Each day along the Highway the man could be seen
collecting the flax that grew wild in the ditches and
valleys. He would eat the seed, and bundle the stems
as he walked through the untenured lands where chance
had blown his harvest. Indeed, some might have praised
him for his industry, except that this was the habit
of children, and for an adult, considered akin to
scavenging. Naturally, the man was considered low.
Treated as an outcast, none of the villagers who lived near to
where he gathered flax along the roads each day would talk
with him. He did not frequent the betting pools or
taverns and so the man had little recourse even with
other men. Few gave him any thought, as he quietly
laboured through the seasons, and yet the children
came to know and like him. Why? The reason never
changes for children, he was interesting. Their
routine was dull, and he made life more interesting
for them.
Whatever the man was in the adult eyes, he
was wonderful in the children's eyes because he always had a
wonderful tale for them to hear. Naturally, the
children did not tell their mothers of this. Mothers
are always too ready to say, "You cannot do this!"
In the eyes of the Mother, the man was a stranger, and
may have been dangerous. "You must stay away!" they
would warn their children ... Which, of course, only
made the stranger story teller even more
interesting.
Children are wise in their simple ways,
but of course, as time went on they were noticed
following the man. And as is to be expected, this
caused quite a ripple in the quiet humdrum of village
existence. "He must be stopped!" They cried to the
village elder and magistrate. "He is polluting our
children with tales of journeys to far lands, and
great, imaginary places. They are getting confused and
are left idle with dreams because of it!"
The village
elder listened loosely to the shrill complaints of the
women, and asked questions of the man and his habits.
It soon became clear that the fellow flouted no law,
nor interfered in any way with the normal processes of
life, and so he simply declared that the problem was
not his. "He breaks no rule with the words that he
speaks... A storyteller we all are at some time!" The
Magistrate said to the collection of women at his
door. "Further, he makes no trespass by gathering flax
on untenured land. It is his right as a citizen to do
so. Therefore I have no ruling except that you of
yourselves must have your children in hand, and allow
this man as much right as you would give to
yourselves."
The villagers turned away greatly
displeased. But it was not at an end. As is the way
in such places, the wives rule their men according
to how their mothers ruled them. And so, after a few
days, the women had returned. This time they had a
gathered flock trailing behind them, discussing the
forth coming event. With much wailing they called once
more on the magistrate, and furthered their complaint.
"We have ordered our children not to talk with the
man, to not speak or listen to him," they claimed,
"And yet he talks to them still!" The Magistrate
sighed. He had known this story a hundred times in a
hundred different ways. "Does he go out of his way to
talk with them? Does he seek them out?" he asked.
Consternation broke out amongst those present. The
rabble muttered amongst themselves, comparing any
notes that might incriminate the accused. Finally one
spoke out, a whizzened old crone. "He does not seek
out the children, but by some black force he draws
them to him against the wishes of their parents. We
claim this as grounds for evil magic, for our children
were well behaved before he came here."
This
apparently irrefutable logic brought a resounding
murmur of approval , and before him the magistrate saw
a thatch of nodding heads. "But you yourselves stated
but days ago that your children sought him out long
before you forbade them to see him. I can hardly see
this as a claim of some dark wizardry ... rather one
of disobedient children!" The elder retorted
carefully. The crowd began shouting out accusations
about the man, threatening that unless justice were
done by the court, it would be done otherwise. Finally
the magistrate saw that for peace in the village the
crowd would have to be appeased, and so he arranged a
hearing on the following day, sending word to the man
demanding his presence.
The sun shone brightly that morning, and with the
cattle lowing in the pasture that surrounded the town,
the village magistrate, wearing his gown of justice,
sat in his chair of judgement. He had ordered it moved
from the courtroom out into the open air arena, where
the minor details of life were settled. In this manner
he would give the wives an appearance of importance,
yet keep the matter to a local dispute. The small
shade cloth erected above him was decorated with some
of the paraphernalia of the courts, and the presence
of his secretary confirmed to all and sundry that this
was a matter of weight. A large crowd of curiosity
seekers had gathered for the event, as the whispers
had built up about the dark stranger stealing the
village children's hearts from their parents. Even
though the fellow was most often ignored, he was known
to all, and indeed considered a little mysterious by
many. And so it came to pass, with the heat building
up in the day, before a small, noisy crowd stood the
man, The Gatherer of the Flax. He was of a peasant
appearance. Ill fitting clothes, uncut hair that stood
like a mane about his face, and a rough, tanner
complexion that told of years in the wind and sun.
Experience was worn into his face like ruts on a well
used road. He had, however, unusual eyes... This is
what the magistrate noted above all. Eyes clear,
undulled by the monotony of daily life, and untouched
by the tedium of humdrum affairs. This above all
marked him as a man of difference. Of course, few
there that day would see this, with their minds being
too wrapped up in the small cattle-like world of
subsistence. Yet the magistrate recognised that spark
... A spark that in other circumstances he might have
wished to have known more of. Perhaps the day would
provide a little more than the normal trivia?
"You..." the magistrate called, indicating for the man
to come forward. "You have been accused of misleading
the children of this village. You are accused of
detaining them and causing them to dream and neglect
their duties. How do you answer this claim?" The man
looked up, and unclasping his hands, spread his arms
in a shrug saying, "How can I detain the children?
They are like the birds who would come to where I sit.
I do not hold them, or cause them to dream... I merely
answer questions that they would ask." The crowd of
women behind ruffled like a peacock ready to display
its wares. The Magistrate, aware of the mindlessness
of such a gathering took the proceedings in hand with
the full weight of his judicial manner. "What
questions do they ask, and what answers do you give?"
He queried.
The man shrugged again. "They ask of why
the birds sing, why the rivers run... Why the sky is
blue..."
"And what do you reply?"
"I say the birds sing
because they love life, and wish to add a little
beauty to this world... I say the rivers run because they
know that idleness in the sun will cause them to
become useless like a stagnant pond. I say the sky is
blue because it is different from the green of tree
and grass... I tell them that God made it this way and
if it happens that God made them to be of a different
colour or type that they should be proud of this
difference, for this is how God made them."
"See!"
cried a woman from the crowd. "He fills their heads
with empty nonsense, dreams! The children listen to
this more than they listen to their
parents... and we can't get them to obey us" The
crowd murmured its agreement.The magistrate signalled
them to order, asking further of the man, "And what do
you do? Do you have a trade?"
"Yes," The man
replied. "I am a worker of wood, a carpenter, but
having left my tools behind with my family I now live
by gathering the flax that grows loose along the
highway. I knit it into rope, and trade this for food
and shelter."
"It is clear," stated the magistrate,
"That you are not a burden to the public for you do
support yourself. I think this is no thief before me,
nor is he accused of such ... It is also clear that
you mean no evil intention to the children of this
village, but I ask you, what right have you to take
children from the way of life their parents intend?"
This brought a rousing murmur of agreement as the
villagers admired the way their magistrate tactfully
dealt with the problem. How clever he was! "What gives
a bird the right to sing?" The man replied. "I simply
say what I will, the children decide to listen ... How
does this draw them away from their parents'?
"The
magistrate looked deeply into the man's eyes,
understanding for a moment the pain hidden therein.
What looked back touched him more deeply than he
expected, and almost caused him to falter. It was like
a golden coin, shining in the depths, saying "Touch
me, I am yours!" So he shook his head, and resumed his
magistrates tone and bearing.
In another time and
place, he may have done otherwise, but not today.
Without the restless crowd about him he may well have
invited this vagabond to his back porch to try and
help him understand the way of the world. Such a man
faced man. He wanted to take that coin he offered so
that he might offer it back, saying, 'LOOK! HERE IS
THE COST OF YOUR TRUTH." But of course, he could not.
Instead he drew the man aside from the villagers and
spoke. "I see, friend, that you have a true wisdom...
But this wisdom you hold so carelessly hurts the small
minds that cannot hold it. It is like you are giving
these people a weight, a burden they simply cannot
bear. You, by your simple words, have brought joy to
our children, but when they go to bring this light
home to their parents, it hurts their parents eyes."
"Eyes that have for so long been blind with the
darkness of tradition and ignorance cannot accept the
brightness you would offer with the simple words you
speak. It is a yolk they must bear, in their view. The
light simplicity of being hurts the common man, and
for this pain they would hate you."
Drawing himself
upright, and beginning to more fully understand that
pain he saw buried in the man's heart, the magistrate
continued... "No matter my decision," he indicated to
the villagers near them, "They would harm you should
you remain. Understand, if you can, that I by law
cannot send you away, but I can, as a friend, suggest
that the swan does not sleep with the carrion, for
soon the jackals will come and tear it apart, not
seeing the difference."
"But you stay here? You guide
these people? What is the difference?" the peasant
fellow's strong, dignified demeanour and well educated
voice gave him a look more like that of a prince,
than a scavenger.
The Magistrate smiled to himself, for
in his naivete the young man missed something of great
importance. "They respect me, and fear my power.
Because of this, I can serve the Lord in the way he
has chosen for me. You to have been chosen to a higher
calling, I can feel it in you.? But I promise you,
that call will harm you if you remain." The man's eyes
grew distant, and he nodded, apparently hearing much
weight in the magistrates words.
"And so I would say,
as a man, that you must go. For your own sake and this
villages continued peace.... even though it be the
peace of night ... you must go. And yet I would also
say, as a man, that it pains me that I shall not know
you."
The man gazed over to the distant Mountains,
nodding his head in understanding. "I thank you for
your kindness," he said, taking the elders hand. "You,
I can see, are a patient shepherd... " And with this
he began to leave. "But wait!" the elder called... "I
do not know your name... What are you called?"
The man
turned, his tender eyes lit with a love born of
hardship. "Jesus." he answered. "Jesus of Nazareth"
... And with this he turned and left behind the
villagers. He made his way from the little township,
heading towards the West, and a destiny that he knew
awaited him.
Copyright M Wallace 1990 - 2002
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