A ROMAN PARADE
“Roomy Eternity
Casts her schemes rarely,
And an æon allows
For each quality and part
Of the multitudinous
And many‐chambered heart.”
The spread of the New Faith, and the hold that it took upon increasing
numbers of the common people of the Holy City, furnishes a wonderful
illustration of the inner power of a simple, spiritual religion. Its
purity and depth were outwardly manifested by the general subordination
among its followers of the strongest of all human passions,—selfishness.
They were so filled with the spirit of brotherhood that they counted it a
privilege to put their possessions into the common stock, in order to give
to each one as he had need. There was no forced or legal communism, but a
voluntary local and temporary dominance of the great future human Ideal.
The law of the inherent blessedness of giving out—whether of spiritual or
material treasure—was practically realized, and the harmonizing and
uplifting power of a true reciprocity proven. The exercise of a helpful
ministry marked a real nobility and greatness, and its activities of
relief and healing make up a unique epoch in human history.
Wherever religion has dropped from simplicity and spirituality, and become
scholastic, dogmatic, ceremonial, or a matter of the State, it has lost
its power to mould life, and heal the weaknesses and disorders of mind and
body. With almost no organization, system, or theology, there was a
dynamic quality among the primitive believers, the phenomena of which are
worthy of the study of every one who would fathom the divine economy of
man. A gospel, or “Godspel,” was manifested. The joy and gladness which
came from a demonstration of the practical working of the divine spirit in
humanity was the natural fruit of a release from the shackles of a dead
ceremonialism. It was a spontaneous outburst of what before had been
within, but latent.
The divine, unchangeable Perfection had not changed or improved in the
“pouring out” of the Spirit, but human receptivity was newly and
voluntarily opened. Religion, as a spiritual life, introduces a practical
oneness with, and re‐enforcement of, divinity in man, which fruits in
“wonderful works” as a natural and orderly articulation. The bestowment of
spiritual favor on the Godward side can never be less than full and
perfect, else would there be variableness and uncertainty. Law, which is
divine method, is as reliable in the spiritual as the material realm; and
the same compliance with its orderly activity and employment will forever
bring like results. The “signs that follow them who believe” will never
fail, but belief in this sense signifies a spiritual understanding deeper
than mere intellectual assent. A renewal of the marvellous “works” of the
Primitive Church will come whenever a like spiritual dominance over
external conditions is gained. Chronology changes no law of Being. The
divine economy, being eternally perfect, is not subject to the wavering
moods of human vacillation. They must conform to it, and not it to them.
Then, as man comes into at‐one‐ment with divine laws and forces, he is
backed by their energy, and commands their accomplishments. The New
Dispensation was new only to the awareness of man. The variation of
personal standpoint makes a seeming movement of the whole divine Order.
Serenus had been long ripening for the conditions which came into outward
exercise so spontaneously among the primitive believers. In the earlier
part of his life, while among the Essenes and Therapeutæ, he had witnessed
much of the power which is linked to spiritual devotion, and participated
measurably in it. His transparent character and inner development, with
the active exercise of a healing ministry, had marked him as rare in
attainment while young in years. But during his connection with the school
of Gamaliel, these qualities were somewhat quiescent, while a more
distinctive intellectual development was taking place. But under the
influence of the new movement his spiritual forces came to the front in
full measure. He was everywhere active in healing the sick, strengthening
the weak, instructing the ignorant, and sowing the seed for a spiritual
harvest. His miracles of healing came from an intelligent wielding of the
divine potencies, which, unrecognized and latent, dwell in the inmost of
every human “image of God.”
In the early morning of the day after the meeting in the Cyrenian
synagogue, there was a street parade of Roman legionaries, as was usual at
short intervals, that the people of Jerusalem might have constantly before
their eyes the tokens of imperial dominion. The imposing military column
started from the Tower of Antonia, and after marching around a long
circuit, passed through the Square of the Sheepmarket on its return. Most
of the Jews, especially the better classes, resolutely kept out of sight,
with every portal and window closed, as the hated Romans passed by. But to
the rabble, music and pageantry were attractive. The blare of trumpets
signalled their approach. In advance was a vanguard of spearmen, with
gilded helmets, mailed breastplates, and shields upon the left arm,
marching with a rhythm so perfect that they seemed like a huge machine,
working with automatic regularity and perfection. The bronzed faces,
brown, muscular limbs, and mailed armor, with their exact mechanical
swing, made them seem more like men of iron than of flesh. Then came the
ensigns, with banners and pennants floating in air, and in their midst,
upon a tall rod, an emblematic gilded eagle with outstretched wings. Next
were bowmen and slingers in close column of ranks and files, stretching
out far in the distance. Then a group of mounted officers, commanders of
cohorts, and centurions with a guard, and long array of cavalry, all
speaking eloquently of the heavy mailed hand of Cæsar. The huzzas of the
soldiers were often answered by the hisses and sneers of the onlookers,
but outbreaks were not frequent. But as they passed the inn of the
Sheepmarket, Rabbi Abdiel looked down upon them from the roof, and with a
sudden impulse raised his arms toward heaven, and in a loud voice called
down upon the moving mass the curses of Jehovah. At first the soldiers
gave no attention to his maledictions except to send up a few jeers and
shouts of derision; but as he continued, a centurion below gave an order
to a rank of soldiers,—
“Enter and seize the Jewish dog! To the Tower with him!”
This was done, and the location of the offending inn noted. But there was
no halt of the long, glittering column, which continued its winding march
until it passed over the great drawbridge, and was lost to sight as it
entered the broad frowning portal of Antonia.
Upon his return, the Commandant of the Tower found a little deputation
awaiting him with a petition. They were members of the congregation of the
New Faith, who having heard that a tumult was probable at the Cyrenian
synagogue, and that the young deacon Stephanos was in danger, asked for
the protection of the Roman authorities. The request was heard, but
refused, and they were flippantly dismissed.
“By Bacchus!” said the Commandant. “We are not here to take account of all
your hair‐splitting religious quarrels and tumults. We understand them
not, and have no care for them so long as Cæsar’s prerogatives are
unquestioned. Fight out your own differences! Your petition doth not
concern us!”
At a later hour the meeting at the synagogue was to take place. Long
before the time, the room was crowded to the utmost, and a dense throng
gathered in the streets outside. There was an air of unwonted excitement
and expectation. Wild rumors had flown thick and fast, that Stephanos
would boldly attack the whole ceremonial system, and that there was a
strong faction organized for resistance. It was said that if he offended
they might forcibly bring him before the Sanhedrin, which would be in
special session.
The meeting opened. Stephanos arose calmly, and, after reading a few
passages from the prophets, began his address,—
“Brethren and friends! Again with joy I proclaim unto you the first fruits
of the New Dispensation of the Spirit of Truth. The Word of the Lord is
increased; and mighty works, signs, and ministries are being wrought in
our midst. From out of the dead works of your ordinances and traditions
there has sprung a New Faith, even that proclaimed by the Nazarene, who
rebuked your hypocrisy, and laid the foundation of an unseen and universal
spiritual kingdom. Lo! as he hath prophesied, the Spirit is ‘poured out,’
and many not of the Levitical order are inspired to teach and preach.”
As Stephanos continued, he waxed eloquent, and spake with great vigor. It
seemed not to be the young man himself who was speaking, but some mighty
power which was manifested through him. A Spirit was within which was so
intense that it shone through his face, and his words were so powerful
that his hearers were spellbound.
But the spell was broken by a signal which was at once followed by a
fierce rush upon the platform. The bustling form of Saulus, with fiery
face, flashing eyes, and clinched fists, was in the midst; and above the
noise of the uproar his loud voice echoed through the synagogue,—
“Seize the traitor! Down with the blasphemer! Drag him out! To the
Sanhedrin! To the Sanhedrin!”
The members of the Society of the _Urim_ were in the forefront; and
besides, there had gathered a rabble from the streets who were eager to
join the mob. A little band of the disciples of the New Faith clustered
about Stephanos with devoted and loving faithfulness, but acted only as a
defensive shield, and were soon borne down by the force and ferocity of
greatly superior numbers. Amid wild shouts and confusion the little band
was scattered, and Stephanos seized and taken out of the synagogue.
“Ha! Where is the great kingdom? Hath it been set up? Where is its
throne?” said Saulus. “We shall make short work of thee and all thy kind!
Come on, witnesses! To the Sanhedrin! To the Sanhedrin!”
Stephanos was dragged up the steep road to the “Hall of Squares,” where
the august court was in session. On the way he made no resistance, and
amid jeers, savage yells, and curses, was led along. With loud commands,
Saulus headed the throng.
The seventy‐one members of the Sanhedrin were seated at the farther end of
the spacious hall, in tiers of seats rising from the centre, and sweeping
around in an imposing semicircle. Annas was High Priest and presiding
officer on this occasion. They had been apprised of the fact that
Stephanos would be brought before them, and were ready to receive him. He
was led in by Saulus and the witnesses; as many of the throng following as
could find room in the public part of the hall. Everything was ready, and
pointed to a foregone conclusion. The charges were made; and the witnesses
stood up, one by one, to confront and make testimony against their victim.
“I heard him speak against the Holy Place, and blaspheme the Law.”
“I heard him declare that the doctrine of the Nazarene would destroy the
Temple service, and do away with the Law of Moses.”
“I heard him say that he despised our sacred traditions and ordinances.”
“I heard him call our chief priests and Rabbis hypocrites, and speak of a
new kingdom not of the Chosen People.”
“I heard him proclaim the Messiahship of the Galilean pretender, and
blaspheme Jehovah.”
“I heard him speak against the Circumcision, and call the Nazarene the Son
of God.”
Then the High Priest, clothed in the imposing robes of his office, arose,
and waving his hand, asked Stephanos to plead by answering the formal and
customary question, “Are these things so?”
Stephanos arose to make answer. Young, handsome, and tall, with dignified
manner, he wore an unwonted grandeur in looks, words, and action. He began
an eloquent oration. As he proceeded, he seemed transfigured by an inner
consciousness which fairly illumined his countenance. He looked his
accusers in the face, and they quailed before him. Even the fevered and
fierce glance of Saulus was cast down when the penetrating look of the
saint was turned upon him. A marvellous inner light shone out through his
face, which entirely transformed its expression. It was heavenly, rather
than defiant, but to the onlookers it was awful. While it radiated love
and spiritual exaltation, to them it was threatening and terrible.
Overshadowed by the Shekinah, there was an intangible halo about him, in
which they saw mirrored their own guilt and condemnation. As he continued,
a raging passion boiled in their hearts, even though for a time they were
spellbound. His amazing courage and stinging truthfulness were paralyzing,
and they could no longer look upon that terrible face.
At length Stephanos stopped short in his unanswerable argument, and there
was a moment of silence. Then he gathered up the full measure of his
righteous wrath, and hurled it in their indignant but shrinking faces. He
denounced them as betrayers and murderers, and lashed them with invective,
terrible but true. Then the awful spell was broken, and their pent‐up
hatred burst all bonds. The wonted sedate and dignified Sanhedrin exploded
with anger. Unable longer to maintain any semblance of judicial procedure,
they waxed hot, gnashed their teeth, clinched their fists, and hissed and
howled like wild beasts.
Traitor! Blasphemer! Slanderer! Reprobate! Heretic! were some of the names
that were hurled at Stephanos from all directions. He was not abashed, but
the burst of holy indignation which had gone forth from him was ended. It
was aimed at their actions and customs rather than themselves. Though
severe, it was not vindictive or intended for insult, but awakening. But
reason was unavailing. Righteousness is a standing menace and rebuke to
guilt. Nothing can be more hateful.
Stephanos lifted his eyes from the malignant faces, rendered demoniacal by
surging passion, and looked up as if in a trance. The Sanhedrin, with all
its bitterness, faded from his sight, and became to him as though it were
not. An ecstasy was upon him, and he saw a beatific vision. While the
human wild beasts around him growled and thirsted for his blood, his eyes
were fastened upon a realm of eternal peace, harmony, and glory. His
sublime and all‐powerful faith ushered him into the kingdom of the Real,
while the temporary and incidental shrank to their relative nothingness.
The Sanhedrin regarded itself as eminent, respectable, and humane, but its
members were utterly unable to cognize the truth that was clear and open
to Stephanos. To them their anger was a righteous anger, which exercised
itself in the service of Jehovah. The psychological wave of rage swept
every member of the Jewish High Court off his feet, and bore him on. But
were they sinners above other men? History before and since teems with
like transactions, among all nations, and in the name of all religions.
Stephanos had spoken against things which were sacred and infallible. It
was not alone his burning eloquence, but its terrible truth, that cut them
to the heart and made their blood boil. But now his animate body was yet
in their midst, but _he_ was no longer there. He was listening to a
heavenly harmony, and not to a deafening clamor. Expecting him to
continue, they had stopped their ears to shut out his polluting blasphemy.
Then, with one impulse, they arose in a mass, and rushed upon him. Their
decision was spontaneous, and without any legal formality or deliberation.
They dragged him away to be stoned outside the city gate. The spirit of
persecution transformed the dignified Sanhedrin into a revengeful mob.
Saulus prompted the witnesses when they gave testimony, and when the
explosion occurred was among the foremost. In the rush that was made from
the hall to the street his diminutive form was at the front, and with
glowing face and violent gestures he urged on their impetuous movement. As
they passed along the streets toward the Damascus Gate, they were joined
by great masses of excited men, women, and children. Stephanos made no
resistance. Shouts and imprecations filled the air. The members of the New
Faith, being few in number and non‐resistant in their philosophy of
living, made no opposition. No herald preceded him to proclaim his name
and crime as was usual in regular cases of legal condemnation. No bitter
draft containing frankincense to stupefy the senses, and take away the
edge of pain and terror, was administered, and none was needed. Stephanos
could not suffer; for he was already in the midst of spiritual liberty,
joy, and peace. The seething mob hurried his animate form along, and
passed out to the north of the city to a piece of open ground on the
border of the valley of Jehoshaphat.
Stephanos calmly kneeled down without being bound or fastened, still
looking up and beholding a vision of glory. His upper garments were
stripped off; and then, for the first time, a regular proceeding was
observed, in that the witnesses were to cast the first stones. At length
all was ready, and for a moment there was a silence which was oppressive.
Stretching out his hands toward his murderers, he besought from above
their forgiveness, and gave them his benediction. The stillness continued,
the witnesses were spellbound, and the throng awed and immovable. The
supreme grandeur and spiritual beauty that shone through his face dazzled
and benumbed them, and almost deterred them from their purpose. There was
a visible shrinking, and each waited for the other to make the first move.
But Saulus sprang forth and broke the spell. With frantic manner and loud
voice, he cried,—
“To your work, O witnesses! Finish the Blasphemer! Heresy must be crushed!
Hand me your garments that nothing may encumber, and cursed be he who
holds back.”
The tragedy was soon ended.
The body sank to earth, its resting‐place;
Not so the man. He lives to truth and right.
He flung behind all strife, and in the race
Mounts on and up, though lost to mortal sight.
The crowd soon melted away; and many seemed fearful, oppressed, and
ashamed of their part in the transaction. Even those members of the
Sanhedrin who had accompanied the throng were troubled in spirit, and made
haste to get away. But Saulus was undaunted, and returned exultant and
proud. He made his way back to the Sheepmarket; but the news had preceded
him, and as he entered the inn he received the congratulations of all
except Rebecca.
In the evening of the same day the little group met in the court as was
wont. Rabbi Abdiel was of the number, having been released from the Tower.
“Thy day’s work hath been well done,” said the venerable Jew. “We would
that such things need not be, but heresy must be destroyed. Mercy to our
people and their precious traditions demands that false doctrine be
uprooted, and that without remedy. Such is the will of the Lord.”
“I am persuaded that this pestilent delusion must be put down at once,”
replied Saulus, “or peradventure it will spread beyond all bounds. I shall
take up the work with power, and the High Priest and the whole Sanhedrin
will give me all authority. I glory in the effectual door that is open
unto me whereby I may do such service.”
“These are tumultuous days,” said Benoni. “I had not believed that my eyes
would behold such things in the Holy City, but anon they wax worse and
worse. But it is expedient that thou continue as thou hast begun.”
“Behold, O son of Benoni! thou art chosen from among our people to lead in
this great service,” said Almon.
“It behooveth me to bring this conspiracy to naught, and I shall lose no
time in its discomfiture.”
Rebecca drew her brother aside, and putting her arm about him, softly
said,—
“O my Saulus! I am persuaded that the young son of Israel who saved me
from the throng on the day of Pentecost would condemn this day’s
proceeding! Remember he called himself ‘the friend of Saulus.’”
“Did he belong to the sect of the Nazarene, or speak well of it?”
“Behold I wot not how that may be, but he was so kind and noble that I
feel he would have none of persecution! O Saulus! must you continue this
business?”
“Thou deceivest thyself,” said Saulus, with an impatient gesture. “The man
is no friend of mine, and if he be a follower of the Nazarene he will
suffer with the rest.”
“O Saulus! I pray that he may be spared. Behold the favor which he showed
me!”
“I say unto thee I know him not; and if he be a heretic, woe be to him!”
“I shall try to find him out and warn him!”
“It would be well for thee, Rebecca, to leave the Holy City, and seek thy
home in Tarsus!”
Saulus petulantly turned away, and passed out of the court‐yard.
Cassia was waiting in the passage, and sped to give him congratulation.
“O Saulus! thou art noble and brave!” she exclaimed, embracing him. “I
glory in thy courage and service. Behold I love thee even more than I was
wont!”
Saulus returned the warm greeting.
“Cassia, love, I have great joy in thy favor. I live for thee!” Then
grasping her small hand he gave it a warm kiss, and hastened to his
chamber.
In the solitude of his room and stillness of the night, he sat down to
review the events of the day. His exhilaration, and even the indorsement
and congratulation of his friends, gradually seemed to vanish, and he was
almost forced to look within and become more familiar with himself. He was
surprised at the clearness and depth of the picture of the scene of the
day which seemed to be burnt into his very soul. The tragedy beyond the
city wall stood out before him in every detail. The throng, the shouts,
his own share, the murderous act of the witnesses, the kneeling victim,
his entreaty of pardon for his slayers, all riveted his attention as
keenly as when they were taking place. It was as though his mind had been
a tablet of stone, with the whole scene deeply chiselled in characters
which could never be erased or hidden.
“The duty of the day is done, and well done,” he said to himself; “and now
I will have rest. I bid farewell to this event, that I may be well
prepared to continue the warfare to‐morrow.”
But it would not depart.
“Nay, begone! I would not live it over more to‐night.”
But it became more obtrusive than ever.
Thinking to divert his mind, he took a roll containing a copy of the
“Mishna,” with its six hundred and thirteen precepts, and began to read
them slowly in order. But even upon the roll, in the midst of the clearly
inscribed lines which recited the Jewish code, there was the scene, the
tragedy! He impatiently threw down the roll, and in the stillness seemed
to hear a voice within.
“Thou art guilty! Thy peace hath forsaken thee! Thou art condemned!
condemned! condemned!”
He was startled, for the voice was so distinct that it seemed to come to
the outer hearing. He stopped his ears to find if it were still audible.
“_Condemned! condemned! condemned!_” still echoed as before.
He arose and walked to and fro, and made audible answer.
“Cease thy railing! I am the defender of my people! I will fight blasphemy
and heresy, and nothing shall hinder! The Chosen People will honor me!
Away, and be thou choked, thou false and lying spirit! I crush thee, and
will increase my deeds manifold!”
He then extinguished his lamp, and retired to his couch for the night. But
his sleep was broken, and he could not rest. He heard angry voices,
groans, and noises, and saw horrible shapes. But at length, in the midst
of a troubled sleep, he was suddenly awakened. Something seemed to have
shaken him. With a shiver through every nerve, he sat upright, and saw a
bright object in the blackness before him. His gaze was fastened, and he
could not turn it aside.
“Away! Away! Trouble me not!”
But the brightness remained, and soon began to transform itself. Feature
after feature came into distinct outline. It was a shining face. Calm,
luminous, and grand, it gazed steadily upon him. His blood froze in his
veins as he recognized the _glorified face_ of STEPHANOS.