Part 10

Lay aside your religion for a time, and return to that of the state. It need only be for a time. Thus you may escape from present danger, and when happier times return, you may go back and be a Christian again. That is impossible, Lucillus. It is abhorrent to my soul. What, can I thus be doubly a hypocrite? If you knew what has taken place in me, you could not ask me to perjure my immortal soul to the world and to my God. Better to die at once by the severest torture that can be inflicted. You take such extreme views that I despair of saving you. Will you not look at this subject rationally? It is not perjury, but policy. Not hypocrisy, but wisdom. God forbid that I should do this thing and sin against Him. Look further also. You will not only benefit yourself, but others. These Christians whom you love will be assisted by you far more than they are now. In their present situation you know well that they are unable to live by the sympathy and assistance of those who profess the religion of the state, but in secret prefer the religion of the Christians. Do you call these men hypocrites and perjurers? Are they not rather your benefactors and friends? These men have never learned the Christian's faith and hope as I have. They have never known the new birth, the new divine nature, the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit, communion with the Son of the living God as I now know. They have not known the love of God springing up within their hearts to give them new feelings and hopes and desires, for them to sympathize with the Christians and to help them is a good thing. But the Christian, who could be base enough to abjure his faith and deny the Savior that redeemed him, could never have enough generosity in his traitorous soul to assist his forsaken brethren. Then, Marcellus, I have but one more offer to make, and I go. It is a last hope. I do not know whether it will be possible or not. I will try it, however, if I can but gain your consent. It is this. You need not abjure your faith. You need not sacrifice to the gods. You need not do anything, whatever of which you disapprove. Let the past be forgotten. Return again, not in heart, but in outward appearance to what you were before. You were then a gay, light-hearted soldier, devoted to your duties. You never took part in any religious services. You were seldom present in the temples. You passed your time in the camp and your devotions were in private. You gathered your instruction from the books of the philosophers and not from the priests. Be all this again. Return to your duties. Appear again in public, in company with me. Again join in pleasant conversation and devote yourself to your old pursuits. This will be easy and pleasant to do, and it will not require anything that is base or distasteful. The authorities will overlook your absence and your misconduct, and if they are not willing that you should be restored to all your former honors, then you can be placed in your former command in your old legion. All will then be well. A little discretion will be needed, a wise silence, and apparent return to your former round of duties. If you remain in Rome, it will be thought that the tidings of your conversion to Christianity was wrong. If you go abroad, it will not be known. No, Lucullus, even if I would consent, the plan which you purpose would not be possible for many reasons. Proclamations have been made about me, rewards have been offered for my apprehension, and above all, my last appearance in the Colosseum before the Emperor himself was sufficient to take away all hope of pardon. But I could not consent. My Savior cannot be worshipped in this way. His followers must confess Him openly. Whosoever, he says, shall confess me before men, shall the Son of Man also confess Him before the angels of God. To deny Him in my life or in outward appearance is precisely the same as denying Him by the formal manner which the law lays down. This I cannot do. I love Him who first loved me and gave Himself for me. My highest joy is to proclaim Him before men. To die for Him will be my noblest act, and the martyr's crown, my most glorious reward. For he found that all persuasion was useless. The remainder of the time was passed in conversation about other things. Marcellus did not waste these last precious hours which he passed with his friend. Filled with gratitude for his noble and generous affection, he sought to recompense him by making him acquainted with the highest treasure that man can possess, the faith of Christ. Lucullus listened to him patiently, more through friendship than interest, yet some, at least, of Marcellus' words were impressed on his memory. On the following day, the trial took place. It was short and formal. Marcellus was immovable and received his condemnation with a calm demeanor. The afternoon of the same day was the time appointed for him to suffer. He was to die, not by the wild beasts nor by the hand of the gladiator, but by the keener torments of death by fire. It was in that place where so many Christians had already borne their witness to the truth that Marcellus sealed his faith with his life. The stake was placed in the center of the Colosseum, and the faggots were heaped high around it. Marcellus entered, led on by the brutal keepers who added blows and ridicule to the horrors of the approaching punishment. He looked around upon the vast circle of faces, both of men and women, hard and cruel and pitiless. He looked upon the arena and thought of the thousands of Christians who had preceded him in suffering and had gone from thence to join the noble army of martyrs who will worship forever around the throne. He thought of the children whose death he had witnessed and recalled once more that triumphant song, unto him that loved us, to him that washed us from our sins. Now the keepers seized him rudely and led him to the stake where they bound him with strong chains so that escape was impossible. I am now ready to be offered, murmured he, and the time of my departure is at hand. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day. Now the torch was applied, and the flames rose up, and dense volumes of smoke concealed the martyr for a while from view. When it passed away, he was seen again standing amid the fire with upturned face and clasped hands. The flames increased around him. Nearer and nearer they came, devouring the faggots and enveloping him in a circle of fire. Now they threw over him a black veil of smoke. Again they dashed forward and licked him with their forked tongues. But the martyr stood erect, calm amid suffering, serene amid his dreadful agony, by faith cleaving to his Savior. He was there, though they saw him not. His everlasting arm was round about his faithful follower, and his spirit inspired him. Nearer grew the flames, and yet nearer. Life, assailed more violently, trembled in her citadel, and the spirit prepared to wing its way to its paradise of rest. At last the sufferer gave a convulsive start, as though some sharper pang flashed resistlessly through him. But he conquered his pain with a violent effort. Then he raised his arms on high and feebly waved them. Then, with a last effort of expiring nature, he cried out in a loud voice, Victory! With the cry, life seemed to depart, for he fell forward amidst the rushing flames, and the spirit of Marcellus had departed to be with Christ, which is far, far better. Chapter 15 Lucullus The memory of the just is blessed. At the scene of torture and of death, there was one spectator whose face full of agony was never turned away from Marcellus, whose eyes saw every act and expression and whose ears drank in every word. Long after all had departed, he remained in the same place, the only human being in all the vast extent of deserted seats. At length he rose to go. The old elasticity of his step had departed. He moved with a slow and feeble gait. His abstracted gaze and expression of pain made him look like a man suddenly struck with disease. He motioned to some of the keepers who opened for him the gates that led to the arena. Bring me a cinerary urn, said he, and he walked forward to the dying embers. A few fragments of crumbled bone, pulverized by the violence of the flames, were all that remained of Marcellus. Silently Lucullus took the urn, which the keeper brought him, and collecting what human fragments he could find, he carried away the dust. As he was leaving, he was accosted by an old man. He stopped mechanically. What do you wish of me? he said courteously. I am Honorius, an elder among the Christians. A dear friend of mine was put to death this day in this place. I have come to see if I could obtain his ashes. It is well that you have addressed yourself to me, venerable man, said Lucullus. Had you proclaimed your name to others you would have been seized, for there is a price on your head. But I cannot grant your request. Marcellus is dead and his ashes are here in this urn. They will be deposited in the tomb of my family with the highest ceremonies, for he was my dearest friend and his loss makes the earth a blank to me and life a burden. You then, said Honorius, can be none other than Lucullus, of whom I have so often heard him speak in words of affection. I am he. Never were there two friends more faithful than we. If it had been possible I would have saved him. He would never have been arrested had he not thrown himself into the hands of the law. Oh, hard fate! At a time when I had made arrangements that he should never be arrested, he came before the emperor himself, and I was compelled with my own hands to lead him whom I loved to prison and to death. What is your loss is to him immeasurable gain. He has entered into the possession of immortal happiness. His death was a triumph, said Lucullus. The death of Christians I have noticed before, but never have I been so struck by their hope and confidence. Marcellus died as though death were an unspeakable blessing. It was so to him, but not more so than to many others who lie buried in the gloomy place where we are forced to dwell. To their numbers I wish to add the remains of Marcellus. Would you be willing to part with them? I had hoped, venerable Honorius, that since my dear friend had left me, I might have at least the mournful pleasure of giving to his remains the last pious honors and of weeping at his tomb. But, noble Lucullus, would not your friend have preferred a burial with the simple ceremonies of his new faith, and a resting place among those martyrs with whose names his is now associated forever? Lucullus was silent and thought for some time. At length he spoke. Of his wishes there can be no doubt. I will respect them and deny myself the honor of performing the funeral rites. Take them, Honorius, but I will nevertheless assist at your services. Will you permit the soldier whom you only know as your enemy to enter your retreat and to witness your acts? You shall be welcome, noble Lucullus, even as Marcellus was welcomed before you. And perhaps you will receive among us the same blessing that was granted to him. Do not hope for anything like that, said Lucullus. I am far different from Marcellus in taste and feeling. I might learn to feel kindly towards you or even to admire you, but never to join you. Come with us, then, whatever you are, and be present at the funeral service of your friend. A messenger will come for you tomorrow. Lucullus signified his ascent and after handing over the precious urn to the care of Honorius he went sadly to his own home. On the following day he went with the messenger to the catacombs. There he saw the Christian community and beheld the place of their abode. But from the previous account of his friend he had gained a clear idea of their life, their sufferings and their afflictions. Again the mournful wail arose in the dim vaults and echoed along the arched passageways that wail that spoke of a new brother committed to the grave. But the grief that spoke of mortal sorrow was succeeded by a loftier strain that expressed the faith of the aspiring soul and a hope full of desire for their beloved Lord. Honorius took the precious roll, the word of life, whose promises were so powerful to sustain amid the heavy burden of grief and in solemn tones read that part of 1 Corinthians which in every age and in every climb has been so dear to the heart that looked beyond the realms of time to seek for comfort in the prospect of the resurrection. Then he raised his head and in fervent tones offered up a prayer to the Holy One of Heaven through Christ the Divine Mediator by whom death and the grave had been conquered and eternal life secured. The pale sad face of Lucellus was conspicuous among the mourners. If he was not a Christian he could still admire such glorious doctrines and listen with awe to such exalted hopes. It was he who placed the loved ashes within their final resting place, he whose eyes took a last look at the dear remains and he whose hands lifted to its place the slab whereon the name and the epitaph of Marcellus was engraved. Lucellus went to his home but he was a changed man. The gaiety of his nature seemed to have been driven out by the severe afflictions that he had endured. He had rightly said that he would not become a Christian. The death of his friend had filled him with sadness but there was no sorrow for sin, no repentance, no desire for a knowledge of the true and living God. He had lost the power of taking pleasure in the world but had gained no other source of happiness. Yet the memory of his friend produced one effect on him. He felt a sympathy for the poor and oppressed people with whom Marcellus had associated. He admired their constancy and pitied their unmerited sufferings. He saw that all the virtue and goodness left in Rome were in the possession of these poor outcasts. These feelings led him to give them assistance. He transferred to them the friendship and the promise of aid which he had once given to Marcellus. His soldiers arrested no more or if they did arrest any they were sure to escape in some way. His high position, vast wealth and boundless influence were all at the service of the Christians. His palace was well known to them as their surest place of refuge or assistance and his name was honoured as that of their most powerful human friend. But all things have an end and so the constant sufferings of the Christians and the friendship of Lucullus at length were brought to a termination. In about a year after the death of Marcellus the stern Emperor Decius was overthrown and a new ruler entered into the imperial power. The persecution was stayed. Peace returned to the assemblies and the Christians came forth from the catacombs again to dwell in the glad light of day again to sound in the ears of men the praises of him who had redeemed them and again to carry on their never-ending contest with the hosts of evil. Years passed on but no change came to Lucullus. When Honorius came from the catacombs he was taken by Lucullus to his own palace and maintained there for the rest of his life. He sought to repay his debt of gratitude to his noble benefactor by making him acquainted with the truth but he died without seeing his desires gratified. The blessing came at last but not till years had passed away. Far on beyond the prime of manhood even upon the borders of old age the Savior found Lucullus. For years the world had lost all charms wealth and honor and power were nothing to him his life was tinged with sadness that nothing could cure. But the Spirit of God at length laid hold of him and through his divine power he at last was enabled to rejoice in the love of that Savior of whose power over the human heart he had witnessed so many striking proofs. Many centuries have rolled over the city of the Caesars since the persecution of Decius drove the humble followers of Jesus into the gloomy catacombs. Let us take our stand upon the Appian Way and look around. Before us goes the long array of tombs up to the ancient city. Here the mighty men of Rome once found a resting place carrying with them even to their graves all the pomp of wealth, of glory and of power. Beneath our feet are the rude graves of those whom in life they cast out as unworthy to breathe the same air of heaven. Now what a change! Around us lie these stately tombs all in ruins. Their sanctity desecrated, their doors broken down, their dust scattered to the winds. The names of most of those who were buried here are unknown. The empire which they reared has fallen. The legions which they led to conquer have slept the sleep that knows no waking until the resurrection. But on the memory of the persecuted ones who rest below the assembly of God on earth looks back adoring. Their sepulcher has become a place of pilgrimage and the work in which they took such a noble part has been handed down to us to be continued until Jesus comes. Humbled, despised, outcast, afflicted, they may not have written their names upon the scroll of history, yet this much we know. Their names are written in the book of life and their fellowship will be with those of whom it is written. These are they which came out of great tribulation and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God and serve him day and night in his temple. And he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. Neither shall the sun light on them nor any heat. For the lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. The End