Chapter 9 - Mordechai – Wrestling with God

...I felt the desire to back out growing in my mind, but it no longer felt like it would be a retreat to safety, it felt like I would be going back into a self-imposed prison. So I forged ahead...

What was I looking for?  I’d been so wrapped up in his story that his question surprised me.  I wore various masks - strong, self-reliant, successful businessman – and never took them off for anyone.  But Simon had been open with me... he'd been vulnerable enough to share his story, and that helped me feel safe to share mine.

What was I looking for?  This felt important and I didn’t want to rush my answer.  I closed my eyes and tried to let go of the mess of thoughts and emotions that filled my mind.  Then, unbidden, a word jumped into my mind and before I could stop myself, I said out loud, ‘Forgiveness...’

I felt a sense of relief as I gave voice to that longing, but at the same time, a terrible fear rose in me.  I was terrified of rejection, so afraid that my truth would make me unacceptable.  I wrestled with what to say, how to begin, whether to go back to the safety of hiding the truth... but I was so tired of wearing masks, of hiding the truth about myself from others, from God... from myself.

I felt the desire to back out growing in my mind, but it no longer felt like it would be a retreat to safety, it felt like I would be going back into a self-imposed prison.  So I forged ahead, suddenly desperate to tell Simon everything.

‘I... I... I long to know forgiveness.’ As I said it again I felt a knot of emotion released in me and was surprised as tears came to my eyes.  I didn't deserve to feel sorry for myself, and I angrily brushed the tears away, ‘Not just the forgiveness of other people... and of God.’ I paused, wiping my eyes again as the tears returned, ‘I long to be able to forgive myself.  There are countless things in my life that haven't been right... that... that still aren't right.  I long for the joy I see the others have found today, but I am not worthy of it.’

Simon stayed silent, waiting for me to continue.  After what seemed like an age, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, ‘It is hard to know where to start.  There are so many things that seem to cling to my soul, reinforcing the message that I am unworthy... lies, selfishness, greed, and pride... oh so much pride.’ I shook my head slowly, ‘But... but at the heart of it all, like... like a spider sitting at the heart of a web... at the heart of it all is the shame of... of cowardice...  and of the lies to cover it up.’

I was afraid that if I looked at Simon I’d stop, so I kept my eyes closed and pressed on, ‘Most of my life I've burned with shame over cowardice... and carried a gnawing fear that I'd be found out. And in hiding my shame and fear, I've become very good at wearing masks.  My business is strong... I'm respected at the city gate... my wife and my friends think I'm a good man.  But deep inside I carry this knowledge that I'm a fraud.’

I took a deep breath, let it out and risked a look at Simon, ‘This is hard...  I want to share this, but I've hidden it for so long it's like it's fighting back.’

Simon nodded and smiled, ‘Oh yes, I know that feeling.  I had so many conversations like that with Jesus over the years. But each time I finally shared things with him, it was like a weight being lifted off my shoulders.’ He paused smiling gently, ‘I told you that I'd had that image of you carrying a heavy burden that made you want to hide.  I think it's time to come out of hiding and lay it down.  Until you do, it will always hold you prisoner.’

I knew he was right, but it was still hard.  I took a shaky breath and closed my eyes again, ‘Eliab was the son of a neighbouring farmer and a childhood friend.  One afternoon, when I was about twelve, we were tending our families’ sheep near a cave hidden in the hills.  It was one of our favourite spots, a place to get out of the sun.  We'd often sit there talking about Judas the Galilean and how when we’d grown we'd join his fighters to free the kingdom of Israel from Roman oppression.  On that day, though, as we neared the cave, we heard the sound of men speaking in Latin.  Peering through some bushes we saw two Roman soldiers, laid back resting just inside our cave!

‘Seeing those soldiers lounging there in our space filled me with anger. I turned to Eliab, who looked nervous and whispered, “We should throw some rocks at them and make them leave.”

‘Eliab was usually the more reckless of the two of us, but he said it was too dangerous and didn’t want to.  I mocked him, saying, “If you're afraid of a couple of Romans, then Judas will never have you in his freedom fighters.” My words stung him, and I knew it.  Against his better judgment, Eliab agreed to go along.  We scooted back, gathered a few stones and, hiding behind a boulder, threw them at the soldiers before ducking out of sight.  One stone struck a soldier on his armour with a loud clang, and they scrambled to their feet shouting angrily.  I stifled a giggle, my heart racing with fear and excitement.

‘I would have stopped there, but Eliab stood up and hurled one last stone before turning to run.  The soldiers saw him and charged after us as we sprinted down the hillside.  Eliab stumbled and fell, and they caught him. I ran on sliding to a stop under the cover of a few trees and watched, frozen in terror, as they grabbed him.’

Relating this story I'd buried for so many years, I felt my heart pounding as I recalled my fear. I took a couple of deep breaths to slow my heart before continuing, ‘I could hear Eliab pleading, but they didn't listen.  One of the soldiers struck him hard, then shoved him to the ground, his body lying still as they walked away, muttering to each other.

‘I wanted to run to him, I wanted to help… but my legs wouldn't move. I kept hiding, like the coward I am, while he lay there alone.  I stayed there in those trees until long after the soldiers were gone.  When I finally plucked up the courage to go to him, it was too late.  I knelt beside him, shaking him, but there was no response. The terror in my heart was replaced by guilt and shame, knowing that my foolish dare had cost him his life.’ 

I paused waiting for Simon to say something, but he stayed silent.  After a few moments, I dared to open my eyes and look at him. I searched his face for signs of condemnation, but there was none.  To my surprise, I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

I looked down at the ground, unable to hold Simon’s gaze and continued, ‘But it gets worse... I tried carrying Eliab, but he was bigger than me and I didn't get far, so I went home to tell my father.  As I walked, fear eclipsed my shame and took over my heart again.  I knew how angry he and Eliab's father would be, so to avoid being the subject of their anger, I turned the story around.

‘I told them that the stone-throwing had been Eliab's idea and that I'd tried to talk him out of it. I said that I'd rushed to help as soon as I'd realised he’d stumbled, but the Romans had already caught him and hit him... And because Eliab was known to be the more reckless, they believed me.’

There was a long silence, and then Simon spoke, ‘You've been carrying this for a long time Mordechai. I can see how it has weighed on you… how it has affected you.  You've never told anyone the truth of this before?’

‘No, I haven't’ I whispered, ‘There’s more... other consequences that meant I kept living the lie.’ I paused before continuing, ‘At Eliab’s funeral, his father, Nathan, thanked me for being there for their son, which made me churn inside.  In the weeks that followed the funeral, Nathan got angrier with the Romans.  The local garrison denied it was their men, but one day he overheard a soldier bragging about killing Eliab and saying it meant, “one less of the scum to deal with as an adult.” Nathan snapped.  The first we knew about it was when his wife, Naomi, came running to our home to ask my father to stop him, but it was too late.  Nathan had gone home and angrily told Naomi what he’d heard.  He’d grabbed an axe and raced back to town to find the soldier.  He only managed to wound the man before he was stopped... but they didn't kill him on the spot.  They decided that an example needed to be set...’ my voice fell to a whisper, ‘and they crucified him.’

‘Not long after his death, Naomi, full of grief over the death of her only son and her husband, left Emmaus and went to live with her sister in Hebron.  I heard that she died there a few years later.  They said it was because of a broken heart.’

I sighed heavily, ‘So, you see Simon, my stupidity in making a silly dare, my cowardice in not helping my friend, and lies... my lies... all led to the deaths of three people.’

There was silence between us again, but this time Simon broke it, ‘How have you managed to carry this for so long?’

‘Over time I buried it...  I forgot my part in it, and I lived the lie.’ I sighed again, ‘To begin with when it all felt too much and I broke down in tears, I told my friends and family that it was the guilt I felt that I didn’t do more to stop Eliab throwing the stones... and they believed it.... they comforted me and told me I'd been very brave.  Each time I told the lie, it became easier and became more my own truth.

‘As if to compensate for my guilt and shame, I threw myself into being the best I could... trying to make up for their deaths... but it was never enough.  My father, Ezra, managed the farm and business well. I tried hard to help where I could, but I was never very good at it.  When my father died, I took it on, and I just about managed to keep things going, but they were in decline.  Then I married Junia... and she turned things around.  She has an incredible head for business, is an amazing cook, and an incredible hostess.  It was Junia who developed the recipes for our spiced olive oil, and she brought potential clients into our home to sample it as part of the many events she put on.  She developed a huge network of local customers, both Jews and Romans.  Then it was Junia again that developed the contacts that led to our massive export business.  She did all that... but as her husband, I got most of the credit.

‘So on the outside, I’m a well-respected businessman, well connected with the Jews and the Romans, with an amazing wife and a good life.  But on the inside, I've been carrying this dark secret for decades.  Most of the time I can ignore it, or justify it... “After all,” I tell myself, “I was just a boy.”  But there were darker days when it weighed more heavily, and on those occasions, I’d go to the temple with a sin offering... going through the motions of putting things right with God... but...’ I trailed off into silence.

‘But that didn't last?’ Simon completed my sentence for me.

‘No... It didn't last... but... but it made it manageable.  In the first decade, there were times… periods when my guilt and shame were unbearable, that I'd make the journey to the temple every two or three weeks.  Ironically, in some ways that made things harder, because it increased my reputation in Emmaus as a righteous and devout man... the very opposite of the way I felt about myself.’

‘Over the years, the frequency of my visits diminished, but whenever I came to Jerusalem, I’d make a sin offering, so that felt that at least I was right with God.’ I closed my eyes, recalling the events of the morning, ‘That was all fine when God was in the temple and I could prepare myself to approach him... but this morning... this morning God came to meet with me... and I wasn't ready.  His light shone into my life and showed me the depths of my darkness, my cowardice and lies... the sins that make me unacceptable.’ My voice tailed off to a whisper, ‘So I long to be released of this burden, I long for forgiveness, but I can never get it.  I can't ask Eliab, or Nathan, or Naomi for forgiveness... I will never forgive myself... and clearly, God does not forgive me either.’

There was another long silence before Simon spoke, ‘Thank you for sharing that Mordechai, I feel privileged that you felt able to be honest with me.’ He paused again, ‘If God can forgive me after the stealing and murders I've committed, why do you think he could not forgive you?’

‘But it's not the same,’ I reasoned, ‘You believed you were fighting for God, that you were doing his work.  And you showed great courage, that's probably why Jesus chose you... why God forgives you.’ I closed my eyes again, ‘But my actions, or inactions, are rooted in cowardice and lies.’

Copyright © LUMO project (Big Book Media)

Simon looked at me, smiling gently, ‘You only know the stories I've shared, but there are so many more... Ask any of us who have followed Jesus about the many times we have been paralysed with awe and fear... Ask any of the twelve, and we'll tell you about how we ran like cowards, terrified for our lives on the night that Jesus was arrested.  We'd promised that we'd follow him even if it meant dying, but when it came to it, we ran away.  And we were adults, not twelve-year-olds.  

He shuffled round from sitting to get onto his knees and leaned toward me, ‘Ask Peter about when he was confronted by a young girl in the High Priest’s courtyard.  He'll tell you how afraid he was and how he lied to save his skin, denying he even knew Jesus... Again, he was a grown man, not a boy.’

Tears streamed down Simon's cheeks as he continued, ‘Ask any of us, who were right there, witnessing Jesus being crucified, but were too scared to speak out, let alone fight to free him... Me... Simon... the great zealot, the freedom fighter, the man of great courage... but when it came to it, I just watched and wept, frozen in fear and disbelief.’

He leant back, resting on his heels and looked at me, tears still running down his face, ‘Mordechai, you are not alone.  And God does not condemn you, in the same way that he does not condemn us.  He longs for you to be set free from the hold this darkness has on your life... he longs for you to come out of hiding and let him take that burden from you.’

He said all this so fast that I was stunned, ‘I... I... I don’t understand.’ I stuttered, ‘This... this morning, why did God’s love and light draw back from this dark secret in me?’

Simon thought a moment before he spoke, ‘Jesus said that to have seen him was to have seen the Father... was to have seen God.  So Jesus was God with us on earth.’ He paused again, ‘I followed Jesus for three years, I've seen him confront the hypocrisy of the religious authorities, and I've seen him reach out to the poor, the outcast, the lame, the leper, the paralysed... to the tax collectors, the Romans, and many more... but I've never seen him draw back.  Nothing ever made him pull away.  In fact quite the opposite, the worse the disease, the bigger the sin or the problem, the more he leaned into it.’

He smiled, searching my eyes as he asked, ‘Did God's love draw away... or did you hide from God?’

‘I... err... I don't know.’ I wasn't sure what to make of what Simon was saying.  ‘How can I know?  I can’t see how God would find me acceptable... I don’t know why he would want anything to do with me...’ I shook my head, ‘There are times when I don't want anything to do with me...  And I’m not asking for sympathy here... I know I'm not a good man.  There are so many other occasions through my life where my cowardice has shown, where I've failed to do the “right thing”, where I've let people down... where I've let myself down.’ I took a deep breath, ‘People may not have died as a result, but my character, who I am at the root of my being, is... is not good.’

I’d been looking anywhere but at Simon as I said this, but in the silence that followed I glanced at him and saw he had his eyes closed and his lips were moving silently as in prayer.

He stopped and opened his eyes, ‘Motti, you are not alone in your feelings.’ He said, ‘In the group I was with on the Mount of Olives earlier, there were several men who struggled to accept that God could love them.  And that was just those with the courage enough to voice it.  When you live your life behind masks, it takes a lot of courage to take them off, to be vulnerable enough to show your true self.  To share what you have shared today, took great courage.  You are not a coward, you may have done some cowardly things... as we all have... but it is not who you are.  You've just shown great courage in being vulnerable enough to share what you have.’

Simon rose to his feet, ‘Sorry, my legs are going to sleep with sitting and kneeling, I need to move a bit.’ He stretched his arms high and wide and shook his legs. I took the opportunity to do the same. I looked down the trail ahead which led down through the hills of Judean wilderness to Jericho, and then down the path that led to the home we'd be staying at that evening.

Simon was watching me and followed my gaze, ‘You are faced with a choice, Motti.’  He walked over, stood next to me and looked down the two trails I'd just been looking at, ‘Which path do you want to take?’

‘Uh... err... I thought we were going to join the others.’ I said, ‘I wasn’t thinking of going on to Jericho.’

‘Hah!’ Simon laughed, ‘I didn't mean it literally... it's like the choice Jesus gave me.’

‘When he invited me to follow him, I wasn't sure what to do.  After he’d walked out of the kitchen area being used for the wedding, I just stood there, stunned by all that had happened.  This man had an air of authority about him, a confidence and certainty that was compelling.  He knew things about me that no one could know, and... miraculously, he'd healed me...  clearly, God was with him, like God had been with the prophets of old.

‘Jesus called me to follow him, but he gave me a choice. He said that if I wanted to join them, I should meet them by the trees I'd been hiding in earlier... he said “If” … he gave me the choice... Jesus had healed my physical hurt, but he didn't wipe away my past, he didn’t change who I was.  He said that the wounds in my heart were deeper and would take more time to heal and... to be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted them to heal.  The anger in me wanted to find or build another Zealot group and return to what I'd been doing for the last 20 years... I knew that world... I knew it helped to satisfy the hunger for revenge that still burned deep in me.’ 

Simon moved from standing next to me and stood in front of me, facing me.  ‘But that brief encounter with Jesus had helped me see there was something more that I wanted, something more than revenge... I wanted Shalom.  I knew in some way, that would mean letting go of my anger... and the idea of that scared me.’ He smiled ruefully, ‘I couldn't imagine who I’d be without that anger, but the idea of Shalom was compelling, so I chose to follow him.

‘That choice didn't instantly change me... it has taken years for me to be rid of that anger.  It took countless conversations with Jesus, and so many lessons learned from others on the way.  It took a lot of reflection, heart-searching, and prayer.  Progress was very slow at times, but in the last few months since Jesus’ death and resurrection, it's accelerated.  It's like the seeds he planted in my heart over the years all spouted at once... And today... ‘He smiled, tears filling his eyes, ‘I found it... I truly experienced Shalom.  Not because I'd strived for some sort of holiness, like a Pharisee, but because I was finally vulnerable enough to let the love of God transform my heart.’

Despite Simon's assurances, I struggled to believe that I was worthy, ‘I want to believe I could find forgiveness,’ I said quietly, ‘But it seems so far away, so impossible... And the... the... the joy that I've seen in these people… I find it suffocating.  It is compelling and attractive, but the light I see in the others is a constant reminder of the darkness in me.  I'm drawn to it ... and I want to run far away at the same time. I don't know how I can face being with them.’

Simon frowned, thinking for a moment before responding, ‘Have you ever had to transplant an olive tree that had taken root in the wrong location, in... in wrong soil?’

‘Err... Yes.’ I replied, thrown by the sudden change in the direction of our conversation. ‘Sometimes an olive stone germinates and takes root in the wrong place in a grove and it needs to be moved.  Olive trees are hardy and can cope with being transplanted.  They need a little extra care, but they soon thrive in their new spot.’ It was my turn to frown, ‘Why do you ask?’

Simon nodded, ‘As you were speaking about your difficulty in being around the others, I had an image of you transplanting an olive tree, and then, somewhat bizarrely, you became that olive tree that grew to a great size and produced amazing fruit.

‘I think you've been living your life in the wrong place, a place full of unforgiveness and fear, but you need planting in a new place.  You need planting in a community that’s full of broken messed-up people, who know they are forgiven and are learning to forgive.  The community you fear being around is the community that will help you find what you are looking for... the community that will help you grow and produce amazing fruit.’

Simon put his left hand on my shoulder and the palm of his right hand in the centre of my chest, ‘Mordechai, son of Ezra, the wounds in your heart are deep and will take time to heal.’ He looked at me intently, ‘You have a choice, you can continue to live your lie and hide behind the masks you wear.  Or, if you truly want to find the forgiveness you long for, then I invite you to join us and follow Jesus.’

He closed his eyes, ‘I pray that you would come to know the fullness of life, the healing, and the joy we have in God.  That you’d stop hiding, take off your masks, and discover that the forgiveness you’ve been searching for is right in front of you.’

As Simon prayed this, I sensed again the enormity of God's love near me.  My heart beat faster... in hope and fear... but God didn't push. I understood then that he wouldn’t withdraw from me, but would patiently wait for me to be willing to let him in.  If I chose to hide, I knew he wouldn’t come in force… but I also knew that he would never give up, that he’d always be waiting for me to be ready.

How I fully found that forgiveness is a story for another time, but in that moment there was a seismic shift in my soul... Whilst I wasn't ready to let God in yet... whilst I couldn't forgive myself yet... I began to believe that one day I might find that forgiveness.  That might not seem like much, but it was a world away from my previous mindset where I thought I'd never forgive myself.  Tears came to my eyes again as I whispered, ‘Amen...  Thank you.’

Simon smiled, ‘I think we'd better go and join the others before they send out another search party.’ And together we turned and followed the way that led to Martha’s house.