Johnston Annie Fellows
Joel: A Boy of Galilee

CHAPTER XIV

SIMON the leper sat at the door of his cave. He held a roll of vellum in his unsightly fingers; it was a copy of the Psalms that Lazarus had once made for him in happier days.

Many a time he had found comfort in these hope-inspiring songs of David; but to-day he was reading a wail that seemed to come from the depths of his own soul:

"Thy wrath lieth hard upon me, and Thou hast afflicted me with all Thy waves. Thou hast put mine acquaintance far from me. Thou hast made me an abomination unto them. I am shut up and I cannot come forth. Lord, I have called daily upon Thee. I have stretched out my hands unto Thee. Wilt Thou show wonders to the dead? Shall the dead arise again and praise Thee? Lord, why casteth Thou off my soul? Why hidest Thou Thy face from me?"

The roll dropped to the ground, and he hid his face in his hands, crying, "How long must I endure this? Oh, why was I not taken instead of Lazarus?"

The sound of some one scrambling over the rocks made him look up quickly.

Seth never made his visits at this time of the day, and strangers had never before found the path to this out-of-the-way place.

Joel came on, and stopped by the rock where the water-jar stood.

Simon stood up, covering himself with his mantle, and crying out, warningly, "Beware! Unclean! Come no further!"

"I bring you news from the village," said Joel. The man threw out his hand with a gesture of alarm.

"Oh, not of my wife Esther," he cried, imploringly, "or of my little Joseph! I could not bear to hear aught of ill from them. My heart is still sore for the death of my friend Lazarus. I went as near the village as I dared, and heard the dirge of the flutes and the wailing of the women, when they laid him in the tomb. I have sat here ever since in sackcloth and ashes."

"But Lazarus lives again!" exclaimed Joel, simply. He had seen so many miracles lately, that he forgot the startling effect such an announcement would have on one not accustomed to them.

The man stood petrified with astonishment. At last he said bitterly, "You but mock me, boy; at least leave me to my sorrow in peace."

"No!" cried Joel. "As the Lord liveth, I swear it is the truth. Have you not heard that Messiah has come? I have followed Him up and down the country, and know whereof I speak. At a word from Him the dumb sing, the blind see, and the lame walk. I was lame myself, and He made me as you see me now."

Joel drew himself up to his fullest height. Simon looked at him, completely puzzled.

"Why did you take the trouble to come and tell me that, – a poor despised leper?" he finally asked.

"Because I want everybody else to be as happy as I am. He cured me. He gave me back my strength. Then why should not my feet be always swift to bring others to Him for the same happy healing? He Himself goes about all the time doing good. I know there is hope for you, for I have seen Him cleanse lepers."

Simon trembled, as the full meaning of the hope held out to him began to make itself clear to his confused mind: health, home, Esther, child, – all restored to him. It was joy too great to be possible.

"Oh, if I could only believe it!" he cried.

"Lazarus was raised when he had been four days dead. All Bethany can bear witness to that," persisted Joel. The words poured out with such force and earnestness, as he described the scene, that Simon felt impelled to believe him.

"Where can I find this man?" he asked.

Joel pointed down the rocky slope. "Take that road that leads into Bethany. Come early in the morning, and as we all pass that way, call to Him. He never refuses any who have faith to believe that He can grant what they ask."

When Joel was half-way down the hill, he turned back. "If He should not pass on the morrow," he said, "do not fail to be there on the second day. We will surely leave here soon."

Simon stood in bewilderment till the boy had passed down the hill; he began to fear that this messenger had been only the creation of a dream. He climbed upon the cliff and peered down into the valley. No, he had not been deceived; the boy was no mirage of his thirsty soul, for there, he came out into full sight again, and now, he was climbing the opposite hillside.

"How beautiful upon the mountain are the feet of him who bringeth good tidings!" he murmured. "Oh, what a heaven opens out before me, if this lad's words are only true!"

Next morning, after they left Bethany, Joel looked anxiously behind every rock and tree that they passed; but Simon was not to be seen.

Presently Joel saw him waiting farther down the road; he was kneeling in the dust. The white mantle, that in his sensitiveness was always used to hide himself from view, was cast aside, that the Great Healer might see his great need.

He scanned the approaching figures with imploring eyes. He was looking for the Messiah, – some one in kingly garments, whose jewelled sceptre's lightest touch would lay upon him the royal accolade of health.

These were evidently not the ones he was waiting for. These were only simple wayfarers; most of them looked like Galileans.

He was about to rise up with his old warning cry of unclean, when he caught sight of Joel. But where was the princely Redeemer of prophecy?

Nearer and nearer they came, till he could look full in their faces. No need now to ask on which one he should call for help; indeed, he seemed to see but one face, it was so full of loving pity.

"O Thou Messiah of Israel!" he prayed. "Thou didst call my friend Lazarus from the dead, O pass me not by! Call me from this living death! Make me clean!"

The eyes that looked down into his seemed to search his soul. "Believest thou that I can do this?"

The pleading faith in Simon's eyes could not be refused. "Yea, Lord," he cried, "Thou hast but to speak the word!"

He waited, trembling, for the answer that meant life or death to him.

"I will. Be thou clean!" He put out His hand to raise the kneeling man to his feet. "Go and show thyself to the priests," He added.

The party passed on, and Simon stood looking after them. Was it the Christ who had passed by? Where were His dyed garments from Bozrah? The prophet foretold Him as glorious in apparel, travelling in the greatness of His strength. No sceptre of divine power had touched him; it was only the clasp of a warm human hand he had felt. He looked down at himself. Still a leper! His faith wavered; but he remembered he had not obeyed the command to show himself to the priests. Immediately he started across the fields on a run, towards the road leading into Jerusalem.

Far down the highway Joel heard a mighty shout; he turned and looked back. There on the brow of a hill, sharply outlined against the sky, stood Simon. His arms were lifted high up towards heaven; for as he ran, in obedience to the command, the leprosy had gone from him. He was pouring out a flood of praise and thanksgiving, in the first ecstasy of his recovery, at the top of his voice.

Joel thought of the tiresome ceremonies to be observed before the man could go home, and wished that the eight days of purification were over, that the little family might be immediately reunited.

Meanwhile, Seth, with his basket and water-bottle, was climbing the hill toward the cave. For the first time in seven years since he had commenced these daily visits, no expectant voice greeted him. He went quite close up to the little room under the cliff; he could see through the half-open door that it was empty. Then he cautiously approached the mouth of the cave, and called his master. A hundred echoes answered him, but no human voice responded. Call after call was sent ringing into the hollow darkness. The deep stillness weighed heavily upon him; he began to be afraid that somewhere in its mysterious depths lay a dead body.

The fear mastered him. Only stopping to put down the food and pour out the water, he started home at the top of his speed.

As he reached the road, a traveller going to Bethany hailed him. "What think you that I saw just now?" asked the stranger. "A man running with all his might towards Jerusalem. Tears of joy were streaming down his cheeks, and he was shouting as he ran, 'Cleansed! Cleansed! Cleansed!' He stopped me, and bade me say, if I met a man carrying a basket and water-skin, that Simon the leper has just been healed of the leprosy. He will be home as soon as the days of purification are over."

Seth gazed at him stupidly, feeling that he must be in a dream. Esther, too, heard the message unbelievingly. Yet she walked the floor in a fever of excitement, at the bare possibility of such a thing being true.

The next morning, she sent Seth, as usual, with the provisions. But he brought them back, saying the place was still deserted.

Then she began to dare to hope; although she tried to steel herself against disappointment, by whispering over and over that she could never see him again, she waited impatiently for the days to pass. At last they had all dragged by.

The new day would begin at sunset, the very earliest time that she might expect him. The house was swept and garnished as if a king were coming. The table was set with the choicest delicacies Seth could find in the Jerusalem markets.

The earliest roses, his favorite red ones, were put in every room. In her restless excitement nothing in her wardrobe seemed rich enough to wear. She tried on one ornament after another before she was suited. Then, all in white, with jewels blazing in her ears, on her throat, on her little white hands, and her eyes shining like two glad stars, she sat down to wait for him.

But she could not keep still. This rug was turned up at the corner; that rose had dropped its petals on the floor. She would have another kind of wine on the table.

At last she stepped out of the door in her little silken-bound sandals, and climbed the outside stairs to the roof, to watch for him.

The sun was entirely out of sight, but the west was glorious with the red gold of its afterglow. Looking up the Mount of Olives, she could see the smoke of the evening sacrifice rising as the clouds of incense filled the Temple. Surely he must be far on the way by this time.

Her heart almost stopped beating as she saw a figure coming up the road, between the rows of palm-trees. She strained her eyes for a nearer view, then drew a long tremulous breath. It was Lazarus; there went the two children and the lamb to meet him. All along the street, people were standing in the doors to see him go past; he was still a wonder to them.

She shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked again. But while her gaze searched the distant road, some one was passing just below, under the avenue of leafy trees, with quick impatient tread; some one paused at the vine-covered door; some one was leaping up the stairs three steps at a time; some one was coming towards her with out-stretched arms, crying, "Esther, little Esther, O my wife! My God-given one!"

For the first time in seven years, she turned to find herself in her husband's arms. Strong and well, with the old light in his eyes, the old thrill in his voice, the glow of perfect health tingling through all his veins, he could only whisper tremulously, as he held her close, "Praise God! Praise God!"

No wonder he seemed like a stranger to Joseph. But the clasp of the strong arms, and the deep voice saying "my son," so tenderly, were inexpressibly dear to the little fellow kept so long from his birthright of a father's love.

He was the first to break the happy silence that fell upon them. "What a good man Rabbi Jesus must be, to go about making people glad like this all the time!"

"It is He who shall redeem Israel!" exclaimed Simon. "To God be the glory, who hath sent Him into this sin-cursed world! Henceforth all that I have, and all that I am, shall be dedicated to His service!"

Kneeling there in the dying daylight, with his arms around the wife and child so unexpectedly given back to him, such a heart-felt prayer of gratitude went upward to the good Father that even the happiest angels must have paused to listen, more glad because of this great earth-gladness below.

CHAPTER XV

I THINK there will be an unusual gathering of strangers at the Passover this year," said Rabbi Reuben to Lazarus, as they came out together from the city, one afternoon. "The number may even reach three millions. A travelling man from Rome was in my shop to-day. He says that in the remotest parts of the earth, wherever the Hebrew tongue is found, one may hear the name of the Messiah.

"People pacing the decks of the ships, crossing the deserts, or trading in the shops, talk only of Him and His miracles; they have aroused the greatest interest even in Athens and the cities of the Nile. The very air seems full of expectancy. I cannot but think great things are about to come to pass. Surely the time is now ripe for Jesus to proclaim Himself king. I cannot understand why He should hide Himself away in the wilderness as if He feared for His safety."

Lazarus smiled at the old man, with a confident expression. "Be sure, my friend, it is only because the hour has not yet come. What a sight it will be when He does stand before the tomb of our long dead power, to call back the nation to its old-time life and grandeur. I can well believe that with Him all things are possible."

"Would that this next Passover were the time!" responded Reuben. "How I would rejoice to see His enemies laid low in the dust!"

Already, on the borders of Galilee, the expected king had started toward His coronation. Many of the old friends and neighbors from Capernaum had joined their band, to go on to the Paschal feast.

They made slow progress, however, for at every turn in the road they were stopped by outstretched hands and cries for help. Nearly every step was taken to the sound of some rejoicing cry from some one who had been blessed.

Joel could not crowd all the scenes into his memory; but some stood with clear-cut distinctness. There were the ten lepers who met them at the very outset; and there was blind Bartimeus begging by the wayside. He could never forget the expression of that man's face, when his eyes were opened, and for the first time he looked out on the glory of the morning sunshine.

Joel quivered all over with a thrill of sympathy, remembering his own healing, and realizing more than the others what had been done for the blind beggar.

Then there was Zaccheus, climbing up to look down through the sycamore boughs that he might see the Master passing into Jericho, and Zaccheus scrambling down again in haste to provide entertainment for his honored guest.

There was the young ruler going away sorrowful because the sacrifice asked of him was more than he was willing to make. But there was one scene that his memory held in unfading colors: —

Roses and wild honeysuckle climbing over a bank by the road-side. Orange-trees dropping a heavy fragrance with the falling petals of their white blossoms. In the midst of the shade and the bloom the mothers from the village near by, gathering with their children, all freshly washed and dressed to find favor in the eyes of the passing Prophet.

Babies cooed in their mother's arms. Bright little faces smiled out from behind protecting skirts, to which timid fingers clung. As they waited for the coming procession, and little bare feet chased each other up and down the bank, the happy laughter of the older children filled all the sunny air.

As the travellers came on, the women caught up their children and crowded forward. It was a sight that would have made almost any one pause, – those innocent-eyed little ones waiting for the touch that would keep them always pure in heart, – that blessing their mothers coveted for them.

But some of the disciples, impatient at the many delays, seeing in the rosy faces and dimpled limbs nothing that seemed to claim help or attention, spoke to the women impatiently. "Why trouble ye the Master?" they said. "Would ye stop the great work He has come to do for matters of such little importance?"

Repelled by the rebuke, they fell back. But there was a look of displeasure on His face, such as they had never seen before, as Jesus turned toward them.

"Suffer the little children to come unto me," He said, sternly, "and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven!"

Then holding out His hands He took them up in His arms and blessed them, every one, even the youngest baby, that blinked up at Him unknowingly with its big dark eyes, received its separate blessing.

So fearlessly they came to Him, so lovingly they nestled in His arms, and with such perfect confidence they clung to Him, that He turned again to His disciples. "Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein."

Met at all points as He had been by loathsome sights, ragged beggars, and diseases of all kinds, this group of happy-faced children must have remained long in His memory, as sweet as the unexpected blossoming of a rose in a dreary desert.

At last the slow journey drew towards a close. The Friday afternoon before the Passover found the tired travellers once more in Bethany. News of their coming had been brought several hours before by a man riding down from Jericho. His swift-footed beast had overtaken and passed the slow procession far back on the road.

There was a joyful welcome for the Master in the home of Lazarus. The cool, vine-covered arbor was a refreshing change from the dusty road. Here were no curious throngs and constant demands for help.

Away from the sights that oppressed Him, away from the clamor and the criticism, here was a place where heart and body might find rest. The peace of the place, and the atmosphere of sympathy surrounding Him, must have fallen like dew on His thirsty soul. Here, for a few short days, He who had been so long a houseless wanderer was to know the blessedness of a home.

Several hours before the first trumpet blast from the roof of the synagogue proclaimed the approaching Sabbath, Simon hurried to his home.

"Esther," he called in great excitement, "I have seen Him! The Christ! I have knelt at His feet. I have looked in His face. And, oh, only think! – He has promised to sit at our table! To-morrow night, such a feast as has never been known in the place shall be spread before Him. Help me to think of something we may do to show him especial honor."

Esther sprang up at the news. "We have very little time to prepare," she said. "Seth must go at once into the city to make purchases. To-morrow night, no hireling hand shall serve him. I myself shall take that lowly place, with Martha and Mary to aid me. Abigail, too, shall help us, for it is a labor of love that she will delight to take part in. I shall go at once to ask them."

The long, still Sabbath went by. The worshippers in the synagogue looked in vain for other miracles, listened in vain for the Voice that wrought such wonders.

Through the unbroken rest of that day He was gathering up His strength for a coming trial. Something of the approaching shadow may have been seen in His tender eyes; some word of the awaiting doom may have been spoken to the brother and sisters sitting reverently at his feet, – for they seemed to feel that a parting was at hand, and that they must crowd the flying hours with all the loving service they could render Him.

That night at the feast, as Esther's little white hands brought the water for the reclining guests to wash, and Martha and Abigail placed sumptuously filled dishes before them, Mary paused in her busy passing to and fro; she longed to do some especial thing to show her love for the honored guest.

Never had His face worn such a look of royalty; never had He seemed so much the Christ. The soft light of many candles falling on His worn face seemed to reveal as never before the divine soul soon to leave the worn body where it now tarried.

An old Jewish custom suddenly occurred to her. She seemed to see two pictures: one was Aaron, standing up in the rich garments of the priesthood, with his head bowed to receive the sacred anointing; the other was Israel's first king, on whom the hoary Samuel was bestowing the anointing that proclaimed his royalty. Token of both priesthood and kingship, – oh, if she dared but offer it!

No one noticed when she stepped out after awhile, and hurried swiftly homeward. Hidden away in a chest in her room, was a little alabaster flask, carefully sealed. It held a rare sweet perfume, worth almost its weight in gold.

She took it out with trembling fingers, and hid it in the folds of her long flowing white dress. Her breath came quick, and her heart beat fast, as she slipped in behind the guests again. The color glowed and paled in her cheeks, as she stood there in the shadow of the curtains, hesitating, half afraid to venture.

At last, when the banquet was almost over, she stepped noiselessly forward. There was a hush of surprise at this unusual interruption, although every one there was familiar with the custom, and recognized its deep meaning and symbolism.

First on His head, then on His feet, she poured the costly perfume. Bending low in the deepest humility, she swept her long soft hair across them to wipe away the crystal drops. The whole house was filled with the sweet, delicate odor.

Some of those who saw it, remembered a similar scene in the house of another Simon, in far away Galilee; but only the Anointed One could feel the deep contrast between the two.

That Simon, the proud Pharisee, condescending and critical and scant in hospitality; this Simon, the cleansed leper, ready to lay down his life, in his boundless love and gratitude. That woman, a penitent sinner, kneeling with tears before His mercy; this woman, so pure in heart that she could see God though hidden in the human body of the Nazarene. That anointing, to His priesthood at the beginning of His ministry; this anointing, to His kingdom, now almost at hand. No one spoke as the fragrance rose and spread itself like the incense of a benediction. It seemed a fitting close to this hour of communion with the Master.

Across this eloquent silence that the softest sound would have jarred upon, a cold, unfeeling voice broke harshly.

It was Judas Iscariot who spoke. "Why was all this ointment wasted?" he asked. "It would have been better to have sold it and given it to the poor."

Simon frowned indignantly at this low-browed guest, who was so lacking in courtesy, and Mary looked up distressed.

"Let her alone!" said the Master, gently. "Ye have the poor with you always, and whensoever ye will, ye may do them good: but me ye have not always. She hath done what she could: she is come aforehand to anoint my body to the burying."

A dark look gleamed in the eyes of Judas, – there was that reference again to His burial. There seemed to be no use of making any further pretence to follow Him any longer. His kingdom was a delusion, – a vague, shadowy, spiritual thing that the others might believe in if they chose. But if there was no longer any hope of gaining by His service, he would turn to the other side.

That night there was another secret council of some of the Sanhedrin, and Judas Iscariot was in their midst.

When the lights were out, and the Temple police were making their final rounds, a dark figure went skulking out into the night, and wound its way through the narrow streets, – the dark figure that still goes skulking through the night of history, – the man who covenanted for thirty pieces of silver to betray his Lord.