Authors: Unknown
THE ROBE (48 page)
'I daresay there were plenty of men in the crowd who were faced with the
same dilemma,' surmised Marcellus.
'Well, the disciples were around Jesus telling him he had better dismiss
the people, so they could go to the little villages and buy food. Justus told
me afterwards that Jesus only shook his head and told them that the people
would be fed. They were much bewildered and worried. There was a small boy,
sitting very close and overhearing this talk. He had a little basket, his own lunch,
not very much; just enough to feed a boy. He went to Jesus with his basket and
said he was willing to share what he had.'
Marcellus's eyes lighted, and he leaned forward attentively.
'Go on!' he demanded. 'This is wonderful.'
'Yes, it really was wonderful, sir. Jesus took the basket and held it up
for the people to see. And then he told how the boy wanted to share his food
with all the people. And he looked up and thanked God for the little boy's
gift. It was very, very quiet, sir. Then he began breaking the small loaves
into bits, and the fish he tore into little shreds; and he gave these fragments
to his disciples and told them to feed the people.'
'Did the crowd laugh?' asked Marcellus.
'Well, no, sir. We didn't laugh, although almost everyone smiled over
such a big crowd being fed on almost nothing, as you might say. As I told you,
I had been ashamed to bring out the food I had, and now I was ashamed not to;
so I unwrapped my bread and fish, and broke off a piece, and offered it to the
man next to me.'
'Wonderful!' shouted Marcellus. 'Was he glad to get it?'
'He had some of his own,' said Hariph, adding, quickly, 'but there were
plenty of people who hadn't brought any food along with them, sir. And everyone
was fed, that day! After it was over, they gathered up a dozen basketfuls of
fragments, left over.'
'It sounds as if some other people, besides you and Reuben, had had the
forethought to bring some provisions along,' speculated Marcellus. 'They
probably wouldn't have gone out into the desert with empty baskets. This is
really a marvellous story, Hariph!'
'You believe it, sir?' Hariph was happily surprised.
'Indeed I do! And I believe it was a miracle! Jesus had inspired those
stingy, selfish people to be decent to one another! It takes a truly great man
to make one harmonious family out of a crowd like that! I can't understand the
healing, Hariph; but I believe in the feeding! And I'm glad you wanted to tell
me!'
They were on the way from Cana to Capernaum. All day their narrow road had
been gaining altitude, not without occasional dips into shallow valleys, but
tending upwards toward a lofty plateau where the olive-green terrain met an
azure sky set with masses of motionless white clouds.
It had been a fatiguing journey, with many pauses for rest, and as the
shadows slanted farther to the east, the two men trudged the steepening track
in silence, leaving the little pack-train far behind. They were nearing the top
now. Justus had promised that they would make camp in the lee of the great rock
they had sighted two hours ago. There was a cool spring, he said, and plenty of
forage. He hoped they would find the spot untenanted. Yes, he knew the place
well. He had camped there many times. There was a splendid view. Jesus had
loved it.
Throughout this tour of Galilee, Marcellus had paid very little
attention to the physical characteristics of the province. Until now the
landscape had been unremarkable, and he had been fully preoccupied by the
strange business that had brought him here. Marcellus had but one interest in
this otherwise undistinguished land of rock-strewn fields, tiny vineyards, and
apathetic villages drowsing in the dust around an ancient well. He was
concerned only about a mysterious man who had walked these winding roads, a little
while ago, with crowds of thousands surging about him.
It was not easy to-day, on this sleepy old highway, to picture either
the number or the temper of that multitude. The people must have come from long
distances, most of them, for this country was not thickly populated. Nor was it
easy to imagine the confusion, the jostling, the shouting. Such Galileans as
Marcellus had seen were not emotional, not responsive; rather stolid, indeed.
That weary, weather-beaten woman, leaning on her hoe, in the frowsy little
garden they had just passed--had she, too, bounded out of her kitchen, leaving
their noonday pottage on the fire, to join in that curious throng? This bearded
man in the meadows--her husband, obviously; now sluggishly mowing wisps of
grass with his great-grandfather's scythe--had he run panting to the edge of
the crowd, trying to scramble through the sweating pack for a glimpse of the
face of Jesus?
It was almost incredible that this silent, solemn, stodgy province could
ever have been haled out of its age-long lethargy and stirred to such a pitch
of excitement. Even Justus, looking back upon it all, could only shake his
shaggy head and mutter that the whole affair was quite beyond comprehension.
You could think what you liked about the miracles, reflected Justus, soberly:
many of the people were hysterical and had reported all manner of strange
occurrences, some of which had never been satisfactorily confirmed. The air had
been full of wild rumours, Justus said. A few Nazarenes had been quoted as remembering
that when Jesus was a lad, at play with them, he had fashioned birds of clay,
and the birds had come to life and had flown away. You could hear such tales by
the score, and they had confused the public's estimate of Jesus, making him
seem a mountebank in the opinion of many intelligent people.
But these passionate throngs of thousands who followed, day after day,
indifferent to their hunger and discomfort--all Galilee knew that this was true
because all Galilee had participated. You might have good reasons for doubting
the validity of some of these miracle stories, but you couldn't doubt this one!
Obscure little Galilee, so slow and stupid that its bucolic habits and uncouth
dialect were stock jokes in Judea, had suddenly come alive! Its dull work was
abandoned. Everybody talking at once! Everybody shouting questions which nobody
tried to answer! Camels were left standing in their harness, hitched to
water-wheels. Shuttles were left, midway of the open warp. Tools lay scattered
on the floor of the carpenter shop. Ploughs stopped in the furrow. Fires burned
out in the brick-kiln. Everybody took to the road, on foot, on donkeys, on
carts, on crutches. Helpless invalids who couldn't be left were bundled up on
stretchers and carried along. Nothing mattered but to follow the young man who
looked into your eyes and made you well--or ashamed--or tightened your throat
with longing for his calm strength and flower-like purity.
Now the bright light had gone out. The great crowds had scattered. The
inspired young man was dead. Galilee had gone back to sleep. It was a lonely
land. Perhaps the Galileans themselves were now conscious of its loneliness,
after having briefly experienced this unprecedented activity.
Marcellus wished he knew how much of Jesus' influence still remained
alive. Of course, you could depend upon a few of them--those who had known him
best and owed him much--to remember and remember until they died; people like
Miriam. Or were there any more like Miriam? Justus had said that some of these
Galileans had been completely transformed, almost as if they had been born
again. Certain men of low estate had learned new occupations. Certain beggars
had become productive. A few publicans had become respected citizens. Women who
had been known as common scolds were going about doing deeds of kindness. But
perhaps the majority had been unable to hold on to their resolutions. He must
press Justus for some more information about that.
Now they had arrived at the top of the terrain, every step adding depth
to the view. Far to the north lay a range of snow-capped mountains. A few steps
farther on, and the distant turrets and domes of a modern city glistened in the
declining sun. There was no need to inquire its name: it had to be Tiberias.
Marcellus lengthened his stride to keep pace with Justus, who was moving
swiftly toward the northern rim, turning his head from side to side, and
peering intently in all directions, as if he had expected to meet a friend up
here.
Suddenly the whole breath-taking panorama was spread before them and
Marcellus had his first sight of the deep-blue lake that had figured so much in
his guide's conversation. It had been around this little sea that Jesus had
spent most of his days. Justus dropped wearily to the ground, folded his arms,
and sat in silent contemplation of the scene. Marcellus, a little way apart,
reclined on his elbows. Far in the distance was a slanting sail. All along the
shore-line, flat-roofed villages straggled down to the water's edge.
After a long interval, Marcellus stirred.
'So--this is the Sea of Galilee!' he said, half to himself.
Justus nodded slowly. Presently he pointed to the farthest settlement
that could be seen.
'Capernaum,' he said. 'Eight miles.'
'I daresay this lake has some tender memories for you, Justus,' remarked
Marcellus. 'Tell me,' he went on, with a slow gesture that swept the landscape,
'has the general behaviour of those people been greatly altered by the career
of Jesus?'
'It is hard to say,' replied Justus. 'They do not talk much about it.
They are afraid. The Roman fort is close by. One could easily get into trouble
by asking questions. One only knows what has happened in the lives of one's
friends. I expect to visit some of them while we are here.'
'Will I see them?' inquired Marcellus, doubtfully.
'Not many,' said Justus, frankly. 'You will see old Bartholomew, as I
told you. He has a story I want you to hear. Bartholomew will not be afraid to
talk to you, after I assure him it will be safe.' He turned about and faced
Marcellus with a reminiscent smile. 'You might be interested in knowing how
Jesus and Bartholomew first met. The old man was sitting out in his little fig
orchard, one morning, when Jesus and Philip passed the house. And Jesus
cheerily waved a hand and said, "Peace be upon you, Nathanael!"'
'I thought his name was Bartholomew,' put in Marcellus.
'That's the amusing part of it,' chuckled Justus. 'It is not customary
with us to call venerable men by their given names. I don't suppose old
Bartholomew had heard himself called Nathanael for at least two-score years.
And here was this young stranger taking an immense liberty with him.'
'Was he offended?' asked Marcellus, with a grin.
'Well, perhaps not seriously offended, but certainly astonished. He
called Jesus to come to him, perhaps intending to take him to task for what
looked like a bit of impudence. Philip told me the story. He said that old
Bartholomew was looking stern as he waited for Jesus to approach. Then his eyes
widened and softened; and he smiled and said, "You knew my name."
"Yes," replied Jesus, "and because it means 'God-given' it is
fitting, for you are an Israelite of high integrity."'
'That should have pleased the old man,' observed Marcellus.
'It did,' said Justus soberly. 'It made him a disciple.'
'You mean, he--followed after Jesus?'
'Yes. There was something strange about that. The old man had long since
taken to his chair in the garden, thinking his active days were ended. But he
got up and went along with Jesus--and he rarely left his side for nearly three
years.'
'His vigour was restored?' Marcellus's face showed disbelief.
'No, he was still an old man. It was hard work for him to keep up with
the others. He got very weary indeed, and he wheezed and panted like any other
hard-pressed old man--'
'But he came along,' assisted Marcellus.
'Yes--Bartholomew came along. No one else would have ventured to call
him Nathanael--but Jesus did, invariably. And Bartholomew liked it.'
'Perhaps Jesus did that to keep the old man going,' suggested Marcellus.
'Maybe it made him feel younger.'
'Well, it wasn't only Bartholomew who felt younger and immature in the
company of Jesus.' Justus frowned and stroked his beard, his habit when groping
for an elusive memory. 'With the exception of John, all the close friends and
disciples of Jesus were older than he; but he was our senior, by years and
years. Sometimes, after we had slipped away for an hour's rest, he would say,
"Come, children: we must be on our way." But no one smiled, or
thought it peculiar.'
'He seemed remote?' asked Marcellus.
Justus deliberately pondered a reply, then shook his head.
'No, not remote. He was companionable. You wanted to get closer to him,
as if for protection. I think that's why the people were always crowding about
him, until he hardly had room to move.'
'That must have put him under a great strain,' said Marcellus. 'Didn't
he ever seem weary?'
'Very, very weary!' remembered Justus. 'But he never protested.
Sometimes men would brace a shoulder against the crowd and push their way in,
knocking others off their feet, but I can't recall that he ever rebuked anyone
for it. . . . Marcellus, did you ever see a flock of little chickens climbing
over one another to get under the hen's wings? Well, the hen doesn't seem to
notice; just holds out her feathers, and lets them scramble in. That was his
attitude. And that was our relation to him.'
'Very strange!' murmured Marcellus, abstractedly. 'But I think--I
understand--what you mean,' he added, as from a distance.
'You couldn't!' declared Justus. 'You think you understand, but you
would have had to know Jesus to comprehend what I am saying. Some of us were
old enough to have been his father, but we were just--just little chickens!
Take Simon, for example. Simon was always the leader among the disciples. I
hope you meet him when you go back to Jerusalem. Simon is a very forceful,
capable man. Whenever Jesus happened to be absent from us, for an hour, Simon
was far and away the big man of the company, everyone deferring to him.
But--when Jesus would rejoin us'--Justus grinned, pursed his lips, and slowly
shook his head--'Simon was just a little boy; just a humble, helpless little
boy! A little chicken!'