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The roads here were much easier. For one thing, the Samaritan route took us through the hills instead of the low valley by the river, where the heat would have kept us from making good speed. Also, though we had to contend with the unfriendly attitude of the Samaritans, they left us alone as long as we kept moving and did not appear to be settling in for a long stay. Not wishing to test their tolerance, I kept up our pace as much as I could, considering we now had the wagons with Mom, Mary, Judith and their belongings added to our caravan.
But that presented its own set of issues.
My reunion with Judith was sweet but unexpected. With the line of work I had chosen, I did not get to spend much time with her. But the time we had together at home was precious to both of us. We would cling to each other constantly, and we made love together so many times each day as to make up for the weeks we had been apart. However, camping out here in the hills in a small tent with my men sleeping in their own tents all around us, I didn’t feel my wife and I could come together as joyously as we would in private. Though the heart was willing, the body often was not, and that was a source of embarrassment. Judith had romance in her heart and lust in her loins, so my temporary shortcoming caused frustration for her and tension for me.
And Mary! Judas’ wife presented a surprise for all of us, though she did not need to speak a word. Despite the looseness of her robes, we could all see the lump in her belly. She was going to have a baby! I was going to be an uncle! And—oh yes, mustn’t forget to mention him too—my older brother Judas was going to be a father! I had already confided in him and anyone else who would listen that, if the baby were a boy, the selection of our clan’s first-born son’s name could be the most important decision of the year, and I felt the name Simon would be a good omen for our people for generations to come. Judas and Mary had not caught on to the brilliance of my idea yet, but I had plenty of time to convince them.
But Mom! The third woman in our caravan caused the most trouble, as I would have expected even under normal circumstances. Even though I led a small army of strong men who protected our homeland and the travelers who passed through it, I lived in constant fear that Mom would lecture me like a little boy in front of my subordinates. Or worse yet, she might choose to demonstrate how much pain I could bring on myself through my own bad decisions.
But even that was not enough. Her first grandchild was going to be born soon!
“Simon! This road is too bumpy for Mary and her baby. Why can’t you find us a smoother path?”
“Simon! The sun is too harsh for Mary and her baby. Why can’t you find us a shadier path?”
“Simon! We’re traveling too far between watering stops for Mary and her baby. Why can’t you find us a path where the springs and streams are closer together?”
By the time we saw Jerusalem on the hill ahead of us on the southern horizon, my blood was hot. If an innocent shepherd boy had led his flock in front of my path and forced me to slow down, I would have relished the opportunity for a fight. I guess Andrew must have recognized my symptoms, because he kept the men away from me while my mood was sour.
At least Jesus was keeping his mouth shut — thank God for small favors. Oh wait, now I’m supposed to say thank the Father — Abba — for small favors. After Judas and the family joined us in Sychar, Jesus grew silent. Maybe he didn’t want to draw any more attention to us, so as not to endanger the women. Or maybe he didn’t want to get into any arguments with Mom. Or, I had to consider the possibility, maybe the sight of Mary pregnant reminded him that originally she was his betrothed, and that the path he had chosen in his life all those years ago meant that he might not ever provide the seed to continue our family line. Despite his fervent desire to proclaim the word of the Father, did he regret that he had lost his chance for a normal life?
Jesus walked next to Mary’s donkey on the path the whole day, discussing the Father, and how the people must ignore the Romans but instead focus on God. Surprisingly, she seemed to be doing a lot of talking, and I saw Jesus enthusiastically nodding and agreeing with her. It appeared that he had finally found someone who understood what he had been saying these past few years, and he was capering along like he was a boy again.
When we stopped for a meal at the side of the road, he stood in front of our entire caravan to make a blessing of the food. After the usual prayer to the Father, he surprised us by singling out Judas’ wife.
“All of you, take note of yonder Mary. Long after this day, long after all of us are gone, she will be like the Migdal, the tower on the shore of the lake. Just as the steersmen of the fishing boats look to the Migdal to set their course, so will the people look to Mary. She will carry the word of this day forward, and her child after.”
Mom and Judith, standing on Mary’s left and right, bowed their heads to her slightly. Judas and I exchanged confused glances, wondering at the source of this pronouncement.
But forget all that for now. The road to the holy city now spread before our feet!
As we approached the Shechem Gate on Jerusalem’s northwestern wall, the crowd of pilgrims clogged the road. A small cadre of my men pulled in close to our wagons to protect them as we moved forward with the flow, while others mingled with the crowd far forward and behind. They kept their weapons hidden, and I had given strict orders to remain invisible unless someone caused a disruption that would draw undue attention. Roman soldiers lined the top of the wall, watching for trouble. We did not want to give them any reason to look at us more closely.
Jesus walked alone in the crowd ahead of us. He wore the hood of his robe over his head. I only recognized him by the breadth of his shoulders, which stood out in comparison to the others on the road.
Suddenly, a loud wail wrung through the air just in front of the gate.
“I have seen,” cried a man. “I have seen the mighty fist of God rise up and smite the foreign overlord. I have seen the fist of God free the holy city, site of his Temple.”
Oh no, not here, not now! James had told me this happened often, that isolated pilgrims, upon entering the city, suddenly decided they had been chosen to become prophets. Usually, it was overlooked. But the Romans would be on high alert this week.
Craning my neck, I saw a circle of pilgrims trying to edge away from a central point in the crush of bodies. They too wanted to distance themselves from the madman lest the soldiers seize everyone within reach. Danger loomed above us—any one of us might find himself nailed to a tree if events took a wrong turn.
The wailing continued. But then I saw that hooded figure with the broad shoulders step forward and lay a hand on the man. The noise stopped instantaneously. For a moment I thought Jesus had knocked him out, but no. I saw the man looking into the hooded figure’s face, his lips quivering but no sound coming out. Then the hooded figure wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulder and turned him toward the gate, and they walked under the archway. The rest of the pilgrims resumed walking at their normal pace.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I sighed to myself. “Thank you, Lord.”