Next morning, back on the road again and way on its way, the caravan arrived upon a Roman road block. These blockades were security checks, or that’s what the mercenary soldiers said, when they stopped to search them. Romans were disliked intensely. Their countenance was always severe, and their manners rough and careless. They were godless and disrespectful to the Jews; few even spoke the language. Distrusted and feared, children ran from them, hiding in their mothers’ skirts, crying. They were requiring the regular Roman tax, which totaled from one to five percent of a man’s income. Faithful Jews already had other voluntary temple taxes, decreed since Moses, to pay for the sacrifices and incense. So, paying an added half shekel or half an ounce of silver was an onerous burden for the people of Nazareth.
The “tributum” as it was called, was truly the "tribute" that Romans demanded from those, under their control. Most of these taxes were placed upon the goods of travelers, collected as transit tolls or “portoria” at town gates and harbors.
One of the villagers picked a fight, refusing to comply. He was rejecting to pay now arguing he had no goods. In doing so, he was unwittingly, putting the whole caravan in danger of total confiscation.
Mary looked on, picking up more than she wished to know. The hardened soldier to the left, had his hand on the stilt of his sword. His quivering upper lip denoted withheld aggression. He stood ready to pounce on the attack, awaiting for the order. His mouth watered with anticipation. He wanted blood.
“Thomas, stop!” yelled the man´s wife as she hid behind other trembling onlookers. The fighting continued, turning into a power-play without signs of stopping, but neither giving signs of growing out of proportion.
Meanwhile, Mary´s eyes met those of the chief centurion, who shifted, some distance away, supervising his men. For a long time their eyes locked together searchingly, venturing into each other´s souls. Suddenly he took a step back, aghast. Color escaped his lips and his face froze.
His mind raced through the recent memory of a life-changing experience. His eyes shone, alit with hope and unutterable joy as he remembered.
‘Yes’, he recalled.. ‘Jhesus had entered Capernaum, when he had been seeking help for his beloved servant, bedridden and dying, at home. In desperate hopelessness he had asked Jhesus for help’.
"Lord," he remembered saying, "my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly."
‘Jhesus had immediately offered to go to him. But how could he? His home was undeserving of such distinction’. Grasped by unknowing assurance he had gone on….
“Just say the word. You are, as myself, a commander and surely, with your authority, my servant will be healed”. ‘Yes, it had been a miracle!’
Awe-stricken he thought to himself, ‘This is his mother’, and went on, recalling… ‘Jhesus was from Nazareth. Definitely, there was the same hue of holiness about them’.
The centurion started transfixed, towards Mary.
“Blessed are you among women, because blessed is Jhesus, the fruit of your womb”, he said in deep reverence, as he came up to her.
Mary´s eyes swelled in tears, deeply moved by this man´s faith. This centurion's servant, whom his master had valued so highly, was healed because of his loving faith, she somehow knew.
Just then, the centurion called out “Jair, come forth”. A sturdy middle-aged servant came forth; his hardy face and white hair depicted someone knowledgeable and honest, with the likes of someone, Greek. “This is your real Master´s mother”, he said, “and I command you to take care of her. Go with them into Jerusalem, and be free.”
The servant broke down in deep gratitude; Mary, deeply moved.
Such had been the compassion evoked, that the belligerence had stopped, and all were standing around, aghast. ‘Had the centurion let his servant free? Had he commanded him to guard and travel with Jews? Was this the mother of him, so talked about; the miracle-maker?’
“In tears myself, I marvel at faith and pray to be as trusting”.
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