Cross Bearer

Sanhedrin: The highest Jewish council and court of justice during biblical times, especially in Jerusalem. It handled religious, legal, and some civil matters. It consists of Pharisees, Sadducees, Scribes and High Priests.

Torah: The first five books of the Hebrew Bible, also known as the Pentateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy).

~~~

Your father always tells you that men never cry. Men ought to be strong, he would say, and no matter what happens, you’re not supposed to be seen crying. For the past seventeen years of your life, you have lived by that rule. You never cried no matter how badly people treated you; no matter how worse things got, even when your parents didn’t understand you, a teardrop never fell from your eyes.

Somehow you have always been able to suppress the tears, build a powerful wall around your emotions. And you have gotten very used to it.

But right now, those walls — which you have built around your emotions to prevent them from letting loose — seem to be crashing really fast, and no matter how hard you try, you couldn’t stop it.

It started as a whimper, then it morphed into a sniff. Your eyes itched, and you frowned. You squeezed your eyelids together, trying to hold the river of tears from breaking free. But it was stronger than you; it flowed unrestricted out of your eyes. At first, you tried to control it, but in the end, you gave in; you let it go. Although you don’t want to admit it, you were greatly relieved. You felt as if a significant burden was being emptied from your eyes, as if all the pain you had been holding in all your life was being freed by simply crying.

What made you cry?

*****

Your parents were members of the Sanhedrin; your father was a Sadducee, precisely. You ignored their many warnings concerning Yeshua, the carpenter’s son. They warned you about the consequences of being seen too close to him. They told you that if the ‘authorities’ discovered that a member of the Sanhedrin was following Yeshua, that member would be immediately excommunicated from the synagogue. Someone of such status as your family shouldn’t even be seen mingling with him. What would people say?

Your parents even went as far as forbidding you from leaving the house. But no matter what they did, you never listened. You remained unconvinced.

Yesterday, when you had just arrived home from one of Yeshua’s teachings, your father had dragged you by the ear — like one would a stubborn goat by the horn — into your room and closed the door behind him.

“You will not kill me,” he said in a low, angry, trembling voice. “How many times have I told you never to leave this house and go near that man? How can you be so rebellious? Even to your family. How can you place that man above your own family? You listen to his advice, you do whatever he preaches without even questioning. I’m sure you’d prefer that man as your father if given a choice”

You opened your mouth to protest, but you changed your mind and closed it.

“That man is evil, he’s just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ve told you this several times, but you’re always wise in your own eyes. You are just a little boy. I am your father, and if I tell you ‘this is wrong,’ I know what I am saying and I know why I said it. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Dad, listen to me. You don’t know that man. He’s not who you think he is…” You wanted to prove your point but he cut you off.

“Shut up! I know you won’t listen to me. I know you hate me, you hate your family!” He turned and started walking towards the door. You made to follow him, to explain yourself, but he was faster than you. He slammed the door in your face and you heard the clink of the iron padlock shutting into its place.

*****

The first time you were seen around Yeshua was on Sabbath day.

After the usual boring routine of teaching and prayer and worship, you had secretly followed Yeshua and his disciples to the small grainfield behind the temple to pluck corn. You knew your mother would soon start walking around the temple, calling your name at the top of her lungs, but you didn’t care. You would show up when you’re ready.

He was telling some Pharisees that he was the Lord of the Sabbath and that he was greater than the temple, which consequently gave him the right to pluck the corn. You didn’t know what made you look up, but when you did, your eyes met with that of the high priest gazing down at only you through a window on the highest floor. You couldn’t decipher the emotion that was on his face. Anger? Hatred? Disappointment?

The next day, he visited your father and told him what you had done and what would happen to him if he didn’t take full responsibility for you. When he left, your father had screamed at you and flogged you like a small child, ignoring your mother’s pleadings to ‘stop!’

*****

You pulled and pushed at the door, walked back slowly and ran into it with all your strength, sat on a chair to brace yourself while you hit it with the heel of your feet, but the door wouldn’t budge. Then you gave up.

You sat with your back resting on the door, thinking about how long you would remain in this room. The last time your father did this to you was when you were ten years old; you had skipped Torah classes for a week without him knowing it; you left the house but never reached the synagogue. He had locked you here for two days, after which you came out limp and crying. “Clean your tears, men don’t cry,” he had told you, and you spent the rest of the day wondering whether you were a man or a boy. Now that you’re older, will he keep you here longer? Four days, perhaps? Your heart melted at the thought.

Your stomach grumbled again, reminding you that you ate nothing before escaping this house to the mountain where Yeshua preached about the kingdom of God and performed a lot of miracles — miracles you were still struggling to believe.

As you walked home in the afternoon, you thought of telling your father about these miracles, particularly the one where he had gotten rid of a stubborn demon as easily as one would flick a finger. The man processed was the popular Mister Shimon. High priests and prophets and even witches have tried unsuccessfully to chase out this demon. You had thought that maybe telling your father about this miracle would convince him to change his mind about this man. But he didn’t give you a chance, did he?

You dipped your hand into your left pocket and pulled out the carved wooden dove which one of Yeshua’s disciples gave you. It looked like it was flying; its wings stretched wide apart from each other and its claws pointed forwards. He said it signified the Holy Spirit of God and you should keep it as a symbol of your friendship. His name was Bartholomew; he was a carpenter; you have developed a powerful bond with him since you started moving around Yeshua and listening to his mysterious but interesting teachings.

You gripped the wooden dove tightly before standing up and placing it into a box where you kept special items. The box contained your first Torah scripts, your late grandmother’s amulet, a golden oyster shell you found at the seashore and other things. You locked the box and hid the key under your bed. Your father had once told you to throw the box away because ‘it’s little girls that keep random rubbish stuff like that.’

You hated the way your father tried to control every single aspect of your life; tried to groom you into the perfect image of a son he imagined. Perhaps it was because you are his only child — or his only son — you didn’t know. He corrected every single thing you did, told you this wasn’t how it should be done and this was how it should be done. And whenever you made a little mistake, you were severely punished. You had always listened to him, suppressing every urge to disobey him and do what you liked, trying your best to be perfect, until you became sixteen and decided that enough was enough.

Your father wanted you to become a scribe. Everything he had done for you since you were born had just been his way of preparing you. So when you started omitting Torah lessons occasionally and receive negative reports from your teacher, he started losing his mind, fearing that everything he had carefully tried to build is shattering quickly, he started having this strange notion that you hated him and wanted to see his downfall. He told you that if you continued with what you were doing, your future would be ruined.

But you knew your father. You knew he did not really care about you or your future. He only cared about himself, his reputation, what people thought about him. He had attained his wealth through years of hard work and discipline. It was this wealth that gained him his position in the Sanhedrin. He had gotten everything he had in his life through hard work, discipline and determination. He wanted you to live by this legacy, but your recent waywardness would eventually lead to the destruction of everything he had painstakingly built over the years.

Tomorrow, Yeshua would leave the mountain. Tomorrow might be the last time you will be seeing him, so you have to be there. But now that your father has locked you up, it seemed today would be your last time.

*****

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you did was check the door. Your father hadn’t unlocked it, and you tried calming yourself by telling yourself that it would only be two days.

But your mother came in the afternoon to unlock the door. She said that she had opened the door only because she thought you might be hungry. You would have to go back to the room before your father returns because he is the head of the home and she has no right to interfere with his decisions.

You sat at the kitchen table and watch her as she opened a basket and placed six little loaves of bread into your a bowl; she opened another smaller basket and transferred a handful of boiled fishes into another bowl then poured some milk into a cup before placing them in front of you.

Like a hungry wolf, you devoured the food within minutes. You asked for more, and she gave you three loaves with fewer fish and less milk. She told you to be quick because your father would be around any moment soon. Then she walked out of the kitchen. You watched her with the corner of your eye till she was out of sight, listened carefully until you heard the door of her room slam shut. Then you sprang to your feet, grabbed the bag that was hanging on the door handle and transferred the food into it. You rushed to the baskets and added more bread and more fish, took a shawl from your room and placed it over your head so that people won’t see your face.

Then you sneakingly left the house without telling your mother.

*****

Jesus had just multiplied your bread and fishes into thousands!

‘How did he do it?’ you have asked yourself repeatedly. This minute you were staring at the broken pieces of bread in the basket, the next minute the basket was already full, and before you knew it, the disciples started looking for more baskets to contain the multiplying bread.

“How did he do it?” You asked yourself again. Then reminded yourself again that he was the Son of God and the Son of God could do anything. Yet you couldn’t still believe it.

A fatal realization dawned on you; if he was the Son of God, that would mean you had spent the past year of your life moving around and talking to the person who would save the world? That would mean all these days you have been speaking to the person who created you, who created the world! It was all too big to comprehend.

You followed the Son of God to the seashore, and right now you’re standing in front of the boat he and his disciples will soon depart in. It felt like saying goodbye forever.

“I will miss you,” you said to him.

“I’ll be back,” he replied, holding your chin. You fought the urge to burst into tears.

He climbed into the boat to join the disciples that were waiting for him. You were about to turn to leave when he called your name.

“You have been a strong boy so far,” he said. “You have done what many people in your position would not dare to do. You have risked the safety of your home, the love of your father, your family’s reputation, just to follow me.” You blushed. “But I want you to know that he who follows me must pay the price; he must bear the cross of following me. Today, you are going to pay a price, and I want you to remain strong.”

Silence.

“Alright!” he said abruptly, his tone suddenly shifting from serious to lighthearted. “Goodbye!” He said, waving at you.

You waved back until the boat disappeared from your sight.

What did he mean by ‘pay the price’? You frowned, cracked your brain, thinking of what might happen before the end of today.

It was already getting dark. Your father would have reached home and be waiting for you by now.

*****

As you walked along the narrow footpath that led to your home, you saw the high priest, together with his two assistants following behind him. The high priest carried himself with great pride, walking in opposite direction towards you. They must have visited your father, you thought.

You greeted him, but he didn’t reply; he just stared at you with disgust, like something the owner should be ashamed of. You sensed something had gone awfully wrong. When he passed, you started running towards your home.

You slowed down when you reached the front of your house. A small wood fire had been set, which illuminated the surroundings. You heard the voices of your father and your mother from inside the house. Your father’s voice was higher than that of your mother. Were they arguing?

Your father suddenly emerged from the front door, holding the box where you kept your special collection of items. He was walking fast, angry, muttering some words you couldn’t hear. Your mother soon emerged from the door too, walking after him, trying to stop him. He was walking towards the fire. Was he going to burn the box?!

When he almost reached the fire, he stopped. He had seen you. His eyes were blood red. Your mother soon caught up with him. She snatched the box from his hand, “please forgive him,” she pleaded, squeezing the box to her chest as tight as she could with her tiny arm. He collected the box from her, then picked up the axe that was lying beside the fire and started hitting it on the box. You ran forward to stop him, but he smacked you across the face with the back of his left hand. You recoiled.

You watched him as he destroyed your precious box. Each crunching sound ripped your heart further apart. When you recovered from the slap, you moved forward again, trying to stop him. You won’t just stand there and watch him destroy the most precious thing you have. But before you even got close enough to him. He smacked you again on the same side of the face. Harder. The world turned white before regaining its normal color. Your neck involuntarily vibrated, blood spilled out of your mouth and you felt like you had lost five teeth. You touched your cheek and felt the imprint left by your father’s fingers.

You fought back tears.

Your father soon successfully shattered the box. Its contents were all over the floor. Your mother didn’t bother to stop him again, neither did you; your father was at his highest level of anger and at this stage he could kill a lion with his bare hands.

One by one, he dropped all your precious items into the fire; your first Torah scripts, your grandmother’s amulet, the golden oyster shell… the wooden dove!

You ran towards him screaming, “NO!” Not the dove. He can burn every other thing but not the dove. Yes, you had felt like a part of you was being burnt off when he threw those materials into the fire, but throwing the dove would mean burning every part of you. He waited for you to reach him before grabbing you by the neck–sleeve and throwing you off like a piece of dry leaf. Before you stood up from the ground, he had already dropped the dove into the fire.

And that was how you burst into tears.

Your father walked into the house shouting that he had disowned you as a son and that he didn’t want to see you in his house again. The begging of your mother fell on deaf ears.

You sat out there on the ground, in the cold, and watched as the colour of the dove slowly transformed from brown to black. And from black to charcoal. And from charcoal to ash. You cried your eyes out.

Your mother finally came out of the house holding the bag that contained your clothes. She told you to stand up and follow her. You were going to one of her friends’ house to stay for a while till your father’s anger cooled down; till he came to his right senses and realise he cannot disown his only child.

When you asked what happened, she said, “The high priest came to the house and temporarily removed your father from his rank in the Sanhedrin as a punishment for not being able to properly look over you. But I know it was more than that; it was because you were always following Yeshua, you were always there whenever he spoke badly of the Pharisees and Sadducees and Scribes, you were always there when he disgraced them publicly. He’s afraid that if you continue like that, other people in the Sanhedrin would follow your example and start following him. For the past three days, he had seen you on the mountain with Yeshua,” she sighed. “You shouldn’t have even left this house in the first place. Our family will be expelled from the synagogue if you don’t stop.”

Your tears were drying up. You were beginning to regret your obsession with this man, Yeshua. You stared to wonder whether following him was worth your family or your father’s status.

His words echoed in your mind: ‘he who follows me must pay the price.’

~~~

*Author’s Note:*

Hello there! 👋

I hope you enjoyed reading this story and I hope you’ve been blessed by it.

What final decision do you think the main character eventually made? Did he gave up on Yeshua and started being a good boy to his father or did he remained stubborn?

The idea for this story first came through a prompt from a writing contest. I intended to join the contest but I couldn’t meet the deadline 🙂.

This would be my first time posting here and this is the first short story I’ve written and published. 😁

Please do well to support me with your likes and follows ☺️. Also tell me in the comments; what are your thoughts? What do you think feels off in the story? Where would you like me to improve? I would like to hear from you. I’m very open to constructive criticism 😌. Don’t forget to share! 

Until next time, rock on! 💚

© Kayode Olajide.