The Secret Disciple by Mark Pendergrast

Author:Mark Pendergrast [Pendergrast, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Christian, Historical
ISBN: 9781620060124
Google: DA0GwQEACAAJ
Goodreads: 45039015
Publisher: Ars Metaphysica
Published: 2019-04-18T01:19:22.448129+00:00

The Testimony of James, Brother of Jesus, Our Risen Lord

How could I have been so wrong? I grew up resenting my older brother. He was so smart, learning to read by hanging around the Synagogue. He even learned from the Greeks in Sephora, not far from Nazareth where we grew up. He picked up carpentry skills from our father Joseph more quickly than any of the rest of us. He was tall and lean, sure of himself.

He treated me kindly, as he did most people, but also mostly he ignored me, not surprising for an older brother, I suppose, but not easy to follow. Our father didn’t help. “James, why can’t you be a scholar like Jesus? And why are you so clumsy with tools?”

I sought attention in other ways, often by courting danger. I went with friends fishing in the Sea of Galilee in howling storms by night and came home to brag about it. I approached the demon-possessed, the lepers, the lame, the blind, unafraid to consort with them or speak to them.

And I am ashamed to say that I stole figs from neighbors and got into other trouble. I was not a good model for my younger brothers and sisters, I am afraid.

I hoped that I would at least get attention from Jesus. After all, he was only three years older than I. Why did he put on such airs? He did seem to like me, but mostly he went his own way, ignoring me. He sought out older men as role models and companions. “You are an old soul,” our mother Mary would say to Jesus. “Perhaps old before you need to be.”

Then, when he turned thirty and appeared to be on track to take over the carpentry business from our father Joseph, Jesus disappeared without saying goodbye. No one knew where he had gone. We feared he was dead. Embittered and angry, our father was sure that Jesus had simply abandoned us. “I do not want the name Jesus to be uttered again in this family,” he said. “James, you are the oldest now, and you will have to learn to build houses, crosses, and coffins. The Romans will keep us in business by killing any rebels.”

Often inept at carpentry, I had turned to farming, growing wheat for bread, but now I had to learn this new trade. I struggled. I tried to talk to Mother about it, but she was in such deep grief over the loss of her favored eldest child that she became even frailer than before. She clearly still loved the other eight of us now, and the young grandchildren who were coming along, but her frailty and sorrow seemed overwhelming to her.

One day we heard that a new prophet had arisen, speaking in parables, performing miracles, and preaching the Kingdom of God. He was a follower of John the Baptist, coming from the Jordan River. He was rumored to have lived with the Essenes in the Dead Sea area, practicing the most austere lifestyle.

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