Jesus the Son of Man

by Kahlil Gibran

away and be naught but scattered ashes ere my words shall pass away"?

  Was He doubtful of Himself when He said to those who would confound Him

  with a harlot, He who is without sin, let him cast a stone"?

  Did He fear authority when He drove the money-changers from the court of

  the temple, though they were licensed by the priests?

  Were His wings shorn when He cried aloud, My kingdom is above your

  earthly kingdoms"?

  Was He seeking shelter in words when He repeated again and yet again,

  "Destroy this temple and I will rebuild it in three days"?

  Was it a coward who shook His hand in the face of the authorities and

  pronounced them "liars, low, filthy, and degenerate"?

  Shall a man bold enough to say these things to those who ruled Judea be

  deemed meek and humble?

  Nay. The eagle builds not his nest in the weeping willow. And the lion

  seeks not his den among the ferns.

  I am sickened and the bowels within me stir and rise when I hear the

  faint-hearted call Jesus humble and meek, that they may justify their own

  faintheartedness; and when the downtrodden, for comfort and

  companionship, speak of Jesus as a worm shining by their side.

  Yea, my heart is sickened by such men. It is the mighty hunter I would

  preach, and the mountainous spirit unconquerable.

  SABA OF ANTIOCH

  THIS DAY I HEARD SAUL OF TARSUS PREACHING the Christ unto the Jews of

  this city.

  He calls himself Paul now, the apostle to the Gentiles.

  I knew him in my youth, and in those days he persecuted the friends of

  the Nazarene. Well do I remember his satisfaction when his fellows stoned

  the radiant youth called Stephen.

  This Paul is indeed a strange man. His soul is not the soul of a free

  man.

  At times he seems like an animal in the forest, hunted and wounded,

  seeking a cave wherein he would hide his pain from the world.

  He speaks not of Jesus, nor does he repeat His words. He preaches the

  Messiah whom the prophets of old had foretold.

  And though he himself is a learned Jew he addresses his fellow Jews in

  Greek; and his Greek is halting, and he ill chooses his words.

  But he is a man of hidden powers and his presence is affirmed by those

  who gather round him. And at times he assures them of what he himself is

  not assured.

  We who knew Jesus and heard His discourses say that He taught man how to

  break the chains of his bondage that he might be free from his

  yesterdays.

  But Paul is forging chains for the man of tomorrow. He would strike with

  his own hammer upon the anvil in the name of one whom he does not know.

  The Nazarene would have us live the hour in passion and ecstasy.

  The man of Tarsus would have us be mindful of laws recorded in the

  ancient books.

  Jesus gave His breath to the breathless dead. And in my lone nights I

  believe and I understand.

  When He sat at the board, He told stories that gave happiness to the

  feasters, and spiced with His joy the meat and the wine.

  But Paul would prescribe our loaf and our cup.

  Suffer me now to turn my eyes the other way.

  SALOME TO A WOMAN FRIEND

  HE WAS LIKE POPLARS SHIMMERING IN THE SUN;

  And like a lake among the lonely hills,

  Shining in the sun;

  And like snow upon the mountain heights,

  White, white in the sun.

  Yea, He was like unto all these,

  And I loved Him.

  Yet I feared His presence.

  And my feet would not carry my burden of love

  That I might girdle His feet with my arms.

  I would have said to Him,

  "I have slain your friend in an hour of passion.

  Will you forgive me my sin?

  And will you not in mercy release my youth

  From its blind deed,

  That it may walk in your light?

  I know He would have forgiven my dancing

  For the saintly head of His friend.

  I know He would have seen in me

  An object of His own teaching.

  For there was no valley of hunger He could not bridge,

  And no desert of thirst He could not cross.

  Yea, He was even as the poplars,

  And as the lakes among the hills,

  And like the snow upon Lebanon.

  And I would have cooled my lips in the folds of His garment.

  But He was far from me,

  And I was ashamed.

  And my mother held me back

  When the desire to seek Him was upon me.

  Whenever He passed by, my heart ached for his loveliness,

  But my mother frowned at Him in contempt,

  And would hasten me from the window

  To my bedchamber.

  And she would cry aloud saying,

  Who is He but another locust-eater from the desert?

  What is He but a scoffer and a renegade,

  A seditious riot-monger, who would rob us of sceptre and crown,

  And bid the foxes and the jackals of His accursed land

  Howl in our halls and sit upon our throne?

  Go hide your face from this day,

  And await the day when His head shall fall down,

  But not upon your platter."

  These things my mother said.

  But my heart would not keep her words.

  I loved Him in secret,

  And my sleep was girdled with flames.

  He is gone now.

  And something that was in me is gone also.

  Perhaps it was my youth

  That would not tarry here,

  Since the God of youth was slain.

  RACHAEL

  A WOMAN DISCIPLE

  I OFTEN WONDER WHETHER JESUS WAS A MAN

  of flesh and blood like ourselves, or a thought without a body, in the

  mind, or an idea that visits the vision of man.

  Often it seems to me that He was but a dream dreamed by countless men and

  women at the same time in a sleep deeper than sleep and a dawn more

  serene than all dawns.

  And it seems that in relating the dream, the one to the other, we began

  to deem it a reality that had indeed come to pass; and in giving it body

  of our fancy and a voice of our longing we made it a substance of our own

  substance.

  But in truth He was not a dream. We knew Him for three years and beheld

  Him with our open eyes in the high tide of noon.

  We touched His hands, and we followed Him from one place to another. We

  heard His discourses and witnessed His deeds. Think you that we were a

  thought seeking after more thought, or a dream in the region of dreams?

  Great events always seem alien to our daily lives, though their nature

  may be rooted in our nature. But though they appear sudden in their

  coming and sudden in their passing, their true span is for years and for

  generations.

  Jesus of Nazareth was Himself the Great Event. That man whose father and

  mother and brothers we know, was Himself a miracle wrought in Judea. Yea,

  all His own miracles, if placed at His feet, would not rise to the height

  of His ankles.

  And all the rivers of all the years shall not carry away our remembrance

  of Him.

  He was a mountain burning in the night, yet He was a soft glow beyond the

  hills. He was a tempest in the sky, yet He was a murmur in the mist ofr />
  daybreak.

  He was a torrent pouring from the heights to the plains to destroy all

  things in its path. And He was like the laughter of children.

  Every year I had waited for spring to visit this valley. I had waited for

  the lilies and the cyclamen, and then every year my soul had been

  saddened within me; for ever I longed to rejoice with the spring, yet I

  could not.

  But when Jesus came to my seasons He was indeed a spring, and in Him was

  the promise of all the years to come. He filled my heart with joy; and

  like the violets I grew, a shy thing, in the light of His coming.

  And now the changing seasons of worlds not yet ours shall not erase His

  loveliness from this our world.

  Nay, Jesus was not a phantom, nor a conception of the poets. He was man

  like yourself and myself. But only to sight and touch and hearing; in all

  other ways He was unlike us.

  He was a man of joy; and it was upon the path of joy that He met the

  sorrows of all men. And it was from the high roofs of His sorrows that He

  beheld the joy of all men.

  He saw visions that we did not see, and heard voices that we did not

  hear; and He spoke as if to invisible multitudes, and ofttimes He spoke

  through us to races yet unborn.

  And Jesus was often alone. He was among us yet not one with us. He was

  upon the earth, yet He was of the sky. And only in our aloneness may we

  visit the land of His aloneness.

  He loved us with tender love. His heart was a winepress. You and I could

  approach with a cup and drink therefrom.

  One thing I did not use to understand in Jesus: He would make merry with

  His listeners; He would tell jests and play upon words, and laugh with

  all the fullness of His heart, even when there were distances in His eyes

  and sadness in His voice. But I understand now.

  I often think of the earth as a woman heavy with her first child. When

  Jesus was born, He was the first child. And when He died, He was the

  first man to die.

  For did it not appear to you that the earth was stilled on that dark

  Friday, and the heavens were at war with the heavens?

  And felt you not when His face disappeared from our sight as if we were

  naught but memories in the mist?

  CLEOPAS OF BETHROUNE

  WHEN JESUS SPOKE THE WHOLE WORLD was hushed to listen. His words were not

  for our ears but rather for the elements of which God made this earth.

  He spoke to the sea, our vast mother, that gave us birth. He spoke to the

  mountain, our elder brother whose summit is a promise.

  And He spoke to the angels beyond the sea and the mountain to whom we

  entrusted our dreams ere the clay in us was made hard in the sun.

  And still His speech slumbers within our breast like a love-song half

  forgotten, and sometimes it burns itself through to our memory.

  His speech was simple and joyous, and the sound of His voice was like

  cool water in a land of drought.

  Once He raised His hand against the sky, and His fingers were like the

  branches of a sycamore tree; and He said with a great voice:

  "The prophets of old have spoken to you, and your ears are filled with

  their speech. But I say unto you, empty your ears of what you have

  heard."

  And these words of Jesus, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU," were not uttered by a man

  of our race nor of our world; but rather by a host of seraphim marching

  across the sky of Judea.

  Again and yet again He would quote the law and the prophets, and then He

  would say, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU."

  Oh, what burning words, what waves of seas unknown to the shores of our

  mind, "BUT I SAY UNTO YOU."

  What stars seeking the darkness of the soul, and what sleepless souls

  awaiting the dawn.

  To tell of the speech of Jesus one must needs have His speech or the echo

  thereof.

  I have neither the speech nor the echo.

  I beg you to forgive me for beginning a story that I cannot end. But the

  end is not yet upon my lips. It is still a love song in the wind.

  NAAMAN OF THE GADARENES

  A FRIEND OF STEPHEN

  HIS DISCIPLES ARE DISPERSED. HE GAVE THEM the legacy of pain ere He

  Himself was put to death. They are hunted like the deer, and the foxes of

  the fields, and the quiver of the hunter is yet full of arrows.

  But when they are caught and led to death, they are joyous, and their

  faces shine like the face of the bridegroom at the wedding-feast. For He

  gave them also the legacy of joy.

  I had a friend from the North Country, and his name was Stephen; and

  because he proclaimed Jesus as the Son of God, he was led to the

  marketplace and stoned.

  And when Stephen fell to earth he outstretched his arms as if he would

  die as his Master had died. His arms were spread like wings ready for

  flight. And when the last gleam of light was fading in his eyes, with my

  own eyes I saw a smile upon his lips. It was a smile like the breath that

  comes before the end of winter for a pledge and a promise of spring.

  How shall I describe it?

  It seemed that Stephen was saying, "If I should go to another world, and

  other men should lead me to another market-place to stone me, even then I

  would proclaim Him for the truth which was in Him, and for that same

  truth which is in me now."

  And I noticed that there was a man standing near, and looking with

  pleasure upon the stoning of Stephen.

  His name was Saul of Tarsus, and it was he who had yielded Stephen to the

  priests and the Romans and the crowd, for stoning.

  Saul was bald of head and short of stature. His shoulders were crooked

  and his features ill-sorted; and I liked him not.

  I have been told that he is now preaching Jesus from the house tops. It

  is hard to believe.

  But the grave halts not Jesus' walking to the enemies' camp to tame and

  take captive those who had opposed Him.

  Still I do not like that man of Tarsus, though I have been told that

  after Stephen's death he was tamed and conquered on the road to Damascus.

  But his head is too large for his heart to be that of a true disciple.

  And yet perhaps I am mistaken. I am often mistaken.

  THOMAS

  MY GRANDFATHER WHO WAS A LAWYER once said, "Let us observe truth, but

  only when truth is made manifest unto us."

  When Jesus called me I heeded Him, for His command was more potent than

  my will; yet I kept my counsel.

  When He spoke and the others were swayed like branches in the wind, I

  listened immovable. Yet I loved Him.

  Three years ago He left us, a scattered company to sing His name, and to

  be His witnesses unto the nations.

  At that time I was called Thomas the Doubter. The shadow of my

  grandfather was still upon me, and always I would have truth made

  manifest.

  I would even put my hand in my own wound to feel the blood ere I would

  believe in my pain.

  Now a man who loves with his heart yet holds a doubt in his mind, is but

  a slave in a galley who sleeps at his oar and dreams of his freedom, till

  the lash of the master wakes him.

  I myself was that slave, a
nd I dreamed of freedom, but the sleep of my

  grandfather was upon me. My flesh needed the whip of my own day.

  Even in the presence of the Nazarene I had closed my eyes to see my hands

  chained to the oar.

  Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that faith is his twin brother.

  Doubt is a foundling unhappy and astray, and though his own mother who

  gave him birth should find him and enfold him, he would withdraw in

  caution and in fear.

  For Doubt will not know truth till his wounds are healed and restored.

  I doubted Jesus until He made Himself manifest to me, and thrust my own

  hand into His very wounds.

  Then indeed I believed, and after that I was rid of my yesterday and the

  yesterdays of my forefathers.

  The dead in me buried their dead; and the living shall live for the

  Anointed King, even for Him who was the Son of Man.

  Yesterday they told me that I must go and utter His name among the

  Persians and the Hindus.

  I shall go. And from this day to my last day, at dawn and at eventide, I

  shall see my Lord rising in majesty and I shall hear Him speak.

  ELMADAM THE LOGICIAN

  YOU BID ME SPEAK OF JESUS THE NAZARENE, and much have I to tell, but the

  time has not come. Yet whatever I say of Him now is the truth; for all

  speech is worthless save when it discloses the truth.

  Behold a man disorderly, against all order; a mendicant, opposed to all

  possessions; a drunkard who would only make merry with rogues and

  castaways.

  He was not the proud son of the State, nor was He the protected citizen

  of the Empire; therefore He had contempt for both State and Empire.

  He would live as free and dutiless as the fowls of the air, and for this

  the hunters brought Him to earth with arrows.

  No man shall ram the towers of yesterday and escape the falling stones.

  No one shall open the flood gates of his ancestors without drowning. It

  is the law. And because that Nazarene broke the law, He and His witless

  followers were brought to naught.

  And there lived many others like Him, men who would change the course of

  our destiny.

  They themselves were changed, and they were the losers.

  There is a grapeless vine that grows by the city walls. It creeps upward

  and clings to the stones. Should that vine say in her heart, "With my

  might and my weight I shall destroy these walls," what would the other

  plants say? Surely they would laugh at her foolishness.

  Now sir, I cannot but laugh at this man and His ill-advised disciples.

  ONE OF THE MARYS

  IS HEAD WAS ALWAYS HIGH, AND THE FLAME OF GOD

  was in His eyes.

  He was often sad, but His sadness was tenderness shown to those in pain,

  and comradeship given to the lonely.

  When He smiled His smile was as the hunger of those who long after the

  unknown. It was like the dust of stars falling upon the eyelids of

  children. And it was like a morsel of bread in the throat.

  He was sad, yet it was a sadness that would rise to the lips and become a

  smile.

  It was like a golden veil in the forest when autumn is upon the world.

  And sometimes it seemed like moonlight upon the shores of the lake.

  He smiled as if His lips would sing at the wedding-feast.

  Yet He was sad with the sadness of the winged who will not soar above his

  comrade.

  RUMANOUS

  A GREEK POET

  HE WAS A POET. HE SAW FOR OUR EYES AND HEARD FOR

  our ears, and our silent words were upon His lips; and His fingers

  touched what we could not feel.

  Out of His heart there flew countless singing birds to the north and to