A Boy, a Magician, and a Harlot: Stories You Never Heard from the Bible

By Lori J. Gainer, Jeanie Thibault and Toni L. Starniri

Invites the reader behind the scenes of Bible stories

What was the reaction of the head waiter at the wedding at Cana when he realized the wine had run out? What gave the man the idea to lower his paralyzed friend through the roof to see Jesus? What were the young men who accompanied Abraham and Isaac on the journey to the mountain thinking? Much of scripture is comprised of individuals who are unnamed but have important roles to play in biblical stories. This illustrated book offers first person accounts of twenty-one Bible stories (Old Testament, New Testament, and apocrypha) from the perspectives of bystanders or "sup-porting" characters, giving us an opportunity to imagine: how would we react? What would we say or do given similar circumstances today? This imaginative collection includes thought-provoking discussion questions for congregational or individual reflection, and can be invaluable for fresh perspectives in sermons and study groups.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Church Publishing
• Release date: Mar 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781640651043

Lori J. Gainer

Lori J. Gainer started leading youth groups and teaching Bible studies while she was in college and has been active in youth ministry and teaching in-depth Bible studies the entirety of her adult life. She has an Mdiv from Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and lives in Austin, Texas.

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INTRODUCTION

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It had not been my initial intention to write a book. Yet, you hold this book in your hands. This started out to be a Lenten journey class and took on a life of its own over the course of about three years. However, the venture truly began more than thirty years ago.

I had first been introduced to Imaginative Contemplation when I heard a young high school student read a monologue during Sunday worship, long before I had ever heard the terminology of imaginative contemplation. The text she read represented the thoughts and emotions of Simon of Cyrene and expressed how he was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. It spoke of this man’s heartache and ongoing misery, knowing his role in the crucifixion story. It was a new experience for me and one that was very emotional.

Fast forward twenty years to a seminary classroom and my second introduction. The professor read a scripture story and then discussed what had been read. After the initial discussion, the students were challenged to perform a closer reading, which involved reading through the selection numerous times and placing themselves into the setting. Who is present in the reading? Who is on the periphery? Whose voice is heard and who remains silent? Whose voice would you like to hear? Visualize the setting, hear the noise, and notice the subtleties. As I walked through this process, I felt invited in a totally new way into the scriptures I had heard and read for many years. The words of scripture took on a new dimension and vibrancy that I had not seen or felt previously.

I learned that Imaginative Contemplation was a practice that held a longstanding place within the Christian faith and devotion. As early as the fifth century, John Cassian brought spiritual wisdom learned from the desert fathers into a process of studying scripture in a devotional manner rather than a critical manner. This devotional manner included the practice of Imaginative Contemplation. Centuries later, Ignatius of Loyola (sixteenth-century founder of the Society of Jesus, or Jesuits) continued that strong influence with patterns of meditation and visualization of the Passion of Christ.

Slingshot forward another couple of years. I found myself in a used bookstore, perusing Lenten readings. I stumbled upon a small book titled, Flesh, Bone, Wood* and was immediately captivated by the random entry I had opened the book to. It happened to be the entry for Thursday, the day after Ash Wednesday, and I heard the words of John the Beloved Disciple as he agonized over watching the crucifixion preparations. The emotion expressed in that two-page entry impacted my heart much like a blow to the head or the gut. I sat on the floor and wept as I re-read the entry.

I bought the book and managed to find more copies online (not an easy feat since the book was a British publication from 2001). I had decided that the study group I taught might like to explore this book as our Lenten discipline. The very brief vignettes presented in this small book had flipped a switch for all of us and we decided to explore Imaginative Contemplation a bit more. I began writing some stories of my own to be presented to the Wednesday Evening Bible Study from St. David’s Episcopal Church.

In the beginning process of writing these stories, I shared this task that I had undertaken with my mother. Her interest was piqued and she immediately started suggesting additional stories that would fit the parameters I had chosen: unnamed Biblical characters who could offer a different perspective. Her ideas were strong and insightful, and I asked her to take a stab at writing one herself. A new leg of the journey had begun. As a retired teacher (whose major was English), it was a wonderful, natural progression for us to collaborate on the stories. (It has been an amazing process and special bond for a mother and daughter to share!)

The first story took the study group on a trip with a young unmarried couple jostled through the streets of Jerusalem with no lodging to be found and the delivery of their baby imminent. It was a story we had all heard more times than what could be counted. But this venture was presented through the lens of the innkeeper who had no room for the weary travelers. This innkeeper is typically glanced over as we read through the birth narrative each Christmas. The group decided that another story needed to be ready for the following week. And thus the writing continued.

This was the beginning of A Boy, a Magician, and a Harlot. Previously unnamed characters from our Christian scripture had been given a name and a voice, and our traditional stories were presented from a different vantage. After reading through the story aloud, the group paused for a few moments of silent reflection on what we had just read. Once our silence had been broken, a lively and passionate discussion spilled forth. We discussed the tone, atmosphere, emotion, backstory, and posed more questions than we could answer. These questions allowed the group to make relevant and contemporary connection to well-known and cherished stories in a different context and approach.

A Boy, a Magician, and a Harlot is not an attempt to add to, take away from, or rewrite our sacred texts. Rather, it is an opportunity to revisit familiar places and events from a slightly different place of observation. One person compared the stories to . . . five individuals witnessing a fender bender; each person seeing a slightly different event. Through the stories we are presented with a sideways glance into familiar stories. Another friend likened the stories to going to your favorite grandmother’s house by a different, unfamiliar route—the destination being the same, only the direction being new and different.

The questions at the conclusion of each chapter grew from the group discussions following the reading of each story. These questions challenge some of our preconceived notions, stretch the imagination a bit farther, and tie these long-enduring stories to our contemporary lives. A Boy, a Magician, and a Harlot can be used by small groups as a discussion tool or it can be used by individuals for personal reflection. Another potential use, suggested by a clergy friend, would be for the book to serve as an introductory volume to encourage the newly faithful to explore scripture more deeply. It is appropriate for ages spanning from middle school through the eldest of church members.

This journey has traversed many years and has drawn in quite a few friends and loved ones along the way. However you intend to use this book, I pray that your faith story, heart, and mind will be taken to a favorite destination by an unfamiliar route. May you enjoy the journey as we have.

*Geoffrey Rowell and Julien Chilcott-Monk, Flesh, Bone, Wood (Norwich: Canterbury Press, 2001).

Chapter 1

AN INNKEEPER

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In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn. —Luke 2:1–7

You are familiar with this story. You are familiar with my story, but you have never met me. My name is Hashbet. You know me as an innkeeper.

People think the life of an innkeeper is a life of ease, filled with the stories of travelers from far off, tales that draw you into the lives of others, mystery and intrigue learned through others’ experiences. If I could only make it so. I would give a year’s wages for this to be true. It is as far from the truth as the mountain snow is from the desert dust cloud. Truth be told, this life I share with Mishara, my wife, is difficult and demanding and oftentimes demeaning. We inherited the inn from her uncle when he died nearly seven years ago. We were his only family left in this world. It has been a joy to carry on this tradition from Uncle Hiram’s gift to us, yet it has not always been an easy task for my family.

Being the keeper of an inn requires long days for each member of the family, much planning and patience, and the ability to accommodate people who may be extravagant, difficult, loud, or simply unkind. At times it requires my wife to place her hand over my mouth to prevent me from speaking too quickly or harshly. Very rarely are the guests who stay with us friends or other people with whom we are familiar. More often, our guests are traveling through Judea to some other destination or coming for a festival or wedding. The majority of people are kind and grateful for the space and service we provide. Others are demanding and believe that we are below their status; servants at their disposal. However, they all rely on us for their needs. I am grateful that my children are learning of many cultures and traditions as they help around the inn.

Over these seven years, many have come through our doors. We have been grateful for most of our guests and have shared evenings filled with stories, songs, and festival celebrations. The memories of these people will remain with us for many years to come; there are some who will forever be in the forefront of our hearts.

Our oldest daughter, Mara, was married just over a year ago. Sadly, and suddenly, two months ago she and her infant died during the birthing. This would have been our first grandchild and we were so very excited. It was not to be and we have been given a double portion of sorrow in our family. Yet, it was just a few months following this devastation that our most memorable guests stumbled into our lives. Even if I wanted to, I know I could never forget that couple.

We had just finished our time of mourning; my wife and I for our daughter, and the younger children for their sister. The inn had been closed for days and we had planned to open our doors once again the following day. We had already lost so much business being closed with swarms of people in town for the registration. Mishara convinced me to open the doors this day instead of waiting. It didn’t take long for our rooms to fill. We moved the children from their rooms and I made pallets for all of us in the protected portion of the roof. This opened up more space for guests and their families. We even had people who chose to sleep on the dirt floor, just so they would not be outside and risk being robbed. Our stable, small as it is, was teeming with donkeys, oxen freed from their carts, and sheep being taken to the temple for offering. All these in addition to our few goats and the lame donkey my children refused me to be rid of. There was no room left anywhere within the city. Large families could be found sleeping in spaces where only two might normally sleep. It was an uncomfortable time for all.

Late in the evening, hours after we had closed the inn for the night, the sound of the small bell at our door began to jingle. I tried to ignore the sound, knowing that I would need to turn whoever it was away. There was an insistence to the bell that I was sure I had imagined. Yet, again and again the bell rang out its high-pitched peal. I could no longer pretend that it might subside. After a long day’s work, I was angry to be disturbed in such a manner. As I stormed to the door, careful not to step on anyone, I was jolted by the pregnant woman and her man who stood at my door who simply said, Please. Having recently lost Mara, the sight of this pregnant woman was an assault to my heart. I knew we had no room. I knew that no one would have room. Yet turning this one away would be like turning away my own dear child. How could Yahweh ask such a thing of me? How could Yahweh stab my heart in such a way?

There was no room. None. Not one corner of a room would be able to hold these two. How could I dare to offer them the already overcrowded stable? Mara would have thought I was an inhospitable fool who stood there with mouth agape, just staring. My wife’s presence by my side broke my spell of silence. She must have sensed the battle within my heart at the sight of this pregnant one. However, Mishara did not hesitate one moment. She was apologizing to the couple as she was escorting them toward the stable. How could they stand to sleep with so many animals? And how could they do anything less? At least they would be warm in the fresh straw.

My body ached with the tiredness of such a long day. Perhaps it only stung with the heaviness brought anew into my heart. Mishara and I fell into a slumber that was deep and comforting. We did not stir until much later in the morning than we had planned. Our guests would be expecting fresh bread and at least some milk from one of our goats. As I entered the stable, once again my heart was caught by the sight of this young couple. However, she no longer held her belly from the weight of an impending birth. While Mishara and I slept, this young one bore the child who had previously rested in her womb. The man still slept, and she held tightly to the infant at her breast. They both looked peaceful in that moment; mother looking down into the face of her new boy and the little one contentedly suckling.

There was a difference in this birth, in this mother, in her son. How I knew this I could not say. I knew without being told. Silently, I prayed to Yahweh and was thankful for this new life. Thankful for the life that would be lived. Thankful for those who would encounter the man that this child would grow to become.

The mother looked up at me, smiled, and said only, I thank Yahweh for your hospitality.

Thankfulness in the face of utter exhaustion.

Thankfulness for the hospitality of a stable.

Thankfulness that I cannot imagine.

You are familiar with this story. You are familiar with my story and now you have met me. My name is Hashbet. You know me as the innkeeper.

Questions for Discussion or Reflection

1.

What does the story say of Hashbet and Mishara’s faithfulness and spirituality? Do you feel that their dedication to providing space for travelers is simply their job and livelihood? Or is this part of their mission and service?

2.

How has this story changed your prior perceptions of the innkeeper from what you’ve read in scripture? In what ways has your perception changed? Did you ever previously consider the role of the innkeeper in the birth narrative?

3.

Our Christmas nativity scenes today