Authors: Unknown
THE ROBE (43 page)
It was noon now, and a halt was made in a little grove where there was a
spring and a green grass-plot for grazing. The donkeys were unburdened and
tethered. The food was unpacked; a wineskin, a basket of bread, a parcel of
smoked fish, an earthenware jar of cooked barley, a box of sun-cured figs. They
spread a blanket on the ground for little Jonathan, who, stuffed to repletion
and wearied by the journey, promptly tumbled down to sleep. Justus and
Marcellus, lounging on the grass, pursued a low-voiced conversation.
'Sometimes thoughtless people misunderstood his attitude toward
business,' Justus was saying. 'His critics noised it about that he had contempt
for barter and trade; that he had no respect for thrift and honest husbandry.'
'I had wondered about that,' said Marcellus. 'There has been much talk
about his urging people to give things away. It had occurred to me that this
could be overdone. If men recklessly distributed their goods to all comers, how
could they provide for their own dependents?'
'Let me give you an illustration,' said Justus. 'This subject came up,
one day, and Jesus dealt with it in a story. He was forever contriving simple
little fables. He said, a man with a vineyard wanted his grapes picked, for
they were now ripe. Going down to the public market, he asked a group of idlers
if they wanted a job. They said they would work all day for one denarius.'
'Rather high,' observed Marcellus.
'Rather! But the grapes had to be picked immediately, and the man wasn't
in a position to argue; so he took them on. By noon, it was apparent that he
would need more help. Again in the marketplace he asked the unemployed what
they would take to work that afternoon. And they said, "We will leave that
to you, sir." Well, when evening came, the men who had bargained with him
for one denarius were paid off according to agreement. Then came the men who had
worked shorter hours, leaving the wages to the owner's generosity.'
'So, what did he do?' wondered Marcellus, sincerely interested.
'Gave every man a denarius! All the way up and down the line--one
denarius! He even gave a denarius to a few who hadn't worked more than an
hour!'
'That might have started a row,' surmised Marcellus.
'And indeed it
did!
The men who had worked all day complained
bitterly. But the owner said, "I paid you the price you had demanded. That
was according to contract. These other men made no demands, but relied on my
good will."'
'Excellent!' exclaimed Marcellus. 'If a man drives a hard bargain with
you and you are forced to concede to it, you have no obligation to be generous.
But if he lets
you
say how much he should have, that's likely to cost
you something!'
'There you are!' nodded Justus. 'You have a right to weigh it out by the
pennyworth, if the other fellow haggles. But if he leaves it to you, the
measure you give must be pressed down, shaken together, and running over!'
'Justus,' declared Marcellus, 'if it became a custom for people to deal
with one another in that way, the marketplace wouldn't be quite so noisy,
would it?'
'And all men would be better off,' said Justus. 'People wouldn't have to
be taxed to employ patrols to keep the peace. And as the idea spread,' he
added, dreamily, 'all the armies could be demobilized. That would lift a great
weight off the shoulders of the people. And once they had experienced this more
abundant life that Jesus proposed, it is not likely they would want to return
to the old way.'
For some time they sat in silence, each busy with his own thoughts.
'Of course, it's utterly impractical,' declared Marcellus. 'Only a
little handful would make the experiment, and at ruinous cost. The great
majority would sneer and take advantage of them, considering them cowardly and
feeble-minded for not defending their rights. They would soon be stripped of
everything!'
'That's true,' admitted Justus. 'Stripped of everything but
the great
idea!
But, Marcellus, that idea is like a seed. It doesn't amount to much
if you expect immediate returns. But if you're willing to plant it, and nourish
it--'
'I suppose,' remarked Marcellus, 'it is as if some benefactor appeared
in the world with a handful of new grain which, if men should feed on it, would
give them peace and prosperity.'
'Very good,' approved Justus, 'but that handful of grain would not go
very far unless it were sowed and reaped and sowed, again and again. Jesus
talked about that. Much of this seed, he said, would never come up. Some of it
would lodge in the weeds and brambles. Some of it would fall upon stony ground.
But a little of it would grow.'
'Justus, do you honestly believe there's any future for a theory like
that--in this greedy world?' Marcellus was deeply in earnest.
'Yes, I do!' declared Justus. 'I believe it because he believed it! He
said it would work like yeast in meal; slowly, silently; but--once it
began--nothing could ever stop it. Nobody would ever be able to shut it off, or
dig it up, or tear it out!'
'But--why did it begin up here, in poor little Galilee--so remote from
the main centres of world development?' wondered Marcellus.
'Well,' reflected Justus, 'it had to begin
somewhere!'
After a
moment of meditation, he faced Marcellus with a sly grin. 'Do you think this
seed might have had a better chance to take root and grow, if it had fallen on
the streets in Rome?'
'I think the question answers itself,' conceded Marcellus.
Justus reached over and patted the little boy's tanned cheek.
'On, now, to Cana,' he said, scrambling to his feet.
In a few minutes they were on the highway, Justus leading with long,
swinging strides, indulging in a reminiscent monologue.
'How often we came over this road together!' he was recalling. 'Jesus
loved Cana better than any other town in Galilee.'
'Better than Nazareth?' queried Marcellus.
'They never quite appreciated his spirit in Nazareth,' explained Justus.
'You know how it is. A prophet has no standing in his own community. The
Nazarenes used to say, "How can this man have any wisdom? Don't
we
know him?"'
'Apparently they didn't rank very high in their own esteem,' laughed
Marcellus.
'It was natural,' said Justus, sobering. 'He had grown up with them. He
never held it against them that they did not respond to his teachings as they
did in Cana and Capernaum. It was in Cana that he first exercised the peculiar
powers you will be hearing about. I don't suppose anyone has told you what
happened there, one day, at a wedding?'
'No,' replied Marcellus, attentively. 'What happened?'
It was a story of some length, and Justus was so particular about the
small details that Marcellus immediately surmised its importance. Anna, the
daughter of Hariph and Rachel, was to be married. Hariph was a potter, an
industrious fellow, but by no means prosperous, and the expense of the wedding
dinner for Anna was not easy for them. However, Hariph was going to see his
child properly honoured. Anna was very popular, and Hariph and Rachel had a
host of relatives. Everybody was invited and everybody came.
'Were you there, Justus?'
'No, that was before I knew Jesus. The story of what occurred, that day,
quickly spread far and wide. I don't mind telling you that when I heard it, I
doubted it.'
'Get on with it, please!' insisted Marcellus.
'Jesus arrived late. The wedding rites had been performed, and the
guests had been at table for some time when he appeared. Poor Hariph was
unhappy. He had not provided enough wine for so large a crowd. His predicament
was whispered into Jesus' ear.'
Justus tramped on for half a stadium in moody silence.
'Maybe it is not the time yet to tell you this,' he muttered. 'You will
not believe it. I did not believe it when they told me! Well, Jesus slipped
away from the table, and went to the small serving-room. He saw some of Hariph's
earthenware jars in the little court outside, and told the servants to fill
them with water. Then, having instructed them to serve it to the guests, he
went back and resumed his place at the table. When the water was served,
it
was wine!'
'No, Justus, it couldn't be!' exclaimed Marcellus. 'This spoils the
story of Jesus!'
'I was afraid you weren't ready for it, my friend,' regretted Justus.
'Oh, but there must have been some better explanation of that wine,'
insisted Marcellus. 'Jesus comes in with that radiant personality; everyone
loving him. And even the water they drank in his presence tasted like wine! And
so, this other utterly preposterous tale got bruited about.'
'Have it your own way, Marcellus,' consented Justus, kindly. 'It does
not offend me that you doubt the story. You can believe in the wisdom and
goodness of Jesus without that.'
They proceeded, without further conversation, up the long hill where, at
the crest, Justus stopped, cupped his eyes with his big, brown hands, and gazed
intently down the narrow road as far as he could see; a familiar, though
unexplained, occurrence. The best Marcellus could make of these frequent
long-range observations was his belief that Justus was expecting to meet
someone by appointment. To-day he thought of asking about it, but decided to
wait until Justus wanted to tell him.
While they tarried, at the top of the hill, for the pack-train to
overtake them, Marcellus broke the silence with a question.
'Did you not tell me, Justus, that Miriam discovered her matchless voice
while her family was absent from home, attending a wedding-feast to which she
had been invited--and had refused to go?'
'Yes,' assented Justus. 'It was Anna's wedding.'
'Jesus arrived late at the wedding,' remembered Marcellus.
'Yes.' Justus nodded and they exchanged a look of mutual understanding.
'I wonder what made him late,' reflected Marcellus.
'I, too, have often wondered about that,' said Justus, quietly.
'Do you suppose he might have asked Miriam not to tell?'
'It is possible.'
'So far as you know, Justus,' persisted Marcellus, 'did he ever confer a
great gift upon someone, and request the beneficiary to keep it a secret?'
'Yes,' said Justus. 'There were many evidences of such events.'
'How do you explain that?' Marcellus wanted to know.
'Jesus found any public display of charity very offensive,' said Justus.
'Had it been possible, I think he would have preferred to do all his generous
deeds in secret. On one occasion he said to a great throng that had gathered on
a hillside to hear him talk, "When you make gifts, do not let them be
seen. Do not sound a trumpet that you may receive praise. When you do your
alms-giving, let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing. No one
but your Father will see. Only your Father will reward you."'
'What did he mean, Justus--about your Father rewarding you, if no one
else knows? Take little Jonathan's case, for example: if nobody had learned
about his giving his donkey to the crippled lad, would he have been secretly
rewarded?'
'Of course!' declared Justus. 'If no one had known about the gift,
Jonathan's heart would have overflowed with happiness. You wouldn't have heard
him wishing that he had kept the saddle!'
'But the child had no way of keeping the matter quiet!' expostulated
Marcellus.
'True,' nodded Justus. 'That was not Jonathan's fault, but his
misfortune.'
'Do you think that peculiar radiance of Miriam's can be accounted for by
her having kept her secret? In her case, she was not the donor. She was the
recipient!'
'I know,' agreed Justus. 'If the recipient doesn't tell, then the donor
is rewarded in his heart. It is thus that the recipient helps him to obtain his
reward.'
'But now that Jesus is dead,' argued Marcellus, with a puzzled look,
'Miriam is free to tell her secret, is she not?'
Justus stroked his beard, thoughtfully.
'Probably not,' he murmured. 'If she were--she would tell.'
They had reached Cana too late to hear Miriam sing, but Marcellus
thought it was just as well, for Jonathan was so tired and sleepy that he could
hardly hold his head up.
By the time they had pitched camp, washed off their dust, eaten a light
supper, and put the little boy to bed, many voices could be heard; villagers
strolling home in the moonlight from their customary rendezvous at the fountain.
Justus sauntered out to the street. Marcellus, wearily stretched at full
length on his cot, heard him talking to a friend. After a while he returned to
say he had been informed by Hariph the potter that Jesse, the son of Beoni, was
leaving early in the morning for Jerusalem. Doubtless he would carry the letter
to Demetrius.
'Very good!' Marcellus handed him the scroll and unstrapped his coin
purse. 'How much will he expect?'
'Ten shekels should be enough.' There was an expression of satisfaction
in Justus's face and tone, perhaps because the letter had been given up so
casually. His look said that there could be nothing conspiratorial in this
communication. 'Jesse will probably be over here presently,' he added. 'Hariph
will tell him. He lives hard by the home of Beoni.'
'You can talk with him,' said Marcellus. 'I am going to sleep.'
And he did; but after a while the murmur of low-pitched voices roused
him. He raised up on his elbow, and through the open tent-door the white
moonlight showed Justus and a stocky, shaggy-haired man of thirty, seated
cross-legged on the ground. Jesse, the son of Beoni, was rumbling gutturally
about the business that was taking him to Jerusalem. He was going to attend the
annual camel auction. They always had it at the end of Passover. Many caravans
from afar, having disposed of their merchandise, offered their pack-animals for
sale rather than trek them home without a pay-load. You could get a sound,
three-year-old she-camel for as little as eighty shekels, Jesse said. He hoped
to buy six, this time. He could easily sell them in Tiberias for a hundred or
better. Yes--he made this trip every year. Yes, he would gladly carry Justus's
letter to the Greek who worked for Benyosef. And when Justus asked him how
much, Jesse said, 'Nothing at all. It's no bother.'