The Silver Chalice. Thomas B. Costain
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Joseph, “how it came into my hands. A woman brought it to me, a humble woman who had hidden it away, not being sure of her duty in the matter. She had feared it might get into the wrong hands and so she had waited. It was with the most solemn admonitions that she confided it to me. I was to keep it until I in turn could be sure of what was to be done. She was very poor, but I need hardly tell you that she refused any remuneration.”
Joseph made an effort to rise from his couch but found that he needed assistance in getting to his feet. With Deborra supporting him on one side and Basil on the other, he began to cross the room.
“I am old,” he said, sighing. “Old and stiff. May I say to you, Paul of Tarsus, and to you, my good friend Luke, that to have had this sacred object in my possession has been such an honor that I am conscious of my unworthiness.”
He walked slowly to the far wall of the room and stretched out his hand in search of a spring concealed behind an old chest of acacia wood. The pressure of his fingers caused a panel in the wall to roll back. Behind it was a small, unlighted space, a few feet square only.
“A lamp, if you please, my child,” said the old man.
Deborra brought one and held it inside the dark cubicle. It could be seen then that the space was occupied by a box of sandalwood standing on a pedestal of marble. Joseph reached an arm within and raised the gold-studded lid of the box. From it he produced a drinking cup, a small and very plain cup.
It was ovoid in shape and made of silver. The design was of the simplest, for the lip had been turned over with the hastiest workmanship and no attempt whatever at ornamentation. It had seen much service, obviously, for it was battered and marked, particularly on the lip.
He held it out for their inspection in hands that trembled with reverence and excitement.
“This,” he said in a whisper, “is the Cup from which Jesus drank and then passed to His devoted followers at the Last Supper.”
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Joseph offered the Cup to Luke, and the latter, with tears streaming down his face, took it into his hands. “I have wondered so often,” he said, “into whose keeping it had fallen. Or if it had been lost.”
He offered it in turn to Paul, but the latter, instead of accepting it, went down on his knees.
“The bitterest blow that life has dealt me,” said the great apostle, “is that I did not see Jesus. I have studied His words. I have sought earnestly to learn everything that is known about Him. I heard His voice on the road to Damascus. But I did not see Him.” He reached out his hand and with the tips of his fingers touched the rim of the Cup. “It was here,” he whispered, “that the lips of Jesus were pressed.”
Nothing more was said for several moments. They remained in rapt silence about this most sacred of relics. Luke, Joseph, and Deborra were weeping without restraint. Although he did not allow his emotions to show to an equal extent, Paul’s intent gaze never left the sacred Cup, and Basil could see that his hands were trembling.
Standing back of them, Basil watched this demonstration of faith with surprise. “Truly,” he thought, “they are strange people. They must have loved this Jesus very much to be so overcome.” His eyes turned most often to Paul, for he was already feeling himself drawn to that intense and masterful man. As usual he had brought a supply of wax with him, and his fingers set themselves to work on an impression of the unusual features of the apostle of the Gentiles.
It was Paul who first shook himself free of the spell. He asked Joseph, “What is it you propose to do?”
“A suitable frame must be designed for it,” said Joseph. “I think it should be of openwork so the Cup will show through; perhaps a scroll of leaves around the figures of Jesus and those who were closest to him.”
Paul nodded in approval. “This Cup will be kept until the day when Jehovah comes in His glory,” he said. “The frame must be of the finest workmanship and each figure must be so true to the original that those who live after us will know how Jesus looked, and each of his followers. It may become the chief symbol of the Christian faith.” He was speaking in natural tones now and, characteristically, had taken the problem into his own hands. “Yes, first of all, we must be sure that a beautiful receptacle is made. Then we shall have to decide where it is to be kept.” He was frowning thoughtfully, “In another generation it may be that all men will believe in Jesus. If this comes about, it would be natural to have the Cup of the Last Supper in the Temple itself.”
“No, no!” cried Joseph in an instinctive dissent. “It must always be possible for Gentiles to see it, and they must never be allowed within the Temple.”
Paul shook his head at him with a wry expression. “Even thou, O Joseph of Arimathea,” he said. “Why do I permit myself to be surprised when men refuse to turn from old beliefs? Even my good and enlightened friend here has not yet shaken off all of the traditions which prevail in this—yes, I must say it—this city where faith still gropes in the dark.” He brushed aside the point with another frown and his manner changed, becoming incisive and direct. “Have you considered which of the followers of Christ are to be included in the group?”
“Is it not necessary to include those to whom the Cup was passed at the Last Supper?”
“That is not necessary.” Paul’s face flamed then with passionate disapproval. “Judas?” he cried. “Would you include the betrayer of Jesus?”
“No, not Judas,” said Joseph hastily. “I confess to you, Paul, that I have given this point little thought.”
“Since Judas is not to be included,” declared Paul, “we find ourselves compelled to consider a plan of selection. Must we include all the others? Must we pretend and evade and refuse to speak our minds about a matter as vital as this? When the record of these days has been written and the new books have been compiled and made into a new testament, what names will be most familiar to the future generations who read it? I will tell you, Joseph of Arimathea—Matthew, Mark, Luke——”
“I?” cried Luke. “No, no! I am one of the least. I am a follower, not a leader. I, truly, am a nonentity. The power has not been given me.”
Paul brushed his remonstrances aside. “The noble story you have written of the days of Jesus on this earth will win more followers in years to come than the gift of tongues. What you are preparing now on the preaching of the gospel will be the basis for all history of the Christian church. My modest friend, the name of Luke will resound down the ages; and the face of Luke should be among those chosen for the silver Chalice.”
It was clear that Joseph did not agree with this method of selection, but he was allowed no opportunity to express himself. Paul proceeded briskly with the discussion. “Peter, of course. That stout soul must be the first. And John, the beloved disciple. James, the son of Zebedee, and James, the kinsman of Christ. Andrew, I feel, should be included. He brought Peter to the faith and he died most bravely on the cross himself.”
“Philip?” hazarded Joseph. Having relinquished control, he now seemed content to make suggestions.
Paul frowned in absorbed thought. “We must have either Philip or Jude. They are equally active in the home church.” He reached a reluctant conclusion. “Jude, it must be. He sits here in Jerusalem beside the kinsman of Christ. That I name him must make it clear to you, Joseph, that I strive to be impartial. Philip has a place in my heart, but he is at Caesarea and he is a very old man.”
As Paul had detected by this time that Basil’s fingers were at work, he reached out and took the wax into his own hands. His approval was conveyed quickly by a nod of the head.
“You have caught something of me. But there are faults. The brow is too high. My enemies—and I have many—say that my lack of true intellectuality shows in the low elevation of my forehead. They may be right. I realize that I am unimpressive to the eye.” He turned then in Joseph’s direction. “Tomorrow, as I have already told you, I will be