All Who Call on the Name of the LORD

   I started early that day, the first day of the week. It was harvest time, and I was going to town—well, to the farmers’ market. I knew that many people from all around would be coming and they would be looking for something to eat. So, I was bringing some of the best fruit I had.
   It was one of those beautiful harvest days when the sun is bright but not too hot. The air was clear with a light, refreshing breeze, and the dew lay heavy on the fields. In fact, the dew was so heavy when I started that the cobbles were a little slippery, and it made it tricky pulling my cart of figs and olives up the hill.
   Suddenly, the sound of a mighty wind roared through town. It sounded like the roaring of a thousand lions and five hundred stampeding elephants at the same time. The trees didn’t move; the grass never wavered; but there was this sound. I tell you, it was scary weird, and then it stopped. There wasn’t even a breeze anymore. It was spooky.
   “So, it’s going to be a hot one,” I thought. “I’ll have to wet down my cloak and lay it over the cart to keep the fruit from over-ripening.”
   Then I saw them, this crowd of people up ahead. “I’ll have to go another way to get to the market,” I thought. Then I saw people pouring out of every street. Apparently, they had heard it too.
   When I got closer, I asked someone what was happening. “Oh, it’s just a bunch of drunks babbling about something. They’re some of those Jesus followers. You know, that guy who was crucified almost two months ago.” 
   “Not that again!” I said. “I thought that we were done with that.” 
   “These are his disciples. The authorities are looking for them you know. The police will be here soon, and they’ll take care of it.” 
   “Good. I need to get to the market.” 
   “What for?”
   “I’m a little short this month. I could use a little walking around money so I want to sell my fruit at the festival.” 
   “Whatcha got?” 
   “Figs and olives, the best I have.” 
   “Was the crop good this year?” 
   “Well, it wasn’t bad. It would have been a lot better if that Jesus-guy hadn’t cursed the fig trees. We didn’t have the rain we needed, and there was blight on the figs. People say its because of the curse. Though I do have some really good figs here.” 
   “Well, I heard the noise, and I came out so quickly that I didn’t have anything for breakfast. Sell me a couple figs and a handful of olives.” 
   “Take your pick.” 
   Someone in the milling crowd must have seen us talking because we were challenged. “What are you doing over there?” 
   “Just getting some breakfast from this farmer. What’s it to you?” 
   Then I heard someone shout, “Hey, you want something to eat while we wait to see what happens?”
   That’s when the drunks got up and started to speak to the crowd. There was one guy, drunker than the rest, who seemed to be the leader. “People of Jerusalem”, he started. And people turned back to listen to what he had to say.
   A few people kept heckling. “Shut the drunk up. He’s going to be sorry when they arrest him for drunk and disorderly.”
   Not since the destruction of Babel had there been such confusion. People shouted for the police. Others tried to get closer so they could see who was speaking. Some wondered aloud how long it would be before these traitors would be crucified. There were many comments on the behavior of people during the festival. Many of the people came from other countries so they were speaking in different languages. As I said, like Babel all over again.
   But the man kept on talking, and we could hear him clearly. The more he talked the more excited he became. And when he got going, he was on fire!
   Then others started to speak, and the people looked in amazement because they could hear them clearly too. You would have thought, with so many speaking at once, that it would be impossible to hear anything, but it was like they were talking in unison. They got louder and clearer.
   People gathered around me wanting figs and olives while they listened, and, before I knew it, my cart was empty. 
   Since I no longer had to go to the market and I had nothing better to do, I stood around listening to what these crazies had to say. The day was young, and this could get interesting when the police would finally show up—cheap entertainment. 
   I suppose I should tell you that the police never did show up—you never can find one when you need one. The men just kept talking, and, pretty soon, the crowd settled down. The followers of Jesus kept telling us about this Jesus-guy. I was still mad about the curse on the figs, so I listened with some skepticism, but they talked about some interesting things like how we should love our enemies, treat them with kindness, and help them in any way we could. It was better to treat our enemies with kindness and have them respect us than it was to kill them and suffer retaliation and revenge. 
   They said that we should take care of the poor and let them know that God loves them too. After all, we couldn’t live without their help in our houses and estates. God had given us the gift of community so that we would all have enough and more. We should eat with them at our sides and not have them serving us the best while they got the left overs or nothing at all. 
   They said that we should make sure that the widows, and orphans, and strangers were cared for and treated respectfully because God speaks to us through the health of our society not just in the temple. So, we should listen to their concerns and needs. 
   They said that, if we were truly concerned about God’s creation, we would want to follow Jesus because he was God’s son and he had shown us how to live in peace—but peace might have a high price. Jesus died for that peace but not to fear because he rose from the dead on the third day. That was the sign of his Godliness.
   And, if people hated us for what we did and said in his name, then we should remember that people weren’t really overjoyed with Jeremiah or Elijah or Habakkuk or Moses or anyone else who listened to God. But God wants us to live together in the midst of our differences helping one another. This is what the prophets have always tried to get us to understand. “Well,” I said to the person standing next to me, “the only profits I’m interested in is this silver jingling in my pocket,” and we laughed. 
   The disciples kept on talking. They said that the rich landowners should be ashamed of themselves because they have resources to raise the standard of living for their workers but they choose not to—they keep their people in such great debt that they are forced to live as perpetual slaves. And God intended that no one be a slave for more than seven years—not even the gentiles.
   “Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said. “I like that. I’ve been working for the same landowner for fifteen years so far, and I’m guessing I will die working for him.”
   “I thought you said that you were selling your fruit,” my companion said.
   “Well, actually, it’s just a little I set aside. You know, just little extra somethin’ somethin’ for the working man.”
   By this time, the Jesus-guy was saying that Jesus had died so that everyone might be free. 
   Right about then the slaves started shouting, “What must we do to be saved?” Then others joined in, “What must we do to be saved?” The chant got louder and louder. 
   I saw that it was my time to leave. Things were going to get ugly soon, and, after my little confession, I thought, “better safe than sorry”—so I skipped. 
   They say that three thousand people joined the Jesus boys that day. I’m still not sure, but I did have Zeke, my neighbor, over for supper the other night; he’s been poorly lately and hasn’t been able to do much. And my brother’s widow, God be praised, has come to live with us.
   Of course, I want to be saved, but I’m still a little ticked about the figs even though they aren’t my trees—just a little somethin’ somethin’ for the working man; hear me God?

Sources for this story:
Genesis 11:1-10
Mark 11:12-24
Luke 16
Acts 2:1-21
© Peter Heide, May 22, 2007, rev. June 7, 2017. All rights reserved.