My Dear Father:
You say in your letter, which I received from the hands of the Roman courier, that you have read with interest all my letters, and more especially those which relate to Jesus of Galilee. You say that you are ready to acknowledge him as a prophet sent from God. But you add, "He can have no claim to be the Christ, because he comes out of Galilee."
To this objection, dear father, Rabbi Amos desires me to say that he has investigated the records of births kept in the Temple, and finds, as I have before named to you, that Jesus was born in Bethlehem. He afterwards removed with his parents to Egypt, and thence returning to Judea, settled in Galilee, where he was brought up. Of these facts in his history not only Rabbi Amos is satisfied, but Nicodemus also, whose learning you will not gainsay; and the latter, very much to our surprise, and my own delight, added yesterday, when we were talking over the subject at supper, "There is a prophecy, O Rabbi Amos, which strengthens this mighty Prophet's claim to be the Messias."
"What is it? Let me hear all that can strengthen!" I asked earnestly; not, dear father, that my confidence in him needs confirmation, but I wish others to believe.
"You will find it in the Prophet Hoseas," answered Nicodemus, "and thus it readeth: 'I have called my son out of Egypt.'"
My heart bounded with joy, dear father, at hearing this prophecy named; but judge my emotion when Nicodemus, taking the roll of the Prophet Isaiah in his hand, read the words that follow, and applied them to Jesus: "Beyond Jordan, in Galilee of the Gentiles, the people which sat in darkness have seen a great light!" This changes the objection to his coming from Galilee into additional proof of his claim to be the Messias.
In my last letter I informed you that Rabbi Amos had invited him to sojourn with us during the Passover. He graciously accepted the invitation, and came hither yesterday, after he had quitted the Temple, from which he had with such commanding power driven forth the merchants and money-changers.
Hearing, while expecting him, the rumor flying along the streets, "The Prophet comes! The Prophet comes!" uttered by hundreds of voices of men and children, I hastened to the house-top. The whole way was a sea of heads. The multitude came rolling onward, like a mighty river; as I have seen the dark Nile flow when pouring its freshening floods along its confined banks.
Mary stood by my side. We tried to single out the central person around whom undulated the sea of heads; but all was so wildly confused with the waving of palm branches that we could distinguish nothing clearly. While I was straining my gaze to make out the form of the Prophet, Mary touched me, and bade me look in the opposite direction. As I did so I beheld Æmilius Tullius, the young Roman centurion, now Prefect of Pilate's Legion, advancing at the head of two hundred horsemen at full spur, in order to meet and turn back the advancing column of people.
As he came opposite the house he looked up, and seeing us upon the parapet, he gracefully waved his gleaming sword, saluted us, and was dashing past, when Mary cried out: