Simon a new name, or nickname, Cephas (or Peter), meaning solid as the rock. He gave John and James, another pair of brothers, a nickname, too: “sons of thunder” (Mk 3:17). Jesus loved such names as a pledge of friendship or intimacy. Their use among themselves sealed their comradeship in their immense task of turning the world upside down, making spiritual values triumph over material ones. It is curious to think that this haphazard and unplanned meeting with Andrew was to begin a long story which was to end, for him and his brother, as well as for Jesus, with death on the cross: Simon Peter pinned upside down, at his request, so as not to compete with his divine master in the dignity of death; Andrew martyred at Patras in Achaea—bound, not nailed, so as to prolong the agony, on a cross whose peculiar shape has become the symbol of Scotland.
Jesus’s summoning of Matthew from his busy tax collector’s bench at the frontier with Syria is another striking encounter. This official, powerful but hated, followed immediately. It was an instant friendship, silent—no exchange of words is recorded—but strong, and it brought Jesus into the center of another world. For Matthew, clearly at Jesus’s invitation, brought many of his colleagues and friends to an impromptu feast at the house where Jesus was staying. It was a huge success and attracted critical attention from the orthodox Jews and Pharisees, who asked the disciples, “Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?” (Mt 9 : 11). To which Jesus replied, “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
This calling, followed by a feast, illustrated Jesus’s habit, springing from his partly private, partly gregarious temperament, of mingling close encounters with communal ones. He loved to teach at mealtimes. So many of his images concerned bread and its breaking and distribution, as well as the cup and its drinking. The Last Supper was merely the awesome climax of these sacred convivialities. With the exception of spreading news of his miracles, Jesus was always open. He enjoyed food. The wine circulated. The talk flowed. But he respected the need of others for privacy, even secrecy. One of the most striking of his encounters was with Nicodemus, a Jew of high position, a Pharisee and a spiritual ruler who was prominent in the hierarchy (Jn 3 : 1-21). He “came to Jesus by night,” so as not to jeopardize his position, and Jesus did not rebuke him for cowardice. On the contrary, he received him kindly and explained to him, in memorable words, much of his inner message. A man must be “born again” to see the Kingdom. Nicodemus asked, “How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?” Jesus’s answer was a plea for faith: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but should have everlasting life.” He told Nicodemus that he had not been sent “to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” But, he hinted, he must sooner or later come into the open. He must not shun the light: “For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.” Nicodemus should “cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest.” This advice was eventually taken, for when Jesus’s body was taken down from the cross, Nicodemus “brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about an hundred pounds weight.” With this Jesus was anointed, and his body wound “in linen clothes with the spices” and buried in “a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.” We assume that Nicodemus had prepared it for himself (Jn 19 : 39- 42), though it may have belonged to Joseph of Arimathaea, who also assisted at the burial and had the stone rolled in front of the tomb. He, too, was a Jewish dignitary, a
Jesus’s summoning of Matthew from his busy tax collector’s bench at the frontier with Syria is another striking encounter. This official, powerful but hated, followed immediately. It was an instant friendship, silent—no exchange of words is recorded—but strong, and it brought Jesus into the center of another world. For Matthew, clearly at Jesus’s invitation, brought many of his colleagues and friends to an impromptu feast at the house where Jesus was staying. It was a huge success and attracted critical attention from the orthodox Jews and Pharisees, who asked the disciples, “Why eateth your Master with publicans and sinners?” (Mt 9 : 11). To which Jesus replied, “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
This calling, followed by a feast, illustrated Jesus’s habit, springing from his partly private, partly gregarious temperament, of mingling close encounters with communal ones. He loved to teach at mealtimes. So many of his images concerned bread and its breaking and distribution, as well as the cup and its drinking. The Last Supper was merely the awesome climax of these sacred convivialities. With the exception of spreading news of his miracles, Jesus was always open. He enjoyed food. The wine circulated. The talk flowed. But he respected the need of others for privacy, even secrecy. One of the most striking of his encounters was with Nicodemus, a Jew of high position, a Pharisee and a spiritual ruler who was prominent in the hierarchy (Jn 3 : 1-21). He “came to Jesus by night,” so as not to jeopardize his position, and Jesus did not rebuke him for cowardice. On the contrary, he received him kindly and explained to him, in memorable words, much of his inner message. A man must be “born again” to see the Kingdom. Nicodemus asked, “How can a man be born when he is old? can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born?” Jesus’s answer was a plea for faith: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but should have everlasting life.” He told Nicodemus that he had not been sent “to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” But, he hinted, he must sooner or later come into the open. He must not shun the light: “For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.” Nicodemus should “cometh to the light, that his deeds may be made manifest.” This advice was eventually taken, for when Jesus’s body was taken down from the cross, Nicodemus “brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about an hundred pounds weight.” With this Jesus was anointed, and his body wound “in linen clothes with the spices” and buried in “a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.” We assume that Nicodemus had prepared it for himself (Jn 19 : 39- 42), though it may have belonged to Joseph of Arimathaea, who also assisted at the burial and had the stone rolled in front of the tomb. He, too, was a Jewish dignitary, a
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