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John grew up on the water.
Son of Zebedee. Son of Salome. Brother of James. Jew. Fisherman. These are the ways he describes himself; these are the ways he identifies. Until he's fifteen. Until he meets the Lord.
When he’s fifteen, John notices that the boy who lives down the street has long curled lashes and that the sun shines off his dust and freckled covered cheeks in a way that makes him glow. Years later, he sees the smile on who they call The Lamb of God's face before He steps foot onto Simon’s boat and summons more fish than they’ve seen in a month. Both moments burn in unison in his heart. Different people, different times, but the same awe and dread in the pit of his stomach.
John still feels all of those titles, still resonates with them and wears them proudly. But there is a doubt, a shame that lurks underneath his ribs that says he doesn’t deserve them. That while he may have love for family and for God, they do not care for him the same. They could not care the same if they knew.
That feeling almost evaporates when he watches as Simon kneels before Jesus’ feet. His heart that so easily offends and betrays his own mind bursts with warmth and light when He joins Simon at his level, when He reaches out soft but strong looking hands to lay open Simon’s shoulders as He kneels on the rocks with him.
John’s eyes have not left the sun radiating off His eyes on the shore, the way His hair curls above His shoulders in a familiar way that makes his own stomach clinch with nerves and excitement.
Son. Brother. Jew. Fisherman. Sodomite. These words have less of an ache when Jesus beckons toward him and James with a silent wave of the hand. The lightness in his chest returning tenfold and he's immediately scrambling out of their abba’s boat to chase it, wanting that relief of energy to last as long as possible, to be permanent in the same way he thought the shame would be since he was a young boy.
But James holds him back by the shoulder, fingers catching in his tunic and John glances back to see his older brother looking toward their abba for instruction.
Abba smiles at them, tears shimmering in his eyes as he waves his arms out to the shore. “Go! He is the One we’ve been waiting for.”
They both go flailing off the boat and into the shallow water, racing toward Jesus like children coming in for supper. This time James’ hand on his shoulder is gripping tight to keep up.
He makes it beside Simon first, their friend just now getting to his feet. James bumps into his back and he stumbles forward a little, feeling his whole world zero down to the beautiful Messiah in front of their eyes. His heart hammers in his chest.
“James and John.” Jesus smiles, voice steady and inviting as His gaze floats between him and his brother. His face still shines like the sun echoing on the water at dawn and John is mesmerized.
“Boanerges.” He says, and he feels the weight of that title immediately, recognizing the Greek dialect from the pier. Sons of Thunder. But it does not feel critical. It feels Holy. “Sons of Zebedee. Come and follow me.”
Their feet carry them forward a step of their own accord.
Simon’s brother Andrew has come off of their own boat and joined them, standing behind his brother the same way John’s stands behind him. Jesus looks out over all four of them, a look on His face that he can’t decipher but vows then to spend the rest of his life figuring out.
“Follow me.” He says again, His eyes landing on John again and piercing through to his very soul and heart in a way that has his breath stuttering in his throat. “And I will make you fishers of men.”
The words feel important, they move and settle inside his head and make a home there. A permanent bed of rest even though John couldn’t quite tell you what they mean.
Jesus turns around, motioning them all to follow Him further up the shore and John eagerly moves closer to walk alongside his right side. The others surround them, and he dares to step closer once James knocks into his shoulder from his right.
He gazes up at his new rabbi, the Man not being but a handful of inches taller than he but feeling like He’s as big and foreboding as a mountain. And yet as John’s gaze lingers, He feels as calming as a full well on a hot summer’s day.
Jesus turns His head, eyes catching John watching and He smiles again. His face looking so human and so divine at the same time. He reaches out to put an arm around John’s shoulder, His hand settling on the curve of his neck.
His fingers feel warm, the once looking soft skin that John noticed earlier actually being marked with callouses. The hands of a worker, the hands of someone who follows through with what He speaks.
The Messiah holds his gaze for a moment longer before His eyes drift forward again. His hand stays on John’s skin though and through that constant touch, the feelings of doubt flicker away in his soul until they’re barely an ember, a fire of strength and love and protectiveness filling the corners of his heart instead.
-
They travel throughout Galilee. They see water turned to wine. They see a leper become healed. All from Jesus’ touch. All from His words.
Above all, they listen to His words. John listens to His words.
How He talks about being born again of water and the Spirit. How that is the only way to the Kingdom of God. He repeats those words to himself when he is alone at night, trying to sleep. When they’re in the middle of nowhere, in between towns and courtyards where Jesus will speak and heal, he will be alone in his tent and he will be trying not to think about the curve of His calf and the glint of sweat on His brow. John will repeat: Water and the Spirit.
He knows about water and Spirit.
They’ve come back down from the mountain, back into their home of Capernaum, and Jesus’ voice echoes in his ears as they walk through the middle of town.
The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.
He looks over at Jesus ahead, making His way through the crowded market toward the edge of town where his and James’ family home is. Simon and Andrew have gone on off to their own home to rest for the night and Jesus is to stay with them, to take a much-needed rest after His long sermon on the mountain. John hopes their foundation is true. That he has not defiled it.
Out of almost nowhere, a centurion approaches them through the crowd. John instinctively moves closer to Jesus’ side, a terrified and furious jolt going through him. He can see James do the same thing on His other side.
“Lord.” The centurion says with a frantic look in his eye that reflects the fright in John’s. It makes him relax somewhat, thinking the likelihood of a fight breaking out is low now but his fingers still move up to twist in the sleeve of his rabbi’s tunic as the Roman continues. “My pais lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”
John recognizes that word and he seizes in stillness for a completely different reason. Whispers of Jewish and Roman men alike who have male lovers drift in the alleyways here with cruel words and meaner fists. Whispers that have kept him quiet since his adolescence. His fingers twist tighter in the cloth of Jesus’ sleeve.
“Rabbi.” He says quietly, scared now that the Roman in front of him and the Jews beside him will notice the same unnaturalness in him. “Maybe-“
Jesus silences him with a raise of the hand that’s sleeve is still clutched in John’s fingers. He quiets down and releases his grip, feeling like the young boy he once was who got reprimanded for running in synagogue.
His Lord looks at the centurion with kind eyes, ones that have not changed in the slightest from how They’ve looked when He’s talked and healed everyone else they’ve meet on the road so far.
“Shall I come and heal him?” Jesus asks, a warm concern in his tone.
“Lord.” The centurion says again, and John is surprised to see tears well up in the man’s eyes. “I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my pais will be healed.”
The man waves an arm around, seemingly grasping for words. “For I myself am a man under authority, with solders under me. I tell this one, “Go,” and he goes; and that one, “Come,” and he comes. I say to my pais, “Do this,” and he does it.”
The centurion’s face grows warm with fondness as he finishes speaking, his mouth twisting up tearily even though he speaks of his pais with great love.
John looks back at Jesus, not knowing what he’ll see, wondering if his worst fears of his rabbi will come true tonight. But all that meets his gaze is amazement. Jesus’ face shines with pride and astonishment. He looks over at James and then at John, still with that stare of love and fondness that He’s had for him since that first day on the sea.
“Truly, I tell you.” He starts, glancing back between John and his brother. His face is open with surprise and a delight so great that it almost knocks John backwards. “I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. Many will come from the east and the west and will take their place at the feast of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of Heaven. But the sons of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
His words rock him just as much as the look on His face did. Is He saying what John thinks He’s saying? John keeps his eyes on his rabbi, not seeing the centurion’s reaction when Jesus turns back to him with a wide smile.
“Go!” Jesus says joyfully. “Let it be done just as you believed it would be.”
John hears the plates of the centurion’s uniform clink together as he runs away but he does not turn his eyes off his rabbi. He’s shocked speechless like he has been before by Jesus’ actions and words but never like this; never with something that touched a spot so deep in his being that it felt like His hands were reaching into his soul and holding his very heart.
His brother is the one who speaks.
“Is that man really healed this instant, Rabbi?” James asks, tone bewildered with awe and not at all full of judgement or hate.
He himself is just as speechless with awe - at his brother’s kindness, at his Savior’s. John is almost ashamed to admit he is surprised.
“You don’t even have to be there to perform the miracles?” He asks, voice still low and urgent and feeling like that’s the only safe thing to vocalize at this very moment.
Jesus turns to him, a teasing smile on His lips that doesn’t feel cruel at all but feels just as knowing. His rabbi’s eyes pierce through his even though His tone is kind. “Don’t act so surprised, John.”
“Woah.” James says, his voice almost a mumble as his eyes drift off to look through the crowd.
John stays silent by His side, Jesus still looking down at him with gentle eyes. After a moment, His head tilts in a nod and His lips twitch before He claps hands on both his and his brother’s shoulders. The touch burns differently than it ever has before.
“Come.” Jesus says, and when has John ever disobeyed? “I am looking forward to your eema’s cooking very much.”
Him and James follow along where Jesus leads, down a path they’ve both been down numerus times their entire lives - both with different reasons on why the rest of the journey is spent in silence.
-
They arrive home to hugs and kisses on cheeks, to warm wishes and even warmer bread. Settling around the meal table, Abba and Eema ask about their journey and about the kinds of things they have seen. Jesus is just as open as He always is, freely sharing not only what He has done but what He’s witnessed others do as well. The joy of dancing with old friends in Cana, the kindness of a family in Tiberias who offered them new sandals for their tired feet.
John is quieter than usual, and he can feel Eema’s eyes on him throughout the meal, but she doesn’t say anything. She is as enamored with the Messiah as her sons are.
Clean up falls on him and James, as it has since they were boys and John hears the low tone of Jesus’ voice talking with his parents through the noise of their washing. His mind runs a mile a minute over what he all witnessed today, over what he felt. It’s making John dizzy trying to sort through the emotions.
James finishes his duties first and calls out that he’s going on to rest, voice echoing that his back is killing him. John cracks a smile at his brother’s usual dramatics.
He hears his parents come in from the garden alleyway where they’d been speaking quietly with Jesus in the moonlight and Eema comes up behind him in the kitchen.
She reaches up, running her hand through the curls at the base of his neck. He looks over at her, having finished putting away the last plate and she smiles softly before leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Goodnight, my son.” She says tenderly.
John returns her smile even though a part of him feels he’s too old to be singled out for a bedtime kiss. “Goodnight, Eema.”
His eema walks away with one last pat to his cheek and John is left alone in the room, his abba already having went ahead to the room they share.
John stands there a moment, taking in the silence and the grains of the wood on the table they just ate their meal at. He suddenly hears Jesus humming softly outside and he swears he feels his heart grow larger inside his body. John closes his eyes, savoring the sacred melody and his feet carry him out to the doorway that leads to the small garden behind his childhood home.
Jesus is sitting on one of the small benches there, his back resting against the stone of the house and John hears his words echoed again. The winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. His eyes are closed, and John takes the moment to watch the way His throat shifts with the vibration of His song.
Opening His eyes as He finishes His tune, Jesus blinks softly before looking over and catching his gaze. He pats the bench next to Him and John walks over silently. The hammering in his chest roars in his ears and contrasts the peaceful moonlight that glows in the garden as he sits down.
“What troubles you, John?” The Lord asks, His voice as soft as the breeze.
Again, the loudness of his thoughts crash in his mind like a storm and he feels the all too familiar rush of frustration in his blood. He shakes his head jerkily and looks up into His eyes with a frantic and shocked knot in his throat that forces the following words out of his mouth.
“Rabbi, that centurion-” He says, tongue almost tripping over his words. Or is that the fear? “He said- he has-“
“Yes.” Jesus says, stopping the tumble of disbelief that’s falling from his lips with the calmness of His voice.
John flutters his gaze between Jesus’ eyes, searching for a meaning he doesn’t know how to name and finding a light beaming from the shore, guiding him to safety.
“And You healed him.” John says plainly with a bewildered laugh. “You acknowledged his love.”
Jesus smiles tenderly at him, not unlike his eema did moments ago. “Of course.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said, John?” He continues knowingly, placing a hand on John’s thigh. Suddenly Eema is the last thing on his mind. “Whoever builds their foundation on a rock will be rewarded.”
John shakes his head softly, confused. What does the stone of this Roman’s house have anything to do with the fact that a man lives there with him?
“I don’t understand, Rabbi.” He admits.
Jesus smiles again, patting his leg. His thumb caresses the muscle through his tunic and John shifts closer. His tzitzits knocking against his shins. The subject matter of their conversation feels too close to the danger of his thoughts, but nothing could make him move away from Him right now.
“He proved his love was pure and of good nature.” Jesus explains gently. “He humbled himself and his faith was strong. Looks can be deceiving, John. Only God knows the heart.”
John feels himself nod, pieces fitting together in his mind involving sons of the kingdom and gnashing of teeth but his heart hammers harder, the darkest corners peaking away as the light shines on them.
“But he has-“ He starts again and this time it isn’t the fear or the calmness of his rabbi that stops the words. It’s the moisture in his eyes and the hitch of breath in his throat. John looks down at his lap, at the strong fingers on his leg. He does not feel worthy of looking into his Messiah’s eyes.
“Yes, John.” Jesus says, bringing those same fingers up to his chin. He tilts his head back to meet His gaze. “He has a pais.”
His heart jumps in his throat as the word passes his Lord’s lips and Jesus smiles tenderly again, moving the rough fingers off his chin to settle on his shoulder. The phantom touch on his skin feels like a streak of sunlight in the dark garden. Jesus squeezes his neck.
“But when I have ever told you that love was wrong? When has My Father?” Jesus asks earnestly, His fingers drifting over the collar of his tunic. John feels the first tears drop quietly over his lashes. “When that love is the foundation on which the house is built, when it is as solid and as pure as the stone, and when it is filled with water and Spirit it can never be wrong.”
No sooner than when the words water and Spirit leave his rabbi’s mouth do they bubble up out of his own eyes and mouth. Salt water streams silent streaks down his face and his lips move as if they’re possessed.
“I have had those same feelings, Rabbi.” John admits quietly, body feeling both lighter and heavier at the confession. “I have not acted on them but I-“
“I know, John.” The steadiness of Jesus’ voice echoes through the night air once more.
“Lord.” Is all he can say. It’s all he can think. He has never felt so vulnerable, so open. It feels like Jesus is looking directly into the atoms that make up his body. But John supposes that it always feels like that when His eyes are on him.
“Yes, my beloved.” He says, and John’s heart soars with the endearment while more water falls from his eyes. Jesus’ hand moves up around the back of his neck, bringing him forward. “I know.”
The words wash over John and he bows his head, the syllables cracking his foundation like the wind and he collapses into Jesus’ chest with rainy sobs. His head rests against his rabbi’s stomach, one hand covering the wetness on his face and the other searching for the material of His sleeve.
“It’s okay.” Jesus whispers against the crown of his hair, His left hand cradling John’s temple to His body while the other strokes comfort on his back. “You’re okay.”
John’s fingers find the same cloth he clutched to earlier today, this time higher up at His bicep while the cries coming from his throat are ones of relief.
When he thinks the sobs will end, another one vibrates through his chest. The sounds crying out from his heart directly to his Lord are full of gratitude.
“I’m here.” Jesus says, petting his hair and John feels the rough palms of His fingers drifting over his ear. A kiss lands on the side of his head that makes the next sob that comes past his lips shake even more. “I’m still here.”
“I’m sorry.” John says eventually, voice quiet and wet when the sobs die down to slow whimpers. He is scared to look up, he wants to burry deep into his rabbi’s side. The darkness there can not possibly be bad. The next words that leave his mouth come calling out from the twilight that lives deep in his soul and his voice is low, afraid to be too loud. “I have had these thoughts about You.”
The holy arms around him tighten, the wind around them sings.
“Yes.” Jesus says softly.
I am telling you the truth.
The singular word vibrates under John’s ear and stills his cries. He can almost sense a hint of wistfulness in Jesus’ voice and it makes him wipe away the rest of the tears on his face.
He shifts his head, rubbing his cheek on the cloth of His tunic. There is something hanging unsaid between them and that settles oddly in John’s chest. After everything that’s happened between them, both before today and in the last moments, it feels purposeful. And not in the way Jesus’ usual silences are.
John slowly pulls back, raising his head from his Lord’s bosom. The hand in his hair is as slow as his own movements, is as careful and drawn-out as his words.
“Do you...” He says hesitantly as Jesus’ fingers run through the strands at his temple once more before settling on his back.
Jesus smiles, His face warm and full of comfort as always but John was right. There is something wistful about the twist of His mouth under His beard.
“I am a man like you, but I am different.” He says simply and though His mouth looks sad there is no regret in His gaze. “A marriage, a union of any kind – that is not what God has in store for Me.”
The mention of Jesus’ future sends a bolt of energy through him, a sense of urgency that he doesn’t quite know where it comes from. His hand moves down to gripe His tight, the callouses reminding him that his Messiah has lived part of a human life already.
“I don’t want one either, Rabbi. I don’t need it.” He says, voice coming out earnest in such a way that has Jesus looking at him with a familiar smile. A proud one, a loving one. All trace of sadness gone. “Just let me stay by Your side.”
John knows he is reckless at times, that his emotions and quick mouth can get him in trouble. That he has problems sometimes shifting through his black and white view of the world and seeing something from someone else’s eye, thinking it through before judging another. But Jesus helps him appreciate all the shades of grey, helps him center his mind and concentrate. Helps him turn that passion into compassion. He will not give that up for anything.
Jesus’ warm smile turns into a chuckle, one that fills the air around them with such a pure light that he swears the moon burns brighter. One that makes heat raise to John’s face also and he lets out a laugh too - his sheepish. He releases Jesus’ hand to scratch nervously at his beard.
But Jesus’ hands come up to still the movement and frame his face. John numbly moves his own hand to cover his rabbi’s wrist, not once taking his gaze off the affectionate look in His eyes. The Lord’s thumbs brush against the apples of his cheeks and John’s skin buzzes.
“You are very special to Me, John.” The wistfulness is back on His face as His eyes drop down to watch His fingers brush against John’s bearded cheeks. He looks back up at his eyes, tightening the hold He has on John’s face. It is not painful but instead steady as if He wants to make sure he knows He will not let go. As if John ever doubted that. “You are very important to the work I will be doing, and I love you very much.”
“I love you too.” He replies instantly, overcome with devotion and the need to make sure his rabbi knows.
Jesus chuckles briefly nodding His head as if to assure the question and desire in John’s mind before His face smooths out and His eyes turn serious again.
“Do you hear Me though, Agapetos?” He asks softly, and John’s ears sing at the sound of the Greek word for beloved. How his Messiah keeps giving him nicknames in a different language to the one that they are both native, different to the one that most of the rest of the disciples know. One that is just theirs. “Do you understand?”
The wistfulness of His mouth and the softness around the corner of His eyes – they tell him that if things could be different, things would be different. But that above all, not much would change. They would still be Jesus and John. They would still be dear to one another. There would still be a beloved.
“Yes.” He says and he has never meant a word more.
Jesus smiles, proud and knowing as He caresses John’s face once more. “Good.”
He holds onto John for another moment longer and after swiping His thumb tenderly under his eye, drops His hands back to His lap. He leans back against the stone again and John copies His stance. Their shoulders brush.
“Shall we go back in?” John asks, head finally just as quiet as his voice. “Try to sleep?”
Jesus nods and then suddenly cracks a smirk, turning His head to the side to look at him. “James will be snoring by now, no?”
John groans in agreement and Jesus laughs loud and bright, His smile so wide that John can see every single tooth in His mouth. He can’t help but join in and they laugh together in the moonlight for a while, eventually trying to hush each other because of the late hour. Their efforts don’t work though and they end up laughing and leaning against one another even more.
All the while that little ember of shame that has stayed aflame in John’s heart blinks out, the breath and kiss and laugh from his Lord blowing it out.
-
Later, after some of the best times of his life and after the absolute worst and then after the best again, John reflects.
He kept his promise and so did his Lord. He saw to the hardest moments of Jesus’ life – the combination of joy and betrayal at that last supper, the agony in the garden, the pain and terror too terrible to name at the cross. The absolute infinite promise of the scars on His hands and feet and in His side.
The same side that he sought refuge in. The same that he will do so for the rest of his life. Whether Jesus is physically by his side or not, John will always feel Him.
Being in that boat with Simon Peter and Andrew and James and the others and seeing and realizing that his beloved Lord was back from the dead was the best feeling he could imagine. The water and Spirit incarnate showing the same miracle He did when He first called His beloved and the others, summoning the water and the creatures who live in it to do as He wishes.
As they join Him on the beach for breakfast that day, John realizes not for the first time but for the first time since Golgotha that the love He shows them can not be comprehended and put into words to be understood.
That the love He shows John shows him that he is worthy of it. That no one will ever deny it of him because his rabbi died for his sins and then came back to call him His.
He sat on that beach at Jesus’ side and He called him Beloved again, called him Agapetos again.
John sat by the side of the Living Water and was worthy of it. He is called Beloved because of his heart, because of his fire, because of who he is – not in spite of it.
And then when their Lord answered Simon Peter’s question of What about this man? and said If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? John knew that he now had another title. One that made all of the others disappear into the sea like the waves.
He is the disciple whom Jesus loved.