My son was my first and my only born. He labored in our field and he was contented until he heard the man called Jesus speaking to the multitude.
Then my son suddenly became different, as if a new spirit, foreign and unwholesome, had embraced his spirit.
He abandoned the field and the garden; and he abandoned me also. He became worthless, a creature of the highways.
That man Jesus of Nazareth was evil, for what good man would separate a son from his mother?
The last thing my child said to me was this: "I am going with one of His disciples to the North Country. My life is established upon the Nazarene. You have given me birth, and for that I am grateful to you. But I needs must go. Am I not leaving with you our rich land, and all our silver and gold? I shall take naught but this garment and this staff."
Thus my son spoke, and departed.
And now the Romans and the priests have laid hold upon Jesus and crucified Him; and they have done well.
A man who would part mother and son could not be godly.
The man who sends our children to the cities of the Gentiles cannot be our friend.
I know my son will not return to me. I saw it in his eyes. And for this I hate Jesus of Nazareth who caused me to be alone in this unploughed field and this withered garden.
And I hate all those who praise Him.
Not many days ago they told me that Jesus once said, "My father and my mother and my brethren are those who hear my word and follow me."
But why should sons leave their mothers to follow His footsteps?
And why should the milk of my breast be forgotten for a fountain not yet tasted? And the warmth of my arms be forsaken for the Northland, cold and unfriendly?
Aye, I hate the Nazarene, and I shall hate Him to the end of my days, for He has robbed me of my first-born, my only son.