Sylvanus of Gischala

So many times during Jesus’ life he dealt with travelers along the highways of Israel. Men and women seemed to drift in and out of his life, perhaps by accident, perhaps not. One of these was Sylvanus, a lawyer of Gischala.

In our day we assume lawyers to be wealthy, and not necessarily trustworthy. Whether these are true today is debatable.

It was the same in Jesus’ time. Neither was necessarily true. Certainly for Salvanus, there was no truth in the charges. He was not a really wealthy man.

Sylvanus was a lawyer, all right. Sylvanus sat at the city gate, along with the other elders of the city. On certain days the group would discuss legal issues of the day. Sometimes the issues were items brought by the community. Property. Inheritance.

Other times the issues were theoretical in nature. What does it mean to adopt? What is the meaning of faith? What is true religious practice?

Sylvanus was sometimes paid by some person to represent them before the council at the city gate. The questions presented might be matters of faith, or religion, or military action, or government. Whatever the question, when the call came to serve, Sylvanus tried desperately to find the truth among the issues. It was a personal thing with him. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. Sometimes the little group at the gate of Gischala could only reach some compromise.

His home town, Gischala, was northwest of Capernaum, about fifteen miles. It was really just a settlement of a couple hundred souls. Sheepherders, traders, craftsmen, farmers. Several families were quite poor.

Sylvanus was a farmer, grapes and figs and olives, mostly. Just a few acres. His real interest was the law, and how it could be used and adjusted to benefit those who called on him for help.
Pyramid of the law

The law of the day was complex. It rested on a sort of triangle or pyramid of statutes. The three sides of the triangle were the government, the temple organization as it reached out from Jerusalem, and the military. The Military was recognized as being outside the government because it raised its own funds by conscription and attachment, and usually chose its own battles.

Each of these had its own set of laws, established by its powerful people. The role played by people like Sylvanus was simple. Stay out of the way of the laws established by the government, the temple and the military. There was no democracy left from the ideals of the Greeks.

Democracy would not be seen again until the time of Jefferson and Franklin and Washington.
The assumption was made that every person accepted the points that held the civilization together: A relationship with the Lord, a need for corporate defense, and a need for community action such as roads, walls, and wells.

Not in the pyramid, though, were two other pieces that you and I expect to be at the center of law: Business to business matters, and individual rights. Fend for yourself was the essential law in both instances.

I don’t mean to say that businesses and individuals had no protections in the law. Not at all. It was just that neither businesses nor individuals had any real possibility of claiming victory against the government, the military, or the temple.

But between business and business, or individual and individual, there were strong laws. This is how the lawyers of the day spent their time at the city gate. There were property matters, and damages. There were criminal actions, and minor problems. There were health issues such as leprosy and blindness. All of these required straight thinking by the most respected minds of the community. Any of these could be brought by any person to the council of elders.

Training for a legal career was personally motivated. A man had four primary methods of learning. Observation, reading, reciting or discussing the law, and trial and error. Sylvanus had carefully followed all these throughout his career.

By watching carefully the community around himself, Sylvanus could see the impact of the law on people. He learned to read at the synagogue by reading from the Torah and the scrolls of the prophets. Sylvanus made presentations of legal issues and comments to his friends and family, and eventually to the council. Then he began to work through the trial and error procedures brought to the council. He questioned and contemplated. He composed solutions, and re-wrote them. He tried to find the truth.

It is here that Sylvanus’ life becomes really interesting to us in the current century. Sylvanus’ life did not become so famous in his day as that of Jesus, or Nero, or Paul, or so many others. Sylvanus really has been almost forgotten.

It is really by reaching back another thousand years, past Jesus, that we find the real reason for Sylvanus’ impact on American and world life today.

Very few people know anything about Amos. He is one of my all-time favorites from the Bible.
Amos lived most of his life in the hills north of the Sea of Galilee, north of Gischala and Capernaum. His work was as a shepherd and farm laborer. He says he was not a prophet, but he is certainly remembered as one.

Some three or four hundred years before Amos, in about 1100 B.C., Moses and Aaron brought the Hebrew people through the wilderness toward Jericho.

But there came a time when things went badly. Starvation was setting in, and the people were becoming discouraged.

Moses and Aaron took the position that things were going badly because some of the people were doubting the team of Moses and Aaron. It was the sort of stand we have seen in Richard Nixon and Joseph Stalin and other leaders of the world. We have even seen it in churches and Christian denominations.

The man Korah and some others then challenged Moses and Aaron on their words. Korah could not accept that the Lord had appointed them commanders and priests of the entire nation. They appeared at the tents of Moses and Aaron one day with a group of supporters.
The man Korah and some others challenged Moses and Aaron on their words that the Lord had appointed them commanders and priests of the entire nation. What happened?

We are not really certain, but it appears that Moses and Aaron had Korah and his people killed and buried in the desert.

Over the next centuries, a group of rural thinkers, mostly from the north, established a group movement of prophets. These people found constant ways to challenge whatever government was in power at the time. They usually called the government and the people to return to a life of justice and righteousness. Amos became one of these in about 750 B.C.

Sylvanus also became one of the Sons of Korah at the time of Jesus. Northern Palestine was then, as now, filled with men and women who were willing to risk their lives for justice and righteousness. How did this change our lives?

Sylvanus often made business and religious trips to Capernaum. In those days, the custom was that visitors to a town who sat among the elders of their own communities at their own city gate could sit with the elders of the destination community.

So Sylvanus became a well known and accepted member of the elders’ group at the Capernaum gate.

The problems Sylvanus and the other elders tried to deal with were many-sided and deep. The most troubling of these were the spiritual matters. These were not matters of temple power or strategies. They were matters of the relationship between individuals and the Holy One. Then as now, the most pressing of these questions was the matter of eternal life.

They could ask and answer questions. They could make comments. They could share in any refreshments that were passed around. Figs. Grapes. Raisins. Bread. Tea. Wine.

When he sat with the elders at Capernaum this day, Sylvanus was responding to legal needs for answers. When Jesus came to the city, Sylvanus thought this might be an opportunity to get fresh insight.

Sylvanus did not know much about Jesus. He had only heard rumors about the man. But these rumors were intriguing enough that Sylvanus took them seriously. Because he happened to be in the area of the Sea of Galilee for a few days, he found the opportunity to question Jesus irresistible. Sylvanus could now consider the rumors for himself in the light of the law.

The rumors that Sylvanus wanted to clarify with Jesus were really rather threatening to Galilean society. Indeed, all of the culture of Israel was up for grabs, according to the rumors.
One rumor had it that Jesus intended to change the Ten Commandments. Sylvanus also heard that Jesus had edited the commandments. But Jesus’ editing seemed to be simply quoting old statements of the law. "You shall love Yahweh, your god with all your heart, and mind, and soul and strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself."

This was confusing to Sylvanus. How could this be seen as wrong?

Jesus performed work on the Sabbath. But when the work is healing, or performing the ordinary functions of life, like eating, where in the law is that shown to be wrong?

And politically, it was rumored that Jesus would lead a revolt against king or against Rome itself. But Sylvanus looked around at the few men who seemed to walk and talk with Jesus. He could see no evidence of military action, or weapons, or even covert action. There was certainly nothing to cast fear into the heart of the Roman government, the mightiest government and military of the world.

The rumors said Jesus would turn families against each other. Well, maybe. Sylvanus could see how families could disagree with one another about what Jesus was saying. And Jesus did, apparently, ask people to go with him, to walk with him. They might have to leave their families to go with Jesus. He supposed this could be a problem.

The most serious rumor and challenge to Jesus was in the charge that Jesus suggested that they ignore the Temple mandates. That thinking outside the box about salvation would certainly raise questions. If the temple could not define and describe salvation for the people, what would be the center of Israeli life and culture. Even the government and the military and business of the day would face terrible challenges.

Sylvanus could think of only one question he could ask that really brought all these issues and rumors together. If Jesus answered it, Sylvanus would know just what it was that Jesus was about. Sylvanus would know whether Jesus was trying to challenge the law, or the government, or the temple. Perhaps there was no reason to fear the revolt Jesus might have planned.

So Sylvanus worked his way close to Jesus in the crowd. At a quiet moment, Jesus looked straight at Sylvanus. He apparently expected a question or a statement from the learned man. There was something about the eye contact that said that Sylvanus would find some way to walk with Jesus, and Jesus expected.

Sylvanus did not hesitate. He asked Jesus perhaps the basic spiritual question of that day and today. "What must I do to have eternal life?"

Jesus answered with words Sylvanus did not expect. "You have read the law. What does it say in the law?"

The lawyer answered quickly. "You shall love Yahweh, your god, with all your heart, and mind, and soul and strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself."

Jesus spoke quietly now. "You are correct. Go and do this. You shall have life."

But Sylvanus was ready. "But, sir, who is my neighbor?"

Again, Jesus apparently had prepared well. He smiled at the question.

"A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. He fell among robbers. They stripped him and beat him, and fled the scene. They left the man for dead. Now luckily a priest was going down that road. When he saw the man he walked on the other side of the road. Soon a Levite, when he saw the man, walked by on the other side of the road. But a Samaritan, walking home from Jerusalem through Jericho, came to the man. When the Samaritan saw the man, he had compassion on the victim. The Samaritan bound up the wounds. He poured expensive oil and wine on the wounds. Then he sat the man on his own donkey and brought him to the inn in Jericho, the best inn to take care of him. The next day he gave two denarii to the innkeeper.

"Take care of him. If it costs more, I will be back in a few days to pay the bill."

Now Jesus looked Sylvanus in the eye again. "Which of these three, do you suppose, was neighbor to the man who was beaten?"

Sylvanus now was in awe at the thinking of Jesus, and the depth of his commitment to the life of Israel. "The one who showed mercy on the fallen man."

Jesus said to him, simply: "You go and live the same sort of life."

And though Sylvanus returned to Gischala, he walked with Jesus, in spirit, all the remaining days of his life.

Sylvanus accepted the burden of sharing with the trinity the creative genius of the Creator, the redemption of the Christ, and the presence of the Spirit. His act of faith has changed our lives. His question gave Jesus the opportunity to be much more specific with his instructions to us.
"Go, and live the life of the Good Samaritan."

Amen.

Naaman The Syrian Leper

Naaman the Syrian Leper

2 Kings 5:1-14

Karl Evans

Everyone has their own heroes. Men and woman, past and present, offer themselves as models for greatness in life. Some are heroic as they overcome terrible forces stacked against them. Some stand out as ethical and moral lighthouses for the troubled seas of life.

Naaman is one of my own personal heroes. It is not that he was such a brave man. I am sure he was a military genius. He may have been very faithful to the Syrian gods, and even to his own culture.

Rather than these, though, Naaman had a very serious personal problem. His skin was the problem. This was not a race thing, or ethnic. Naaman’s skin problem was the several splotches of unusual colors on his skin.

No one knew what manner of leprosy this was. In fact, no one even guessed these patches of blue and purple and red skin might not even be the disease we now know as Hansen’s Disease. They might have been birthmarks, or psoriasis, or even a skin cancer.

But this did not matter. Society treated all these as the same malady. Any continuing skin blemish was simply leprosy. Any leprosy was the result of any of a few problems.

It could be a simple matter of faithlessness. Perhaps the Syrian god is angry at Naaman for some sin of his ancestors. Naaman may have accidentally knocked over an icon during a visit to a temple in rural Syria.

Naaman’s leprosy may have stemmed from the curse of a witch during a campaign in India, or China, or Greece. So many possibilities. But it really did not matter. Naaman had a disease. He was unclean before the Syrian god.

Naaman was fortunate, though. He was the leader of the Syrian army. We can assume that his skin problems arose late in life. He had probably already found his way to the top of the leadership pyramid, or close to it. At the very least, he was able to hide his blemishes from those around him until he neared the apex of the leadership councils of the Syrians.

If Naaman had shown any weakness, he would have been destroyed. In highly competitive industries, such as military and religious organizations, even a minor weakness is a death sentence. Men who would take lives of royalty without hesitation could surely sink a knife into the heart of a lowly army private who displayed marks of leprosy.

But the commander of the nation’s armies! That was different. Every commander had a guard company around him to protect him from his personal and corporate enemies. These men would risk their own lives to protect their leader from assassination plots and long knives. Even should an assassin make it through the defensive cordon, that assassin would be dead in moments.

But only someone in Naaman’s position could afford that protection. Many men had to gather around him constantly to give him that shield.

But even this armor was not enough for Naaman. This mighty military leader, the man saluted by the whole Syrian army, wanted only one thing desperately. One thing brought him to tears as he climbed into bed every night.

It was his skin. Naaman wanted nothing so much as he wanted rid of those angry red, blue and purple marks on his skin. Oh! To be able to shed his shirt and throw himself into the river with the lowest of his soldiers when they took their bivouac in strange lands. But such was not to be.
So Namaan could only protect himself from the evil-doers of his men.

Now it happened one day that Naaman and his army defeated an army that included mercenaries from many countries. Early in the morning as the dew began to settle on the bodies of slain soldiers, not yet buried, Naaman walked around the battlefield. His walk allowed him to survey the ragged remains of both armies.

Namaan’s own army was in pretty good shape. It had been a vastly superior force on the field. The survivors of the defeated army could only bow or salute as he walked by with his guard. These survivors included a young girl, child bride of one of the now-dead mercenaries.

As Naaman approached her and the body of her young husband, the girl, Qila, did a most unexpected thing. Qila rose from preparing the body of her man for burial. She calmly stepped directly into the path of Naaman and his guards. The armored men, alert for any hostile action from the defeated army, quickly drew their swords and leveled their spears for action against a single, widowed, unarmed fifteen year old Samarian girl.

Naaman’s face showed his puzzlement over her intent, but then he gestured for his troops to lower their weapons. As they did, she cooly walked toward him with her hands open in front of her. She came close, then stopped a few feet away. Naaman spoke first.

"Tell me, girl, why you risk death by stopping me from my walk. You know I need no excuse to have you killed. But you are young and beautiful. I need to bring to my wife a present from this war. That present will be you. You can come to my home, and serve my wife. You will spend your days making my wife more beautiful.

Qila answered slowly, but with certainty in her voice. "Sir, my God knows you are an honorable man. You have been gracious and compassionate in your victories. That is very good. I am content."

So Naaman brought Qila home with him to Damascus as a present for his wife. She immediately began her duties in Naaman’s household. Early in the next morning Qila helped Naaman’s wife with her bath. Presently she spoke openly with her mistress.

"Your husband’s body bears the marks of disease. It is a disease that keeps you both awake at night. This disease even divides you from your family. It is a terrible burden for you."

"Because he is compassionate with God’s people, my God wishes him to be healed of this disease. If only my lord would visit the prophet Elisha who is in Samaria! The great god of the Hebrews will cure my lord of his leprosy!"

Naaman spoke to his king about the girl, asking permission to visit Elisha. Naaman’s king sent the king of Israel appropriate gifts, along with a letter of introduction. The letter told of Naaman’s disease, and the promise of the young Samarian girl.

The king of Israel nearly panicked. "Am I a god, able to give life or death? This mighty king sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? I believe he is trying to start a quarrel with me."
But Elisha heard about the message, and how the king of Israel panicked at being asked to heal in the name of the Lord of the Universe. Elisha asked that Naaman be brought to him.

Naaman came with his horses and his chariots and his armed guard. They rode up in a great charge and wheeled to a stop in front of Naaman’s house. It was only a little distance from the River Jordan. The horses panted and pranced in the hot desert air as Naaman approached the prophet of the Lord. He sat before Elisha and handed the letter to the prophet.

Elisha read the letter from Naaman’s king. He thought briefly, as if in deep prayer. Then he spoke. "Go to the river Jordan. It is very close. It is the river of the Lord. Wash in it seven times, dipping your whole body in it seven times. When you have done this, your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean. You will be clean when you come out of the water of the Lord of Israel."

Naaman jumped to his feet in anger, stomping back to his chariot. "I thought that at least for me he would surely stand and call on the name of the Lord his God. I thought he would wave his hand over the spot, and cure the leprosy!"

"We have rivers in Damascus, too, you know. We have the Abana and the Pharpar. Surely these are better than the waters of Israel. They are clean, and fresh. I have bathed before in the great waters of Damascus. Could I not wash in them again, and be clean? Is this country hick prophet saying that his god is stronger than our god? It can not be so!" Naaman stormed with rage at Elisha. His rage shook him so badly the beads of sweat flew from his neck and his nose.

But Naaman had been a very astute man at a good time. He had picked good and wise servants. One of them spoke to Naaman the Syrian hero. "Sir, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? Of course you would have. So all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean!’ "

Well, you should known that Naaman was still pretty smart. He knew when someone was talking sense to him. So Naaman went down to the River Jordan, just a little distance away. He did not have to wait until he came home to Damascus. He only went to the Jordan, a few feet away.

At the Jordan, Naaman dipped himself in the water seven times. This was what Elisha said he must do. Seven times.

Then Naaman’s flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy. He was clean at last.
Naaman did what the Lord asked. He went to the closest water, dipped himself in it seven times, and was healed. It was an act of faith.

Lazarus

Lazarus
John 11:1
Karl Evans
1980-2007

Jesus had many friends. There were many people who, whether or not they believed he was the Messiah, just liked the guy. They just cared about him for the person he was.

Sometimes Jesus made his friends laugh with his jokes about Herod. Jesus called Herod ‘The Fox’. Sometimes Jesus teased the Pharisees, or even the disciples. Jesus had pet names for some of the disciples. He re-named Simon as Peter, The Rock. The disciples knew it was something of a joke. Soon everyone began to use the new name.

Among Jesus friends was Lazarus, brother of Mary and Martha. Sometimes Lazarus found Jesus just to tell him some bad jokes. Not dirty, and not degrading to anyone. Just awful jokes. Often Jesus laughed and told some of his own very bad jokes to Lazarus. Jesus wasn't too good at comedy unless he was poking fun at Pharisees or priests or governors. Even then he used comedy to make a point about the new world to come soon.

So Jesus enjoyed Lazarus. Their time together was warm and good. But, as happens to people, there came a time when Lazarus became ill suddenly and died a few days later. The family sent for Jesus when Lazarus became ill. Jesus did not immediately return to their home.

Lazarus finally died. Jesus had not come. It seemed to some that Jesus purposely stalled coming to Lazarus. Everyone around him had their own comments to make. Some were frustrated that Jesus did not come before Lazarus died. Some only spoke to themselves in quiet contemplation. Some spoke to God. Few tried to defend Jesus.

Few people look forward to death. Everyone seems to feel the need to say something about death when it comes close. When family or friend knows the nearness of death, talking seems to help.

Jared, a boyhood friend and neighbor, came early to see Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus. In the sadness of their crying, Jared tried to give them comfort.

He hugged them both, and they talked about Lazarus. Jared said how Lazarus had been a good friend. He said it must just have been his time to die. It must have been the will of God. Yes, that's it. He died because God wanted him to die.

Now another friend, Sam-el, one who had been even closer to Lazarus, was just about destroyed by Lazarus' death. Lazarus had been working with Sam-el as a counselor, helping him understand and cope with his own problems.

Now with Lazarus gone, he had no friend, no counselor, no one to turn to. The lonely Sam-el could only sit and sob. Lazarus' death might as well have been his own. The death of one was a total loss for the other.

Now in those days the nation was actually in the hands of the Roman army. Roman troops could find shelter wherever they chose in nearly every city and town in Palestine.

As the sound of the wailing of Mary and Martha came from the house, a small squad of Roman soldiers walked by in the street. By the sound and the black-draped doorpost, they knew there was a death.

These were men who faced death every day. Their end might come from a street battle, or from training. They might feel the sword in a pitched battle as the Romans tried to take over another nation. But, as with most armies, no one talked to them about their own death.

They talked as they walked by. "I don't think anyone will make that much fuss about me when I die. No one cares that much."

Another suggested a course of action. "What you should do is to marry some really homely girl. Then when you die, she will be in such a sad state! She'll bawl like a sick calf because no one else will ever want her."

A third soldier joined in. "Naaawww. He’s too ugly himself. There isn't any girl who is desperate enough to want him! When he was born the midwife slapped his mother."

"I don't see why these Jews make so much fuss over anyone. Death really doesn't mean anything."

"I've killed a hundred or two, and they were all the same. One of these days someone else will kill me. The world will keep on keeping on."

"So what if another dies, especially just another Jew. There’s just something I don’t trust about these people."

"You know, Jews are so lazy that when one of them dies its usually three days before anyone notices."

"I think this family is one of those that followed Jesus, the Galilean. You know, he talks a lot about getting to heaven. Maybe this fellow had his own way and got to leave early."

The young soldiers moved on down the street as a group. Laughing. Talking. Teasing. Bragging. Just moving and wondering.

But inside the house, things weren't that calm. Mary and Martha were living through the stages in their mourning. They saw Jesus was to blame for the whole thing. They had sent for him. He just did not care enough to come. Then Lazarus died. Without Jesus.

Mary and Martha and Jared and Sam-el could only be caught up in the death of Lazarus. They sat quietly through most of the hours before burial. The ritual preparation of the body for burial took only a little time. Then Lazarus was buried in the family tomb. It was done.

When Jesus came to the door, he was not met by warmth for a friend. Martha and the others met him with resentment and self-pity. The cold emotional overtones of personal blame were startling to Jesus.

Mary was the outspoken one. "Jesus, I really thought you cared. All these months you have been telling us how you loved us. You have been saying we should love each other. And we believed you.

“You even told us what we should do if we love each other. You said we should do as you do. We have seen you make the blind see. We have seen you make the deaf hear and the epileptic straight.

“But what about us? We have walked all over Galilee with you. Why do you spend all your time with those who don't even walk with you? Why do you care only about a bunch of sinners who just don't care about you?

“Yet you let Lazarus, a man you say you love, just lay down and die. You don't even bother coming around until after he is dead long enough to start smelling bad. Is it asking too much for you to be here when someone is sick? When someone who loves you is about to die?"

Now it was Martha who spoke. The fire and discouragement in her voice betrayed her sorrow. And her anger at God.

"Jesus, I really do not think you care. Maybe you have a big head now from having all these people hanging around you. I don't think you feel a thing. The whole town talks about you like some kind of god. Even I used to think you were some kind of god. Maybe I even the Messiah.

“But right now I don't want a god. I want someone who cares. I need someone who feels. I need someone who has blood in their veins, not ice water.

“You may be a god. Fine. Right now we need a man. You never hurt. You never have any pain. You could have saved my brother, who practically worshiped you. When we needed you, you were too obsessed with saving millions."

Jesus would have reached out to hold them. They drew back in anger and hurt. Cold pain flew at Jesus from their eyes. They would not let Jesus hold them, or touch them.

Jesus' eyes filled with tears at their words and at the anger in their voices and in their eyes. He looked at the floor for a moment, then asked quietly, "Where is he buried?"

Martha snapped "Why go there now? He's been dead three days. He'll be smelling to high heaven now. The time to see him was three days ago, when you might have done something. You could have been here at least to just to hold his hand while he died."

But Jesus went to the sandstone cave. Some friends of the family had rolled a flat piece of stone over the mouth of the grave. They sealed the small holes around the edge of the opening with a sand and limestone mud. This kept out burrowing animals and moisture. Jesus broke through the sealer and rolled away the flat stone.

Jesus knelt on both knees in front of the cave, deep in prayer. As he knelt silently, big tears rolled down his cheeks. In the silence the drops seemed to make big splashes as they fell to the ground. It seemed to some who stood by as if Jesus struggled for words.

Martha whispered bitterly to her sobbing sister. "Thinking about himself, again. Right now he is probably thinking about what he will look like when he dies. He is wondering how many thousands will come to his own funeral."

The crowd began to grow. Within a few minutes, eight or ten gathered around. Watching and waiting with no real expectation of anything. Some stood silently with curiosity and confusion written on their faces. Some eyes showed bitterness toward the seeming lack of concern of Jesus. He should have cared more for the illness and death of an old friend and supporter.

Some jeered. Some made off-color remarks about loyalty, and about hypocrisy, and about what Jesus was going to do with the body. Some questioned Jesus' sanity. Why would a man with a healthy mind open a sealed tomb?

Jesus only said, quietly, "Lazarus, my friend, come out to me." Then Jesus knelt, obviously in earnest prayer. The only sound was from the gossip of the crowd.

Now, Lazarus began to stir. The cloths around him began to move. The crowd suddenly stopped its murmuring. In the darkness of the tomb the crowd could clearly see the burial cloths part.

First a hand appeared, then another. The hands silently pulled the rags away from Lazarus’ head. Lazarus crouched low, now. His feet and legs were still wrapped as he began to move toward the mouth of the low tomb.

The others moved back quickly. There was suddenly no need to become involved in the events of the day. They let Jesus kneel alone in silence in front of the tomb.

Lazarus pulled himself out of his own grave and stood in the door of the grotto. Jesus put his arm around Lazarus. Jesus barely mussed the white cloths with which Mary and Martha had wrapped Lazarus.

Lazarus and Jesus and Mary and Martha and Jared and Sam-el walked away. There would be another day to die. Not today.

A Good War -- A Good Death

A Good War

Luke 8:22-25

Copyright: Karl Evans

"It’s not right, really. It just doesn’t work out. The prophets made their promises hundreds of years ago. The priests keep making promises today. They promise and promise. Nothing comes of them. It just isn’t right."

The other fishermen on the boat were used to this. They knew Delos well enough. They just let him go on. And on.

Rough weather was not uncommon on Lake Tiberias, as the Romans called it. The Jews called it the Sea of Galilee. But the name did not matter.

This lake was the livelihood, even the life, of the few thousands who lived on he shores. It controlled their lives in many ways. The economy was about fishing. The fresh water even supplied small gardens for the families. But it was not an easy life.

When the winds and rain came hard, they put a lot more pressure on people such as Delos. Sometimes it seemed to be more than he could handle. Delos seemed to flip out from the wind and rain and all the stress of his life. The others just let him talk. They could do nothing else.

"I have done nothing to deserve this. Oh, I have made my mistakes, sure enough. Nothing I have ever done should cause this." The sound of a bitter man mumbling to himself is always a scab on this world.

Delos made those around him very uneasy. They knew he was no direct danger to his neighbors and partners. Their problem was that they did not know how to help him, except by letting him talk to himself in their presence. Perhaps he could work past his grief and his struggle. They did not know what else to do.

They were also afraid of his bitter words. If those words should find their way to the Romans, they would invite trouble. These invaders would assume some manner of group revolt from the fishermen. They would crush the assumed revolt without question or remorse.

Delos’ faithfulness to his beloved Samantha, his son, the temple and even to the Romans themselves would count for nothing. A revolt must be crushed. Any revolt. Crushed, and crushed hard.

Delos raised his son alone. His beautiful wife died young, many years ago. These were hard years for Delos and his son, but they still went by too quickly. Too soon came the time for Delimon to look to the horizon for new life. Too soon came the time for Delos to begin to relax his hold on the next generation of the family. Too soon came the time for Delos to be alone in the world. He could only remember the good years with Samantha and Delimon.

Delimon quickly grew into a strong, mannerly, polite young man. Delos sometimes smiled privately at his handsome son. Delos could see the attraction between the son and the young women of the town. Delos enjoyed watching his son become the target of romantic notions.

Every girl around the lake, it seemed, watched him as he grew to manhood. His laughter and his obvious concern for those around him brought the attention he craved after the death of his mother.

Delos enjoyed having Delimon around, really. Supporting him was a lot of extra work at first. Caring for the household needs and guiding Delimon added hours to his day. He did not feel burdened for long, though.

He could see Samantha’s smile in Delimon’s eyes and face lines. His skin reminded Delos of her touch. His laughter was like hers, gentle and easy. Neighbors and strangers chose to be around Delimon. Delimon made good company for a lonely Delos who mourned the death of his wife through the rest of his life.

The pride of Delos' life grew to near-manhood. At fourteen, Delimon spent most of his time working and studying and growing. Young men and women have taken this pattern of personal development since time began.

The worldly Syrian capital of Damascus is a great arena for learning skill and grace. Living in Damascus was great training for one who had designs on a higher position in the world. Delimon learned to see himself as a ranking officer of the Roman Government. He saw himself as a leader of men, maybe in the military.

Delimon also thought he might build a business, an international import-export system. He saw the potential for profit in the trading he witnessed along the great caravan routes. He listened and watched the people around him. He learned about other peoples on the far sides of the earth. Soldiers and traders and diplomats of Spain and Egypt and India covered Damascus. These travelers were as much parts of his life as were the Greek alphabet and the Roman Legions.

Even with this in his mind, though, Delimon stayed close to his father. From Damascus, Delimon began to travel around the region. He could always be home in a few days. Sometimes he could catch a ride on a passing chariot, or help with a caravan in return for a horseback or camelback ride. Sometimes they could only send letters to each other.
As the young man grew, Delos could only offer some small advice to his son. "Pay attention to the caravans. Watch what sells and what doesn’t."

Sometimes Delos could only sit and listen to the new generation. Delimon spoke with ease and wonder at all he had seen. The market place and the government halls teemed with life every day.

Finally it was time for Delimon to serve his six years in the Roman Legion. The army of Syria enforced Roman law over the area, from the land of ancient Babylon to Egypt and Asia Minor. Delos did not own a slave to send in place of Delimon. He had no money to pay someone else to go. Delimon had to walk his own path now.

He wrote home a few times over the first two or three years. These were just short notes to his father. Letters were hard to send from campaigns in far countries of the Empire. The final message did not come from Delimon, but from another soldier. This note has meant bitterness and sorrow for families and nations around the world.

"Yehula, the supreme commander of the armies of the sovereign nation of Syria, regrets to inform you of the death of Delimon bar Delos. You may be proud of him. He died fighting for the most noble cause of all. He died to save the empire from its enemies.

Hail mighty Caesar!"

That was the end of Delimon bar Delos, son of Delos of Damascus. Twenty years of hope. Twenty years of joy and sorrow. Twenty years of seeing in the son the life of the mother.

It was not the end of his memory. It was not the end of the hurt, or the pride, or the love. It did not end the bitterness of Delos.

Somehow Delos knew he would keep his bitterness forever. He would be bitter toward the Romans and toward God and toward life itself until the day he died. He began to drift away from making leather goods, shoes and harnesses and belts. Finally Delos gathered his knives, awls and punches into a simple knapsack. He carefully wrapped and packed into the knapsack the remaining articles from the life of his beloved wife. Then, with a last quick glance around, closed the door of his tiny home. Delos never went back.

Delos drifted south, stopping long enough in several villages to earn enough for a few meals. Finally he made it to the shores of the Sea of Galilee. The Romans had renamed it Lake Tiberias. Delos began to work around the area, selling his handiwork. The lonely widower never left.

Eventually Delos began to work on another man’s fishing boat. A hired hand had a better chance to make a day’s pay. He could keep up his leather work at night when he had was nothing else to do but mourn his wife and son. The other men went home to their families, but for Delos there was only the leather.

Day after day, Delos worked hard in the boat. Spreading the nets and hauling them in repeatedly all through the day was tough. The struggle and the sweating and the tired muscles were a gift. They kept Delos from losing himself in self-pity. He rebelled in his heart against mourning the loss of both his wife and their only child.

Then at night Delos whiled away time repairing the nets and re-pitching the boats. The others laughed and joked or spent time with their own families. Delos was driven by life itself. He worked as hard as possible to banish away the thoughts of rebellion and death and divine betrayal.

Delos spread the hot pitch on the seams of the boat using a crude hand-carved paddle. He wondered quietly where and how Delimon had died. He was bitter at the military establishments of Rome and Syria. These military geniuses had taken his only son to a violent death.

Delos thought of the good times the two of them had shared. They were few but powerful. Delos could only weep as the flood of memories came over him. The images of fishing together and running together filled his senses. They almost brought the boy to life again in the heart of the father.

The father also remembered the bad times. He was mad at himself for wasting even a moment of the days shared with Delimon. Father and son had known disagreements, even yelling matches. Thankfully, though, Delos and Delimon were close when Delimon left to serve in the legion.

Delos thought about the young excitement in Delimon. He had seen the wonder in his son's eyes at the rising sun. Delimon liked people. He had a gentle way with older friends and relatives. Almost everyone liked Delimon, especially the young women.

Delos appreciated the pretty girls who came around looking for his son. Now that Delimon was gone, still two or three regularly stopped to see if he had written. Now with Delimon was slain in battle, only one still checked on the old man of thirty-five.

Perhaps most important, Delimon had known great hopes for marriage and children of his own. Grandchildren might be around for Delos to adore in his own old age. Any of these who stopped would be quite acceptable as daughters-in-law. Not quite yet.

Now Delos was angry with God. God took the life of the son. If Delos could ever get this God in a corner, he would tell God a thing or two. Delos knew now God didn't care. War still went on. Young men still died. Delimon was not coming back, not even in a box. The survivors just bury the slain where they fall, these young men who die in battle. Often the soldiers have no time for even a simple ceremony.

Delos wrapped himself now in so much bitterness he was not aware of the world around himself. He did not see that some of his partners were on a mission. They were spending their evenings and the stormy days with a traveling teacher and prophet. They claimed to have even seen him perform miracles.

Delos tuned out their conversations in the boats when they talked about this man. Delos did not hear when they talked about the teacher. His own pain was deafening when they asked each other if Jesus were the Messiah. Delos kept to himself more every day. He even became a recluse to his own friends.

One clear spring day, fishing had been good. The men in the small fleet of boats saw a crowd gathered on the shore. This was unusual because the site was some distance from any town. Anyone standing out here must expect something big to happen. This looked like an eager crowd.

Delos could see the people seemed to gather around someone who must be a teacher or an entertainer. That was fine. In fact, it was very good.
Perhaps a chance to sell some fish to the crowd would come. They were probably hungry. People always want to eat. They might as well have been at a carnival or at a fair. What could be more satisfying than fresh fish, slowly roasted over an open fire?

The man was talking to the crowd as the boats neared the shore. While he talked, the men from the boats quickly sold cleaned and salted fish to the crowd. Soon small driftwood fires were blazing at several places along the shore. Some sharp entrepreneurs in the crowd saw an opportunity as the crowd began to cook and eat the fish.

Waiting at the boat, Delos was curious about the teacher. One of the crowd came to buy some fish and asked Delos’ opinion. "Do you know who this man is? Some say he is the son of God. What do you think?"

Delos looked again and laughed. "What? That loafer? The one they call the son of God? You make me laugh! I've seen him out on the boat. He can't even row a straight line. He doesn't look like anything special to me. If he's a Son of God, I would not want one of them to marry my sister."

About then, Jesus asked them to take him across the lake. He knew a few of the men. While the crowd finished their meal, Jesus and the small group of men climbed into their fishing boat. Once away from shore, Jesus, obviously tired, quickly went to sleep. While he slept, the others worked the sails and nets. They could fish their way across the arm of the Sea of Galilee.

Out on the lake, just as all the nets were out and filling with fish, a squall blew up. A squall on the Sea of Galilee can be a vicious blow. Air currents often rise off the hot land around the lake. Then they combine with cool air coming off the lake or coming inland from the Mediterranean. Together these can raise the wind to gale force in a matter of seconds. Such a blast can also reduce to calm air just as quickly.

Winds swirl and scream in every direction. Rain and hail rips at the sails and clothing. Lighting can wipe out entire boat loads of men. When the gale struck, the little boats were in serious danger. The builders did not rig them for so many people and so many fish and so much wind.

The men shouted and cursed as they frantically hauled in the nets. They stumbled around, crudely grabbing the blowing sails in their arms. The wave-tossed men struggled with the oars and tillers to keep from capsizing. They fought back panic as they struggled to reach the shore without attracting a bolt of lightning. The din of the wind and the men and the clattering boats and wooden equipment overcame any voices.

The open boats were in danger of swamping. Every wave dumped more water into the craft. The wind threatened to rip apart the sails and masts before the men could get them down. Heavy gusts whipped the boat around as if it were a piece of bark. Lives were going to be lost if the wind kept up. Some began to panic, fearing for their own lives.

The teacher, asleep in the front of the boat, never stirred. Finally, seeing the man asleep, Delos shook the man roughly. "Wake up! Wake up! Don't you care if you drown, you fool?"

The man wearily sat up and opened his bloodshot eyes. His dreams had taken him far away. Water cascading over the bow of the tiny boat brought him to reality. The spray from the rain and the waves was drenching him through. He looked around at the towering seas. He felt the water in the bottom of the boat and heard the mast beginning to break.

The man lifted his eyes to the heavens as if searching for some clue, some guidance. Then he spoke quietly, yet it seemed to Delos as if the voice echoed off the hills miles away. His words masked even the thunder of the storm and the cries of the men.

"Silence!"

It seemed the whole world stopped. The waves eased off to a gentle roll. A great gust dropped to an easy breeze.

The men on the boats stopped their struggling and stood in amazement. The shock and surprise of what had just happened quickly sat in.

For an incredulous moment, Delos forgot his anger over the death of his son. "Gosh, that guy back on the shore said you were the son of God. I didn't believe him. Anyone who can make the wind and the waves stop in their tracks must have some divine power of some kind."

Again, stunned silence as the other men wondered what to say or do. Nothing in their experience had prepared them for this. No one anticipated seeing the very storms obey the quiet voice of one strong man.

Delos, though, composed himself. He had still more to say. "Do you know what I think about you? Even if you are really the son of God? You are not really worth one little bitty fish scale. Not worth a thing."

"You sit up in the front of the boat. You sleep away while the rest of us work. We fish and break our backs on these fool boats just to survive and keep going. You talk and talk and do nothing. You act as if we should treat you like a king. So you can make the sea go calm. Big deal!" Delos began to find his fire. It was as if he finally had God in a corner.

"So who besides ourselves cares whether we drown or not? No one, that's who. You and your supposed father are too busy playing dominoes with the clouds and the seas. Go ahead and chase the clouds away. It doesn't matter to me or anyone else, anyway. Nothing you do matters."

"If you want to do something constructive, why don't you do something about war and about death? Do something about our kids killing each other."

Now Delos was feeling a strength from this man. Something about this man gave the frustrated Delos power to dump it all out now. He quickly seized the precious time of strong words to purge his soul.

"My wife died giving birth to my son. So I raised Delimon in the best way I could. It wasn't easy, but I loved her so much and I loved him. I did everything I could for him. I am proud of the way he turned out. But now he is dead. My son has died fighting some stupid war for some unknown purpose in some far-off god-forsaken land. Nothing about it even matters. It does not matter to me, or to you, or to anyone else."

"So why don't you at least stop people from killing each other. If you are the son of God, it seems you could do at least that."

Now the bitterness of Delos' heart was coming out. It was falling all over everyone in the boat as if it were a cataract on the Nile River. The spray of tears from the broken heart covered every man on the boat.

"Oh, but pardon me, I forgot. If you are the messiah, you don't know anything about death. You will never die."

"Well, maybe God won't do anything, but I have to. I cannot stand by and see other young men die in useless battle. These battles are just action by greedy human beings."

"Maybe it isn't God's affair, but it is my affair. I have to do something. Maybe you are right. God doesn't start wars, people start wars. I wish God cared! That's all I ask. I wish God cared about me and my son."

"God should care enough to live with what we humans have to live with. Maybe he would, if God had to die the way we have to die. Maybe God ought to have to die with a spear in his side. Maybe God should feel the whip on his back before he dies. Maybe God ought to know the feel of the spittle of enemies before death comes. I should feel better about God. I probably would if I thought God could ever know these things."

Jesus thought ahead. He tried to see into the future. The son of Mary wondered how he would die. He wondered about a spear in his side. He wondered about the whip.

The little boat was now nearing shore. Even yet no other man on the boat had spoken. No one knew words to say, either to Delos or to Jesus. As the boat slid upon the beach sand, Jesus turned to Delos.

"Delos, it may be you are the one who is pure. Will we know you as a true son of God? What does the father require of us? The Lord only wants us to present ourselves before him in purity and in faith?"

A year later a governor, a priest and the temple crowd sent Jesus to death. They called him a revolutionary. They branded him a rebel. The priests named him a heretic. Guards beat him until he could no longer carry his own cross. Soldiers nailed him to that cross and derisively crowned him ‘King of the Jews.’

Then Jesus died. His power was gone. They thought.

Meanwhile, Delos Yeshua lived on.

The Widow's Little Gift

The Widow's Little Gift

Luke 21

Karl Evans

Jesus made his long pilgrimage at last. It was to be the last long journey of his short but eventful life. Before making his way to Jerusalem, Jesus first traveled all over Galilee. He went down into the Decapolis.

Jesus wanted to go to Scythopolis. This Greek city had a major university. The people were skilled in critical thinking, and in debate. Jesus enjoyed discussions of theology, and politics, and reason, and life itself. Scythopolis would provide him with a great challenge. He never made it. Jesus did, however, take some rest and recreation. He moved easily around the tourist cities of Tyre and Sidon on the Mediterranean coast.

Jesus’ followers were most at home around the Sea of Galilee. Jesus seemed to enjoy spending most of his ministry there. This native of Nazareth knew and honored the traditions of the Hebrew people. One great tradition was that the greatest of the prophets would always come from the area of Galilee.

Now Jesus’ ministry was nearing its zenith. He led his small band down from the hill country of Galilee to the southern territories of Palestine. Jesus met Zacheus in Jericho and shared a meal with him. He had given Bartimaeus back his sight at the gate of Jericho. Now in the final passage of his pilgrimage, Jesus left Jericho to come up the long hill to Jerusalem.

In the holiest city of all Jesus now stood before the most holy building in all the world, the great temple of the Jews. Jesus’ eyes widened at its beauty and majesty. The temple no longer held much gold and precious stones. These were long since stolen by despotic rulers, invading mercenaries and unscrupulous priests.

The presence of the temple in Jerusalem spoke volumes of the theology and faith of the Jews. Its design reflected the sentiment of the Jewish people that their god, Yahweh, was the god of the entire universe.

Carved stones and hanging drapes covered the walls of the temple. Statuary and ornaments graced the gateways and door posts and walls. Temple workers embedded the many doors and columns and fixtures with emeralds and rubies.

Hundreds and sometimes thousands of people came into this beautiful scenario on a daily basis. The faithful came to make sacrifices and prayers. Scholars and students came to study the Torah. Questioners came to talk to the priests. Pilgrims came to visit this holiest of holy places. Tourists came to take in the sights. Some came for all these.

On this day, few had any sense the Son of God was teaching in the temple. Nearly everyone was looking to their own needs, or the realities of the crowds. Nothing special.

Marian came to the temple early. She knew nothing of the Messiah teaching in the temple. If she had known, she would have immediately struggled to touch him, or call out his name. She did not know. Rather, Marian came to the Temple to make her gift. She only cared about her God.

Some might say this was not an easy thing for Marian to do. Some would say Marian really had to force herself to give in this way. Some would say that, but it would not be true. Forcing herself to give was not in the way of Marian. Marian, the widow. Marian, the hard worker. Marian, the survivor.

Twelve long years ago Stalyk had died, leaving her alone in Jerusalem. It was quick and unexpected, his death. Since that sad day Marian made this trip, day after day after day. Every day. On the sabbath she carried a different load.

On the sabbath her visit to the temple was different, but she still made the trip. Good weather and bad, hot and cold. Once Marian had been married to Stalyk. They had a good home of their own. Now Marian, the widow, was married only to Yahweh, and the temple was their home.

It wasn't a long trip, only a few minutes, perhaps a mile. It was usually a pleasant walk even when she walked the hill in the heat of the day. On those days she shaded herself with the hood of her robe.

At first she had not noticed all the people along the route. After a few months she became more familiar with the people, and with the animals. She spoke to them as she passed and they came to expect her to walk by each day. Shopkeepers, beggars, children and others, like herself, just kept on keeping on.

Lately Marian simply walked, and kept walking. She always kept her mind on two things. First, she must be in the temple. Second, she must keep on keeping on and keeping on.

Stalyk had been a shoe maker, a sandal maker, a leather and wood worker by trade. He was quite good at making sandals. Many wealthy people came to him for sandals. Many poor came as well. Stalyk sold all he could make. These were good sandals. Stalyk made the sandals many different ways. Some were all of leather. Some had wood soles and leather straps. Some had cloth pads on the straps, or perhaps bits of metal or stone for decoration.

Sometimes the customers called on Stalyk to make harness for horses or donkeys. Sometimes, when he had time to spare, he made leather and wood shields for soldiers or guards. It was simple work for a good leather worker, and easy money. Stalyk would rather have just been making sandals.

Stalyk was a good man, a strong man. He should have lived a long time. It would have been a good life for Stalyk and Marian. Except for the fighting.

A street battle caught Stalyk between Roman soldiers and zealot guerilla fighters. He was killed just down the street from his home by a ricocheting Roman arrow.

When Stalyk died, Marian began her daily routine. She did what she must to survive as best she could in a world long before the coming of Equal Rights.

Long before women were released from being chattel -- some would say cattle -- status, life was not easy. Marian was forced to make her way in a hostile society. This society held a trap for widows and women driven out by their husbands. Many were forced to live the life of a prostitute or slave to survive. Not Marian. She was strong enough to stave off that degradation.

Marian had learned the sandal trade from Stalyk as they had worked together in the shop. Stalyk had learned from his father. Now Marian learned to cut and sew leather. She learned to work leather just right so it would be supple and soft to not rub blisters.

After Stalyk's death Marian carried on the business alone. Being a woman in the craft was difficult. The purchase of leather was perhaps the most frustrating portion. The leather sellers in the market expected any woman to be weak-willed and incapable of sharp trading. Sometimes the traders even refused to bargain with her for the top quality skins.

Some unethical entrepreneurs made a point of attempting to force the lesser quality of skin on Marian. Some demanded a premium price for their own shoddy material and handiwork. Marian could only smile at their greed and move to another trader.

Sometimes friends would give her bits and pieces of leather, wood or cloth to use. Most of her neighbors and relatives depended on her for their own sandal work. Those close to her often gave her a little extra, just to help her hang on. Marian never made much money.

Days passed into each other as she struggled to keep going. The passage of time meant little to Marian. Except for the sabbath, that is. On every day but the sabbath, Marian rose before dawn to make her little meals for the day. Marian usually had some bread, a little fish and meal. On some celebrative occasion she might share a chicken or a piece of lamb or mutton with a friend.

She spent the day at the market. Marian persistently showed her handmade sandals to potential customers. She took her knife and needles with her. Marian had good skill to make on-the-spot repairs for waiting customers. Someone eager to have their sandals repaired seemed to always appear at mealtime. Her skill and willingness to work were a lifesaver. The footwear was all that stood between tender feet and burning sand and rough stone of Jerusalem streets.

Most of Marian's customers paid her in the time-honored way of all the world, in trade, in barter. Some had flour. Others had fish. Some had wood or metal or jewels. Some even had money.

Marian knew the money was most precious. She could trade such coin for almost anything. It could go for services such as doctors, or for the entertainers that set up shop around the town at night. In Marian’s dreams, the coin could go for perfume, or for jewels. She never spent any on those things, but Marian knew it was possible. She could hold the money for the days Marian did not feel well enough to work. Yet something else called for the money in Marian's life.

Since the fighting had killed Stalyk, many things troubled Marian. She had seen the Roman soldiers come and go. She saw the constant fights with the guerrillas who came in off the desert. They irritated the Roman garrison, then ran back into the hills. The fighters never had much opportunity to really do damage to the Roman army. The Roman legions were too many and too well armed. The fighters just pestered the Romans; even killed a few of them. They could not finally defeat the Romans.

Marian saw death and destruction in the streets. The fighters and the soldiers were not the only ones who suffered the ills of society. She saw families breaking up over wine-drinking. She saw men and women and children wandering homelessly about the streets. They had no shelter, no sanctuary from the cold. Many had no sandals, or no blankets.

Marian saw hunger, and sometimes knew it. She saw how fragile was her own existence. She knew she lived in constant danger. Any day might see her raped or ill or homeless.

If Rome attacked the population of the city, she was as defenseless as any. The reality of her whole world could come to pieces around her in an emergency. Marian had no way to defend herself.

Marian couldn't know the future. Almost forty years later, Rome would sack the city trying to destroy the Jewish heritage. Marian could not have seen that ninety years later the Romans would exact bloody revenge for the attacks by the hill country fighters. The Romans would pull the temple down on several hundred men, women and children. The Jews thought they would be safe, and had taken refuge there. They thought the Romans would not spill blood in the temple. She could not have known of the coming disaster, but she could feel it coming.

This widow was not without her own strength, however. With the death of Stalyk, Marian had committed herself to finding her strength in one place, in one relationship. She had no other recourse. She craved no other source of strength.

Marian knew she needed to find at least one anchor, one rock that would stand firm. If she did, she might cope with whatever the world might throw at her. She had to have a solid rock, a foundation.

She had found her rock. The Lord, the ancient God of the Hebrew people, was her foundation. The rock who was present in Sinai and in Babylon. The rock who was later at Auschwitz and Flossenberg, and who was there in Gaza and Tel Aviv. This was her rock, her strength.

So for twelve years, Marian had made the trek to the temple for the sake of her Rock. She went to the Sanctuary of Yahweh, the Lord, the god whose name says "I will risk my very existence for you!" She called on the Lord of the ancient ones, asking for little, giving praise for much.

For twelve long years she brought to the House of the Lord everything she had left at the end of the day. She held nothing back.

Sometimes it was a few coin, sometimes it was some small gift. Sometimes it was a handful of flour, or a pair of children’s sandals or other small item. These she placed on a table from which the poor could help themselves. Always it was a gift of everything she could put together from her own meager supplies.

Then Marian would go to a small corner for a long time in prayer. Each day the prayer was much the same as the day before.

"Blessed art thou, O Lord, Ruler of the universe. Because you walk hand in hand with me through this day, I fear no evil. Your presence is a comfort to me. I bring this small bit you might use.

For the sake of all who need your presence, establish on earth your kingdom among all of us. I thank you, Lord, that I might share in your presence with this gift. Amen."

With that gift, Marian became one with the will of God. She became one with the Lord in love. Faithful Marian shared her life with her creator just as the Son of God would be one day share his life with her. She lived to be faithful. She was faithful to live.

Often Marian stayed late, kneeling in the corner. She listened often, intently focusing for the voice from God, sensing the peace of the presence of God.

Then Marian began her walk back home. After the time around the temple, the walk home was much easier. As she walked, she began to plan her work and schedule for later in the day. She had sandals to repair or make, leather to work, meal to grind, clothes to wash. Each day was much the same. Marian always had time to pet a dog, or smile at a child, or talk with a young mother holding a squirming family together. Occasionally Marian visited with a Roman soldier or a local politician who was wearing her handiwork on his feet.

Jesus, watching all this, said only, "Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all the wealthiest of the nations have put in together. They have contributed out of their abundance. This woman, giving out of her poverty, has put in all the living she had. The Lord will reward her."

Jesus knew her heart. He talked then about the problems of this life. He talked about the certainty that all cities are places of destruction and desolation to the poor.

Jesus said "In the midst of all this sorrow, lift up your hearts. When the world seems to come unglued in your very presence, lift up your hearts. It is in the midst of that hurt your redemption comes. It is in the midst of turmoil God will save the people."

"When you see the destruction, you will know the Father is at work among you. The Church will be there, clear to the end of all things. It must live there, building, redeeming, empowering, chastening. It must live."

Somewhere, someplace, the words of Isaiah rang again loud and clear just as Jesus had read them two years and a hundred and fifty miles away.

"The spirit of the Lord is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed. The Lord has called me to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord."

Marian went home late in the evening, but not alone.