The Perfect Man

The Perfect Man

"Give me your hand, old one. Tell me what is wrong." James tried to keep his voice mild, but this old man was just one of many he had met, and the crowds were still large. It was not yet midday, but the temperature was already uncomfortably hot, and the only thing keeping James from tearing off his robes was the fact that the searing sun would blind and burn him in minutes.

The man before him was hunched and gnarled like an old tree root, his white hair spurting in patches from his unprotected head.

"I want the Messiah," the man whined, his toothless, discoloured gums making his words difficult to understand. "I want Jesus! Only he can help me."

James sighed - everybody wanted to be healed by Jesus. At every village they came to, there were hundreds of sick, crippled and dying, and they all wanted Jesus. James would have given them all to Jesus in an instant, but the man to whom he had devoted his life had given him the honour of being able to heal the sick, and with that honour came the responsibility of healing any who needed it, no matter what. Jesus was seeing the critical cases, the ones who were on death's door. He and the rest of the twelve were delegated to those with less serious conditions.

This man before him, though old, did not appear to have anything wrong with him.

"I am sorry, sire, but the Master is doing all he can. He gave to me the power to heal in his name. Just tell me of your ailment," he concluded, rubbing a hand across his face.

The man looked at James as if he had gone mad. He grabbed James' robes with strength that surprised him, pulling him face to face.

"You fool," he spat. "You cannot help me! I - argh!" The old man began shaking violently, white foam spewing from his mouth and blood running from his nose. He collapsed to the ground, his arms and legs twitching wildly.

James grabbed the man's head with both hands, thumbing back the eyelids. James had seen many blind people, with eyes devoid of pupil and iris, all being milky-white. The old man's eyes were like this, except instead of white they were irridescent green.

His shaking stopped without warning, and his hands struck out at James' throat like adders, crushing his neck in a vice-like grip.

When he spoke, it was not with the old man's voice, but a much deeper, menacing one coming from deep within his chest.

"Idiot," growled the possessed man. "No matter how many sick you cure, their number shall continue to multiply. Your efforts will result in nothing, and when the time comes, the Lord Lucifer will return to conquer Heaven and Earth!"

James felt the blood pounding in his head, the circulation to his brain being cut off by the demon's iron strangle hold. Stars danced in front of his eyes, but he fought to remain conscious, whispering the rites of exorcism through clenched teeth.

"I banish you . . . in the name of God . . . I command you to leave this person's body . . ." Anyone standing right next to him would not have heard his words, but he had to keep saying them. The world began fading into darkness. "In the name . . . of . . . God . . ." James could go no further. The possessed man intensified his grip, and as James looked into the now glowing eyes that burned like gateways into hell, he knew he was going to die.

"Back, demon. Return to the fire and brimstone from whence you came, and torment no longer God's people."

The demon sprung away from James as if stung, allowing him to fall to the ground where he drew in sweet lungfuls of air that scathed his damaged throat.

The demon turned towards the man who had spoken, its face expressing the fear and loathing a slave has for his master.

Jesus walked towards the demon, as serene as the sea before a storm. His hood was down, revealing a handsome, though ordinary, bearded face, ordinary, except for the piercing blue eyes that not only seized your attention, but filled your mind hypnotically, so that later on all you would remember were those eyes, and the commanding voice with which he spoke.

The demon backed away slowly at first, but as it began to run, Jesus spoke again. "Stop." It was not a request, but a command, said with such authority that James believed if it had been said to a falling stone that it, too, would have obeyed. The demon stopped running, but kept his face turned away, quivering like a newborn lamb in Winter.

Only just getting his breath back, James was not yet on his feet. He realised that the entire town had gathered to watch the confrontation, silently amazed at the sheer presence of the man standing before them.

Jesus walked slowly and deliberately up to the demon, and took its head in his hands much as James had done, forcing it to look him in the eye.

The demon screamed in its deep, animal growl, as if Jesus' hands were burning its stolen face.

Jesus whispered into the demon's ear, and the screaming stopped. The old man fell into his arms, resuming the frail, crippled mannerisms which had disappeared when the demon possessed him. People began exclaiming loudly, praising God for the miracle they had witnessed. James heard one man wonder aloud what Jesus had whispered to the demon. James had been able to make it out, the demon not having run very far from him. Jesus had said, "Go to hell." James decided he would have to remember that line for the future.

The crowd gathered around Jesus, which was James's cue to move. As he stood up, his knees almost buckled underneath him, and he was swept over by a wave of nausea. He waited a few moments for his racing heart to calm, then made his way to the man he called Master.

Judas and Matthew were already at his side, holding people back. James arrived there at the same time as Andrew and Phillip, with several more coming behind him. James pushed his way through the milling bodies to Jesus, then used his body as a shield to stop people from tearing Jesus to pieces in their frenzied admiration. Jesus stood at the centre of the madness like the eye of a storm, oblivious to everything that was going on, talking quietly to the old man.

So many times Jesus was the only one who knew what to do in the face of danger. But often he acted as if there was nothing wrong, such as the time they had gone out on the boat, and he had slept through the storm. And like now when, right after taking direct action and driving out the demon, he would have let the crowd rip him to pieces in an attempt to touch such a holy man. James knew he would never understand Jesus' ways, but he would always do his best to serve him. Jesus was his life.

By now all the apostles had formed a ring around Jesus, except for Peter, and John and James, sons of Zebedee, who had been at the other end of the town with Jesus. Over the heads of the crowd, James saw Peter run towards them. Peter managed somehow to slip quickly in between the crowd of people, and he too was soon at Jesus' side.

"Master," he gasped, looking and sounding breathless from his run. Jesus was still talking to the old man, and held up his hand for silence. Simon Peter bowed his head, but not before James noticed his face going red. Peter always took it hard when he did even the smallest thing wrong with Jesus, be the error real or just made up in his mind.

When Jesus finished talking, the old man had a broad smile on his face, and was weeping openly, clinging to Jesus' robe. Jesus put a comforting arm around the man's shoulder, and turned to Peter. "Yes, my Rock," he said, addressing him with the special name he had given him, "speak your mind."

"My Lord, there are two Roman soldiers on the outskirts of the town. One of them is dying from a sword wound. They do not know you are here yet; John is seeing to the soldier's wound, but it is very bad."

James was shocked by Peter's news. Roman soldiers alone, and wounded? Romans were a force to be feared, and James always kept his face low whenever they were near. But to have two of them alone, and wounded . . . There were no good relations between any of the Apostles and the Romans, and the end of Peter's sentence held the possibility of a fatal innuendo, depending on how Jesus replied.

Jesus' face darkened as he too saw Peter's hidden meaning. "You disappoint me, Peter. Your petty hatred for the Romans should have been left with your fisherman's nets! You swore to serve me, not your own emotions. If you cannot handle that, maybe you should return to your boats and nets."

If Peter's face had been red before, it was as white as the foam from an ocean spray now. "No, my Lord," he stammered. "I am your man to the end, I swear. I meant only . . . Forgive me, Lord."

Jesus smiled. "Come, Peter. Let us see what brings two wounded Roman soldiers here."

Jesus whispered to the old man, who nodded and shuffled away into the crowd. James shuddered as the old man disappeared. His throat still felt as if it had been used to crush rocks. He knew that he'd never use the phrase "harmless old man" ever again.

Jesus walked out between James and Matthew, and moved into the crowd, like a fisherman wading out to his boat. James reached out to stop him, certain that the crowd would overwhelm him. But instead, the shouting, desperate mass became very quiet, respectfully clearing a path as Jesus walked through. James hurried into the newly made gap after Jesus, like the Israelites following Moses through the parted Red Sea, with the other Apostles close behind. When they reached the outer limits of the crowd, Jesus turned to his chosen followers.

"Keep these people away from the Romans. Heal their sick, pray with them, accept new disciples, but do not let them know about the Romans. Not everyone shares our compassion."

James glanced at Peter; he was staring at the ground as if trying to read something in the rocks. He looked as if he were going to weep.

Jesus laid a hand on James' shoulder, beckoning him to follow.

As the two of them made their way to the outskirts of the town, James worked up the courage to talk to his master. Jesus was the kind of man James found it easier to listen to than talk.

"Messiah, don't you think that you are too hard on Peter?" Jesus made no answer, so he kept talking. "He is the most devoted of all your servants, and only wants to do his best for you. As do we all."

Jesus stopped and looked at James in silence for what seemed like a very long time, before laughing.

"You call me Messiah, then question my authority in the same breath! But you speak from the heart, and I see that it is full of goodness. I treasure your open feelings." He paused for a moment, and James waited expectantly for whatever Jesus would say next. "James, son of Alphaeus, you are the youngest of the Apostles, but you are not a fool. There is a difference between doing the right thing, and doing the wrong thing for the right reason.

"If you do bad things in my name, that does not justify it- it just slanders my name, and the name of all the people who are devoted to God. I know Peter was not thinking of his own feelings back there, but it is not for man to decide who is worthy to die; that is the right of the Lord God and no other. Do not be fooled by men who do wicked things, and say they are doing them in my name; these men are evil, and only seeking to hide their vile nature behind the glory of God. I tell you, on the day of judgement these men will not receive a tenth part of the mercy they show their victims, and that will be delivered by the Lord God Himself, not a vile deceiver acting in his name."

Jesus finished on a rising, passionate crescendo, as he usually did whenever he made a speech. They had walked a fair way from the crowd, but when James looked back many of them were turned towards him, able to hear his words even from there.

They continued walking.

"James, when the man became possessed back there, what were you thinking?"

James' mind received a sudden jolt; he had forgotten about that incident completely. Being around Jesus, there was no room for his attention to be on anything else.

"What was I thinking, Lord? Not much; I was just scared. I wasn't paying much heed to him, and then suddenly he was killing me. I had no time to think. I was just . . . bewildered by it all. It still hasn't sunk in."

"That demon was very powerful, but if you had been ready for it, you could have overcome it. By choosing to follow me, you have publicly declared yourself to be an active opponent of Satan. You have his special attention, as do the rest of the Twelve, and therefore you must be ever diligent."

Great, thought James. From carving wood to carving monsters into pieces. Who'd have thought my life as a carpenter would have led me to this? But then, Jesus used to be a carpenter, too, and look at him! He has hundreds of people to be ever diligent for him.

"I know what you are thinking, James. Sometimes I think none of you understand. I must be most diligent of all. You all help me carry my burden, but help only. None of you can carry it for me. Even so, you must be ready at all times, prepared at all times. This thing you have agreed to do is not just an idle amusement to distract you from your everyday life. This is your everyday life, and you must devote yourself fully to it, or you are of no use to me."

James flushed. It was humiliating having someone know your innermost thoughts, when not even you were usually aware of them. Jesus often was angry with all of them, but there was nothing they could say or do, because everything he said was true. James tried to imagine what it must be like, knowing every single thing someone does wrong, knowing all their faults, knowing that they are not perfect, like he is. Most people are understanding of the faults in others, because they have those faults themselves and so understand what it is like. But Jesus didn't have that. James' mother had been fond of saying, "Be thankful there is no such thing as a perfect man, for he would be the loneliest person in the world." He had never understood that, until he met Jesus.