I Have Grown in His Love

My preview text: The Beginning

My name is James Aaron. I was born in the town of Bethsaida Julias, which was not far from the northeastern coast of the Sea of Galilee; known also as the Sea of Tiberius. I was the only child in a small loving family of four that included my father Aaron, my mother Ester, my father’s mother Hannah, and I. My father was a hardworking man. He meticulously worked his small field that he inherited from his father. Just before noon, my mother would pack him lunch and take it to the field where they ate together. Then she would stay helping him in the field till the end of the working day.
At the age of eleven, I attended the school attached to the town’s synagogue. Rabbi Joseph was our teacher. He was quite a learned man. His dream of a free Israel was on his mind all the time. Quite often he spoke of the glorious victories of our King David, and the golden days of King Solomon. He kept reminding us that one day a son of David would come to restore the kingdom of his father and deliver us from the terrible oppressive hands of the Romans. Quite often he talked about how beautiful that kingdom would be. The new king would bring peace and freedom from Rome.
As a young boy, I imagined the new king as a very handsome strong man mounting the back of his powerful red horse. Behind him hundreds of soldiers followed, some on horses, and others in their battle gear marching in unison. As strong as the horsemen appeared to be, they could hardly keep their horses in line. There were hundreds of soldiers carrying beautiful banners, some had the inscription: Our King, the Son of David. On both sides of the road, hundreds of people stood cheering the parade of the strong soldiers in their beautiful and colorful uniforms following our King. Quite often I was brought back from my fantasy by the voice of my Rabbi asking me to recite the verse that we learned the day before.
By noon, the school day was over and I would run home to be greeted by my grandmother who gave me a big hug and kissed me once on both cheeks. She used to lead me to the table where we ate our meals to find one of her delicious dishes ready for me to devour before I went out to play with neighborhood kids.
I enjoyed my grandmother’s cooking. One of my favorite meals was grilled fish and fresh baked bread. With this simple yet delicious meal, my grandmother used to serve fresh scallions from my father’s field. As I ate my lunch, my grandmother would join me at the table and talk with me. One of her routine questions was about what the Rabbi taught us that day. One day, before she asked me that routine question, I said,
“Grandmother, when is the son of King David, our savior, coming?”
She replied, “Why do you ask?”
I said, “The Rabbi keeps telling us about him. I am just wondering when he is coming.”
She sighed and said, “It has to be very soon.”
Curious, I blurted out, “How do you know?”
With sadness in her eyes she said, “Because things are so bad. The Romans are occupying our land, and no one can oppose them otherwise he would be imprisoned or killed. There are many poor and sick people who live a life of despair.”
Imagining my new king, I asked her, “What would he look like?”
She said, “Well James, I imagine him as a tall, handsome, strong and wise man. Lately, our neighbor has been telling me that some people believe that the prophet from Nazareth, Jesus the carpenter, is the Messiah, the new King of Israel.”
Getting excited with this news, I said, “Our Rabbi said that the Messiah has to be a descendant from King David. Is he?”
“Yes he is,” she replied. Then she continued, “But he is not a rich man. He is a man of peace. I wonder how he could lead us to fight the Romans.”
“Why then do people think that he might be the new king?” I questioned my grandmother.
She replied, “He is a man of miracles and power over sickness. Many sick and lame people went to him and He healed them with the touch of his hand.”
As I was about to ask my grandmother if she knew anyone who was healed by Jesus, she continued, “The other day He was in the town of Capernaum and people heard that He was in a house. Immediately many gathered together, so that there was no longer room in the house to receive them, not even near the door. Four men came to Him carrying a paralytic man. Yet they could not go near to Him because of the crowd. They went to the roof and uncovered where He was. And when they had broken through, they let down the bed on which the paralytic was lying.
“When Jesus saw their faith, He said to the paralytic, ‘Son, your sins are forgiven you.’ But some of the scribes were sitting there and reasoning in their hearts, ‘Why does this Man speak blasphemies like this? Who can forgive sins but God alone?’ And immediately, when Jesus perceived in His spirit that they reasoned thus within themselves, He said to them,
‘Why do you reason about these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Arise, take up your bed and walk? But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins’; He said to the paralytic, ‘I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go your way to your house.’ And immediately the man rose, took up the bed, and went out in the presence of them all so that all were amazed and glorified God saying, ‘We never saw anything like this!’ ” Mark 2:1-12
I kept quiet looking at my grandmother to see if she was going to say anymore. Staring as if she was seeing something at a distance she said, “Maybe He is.” Fascinated by the story of the paralytic man, I said, “Grandmother would you promise to tell me more stories about Jesus when you hear them?” She said, “Sure! You are a good boy. I love telling you stories. If you finished your lunch, wash your hands and you can go out to play.” I could not help hugging and kissing her on her cheek saying, I love you grandmother.” I ran to wash my hands, and went out to play.

One day I came back from school and entered the house expecting my grandmother to be where she always waited for me. I was surprised that she was not there. Perplexed, I called, “grandmother, grandmother where are you?” A faint voice came from the kitchen, “I am here James in the kitchen.” I ran to the kitchen to see my grandmother leaning against the wall, her face was pale. “Grandmother, what is wrong?” “Nothing,” she said. “I am just not feeling well today, I am a bit dizzy.”
Slowly, she walked toward the table where she put my lunch. “Here, I fixed your lunch, sit down and eat.” She sat down at the table, and tried to get into our regular conversation about what we did in school that day. I tried to answer her questions as usual; however, I noticed that she was not paying attention. She was just pretending that there was nothing wrong with her.
The following day was our Sabbath. We used to all go to the synagogue. This Sabbath, my grandmother stayed home. The rest of the day she was resting. My grandmother used to observe the Sabbath, so it was not strange to see her resting that day. What was different was that she looked as if she was in pain. I felt that my parents knew something, which they did not share with me and kept it to themselves.
Sunday, I went back to school. When I came back home, I found my mother at home. “Mother,” I said, “who is with father in the field?” In a voice that hid her anxiety she said, “Your grandmother is terribly sick. Our neighbor Mrs. Lazar sent her daughter to call me from the field while she attended to your grandmother.”