by Paul L Maier
“Exactly. And yet decisions by the council will have major importance for all of Christendom since most of the world’s Christian church bodies will be represented.”
“True enough. Well, it looks like you’ll be busy again with the invitation list, no?”
“You’ve got that right, but using the list for Vatican III as a template should be helpful.”
Jon thought for a moment. “Wait, it should really be easier, right? Last time the heads of state and many others came to Vatican III. This time it’ll be only churchmen and scholars, right?”
“Right. And of course, you’ll be there, Jon, won’t you? And Shannon?”
“We haven’t been invited…”
“You are now, you blazing buffoon! Oh, and a personal message from His Holiness: in the name of the See of Rome and all over whom he has supervision, Benedict extends profound thanks to you and Shannon.”
“And our greetings, no, blessings to him!”
“By the way, it’s looking good for opening the Canon, so far as Catholics are concerned. I haven’t heard much negative flak, even from our rigorists.”
“Wow! That’s a happy surprise. And the Eastern Church seems favorably disposed too.”
“So! Do you really think our Bible will expand just a bit?”
“That, my friend, is for the Ecumenical Council of Jerusalem to decide.”
Jon and Shannon flew to Israel a week before the Jerusalem Council was set to begin. One reason for their early arrival was to take a nostalgic excursion. Their “sacred romance,” as they called it, had unfolded in the Holy Land. Here they had first met one another-she, the daughter of the famed British archaeologist Austin Balfour Jennings, and he, the Harvard prof on sabbatical who stumbled onto something at their dig that merely set the entire world on edge.
They rented a car at Ben Gurion International Airport and drove north along the Mediterranean coastlands to the Megiddo Pass, thence, over the hills of Nazareth to their favorite haunt in Israel, the seaside city of Tiberias. It was along the western shore of the Sea of Galilee at Tiberias that the two had finally unveiled their feelings for one another. Several months earlier, they had fallen in love, but neither dared reveal that wondrous secret to the other. Jon was more timid about it than Shannon, who asked him for their first hug one evening after dinner when they were taking a moonlight swim in that immortal lake. The explosive joy suffusing Jon when they kissed rapturously after that first hug he later called “one of the greatest moments in my life.”
Again they rented a sailboat and plied the very waters that Jesus had so masterfully controlled in calming waves or making them buoyant enough to serve as his personal sidewalk. Again they roared over the memory of a boatload of pilgrims ogling them as they were making out while becalmed in the middle of the Sea. Again they scampered across the waterfalls at the head of the Jordan up at Caesarea Philippi. What a blessing was Galilee at the time of Jesus-what a blessing now to Jonathan and Shannon Weber.
The Ecumenical Council of Jerusalem became a world event almost from the start. Its festive opening took place inside the holiest shrine of Christendom: the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Old City of Jerusalem. This was the very Golgotha where Jesus was crucified but then resurrected from the nearby tomb situated under the great rotunda at the western end of the sanctuary.
“All this may be sacred,” Shannon remarked to Jon, “but what I’d love to see here instead would be the open hillock of Golgotha and a tomb with a rolling stone as a door.”
“You don’t go for all the candles and lanterns and icons and incense, I take it?”
“The endless crowds and the hubbub don’t help either. But I’ve finally learned to control my disappointment.”
“What’s your formula?”
“I just shut my eyes and realize that in terms of longitude and latitude on earth, this is where it all happened.”
“Otherwise it could get to you,” he agreed. “And it’s hard to believe that a Muslim is the warden here with the keys, to keep peace between Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox. Some centuries ago, they actually shed blood over the boundaries of their separate enclaves inside the church.”
“Let’s hope that’s history now.”
They hurried over to the central nave of the church for the opening service of the ecumenical council, from which the army of pilgrims had temporarily been excluded in view of the equal host of churchmen filing inside. What impressed Jon and Shannon the most, however, was not the magnificent sacred music and solemn liturgy that followed, but the moment when the Ecumenical Patriarch and the Bishop of Rome embraced publicly and sincerely. This was not a simple Bartholomew-meet-Benedict formality, they knew, but a very powerful and moving symbol of reconciliation after centuries of hostility. The three thousand church leaders present shouted hosanna s and applauded wildly.
As a further exercise in ecumenicity, several of the council worships would also be held in the beautiful white interior of Redeemer Lutheran Church in the Old City-the church nearest Golgotha-as well as at St. George’s Episcopal Cathedral at the northeastern edge of Jerusalem.
“I asked Kevin how he ever brought that off,” Jon commented to Shannon.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Orthodox and Roman Catholics worshiping in a Protestant church-when they’re quite sure they’re not part of the true church?”
“What did Kevin say?”
“That both Benedict and Bartholomew agreed on the arrangement because it would be ‘an irenic gesture to the separated brethren.’ But he had a little more trouble convincing the other Protestants that Anglican and Lutheran sanctuaries, as those of the two largest Protestant denominations, would have to represent all Protestants. Still, they finally agreed.”
“It’s a new era, Jon.”
Jon and Shannon spent most of their time in the Holy City attending sessions of the Ecumenical Council. These were held at the National Convention Center in West Jerusalem, wired as it was for simultaneous language translations and the latest in media technology, including electronic voting.
In the interests of balance and fairness, the council was chaired on alternate days by the Ecumenical Patriarch and the Pope. Voting delegates, all of whom were the highest officers of their respective church bodies, were allotted in terms of percentage of world Christian church membership size, which yielded the following results for the 2,800 delegates: 1,390 Roman Catholics 352 Eastern Orthodox 236 Anglican 232 Lutheran 590 other Protestants
To prevent Roman Catholicism from controlling the conclave, however, it was agreed that for the great issues at the council, passage of a measure would have to be approved by no less than three-quarters of the delegates, a true super-majority. This was also designed to showcase Christian unity, if possible.
“Our paragon example here,” Jon told Shannon, “was the Council of Nicaea in 325, where they decided the greatest issue by a vote of 312 to 2.”
“Not exactly a cliff-hanger.”
“Right. No hanging chads.”
Shannon grew serious and asked, “Jon, tell me true: how do you rate our chances? We hear a lot of threats and saber rattling from the far right, also in the Catholic and Orthodox camps…”
“True. They also have their rigorists who’ve been condemning the council in advance for admitting Protestants. ‘They’re not part of Christ’s true church on earth,’ they scream.”
Shannon started chuckling. “But that claim doesn’t get very far, since that’s the very same thing Catholics say about Orthodox and vice versa.”
“Exactly. I’m more concerned that all the fundamentalists-Protestant, Catholic, or Orthodox-are uniting on the slogan Don’t break God’s Word by tearing the Bible open! They seem to be raising a rage with it in the media. It’s catchy, but simplistic and wrongheaded.”
“And yet you and Kevin always seem so upbeat about the possibilities of success.”
“I know. That could be a big mistake, though I do have one re
ason for hope: the ultras-right or left wing-rarely get elected to leadership posts in their church bodies, and it’s the leaders who are delegates here.”
“Speaking of which, here they come.”
It was quite a sight indeed. Filing into the convention hall were two popes/patriarchs-actually, three, since Coptic Pope Shenouda III was there-a variety of cardinals, archbishops, bishops, metropolitans, archimandrites, abbots, moderators, presbyters, presidents, and other colorful names of Christian magistrates. If their offices had different titles, so did their apparel, which ranged from pure white for the Bishop of Rome and pure black for the Ecumenical Patriarch to every variety of color and style in between, with the African delegates taking the prize for showing every tint in the rainbow. Some of the churchmen were hirsute, others bald by nature or intention. Some were bearded, others clean-shaven.
“I haven’t seen such variety since the UN in New York,” Shannon observed.
“Too bad we’re only observers here, Shannon. Otherwise we could have joined the parade.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He merely grinned.
The Council of Jerusalem did not take on the issue of the Canon until later. First there were some animated preliminaries, since the rare opportunity to solve problems affecting all of Christendom could not be missed. It took an entire week of debate before Roman Catholic and Lutheran bishops admitted that they misnumbered the Ten Commandments and finally abandoned St. Augustine’s mistake in parking the true second commandment against idolatry under the first.
“Remember, Shannon, he was afraid that the ‘You shall make no image or likeness’ commandment would ruin art among Christians as it had among Jews,” Jon commented, “when idolatry was the only issue in play here.”
“I do know my church history, Jon,” she replied, affecting a pout that quickly changed to a grin. “So now Augustine has only nine commandments instead of ten. What does he do? He takes the least offensive commandment-coveting-and cuts into two for nine and ten.”
Jon breathed a sigh of relief. “From now on, the whole Christian world can agree that ‘Don’t kill’ is number six, and ‘No adultery’ is number seven.”
Then another great concession was made-this time from Eastern Orthodoxy. While the Council of Nicaea had agreed that Easter should be celebrated on a day -Sunday-rather than on a date -as in the case of Christmas, Eastern and Western Christendom still rarely celebrated the Festival of the Resurrection together. Why? The Eastern church still used the old Julian calendar, whereas the West adopted the Gregorian ever since 1582. The council agreed on the latter but changed the name to the “Common Calendar,” since Gregory was a Western pope.
“Hard to believe,” Shannon said, “but when to celebrate Easter almost split the early church. Now there’s even talk of making the first Sunday in April the universal time to celebrate the Resurrection.”
Jon nodded. “It’s a really excellent idea, but I think it’s going to be tabled for a future council to decide. They’re hanging on to the rules for when Jews celebrate the Passover.”
And finally the Council of Jerusalem turned to matters canonical. No longer would Jon and Shannon be passive observers.
The debates were long and, at times, impassioned, but they largely stayed on track. Both Shannon and Jon were asked to testify in detail as to their discovery of the Constantine Codex.
Before Shannon stepped up to the dais, she asked him, “Is this really happening, Jon? My addressing the council?”
“History is being made at this very moment, my darling. A woman has never before addressed a church council, and it’s high time.”
“I’m… just a bit nervous.”
“Don’t be, sweetheart. Break a leg! Just be yourself and tell it like it was.”
Shannon did just that. Jon was never more proud of her, as she once again recounted the chain of events that began with the dig at Pella. She was poised, confident, and convincing. Knowing that there were a few misogynists at the council, Jon mused, I’ll bet they’re shocked that a woman could even bring this off.
When it came to his turn, Jon continued the improbable story of the Constantine Codex but never made any recommendations as to its canonicity. He even applauded the Vatican for “discovering” the remains of St. Paul without tying this into the codex. His objectivity was obvious, although everyone could read between the lines.
His testimony was followed by that of Christianity’s most authoritative Greek manuscript scholars. When their opinions were added to the scientific evidence, the debate over the authenticity of the codex concluded rather quickly.
As Jon and Shannon left the convention hall that afternoon, Katie Couric of CBS News buttonholed them and asked, “It looks rather good for opening the Canon, doesn’t it, Professor Weber?”
Jon shook his head. “Authenticity of the codex is one thing, but including the new material in the Canon is quite another.”
“Do you mean that the council, after all this evidence, might still vote against including the last of Mark and Second Acts in the Canon?”
“That’s exactly what they might do.”
The date was July 10. The time was 3 p.m. Every argument on both sides of the issue had been aired. A few church magnates, known to be garrulous, tried to extend debate so that their set speeches would also be included in the official record of the council. That prompted Shannon’s whisper to Jon, “Everything’s been said, but not everyone has said it.”
Jon chuckled, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “Oh, oh,” he murmured, “I wonder if that’s ever been done before at an ecumenical council?”
She grinned and tickled his ribs. “Or that either.”
Now, by a vast majority vote, the council voted to end further discussion. All knew what would come next. A hush of silence filled the vast hall. The atmosphere was electric with expectation. Jon and Shannon clutched hands.
His All Holiness Bartholomew II now stood and led the entire council in a solemn prayer, invoking God the Holy Spirit to guide their vote. Then he announced solemnly, “My colleagues in Christ, if it is your sacred conviction that the newly discovered ending to the Gospel of Mark should be regarded as valid by the church and added to the canonical Gospel of Mark after chapter 16, verse 8, then please vote Yes on your keypads. If not, vote No. Please vote… now!”
On a giant computer screen hanging over the dais, the data came on slowly. The first image on the screen gave the statistic: “Of 2,797 votes cast, 2,790 are valid.”
“Why’s that?” Shannon asked Jon, in a whisper. “What about the other seven?”
“Seven delegates probably pressed both yes and no. Or they tried to change their vote.”
“Oh.”
Endless moments seemed to pass. The screen remained dark. All Jon and Shannon’s efforts over the past months-the whole extraordinary odyssey-was now compressed into electronics that would fire pixels on a screen declaring their success or failure. Jon’s grip on Shannon’s hand tightened even more.
Suddenly the screen came alive. To the left was a tall green column, showing 2,694 votes in favor. On the right side was a very low graph in red, showing only 96 negative votes. Jon and Shannon embraced each other in tears. The convention center erupted in deafening applause and cheering.
When Bartholomew finally reestablished order, he said, “The Holy Spirit has indeed spoken through you, my beloved colleagues. I prayed that this would be your decision! I now turn the gavel over to my most esteemed brother in Christ, the Bishop of Rome.”
Jon wiped his eyes and whispered, “The next vote is still in doubt, darling. The Mark ending doesn’t really open the Canon. Second Acts will.”
She nodded. “They could call Mark’s a textual variant. Well, half a loaf is better than none.”
Benedict XVI stood and also solemnly invoked the Holy Spirit to guide their decision. Then he announced, “My colleagues in Christ, if it is your sacred conviction that the newly discovered Third Treatise to
Theophilus, popularly known as Second Acts, should be regarded as valid and added to the canon of the New Testament following the canonical book of Acts, please vote Yes on your keypad. If not, vote No. Please vote… now.”
Again Jon and Shannon were taut with tension. For some reason, the phrase “You win some; you lose some” flitted across his mind, causing his heart to pound.
Again the huge screen came to life and reported, “Of 2,794 votes cast, 2,794 are valid.”
“Looks like they all got it right this time,” Jon whispered.
“But there are three fewer votes. Wonder what happened…”
“Three delegates probably had to go to the john,” he responded.
“Happens,” she chuckled, grateful for a wisp of humor to relieve their anxiety.
Again it seemed an eternity, waiting for the screen to return to life. Shannon had closed her eyes. Jon assumed she was probably in prayer to a God who could intervene even in electronics if it came to that. Their clasped hands showed knuckles in white.
The screen flashed on. Two graph columns again materialized. To the left stood a tall green column that registered 2,665 votes in favor, and to the right its stubby red neighbor with only 129 votes.
Jon grabbed Shannon in a crushing hug. Thunderous applause and boisterous cheering followed. Benedict indulged it all for several minutes before banging his gavel, fruitlessly. Again, it was a super-super-majority.
A new page had been turned in the history of Christianity. Its Holy Bible now had sixty-seven books rather than sixty-six.
Now the entire Ecumenical Council rose and joined in singing the Common Doxology in dozens of different languages, though with the same melody: Praise God from Whom all blessings flow, Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
Although Jon and Shannon had sung the familiar verse hundreds of times, it never carried more meaning for them than at the present moment. Tears filled their eyes and everyone else’s as well. The profound unity in diversity among Christians at the council, they hoped, would serve as a model for the future.