by Paul L Maier
Bartholomew nodded readily, to Jon’s relief. But then his face darkened as he pursued a different line of thought. “And so this… this incredibly important manuscript has been in our possession-who knows how many centuries?-and we didn’t even know it? This is terrible! This uncovers a great failure in how we manage our archives! Brother Gregorios must answer for this! There is absolutely no excuse for such utter-”
“With all due respect, Your Holiness, this sort of thing happens again and again in many libraries across the world that have manuscript collections. With many thousands of documents and books, things do get misplaced, so please do not let our good fortune become Brother Gregorios’s misfortune!”
Shannon joined the dialogue with an important suggestion. “We would, however, recommend that a very complete inventory be taken of every document and manuscript inside your basement ‘cemetery,’ Your All Holiness. Who knows what additional treasures might be found there! Our Institute of Christian Origins in Cambridge will be glad to assist you in this respect.”
“ Nai, nai, nai! A very good suggestion, Madame Weber. I thank you for it. We certainly will do that very thing. But now we must all go and see the codex, yes?”
The three descended the ornate staircases of the patriarchate and walked to the archives, where Gregorios, without even being asked, hastened over with his keys, knowing full well that their target had to be the basement document charnel house. Without a word, he admitted them. Jon pointed out the various sectors to the patriarch, and presently they stood before the ancient bookcase in the southwest corner. There rested the codex on the bottom shelf, where it had lain for countless, unknown centuries, looking the same as when Shannon first spotted it, except that the gnarled old leather-clad board cover was no longer gray with dust. Very gently, Jon again lifted it off its shelf and carried it to the table where they had photographed it.
The torrent of Greek spouting out of Bartholomew’s mouth as he spoke to Gregorios came too rapidly for Jon to decipher, but it sent the monk running out of the room. Then the Ecumenical Patriarch approached the codex, touched it gently, lovingly, and fell on his knees in prayer before it, doubtless thanking God for its discovery.
When he arose, Jon opened the codex to show him the four magnificently written uncial columns on each page of vellum. He had, of course, opened the tome to the newly found ending of Mark’s Gospel. Bartholomew read several lines, then broke out in tears. In silent, sympathetic reverence, Jon closed the codex and said nothing.
Gregorios returned with a large gilded blanket-probably from their liturgical supply room-but before he could wrap it around the codex, Jon asked him to wait a moment so that he could take final photographs of the cast of characters in this improbable drama: the Ecumenical Patriarch and Brother Gregorios, as well as Jon and Shannon with them. Only then did Gregorios reverently enshrine the codex in the blanket and carry it to the office of the patriarch.
Just as he returned to them in the main reception hall, the Turkish sentry called from outside to say that the government’s car convoy had arrived to transport Jon and Shannon to the airport. The farewells were genuine and even passionate. When Jon stooped to try to kiss the patriarch’s hand-as was customary among the eastern faithful-Bartholomew would not permit it. In most unliturgical fashion, he put his arms around Jon, and with tears in his eyes, he said, “All of Eastern Orthodoxy is grateful to you, dear Professor Weber, not only for defending our faith so brilliantly before a watching world, but also to you both for discovering a most priceless treasure of the church. God has been good to us through you!”
“We, in turn, are grateful for both your original invitation to Constantinople, Your All Holiness, and also for your extraordinary hospitality during our visit here. I know we shall be in frequent touch from now on. And so we say to you and Brother Gregorios, with all the sacred solemnity of our Lord’s use of the term on the night before he was betrayed, ef charisto!”
En route to Ataturk International Airport, Jon and Shannon regaled Dick and Osman with details of their delightful morning at the patriarchate. “Let me tell you, fellas,” Jon said, smiling broadly, “it was quite an honor to be hugged by no less than the eastern pope himself-and even be kissed on both cheeks.”
“I’m sure he won’t wash his face for weeks,” Shannon chirped.
Everyone in the car seemed to be in an expansive mood, and why not? They were finally returning home, knowing secrets that would make for a fabulous future.
When their motorcade arrived at the airport, the doors of the lead car opened, and out stepped Adnan Yilmaz, the Turkish minister of culture, with several aides. In a formal, nicely crafted little speech, he apologized to Jon and Shannon, in the name of the Republic of Turkey, for the terrorist attack at their hotel and hoped that they might return to Turkey with no bitter memories.
For his part, Jon was very genuine in his appreciation of how well the Turks had cooperated in terms of security before, during, and after the debate, and he apologized to all whose schedules had been brutally wrenched because of their visit-including especially their drivers. He would later say the same, of course, to all the CIA operatives-especially Click and Clack, who had kept them alive during their visit to a chancy part of the world.
Just before they checked in at the departure hall, Yilmaz said, “It should all go well from here on.” Then he handed Jon his card. “But call my cell if you have any problems.”
“Thanks much, Mr. Yilmaz!”
Bags checked and with boarding passes and passports in hand, Osman, Dick, and Shannon were ahead of Jon in the security line, which moved along better than they had expected. After shedding shoes, laptops, change, and sundry metallic items, they reached the metal-detecting doorframe. Jon asked that his camera bag full of film canisters and photo memory cards be passed around rather than through the frame. In earlier years, he had had too many high-speed films ruined by X-ray exposure in more primitive scanners. This looked to be one of them, and he didn’t trust it. If those photos were ruined, only one set on earth remained.
When Jon tried to hand the photo bag around the frame, the security guard said, “No. Must go through X-ray machine.”
“But I’ll be glad to let you examine everything inside this bag,” Jon replied.
“ No! Must go through X-ray!” the guard fairly shouted and tried to take the bag out of Jon’s hands to pass it onto the belt going through the scanner. Jon held on for dear life.
The guard blew a shrill whistle. A squad of guards quickly surrounded the security line and was closing in on Jon. He snatched his cell phone before the gray plastic box with his metallic effects went through the scanner and madly reached in his pocket for Adnan’s card. That move prompted the guards to take out their revolvers and aim them at Jon. He held up both arms while trying also to dial Adnan, his photo bag between his legs. The other three looked on in horror. It was a very bad moment.
Yilmaz, thank goodness, answered his cell.
“This is an emergency, Adnan!” Jon yelled into his cell phone. “I’m being held at gunpoint in security because I wanted my films passed around the scanner, not through it!”
Adnan yelled some curse in Turkish, then said, “Dr. Weber, give your cell to whomever is in charge of security there. I’ll explain!”
Jon handed his cell phone to the officer who seemed to have the most metal on his shoulders. Frowning and skeptical, he put it to his ear and said, “Merhaba…” Since he knew no Turkish, all Jon heard was a long recitation of “Evet… Evet… Evet…” then a shocked “Hayir!”
Finally the officer, now sheepish, handed the phone back to Jon. Said Adnan in the receiver, “I told him that if they didn’t release you at once -with apologies-my next call would be to the prime minister of this republic! I’m coming back now to make sure all is in order.”
“Thank you, Adnan-if I may. But I don’t think that will be necessary.”
While he had been talking, the officer stepped over to the rude security
scanner, slapped him on both cheeks, and relieved him from duty. Then he returned to Jon and said, “In the name of Allah the All Compassionate, I ask your forgiveness, Professor Weber. This should never have happened.”
“It is nothing. Thank you for your help.”
Jon’s expansive mood returned when he saw his photo case being passed around the scanner and into his hands.
The next meeting of the Institute of Christian Origins took place a week after the four had returned to Cambridge. Now fully recovered from jet lag, Jon was eager to learn the American reaction to the debate, and the forty-some members attending that morning were only too happy to oblige.
It seemed that more Americans had watched the debate than the seventh game of the World Series the previous October, and far more than the Academy Awards in March-yes, despite the extraordinary length of the debate, which exceeded even that of the awards, Hollywood’s annual attempt to model eternity. With so huge an audience, every shade and stripe of response was being collated by several secretaries at the ICO, but Jon and Shannon got a general picture from the comments of institute members, prompting a long discussion over the next several hours.
A large secular sector of the viewing audience thought it “engrossing… good theater,” but no one expected such to join church or mosque once they had switched off their TVs. The general Christian response was overwhelmingly positive, although fundamentalists complained that Jon had not sufficiently “proclaimed Christ in that citadel of Satan,” while radical liberals like Harry Nelson Hunt objected, “Too bad Weber couldn’t have gotten beyond that Trinity thing. It’s been a millstone around the neck of Christianity for twenty centuries now. And Weber even seems to believe in the Resurrection-a Harvard professor, no less!”
“I plead guilty!” Jon laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.
Heinz von Schwendener commented, a twinkle in his indigo eyes, “I think the most careful, in fact, the finest response to your debate that I’ve heard, Jon, came from the mouth of… Melvin Morris Merton.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, Heinz!” Richard Ferris thundered. Everyone knew that Merton was a prophecy freak who had always been Jon’s nemesis.
Barely able to keep a straight face, von Schwendener continued, “Merton announced that the debate was a meeting of the ‘Two Antichrists.’ I don’t know where he got that idea, maybe somewhere in Revelation. But there you were, both of you sitting in the temple of God-guess he meant Hagia Sophia-so the second coming of Christ and the end of the world are just around the corner!” Then his shoulders shook with released laughter.
Jon and the rest joined in. If an institute could have a court jester, Heinz von Schwendener filled the bill for the ICO.
Next, Osman al-Ghazali, who had spent the week assembling reactions from the Muslim world, gave his report, which was a shade more sobering. Jon and Shannon had received daily updates after the debate, but these were the first details many institute members had heard about the Muslim reaction.
“The Islamic response-to put it mildly-is less nuanced than what we’ve just heard from the West. They seem to love you or hate you, Jon. The moderates, the leading intellectuals, and the secular leaders thought it a very fair debate, and they particularly appreciated the near-friendly atmosphere you developed with al-Rashid. Some thought it a model for future Christian-Muslim dialogue.” Sounds of approval rose from those gathered.
Osman went on. “Then, of course, there’s the broad middle of Islam. The faithful there seemed to range from neutral to bewildered. We’ve heard reports of believers rising from their prayer mats to ask some penetrating questions of their mullahs regarding the Prophet and the Qur’an.”
“But I find it interesting,” Shannon interposed, “that the reaction from the Islamic conservatives was not as vocal as we anticipated. Right, Osman?”
He nodded. “Most of the noise is coming from the radical clerics-those we call our ‘usual suspects’-the firebrand mullahs in London, radical cells elsewhere in Europe, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, jihadists in the Middle East, the Taliban in Afghanistan, and, of course, al-Qaeda wherever. Actually, they’re attacking Abbas al-Rashid nearly as much as you, Jon. It’s almost as if we’re back to where we started. Well, things are a bit better; we don’t have another fatwa on Jon’s head, for example.”
“At least, not yet,” Jon offered, helpfully. “Fanaticism, in any form, replaces reason with madness. It’s the greatest enemy of truth ever devised.”
Lunch and a backlog of business consumed the rest of the day. At the close, Jon made an announcement that he knew his conferees would find startling. “Two items, my colleagues. One, thank you all once again for your deliberations and advice during the weeks before the debate in Istanbul. Two, which you may find more interesting, Shannon and I came across something of extraordinary importance during our time in Turkey that I want to share with you once we’ve arranged everything. I know that our next meeting isn’t scheduled until two months from now, but might we make an exception and hold a special conclave-I hate to say it-about three weeks from today? I well realize this is terribly short notice and your schedules may not permit it at all, but that’s how very significant this matter is.”
For some time, silence ruled the room. But then Katrina Vandersteen coaxed, “Come on, Jon, give us a little hint…?”
“You’ll understand when you hear what it is, Trina.” Jon grinned at her. Then he reconsidered. “Well… on second thought, I guess I’ll have to give you a bit of a hint anyway since I’ll need your permission to invite a few guests. Might you members of the ICO be kind enough to allow members of the Center for the Study of New Testament Manuscripts to join us for that meeting?”
Much oohing, aahing, and nodding at the clue signaled an affirmative.
“Another semi-hint: the Eastern Orthodox Church is already involved in this matter, so I think it only fair that Roman Catholicism be represented also. I have a close friend at the Vatican-Monsignor Kevin Sullivan-whom I’ve also asked to fly over and attend- if you agree. Would that be acceptable?”
Agreement seemed unanimous, punctuated by comments like “I don’t have a problem with that.” “Of course, Jon.” “Why not?”
Pleased with the response, Jon said, “Fine. Dick will be in touch as to the specific date and time.”
The conference adjourned. Had an artist rendered the scene in a cartoon, he would have drawn thought clouds over each head with just two characters: a question mark and an exclamation point.
Shannon was uncharacteristically glad for the ICO meeting to adjourn. Ever since their return from Turkey, Jon had been busy at work translating Second Acts. After a day or two battling jet lag-it was always worse on the homebound trip-he had taken a happy plunge back into the AD 300s, to see what a scribe in Caesarea, writing for an emperor in Rome, would have to say to them in Massachusetts-and of course, to future Bible readers everywhere.
As they drove to the ICO meeting, he told her he had translated the first third of Luke’s final treatise, and he planned to let her read it when they got home. The text had proven so challenging that they both agreed it would be best to wait until he had a good chunk of it completed for her to read, rather than his trying to share it word for word, as he’d tried to do at first.
While driving back to their still-guarded home in Weston, Jon resisted all of Shannon’s efforts to pry any nuggets of information out of him.
“No, darling, I really think it’s best if you read it for yourself. Although, I admit I got so caught up in the account that I couldn’t resist adding paragraph divisions in the text, as well as some of my own comments-in brackets, of course, or at the margins. Obviously, they’ll be removed when the text goes public. I really can’t wait to hear your reaction.”
Shannon could hardly wait and had earlier been tempted to tease out a translation for herself. But Jon’s printout, presented on their return home, was much more convenient.
“Here’s what I have so far, swe
etheart,” Jon said. “Our final, authoritative version will look much more biblical in format, and I left out a few ‘he said,’ ‘she replied’-that sort of thing. Chapter and verse divisions can come later too.”
She took a deep breath, walked over to the sofa, and started to read. This third treatise, O Theophilus, deals with all that befell Paul after Aristarchus and I arrived with him in Rome, where we lived in his own rented house near the Praetorian camp for two years, awaiting his trial before Caesar. No one from the priests and the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem had come to Rome to speak against Paul in his appeal to Caesar, for they preferred that he simply languish in house arrest. But our Lord intervened. On the Ides of May, in the eighth year of Nero Caesar [May 15, AD 62] we learned that Titus Flavius Sabinus, the prefect of Rome [mayor of the city!] whose wife was a believer, asked the emperor to hear Paul’s appeal. He agreed, provided that his friend Ofonius Tigellinus could serve as substitute accuser [prosecutor] and Sabinus himself as defender. It was agreed. At Paul’s hearing, a board of assessors served as advisers to the emperor, including the philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca. Paul took great heart at this, because Seneca was the brother of Gallio, the very proconsul of Achaia who had heard Paul’s case in Corinth ten years previous and had set him free, as noted in my second treatise [Acts 18]. Tigellinus, who had read the documents of indictment against Paul that the centurion Julius had saved from our shipwreck on the way to Rome, now stood up and said, “Hail, beloved Caesar, you who guide our empire and our lives with the same wisdom that Jupiter employs for the world itself; you who have spread the marvelous blanket of peace and prosperity over all provinces surrounding Our Sea [the Mediterranean]. We thank you for all you have done to make Rome glorious. But now, so as not to detain you, this defendant-one Paul of Tarsus, a Jew-had the insolence to appeal to you from the courts of our procurators in Judea, Felix and then Festus, because of accusations made against him by the Jewish high priests in Jerusalem.” Nero Caesar asked, “Is he really a Roman citizen?” Flavius Sabinus produced a record from the city clerk in Tarsus, attesting that this was so. “What are the charges, then?” Caesar asked. Tigellinus read them word for word from Julius’s documents: namely, that Paul was a pestilent agitator among Jews throughout the world and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes. Caesar asked, “And who are the Nazarenes?” “Most now call them ‘Christians,’ noble Caesar,” Tigellinus replied. “Oh yes-the Christians. I’ve heard of them. Continue.” Tigellinus returned to his document and said, “He even tried to profane the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem by bringing a Gentile inside the sacred Temple boundaries.” Nero Caesar then said to Paul, “Oh yes, you Jews can get very exclusive. I’ve heard that even if I myself stepped over that barrier in Jerusalem, you Jews could kill me since-alas, I am a Gentile. I must keep reminding my dear Poppaea of that, since the empress is very interested in Jewish ways. But do continue, good Tigellinus. What penalty are you seeking for this… this Paul of Tarsus?” Tigellinus replied, “The death penalty of course, noble Caesar.” “Very well, then. The defense may speak,” said the emperor. Flavius Sabinus arose and said, “My governing the city of Rome is so much more pleasant due to your wise administration of the entire Empire, great Caesar. The people of Rome and all the urban officers are most grateful to you. I, too, have examined the documents against Paul of Tarsus and would ask that you immediately dismiss the second and the third charges. “The second charge, O Caesar, that Paul of Tarsus is a ‘ringleader of the Christians’ means little or nothing, since Christians are just a Jewish sect that has never been rendered illegal by any law of the senate and the Roman people. As for the third charge, the defendant did not violate Jewish law by introducing a Gentile into the sacred courts of the Jerusalem Temple because it was a fellow Jew with Paul who was mistaken for a Gentile by Paul’s accusers. Here is the deposition on that matter from our tribune in Jerusalem, one Claudius Lysias [Acts 23:26].” Sabinus handed Nero the document, and he said, “I respectfully ask that you dismiss these two charges, great Caesar.” Nero consulted with his assessors, particularly Seneca, for some time. Finally he announced, “We do indeed dismiss them. Now what is this first charge, that this Paul causes riots wherever he goes? Tigellinus, give us more information on that.” “As suffering and death follow the plague, noble Caesar, so rioting and disorder erupt wherever this agitator travels. In Asia Minor, he was driven out of Antioch in Pisidia. Then he was attacked in Iconium and stoned in Lystra. Next he carried the disease to Greece. They had to imprison him in Philippi and expel him from Thessalonica. He caused a riot among Jews in Corinth and silversmiths in Ephesus. He created his last uproar-thank the Fates-in Jerusalem, where he was arrested.” The emperor was amazed and said, “This one man did all these things-a man that small could cause such big trouble?” “Yes, and much more, wise Caesar. Rome has not had such a treasonable troublemaker since Spartacus himself!” Caesar then asked Flavius Sabinus for the defense. He stood up and said, “Paul of Tarsus has never caused a riot anywhere, great Caesar. He only proclaimed the Christian message of peace everywhere he went, but those who disagreed with him and were unwilling to open their minds to accept what he calls the Good News often tried to stop him by resorting to violence. They caused the disturbances, not this innocent Roman citizen.” “So,” said the emperor, “what is this ‘Good News’ that you teach, Paul of Tarsus?” Paul rose and said, “Long have I waited for this opportunity to tell you, O Caesar, but I knew that one day I would stand before you since the God who made heaven and earth promised that I would do so. And here I am. He is the God of the Jews, yet also of the Gentiles-the supreme Father of the universe-who made us all and preserves us all. But because we, his children, fell into wickedness and disobedience, he might have destroyed us all in his anger. Yet in his great mercy, he decided to save humankind by sending us a Savior-the emanation of God himself in the form of Jesus of Nazareth. Although Jesus lived a perfect life, he was unjustly condemned and crucified by one of your governors, Pontius Pilate. But God raised him from the dead, as he will do for all who believe in him, and this is the Good News that he has commanded us all to proclaim to all men everywhere.” Caesar looked at him strangely and said, “Do you really believe all this, Paul of Tarsus? What proof do you have that this is not some daydream? Or nightmare?” Paul now told of his conversion on the road to Damascus in words similar to those I recorded several times in my second treatise to you, O Theophilus [Acts 9, 22, and 26]. When he had finished, Tigellinus said, “This man must have mental afflictions, illustrious Caesar, and we must not let this Christian delusion of his take root in Rome.” Said Caesar, “This does seem to be true, Tigellinus. What do you have to say for yourself, Paul of Tarsus?” “This is not delusion but divine truth, O Caesar. And I have done nothing worthy of death or further imprisonment, as one of your own assessors here should be able to confirm.” “And who might that be?” “I call on your wise tutor and adviser, Annaeus Seneca, who honors me with his presence today. Your own brother Gallio, dear Seneca, judged my case ten years ago in Corinth and found me totally innocent. Surely he must have mentioned this to you?” Seneca replied, “Yes, I seem to remember that. My brother is back in Rome, and I will get further details from him.” “Finally, honored Caesar, I will ask my traveling companion-his name is Luke-to provide a copy of the statement made by King Agrippa II, who heard my case in Caesarea about three years ago. The king is Jewish and should therefore best be able to judge my guilt or innocence.” I then presented a copy of what I had previously written in my second treatise [Acts 26:31-32]: “‘This man is doing nothing to deserve death or imprisonment.’ And Agrippa said to Festus, ‘This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.’” Now we waited for Nero to give his judgment. The evidence showed that Paul was clearly innocent, but Tigellinus, the accuser [prosecutor], was Nero’s closest friend, and Caesar wanted to reward him. He made a show of consulting with his assessors, but then he announced his decision as to condemnation or absolution. “Pa
ul of Tarsus,” he said, “I herewith condem… I con… I ca…” He stopped speaking. His face grew red, and he started coughing. Then he said softly, “I absolve you.” God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, again stood by Paul to control Caesar’s speech, and he was set free. All the brethren in Rome rejoiced that he had been restored to them, offering prayers of thanksgiving to God, who had again delivered his servant. We remained in Rome for several months, confirming fellow believers in the faith, and then we left the city in great joy for Puteoli [on the Bay of Naples], where we spent another week with the brethren there. Then we found a ship bound for Spain and set sail aboard it.
