Chapter 8 - Mordechai – Simon's story
...his question went deeper than that. It was like it probed the deepest recesses of my soul, reaching parts of it that had lain neglected for years, asking what I was truly longing for...
Simon started down the path again and I fell in step beside him. ‘My family farmed near Cana in Galilee, until the day that a unit of Roman soldiers killed them and ransacked our farm.’ His head dropped a little, he stopped walking and he closed his eyes as he recalled what had happened, ‘I was out in the fields, or I would probably be dead too.’
I stood silently with Simon until he was ready to continue. ‘The Romans reported that they were dead when they found them.’ He shook his head, ‘They claimed that it must have been bandits.
‘My uncle took on our farm, as I was only twelve and not old enough for that responsibility.’ He started walking again, ‘But despite his best efforts to help me, I rebelled and started looking for ways to get at the Romans.
‘I started with stone throwing and name calling.’ He continued, ‘That got me noticed by the Romans... and by some of the followers of Judas the Galilean.’
‘Judas the Galilean!’ I exclaimed. My parents, like many others, had used the story of Judas the Galilean as a cautionary tale; a warning that it was best to work with and around the Romans, rather than oppose them. But I, along with many boys, idolised him and dreamed that I too might lead a rebellion against Rome.
I was very young when Judas led a revolt against the Romans, all because of a census that had been imposed by the governor, Quirinius. The census was for tax purposes and Judas had encouraged Jews not to comply. But if they did, he and his followers burned their houses and stole their cattle. The revolt had spread, leading to many violent clashes with the Romans and a famine.
Ultimately, Judas and many of his followers were killed, and those that were left had regrouped to form the Zealots. I'd been too young to notice the negative impact of the revolt, I’d just been inspired that Judas had given the Romans a bloody nose.
‘You knew Judas the Galilean!’ My boyish enthusiasm was inappropriate given the story he'd shared, ‘Sorry.’ I apologised, ‘It's just that, as a boy he was a hero of mine .’
‘Hah! No need to apologise, he was a hero to me too.’ Simon laughed and gestured that should start walking, ‘No, I never met him, this was a few years after he'd been killed.’ He became serious again, ‘I was befriended by his followers, and I was thrilled to be part of something... something bigger... something that was standing up to the Romans.
‘I skipped my chores so I could spend more and more time with them. That infuriated my uncle and led to many arguments at home.’ He sighed, ‘After what had happened to my parents, I held onto a deep anger, and all I wanted was my vengeance against Rome.’
‘That anger ate away at my soul and gradually took over. The Zealots fed that anger with tales of other atrocities that the Romans had committed.’ He stopped walking again and turned to face me, ‘Each story they shared reinforced my hatred of the Romans and in the end, I couldn't stand being around my uncle. To me, his lack of resistance was the same as collaborating with the Romans... so at the age of fourteen I left home and went to live with the Zealots.’
The group ahead of us had rounded a bend on the descent to Bethany and was now out of sight. There was no cover where we were standing, the early afternoon sun was beating down and I suddenly noticed how thirsty I was. Simon must have felt it too as he unslung a water skin he was carrying, took a long drink and offered it to me. My own water skin had been emptied on the walk to Jerusalem and even though we'd been around so much water that morning, I'd not thought to replenish it.
‘Thanks,’ I said, lifting the skin to my lips and taking a long drink as he continued.
‘This group of Zealots lived a nomadic lifestyle, moving around, living off the land, and taking what they needed from the farms we camped near. They justified any stealing as being in the support of a greater cause.’ Simon closed his eyes, his head slightly to one side as he remembered, ‘I took it all in and fully embraced their way of life.’
I gave the water skin back to Simon, and as he slung it over his shoulder we set off walking down the track again.
‘I was with them for over twenty years. Each time we moved, we’d pick a Roman garrison to target, scout the movements of supplies... or small groups, or individuals... and plan ways to attack, steal, disrupt and even kill Roman soldiers.’ Simon shook his head, ‘I was completely convinced that God was on our side... that we were fighting for the restoration of his kingdom.’
‘To begin with, they gave me jobs as a lookout, but within a few months they had me doing some of the scouting.’ He smiled, ruefully, ‘I’ve always been small for my age, and I could move freely near the garrisons as the Romans didn't consider me a threat.’
‘I was about seventeen the first time I killed a soldier myself... I’d reached a dozen kills by my mid-twenties... and by the time I was in my early thirties, I’d lost count.’
Simon stopped again and looked at me, ‘The first few times I killed, I was full of red hot anger, I wanted vengeance for my family and for Israel. But with each kill my heart became harder... and my anger changed over the years from red hot, to cold as ice.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head, ‘I became a totally ruthless, and thoroughly unpleasant person.’
He fell silent again. I was aware that we were falling further and further behind the others, but I was engrossed in his story and I didn’t interrupt for fear he might stop.
‘We became overconfident, believing we were like the judges of old... like Gideon. We believed that God was with us and that he would deliver our enemies into our hands.’ He looked heavenward, ‘I had such a wrong understanding of God.’
‘What happened?’ I asked
‘I got careless, didn't scout a night raid fully and it ended up in a pitched battle. Early on, I took a blow to the head that probably would have killed me, if I'd not thrown my arm up to protect myself. Instead, my arm was broken and I was knocked unconscious.’
‘I was groggy and disorientated when I came too. I couldn't have been out for long, as I could hear the fight still going nearby. In the dark, I managed to drag myself off the road and into some shrubs without being seen. I lay there, bleeding, in pain, and cursing my arrogance for not scouting properly.’
‘How did you get away?’ I asked
Simon started walking down the trail again. ‘They didn't even look for me. They assumed they'd killed us all, and in the darkness, the little cover I had was enough that they missed me.’
He stopped again and fell silent for a while, head down and eyes closed. Then he raised his head and looked at me straight in the eyes, ‘So you see Motti, if anyone has reason to feel guilt, shame and self-loathing, if anyone has reason to hide from God... then it's me.’ He pursed his lips, ‘I abandoned my responsibilities at home, I killed many people, and stole from good people to enable that killing... and then I'd led our group, some of whom barely more than boys, to their deaths. It was my arrogance... my ... my hubris that killed them’ He held my gaze, his dark eyes searching mine, ‘I was not a good man and I will always carry the pain of what I did... I deserved to die, but through Jesus, I was given a fresh start.’
He paused, still looking at me intently, ‘If God has even given me a fresh start, what makes you think that God would reject you?’
I'd been so lost in Simon’s story that I'd almost forgotten my fear of rejection by God. It helped to know that God didn’t condemn him for his actions, but... but my story was different. Simon's story was extreme, he’d seen and done some horrific things, but he’d done what many young men longed to do; he'd fought back, courageously standing up to the Romans. Although he’d broken much of the Law, he'd done so in the belief that he was fighting for God. He’d failed, but he'd failed heroically whilst fighting for the kingdom of Israel. My story was different; the shadows in my heart included cowardice, selfishness, greed and pride. His courage was inspiring, but it made me feel a lot smaller... less adequate... and, in many ways, less acceptable to God.
I hesitated, unsure what to say. I wanted to tell Simon about my fears, but I was still terrified of rejection. I was saved by a shout from the trail ahead of us.
‘There you are!’ We looked around and saw Cleopas walking back up the hill to meet us. ‘We were concerned that you might have got lost.’ He laughed.
We walked toward him, and when we met he embraced Simon and then me. ‘When we noticed you weren't with us, I offered to come back and find you. I thought I'd seen you talking with Zee.’
‘Simon's been telling me about his life when he was a Zealot.’ I explained.
‘You must have made quite an impression,’ Cleopas looked between us smiling and clapped me on the shoulder, ‘Zee rarely shares that part of his life. Only those of us closest to him know the details. More frequently he just tells the story of how he met Jesus.’
‘We hadn't got to that bit.’ I forced a smile. Part of me was grateful for the interruption... but part of me was ruing a missed opportunity to unburden myself of the things that were plaguing me. The three of us started down the hill together, me in the centre. I looked at Simon, ‘So, how did you meet Jesus?’
‘That was when my life began to be turned around,’ Simon smiled, ‘But I think I probably need to explain how I escaped the scene of the battle first... It's all linked.’
We walked a few steps in silence as he gathered his thoughts, ‘I waited a while after the soldiers had left to make sure I was alone. I then made a makeshift sling to immobilise my broken arm and walked through the night, putting as much distance between me and the battleground as possible. I was covered in blood and mud and would have been arrested on sight, so as the dawn began to brighten the night sky I found a small copse of trees to hide in for the day.’
‘I’d lost a lot of blood and was lightheaded, so I wasn't sure where I was. I fell into a fitful sleep and woke hours later, towards the end of the day. My broken arm was throbbing badly, so I rose carefully, peering out from the copse to work out where I was.’ Simon smiled at the memory, ‘In the dark I'd travelled further than I thought and I was surprised to recognise familiar landmarks from the farm that my parents had owned.’
‘You come back full circle... Did you go to see your uncle?’ I asked. Simon had said that he left under difficult circumstances and I was fairly sure that he wouldn’t have been welcomed back.
‘Being back on that farm reminded me of what the Romans had done, and the despair I'd felt over the death of my men was replaced by my familiar anger.’ Simon pursed his lips, ‘For twenty years I'd been driven by that anger... and it grew again in my heart, making me determined to rebuild and make the Romans pay.’
‘“This was my parents' farm... this is now my farm.” I thought, And fuelled by my anger, I set off to walk the half mile to the main farm buildings. I didn't care when my uncle said, I'd take what I needed and leave.’
‘How did your uncle react?’ I asked
‘Hah... In the end I never saw him, which is probably just as well.’ Simon smiled, ‘Especially with what was going on that day.’
We passed a copse of trees on our right and drew level with a turning off the trail we were following. Cleopas pointed down the turning, ‘We’re almost there, this is the way to Lazarus' place.’ He said, ‘If you want to hear the end of this story, I suggest you two sit here for a while. I'll go on, let the others know you're alright and explain that you'll be joining us soon.’
I thanked Cleopas, and as he set off, Simon and I moved to sit on the ground in the shade at the edge of the trees. He passed me his water skin again, and I gratefully took a long drink before passing it back. He drained the remaining water before he continued.
‘As I got closer to the main buildings I could hear the sound of music and many voices.’ He closed his eyes as he remembered. ‘There were many people, and from the music and shouting I could tell it was a wedding celebration. In my weakened and exhausted state, I decided that a full confrontation with my uncle wouldn't be wise, so I avoided the party and staggered toward the kitchen area. I hoped that I’d get the supplies I needed there.
‘I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and quickly ducked behind a wall. I nearly cried out in pain, as the sudden movement reopened a big wound on my back. Looking out from my hiding place, I could see a stream of young people ferrying buckets of water from the well into the kitchen. They’d been hired to help at the wedding... I remember helping serve at a couple of weddings before my parents were killed. This went on for what seemed like ages before the last young boy staggered from the well with a bucket full of water. All the previous ones had been taken into the kitchen, but the young boy carrying this last bucket left it by the door next to a basket and went inside without it.
‘After a few minutes, I crossed the open area to the kitchen, and peered round the door, hoping to be unnoticed. Inside were about a dozen young people, two older women, and a man about my age who was speaking with them. They all had their backs to me except the man, who was looking right at me. I froze, unsure about what to do. He nodded in my direction and held up a hand signalling that I should wait, all whilst continuing to talk to the group. “Well done all of you, you’ve worked hard.” He smiled at the girls and boys in the group. He placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the older boys, “Go, draw some of the water and take it to the master of the banquet. The rest of you follow on to see what happens... I need a few minutes alone to speak with Simon here.” He nodded in my direction again.
‘As one, the group turned and saw me in the doorway. I should have moved away, but I was frozen to the spot in shock... he knew my name... how did he know who I was? I was covered in blood and mud and I thought I'd get some sort of reaction from the group, but the sun was behind me so they only saw a wild-looking silhouette.
‘They all filed out to the banquet, and as they left the man walked toward me stopping just a pace away. I still couldn't move, “How... how do you know my name?” I stammered.
‘“I know a lot more than just your name, Simon son of Akim.” He reached out and held my shoulder, looking intensely into my eyes. “I know the pain you carry; the deep anger in your heart over all that has happened in your life, and the anguish in your soul over the things you’ve done.” He leaned closer and I could see tears in his eyes.
‘There was an aura of authority that he carried, a certainty and sureness... like no one I’d ever met. And as he’d touched my shoulder, I'd felt the fatigue and fog that filled my brain clear away.’ Simon paused, eyes closed as he recalled the moment.
‘That was Jesus, I presume?’ I filled the silence, willing him to continue with his story.
‘Hah... yes, that was Jesus.’ Simon smiled, opening his eyes. ‘Still holding my gaze, he asked, “What are you looking for?”’
‘Whilst the fog may have cleared from my mind, my thoughts were running so fast that they were tumbling over each other, “Who was this man?... How did he know me?... How did he know what was in my heart?... Should I grab what I needed and run?... What are you looking for?” The questions echoed around my mind, but that last one kept getting louder, “What are you looking for?”’
Simon paused, closing his eyes again, ‘On one level what I wanted was to get cleaned up, grab some supplies and get out of there... but his question went deeper than that. It was like it probed the deepest recesses of my soul, reaching parts of it that had lain neglected for years, asking what I was truly longing for, “What are you looking for?”
‘After what seemed like ages one word echoed back from the neglected caverns of my heart, and with it came a huge wave of grief and loss and... and hope. “I long for true Shalom.” I replied, breaking down in tears, as emotions I'd buried for decades came back all at once, “I want justice... and peace... and... and belonging.” I sobbed, sinking to my knees.’
Simon's eyes filled with tears as he recalled the memory, and I welled up too. We all used Shalom as a blessing when greeting or saying farewell to people. But it was so familiar that I often just said the word without thinking about the depth of meaning behind it. Shalom is a one-word blessing that holds within it a sense of completeness, wholeness, harmony, peace, justice and well-being.
‘Jesus knelt with me as I sobbed, holding me by both shoulders, “Simon, if Shalom is what you truly desire, use that bucket of water by the door to get cleaned up and change into the clothes in the basket beside it.” He stood up, helping me to my feet with a strength that seemed far beyond a man his size, “Then follow me.”’
‘The clarity of mind that had come when he’d first touched my shoulder returned, and I felt a warmth spreading through my whole body. The throbbing in my broken arm faded, as did the pain from the grazes, cuts and gashes that covered my face and body. Dumbfounded, I carefully pulled my broken arm free of the sling. There was no pain. I flexed my muscles realising, to my amazement, that the break was completely healed!' Even though he must have told this story many times, Simon's face was full of awe as he recalled what had happened.
‘I felt for the wound that had reopened when I’d ducked behind the wall. Again no pain. I could feel a new scar, but the bleeding had stopped and the wound was healed. It was the same with the cut on my head and the long gash on my face.’
‘I stood there in complete awe, unable to move. “How... what... who are you?” I whispered, hardly able to speak.
‘“Simon, son of Akim,” Jesus grinned widely, “You'll see much greater things than this if you follow me.” His smile faded as he continued, “These wounds were only on the surface. The wounds in your heart are deeper and will take more time... but if you truly long for Shalom, then come, follow me.”
‘My mind was still reeling when one of the young boys who’d been in the kitchen earlier came running back into the kitchen, “The water has all turned into wine!” He exclaimed excitedly before running out again, almost bumping into an older woman coming the other way. “Thank you.” She said, tears in her eyes, “I do not know what I expected you to do, I just panicked as I wanted everything to be right.”
‘“As did I mother.” Jesus smiled and moved to hug her, “I'm glad this celebration will go on long into the night, but I and my disciples will have to be leaving soon.” His mother gasped when she caught sight of the state of me, but Jesus raised a finger to his lips and steered her back to the party.
‘As they walked he turned and looked at me, “If you want to join us Simon, we'll meet you at the edge of the farm by that copse of trees you hid in earlier today.”’
‘How did he know that?’ I asked.
Simon smiled, looking down as he ran his fingers through the grass we were sitting on, ‘Jesus was always doing things like that, he knew things that you wouldn't think he could know.’ He closed his eyes as he remembered, ‘When he looked at you, you always knew he was seeing far more than just a surface impression. It was like he could see what was going on in your heart and mind... like he could see into your soul. It was never intrusive... it was never anything you feared, it was just that you knew there were no secrets with him.
‘I’ve begun to understand it more today as the Holy Spirit has been giving me flashes of insight. It happened many times as I was talking with my group on the Mount of Olives... and then several times since I've met you.’ He looked up and searched my eyes, ‘When I first saw you I had two images that flashed in my mind: one of a young man hiding among some trees, terrified of being caught and another of you carrying a heavy burden, a burden that made you want to hide from people. Then as we’ve been walking, I've kept having an image of you searching for something. Something that’s right in front of you, but you just can't see it.
‘So let me ask you, Motti... What are you looking for?’