of His voice was like cool water in a land of drought.
Once He raised His hand against the sky, and His fingers were like the branches of a sycamore tree; and He said with a great voice:
“The prophets of old have spoken to you, and your ears are filled with their speech. But I say unto you, empty your ears of what you have heard.”
And these words of Jesus, “But I say unto you,” were not uttered by a man of our race nor of our world; but rather by a host of seraphim marching across the sky of Judea.
Again and yet again He would quote the law and the prophets, and then he would say: “But I say unto you.”
Oh, what burning words, what waves of seas unknown to the shores of our mind: “But I say unto you”!
What stars seeking the darkness of the soul, and what sleepless souls awaiting the dawn.
To tell of the speech of Jesus one must needs have His speech or the echo thereof.
I have neither the speech nor the echo.
I beg you to forgive me for beginning a story that I cannot end. But the end is not yet upon my lips. It is still a love-song in the wind.
Naaman of the Gadarenes
His disciples are dispersed. 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 marketplace 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 marketplace 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 housetops. 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
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
You bid me speak of Jesus the Nazarene, and much have I to tell, but the time has not come.
