“Do you believe that I can?”
“I only know that I want my son to live!” and here the man was most distressed, then calmer, more abject. “Forgive me. I want my son to live. I know nothing else”.
Jesus replied to the man, but also addressing the crowd of people in the doorway-
“If you see signs and wonders and miracles, you will believe, but your Father’s love and forgiveness you cannot see, and so you do not believe”.
Then speaking kindly to the man-
“You can go home. Your son will live. Go. When you see, then you will believe”.
Jesus held the man’s uncertain gaze for a long moment, and then as one walking in sleep, the man turned to the door and was allowed through by the crowd, who with many backward glances, followed the man away. Jesus sat again, looking down at the table, his face a mask of pity and grief. Mary, the Magdalene, asked timorously-
“How do you know the boy will live?”
“Because- because I have asked that it will be so, and it has been given to me. I have said he will live, and he will, whether you believe it or no. Even I cannot take back what I have said, cannot un-say it. Many things I say will be questioned, but being said, even of a moment, they will remain said for all of time”.
There was a long weary silence, then Mary spoke again-
“Who are you, Rabbi?”
“If I told you, you would not believe me, but the day will come when you will be ready to open your eyes, when you will need to open your heart. On that day you must come to me wherever I am, and your eyes and your heart will be opened. You will have no need of questions”.
Mary rose as if to leave.
“Remember your promise, Mary”.
She moved slowly to the door, the expression in her eyes like that of a small creature hypnotised by a predator, and her going seemed not so much an escaping from a spell as being given slow release from it. Finally she passed out of sight, through the doorway, and then we heard her run sobbing into the gathering dusk.
Some minutes later we left the inn, and walked to the outskirts of the town. We passed a point on the road where a track led down a gentle slope to a farm. On the opposite western side the ground rose up through rocky outcrops to a broken ridge of high barren ground, the rim of which was still burning a dull red with the last light of the sun which had set an hour or so before.
As we walked I had questioned Jesus of his plans and he had been almost evasive. He had explained most clearly his purpose in preaching the word of God, but scripture is not to be preached- rather the interpretation. Even I could already see, and this much Jesus acknowledged, that he was capable of more than itinerant prophecy. This was clearly not his purpose, rather a mere characteristic, though that is too trite a word.
Finally, as we reached this farm track, and Jesus could see that my patience was fast diminishing, he suggested we sit down.
“If I were to tell you the story of creation, second by each second, each grain of sand, every bead of moisture, from the highest star in the tip of heaven, to the lowest smear of black clay, far below the depth of the chasm into which Beelzebub was cast, from the first flicker of the beginning of the chaos out of which God plucked the firmament, to the last dying echo of the final trump of doom, you would understand so little that the much which you did not comprehend would taint and burn away that speck which you had retained. You would grasp so little of what you saw that the enormity beyond your vision would burn and scald away the eye of your reason. If..”
“Enough!” I exploded. “You leave me in no doubt as to my lack of understanding, but tell me just this; may I travel with you?”
His answer surprised me.
“You must travel with me Judas. There is no other path open to you. But for this night we must part. I want you to go to Capernaum and look for a fishing family by the name of Cephas. Tell them nothing. They will give you the hospitality due to a traveller, and perhaps in return you will help them at their nets. I will join you within the week”.
“Must I travel now, at night?”
“No. Start tomorrow”.
“Then I will make a bed in the straw of this farm here, if the dogs do not eat me for a vagrant”.
I set off down the track without another word, for I was still resentful of the mystery. Near to the farm I found a neglected barn, and I paused in the open doorway to look back. I could just see the pale fleck of Jesus’ robe as he was picking his way up between the rocks of the slope opposite. I stood for quite a while straining my eyes to follow his progress up to the ridge. Finally he was silhouetted against the dim rose glow still lingering along the rim of the heavens, and then he simply faded out of sight as he walked on towards the west.
I stepped inside and settled down in some old straw, and though my mind was in a whirl with half formed questions, I was soon asleep.
₁ Ish kerioth- of the plain.
₂ This suggests a pre-natal defect (the name of which I cannot recall) which results in curvature of the spine, and a pronounced growth of coarse hair between the shoulder-blades, this hair being quite evident by the (invariable) still birth.