The Builder
Page 6 of 7
Epilogue
The builder bent low over the piece of wood he was working on. His skilled hands formed a large lily blossom, giving it the detail that years of practice had wrought. His hair had grayed quite a bit now, having recently reached fifty years of age, but his gait was still strong and his arms and back as sinewy as ever. Yosef and his four sons were well-known and well liked as builders in the area of Sepphoris, especially since the rebuilding had commenced some years earlier. He had been hired by Herod Antipas himself to do the rich carvings in his palace and now was working on a mansion for a Roman officer.
He gazed over at where his sons were working. Yakov was his first-born, a serious young man who was very much like his father, though his skill had turned more to stone-dressing than wood-carving. Here he was carefully working with the master mason to lay the walls. Yosef’s second son, Yosef, was a fair wood-carver, but by no means as talented as his youngest brother Yehuda. Between them was Simeon, a happy, bright young man, who as a boy had been much like his mother. Then there were his two lovely daughters, both of whom were with their mother.
And always, there was Yehoshua, his pride and joy. He was a strong young man now, one to whom everything came easily. He carved as well as Yosef had ever done so and he studied the Scriptures with a depth and delight that Yosef had never seen anywhere. Sometimes he would recite the words as if he himself had spoken them, a thought that puzzled the old builder. His father Yakov fortunately had lived long enough to witness Yehoshua’s first steps in learning Scripture and he had delighted the old rabbi by plying him with questions about the Word of God that still amazed both his father and his grandfather.
And then there was the first time that Yehoshua had been to Jerusalem since his dedication. He was twelve and just Bar-Mitzvah. They had lost him as they left and it had taken them three days to find him again. That had been the time when he’d fought the most severely with Miriam. She’d berated him the whole time for having lost the boy.
“Look, woman,” he’d finally said. “God will protect him when we can’t. He’s twelve years old and a man! Where would we find a man?” And that was what had brought them to the Temple courts. Yehoshua had been there, sitting among the rabbis, both young and old, listening, asking, trying to understand. The scene had instantly quenched any anger that Yosef might have had. It was clear that his son was doing what he had only ever dreamed of. And then came the rabbis’ praise of his quick mind and his deep insight into the Word. Yosef felt that he would nearly burst with pride. It was with delight that he put his arm around his son’s shoulders and almost strutted from the Temple courtyard.
Miriam, on the other hand was not nearly as delighted.
“Son!” she exclaimed angrily. “Why have you done this to us? Your father and I have been frantic, searching for you everywhere.”
“But why did you need to search?” the boy asked, innocently, almost reproachfully. “You should have known that I was at my Father’s house.”[23] That deflated Yosef’s ego just a bit, reminding him that though he was thought to be Yehoshua’s father, the boy was not the son of his flesh. But still, his son was Messiah. And it remained at that.
The one thing that always came back to him as he remembered that incident was the pang that he had every time he went back to Jerusalem. It was the fact that he would never get the chance to see his God face-to-face. And that was the one thing he longed for.
He looked over to where Yehoshua was talking with one of the other young men, working on a beam himself. It was marvelous how their carving styles were so similar that he could share the work with this, his eldest son. Yosef laughed and stroked the wood with his chisel again.
At that moment a gust of wind rattled one of the large scaffolds nearby where men were hoisting a good-sized block to the top of the wall. The builder looked up and thought to himself that he ought to check the lashings on the beam farthest out. Perhaps they were coming loose. He sighed and pushed himself off of his block, putting his chisel and mallet down on the beam.
“Yosef, what is it?” his long-time friend Micah called.
“I think the lashings are loose on the scaffolding,” Yosef replied over his shoulder. “I’m going to check them.”
“Very well,” Micah called back, glanced up at the stone and then yelled.
“Yosef, look out!” The builder looked up. The rope on the large stone they’d been hoisting up snapped and the rock was hurtling down at him. He had only a split second to move and threw himself to the side, but not far enough the rock came down on the middle of his back. The air was knocked from him and he found he could hardly get any back.
“Yosef!” Micah screamed, rushing over. The four sons of Yosef heard the word and hurried over. Yehoshua, as always, was there first.
“Father,” he whispered, his dark eyes warm, compassionate, full of pain. With supreme effort the builder drew a breath.
“My back,” he gasped. He looked into his eldest son’s eyes and drew another breath.
“Am I dying?” The young man nodded solemnly, all his features making clear he was bearing Yosef’s pain as well. The world was fading fast, but there were two things the builder wanted to say yet.
“Yehoshua, have I been a good father to you?” he asked. A tear slid down his cheek.
“The best human father a man could have,” the young man answered and Yosef knew that he always spoke the truth. Yosef forced a smile and patted his son’s knee.
“The one thing — one thing — I’ve always wanted, Yehoshua...” He struggled for another breath. “I’ve wanted — wanted to see God — face-to-face, Yehoshua.” His eyes were teary as he looked up at the young man. And Yehoshua bent down and took Yosef Ben Yakov’s head in both his hands. He gazed silently into the dying man’s eyes and in that moment Yosef knew. He broke into a smile as he breathed his last, looking into the eyes of Eternity.
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