“ But God can change hearts,” Barby said. “My Sunday school teacher told me so.” “ Indeed He can. God promises to take away our stony heart and give us a heart of flesh — a heart that is warm and tender toward Him.” “ Is that when the Lord Jesus comes in?” Barby asked. “ Exactly. The Bible says, ‘He that hath the Son hath life; and he
that hath not the Son of God hath not fife.’ ” “ ‘He that hath the Son hath life,’ ” Barby repeated. “ That’s kind of like a handful of sunlight too, isn’t it?” “ It is indeed, dear.” Benjie had quit asking “Why,” but he still eyed his marbles with a puzzled look. This was all over his head just now but when he was a little older he would under
stand what they were ta lk ing about. But Barby understood now. She must remember to tell Judy and Kay and Linda about the verse. On Sunday she would go with the daf fodils in her hand and the verse in her heart. They would be like two handfuls of sunlight — and one she would be able to carry even through the long, dark winter when there were no more daffodils. END.
by ANNE HAZELTON
W anuel stood very still and straight and wished with all his heart that Roberto would come to loosen the hood about his face so he could breathe better, but most of all come to bring him a drink of water. He was so thirsty. The hot perspiration ran down inside the soft silk cloth that made the hood over his head and face. He dared not lift his own hand to loosen the hood or he might fall onto the crowd below. Why didn’t Roberto come? The “man on the cross” always had someone to bring him water. . . . It was Good Friday in Manila. Early that morning Manuel and Roberto had paid their 10 centavos to the Jeepney driver and set out for Belut Island with all the excite ment of any normal 10-year-olds who were in Manila for the first time. True, it was Holy Week, a week of mounting gloom to those of their parents’ faith. One wasn’t supposed to be happy on Good Friday for it was on this day each year that God died. But Manuel and Roberto were going to see the Fla- gellantes who each year walked “ the way to Calvary” just outside Manila. They had seen one or two men on their own tiny island home attempt this scourging of the flesh. But Belut was the place where the real zealots could be seen. And maybe, Manuel had thought that morning, if he watched closely, 34
someday he could walk the way to Calvary and have his sins for given. It was rumored that some of these men beat their backs raw and bloody for payment, that others did it to show their neighbors how pious they were. But Manuel did not believe this. He believed, as he had been taught, that the Flagel lantes beat themselves so they might feel something of the suffer ing the Lord underwent on Gol gotha, that their suffering might be in some way an atonement for their sins, that their own shed blood might gain them merit. Before the crowd had begun to gather that morning, Manuel and Roberto had followed some of the men to watch them get ready for their ordeal. After the Flagellantes had beaten their backs with the bamboo-tipped thongs until there were welts, a friend, with sure quick strokes, had made some 12 or more cuts on each back with a piece of glass or razor. Then the men, their heads covered with a hood, had set off with an odd danc ing step through the crowd, beating their cut backs to make the blood flow. Manuel had almost felt every blow himself as he and Roberto had followed the Flagellantes. At one stage there were those waiting to put the crown of leaves on the head of each devotee. And at the intersection Manuel had watched as first one and then the other of the Flagellantes prostrated
himself in the dust of the road, first having made a cross in the dust and then prostrating himself upon it before he turned toward the church yard. There had been many Americanos there in the crowd watching these men pay their vows and Manuel had heard one of them exclaim, “How awful! This is much worse than any heathen ritual for this is done in the name of Chris tianity.” Manuel didn’t know what they meant but it didn’t matter. He didn’t really care what the Ameri canos thought. And anyway he was beginning to feel a little sick though he wouldn’t admit it to Roberto. The smell of the hot blood together with the heat of the sun and the odor of drying fish on the racks behind the shops were all a little too much even for a sturdy Filipino boy. But Roberto wasn’t ready to go home. He wanted to see the “man on the cross.” They had waited until afternoon for this and then made their way to the little wayside chapel where the chanting of the Passion had been going on all week and was in full swing on Good Friday, young fellows and girls taking their turns at the continuous chanting that went out over loudspeakers to all the homes and shops around. In front of the chapel there was a cross and on the cross “ hung” a man, his head covered by a red hood, his arms outstretched along THE KING'S BUSINESS
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