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CHAPTER XIV
Gratitude

The jarring weariness of the road sank deep into my bones.

I awoke to the first grey of dawn. Lingering, brilliant points of light still punctuated the sky overhead. I lay there for a moment awake, gazing at heavenly bodies. My eyes closed and slumber claimed me once again. I awoke a second time with a start. Jesus had thrown a small stick that came to rest close to my head. I awoke with the hot breath of Abishag in my face. She had come for the stick but paused to give my face a lick. I sat up abruptly and could hear Jesus chuckling in the distance. The dog retrieved the stick, bounding back to Jesus. Leaning on my elbow, I watched them. Jesus teasing the dog by waving the stick as if he were going to throw it, Abishag lunging for the stick as Jesus quickly tucked it behind his back. She was only fooled for a moment as she circled behind him to find the elusive quarry.

Again, he hurled. This time the stick flew straight to where Peter was snoring. It touched the earth a few inches from his nose. The dog sped toward the stick and slid to a stop, smothering Simon's face with dirt and her dusty belly. He awoke with a shock. "Be-damned!" he cried, sitting bolt upright. Jesus held his sides in laughter. This fisherman was never far from a well-turned profane phrase. The Lord and his dog continued their mischievous game until we were all awake. "Time to be up and about!" he shouted. "Little James" (not the Lord's brother), be about breakfast! My noble beast and I are famished!" His laughter could be heard throughout the vale.

Breakfast of dried grapes, goat cheese and hard bread baked by Joanna tasted wondrous. Jesus and Abishag's antics left us all breathless with mirth. It was a beautiful morning. Jesus was on his feet and gathering his things to start the day's journey. "Come," said he, "we go to Jerusalem. Thomas, Thaddeus, go before us among the Samaritans. We lodge there tonight." We traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. With some foreboding, we walked through the morning mists. Samaria is not the most inviting place for Jews.

The two men went ahead of us and arrived at the town of Sychar several hours before the rest of us. Thomas said to Thaddeus, "This is the place where Jesus spoke to the woman at Jacob's well, where afterwards we were treated so well. We will be welcome here." Approaching the man's home where they had lodged before, Thaddeus inquired, "We wish to purchase lodging for Jesus of Nazareth and his disciples this night. He is on his way to Jerusalem."

"Jerusalem?" the man responded. "That whore of a city? What business could he possibly have there?" he growled.

The two men looked at one another. The hostility surprised them. It was a moment before they could respond. "I believe he intends to teach and heal," said Thaddeus quietly.

The man scowled, "If he is going to Jerusalem, he is not sleeping under my roof. Go away!"

Thaddeus and Thomas returned with the unsettling report. Upon hearing it James and John said, "Lord, will you have us to call fire down from heaven and consume them, as did Elijah?" Sons of thunder, indeed. Typical.

Not surprisingly, Jesus spoke sternly to them, "What kind of spirit is in you? Will you never learn? I did not come not to destroy men's lives, but to save them. We'll go to another village where we are welcome." Jesus spoke nothing else as we continued through the darkening hills. I would have given anything to know his thoughts . . .

I know that these men, especially my brother, will assume authority over the faithful after I am gone. Oh, Father! Would that they not! Would that they could see that I came as a Servant, not as some ancient prophet hurling fire about. How earnestly I wish them to serve each other and by loving, serve the world. But I fear the worst. I fear the worst.

αθω

Just before we crossed the river eastward into Peraea, descending into the Jordan valley in Samaria far south of Galilee, we entered one of the villages and, in doing so, encountered a group of men. Ten of them, dressed in rags. We could smell their stench even though they stood thirty paces away. They were lepers huddling together in a clump with hardly any space separating their bodies. They distanced themselves from us as if realizing their terrible inertia of disease, yet looking at us with a desperate appeal. Leprosy is an intractable, loathsome malady affecting primarily the eyes and the skin. Two of these men were missing both eyes and several more, missing one. One man's fingers were gone. On another, fingers and ears, on another there was a mass of raw, red and white tissue where his nose once existed. They gazed at us with gaunt eyes; well, those that had them. At length one of them shouted. "Jesus," he cried, "Servant of the most high God; have compassion on us!"

These poor creatures had braved the rejection of society by emerging from the colony to seek him out. It was a pathetic sight. Jesus did not attempt to approach them, for doing so would have only agitated and frightened them. From where we stood he shouted back, "Go on your way. Show yourselves to the priests." His instruction was consistent with the old Levitical Scriptures where Moses required the priests to examine lepers for the severity of their disease and render judgments.

Slowly, the men turned to go, disappointed that Jesus did nothing for them, yet relieved that he had not attempted to touch them. Still huddled together, they moved away from us and in a few moments disappeared from view. I am certain that they were confused at Jesus' instruction. They had no need to be examined by priests. That had been done years ago for most of them. Moreover, they were obviously diseased. As they went on their way, they suddenly stopped. Joash, utterly stunned, looked at his friend Moshe. "Moshe!" he exclaimed. "Moshe, stop! Something has happened!" Moshe did not have to be told. Where once a mass of raw flesh appeared with two gaping holes in his face stood a new nose. Where once fingers and hands were gone were new fingers and hands. The pink, the white, the raw, the red--all gone from every one of them. Even the terrible odor of rotting flesh and soiled clothing had evaporated. They were cleansed! Indescribable elation! Now they did want to see the priest. Once they regained their composure, they hurried off.

Except for one. This man, seeing that he was healed, turned back and with a loud voice began to give thanks to God. He came to us and fell on his face at Jesus' feet, offering his gratitude. He was a Samaritan.

With his hand, Jesus lifted the man to face him. "Were not ten cleansed?" he asked. "Where are the other nine?" The man's eyes revealed some apprehension at Jesus' question.

"I - I do not know, Lord. They . . ."

Jesus did not let him finish, "Were none found to return and give thanks to God except this 'foreigner'?" This he spoke rhetorically--to anyone who might have heard, which, naturally, included every one of us. The moral of his question was not lost. And then in comforting tones he said to the Samaritan, "Rise. Go your way. Your faith has healed you."

"Your faith has healed you?" What faith? This man along with the others were only a few moments ago huddled together in a pathetic gaggle, barely alive within the running sores of diseased flesh, hoping, rather than expecting, that Jesus might let a crumb roll in their direction. Their faith was as pathetic as their condition. Yet, said Jesus, it had healed them. Perhaps this is true of all of us, our faith is as pathetic as our condition, yet . . . it is enough.