György Spiró - Captivity

A pudgy, comically snub-nosed man asked Priscilla whether she would read out the letter, to which Priscilla said that she would gladly read it out, if it were up to her, but the apostle had asked her to delay doing so because he was preparing to travel to Rome in person. Before that he wanted to send yet another long letter to the Romans among the faithful; indeed, it was rumored that the successor and vicar on Earth of Him who was Resurrected was also planning to make a trip from Jerusalem to Rome in person at much the same time. This generated a flurry of excited whispers among the believers, who clearly knew what persons were being referred to.

Uri cast a stealthy glance at Marcellus, who was sitting next to him in rapt devotion; he wondered if he too was aware, but he could not tell from the doltish expression on his face.

That was how the initiates talked, not so much on account of Uri, the stranger, at whom they flashed occasional smiles, but (or so Uri felt) because that was their usual way. At the end Priscilla blessed on behalf of the crucified and risen-again Anointed; the faithful had tears in their eyes, Marcellus too, Uri just bowed his head. To finish, the priestess reminded the believers never to forget that they were now saints and should lead their lives accordingly. The faithful, weeping and joyous, solemnly pledged their word.

“Your son is a great asset for us,” Priscilla said to Uri when they had broken up to stand around and chat in smaller groups, with Marcellus politely poised three paces to the side.

Uri nodded and then switched to another subject.

“I was once also very desirous to see Corinth,” he noted, “but I never managed to get there.”

“We ourselves only went there out of necessity,” chuckled Priscilla, who seemed to be a very sane, sober-minded individual. “That was where a boat was headed from Brindisi, when it looked like we would starve to death if we had stayed in Italia.”

“A good friend of mine lives there,” said Uri. “We were in the same year at the Gymnasium in Alexandria.”

Priscilla gave a jolt.

“He wasn’t named Apollos, was he?” she asked shrewdly.

Uri was in turn shaken.

“Yes, that’s him!”

They sized each other up, and Uri went on:

“I envied him for getting a post as a teacher of rhetoric at the Gymnasium in Corinth.”

“He left that post a long time ago,” said Priscilla.

There was a silence; Marcellus drew closer.

“Do you happen to know what he is doing now?” Uri asked.

Priscilla hesitated.

“He is supported by the faithful,” she disclosed finally. “He’s one of our apostles who is involved in the dispute…”

“Whose apostle is that?”

“The Lord Jesus, our Lord and Messiah, who rose again from the dead.”

Uri sighed.

Had Apollos deluded himself willingly, like these people? That just was not possible. Apollos had a sharp mind and had always looked trouble head on.

“Are you sure that isn’t another Apollos?” he asked and in hope provided a thumbnail sketch of his friend’s appearance.

“That’s him!” Priscilla exclaimed in amazement, batting her eyelids both in panic and happiness. “He’s a marvelous orator, and that was his trouble, but he is now learning humility and is commendably cutting back on those oratorical skills… There was some tension between him and our dear friend, the father of our souls; he is not as eloquent as Apollos but his fortitude is unsurpassed: there’s an incredible strength packed into his paltry small frame, and he is able to speak in the simplest language, such that even dimmer souls should understand, because our Lord said that ‘Only the truly foolish shall enter into the kingdom of Heaven.’ It is hard to train ourselves to be simple-minded; we have been spoiled by the oh-so-slick smartness that we have inevitably picked up over the course of our sinful lives, and that is why we are flawed in our faith… That dispute, however, has blown over, thanks be to our Lord and Messiah who died for us and was resurrected for our sake!”

Uri tramped with Marcellus toward Rome proper across the Cestius Bridge, arching over on the western side of Tiber Island on the way back from Far Side, and making their way toward the Fabricius Bridge on the eastern side.

If only he could amble along like this with Theo.

Uri’s mind was uneasy. Apollos! Impossible! What on Earth did he see in these fanatics?

Marcellus, walking beside him, was unforthcoming; obviously he too was at a loss for what to make of the events of that evening, though Uri suspected that he did not have any cause for rejoicing. He had been wanting to break off relations with his father at all costs, and his his father had the cheek to join in a gathering of his new family, where not only was he greeted decently but cherished by them, as they visibly clasped him to their bosom. It must have been a big blow for the boy to feel that his father was butting into his life. He needed to find a way to reassure him.

Uri felt sorry for his son, but the news of Apollos’s conversion had hit him hard.

Apollos had been an extremely clever boy. He must have seen something in the sect that Uri was missing.

Uri therefore tried to look at the fanatics through Apollos’s eyes, and he had to admit that they preached their doctrine from a purely rational point of view. It was a message that every cowardly Greek and Jew in any city with a mixed population (most of them, in other words) desired: that Greeks and Jews should not kill each other as in Alexandria or Jamnia. Let not the powerful (in other words, Roman government) play them against one another; let them join forces in a common religion that preached equality between all men, whatever station they had been born into, exactly like the Stoics and Epicureans, or the most humanitarian of the minds borne out of Greek philosophy.

Philo had sought to communicate that same idea, in his own fashion. But he did not get through to the masses — how could he have, as his works were purely academic, full of complex intellectual material?

Perhaps it was more clearly visible from Corinth what had to be attained, and maybe also how. All that evening the references had been solely to Greek cities in which sizable Jewish minorities resided — those were the places inhabited by the adherents of the sect. They were trying desperately to invite the Greeks and the Jews into one camp before they set to slaughtering each other, which could happen any moment.

Jews who were living in minority communities or in mixed marriages in Greek towns were terrified that Alexandria’s Bane was going to reach them, and they were doing everything they could to forestall it. It could not be done from a position of power, as the Greeks were wealthier; it also could not be done by cultivation, for they themselves did not possess it, which left only the spiritual route.

A pity, though, to do it by way of such a demented faith! If there is a Messiah, there ought to be a radical change, too. If there is none, then the well-intentioned faith will simply crumble!

Uri came to a halt on the Fabricius Bridge, and Marcellus followed suit. Uri looked down into the darkness, where the Tiber flowed even more darkly below them.

This risen-again Messiah was not such a good idea. Only crackpots would believe in that — the weak, the feeble, the born losers. Those people would never become strong.

“Is the Anointed of the House of David?” Uri turned unexpectedly toward Marcellus.

Marcellus, startled, pondered a while.

“Isn’t that what you proclaim: that the Anointed is of the House of David?”

Apologetically, Marcellus explained:

“I haven’t been with them long, so I haven’t heard that.”

Uri shook his head and then went on to ask another question: