Chapter Eleven
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icodemus still very much on his mind, Jesus picked his way through the Judean countryside. What would become of the old Pharisee now that he believed? How would the Sanhedrin treat him now? For his sake Father, let him retain a low profile. Let him not suffer because of me. Not yet, at least.
He came to a copse of trees and behind them a campfire. Surrounding the flames, his friends reclined while others sat. It was dark. The dancing glow of the fire dimly bathed Jesus in its light. “Master?” Peter exclaimed in greeting.
“Yes, it is me, Peter. Well.” He looked around at his sleepy friends. “I see you are all readying for a sleep under the stars. Have you not homes? Have you not wives? How is it you prefer the smell of a sheep to the smell of your wife’s bed?”
“I think you know that it is not the smell of sheep we prefer, Lord Jesus,” from John.
“Have done with the ‘Lord’ business my brother. My name will suffice.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Jesus looked at his friend, “Why must you persist in this, John? We are every day together. I prefer you call me Jesus. Just . . . Jesus.”
John did not respond at once. Flames danced in his eyes; eyes that would in their ancient days see great visions. He seemed distant, staring into the fire, then into the darkness. At length he looked up at the vast array of heavenly bodies. A cricket chirped nearby. “You came from out there.” It was a statement that could stand in its own right. In its own integrity. “You are no ordinary man.”
“John . . .”
“I wish to speak, Master. Please, let me speak my heart. You say to me, ‘just call me Jesus.’ I am a man of wealth. Almost everyone I know sees me as someone from whom to get something. But you came to me and reached out to me. Your thoughts were for me, not for yourself. Do you realize that I have lived forty-three years and no one has ever done that? No one has ever seen me as a man who needed to be loved. No one, except for you. For that all that I am, all that I have, is yours.
“You are much my junior in years, yet you are ages my elder. The things you say. The things you do. I have often thought of those who will come after us, who will not be privileged to walk with you, to hear your voice, to feel your physical touch — there will be others, Lord. Yes, Lord! To me, you will never be ‘just Jesus!’ I am just a man, you, you are . . . You are not just a man. You are much more. You are my Lord. Never ‘just Jesus!’”
