Random Encounters with Jesus -- Christian Fiction

[nashdude]

DISCLAIMER: I've never really studied the Jewish culture of Jesus' day, so I make no claims of accuracy, concerning names, titles, and culture. This is just my attempt at a Christian fiction. Please read it as such... and enjoy



Birth

Joachim settled himself on the proffered cushion, relishing every pop and creak that his joints turned loose. It had been a long ride from Jerusalem, made longer with the onset of winter. Even now, the chill wind howled past the inn door, sneaking its way through the gap in the jamb to fill the room with frosty air. A bad omen, surely.

The Sanhedrin’s decision to document the Roman census couldn’t have come at a worse time. His duties at Temple were just starting to take flight. His attendance to custom had been rewarded there. His position as scribe was almost guaranteed. He had a lovely wife, chaste and practical. He had a newborn son, and though he had not been there for his eighth-day separation, he was assured by the Pharisees that the Almighty had blessed the day. His son would surely follow in his footsteps one day.

But his joy was cut short with the order from the Sanhedrin. “We don’t even know how the Children are taking it,” Rabbi Feivel had complained before the quorum. “Bad enough that Israel be ruled by foreigners. Now, we must suffer taxation? Intolerable!” Of course, the rest of the governing body had agreed with… “varying” degrees of fervor. Some of the assembled were young, and had lived most of their life with Roman influence. Others remembered the old days, when Jews were Jews, and the land was theirs by right. But history had revealed time and again that the Almighty always remembers the Children. So the Sanhedrin had little choice but to wait upon His holy will. They would not wait silently, however. Joachim, the newest scribe in the Temple, would be sent to take the pulse of the land.

And from where he was seated, on a cold, stone bench in a cold, stone inn on some backstreet of Bethlehem, that pulse didn’t feel too thrilled at the moment.

“Honored I am, Scribe Joachim. Truly, I am,” the innkeeper blustered, crushing his kippah to his chest. “But how does a simple man such as myself draw the interest of Jerusalem?”

“Be not troubled, Master Ovadya,” Joachim muttered absently, drawing a stoppered ink well and sanding jar from his leather scrip. He placed them on the table before him, aligning it just so, then added a length of parchment with which to take the innkeeper’s statement. “Now,” he said finally, “let’s talk about the census.”

“I participated, as any man that fears Yahweh would,” Ovadya said, worry wrinkling his features. “I’m accused of no man that I know, Scribe Joachim. Blessed Yahweh tells us---“

“I know what He tells us,” Joachim said, gently cutting the man off. He knew that this would be difficult. The people want the Romans here no more than the Sanhedrin, yet none would admit to such, even upon pain of death. “I’m not doubting your devotion. I simply want to know how the census affected your business.”

“Ah,” the innkeeper said, brightening remarkably. “For the tithe this year.”

No, not for the tithe, you talent-grubbing dimwit, Joachim thought. An increase to business might increase the innkeeper’s offering to the Temple, but more important to him would be the possibility of an indulgence of sorts. But he dare not even address those concerns aloud, not even into his beard. He simply waited expectantly. Let the innkeeper think what he wished.

“Well, there’s not much to tell, really,” Ovadya continued. “With the census came an influx of outer countrymen from every tribe, all obediently coming to sign the rolls and be numbered among the Tribes. In fact, from about the middle of Elul to the end of Marheshvan, I had not a single room to spare! I remember many a night having to turn folks away…” He paused, his face taking an odd shadow of regret.

“What is it?” Joachim asked, lifting his quill carefully from the parchment.

“Oh, nothing, master Scribe,” the innkeeper started, quickly forcing a cheery smile. “Just remembering a particular couple.”

“Indeed?” he said, interest piqued. This might be the very type of story Rabbi Feivel would want documented. “Please, tell me about them. No, no, no---there’s no need to be concerned,” he added hastily as the innkeeper started. “We wish to hear about all aspects of the census… even those we’d wish forgotten. You needn’t worry about reprisal or retribution. All you tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence.”

Not particularly soothed, the innkeeper spoke nonetheless. “There were these two---a man and his young bride---who came to my inn long about the middle of Tishri. The very beginning of Tabernacles, as I recall. He was a man of means---a carpenter---and she looked barely old enough to marry. But she was great with child. It tore my heart out to have to turn them away, but I had no room for them.

“Evening was coming on, and the night looked to be a cold one, so I let them shelter in my barn. I usually let the beggars sleep in there when they have no where else to go, but all I had that night were some animals. They were grateful---they even tried to pay me, which I refused, of course! So sad, those three having to spend the night out there…”

“Three?” Joachim asked, confused. He vaguely realized that he hadn’t written a single word of the innkeeper’s tale, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. He could always recount it later.

“Yes, three,” Ovadya nodded sadly, then brightened. “The young woman gave birth that night. A strapping baby boy! Though I didn’t know it until the next morning, when I saw the shepherds streaming in and out of my barn. The child never made a sound.”

“What were shepherd’s doing in your barn?”

“That’s just the thing… I never found out! They kept proclaiming ‘the angel told us!’ and ‘the messiah has come!’ The whole lot of them must have gone mad! But as I made my way through them, and beheld the sleeping baby in his mother’s arms… well, I guess a touch of madness befell me too. I couldn’t take my eyes off him! There was nothing special about him, not that I could see, but he was just… different.” His voice trailed off as he drifted absently in rememberance. Scrubbing away a sudden tear, he coughed roughly and added, “I don’t know how or why, but that boy is destined for greatness.”

Joachim sat silently for a moment, considering. Why was this story so special? Why was he drawn to it so? Picking up his forgotten quill---for no other reason than to start himself moving again---he asked quietly, “Do you remember their names?”

“Of course,” Ovadya grinned slightly. “Yosef and Miriam. And the baby was called Yeshua… though the shepherds were calling him Immanuel.”

That's really good Nash! I like the way the narrative voices, third person narrator and inn keeper blend together, and that the narrative is described through dialogue, rather than just "telling" us something. Well done.

[John Jude Farragut]

Wow. Awesome! I like the characters you created and the dialogue you give them. It's so real! The last line in the story is an excellent cue for a continuation. Please post more!