Authors: Unknown
'Then the story is nonsense!' reasoned Marcellus; and after he had given
his slave ample time to reply, he added crisply, 'Isn't it?'
'No, sir,' reiterated Demetrius, 'the story is true. The thing couldn't
happen; but it did.'
Feeling that this sort of conversation didn't have much to recommend it,
Marcellus had mumbled good night and pretended to sleep.
On the next day and the day thereafter, the subject had been discussed
on the road, as profitlessly. Jesus had been seen after his death. Such things
didn't happen; couldn't happen. Nevertheless, he had been seen; not once, but
many times; not by one man only, but by a score. Demetrius was advised that he
was losing his mind. He conceded the point without debate and offered to change
the subject. He was told that he had been duped and deluded, to which
accusation he responded with an indulgent nod and a smile. Marcellus was
thoroughly exasperated. He wanted to talk about it; wanted Demetrius to plead
his case, if he had one, with an air of deep conviction. You couldn't get
anywhere with a man who, when you called him a fool, calmly admitted it.
'I never would have thought, Demetrius,' Marcellus had said, taking
pains to make it sound derisive, 'that a man with as sound a mind as yours
would turn out to be so childishly superstitious!'
'To tell you the truth, sir,' Demetrius had replied, 'I am surprised at
it myself.'
They had been trudging along, with Marcellus a little in advance,
stormily vaunting his indignation over his slave's stubborn imbecility, when it
suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't having it out with Demetrius--but with
himself. He swung about, in the middle of an angry sentence, and read--in his
companion's comradely grin--a confirmation of his discovery. Falling into step,
he walked along in silence for a while.
'Forgive me, Demetrius,' he said, self-reproachfully. 'I have been very
inconsiderate.'
Demetrius smiled broadly.
'I understand fully, sir,' he said. 'I went through all that, hour after
hour, day after day. It is not easy to accept as the truth something that one's
instinct rejects.'
'Well then,' deliberated Marcellus, 'let us, just for sake of argument,
batter our instincts into silence and accept this, for the moment, as the
truth. Consider the possibilities of a man with a divine personality who, if he
wants to, can walk up to Emperor Tiberius, without fear, and demand his
throne!'
'He will not want to,' rejoined Demetrius. 'If he were that sort of
person, he would have demanded Pilate's seat. No, he expects to come into power
another way; not by dethroning the Emperor, but by inspiring the people. His
rule will not begin at the top. It will begin at the bottom, with the common
people.'
'Bah!' scoffed Marcellus. 'The common people, indeed! What makes you
think they have it in them to set up a just government? Take this weak-spined
little handful of pious fishermen, for example, how much courage is to be
expected of them? Why, even when their Jesus was on trial for his life, they
were afraid to speak out in his defence. Except for two or three of them, they
let him go to his death alone!'
'True, sir,' said Demetrius, 'but that was before they knew he could
overcome death.'
'Yes, but Jesus' ability to overcome death wouldn't make their lives any
more secure than they were before.'
'Oh yes, sir!' exclaimed Demetrius. 'He promised them that they too
would live forever. He said that he had overcome death--not only for himself,
but for all who had faith in him.'
Marcellus slowed to a stop, thrust his thumbs under his belt, and
surveyed his slave with a frown of utter mystification.
'Do you mean to say that these crazy fishermen think they are going to
live forever?' he demanded.
'Yes, sir--forever, with him,' said Demetrius, quietly.
'Ridiculous!' snorted Marcellus.
'It seems so, sir,' agreed Demetrius. 'But if they sincerely believe
that, whether it is true or not will have no bearing on their behaviour. If a
man considers himself stronger than death, he has nothing to fear.'
'Then why are these people in hiding?' asked Marcellus, reasonably
enough, he thought.
'They have their work to do, sir. They must not be too reckless with
their lives. It is their duty to tell the story of Jesus to as many as can be
reached. Every man of them expects to be killed, sooner or later, but--it won't
matter. They will live on--somewhere else.'
'Demetrius, do you believe all this nonsense yourself?' asked Marcellus,
pityingly.
'Sometimes,' mumbled Demetrius. 'When I'm with them, I believe it.' He
tramped on moodily through the dust, his eyes on the road. 'It isn't easy,' he
added, half to himself.
'I should say not!' commented Marcellus.
'But, sir,' declared Demetrius, 'the fact that an idea is not easy to
understand need not discredit it. Are we not surrounded with facts quite beyond
our comprehension?' He stretched a long arm toward the hillside, gay with
flowers. 'We can't account for all that diversity of colour and form--and we
don't have to. But they are facts.'
'Well, that's beside the point,' protested Marcellus. 'Stick to your
business, now, and don't let your mind wander. We'll agree that all life's a
mystery. Proceed with your argument.'
'Thank you, sir,' grinned Demetrius. 'Now these disciples of Jesus
honestly believe that the world will eventually be ruled by faith in his
teachings. There is to be a universal government founded on good will among
men. Whoever believes and practises this has the assurance that he will live
forever. It isn't easy to believe that one may live forever. I grant you that,
sir.'
'And not much easier to believe that the world could be governed by good
will,' put in Marcellus.
'Now the Emperor,' went on Demetrius, 'rules the world by force. That is
not easy. Thousands of men have to lose their lives to support this form of
government. Germanicus leads an expedition into Aquitania, promising his
Legates riches in captured goods and slaves if they follow and obey him at the
risk of their lives. They take that chance. Many of them are killed and have
nothing to show for their courage. Jesus promises everlasting life as a reward
for those who follow and obey him in his effort to bring peace to the world.
His disciples believe him, and--'
'And take that chance,' interposed Marcellus.
'Well, sir, it isn't a more hazardous chance than the legions take who
follow Germanicus,' insisted Demetrius. 'This faith in Jesus is not easy, but
that doesn't make it nonsense--if you will pardon my speaking so freely.'
'Say on, Demetrius!' approved Marcellus. 'You are doing well,
considering what kind of material you have to work with. Tell me, do you,
personally, expect to live on here forever, in some spectral form?'
'No.' Demetrius shook his head. 'Somewhere else. He has a
kingdom--somewhere else.'
'And you truly believe that!' Marcellus studied his slave's sober face
as if he had never seen it before.
'Sometimes,' replied Demetrius.
Neither had anything to say for a while. Then, coming to an abrupt halt,
the Greek faced his master with an expression of self-confidence.
'This faith,' he declared deliberately, 'is not like a deed to a house
in which one may live with full rights of possession. It is more like a kit of
tools with which a man may build him a house. The tools will be worth just what
he does with them. When he lays them down, they will have no value until he
takes them up again.'
It was nearly sundown when Demetrius arrived at the shop of Benyosef,
for much time had been consumed in the congested streets on the way to the inn
where Marcellus had stopped on his previous visit to Jerusalem. The travel
equipment and Galilean purchases had to be unloaded and stored. The man who
owned the donkeys had to be paid off. Marcellus was eager for a bath and fresh
clothing. Having made his master comfortable and having attended to his own
reconditioning, Demetrius had set off to find Stephanos.
Since his course led directly past Benyosef's, he decided to look in,
for it was possible that his friend was still at work. The front door was
closed and bolted. Going around to the side door which admitted to the family
quarters, he knocked; but there was no response. This seemed odd, for the aged
Sarah never went anywhere, and would surely be here at supper-time.
Perplexed, Demetrius hastened on to the shabby old house where he had
lodged with Stephanos. Here, too, the doors were locked and apparently everyone
was gone. A short distance up the street, a personable young Jew, John Mark,
lived with his widowed mother and an attractive young cousin, Rhoda. He decided
to call there and inquire, for Stephanos and Mark were close friends, though he
had often wondered whether it wasn't the girl that Stephanos went to see.
He found Rhoda locking the high wicket-gate and preparing to leave with
a well-filled basket on her arm. She greeted him warmly, and Demetrius noted
that she was prettier than ever. She seemed to have matured considerably in his
absence.
'Where is everybody?' he inquired, after a brief account of the closed
houses he had visited.
'Oh, don't you know?' Rhoda handed him the basket and they moved toward
the gate. 'We all have supper together now. You must come with me.'
'Who have supper together?' wondered Demetrius.
'The Christians. Simon began it many weeks ago. They leased the old
building where Nathan had his bazaar. We all bring food every evening, and
share it. That is,' she added, with an impatient little shrug, 'some of us
bring food--and all of us share.'
'It doesn't sound as if it was much fun,' observed Demetrius.
'Well'--Rhoda tossed her curly head--'it hasn't turned out as Simon had
expected.'
They were walking rapidly, Demetrius taking long strides to keep pace
with the nimble steps that seemed to be beating time for some very vigorous
reflections. He decided not to be too inquisitive.
'How is Stephanos?' he asked, with a sly smile that Rhoda tried
unsuccessfully to dodge.
'You will see him presently,' she replied, archly. 'Then you may judge
for yourself.'
'Rhoda'--Demetrius sounded at least sixty--'these pink cheeks tell me
that something has been going on here since I left. If this means what I think,
I am happy for both of you.'
'You know too much, Uncle Demetrius,' she retorted, with a prim smile.
'Can't Stephen and I be friends without--'
'No. I don't think so,' interjected Demetrius. 'When is it going to be,
Rhoda? Will I have time to weave a tablecloth for you?'
'A little one.' She flashed him a bright smile.
Promising that he would borrow a loom and begin work early in the
morning, if his master could spare him the time, Demetrius found his curiosity
mounting in regard to these daily suppers.
'How many people come?' he asked.
'You will be surprised! Three hundred or more. Many have disposed of
their property in the country and are living here now; quite a colony of them.
At least a hundred take all their meals at the Ecclesia.'
'The Ecclesia,' repeated Demetrius. 'Is that what you call it? That's
Greek, you know. Most of you are Jews, are you not? How did you happen to call
your headquarters the Ecclesia?'
'It was Stephen,' said Rhoda, proudly. 'He said it was a suitable name
for such an assembly. Besides, fully a third of the Christians are Greeks.'
'Well, it's a comfort to see the Jews and Greeks getting together on
something,' remarked Demetrius. 'Just one big, happy family, eh?' he added,
with some private misgivings.
'It's big enough: no question about that!' murmured Rhoda; and then,
making hasty amends for this comment, she continued, 'Most of them are deeply
in earnest, Demetrius. But there are enough of the other kind to spoil it.'
'Quarrelling, are they? I'm afraid they won't get very far with this new
idea that what the world needs is good will.'
'That's what Stephen says,' approved Rhoda. 'He is very disappointed. He
thinks this whole business--of having all the Christians live together--is a
mistake. He believes they should have stayed at home and kept on with their
daily work.'
'What's the rumpus about?' Demetrius couldn't help asking.
'Oh, the same old story,' sighed Rhoda. 'You Greeks are stingy and
suspicious and over-sensitive about your rights, and--'
'And you Jews are greedy and tricky,' broke in Demetrius, with a grin.
'We're
not
greedy!' exclaimed Rhoda.
'And we Greeks are not stingy!' retorted Demetrius. They both laughed.
'That's a good little picture of the rumpus,' said Rhoda. 'Poor Simon.
He had such high hopes for the Ecclesia. I was so sorry for him, last night, I
could have cried. After supper he gave us a serious talk, repeating some of the
words of Jesus about loving one another, even those who mistreat us; and how we
were all the children of God, equal in his sight, regardless of our race.
And--if you'll believe it--even while Simon was speaking, an old man from the
country, named Ananias, got up and stamped out!'
Demetrius could think of no appropriate comment. It gave him a sickish
feeling to learn that so lofty an ideal had fallen into such disrepute in the
hands of weak people. Rhoda sensed his disappointment.
'But please don't think that Simon is held lightly,' she went on. 'He
has great influence. The people believe in him! When he walks down the street,
old men and women sitting at their windows beg him to stop and talk with them.
Stephen says they even bring out their sick ones on cots so that he may touch
their foreheads as he passes. And Demetrius, it's wonderful how they all feel
toward Stephen, too. Sometimes I think that if anything ever happened to
Simon--' Rhoda hesitated.
'Stephen might be the leader?' asked Demetrius.