When Jesus Wept

Chapter 7



Porthos continued as our house guest. My sister and I welcomed him and gave no thought to how long he might remain with us. He was a middle-class merchant who sold copper cooking pots in the agora of Athens. He was a gentle bear of a man. Quiet and wearing a crooked smile on his broad face, his father was a Greek, but his Jewish mother had raised Porthos in the faith of Yahweh.

He grew up learning Torah while living in the Greek culture. He told us he often sat near Mars Hill to listen to the philosophers.

“At last I saved enough to make pilgrimage to Jerusalem where the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob made his dwelling place. I made this journey so I could return to Athens and argue with intelligence about the true identity of the Unknown God. And the moment my feet crossed the threshold, I was robbed. Ah. Men are the same everywhere, are they not?”

My household found Porthos pleasant and entertaining company, well spoken and educated in philosophy in the manner of the Greeks.

I invited Samson and Patrick to join Porthos and me on my patio in the cool of the evening. As the stars winked above us, we four men sipped fine wine and spoke of Jews and Gentiles, of things of God and Torah, and of the rumors of Jesus of Nazareth in Galilee.

Porthos told us of the philosophers on Mars Hill. “They seem so high above us, rich and robed, as we merchants sell to the common folks in the marketplace below.” Porthos swept his hand across the horizon. “How many temples to how many gods surround the common folk of Athens? And yet there is one small temple built to the Unknown God, for fear they may have left one out and he become angry. Ha! The Unknown God is the one and only God in heaven and earth … the God I know and worship … the God of Israel.”

Patrick, who was not a Jew, asked, “I hear about the God of Israel every hour of every day as I work. Samson won’t let me forget that the Only True God is Israel’s God. Finally I believe it, though I don’t know why. So, can’t you just go up there and tell those fellows?”

Porthos raised his bushy eyebrows, “Once I tried to join in their discussion. They spoke of politics, gladiators, world government, and the fierce gods of Rome. Roman gods, they deduce, must be more powerful than any others.”

Samson laughed. “How could a kettle-seller possibly convince anyone?”

“I spoke of Torah—that through the Prophets and the Psalms, the Unknown God is revealed. I told them of the soul, of right and wrong, and of heaven … the abode of the righteous.”

Samson leaned forward. “You told the Greek philosophers these things? You’re a man of courage!”

Porthos shook his head. “Not so. They laughed at me. And when they did, I blushed and hurried away. Even so, in my market stall, when common folk spoke about the cruelty of the gods of Rome, I told them about the Lord, the One God who is named Merciful. One day Messiah will come and heal and forgive our sins. And the lion will lay down with the lamb. Now here’s the miracle. The poor and humble, even among the Greeks, are eager to hear more of our God of mercy.” Porthos held up a thick finger. “That is where we must begin to share the truth … with those who have nothing. Like John the Baptizer has done.”

I had remained silent as I considered the injustice of our oppressors. I wondered quietly what had become of Judah and his dear mother and gentle sister. What had become of all the nations and kings throughout time who had chosen to rule their people by fear? Those empires had all fallen.

After considering these things, I spoke. “To the ends of the world, fear of Rome is like a blindfold that blocks out the light of truth. Along with every nation, we Jews have fallen because of fear. We have given up our freedom. Brutal men control our lives. We compromise our beliefs as long as it is others who are brutalized and not we ourselves. Terror is a powerful religion. The spirit of fear is a god that takes the human heart captive. But our God, the Living God of Israel, longs to fill our hearts with joy and freedom. That is what separates believers from all other people.”

Samson tugged his earlobe. “It is written, somewhere, that the Romans pray to many gods … out of fear. In our Jewish worship the wail of fear gives way to the cry of ‘Hallelujah! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”

“Omaine!” Porthos continued. “So what did I learn in Athens? That I must seek the one who will rule my heart and mind with mercy and love. Perhaps when I find him, I will no longer be afraid of anything.”

“You were not afraid to help me the day I was beaten,” I reminded him.

“But I was afraid. Indeed.”

Though Porthos humbly denied his courage in helping me, I was well aware that he risked his life to come to my aid.

“Then why did you do it?” Samson asked.

Porthos did not answer the question. “I promise I am a coward. My knees were knocking as I carried David all the way out the gates of the city.”

Samson asked again, “Porthos, if you are such a coward, why did you save David’s life?”

Patrick raised his cup in salute to Porthos. “He did it because courage is when you are terrified to do the right thing … but it is still the right thing to do … so, you go ahead and do it anyway.”

“Omaine!” Samson clapped Porthos on his broad back and congratulated Patrick. “Well spoken!”

Then we turned our conversation to the weather and the crops.



The morning dawned bright and fair. Porthos shared a final breakfast with Martha and me.

I walked him to the gate and embraced him. “Brother, on your return—anytime—you are always welcome here beneath my roof.”

“There is rebellion in the air, David ben Lazarus. I have come far and now feel I must see for myself the courageous prophet who preaches so against Herod Antipas and his woman, Herodias.”

“When I heard him speak, I felt there never was a man like John.” I handed Porthos a pack filled with supplies. “Perhaps Elijah. But never before or since.”

Samson brought around from the stable a donkey the color of dark red wine. “Here you are, sir.” He presented the reins to Porthos, who bowed slightly.

“I will take the best of care of her,” Porthos assured Samson. Then he turned to me. “A beautiful gift, brother.” Porthos patted the beast’s neck and stroked her ears. “My own two feet have carried me far. I am blessed now to possess four more feet for my journey.”

Samson stroked the donkey. “Her name is Pleasant. And that she is. A filly from my old girl and trained by my own hand. She will wish to lay down beside you, sir, and sleep beside you on the trail. Just let her. Pleasant is warmth and comfort when a man travels far from home.”

Porthos climbed onto the donkey. His legs dangled awkwardly, and his feet nearly touched the ground. He clucked his tongue once, and Pleasant walked out smartly.

“Remember,” Samson called after him. “One cluck for walk. Two clucks for trot. And a long, smacky kiss for canter.”

Porthos raised his hand in thanks. “Never fear! I will dismount when traveling uphill,” he promised. Then he clucked his tongue twice, and Pleasant trotted away.

“Well,” Samson declared with finality, “a good and brave fellow indeed. Pleasant will be a good friend on his journey.”