The deathless song of our Beloved.
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 mountain tops 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 at 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
to bid them see, not with their eyes but with His vision.
Jesus was the beginning of a new kingdom upon the earth, and that kingdom
shall remain.
He was the son and the grandson of all the kings who builded the kingdom
of the spirit.
And only the kings of spirit have ruled our world.
ZACCHAEUS
YOU BELIEVE IN WHAT YOU HEAR SAID. Believe in the unsaid, for the silence
of men is nearer the truth than their words.
You ask if Jesus could have escaped His shameful death and saved His
followers from persecution.
I answer, He could indeed have escaped had He chosen, but He did not seek
safety nor was He mindful of protecting His flock from wolves of the
night.
He knew His fate and the morrow of His constant lovers. He foretold and
prophesied what should befall every one of us. He sought not His death;
but He accepted death as a husbandman shrouding his corn with earth,
accepts the winter, and then awaits the spring and harvest; and as a
builder lays the largest stone in the foundation.
We were men of Galilee and from the slopes of Lebanon. Our Master could
have led us back to our country, to live with His youth in our gardens
until old age should come and whisper us back into the years.
Was anything barring His path back to the temples of our villages where
others were reading the prophets and then disclosing their hearts?
Could He not have said, "Now I go east with the west wind," and so saying
dismiss us with a smile upon His lips?
Aye, He could have said, "Go back to your kin. The world is not ready for
me. I shall return a thousand years hence. Teach your children to await
my return."
He could have done this had He so chosen.
But He knew that to build the temple invisible He must needs lay Himself
the corner-stone, and lay us around as little pebbles cemented close to
Himself.
He knew that the sap of His sky-tree must rise from its roots, and He
poured His blood upon its roots; and to Him it was not sacrifice but
rather gain.
Death is the revealer. The death of Jesus revealed His life.
Had He escaped you and His enemies, you would have been the conquerors of
the world. Therefore He did not escape.
Only He who desires all shall give all.
Aye, Jesus could have escaped His enemies and lived to old age. But He
knew the passing of the seasons, and He would sing His song.
What man facing the armed world would not be conquered for the moment
that he might overcome the ages?
And now you ask who, in very truth, slew Jesus, the Romans or the priests
of Jerusalem?
Neither the Romans slew Him, nor the priests. The whole world stood to
honor Him upon that hill.
JONATHAN
UPON A DAY MY BELOVED AND I WERE ROWING UPON
the lake of sweet waters. And the hills of Lebanon were about us.
We moved beside the weeping willows, and the reflections of the willows
were deep around us.
And while I steered the boat with an oar, my beloved took her lute and
sang thus:
What flower save the lotus knows the waters and the sun?
What heart save the lotus heart shall know both earth and sky?
Behold my love, the golden flower that floats 'twixt deep and high
Even as you and I float betwixt a love that has for ever been
And shall for ever be.
Dip your oar, my love,
And let me touch my strings.
Let us follow the willows, and let us leave not the water-lilies.
In Nazareth there lives a Poet, and His heart is like the lotus.
He has visited the soul of woman,
He knows her thirst growing out of the waters,
And her hunger for the sun, though all her lips are fed.
They say He walks in Galilee.
I say He is rowing with us.
Can you not see His face, my love?
Can you not see, where the willow bough and its reflection meet,
He is moving as we move?
Beloved, it is good to know the youth of life.
It is good to know its singing joy.
Would that you might always have the oar,
And I my stringed lute,
Where the lotus laughs in the sun,
And the willow is dipping to the waters,
And His voice is upon my strings.
Dip your oar, my beloved,
And let me touch my strings.
There is a Poet in Nazareth
Who knows and loves us both.
Dip your oar, my lover,
And let me touch my strings.
HANNAH OF BETHSAIDA
THE YEAR 73
THE SISTER OF MY FATHER HAD LEFT US IN her youth to dwell in a hut beside
her father's ancient vineyard.
She lived alone, and the people of the countryside sought her in their
maladies, and she healed them with green herbs, and with roots and
flowers dried in the sun.
And they deemed her a seeress; but there were those also who called her
witch and sorceress.
One day my father said to me, "Take these loaves of wheaten bread to my
sister, and take this jug of wine and this basket of raisins."
And it was all put upon the back of a colt, and I followed the road until
I reached the vineyard, and the hut of my father's sister. And she was
gladdened.
Now as we sat together in the cool of the day, a man came by upon the
road, and He greeted the sister of my father, saying: "Good-even to you,
and the blessing of the night be upon you."
Then she rose up; and she stood as in awe before Him and said, "Good-even
to you, master of all good spirits, and conqueror of all evil spirits."
The man looked at her with tender eyes, and then He passed on by.
But I laughed in my heart. Methought my father's sister was mad.
But now
I know that she was not mad. It was I who did not understand.
She knew of my laughter, though it was hidden.
And she spoke, but not in anger. She said, "Listen, my daughter, and
hearken and keep my word in remembrance: the man who but now passed by,
like the shadow of a bird flying between the sun and the earth, shall
prevail against the Caesars and the empire of the Caesars. He shall
wrestle with the crowned bull of Chaldea, and the man-headed lion of
Egypt, and He shall overcome them; and He shall rule the world.
"But this land that now He walks shall come to naught; and Jerusalem,
which sits proudly upon the hill, shall drift away in smoke upon the wind
of desolation."
When she spoke thus, my laughter turned to stillness and I was quiet.
Then I said, "Who is this man, and of what country and tribe does He
come? And how shall He conquer the great kings and the empires of the
great kings?"
And she answered, "He is one born here in this land, but we have
conceived Him in our longing from the beginning of years. He is of all
tribes and yet of none. He shall conquer by the word of His mouth and by
the flame of His spirit."
Then suddenly she rose and stood up like a pinnacle of rock; and she
said, "May the angel of the Lord forgive me for pronouncing this word
also: He shall be slain, and His youth shall be shrouded, and He shall be
laid in silence beside the tongueless heart of the earth. And the maidens
Then she lifted her hand skyward and spoke again, and she said, "But He
shall be slain only in the body.
"In the spirit He shall rise and go forth leading His host from this land
where the sun is born, to the land where the sun is slain at eventide.
"And His name shall be first among men."
She was an aged seeress when she said these things, and I was but a girl,
a field unploughed, a stone not yet in a wall.
But all that she beheld in the mirror of her mind has come to pass even
in my day.
Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead and led men and women unto the
people of the sunset. The city that yielded Him to judgment was given
unto destruction; and in the Judgment Hall where He was tried and
sentenced, the owl hoots a dirge while the night weeps the dew of her
heart upon the fallen marble.
And I am an old woman, and the years bend me down. My people are no more
and my race is vanished.
I saw Him but once again after that day, and once again heard His voice.
It was upon a hill-top when He was talking to His friends and followers.
And now I am old and alone, yet still He visits my dreams.
He comes like a white angel with pinions; and with His grace He hushes my
dread of darkness. And He uplifts me to dreams yet more distant.
I am still a field unploughed, a ripe fruit that would not fall. The most
that I possess is the warmth of the sun, and the memory of that man.
I know that among my people there shall not rise again king nor prophet
nor priest, even as the sister of my father foretold.
We shall pass with the flowing of the rivers, and we shall be nameless.
But those who crossed Him in mid-stream shall be remembered for crossing
Him in mid-stream.
MANASSEH,
A LAWYER IN JERUSALEM
YES, I USED TO HEAR HIM SPEAK. THERE was always a ready word upon His
lips.
But I admired Him as a man rather than as a leader. He preached something
beyond my liking, perhaps beyond my reason. And I would have no man
preach to me.
I was taken by His voice and His gestures, but not by the substance of
His speech. He charmed me but never convinced me; for He was too vague,
too distant and obscure to reach my mind.
I have known other men like Him. They are never constant nor are they
consistent. It is with eloquence not with principles that they hold your
ear and your passing thought, but never the core of your heart.
What a pity that His enemies confronted Him and forced the issue. It was
not necessary. I believe their hostility will add to His stature and turn
His mildness to power.
For is it not strange that in opposing a man you give Him courage? And in
staying His feet you give Him wings?
I know not His enemies, yet I am certain that in their fear of a harmless
man they have lent Him strength and made Him dangerous.
JEPHTHA OF CAESAREA
THIS MAN WHO FILLS YOUR DAY AND HAUNTS your night is repellent to me. Yet
you would tire my ears with His sayings and my mind with His deeds.
I am weary of His words, and all that He did. His very name off ends me,
and the name of His countryside. I will none of Him.
Why make you a prophet of a man who was but a shadow? Why see a tower in
this sand-dune, or imagine a lake in the raindrops gathered together in
this hoof-print?
I scorn not the echo of caves in valleys nor the long shadows of the
sunset; but I would not listen to the deceptions that hum in your head,
nor study the reflections in your eyes.
What word did Jesus utter that Halliel had not spoken? What wisdom did He
reveal that was not of Gamaliel? What are His lispings to the voice of
Philo? What cymbals did He beat that were not beaten ere ever He lived?
I hearken to the echo from the caves into the silent valleys, and I gaze
upon the long shadows of sunset; but I would not have this man's heart
echo the sound of another heart, nor would I have a shadow of the seers
call himself a prophet.
What man shall speak since Isaiah has spoken? Who dares sing since David?
And shall wisdom be born now, after Solomon has been gathered to his
fathers?
And what of our prophets, whose tongues were swords and their lips
flames?
Left they a straw behind for this gleaner of Galilee? Or a fallen fruit
for the beggar from the North Country? There was naught for Him save to
break the loaf already baked by our ancestors, and to pour the wine which
their holy feet had already pressed from the grapes of old.
It is the potter's hand I honor not the man who buys the ware.
I honor those who sit at the loom rather than the boor who wears the
Who was this Jesus of Nazareth, and what is He? A man who dared not live
His mind. Therefore He faded into oblivion and that is His end.
I beg you, charge not my ears with His words or His deeds. My heart is
overfull with the prophets of old, and that is enough.
JOHN THE BELOVED DISCIPLE
IN HIS OLD AGE
YOU WOULD HAVE ME SPEAK OF JESUS, BUT how can I lure the passion-song of
the world into a hollowed reed?
In every aspect of the day Jesus was aware of the Father. He beheld Him
in the clouds and in the shadows of the clouds that pass over the earth.
He saw the Father's face reflected in the quiet pools, and the faint
print of His feet upon the sand; and He often closed His eyes to gaze
into the Holy Eyes.
The night spoke to Him with the voice of the Father, and in solitude He
heard the angel of the Lord calling to Him. And when H
e stilled Himself
to sleep He heard the whispering of the heavens in His dreams.
He was often happy with us, and He would call us brothers.
Behold, He who was the first Word called us brothers, though we were but
syllables uttered yesterday.
You ask why I call Him the first Word.
Listen, and I will answer:
In the beginning God moved in space, and out of His measureless stirring
the earth was born and the seasons thereof.
Then God moved again, and life streamed forth, and the longing of life
sought the height and the depth and would have more of itself.
Then God spoke, and His words were man, and man was a spirit begotten by
God's Spirit.
And when God spoke thus, the Christ was His first Word and that Word was
perfect; and when Jesus of Nazareth came to the world the first Word was
uttered unto us and the sound was made flesh and blood.
Jesus the Anointed was the first Word of God uttered unto man, even as if
an apple tree in an orchard should bud and blossom a day before the other
trees. And in God's orchard that day was an aeon.
We are all sons and daughters of the Most High, but the Anointed One was
His first-born, who dwelt in the body of Jesus of Nazareth, and He walked
among us and we beheld Him.
All this I say that you may understand not only in the mind but rather in
the spirit. The mind weighs and measures but it is the spirit that
reaches the heart of life and embraces the secret; and the seed of the
spirit is deathless.
The wind may blow and then cease, and the sea shall swell and then weary,
but the heart of life is a sphere quiet and serene, and the star that
shines therein is fixed for evermore.
MANNUS THE POMPEIIAN
TO A GREEK
THE JEWS, LIKE THEIR NEIGHBORS THE Phoenicians and the Arabs, will not
suffer their gods to rest for a moment upon the wind.
They are over-thoughtful of their deity, and over-observant of one
another's prayer and worship and sacrifice.
While we Romans build marble temples to our gods, these people would
discuss their god's nature. When we are in ecstasy we sing and dance
round the altars of Jupiter and Juno, of Mars and Venus; but they in
their rapture wear sackcloth and cover their heads with ashes-and even
lament the day that gave them birth.
And Jesus, the man who revealed God as a being of joy, they tortured Him,
and then put Him to death.
These people would not be happy with a happy god. They know only the gods
of their pain.
Even Jesus' friends and disciples who knew His mirth and heard His
laughter, make an image of His sorrow, and they worship that image.
And in such worship they rise not to their deity; they only bring their
deity down to themselves.
I believe however that this philosopher, Jesus, who was not unlike
Socrates, will have power over His race and mayhap over other races.
For we are all creatures of sadness and of small doubts. And when a man
says to us, "Let us be joyous with the gods," we cannot but heed his
voice. Strange that the pain of this man has been fashioned into a rite.
These peoples would discover another Adonis, a god slain in the forest,
and they would celebrate his slaying. It is a pity they heed not His
laughter.
But let us confess, as Roman to Greek. Do even we ourselves hear the
laughter of Socrates in the streets of Athens? Is it ever in us to forget
the cup of hemlock, even at the theatre of Dionysus?
Do not rather our fathers still stop at the street corners to chat of
troubles and to have a happy moment remembering the doleful end of all