The Robe

by Lloyd C. Douglas

  ‘It was fortunate for Tamar that Jesus was a good carpenter,’ remarked Marcellus. ‘But what did the authorities think of his coming to Tamar’s aid? Did they accuse him of being sympathetic with Sabbath-breakers?’

  ‘That they did!’ declared Justus, it was at a time when the priests were on the alert to find him at fault. The people often urged him to speak in the village synagogues, and this displeased the rabbis. They were always haranguing the people about their tithes and sacrificial offerings. Jesus talked about friendship and hospitality to strangers and relief for the poor.’

  ‘But—didn’t the rabbis believe in friendship and charity?’ wondered Marcellus.

  ‘Oh, yes—of course. They took it for granted that everybody was agreed on that.’

  ‘In theory, at least,’ surmised Marcellus.

  ‘Exactly! In theory. But securing funds to support the synagogue—that was practical! They had to talk constantly about money. It left them no time to talk about the things of the spirit.’

  ‘Well—go on about Tamar,’ interposed Marcellus. ‘I suppose Jesus reconstructed her loom——and she wove him the Robe.’

  ‘Right I And he wore it until he died.’

  ‘Were you there—when he died?’ asked Marcellus, uneasily.

  ‘No—I was in prison.’ Justus seemed disinclined to enlarge upon this matter; but, when questioned, told the story briefly. A few days before his trial for treason and disturbing the peace, Jesus had impulsively driven hucksters and bankers out of the Temple. Several of his friends had been arrested and thrown into prison on the charge of having gathered up some of the scattered coins from the pavement. The accusation was untrue, Justus insisted, but they were kept in prison for a fortnight. ‘It was all over,’ he said, sadly, ‘when we were released. As for the Robe—the Roman soldiers gambled for it—and carried it away with them. We often wondered what became of it. It could have no value—for them.’

  It was noon now, and a halt was made in a little grove where there was a spring and a green grass-plot for grazing. The donkeys were unburdened and tethered. The food was unpacked; a wineskin, a basket of bread, a parcel of smoked fish, an earthenware jar of cooked barley, a box of sun-cured figs. They spread a blanket on the ground for little Jonathan, who, stuffed to repletion and wearied by the journey, promptly tumbled down to sleep. Justus and Marcellus, lounging on the grass, pursued a low-voiced conversation.

  ‘Sometimes thoughtless people misunderstood his attitude toward business,’ Justus was saying. ‘His critics noised it about that he had contempt for barter and trade; that he had no respect for thrift and honest husbandry.’

  ‘I had wondered about that,’ said Marcellus. ‘There has been much talk about his urging people to give things away. It had occurred to me that this could be overdone. If men recklessly distributed their goods to all comers, how could they provide for their own dependents?’

  ‘Let me give you an illustration,’ said Justus. ‘This subject came up, one day, and Jesus dealt with it in a story. He was forever contriving simple little fables. He said, a man with a vineyard wanted his grapes picked, for they were now ripe. Going down to the public market, he asked a group of idlers if they wanted a job. They said they would work all day for one denarius.’

  ‘Rather high,’ observed Marcellus.

  ‘Rather! But the grapes had to be picked immediately, and the man wasn’t in a position to argue; so he took them on. By noon, it was apparent that he would need more help. Again in the market-place he asked the unemployed what they would take to work that afternoon. And they said, “We will leave that up to you, sir.” Well—when evening came, the men who had dickered with him for one denarius were paid off according to agreement. Then came the men who had worked shorter hours, leaving the wages to the owner’s generosity.’

  ‘So—what did he do?’ wondered Marcellus, sincerely interested.

  ‘Gave every man a denarius! All the way up and down the line—one denarius! He even gave a denarius to a few who hadn’t worked more than an hour!’

  ‘That might have started a row,’ surmised Marcellus.

  ‘And indeed it did! The men who had worked all day complained bitterly. But the owner said, ‘I paid the price you had demanded. That was according to contract. These other men made no demands, but relied on my good will.”’

  ‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Marcellus. ‘If a man drives a hard bargain with you and you are forced to concede to it, you have no obligation to be generous. But if he lets you say how much he should have, that’s likely to cost you something!’

  ‘There you are!’ nodded Justus. ‘You have a right to weigh it out by the pennyworth, if the other fellow haggles. But if he leaves it up to you, the measure you give must be pressed down, shaken together, and running over!’

  ‘Justus,’ declared Marcellus, ‘if it became a custom for people to deal with one another that way, the market-place wouldn’t be quite so noisy; would it?’

  ‘And all men would be better off,’ said Justus. ‘People wouldn’t have to be taxed to employ patrols to keep the peace. And—as the idea spread,’ he added, dreamily, ‘all of the armies could be demobilized. That would lift a great weight off the shoulders of the people. And once they had experienced this more abundant life that Jesus proposed, it is not likely they would want to return to the old way.’

  For some time they sat in silence, each busy with his own thoughts.

  ‘Of course—it’s utterly impractical,’ declared Marcellus. ‘Only a little handful would make the experiment, and at ruinous cost. The great majority would sneer and take advantage of them, considering them cowardly and feebleminded for not defending their rights. They would soon be stripped of everything!’

  ‘That’s true,’ admitted Justus. ‘Stripped of everything but the great idea! But, Marcellus, that idea is like a seed. It doesn’t amount to much if you expect immediate returns. But if you’re willing to plant it, and nourish it—’

  ‘I suppose,’ remarked Marcellus, ‘it is as if some benefactor appeared in the world with a handful of new grain which, if men should feed on it, would give them peace and prosperity.’

  ‘Very good,’ approved Justus, ‘but that handful of grain would not go very far unless it were sowed and reaped and sowed again and again. Jesus talked about that. Much of this seed, he said, would never come up. Some of it would lodge in the weeds and brambles. Some of it would fall upon stony ground. But a little of it would grow.’

  ‘Justus—do you honestly believe there’s any future for a theory like that—in this greedy world?’ Marcellus was deeply in earnest.

  ‘Yes—I do!’ declared Justus. ‘I believe it because he believed it! He said it would work like yeast in meal; slowly, silently; but—once it began—nothing could ever stop it. Nobody would ever be able to shut it off—or dig it up—or tear it out!’

  ‘But—why did it begin—up here—in poor little Galilee—so remote from the main centers of world development?’ wondered Marcellus.

  ‘Well’—reflected Justus—‘it had to begin somewhere!’ After a moment of meditation, he faced Marcellus with a sly grin. ‘Do you think this seed might have had a better chance to take root and grow, if it had fallen on the streets in Rome?’

  ‘I think the question answers itself,’ conceded Marcellus.

  Justus reached over and patted the little boy’s tanned cheek.

  ‘On—now—to Cana,’ he said, scrambling to his feet.

  In a few minutes they were on the highway, Justus leading with long, swinging strides, indulging in a reminiscent monologue.

  ‘How often we came over this road together!’ he was recalling. ‘Jesus loved Cana better than any other town in Galilee.’

  ‘Better than Nazareth?’ queried Marcellus.

  They never quite appreciated his spirit in Nazareth,’ explained Justus. ‘You know how it is. A prophet has no standing in his own community. The Nazarenes used to say, “How can this man have any wisdom? Don’t we know him
?”’

  ‘Apparently they didn’t rate very high in their own esteem,’ laughed Marcellus.

  ‘It was natural,’ said Justus, sobering. ‘He had grown up with them. He never held it against them that they did not respond to his teachings as they did in Cana and Capernaum. It was in Cana that he first exercised the peculiar powers you will be hearing about. I don’t suppose anyone has told you what happened there, one day, at a wedding.’

  ‘No,' replied Marcellus, attentively. ‘What happened?’

  It was a story of some length, and Justus was so particular about the small details that Marcellus immediately surmised its importance. Anna, the daughter of Hariph and Rachel, was to be married. Hariph was a potter, an industrious fellow, but by no means prosperous, and the expense of the wedding dinner for Anna was not easy for them. However, Hariph was going to see his child properly honored. Anna was very popular, and Hariph and Rachel had a host of relatives. Everybody was invited and everybody came.

  ‘Were you there, Justus?’

  ‘No—that was before I knew Jesus. The story of what occurred, that day, quickly spread far and wide. I don’t mind telling you that when I heard it, I doubted it.’

  ‘Get on with it, please!’ insisted Marcellus.

  ‘Jesus arrived late. The wedding rites had been performed, and the guests had been at table for some time when he appeared. Poor Hariph was unhappy. He had not provided enough wine for so large a crowd. His predicament was whispered into Jesus’ ear.’

  Justus tramped on for half a stadium in moody silence.

  ‘Maybe it is not the time yet to tell you this,’ he muttered. ‘You will not believe it. I did not believe it when they told mel Jesus slipped away from the table, and went to the small serving-room. He saw some of Hariph’s earthenware jars in the little court outside, and told the servants to fill them with water. Then, having instructed them to serve it to the guests, he went back and resumed his place at the table. When the water was served, it was wine!’

  ‘No—Justus—no!’ exclaimed Marcellus. This spoils the story of Jesus!’ ‘I was afraid you weren’t ready for it, my friend,' regretted Justus.

  ‘Oh—but there must have been some better explanation of that wine,' insisted Marcellus. ‘Jesus comes in with that radiant personality; everyone loving him. And even the water they drank in his presence tasted like winel And so—this other utterly preposterous tale got bruited about.’ ‘Have it your own way, Marcellus,' consented Justus, kindly, it does not offend me that you doubt the story. You can believe in the wisdom and goodness of Jesus without that.’

  They proceeded, without further conversation, up the long hill where, at the crest, Justus stopped, cupped his eyes with his big, brown hands, and gazed intently down the narrow road as far as he could see; a familiar, though unexplained, occurrence. The best Marcellus could make of these frequent long-range observations was his belief that Justus was expecting to meet someone by appointment. Today he thought of asking about it, but decided to wait until Justus wanted to tell him.

  While they tarried, at the top of the hill, for the pack-train to overtake them, Marcellus broke the silence with a query.

  ‘Did you not tell me, Justus, that Miriam discovered her matchless voice while her family was absent from home, attending a wedding-feast to which she had been invited—and had refused to go?’

  ‘Yes,' assented Justus, it was Anna’s wedding.’

  ‘Jesus arrived late at the wedding,' remembered Marcellus.

  ‘Yes.' Justus nodded and they exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

  ‘I wonder what made him late,’ reflected Marcellus.

  ‘I, too, have often wondered about that,’ said Justus, quietly.

  ‘Do you suppose he might have asked Miriam not to tell?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘So far as you know, Justus,’ persisted Marcellus, ‘did he ever confer a great gift upon someone—and request the beneficiary to keep it a secret?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Justus. There were many evidences of such events.’

  ‘How do you explain that?’ Marcellus wanted to know.

  ‘Jesus found any public display of charity very offensive,' said Justus. ‘Had it been possible, I think he would have preferred to do all of his generous deeds in secret. On one occasion he said to a great throng that had gathered on a hillside to hear him talk, “When you make gifts, do not let them be seen. Do not sound a trumpet that you may receive praise. When you do your alms-giving, let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing. No one but your Father will see. Only your Father wall reward you.”’

  ‘What did he mean, Justus—about your Father rewarding you—if no one else knows? Take little Jonathan’s case, for example: if nobody had learned about his giving his donkey to the crippled lad, would he have been secretly rewarded?’

  ‘Of course!’ declared Justus, if no one had known about the gift, Jonathan’s heart would have overflowed with happiness. You wouldn’t have heard him wishing that he had kept the saddle!’

  ‘But the child had no way of keeping the matter quiet!’ expostulated Marcellus.

  True,’ nodded Justus. That was not Jonathan’s fault, but his misfortune.’

  ‘Do you think that peculiar radiance of Miriam’s can be accounted for by her having kept her secret? In her case, she was not the donor. She was the recipient!’

  ‘I know,’ agreed Justus. ‘If the recipient doesn’t tell, then the donor is rewarded in his heart. It is thus that the recipient helps him to obtain his reward.’

  ‘But now that Jesus is dead,’ argued Marcellus, with a puzzled look, ‘Miriam is free to tell her secret; is she not?’

  Justus stroked his beard, thoughtfully.

  ‘Probably not,’ he murmured, if she were—she would tell.’

  Chapter XV

  THEY had reached Cana too late to hear Miriam sing, but Marcellus thought it was just as well, for Jonathan was so tired and sleepy that he could hardly hold his head up.

  By the time they had pitched camp, washed off their dust, eaten a light supper, and put the little boy to bed, many voices could be heard; villagers strolling home in the moonlight from their customary rendezvous at the fountain.

  Justus sauntered out to the street. Marcellus, wearily stretched at full length on his cot, heard him talking to a friend. After a while he returned to say he had been informed by Hariph the potter that Jesse, the son of Beoni, was leaving early in the morning for Jerusalem. Doubtless he would carry the letter to Demetrius.

  ‘Very good!’ Marcellus handed him the scroll and unstrapped his coin purse. ‘How much will he expect?’

  ‘Ten shekels should be enough.’ There was an expression of satisfaction in Justus’ face and tone, perhaps because the letter had been given up so casually. His look said that there could be nothing conspiratorial in this communication. ‘Jesse will probably be over here presently,’ he added. ‘Hariph will tell him. He lives hard by the home of Beoni.’

  ‘You can talk with him,’ said Marcellus. ‘I am going to sleep.’

  And he did; but after a while the murmur of low-pitched voices roused him. He raised up on his elbow, and through the open tent-door the white moonlight showed Justus and a stocky, shaggv-haired man of thirty, seated cross-legged on the ground. Jesse, the son of Beoni, was rumbling gutturally about the business that was taking him to Jerusalem. He was going to attend the annual camel auction. They always had it at the end of Passover. Many caravans from afar, having disposed of their merchandise, offered their pack-animals for sale rather than trek them home without a pay-load. You could get a sound, three-year-old she-camel for as little as eighty shekels, Jesse said. He hoped to buy six, this time. He could easily sell them in Tiberias for a hundred or better. Yes—he made this trip every year. Yes—he would gladly carry Justus’ letter to the Greek who worked for Benyosef. And when Justus asked him how much, Jesse said, ‘Nothing at all. It’s no bother.’

  ‘But it isn’t my lett
er,’ explained Justus, it is sent by this Roman, Marcellus Gallio, who is up here buying homespun. He’s there in the tent, asleep.’

  ‘Oh—that one! My mother told me about him. It is strange that he should want our simple weaving. No one ever thought it was valuable. Well—if it is his letter, and not yours, he should pay me eight shekels.’

  ‘He will give you ten.’ The coins were poured clinking into Jesse’s hand.

  ‘Eight is enough,’ said Jesse. ‘You keep the other two.’

  ‘But I have done nothing to earn them,’ protested Justus. ‘They are yours. I think the Roman would prefer to give you ten.’

  Jesse chuckled—not very pleasantly.

  ‘Since when have the Romans turned soft-hearted?’ he growled. ‘I hope there is nothing queer about this scroll. They tell me the jail in Jerusalem is alive with vermin. How about it, Justus? You ought to know.’ Jesse laughed at his own grim jest. ‘You lodged there for a couple of weeks last spring.’

  Marcellus could not hear Justus’ rejoinder. Perhaps he had merely grinned or scowled at Jesse’s bucolic raillery.

  ‘You can trust Marcellus,’ said Justus, confidently. ‘He is a man of good will. Not all Romans are crooked, Jesse. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ consented Jesse. ‘As the saying goes, “Every Jew has his Roman.” Mine happens to be Hortensius.’

  ‘You mean the Centurion, over in Capernaum, whose orderly Jesus cured of a palsy? Did you have dealings with him, Jesse?’

  ‘I sold him four camels—shortly before that affair of his servant. Three for a hundred each. I told him he could have the other one for sixty because she was spavined. And he said, “She doesn’t limp. What did you pay for her?” And I said, “Eighty—but I didn’t know the spavin was bad until we were on the road two days.” And he said, “She seems to be all right now.” And I said, “She’s rested. But she’ll go lame on a long journey with anything of a load.” And he said, “You needn’t have told me.” Then he said, “Do you know Jesus?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “I thought so.” And then he said, “Let’s split the cost of the spavin. I’ll give you seventy.” And I said, “That’s fair enough.” And then I said, “Do you know Jesus, sir?” And he said, “No—but I heard him talk, one day.” And then I asked him, just as if we were equals, “Are you one of us?” And he was busy counting out the money, and didn’t answer that; but when he handed it to me he said—that was four years ago, and I looked younger than now—he said, “You keep on listening to Jesus, boy! You’ll never be rich—but you’ll never be poor!”’