Jesus the Son of Man

Himself ate of other fruit from another tree.

  I would tell you more of Him, but how shall I?

  When love becomes vast love becomes wordless.

  And when memory is overladen it seeks the silent deep.

  PETER

  ONCE IN CAPERNAUM My LORD AND MASTER SPOKE THUS:

  "Your neighbor is your other self dwelling behind a wall. In

  understanding, all walls shall fall down.

  "Who knows but that your neighbor is your better self wearing another

  body? See that you love him as you would love yourself.

  "He too is a manifestation of the Most High, whom you do not know.

  "Your neighbor is a field where the springs of your hope walk in their

  green garments, and where the winters of your desire dream of snowy

  heights.

  "Your neighbor is a mirror wherein you shall behold your countenance made

  beautiful by a joy which you yourself did not know, and by a sorrow you

  yourself did not share.

  "I would have you love your neighbor even as I have loved you."

  Then I asked Him saying, "How can I love a neighbor who loves me not, and

  who covets my property? One who would steal my possessions?"

  And He answered, "When you are ploughing and your manservant is sowing

  the seed behind you, would you stop and look backward and put to flight a

  sparrow feeding upon a few of your seeds? Should you do this, you were

  not worthy of the riches of your harvest."

  When Jesus had said this, I was ashamed and I was silent. But I was not

  in fear, for He smiled upon me.

  A COBBLER IN JERUSALEM

  I LOVED HIM NOT, YET I DID NOT HATE HIM. I

  listened to Him not to hear His words but rather the sound of His voice;

  for His voice pleased me.

  All that He said was vague to my mind, but the music thereof was clear to

  my ear.

  Indeed were it not for what others have said to me of His teaching, I

  should not have known even so much as whether He was with Judea or

  against it.

  SUSANNAH OF NAZARETH

  A NEIGHBOR OF MARY

  I KNEW MARY THE MOTHER OF JESUS, BEFORE SHE

  became the wife of Joseph the carpenter, when we were both still

  unwedded.

  In those days Mary would behold visions and hear voices, and she would

  speak of heavenly ministers who visited her dreams.

  And the people of Nazareth were mindful of her, and they observed her

  going and her coming. And they gazed upon her with kindly eyes, for there

  were heights in her brows and spaces in her steps.

  But some said she was possessed. They said this because she would go only

  upon her own errands.

  I deemed her old while she was young, for there was a harvest in her

  blossoming and ripe fruit in her spring.

  She was born and reared amongst us yet she was like an alien from the

  North Country. In her eyes there was always the astonishment of one not

  yet familiar with our faces.

  And she was as haughty as Miriam of old who marched with her brothers

  from the Nile to the wilderness.

  Then Mary was betrothed to Joseph the carpenter.

  When Mary was big with Jesus she would walk among the hills and return at

  eventide with loveliness and pain in her eyes.

  And when Jesus was born I was told that Mary said to her mother, "I am

  but a tree unpruned. See you to this fruit." Martha the midwife heard

  her.

  After three days I visited her. And there was wonder in her eyes, and her

  breasts heaved, and her arm was around her first-born like the shell that

  holds the pearl.

  We all loved Mary's babe and we watched Him, for there was a warmth in

  His being and He throbbed with the pace of His life.

  The seasons passed, and He became a boy full of laughter and little

  wanderings. None of us knew what He would do for He seemed always outside

  of our race. But He was never rebuked though He was venturous and

  over-daring.

  He played with the other children rather than they with Him.

  When He was twelve years old, one day He led a blind man across the brook

  to the safety of the open road.

  And in gratitude the blind man asked Him, Little boy, who are you?"

  And He answered, "I am not a little boy. I am Jesus."

  And the blind man said, "Who is your father?"

  And He answered, "God is my Father."

  And the blind man laughed and replied, "Well said, my little boy. But who

  is your mother?"

  And Jesus answered, "I am not your little boy. And my mother is the

  earth."

  And the blind man said, "Then behold, I was led by the Son of God and the

  earth across the stream."

  And Jesus answered, "I will lead you wherever you would go, and my eyes

  will accompany your feet."

  And He grew like a precious palm tree in our gardens.

  When He was nineteen He was as comely as a hart, and His eyes were like

  honey and full of the surprise of day.

  And upon His mouth there was the thirst of the desert flock for the lake.

  He would walk the fields alone and our eyes would follow Him, and the

  eyes of all the maidens of Nazareth. But we were shy of Him.

  Love is forever shy of beauty, yet beauty shall forever be pursued by

  love.

  Then the years bade Him speak in the temple and in the gardens of

  Galilee.

  And at times Mary followed Him to listen to His words and to hear the

  sound of her own heart. But when He and those who loved Him went down to

  Jerusalem she would not go.

  For we of the North Country are often mocked in the streets of Jerusalem,

  even when we go carrying our offerings to the temple.

  And Mary was too proud to yield to the South Country.

  And Jesus visited other lands in the east and in the west. We knew not

  what lands He visited, yet our hearts followed Him.

  But Mary awaited Him upon her threshold, and every eventide her eyes

  sought the road for His home-coming.

  Yet upon His return she would say to us, "He is too vast to be my Son,

  too eloquent for my silent heart. How shall I claim Him?"

  It seemed to us that Mary could not believe that the plain had given

  birth to the mountain; in the whiteness of her heart she did not see that

  the ridge is a pathway to the summit.

  She knew the man, but because He was her Son she dared not know Him.

  And on a day when Jesus went to the lake to be with the fishermen she

  said to me, "What is man but this restless being that would rise from the

  earth, and who is man but a longing that desires the stars?

  "My son is a longing. He is all of us longing for the stars.

  "Did I say my son? May God forgive me. Yet in my heart I would be His

  mother."

  Now, it is hard to tell more of Mary and her Son, but though there shall

  be husks in my throat, and my words shall reach you like cripples on

  crutches, I must needs relate what I have seen and heard.

  It was in the youth of the year when the red anemones were upon the hills

  that Jesus called His disciples saying to them, "Come with me to

  Jerusalem and witness the slaying of the lamb for the passover."

  Upon that selfsame day Mary came to my door and said, "He is seeking the

  Holy City. Will yo
u come and follow Him with me and the other women?"

  And we walked the long road behind Mary and her son till we reached

  Jerusalem. And there a company of men and women hailed us at the gate,

  for His coming had been heralded to those who loved Him.

  But upon that very night Jesus left the city with His men.

  We were told that He had gone to Bethany.

  And Mary stayed with us in the inn, awaiting His return.

  Upon the eve of the following Thursday He was caught without the walls,

  and was held prisoner.

  And when we heard He was a prisoner, Mary uttered not a word, but there

  appeared in her eyes the fulfilment of that promised pain and joy which

  we had beheld when she was but a bride in Nazareth.

  She did not weep. She only moved among us like the ghost of a mother who

  would not bewail the ghost of her son.

  We sat low upon the floor but she was erect, walking up and down the

  room.

  She would stand beside the window and gaze eastward, and then with the

  fingers of her two hands brush back her hair.

  At dawn she was still standing among us, like a lone banner in the

  wilderness wherein there are no hosts.

  We wept because we knew the morrow of her son; but she did not weep for

  she knew also what would befall Him.

  Her bones were of bronze and her sinews of the ancient elms, and her eyes

  were like the sky, wide and daring.

  Have you heard a thrush sing while its nest burns in the wind?

  Have you seen a woman whose sorrow is too much for tears, or a wounded

  heart that would rise beyond its own pain?

  You have not seen such a woman, for you have not stood in the presence of

  Mary; and you have not been enfolded by the Mother Invisible.

  In that still moment when the muffled hoofs of silence beat upon the

  breasts of the sleepless, John the young son of Zebedee, came and said:

  "Mary Mother, Jesus is going forth. Come, let us follow Him."

  And Mary laid her hand upon John's shoulder and they went out, and we

  followed them.

  When we came to the Tower of David we saw Jesus carrying His cross. And

  there was a great crowd about Him.

  And two other men were also carrying their crosses.

  And Mary's head was held high, and she walked with us after her son. And

  her step was firm.

  And behind her walked Zion and Rome, ay, the whole world, to revenge

  itself upon one free Man.

  When we reached the hill, He was raised high upon the cross.

  And I looked at Mary. And her face was not the face of a woman bereaved.

  It was the countenance of the fertile earth, forever giving birth,

  forever burying her children.

  Then to her eyes came the remembrance of His childhood, and she said

  aloud, "My son, who is not my son; man who once visited my womb, I glory

  in your power. I know that every drop of blood that runs down from your

  hands shall be the well-stream of a nation.

  "You die in this tempest even as my heart once died in the sunset, and I

  shall not sorrow."

  At that moment I desired to cover my face with my cloak and run away to

  the North Country. But of a sudden I heard Mary say, "My son, who is not

  my son, what have you said to the man at your right hand that has made

  him happy in his agony? The shadow of death is light upon his face, and

  he cannot turn his eyes from you.

  "Now you smile upon me, and because you smile I know you have conquered."

  And Jesus looked upon His mother and said, "Mary, from this hour be you

  the mother of John."

  And to John He said, "Be a loving son unto this woman. Go to her house

  and let your shadow cross the threshold where I once stood. Do this in

  remembrance of me."

  And Mary raised her right hand towards Him, and she was like a tree with

  one branch. And again she cried, "My son, who is not my son, if this be

  of God may God give us patience and the knowledge thereof. And if it be

  of man may God forgive him forevermore.

  "If it be of God, the snow of Lebanon shall be your shroud; and if it be

  only of these priests and soldiers, then I have this garment for your

  nakedness.

  "My son, who is not my son, that which God builds here shall not perish;

  and that which man would destroy shall remain builded, but not in his

  sight."

  And at that moment the heavens yielded Him to the earth, a cry and a

  breath.

  And Mary yielded Him also unto man, a wound and a balsam.

  And Mary said, "Now behold, He is gone. The battle is over. The star has

  shone forth. The ship has reached the harbor. He who once lay against my

  heart is throbbing in space."

  And we came close to her, and she said to us, "Even in death He smiles.

  He has conquered. I would indeed be the mother of a conqueror."

  And Mary returned to Jerusalem leaning upon John the young disciple.

  And she was a woman fulfilled.

  And when we reached the gate of the city, I gazed upon her face and I was

  astonished, for on that day the head of Jesus was the highest among men,

  yet Mary's head was not less high.

  All this came to pass in the spring of the year.

  And now it is autumn. And Mary the mother of Jesus has come again to her

  dwelling-place, and she is alone.

  Two sabbaths ago my heart was as a stone in my breast, for my son had

  left me for a ship in Tyre. He would be a sailor.

  And he said he would return no more.

  And upon an evening I sought Mary.

  When I entered her house she was sitting at her loom, but she was not

  weaving. She was looking into the sky beyond Nazareth.

  And I said to her, "Hail, Mary."

  And she stretched out her arm to me, and said,

  Come and sit beside me, and let us watch the sun pour its blood upon the

  hills."

  And I sat beside her on the bench and we gazed into the west through the

  window.

  And after a moment Mary said, "I wonder who is crucifying the sun this

  eventide."

  Then I said, "I came to you for comfort. My son has left me for the sea

  and I am alone in the house across the way."

  Then Mary said, "I would comfort you but how shall I?"

  And I said, "If you will only speak of your son I shall be comforted."

  And Mary smiled upon me, and she laid her hand about my shoulder and she

  said, "I will speak of Him. That which will console you will give me

  consolation."

  Then she spoke of Jesus, and she spoke long of all that was in the

  beginning.

  And it seemed to me that in her speech she would have no difference

  between her son and mine.

  For she said to me, "My son is also a seafarer. Why would you not trust

  your son to the waves even as I have trusted Him?

  "Woman shall be forever the womb and the cradle but never the tomb. We

  die that we may give life unto life even as our fingers spin the thread

  for the raiment that we shall never wear.

  "And we cast the net for the fish that we shall never taste.

  "And for this we sorrow, yet in all this is our joy."

  Thus spoke Mary to me.

  And I left her and came to my house, and though the light of the day was

 
spent I sat at my loom to weave more of the cloth.

  JOSEPH SURNAMED JUSTUS

  THEY SAY HE WAS VULGAR, THE COMMON off spring of common seed, a man

  uncouth and violent.

  They say that only the wind combed His hair, and only the rain brought

  His clothes and His body together.

  They deem Him mad, and they attribute His words to demons.

  Yet behold, the Man despised sounded a challenge and the sound thereof

  shall never cease.

  He sang a song and none shall arrest that melody. It shall hover from

  generation to generation and it shall rise from sphere to sphere

  remembering the lips that gave it birth and the ears that cradled it.

  He was a stranger. Aye, He was a stranger, a wayfarer on His way to a

  shrine, a visitor who knocked at our door, a guest from a far country.

  And because He found not a gracious host, He has returned to His own

  place.

  PHILIP

  WHEN OUR BELOVED DIED, ALL MANKIND DIED AND

  all things for a space were still and gray. Then the east was darkened,

  and a tempest rushed out of it and swept the land. The eyes of the sky

  opened and shut, and the rain came down in torrents and carried away the

  blood that streamed from His hands and His feet.

  I too died. But in the depth of my oblivion I heard Him speak and say,

  "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

  And His voice sought my drowned spirit and I was brought back to the

  shore.

  And I opened my eyes and I saw His white body hanging against the cloud,

  and His words that I had heard took shape within me and became a new man.

  And I sorrowed no more.

  Who would sorrow for a sea that is unveiling its face, or for a mountain

  that laughs in the sun?

  Was it ever in the heart of man, when that heart was pierced, to say such

  words?

  What other judge of men has released His judges? And did ever love

  challenge hate with power more certain of itself?

  Was ever such a trumpet beard 'twixt heaven and earth?

  Was it known before that the murdered had compassion on his murderers? Or

  that the meteor stayed his footsteps for the mole?

  The seasons shall tire and the years grow old, ere they exhaust these

  words: "FATHER FORGIVE THEM, FOR THEY KNOW NOT WHAT THEY DO."

  And you and I, though born again and again, shall keep them.

  And now I would go into my house, and stand an exalted beggar, at His

  door.

  BIRBARAH OF YAMMOUNI

  JESUS WAS PATIENT WITH THE DULLARD AND THE stupid, even as the winter

  awaits the spring.

  He was patient like a mountain in the wind. He answered with kindliness

  the harsh questionings of His foes.

  He could even be silent to cavil and dispute, for He was strong and the

  strong can be forbearing.

  But Jesus was also impatient.

  He spared not the hypocrite.

  He yielded not to men of cunning nor to the jugglers of words.

  And He would not be governed.

  He was impatient with those who believed not in light because they

  themselves dwelt in shadow; and with those who sought after signs in the

  sky rather than in their own hearts.

  He was impatient with those who weighed and measured the day and the

  night before they would trust their dreams to dawn or eventide.

  Jesus was patient.

  Yet He was the most impatient of men.

  He would have you weave the cloth though you spend years between the loom