Chapter by chapter 9

  9. Perpendicular Lines

 “You are a king, then!” said Pilate. Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. In fact, the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.” “What is truth?” retorted Pilate. John 18:37–38a After shaping the dough into a beautiful ball on the wooden peel, Hanan smoothly and decisively scored the bread with a pair of crisscross cuts, walked it across the bakery to the oven, and carefully slipped it near some coals to bake. Turning back to the workbench, Hanan noticed his grandfather—having just finished serving the customers—standing there, arms crossed, with a grin on his face. “You’ve gotten pretty good at scoring that dough, Hanan,” Emet s aid. “In fact, you’re almost as good as your dad and me.” As Hanan walked toward him, he smirked and said, “Almost?” Emet chuckled and handed Hanan a knife. “Let’s see you score the workbench with that same cut.” “Sir?” Hanan asked, accepting the knife but clearly confused. “Look at this bench, Hanan,” Emet said. “It’s got plenty of scrapes and scratches. I doubt two more will hurt.” “So, right here?” Hanan asked, pointing at a spot on the worn wooden worktop. “Anywhere,” Emet confirmed. “Just pretend it’s a lump of dough and make a couple more cuts like you made on the loaf—just make them a bit bigger.” Starting near the wall, Hanan drew the point of the blade down the surface of the workbench, scratching through the top layer of flour and stained wood, exposing the light-colored woodgrain below. He glanced over at Emet and asked, “Like that, Grandpa?” “That’s perfect, Hanan. Now do the same from left to right.” Hanan complied, making a large crisscross shape on the surface of his workbench. “It reminds me of the intersection outside our shop, Grandpa.” “I was hoping you’d see that, Hanan—so, in that case—where are we on this ‘map’?” Hanan used the tip of the blade to tap on the upper-right quadrant of the grid he’d just drawn. “Up here in the northeast corner.” “Yes, indeed—which is a great place to be, I must say.” Casting a quick glance at his grandson, Emet whispered, “I hear the bread is great there.” Hanan smiled as his grandad continued. “And guess what else you’ve just drawn, Hanan?” Hanan studied the scratched workbench for a moment. “It just looks like a pair of perpendicular lines to me.” “Well, that is true,” Emet agreed, “but it’s more than that.” Pausing for effect, he put a hand on Hanan’s shoulder and continued with a reverent whisper, “You've also just drawn the picture Andrew drew for me all those years ago!” Hanan looked at his grandpa and then back down at the two-by-two quadrant he’d just etched into the workbench. “I have?” he said excitedly. Studying the lines carefully and tilting his head to discern what made it so special, Hanan said quietly, “So, what does it mean?” “I’ll get to that,” Emet replied, “but first, put a measure of flour here, here, here, and here.” He gently tapped the middle of each square with a leathery, floured hand. Scooping a cupful of flour, Hanan asked, “Did Andrew do this too?” “Basically. He wasn’t a fine baker like you are, so he didn’t use flour. If I recall correctly, he used a pocketful of sand from the beach.” Emet suggested with a smile, “God likes to speak to us and through us in ways we best understand.” Hanan nodded his understanding as he poured a measure of flour into each of the four corners, sending a plume of fine flour into the air around them. As he did, Emet reached into a ceramic clay bowl on the shelf just above the workbench and took a pinch of old dough—rich with naturally occurring, airborne Yeast. Holding out the bit of leavened dough to Hanan, Emet said, “Now, don’t touch the upper right pile, but slip a bit of this leavened dough into each of the other three measures of flour.” “Like the parable of the woman in the scroll of Matthew?” “Precisely.” “But why not the upper right corner, Grandpa?” “Be patient,” Emet said reassuringly. “We’ll get to that.” Hanan took the lump of dough from Emet’s hands, putting a pinch of it into the flour of the upper left quadrant, and then a pinch into each measure of the bottom two quadrants. “Like that?” Hanan glanced in Emet’s direction. “It’s obvious you’ve been trained by a master baker, Hanan.” “You, Grandpa?” Hanan laughed. “Well, of course, my boy! Now then, pour a splash of water onto all four quadrants,” Emet instructed, “and we’ll make four little lumps of dough.” Hanan cupped his hands into the basin of water at the edge of the workbench and sprinkled each pile with a bit of the cool water. Then he joined his grandad in forming lumps of dough in each quadrant. Emet focused his attention on the dough in the upper right corner, forming it quickly into a perfect loaf. He carried it to the oven where he slipped it next to the bread Hanan had placed there a few minutes earlier, saying, “I don’t want any of the Yeast to find its way into this loaf, so I’ll start baking it now.” “Sounds good,” Hanan acknowledged. “I’ve almost got these three formed.” “That’s my boy.” Wiping his hands on his flour-covered apron, Emet returned to the workbench and asked, “Now, do you remember our little talk at the intersection?” Tapping on the vertical line, he asked, “What did we say this north-south ‘road’ represents?” “I think you said it represents Truth,” Hanan answered, wiping his hands on his apron just as his grandfather had done. “I did indeed. Now, let’s say you’re walking north along this line.” Emet traced the line from bottom to top. “What do you think that might indicate?” “Uh, I suppose it would mean that you think Truth is important?” Hanan checked his grandpa’s eyes for affirmation. “Indeed,” Emet replied. “It means you have high regard for Truth. Standards and rules are important to you, and you believe God’s Law should be honored and enforced.” “That’s a good thing, right?” “Well, of course,” Emet said, “but what happens if you’re moving south along this line? What do you think that means?” “I guess it would mean that you think Truth isn’t important?” “Something like that,” Emet replied, his finger still at the bottom of the vertical line. “This person would say laws are merely suggestions or good ideas. They might even declare that there is no one Truth but that everyone has their own. Does that make sense?” “I think so, Grandpa,” Hanan said thoughtfully. “So, I guess both of these top squares represent people who value Truth, standards, and rules. Is that right?” “You’ve got it,” Emet answered. “And the people in the two bottom squares like to imagine Truth as being more flexible—that it changes and adapts to fit the times.” “But. . . .” Hanan paused before asking, “Truth doesn’t change, does it?” “Of course not,” Emet said as he put his hand on Hanan’s shoulder. “You know that, and I know that, but not everyone likes to accept this as the Truth.” Hanan slowly nodded as he took in what was being said. Emet cleared his throat, then tapped lightly on the horizontal line. “How about this line, Hanan? What did it represent?” Hanan glanced at his grandfather, then back at the line. “I think you mentioned it represents Grace, right?” “Correct.” Then, tracing the line with his fingers from left to right, Emet continued. “So, if you’re moving east along this line—” “—that would mean I think Grace is important,” Hanan said, finishing the sentence. “Yes. The people in these two eastern quadrants are big on mercy, love, and Grace,” Emet explained. “They like to give others the benefit of the doubt. They say people shouldn’t have to earn forgiveness but that we should just give Grace away for free.” “That’s good too, right?” Hanan said, unsure of his answer. “Absolutely. We could all extend more Grace to one another,” Emet joked. He quickly added in a playful whisper, “Lord knows your grandma sure extends a lot to me!” Hanan smiled at Emet. “And to me too, Grandpa!” Then, looking down at the scratched workbench he asked, “So, if I move west along this line—” drawing his finger along the horizontal line to the left, “—then I don’t value Grace? But who doesn’t value Grace?” “You’d be surprised,” Emet replied. “Most people value receiving Grace, but we often find it much more difficult to give it away.” A smirk spread across Hanan’s face as he patted the left-hand squares with his hand and muttered to himself, “So, this is where my teachers hang out.” “What was that?” “Oh, I was just saying that this is where my teachers must live,” Hanan said. “They never extend me any Grace!” Emet roared with laughter. “Now, I know some of your teachers, Hanan, and they’re not that bad!” Then, sniffing the air around them, Emet added, “But you know what doesn’t extend any Grace?” Hanan gave his grandpa a funny look. “No. What?” “An oven.” “An oven?” Hanan’s eyes grew wide, then he exclaimed, “Oh! My bread!” He dashed over to the oven, slid the wooden bread peel into the opening, and pulled out a very dark brown, nearly burnt loaf of bread. “Looks a little overdone, my boy!” Emet teased. “Let’s hope Yosef forgets about coming back for that loaf.” At that very moment, the door opened, and in walked Yosef.