The Jesus Novel: Chapter 19.
Jesus left the premises immediately, leading his disciples quickly toward the lake. Only a fraction of those who had followed him to the house of Jairus followed now. Simon Peter’s boat was there in Capernaum, drawn up on the shore. At Jesus’ direction, Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John got it into the water, and all the disciples waded out to it, the mucky lake bottom tugging at their sandals.
There was a good easterly breeze, and, as Peter and Andrew hoisted the sail, the wind caught it and drove them quickly out into the lake. Along the shore a score of people stood looking after them, their hands empty and at their sides, their faces at that distance no more than blank ovals.
Dusk came quickly, but the moon was full and myriad stars glittered high in a sky of black velvet. “Where to, Master?” Simon Peter asked him.
“The opposite shore? Just away. I’m tired.”
“Away it is,” Peter said. They ran before the wind all the way across the Sea of Galilee and early in the third watch pulled up on the desolate eastern shore, where cocoa-colored mountains thrust their foothills into the sea.
Half the disciples had fallen asleep during the journey, slumped against the side of the boat, and they roused themselves only enough to stagger onto the shore and to fling themselves down on the hard ground.
It was about midday when the crowd began arriving, first in groups of two or three, then in groups of as many as twenty.
“Where are they coming from?” Philip asked Andrew in some alarm. “Is there no escaping them?”
Andrew shook his head. “Jairus’s daughter. They think he’s raised her from the dead.”
“Didn’t he?”
“Ask Peter,” Andrew said with a shake of his head. “I wasn’t there.”
Andrew was right about the reason the crowd had followed them. The sight of Lila had electrified them. “Just who is this man anyway?” someone asked, and the answer led to a debate over whether Jesus was in fact Elijah, or was even John the Baptizer, supernaturally restored to life.
“I’ve heard that Herod himself has heard of Jesus and fears him, thinking he is John returned to haunt him.”
“John never performed miracles like these.”
They argued and debated, but always, lurking in the recesses of everybody’s mind, was the question few dared voice: Could this at last be the long-awaited Messiah?
They had set off in pursuit of Jesus, and in search of answers to their many questions.
Though the disciples tried to protect Jesus, people kept slipping past them. Among the first to find Jesus was a woman whose arm was drawn up twisted and useless at her side.
He was just finishing his morning ablutions, washing his hands and face in a bowl of water he had filled at the nearby stream. He looked at her as he flicked water from his hands and wiped his face on the edge of his cloak. “Well, daughter,” he said. “You have come a long way.”
She nodded, apparently too breathless to speak.
“Did you walk all night?”
Again she nodded. Andrew, stopping near Jesus, wondered if she could speak.
“How long has your arm been this way?” Jesus asked, as he reached out for it.
She jerked back, alarmed, then, with apparent effort, allowed him to touch it. He took the hand and drew the arm out straight.
“Since last year,” she said, speaking in so low a whisper that Andrew barely caught it. “Last year,” she repeated. “At about this time.”
Jesus’ face drew up in sympathy, and he stroked the arm. “Go easy on it,” he said. “The arm is still very weak.”
He lowered it gently to her side, and it hung there, wasted still but relaxed and straight. Andrew’s eyes went to Jesus, searching out his face, but he read only compassion there, nothing else — no evidence of divinity, no conscious awareness of power.
The throng soon surrounded them. There were thousands of them, more even than had followed them to Capernaum. Most amazing of all were the lame and damaged among them: the boy hopping along on his single crutch; the blind girl led by her father; the old man bent beneath the weight of his twisted back. Jesus talked to each of them. He reached out to touch them. As he moved away, the boy followed without his crutch, though limping badly. The girl was left squinting and blinking as if dazzled by a great light. The man straightened to walk erect — to walk carefully and deliberately, but erect.
“Miracles of healing?” Simon the Zealot said to Judas.
“They think so,” Judas said, nodding.
Jesus held up his hands as the people crowded close, and he prayed, “Thank you, Father, for bringing your kingdom to us. Thank you for life and health and for strength of mind. Thank you for those we love, and for those who love you.” He moved into a Psalm, the transition to praise as natural to him as breathing. “Bless the Lord, oh my soul and all that is within me,” he said. “Bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits.”
He passed through the crowd, arms outstretched. “The Lord be gracious unto you and bless you. The Lord make the light of his countenance to shine upon you and bring you peace.” The blessing was one of his favorites, the blessing the Lord gave Moses to bestow on the people.
“How shall we recognize the kingdom?” called someone, and Jesus turned toward him, his eyes seeking out his face in the crowd. He found it.
“How shall you recognize it?” he asked rhetorically. “Listen. The kingdom of God is like seed someone scatters on the ground. He sleeps and he wakes, and the seed sprouts and grows, though he knows not how. First the stalk appears, then the head, then the full grain. And when the grain is ripe, he knows. He goes in at once with his sickle, because the harvest is come.”
“And has the harvest come?”
“It is coming. You ask how to recognize the kingdom.” He pointed at a mustard plant, one of the biggest any of them had ever seen. “The kingdom is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground is the smallest of all the seeds on earth. When it is sown, it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, putting forth large branches.” He walked to the plant and reached out to grasp one of the branches, pulling it down so that they could see the sparrow’s nest attached to it. “Branches large enough that the birds of the air can make nests within its shade.”
He was there one moment, and then he was gone, having stepped between Peter and Andrew to disappear from view. The disciples turned to follow him, and the crowd surged after, all but carrying them forward.
Jesus had gone up the hill, seeking out a large open space. When Peter and Andrew entered the clearing, he was there above them, seated next to Philip on a rock, using a hand to shade his eyes from the midday sun.
“Where is Judas?” Jesus said. “Judas! Do we have money enough in the purse to feed all these people?”
“There are thousands of them,” Philip answered in a low voice as Judas shook his head.
“Two hundred denarii would still be insufficient,” Judas said.
“I take it, then, that we have accumulated something less than two hundred denarii?”
“Master, that would be six month’s wages.”
The crowd spread out across the clearing, spreading cloaks here and there on the grass to sit on. A few boys climbed up onto the twisted branches of the scrub oaks in search of a good view. A few sat on rocks and on the trunks of fallen trees. Still others remained standing.
“Pity them, Philip. They are like sheep without a shepherd.” Jesus sighed, already sounding tired. “Go out among them and try to seat them in groups of fifty,” he said. “Count them, if you can, to see how many there are.”
As Andrew approached, Jesus said to him, “These people have travelled a long way without eating. Let’s see what we have among ourselves to give them.”
Andrew shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Scarcely enough for ourselves.”
Jesus looked at him.
“It would be better to send them out into the surrounding villages to scour for food.”
“See what we have,” Jesus said.
The rest of the disciples came and sat near him. Jesus for his part sat looking around himself, making eye-contact with this one and that one and smiling. Philip and Andrew passed among the people, Philip pointing and moving his lips as he counted to himself, Andrew leaning down here and there to whisper to someone.
“What’s happening?” Peter asked Jesus in a low voice. “What’s going on? Andrew asked me if any of us had brought any food.”
“Had you?”
Peter shook his head. “If we had, it wouldn’t matter. This crowd would devour it instantly, and everyone would still be hungry.”
Andrew was climbing back up the hill, and with him was a small boy. The boy stopped in front of Jesus and held up a small cloth sack.
“What’s this?” Jesus said, smiling, reaching down and lifting the boy to his knee. “What’s your name?”
“Thaddeus,” the boy said. He had dark, curly hair and a dimple in one cheek when he smiled.
“Thaddeus,” Jesus repeated. “What an important sounding name. Do you see that fellow right there? His name is Thaddeus, too. Do you think you might grow up to be like him someday?”
Thaddeus smiled at the boy, showing a missing tooth. The boy nodded, but looked doubtful.
“Thaddeus has five small bread loaves in that sack,” Andrew said. “Five loaves and two fish.”
“They’re barley loaves,” the boy said. “My mother made them.”
“Then I’m sure they’re excellent loaves,” Jesus said. “Where is your mother? Did she come with you?”
He shook his head, his dark eyes solemn. “My uncle brought me, my Uncle Levi.” The man the boy indicated was on his feet near the edge of the crowd. His expression suggested that he was concerned that his nephew was making a nuisance of himself with the great rabbi but was more concerned about making a nuisance of himself by coming up to inquire. When Jesus looked at him and nodded, Levi bobbed his head and took a step forward before coming to a stop again.
“His name is Levi,” Jesus said to Thaddeus, pointing out Matthew.
“The fat man?”
Jesus’ smile broadened. “He’s much thinner now than when I met him. I worry sometimes that the wind will catch him and carry him away.”
Thaddeus laughed and clapped his small hands.
“Perhaps we should tie a string to him, so we won’t lose him if that should happen. Do you think we should?”
The boy nodded.
“Actually, he likes to be called Matthew, in honor of his father.”
The boy whispered something in Jesus’ ear.
“Is he? Is he really?” Jesus said, in a slightly louder whisper than the boy had used. “Did you know that’s my name in Hebrew?”
The boy whispered something else, and a shadow crossed Jesus’ face. “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. “I know you miss him.”
The boy nodded.
“How about your father’s father? Is he still living?”
The boy shook his head.
“So your father has gone to be with his father, just as someday you will go to be with both of them. And both of them are with God.”
The boy flung his arms about Jesus’ neck, and Jesus stood with him, stroking his back. “And with the great Joshua himself,” Jesus said. “Joshua son of Nun, who led Israel home again, and who is now of course with his own father.” Jesus held the boy away from him to look into the small, tear-streaked face. “That would be old Nun himself,” Jesus said.
Andrew was left holding the boy’s sack — a small sack — and he looked from time to time down into it, not having the least idea what he should do with it. Jesus, noticing him, set little Thaddeus on the rock where he himself had been sitting. Philip came up then, panting. “Five thousand,” he said. “I can’t say exactly, but I think five thousand men, plus all the women and children.”
Jesus took the sack from Andrew, giving him a wink of encouragement — though in truth the wink left Andrew more bewildered than encouraged. Jesus sat again on the rock beside Thaddeus. He smiled at the boy. “Five barley loaves and two fish,” he said.
The boy nodded.
“All you brought with you to eat today.”
Again he nodded.
“But you’re willing to give it to me to help feed all these people.”
Thaddeus’s head turned, and his gaze swept out over the crowd. When his head turned back again to Jesus, his eyes were wide.
Jesus gave him a wink, too, and the boy smiled. “Do you think it’s enough?” Jesus said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial tone.
The boy shook his head solemnly.
“Suppose I told you it was more than enough.”
Immediately the boy began nodding, and Jesus laughed. He reached out to tousle the boy’s hair. “The first rule of plenty,” Jesus said. “Put all you have at the service of God. Will you remember that? Even when it doesn’t seem to be nearly enough.”
He stepped up onto the rock. “Fellow Jews,” he said, addressing the crowd. “Sons of Abraham. We have a boy among us named Thaddeus who has graciously offered to share his lunch with us.” Jesus held up the sack. “He has five barley loaves — made by his mother — and with them two small fish. Did she say what kind of fish they were, Thaddeus?”
He shook his head.
“Perch,” Andrew said, and Jesus looked at him. “They’re perch,” Andrew repeated.
“Five barley loaves and two small perch. Is anybody hungry?”
Several looked at each other, but none responded. Jesus pointed to a man near the front, one with the barrel-shaped body of the well-to-do. “You sir, you look like a man in need of sustenance.”
There was general laughter.
“Could I interest you in half a barley loaf and perhaps a bit of fish?”
There was more laughter. Several hands reached out to slap the man on his back and his shoulders. The man looked around and, in response to all the smiling faces, began smiling himself. He bobbed his head and, turning again toward Jesus, shrugged his beefy shoulders.
“First we must thank our father in heaven, from whom comes every good thing.” Reaching one hand upward, Jesus prayed, “Thank you, Father, for this gift from your bounty. Bless it to our nourishment, bless us to your service. May your kingdom grow and grow until all humanity can take shade in its branches.”
He looked out again over the people. “Amen?” he said.
“Amen.” In unison. Heads nodding firmly. Jesus took each of the loaves out of Thaddeus’s little bag, and he tore it in half. He did likewise with the fish, dropping the fragments back in again and handing the bag to Andrew.
Andrew took the bag and looked at him.
“Go and distribute the food among the people,” Jesus said.
Andrew hesitated. He shrugged then and went to the group nearest them. Kneeling down, he held open the bag.
“No, thank you. Martha packed us some food,” the man said, nodding at his wife.
Andrew offered the bag to the next man. Who reached in and took half a loaf. Who reached in again for a bit of fish.
His wife swatted his hand. “Look how many,” she said, jerking her head. But when he pulled out his hand again, he clutched a piece of the salted perch.
“Many thanks,” he said. “Many thanks.” His wife, despite her objections, reached in for a bit of bread. The family next to them took food as well.
As did the next.
And the next.
Andrew, moving like a sleepwalker, not daring to look in the bag, not daring even to feel of the bag to see what might be in it, moved down the line, offering it to everyone. Not everyone needed food. A surprising number had brought their own, and they were spreading their food out around them and offering it to their neighbors.
When Andrew got to the second group of fifty, someone actually put fish into the bag. Then someone gave him a basket. “Here, empty it into this,” he said, but Andrew didn’t dare.
Judas was standing next to Philip. “What do you think?” he said. Andrew had moved to the third group. He still had the bag, and now the basket was full as well.
Nathaniel and Matthew and Peter were already out in the crowd, each with a basket of his own. “It’s a miracle,” Philip said, watching.
“Yes, but what kind of miracle?”
“Pardon?”
“Is he multiplying fishes, or is he getting a bunch of stingy Galileans to share their food?”
Philip ignored the implied criticism of his native province. “I’m needed.” He broke away from Judas and went out into the crowd. Someone handed him a basket full of food. He looked into it curiously, but saw nothing but bread and fish — more specifically, nothing but salted perch and barley loaves. It was indeed a miracle. Philip took it to the group farthest from Jesus and began distributing food.
There were twelve baskets of food left over. Jesus sat on the rock before the crowd, one of the baskets between him and the boy Thaddeus, enjoying bread and salted perch as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
“You’re the Messiah, aren’t you?” the boy said, looking up into his face.
“Who is the Messiah?” Jesus asked him. “What will he do when he comes?”
“He’s to be a son of David,” the boy said, speaking slowly, as if by rote. “A son of David who will throw off the yoke of the Romans and restore God’s people to greatness.”
“Then I am not the Messiah.”
Thaddeus looked hurt and sad, and Jesus placed a hand against the boy’s chest. “The kingdom of God is here; it is among us,” he said. “Peace with God and with each other does not depend on political arrangements. Do you understand?”
The boy looked as if he were trying very hard to. The conversation of the crowd, growing louder, suggested that others also were grappling with the Messianic question. “Is this not the one who is to come?” they were saying. “He can even make bread to feed his armies.”
“It is surely the Prophet.”
“He who is to come into the world.”
Jesus gestured for James the younger. “Stay with Thaddeus until his uncle finds him,” Jesus said.
“Where are you going?”
“Up into the mountain to pray. Wait for me until dark, then if I am not back, sail for Capernaum without me.”
The crowd, louder now, more vocal, was on its feet. “King Jesus,” a Judean voice shouted from somewhere in the crowd.
“King Jesus,” a voice echoed.
Faces were flushed. Hands were raised. As one the crowd cried, “King Jesus, lord and savior.” The crowd surged forward, and James glanced nervously toward Jesus.
But Jesus was gone.
James pulled Thaddeus close as the crowd pressed around them. In response, Thaddeus put his arms around James and pressed his chubby cheek into his cloak.