Note: This was inspired by a weekend Winter Solace retreat by Jenn at Gathered and Scattered. Our “imaginative reading “exercise was to take a familiar Bible story (Matthew 12:46-50) and imagine ourselves as one of the participants in it. Most of this post was written in the 20 minutes allotted to us during the workshop, but I can’t help but feel there is more to the story. I welcome your comments.
It was stuffy in the house, so I stood near the doorway for air. My little boy's curls were tight with the sweat on his head, and I knew he, too, needed air. The Rabbi was teaching hard things, but in a way that we who heard him could understand. "Love God," he said, "and love one another. These are the greatest of the commandments and all other commandments follow after these."
I knew the commandments and the Shema, of course. But I had not considered how they were connected. As I pondered this new idea, a small group rushed toward the door. One young man, whose beard had yet to fully fill in, pushed his way past me, saying, "Yeshua, mother has food for you. Please come home." Behind him was a small woman, perhaps fifty years of age. Her face was lined with worry and her eyes not quite stern, but not soft toward either the young man who pushed me nor the Rabbi.
"Judas," she reprimanded, "Be gentle with the woman and child. There is no need to push."
Judas blew a piece of hair out of his face and said, "But mother, he has lost his mind. Look at him. He is not a Rabbi, but a carpenter."
"I know, son," replied the woman, "but there is another way to attract his attention than by bullying the weak and small." Then, in a louder voice she called out, "Can someone tell Yeshua that his mother and brothers are here? We have come to feed him and take him home to rest."
Word spread from the door to the place where the Rabbi sat. He leaned in to hear the message and then looked up, past me, and to the woman, whom I now knew was his mother. His gaze softened as he looked at her with obvious love and devotion. Then he spoke.
"Who is my mother and who are my brothers? Anyone who hears the will of my Father and obeys is my mother and brother and sister."
My heart stopped for a moment and my chest tightened. What was he saying? Was he disowning his family? I looked at my son and tried to imagine him saying those words and my heart sank. Then I looked at his mother and the man she had called Judas. Both were pale and stunned. Judas was pale with anger, probably because the Rabbi had been so disrespectful to his own mother. The mother, however, paled in, what, grief? I couldn't put my finger on her emotion, but it was something between sorrow and fear.
The whole crowd was silent for a moment before the murmurings began. "This is a strange teaching," said one. "What is the will of God?" asked another. "Do we all have to abandon our families to obey Yahweh?"
I just looked at the mother who said nothing. The Rabbi had looked at her with such tenderness that I knew he wasn't disowning her. Nor was he dismissing her concerns. But I could not understand how he could both love his mother and brothers while saying that those who obeyed his father were his mother, brothers, and sisters.
It occurred to me that night as I put my son in his little bed that the Rabbi had not said that those who obeyed Yahweh were also his father.
Well, what do you think? Should I keep going? Is the next part of the story worth pursuing?
I'm so glad you shared this, Stephanie! And of course that you were at Winter Solace. It was lovely to get to know you a little better. There are some really great questions you are posing here.