We wait a few hours after my past-self has started back towards the arena cave, so it will appear to the apostles that I’ve met Martha and Michael on the road, then doubled back. Jesus isn’t with them, so we all ride down on horses and enter their camp. Only Simon Peter is there. He’s praying; so we wait, for some time, as he finishes.
“Petrus? I thought you’d left to return to your people.”
His gaze lingers on my horse, undoubtedly noticing it’s different from the one he last saw me riding, but he says nothing about it.
“I’ll be leaving again soon, but first I wanted to speak with you. You’ve met Martha, and this man is named Michael. We all saw Jesus crucified and risen from the dead. We’ve come to ask you to baptize us in His name.”
“But you’re Romans. Baptism in the manner of John is for Jews.”
“It’s said that John baptized all, including publicans and soldiers,” I reply. “It’s said some of them were gentiles seeking forgiveness for their sins.”
“I don’t know. I’ll speak with the others when they return and we will pray for an answer to your request.”
Peter turns his back to leave.
“Our Lord said that if you followed Him, He would make you a fisher of men,” I say sternly. “Simon, who our Lord named Peter, you will pull these three fish from the waters.”
Simon Peter stops dead in his tracks, then turns to face us, with his mouth agape. I’m sure he wants to ask a dozen questions, but instead, a look of understanding comes over his face.
“Follow me.”
He walks straight into the Sea of Galilee. I follow, and Martha and Michael follow me without hesitation.
The water is cold, but the anticipation of being baptized is keeping me warm, as I enter up to my waist.
“Who shall be first?” Simon Peter asks, and I relay the question in English.
“You first, then Michael,” Martha replies and I relay the order to Simon Peter.
“What’s your father’s name?” Simon Peter asks me.
“His name was James.”
Simon Peter moves beside me and places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the top of my head.
“Petrus, son of James; In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, I baptize you for the forgiveness of your sins.”
He pushes gently downward on my head and shoulder. I expect to come back up immediately, but his strong fisherman’s grip stays steady on my head. When someone is holding you underwater, the natural instinct is to tense and prepare to fight your way to the surface, but instead I find myself relaxing, trusting. Just as I feel fully relaxed, Simon shifts his hand to under my armpit and lifts me. I feel like I am a fish being pulled from the water by a strong line. Simon Peter has truly become a fisher of men.
When I burst through the surface, Michael and Martha are smiling with joy. When Michael emerges through the surface a minute later, I see why. His face has a look of peace and contentment that can only be described as radiant.
Simon Peter moves towards Martha, but she puts her hand up.
“I want you to baptize me, Cephas.”
“Me? Are you sure? This is the Simon Peter offering to do it.”
“I’m sure. He’s not the only one here named ‘the rock.’”
I explain Martha’s request to Simon Peter and he smiles too.
I place my hands on her head and under her arm. I’m glad I’m soaking wet, with water dripping off my face, to disguise the fact that tears are also rolling down my cheeks.
“Martha, daughter of Susan; I baptize you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,” I say in English and gently push her under the water.
I hold her there for a moment, thinking about how much I love her, then give her a gentle lift under the arm. She bursts through the surface with the same radiant look that I saw with Michael. I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.
At first, the sight of Martha emerging from baptism leaves me speechless, but then the one thing that’s foremost on my mind pops out of my mouth: “Marry me.”
“Oh, I intend to,” she says, as we join hands and walk towards shore.
“No. I mean marry me right now. This minute.”
“Do you think Simon Peter will do it?” she asks.
“Right now, he’s our only hope. Marriage in the sense we understand it is centuries away. The Jews of this time require a sort of contract between me and your father, and the Romans of this time consider it a secular arrangement between families. In this time, there’s no such thing as marriage vows, wedding cakes or wedding rings.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Ask him already.”
Simon Peter has been watching the happy exchange with a smile on his face, knowing we’re discussing something that makes us laugh, but not knowing what it is. He’s also looking out over the water at the sail of an approaching vessel.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks.
“We’re laughing at the absurdity of our situation. We want to be married according to the old customs of our people. Under those customs, a marriage is a holy covenant in the eyes of God. Unfortunately, our people have chosen to turn their back on God, so there are few left who believe, and none to perform a marriage ceremony.”
“That is indeed sad,” Simon Peter replies. “Throughout our history, the people of Israel have turned their backs on God many times, always with disastrous results. I’m curious, Petrus. You said ‘God,’ rather than ‘gods.’ Are you not Roman? Don’t you believe in many gods?”
How on earth do I explain to the man Jesus declared to be “His Rock,” that Martha and I are the product of two thousand years of his work?
“We do not believe in the Roman gods. We’re brothers to the Jews, in that we believe in the one true God, the God of Abraham and Moses. But we’re different from Jews, in that we’re also seekers of the prophesied Messiah. Now that He has come, our search is over and we’re followers of His teachings.”
“I’ve never heard of such a people. You must be from very far away.”
Not so far as you might think.
“Peter? You follow our found Messiah. You believe He’s the son of the one true God. You could help us. You could marry us.”
“I’m not a priest.”
“What’s a priest, Peter? Those men in the temples who teach the word of God to gain the admiration of men? Or someone who loves the Lord and follows God’s laws, even if it causes men to hate him? Among our people who still believe, your love of Jesus qualifies you to marry us.”
“So there’s no contract between you and her father?” he asks, trying to understand what I’m asking.
“That’s correct. Our contract is read only by the eyes of God,” I say, and hope it makes some sort of sense to him.
“Then what is my role?”
“It’s much like a baptism. You simply bless our marriage in the eyes of Jesus, and we are married. Your authority comes from your love of Him.”
“That’s a strange marriage.”
“Where I come from, your form of marriage would be strange. Will you do it?”
Simon Peter doesn’t answer, but seems to contemplate the issue as he looks out over the water. The vessel is heading straight towards us. On the deck, I can see some of the apostles returning, along with other followers. I can see a number of women among them. I wait for his answer, rather than interrupt his thoughts.
“If I can pronounce you baptized by the love of Christ, I guess I can pronounce you married as well.”
I turn to translate everything for Martha, but my smile says it all.
****
When the women from the boat find out we’re to be married, they insist on being a part of it, but are confused by the ceremony we’ve requested. Under their customs, I would have a contract with Martha’s father, and I would make a place ready in my father’s home to receive my bride. Once my father decided all was ready, I would go and get Martha, and the marriage would become final, once we consummated it in the bedroom.
Nathanael insists on taking the role of my father. I show him where we’ve been camping and he shakes his head at how unsuited it is to receive a bride. Luckily, he has a tent that can be used and he spends hours searching for the perfect place to set it up. He settles on a beautiful little flower-filled meadow with a stream running through it. He then borrows blankets from everyone and fills the tent with them to create a soft bed. Then he cuts flowers and fills the inside until the tent smells like I’ve become the world’s first florist. He still isn’t happy, but admits it’s the best he can do under the circumstances.
“It’s perfect. Martha will think so too. Let’s go.”
“Slow down, Petrus. The place may be ready, but you’re far from it. Take off your clothes and wash in the stream. I’ll attend you.”
Now that you mention it, one of the greatest inventions in human history is probably going to be underarm deodorant.
Nathanael produces some sort of crude soap and instructs me to wash everything, including my hair, while he washes my clothes. I was still wearing modern socks and underwear. He doesn’t say anything, but I see him testing the elastic waist band like a kid fascinated by a new toy.
When I’m done washing, he makes me lay on the soft grass while my clothes dry, and then he rubs me down with some sort of sweet-smelling oil. I must admit, I do feel fresher.
When he deems me fit to be seen, he hands me a ram’s horn and instructs me to blow it so they’ll know I’m coming for my bride. My first attempt sounds like the call of a rabid moose, but by the third try, I produce a note long and clear enough that he’s satisfied. Soon we hear the sound of men laughing as they walk to meet us, and we proceed as a group to the shore, with me blowing the horn as we go.
When we reach the shore, I see that another tent has been set up, and from within I can hear the giggling of women as they do their final preparation. I think about what a difficult time this is for Christ’s followers - persecution by the Pharisees has already begun in Jerusalem - and wonder if a makeshift wedding is a welcome distraction for them.
Women start to erupt from the tent like clowns pouring out of a ridiculously small car. They’re all smiling at me and my eagerness to see Martha, and are enjoying making me wait.
If I had indeed never seen her look more beautiful than when she surfaced after her baptism, then I now stand corrected, as Martha emerges. Her hair has been washed and brushed to the point that it looks like braided gold, interspersed with tiny little white and blue flowers. I can smell that she was washed and rubbed with the same oil that Nathanael applied to me, and it’s making her skin glow. Her toga has been transformed into a makeshift wedding dress by pinning it with brooches at the shoulder and the hips. She’s even holding a bouquet of flowers, though how she managed to convey that request is beyond me - until Michael walks over and sticks a flower into my toga as a makeshift boutonniere.
The onlookers follow with curiosity as Martha and I walk together towards Simon Peter, who has built a small stone altar at my request. He only has one line, so he stands to the side, while I speak first in English and then repeat everything in Aramaic.
“In the old traditions of our people, Martha and I will first say vows of faithfulness to each other.”
“Martha, whatever our journey through life may bring: I promise to love you; to stand by your side no matter what trials we may face; to share both your joys and your sorrows, so that I may give you strength when you are weak and rejoice with you when you are strong. Your joy is my joy, and your pain is my pain, now and forever after.”
When Martha has repeated the vow, I reach inside my robe and pull out the two gold wedding bands. Martha is surprised at first, but then just shakes her head and smiles.
“Where we come from, these rings signify our endless circle of love,” I announce to the crowd as I turn to Martha.
“Martha? Do you take me as your husband?”
I hold the ring at her fingertip.
“Yes! Seventy times seven, yesses.”
I slip the ring onto her finger, and translate my question and her response to the crowd, which makes them laugh.
When I’ve also said: ‘Seventy times seven yesses’ and received my ring, I nod to Simon Peter so he can say his line.
“Petrus and Martha, in the name of Jesus Christ, you are now husband and wife.”
The people look back and forth at each other over Simon Peter saying such a strange thing, but he bids them to clap, and they do so - politely.
We’re just standing and smiling, when Michael clears his throat to get our attention.
“Kiss your bride.”
We smile and laugh at each other for forgetting.
Martha looks at me with those sparkling eyes, then pulls me in for the most passionate kiss I can imagine. I thought the first spontaneous kiss was exciting, but it has nothing on our first marital kiss. The people again murmur at our strange traditions, and not knowing what to do, decide to clap politely again.
“Should I throw the bouquet?” Martha asks.
“There are some of our traditions that are best left in the future,” I reply.
“Cakes and gowns, old, new, borrowed, blue. It was all pretty ridiculous wasn’t it?” Martha says. “The only part that’s important is that we just made a covenant with God and that was the part everyone eventually chose to ignore.”
“Lead your bride to the place you prepared,” Nathanael says, with a smile.
I take Martha by the hand and begin to lead her through the trees to the tent in the little meadow. The wedding guests grab the items they’ll need for a feast and follow us, blowing the horn the entire way.
When we reach the meadow, the guests start setting up the feast, but Nathanael holds open the tent flap for us and closes it behind us.
“Aren’t we going to the feast?” Martha asks.
She reaches to open the flap and exit. I grab her hand and stop her.
“This is awkward,” I say. “Under their traditions, there are certain - shall we say - ‘expectations’ the new bride and groom must fulfill to complete the marriage.”
I still didn’t think it was possible, but again Marsha blushes, when she realizes what I’m saying.
“Oh, it gets worse.”
“What are they going to do? Cheer us on?”
“Worse.”
“Cephas?”
I pick up a white cloth that’s been set on top of the soft bed Nathanael prepared.
“We’re expected to provide proof: Of our both our consummation, and your virginity.”
“I’m not putting on that kind of a show.”
Martha again heads for the tent flap.
“If we don’t, they’ll stone you to death in the morning,” I say.
“What?”
I try to hold a straight face, but I can’t manage it for long and burst out laughing.
“Just kidding about the stoning.”
Martha looks angry for a moment, then bursts out laughing too.
“When I vowed ‘Whatever our journey through life may bring,’ I had no clue what I was getting into.”
Nathanael left us some food, including some red berries, so I crush a couple of them onto the white cloth. In the waning light outside, nobody should know the difference. A cheer goes up when I leave the tent and hold the cloth up for the crowd to see. I duck back into the tent.
Martha looks relieved that my trick fooled the wedding guests. She crosses the tent to stand toe-to-toe with me.
“Do you remember our first kiss? The one after we had dinner together?” she asks.
“I told you; the memory of that kiss will stay with me for the rest of my life.”
“I want you to forget that kiss ever happened.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to remember this kiss.”
She gently takes my face in her hands and engages me in a kiss that might be enough to make me forget my own name, much less the earlier kisses.
“That’s a marriage kiss,” she says. “Now, you’d better eat the rest of those berries. You’re going to need the energy.”
Martha smiles and releases her toga.
I do need the energy, because waiting for marriage makes the experience that much more special. Coming from a society where public sex with a complete stranger is commonplace, I now see how ignoring God’s plan has reduced man to little more than just another animal. I think about all the opportunities I had when I was The Cult Hunter. I could have had sex with Jocie or Janet or dozens of other women, but I didn’t, because somewhere inside me, I knew He was saving me for someone much better.
As we gaze into each other’s eyes, I find myself awestruck not by the physical act, but by how the mutual decision to share ourselves and love each other in this way is part of God’s plan for us.
Through marriage, God’s plan was to take something normal and transform it into something sacred and beautiful.
As always, God’s plan is perfect.
****
The next morning I rise early and start packing our stuff onto the horses. Michael is up early too.
“You missed a great party, Cephas. These folks really celebrate weddings.”
“We had a private party,” I reply.
He notices what I’m doing.
“Why are you packing up? We have no place to be.”
“Where we need to be is away from here. The baptisms and the wedding were unspeakably selfish acts on my part. Either one could damage the timeline. According to the Bible, the Roman centurion Cornelius is the first gentile to be baptized by Peter. Since I told Peter that we already believe in the God of Abraham and Moses, I hope he didn’t consider us as converts, but we risk causing a change in the Bible with every interaction. We need to just go.”
“Do you want to say goodbye?”
“No. We need them - and history - to shrug their shoulders and forget we were ever here.”