CHAPTER XIII
The Lake of Gennesaret, also called the Sea of Galilee, lies to the east of Nazareth, where the land makes a gradual descent, and where, among the hills and the fertile plains, pleasant villages are situated. The mountains of Naphtali, which in some places rise up steeply from its banks, were clothed with herbage in the days of David. But gradually, as stranger peoples cultivated them, fertility descended to the hills and valleys.
Near where the Jordan flows into the sea, on the left of the river under the sandy cliffs of Bethsaida, a small cedar forest, the seeds of which may have been blown thither from Lebanon, grows close down to the shore of the lake. A fisher-boat, rocking in the shade on the dark waters, was tied to one of the trees. The holes in it were stuffed with seaweed, the beams fastened with olive twigs. Two tall poles crossed were intended for the sail, which now lay spread out in the boat because the boatman was sleeping on it. The brown stuff, made of camel's hair, was the man's most valuable possession. On the water it caught the wind for him, on land it served as a cloak, if he slept it formed his bed.
The little elderly man's face was tickled by a cedar twig for so long that at length he awoke. He saw a young woman sitting on a rock. She was just going to hurry off with her round basket when the fisherman called loudly to her; "Well, Beka, daughter of Manasseh, whither are you taking your ivory white feet?"
"My feet are as brown as yours," replied Beka. "Stop mocking at me, Simon."
"How can I be mocking at you? You're a fisherman's child, like me. But your basket is too heavy for you."
"I am taking my father his dinner."
"Manasseh has had a good catch. Look, smoke is rising yonder behind the palms of Hium. He is cooking the fish. But I have eaten nothing since yesterday at the sixth hour."
"I can well believe that, Simon. The fish of the Lake of Gennesaret do not swim ready-cooked into the mouth. He who lies like a child in the cradle, and lets the gods provide——!"
Simon, with his legs apart in order to preserve the balance, stood up in the boat. "Beka," he said, "let the gods alone, they won't feed us; they eat the best that men have."
"Then hold to the one God who feeds the birds."
"And who delivers the Jews to the Romans. No; Jehovah won't help me either. So I'm forsaken and stand alone, a tottering reed."
"How can I help it if you stand alone?" asked the daughter of Manasseh. "Are there not daughters in Galilee who also stand alone?"
"Beka, I am glad that you speak so," replied the fisherman. "Why, how can Simon come to an understanding with anybody so long as he can't come to an understanding with himself? And fishing delights me not. Everything is a burden. Often when I lie here and look up into the blue sky, I think: If only a storm would come and drive me out on the open sea—into the wild, dark terror, then, Simon, you would lie there and extend your arms and say: Gods or God, do with me what you will."
"Don't talk like that, Simon. You must not jest with the Lord. There, take it."
And so saying, Beka took a magnificent bunch of grapes out of her basket, and handed it to him.
He took it, and by way of thanks said: "Beka, a year hence there'll be some one who will find in you that sweet experience which I vainly seek in the Prophets."
Whereupon she swiftly went her way towards the blue smoke that rose up behind the palms of Hium.
It was no wonder that the fisherman gazed after her for a long time. Although he cared little for the society of his fellow-creatures, because they were too shallow to sympathise with what occupied his thoughts, he felt a cheerless void when he was alone. He was misunderstood on earth, and forsaken by Heaven. He feared the elements, and the Scriptures did not satisfy him. Then the little man threw himself on his face, put his hand into the water of the lake, and sprinkled his brow with it. He seated himself on the bench of the boat in order to enjoy Beka's gift.
At the same moment the sand on the bank crackled, and a tall man, in a long brown cloak, and carrying a pilgrim's staff, came forward. His black beard fell almost to his waist, where a cord held the cloak together. His high forehead was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat; his eye was directed to the fisherman in the boat.
"Boatman, can you take three men across the lake?"
"The lake is wide," answered Simon, pointing to his fragile craft.
"They want to get to Magdala to-day."
"Then they can take the road by Bethsaida and Capernaum."
"They are tired," said the other. "They have travelled here from the desert, and by a wide détour through Nazareth, Cana, and Chorazin."
"Are you one of them?" asked Simon. "I ought to know you. Haven't we been fishing together at Hamath?"
"It may be that we know each other," was the somewhat roguish reply. In fact, they knew each other very well. Only Simon had become so strange.
Now he said: "If it will really be of service to you, I'll go gladly. But you see for yourself that my boat is bad. You are exhausted, my friend; you have travelled far while I have rested in the shade the whole day. I haven't deserved any fine food. May I offer you these grapes?"
The black-bearded man bent down, took the grapes, and vanished behind the cypresses.
He went to a shady spot where were two other men, both dressed in long, dark woollen garments. One was young and had delicate, almost feminine, features, and long hair. He lay sleeping, stretched out on the grass, his staff leaning against a rock near him. The other sat upright. We recognise Him. He is Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth. He has come hither from the wilderness, through Judaea and Galilee, where sympathising companions joined Him, a boatman, called James, and His former apprentice, John. With one hand He supported His brow, the other rested protectingly on the sleeping John's head. The long-bearded man came hurrying up, crying:
"Master, I have received some grapes for you."
He who was thus addressed pointed to the sleeping youth, lest He should be waked with loud talking. Then he said softly; "James! Shall I forgive the lie for the sake of the good you wish to do me? Who knows anything of me? The grapes were given to you."
"And I will eat them," returned James; "only permit me to eat them in the way in which they taste best to me."
"Do so."
"They taste best to me if I see you eat them."
Jesus took the gift, and said: "If we both satisfy ourselves, my dear James, what will there be for poor John? We are inured to fatigue; he is unaccustomed to it. I think that, of the three of us, it is John who ought to eat the grapes."
Since the long-bearded man offered no objection, John ate the grapes when he awoke. James announced that the fisherman was willing to take them, so they proceeded to the bank and got into the boat.
Simon looked at the tired strangers with sympathy, and vigorously plied his oars. The waves rippled and the rocking skiff glided over the broad expanse of waters which, on the south side, appeared endless. From the way in which the two men spoke to the Master, Simon thought to himself: "A rabbi, and they are his pupils." To the Master's questions regarding his life and trade, the fisherman gave respectful answers, taking care to remark that he had not to complain of overmuch good fortune, for often he fished all day and all night without catching anything, a success he could equally well obtain if he lay all day idle in his boat and let himself be rocked.
The Master asked him with a smile what he would say to fishing for men.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You've already three in your net," said James gaily.
"And God help me!" exclaimed the fisherman, "for we must pray to Him for help to-day. Look over there at the mountains of Hium. Just now it looks so beautifully blue that you would take it for a sunny sky. But the white edges! In an hour there'll be more of them."
"Hoist the sail, fisherman, and bale out," advised James. "I understand something of the business."
"Then you wouldn't say hoist the sail to-day," returned Simon.
"Listen," said James; "you know the river which brings the black sand and the little red fishes with the sharp heads down to this lake from the mountains of Golan. My cottage was by that river—you surely know it?"
"Isn't it there still?" asked Simon.
"It is there, but it is no longer mine," said James. "I have left it in order to follow the Master. Do you know Him, Simon?"
He had whispered the last words behind the back of the Master, who sat silent on the bench, and looked out over the calm waters. He seemed to be enjoying the rest; the breeze played softly with His hair, As a protection from the sun's rays John had fashioned a piece of cloth into a sort of turban and wound it round his head. He looked with amusement at the reflection of the head-dress in the water.
"For whom do you take Him?" asked James, pointing to Jesus.
And the fisherman answered, "For whom do you take that?" He pointed to the distance; he saw the storm. The mountains were enveloped in a grey mist which, pierced by the lightning, moved slowly downwards. Before them surged the foaming waters, the waves white-crested. A gust of wind struck the boat; the water began to beat heavily against it, so that it was tossed about like a piece of cork. Since Simon had not put up the sail there was now no need to reef it. Flakes of foam flew over the spars, the beams groaned. The clouds rushed on, driving the heaving, thundering waves before them. Soon the little boat was overtaken by darkness, which was only relieved by flashes of lightning. Long ago Simon had let go the rudder, and exclaimed, "Jehovah!" Thunder claps were the only answer. Then the fisherman fell on his face and groaned; "He gives no help; I thought as much."
James and John sat close to the Master and tried to rouse Him from the dream into which He had sunk.
"What do you want of Me?"
"Master!" exclaimed James, "you are so entirely with your Heavenly Father that you do not see how terrible is our doom."
"I thought as much," repeated Simon, almost weeping.
Jesus looked at him earnestly, and said: "If you keep on saying: I thought as much, well, then, so it must be. Think rather that God's angels are with you! And you, James! Have you forgotten the trust you had in God on dry land? Yesterday on the quiet eventide, when, well fed and cared for we sat in the inn at Chorazin, you spoke much of trust in God. Trust Him also in distress."
"O Master, I see help nowhere."
"Learn to believe without seeing."
As He spoke a flash of lightning blinded their eyes, and when after a time they were able to look up again, a wild terror seized them. The Master was not there. Now that they no longer saw Him, they shouted loudly; shrieked out His name. Only John remained calm, and looked out into the darkness, wrapt in some bewilderment or trance.
The foam flew into their faces and reduced them to utter confusion; they could only involuntarily hold tight to the beams of the swaying vessel. "Living or dying we will not leave Him," said James. But the Master had left them. It seemed as though He had never existed. They seized the rudder again, and, with the courage of men in the presence of death, wrestled with the storm which seemed disinclined to let its victims go. "God is with us!" exclaimed Simon quickly, and worked with all that remained of his strength. "God is with us!" exclaimed James, and planted the rudder firmly in the water. Only John did not stir. Bending over the side, he stared out into the wild, grey, whirling waters. He espied in the midst a circle of light in which appeared a figure that came nearer, and behold! Jesus was walking on the sea slowly towards the ship. The waves grew smooth under His feet, the sea grew light all over, the rock-towers of Hippos could be seen in the distance, with the evening sun sinking behind them. Jesus sat among His friends, and with kindly words chid them for their despondency.
"Oh, wonderful!" exclaimed James. "While you were with us, we were of little faith, and when we could not see you, we believed."
"'Twas your faith that helped," said James. Then, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder: "And what is My wrapt John dreaming of? I was not yonder in the mist; I was here with you, I tell you, friends: He is blind who sees without believing, and clear-sighted who believes without seeing."