Great Lion of God

by Taylor Caldwell

  Even the somber Saul was not indifferent, however he tried, to the wide generosity of the day and of living. He sat in a large car with four black horses, the loan of Joseph of Arimathaea, who was accompanying him to the Joppa Gate. There, Joseph would leave him in the car, for the journey to Caesarea, where his ship awaited to bear him to Tarsus.

  Joseph, these days, appeared filled with the spirit of excitement and expectation, which mystified Saul. Joseph did not explain. But there was a vast perceptible joy in him, and a brightness of countenance, as though he had heard wondrous news. He did not confide in Saul. He saw Saul rarely now, for the younger man gave the impression of constant retreat, even from his few friends.

  As they approached the walls of the Temple—which shone like a huge golden mirage in the sun, domes and spires and towers aflame—they saw a large crowd in the street. Roman soldiers stood idly on the periphery, indolent in the summer warmth, their thumbs tucked in their leather girdles, their bare legs spread far apart. The crowd was unusually quiet, not vehement and laughing as usual as when something out of the ordinary attracted them. Joseph held up his hand to the driver of the car and the man drew in the horses. Joseph said to Saul with quiet command, “Come, and hear.”

  Wondering, Saul alighted with him, drawing about his shoulders his plain woolen cloak and walking in his rough sandals. Joseph gently touched a shoulder, and the owner turned—to stare at the rich gentleman in his fine clothing and the slave who followed him, red of hair and hard of lip and angular of jaw. Then the man moved respectfully aside, and another and another and another, until Joseph and Saul, unchallenged, reached the inner edge of the crowd.

  In the very center of the broad Roman street stood the stranger Saul remembered, the rude Nazarene with his fair locks and fair beard, broad muscular shoulders and large blue eyes. He wore no cloak. His robe was of coarse gray cloth, his feet as humbly shod as Saul’s. His arms were bare and strong, and so was his sun-burned throat. Saul winced at the sight of this blasphemer, the man Aristo had claimed had cured his friend, Telis, nearly a year ago, through some dark sorcery—if indeed Telis had been cured at all. This was the man whom the wild Jochanan had heralded, it was rumored—the Essene the Greeks now called John the Baptist, newly dead, having rid the world of reason of his incoherent presence. (Saul could not, himself, understand his own burning aversion and inexplicable rage at the memory of that day in the desert when Jochanan had so misinterpreted the prophecies, nor the fact that these emotions increased on every recall.)

  There was a small gathering of Pharisees at the edge of the inner crowd, conspicuous by their blue fringes, and a few litters containing—it was evident—some delicate Scribes, the men of “pure mind” whom Rabban Gamaliel so excoriated. They were listening to the Nazarene intently, the Pharisees with vexed faces, the Scribes with faintly amused smiles. They held kerchiefs to their thin noses and inhaled the perfume, as if the Nazarene had an offensive odor. What interested Saul for a second or two was not the Nazarene but the tolerance of the Pharisees, those pious and learned men, and the Scribes, who considered themselves learned. Why should they listen to this unlettered peasant from the provinces, even for a single moment?

  Then Saul was caught by the Nazarene’s expression. It was not gentle now, nor compassionate and mysterious, as it had been on that dreadful day of the crucifixion of the Essenes and the Zealots, nor was his countenance as sadly benign as it had appeared when Saul had first seen him, so many years ago. Saul was struck by the fact that though this man must be well within his fourth decade be appeared as young as he had appeared over twelve years ago.

  His face, strong and manly, expressed at this time both anger and contempt and disgust, and the hands that swung at his sides were clenched. His blue eyes sparked and glowed. He was gazing at the Pharisees and the exquisite Scribes, and the crowd was listening with silent pleasure. It was evident that the Nazarene had been addressing the Pharisees and the Scribes in undisciplined language.

  The Nazarene had begun to speak again and his pale cheeks suddenly flushed and his voice was loud and passionate in the sunny quiet, in that clarity of morning light. It was also—as Saul suddenly remembered from before—like muted thunder, and no one stirred, not even the affronted Pharisees nor the sneering Scribes.

  “Woe unto you, Pharisees, for you love the uppermost seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the markets! You tithe mint and rue and all manner of herbs, and pass over judgment and the love of God!”

  “Not to be endured!” said Saul to Joseph, who did not turn to him and who seemed fascinated by the Nazarene. But Joseph laid a quelling hand on his arm and Saul fumed, and listened again. The crowd had begun to chuckle with approval, and was glancing slyly at the Pharisees and the Scribes.

  It was incredible to Saul that the Pharisees did not turn away with contempt and why the Scribes did not order their litter-bearers to run down this man who threw such remarks into their faces.

  The Nazarene captured the Pharisees’ eyes—as it were—within the rims of his own fervent eyes, condemning them—they the pious who held only to the Book and the Law, and the Scribes—who honored only men who thought and did not regard those who labored worthy of civilized consideration. It was strange to Saul that the Pharisees, who despised the Scribes, as the Scribes despised them in turn, should stand shoulder to shoulder together, as if they were friends and allies, while this man hurled epithets against them both. But what was that rude Aramaic saying: “When you need a thief to catch a thief, you cut the rope.” It was apparent that the Pharisees and the Scribes had this in mind in some form.

  The Nazarene spoke in Aramaic and Saul reluctantly had to admit that he gave the ‘language of the people” both eloquence and power, and his look was authority and there was a curious gleaming on his brow.

  “Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are as graves which do not appear to be graves, and men walk over them not aware of them! Woe unto you also, you lawyers, for you put burdens on men too grievous to be borne, and you, yourselves touch not the burdens with one of your fingers!” His eye now fell on a group of taxgatherers among the lawyers present, and his chest swelled and his throat enlarged, and Saul felt his first approval. For the lawyers were the friends and supporters of the taxgatherers and invariably, in the courts, stood with them against the despairing petitioners, and were often taxgatherers, themselves.

  “You build the sepulchers of the prophets, and your fathers killed them—Woe unto you, lawyers, for you have taken away the key of knowledge. You did not enter in, yourselves, and you hindered those who desired to enter!”

  He turned to the people now and cried, “And I say to you, my friends: Be not afraid of them that kill the body! They can do no more but that! But fear him, who, after killing the body has power to cast into hell. Yes, I say to you: Fear him.”

  A veil of lighted mist floated before Saul’s eyes and he heard the sudden rising and furious beat of his heart, and he was afraid, fearing one of his infrequent seizures. But he did not tremble, as before a seizure, nor did sweat break out upon his forehead nor did his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. Rather, he experienced as one experiences in a dream, remote yet imminent, strange yet familiar. He heard the Nazarene speaking, in that haze of illumination, yet he did not hear the actual words until the last roared in upon him:

  “When they bring you into the synagogues and before magistrates and powers, take you no thought how or what thing you shall answer, nor what you shall say! For the Holy Spirit shall teach you in the same hour what you ought to say.”

  The Nazarene had spoken in plain Aramaic, and there was no language plainer. Yet, of a sudden, it came to Saul that he spoke in mysteries, which needed a key, and which could not be understood in a single moment or even after pondering. Saul knew that Jews had such a way of speaking, especially these poor, sore-footed street rabbis, so it was not new to him. But it was obvious that this Nazarene meant that only the Spirit of God could solve mys
teries and not a learned man of great repute—no, not even Rabban Gamaliel, one of the Pharisees this peasant spoke of with such huge scorn.

  The silent Pharisees and Scribes still had not moved. Then a man in modest garb, and young, and bitter of face, approached the Nazarene, who turned at once and waited in courteous silence. The Nazarene was still breathing as one breathes who has been consumed by anger, but he was visibly controlling himself, and he bent his head to listen.

  The Pharisees exchanged a glance with each other, and moved closer to overhear the conversation. The young man gave them a murderous but servile glance, then turned solely to the Nazarene. He had begun to tremble; he made several efforts to speak, choked, then resumed:

  “Master, I know whereof you speak, for I have been rejected in a court presided over by a Pharisee magistrate. My older brother and I were the sole heirs of our father, may he rest in peace in the bosom of Abraham. My brother stole my portion. But my brother, who is a rascal and a thief, has a friend who is both a Pharisee and a magistrate, and my plea was brought before him. Master, I was robbed, my case was thrown out of court, and the Pharisee rebuked me, and my brother laughed in my face and spat at me! A great wrong has been done to me—under the law, which is corrupt. I pray of you, Rabbi, that you speak to my brother and persuade him to do me justice and restore that part of the inheritance which belongs to me.”

  The Nazarene regarded him and a mysterious look of both impatience and sorrow passed over his countenance. It was as if he had spoken long and eloquently and clearly, yet had not been understood. Yet, it was with gentleness that he spoke: “Man, who made me a judge or a divider over you? I have said it before and I say it again: My Kingdom is not of this world. Take heed and beware of covetousness, for a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of the things which he possesses.”

  When the man stared at him, uncomprehending, the Nazarene continued. “I am no divider of men.”

  The man is ambiguous and elusive and equivocal, thought Saul. At one moment he upbraids the lawyers and their taxgatherers, and calls them frightful epithets for their oppression of the people and their injustice. And then, on the other hand, he dismisses a poor man who has been dealt unjustly with in the courts and robbed of his inheritance! Are they not, in a measure, greatly the same?

  The Nazarene touched the young man affectionately on the shoulder and looked in his eyes and said, very softly, “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

  Saul glanced at Joseph, expecting amused speculation, but Joseph was gazing at the Nazarene as men gaze at the Veil in the Temple, which conceals the Holy of Holies, and his lips were quivering. Saul’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Surely Joseph of Arimathaea had discerned the specious fallacy in that Nazarene’s remarks, and his adroit moving away from the subject of justice?

  But Joseph was as one who had heard a Prophet and an angel of God, and Saul wondered if he had lost his wits.

  Then a Pharisee spoke, with a mockery of respect: “Rabbi, I am of poor intellect and you have baffled me. You have accused the lawyers of injustice and of burdens laid upon the oppressed—yet here, at hand, is a poor man so oppressed by his brother and a magistrate, and you tell him, ‘I am no divider of men!’ If there is a difference, I implore you to enlighten me.”

  The Nazarene understood instantly that he was being mocked, and the crowd eagerly awaited his response. He said, and he looked deeply into the Pharisee’s eye, “You have not understood because in your mind is only confusion, and you will not understand. I say to you, The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment.”

  Swift comprehension came to Saul as he heard this, and for an instant it was plain to him what this dusty Nazarene had meant, in the most subtle of fashions, and yet not subtle and even with a plainness. There was no ambiguity at all! Then, like a fog passing over a clear landscape full of light, comprehension departed from Saul and he was contemptuous and disgusted again, and in dimness.

  Several miserably clad men now gathered about the Nazarene, and Saul knew them for his disciples. All the poor street rabbis had such disciples, vagrant, hopeless yet hopeful men, pious, ignorant and meek, who longed for justice and the Messias. The Nazarene prepared to leave, then all at once he turned his great august head and looked directly at Saul, and something deeply blue and radiant shone in his eyes and he smiled. Then he was gone with his friends.

  Joseph said, “He knows you.”

  “Not at all!” exclaimed Saul. “I have seen him rarely, once in a marketplace when I was a youth, with one he called his mother, once more at the crucifixion of the Essenes, where you were also, and then in a dream. I have told you.” He was enraged again, as he had been before, and yet again he felt loss and sadness. He looked after the Nazarene, but he had disappeared in the surging crowds. “I have never exchanged a word with him. And why should such a word be exchanged? Who is he?”

  “You will know,” said Joseph of Arimathaea, as he had said so many years ago, and he would say no more. The Pharisees turned now to their friends, and the Scribes to theirs, and again they ignored the existence of the others.

  Saul looked about for the young man who had been dismissed by mere words, and he was astonished, for the young man was gazing after the Nazarene and his shaking lips were curved in a smile and it was as if he had seen a vision, and had heard celestial words, and he was strengthened and comforted. He, too, is mad, thought Saul.

  The hasty-tempered Saul had learned one hard lesson: When another man, arguing with you, speaks objectively and with temperance and coolness, and also with dispassionate reason, you can then both define acceptable terms and frames of reference, and the argument can proceed without animosity or heat or disorder, to mutual satisfaction and pleasure. But when a man argues solely from his inmost and emotional tempers, and is entangled, like the Laocoon, with his own passions from which he cannot extricate himself, you argue with him at your peril, for even if you lose the argument in a cauldron of steaming incoherences your opponent will hate you forever afterwards. The Scriptural father did not so resent the rape and seizure of his daughter and the flight with her as he did the theft of his household pieties, for had he not said, “You have taken away my gods?” Take all from a man and he will forgive you. Take from him his sentimentalities and his unreasonable convictions and you have an enemy for life.

  To call man a rational being is to arouse the ironic laughter of Heaven, thought Saul. So, as he had a deep respect and love for Joseph of Arimathaea he curbed his usually acerbic tongue and made no comment on the Nazarene, the thought of whom made him more and more irritable. (Joseph of Arimathaea was a Pharisee. How, then, could he have smiled so fatuously on the Nazarene’s attack on the Pharisees? What a fine example of irrationality!)

  The journey to Caesarea was uneventful and pleasant and Saul was careful to speak only of unimportant matters. He did not see Joseph’s half-hidden smile, nor did he know that Joseph understood. Joseph said, “It is unfortunate that your ship will not take you directly to Tarsus but will have to stop at one of the most easterly Greek islands. But the weather is fair and the sea is soft and gentle at this time of the year, and you will rest.”

  I never rest, thought Saul. Even in my sleep, I never rest. But forced a difficult smile in order to please his friend. Rabban Gamaliel had also recommended serenity and rest, and Saul had wondered at this, for the Rabban talked continually of the duty of nan to live each day in the Presence of God and not to waste a precious hour or moment in wanton idleness and thoughtlessness or did man not have to account for that hour and that moment?

  They were in Samaria, the province of those Jews who laughed at the Judeans and teased them on the holy days by lighting fires an their hills so that the Judean priests would be deceived, and observing those fires would believe that the sun was rising. The Samarians were lighthearted Jews, who enjoyed the hard life in their stony hills and narrow little valleys, and sinned with gusto and airiness and committed adult
ery with joy, and were hardly better than heathen or infidels. So, when Joseph and Saul halted at a large inn at night it was no surprise—though a vexation—to Saul, to hear the sound of music and the stamp of dancing feet within, and much revelry. “It is not a crime before the Face of God to laugh and dance and sing,” said Joseph, whose few hairs were now white. “It is also a delight to gaze at the countenances of the young, when they cavort like new lambs.”

  Saul would not join Joseph in the common dining room where all this unseemly merriment was taking place. He begged that he be given goat’s milk, cheese, some fruit and bread in his own room over the inn, and Joseph gave him a sad look and nodded. But he substituted a bottle of fine wine for the goat’s milk Saul had requested, and Saul smiled a little grimly. However, not to offend his friend, he drank the wine and it refreshed and eased him, and as the cheese was excellent and of different varieties and well aged and plentiful, and the bread white and soft and the fruit fresh and full-flavored, and there was also a broiled fish, Saul found himself relishing his dinner. He loved solitude. He could reflect. Once Rabban Gamaliel, gazing at him over the heads of the other pupils, had said, “There are men who can be happy only when enjoying their own misery,” and Saul had colored with resentment. The eminent Rabban, he thought, had not understood. Saul found the company of others tedious, especially when those others were not engaged in learned discussions but talked of inconsequential matters, in which he was not interested. What misery, therefore, was there in this?

  He was asleep when Joseph of Arimathaea somewhat unsteadily came into their chamber, smiling in memory of a joyous evening.

  One small lamp sent its flittering light over the yellow plaster of the wall and the low ceiling. By its illumination Joseph could see the sleeping face of the younger man on its flat pillow. It was the face, alas, thought Joseph, of one of the Greek Ascetics, who believed the world was evil and alien to man. (Joseph did not know that Rabban Gamaliel had expounded on this but recently.) Saul’s profile was stern, even harsh, the big predatory nose like the beak of an eagle, the jaw angular and firmly set, the mouth speaking only of self-repression and the discipline of self, the large ears combative, the eyelids quivering even in slumber as if restless and discontented, and the mass of thick red hair emphasizing the whole. To Joseph, there was something greatly tragic in Saul’s appearance, and he remembered to pray, most earnestly, for joy to enter again into that dark and dedicated and passionate spirit, which believed the way to God was a dolorous way, set with stone and danger and terror and struggles—but never with peace, though occasionally with ecstasy. Joseph blew out the lamp and fell asleep, his mouth still sweet with the taste of wine and roasted fowl and pastries.