Just Another Poor Boy

Side 2, Track 5

8:51 AM

This is another in a series of stories drawn from the 1975 Chris de Burgh album, Spanish Train And Other Stories. I have endeavoured to be faithful to the spirit of the stories and in some cases include lyrics relevant to tell the tale. As with any fiction, there will also be cases where some license is taken to create and complete a story line.

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I don't know if the young boy had a plan for his future but I am sure he never considered the possibility of being killed before his time.

His father and I often worked together on carpentry projects - shared tools and helped each other transport heavier objects that someone had commissioned. This is how I gradually got to know Yeshua, Son of Joseph of Nazareth.

He was just like many young boys living in Palestine but had little desire to take on his father's trade. More interested in trying to make life better for himself and others, he was curious about the world around him and did everything he could to learn about astrology, alchemy, nature, the heavens, and medicine. He was also extraordinary in his talents which I put down to his love of science.

Like many other boys his age he could also be spiteful as I witnessed one day while walking through the streets and saw him running ahead of me.

"Hey, watch out!" he yelled at a boy who tried to rush by him in the crowded area around the market. Yeshua spun around as they collided and yelled, "You'll never get where you were headed with such haste!"

With that, the unfortunate boy took a few more steps then fell to the ground. Yeshua had been at the market and was carrying spice, herbs, and medicine as he made his way home. Yeshua stopped and looked briefly at the boy and then hurried on his way. Many thought the boy was struck dead by Yeshua but were afraid to say so. Others thought a weak heart at the centre of his vitality killed the boy as he ran. Yeshua was viewed with suspicion by those who witnessed the event and in the small community there was much talk about the incident. My thought was that some of those medicinal herbs in Yeshua's satchel had found a way into the boy and killed him on the spot. I forever kept those thoughts to myself lest more gossip tainted his reputation even further.

Yeshua still went to his father's workshop and learned some of the basics of the trade but he also visited the stone mason's regularly to learn how to cleave stones and use them in buildings. Realizing he would never get his full attention, Joseph saw a different future for his son.

"He will never take up our trade," he said to me one day. "He has unique gifts and I know he will find a special place in the years to come so I have found him a teacher who is a faithful friend as well. He must learn his letters and learn about philosophy and history and the world."

There was no question about the boy and his thirst for knowledge. At the age of twelve he was with his parents when they joined others on a family pilgrimage to Jerusalem. He became separated from the group and when they finally found him, he was engaged in deep discussion with the teachers at the Temple who were taken aback by the boy's eagerness to learn and understand.

By the time he was about fifteen years of age, I saw little of the young man who was becoming wise beyond his years, but who otherwise would never have stood out in a crowd. Much of what I learned came to me from his father and from travelers coming from Sepphoris, a town known for its art, culture, and as a place for learning. It was also a place where the peasantry was oppressed by the elites and priestly class.

The very same men Yeshua had gone to seek out as his teachers.

"He does not like what he sees among the people," one traveler told me. "And he is searching for answers to raise them up without offending others." Another noted that, "He does not work, but his many friends and followers from the craftspeople and merchants in the town ensure he has a roof over his head and food to eat. In exchange he teaches and shares his philosophy.

"What is the latest on your boy?" I asked his father one day after having heard no news in some time.

"He is no longer a boy, but a young man now and I hear little of him. A farmer returning from Sepphoris said he has left the town and is travelling far."

As I started to gather more stories it was clear Yeshua was wandering in search of more enlightenment. One story came from a stranger who spoke with awe of a man by the side of the road in the late evening wrapped tightly in a burnoose with the hood drawn around his head for warmth. When the stranger stopped to make sure the man was alright, he immediately felt the calm about him despite the cool air and the possible danger in stopping there.

"I myself have wandered for some time now and never met anyone quite like him. He shares his knowledge freely and though poor and with little to call his own, asked after my welfare and offered me something to eat from the meagre victuals he had in his leather purse. I have promised to join him in Jerusalem to speak out against the oppression we experience from the Romans."

"Forgive me, I did not get your name," I asked as he was leaving.

"Simon," he said. "I will be back this way many times and will tell you more of your friend."

And I did hear many more stories over the years. Some stories such as his outburst among the money changers in the Temple were concerning as Yeshua approached his thirtieth year, but as I heard more I was able to piece together a picture of his life and what eventually would become of him.

Yeshua had continued his travels and one night was attacked and beaten by robbers and left by the side of the road. He was found by a zonah by the name of Mary who took him in. Seeing no more than just a poor peasant needing help and a place to sleep, she tended to his wounds. A peasant on the road takes many challenging steps and Mary washed his hands and feet while he slept and applied oils to ease the physical and spiritual hardness of his travels. His sleep was interrupted several times by what must have been visions as he would toss and turn and cry out. Each time she held him tight and gave him love and comfort. By morning light he was much recovered and she prepared the daily bread for them both to eat. For several days they sat by the small fire in her home well into the night as he talked of his dream where all people would be equal and no one would be scorned by the priests and government officials. Each day Mary helped comfort him when he despaired of the future and she gave up the profession that had made her an outcast in the city.

Many of the people who passed through our town stopped to see me as word spread that I was a friend of Yeshua and they wanted me to know of his progress

As weeks and months passed, people observed that Mary and Yeshua spent their evenings together in reflection, but by day he would gather people wherever he could to talk about how all men could be brothers no matter their station in life. Mary brought her sisters and Simon his brothers. These followers soon saw the priestly class as the ones who would not admit the equality of all peoples. They spoke out against the scribes and the legal scholars and those associated with the money changers who sought to profit from their fellow men.

One traveler who went by the name of Matthew had been a tax collector but had left that calling as he learned more from Yeshua.

"I fear for your friend," he confided. "While wise and persuasive he is just an ordinary man, but people see more in him. They are inspired by his talk and believe they can break free of our Roman masters and worship who they wish. It is putting him in danger. If you have any influence you must plead with him to temper his message. He does not see what is happening. If he fails to control his followers, the Romans will do it for him."

I doubted that I would have much influence over him but as a favour to the aging Joseph I set out on a journey to Jerusalem. Over the next few days as my old donkey brought me closer to my destination there were more stories. Each one more alarming. Anxiety was taking hold of me when Jerusalem came into sight.

Once within the walls of the city it did not take me long to find him. He was seated on a stone, surrounded by people who hung on to his every word. There were Roman soldiers nearby including a Centurion who was also listening closely to what Yeshua was saying.

Though I had not seen him in at least ten years, he was little changed. Dressed in a simple tunic and exuding energy, he spoke of how all men could be brothers. A line of thinking that ran contrary to Roman rule and was undermining their social traditions. I spotted Simon in the gathering around Yeshua and he came over to speak to me.

"Yeshua will help us move past these years of Roman rule. He has the followers and courage; we have the numbers and the determination. We can win out."

I shook my head and warned Simon, "The Romans are too powerful my friend. Tread carefully. I must speak to him."

As the crown began to disperse Yeshua saw me and waved but he was swept along by those who wanted his attention and I heard some of them call him "Lord" as they sought his blessing. I decided to see him in the morning and found lodgings for the night.

I had troubled dreams about Yeshua all night long, awoke early, and set out to find him. I asked several passersby where he could be found and they all seemed afraid. At last, one man I recognized as a friend of Simon pointed me to one of the gates of the city.

"At the break of day soldiers came to take him away. They were shouting at poor Yeshua and accusing him of spreading lies and hate, and that he was a danger to the state. Mary was there and there were tears falling like rain from her and from the others. There was nothing any of us could do."

I hurried outside the walls and followed the crowd gathering near Golgotha. He was being dragged up the hill by soldiers and one of his followers was forced to carry the cross. Yeshua was to be crucified.

A woman I presumed to be Mary followed along crying out that he was just another man so please leave him alone. Just another poor boy who meant no harm to anyone. Tears covered her face as she watched Yeshua being nailed to the cross.

I saw the Centurion from the day before and begged him to put a stop to this. He was unsettled at what was unfolding, but said this had been ordered by Pilate himself. "Who was he anyway?" he cried and turned away.

Mary collapsed at the foot of the cross and screamed, "Oh Lord, what has this poor boy I found by the road done to deserve this? Lord, he is just another boy and I will never see him again."

I could not believe such an end was possible for a boy like him and as the sky turned dark, I prayed for my poor young friend that there would yet be a way forward. I had already witnessed some of the miracles that surrounded him and heard tales of many more. I prayed there would be more but I feared that in the end he was no more than just another poor boy.