Beloved Disciple
Book One: Son of Thunder
by
D. L. Maynard
Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.
John 20:30-31
PART ONE: WATER
The dreamer dreams . . .
Suddenly, the constant, gentle sway of the deck beneath my feet stops. Above my head, like a thousand silver suns, the sky is shining. I narrow my eyes against its brightness, to no avail. The sea itself freezes beneath the glare, forming hills and valleys hard as brass. Silence fills the air. Then, distant at first, comes a crash of thunder, rolling toward me like a wave of the sea. Carried on the wave is a trumpet blast that splits the silence into a thousand drumming hoof beats as a herd of horses crests the brazen hill, ringing loud the message of the King’s approach. He rides in the forefront, laughing with the vigor of youth and majesty, shining more brightly than the thousand suns, riding to claim his kingdom. And I—leaping from the boat at his command—I ride beside him.
Chapter One
It had been a profitable night. Although Yakob and I were exhausted, our nets were full and Father was sure to be pleased. The sun was just peeking over the eastern range as we pulled into sight of Bethsaida. Stretching, I grinned at my brother and yawned. “Take the oars, Yakob. I’m beat.”
“Not my job.”
It was my turn to row, but my shoulders ached. “C’mon, give me a rest. We’re almost home.”
“Then you don’t have far to go.”
“Yuannan, you are the laziest excuse for a man that’s ever been born. Quit whining and put your back into it. We could have been home ten minutes ago if you’d just shut up and do your job.” Yakob gave me the most infuriating grin as he lay back against the bow, folded his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. “Your poor bride. How ever is Michal going to hold her head up in this town once she marries you? She would have done better if Philip had promised her to Leviy the Publican.”
My jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Believe, little brother.”
I felt my ears starting to warm, and my face flushed. “Take it back.”
“Never. It’s the truth and I stand by it.”
“Take it back!” I dropped the oars and curled my hands into fists.
At the sound of the oars hitting the deck, Yakob opened his eyes, but that maddening grin still split his face. “What, truth hurts?”
I hurled myself at him, fists flying.
When the rage hits, it has a will of its own and takes such control of me that I sometimes feel like a spectator. I heard myself screaming an incoherent oath as I watched myself pick my brother up and throw him overboard. Panting, I leaned over the side and cursed some more. Yakob’s head broke the surface; treading water, he shook his hair out of his eyes. He was still laughing at me.
“Take it back, Yakob, or you’ll get a lot worse than a dunking, I swear!”
“You shouldn’t swear, baby brother, especially when you can’t see it through!” He pushed off from the side of the boat with his feet, then rolled over and started swimming to shore. The boat heeled over steeply as I flung myself in a headlong dive after Yakob, landing almost on top of him. The shock of the cold water on my bare skin only made my anger burn hotter. Grabbing him by the legs, I pulled, and both of us went under. He kept kicking at me; his heel drove into my throat and I let go, surfacing with a choking gasp. Before he could swim far I was on him again, though, and we wrestled our way toward shore.
A small crowd of fishermen was beginning to gather at the lake’s edge. I could hear some of the younger ones shouting encouragement to us as we now floundered in waist-deep water. A few older men also laughed and called out words of advice.
“Watch your footing, Yuani!”
“Teach him a lesson, Yakob!”
“Two fish says Yakob takes him down!”
“I’ll take that bet!”
By then we had come ashore, and I knew Yakob would immediately go on the offensive now that his footing had improved. Grinning savagely, I made a fist, pulled it back, and had just started to throw the punch when he bent and charged shoulder first into my midsection. All the air in my lungs went out with a whoosh! as I fell back into the shallows, landing hard on my tailbone and splashing about half of the bystanders. At the same time, Yakob slipped in the mud and came crashing down on my fist, which was still swinging toward him even as I fell. The impact sent pain flashing up my arm and I heard a cracking sound as my punch landed with a vengeance. Blood spurted.
“Enough!” roared a voice from the crowd. The elation that had been building in me abruptly turned to dismay. I had no desire to face my father’s fury. Quickly I scrambled to my feet and reached out to help Yakob stand.
“Sheol take you both!” stormed Father, grabbing Yakob with one hand and me with the other. “Get back to the boat before it drifts off! Have I fathered two idiots? MOVE!” His grip on my upper arm was bruisingly strong as he half pushed, half threw me toward the water. I lost no time, but waded quickly into the lake and swam to the drifting boat as Father dragged Yakob in the opposite direction.
As I pulled myself onto the boat, I could see that the blood had not come from my hand, which was sore but definitely not broken. I glanced back at the shore, where the small crowd had dispersed. Father was standing over Yakob, gesturing angrily. From this distance, I couldn’t make out his words, but his tone and volume were pretty clear evidence that Zebdi wasn’t sympathizing with his older son, blood or no blood. I picked up the oars and started to row back, fairly sure he wasn’t going to sympathize with me either. Cringing at the thought of what was waiting for me when I landed, I began to rehearse a speech.
I moored the craft, slung the night’s catch over my shoulder, and headed toward Father with a show of courage I didn’t feel. “I’m sorry, Ab—”
“Don’t you ‘sorry’ me, Yuannan,” he interrupted. “Yakob’s the one you need to be ‘sorrying.’ He’s the one who’s missing three teeth.” He again grabbed my arm and marched me over to where Yakob was washing out a net. I felt a catch in my throat and took a quick breath when I saw his face. Sure, I’d wanted to pay my brother for his insult, but I hadn’t meant to do this much damage. His fall onto my fist must have doubled the force of the blow. Already his jaw was beginning to swell where his lip had split. His mouth hung slightly open as if it hurt too much to close it, and I could see a bloody hole where his teeth had been knocked out, but he bent to his task like nothing else mattered, completely ignoring my presence.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry,” I began.
Yakob looked up. “Not yet, you’re not.” The words were twisted but intelligible.
Father growled. Yakob looked down. “It was wrong of me to provoke my brother,” he mumbled in a low monotone. “I ask my brother to forgive me.” The words were part of a well-rehearsed formula that both of us knew by heart. They fell from his wounded mouth without emotion.
I knew the expected response and delivered it promptly. “I forgive my brother.” Father gave my arm a painful jerk. “Um, it was wrong of me to strike my brother,” I added quickly. “I ask my brother to forgive me.”
“Iforgivemybrother,” said Yakob, mashing the words together as if only too eager to be rid of them. Eyes clenched in barely repressed fury, he spat out a clot of blood, missing my foot by inches.
“Now,” said Father. “Back to work.”
* * *
It was late in the morning by the time we had sorted, gutted, and packed our catch for the market. Yakob and I barely spoke to one another, but Father more than made up for our silence by lecturing us—loudly and interminably—about responsibility and self-control. He punctuated his sermon with mild oaths and an occasional swat at one of us. “Twenty years! Twenty years I’ve spent pulling you off each other!”
That was an exaggeration. I’d only just turned eighteen. I knew better than to voice my objection, but since he was standing behind me I felt safe enough rolling my eyes as I hoisted a basket of fish and started into town.
Capernaum was one of the larger towns on Lake Gennesaret. Although nowhere near as big as Herod’s new city, Tiberias, it boasted a fine synagogue, a busy market, and a sizeable district—Bethsaida—that was almost a town within the town. As everyone knew, the best fishermen in the Galil lived in Bethsaida of Capernaum (not to be confused with the other Bethsaida, called Julias, to the east of us), and merchants from the entire region came to Capernaum to buy fish. The ones I was carrying in my basket would probably travel to Caesarea, or Jerusalem, or even as far as Damascus.
Maybe fishing would never make me rich, but I’d never starve either. And Michal knew it. Leviy the Publican indeed! I gritted my teeth as I recalled my brother's insult. That tax collector was the most despised man in Capernaum. Michal would sooner die than marry him—as if her brother would ever arrange such a union! I felt my frown turn into a grin as I thought about my feisty young bride. I was well pleased with the betrothal contract Father and Philip had drawn up. Let Yakob crack insults. It didn’t change anything—when spring rolled around, after nearly two years of waiting, Michal would be mine.
“Michal,” I murmured, enjoying the sound of her name and the way it felt on my lips. I drew it out, like a melody or a sigh. “Michaaahl.”
“Meee-khaaaaaahl!” sang Yakob in my ear. He’d sneaked up on me, the dog. “Oh, my beauuutiful bride!” He burst out laughing, a large gap visible in his smile.
I made a face at him, but let it go at that. “Don’t let Tamar hear you mooning over my wife,” I teased. Tamar and Yakob had been married nearly five years and she’d already borne him two children, but she was younger than I and hit almost as hard.
The teasing continued all the way to the market, but the anger I’d felt earlier was gone. Needing to purchase some supplies, Father left us alone for a while to handle the day's sales, content that we had our minds on business once again. Indeed, Yakob was all business. This was a good catch, and his share of the profits, added to what he’d already saved, could be enough for him to purchase his own boat. He was negotiating a sale with a salter from Magdala when our partner Shimon finally arrived, his twelve-year-old nephew in tow. Each added a full basket to our inventory, and then the boy ran off to school.
Shimon wiped his brow. “I’ll sure be glad when Andrai gets back from the city. Reuben means well, but…” I knew exactly what he meant—the boy was easily distracted and still learning his trade. One day he’d be a real asset (we hoped), but right now working alongside Reuben was a chore I avoided whenever possible. “We should have finished with our packing an hour ago, but it took us forever to gut the catch.” He sat down with a sigh.
“Well,” I reassured him, “your brother’s due back tomorrow. How much damage can Reuben do in a day or two?”
“Why don’t we put him on your boat tomorrow and find out?”
“Tell you what, I’ll take Dan instead.” Dan was Shimon’s son. Though two years younger than Reuben, he was already a better fisherman than his hapless cousin. Normally, both boys worked beside their fathers on Shimon’s boat, a large square-rig that needed at least two hands to manage it.
Shimon laughed and shook his head. “Only if you give me Yakob.”
"Hush, you two," Father interjected, returning just then with an armful of ropes. "Yuannan, what did I tell you? Pay attention!"
My brother was still haggling with the Magdalene, trying to drive the price higher before closing the bargain. Father wanted me to learn Yakob’s bartering style—my brother could cut a better deal than anyone else in the business. Only Andrai even came close to matching his skill. Shimon and I stopped joking, turning our attention to Yakob as he convinced the buyer that our fish were definitely worth more than everyone else’s.
After a bit, though, I found my mind wandering in search of more interesting fare. It settled again on Michal. She’d made it clear that she expected to be mistress of her own home when our marriage was finalized. I had yet to obtain a suitable house—suitable meaning one I could afford to build or lease from my meager savings. No matter how many fish I hauled out of the lake, there was never much money left over after the customs and taxes had been paid. At the thought of the taxes and the traitor who collected them, I began to seethe.
Although God had made the lake and the fish in it, Herod Antipas was the one who owned it, and he didn’t allow his fish to be caught by just anyone. That privilege had to be purchased at a steep price—from Leviy bar-Halphai. The fishing lease was more than our family could afford, which was why Father had gone into partnership with Yonah and his sons years before. We didn’t dare fish without the lease; Herod’s officers patrolled the lake, confiscating unlicensed boats and everything in them (including the fishermen).
About a fifth of each catch we pulled in went to Leviy—after, of course, we did the work of selling it for him. As if that wasn’t enough, every time Herod decided to build something—Tiberias was a recent example—he would institute another tax, and Leviy bar-Halphai would set up his booth to collect it. Caesar would decree a new tax for some military campaign on the other side of the world or the construction of a pagan temple in Rome, and Leviy bar-Halphai would set up his booth. Then there was the poll tax, the tax in lieu of military servide, the tolls and customs for transporting and selling goods (which, of course, included our fish), the tax to enlarge and maintain the Temple… Leviy bar-Halphai was a busy man.
He had help. For a fee (which Leviy, of course, added onto the taxes) Herod provided him with soldiers to assist him in his collecting, just in case any of the residents of the Galil were unwilling—or unable—to pay. The soldiers would confiscate whatever was needed to meet Leviy’s requirements. Sometimes it was a piece of land, sometimes an ox or ass, sometimes a son or daughter. Protesters were imprisoned, then sold into slavery or sent to work Caesar’s mines. Violent protesters were hung on crosses outside the town’s gate as a lesson to others. Their families and property were sold, and any profits beyond the decreed tax, Leviy kept.
There were a lot of fish in Lake Gennesaret. Our backs might be sore from the weight of the nets, our skin weathered by sun and wind, our hands callused from the burn of the ropes and rubbing of the oars; but my father, brother, and I had always been able to pay our taxes.
Still, like everyone else in Capernaum, I hated the publican.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Leviy bar-Halphai chose that moment to appear at my elbow. "Yom tov, Zebdi," he greeted my father, ignoring the rest of us. The pleasantry was ill-suited to his lips; who was this dog to wish anyone a good day? Worse than a dog – he was a collaborator, allied with Rome; a leech, sucking the lifeblood from his people. Good day, indeed! For Leviy, no doubt, every day was yom tov, as he grew fat off the fruits of our hard labor.
I glared up into his face, wishing I dared to rearrange his soft, smug features, but I was no fool. Even if Leviy hadn't had two armed bodyguards standing behind him, and even if I hadn't felt Father's warning hand on my shoulder, I wouldn't have acted on my impulse – Leviy held too much power over our family, and nothing would have delighted him more than for me to give him an excuse to exercise that power. Instead, I contented myself with hurling silent curses at him while he conducted his business with Father.
"I expected you to stop by my booth three days ago, Zebdi. Have you forgotten the date? Or were you perhaps planning to retire from fishing this year?" He smiled.
May you be cut into a thousand pieces and used to bait hooks, I thought.
"No," Father said quietly. "I haven't forgotten. The lease doesn't expire until the end of Adar."
"Which is today."
"Today?" Shimon spluttered. "You bastard, we still have a whole month—"
Leviy turned a cold, contemptuous eye on my partner. "Is that your way of asking me for an extension, Shimon?"
"No! I didn't mean... I was just, um..."
"You were 'just'? Just what?"
"Just, well, it's just that this is a leap year, and there's a second month of Adar—"
"Do you really think I don't know that?" His voice was icy.
Shimon shut up.
"Does he speak for you, Zebdi?"
"No."
"Wise." Leviy smiled again. "So, where's my money?" The amount he named was exhorbitant, at least ten percent higher than last year's tax. May your bones rot and maggots eat your liver.
The Magdalene had stopped negotiating with Yakob and was listening intently to the exchange between Leviy and my father. From the expression on Yakob's face, I gathered the price of fish had just gone down considerably; it was all too obvious that we needed the Magdalene's money more than he needed our fish.
"Please, Leviy, can't we discuss this somewhere else?" Father asked.
The tax collector smirked. "No, here is fine."
"I can have the lease money for you in two more weeks—"
"Today, Zebdi."
"I was expecting another month."
"I don't care what you were expecting. The lease expires at sunset."
"Andrai will be back tomorrow. He has the balance—"
"Today, Zebdi."
"Please, Leviy—"
He held up a hand for silence, his gold rings shining in the sun. "I'm not an unreasonable man, Zebdi. I'll hold your option open for one week before I sell the license to someone else. You have that long to pay what you owe me. In the meantime, no fishing."
Father started to nod, but Shimon had kept quiet as long as he could stand it. "How the hell are we supposed to come up with the rest of the money if we can't fish, you son-of-a-bitch?"
Leviy glanced disdainfully at Shimon before returning his full attention to my father. His voice was calm; his words, however, were filled with malice. "If you put even one boat in the water after sunset tonight, Zebdi, I will have it and everything on it, you can rest assured of that. If you drop a single line in the water, I'll come after you. If your soft-spoken partner here so much as dips his net into my lake to rinse it out, I'll have your lovely wife on the auction block so fast you won't even know she's missing from your bed. Don't think I won't."
"No, I know you can."
"Can and will."
"It won't be necessary, sir."
Sir. I could see how much the word galled my father. How dare Leviy threaten my mother? May your wife amuse herself with a Samaritan, I cursed him silently. With a hundred Samaritans! May your wife lie with a hundred leprous Samaritans, and in your bed!
Oblivious to the fate I'd just wished upon him, Leviy smiled at my father once more and then left without another word. Frowning, Yakob wrapped up his sale, settling for half of the price he'd expected to bring in. "Thanks a lot," he hissed at Shimon as the Magdalene, no doubt blessing God for his good fortune, loaded our fish onto his cart and drove off.
"It could be worse," Father said.
"Not much," Yakob replied, handing over the money. "Take it all, sir. My boat can wait. The lease can't."
"Keep my share, too, Abba," I said. Michal wanted a home of her own, but if it came to that or the fishing lease, my wife and I would sleep on a pallet in my parents' house. That lease was our life – Leviy might as well be holding a knife to our throats, and he knew it. "I've got about fifty denarii saved up. Take as much as you need."
Shimon was red-faced with embarrassment. "I'll scrape together whatever I can, too, Zebdi."
"When will you learn to let me do the talking where Leviy is concerned?" Father was gruff. "You fish well, Shimon, but every time you open your mouth we lose money."
"I'm sorry, Zeb. I didn't mean—"
Father wheeled on him angrily. "I've been hearing that from you since you were fifteen! 'I'm sorry, Zeb, I didn't mean to cause trouble.' I'm warning you, Shimon, you better not go near the lake tonight! Or I swear, I'll kill you myself. If you give him any reason to make good on his threat..."
Shimon paled beneath his beard. "No, sir," he whispered.
"Just keep your mouth shut and stay home. Andrai will be back tomorrow and I'll pay Leviy and that will be that."
* * *
Andrai did not return home the next day as expected, but Father was unwilling to lose another night of fishing while waiting for him. "Dig into your savings," he told us. With everyone pitching in as much as possible, we managed to meet Leviy's price – including the five percent late fee he tacked on at the last minute. "Usury!" Shimon complained, but not to Leviy's face; Father hadn't let Shimon come within half a mile of Leviy's booth until the lease was paid, signed, sealed, and safe in his hands.
Another day went by with no sign of Andrai, and then another, and another. At first we were just annoyed, but after three days without a word from him we began to worry. Shimon's younger brother had been traveling around the Greek-speaking region of the Decapolis; it had been his idea to establish new markets there among the Gentiles for the "unclean" fish we caught so often. He'd gone alone; the roads were reasonably safe, heavily traveled and patrolled by Caesar's troops under the so-called "Pax Romana."
One full week after our run-in with Leviy, Andrai arrived in Bethsaida. He met Shimon and me at the boats as we were washing and mending nets. “Where have you been?” Shimon said to his brother. "I was starting to think you’d been murdered on the road."
“A prophet, Shimei, a real prophet! Maybe even the one we’ve been waiting for. You’ve got to come hear him, both of you. Leave the nets till later, Yuani. Let one of the hired hands tend to them. Where’s Yakob? He has to come too!”
“He’s with Father at the market." As if to make up for Leviy's greed, Gennesaret had been particularly generous with its fish all week. "After he sells this morning's catch, Yakob will finally have enough for that old boat of Yitzhak’s he’s been wanting."
“Go get him. This can’t wait. Who knows how long he’ll be there!”
“Who? Where?” Shimon was sounding flustered.
“Yochanan. Near Bethabara. They call him ha-Rachats, the Immerser. He speaks like one of the prophets from Scripture, Shimei, and he looks like one, too. He says the kingdom of God is coming, and soon!”
“And people are listening to him?” I was skeptical. “C’mon, Andrai, there’s always somebody saying that.”
“Yes, I know, but he’s different. Really. You’ve got to hear him for yourself. Then you’ll understand why people listen to him, why they’re coming out to him by the hundreds. He says that we have to get ready, that Messiah is coming!”
Andrai kept prattling about this Immerser until Shimon finally threw up his hands and cried, “Enough! We’ll go with you. Only be quiet!”
Yakob did not join us; he wanted to get his new boat overhauled and in the water as soon as possible. And Father was forthright in expressing what he thought of the whole thing. “One more lunatic trying to get himself nailed to a tree. How many men will throw away their lives following this one, I wonder?” He was probably remembering the riots the year Yakob was born, or perhaps he was thinking of the razing of Sepphoris ten years before that. “Tell him to stay away from Capernaum—we don’t need any more ‘deliverers’ in the Galil!”
I expected Father to forbid me to go, but he admitted I was old enough to decide for myself. “Only don’t be gone long,” he admonished. “We still have a business to run—although with all three of you gone, I don’t suppose we’ll get much accomplished this week." He sighed. "Thank God the lease is paid up for the next year. At least we don't have to worry about that." Andrai's trip had been profitable, as hoped; I would have some money for a house after all.
“We’ll be back in three days, Zebdi, I promise,” Shimon assured him. Since he and Andrai were full partners on the lease, Father didn’t even think of ordering them around, but I could tell he wasn’t pleased with their decision.
As for myself, there was only one reason I was going: that dream I’d been having again and again since my early teens. That stupid dream… it fueled a hope deep within me that refused to die no matter how much time passed. A boy’s dream. Once I had felt it as a burning passion, that desire for a deliverer, a savior, a king to set things right once more. That passion had faded over the years to a gnawing hunger in my gut that went unfed, except in dreams—yet still smoldered. Although I knew this journey was probably just a waste of time, there was something in Andrai’s eyes that stirred up that hopeful hunger. As we drew closer to Bethabara, I could almost feel my stomach growling.
Situated on the pilgrim route between the Galil and Jerusalem, Bethabara was a regular caravan stop and saw a lot of foot traffic during festival months. There was also a natural ford across the Jordan just to the north of the town. The crossing served the road connecting the Greek cities of the Decapolis with the Roman capital at Caesarea, so even between the feasts there were many travelers. It was the perfect location for anyone hoping to attract attention, and Yochanan was attracting a lot of it.
His appearance was shocking enough. Even with Andrai’s descriptions, I wasn’t prepared for my first sight of the Immerser. He must have been a lifelong Nazir; there was no other explanation for the length of his hair, which was gathered back from his face in thick, knotted plaits, and his wild, untrimmed beard. Other than his own hair, he was wearing very little: a short, rough-woven tunic and a plain leather belt.
At the first sound of his voice, however, I forgot all about his appearance. His teachings shook me to the core. Never had I met anyone with such power in his voice. It pulled Shimon right into the river, but it sent me running. I’m not sure why. I was the son of Zebdi—I was used to being the target of a powerful voice. But I just didn’t feel capable of withstanding Yochanan.
I waited at a distance until Shimon returned dripping—and alone. Andrai had decided to remain indefinitely. It was plain that his decision angered Shimon; it angered me, too. I could already hear Father’s reaction. We did have a business to run. How were we supposed to man our boats if people just ran off for weeks at a time? It was bad enough that we had deserted for three days. I told Shimon I’d help out in any way I could, pulling as much of Andrai’s load as I could manage on top of my own. Too late I realized that I’d probably just volunteered to work full-time with Reuben. We headed for home, leaving both Andrai and Yochanan behind at the Jordan.
But try as I might, I couldn’t get away from the Immerser. Although I had found it next to impossible to stand and listen to him preach that day, I now found it impossible to get his words out of my head. Repent. Repent of what? For crying out loud, I was only eighteen years old—I hadn’t done anything to repent of! Well, maybe knocking out Yakob’s teeth… but that was really just an accident and I certainly wasn’t going to do it again. I wasn’t a sinner. Not like, well, Leviy. Every tree that doesn’t bear fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. Was I bearing fruit? What did that mean, anyway? One is coming after me who is greater than I… he will burn the rubbish and chop down the deadwood. I certainly didn’t feel like rubbish, like deadwood. But I still couldn’t stop thinking about it. Repent, for God’s kingdom is close!
Even in my dreams Yochanan’s voice thundered at me, until in despair I decided to return and face him. It had been weeks and Andrai still hadn’t come home. I used that as an excuse, told Father I was going after him to bring him back. Then, hoping that they were still in Bethabara, I grabbed a few provisions for the journey and set out....
COME BACK NEXT WEEK FOR THE REST OF THE CHAPTER!
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