Through My Eyes as a Boy

Through my eyes as a boy


Authors note

Let me state first, that I am not a particularly religious person, and that the belief in something or someone that cannot be seen is even harder still, especially in the world as we know it today.

I do however, believe in man and the strength and power that man and men have when the pursuit is good but understand that it is also unfortunately as strong when it is bad. I do prefer to believe in good rather than god and sometimes wonder if they might not be one and the same.

We are taught through the words of man in his bible, of the man they call Jesus. By all accounts, this man was someone very much ahead of his time and somewhat of a revolutionary. He seemed to have understood and questioned much more than most others were prepared to do and this brings into question why and how he came to do this. There are also many, what people call, miracles attributed to Jesus which are hard to disprove or prove, as are the miracles of today.

My story has come to me over a period of time and seems to have been formed through me in a way that I find as hard to believe as I do the absolute truth of such a person. Nevertheless I have continued to write, what I hope to be, a little something that people who read this might identify with or if possible, understand what a man such as Jesus might have lived and experienced to cause him to be and act as he did.

This story reflects only a very short period of a life that I cannot hope to know, but as I felt compelled to write it, I also feel compelled to make what there is, available to those who might wish to live this short period through and with me.


Shane Gregory Dale




Introduction


The man known as Jesus lived an intense and difficult period of his life just before he died, teaching others and bringing the word of his father, that who we call God, to the people around him. Such were these last few years that many who came into contact with such a man wanted so desperately to find a release from their lives seemingly so heavily burdened with suffering and despair under yet another conquering empire.
To this end, the word of his father brought hope to many and Jesus 's criticism of the customs of his people reflected what many were beginning to feel too but were afraid to say.
For his troubles Jesus found himself hounded by both the empire and his own people until finally, he was brought to trial and sentenced to die on the cross as would a common criminal.

This story begins from that very moment when he seems to most suffer......



Chapter One – Upon the cross


I see them all below me. They expect so much of me yet, all I want is a release from this pain, this torture.

“Oh father. Forgive them for they know not what they do!”

I shout out these words that have come into my head, and the pain is such that I lose my senses. Everything stops for a moment. I don't know how long it is but I rise again, driving the pain shooting through me until I scream.
I am lost there swimming in and out of the present to the past.
Then I am a boy again and I awake to Joseph, my father, already working hard below. My mother is Mary. Even after these years together she seems not to have changed. Her face is angelic, serene, while her will is iron. I see her through a man's eyes, but I am just a boy.
I am to be a carpenter, just like my father, shaping the wood into beauteous, living, wonderful things. I will take the naked rough soul placed before me and mould it, transform it into a thing of beauty.
I am a carpenter and my father is a god, whose skilled hands do all, that I so want to do. I stand beside him and act out each of the movements he makes. I have some wood before me. I too select a piece, turning it from one way to the other as Joseph does. I select another, then another until there is a pile, just like his.
He stands there smiling his wise smile while I await his judgement. He draws me to him then takes each piece from his pile and explains the characteristics of that wood that made it a part of his work and what part it would play when his work is finished.
I stand before my own pile. It is like our games. The games we play as children, when we select the friends we want to play alongside us. Each is chosen because he is favoured as a friend, not because of the role he can play.
My pile of wood is like that. The pieces are beautiful and are my friends, but they will never come together in the way my father's will.
I hear my friends outside, calling me.

“Be off with you,” my father commands and I skip forth into the heat of the morning already seeking the voices through the blinding brightness.

“Why are you so late?” they shout as one. “Were you taking time to once more suckle at your mother's breast?”

I chase after them with feigned anger into the already crowded market of our town. They dodge back and forth between the various stalls, together then apart, goading me along, until exhausted, we finally fall into a gasping heap below the great walls of the temple.
From the temple we hear the sounds of the merchants chanting out there wares, each vying for the little money the people have brought with them.
We pick ourselves up and wander around past the walls to the entrance. The steps before us lead to the extent of marble which is the floor of this great place. The stench of so many people assaults our senses while the hollow sounds that had come to us outside are a pandemonium within this closed place.
The running continues as each of us threads himself through the milling crowd. Our destination is at the front of the temple, to a place that is elevated above the rest. There have been many speakers who have stood before our people and spoken of great things from this place.
We take turns at speaking to the unheeding groups below us and pretend that we are commanding them. Some people turn and listen to us while others only laugh and tease us. I feel a sense of wonderment when it is my turn, and for a moment it seems that everyone is stopped and listens to me. That is just a fleeting moment and passes quickly.
We soon tire of our game and run scrambling beneath the stalls, looking for something, anything that might have fallen, that we could take with us as we leave.
There are five of us today. Sometimes there are more and other times less. We are all ten years old, going on eleven. We have played together ever since my father brought us here from the land where I was born.



Chapter Two – Discoveries


Today we are going to visit a special place. Ahaz told us about it yesterday. We walk the paths trodden flat by the hooves of the many goats, across low hills white and dry in the harsh hot sunlight, the sharp stones tearing relentlessly against the hardened soles of our sandals.
Then there is another trail, obviously not often travelled as the still growing grass along its route testifies.
We are quieter now, almost hushed in an effort to move as stealthily as possible through the canopy of date palms and olive trees.
We come across a narrow opening in the rock wall before us. We wait a little, watching listening, ready to run if need be, but there is hardly a sound.
Slowly we press ourselves through the gap and along the passage beyond. The dust we stir up begins to cling to our clothes in the close heat there, making us too, smell like the mules and goats that have passed before us.
On the other side, the sun beats relentlessly upon us as a gusting dry wind whips the sand about our feet. Before us lie two paths and Ahaz eagerly heads to the one on the right.
The path leads us down a winding route amongst boulders and short grasses. Although tired from the hot sun and the effort of our excursion, this is soon forgotten as we sight some far off dwellings below.
We quicken our pace excitedly paying no heed to Ahaz's quiet pleadings. We almost rush directly into the small hamlet but see some men leaving one of the huts. We quickly fall behind some rocks and wait for Johab, the slowest, to catch up.
It doesn't take long before these men pass us, talking in low voices, seeming not to notice us.
Ahaz finally gets up and motions us to follow. We move off the path and climb round the rocks to the back of the first hut.
Through the flapping gossamer in front of the open door, we can faintly see what appears to be a woman. She is dancing to some unheard music, her movements as delicate and light as I have ever seen before.
We all watch, transfixed as she swings first one way, then another. It is hypnotic and none of us wants to turn away. She stops suddenly and seems to look directly at us.
We duck down behind our cover in frightened horror expecting the shout of discovery. An eternity passes until I finally take the courage to look again.
She is gone, so I look around in panic to see if she is coming to find us. I call the others who too begin searching.
I see a figure now through the billowing curtain, but it isn't her. It is a heavy set figure who moves like a merchant, like one who has not carried much.
Where is she we wonder looking from one to the other? The man moves in and out of our view but she remains elusively hidden.
Once again we look about us already tiring of our game.
The sharp crack of a shutter closing draws our attention back to the house. The man is gone too and the interior of the house is totally dark, the only light now coming from the open doorway and its gossamer veil.
Then her naked form is silhouetted against the gossamer, drawing gasps from each of us as she steps back into the house, closing the door behind her.

“Who is she?” asks Eliahba.

“What is she doing?” Benaiah asks next.

None of us have the answer. It seems that there will be no more fun here today so we slowly make our way back to where we had come.
The sun is past its zenith and we each have chores to do, so we go as quickly as we can to our homes.
I arrive home to find my mother is angry today. She cannot buy the things we need because the caravans are delayed once more. She sends me to talk to some weary travellers who have just arrived to get news of the roads leading to our city.
Dusk is drawing in as I approach the market place again. With the cooling of the day into night, fires are lit while people gather their robes about them as they settle to partake of their final meal for the day.
I see the travellers far off to one side already bedded down to rest. Not wanting to disturb them, I instead move to sit at the feet of an old Rabbi, just as some of the other boys have done.
He speaks to us of his travels, of the peoples he has seen and of their strange customs. We listen in awe as he gesticulates this way and that, singing yet crying, laughing then serious.
'The men are savages he says of one. 'The women are common and of the earth' he says of another. 'Tall idols are scattered everywhere' he says of yet another people and we all cry out in dismay at such sacrilege. But he is tiring fast so our group breaks up until finally I am alone with him.

“When you cross the highest mountains, the hottest deserts and the deepest rivers, do not despair. These will be but pebbles in your sandals compared to what lies ahead.” he says looking directly at me.

“But I am to remain here with my father. That, that you say is not for me,” I reply confidently.

“No my child. You are destined to be more than a craftsman like your father. You will see many Rabbis like me, speaking to you in different tongues.”

“How do you know my father?” I ask puzzled.

“Through you my child. He is great and wise, and so shall you be. I am tired now. Go in peace.”

“Go in peace father,” I reply in wonderment.

“How could this Rabbi know my father? How could he know me?” I ask myself. He is here but a short time and I myself have only seen him this once.

I walk slowly back home gathering water for my mother, thinking about the Rabbi's words and those of the few travellers I spoke to in the market.
My mother is calmer as I tell her about the Romans and their new taxes slowing everybody down.

“Prices are going to be much higher,” she says. “We will have to barter well these coming days.”

I seek out my father who is resting. He bids me to join him, the weariness of his day already lifting from his brow. He begins talking to me about his work, his customers, then about the new roman taxes, confirming what I learnt in the market.

“Father,” I ask, “What is that place amongst the rocks along that path rarely travelled, accessed through the fissure in the rock face?”

My father looks at me and I sense the question in his heart, and his careful consideration of what I ask.

“My son,” he says finally. “We are a people of exacting standards. We have laws that must be obeyed, yet there are many of us who have needs that contradict these laws. Such is the wisdom of our people, that laws can be kept and needs be met as long as the two are kept as far apart as possible. It is that place where men go to, to satisfy those needs that their wives can not.”

I think this through as I know my father expects me to.

“Father. I'm not sure what this 'need' is that you speak of?”

“If you know of this place, then I guess you must have been there. Is this right?”

“Yes my father,” I reply without shame, for I have never felt shame before my father.

“And you have seen men and women coming together, Is this right?”

“This too is right, my father.”

“And the woman?” He looks at me with an enquiring look. “You feel a stirring when you look at them? Your pulse quickens and you think silly thoughts?”

I pause before speaking. “My father is truly wise,” I say.

“I was a boy once,” he says.

“Father. Why is it wrong to feel these things when the woman is not your wife?”

“It is not wrong to feel. It is wrong to act. Our laws state that we must have only one wife and that our children should come only of that union.”

“But our people come of Abraham who had two wives,” I remind him.

“Only because his wife could not bear children. If not for her goodness, our race would not have been.”

I am left now with these questions of what is right and what is wrong. My father, for all his great strength, is weary now and I see from his tone that it is time for me to think through what we have spoken about. And so I retire.



Chapter Three - Future


I rise with the sun and attend to my mother's bidding. Today is the busiest market day of the week and I must keep alert. My mother needs a number of different things, and while my father is constantly busy, his work often pays very little so we must make every hard earned shekel count.
My friends and I have no time to play today as each of us is busy helping our families.
Being alone, without them, in the great temple is a denigrating experience. The noise is even more deafening and the stalls seem to have doubled in size and quantity.
I look at this place of worship and wonder how these people can do what they do to such hallowed ground. I want to shout out and scream at them, but I am merely a boy, and what can a boy do in a man's world.
Instead, I begin moving through the stalls and watch the haggling, trying my hand every now and then, just to test the waters.
The new Roman taxes have made it hard for everyone and I soon see that my mother's wishes will be difficult to meet.
Some men are gathered round the place where leavened bread is prepared as they wait. Another well travelled Rabbi is there recounting yet other tales of other places, while taking a small share of each of the breads placed before the men.
He is in the midst of what appears to be a long and detailed story, when he stops abruptly and looks directly at me.

“You are truly the son of your father,” he says after some delay. “I know for I have seen your father and he is in me.”

I am as surprised at this Rabbi's declaration as I was at the others. He is new here and my father has no time for such markets. They can not have met.
I thank him none-the-less and move to leave. There is something however that holds me there as I look deeply into the Rabbi's eyes and sense a deep wisdom come over me. It is as if the ages of man is coursing through my mind, and for a moment I am dizzy, ready to collapse. My eyes flutter, then open to a vast emptiness, a desert, an oasis, both as one. As quickly as my eyes open my eyes close. A rapid blink and the market is back but the Rabbi has gone.
I am frightened but strangely, not afraid.
There are many people looking up at me, each has some problem. Some appear to be blind, deformed, crippled, even crazy, all crying quietly for help and I, in despair, unable to understand or grasp what has become of me, reach up to cover my ears and eyes, yet it is strange to me, for I have become bearded, my hair is long and the young tenderness of my skin is tougher, rougher, aged.
I look down at these old robes, so long and worn, to the sandals that cover great feet, to similar men beside me, gently holding these people back.
A bright light hits my eyes and I blink them shut. For a moment I am as if suspended in nothingness and other voices pound about my head.
I open my eyes, and all is quieted. The people are gone and the many voices too, while the Rabbi continues to look at me, talking, not to me or to anyone in particular, but as if nothing has happened.
I am aware of nothing new. Around me things are as they were. The men do not stare. My clothes are as they have always been my face still clear of the signs of men while my sandals, although similar, cover much smaller feet.
The Rabbi rises to leave and gathers what he needs to him, never once taking his eyes from mine.

“I believe that you are ready and have seen what you are to become,” he says so that only I can hear. “Your life as a boy will soon end but what you live now will make you that man you are to become.”

He bows his head, turns and leaves, his robes dragging lifelessly behind him.
I must continue with my mother's work but I cannot forget what happened and I wander from stall to stall, unconsciously gathering all that she needs.
She scolds me for I have brought so little and spent so much. As punishment I must forage for those things I failed to buy. Then, as night falls and the cold collects about us, I call to my father for help in understanding what has so recently passed.

“You are not of this world,” he says. “You are born of the father and your life with us is to be short. This I have been told.”


Chapter Four - Gifts


Today we rest. My friends and I have no chores beyond our usual water gathering o we run from our homes to the banks of the great river.
We flit in and out of the olive and date trees, hunt below the palms for fallen delights. We drink of the fresh water and the life giving rays of the sun. It is getting hotter and we seek shelter in the shade of these wonderful monsters.
It is Johab who sees it, for he is the slowest and wanders as if in a dream, with his head in the clouds, so it is this that takes his eyes to the lovely bird up high.
It seems to be hurt as it hobbles along the branch in one direction then another. The temptation is too great and the boys in us rush to collect as many stones as possible to throw at the unfortunate creature.
We take turns, each one of us dancing with joy as our stones come closer, bouncing off branches, the trunk, until finally, one, two, three stones hit the bird and it plummets to the ground, dead. We celebrate, dance about, poking at the lifeless corpse.
Finally we crouch down and look more closely, each one of us touching the quickly cooling body.
Eliahba is the most silent among us and there is a strange sadness about him.

“There is a nest up there,” he says, so quietly that we hardly hear him. “Listen to those hungry babies.”

We all listen, as the sounds of pleading baby birds begin to bombard us.

“How will they survive?” Ahaz asks.

“She wasn't hurt,” Johab admits. “She was protecting her babies.

We continue looking at the lifeless creature, thinking about what we have done. We are only boys and sometimes things happen.

Then something inside me makes me speak. “It is wrong to take a life, any life. We can never forget that, we must always work towards keeping life- my father commands it.

They all look at me, wondering no doubt, where my father is to give such commandments.
I stoop to pick up the little bird and I cover it with my hands as they watch me. I expect them to laugh and tease me. Instead they remain solemn, waiting for what is to come, for they know me as I know not myself.
My hands open as if, by someone else. That cruelly broken creature is now whole and stirs until it awakes, testing its wings before surveying each of us and flying back to the tree above.
They come to me, my friends, and tap me lightly on the shoulder, embrace me a little but say nothing as we gather our things and return home.


Chapter Five - Justice


I am alone today. Each of my friends has something different to do so I have decided to visit the market again, to see what produce there is and the prices the traders charge. It is more and more important that I do this so my mother can trust me more.
There is much excitement here, more than most days. There is a large group of men and older women who are dragging another, quite beautiful woman between them.
I follow as they take her to the square, where she is thrown to the ground. She looks up at them and there is fear in her eyes. But there is defiance there too as she looks from one to one. Shortly her gaze focuses on me and her eyes plead. A deep, deep sense of pity comes over me and I move as if to be with her, except I am pushed aside.

“There are those of you who do as I have done,” she shouts out, but nobody listens.

They have all gathered small and large piles of stones around them and their voices rise in a crescendo, then, as if as one, they begin to hurl their stones at the woman, who strikes up her hands and arms and legs in useless protection as her clothes and body are torn into useless shreds.

“And so shall fall all who are adulterers,” a louder voice chants, and great cheering follows.

I am last to leave, sickened and saddened by what is left. I hope her death was quick and that she finds forgiveness in that other world. But who will forgive those who do this? Isn't the first rule we learn - “Thou shalt not kill”?

My father looks at me as I arrive home and is immediately saddened by my face and the tears that stream from my eyes.

“Are you unwell?” he asks me.

“It is not an illness my father,” I reply.

“Then what troubles you?” he asks now.

“I don't understand. I believe in our laws. I respect our people, but I do not understand and I am sad because of this”.

My father looks puzzled. “Of what do you speak my son?”

“Of the market today. We are taught that killing is wrong, yet a woman is stoned by our people until she is dead.” I reply to my father angrily, but not so angry as to hurt him, but angry enough for him to see my pain.

We are silent as I wipe the tears from my cheeks. My father looks down at me and I can see that great depth of wisdom that is his, move through his mind.

“You understand that she did something against our rules and must be punished for that, don't you?” he says finally.

“Yes I understand that, but what punishment is this that kills? Did she kill another?”

“No my son. She was procreating with a man who was not her husband.”

“But you said that there are women who are permitted to do this,” I say to my father, now more puzzled than before.

“Yes my son, there are such women, but she was not one of them and she dishonoured her husband and her family.” My father stops and waits.

I remember the woman now and remember her husband and her family.

“But her husband is already dishonoured. He drinks of the wine and is made a fool and he does foolish things. Her family is all lazy and live without a home or food and beg from everyone,” I tell my father.

“It is not wrong to be poor, to beg when there is nothing. There is no law against such things, and it is wrong of us to judge these things this way,” my father scolds lightly.

“Is stealing wrong? My father. Is cheating? Beating others? Is not killing wrong, even in self-defence?”

“All these things you mention are against our laws,” my father replies, a thoughtful look playing across his face.

“Then what right does Aaron have who steals from beggar's bowls? Ishmael who steals camels? Johaab who beats his own mother and children? What right does Thomas have to cheat the people who borrow money from him? Yet all of these were the first to cast their stones. And even Magda, she who services men, cast her stone. What right do they have to judge?”

My father comes and holds me to him, and strokes my head. I ask so many questions and he in his wisdom, answers them. But this question is one I must answer myself. This I sense very strongly through his touch.

Chapter Six - Hunger


My life with these people is a strange one. I live with them and feel as one with them, yet, I feel different. I am learning the ways of my people, I was born one of them I am told, but there are many things that do not seem right.
A man who is harmed by another can inflict the same harm in return. Are they not both criminals then? Shouldn't he who harms be shown the error of his ways? Shouldn't he who is harmed not learn the power of understanding and forgiveness so that he might teach he who harmed him and all those others who wish harm on others?
But no. They all seem to hunger more and more for better things, even when they are fully satisfied.
I once gave a hungry man half my meal one day when my mother and I travelled to a neighbouring village. My mother smiled her approval, but a man next to us who didn't see her smile began to scold me.

“Have you no shame boy? Why do you dishonour your father and his hard work by giving that man the food you need?”

“But he is hungry,” I reply.

“Did he pay you?” the man asks.

“No,” I reply.

“Did he work for it or did you a service?” he asks again.

“No,” I reply once more.

“Then he has no right to your food.” he states simply.

I look at him and study his face. His look is triumphant and there is confidence in him, that he understands these simple laws of our people. But as I look into him, I see that confidence wane, replaced by doubt, until his eyes leave mine.

“How can a man who has no work, who cannot work, live and eat and be warm if our laws are so strict?”

“He must find a way,” he answers less surely.

“Should we not share what we have when we have plenty or especially, when we have too much?”

His confidence returns. “We must keep what we cannot use for the future. We work hard now so that we will never have to beg, go hungry or be cold.” The triumph is on the verge of returning.

“While those around us suffer and die?”

“They will die anyway. We will all die.” He is beginning to tire of this discussion.

“And what is enough that is not too much? You can never know your future. You may walk from here and fall dead to the earth, right now. What then of your plenty? What then of those who suffer and die so that you may have plenty, more than you will ever need?”

“It is my right.” he defends.

“It is our duty to help others, to share our good fortune with others so that we all might live without suffering.”

I turn from him and he is quiet.

When we left that place, the hungry man thanked me and moved on, but the angry man just sat there, staring into nothing while tears streamed slowly down his cheeks. I wiped at my own tears, for I too was crying for him.

Chapter Seven - Salvation

I, too, cry from where I hang on this cross, looking down on those few who are below me. We three approach the hour that is our end, when our earthly bodies will be no more than an empty vessel while my soul will rise to be with my father.
The pain is much less now. The physical pain that is, those holes in my hands, those lashings about my feet and that gash in my side have become a throbbing reminder of my earthly state.
But that pain that touched me so many times when I was young, when I felt the injustice of my people against each other, still tears into me, more deeply even, than the centurion's lance.
Do I give myself so that they may be saved? Is my life nothing? There are so few of them who weep yet so many who sought my touch.

“I bless each of you who have found the courage and strength to be here, and forgive all of you who have yet to believe. I give of myself in your name so that you shall be saved.” I say this as a final release, as I step from this shell, as I go.