come to the wedding-feast and do us honour, even as you honoured the wedding at Cana of Galilee.”
And He answered: “It is true that I was once a guest at a wedding-feast, but I shall not be a guest again. I am myself now the Bridegroom.”
And I said: “I entreat you, Master, come to the wedding-feast of my son.”
And He smiled as though He would rebuke me, and said: “Why do you entreat me? Have you not wine enough?”
And I said: “My jugs are full, Master; yet I beseech you, come to my son’s wedding-feast.”
Then He said: “Who knows? I may come, I may surely come, if your heart is an altar in your temple.”
Upon the morrow my son was married, but Jesus came not to the wedding-feast. And though we had many guests, I felt that no one had come.
In very truth, I myself who welcomed the guests, was not there.
Perhaps my heart had not been an altar when I invited Him. Perhaps I desired another miracle.
Barca, a Merchant of Tyre
I believe that neither the Romans nor the Jews understood Jesus of Nazareth, nor did His disciples who now preach His name.
The Romans slew Him and that was a blunder. The Galileans would make a god of Him and that is a mistake.
Jesus was the heart of man.
I have sailed the Seven Seas with my ships, and bartered with kings and princes and with cheats and the wily in the marketplaces of distant cities; but never have I seen a man who understood merchants as He did.
I heard Him once tell this parable:
“A merchant left his country for a foreign land. He had two servants, and he gave each a handful of gold, saying: ‘Even as I go abroad, you also shall go forth and seek profit. Make just exchange, and see that you serve in giving and taking.’
“And after a year the merchant returned.
“And he asked his two servants what they had done with his gold.
“The first servant said: ‘Behold, Master, I have bought and sold, and I have gained.’
“And the merchant answered: ‘The gain shall be yours, for you have done well, and have been faithful to me and to yourself.’
“Then the other servant stood forth and said: ‘Sir, I feared the loss of your money; and I did not buy nor sell. Behold, it is all here in this purse.’
“And the merchant took the gold, and said: ‘Little is your faith. To barter and lose is better than not to go forth. For even as the wind scatters her seed and waits for the fruit, so must all merchants. It were fitter for you henceforth to serve others.’ ”
When Jesus spoke thus, though He was no merchant, He disclosed the secret of commerce.
Moreover, His parables often brought to my mind lands more distant than my journeys, and yet nearer than my house and my goods.
But the young Nazarene was not a god; and it is a pity His followers seek to make a god of such a sage.
Phumiah, the High Priestess of Sidon
Take your harps and let me sing.
Beat your strings, the silver and the gold;
For I would sing the dauntless Man
Who slew the dragon of the valley,
Then gazèd down with pity
Upon the thing He had slain.
Take your harps and sing with me
The lofty Oak upon the height,
The sky-hearted and the ocean-handed Man,
Who kissed the pallid lips of death,
Yet quivers now upon the mouth of life.
Take your harps and let us sing
The fearless Hunter on the hill,
Who marked the beast, and shot His viewless arrow,
And brought the horn and tusk
Down to the earth.
Take your harps and sing with me
The valiant Youth who conquered the mountain cities,
And the cities of the plain that coiled like serpents in the sand.
He fought not against pygmies but against gods
Who hungered for our flesh and thirsted for our blood.
And like the first Golden Hawk
He would rival only eagles;
For His wings were vast and proud
And would not outwing the less wingèd.
Take your harps and sing with me
The joyous song of sea and cliff.
The gods are dead,
And they are lying still
In the forgotten isle of a forgotten sea.
And He who slew them sits upon His throne.
He was but a youth.
Spring had not yet given Him full beard,
And His summer was still young in His field.
Take your harps and sing with me
The tempest in the forest
That breaks the dry branch and the leafless twig,
Yet sends the living root to nestle deeper at the breast of earth.
Take your harps and sing with me
The deathless song of our Belovèd.
Nay, my maidens, stay your hands.
Lay by your harps.
We cannot sing Him now.
The faint whisper of our song cannot reach His tempest,
Nor pierce the majesty of His silence.
Lay by your harps and gather close around me,
I would repeat His words to you,
And I would tell you of His deeds,
For the echo of His voice is deeper than our passion.
Benjamin the Scribe
It has been said that Jesus was the enemy of Rome and Judea.
But I say that Jesus was the enemy of no man and no race.
I have heard Him say: “The birds of the air and the mountaintops are not mindful of the serpents in their dark holes.
“Let the dead bury their dead. Be you yourself among the living, and soar high.”
I was not one of His disciples. I was but one of the many who went after Him to gaze upon His face.
He looked upon Rome and upon us, who are the slaves of Rome, as a father looks upon his children playing with toys and fighting among themselves for the larger toy. And He laughed from His height.
He was greater than State and race; He was greater than revolution.
He was single and alone, and He was an awakening.
He wept all our unshed tears and smiled all our revolts.
We knew it was in His power to be born with all who are not yet born, and
