‘I never would have thought, Demetrius,’ Marcellus had said, taking pains to make it sound derisive, ‘that a man with as sound a mind as yours would turn out to be so childishly superstitious!’
To tell you the truth, sir,’ Demetrius had replied, ‘I am surprised at it myself.’
They had been trudging along, with Marcellus a little in advance, stormily vaunting his indignation over his slave’s stubborn imbecility, when it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t having it out with Demetrius—but with himself. He swung about, in the middle of an angry sentence, and read—in his companion’s comradely grin—a confirmation of his discovery. Falling into step, he walked along in silence for a while.
‘Forgive me, Demetrius,’ he said, self-reproachfully. ‘I have been very inconsiderate.’
Demetrius smiled broadly. I understand fully, sir,’ he said. ‘I went through all that, hour after hour, day after day. It is not easy to accept as the truth something that one’s instinct rejects.’
‘Well, then’—deliberated Marcellus—let us, just for sake of argument, batter our instincts into silence and accept this, for the moment, as the truth. Consider the possibilities of a man with a divine personality who, if he wants to, can walk up to Emperor Tiberius, without fear, and demand his throne!’
‘He will not want to,’ rejoined Demetrius, if he were that sort of person, he would have demanded Pilate’s seat. No—he expects to come into power another way; not by demoting the Emperor, but by inspiring the people. His rule will not begin at the top. It will begin at the bottom—with the common people.’
‘Bah!’ scoffed Marcellus. ‘The common people, indeed! What makes you think they have it in them to set up a just government? Take this weak-spined little handful of pious fishermen, for example: how much courage is to be expected of them? Why—even when their Jesus was on trial for his life, they were afraid to speak out in his defense. Except for two or three of them, they let him go to his death alone!’
True, sir,’ said Demetrius, ‘but that was before they knew he could overcome death.’
Yes, but Jesus’ ability to overcome death wouldn’t make their lives any more secure than they were before.’
‘Oh—yes, sir!’ exclaimed Demetrius. ‘He promised them that they too would live forever. He said that he had overcome death—not only for himself—but for all who had faith in him.’
Marcellus slowed to a stop, thrust his thumbs under his belt, and surveyed his slave with a frown of utter mystification.
‘Do you mean to say that these crazy fishermen think they are going to live forever?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, sir—forever—with him,’ said Demetrius, quietly.
‘Ridiculous!’ snorted Marcellus.
‘It seems so, sir,’ agreed Demetrius. ‘But if they sincerely believe that—whether it is true or not will have no bearing on their behavior. If a man considers himself stronger than death, he has nothing to fear.’
‘Then why are these people in hiding?’ asked Marcellus, reasonably enough, he thought.
‘They have their work to do, sir. They cannot be too reckless with their lives. It is their duty to tell the story of Jesus to as many as can be reached. Every man of them expects to be killed, sooner or later, but—it won’t matter. They will live on—somewhere else.’
‘Demetrius—do you believe all this nonsense yourself?’ asked Marcellus, pityingly.
‘Sometimes,’ mumbled Demetrius. ‘When I’m with them, I believe it.’ He tramped on moodily through the dust, his eyes on the road, it isn’t easy,’ he added, half to himself.
‘I should say not!’ commented Marcellus.
‘But, sir,’ declared Demetrius, ‘the fact that an idea is not easy to understand need not disparage it. Are we not surrounded with facts quite beyond our comprehension?’ He stretched a long arm toward the hillside, gay with flowers. ‘We can’t account for all that diversity of color and form—and we don’t have to. But they are facts.’
‘Well—that’s beside the point,’ protested Marcellus. ‘Stick to your business, now, and don’t let your mind wander. We’ll agree that all life’s a mystery. Proceed with your argument.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ grinned Demetrius. ‘Now—these disciples of Jesus honestly believe that the world will eventually be ruled by faith in his teachings. There is to be a universal government founded on good will among men. Whoever believes and practices this has the assurance that he will live forever. It isn’t easy to believe that one may live forever. I grant you that, sir.’
‘And not much easier to believe that the world could be governed by good will,’ put in Marcellus.
‘Now—the Emperor,’ went on Demetrius, ‘rules the world by force. That is not easy. Thousands of men have to lose their lives to support this form of government. Germanicus leads an expedition into Acquitania, promising his Legates riches in captured goods and slaves if they follow and obey him at the risk of their lives. They take that chance. Many of them are killed and have nothing to show for their courage. Jesus promises everlasting life as a reward for those who follow and obey him in his effort to bring peace to the world. His disciples believe him, and—’
‘And take that chance,’ interposed Marcellus.
‘Well, sir; it isn’t a more hazardous chance than the legions take who follow Germanicus,’ insisted Demetrius. ‘This faith in Jesus is not easy, but that doesn’t make it nonsense—if you will pardon my speaking so freely.’ ‘Say on, Demetrius!’ approved Marcellus. ‘You are doing well, considering what kind of material you have to work with. Tell me—do you, personally, expect to live on here forever—in some spectral form?’
‘No.’ Demetrius shook his head. ‘Somewhere else. He has a kingdom—somewhere else.’
‘And you truly believe thatl’ Marcellus studied his slave’s sober face as if he had never seen it before.
‘Sometimes,’ replied Demetrius.
Neither had anything to say for a while. Then, coming to an abrupt halt, the Creek faced his master with an expression of self-confidence.
‘This faith,’ he declared deliberately, ‘is not like a deed to a house in which one may live with full rights of possession. It is more like a kit of tools with which a man may build him a house. The tools will be worth just what he does with them. When he lays them down, they will have no value until he takes them up again.’
***
It was nearly sundown when Demetrius arrived at the shop of Benyosef, for much time had been consumed in the congested streets on the way to the inn where Marcellus had stopped on his previous visit to Jerusalem. The travel equipment and Galilean purchases had to be unloaded and stored. The man who owned the donkeys had to be paid off. Marcellus was eager for a bath and fresh clothing. Having made his master comfortable and having attended to his own reconditioning, Demetrius had set off to find Stephanos.
Since his course led directly past Benyosef’s, he decided to look in; for it was possible that his friend was still at work. The front door was closed and bolted. Going around to the side door which admitted to the family quarters, he knocked; but there was no response. This seemed odd, for the aged Sarah never went anywhere, and would surely be here at suppertime.
Perplexed, Demetrius hastened on to the shabby old house where he had lodged with Stephanos. Here, too, the doors were locked and apparently everyone was gone. A short distance up the street, a personable young Jew, John Mark, lived with his widowed mother and an attractive young cousin, Rhoda. He decided to call there and inquire, for Stephanos and Mark were close friends, though he had often wondered whether it wasn’t the girl that Stephanos went to see.
He found Rhoda locking the high wicket-gate and preparing to leave with a well-filled basket on her arm. She greeted him warmly, and Demetrius noted that she was prettier than ever. She seemed to have matured considerably in his absence.
‘Where is everybody?’ he inquired, after a brief account of the closed houses he had visited.
‘
Oh—don’t you know?’ Rhoda handed him the basket and they moved toward the gate. ‘We all have supper together now. You must come with me.’
‘Who have supper together?’ wondered Demetrius.
‘The Christians. Simon began it many weeks ago. They leased the old building where Nathan had his bazaar. We all bring food every evening, and share it. That is,’ she added, with an impatient little shrug, ‘some of us bring food—and all of us share.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if it was much fun,’ observed Demetrius.
‘Well’—Rhoda tossed her curly head—‘it hasn’t turned out as Simon had expected.’
They were walking rapidly, Demetrius taking long strides to keep pace with the clipped steps that seemed to be beating time for some very vigorous reflections. He decided not to be too inquisitive.
‘How is Stephanos?’ he asked, with a sly smile that Rhoda tried unsuccessfully to dodge.
‘You will see him presently,’ she replied, archly. ‘Then you may judge for yourself.’
‘Rhoda’—Demetrius sounded at least sixty—‘those pink cheeks tell me that something has been going on here since I left. If this means what I think, I am happy for both of you.’
‘You know too much, Uncle Demetrius,’ she retorted, with a prim smile. ‘Can’t Stephen and I be friends—without—’
‘No—I don’t think so,’ interjected Demetrius. ‘When is it going to be, Rhoda? Will I have time to weave a tablecloth for you?’
‘A little one.’ She flashed him a bright smile.
Promising that he would borrow a loom and begin work early in the morning, if his master could spare him the time, Demetrius found his curiosity mounting in regard to these daily suppers.
‘How many people come?’ he asked.
‘You will be surprised! Three hundred or more. Many have disposed of their property in the country and are living here now; quite a colony of them. At least a hundred take all of their meals at the Ecclesia.’
‘The Ecclesia,’ repeated Demetrius, is that what you call it? That’s Greek, you know. Most of you are Jews; are you not? How did you happen to call your headquarters the Ecclesia?’
‘Stephen,’ said Rhoda, proudly. ‘He said it was a suitable name for such an assembly. Besides—fully a third of the Christians are Greeks.’
‘Well—it’s a comfort to see the Jews and Greeks getting together on something,’ remarked Demetrius. ‘Just one big, happy family; eh?’ he added, with some private misgivings.
‘It’s big enough: no question about that!’ murmured Rhoda; and then, making hasty amends for this comment, she continued, ‘Most of them are deeply in earnest, Demetrius. But there are enough of the other kind to spoil it.’
‘Quarreling; are they? I’m afraid they won’t get very far with this new idea that what the world needs is good will.’
‘That’s what Stephen says,’ approved Rhoda. ‘He is quite disappointed. He thinks this whole business—of having all the Christians live together—is a mistake. He believes they should have stayed at home and kept on with their daily work.’
‘What’s the rumpus about?’ Demetrius couldn’t help asking.
‘Oh—the same old story,’ sighed Rhoda. ‘You Greeks are stingy and suspicious and oversensitive about your rights, and—’
‘And you Jews are greedy and tricky,’ broke in Demetrius, with a grin.
‘We’re not greedy!’ exclaimed Rhoda.
‘And we Greeks are not stingy!’ retorted Demetrius. They both laughed.
‘That’s a good little picture of the rumpus,’ said Rhoda. ‘Poor Simon. He had such high hopes for the Ecclesia. I was so sorry for him, last night, I could have cried. After supper he made us a serious talk, repeating some of the words of Jesus about loving one another, even those who mistreat us; and how we were all the children of God, equal in his sight, regardless of our race. And—if you’ll believe it—right while Simon was speaking, an old man from the country, named Ananias, got up and stamped out!’
Demetrius could think of no appropriate comment. It gave him a sickish feeling to learn that so lofty an ideal had fallen into such disrepute in the hands of weak people. Rhoda sensed his disappointment.
‘But please don’t think that Simon is held lightly,’ she went on. ‘He has great influence! The people believe in him! When he walks down the street, old men and women sitting at their windows beg him to stop and talk with them. Stephen says they even bring out their sick ones on cots so that he may touch their foreheads as he passes. And—Demetrius—it’s wonderful how they all feel toward Stephen, too. Sometimes I think that if anything ever happened to Simon—’ Rhoda hesitated.
‘Stephen might be the leader?’ asked Demetrius.
“He is big enough for it!’ she declared. ‘But don’t tell him I said that,’ she added. ‘He would think it a great misfortune if anything happened to Simon.’
They were nearing the rangy old bazaar now. Several women were entering with baskets. A few men loitered about the open door. No legionaries were to be seen. Apparently the Christians were free to go and come as they pleased.
Rhoda led the way into the large, bare, poorly lighted room, crowded with men, women, and children, waiting beside the long tables on which food was being spread. Stephanos advanced with a welcoming smile.
‘Adelphos Demetrius!’ he exclaimed, extending both hands. ‘Where did you find him, Rhoda?’
‘He was looking for you.’ Her tone was tenderly possessive.
‘Come, then,’ he said. ‘Simon will want to see you. You’re thin, my friend. What have they been doing to you?’
Demetrius flinched involuntarily as Stephanos squeezed his arm.
‘A little accident,’ he explained. ‘It’s not quite healed.’
‘How did you do it?’ asked Rhoda. ‘You’ve a cut on your wrist too; a bad one!’
Demetrius was spared the necessity of replying, Stephanos coming to his rescue with a little pantomime of pursed lips and a slight shake of his head for Rhoda's benefit.
‘You were fighting, I think,’ she whispered, with a reproving grin. ‘Christians don’t fight, you know.’ Impishly puckering a meaningful little smile at Stephanos, she added, ‘They don’t even fret about things.’ Preoccupied, Stephanos missed this sally, and beckoned to Demetrius to follow him.
***
Conversation on the way back was forced and fragmentary. John Mark and his mother walked on ahead. The tall Greeks followed on either side of Rhoda, who felt dwarfed and unimportant, for it was evident, by their taciturnity, that they wanted to be alone with each other. She did not resent this. She was so deeply in love with Stephanos that anything he did was exactly right, even when he so plainly excluded her from his comradeship with Demetrius.
After a hasty good night at Mark’s gate, the Greeks sauntered down the street toward their lodgings, silently at first, each waiting for the other to speak. Stephanos’ steps slowed.
‘Well—what did you think of it?’ he demanded, blundy. ‘Tell me truly.’ ‘I’m not quite sure,’ temporized Demetrius.
‘But you are!’ snapped Stephanos. ‘You have seen our Christian Ecclesia in action. If you are not quite sure, that means you think we have taken the wrong road!’
‘Very well,’ consented Demetrius, with an indulgent chuckle, if that’s what you think, why not go on and tell me what you think? You’ve had a better chance to form an opinion. I haven’t seen your Ecclesia do anything yet—but eat. What else is it good for? I’m bound to say, Stephanos, that if I were selecting a company of people to engage in some dangerous tasks requiring endless faith and courage, I might have skipped a few who were present tonight.’
‘There you are!’ lamented Stephanos. ‘That’s what ails it. Jesus commands us to carry on his work, no matter at what cost in privation, pain, and hazard of life; and all we’ve accomplished is a free boarding-house and loafing-place for anybody who will say, “I believe.”’
‘Doubtless Simon’s intentions w
ere good,’ observed Demetrius, feeling that he was expected to make some comment.
‘Excellent!’ agreed Stephanos, if everybody connected with the Ecclesia had the bravery and goodness of Simon Peter, the institution might develop great power. You see—at the beginning, what he wanted was a close-knit body of men who would devote their full time to this work. He thought they could inspire one another if they lived together. You remember how it was at the shop, Demetrius, the disciples spending hours in conference. Simon wanted to increase this circle, draw in other devoted men, and weld them together in spirit and purpose.’
‘And made the circle a little too large?’ suggested Demetrius.
Stephanos came to a halt, and moodily shook his head.
‘The whole plan was unsound,’ he said, disconsolately. ‘Simon announced that any Christian might sell his property and bring the proceeds to the Ecclesia with the promise that his living would be provided for.’
‘No matter how much or little he had?’ queried Demetrius.
‘Right! If you owned a farm or a vineyard, you sold it—probably at a sacrifice—and brought Simon the money. If you had nothing but a few chickens, a milk-goat, and a donkey, you came with the money you’d got from that. And all would live together in brotherly love.’
Gloomily Stephanos recited the misadventures of this unhappy experiment. The word had quickly spread that any Christian family could insure its living by joining the Ecclesia. There was no lack of applicants. Simon had rejoiced to see the large number of people who professed to be Christians. At an all-night conference in Benyosef’s shop, Simon had been almost beside himself with happiness. The kingdom was growing!
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