As Jesus gradually grew to manhood he worked at his trade as a master. For Joseph was old and feeble, and could only sit by the bench, overlook the carpenters and tell them what it would be best to do. They had a young apprentice, a near relation, named John, who helped Jesus with the carpentering and building. When they built a cottage in Nazareth, or roofed a house, he was severe and strict with the youth. But when on the Sabbath day they wandered together through the country between the vines, over the meadows with the stones and herds, sometimes through the dark cedar forests to the lower slopes of Lebanon, they said not a word about the work. They watched the animals, the plants, the streams, the heavens, and their everlasting lights, and rejoiced exceedingly. Sometimes they assisted poor gardeners and shepherds, and did them trifling services. They taught John to blow the horn, and Jesus sang joyful psalms with a clear voice.
But Joseph's death was approaching.
He lay half-blind on his bed, and asked Mary how she would manage when he was gone. Then he felt with his cold hand for Jesus.
"My son, my son!"
Jesus wiped the dying man's brow with the hem of his garment.
"I had hoped," said Joseph softly, "but it is not to be. I must depart in darkness."
"Father," said Jesus, and tenderly stroked his head.
"It is hard, my child. Stay beside me. I had hoped to see the Messiah and his light. But I must be gathered to my fathers in darkness."
"He will soon come and lead you to paradise."
The old man grasped his hand convulsively. "It is quite dark. I am afraid. Stay with me, my Jesus."
And so he fell asleep for ever.
They buried him outside the city under the walls. Jesus planted the staff which Joseph had cut during the flight into Egypt, and had always carried with him, on the mound. And no sooner was it planted in the earth than it began to bear young shoots. And when Mary went the next day to pray there, behold the grave was surrounded with white lilies, which grew from the stick and spread themselves in rows over the mound.
After the old master's death trouble befell the family. People began to take their orders for work elsewhere, for they found it difficult to get on with the young master. A man who went against the Scriptures and traditional custom in so many things could not do his work properly. He seldom attended public worship in the Temple, and was never seen to give alms. In the morning he went down to the spring and washed himself, but otherwise he omitted all the prescribed ablutions. When the Rabbi of Nazareth reproached him for such conduct, he replied; "Who ought to wash, the clean or the unclean? Moses knew this people when he made washing a law for them. Does uncleanness come from within or without? It is not the dust of the street that soils a man, but the evil thoughts of his heart. Is it unseemly to eat honest bread with dusty hands? Is it not more unseemly to take away your brother's bread with clean hands?"
The Rabbi considered that it would be foolish to waste more words on this transgressor of the law, and went his way. But next day he informed the carpenter that he was to stand on the Sabbath behind the poor-box, in order to see whether the well-washed hands of believing Jews took the bread away from their brothers, or, rather, did not bestow it liberally upon them. And as Jesus stood in the Temple, he observed the well-to-do Nazarenes dip their hands into the basin, with pious air throw large pieces of money into the poor-box, and then look round to see if their good example was observed. When it grew dark, a poor woman came and with her lean fingers put a farthing into the poor-box.
"Well, what do you say now?" asked the Rabbi of the carpenter.
Jesus answered: "I think the haughty rich people have washed themselves, and that still they give with unclean hands. They give away a small part of what they have taken from others, and give from their superabundance. The poor woman gave the largest gift in God's eyes. She gave all that she possessed."
And so it happened that Jesus became more and more estranged from Nazareth. Only poor folk and little children were attracted to him: he cheered the former and played with the latter. But otherwise men drew apart from him, considering him an eccentric creature and perhaps a little dangerous. His mother sometimes tried to defend him: he had grown up in a foreign land among strange customs and ways of thought. At bottom he had the best of natures, so kind and helpful to others and so severe towards himself. How like a mother! What mother has not had the best of children? They despised her remarks and pitied her because her son was so unlike other boys and caused her anxiety. There was nothing to complain of in his work when he stuck to it. What a carpenter he might be with such aptness! Only he should not interfere in things he could not understand, and should not disturb people's belief in the religion of their fathers.
One day there was a marriage in the neighbouring town of Cana. Mary and her relatives were invited, for the bridegroom was a distant cousin. So far as Jesus was concerned, there would have been no great grief had he stayed away. Possibly he would not take any pleasure in the old marriage customs and the traditions to which they still held. Jesus understood the irony, but it did not hurt him, and so he went to the marriage in order to rejoice with the joyful. When the merriment was at its height, Mary drew her son aside and said: "I think it would be well if we went home now; we are not regarded with favour here. They would be glad of fewer guests, for I hear the wine has given out."
"What matters it to me if there's no more wine," answered Jesus, almost roughly. "I do not want any."
"But the other guests do. The host is greatly embarrassed. I wish someone could help him."
"If they are thirsty, have the water jugs brought in," he said. "If the drinker has faith in his God then the water will be wine. He will be well content."
The host, in fact, saw no other way of satisfying his guests' thirst than in ordering large stone pitchers of water to be brought in from the well. He was vastly amazed when the guests found it delicious, and praised the wine that had just been poured out for them. "Usually," they said, "the host produces his best wine first, and when the carousers have drunk freely, he brings in worse. Our good host thinks differently, and to the best food adds the best wine."
But Jesus and his relations saw how the pitchers were filled at the well, and when they tasted their contents, some declared that things could not be all right here. Jesus himself drank, and saw that it was wine. Much moved, he went out into the starry night. "Oh, Father!" he said in his heart, "what dost thou intend with regard to this son of man? If it is thy will that water shall be turned into wine, it may then be possible to pour new wine into the old skins, the spirit and strength of God into the dead letter!"
John went out into the night to seek his master. "Sir," said the youth, when he stood before him, "what does it mean? They say that you have turned water into wine. I have often thought that you were different from all of us. You must be from Heaven."
"And why not you also, John, who look up to it? Can anyone attain the height who has not come from it?"
John remained standing by his side for a while. It was not always easy to grasp what he meant.
On their homeward way by night, the mother unburdened her anxious heart to her son. "You are so good, my child, and help people wherever you can. Why are you often so rough of speech?"
"Because they do not understand me," he replied; "because you, none of you, understand me. You think that if a man works at his wood in the carpenter's shop, then he's doing all that is necessary."
"Wood? Of course a carpenter has to work with wood. Do you want to be a stonemason? Think, stones are harder than wood."
"But they give fire when struck together. Wood gives no sparks, nor would the Nazarenes yield any sparks, even if lightning struck them. They are like earth and damp straw. They are incapable of enthusiasm: they are only capable of languid irritation. But you'll not build a kingdom of heaven with irritation. I despise the wood that always smokes and never burns."
"My son, I fear you will make such enemies of them that——"
"That I shall not be able to stay in Nazareth. Isn't that what you mean, mother?"
"I am anxious about you, my son."
"Happy the mother who is nothing worse. I am quite safe." He stopped and took her hand. "Mother, I'm no longer a child or a boy. Do not trouble about me. Let me be as I am, and go where I will. There are other tasks to be fulfilled than building Jonas a cottage or Sarah a sheep-pen. The old world is breaking up, and the old heaven is falling into ruin. Let me go, mother; let me be the carpenter who shall build up the kingdom of heaven."
The constellations spread themselves across the sky. Mary let her son go on before, down to the little town; she walked slowly behind and wept. She stood alone and had no influence with him. Every day he became more incomprehensible.
To what would it lead?
A strange excitement prevailed among the people in Galilee, and spread through Samaria and Judaea even to Jerusalem. A new prophet had arisen. There were many in those days, but this one was different from the rest. As is always the way in such times, at first a few people paid heed feverishly, then they infected others with their unrest, and finally roused families and whole villages which had hitherto stood aloof. So at last all heeded the new prophet. At the time of the foreign rule old men had spoken of the King and Saviour who was to make the chosen people great and mighty. Expounders of the Scriptures had from generation to generation consoled those who were waiting and longing. Men had grown impatient under the intolerable foreign oppression, and a national desire and a religious expectation such as had never before been known in so high a degree had manifested itself.
And lo! strange rumours went through the land. As the south wind of spring blows over Lebanon, melts the ice, and brings forth buds, so were the hearts of men filled with new hope. A man out in the wilderness was preaching a new doctrine. For a long while he preached to stones, because, he said, they were not so hard as men's understanding. The stones themselves would soon speak, the mountains be levelled and the valleys filled up so that a smooth road might be ready for the Holy Spirit which was drawing nigh.
Men grew keenly interested in those tidings. Some said: "Let us go out and hear him just for amusement's sake." They came back and summoned others to go out and see the extraordinary man. He wore a garment of camel's hair instead of a cloak, and a leather girdle round his loins. His hair was long, black, and in disorder, his face sunburnt, and his eyes flamed as if in frenzy. But he was not an Arab nor an Amalekite; he was one of the chosen people. Down by the lake he was better known. He was the son of Zacharias, a priest and a native of the wonderful land of Galilee. The Galileans had at first mocked at him, and with a side glance at Jesus, said: "What a blessed land is Galilee, where new teachers of virtue are as plentiful as mushrooms in rainy weather!" Jesus retorted by asking whether they knew what kind of a people it was that only produced preachers of repentance?
The name of the preacher in the wilderness was John. More and more people went out to hear him, and everyone related marvels. He chased locusts and fed on them, and took the honey from the wild bees and swallowed it. He seemed to despise the ordinary food and customs of men. Since the murder of the innocents at Bethlehem, he had lived in the wilderness, dwelling in a cave high up in the rocks of the mountain. It almost seemed that he loved wild beasts better than men, whose cloak of virtue he hated because it was woven out of evil-smelling hypocrisy and wickedness.
They called him the herald. "We are surprised," they said, "that the Rabbis and High Priests in Capernaum, Tiberias, and Jerusalem should keep silent. They could put this man to death for his words." But the herald had no fear. He preached a new doctrine, and he poured water over the heads of those who joined him as a sign of the covenant.
"And what is his teaching?" asked others.
"Go and hear for yourselves!"
And so more and more people went out from Judaea and Galilee into the wilderness. The preacher had withdrawn a little way above the point where the river Jordan flows into the Dead Sea. The district, usually so deserted, was alive with all sorts of people, among them Rabbis and men learned in the law, who represented themselves as penitents, but desired to outwit the prophet with cunning. The preacher stood on a stone; he held a corner of his camel's hair garment, pressed against his hairy breast with one hand, and the other he stretched heavenwards and said: "Rabbis, are ye here too? Are ye at last afraid of the wrath of heaven which ye see approaching, and so take refuge with him who calls on ye to repent? Ye learned hypocrites! Ye stone him who can hurt you with a breath, and praise him who brings with him a human sacrifice. See that your repentance does not become your judge. But if it is sincere, then receive the water on your head as a token that you desire to be pure in heart."
Such were the words he spoke. The scholars laughed, scornfully; others grumbled at the severity of his remarks, but kneeled down. He took an earthen vessel, dipped it in the waters of Jordan, and poured it over their heads so that little streams ran down their necks and over their brows. A man raised his head and asked: "Will you give us commandments?"
The prophet answered: "You have two coats and only one body. Yonder against the oak is a man who has likewise a body but no coat. I give no commandments; but you know what to do."
So the man went and gave his second coat to him who had none.
A lean old man, a tax-gatherer from Jerusalem, asked what he should do, since everyone he met in the streets had a coat on his back.
"Do not ask more payment than is legal. Do not open your hand for silver pieces, nor shut your eyes to stolen goods."
"And we?" asked a Roman mercenary. "We are not the owners of our lives; are we, too, to have no commandments?"
"You have the sword. But the sword is violence, hatred, lust, greed. Take care! The sword is your sin and your judgment."
And then women came to him with a triumphant air, and exclaimed: "You wise man, you! We have no rights, so we have no duties? Is that not so?"
And the prophet said; "You assume rights for yourselves, and duties will be given you. The woman's commandment is: 'Thou shall not commit adultery.'"
"And what do you say to men?" asked one of them.
"Men have many commandments besides that one. You must not tempt them with snares of the flesh, for they have more important things to do in the world than to make themselves pleasant to women. You must not allure them with the colour of your cheeks, nor with the tangles of your hair, nor with your swelling breasts. You shall not attract the eye of man through beautiful garments and sparkling jewels. You shall not glisten like doves when you are false like snakes."
The women were angry, and tried to set snares for him. So they smiled sweetly, and asked: "Your words of wisdom, oh prophet! only concern the women of the people. Royally-born women are excepted."
Then spoke the preacher; "Women born in the purple are of the same stuff as the leprous beggar-woman who lies in the street. No woman is excepted. The wives of kings live in the sight of all, and must obey the law twice and thrice as strictly. Since Herod put away his rightful wife, the Arab king's daughter, and lives openly in incest with his brother's wife, the angel of hell will strike at her."
"You all hear," said the women, turning to the assembled crowd. Then they pulled up their gowns high over their ankles, stepped into the river where it is shallow, and bared their brown necks, in order that the wild preacher might pour the water over them. The men pressed closer, but the prophet tore a branch from the cedar and drove the hypocritical penitents back. Some were glad that sin had no power over this holy man.
Then they sent an old man to him to ask who he really was. "Are you the Messiah whom we are expecting?"
"I am not the Messiah," answered the preacher. "But he is coming after me. I prepare the way for him like the morning breeze ere the sun rises. As the heaven is above the earth, so is he greater than I. It is my prayer that I may be worthy to loosen his shoe latchets. I sprinkle your heads with water; he will sprinkle them with fire. He will separate you according as your hearts be good or evil. He will lay up the wheat in the garner with his fan and burn the chaff. Prepare yourselves—the kingdom of God is nearer than ye think."
The people were uneasy. Clouds came up over the mountains of Galilee, and their edges shone like silver. The air lay like a heavy weight over the valley of the Jordan, and not a twig stirred in the cedars. The strangers from Samaria and Judaea did not know the man who climbed down over the stones and went towards the preacher. He wore a blue woollen gown that came down over his knees, so that only his sandalled feet were seen. He might have been taken for a working man had not his head, with its high, pale forehead and heavy waving locks, been so royal. A soft beard sprang from his upper lip, and there was such a wonderful light in his dark blue eyes that some were almost frightened by it. And they asked each other: "Who is the man with the fiery eyes?"
He reached the prophet. One hand hung down: he held the other against his breast. He said softly; "John, pour water over my head, too."
The prophet looked at the young man and was terrified. He went back two steps—they knew not why. Did he himself know?
"You!" he said, almost under his breath. "You desire to receive the token of repentance from me?"
"I will do penance—for them all. I will begin with water what will be ended with blood." That is what they thought to hear. In a man who speaks like this, there is something incredibly spiritual.
"He is a dreamer! He is a madman!" the people whisper one to another.
"No, he's not, he's not!" others declare.
"Did he not speak of blood?"
"It seemed so. Such young blood, and already repenting!"
"And as proud of it as a Roman."
"With eyes glowing like an Arab's."
"Looking at his hair, you might take him for a German."
"He is neither a Roman, nor an Arab, nor a German," someone exclaimed, laughing; "he is the carpenter of Nazareth."
"The same who turned water into wine?"
"There are lots of stories about him. We know plenty of them."
"It is said that Herod's murder of the innocents was on his account."
When the crowd heard that, they were quiet, and looked at the new arrival with a sort of awe. And so old Herod had taken him for the Messiah-King!
A feeling of reverence spread among the people. For Jesus stepped into the river. The prophet dipped his vessel in the water and poured it over his lightly-bent head. The edges of the clouds in the heavens shone with the crimson light of evening. The eyes of the bystanders were riveted by a white speck which showed itself in the windows of heaven, first like a flower-bloom and then like a fluttering pennon. It was a dove that flew down and circled round the head of him who had just been baptized.
"My dearly beloved son!"
The people whispered; "Whose voice was it that said: 'My dearly beloved son'?"
"Didn't it refer to him over whom the water has just been poured?"
A shudder seized many of them. It was just as if he was presented to men by the invisible God!
"We will ask him himself whose son he is," they said, and pressed towards the river. But he had gone away, and the twilight of the desert lay over the stream.
The same night Mary sat in her room at Nazareth, and sewed. She kept looking out of the window, for she would not go to bed till Jesus returned. When he had gone out of the door two days ago, he had turned to her again, looked at her, and said:
"Mother, I go to my Father."
She thought he was going to the cemetery to pray at Joseph's tomb, as he often did. For in the city of the dead solitude may be found. When he returned neither on the first day nor on the second, she began to feel anxious. She waited up the whole night.
The next morning the little town rang with the news: "The carpenter has been seen with the preacher. He has been baptized."
"That's just like him. One enthusiast keeps company with another."
"It would be more correct to say with false prophets. For what else is it when a man declares that he can wash away sin with a dash of water?"
Thereupon a Sidonian donkey-driver, who had come down the street; "That's excellent! You Israelites can do so much with your ablutions. That would be a capital thing!"
"Ah! what things one hears! Everything points to the speedy destruction of the world." And one whispered in his ear, "I tell you, frankly, 'twould be no great misfortune."
"Now John has caught it. Do you know what he's always shouting?"
"The young carpenter, his apprentice? He's never said anything that matters."
"Do you know what he's always exclaiming? He strides through the streets, and his hair flies in the wind. He spreads out his hands before him, and says: 'The word has become flesh!'"
They shook their heads.
But Mary sat at the window and waited and watched.
A very short time after these events there came two soldiers to the Jordan, not to have the water poured over their heads, but to arrest the desert preacher and take him to Jerusalem to Herod. Herod received him politely, and said: "I have summoned you here because I am told that you are the preacher."
"They call me preacher and Baptist."
"I want to hear you. And, indeed, you must refute what your enemies say against you."
"If it was only my enemies, it would be easy to refute them."
"They say that you insult my royal house, that you say the prince lives in incest with his brother's wife. Did you say that?"
"I do not deny it."
"You have come to withdraw it?"
"Sire," said the prophet, "I have come to repeat it. You are living in incest with your brother's wife. Know that the day of reckoning is at hand. It will come with its mercy, and it will come with its justice. Put away this woman."
Herod grew white with rage that a man of the people should dare to speak thus to him. Royal ears cannot endure such a thing, so he put the preacher in prison.
But the next night the prince had a bad dream. From the battlements he saw the city fall stone by stone into the abyss; he saw flames break out in the palace and temple, and the sound of infinite wailing rang through the air. When he awoke the words came into his mind: You who stone the prophets! and he determined to set the preacher free.
It was now the time when Herod should celebrate his birthday. Although Oriental wisdom advised that a birthday should be celebrated with mourning, a prince had no reason for so doing. Herod gave a banquet in honour of the day, and invited all the most important people in the province in order that while enjoying themselves they might have the opportunity of doing homage to him. He enjoyed himself royally, for Herodias, his brother's wife, was present, and her daughter, who was as lovely as her mother. She danced before him a series of dances which showed her beautiful figure, set off by the flowing white gown confined at the waist with a girdle of gold, to every advantage. Intoxicated by the feast and inflamed by the girl's beauty, the prince approached her, put his arm, from which the purple cloak had fallen back so that it was bare, round her warm neck, and held a goblet of wine to her lips. She smiled, did not drink, but said: "My lord and king! If I drank now from your goblet, you would drink at my lips. Those roses belong to my bridegroom."
"Who is the man who dares to be more fortunate than a king?" asked Herod.
"I do not yet know him," whispered the girl. "He is the man who shall give me the rarest bridal gift."
"And if it was Herod?"
The girl raised her almond eyes to the prince and said nothing. He almost lost his head with the sweetness of the shining eyes. "You are an enchanting witch, you!" he whispered. "Desire of me what you will."
The beauty had been primed by her mother, who wished to be revenged on John, whose prophecies might tear her from her kingly lover. The daughter breathed the words: "A dish for your table, O king!"
"A dish of meat? Speak more plainly."
"Let your bridal gift be a dish of rare meat on a golden charger."
"I do not understand what you want."
"The head of the Baptist."
The king understood, turned aside, and said: "Horror, thy name is woman!"
Then she wept and murmured between her sobs: "I knew it. A woman is nothing to you but a flower of the field. You cut it down so that it turns to hay. And hay is for asses. You care more for the man who has mortally insulted yourself and my mother than you do for me."
"Indeed, I do not! If he deserves death, you shall have your desire."
"When does he whom the king loves deserve death?" groaned the girl, and sank into a swoon. He lifted her up, drew her to his breast, and what her words could not accomplish the embrace did—it cost the Baptist his life.
The banquet was most sumptuous. The most delicious viands, gathered from every quarter, and sparkling wines graced the table. Harp players stood by the marble pillars, and sang praises to the king. Herod, a garland of red roses round his head, sat between the two women. He drank freely of the wine, and so hurriedly that the liquid dripped from his long, thin beard. Was he afraid of the last course? It appeared at midnight. It was covered with a white cloth, and only the beautifully-chased edge of the charger was visible. Herod shuddered and signed that the dish should be placed before the young woman who sat on his left. She hastily pulled off the cloth, and behold! a man's head; the black hair and beard, steeped in the blood that ran from the neck, lay in the charger. It stared with open eyes at the woman who, filled with voluptuous horror, leaned closely against the prince. Then the mouth of the head opened and spoke the words: "The Kingdom of God is near at hand!"
Horror and confusion filled the banqueting hall. "Who dared to say that?" shouted several voices. "'Twas the head of the prophet who prophesies even in death!"
Then a tumult arose in the palace, for this was the most terrible horror that the golden halls had ever seen. Long-restrained fury suddenly burst forth—the town was in flames, the men of Jerusalem rioted. The women were torn from Herod's side, and flung into the streets to the mercy of the mob. The prince was forced to fly. The story goes that in his flight he fell into the hands of the Arab king, who avenged his despised daughter in a terrible manner. Thus were godless hands stretched forth from Herod's house against him who bore witness to the coming One.
After the act of baptism was accomplished, Jesus wandered for a long, long while—indeed, he paid no heed to time—along the banks of Jordan. Then he climbed the rocks, and when in the twilight he came to himself again and looked about, he saw that he was in the wilderness. The revelation vouchsafed at his baptism had snatched him from the earth. In that mysterious vision he had opened to him the new path which he had chosen to follow. What eternal peace surrounded him. Yet he was not alone among the barren rocks; never in his life had he been less lonely than here in the dim terrors of the wilderness. A deep silence prevailed. The stars in the sky sparkled and sparkled, and the longer he gazed at them the more ardently they seemed to burn. Gradually they seemed to sink downwards, and to become suns, while fresh legions pressed ever forward from the background, flying down unceasingly, the large and the small and the smallest, with new ones ever welling up from space—an inexhaustible source of heavenly light.
Jesus stood up erect. And when he lifted up his face it seemed as if his eye was the nucleus of all light.
So he forgot the world and remained in the wilderness. Each day he penetrated deeper into it, past abysses and roaring beasts. The stones tore his feet, but he marked it not; snakes stung his heels, but he noticed it not. Whence did he obtain nourishment? What cleft in the rocks afforded him shelter?—that is immaterial to him who lives in God. Once he had regarded the world and its powers as hard taskmasters, and now they seemed to him to be as nothing, for in him and with him was eternal strength. The old traditional Jehovah of Jewish hearts was no more; his was the all-embracing One, who carried the heavens and the earth in his hand, who called to the children of men: Return! and who stooped down to every seedling in order to awaken it. He himself became conscious of God—and after that, what could befall him?
One day he descended between the rocky stones to the coast of the Dead Sea that lay dark and still, little foam-tipped waves breaking on the shore. The expanse of water was lost in darkness in the distance, and stretched away heavy and lifeless. Cleft blocks of stone were scattered along the beach, and their tops glowed as red as iron in the forge. It was the hour of sunset. The towering stones stood like giant torches, and the bright colour was reflected on the bare pebbles on which the water lapped. For many thousands of years the fine yellow sand had drifted down from the walls of rock, and lay over the wide sloping plains of the shore. It was like dry, light "stone-snow," and Jesus, who strode over it, left his footprints in it. The next gust of wind disturbed it, the "stone-snow" was whirled about, and the dark stones were laid bare. Men are engulfed in those sand-fields, which, broken by blocks of stone, stretch away into infinity. Witness the bones which may be seen here and there, remains of dead beasts, and also legs and skulls of men who perished as hermits, or became the prey of lions. Such skulls with their grinning teeth, warned the traveller to turn back as he valued his life. Here is death! Jesus laid his hands over his breast. Here is life! The greater the loneliness, the more keenly may the nearness of God be realised.
Jesus preferred the rocky heights to the plain. He could see the wide expanse of the sky, and the clouds which wandered over its face and then disappeared like nations of nomads.
One day, in such a spot, he met an Arab chief. He was of gigantic stature, dressed in the dark cloak of the Bedouins, with a wild, grey beard, and a snub nose in a bony face. Beneath bushy eyebrows were a pair of unsteady eyes. His belt was full of weapons, his head was adorned with an iron band which kept his wild hair in some sort of order. The man looked at the young hermit not unkindly and called him a worm who should pray that he might be mercifully trodden under foot. He must either swear allegiance to the desert chief, or be burned up by the hot stones.
Jesus scarcely heeded the impertinent speech. He only saw in the stranger a man on whom he would like to bestow all the happiness that was triumphant in his soul. So full of love was he that he could not bear it alone. And he said: "I am no worm to be trodden under foot. I am that Son of Man who brings you the new kingdom."
"Ah! the Messiah! Jesus of Nazareth, are you not? I have heard of you. Where are your soldiers?"
"I shall not conquer with the sword, but with the spirit."
The Arab shook his head mockingly. "Who will conquer with the spirit! Well, I won't play the scoffer. You are an orator, and that's something. Listen, son of man; I like you. I, too, desire the new kingdom; let us go together."
And Jesus replied: "Whoever wishes can go with me. I go with no one."
"My friend, don't you know me?" asked the stranger. "I am Barabbas, king of the desert. Three thousand Arabs obey my behests. Look down into the valley. There is the key to the kingdom of the Messiah."
What the chief called the key to the kingdom of the Messiah was an army which, scattered over the plain, resembled a dark spot spreading out in the desert, as busy and animated as an ant-hill. The chief pointed down to it and said: "Look, there is my weapon. But I shall not conquer with that weapon, nor will you conquer with your words. For my weapons lack words, and your words lack weapons. I need the prophet and you the army. Warrior and orator allied, we shall take Jerusalem. I have made a mistake. For many years it has been my illusion that all strength lay in the body. And so I have cared for their bodies, fed and nourished them that they might become strong. But instead of becoming strong and daring, they have become indolent and cowardly. And now that I wish to use this army to free Judaea from the yoke of the Romans, they laugh in my face and answer me with words I once taught them. We have only this life, they cry, and we will not risk it any more. And when I ask, 'Not even for freedom?' they reply, 'Not even for freedom, because what is the use of freedom to us if we are slain.' Indolent beasts! they lack enthusiasm. And now I find you. You are a master of oratory. You say that you will conquer with the spirit. Come with me! Descend into the valley and inspire them with ardour. The legions are ours, our weapons are of perfect temper, nothing is wanting but fire, and that you have. The king must be allied with the zealot, otherwise the kingdom cannot be conquered. Come down with me. Tell them that you are the prophet. Incite them against Jerusalem, and exclaim: 'It is God's will!' If only fire can be made to burn within them, they will march like the very devil, overcome the foreigners, and you will instruct them in Solomon's Temple about the Messiah. You can tell them that he is coming, or that you yourself are he, just as you please. Then, according to your desire, you can establish your kingdom, and all the glory of the world will lie at your feet as at those of a god. Come, prophet, you give me the word, and I'll give you the sword!"
"Begone, you tempter of hell!" exclaimed Jesus and his eye shot forth a ray of light that the other could not bear.
And then Jesus was once more alone among the rocks, under the open sky.
It was under the sacred sky of the desert where his Father came down to him that his spirit became quite free—his heart more animated, glowing with love. And thus was Jesus perfected. Leaving the desert, he then sought out the fertile land; he sought out men.
His earthly task stood clear and fixed before him.
The Lake of Gennesaret, also called the Sea of Galilee, lies to the east of Nazareth, where the land makes a gradual descent, and where, among the hills and the fertile plains, pleasant villages are situated. The mountains of Naphtali, which in some places rise up steeply from its banks, were clothed with herbage in the days of David. But gradually, as stranger peoples cultivated them, fertility descended to the hills and valleys.
Near where the Jordan flows into the sea, on the left of the river under the sandy cliffs of Bethsaida, a small cedar forest, the seeds of which may have been blown thither from Lebanon, grows close down to the shore of the lake. A fisher-boat, rocking in the shade on the dark waters, was tied to one of the trees. The holes in it were stuffed with seaweed, the beams fastened with olive twigs. Two tall poles crossed were intended for the sail, which now lay spread out in the boat because the boatman was sleeping on it. The brown stuff, made of camel's hair, was the man's most valuable possession. On the water it caught the wind for him, on land it served as a cloak, if he slept it formed his bed.
The little elderly man's face was tickled by a cedar twig for so long that at length he awoke. He saw a young woman sitting on a rock. She was just going to hurry off with her round basket when the fisherman called loudly to her; "Well, Beka, daughter of Manasseh, whither are you taking your ivory white feet?"
"My feet are as brown as yours," replied Beka. "Stop mocking at me, Simon."
"How can I be mocking at you? You're a fisherman's child, like me. But your basket is too heavy for you."
"I am taking my father his dinner."
"Manasseh has had a good catch. Look, smoke is rising yonder behind the palms of Hium. He is cooking the fish. But I have eaten nothing since yesterday at the sixth hour."
"I can well believe that, Simon. The fish of the Lake of Gennesaret do not swim ready-cooked into the mouth. He who lies like a child in the cradle, and lets the gods provide——!"
Simon, with his legs apart in order to preserve the balance, stood up in the boat. "Beka," he said, "let the gods alone, they won't feed us; they eat the best that men have."
"Then hold to the one God who feeds the birds."
"And who delivers the Jews to the Romans. No; Jehovah won't help me either. So I'm forsaken and stand alone, a tottering reed."
"How can I help it if you stand alone?" asked the daughter of Manasseh. "Are there not daughters in Galilee who also stand alone?"
"Beka, I am glad that you speak so," replied the fisherman. "Why, how can Simon come to an understanding with anybody so long as he can't come to an understanding with himself? And fishing delights me not. Everything is a burden. Often when I lie here and look up into the blue sky, I think: If only a storm would come and drive me out on the open sea—into the wild, dark terror, then, Simon, you would lie there and extend your arms and say: Gods or God, do with me what you will."
"Don't talk like that, Simon. You must not jest with the Lord. There, take it."
And so saying, Beka took a magnificent bunch of grapes out of her basket, and handed it to him.
He took it, and by way of thanks said: "Beka, a year hence there'll be some one who will find in you that sweet experience which I vainly seek in the Prophets."
Whereupon she swiftly went her way towards the blue smoke that rose up behind the palms of Hium.
It was no wonder that the fisherman gazed after her for a long time. Although he cared little for the society of his fellow-creatures, because they were too shallow to sympathise with what occupied his thoughts, he felt a cheerless void when he was alone. He was misunderstood on earth, and forsaken by Heaven. He feared the elements, and the Scriptures did not satisfy him. Then the little man threw himself on his face, put his hand into the water of the lake, and sprinkled his brow with it. He seated himself on the bench of the boat in order to enjoy Beka's gift.
At the same moment the sand on the bank crackled, and a tall man, in a long brown cloak, and carrying a pilgrim's staff, came forward. His black beard fell almost to his waist, where a cord held the cloak together. His high forehead was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat; his eye was directed to the fisherman in the boat.
"Boatman, can you take three men across the lake?"
"The lake is wide," answered Simon, pointing to his fragile craft.
"They want to get to Magdala to-day."
"Then they can take the road by Bethsaida and Capernaum."
"They are tired," said the other. "They have travelled here from the desert, and by a wide détour through Nazareth, Cana, and Chorazin."
"Are you one of them?" asked Simon. "I ought to know you. Haven't we been fishing together at Hamath?"
"It may be that we know each other," was the somewhat roguish reply. In fact, they knew each other very well. Only Simon had become so strange.
Now he said: "If it will really be of service to you, I'll go gladly. But you see for yourself that my boat is bad. You are exhausted, my friend; you have travelled far while I have rested in the shade the whole day. I haven't deserved any fine food. May I offer you these grapes?"
The black-bearded man bent down, took the grapes, and vanished behind the cypresses.
He went to a shady spot where were two other men, both dressed in long, dark woollen garments. One was young and had delicate, almost feminine, features, and long hair. He lay sleeping, stretched out on the grass, his staff leaning against a rock near him. The other sat upright. We recognise Him. He is Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth. He has come hither from the wilderness, through Judaea and Galilee, where sympathising companions joined Him, a boatman, called James, and His former apprentice, John. With one hand He supported His brow, the other rested protectingly on the sleeping John's head. The long-bearded man came hurrying up, crying:
"Master, I have received some grapes for you."
He who was thus addressed pointed to the sleeping youth, lest He should be waked with loud talking. Then he said softly; "James! Shall I forgive the lie for the sake of the good you wish to do me? Who knows anything of me? The grapes were given to you."
"And I will eat them," returned James; "only permit me to eat them in the way in which they taste best to me."
"Do so."
"They taste best to me if I see you eat them."
Jesus took the gift, and said: "If we both satisfy ourselves, my dear James, what will there be for poor John? We are inured to fatigue; he is unaccustomed to it. I think that, of the three of us, it is John who ought to eat the grapes."
Since the long-bearded man offered no objection, John ate the grapes when he awoke. James announced that the fisherman was willing to take them, so they proceeded to the bank and got into the boat.
Simon looked at the tired strangers with sympathy, and vigorously plied his oars. The waves rippled and the rocking skiff glided over the broad expanse of waters which, on the south side, appeared endless. From the way in which the two men spoke to the Master, Simon thought to himself: "A rabbi, and they are his pupils." To the Master's questions regarding his life and trade, the fisherman gave respectful answers, taking care to remark that he had not to complain of overmuch good fortune, for often he fished all day and all night without catching anything, a success he could equally well obtain if he lay all day idle in his boat and let himself be rocked.
The Master asked him with a smile what he would say to fishing for men.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You've already three in your net," said James gaily.
"And God help me!" exclaimed the fisherman, "for we must pray to Him for help to-day. Look over there at the mountains of Hium. Just now it looks so beautifully blue that you would take it for a sunny sky. But the white edges! In an hour there'll be more of them."
"Hoist the sail, fisherman, and bale out," advised James. "I understand something of the business."
"Then you wouldn't say hoist the sail to-day," returned Simon.
"Listen," said James; "you know the river which brings the black sand and the little red fishes with the sharp heads down to this lake from the mountains of Golan. My cottage was by that river—you surely know it?"
"Isn't it there still?" asked Simon.
"It is there, but it is no longer mine," said James. "I have left it in order to follow the Master. Do you know Him, Simon?"
He had whispered the last words behind the back of the Master, who sat silent on the bench, and looked out over the calm waters. He seemed to be enjoying the rest; the breeze played softly with His hair, As a protection from the sun's rays John had fashioned a piece of cloth into a sort of turban and wound it round his head. He looked with amusement at the reflection of the head-dress in the water.
"For whom do you take Him?" asked James, pointing to Jesus.
And the fisherman answered, "For whom do you take that?" He pointed to the distance; he saw the storm. The mountains were enveloped in a grey mist which, pierced by the lightning, moved slowly downwards. Before them surged the foaming waters, the waves white-crested. A gust of wind struck the boat; the water began to beat heavily against it, so that it was tossed about like a piece of cork. Since Simon had not put up the sail there was now no need to reef it. Flakes of foam flew over the spars, the beams groaned. The clouds rushed on, driving the heaving, thundering waves before them. Soon the little boat was overtaken by darkness, which was only relieved by flashes of lightning. Long ago Simon had let go the rudder, and exclaimed, "Jehovah!" Thunder claps were the only answer. Then the fisherman fell on his face and groaned; "He gives no help; I thought as much."
James and John sat close to the Master and tried to rouse Him from the dream into which He had sunk.
"What do you want of Me?"
"Master!" exclaimed James, "you are so entirely with your Heavenly Father that you do not see how terrible is our doom."
"I thought as much," repeated Simon, almost weeping.
Jesus looked at him earnestly, and said: "If you keep on saying: I thought as much, well, then, so it must be. Think rather that God's angels are with you! And you, James! Have you forgotten the trust you had in God on dry land? Yesterday on the quiet eventide, when, well fed and cared for we sat in the inn at Chorazin, you spoke much of trust in God. Trust Him also in distress."
"O Master, I see help nowhere."
"Learn to believe without seeing."
As He spoke a flash of lightning blinded their eyes, and when after a time they were able to look up again, a wild terror seized them. The Master was not there. Now that they no longer saw Him, they shouted loudly; shrieked out His name. Only John remained calm, and looked out into the darkness, wrapt in some bewilderment or trance.
The foam flew into their faces and reduced them to utter confusion; they could only involuntarily hold tight to the beams of the swaying vessel. "Living or dying we will not leave Him," said James. But the Master had left them. It seemed as though He had never existed. They seized the rudder again, and, with the courage of men in the presence of death, wrestled with the storm which seemed disinclined to let its victims go. "God is with us!" exclaimed Simon quickly, and worked with all that remained of his strength. "God is with us!" exclaimed James, and planted the rudder firmly in the water. Only John did not stir. Bending over the side, he stared out into the wild, grey, whirling waters. He espied in the midst a circle of light in which appeared a figure that came nearer, and behold! Jesus was walking on the sea slowly towards the ship. The waves grew smooth under His feet, the sea grew light all over, the rock-towers of Hippos could be seen in the distance, with the evening sun sinking behind them. Jesus sat among His friends, and with kindly words chid them for their despondency.
"Oh, wonderful!" exclaimed James. "While you were with us, we were of little faith, and when we could not see you, we believed."
"'Twas your faith that helped," said James. Then, laying his hand on the youth's shoulder: "And what is My wrapt John dreaming of? I was not yonder in the mist; I was here with you, I tell you, friends: He is blind who sees without believing, and clear-sighted who believes without seeing."