Father Elijah

by Michael D. O'Brien

  “But it wasn’t so”, protested Elijah.

  “Yes, now I know it. The council urged me to accept, because they said God speaks through the votes of the community. They told me that against this authority no dream has any weight. If I were to refuse, it would be a rejection of the will of God. I can’t tell you how distressed I was. I accepted with agony in my heart. I knew my limitations all too well. I begged the Lord to let me off this cross, but He wouldn’t. Now I see why.”

  They conversed in this fashion for another two hours. The small brother slept through it all and awoke only as the sun went down and the cool of the evening settled into the ravine. He was hungry and alert. He said little, contenting himself with accomplishing the simple tasks he begged from Elijah: washing dishes, milking the goat, gathering brushwood for the tin drum that served as a cookstove. From time to time, he cast beaming glances upon the host.

  “Father,” he ventured at last, “you have any trouble from the police?”

  “No. My papers say I’m an archeologist, which of course I am. I have been digging in the ruins of a Byzantine military camp near here. It was built during the campaign to throw out the Seljuk Turks in the eleventh century.”

  “You find any gold, Father?”

  “I have unearthed a few coins, and the foundation stones of a street of tents. It will provide me with an excuse to be here for many years.”

  “Is it fun?”

  “I am enjoying it. But I have found a very great treasure elsewhere.”

  “Treasure? What is it?”

  “I will show you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  They rose just before dawn, prayed matins, and celebrated Mass. After a simple breakfast of black coffee, boiled millet, and raisins, they set off by a footpath that zigzagged up the slope behind the hut. It traversed the mountain back and forth, up and down over hummocks in the land, becoming ever steeper as they climbed, gradually leading them into the dry scrub land of the hills. At the height of the ravine, they looked back toward the west where a vein of silver on the horizon revealed the sun reflecting on the sea. Ahead of them, they faced more climbing and rested for some minutes.

  “What is it you are taking us to see, Elijah?” said the prior.

  “A treasure that has remained hidden within the designs of God for almost two millennia.”

  “Gold!” joked Brother Ass.

  “Yes, purest gold”, replied Elijah, smiling.

  The goat path ended after that, but a kind of trail continued on higher, a barely discernible, meandering line of broken branches and flattened dead grass, which Elijah’s feet had made in his comings and goings to the scattered flock of the region. They reached a narrow plateau and paused again.

  “Can’t you give us a hint?” said the prior, gasping for breath.

  “You will recognize it when you see it.”

  “Ah, still the mystic, aren’t you? You like mysteries. And you make your friends suffer for it.”

  “It is much better for the soul.”

  The prior sighed, “Yes, yes, but I still prefer knowledge.”

  Elijah smiled at him. “Before this day is over you will be thanking me for your tired legs.”

  “You guarantee it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right, for now I will suspend my scholastic doubts. I will obey like a Iamb.”

  “Me too!” said Brother Ass gleefully.

  “You are a good flock!” said Elijah.

  They mounted higher and went over a roll of earth into a trough that cut lengthwise along the flanks of the hill. The narrow depression, invisible from above and below, was just deep enough to hide anyone who walked in it.

  “Where are we?”

  “We are south of Ephesus. If we went higher and struck northeast for an hour, we would reach the town of Aya Solouk, above the ruined city. It is a stop on the railroad that runs between Smyrna and Aïdin.”

  “Don’t tell me we’re going back there?”

  “No. We turn now and go along this trench for three kilometers.”

  “Three kilometers?” said the prior. “My old bones!”

  “From here on our way is flat.”

  As they walked on the rubble-filled bottom, it became clear that this was the remains of an ancient road that had not been used for centuries. It was a natural defile, the origins of which were lost. Clearly, it had been improved by man in the distant past, for wherever the bank on the right became precipitous there were signs of low retaining walls, now collapsed.

  “Is this Turkish?”

  “No”, said Elijah. “Much older.”

  “Does it lead to a crusaders’ fort? Is that what you are going to show us?”

  “Older still.”

  “Probably Byzantine.”

  “Older still.”

  “A remarkable state of preservation.”

  “It is from the Roman era.”

  “Surely, better routes run along the coast. Why would anyone take such trouble to build here?”

  “There are passable roads above and below, some ancient, some modern. This is one that has fallen into anonymity. Its purpose is obscure.”

  “Built by shepherds perhaps?”

  “Shepherds do not need such routes.”

  “Then what is it for?”

  “Only a few miles long, it begins nowhere and seems to end nowhere. It offers no explanation at any point.”

  “Now you have intrigued me, Elijah.”

  They made their way slowly for another hour, stopping every so often to drink from the waterskin Brother Ass carried slung over his shoulder. Eventually, they came to an abutment in the hill, and the road ended abruptly.

  “There is nothing here”, said the prior.

  “Nothing and everything.”

  “Where are we?”

  Elijah pointed to the north. “A few kilometers in that direction we would come upon Ephesus.”

  “Why didn’t we go by the road below, the way we came yesterday?”

  “Because there is no longer any path up the mountains at this end.”

  “No longer?”

  “There once was a trail from below, but rockslides have covered it. You see that heap of stones which tumbles down to the lower hills? The rest of the road is buried beneath it.”

  “And so? What have you brought us here to see, an amputated road that leads to nothing?”

  “Not to nothing. Now look up above. Do you see the cleft in the rock?”

  “I don’t see anything unusual. Wait, you’re right, there’ small gully. But it’s impossible to reach.”

  “It’s difficult but not impossible. We climb for a few dozen meters at the bottom end of the gorge. An earthquake blocked it long ago. When we go over that debris we will find what we are looking for.”

  With regret, the two visitors left the relative smoothness of the road, following Elijah uphill into a maze of bushes and chaotic stones. When they reached its top, they looked over the edge into a concave recession in the terrain, hidden on all sides by jumbled rock, and from above by an overhanging cliff.

  They climbed down into the depression, six meters deep and about the same in width. At the bottom, Elijah pointed to a shadow in the rock. A circular stone lay there.

  “A cave!” exclaimed the prior.

  Elijah bent his head and went through the low entrance.

  The prior and Brother Ass stayed outside peering in.

  “Come inside. Don’t be afraid.”

  When all three were seated on the dirt floor, Elijah struck a match and lit a kerosene lantern. The chamber was suddenly illuminated, and they gazed about them. Brother Ass was grinning and his one good eye was watering. The prior inspected the interior with studied interest.

  “Ah, I understand now. This is the place where the scrolls were recently discovered.”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We are the only living men who know of this place.”


  “Father,” said Brother Ass, “is this where the seven sleeping saints of Ephesus were buried?”

  “No. That is another cave, farther to the north. There are many caves in the region, some of which haven’t yet come to light.”

  “What makes this one so special?” said the prior.

  “Soon you will know. We have not had an opportunity to be silent. We will rest here, and then after we have prayed, I will ask you what has been revealed to you.”

  The prior looked dubious; the brother seemed excited by the riddle.

  The cave was about the height of a man, dry and cool. The walls were of stone, some of which had been enlarged by tools. At the far end was a hand-carved alcove in which there was a stone bench.

  “Was this a refuge for priests during the persecutions? Surety, that’s an altar.”

  “It may have been used for such, but that wasn’t its original purpose.”

  “What then?”

  “No more for now. We will rest. Pray. Sleep if you wish.”

  Brother Ass, gazing about him, lay his body down in the ground, and pillowed his head on an elbow. He closed his eye.

  “You say we are the only ones who know. When did you first come here?”

  “Shortly after my arrival. I was walking in the hills, returning from Mass at the Christian village. I had crossed the hidden road a number of times but had thought little about it—there are so many archeological sites in the area. One afternoon, I met a child on the hill above the goat path. Without any introduction or conversation, he came up to me and pointed down the road in this direction. He told me that I must find something, something important. He didn’t explain. He answered none of my questions. He merely said, Go to the end and up,”

  “Did he show you?”

  “No. He left me and I never saw him again.”

  “How did you know where to find the cave?”

  “I didn’t. My feet seemed to know where to climb, my eyes where to look. The stone that lay across the mouth was itself covered with loose rubble. Were one to search for a thousand years among all these hills there would be no clue to distinguish this pile of rock from another. I just knew that I must remove these loose stones. Underneath, to my astonishment, I found the circular door-stone. It was obviously hand hewn. I rolled it away.”

  “There are tools here. You have been digging.”

  “Yes, I come as often as I can.”

  “Is there anything to indicate the archeological period?”

  “I believe it is within the first century.”

  “Have you found artifacts?”

  “Roman coins from the reigns of Nero and Vespasian. Jewish coins from the revolt that led to the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. This is good evidence that Christian Jews hid here after the destruction of the Temple. There are lamps of the kind once used in the Holy Land to burn olive oil. Some clay pots that are so small they must have been more decorative than useful. They may have held flowers. Ointment jars perhaps. The most significant object is a silver fish inscribed with the Greek letters χριστος—Christos. There are other inscriptions on the bench.”

  “Show me.”

  Roughly cut into the surface of the stone, at foot and head, were the Hebrew words Daughter Zion, Firstborn of Woman.

  The inscription was repeated in Greek and Aramaic.

  “Aramaic?” said the prior. “That’s odd. Whoever wrote this was a long way from Galilee.”

  He sat back and pondered this. His brow furrowed, and it was obvious that conflicting thoughts were passing through his mind.

  “You don’t think. . .?” Elijah nodded.

  At that point, Brother Ass cried out in sleep and half rose on his elbows.

  “Thomas is not here!” he cried, “Has anyone sent for him? It is too far, too far! Hush, the angels will tell him. He will be here soon. But he is beyond Persia. We cannot wait. We must go ahead, though our hearts are cast down. What will we do without the Mother? She is with us, just as the Lamb is with us until the end of time. Do you not remember His word to us when He went up into the clouds. When will He return, when will He return? Lucanus, calm him. What will the women think? Is the body ready? Lydia has gone into the city for more herbs. The flowers in the garden are blooming. So many of them, out of season too. Bring them. Bring them all. Is the grotto prepared? Andrew! Matthias! All is ready. Have the brothers in Damascus arrived? Will they come? Macedonia and Galatia will come. They knew weeks ago she was failing. Pray, brothers, pray that all will be able to come.”

  Elijah and the prior stared uncomprehendingly at Brother Ass. The small brother sat up and leaned against the wall. Tears were streaming from his good eye.

  “Brother, wake up.”

  “I am awake, Father Elijah. But she is gone, our little sister, our small mother. How can we live now that she is no longer among us? Is the light going out of the world? Speak no more as if you do not have faith. The light is not fading. It is changing. She will do more good for us now. Yes. I believe. I believe. The women will soon complete preparations of the body. We must pray. Our hearts are broken! How can we pray! Do you not remember how we grieved when He was crucified. You remember how we fled. And then three days later what joy! Oh, my brothers, we must never lose heart. John, tell us, tell us. Even our broken hearts obey your voice. Be still my brothers, be still and rest on His heart. Be still and know the heartbeat of God.”

  Brother Ass’s weeping gradually subsided. The two priests watched him without speaking, feeling only the pounding of their own hearts.

  “Her hands were crossed over her breasts. The women cut off little locks of her hair for keepsakes. They laid bunches of herbs around her neck and throat. Peter and John approached the body in their mantles. John carried the vessel of oil with which Peter anointed her forehead, hands and feet with the sign of the cross. Then the women shrouded her in the winding sheet, leaving only her face exposed, restored to the beauty and freshness of its youth. She is no longer old, we said. They placed a wreath of flowers on her head and laid a veil over her face.”

  “Brother,” said the prior, reaching forward, shaking Brother Ass by the arm, “wake up.”

  “I am awake.”

  Elijah gently pulled the prior’s arm away and whispered, “Leave him. The Lord is showing us something.”

  “The body was so light. She was like a child in our arms. We heard her voice in our minds, I sleep but my heart is awake. I sleep but my heart is awake. Then we knew that though her body rested in the sleep of death, awaiting the Last Day, her soul was in Paradise. The body was laid in a box of white wood and the lid bound over it with leather straps. The men lifted it into a long straw basket shaped like a trough. On this litter, they carried her, six of the Gospel-Bearers, the ones who had walked with the Lord. They carried her in procession from the house, accompanied by the women. We all cried, but we sang in our tears. We did not wail as the pagans do. We praised the Father of All as we went up that hard road above the house. Along that path we walked the way of the cross which the mother had made for her prayers in remembrance of Jerusalem. At each place we stopped and kissed the crosses that John had scratched in the stones. The fall, the meeting, the place of Simon, the veil of Veronica, and the place of humiliation where they tore the garments from Jesus for all the world to see; then the nailing. Finally, at the memorial place of the Lord’s death, we knelt. The Mother’s body rested on the stones while we waited. Then Peter got up first and led us the rest of the way.”

  Brother Ass became silent, lost within the vision. The two other men offered no prompting.

  “When we came to the grotto in the hills, four of the apostles carried the box inside the tomb and laid her on the stone bed. All of us went in, one by one, and knelt praying before the holy body, honoring it, taking leave of it for the last time. Then the stone was rolled over the entrance, and we departed.

  “The following day Thomas came among us, accompanied by Jonathan Eliazar and a brown man from the lands bey
ond Persia. We gathered around them and told them. When Thomas heard that the Virgin was already buried, he wept with an astonishing abundance of tears and loud cries. He threw himself onto the floor beside the bed where she had died and could not seem to forgive himself for coming late. John consoled him. It is in the Lord’s plan, he said, none of this is outside of the will of the Father. Then Thomas got up and knelt in front of the altar in Mary’s bedchamber. After that, the elders took him up the hill in the dark, for he begged to see her face one last time. They bent the shrubs back and rolled away the stone. Thomas, John, Eliazar and the brown man went inside. They opened the lid of the coffin and behold it was empty.

  “John cried out, She is no longer here! The rest of us ran in, saw, wept, prayed and lifted our arms to the heavens. The Lord has raised her up, body and soul! cried Lucanus. We gathered the grave linens and the coffin to keep as relics and returned to the house by the Holy Way, praying and singing psalms.”

  Brother Ass opened his eye. A smile of surpassing sweetness spread across his face, and he beamed at the two priests.

  “She is very beautiful”, he said.

  “Elijah,” whispered the prior, “we are in the tomb of the Virgin.”

  “She is so good”, said Brother Ass, and lay down again. He closed his eye and fell asleep.

  The prior looked at Elijah and exhaled. Then he too closed his eyes in a spirit of recollection. They remained without moving for a time beyond measure, resting in a seamless peace. Later, a beam of golden light slipped through the entrance and moved across the floor.

  Elijah roused the others.

  “The sun is setting. We must return to the house now.”

  They went out and returned to the hut in the gorge by the way they had come, none of them speaking, each of them held within a current of joy suffused with awe.

  * * *

  Elijah was awakened in the middle of the night by a sound of wind in the branches of the almond and terebinth. He got up and went outside to look at the stars. A large orange star passed to the east, falling slowly, fizzling out near the horizon, followed seconds later by a bright blue one, smaller and swifter.

  He went back inside and knelt before the tabernacle. He remained motionless, praying hour after hour. He tried to recollect himself, but found it difficult to keep his thoughts focused. He was exhausted, of course, and this aggravated the distractions and weakened his will. The glow of the vision of the cave remained, but it was fading. Why was it no longer enough, when only hours ago it had seemed that nothing in this world or in the spiritual realms could tear it from him. The joy seemed to he seeping slowly out of some unknown fissure. Many thoughts coursed through his mind. He reminded himself of the sweet fire that leapt down to the hearts that would receive it. Once, nineteen hundred years ago, a group of men and women had believed in it. They had tasted it, and the world was changed forever.