Читать книгу The Cloak and the Parchments - Frank P. Spinella - Страница 13

At sunrise the next morning we set out into the Ionian Sea, bound for Cephalonia, the largest of the Ionian islands, named for the mythical hero Cephalus, fabled Athenian hunter who mistook his wife for a deer and killed her with a magical spear that never missed its target. There we would bring on fresh provisions, as well as new goods and new passengers, for the remainder of our voyage.

I had practically roused Timothy from his sleep, and he could hardly have helped sensing how anxious I was to continue our discussion. Yet he maintained his unhurried composure, as serene as ever. As he went aft to stretch his legs, I turned and leaned against the top wale of the ship, gazing toward the horizon, smelling the salt and feeling the spray of the sea as the ship rose and fell with each wave. This journey, I knew, would end all too quickly, and what awaited us in Rome I could only guess. If I was to be truly useful to Paul, I was running out of time to conquer the self-doubt that had plagued me.

When Timothy returned, it was with the countenance of a man on a mission.

“Where did we leave our discussion of yesterday, Mark?” Before I could answer, he exclaimed “Ah, yes! How man may partake in God’s divinity, wasn’t it?” With that, he stood up abruptly, making his way to our two trunks we had stowed in the stern of the boat. I followed dutifully.

Timothy reached in one of the trunks, and produced a round loaf of bread, a tin plate and a small bronze cup from beneath Paul’s cloak—giving me to know that it was time for the Eucharistic meal. “Bring the wine, Mark,” he instructed, motioning with a nod of his head toward a sheepskin flask we had brought, sitting atop the other trunk.

Then Timothy promptly walked toward the benches at the rear of the main mast, where the boatswain was seated, taking a break from his duties on the ship. He had been watching us intently for some time.

“May we join you, sir?” Timothy asked as he seated himself directly next to the man, not waiting for an answer. He motioned me to sit across from him, and I complied, with no protest from the boatswain.

“You are Christians,” he said to Timothy and me. “Are you not?”

Timothy showed no trace of surprise as he pulled a stool from under his bench, and setting it as a table between us, placed the plate on it and then the loaf on the plate. “Indeed we are, sir; but tell me, how did you know this?”

“Since we left Ephesus I have observed you,” he replied. “I see that you are devout. The two of you pray often, but you cannot be true Jews, for you do not ritually wash your hands before you eat.”

“You are most astute, sir. And what do you know of our rituals?”

“Little enough. You do not eat meat which has been sacrificed to other gods. You have a rite of initiation, I am told, involving immersion in water. Beyond that, I do not know.”

“Then perhaps you would like to observe another ritual, one we are commanded to perform in memory of our Lord.”

With that he placed the loaf of bread in front of him and prayed over it, saying the words that had grown so familiar to me: “We thank thee, our Father, for the life and knowledge which thou hast made known to us through Jesus thy servant; to thee be the glory for ever.” He then broke it and gave a piece to me, saying “Take and eat the body of our Lord.” He ate the remaining piece, and then poured out some wine, again praying over it, saying “We thank thee, our Father, for the holy vine of David thy servant, which thou hast made known to us through Jesus thy servant; to thee be the glory forever.” Then he passed me the cup, saying “Take and drink the blood of our Lord.” I drank from the cup, and then passed it back to Timothy to finish. We then bowed our heads and gave thanks aloud, together: “Thanks be to thee, holy Father, for thy sacred name which thou hast caused to dwell in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality which thou hast revealed to us through thy servant Jesus.”

The boatswain, after watching this, looked bemused. “Surely you do not believe what you say about this bread and wine being flesh and blood.”

“Why do you doubt it, sir?” Timothy asked.

“Because it is clearly not someone’s flesh and blood you have consumed, but mere bread and wine.”

“What appears to you as mere bread and wine, sir, has been transformed into something else. Reality and appearances, as Aristotle has shown, are not always the same.”

The boatswain’s bemusement turned to impatience. “But there is no evidence here of any such transformation. And even if it were as you have said, the very notion is disgusting! Is yours a religion of cannibalism?” Shaking his head, he abruptly got up and left us.

“It is difficult doctrine,” Timothy mused aloud. “He does not understand it.”

“I am not sure I understand it,” I replied. “For all the years I have participated in this ritual and partaken of the bread and wine in solemn communion with other believers, I have taken on faith that the meal was more than merely commemorative of our Lord’s sacrifice, that I was consuming his real flesh and his real blood. But I have never quite grasped how the transformation takes place. The taste and consistency are, after all, the same as any simple bread and wine I may eat.”

“A food’s taste and consistency are accidental qualities, Mark, not of its essence or substance. The food and drink you consume become a part of you, and give your body physical nourishment, independently of how they taste or feel, do they not?”

“They do.”

“Why, then, should you judge their ability to give your soul spiritual nourishment by such accidental qualities?”

“I understand that much, Timothy. And in truth, I feel my soul nourished, even now, after consuming the blessed meal. But is the spiritual nourishment simply a function of the consumer’s faith that the bread and wine have such effects, or is there a real transformation of bread and wine into a different substance—the body and blood of our Lord?”

“The transformation is real enough, Mark. Your faith does not make it so; your faith is the belief that it is so. It is God Himself who makes it so. Yet it is by faith that you appropriate the benefits of the transformation, for if you did not believe that the bread and wine had become spiritual nourishment, it would not be spiritually nourishing for you.”

“Then whether it is the faith of the believer alone, or the actual intervention of God producing a change of substance that renders the bread and wine spiritually nourishing, the ultimate effect seems indistinguishable. Either way, it seems the faith is needed to secure the benefit.”

“That is true, but misses the point. We cannot make something so simply by believing it to be so.”

“Why, then, do we need faith in the transformation at all in order to enjoy its benefits? If the bread and wine are the true body and blood of our Lord independently of our faith that it is so, could not a nonbeliever such as this boatswain obtain the same spiritual benefits of the meal simply by eating with us?”

“The beliefs of the worshippers are no less important for their inability to bring about any change in substance, Mark. For example, we do not eat meat which has been sacrificed to idols, although its characteristics are unchanged by that sacrifice, because to partake of it would amount to confessing communion with idolaters. Similarly do we eat the bread and wine that has become the sacrifice of our Lord’s body and blood to confess communion with all believers, although that confession does not convert bread and wine into flesh and blood. The difference between the meat sacrificed to idols and the bread and wine which recalls the sacrifice of our Lord involves precisely what we were discussing earlier—the sense in which man can partake of God’s divinity.”

“Explain.”

“Tell me, my Jewish brother: what is it, above all else, that unites all Jews everywhere, whatever their place of birth, language, or vagaries of their individual beliefs?”

Surprised though I was by the question, I did not need to think for even a second to come up with the answer. “The sacrifice regularly offered in the inner court of the Temple on Mount Zion.”

“And what is sacrificed there? Is it not the flesh and blood of an unblemished animal?”

“Yes.”

“And for whom is that sacrifice offered? For Jews only, or for Gentiles as well?”

“Only for Jews, Timothy. The sacrifice is prescribed by the Law, and Gentiles are not bound by the Law. Paul’s teachings have made that much consistently clear, I would think.” Only later would I think of the inconsistency with this teaching that Paul had exhibited in having Timothy himself circumcised. But Timothy, the ultimate logician, made no mention of it here.

“Then what is the sacrifice which unites Christian believers as well? Is it not our Lord’s death?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“And how are these believers to partake of that sacrifice? Can there be a better way than in consuming the very bread and wine—the very flesh and blood—which commemorates that death, and having consumed it, allow it to become a part of our very bodies?”

For a moment, I was without words; all I could do was nod my assent.

“Let us go further: is it not a commandment of the law of Moses—indeed, from the time of God’s admonition to Noah—that blood must never be consumed?”

“That is so; the blood of an animal is deemed to contain its life essence, which belongs to God. Thus no animal killed by strangulation may be eaten, for such means of slaughter leaves blood in the meat. As it is sacred to God, all blood must be poured out and not be consumed.”

“Yet our Lord commands us to drink his very blood—a sharing, then, in his life essence. But only if he is truly God will his blood, his life essence, represent eternal life, and allow those who consume it to partake of that eternal life. And since God is pure spirit and not flesh and blood, it was necessary for God to become incarnate for this to occur. It was necessary for God to take on flesh and blood, and for God-become-man to become the sacrificial lamb, to accomplish this.”

Once again I could only nod my agreement; I was far too excited by Timothy’s insight to speak.

“Do you not see it all, Mark? Man’s sharing in the divine essence; Christ as God-become-man; his death as a sacrifice for the sins of man; the bread and wine as his flesh and blood; the communion of his church; all are facets of the same single truth, the same identity!”

My pulse was racing! I knew to a certainty that Timothy’s words contained a great and transforming message. I did not want to lose the moment, but somehow I knew that I needed time to digest what I had just heard. It was as though pieces of a puzzle had been thrust so close in front of my eyes that the picture they formed could not come into focus without a step back. Although putting them into a coherent whole was all that mattered to me at that moment, I knew the moment could not be rushed.

Timothy obliged me, albeit unknowingly. “We will discuss this again later, Mark,” he said as he rose. “But right now, I must speak further with the boatswain.”

This was to be a night of very little sleep for me.