Thomas was less sure of the Resurrection. "Why should He rise?" asked the disciple. "Did He come to earth for the sake of this bodily life?

Did He not rest everything on the spiritual life? The true Jesus Christ was to be with us in the spirit."

The disciples who had accompanied the Master from Galilee went back to their own land filled with that belief. Things had somewhat changed there. The condemnation of the Nazarene without any proof of guilt had vastly angered the Galileans. His glorious death had terrified them.

No, this countryman of theirs was no ordinary man! They would now make up to His disciples for their ill-conduct towards Him. So His adherents were well received in Galilee, and resumed the occupations that they had abandoned two years before. John had brought His mother home, and gone with her to the quiet house at Nazareth. The others tried to accustom themselves to the work-a-day world, but they could do nothing but think of the Master, and wherever two or three of them were gathered together He was with them in spirit. One day they were together in a cottage by the lake. They spoke of His being the Son of G.o.d, and some who had looked into the Scriptures brought forward proofs: the prophecies which had come to pa.s.s in Him, the psalms He had fulfilled, the miracles He had worked, and the fact that many had seen Him after His death.

Suddenly Thomas said: "I don't much hold with all that. Other things have been prophesied; the Prophets, too, worked miracles, and rose after death. What good is it to me if He is not with us in the flesh?"

They were much alarmed. They shook with terror. Not on account of the Master, but of their brother. But Thomas continued: "Why don't you name the greatest sign, the true sign of His divinity? Why don't you speak of His Word about divine sonship, about loving your enemy, about redemption? Listen to what I am saying: it is what we have all experienced, and still experience every hour. He freed us from worldly desires. He taught us love and joy. He a.s.sured us of eternal life with the Heavenly Father. He did that through His _Word_. He died for that Word and will live in that Word. To me, my brothers, that Divine Word is proof of His being the Son of G.o.d. I need no other."

"Children!" said John. He was indeed the youngest of them, but he said, "Children! Do not talk in such a way. Faith is the knowledge of the heart. Are we not happy in our hearts that we found the Father so near us, so true to us, so eternally on our side, that nothing evil can befall us in the future? These bodies of ours will perish, but He is the resurrection, and he who believes in Him never dies. He loved the children of men so dearly that He gave them His own Son, so that every one who believes in Him may live for ever. Therefore we are happy, because we are in G.o.d, and G.o.d is in us."

Thus His favourite disciple spoke in wondrous enthusiasm. They then began to understand, and to apprehend the immeasurable significance of Him who had lived in human form among them.

Wherever they went, whatever they did. His word sounded in their ears.

The promise that He would follow them to Galilee was fulfilled. His spirit was with them, they were quite sure of that. But that spirit would not let them rest content with work-a-day life; it was like yeast fermenting in their being, it was like a spark kindled into a bright flame, and the fiery tongues announced the glad tidings. They must go forth. None dared be the first to say so, but all at once they all declared: "We must go forth into the wide world." With no great preparation, with cloak and staff as they had travelled with Him, they went forth. First to Jerusalem, to stand once more by His grave, and then forth in every direction to preach Jesus, the Son of G.o.d. . . .

This brings me to the close of my vision. I will only tell further of one meeting which was so remarkable and fraught with such vast results.

One day when the disciples during their journey to Jerusalem were resting under the almond trees, they saw a troop of hors.e.m.e.n in the valley. They were native soldiers with a captain. He seemed to have noticed the disciples, for he put spurs to his horse. The disciples were a little terrified, and Thaddeus, who had good eyes, said: "G.o.d be merciful to us, that's the cruel weaver!"

"We will calmly wait for him," said the brethren, and they remained standing. When the rider was quite close to them, he dismounted quickly and asked: "Do you belong to Jesus of Nazareth?"

"We are His disciples," they answered frankly.

Then he kneeled before Peter, the eldest, spread his arms, and exclaimed: "Receive me, receive me; I would become worthy to be His disciple."

"But if I do not mistake, you are Saul who laid snares for Him?" said Peter.

"Laid snares, persecuted Him and His," said the horseman, and his words broke swiftly from his lips: "Two days ago I rode out against those who said He had risen. Yet I was always thinking of this man who saw so strangely into men's minds. I thought of Him day and night, and of much that He had said. And as I was riding across the plain in the twilight, a light enveloped me, my horse stumbled, a white figure stood in front of me, and in the hand lifted towards Heaven was the mark of a wound. 'Who are you, to bar my way?' I exclaimed. And He answered, 'I am He whom you persecute!' It was your Master risen from the dead.

'Why persecute me, Saul? What have I done to you?' Your Jesus, the Christ, stood living before me! Yes, men of Galilee, now I believe that He is risen. And as, hitherto, I a.s.sailed His word, I will now help to spread it abroad. Brothers, receive me!"

That is my picture of how Saul was converted into an apostle. He sent his horse back to the valley, and went himself gladly and humbly along with the Galileans to Jerusalem.

When, after some days, they reached the Mount of Olives, whence they had first looked on the metropolis, there, standing on the rocks, was Jesus. There He stood, just as He had always been, and the disciples felt exactly as they had in the times past when He was always with them. They stood round Him in a circle, and He looked at them lovingly. And suddenly they heard Him ask in a low voice: "Do you love Me?"

"Lord," they answered, "we love You."

He asked again: "Do you love Me?"

They said: "Lord, You know that we love You."

Then He asked for a third time; "Do you love Me?"

And they exclaimed all together: "We cannot tell in words, O Lord, how we love You!"

"Then go forth. Go to the poor, and comfort them; to the sinners, and raise them up. Go to all nations, and teach them all that I have told you. Those who believe in Me will be blessed. I am the way, the truth, and the life. I go now to My Father. My spirit and My strength I leave to you: light to the eyes, the word to the tongue, love to the heart. And mercy to sinners----"

Thus they heard Him speak, and lo!--there was no one there except the disciples. Two footmarks were impressed on the stone. The heavens above were still; they bowed their heads, then watched how He ascended to the clouds, how He hovered in the light, how He went to the Father, to whom also we shall go through our Saviour, Jesus Christ.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX

My Father and my G.o.d! I thank Thee that Thou hast permitted me to behold the Life, the Pa.s.sion, and the Resurrection of Thy Son, and to steep myself in His words and promises during this terrible time. In the torture of suspense, which is more dreadful than death, I have won courage from the great events of His life, and received consolation from the appearance of my Redeemer upon earth. My hope has been strengthened by the saints of old who repented. For the sake of the crucified Saviour, O Lord, put mercy into my King's heart. If it is G.o.d's will that I die, then let me die like Dismas. Only pardon me.

In the name of Jesus, I implore Thee, O Father, for mercy! Have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.

CONCLUSION

Such is the story. It was written by a common workman awaiting sentence of death in a prison cell. The last prayer was written exactly six weeks after his condemnation.

Conrad began to feel a little frightened. He had been so absorbed in his Saviour's story that he felt himself to be almost part of it. He had written it all day, and dreamed of it all night. He had been in the stable at Bethlehem, he had wandered by the Lake of Gennesaret, and spent nights in the wilderness of Judaea. He had journeyed to Sidon, and across the mountains to Jerusalem. He, a prisoner in jail and sentenced to death, had stood on the Mount of Olives, he had been in Bethany and supped at Jesus' side. But now he felt almost indifferent to the thought. Had he not lived through that glorious death at Golgotha? All else sank into insignificance beside that. It almost seemed to him as if he had pa.s.sed beyond the veil. The Risen One possessed all his soul. He could not get away from all these holy memories. Then suddenly came the thought: when death comes I must be brave. He remembered a story his mother had once told him of a Roman executioner who, on receiving orders to behead a young Christian, had been so overcome with pity that he had fainted. The youth had revived him, and comforted him as bravely as if it had been his duty to die, as it was the executioner's to kill. But then Conrad told himself: you are a guilty creature, and cannot compare yourself with a saint. Would you be brave enough to act like that? Would you? It is sweet to die with Jesus, but it is still sweeter to live with Him.

The jailer asked him if he would care to go out once more into the open air.

Out into the air? Out into the prison yard, where all the refuse was thrown? No. He thanked him; he would prefer to remain in his cell.

It could not be for long now.

"No; it will not be for long now," said the old man. But he did not tell him that in the meantime the Chancellor had died of his wounds, although from the "old grumbler's" increased tenderness Conrad might have suspected that his case did not stand in a favourable light.

"If you are truly brave," the old man told him, "the next time you go out you shall walk under green trees."

"But now? Not now?" Conrad thought of a reprieve, and grew excited.

A red flush stained his cheeks.

"No; I did not mean that. You know the King is far away. But it may come any time. I am waiting for it anxiously. You know, Ferleitner, after this I shall resign my post."

At that moment the priest came in. He always entered the dark cell with a cheerful face and a glad "G.o.d be with you!" It was his office to bring comfort, if only he had known how. As a rule the monk came in, wiping the perspiration from his brow with a coa.r.s.e blue handkerchief, and loudly a.s.suring the prisoner how pleasantly cool it was in his cell. But this time he was nervous and ill at ease. How did the prisoner look? Emaciated to a skeleton, his teeth prominent between fleshless lips, his eyes wide open, a wondrous fire burning in their depths.

"As you will never send for me, my dear Ferleitner, I have come again unasked to see how you fare. You are not ill?"

"Has the sentence come?" asked the prisoner.

"Not that I know of," answered the monk; "but I see I am disturbing you at your work."

Conrad had neglected to put away the sheets he had written, and so had to confess that he had been writing.

"Isn't it too dark to see to write here?"

"You get accustomed to it. At first it was dark, but now it seems to get lighter and lighter."

"So you've made your will at last?" asked the father, raising his eyebrows. He meant to be humorous.

"A sort of one!"

"Let's see, then. You have something to leave?"