Stronger Than Death

In the land where Barnabas was born, the dead reigned over the living. For Barnabas came from Cyprus, and the god of Cyprus was the slain god Adonis. The women of Cyprus marked his passing each year with great lamentations, beating themselves on their breasts as they wept. Each woman played the part of the goddess Venus-Astarte, who’d lost her dear lover, and each poured her own longings for love into her lament. But when springtime came, their voices rang with joy, for Adonis was alive again with the blossoming of the flowers, the greening of the fields, and the pulsing of the brooks.

Now the farthest thing from Barnabas’ mind was to associate these things with what he’d seen at the King David wall. On the contrary, what he’d experienced there was the answer to the longings and dreams of his own soul. He knew it as soon as he left. He felt that the patriarchs had come to him in person and testified of the highest mysteries of Israel. This was the fulfillment of God’s promise. His soul was at peace, and the thirst of his soul was quenched.


When he was younger Barnabas had been full of doubts. He carried these doubts with him the first time he stood on the sunlit steps of the Temple and performed his Levitical duties. His doubts stemmed from just one thought. The just suffer, and the wicked flourish. If there is such a thing as justice, why do God’s people lay at the feet of the nations like a bound sheep, while the idolaters do what they wish to them? He’d never heard any answer that gave him any satisfaction.

With all the fervor of youth, Barnabas longed for the coming of Messiah. Now that he’d studied the prophets and the Hellenistic writings, and especially after falling under the influence of Saul, he’d even recently changed his concept of Messiah. He now thought of Messiah as a worldwide deliverer rather than just the deliverer of Israel.

When he first heard about Jesus’ disciples, his Jewish pride rebelled against the thought that the wounded and tortured Jew could be the “Ancient of Days.” But now that he’d actually gone to one of their services, heard them speak and welcome Messiah into their midst, Barnabas was convinced. He now understood the sufferings of Israel for the first time. God had chosen Israel to be holy, and to do His will. Israel’s suffering was the sign of its election. Just as Israel has suffered, so too would the world deliverer come out of Israel to take all suffering on himself, even death, in order to redeem the world. Israel was part of Messiah and Messiah was part of Israel. So his suffering didn’t speak against him, but instead was the proof that he was Messiah.


With each passing day, Saul and Barnabas could feel the gulf widening, but neither could acknowledge it. Barnabas wanted to tell Saul about his visit to the disciples, because he knew that, even though Saul hated them, he could still explain the meaning of certain rituals they had that Barnabas couldn’t fathom. But he was afraid, and his friend’s dominant spirit oppressed him into silence.

So he struggled between Saul’s dominance and the desire for the new authority.

Barnabas took any opportunity he could find to go to the Temple court to listen to the disciples preach. As he stood at a distance listening, he couldn’t help but think that Messiah might come back at any moment, and he’d be on the outside. Thus his resolve began to strengthen day by day.

One day he pictured himself standing on the Temple steps greeting Messiah’s descent at the head of his heavenly hosts. Nor were the hosts alone, for all the generations past were present with the generation now living. All the patriarchs, all the prophets, and all the saints glorifying God, and Barnabas right there in the midst.

But he knew he wasn’t ready yet. Before he could open that door, he had to be sure he was purified and prepared for the life. He knew this meant he must surrender all his worldly goods, to strip himself of all that had been his protection and all that circumstance had provided for him. He must be completely willing to enter a life that was the death of the flesh, of pleasure, and of all the fruits of this world. The strong roots of his youth cried out in protest, but each day he felt one root after another yield until he felt he was ready.


Although they didn’t talk about it, Saul certainly knew what was going on, and why the tension grew. Then the break came. While returning from the study house of their rabbi, Saul suddenly began to speak as if continuing an ongoing conversation.

“Do you see what’s going on here Barnabas? Can we allow gross and ignorant Galileans to trample on our sanctity? They turn us into a scandal and a mockery when they claim that the hope of Israel is one who was hanged from a wooden gallows.”

The contempt that accompanied these last five words was the final push that sent Barnabas over. He felt that his timidity and indecision made him a partner to Saul’s words. And suddenly the door he’d been afraid to open swung wide by itself. He stopped dead in his tracks, stared at his friend, and spoke in firm, decisive tones Saul had never heard from him before.

“Saul of Tarsus, I believe with perfect faith that he who was hanged is the King Messiah whom God sent to us in our despair. His hanging on a wooden cross is not the disproof, but the proof that he is Messiah. Just like Israel, he took on himself the sufferings and redemption of the world, even as the prophets foretold.”

The chagrin on Saul’s face was like a visible curtain. He frowned fiercely and his lips contracted. His long, thin, eagle nose became paler. Quietly, without looking his friend in the eye, he asked, “Have you already joined their company?”

“I will do so tomorrow.”

“Then as of tomorrow, you are my enemy, Barnabas.”

And without so much as a farewell, Saul turned and walked away from his friend.

* * * * *

This conversation had taken place on the square in the upper city, not far from the bridge to the entrance of the Temple court. Barnabas stood there looking at the retreating figure for some time. Saul didn’t hurry; he just walked with determined steps across the bridge and turned toward the chamber of Hewn Stones. Barnabas was disappointed that his friend didn’t once look back. Once Saul was out of sight, Barnabas went down from the upper city and out through the Sheep Gate toward the new quarter where his sister’s house was. This break with Saul was not easy, and though he’d prepared himself for it, it was like something had been torn out of his life, and he felt helpless and distressed.

Barnabas had never been a strong person. In fact, he might almost be characterized as feminine, for the rich surroundings of his childhood had made him soft and yielding. From the moment they’d met, Saul had dominated him with his swift, unwavering decisions and uncompromising views. But more than that, Barnabas loved his friend.

Nevertheless, the break also produced a feeling of relief in Barnabas, a sense of liberation from a strong and dominating hand. So side by side with his sorrow, there was contentment and a sense of heightened importance. He was free now to do what he thought best.

With every step he took away from Saul, the exhilaration of freedom and joy of his spiritual prospects grew stronger. He felt like he couldn’t contain himself. He must share his feelings with someone.

His sister Mary was the person nearest to him in Jerusalem. With Saul, he felt he had to live up to some kind of ideal, but to his sister he could be freer to be himself. He could show himself as he was, with all his weaknesses, and he knew Mary would display a deep spirit of understanding and sympathy.

“Peace is with me, my sister,” said Barnabas in answer to his sister’s greetings. “God has been good to me, all praise to Him.”

“Your face looks like a heavy burden has been lifted from it. You look happy. What happened, my brother.”

“I’ve lost a friend and gained a love.”

How long she had waited to hear such words from him. With delight she said, “Who is the fortunate one among the daughters of Jerusalem? I will run to find her, and bring her home with the music of flutes and cymbals.”

“The fortunate one,” said Barnabas, “is the brightest and most glorious star in the heavens of Israel.”

“You talk in riddles, brother. I don’t understand. Keep me in darkness no longer.”

“The fortunate one is my faith in Messiah. It’s the brightest and most glorious star in the heavens of Israel. It’s also Israel’s last hope, and it is my heart’s chosen one.”

Mary let her heavy eyelids fall over her eyes. “But you’ve always had this chosen one. You’ve always believed in Messiah.”

“Until now I’ve had faith. But now I have the reality. Messiah is here, and he moves among us.”

“Messiah is here? Where? Who? Where are the trumpets? Why is Jerusalem still under the guard of Rome’s hosts? Tell me these things, brother.”

“He showed himself to the humble and the humiliated, to the simple and ignorant. He lived among them, and they were the first to recognize him. The rich and the learned pushed him away,” answered Barnabas, exaltedly."

“Ah, you mean the one the men of Galilee speak of. Yes, I’ve heard of him and his followers. Zipporah’s father Phillip has become one of them. So has Stephen the preacher and other Greek-speaking Jews.”

“Before many more days all Israel will accept him as Messiah. And all nations of the world will come to Mount Zion, and he will begin his Kingdom on earth,” said Barnabas.

“I understand that they are common, ignorant fishermen who preach this, and that only the poor join their congregation. Some of my own servants are among them. My best perfume mixer, Joseph, has joined them, and he neglects his work ever since. My lovely geranium perfume has withered away. He says that before long Messiah will return, and then all the leaves will smell like the spices of Paradise.

“But I also understand that the rabbis and scholars disregard them completely. How do you come to be in their company? This is a Messiah for the ignorant, not the lettered.”

At this point John Mark, who, hearing that his uncle had arrived, left the lesson in rhetoric he was receiving from his Greek teacher, and rushed into the garden, interrupting them. Barnabas suffered the embrace from the strong, sunburned young arms.

“Tell me your verse, lad. What says the prophet about those who walk in darkness?”

“They who walk in darkness have seen a great light,” the lad completed the verse.

“There’s your answer, my sister. God has given it through the mouth of your child.”

Mary remained deep in thought for a bit. Then, as if to change the subject, she asked, “And whose friendship have you lost? Don’t you know that friendship is often dearer and more precious than love?”

“Saul of Tarsus.”

“Saul? That’s a shame. You once held him high.”

“For such a love one may well pay not only with the friendship of a friend who was dearer than a woman, but with all the gifts of life. The price of that love is nothing less than the world.”

“And you’re ready to pay that price?” asked Mary, startled.

“I am ready to pay any price,” answered Barnabas.

For a moment his sister stood transfixed. Then she said, “If so, then it’s a love stronger than death. It’s a true love, and may God guide you in it, for it comes from a pure heart.”

And stepping close to Barnabas she placed her cheek on his head. “Such love merits the envy of women.”

Barnabas started to leave, but his young nephew clung to him and pleaded, “Take me with you. I heard every word between you and mother, and I want to share in the great love you’ve found.”

“You will follow that path, my son, and your mother will too, for there is no other path.”

And Barnabas took the ring he wore on his finger and gave it to his nephew.

“Joseph,” cried Mary in astonishment. “You’re giving him your family ring?”

“I won’t need it anymore, sister. Neither will John need it when he comes to us. For there are no separate families where I’m going. There is just one family, the congregation of Messiah. Peace be with you, my sister.”

“Peace be with you, my brother.”

* * * * *

Later that day Barnabas sat in the field he owned on Mount Scopus, an olive grove, whose trees protected the dense alleys of a vineyard. From here he could look down on Jerusalem, whose terraces set with whitewashed houses cascaded from the hills into the valleys. Jerusalem was dozing in the heat of the midday hour. The towers, walls and palaces of the city rested at the foot of the Temple mount among the soft, shadowed green of the summits of cypress and olive like a flock of sheep in a green meadow. Barnabas’ eyes wandered from hill to hill, tower to tower, and wall to wall, from the House of God to the Kidron valley, and his heart was filled with a benediction for Jerusalem. It was the city of peace and eternal happiness, for it had found the bond between man and God.

He loved Jerusalem and its life. He thought of the joyous days of his young manhood and the gracious gifts the city had brought him. He remembered the festivals, the floods of pilgrims, the strength of the young men, and the loves of their daughters. He looked down on his gardens and remembered the happy assemblies of wealthy young people gathered there on the solemn Day of Atonement and on the day of the New Year of the Trees.

Those two days of the year were specially set apart so that the young people could get to know each other and choose their brides and bridegrooms. He could still hear the shy laughter of the daughters of Jerusalem as they stood along the alley of cypresses, one girl by each tree. The young men would pass, and the girls would say, “Look not on gold or silver or beauty. Look only on the good families from which they come, so they may bear you worthy sons.”

Every vine, cypress, and bed of flowers reminded him of the laughter that had echoed through them. He also remembered the banquets he’d given the young Levites and priests with whom he’d participated in the services on the Day of Atonement. The garden rang with sacred talk on those days. The joy of youth burst from every vine, rose and cypress grove.

Now this all lay on the other side of the threshold, closed and locked away forever.

Barnabas clapped his hands together and Eliezer, the steward of his house, appeared. Barnabas said to him, “Eliezer, you’ve been like a father to me. I thank you.”

Eliezer bowed his gray head and answered, “Why is this day exalted above other days, that my lord speaks so to his servant.”

“There is no lord and there is no servant, Eliezer. There is only one who is over us, and He’s in heaven. The time has come for me to say farewell to my household. Call everyone together, and also the scribe, so he can write out the manumission for all my servants.”

“Is my lord going on a far journey that he’s come to this resolve?”

“I’m going on the shortest journey on which any man can go. I’m going by the path of God and Messiah. All of us will travel that path sooner or later.”

“My lord, I do not understand.”

“Go, Eliezer, do as I bid you.”

When the servants were assembled in the hall, Barnabas addressed them. “There is only who can properly be called lord, and that is the Lord of heaven and earth. Starting today, we are all freemen. We are free in God and in Messiah.”

And Barnabas ordered the scribe to write out the terms of manumission on potsherds, one for each servant.

The scribe did as he was told. He broke an earthen pot into pieces. Then he wrote on each potsherd the name of a slave, and the date of manumission. Then Barnabas went through the rooms of his house and brought out whatever he possessed in the way of clothing and money. He distributed all this to the servants along with the potsherds. They received them in silent wonder, not daring to question the acts of the master.

While passing along the row of slaves, Barnabas came to his little Egyptian dancing girl. She bent before him in a deep bow, and covered his feet with her dark, perfumed hair. “I don’t want freedom. I love my lord. I’ll follow him and drink the dust of his footsteps.”

Her master laid his hands on her shoulders and said, “There is only one lord, and He is God.”

With that he took a gold chain, which it was his custom to wear at banquets, and added it to the deed of liberation he gave her.

So he did with all his servants, sending them away one by one. When he was finished, he said to Eliezer, “The earth belongs to God. Go to the city, Eliezer, and sell my field. Bring me the price that I may lay it at the disciples’ feet. As for the furnishings and clothing left in the house, take it for yourself, my faithful friend, so your old age may be free from want.”

Incomprehensible as these words and actions of his lord were, the old man went about the strange business. Before evening, he returned with the purchase money.

Barnabas took the bag of gold, said his last farewell to the steward, and left the house without once looking back.

He went straight to the dwelling in the King David wall and took his place in the line of those seeking admission into the new congregation. When it came his turn, he placed the bag of gold at Simon’s feet, and said, “This is the price of my earthly possessions. All that I possess now is the soul God gave me, and I bring that to you. Take it and use it in the service of the congregation that waits for the coming of the righteous deliverer, Jesus of Nazareth.”

Then Simon took Joseph Barnabas of the house of the Levites and baptized him in the name of Jesus and received him into the congregation, and said to him, “Our brother you are.”

And Joseph Barnabas was one of many on that day who let themselves be baptized, for it was a day of plentiful harvest for the workers in the field.