The Life Of Jesus: Chapter 20.
Dusk came, and perhaps half of the five thousand had drifted away, going home to Capernaum or Bethsaida or into one of the nearer villages in search of lodging. Those that remained eyed the disciples sullenly. Questions had been asked and gone unanswered. Where was Jesus? Didn’t he want to be their king?
The disciples had no answers. Even Judas, who had kept the enthusiasm going as long as he could, had lapsed into an irritable silence.
The twelve were huddled around Peter’s boat. “It’s dusk, should we go?” James the elder said. “He said we should go.”
“Look,” Peter said, gesturing. “Do you want to go out in that?” The wind had risen over the course of the day, and foam topped the waves.
“I think I’d rather go out in that than stay here with them,” James said, indicating the crowd.
“I’m with James,” Matthew said.
“You’re not a boatman,” Peter said.
“I’m not giving an opinion, merely stating a preference.”
“Where the devil is he?” Judas said. “He had them eating out of his hand. Literally. He had the crowd with him, and now he’s lost it. He’ll never be able to reclaim it.”
“Don’t discount Jesus,” Peter said.
“I’m not discounting him. He’s the most charismatic leader to arise in Israel since the time of the Maccabees. They led a revolt that threw off the Greeks, and Jesus could do the same with the Romans.”
“If he will,” Matthew said.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Judas said. “He’s an Israelite, the same as the rest of us. Why wouldn’t he, if he could?”
“Are you saying he couldn’t?”
“No. I’m saying he had this crowd ready to make him king by acclamation and to follow him into battle. To die for him, if necessary. And he disappeared.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Peter said. “Do we leave, or do we wait for him?”
“He told us to leave,” Andrew said.
“It will mean miles of rowing.”
Andrew shrugged. Rowing was nothing new to him.
“Okay, we leave,” Peter said.
Judas scowled. “I’m not ready to leave. Let’s put it to a vote.”
Peter shook his head. “Andrew and I are taking the boat back to Capernaum. Stay if you want, or come with us.”
James and John helped Peter and Andrew push the boat out into the water. Several of the others waded after them.
“Where are you going?” called someone in the crowd. “Look, they’re leaving us. They’re going off and leaving us in this wilderness.”
Judas and Simon and all of the others entered the water and waded as quickly as they could toward Peter’s boat.
Soon the land was out of sight, and clouds obscured the stars. The wind grew stronger, and it blew squarely against them. The sails were useless, and even Simon Peter and Andrew rowing together could make very little progress. The waves lifted the boat and turned it, and it was hard to be sure of their way.
“What now?” Matthew shouted over the sound of the wind and the waves. “Do we wait it out?”
“Can’t,” Peter said, gasping between pulls on a creaking oar. “If we stop moving forward, the waves will swamp us.”
Matthew looked grim, his mouth tightening as he squinted into the wind.
“You wanted to do this,” Peter said.
“As you said, I’m no boatman.”
“Sure, blame the boatmen.”
They all took turns at the oars, James and John, Nathaniel and Philip, Judas and Simon — even Matthew. By the time a gray line marked the horizon in the east, all were exhausted.
“Look,” said Simon the Zealot in a low voice to the younger James. “Look — is it a ghost, do you think?”
Or the fog?” James pulled his cloak more closely about him and shivered.
“You don’t see the shape of a man in the fog?”
“Maybe. Of course it can’t be.”
“Keep your eyes on it, boy. There’s something not right about it.”
“It’s Jesus!” It was John, standing up in the front of the boat and rocking it precariously.
“Jesus,” breathed Andrew, pausing at his oar to look.
There was no question now that it was a man coming toward them, walking on the water. “It’s a ghost,” Simon said hoarsely. “A ghost.” And what but a spirit could walk abroad on such a night? Wading through the surf as if walking along the shoreline, the waves breaking against its body.
Andrew slipped an oar from its oarlock and pushed the oar down into the sea, testing its depth. The oar did not touch bottom.
“It’s just standing there.”
And it was. At this distance the face seemed sad, but it could have been angry or even expressionless. Or not a face at all.
“Master?” Peter called. He too was standing in the boat. “Master, is it you?”
The spirit lifted a hand.
“If it is you, speak to me and I’ll come to you.”
They couldn’t quite make out the response, if in fact there was one.
Peter, straining to hear, cupped a hand behind his ear.
“Come,” came the voice, all but lost in the sound of the sea.
Peter swung a leg over the side of the boat.
“No, wait.” Andrew clutched for the sleeve of his robe, but he missed. Peter slipped over the side. For an eerie moment, it seemed that he, too, moved over the surface of the water, as ghostly a figure as the other.
“Look,” James said. “He’s —”
But he wasn’t. Peter had slipped beneath the waves and was gone.
“Turn the boat,” Andrew cried. “Turn it! James, John — take the oars.”
Peter had surfaced, treading water. He disappeared from view again as a wave broke over his head, but fought his way back to the surface, where he spluttered and looked around blindly.
“Jesus,” he called, and struck off into the fog, swimming strongly.
“Peter!” Andrew cried. James and John were beside him, peering into the mist. They could no longer see Peter, neither him nor the spirit or apparition or whatever it was. The dark waves were topped with foam, and they stretched endlessly toward the gray horizon. “Peter!”
Nothing.
Andrew pushed past James, nearly upsetting the boat. Grasping both oars, he began turning the boat.
“Wait, I’ll help.”
But Andrew was stroking blindly, his face wet with tears or water, his head down. He grunted with each pull of the oars. “Pull,” he told himself. “Pull.”
His oars left the water as the sea lifted the boat. There was a jolt, and he fell from his seat.
Peter tumbled headfirst into the boat, clothes and hair streaming water. Jesus was sitting on the starboard side, swinging his legs into the boat.
“Master?” Andrew said.
Jesus stood in the middle of the boat, knees bent as he worked to keep his balance. “Hello,” he said. “Greetings to all of you.”
His cloak and tunic were soaked below the waist and dripping water from the waves that had been breaking against him. James the younger laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s dry,” he said.
Andrew fell gibbering into the bottom of the boat at Jesus’ feet.
They sailed into Capernaum on a glassy sea. Jesus felt subdued. Despite the high experiences of multiplying food and walking on water, he was troubled. It was not possible to usher in God’s kingdom by acclamation: The experience with the five thousand had confirmed it. His ministry was at a turning point.
“Let’s stock up for a journey,” Jesus said.
“Another preaching tour?” Matthew asked, in his mind already cataloging the provisions they would need.
“No, I think we need to get off to ourselves for a while. We’ll go north along the Jordan, maybe as far north as Caesarea Philippi.”
“We’ll be leaving Galilee then,” said Matthew. “I assume you have no friends in Caesarea Philippi on whom we can rely?”
Jesus grinned at him and reached out to prod his stomach. When he had turned away, Matthew said to the younger James, “I think a direct answer would have been more helpful.”
“I think he’ll be happy if you do the best you can.”
“Yes, but will it be enough?”
James shrugged.
“Yes, I know. The salted perch and the barley loaves. We do the best we can, and we leave the results to him. I’m not comfortable living that way. Too much letting go.”
“What a relief if we could let go.”
“How can we? How can we dare?”
The crowd caught them before they got away, some straggling into town on foot, others arriving by boat, some passing fishermen having agreed to carry them.
They were not surprised to see Peter and the rest of the disciples; they had, after all, watched them depart by boat before them. They were astonished to see Jesus.
“How did you get here?” asked one of the more daring among them. “Did you walk all night?”
“Why are you so interested?” Jesus responded. When he got no answer, he said, “Because I was able to feed you? Don’t focus so much on filling your bellies. The food you eat passes through the system and is gone. Focus instead on spiritual food, food that will nourish you forever.”
“What spiritual food? Where will we get it?”
Jesus shook his head. “Did you get nothing out of the events of yesterday other than a free meal? As the Father sent manna from heaven in the days of Moses, so he now offers the true bread of heaven.”
The confusion in their faces did not clear up.
“I am the bread of heaven,” Jesus said. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”
Later, on the long hike north, Simon the Zealot asked him, “Why do you speak so often in riddles and parables? Why not say straight out what you mean?”
“What I am teaching can’t be grasped that way,” Jesus said. “I’m trying to give people the feel of a place, of a person.” When Simon didn’t say anything, Jesus said, “Think of the way I begin my stories. ‘The kingdom of heaven is like . . .’ ‘God is a father who . . .’ Over and over, story after story.”
They walked for a while in silence. The other disciples had moved closer, wanting to hear what it was that Jesus was saying. Finally, Simon said, “Aren’t you afraid people will be confused? That they won’t get the point of your story?”
And Jesus sighed. “Many will not get it.”
“Then why not be more direct?”
“It wouldn’t help them. Those who can understand will pursue the tale to its meaning, asking whatever questions they need to. Those who cannot understand — the things of heaven are already closed to them.”
“That seems harsh.”
“It is the justice of heaven, and its mercy. Those who ask will receive what they ask for. Those who knock will have the door opened to them. In the end, everyone will receive what he chooses.”
“So those who seek God —”
“Will find him. None of you have children, but can you imagine a child asking his father for bread and his father giving him a stone? Or a child asking his father for fish and receiving a snake?”
A reluctant smile twisted Simon’s features. “Another of your parables,” he said.
“And its meaning?”
“If we, who are evil, give good things to our children . . .” He hesitated.
“Yes?”
“Then God who is in heaven also will give good things to those who ask him.”
Jesus’ smile was radiant.
Some days later they were camping in the region of Caesarea Philippi. Nathaniel and Philip built the fire, and all sat around it talking. Twilight came and deepened into night. A companionable silence descended on the gathering.
“Does anyone know what we’re doing here?” Jesus said.
“Retreat and regroup,” said Judas. Jesus answered him with a smile.
“Yes,” he said.
“Why is it necessary? Only days ago, you had the crowd behind you as no one ever has.”
Jesus shook his head. “The crowd was excited. I was, for a moment, the focus of fevered imaginations.”
“What do you want from them?”
“Recognition. Recognition of who I am.”
“They recognize you for who you are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Who then do they say I am?”
His question brought silence.
“Anyone?”
“Some say Elijah,” Matthew said, diffidently.
“Some say John, the Baptizer,” said the younger James.
“I’ve heard Jeremiah.”
The silence returned.
“And you?” Jesus said. “You who have followed me over hundreds of miles, who have heard me speak in village after village, who have seen me do sign after sign? Who do you say I am?”
“You are the Messiah.”
Jesus’ eyes turned toward Peter. “And when you say the Messiah,” he said, “what do you mean by it?”
“I mean you.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t understand it all, but you’re defining the term for us every day. You are the one who was to come, the one everybody’s been expecting.”
Jesus looked at him for a long moment. “You’ve been blessed, Simon Bar-Jonah,” he said. “The spirit speaks through you. It is appropriate that I call you Peter, for you are the first stone, the cornerstone, of my new church.”
Peter’s eyes began to water as he returned Jesus’ gaze.
Jesus looked around at the others. “Other stones will be added to it. Peter is the first.”
Tears ran down Peter’s face and into his beard. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, standing and turning away, embarrassed by his tears.
Jesus stood with him and reached out a hand.
It was the next day before Judas mustered the courage to ask his question. “It is good that you state frankly that you are the Messiah,” he began.
“I state it frankly to you, the twelve,” Jesus said.
“But —”
“The time is not yet right to tell others. They would not understand.”
“But given that you are the Messiah —”
“Yes? Given that I am the Messiah foretold of old . . .”
“What’s the plan? What’s our strategy from here?”
“Our goal?” Jesus asked him.
“Oh, you’ve stated the goal plainly enough.”
“Have I?”
“To establish God’s kingdom.”
“And what does that mean?” When Judas didn’t answer immediately, Jesus said, “You can be sure of one thing: it won’t be the kingdom you’ve been expecting. Or even the kingdom I expected, in the beginning.”
“What do you mean? What did you expect?” Peter asked, drawing abreast of Jesus and Judas on the road. John also crowded close, as did his brother James.
“I expected the people to respond to me.”
“They have responded.”
Jesus shook his head. “No. They’re responding to someone they think can lead them against Rome.”
“You can do that,” Judas said.
“I could, perhaps, but I won’t. I made that decision long ago.”
“You did? When? Where?”
“In the desert hills north of Jericho, shortly before we met. John was preaching then, by the river Jordan: ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near.’ I came announcing that the kingdom had arrived, and I expected repentance — real change of heart, Judas, not a declaration of political allegiance — and joy. Instead, I found rejection.”
“Only by the religious establishment, the scribes and Pharisees. The people accept you.”
“No, Judas. The people are prepared to accept a leader who will return Israel to greatness.”
“Because they need such a leader.”
“What they need is reconciliation to God. He gave Moses the law, but who can approach even that rough approximation of righteousness? And who does not feel the guilt, the burden of their sin? I thought they would accept me joyfully, but now I think they will not.”
“What will they do?” Peter said.
“Reject me.”
“What does that mean?” Judas said. “Reject you how?”
“I don’t know. But I think that when I return again to Jerusalem . . .”
“Yes?” Judas prompted.
“I think the temple guards will arrest me —”
“The people will riot. They won’t allow it.”
Jesus looked at him. “I think the Jewish leaders will arrest me and turn me over to the Romans to torture me and kill me.”
“No,” Peter said.
“You’ll fail?” John said on the other side of him. “You’ll fail?”
Jesus turned toward him. “No, John. I won’t fail.”
“No, you won’t,” Peter said. “You must not. We’ll keep you out of Jerusalem.”
“How, if that’s my destiny?”
“We won’t allow it. God won’t.”
They had just crested a rise in the road, and at the top of the next rise were three crosses silhouetted against the sky. Jesus saw them and stopped. A shadow seemed to pass over him, and he shivered as if from cold.
“No,” Peter said, following his gaze. “It won’t happen.”
Jesus looked at him.
“It can’t,” Peter said.
“The words of Satan,” Jesus said. “Long ago.”
“Satan! What are you talking about? Have you conversed with Satan?”
“And fought with him. I’ve called you a rock, Peter. See to it that you are a building block and not a stumbling block. Do not try to interfere with the task God has set for me.”
“When will all this happen?” It was John, his voice quavering.
“I don’t know,” Jesus said. “I must find out.” He started again along the road, toward the crosses looming above them, and his disciples followed.