Legendary Anecdotes of St. John

LEGENDARY ANECDOTES OF ST. JOHN. BY NEPHI L. MORRIS.

Quite a number of legends are told of the "Beloved Apostle" by the early writers of the Christian Church. Some of them are extremely interesting, while others seem to be of very little merit or value. They seem to cluster around his later years rather than any other period of his life, and though none of them can be accepted as absolutely trustworthy in historic detail, yet they seem to possess some value, if for nothing more than the spirit they breathe. Moreover, they seem to throw side-lights upon the interesting character which has hitherto been viewed by many of us along the undeviating perspective of New Testament history alone. This one is told us by Clement of Alexandria, and it seems not unworthy of the great apostle. It exhibits in a fine manner the largeness of St. John's love, and, above all, the conquering power of that more than human quality. We will relate it for the most part in the language of St. Clement himself: But that you may be still more confident, when you have I! thus truly repented, that there remaineth for thee a trustworthy hope of salvation, hear a legend —nay, not a legend, but a true jj ^

narrative —about John the Apostle, handed down and preserved in

memory. When, on the death of the tyrant, he passed over to Ephesus from the island of Patmos, he used to make missionary journeys also to the neighboring Gentile cities, in some places to appoint bishops, and in some to set in order whole churches, and in some to appoint one of those indicated by the Spirit. On his arrival there at one of the cities at no great distance, of which

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some even mention the name, he saw a youth of stalwart frame and winning countenance and impetuous spirit, and said to the bishop, "I entrust to thee this youth, with all earnestness, calling Christ and the Church to witness." The bishop accepted the trust and made all the requisite promises, and the apostle renewed his injunctions and adjurations. He then returned to Ephesus, and the elder, taking home with him the youth who had been trusted to his care, maintained, cherished, and finally baptized him. After this he abandoned further care and protection of him,- considering that he had affixed to him the seal of the Lord as a perfect amulet against evil. Thus prematurely neglected, the youth was corrupted by certain idle companions of his own age,

who were familiar with evil, and who first led him astray by many costly banquets, and then took him out by night with them to share in their felonious proceedings, finally demanding his co-operation insome worse crime. First familiar with guilt, and then from force of his character, starting aside from the straight path like some mighty steed that seizes the bit in his teeth, he rushed headlong towards ruin, and utterly abandoning the Divine salvation, gathered his worst comrades around him, and became a most violent, blood-stained and reckless bandit chief. Not long afterwards John was recalled to the city, and after putting other things in order said: ''Come now, bishop, restore to me the deposit which I and the Savior entrusted to thee, with the witness of the Church over which thou dost preside." At first the bishop in his alarm mistook the meaning of the metaphor, but the apostle said, "1 demand back the young man and the soul of the brother." Then

groaning from the depths of his heart and shedding tears, "He is dead," said the bishop. "How, and by what death?" "He is dead to God! For he has turned out wicked and desperate, and, to sum up all, a brigand; and now instead of the Church he has seized the mountain, with fellows like himself." Then the apostle, rending his robe and beating his head, with wailing said, "A fine guardian of our brother's soul did I have! Give me a horse and a guide." Instantly, as he was, he rode away from the Church, and arriving at the brigand's outposts, was captured without flight or resistance, but crying, "For this I have come. Lead me to your chief." The chief awaited him in his armor, but when he recognized John

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as he approached, he was struck with shame and turned to fly.

But John pursued him as fast as he could, forgetful of his age, crying out, "Why, my son, do'st thou fly from thine own father, unarmed, aged as he is? Pity me, my son, fear not; thou hast still a hope of life. I will give an account to Christ for thee

should need be. I will willingly abide thy death; the Lord endured the death on our behalf. For thy sake I will give in ransom my own soul. Stay! believe! Christ sent me." But he on hearing these words first stood with downcast gaze, then flung away his arms, then trembling, began to weep bitterly, and embraced the old man when he came up to him, pleading with his groans, and l3aptizing himself afresh with his tears, only concealing his right liand. But the apostle pledging himself to win remission for him from the Savior by his supplications, kneeling before him, covering with kisses even his right hand as having been cleansed by repentance, led him back to the Church, and praying for him with abundant prayers, and wrestling with him in earnest fastings, and disenchanting him with various winning strains, he did not depart, as they say, till he restored him to the bosom of the Church, affording a great example of true repentance, and a great badge of renewed birth, a trophy of visible repentance, when in the close of the age the angels receive those who are truly penitent into heavenly habitations, radiantly rejoicing, hymning their hymns, and opening the heavens. One ancient writer says Smyrna was the city. Rufinus adds that John afterwards made the youth a bishop. Be those things as they may, the story beautifully shows the mighty, all-conquering power of love in winning souls to Christ. Another beautiful story is told by Cassian, a monk of about 420 A. D. Since it was written or appears for the first time at so late a date, and is told by this monk alone, it is not deserving of

much confidence. However it is truly characteristic of the apostle. It tells us that St. John in his hours of recreation and rest was in the habit of playing with a tame partridge. On one occasion a

young hunter who was very eager to see him, could hardly conceal his surprise, and even his disapproval, finding him thus occupied. He doubted for a moment whether this could really be the survivor of the apostles. "What is that thing which thou earnest in thy

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hand?" asked John. "A bow," said the young man. "Why then is it unstrung?" "Because," said the youth, "were I to keep it always strung it would lose its spring and become useless." "Even so," replied the apostle, "be not offended at this my brief relaxation, which prevents my spirit from waxing faint." There is not so much beauty in the figure of the bow which is never unbent as there is in the old man's tenderness for one of God's humble creatures. Even Moses, the great legislator and teacher of nations, was not above teaching boys not to take the mother bird when they took the young from the nest. And of him a very beautiful Rabinic legend is told which closely resembles, in spirit at least, the one abore. It says that he once followed a little lamb far into the wilderness, and, finding it, took it into his arms, saying, "Little lamb, thou knewest not what was good for thee. Come unto me, thy shepherd, and I will bear thee to thy fold." And God said, "Because he has been tender to the straying lamb, he shall be the shepherd of my people Israel."

"He prayeth well who loveth well, Both man and bird and beast, He prayeth best who loveth best All things, both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all." One other tradition has gained almost universal acceptance. It is that when St. John "tarried at Ephesus to extreme old age, and could only with difficulty be carried to church in the arms of the disciples, and was unable to give utterance to many words, he used to say no more at their meetings than this: 'Little children, love one another.' The disciples and fathers who were there^ wearied with hearing always the same words, said, 'Master, why dost thou always say this?' 'It is the Lord's command,' was his

worthy reply; 'and if only this be done, it is enough.' Concerning the death of St. John we are left in absolute darkness so far as trustworthy history goes. He was called a martyr because of the many deaths he is said to have suffered. Farrar says, "We may assume it for certain that, so far as the early Fathers knew, he died quietly at Ephesus of extreme old age." Not only was the supposed end of his career shrouded in