Traditions of Palestine/Behold Thy Son!/
BEHOLD THY SON!
“Mourn, O thou most desolate! for there is no sorrow like unto thine. Yet when thou weepest, let my tears mingle with thine. Send me not from thee, for shall not the son speak comfort unto his mother? My hand shall uphold thine age, and lay thee in the sepulchre of thy fathers.”
“Call me not mother. As a mother, I was blessed among women: as a mother, I shall rejoice no more.”
“Nay; but remember who sanctified me unto thee as a son, saying, ‘Behold thy mother!’—And herein shall we yet have comfort. Now, thy soul is wrung with grief, and I also fear to meet men lest the bitterness of my spirit should break forth. But this bitterness shall pass away: and then will we speak of the things wherein we have rejoiced. In the night-watches will we ponder his words: in the temple we will look on those whom he hath healed and taught: and beneath the palms will we sit and gaze upon his sepulchre.”
“In the temple will I appear no more, lest I hear him in whom I have gloried scoffed at, and his cross derided. Here will I sit in darkness, till death shall hide me. Yet here my sorrow is greater than I can bear.”
So spake Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she lay on a couch in an inner apartment, where none came unto her but John, who was as her son. She hid her face in her robe as she spake, for unto none could she lift up those eyes which were swollen with weeping; and not even John might behold in her face her struggles with despair. Until now, no word had passed her lips since the hour when she left the foot of the cross. The sabbath had passed, and she knew it not; and now, when the first day of the week had dawned, her eyes were yet sleepless, and her troubled spirit found no peace. Yet he who sat at her feet was cheered because her grief found words, and he trusted that the hour of rest was at hand.
“Thou art as a wandering bird cast out of the nest,” he said. “Thou canst find no shelter, and thy spirit fluttereth on the earth. But no foot shall trample on thee; for have I not taken thee unto my bosom? There I will cherish thee, and thou shalt be at rest.”
“There, if ever,” replied Mary: “for none knoweth as thou how great cause I had for hope and for glory. Call me not proud that I glory even now; and, O my son! marvel not that I ask if there is yet hope. Of none but thee do I ask; but,—rememberest thou certain of his words which none could understand?”
She raised herself on the couch, but again sank down when the disciple sighed, saying,
“Alas! what hope?”
“I know not. Well I know that his sepulchre is sealed, and that we shall behold him no more; but in his name may not glory arise to our nation? I would still my grief, if our people rejoiced through him; I would go into the synagogue and the temple to hear men give thanks unto Jehovah concerning him.”
“His works live after him,” replied John, “and the remembrance of them shall never die; but he is with our fathers. He shall no more come to us, but when we depart, we shall see his glory, even as we trusted to behold it here. He went not, like Elijah, in a chariot of fire; but did not angels bear away his spirit, when the darkness vanished at the ninth hour, even as the shadows flee on the wings of the morning? We know not.—And is he not a chief among the spirits of the dead, a being above the beings of the earth? Is not Hades moved before him to honour him? Do not the ancient princes of our nation even now bow unto him? Doth not Elijah go before him, and David rejoice to behold him, and Abraham make a place for him more exalted than his own? There shalt thou glory in thy beloved one, and see that he is a greater prophet than Jonas, wiser than Solomon, and holier than our Father Abraham.”
“Would that he himself could return but for one hour, and tell me of these things!” said Mary. “Thou hast seen him like unto a spirit, treading the waters in a storm; thou hast beheld him clothed in light brighter than the sun at noon-day; thou hast heard a voice from the firmament like unto thunder. O that such a voice would speak to mine ears of him, that such a light would come to me in the night-seasons!”
While she spake, some one who sought the disciple was heard calling him. John arose and went out, and Mary, whose spirit was now soothed, sank down to sleep.
Her sleep was calm, and it was midday ere she was awakened by some one whispering her name. She unclosed her eyes. The beloved disciple kneeled beside her couch, and lo! his countenance was radiant with joy, as if a light from heaven shined upon it.
“Is there joy for thee and me?” she cried.
He answered not, but pointed where one stood, who gazed upon them with a smile such as mortal eyes had never yet seen.
When Mary saw that it was Jesus, she believed that her sleep had been the sleep of death, and that the Holy One was about to lead her to the throne of Jehovah. Her burden of grief was cast away, and she felt as a spirit, while she looked for light which a spirit alone can behold, and hearkened for that voice which none but a spirit can hear and live.
Pilate, the Roman governor, held his tribunal in the court of his palace on the first day of the week, after Jesus had been crucified. As be sat on the judgment-seat, his countenance was troubled, and he looked weary like one who had not slept. His guard surrounded him, and the multitude applauded his judgments; but his thoughts were not fixed on the things which he saw and spoke. While he conferred with some who sat near, whose counsel he needed, his wandering eye perceived that a messenger had entered the court, and was speaking with one of the soldiers. Pilate instantly beckoned to the man to approach, and bent to listen to the tidings he brought. On hearing them the governor started as if a sudden pang had shot through him, and rose to depart, declaring his will that the assembly should disperse. He retired to an apartment of his palace, where he examined him who had said that the body of Jesus had disappeared from the sepulchre. Orders were sent for the guard who had watched beside it to repair to the palace without delay; and till they could arrive, the governor paced to and fro in his hall, pondering the things which had been done within a few days. He had dismissed his attendants, as he wished to be alone; but his wife came to him to hear what rumour had disturbed him.
“Would I had listened to thee, Marcella!” said the governor. “I feared these factions Jews more than the gods; and now I dread their vengeance. But I knew not how great was my impiety. I thought Jesus was but an innocent man; but now I can scarcely doubt that he is a demi-god.”
“I believed so,” replied Marcella, “when my dream troubled me concerning this cause. What has happened to convince you, when I, your wife, spoke in vain?”
“The sepulchre is open, and the body is gone, though a guard was on the watch; how the entrance was closed and sealed I have told you already.”
“The guard might have slept.”
“To do so is death, as they know: and so many cannot have slept at once.”
“They may have been treacherous, and permitted the followers of this Jesus to steal the body.”
“For what purpose?”
“Nay, I might ask that of you. What do you suppose to have become of it, that you tremble as if his spirit had been seen?
“I suppose that the gods have removed it to some place where it may be honoured, and where my shame will be exposed. It will be well if I suffer no more from their vengeance; but I tremble when I think of the portents which alarmed the city when the cross was raised. There were more than I have allowed to be told in the palace. But see, the watch is come. Go in till I have learned the truth from them.”
The soldiers of the guard entered the hall, no strangers being allowed to follow. They related their tale to the governor, declaring that they had slept on guard, and that the disciples must have stolen the body. Pilate was astonished at the boldness with which they avowed a negligence whose penalty was death. On questioning them more closely, he discerned signs of fear, and detected various untruths in their story. Being utterly perplexed, he at length declared that every man of them should suffer death for neglect of duty, according to the Roman law. He summoned the guard without to enter and secure their comrades, one of whom ventured to hint that no good purpose would be answered by this severity.
An officer now sought an audience for certain of the Jewish elders. They were instantly admitted to a private conference, from which Pilate came forth with a countenance grave and full of care, to order that the guard should be released. Their comrades rejoiced, and made mirth of the fickleness of the governor.
In the guard-room, every one spoke of the recent events except the watch who had been at the sepulchre. They preserved a gloomy silence. Some wondered why Jesus had died within so few hours; but Lucius, the soldier who had pierced his side with a spear, told how warn he was with his previous sufferings; and his words were confirmed by some who had assisted in taking him down from the cross, and by others who had seen the body after it was swathed and laid on its cold couch in the sepulchre.
The centurion who had presided at the crucifixion sat apart, grave and silent, till Lucius inquired whether he had much intercourse with the Hebrews, and knew aught of their superstitions.
The centurion replied, that their superstitions were so little like any others that he had known, that he had inquired carefully concerning them.
“I have been in Egypt,” he said, “and seen what a stranger may see of the mysteries of their temples; I have beheld the worship of the nations round Judæa; and in Persia I have seen the priests feed the sacred fire, and heard the music which hails the rising of the sun: but none of these—no, nor the rites of Jupiter Olympus, are so grand as the worship of the Hebrews. When I have been on duty at the fort, I have listened to melodies so heart-thrilling, that I can almost believe what their teachers tell of the walls of a great city falling down at the blast of their trumpets. And their temple,—what a sight is there!”
“I have entered,” said Lucius, “as far as their law allows, and I am never weary of looking on it from a distance. When its golden roof blazes at sunrise, no one can tell which is the greatest, Apollo or the Hebrew God.”
“Before I left Rome,” said the centurion, “I heard that the Hebrew worship had mysteries like ours; but the people declare that though there is an apartment which they must not enter, they know what is done there by the High Priest.”
“They can now see for themselves,” replied Lucius, “if it be true, as I have heard, that the veil by which it was set apart was rent from the roof to the ground, when the man who called himself their king expired. Is it so; and did Jesus claim such a dignity?”
“I believe that he was the son of a god,” replied the centurion. “I doubted it not when I saw him die, and the events of this day have given me yet greater certainty.”
“Dost thou converse with any of his followers?” inquired Lucius. “They will tell us what has become of him, if the gods are indeed incensed against those who have killed him.”
“Some of his disciples I know, and I purpose to visit them when my time of watch has expired,” said the centurion. “But I scarcely know where I shall find them, for they dispersed themselves on the eve of their master’s death.”
“One was with him whom he loved,” said Lucius. “Didst thou not hear what he said to him from the cross?”
“I will seek him this night,” replied the centurion. “I have always held that men should worship according to the customs of the nation in which they dwell, and therefore I did not wonder that the Hebrews were incensed at one who desired to change their religion. I thought it dangerous to the empire that the Jews should have a king, and thus I justified his death. But when the gods interpose in earthquakes and in darkness at noon-day, it becomes us to obey the will which they so clearly interpret. I will not be satisfied till I know from the Jews themselves what Jesus has said and done; for no Roman, not the governor himself, understands who he was, or what he ought to have become.”
Before the centurion’s time for going forth had arrived, he received orders from Pilate to enter the city, and discover, if possible, what had become of the body of Jesus. This order suited well with the soldier’s purpose of seeking out the disciple John; and as soon as he had set the evening watch, he departed, with Lucius for his companion, towards the abode where the followers of Jesus were known to assemble.
There were they met together this night. Those who had fled in terror from Gethsemane assembled in the city to bewail the destruction of their hope. Their grief was now changed to perplexity; for some brought tidings too marvellous to be believed, yet too distinct and frequent to be scorned. But a few hours ago, all wept together; now, some still mourned; but others rejoiced with exceeding joy; and many were in doubt, and conferred together how these things could be. The gate of the house was close shut, and two disciples sat in the porch to keep watch against the enmity of the rulers. They discoursed together as they sat.
“Did some suppose that he had committed crime because he spake compassionately to a thief?” said Paltiel.
“Some of the soldiers so believed,” replied Sadoc; “but his followers know too well his custom in this matter to marvel at any words of love that he ever spoke. We heard how Mary’s sins were pardoned because she loved much; and we saw how he chose the house of Zaccheus for his abode, and how he had compassion on Iscariot, even while he knew his evil intents.”
“I well remember the night when the miserable man lay in the bosom of Jesus at the evening meal,” said Paltiel. “We talked of the honours for which we looked in the kingdom of the Christ. Iscariot desired the wealth and power of a prince; but the Master said, that he who would be greatest, must be least: and he looked on Iscariot and sighed. I marvel not, therefore, that he gave hope unto the thief; for unto such as repent, he ever spoke peace, and unto all he bore love.”
“When shall we be long-suffering as our Master?” said Sadoc. “Some even among us are offended that the thief should have hope of Paradise.”
“It becometh not us to talk proudly,” said Paltiel; “for if we account strictly one with another, who shall be clear? Hath it not been heard how some who had sworn to abide with the Prophet for ever, were afar off when he needed help; how others, who had resolved to die with him, fled when danger appeared? The love which should have prevailed over the desires and fears of the spirit hath waxed cold among us. Not such was the love of Jesus. Even now, if he were here, he would look tenderly on us all; for he knoweth the heart of man, and hath compassion.”
A sob of anguish here broke in upon the discourse. Simon had withdrawn from the upper chamber, and now stood without the porch. The words of Paltiel had moved his soul.
In one of the apartments, supper was spread; and around the board were many disciples who disputed concerning what had been seen in the garden of Joseph that morning. They believed not the women, nor John, nor Simon, nor the men who had returned from Emmaus with tidings of Jesus.
These two sat apart with John and the mother of the Prophet, to whom they opened what had been told them concerning the Messiah and his kingdom. Mary listened in settled peace. Her spirit fluttered no more in grief or joy. Her countenance was wasted, but the calm light of her eye shewed that a steadfast hope had been kindled within. The women, and the gentle disciple who had been faithful, were they who now rejoiced; while such as had been bold in discourse and terrified by danger, were tossed in mind.
The light from the lamp in the midst fell on faces which were alive with the thoughts of the mind, and the yearnings of the spirit. Some doubted, some were afraid, others were angry; but none of them that sat at meat believed. Yet their contention was not loud; for they still feared, and their voices were low, though their speech was eager. They who sat in the porch heard but the whispers of many tongues. After a while, these whispers ceased, and all was still, as if death had stricken the assembly. Then arose a single voice; and they who had often heard it in this place rushed from the porch to behold whence it came. Jesus was in the upper chamber, in the midst of those who bowed the head while he rebuked their unbelief.
Mary still sat afar off, not in fear or in shame, for she had believed; but in awe of him whom death had given back, and Jehovah had sanctified. She raised not her eyes till she heard the tread of heavy steps in the antichamber. She looked up and saw through the open portal the gleaming armour of soldiers and the plumes of a helmet. Then she sprang towards the Holy One, crying with a cry of anguish, “O, not again! not again! Lay not hands on my Son, my Son Jesus!”
The centurion waved his hand in sign of peace, as he stood in the doorway, and when Mary looked around, the Holy One had departed.
The centurion and Lucius had entered while the gate was left unwatched. They had knocked, but none regarded. When the disciple John knew wherefore they came, he went forth with them into the court, and told them whatsoever they would know. Their minds were prepared by the signs which they had beheld; and when they learned how long the Messiah had been looked for by kings and prophets and righteous men, they marvelled at the scoffing of the rulers, and the hardness of heart of the people. When the moonlight began to fade before the dawn, they proceeded towards the palace, musing as they went.
Pilate watched for their return. His spirit could find no rest while he knew not whether the sepulchre had been opened by the hand of man or of a god. With him waited some priests and Jewish teachers who proved to him out of their Scriptures that Jesus could not be the Messiah; and that, if not the Messiah, he must be an enemy to their faith and people.
When the centurion entered the apartment, the governor hastened to meet him, saying, “Hast thou learned what has become of the body, and who opened the sepulchre?”
“I have.”
“From his disciples?”
“From themselves, for who should know so well as they?”
Pilate rejoiced, and the priests smiled while they said,
“Tell us by whose hands the stone was moved, and by what contrivance the body was conveyed away, and whither it is gone. Speak; that the delusion of the people may be ended.”
The centurion calmly replied,
“Ye teach that your God once made a rock in the desert to open at the command of your lawgiver, Moses. A greater messenger from the same deity has this day laid open the cave in the garden. We are told, O Governor! that a body of clay was once animated by the fire of Jove. By fire from heaven hath the dead body been this day vivified and warmed. Do ye ask where it is? It is at hand. Jesus has visited his disciples, and he may visit you also. If ye had reason and law for killing him, it is well: but prepare your pleading, for he may appear on yonder judgment-seat before ye are aware.”
While he spoke, Pilate sank down upon a couch; and they that were with him asked no further question, but, one by one, departed.