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 market-place 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 is 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

On the Forefathers of His Doubts

 

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, and 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

Jesus the Outcast

 

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 one shall open the flood gates of his ancestors without drowning. It is the law. And because the 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 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

On His Sadness and His Smile

 

His 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

Jesus the 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 the south, and the little flowers on the hill-sides stayed His steps towards the heavens.

 

 

Oftentimes I have seen Him bending down to touch the blades of grass. And in my heart I have heard Him say: “Little green things, you shall be with me in my kingdom, even as the oaks of Besan, and the cedars of Lebanon.”

 

 

He loved all things of loveliness, the shy faces of children, and the myrrh and frankincense from the south.

 

 

He loved a pomegranate or a cup of wine given Him in kindness; it mattered not whether it was offered by a stranger in the inn or by a rich host.

 

 

And He loved the almond blossoms. I have seen Him gathering them into His hands and covering His face with the petals, as though He would embrace with His love all the trees in the world.

 

 

He knew the sea and the heavens; and He spoke of pearls which have light that is not of this light, and of stars that are beyond our night.

 

 

He knew the mountains as eagles know them, and the valleys as they are known by the brooks and the streams. And there was a desert in His silence and a garden in His speech.

 

 

Aye, He was a poet whose heart dwelt in a bower beyond the heights, and His songs though sung for our ears, were sung for other ears also, and to men in another land where life is for ever young and time is always dawn.

 

 

Once I too deemed myself a poet, but when I stood before Him in Bethany, I knew what it is to hold an instrument with but a single string before one who commands all instruments. For in His voice there was the laughter of thunder and the tears of rain, and the joyous dancing of trees in the wind.

 

 

And since I have known that my lyre has but one string, and that my voice weaves neither the memories of yesterday nor the hopes of tomorrow, I have put aside my lyre and I shall keep silence. But always at twilight I shall hearken, and I shall listen to the Poet who is the sovereign of all poets.

LEVI
A DISCIPLE

On Those who would Confound Jesus

 

Upon an eventide He passed by my house, and my soul was quickened within me.

 

 

He spoke to me and said, “Come, Levi, and follow me.”

 

 

And I followed Him that day.

 

 

And at eventide of the next day I begged Him to enter my house and be my guest. And He and His friends crossed my threshold and blessed me and my wife and my children.

 

 

And I had other guests. They were publicans and men of learning, but they were against Him in their hearts.

 

 

And when we were sitting about the board, one of the publicans questioned Jesus, saying, “Is it true that you and your disciples break the law, and make fire on the Sabbath day?”

 

 

And Jesus answered him saying, “We do indeed make fire on the Sabbath day.