Sacred

Strip by strip.

One and another.

Time after time.

Sunrise.

Sunset.

Winter.

Spring.

Summer.

Autumn.

All things in their time.

Braid by braid.

Strip by strip.

Sin by sin.

"Joshua," the voice had the weight of long contemplation. Hours of hushed debate and furtive whispering leaked from the vowels like oil from a press. "We have to ask, why are you making that?"

Questions upon questions. But he was above all a teacher, and the role of a teacher when it came to men, was to lead them to answer. Not provide a platter-ed solution as to a boy.

"You have nothing to fear from me, Mark," his voice was neither comforting nor harsh. It was focused. "No man has anything to fear in me, however, there are actions which must be answered. And those men should fear Righteous Anger."

"Forgive me, but you teach peace not violence. It is why you have told us our descendants will be hunted. Why would you strike against sin, when at all other times embrace the sinner tenderly?"

"There are times," strip by strip, "where one must enact violence in defense of the innocent and of the sacred. When vile deeds are done, let them be stood against. And should that standing be able to be done only in violence then let it be done. But restrain it always to necessity."

"Again, your intention? A whip, in the hands of a man without a herd, can be little use. We are none of us warriors, though your teachings can spread to the soldiery as it might bring forward His peace. Why would you take up arms?"

Over, under, tighten. Over, under, tighten. Wiping sweat from his eye and examining the lie of the leather, Joshua glanced up at his friend. "Arms? I do not take up arms for I have neither the desire nor the intent to either harm or to kill. I wish merely to make my voice heard, and in so doing to frighten for their souls the blasphemer."

"The whips, Joshua. The whips?"

He did not answer. His attention returned to his work, and he did not speak again. His friend probed him several times to no avail and finally hung his head before departing. Disappointment evident to all but its target.

Eager questions assailed Mark from all sides as he returned to the others. Though he answered them, shared in their disappointment, and conjectured as to likely targets not discounting themselves, he did so with no more than half his mind.

Like dice in a cup, his strange friend's words rattled around his head; bouncing off the walls and disturbing any attempt he made at examining them. Fear of righteous anger, but not fear of him? What under the sun could that mean? And violence done as a last resort of the Just, yet here the man prepared for it with meticulous attention.

Stranger and stranger. All the world are sinners, that much is known well and true. Since man first saw and fell in love with the moon, so much has been known. Yet in the strictures of his anger, he took such time to braid so many cords together. A weapon that is not a weapon, a voice made loud through the cracking of violence's shadow, and anger in a man so gentle the breeze itself parted so as not to disturb him.

"He made the handle first; I saw him doing it yesterday."

"Did he indeed? Taking such time and dedication, what do you think he means by it?"

"I think him in prayer," Luke's voice rose above the rest and they turned to regard him. "Look at how he sits, watch how he works, don't simply regard, observe."

Mark returned his attention to their teacher and tried to do what his friend instructed. They were taught to quiet their minds and observe the world, to use it as a way to question and to challenge. So, he tried, really tried.

Joshua sat hunched over his work, strong brown fingers moving with slow deliberateness, placing and arranging each strip to functional perfection before moving on. His eyes did not waiver from the work, nor were they glaring as though rage or hate drove him. Fierce and angry, but likewise calm and contemplative such that Mark finally understood words that had so confused him.

"No man has anything to fear in me, however, there are actions which must be answered. And those men should fear Righteous Anger," Joshua had said. Actions which must be answered, and men who should fear righteous anger all the while maintaining that no man has anything to fear from him. There was anger in eyes, but it was not an anger born of pride, nor yet of indignation. He had not been insulted.

"He's allowing himself time," said Mark, drawing eyes and questions his way. In response, he explained, "whatever he's angry about, you can see that in his face. Whatever it is, he wants to make sure that when he responds, he's doing the right thing. Look at him, you can see it, right?"

The rest looked, saw, and nodded.

Strip by strip.

One and another.

Time after time.

Sunrise.

Sunset.

Winter.

Spring.

Summer.

Autumn.

All things in their time.

Braid by braid.

Strip by strip.

Sin by sin.

When the sun rose, Joshua rose with it and experimentally cracked the cords of leather in the air. His students and friends roused themselves at the sound. Fear clawed at Mark's belly as he blearily watched Joshua stride away, towards the city. Whomever had enraged him must be there.

Mark stood, flanked by Luke and John, and followed their teacher.