away and be naught but scattered ashes ere my words shall pass away"?
Was He doubtful of Himself when He said to those who would confound Him
with a harlot, He who is without sin, let him cast a stone"?
Did He fear authority when He drove the money-changers from the court of
the temple, though they were licensed by the priests?
Were His wings shorn when He cried aloud, My kingdom is above your
earthly kingdoms"?
Was He seeking shelter in words when He repeated again and yet again,
"Destroy this temple and I will rebuild it in three days"?
Was it a coward who shook His hand in the face of the authorities and
pronounced them "liars, low, filthy, and degenerate"?
Shall a man bold enough to say these things to those who ruled Judea be
deemed meek and humble?
Nay. The eagle builds not his nest in the weeping willow. And the lion
seeks not his den among the ferns.
I am sickened and the bowels within me stir and rise when I hear the
faint-hearted call Jesus humble and meek, that they may justify their own
faintheartedness; and when the downtrodden, for comfort and
companionship, speak of Jesus as a worm shining by their side.
Yea, my heart is sickened by such men. It is the mighty hunter I would
preach, and the mountainous spirit unconquerable.
SABA OF ANTIOCH
THIS DAY I HEARD SAUL OF TARSUS PREACHING the Christ unto the Jews of
this city.
He calls himself Paul now, the apostle to the Gentiles.
I knew him in my youth, and in those days he persecuted the friends of
the Nazarene. Well do I remember his satisfaction when his fellows stoned
the radiant youth called Stephen.
This Paul is indeed a strange man. His soul is not the soul of a free
man.
At times he seems like an animal in the forest, hunted and wounded,
seeking a cave wherein he would hide his pain from the world.
He speaks not of Jesus, nor does he repeat His words. He preaches the
Messiah whom the prophets of old had foretold.
And though he himself is a learned Jew he addresses his fellow Jews in
Greek; and his Greek is halting, and he ill chooses his words.
But he is a man of hidden powers and his presence is affirmed by those
who gather round him. And at times he assures them of what he himself is
not assured.
We who knew Jesus and heard His discourses say that He taught man how to
break the chains of his bondage that he might be free from his
yesterdays.
But Paul is forging chains for the man of tomorrow. He would strike with
his own hammer upon the anvil in the name of one whom he does not know.
The Nazarene would have us live the hour in passion and ecstasy.
The man of Tarsus would have us be mindful of laws recorded in the
ancient books.
Jesus gave His breath to the breathless dead. And in my lone nights I
believe and I understand.
When He sat at the board, He told stories that gave happiness to the
feasters, and spiced with His joy the meat and the wine.
But Paul would prescribe our loaf and our cup.
Suffer me now to turn my eyes the other way.
SALOME TO A WOMAN FRIEND
HE WAS LIKE POPLARS SHIMMERING IN THE SUN;
And like a lake among the lonely hills,
Shining in the sun;
And like snow upon the mountain heights,
White, white in the sun.
Yea, He was like unto all these,
And I loved Him.
Yet I feared His presence.
And my feet would not carry my burden of love
That I might girdle His feet with my arms.
I would have said to Him,
"I have slain your friend in an hour of passion.
Will you forgive me my sin?
And will you not in mercy release my youth
From its blind deed,
That it may walk in your light?
I know He would have forgiven my dancing
For the saintly head of His friend.
I know He would have seen in me
An object of His own teaching.
For there was no valley of hunger He could not bridge,
And no desert of thirst He could not cross.
Yea, He was even as the poplars,
And as the lakes among the hills,
And like the snow upon Lebanon.
And I would have cooled my lips in the folds of His garment.
But He was far from me,
And I was ashamed.
And my mother held me back
When the desire to seek Him was upon me.
Whenever He passed by, my heart ached for his loveliness,
But my mother frowned at Him in contempt,
And would hasten me from the window
To my bedchamber.
And she would cry aloud saying,
Who is He but another locust-eater from the desert?
What is He but a scoffer and a renegade,
A seditious riot-monger, who would rob us of sceptre and crown,
And bid the foxes and the jackals of His accursed land
Howl in our halls and sit upon our throne?
Go hide your face from this day,
And await the day when His head shall fall down,
But not upon your platter."
These things my mother said.
But my heart would not keep her words.
I loved Him in secret,
And my sleep was girdled with flames.
He is gone now.
And something that was in me is gone also.
Perhaps it was my youth
That would not tarry here,
Since the God of youth was slain.
RACHAEL
A WOMAN DISCIPLE
I OFTEN WONDER WHETHER JESUS WAS A MAN
of flesh and blood like ourselves, or a thought without a body, in the
mind, or an idea that visits the vision of man.
Often it seems to me that He was but a dream dreamed by countless men and
women at the same time in a sleep deeper than sleep and a dawn more
serene than all dawns.
And it seems that in relating the dream, the one to the other, we began
to deem it a reality that had indeed come to pass; and in giving it body
of our fancy and a voice of our longing we made it a substance of our own
substance.
But in truth He was not a dream. We knew Him for three years and beheld
Him with our open eyes in the high tide of noon.
We touched His hands, and we followed Him from one place to another. We
heard His discourses and witnessed His deeds. Think you that we were a
thought seeking after more thought, or a dream in the region of dreams?
Great events always seem alien to our daily lives, though their nature
may be rooted in our nature. But though they appear sudden in their
coming and sudden in their passing, their true span is for years and for
generations.
Jesus of Nazareth was Himself the Great Event. That man whose father and
mother and brothers we know, was Himself a miracle wrought in Judea. Yea,
all His own miracles, if placed at His feet, would not rise to the height
of His ankles.
And all the rivers of all the years shall not carry away our remembrance
of Him.
He was a mountain burning in the night, yet He was a soft glow beyond the
hills. He was a tempest in the sky, yet He was a murmur in the mist of
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daybreak.
He was a torrent pouring from the heights to the plains to destroy all
things in its path. And He was like the laughter of children.
Every year I had waited for spring to visit this valley. I had waited for
the lilies and the cyclamen, and then every year my soul had been
saddened within me; for ever I longed to rejoice with the spring, yet I
could not.
But when Jesus came to my seasons He was indeed a spring, and in Him was
the promise of all the years to come. He filled my heart with joy; and
like the violets I grew, a shy thing, in the light of His coming.
And now the changing seasons of worlds not yet ours shall not erase His
loveliness from this our world.
Nay, Jesus was not a phantom, nor a conception of the poets. He was man
like yourself and myself. But only to sight and touch and hearing; in all
other ways He was unlike us.
He was a man of joy; and it was upon the path of joy that He met the
sorrows of all men. And it was from the high roofs of His sorrows that He
beheld the joy of all men.
He saw visions that we did not see, and heard voices that we did not
hear; and He spoke as if to invisible multitudes, and ofttimes He spoke
through us to races yet unborn.
And Jesus was often alone. He was among us yet not one with us. He was
upon the earth, yet He was of the sky. And only in our aloneness may we
visit the land of His aloneness.
He loved us with tender love. His heart was a winepress. You and I could
approach with a cup and drink therefrom.
One thing I did not use to understand in Jesus: He would make merry with
His listeners; He would tell jests and play upon words, and laugh with
all the fullness of His heart, even when there were distances in His eyes
and sadness in His voice. But I understand now.
I often think of the earth as a woman heavy with her first child. When
Jesus was born, He was the first child. And when He died, He was the
first man to die.
For did it not appear to you that the earth was stilled on that dark
Friday, and the heavens were at war with the heavens?
And felt you not when His face disappeared from our sight as if we were
naught but memories in the mist?
CLEOPAS OF BETHROUNE
WHEN JESUS SPOKE THE WHOLE WORLD was hushed to listen. His words were not
for our ears but rather for the elements of which God made this earth.
He spoke to the sea, our vast mother, that gave us birth. He spoke to the
mountain, our elder brother whose summit is a promise.
And He spoke to the angels beyond the sea and the mountain to whom we
entrusted our dreams ere the clay in us was made hard in the sun.
And still His speech slumbers within our breast like a love-song half
forgotten, and sometimes it burns itself through to our memory.
His speech was simple and joyous, and the sound of His voice was like
cool water in a land of drought.
Once He raised His hand against the sky, and His fingers were like the
branches of a sycamore tree; and He said with a great voice:
"The prophets of old have spoken to you, and your ears are filled with
their speech. But I say unto you, empty your ears of what you have
heard."
And these words of Jesus, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU," were not uttered by a man
of our race nor of our world; but rather by a host of seraphim marching
across the sky of Judea.
Again and yet again He would quote the law and the prophets, and then He
would say, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU."
Oh, what burning words, what waves of seas unknown to the shores of our
mind, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU."
What stars seeking the darkness of the soul, and what sleepless souls
awaiting the dawn.
To tell of the speech of Jesus one must needs have His speech or the echo
thereof.
I have neither the speech nor the echo.
I beg you to forgive me for beginning a story that I cannot end. But the
end is not yet upon my lips. It is still a love song in the wind.
NAAMAN OF THE GADARENES
A FRIEND OF STEPHEN
HIS DISCIPLES ARE DISPERSED. HE GAVE THEM the legacy of pain ere He
Himself was put to death. They are hunted like the deer, and the foxes of
the fields, and the quiver of the hunter is yet full of arrows.
But when they are caught and led to death, they are joyous, and their
faces shine like the face of the bridegroom at the wedding-feast. For He
gave them also the legacy of joy.
I had a friend from the North Country, and his name was Stephen; and
because he proclaimed Jesus as the Son of God, he was led to the
marketplace and stoned.
And when Stephen fell to earth he outstretched his arms as if he would
die as his Master had died. His arms were spread like wings ready for
flight. And when the last gleam of light was fading in his eyes, with my
own eyes I saw a smile upon his lips. It was a smile like the breath that
comes before the end of winter for a pledge and a promise of spring.
How shall I describe it?
It seemed that Stephen was saying, "If I should go to another world, and
other men should lead me to another market-place to stone me, even then I
would proclaim Him for the truth which was in Him, and for that same
truth which is in me now."
And I noticed that there was a man standing near, and looking with
pleasure upon the stoning of Stephen.
His name was Saul of Tarsus, and it was he who had yielded Stephen to the
priests and the Romans and the crowd, for stoning.
Saul was bald of head and short of stature. His shoulders were crooked
and his features ill-sorted; and I liked him not.
I have been told that he is now preaching Jesus from the house tops. It
is hard to believe.
But the grave halts not Jesus' walking to the enemies' camp to tame and
take captive those who had opposed Him.
Still I do not like that man of Tarsus, though I have been told that
after Stephen's death he was tamed and conquered on the road to Damascus.
But his head is too large for his heart to be that of a true disciple.
And yet perhaps I am mistaken. I am often mistaken.
THOMAS
MY GRANDFATHER WHO WAS A LAWYER once said, "Let us observe truth, but
only when truth is made manifest unto us."
When Jesus called me I heeded Him, for His command was more potent than
my will; yet I kept my counsel.
When He spoke and the others were swayed like branches in the wind, I
listened immovable. Yet I loved Him.
Three years ago He left us, a scattered company to sing His name, and to
be His witnesses unto the nations.
At that time I was called Thomas the Doubter. The shadow of my
grandfather was still upon me, and always I would have truth made
manifest.
I would even put my hand in my own wound to feel the blood ere I would
believe in my pain.
Now a man who loves with his heart yet holds a doubt in his mind, is but
a slave in a galley who sleeps at his oar and dreams of his freedom, till
the lash of the master wakes him.
I myself was that slave, a
nd I dreamed of freedom, but the sleep of my
grandfather was upon me. My flesh needed the whip of my own day.
Even in the presence of the Nazarene I had closed my eyes to see my hands
chained to the oar.
Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.
Doubt is a foundling unhappy and astray, and though his own mother who
gave him birth should find him and enfold him, he would withdraw in
caution and in fear.
For Doubt will not know truth till his wounds are healed and restored.
I doubted Jesus until He made Himself manifest to me, and thrust my own
hand into His very wounds.
Then indeed I believed, and after that I was rid of my yesterday and the
yesterdays of my forefathers.
The dead in me buried their dead; and the living shall live for the
Anointed King, even for Him who was the Son of Man.
Yesterday they told me that I must go and utter His name among the
Persians and the Hindus.
I shall go. And from this day to my last day, at dawn and at eventide, I
shall see my Lord rising in majesty and I shall hear Him speak.
ELMADAM THE LOGICIAN
YOU BID ME SPEAK OF JESUS THE NAZARENE, and much have I to tell, but the
time has not come. Yet whatever I say of Him now is the truth; for all
speech is worthless save when it discloses the truth.
Behold a man disorderly, against all order; a mendicant, opposed to all
possessions; a drunkard who would only make merry with rogues and
castaways.
He was not the proud son of the State, nor was He the protected citizen
of the Empire; therefore He had contempt for both State and Empire.
He would live as free and dutiless as the fowls of the air, and for this
the hunters brought Him to earth with arrows.
No man shall ram the towers of yesterday and escape the falling stones.
No one shall open the flood gates of his ancestors without drowning. It
is the law. And because that Nazarene broke the law, He and His witless
followers were brought to naught.
And there lived many others like Him, men who would change the course of
our destiny.
They themselves were changed, and they were the losers.
There is a grapeless vine that grows by the city walls. It creeps upward
and clings to the stones. Should that vine say in her heart, "With my
might and my weight I shall destroy these walls," what would the other
plants say? Surely they would laugh at her foolishness.
Now sir, I cannot but laugh at this man and His ill-advised disciples.
ONE OF THE MARYS
IS HEAD WAS ALWAYS HIGH, AND THE FLAME OF GOD
was in His eyes.
He was often sad, but His sadness was tenderness shown to those in pain,
and comradeship given to the lonely.
When He smiled His smile was as the hunger of those who long after the
unknown. It was like the dust of stars falling upon the eyelids of
children. And it was like a morsel of bread in the throat.
He was sad, yet it was a sadness that would rise to the lips and become a
smile.
It was like a golden veil in the forest when autumn is upon the world.
And sometimes it seemed like moonlight upon the shores of the lake.
He smiled as if His lips would sing at the wedding-feast.
Yet He was sad with the sadness of the winged who will not soar above his
comrade.
RUMANOUS
A GREEK POET
HE WAS A POET. HE SAW FOR OUR EYES AND HEARD FOR
our ears, and our silent words were upon His lips; and His fingers
touched what we could not feel.
Out of His heart there flew countless singing birds to the north and to