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CHAPTER I The House of Matthew
The winds were listless.
It took a lot longer returning to Capharnaum than it did sailing to Gergasa. The previous day and night had been more than eventful, and we were all tired. Most of us slept while others took turns at the tiller. Jesus slept, too. The sea was smooth as we approached the city and, not surprisingly, we could see people standing along the shoreline, many of them waving. Word of the healing of the demoniacs apparently had traveled fast. Our little flotilla of boats was anticipated. We docked amongst cheers and applause. The welcome was warm and . . . well, welcome. The feeling of it was most pleasant. In a short while as the crowd dispersed, I noticed Rabbi Asher and two of his cohorts. What was Asher doing again in Capharnaum?
Despite the celebrations, the day passed uneventfully. We all rested as much as we could. The following evening, Matthew decided to hold a feast with Jesus as his guest. It was at times like this that we were all reminded of Matthew's background. His home gave it away. Well appointed in resplendent furnishings, most of us felt more than a little out of place. He had invited a large number of his friends, tax collectors and other persons of nefarious reputation, most of them government types and bureaucrats. Some of them brought their mistresses dressed in expensive silks revealing shapely contours. The talk, the laughter, the wine all flowed freely. It was a fun party and a sumptuous meal. All were reclining at a large banquet table with Jesus. The Master seemed to be enjoying himself. He was in an animated conversation with one of the guests when Asher arrived and made a grandiose entrance into the room.
The eminent Rabbi had, indeed, been invited by Matthew, but God knows, he was not really expected to attend. A Jewish Rabbi at a social event in the home of a tax-collector? Not now, not here. So when he came through the door with his friends in ceremonial attire, the noise in the room subsided. Both of Asher's friends were scribes. These scribes were not mere copyists of ancient texts as some thought. These men were experts in Torah. They were lawyers, a political sect within the larger framework of the Pharisees. It was clear from the expression on all of their faces that they found the festivities repugnant and worldly.
Taking advantage of the interruption their presence had caused, Asher asked Jesus pointedly, "Why do you eat and drink like a sorry bibber of wine and a drunkard?" He spoke accusingly, as if Jesus himself were actually caught in wrongdoing. "And why are you, a so-called spiritual leader, here in this place cavorting with tax collectors and disreputable people?" Such a pretentious, pontifical question did not offend Matthew's guests. They considered Asher and his crew something of a joke and anticipated no less from him. To them he was a pompous ass. A nothing.
Neither did the question offend Jesus who had a ready response for Asher and his two scribal friends. "It is not the healthy and robust who need a physician, Asher, but the sick. To your mind, no doubt, my friends here might fall into that last group. Fear not, my pious friend, I have not come to call you self-righteous prigs, but those who seek the need for change. So now, you can leave. You are not welcome here. And while you go and think upon this moment, think upon this also: 'Mercy is what I desire and not sacrifice.' Someday the meaning of that may begin to dawn in your thick, prejudiced mind."
Asher left, glaring, indignant and humiliated, he muttered, "What he desires? What does one care for what he desires? Who does he think he is, King David?"
"God, Rabbi," spoke one of the scribes. "He thinks he is God. He quotes Hosea, not the psalmist."
"Hosea?" exclaimed the Rabbi, knowing better than to challenge the scribe. "How so?"
"He applies Hosea's prophecy against Ephraim and Judah to you and, clearly, to us as well."
"I must examine the passage myself." This was Asher's way of saying that he was ignorant of the prophecy, but it did not fool the scribe.
"You need not look it up, Rabbi. I will quote it for you." Without waiting for Asher to reply, he continued . . .
what shall I do unto you? Your goodness is as a morning cloud, like the early dew it goes away. Therefore, have I hewed them by the prophets. I have slain them by the words of my mouth. For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings. But they, like all men have transgressed the covenant. They dealt treacherously against me. Gilead is the city of them that work iniquity and is tracked in footprints of blood." "Well, I have a surprise for this young, self-absorbed god. I am not Ephraim or Judah, nor have I been hewed and slain. And we shall see whose bloody footprints they are!" Asher fumed bitterly.
John the Baptist was a Nazirite. He had been one since birth. It was not only a way of life for him, but also a philosophy. It was all he knew. Therefore, in a tangible sense, John had far more in common with Asher and the scribes than he did Jesus. Yet the enormous difference between John and Asher is that John recognized Jesus for who he was, while Asher gagged at this. John believed, and did so thoroughly. Asher and his ilk held Jesus in contempt. John saw himself as closing the old; he saw Jesus as revealing the new. Not far away, at the same time of Matthew's supper, the followers of John's teaching and preaching and the followers of the Pharisees were deeply engaged in a ceremonial fast. Some of John's people had migrated from his fasting event to Matthew's home, for all of the hilarity going on there. I thought that somewhat odd. Why would someone who is fasting come to a feast? No doubt they were curious about Jesus. Still, it seemed more than a bit incongruous to me. One of them, David ben Adoniram by name, approached Jesus as he was taking a sip of wine. I recognized him because I had seen him often hanging about in the crowds that followed Jesus. It appeared that he wanted to walk among us, but for reasons known only to him, could not. I know that he, like his mentor, John, believed deeply in Jesus but simply could not extricate himself from John's austere, yet compelling, force of personality. He believed in its "rightness," I suppose. This is reflected in his question to Jesus. An honest one, I thought. "Why do we and the Pharisees fast often and make petitions, but you and your disciples do not fast? You eat sumptuously and you drink well." Jesus turned to face his questioner and immediately smiled, "David, son of Adoniram! How good to see you again!" "Thank you, teacher. I meant no disrespect." "I know you didn't," said Jesus. "Thank you for asking an honest question. I will try to give you an honest answer." "Try, teacher? I do not believe you capable of anything other than honesty." This wasn't fawning or flattery. David was such a literalist that it never occurred to him that Jesus was not speaking explicitly. He could not recognize the subtleties of idiom. Jesus smiled again, accepting the plain and somewhat clumsy compliment. We must realize that David ben Adoniram was at a disadvantage here. He no doubt felt considerable discomfort, not only in the strangeness of his surroundings, but in his empty stomach as well. After all, he had been fasting for several days! Matthew's banquet had been an extravagant affair. There was much hearty laughter, something to which David in his association with the Nazirite was unaccustomed. Jesus, smiling, answered sensitively, "Perhaps you do not understand how profoundly binding tradition and liturgy can be, David. I came to release you from all that, but I do understand how hard it is for you to hear this. You believe too completely that these things have value." Then Jesus shifted his position so that he could face his questioner more directly. "Listen, David, can you make young men at a wedding party fast? Have you ever seen them mourn at a marriage ceremony?" Some sniggering at this, as though some mourning might be appropriate. And then a quiet change affected his expression, as if a fleeting, painful thought crossed his mind. He continued, "There will be time enough for fasting, David. The time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from his bride. They will fast and mourn and make petitions, as you say, then." By this time most of the noise of the party had subsided. We listened as he tried to illustrate. "You do not tear a piece of material from a new coat and sew it on an old one. If you do that, you will have ruined the new coat. When washed, the patch from the new coat will shrink and pull away from the old and tear it as well. Both are ruined." Jesus had a remarkable way of coming up with these simple metaphors which in context reveal a compelling truth. He wasn't finished. "Likewise, no one pours new wine into old wineskins." For a moment, I wondered why Jesus spoke of wine to a man who would not touch it. It occurred to me that perhaps David was not yet a full Nazirite, but as I mentioned earlier, he did seem drawn to us. Jesus continued, "When new wine begins to ferment and expand, it will burst the old skins, and both will be ruined. That is not how it is done. New wine is poured into new wineskins so that both may be preserved." And then, as if gently teasing him, "And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for he says, 'The old is better.'" David ben Adoniram smiled at that. It won't be long, I thought; this man is near his release.
But let us not forget the original question, "Why do you enjoy yourselves and we deny ourselves?" The point Jesus made was that new and old do not ordinarily provide a stable or efficient mix. Put them together and both are destroyed. Let them be themselves and both retain integrity. Jesus was not saying that fasting was better or worse than not fasting, just that one should not encroach upon the other. In the first story, Jesus was not saying that the coming of the new is intended to repair the old. The new is to replace the old and accomplish the purpose which the old could not. The new is to connect to that which has gone before, acknowledge it, and move on. His final comment is true of wine. It is also true of him. The old has shown us the holiness of God and the unholiness of humankind. We, who are clay images of the invisible God, cannot and do not successfully approach that holiness. Our failure to do so is old wine. Our brother Paul later put it succinctly, "The Law was a schoolmaster of sorts, to teach us how deeply we are alienated from God and to bring us to our only hope, Jesus Christ." Jesus, his life, his teachings, his character and example is, indeed, New Wine. It easily follows that we who believe are new wineskins. Together, with Jesus within us, we shall become better than the old.
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