This bit of story comes before the part I posted last time, so Nicodemus hasn't reconnected with Mary Magdalen yet. (Novel in progress. Slowly slowly.)
Five people were standing by the side of the road when I walked up: a young man who hardly seemed older than a boy, a woman dressed like a beggar, a man in fine clothes, and two young men I thought might be students. These last two had their heads leaned in toward each other, talking quietly. The others were spaced a polite distance apart from them and from each other. The boyish one was shifting his weight from foot to foot. When I got closer I saw the beggar woman was doing some sewing. All five looked down the road every few moments, shielding their eyes from the noon sun. They turned and nodded as I approached. They were not surprised to see meónot me exactly, just someone else at this vigil.
Word had gotten around about Jesusí movements. Anyone who cared to know could find out what town he planned to visit next. Word had also gotten around that he often stopped to talk with people as he went from one place to another. ìIf you want to meet Jesus, you can,î my student Nathaniel had told me. ìI have.î
I stepped into the midst of the road-watchers. This wasnít so much about meeting Jesus, I told myself, as it was about meeting people like this. I needed to know about what they were doing and why they were doing it.
ìHas anyone said when Jesus would be coming?î I asked the expensively dressed man. At occasions like these, itís good to start with casual questions.
ìOn travel days he leaves early in the morning,î he said. ìWe thought heíd be here by now.î
ìThere are probably more of us further up the road,î the taller of the two students commented. ìTheyíre holding him up.î
ìHow long have you been waiting?î I met everyoneís eyes as I asked this.
Their grins seemed sheepish. The students said theyíd been there since daybreak, the beggar woman had brought her son shortly afterward, the rich man had just preceded me. ìBut Iíve met him before,î the rich man added, introducing himself as Ezra. ìI saw him just after he preached in Nazareth. That trip hadnít gone well for him, so he wasnít in much of a mood for talking. But some friends of mine met him later and he invited them for supper! Just off the street like that!î Ezra turned; there was dust up the road. We watched in silence until it was clear there was only a solitary cart.
I talked to the students next. Yes, they had abandoned school for the day, ìbut our parents understand. The scrolls will still be there tomorrow, they saidóthis might be our only chance to see Jesus.î
The beggar woman wanted Jesus to give her son a blessing. ìHe is good to children. The people around him arenít always so accommodating with them.î
ìNot with any of us,î Ezra interrupted. ìWhen I met him outside Nazareth, one of the disciples nearly shoved me away.î
ìTheyíre just trying to protect him,î the tall student, Mark, said. ìSometimes I think Jesus is too generous with his attention. More and more people have found out how accessible he is. Surely someone who does not have Jesusí best interests in mind will show up on one of these roads one of these days.î
This set off lengthy discussion: should Jesus be more concerned for his safety? Most of the group said no, one way or another. ìHeís a good judge of character. He can tell whoís dangerous and whoís harmless. We only think heís not being careful because heís not careful around us, but he knows he doesnít have to be.î
ìHe understands how you want to meet someone youíve heard so much about. Didnít he seek out John the Baptist?î
ìHe has great faith. He trusts God will watch over him and protect him. And he treats everyone he meets with such respect. It inspires everyone to live up to his expectations.î
It was important to them that Jesus remain open to encounters with those who waited by the side of the road. I supposed I should have been able to predict that.
ìYou say youíve met Jesus before,î I said to Ezra to change the subject. ìWhy wait for him a second time?î
ìItís worse than you think.î His smile was feeble. ìThis may be the tenth time Iíve done this.î
ìThe tenth?î How could he afford his rich clothes if he spent his days chasing preachers?
Ezra shrank back from the question and its tone of harsh judgment. ìIím not the worst! I just wait for Jesus and go home when he is gone. What about the ones following him from town to town? He chose twelve men as students, but dozens chose him as teacher. He is never rid of them!î
I apologized as best as I could. We watched another cart pass. In a low voice Ezra confessed, ìI donít even know why I keep coming back. I donít know what I want from him.î
The disapproval I had not been able to mask had not actually been for Ezra. I was wondering if I was seeing my future in him. Had he started as I have, skeptical of this new preacher but curious about his appeal? Did he find himself drawn more and more by reports of what he said and did, until finally he had to see Jesus for himself? Was it inevitable, then, that I would latch onto any chance to be near Jesus? Would I soon spend all my time waiting by the sides of roads?
The beggar woman put her sewing in her cloak and started taking out bits of bread from another pouch. As she was fussing with the cloak she was facing up the road. We heard her say, ìThereís more dust.î
Everyone stopped to watch. We were on a flat stretch; we could see a good distance. At first I could cover the cloud of dust with my thumb. In a little while shapes emerged from it. ìNo animals,î Ezra noted. We squinted harder. We all knew Jesus and his whole band would be traveling by foot. Mark laughed suddenly.
ìArenít we ridiculous?î he asked, throwing up his hands. ìWeíll know for certain whether or not itís Jesus if we just wait, but instead weíre all trying to make our eyes run up the road for us!î
We agreed it was foolish, but we didnít stop. Then Ezra said, ìIt is Jesus. I see Peter at the front of the group, where he always is.î
ìWhereís Jesus?î the beggar womanís son asked, showing more interest in the proceedings than he had as yet.
ìHeís probably at the very center. Everyone crowds him all the time, you know.î
ìPoor man,î the beggar woman sighed, clucking her tongue.
My heart was beating faster. Things started to seem less real. My mind could not quite accept that this same man whom thousands gathered to hear would soon pass in front of the six of us, nor that he might stop to talk. With sudden panic I realized I could not remember anything Iíd wanted to say.
The whole group was in sight now. Seeing Jesus among his friends was like looking at a pictureóhe was in a world entirely separate from mine. He was laughing at something someone near him was saying. I had the sudden odd urge to be the person who could make Jesus laugh.
I didnít want it to be like this. This would be an awkward encounterówe knew so much more about him than he knew about us. How could we really talk with him?
Our entire group stood still as pillars of salt. The one Ezra said was Peter glanced at us and shook his head almost imperceptibly. I felt a stab of embarrassment. What was I doing here? I was a respectable man, yet here I was waiting by the side of the road likeólike this beggar woman.
Then Jesus came walking out of the cage of bodies surrounding him. He said ìI hope you havenít been waiting here long.î
He spoke with the woman and her son first. He asked for and repeated her name. ìDeborah, is it? The judge and prophetess?î He said something I could not quite hear which made her laugh. She covered her mouth quickly, blushing. She stood straighter than she had before and smoothed her cloak without hiding the patches. Deborah pushed her son forward. Jesus talked with him, then with him and his mother together, finally saying a blessing over them both. They turned to go but the son ran back to throw his arms around Jesus. The students were already moving forward.
I was distracted during everyone elseís turn with Jesus. He had learned Deborahís name right away, and I had spent the afternoon with her without ever learning it. I wanted to see how everyone would act around the preacher, but I kept thinking of how he treated her like nobility and how she looked noble under his gaze.
Ezraís hand pushed me forward. I could speak with Jesus next.