Thad had now caught Johnny's eye and wiggled a beckoning finger. The two arose quietly and strolled arm in arm toward the little galley, presumably to prepare food for the party.
'What it all comes to, Peter,' summed up old Bartholomew soberly, 'is that our Master, having overcome death, is set free to go wherever he pleases, whenever he pleases! He is independent of miles—and hours!'
'He might even be here—on
The Abigail
—now!' mused Andrew.
Peter gave a startled look over his shoulder, and then stared into his brother's eyes.
'Does that affright you, Andy?' he asked.
'No; it does not affright me,' replied Andrew. 'But—from now on—so long as I live—I'm going to be more careful—about what I say—and do. . . . One never knows when he may be standing there.'
*
*
* * * *
Early the next morning—it was the twentieth day of Nisan—they were all reassembled on
The Abigail.
There was plenty of work to be done in reconditioning the neglected ship and her sister craft,
The Sara,
but no one had any keen interest in it. They were restless, inattentive, and preoccupied by their expectancy of a visitation. Every little while some one of them would make a tour of the deck, scanning the horizon. The animated discussions of yesterday had reviewed the story, over and over again, until nothing was left to be said.
'Think he will come today?' one would ask, aware that the question had no answer. The strain of waiting was beginning to tell: waiting and watching and listening was hard work. Late in the afternoon Andrew, customarily so frugal with suggestions, startled them by calling out to his brother who for the past hour had been sitting on the tiller-seat, gazing across the shimmering water, 'Let us go fishing tomorrow! I think he would rather find us working—when he comes.' The proposal brought general relief. The rest of the day was spent in putting the nets and sailing tackle in order. The tension was relaxed. A frayed rope at the end of the mainmast's boom broke with Johnny and dumped him into the lake. They hauled him out dripping and everybody laughed. How good it seemed to be able to laugh again, especially at Johnny, whose agility in scampering all over the rigging had made him amiably envied.
Next day they fished off a cove on the north shore and with considerable success; came back to anchorage in the evening, stocked the big live-box, half submerged at their wharf, and carried home well-filled baskets of perch. Peter thought of returning that night to Bethsaida, but when the time came to leave the ship he decided to remain. All the others went home, including Thad, who was ordered to take some fish home to his family. At twilight the dories were all gone and Peter was alone, but with a tranquil mind. And that night he slept.
At the first grey-blue light before dawn, the Big Fisherman rose and walked forward. It was still too early to identify the familiar landmarks. On such a morning, he had stood here gazing toward the shore in the predawn haze and had heard a voice calling 'Simon!' With what heart-racing haste had he scrambled into the little boat and flailed the lake with excited oars! And then he had received his commission as the fisherman who would now 'fish for men.'
The sky was brightening a little and the fog was dissolving. Dimly the outlines of the wharves and huts became visible. The Big Fisherman's narrowed eyes slowly swept the shoreline. A tall, slender column of blue smoke was rising from a small, bright fire at the water's edge. Beside the fire, warming his hands, stood the Master. He raised his arm, waved a hand, and called:
'Peter!'
Half an hour later the disciples began to arrive, by twos and threes, for the day's work. They hurried to the spot where Jesus and Peter sat side by side before the fire, and were greeted by the Master's welcoming smile. The Big Fisherman's shaggy head was wet; he was bare to the waist; his shirt lay near-by on the sand, drying. His eyes were red and swollen with weeping, but strangely luminous. It was plain to see what had happened. Peter had tearfully repented his weakness and had been fully restored to the Master's comradeship.
Thad and John ran to the live-box and returned with fish for breakfast, which they broiled over the fire, and produced wheaten bread from their well-filled baskets. The hour that followed was memorable. In a few days, the Master said, he would return home to his Father's House and leave them to continue his work.
Eventually he would revisit the world. In the meantime, they who believed in him—'and they who will believe in me through your testimony'—would receive many indubitable evidences of his spiritual presence.
'Can you tell us when to expect your return, Master?' asked Philip.
'No one knows the day, nor the hour, Philip,' replied Jesus. 'What I say unto you, you may say unto all—Watch!'
In a quiet voice he gave them instructions for their movements in the days immediately before them. No more fishing now: their fishing days were over. They were to return to Jerusalem and await further orders. With that, he rose, held his outstretched hands over them in blessing, and said tenderly, 'My peace be with you.' They had all bowed their heads while the touching words were spoken; and when, at length, they lifted their eyes, he was gone.
For a long moment they sat stunned to silence. Peter was the first to rise. They all came to their feet and gathered about him, their questing eyes fixed on his sober face. No one needed to inquire which, among them, was appointed to be their leader. Peter had suddenly acquired maturity. His resonant voice, when he spoke, had a tone of authority. There was no trace of pride or arrogance in it: indeed, it had something of the tenderness and compassion that had distinguished the voice of the Master. It quietly entreated, but with full confidence that it would be heard with respect. He remembered the strange sensation of power that he had experienced on the day, long ago, in the palatial home of Jairus when he had been in complete command of the crowd that had swarmed in out of the storm. It had been a heady potion, that consciousness of ability to command. . . . Today, he had no pride of power: instead, he felt weighted with responsibility. Jesus had privately said to him, 'You are a shepherd now! Feed my sheep!'
'We will proceed to Jerusalem,' said Peter. 'James, John, and Thaddeus, you will row out to the ships, stow the nets, and secure the hatches. Then you will return home and prepare for your journey. The rest of us will go to our homes and say farewell to our families. We will all meet in Bethsaida an hour after noon.'
The Big Fisherman picked up his shirt and tugged it on over his massive shoulders.
'And bid farewell to the lake,' he added, as he turned away with Andrew. 'It is unlikely that we will ever see it again.'
'What will you do with the ships?' asked Andrew, as they moved toward the highway.
'I shall give them to Hannah,' said Peter. 'She can dispose of them—and use the money for her support. . . . And your house in Capernaum, Andy?'
'That shall be Hannah's, too.'
* * * * * *
Making their headquarters at the shop of the old weaver Ben-Josef, the disciples restlessly awaited their summons. At length it was announced that they were to assemble on a near-by hill-top in the early morning of the twenty-fourth day of Iyar.
In obedience, they went singly up the long hill where the Master met them; and, after a few enheartening words, instructed them to remain in Jerusalem until they received further tidings.
Then they all knelt while he prayed for them; and when they arose from their knees, he was gone. Nor did they ever see him again, though—to the end of their days—they were constantly on the alert for his return.
For more than a dozen centuries the fifth of Sivan, fiftieth day after the Passover, had been celebrated as the harvest festival. It was the gayest occasion of the Jewish year.
Many an oldster, with the ancient traditions as his hobby, would tell you that Pentecost was originally intended to commemorate the giving of the law to Moses on Mount Sinai; but little if anything was made of that now. This carefree day was singularly detached from historic events.
Whereas the Passover enjoined a period when the houses were shuttered and prayers were offered for the recovery of a long-lost freedom, and the Day of Atonement implored on bended knees the forgiveness of the people's sins, Pentecost was observed with joyful music, colourful processions and dancing in the streets.
The gala-day marked the end of the barley harvest, Palestine's largest and most reliable crop. For a little while, and until the grapes and other early autumn fruits were ripe, rural Jewry was at leisure with a few well-earned shekels in its pocket. It was an appropriate time for a pleasure trip to the city.
And Jerusalem always did her best to accommodate the merrymakers. Her open gates were adorned with bright bunting and banners. The booths and bazaars were decorated with garlands of mid-summer flowers. Merchants put away their expensive jewels, rugs, and furniture to give display to gaudier items within the reach of a reckless holiday wallet. Trinkets and baubles and gimcracks, anything that glittered on a necklace or jingled on a bracelet, could be had at what seemed a bargain. The narrow old streets swarmed with crowds in a state of happy confusion. Vendors with trays of sweetmeats shouted their wares. Confectioners, busy over hot braziers, filled the air with tantalizing aromas of mint and anise. Harpists and pipers discordantly competed with mendicant minstrels for the attention of hilarious groups that paused to listen, laugh, drop a penny on the rug, and press on into the pack. The youth of Israel were serious—but not on Pentecost.
It was not to be expected that everybody would behave. There was plenty of rowdiness and drunkenness, which the Roman patrols pretended not to notice; for, in the opinion of the tough and seasoned Roman soldier, inebriation was not a capital offence. Tipsy country boys who embraced and harangued strangers on the street were casually admonished by the legionaries to take it easy, but nobody was arrested. It was the one day of the year when the Holy City unbent a little. If the solemn greybeards didn't like it, they could stay at home.
But there were many people who visited Jerusalem on Pentecost who did not come to play. These men were mostly from the larger cities of the Mediterranean countries who came to attend the celebrated camel-auction conducted by Arabians. Anybody could tell you that the Jews and Arabs hated each other so consistently that neither would set foot on the other's land, but it was a long-established custom for the Arabs to forget, on Pentecost, that Jerusalem was Jewish; and the Jews, on that one day, forgot that the camel-breeders were Arabs and permitted their use of the old drill-field for the exhibition and sale of their incomparable camels.
And so it was that the annual day of Pentecost not only brought to Jerusalem the youngster from the country, with a handful of coppers to spend, but an assembly of the wealthy and urbane, who came from far distances on business; big business transacted in gold and precious stones. They stayed sober and were closely attended by body-guards. When the day was over, they set off for home with the tall, sleek, haughty camels they had bought at breath-taking prices; and the Arabs leaped astride their beautiful horses and galloped home with a king's ransom in their pockets.
Such was the nature of the Pentecostal celebration which annually brought to Jerusalem not only a crowd of provincial pleasure-seekers but scores of serious-minded, wealthy and influential men representing every land and language of their turbulent world, whether barbarian, bond, or free.
This year, the festival of Pentecost was considered an appropriate occasion for the dramatic demonstration of God's Holy Spirit in the presence of a selected company mysteriously assembled for this purpose by an irresistible compulsion. In all the world's history, nothing like this had ever happened before. At certain critical moments, young men had seen visions and old men had dreamed dreams, but nothing like this had ever happened in the world before!
* * * * * *
Because he was the furthest away and needed more time than any of the others for the unexpected journey to Jerusalem, Simon of Cyrene was the first of the one hundred and twenty men to receive an invitation.
It was anything but welcome. Simon had left the old city at daybreak next morning after the soul-sickening tragedy in which he had unwittingly become involved, and he had promised himself that he would never set foot in Jerusalem again. Never!
It had been his custom, and his father's before him, to attend the Passover Week in the Jewish capital, where he had always found a ready market for his merchandise: tropical spices, aromatic and medicinal herbs, and the bulbs of exotic plants.
This season, business had not been good. His potential customers were preoccupied and uneasy. They bought the spices as usual, but had no interest in tulip-bulbs or flowering shrubbery. It was almost as if they expected an early invasion demanding flight, though anybody could see that the Romans weren't ready for their long-threatened offensive. Simon's sales hadn't been worth the bother and expense of the trip and he was half minded not to do it again.
Then, on that dreadful Friday morning, he had become accidentally entangled in the crucifixion of the young Galilean. It had done something to Simon. He was not a man given to meditation on the mysteries of human existence. Whenever some thoughtful friend had expressed an interest in such old riddles as: Why are we here? What is the good of it? Who is in charge of it? What will be the outcome of it? Simon would chuckle and shake his head and say that he was willing to leave all that to the unemployed wiseacres who had time to worry over these matters. Now Simon himself had joined the worriers. The shameless abrogation of justice in the case of the innocent young preacher—a crime sponsored and legalized by both the Insula and the Temple in a country proud of its piety—indicated that humanity was not moving forward toward the achievement of a better world: it was not even standing still. It was losing ground, by the hour! The Cyrenian was a very unhappy man as he departed from the Holy City firmly resolved that he would never return.