The Gospel According to the Son

28

Later, this story was much exaggerated by Mark and Matthew and Luke. No angel appeared in the sky, nor did the manna that God gave to Moses appear. But such was the power of the blessing of the Lord that my followers were satisfied. I felt as if I were a carpenter's apprentice again and had gathered with my fellows in a green field (rather than on the stones of a desert beach). We were eating with much joy. Indeed, it was a feast. Perhaps that is why Mark gave me not less than five thousand loaves and hundreds of fish and burdened my disciples with twelve baskets of food to bear home. Whereas we were five hundred, and brought nothing back but ourselves.

Exaggeration is the language of the Devil, and no man is free of Satan, not even the Son of God (and certainly not Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John). So I knew that many of my followers would increase the numbers of this feat. Yet I also suspected that my Father preferred each miracle to equal no more than the need that called it forth. Even as waste will exist in all matters, so in the working of miracles, extravagance is best avoided. And by that, I believed I now understood my Father.

But it was not for me to understand Him. Not every one of my miracles would be so modest. A little later, after I debarked again with my disciples, we rowed to Bethsaida, on the other side of this Sea of Galilee.

As we came to land, I told them all to sleep on the ship. I would go ashore by myself. I wished only to satisfy my desire to meditate upon the events of this fine day.

As night came, a gale arose. From where I sat, high on the shore, I could see that our ship was tossed by waves. So I came down again to the water and began to swim to the boat. Of a sudden, I was up and above the waters! I was walking! And I could even hear my Father's laughter at my pleasure in walking upon His water. Then came a second wave of His laughter. He was mocking me. For I had concluded too quickly that there was no extravagance in His miracles. I had forgotten how in the Book of Job, our Lord had trampled upon the back of the sea. I, walking now upon water (if with a gentle step), thought of how my Father had spoken to Job out of the whirlwind and told him: "Here shall the proud waves be stayed," yes, and He had "entered into the springs of the sea" and He had "walked in search of the depth." When young, I had read these words many times, and now the waves beneath my feet had become a path. And God was joyful at my admiration. For now I knew the true extent of His domain. He had lived before the day was born or the water stirred or the earth formed. He had brought my seed from the east and He had gathered me from the west and He controlled the waters of chaos. And I was joyful for such a vision, and did not want my joy to end. I was going to continue walking right past the boat of my disciples. But I didn't. I stopped instead to look at them. And they were frightened. Who could be striding beside them? I heard many cry out. One said, "It is a ghost!" I said, "Have courage. It is I. I am." Which is to say that I was not a spirit. And added, "Be not afraid."

Peter now said, "Lord, if it is you, ask me to come to you."

"Come."

Peter stepped out of the ship. We both thought that he too could walk. But the wind was wild. He sank. "Lord, save me!" he cried.

I stretched out my hand and caught him and said: "Why did you doubt?" And went back into the boat with him.

It was then I knew that Peter wanted to be loyal. Yet I also knew that there would come a time when he would have to fail me. For his faith was in his mouth, not his legs. Never would men's sentiments reveal the presence of the Lord. He would only appear in their deeds. That was just! For the Devil, having learned the arts of speech from the Lord, could utter glorious phrases worthy of the Lord and stirring to the heart, even if nothing that was good in his words could last.

When Peter and I returned to the ship, my disciples asked: "Are you the Son of the Highest?"

Now, they had asked this many times before and each time I heard in their voices something that told me they were ready to believe. Still I also heard how they did not yet believe. With each day they might come closer, but not completely, not yet. So I understood that as much as they wished to be loyal, they might also fail me. In the presence of my great joy on this nightùand I was feeling great joy at having come so close to my Fatherùtheir hearts would harden. For they could not share my wonder.

After our night at sea, we came ashore in the land of Genessaret and multitudes once more awaited us. When we entered a village, the afflicted lay on the street awaiting our visit.

By midday, I was weary; by evening, low; my garment was imbued with entreaties. And when I went to the synagogue, Pharisees were there from Jerusalem, and scribes among them. It was not long before they wished to speak.

They told me that they had seen my disciples eat bread with unclean hands. The publicans, sitting in each village square, had been collecting taxes for the Romans and had handled coins from early morning until they were done, then they gambled at night with the coins they kept for themselves. How could their hands not be filthy? But the Pharisees, when they come home from the market, do not eat unless they wash.

Yet one cannot honor the pious. For no matter what care is taken to satisfy them by studious observance of the laws, they can never be satisfied. Indeed, how can one obey the Law absolutely? The laws of observance were written by men more pious than oneself. Therefore the Law, if by a tittle, has once more been broken. One has failed again. So I stood before the Pharisees in the synagogue and spoke to them like a physician, saying: "There is nothing that can enter a man and defile him. It is only the things that come out of a man. Those who have ears to hear, let them hear."

Much low and unhappy murmuring came back to me from these Pharisees. Within the synagogue, in the presence of the altar, I was speaking of the natural uncleanliness of man, who, as he lives, must pollute. My words were offensive to the altar.

But I was speaking as well to my followers, and I did not cease: "What enters from without does not pass into a man's heart but into his belly, and goes out again into the drain." And they heard me whisper to myself, "That dirt which is on a man's hands is nothing." Now, I said aloud, "What comes out of a man, however, can defile him. From a man's heart issue evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, blasphemy, pride, even the evil eye."

My indignation mounted until I could not go on. Such a sudden fury had arisen in me that it took my breath away. These Pharisees scolded others for not washing when they did not know the sum of their own evil. Of course, they were terrified of evil from without! They were terrified even of the dust of the road and the mud of the fields. For as they saw itùand only in this manner could they seeùit took no more than one mote of non-observance to unbalance the scales within. Dirt, to them, was a sea of sin. But where in any one of them could one find a love of God that was ready to sacrifice all that they had?

I left the synagogue. Before the night was done I had even cured a man who was deaf and had an impediment in his speech. This was done by no more than putting my fingers in his ears, whereupon he spit; then I touched his tongue, causing him to look up to heaven and sigh. With that I said: "Be opened." His ears opened, and the string of his tongue was loosed; he spoke. I smiled. For now the Pharisees would have to say (and their speech would be most elevated): "He obeyeth not the law of washing, but he maketh the deaf to hear and the dumb to speak."

On another occasion when I had been followed to another wasteland of the desert where I had hoped to retire for the day, again there was nothing to eat. This time we had seven loaves, and again I broke them into pieces and gave them to my disciples, who passed them on, rank on rank, file on file, and all were satisfied.

But those hours on the mountain when I had given my sermon were no longer near to me. On that day I had not spoken to my people with words that the Lord offered my tongueùno, I had declared my love for Him, and so the words had been mine. Now life was filled again with duty. For that reason, I would suppose, I had many thoughts concerning Moses. He had had to listen to the children of Israel weeping in the wilderness. His followers had said to him, "Who shall feed us? We remember the fish we had in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our soul is dried away." And no one of these children of Israel had been pleased with the manna God sent down. They had gathered it and pounded it and baked it in ovens and made cakes of it; but it tasted like oil of coriander. Every man was lamenting at the door of his tent. Even Moses was displeased. He said to the Lord, "Why have You laid the burden of all these people on me? Have I begotten them? It is too heavy for me."

And Moses asked the Lord to let him die, for his life was misery.

The Lord said, "Your people shall eat until this food comes out of their nostrils and is loathsome to them."

And by now I had a full understanding of why Moses was exhausted. Fatigue of the spirit is like a twisting of the limbs; new pain enters into the old.

One day, on the road to Bethsaida a blind man was brought to me at the gate; I took him by the hand and led him out of the town so that no one would witness the cure.

And when I had spit on his eyes and put my unwashed hands upon him, I asked what he saw.

He looked up and said, "I see men who look like trees that are walking."

I replied, "That is because men, like trees, bear a fruit of good and evil."

Then I put my hands on his eyes again, and he was wholly restored and saw every man clearly. I sent him away to his house and told him not to speak of it (although I knew he would), but I was not certain how long I could go on with these cures without exhausting myself. I was coming to believe that God, at the cost of supporting me, might be suffering His own weariness. But this thought I did not care to say even to myself.

There were nights when I would awaken and not know who I was. Once, passing through the town of Caesarea Philippi, I asked my disciples: "Who do they say I am?"

And some answered that I was said to be John the Baptist. Others spoke of Elijah. Still others told me: "They do not know, but think you are one of the old prophets."

And I said, and my heart was pounding: "But who do you say I am?"

And Peter? it may be that he was thinking of how I had walked upon the waterùasked gently: "Can one say that you are the Christ?"

Since I felt like an ordinary man in all ways but one, I could love Peter for the strength that his conviction gave me. Now I knew with more certainty than before that I must be the Son of God. Yet how could I be certain of that if no man recognized me?