They were still speaking when a young man with a beardless
face and insolent expression came riding by on a tall
steed. When he saw the group of Nazarenes he
reined in his horse; it would scarcely stop, stamped
with its legs on the ground, and threw its head snorting
into the air.
“Isn’t this the man with the Kingdom of
Heaven?” asked the rider contemptuously.
James came forward quickly. “Sir, stop
your mocking. How do you know that you will
never need it?”
“I?” said the arrogant cavalier.
“I need a Kingdom of Heaven that is not to
be seen, heard, or understood!”
“But felt, sir!”
“Then that is He,” exclaimed the horseman,
pointing to Jesus. “No, Nazarenes, I do
not believe in your Heavenly Kingdom.”
To which Jesus replied; “Perhaps you will believe
in My empty tomb.”
“We will see,” said the cavalier, putting
spurs to his horse so that it reared, and galloped
off. Soon all that the disciples saw was a cloud
of dust. Matthew looked searchingly at his comrades.
“Did you recognise him? Wasn’t
it Saul, the dread weaver? They were saying in
the town yesterday that he was coming with a legion
of soldiers to arrest the Nazarenes.”
Then they urged in terror; “Master, let us flee.”
He was not accustomed to flee before zealous Pharisees,
but there was another reason for removing his innocent
disciples from the atmosphere of these big cities.
Simon was always suggesting that it would be no bad
thing to spend the coming Passover on the Tiber, for
he felt less afraid of the heathens in Rome than of
the Jews in Jerusalem. He had no idea of what
was before them.
“Not in Rome,” said Jesus, “but
rather in Jerusalem will we eat the Paschal lamb.”
Soon after they wandered forth and left the noisy
seaport behind them. As the roads became more
and more unsafe, they climbed the rocks and took the
way across the mountains.
The gods came down from high Olympus, the Law came
down from Sinai, Light came down from Lebanon.
For it was at Lebanon that the great revelation came,
which my shrinking soul is now to witness.
The following incident took place during the journey
among the mountains of Lebanon. One day they
were resting under an old weather-beaten cedar.
The rain trickled through the bristling bush of needles
from one branch to another on to the hats under the
broad brims of which the men cowered, their legs drawn
up under them, their arms crossed over their chests.
Tired and somewhat out of humour, they looked out
into the damp mist against which the near summits and
masses of rock stood out. The hair and beards
of the older men had turned grey, and even the faces
of the younger seemed to have aged. For their
hardships had been great. But the glow in their
eyes was not quenched. They had laid aside their
