Time
Jesus in Relationships
A Novel
Alan Sorem
Time
Jesus in Relationships: A Novel
Copyright © 2013 Alan Sorem. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
ISBN 13: 978-1-55635-962-0
EISBN 13: 978-1-62189-600-5
Manufactured in the U.S.A.
For my grandchildren,
Leo and Sigrid
Fides et Fortis
Names
Hebrew English
Yeshua Jesus
Yosef Joseph
Miriam Mary
Elisheva Elizabeth
Yohannon John
Rebekah Rebecca
Yaakob Jacob/James
Yosa Little Joseph
Yehudah Judah
Shimeon Simon
Zebadya Zebedee
Philippos (Greek) Philip
Andreas (Greek) Andrew
Places
Yerushalayim Jerusalem
Nehar ha Yarden River Jordan
Kapharnaum Capernaum
Chapter 1
Two abreast, shoulder to shoulder, the line of men shuffled forward. Not prisoners but rather a line of hopeful humanity pressing forward to the riverbank and the waters just beyond. The men were silent, each individual filled with an anticipation common to all of them: rich man, poor man preparing for the cleansing ritual of baptism that would bring liberation to a new life of commitment to the Lord.
The day had begun sunny but now the clouds overhead were darkening. A light breeze swirled the desert sand over by the grove of trees where all the tents for pilgrims were pitched. Yeshua could see women walking among the trees, waiting for their turn to form a line once the men finished. A child’s sudden cry came, followed by the soft voice of a mother. The cry subsided.
As he slowly moved onward in the line together with the man on his right, Yeshua thought of the events that had brought him to this day. The episode in the Temple that occurred when he was twelve. His study of scripture until it was imprinted on his brain. The recent visit of his kinsman, son of Zechariah. Most important, the sudden death of his father, Yosef, that prompted his mother to tell him details about his birth.
Nearing the river, an older man regulated the line. “Single file, now. Single file,” he chanted as he eyed the clouds overhead. The line thinned and reformed to single file. Some men complained. They wanted to get to the river quickly to be cleansed of their sins.
To his right there was another line of men, coming from the river. Their tunics were drenched but their faces glowed with a radiant joy. Most held up their hands in prayer. Others softly sang a praise psalm of the Temple. Yeshua wished Yosef had lived to see this day.
He continued to move slowly forward. At last the man ahead of him reached the river. A boy in shepherd’s clothes was clambering up the side of the bank. From his shaggy hair rivulets of water dripped, further wetting his soaked rough clothing. He was smiling broadly at the men in the line moving forward. “What a glorious day,” he shouted. “Praise the Lord.” A young man wearing a much-mended white cloak held up a hand for the line to wait. In the river an elderly man dressed in the cloak of a Temple priest was raised from the river water. The young man in the white cloak nodded and the person in front of Yeshua carefully stepped on stones that formed a path down to the river and waded toward the three men who were baptizing. One of the three was Yeshua’s kinsman Yohannon. For just a moment Yeshua thought again of Yosef, but he smiled as he realized Yosef was there with him in spirit.
And then it was his turn. His Time.
Chapter 2
Two months earlier it had not been an easy death for his father.
Yosef had purchased a cartload of quality cedar wood in Selame at an excellent price. As he and his pony made their way south to Nazareth, the bright sunshine gave way to a gathering storm. Yosef urged the pony onwards, but they could not outrace the steady cold rain that soon fell.
Finding no shelter nearby, Yosef struggled onward with his valuable purchase. He and the pony at last reached home. Both were soaked and chilled to the bone. The pony was taken to the stable at the side of the house and rubbed down. But warm towels did not calm Yosef. His chest rumbling with a deep cough, he took to his bed and did not rise from it.
Through day and night his wife and seven children took turns keeping vigil at his bedside. Now, on the eighth day, the oldest son, Yeshua, watched over his father in the early hours before dawn. Miriam had wanted to stay but he quietly urged her to go his sisters’ room. She went. He slipped into the chair his mother vacated.
“Call me if there’s a change,” Miriam whispered. He nodded and turned to Yosef. The raw gasping for breath had begun two days ago. Tonight the mixture in the tea had helped Yosef to sleep but the gasping was increasingly labored. His once-muscular frame was drawn in and shrunken.
Yeshua shifted in the chair for a more comfortable position. Years ago Yosef had made the chair and all the other furniture in the room: two chests for clothing, a simple bed frame, and a small table on which the single oil lamp illuminated the room. “He has a gift with wood,” Miriam had often remarked.
The gasping changed, modulating to a quieter, less desperate sound. Yeshua wondered if it was a positive or negative sign.
The only other family member he had watched in death throes was his uncle. Cleopas was chasing a maverick ram when he fell in the field against a sharp rock that sliced through his cloak and cut his chest open. The shepherd ran to the village. Yeshua and others had hurried back to the field and carried Cleopas to his home. He, too, had had rasping breath before he died, just after sundown.
The breathing changed. Yeshua leaned closer and saw the twitching eyelids. His father was dreaming again. The mixture in the tea had not been strong enough to release him from his dreams.
Yosef’s body jerked suddenly and his eyes opened, focused on his oldest son.
“Help me up.” Effort at speaking cast spittle on his beard.
“Father, you must calm yourself.
“Help me up!”
The chair creaked as the son leaned forward and slid an arm under Yosef’s shoulders and tilted upward. His father’s eyes filled with tears.
“My beloved son.” He paused for a moment, gathering more breath to speak. “Tell me again. The wonderful words of the prophet Micah.”
Yeshua nodded. “‘What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly in the way of the Lord.’”