As a result of this,
many of his disciples returned to their former way of life
and no longer accompanied him.

 

Do you ever wonder if any of the deserters came back? If so, the following tale might be of interest to you.

 

Howdy! My name is Caleb. You don’t know me, but it was my brother that Jesus healed one afternoon in Capernaum. I helped tear open the thatched roof so his friends could lower him down on a mat. 

What a day! My paralyzed brother stood on his own two feet, then jumped around the room like a grasshopper!

After that, I took off from work as often as I could to go listen to this rabbi, Jesus, deliver sermons. I saw him heal lepers, raise the dead and feed multitudes of people. It was amazing and I bought it hook, line and sinker.

But one day I went to listen to him in Jerusalem. He seemed different. There was a wild look in his eyes and some people said there was a price on his head. I believed it because he started talking in a desperate way that didn’t make any sense. 

He said that unless folks ate his flesh and gulped down cups of his blood, there was no hope for them, they’d die like everyone else. Some men in the crowd took issue with this and challenged him. He just dug in deeper and came on stronger. Me? I just shook my head and walked away.

The teaching made no sense to me. Even though he healed my brother, as far as I was concerned, the rabbi had lost his mind, so I left along the others. A few stayed, but I’m no fool. I got back on the road and got back to work.

A couple of weeks later, I hear that he’s been arrested. I happened to be on a job site in the city on the day they crucified him. The boss left us wrap up   early so we could watch the execution. 

On the climb up Skull Hill, I noticed drops of blood on the pavement and thought of his words about how his followers would one day drink his blood.

Soon, I found myself near the cross. The rabbi was already dead. The disciple they call John was there holding the rabbi’s mother. Their faces were splattered with blood, their hands were drenched in it---the blood of the man who healed my brother. 

It dripped from his feet.

I stared at the mother’s face and she caught my eye. I felt so sorry for her but, I could tell, she felt sorry for me. Her son had just been executed, but she motioned for me to step forward. She held out her hand to me, but all I could do was stand there.

Then I saw John use his cloak to wipe blood from her face. Then he did something that I did not expect. He lifted her hand and kissed her blood-soaked fingers. 

I began to weep, then turned and ran…ran all the way to my house because I finally figured out what the rabbi meant. Giving his “flesh and blood” was another way of saying sacrifice…and sacrifice is another way of saying love. But not just a word on the tongue, more like the taste of blood on a lip.

Next week, I am going to ask around and learn where John is staying. I plan to pick up where I left off. Sure, I left them, but I need to go back. I hope they take me back.