Faith Not of a Gentile

     I cast a glance at Mark, but his face was solemn and fixed straight ahead on the dusty road. "Please, oh Lord. Please.” The gentile woman—who called herself Docia—had been following behind us for the last few minutes now, supplicating him. 

     “Please. She is so young, much too young to be vexed by such evil. Please, Son of David, help her.” I looked up at him, but he simply kept on walking, his face composed and serene.

     “Lord, please! Please!”

     Soon, the woman’s sobs and pleadings were the only thing I could hear, even among the bustling, crowded road.

     “I cannot lose her!”

     It was too much. I stopped and turned to him, “Jeshua, why not help this woman? Or send her away so she will weep and wail after us no more.”
     
     Both Mark and he had stopped walking. Mark put a hand on his arm and nodded, “Yes, why not respond to her pleadings?” He looked at us and said, “I am here to administer unto my people, unto Israel.” I frowned and looked back at the woman, still sobbing and pleading. Her curled, raven hair was tied into a disarrayed knot at the nape of her neck. Her young face was streaked with tears and her fine blue garments draped about her were soiled from kneeling on the dirt.

     I felt sympathy for her. She was a Greek, a gentile, pleading to a Jew to help her young daughter—Doroteia, she had said her name was. Following my glance, he walked to the woman, and upon seeing him approach her, she reached out to him and said, “Lord, help me.”

     He took hold of her hand and gently murmured to her. I stepped closer to hear the words between them. The woman firmly held his hand and said, “Yes, this is true, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.”

     I was taken aback by her words. Astounded, I looked to him. His face glowed with compassion as he smiled at her. He pulled her from the ground and spoke unto her. She thanked and praised him, and then gathered her skirts as she turned to run, a laugh of relief trailing after her.

     I kept staring after her, amazed at what had just happened. He then turned to both Mark and I. Mark had the same wondrous look on his face. He smiled and said, “Come now, don’t look so marveled at what you have seen.”

    “But,” I began, “you told us you couldn’t help her because she is a gentile.”

     He walked towards us and put a hand on each of our shoulders. “But her faith was not of a gentile. She knows who her Savior is. So I blessed her daughter as she is part of my people.”

     “Then why didn’t you help her sooner?” Mark asked. “Why let her follow behind us pleading for such a long time?”

     “Because the true believer will not cease to implore their Savior and God, even with no response at their first supplication. I needed you two to witness the great faith of this woman. Even if she is a gentile, she is still a child of my Father, just as you and I are.”

     He smiled once more and continued on the road. Mark and I looked to each other. Enveloped in a quiet peace, we both nodded and followed after him.

Drawings in the Sand

            “You’re a cheat, Joseph! You’re a cheat and I’ll make you pay!”

            Jeshua was frightened. He had seen many people mildly upset with his father over the carpentry work they had done together, but nothing like this. The man’s eyes seemed glazed over with a look of wild disdain. He looked more like an animal than any human Jeshua had ever seen. The altercation had transformed the man more and more with every exchange, and by now, Jeshua was starting to fear for his father’s safety. Unseen behind the entryway, Jeshua looked on in anticipation.

            “Have you nothing to say, Joseph? Have you no words to explain this unsatisfactory craftsmanship? I will blacken your name across town if not!”

            Jeshua turned from the livid man to his father. Joseph’s calm expression had not changed. Jeshua knew his father to be a good man, and a collected man in his dealings, but also knew of his father’s unbending inner-convictions. Jeshua knew the situation well. His father’s work was not only satisfactory, but exceptional. The fuming man was trying to shave down the price with his anger, a tactic Jeshua had seen before, but never so vehemently as this instance. The boy wondered which side of Joseph would respond, the peaceful or the self-assured. Jeshua saw no compromise.

            Waiting for the calm to give way to the impassioned, Jeshua held to his father’s face. But it simply looked on. Direct. Uncompromising. Still kind, but resolute. What was his father to say, with such a man wound as a raging bull waiting for his moment?

            Moments had passed with no words. The tension was palpable at this point. Jeshua considered interjecting, standing up for the work his father had done. He didn’t want to see his father taken advantage of. But he simply stood there, looking on! “I must act,” thought young Jeshua.

            Just as he was about to spring forward, Joseph moved for the first time. But it was not his mouth that moved first. He broke his gaze with the man, and slowly crouched to the ground. The angry man looked on in confusion, his fixed hostility breaking for the first time since the altercation began. He looked on as Joseph took his index finger and, to the surprise of his audience, began tracing into the dirt of the floor. Jeshua watched in shock. His father seemed to disregard the presence of the man entirely, shaping the ground to his liking.

After moments of baffling silence, Joseph looked up at the changed countenance of his customer. “What more must I do to fulfill my obligation to you?”

The man was startled by the kindness and sincerity of the question. He took his leave after apologizing for losing his temper, paying Joseph in full.

Jeshua emerged from behind the doorway, amazed at what had happened. “Father,” he begin to ask, “why did you kneel and draw in the face of such persecutions?”

            The father looked lovingly at his young son. “You will learn, son, that some fights aren’t worth winning, and others,” he said with a soft smile, “are own in moments of silence.”

John 8

2 And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them.

 3 And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; 

Fathers

"Mary." My voice comes out rough and strained, like the squawks we hear from turtledoves at the temple. Mary looks up from the pot of oil, listening.
    "We need to tell Jeshua."
      The creases deepen around Mary's eyes. "But Joseph, he's still a child. How will he understand when we barely do?"
        I reach for her hands with my rough, weathered ones. Hers are used to labor too, yet somehow still soft. "Mary, I know he's young. But I cannot run the risk of misleading him. For one second confusing his true lineage and putting me above Father."
        Mary squeezes my fingers and nods. "You're right. Kneel with me?"
        Mary bows her head while I speak. My words to the Father, to Jeshua's Father, seem to float around the rafters above us, feeble and unsure. But Father sends that warm feeling to my heart as he often does, and Mary's breathing relaxes, so I know she feels the same.
        Hand in hand, we go toward Jeshua and Leah, playing under the shade of the Cypress trees. Jeshua's laughter rings through the early morning air that already beats down on the dry, hardened earth.
        "Teep going Baby 'Eah! You tan do it!" Jeshua claps his hands as Leah tries again to take a step toward him. The bright happiness in his face when watching his sister rivals the harsh sunlight.
        "Jeshua, son, Mother and I need to speak with you." Mary pulls Leah into her lap while I pat the ground for Jeshua to come sit.
        "All right. Speat to me." Jeshua kneels on his chubby legs, eyes wide, expectant, and trained on me.
       "Well," I struggle for words and glance at Mary for help.
       "We want to talk to you about Heavenly Father."
       "Yes, Jeshua. You remember that angels told us about you before you were born?'
       Jeshua nods and sifts through the sand. "Angels, angels, angels," he sings.
       "They also told us important things about your father. It's important to know that your Father in Heaven is your father for earth too. For Leah, I am her earthly father, but for you...I'm not."
       The joy that had been etched to every chubby crease on Jeshua's face leaks out. "You're not my father?"
       "He is, Jeshua, in a way" Mary says, her voice as gentle as Leah's coos. "But he joined me after Heavenly Father created you..."
       I shake my head in my frustration. Jeshua's face wrinkles, ready for tears. How can I explain this to my--no His--child.
       "Father in Heaven is letting me take care of you. And I always will.  So in a way, I am your earthly father. But..." I feel defeated. "But just remember that Heavenly Father is your most important father. Always listen to him first and foremost."
       Jeshua wraps his arms around me. "I will 'isten. But you're important too, Papa." Jeshua kisses my stubbled cheek and wanders back toward Leah, who Mary has released. The two toddle off together, Jeshua holding her tiny hands. I sigh, inadequancy and confusion mixing in my blood.
       Mary comes to my side and lays her arm on my shoulders. "I don't get it Mary. I was so sure, but you were right. He's too young. And it's too complicated. I don't even grasp everything."
       "Joseph. You weren't wrong because he doesn't understand it all right now. He'll learn. So will we." She raises me from the ground and walks me toward house with confident, faithful steps. The warm feeling from earlier seeps back into my heart. 
       Yes, so will we.

The Oil Lamp

Inspired by Kenny Kemp's "Welcoming Door"

Much was to be done today: dished to be cleaned, laundry to be hung and bread to be baked.  But most importantly, oil to be replenished.  Ebele's lamp oil had recently run low and she wanted to be prepared for tonight's festivities.  Her chores scurried by in a blur as her excitement grew for the upcoming celebration. She had been invited to welcome the bridegroom and she couldn't contain her elation.  

Leaving the bread to rise, Ebele left for the market with more sprite in her step than usual.  She usually did not enjoy the market for it was crowded and humid with merchants always fighting for attention.  She pushed her way through the crowed and found her desired stand off to the side.  

Ebele patiently waited as the elderly woman filled her small, clay lamp.  She noticed a man and then another young woman line up behind her, making Ebele thankful for when she arrived.  After he lamp was filled, Ebele remained near the cart, relishing in the shade for a moment.  The young man received his oil and also remained by the car, his reasons unknown since he remained in the boiling sun rather than the shade.  He seemed to be observing the next person in line.  She was young, probably not much younger than Ebele.

"Sorry" said the merchant woman "I have sold the last of my supply".  Again, Ebele was thankful for her spot in line.  "Please" the girl exhaled, "you must have more."  The merchant shook her head and began packing up her station.  The young girl closed her eyes and silently began to weep.  As the girl wept, the young man standing by approached her and poured his oil into her lamp.  Her tears stopped.

"But what of your lamp?  Your lamp will not light if you give me your oil"  The young man smiled.

"I know where to find more".

"But where?" the girl asked.  "I know of no other source."

"God always replenishes our store when we ask of him" he gently replied.

"What is your name?"

"Jeshua" he said.  He nodded and then went his way.

The Unknown Journey

beliefnet.com

Eyelids already closed, her covered head began to droop as well. The journey from Galilee to Bethlehem was one long, dry path consisting of a many day journey. Knowing that they would be gone for several weeks, the couple had prepared well, regardless of their humble circumstances. Great care had been taken to prepare a borrowed donkey and the food and bedding necessary. The husband, Joseph, was constantly amazed at his wife’s diligence and determination. Preparing for a long journey is always a difficult task, but in her current condition, it was nothing short of a miracle that she was able to continue all the way to Bethlehem. Her first-born child would soon be arriving and while they didn’t know how much longer it would be they hoped to at least be in the city upon the child’s arrival.

Her head suddenly snapped up as she jolted awake. Riding atop donkey is not exactly a pleasant task, but her husband wouldn’t allow her to walk any farther. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could walk at this stage anyways. Every step felt as heavy as lead when she tried to shuffle forward. In the last hour, a sharp pain had begun to pulse throughout her body. When Joseph turned and saw her doubled over in pain, he quickly helped her onto the donkey and began to lead them both towards the city.

As they neared the city, fear gripped her heart. She knew that her time was nearing, but she was so far from her mother and sisters and anyone who could help her. How could she possibly fulfil this alone? The sheer panic of pre-motherhood was enough to keep her thoughts occupied for the entire journey. Keeping a prayer in her heart and a hand resting gently on her stomach, she was led into the unknown. 

John 11:35-36.

Jeshua laughed as Peter, the boy who lived in a house nearby, dramatically swung his broom around like a sword. This wasn’t the first time they both put off doing their chores to pretend to duel or just to fool around. His mother Mary, however, did not find it so amusing.

“Boys, don’t you break those brooms! I’ll have you sweeping with your hands if they even splinter the wrong way.”

perfectly human.

Kenny Kemp’s The Welcoming Door is a compilation of the parables found in the Bible, taught by Christ. The perspective is from the people in the parables; the prodigal son, the servants and multiplying their talents, and the good Samaritan. Christ plays His part as a carpenter; fixing a door, building a well, and adding new rooms to an inn. It depicts Christ, named Jeshua in the telling of these parables, as a person who works and interacts with normal, everyday people.

As he works on a door for a wealthy man, he observes the family relations as the younger son is gone, living riotously, while the older son remains, faithful and hardworking. He watches and is kind to all, as he works hard and listens perfectly. He sees the best in those around him as he builds a well—the readers see him work even harder, struggling to be successful in his work, nearly discouraged, but never giving up. He finds the most redeeming qualities of even more individuals as He works at an inn, coming into contact with thieves, liars, and imposters. He humbly teaches a murderer to pray as they all navigate through miracles surrounding Jeshua. Readers can see Him sad, frustrated, hard-working, and perfectly human.

It may seem unrealistic with how understanding and non-judgmental Jeshua is portrayed as—but He’s not just another character that this LDS author is writing about. It is the person of Christ, of the one perfect being to walk this earth. I was not bothered by any of the seemingly idealistic outcomes from these stories because Christ was a player in them. These are interpretations of Christ’s life during His years the Bible does not cover, so they are fictional. However, any Christian wanting to become closer to and understand Christ better should read this book.