An Easter Disciple | Page 4

camp duties; "I will hear him for myself; and I will bring you back
report as to this latest prophet of immortality."
With his soldier's cloak about him, in protection against the winter's
chill, Quintus is away to Jerusalem. The national Feast of Dedication
attracts his notice. A courteous Hebrew explains to him that the joyful
festival commemorates the cleansing of the Temple after its profanation

by Antiochus Epiphanes, two hundred years before. The procession of
pious Jews, carrying their palm branches and marching to the heights of
Moriah, the chanting of the great Hallel within the imposing fane, the
ascription of praise to Jehovah all impress the keen-eyed soldier.
The enthusiasm of it all! Though of other blood, Quintus clearly feels
the thrill of patriotism that stirs the multitude about him; and he
understands in some measure their impatient waiting for the coming
prince who shall deliver Israel.
But is this all? Instead it is only the beginning of the wonders which the
serious Quintus is to witness. Forth he passes to the eastern cloister of
the Temple, known then among the Jews as Solomon's Porch, in
memory of their illustrious king. The bystanders tell Quintus that it is
built of a fragment of the first Temple which Nebuchadnezzar had left
standing. As the soldier looks down the far-reaching aisle, he sees a
quadruple row of white Corinthian columns, one hundred and sixty in
number, and extending a length of many hundred feet. The vista is most
amazing. Accustomed though he has been all his days to the
magnificence of the Roman architecture, he yields in willing
admiration to the splendors of the Solomonic porch.
Then--he sees the Christ! Walking through that forest of massive
columns is the superlative Jew of his times, and of all times. For
now--when the voices of that winter day are still, and Solomon's Porch
has vanished where stood those blessed feet--there is no earthly
measurement by which to estimate the Man whom Quintus saw.
Among the throng that surround him hostile Pharisees challenge him to
tell them plainly if he be the foretold Messiah. With impatient hearts
they have waited long for their redemption. Let him say if their
deliverer has now come. Then shall they throw off the yoke of the
detested Roman rule and renew their ancient monarchy with enlarging
influence and increasing splendors.
Memorable words in answer does Quintus hear. The Stranger puts aside
the thought of the Jewish struggle for an earthly throne, and turns in his
fancy to the quiet pastures where feed the flocks. He is a guardian
Shepherd; Israel and all the world besides are his cherished sheep.
Those who are truly his shall hear his guiding voice, and shall follow
him. They shall never perish. From the hand of the Shepherd no vandal
shall steal his own away. How the words thrill! Sometimes Quintus has

seen in the Judaean pastures the keeper with his flocks, and knows how
unchanging is his fidelity. It is as if this watcher in his devotion is
anticipating the faithfulness of the greater Shepherd. How entrancing is
the lesson to this seeking soldier from beyond the Adriatic!
Then does the Christ add another word more surprising than the rest.
To men who are his sheep he makes a promise that compasses the
furthest limit of the eternities. Of such he says: "Unto those who follow
me I will give the Life of the Ages. Beyond the tomb they are to live on
forevermore." Nor to the Jews alone, amid the maze of those
Corinthian columns, does the coming Shepherd speak. The listening
Roman soldier, wearing the armor of the empire on the Tiber, comes
within the circle of his promise. Into the face of Quintus he looks and
benignly says: "There are other sheep not of the Jewish pasture, to
whom I shall give this unending life. I covet your great empire as my
own. O soldier of the Caesars, follow after me!"
Back to the camp on Scopus the soldier goes, moved to his deepest soul.
Impossible it seems to longer worship the Roman gods. When he has
described to Aulus the Feast of Dedication, he repeats the words he has
heard in the Temple cloister, and says in deepest seriousness:
"Most unearthly is the Man on whom I have looked to-day. In his
speech a divine patience, kindness, and dignity combine. As for the
words he spoke, I cannot tell their moving power. The sayings of our
noblest Romans are feeble in the comparison. Never have I heard
another speak as he has done about a future world. Truly, an unequaled
Man is this new Teacher who is abroad in Judaea."
Sleep is of little consequence that night. Is the word of the augur at
Brundisium beginning to be fulfilled?