A Trans Messiah Heals a Gay Roman’s Lover — Great Faith, Great Love

Where there is love, God is there

The crowd ebbs and flows around Yasha, hundreds of sandaled feet tossing swirls of dust into the air. The twelve stay at hand, keeping people from pressing so close as to prevent Yasha from moving. Impressions wash over him, senses and passions, like waves washing upon the sand. So many people; so much love and sorrow and pain and desire and grief and joy.

The buildings of Kfar Naḥum close around them as they enter the village. People mending nets and gutting fish pause to stare as the multitude crams into the narrow street, and spills out into the surrounding area. Whispers tumble through the town, spilling from person to person with the news that Yasha has arrived.

The murmurs halt as a tall man steps out into the street in front of Yasha. His countenance names him Roman, and his uniform marks him a centurion. The crowd shrinks back from him, some people even twitching clothing away from touching him.

“Signore.” The centurion makes obeisance to Yasha as befits one of high rank to another. “My pais is lying at home, dreadfully ill.” His Aramaic is strongly accented, but clear.

Cephas steps forward as if to put himself between Yasha and the foreigner, and Yasha feels Yohan’s reassuring presence at his back.

Yasha catches Cephas’ sleeve and shakes his head. It is time the twelve learn that he is here for all people. He returns the centurion’s genuflection. “I will come and heal him.”

Cephas’ dismay surges, but Yasha’s hand keeps him silent.

The centurion shakes his head. “Signore, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof.”

Yasha senses fervent agreement from Cephas and many others to that statement. Most of the people are watching the Roman with expressions varying from suspicion to outright hostility.

The centurion continues, “If You would only speak the word, my amante will be healed.” He casts his gaze over the twelve. “I too am a man with authority.” He gestures with a hand. “I say to this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to another, ‘Do this,’ and he does it. I do not have to see it to know it is done.”

Yasha blinks, then a smile spreads across his face. He feels pure faith from the Roman along with love and concern for his pais. This man is calmly certain of what he says.

Cephas bends toward Yasha, and his beard tickles Yasha’s ear as he hisses, “This man is a foreigner and a heathen! Are you really going to heal his eromenos?”

“Cephas.” Yasha grips Cephas’ shoulder, and looks into his zealous dark eyes. “Assuredly, I say to you, I have not found such great faith, not even in Israel!”

Yasha lifts his head and raises his voice to carry to those around. “I say to you that many will come from nations in the east and in the west, and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.” A ripple of disquiet runs out through the crowd like rings in a pond from a dropped pebble. Yasha turns back to the Roman. “Go your way; and, as you have believed, so let it be done for you.”

The centurion salutes Yasha, his eyes full of gratitude. Then he turns with military precision and leaves.

The twelve close in around Yasha as thoughts and murmurs rise all around, blending, overlapping, overwhelming: “Did you really — ? … A Roman! …erastes…. eromenos…”

Cephas and Yohan close in, one on either side of Yasha, and lead the twelve swiftly through the streets to Cephas’ house. The crowd disperses, drifting away when Yasha vanishes inside, and he closes his eyes for a few moments to simply breathe.

Then, he feels the worry that hangs over the house like a damp cloak, and the sickness that huddles in the corner. Yasha opens his eyes and walks across the room while Cephas is still greeting his wife. Merav’s mother Zilpah lies curled up on the bed in the corner, illness and fever surrounding her like a cloud. Yasha bends and touches her hand.

Zilpah rolls over and sits up, her face breaking into a smile like the sun emerging from the clouds after a storm. “Yasha!” She grabs his shoulders and kisses both of his cheeks enthusiastically. “You’ve brought Shim’on home to us!” Springing to her feet, she embraces Cephas in the same manner, then prods Merav toward the hearth. “You must be hungry, so long on the road.”

Within minutes, the twelve are seated around the courtyard; food pressed into their hands, and water brought to wash the dust from their feet.

Cephas sets down his cup after a long drink, and fastens his gaze on Yasha, radiating confusion. “Rabbi, why would you offer to go to his home?”

Yasha dusts bread crumbs from his robes and sits up straighter to face Cephas fully. “I have come to the children of Israel first, yes. I have also come to call all to repentance. ‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,’ and all peoples are His.”

Cephas’ face twists in dislike. “Do you know what a pais means?”

Yasha glances at Yohan. “I do.”

Cephas throws his hands up in frustration and slumps back onto his seat with a heavy sigh.

Yasha stands, meeting each of the twelve’s eyes around the circle. “As I said, his faith was great. As was his love. And where there is love, God is there.” He reaches out to Yohan, who readily takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. Yasha smiles as he looks into Yohan’s eyes, basking in his love. “The greatest virtue is love.”

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Esther learned to read when she was four years old, and began writing shortly thereafter. She is a queer Christian poet, crafting with words to create art and music.

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