But Nadab heard the stories about Jesus, and he tried to share it all with us, in his own way. I didn’t understand, I couldn’t then, but now I’m trying. Nadab went into Jerusalem with us. There we lost him. He went to the Temple and caused a riot, he talked about Jesus, and then he was caught and killed. He was a man of violence, but he died for a belief. He died for something bigger than himself, bigger than the Temple and the Holy Place in there, bigger than the immense empire to which the occupying forces have annexed this land. It’s a belief they can’t wash away.
Even if Nadab’s gone, I say that he lives on.
And what about me? I’m still alive, and whoever lives through everything must see everything too. I was the one who took Nadab down from the cross. I helped to carry him to the cave. I sat by Reuben’s side when he passed away. I was there when my brother, Jehoram, was killed by the guards of the man who became my master and owns me now. And those first words I heard from my new master are the ones that became the life I’ve now been living for many, many years, but that will soon be over: “The Lord God will let you live, for you shall be my servant.”
So I was dragged back, kicked and beaten, and taken on as an apprentice by my new master. I taught myself to read, to write, to count. I learned, every day, how to follow my master and observe everything that happened around him. When the evenings came, I was to report on what I’d seen, all while the man who owns me listened and nodded.
Don’t think that this was an easy task; don’t think that I was given a new life with no drawbacks! No, it was never forgotten where I came from, what I was. Even though I was given food, I didn’t sit at anybody’s table. Even though I was given a roof over my head, I didn’t sleep well at night. The other servants wouldn’t talk to me. My master’s mercenaries would walk out of rooms when I walked in. Nobody wanted anything to do with a former murderer, a thief. In spite of this, I taught myself to read, I taught myself to write, I taught myself to count. I was dressed in good clothes, and I washed every evening. But I was still something my master had dragged in from the wilderness.
It’s not my story I’m telling, neither is it Nadab’s story. I want to tell the story of what’s stirring in our land as all the cords are stretched back as far as they’ll go.
These have been painful years for our people, painful years for this country. It’s as if a sickness had come over us, and we’d started eating each other. We’ve had a drought that’s destroyed our harvests, but the rulers still demand their taxes. I’ve been told of people who have nothing to eat, of children who fall asleep never to wake up. Our land has been afflicted by bands of thieves, more of them now than when I was young. People calling themselves prophets are popping up like weeds after the rain, and people follow them. People are getting together to protest, they’re doing it here, in Jerusalem, they’re doing it out there, in the other cities, and in the wilds. And every time, they’re suppressed and persecuted by guards and soldiers. The procurators have been harsh rulers, not least Cumanus and Felix. Last year, around this time, there was an uprising. The priests and the other rich families support the present rulers, enlisting and paying their own soldiers to collect taxes and duties, and to take care of security.
None of those who’ve been in power have done anything to change all of this, and now it’s too late. Everything’s coming to an end now.
I’m telling you all this to try to understand why all this brutality’s emerged and why the young are so angry. They’re like the two men we killed so many years ago, the ones we were supposed to accompany to Jerusalem, and who were so blinded by their faith. Just like them, a number of the youths of today have a burning desire to spread chaos, an irrepressible will to go through with everything, and a belief that means they don’t fear death. These assassins, whatever name we give them, whatever we call them, are only a symptom: the desperation and heartlessness that this sickened form of governance has brought about. When nobody can see what to do, when everything you do is attacked, when all other means are used up, that’s when desperation thrives.
I went with my master to the Temple one day and saw one of the killings myself. We were walking together, with me at the back of the group, when we heard the screams. I ran up, as my master wants me to see and observe everything. A man from one of the rich families had been stabbed in the side, underneath his armpit. He was already dead, and people were running around, shouting. That’s their tactic: to creep up to traitors in the crowds, kill them, be the first ones to create panic, and then disappear. This is their way of showing that none of the powerful or wealthy are safe.
They kill, and they spread fear. But look at our country. Look at how a few benefit from the suffering of the many, look at how the Roman Empire is forcing its gods on us. Look at how the leaders, and those who collaborate with them, are suppressing us and blaspheming God. These young knife murderers are assassins, but what if the rulers are turning us into assassins? What if the priests and the well-heeled, holding out one hand to the people and the other to the rulers, are the ones creating all this violence? I think Nadab found some eternal truths in the little he heard about Jesus, and then he chose to follow it. All the way to his death. I think these young people who are causing havoc now are doing the same thing. But while Jesus spoke peace and acted in peace, these people talk of violence and act though warfare. While Jesus let himself be captured and killed, these people strike back.
I struggle to condemn them, even though I can see that the path they’re leading our country on will lead to loss.
Look at all those who’ve been killed, look at all those who, unarmed, prayed peacefully for a little glimmer of light in the immense darkness. Where are they now? Look at how they were suppressed, hunted down, and killed! What’s left, I ask you, what’s left?
In my darker moments, I think that Nadab and Jesus failed. They couldn’t stop what’s come over us now. They couldn’t get us to see how everything would turn out. Perhaps we humans are doomed never to stop before it’s too late, perhaps we’ll never see the truth or the evil we’re doing until the shouts and screams have subsided. Perhaps violence and war are forces that give us meaning and purpose.
I have no way of knowing that. In the same way I know nothing about dying, as I’m still alive. But I do know something about living a life with evil. I’ve lived in an occupied country, surrounded by an army of darkness. I’ve been a thief who stole and killed. And I’ve been somebody who walked hand in hand with those who collaborate with the enemy. What does that make me? Am I evil? Will everything I touch become evil, or can I still do something, if not the work of the Lord, then something that can help the Lord’s light of justice to shine?
This is my last spark I’m offering, all I have left in this world now. I don’t know whether it will make any difference. Maybe this world won’t take any notice of me, maybe everything I’ve been will be forgotten before this year is over. Maybe the world will go on and on, for several thousand years hence. Maybe men will still be sitting up in the mountains, dressed in rags, covered with beards, with weapons in their hands, fighting against a superior force, against an army of darkness, with no hope but to meet the Lord in Heaven. Tonight, tomorrow, in a thousand years, in two thousand years. When will God’s kingdom come to us?
Nadab’s waiting. My brother, Jehoram, is waiting, and Reuben. Even the people I’ve killed, the people I’ve seen killed. They’re all waiting.
But before I’m taken by the Lord: see if my words, the words of an old man, might reach you, might reach all of you, and give you some of the strength that gave Nadab his courage, some of the strength with which Jesus filled the world. For I tell you that not everybody will grow as old as me. I’ve seen many things. That’s why I’m writing this, why I’m begging you to listen to an old man: come together and pray for strength. When somebody wants to make you kill for a good cause, when somebody wants to make you kneel to banners and temples, come together, lift up your hands and shout out against injustice. Fill the streets and take back Jerusalem, take back our land. Don’t let the people in power carry on, and don’t let brutality and violence be the only ways of showing resistance. Don’t let people with blind faith or total power control you. Pray for strength and shout out against injustice. The Lord God will be with you.