The Potter's Jar

By Roger Weis

The Pottery Jar is a controversial, thought-provoking novel that moves back and forth from biblical times to the 1960s then concludes in more recent times on the campus of Princeton’s Theological Seminary. Prior to being drafted to serve as a reporter in Vietnam, Christopher Matthews was a typical, young college student with few worries and fewer insights into who he was and where his life was headed. The war changed all of that and he would never be the same. Christopher’s search for purpose and truth would take him on a journey of mystery, religion, and love all wrapped in one explosive work of fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823019385

Roger Weis

National best-selling author Dr. Roger Weis began writing coastal poetry when he was 14 years old. When he was drafted from college in the 60s, he become a reporter and editor for the U.S. Army in Vietnam. Afterwards, he returned to Marshall University (MU) and some of his poetry was included in the school’s writing journal, Etc. After he completed his undergraduate and graduate degrees at MU, he went on to complete a doctorate at the University of Kentucky and his first 11 books were textbooks. The Pottery Jar is his 15th book. Two of his previous works were the #1 sellers in the academic sector. Roger is professor emeritus from Murray State University. He lives in Murray, KY with critters Summer and Sandy. His son Clint, daughter-in-law Annika and grandkids Ryder and Riley live in Milford, New Hampshire.

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© 2024 Roger Weis. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/18/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1939-2 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1940-8 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-1938-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023923831

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Joanna Marissa Magdalene

Jesus Christ

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Sand And Shells

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Places In My Heart

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Jesus

Marissa

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Jesus

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Jesus

Marissa

Jesus

Christopher Matthews

Jesus

Marissa

Jesus

Marissa

Jesus

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Marissa

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Caroline Prescott

Christopher Matthews

Just Once

Other books by

Roger Weis, Ed.D.

Leading and Managing Nonprofit Organizations, first, second, and third editions

Sea Change

Leading with Character, Purpose, and Passion, first and second editions

Sea Dreams

Knowledge and Skill Development in Nonprofit Organizations

Service- Learning Training, K – 16

Summer Sands

Leadership and Program Development, first and second editions

Service-Learning Training for Faculty Members, K – 16

A Lifetime of Making a Difference

Dedicated to Loretta and Vivian (mother and

grandmother), two wonderful ladies who

taught us to love books and to love life.

JOANNA MARISSA MAGDALENE

W aking up this morning was no different than any other—birds chirping, dogs barking, and dismal, gray clouds covering the sky. And if the sun came out, I would not notice it. Life in Nazareth was bleak and treacherous. If one of the Roman military asses were not trying to grab you as they went by the narrow streets, the local fools made up for it. Even though my father was a rabbi and had a bit of influence in the region, it did not matter when you were a young Jewish girl walking alone or with other young girls.

King Herod Antipas, the Roman-appointed king, was the fifth born son of Herod the Great. His father had been king before him and ruled with wisdom and some degree of compassion. But Herod Antipas, who had been schooled in Rome and was a follower of Caesar Augustus, would have none of that and led in ways that only benefited himself.

He was a man of great cruelty and looked the part, wearing heavy robes woven from the finest materials, a dark beard, and a thin mustache, all of which gave him a sinister and evil look. Taxes were heavy on Jewish families, and if you did not pay what the tax collectors thought was your share, you could lose livestock, land, or material goods of all kinds, or your children could end up as slaves. A substantial portion of taxes went to pay for temples and other monuments Herod built to honor himself and his insatiable ego. Another portion went to the Romans, who ruled from afar. This left little money for the rest of us. Everything seemed so hopeless. It was as if we were all stuck in some sort of horrible, dark stench without any escape or light to look toward.

I thought it might be worse for me than for some others. Our mother had died during my birth, and my older sister, Mary, and I had to shoulder most of the housework, as well as to try and soothe our father’s lonely soul. But I alone bore the brunt of the blame for our mother’s passing. Father never insinuated it was my fault, but that did not seem to ease my pain. He often looked at me as if I were guilty of something awful. We never spoke of my birth or early years.

Mary had her own issues; in trying to avoid the riffraff around us, she made it appear she was part of the riffraff, which I never quite understood. But it seemed to work. She was strong in spirit and did not seem bothered by anything. But father was worried excessively about Mary’s situation. We were citizens of Magdalena, until one day our father announced we would be leaving Magdalena for Nazareth. He thought it would help Mary by changing surroundings for her.

She had developed quite a reputation, which unfortunately followed her to our new home. Mary was able to make it appear that she surrounded herself with the most dangerous young people in Nazareth, when in truth she was one of the kindest people I have ever known. Only someone bold and unafraid would even come close to Mary, and that someone was James, without doubt.

James was dark, handsome, and strong. Mary thought it would be best for James if he were not known as someone who associated with her, but that distancing made him want her even more. And as time went on, James and Mary became more familiar with each other. I have to say I found him quite handsome as well.

One day, he invited my sister to accompany him to the village center to help his mother bring some of her pottery and tools back home. I was asked to come along. Nazarenes often boycotted the Romans’ pottery because of their oppressive ways toward the Jews, and making one’s own pottery was a way to symbolize our resistance. Pottery was also sold at the market center and was a useful source of much-needed additional income. As soon as we got there, we were met by one of the most beautiful and kind women I had ever met, also named Mary. Her smile was soft and inviting, and her manner was humble and sweet. There was no other way to describe her face but to state that it was angelic.

While James walked beside my sister back to his home, I walked beside his mother. My knees got weak, and my hands began to shake. It was the first time I had been in the company of any adult who seemed to truly care about me. She asked questions no one had ever asked and expressed such sincere sorrow for the passing of my mother. For the first time in my entire life, I felt as if there was a sliver of light and warmth in a world that had so often seemed filthy and vile. And although she had her own brood of children to look after, we would spend time together over the coming weeks. The more time I spent with James’ mother, Mary, the happier I became.

At or near the age of thirteen, I began menstruating. And since my sister had just begun this process a year before, I had some understanding, but it was frightening and affected my mood and my thoughts. I was scared and even afraid to talk to my sister about it; it seemed like such a personal subject, and for some reason, I was ashamed. Then one morning I woke up with tears in my eyes from crying in my sleep, and my bed was soaked with blood. I pulled on my clothes and tore through the streets toward Mary’s home.

She and her daughters were just getting ready to bake morning bread, but when she saw the sheer terror in my eyes, she asked her daughters to go ahead of her to the communal oven. And she directed her sons to fetch water from the stream, which served most of Nazareth. Then she put her arms around me and held me close as I sobbed and sobbed. I was at the most important place in my life, where my life before was past, and my life ahead was so much clearer.

To this day, the only thing I remember her saying was that she loved me. Mostly she listened to me lament and cry, and that was all I needed. It felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off me. Then something even more inexplicable happened. I knew James had brothers and sisters, but I had only met James so far. Hearing the shuffling of sandals on pebbles, we both turned to see a lanky lad coming toward us with disheveled hair and half-closed eyes. And then the lad, Jesus, smiled. It was like the beginning of a beautiful dream.

JESUS CHRIST

M eeting Marissa for the first time was unforgettable. Not only was she beautiful with her warm, piercing eyes and olive skin, but she wore a vulnerability I had never seen before but understood too well. Allowing yourself to cry in public was unusual and hardly ever happened, but when I saw her tears and trembling chin, I wanted to do anything and everything for her from then on. I sensed she felt a bit of shame for crying and feeling lost and alone, but it was one of her traits that drew me to her. She had real feelings and seemed to live in those feelings, for good or for bad. I was so awestruck by her beauty and sensitivity that I could barely utter a greeting. When Mother introduced us and asked me to walk Marissa back to her home, I was excited yet nervous. There were those in the town of Nazareth who believed I was apart from the usual meeting and bonding with a woman. But I felt an intense emotional and physical pull toward Marissa. We barely spoke on our way to her home, yet I experienced the deepest feeling of passion I had ever known.

Over time, we grew closer and closer, often meeting in olive groves or on the outskirts of town and exploring or hiding from each other in nearby caves. I could no longer envision a life without her. She let me into her heart. I loved my brothers and sisters, but I sensed they thought I was a little strange and seemed to keep me at a distance. It was different with Marissa. I felt an unconditional affection and acceptance, which I had only experienced before from both parents.

Sometimes we developed puzzles involving people and places. Our favorite game was when we invited groups of friends together, pitted against each other in some sort of competition. This day, it was only Marissa and me up against James and Timothy, a close friend of James. James and Timothy went westward toward that side of town to create a puzzle where they might be hiding from Marissa and me. Timothy expressed some apprehension that a girl was going to be involved in what he thought was a guy kind of puzzle. But the game went ahead as planned.

The desert sand dunes were constantly shifting and re-forming. Finding James and Timothy on a normal day was difficult enough, but today they had the wind to their advantage. James always tells me this is good practice for facing life’s many puzzles, but I think he does it just to irritate and anger me. Without Marissa to help me look for James and Timothy, I would just give up and let James pummel me with negative words about how I gave up and how he was so much smarter than me. James and Timothy have always felt a little odd about me, I think. Some of our friends talk about me as if I were a bastard child, and others look to me for some kind of spiritual wisdom, with which I was supposedly born. I never knew if they were jealous or suspicious of me being a part of the family. I love my family with all my heart, but the answers are never quite given openly and fully.

The puzzles James and Timothy create always start the same way, with three pieces in a three-sided figure drawn in the sand. And the pieces are always different. This day it is a bird feather, a shell, and a small limb broken from an olive tree. But only one of the three pieces provided a real secret as to where James and Timothy could be.

Marissa is so warm and radiant. Everyone else knows her by the name Joanna, but I call her Marissa since that was her mother’s name, and she favors it. And there is something else that I do not fully understand, but I sense that we need to keep our relationship as private as we can, and I alone know her preferred name. Despite the fact that we tease and make fun of each other, she is the most beautiful friend I could ever have. She does not like it when James or the other boys question my birth and always supports me. She does this without words but with her eyes and her touch. And what eyes she has, so different from the other girls—a kind of blue-green that shimmers like the sea. Still, the insecurities I feel are deep and confusing. And there is something else—an overwhelming sense of being connected to every person, animal, and living creature that exists. Mostly on hot nights when the stars are out, and I sleep on the roof of our home. It grows quiet, and I feel like I may float away with the stars and become a part of everything. Marissa thinks it is a good feeling to have, but it worries me since I do not understand its meaning.

We start with the feather and follow seabird flights overhead that lead to the water’s edge and beyond, but the birds are going in every direction, and we talk about how this could have been left just to confuse and throw us off track. Then we talk about the olive branch in detail, considering all locations of olive groves around the village. The olive groves provide some shade, and that is a great location for James and Timothy to stay out of the sun while they plan their celebration after I do not find them, and they delight in winning any competition with James’s smaller brother. James is taller and stronger, and he never misses a chance to remind me of that. But my thin body is much more agile, and I know I can outrun him, but he never accepts challenges having to do with speed.

So, the olive groves are a real possibility until Marissa reminds me of how easily James and Timothy get bored, and what is more boring than hiding in an olive grove watching the trees grow. That is it—the shell. Several miles west of the three-sided form with pieces of the puzzle are numerous dried-up patches of land where the sea once dwelled. And the dune to end all dunes was there, the one where you could go to the top and roll forever to the bottom in ecstasy. The one with a shady patch facing the direction of the Mare Internum Sea, with sea birds and a broad array of shells and dried up driftwood to keep a person occupied.

Marissa thinks that is a good place for James and Timothy to hide while staying cool. As we both plow over the top, sand flying all around us, James and Timothy jump up and immediately dismiss their discovery since Marissa became a part of the game. Marissa undercuts James’s and Timothy’s complaints by telling them they should be more concerned because a girl