by Kanan Makiya
“Such a fickle place, yet you say it has formed our man and shaped his thoughts, not Jerusalem,” Umar said.
“Jerusalem faces the desert,” Ka’b replied, “and just as Alexandria never really belonged to its desert interior, so does our man Sophronius not really belong to Jerusalem. His allegiances lie elsewhere.”
“You are speaking in riddles, my friend.”
“The arms of the cross span this man’s life,” explained Ka’b. “He has spent the better part of his life combating heresy in Egypt. There Christians have been at loggerheads with one another for as long as anyone can remember. He believed Egypt to be in dire threat of succumbing to the wrong kind of Christianity, and he stayed to heal the growing divide within Christendom. The danger was greatest in Alexandria. Sophronius believed he could change things. But he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Rivers of blood had been spilled over the Christian soul of Egypt—and nowhere as much as in Alexandria, a city of foreigners that hated all things foreign. And what was Sophronius if not a foreigner!”
“What is the argument between the Christians all about?” asked Umar.
Ka’b tried to explain that it all boiled down to the true nature of Christ. Did the Son of Mary have a single divine Nature, one that subsumed the human, as the local Copts believed? Or did He have two natures, divine and human, as the Orthodox, led by Sophronius, taught.
“How can any man have more than one nature?” an incredulous Umar wanted to know.
“Because all Christians uphold the heresy that Christ is both the Son of God and the Son of Mary,” my father explained. “From this foolishness, many problems ensue. To extoll His divinity, as the Copts do, diminishes His humanity. As far as Sophronius is concerned, this belief renders meaningless the actual, physical sacrifice of Jesus on behalf of mankind, the pain that Sophronius says Jesus literally and truly experienced on the cross. The Copts, on the other hand, believe that placing undue emphasis on the humanity of Jesus is a heresy in the opposite direction that diminishes the transcendent nature of God.”
“And the ordinary people of Alexandria,” Umar asked, “do they concern themselves with such questions?”
“They are obsessed with them. If you ask a man on the street how much a certain thing costs, he is quite likely to reply with a discourse on the Immaculate Conception. And when you ask him the price of bread, he will reply that, before he can answer such a question, it must be put into the larger context of whether the Father is greater than the Son, or whether the two should be put on an equal level. If by now your head is spinning and you decide to ask your innkeeper to prepare a bath in which to relax, he is likely to demand that you agree with him in advance that the Son was made out of nothing, and not from his mother’s womb.”
“Where does the emperor of the Romans stand on all this?”
“All he wants is a united Church,” replied Ka’b. “Doctrinal squabbles bore him. For this purpose, he had his cronies in Constantinople invent a third doctrine, a compromise between the two that proposed that Christ had two natures, as the Orthodox insisted, but only one will, as the Copts insisted. Everyone saw through this crass maneuver. Nonetheless, it was proclaimed the official doctrine and enforced at the point of the sword.”
“I gather from all this that Sophronius’s mission in Egypt failed.”
“Miserably,” Ka’b replied. “He made a fool of himself during the debate of the council of church officials in Alexandria. I am told that he fell on his knees at one point and begged his opponents to repent the error of their ways.”
“And did they?” asked Umar.
“Of course not.”
“What then did the old man do?”
“He promptly wrote a long treatise on the dual nature of Christ,” Ka’b said, “which he dispatched to all the Patriarchates of the Byzantine empire. I am told that it is unreadable and greatly annoyed his emperor. However, no sooner had he sent it than our armies reached the gates of Jerusalem.”
“A propitious omen,” remarked Umar. “I still don’t understand why such a man, so advanced in years, would choose to spend his twilight years in Jerusalem.”
My father explained that Sophronius had spent his youth in Alexandria writing passionate lyrics about the holy sites of Jerusalem. He spent his mature years fighting for the belief that the person of Jesus is on the same level as his divinity. Finally, when he was old and defeated, that same longing for the unattainable, which was the only constant of his turbulent life, brought him for the first time to the actual place where Jesus was born and died.
“My dear Ka’b,” Umar said with a gleam in his eye, “I am told that such longing for a promised land is a state of mind perfected by the Jews. I want to know how a heathen city, infamous for its self-indulgence, can fashion a Christian monk who then pines after a different city than the one that made him! And when he finally reaches the object of all this yearning, he becomes so attached to the place that he refuses to leave it even after it is abandoned by its cowardly commanders. This Patriarch is a man of principle, undeterred by the odds. I respect that.”
The last thing Ka’b wanted to do was to make Umar more interested in Sophronius. That crafty old fox had managed to stay in control without an army to speak of even as every city, town, and hamlet in Syria fell to our forces. His strength of purpose and personal style had proved persuasive enough to bring Umar to Jerusalem. Ka’b pinned his hopes of installing more caution in the Caliph regarding the kind of a Christian that he knew the old man to be.
“The problem, O Umar, is that, for Sophronius, the places of Jesus’ life, and especially his death, hold deep meaning. He believes that, if he touches the rock upon which Christ died, or walks upon the cobblestones that he walked upon, he will receive more of Christ into himself. It is not in the nature of a man like this to be reasonable with us, whatever the show he may be about to put on today.”
“Am I dealing with an idolater,” asked Umar, “or a man of holy scripture who is doing the best he can to defend his city and his people?”
“That,” replied Ka’b, “is what we are about to find out.”
The tent in which Sophronius awaited Umar was not big enough to accommodate the large retinue the Patriarch had brought along with him. Most of the men were lingering outside when Umar, Abu Ubayda, and Ka’b arrived. Of the Christian delegates inside the tent, there was no doubting which was the Patriarch. He had come in full ecclesiastical dress, gold chains draped over his neck and shoulders, and long silk robes trailing behind in the dust.
Umar was dressed in the same worn-out, coarsely woven battle tunic that he had been using on the road. He was contemptuous of finery of any kind, especially when used to enhance the body of a man. There were times, even after he had become Caliph, when he would lead the Friday prayers in attire so ragged and worn you could see through the holes in his shirt. Worst of all, the Caliph was self-righteous about his attire, often to the point of embarrassing his daughters and those who kept his company. Arriving late for prayers one day, he said that he had been held up washing his shirt, the point being that one shirt was more than enough for a true Believer. “Nothing is allowed to Umar,” I once heard him say to Ka’b, “beyond a garment for winter, one for summer, and enough for pilgrimage and the rites, along with food for his household but at the middling rate.”
Such stories about the Caliph were commonplace in Medina, but they had not yet reached the ears of Sophronius. My father felt a wave of relief flood over him when he realized that the Patriarch did not know something known by every urchin in Arabia.
If Sophronius felt the incongruity of his attire, given the appearance of the man to whom he was about to surrender his city, it didn’t show. Looking directly at Umar, he rose from his seat, bent slightly at the waist, and, through a weasel-faced translator on his right, extended his greetings:
“Your arrival from so great a distance does us honor, O Prince. We who are at your mercy greet you, as do the priests and the Church th
at I represent, the very same church that with deepest concern is entrusted to keep watch over the inhabitants of this fair city, all of whom call on the name of Our Lord.”
“Your vigilance in the service of God is to be commended,” replied Umar tactfully.
“If we were not vigilant,” said Sophronius, “we could not excuse ourselves before Him who willed that we should be the sentinel.”
Umar sat, and everyone followed suit. Up until then everything about the terms of the city’s surrender had been done verbally. Imagine the surprise of the Muslims when the translator suddenly produced two scrolls from inside his robes and explained in stilted Arabic that he was holding the draft of a covenant based on the discussions held with Abu Ubayda. In the interests of lasting peace, said he, the Patriarch had committed these to writing. From the expression on Abu Ubayda’s face, all this came as a surprise. Only now did Umar realize that his adversaries had something more than just his word in mind.
The Christian translator prepared to read out the Arabic version, while keeping the Greek one rolled up in his hands. Umar motioned for him to stop, and reached out for the scroll, which he began to read to himself.
“This is a document submitted to Umar, son of Khattab, King of the Arabs, by the Christians of the Holy City.”
“Am I now a king?” Umar asked, turning to Abu Ubayda who was seated on his right.
“If you tax the land of the Believers too heavily and put the money to any use that the Law does not allow,” Abu Ubayda replied, “then you are a king, and no Caliph of God’s Apostle.”
“By God!” Ka’b overheard Umar saying to himself, “I know not any longer whether I am a caliph or a king. And if I am about to become a king, it is a fearful thing.”
“A turban is your crown!” exclaimed my father. “A plague on them and their kings!”
Umar returned to the text.
“No Jew will be authorized to live in Jerusalem.”
Apart from this one sentence, the draft conformed with what had been agreed upon previously. Umar did not say anything; he just asked for a pen, and crossed out the offending sentence. He did it slowly and deliberately so that everyone inside that tent could see him doing it. I bring this up because so much doubt has been cast in recent years on whether or not the Caliph left the ban on a Jewish presence in Jerusalem in force or not.
The Christians are responsible for the confusion that later transpired. Long after Umar’s departure, when their interests in Jerusalem looked as if they might be threatened because of new settlers, they took to flourishing a document they called the “Covenant of Umar.” Muslims who wished to make a name for themselves, or who had developed business interests with Christians, took this forgery for the real thing. The scroll containing the prohibition crossed out by Umar is written in Greek. How could Umar have read, much less signed, such a document! The authoritative version was the Arabic translation, as amended by him. The fact is, no one in the Muslim delegation got to see the Greek version because it had been superseded by the Caliph’s own amendments. No doubt it got buried in the Church’s archives and resurrected when it suited the Christians, long after Umar’s death.
Having gone over the terms carefully and consulted with Abu Ubayda, Umar added at the very top of the document, “In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate,” and crossed out “Umar, son of Khattab, King of the Arabs.” In its place, he wrote “God’s servant, Umar, Commander of the Faithful.” This was the first time that the title “Commander of the Faithful” was used by the people of Muhammad.
“Tell your master,” Umar said to the translator, “that he has negotiated an honorable Covenant, which gives his people more than we have committed to elsewhere. This is in recognition of the respect with which we hold his office and his person.”
Sophronius did not haggle over a word the Caliph had written. He agreed to all of Umar’s amendments, knowing he could not afford to lose the Caliph’s goodwill. His strategy was to avoid a war that the Christians would lose, and to gain a foothold instead inside the mind of his adversary.
And now, Sophronius looked to turn another of his city’s splendid assets—its works of art and architecture—to his advantage. Looking Umar directly in the eye, he said: “As measure of our gratitude and goodwill, we ask of the King of the Arabs to join us on a tour of the Holy City. We would be honored to thus seal this Covenant between our two religions in a spirit of amity and respect.”
“Splendid!” replied Umar. “We would be delighted to hear from you about the prophets whose footprints have blessed every rock and tree of this land. We are told that you are an authority. Above all, we wish to go to the Sanctuary of David. To the place where God tried David, and where he sought forgiveness, falling down on his face and bowing in repentance. It is our deepest desire to visit that particular place.”
“A pious spirit breathes through your words, O King of the Arabs,” said the Patriarch. “No priest of God clothed by Him in the sacred gown of His service can afford not to heed them. Jerusalem is the happy Church on which Our Lord, the son of David, poured forth all his teaching, together with his blood. On the merit of His blood, through us, his most unworthy heirs, this city lays claim to the holiest places in God’s creation. We are honored to be your guide. I am at your disposal.”
“As we are on the subject of how the Lord of Creation clothes His servants, I take it you think He demands extravagance,” Umar remarked, pointing at Sophronius’s golden chains.
“I am my office,” replied the unflappable Sophronius. “Rules govern men like me. We do not stand over rules but subject ourselves to them. The function and appearance of my robes of office ensure that my person is always subordinate to those rules; I wear them not to adorn myself, but to hold in check the confusion and anarchy of the world. Thus does my dress make manifest the order that God has ordained in the world.”
“But you were a monk,” Umar pressed on, “and lived alone, dressed in black, doing God’s business. Did you desire the life of this world and its adornment back then?”
“You are well informed,” the Patriarch replied. “I remember with sorrow what I once was, how I rose in contemplation above all changeable and decaying things and thought of nothing but the things of Heaven. Even as I speak to you now, I sigh as one who looks back and gazes at the happy shores he has left behind. Unfortunately, today, by reason of my office and pastoral care, I have to bear with the business of the world. In truth, after so fair a vision as I enjoyed as a monk, I now seem fouled with worldly dust. All the more reason not to let it show in my dress.”
This was no ordinary priest, as even Ka’b now realized.
(photo credit 11.1)
Tour of the City
Not a soul, circumcised and uncircumcised alike, was without foreboding on that Palm Sunday. The early morning mist clouding the horizon had already been dispelled by the touch of the rising sun, leaving the air cool and dry, as diaphanous as hidden intentions suddenly exposed.
Overnight, the Christian faithful had strewn the road from the Mount of Olives to the Holy City’s Eastern Gate with palm fronds. Monks, priests, and bishops with ornate accoutrements, many of them carrying crosses, had assembled to head a huge procession. They mingled with those of the Prophet’s Companions who had accompanied Umar, Conqueror and Redeemer, on his desert trek from Arabia. To forestall being swamped by Christians, it had been decided that all male Believers would enter the city.
Even Ka’b thought that would be enough. Still he left me behind at the camp with the servants and the women for that momentous entry. I was a mere slip of a boy at the time, old enough to want to be a man but not old enough to understand anything. “Too dangerous, too dangerous,” he kept on muttering when I pestered him for permission to accompany him. “We could be walking into a trap. Who knows what these Christians have in store for us?” I bitterly resented being left behind.
Muhammad’s followers, it transpired, were vastly outnumbered by those of Jesus who mater
ialized as out of thin air, replete with whole families dressed in their finest and most festive garments. Worshippers mingled with curiosity-seekers, men with women, children with fearless desert warriors who could ride for weeks on a diet of dried bread and dates.
Only the Arabs wore swords, and these had to be kept sheathed on Umar’s instruction. Notables from both parties led the way. They were all on horseback—all, that is, except Umar. He surprised everyone by appearing wrapped in a cloak of camel hair like a simple Bedouin, and riding an ass instead of a horse.
His dramatic arrival upset those Arabs who had spent four years in Syria and had seen wealth and treasures unknown to their brethren in the Hijaz. These “princes,” as they had taken to calling themselves, were frankly embarrassed by the sight of their supreme commander appearing in such a manner before those whom he had vanquished. And they told him so. The entry had to be delayed while the argument went on. Even Abu Ubayda abandoned his customary restraint and urged the Caliph to make a concession. It had to be a horse, not an ass, they argued, or at the very least a camel.
To make matters worse, Sophronius had sent fresh white linen garments as a gift to the Caliph. Did he do this to insult Umar, or because he did not know the person with whom he was dealing? I am inclined to believe that he still did not grasp that all excess in matters of appearance were as dung as far as Umar was concerned. Austerity and simplicity were his creed in all things.
True to form, Umar would have neither Sophronius’s linen nor his commander’s horse, saying to Ka’b, who alone among his advisors stood by him in his decision: “Nothing good can come out of making me into another person. I fear lest I grow too great in my own eyes.”
In defense of Umar’s decision to enter Jerusalem on an ass, my father said that it had long ago been prophesied,
