He reached for a reference book on orthography, which compared Greek lettering styles across the centuries. Now his head shifted from one side to the other repeatedly in comparing the shapes of letters, almost as if he were watching some ancient tennis match. Finally he looked up. “Yes. Yes, it is third century indeed. Here, look for yourself.”
Jon compared the evidence and nodded-affecting surprise only because he had also done this comparison with a similar text on Greek orthography back in Cambridge. But yes, it was important to have his conclusions tested by the world authority on ancient Greek texts.
Their conversation now turned to the origin of the ancient leaves. If they came from the third century, then they could well be a first-generation copy of Hegesippus’s original, which had to have been written before his death in AD 180, the abbot told Jon, confirming what he and Shannon had already surmised. “If that is the case, more such leaves from Hegesippus would be priceless. Did your wife inquire about this at Pella?”
“Most certainly. Unfortunately the priest who was using them to hold his place in an aged copy of Eusebius’s Church History had no idea where they came from or when.” Jon went on to disclose his plans for the ICO to do an exhaustive inventory of all written materials at the church in Pella, pending the local priest’s permission.
Next they focused on the question of authenticity. The archimandrite examined the brownish leaves under additional lamps, using his magnifying glass almost constantly. His scrutiny, however, was fairly brief. He lifted his head and said, “Really, Professor Weber, there is no question but that these leaves are genuine and ancient. I think it would be totally impossible to… to… What is the word?”
“To forge, to falsify something like this?”
“Yes, that is what I want to say.”
Jon smiled appreciatively, almost as if his host had made it all possible. Then he reached into his attache case and extracted the fifth brownish leaf and its enhanced copy and laid them on the abbot’s desk, his own heart increasing its tempo as he said, “This final page, Your Grace, is of such great importance that I didn’t want it to color your conclusions.”
Miltiades resumed his reading, showing no response whatever. Halfway through, however, he looked quizzically at Jon before returning to the text. Slowly, his head turned across each line, which he seemed to read and reread. This time he also had much recourse to the original on the left side of his desk, poring over it again and again.
He finally sat up, shook his head, and muttered, “Thaumadzo!”
Jon recognized the verb from the opening lines of St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians: “I am amazed.” Then a torrent of words poured out of Miltiades’s mouth. “Now Hegesippus is talking about the Gospels and how they were written. After Mark and Matthew, he comes to Luke, and… and he writes…” He grabbed the magnifying glass and immediately translated into English. “He writes, ‘After blessed Luke wrote his… first treatise to Theophilus, which we call Luke’s Gospel, and his second treatise to Theophilus, which we call the Acts of the Apostles, he wrote… also a third treatise to the same person, which we call the Acts of the Apostles, Beta,’ that is, the Second Acts of the Apostles.”
The abbot laid down the magnifying glass on his desk between the original leaves and the enhanced version and was silent for some moments. Finally he said, “Now I know why you think these pages are… are so important!”
“Indeed, Your Grace. They could even mean that there is biblical material out there that never got included in the Bible.”
The abbot made a triangle of his fingers and thumbs and nodded pensively.
Jon continued. “Have you ever found any reference to a third treatise to Theophilus?”
Slowly the abbot shook his head. “No. No, I have not. This… this is astonishing.”
“And it may help explain why Luke seems to break off so abruptly at the end of his narrative in Acts, chapter 28. Here he brings St. Paul to Rome, and the reader can’t wait to read about the greatest crisis in the apostle’s life: his trial before Nero. But Luke seems to do a… a fade-out on us, as Americans put it. No trial, just a few words about Paul preaching openly in his rented dwelling for two years.”
“Ah yes. I’ve often thought that this was the most… the most…”
“Frustrating?”
“Yes, the most frustrating passage in all of Scripture.”
Both were silent for a while. Then a wan smile crossed the abbot’s face. “What a treasure it would be for the church-for the world-if that ‘third treatise’ could ever be found.”
“How very true! But do you think that’s even possible?”
A slight frown furrowed the cleric’s brow and he shook his head sadly. “No, I don’t think so. It would have been discovered long ago and be part of our Bible today.” He paused, drummed his fingers on the desk, and resumed speaking. “But your discovery, I think, will be very helpful to explain why the book of Acts ends as it does. Luke had more to say.”
“Yes. Luke had more to say indeed. This is exactly what my wife and I concluded.”
“Just so. But what are your plans for this discovery? When will you publish?”
“Not until a total inventory of the St. James Orthodox Church at Pella is completed-for obvious reasons.”
“Oh yes, yes. That is very, very important. And I promise you that I will tell no one about this until you give me permission.”
“Thank you, esteemed Archimandrite. I was about to ask you for that favor. If the news ever got out, hordes of amateur scholars and sensationalist sleuths would converge on Pella and crowd out the true specialists.”
“Yes, and probably destroy further parts of this manuscript, if they were discovered.”
After a brief but nourishing lunch, Jon broached to Father Miltiades the ICO’s offer to help accelerate the inventory project at Mount Athos and its many monastery archives. He feared a negative response since the monks there were known to be a fiercely independent lot. One of the monasteries, in fact, had so opposed any ecumenical outreach to Roman Catholicism that it had to be excommunicated from Eastern Orthodoxy.
The genial archimandrite, however, surprised him and said, “This is an answer to prayer, dear Professor. Scholars across the world have been begging us to hurry up, to…”
“Expedite?”
“Yes, to expedite our inventory search. But we have not had enough resources or specialists to do that. But now you come here and promise us both. In the name of the Great Lavra and of all the other monasteries on the Holy Mountain, we offer you our thanks.”
Jon proffered enthusiastic thanks of his own, promising to stay in close touch with Abbot Miltiades. It was a very pleasant way to end his visit. Perhaps it was the mellow mood that actually enabled him to avoid panic on another breakneck jeep ride back to the port of Dafni. On the ferry back to the mainland, he found himself clutching the attache case closer than ever.
After a quick drive back to Thessalonica, Jon stopped at the hotel’s convenience venue to pick up a newspaper. Glancing at the news rack, he was shocked to see his own picture on the front pages of the international newspapers. He snatched up a copy of the International Herald Tribune.
But before he could even read the article, Shannon rushed over to him. “Jon, you won’t believe what’s happened!”
As they hurried to their room, Jon was treated to a string of wifely admonitions about a forgotten cell phone, as well as an inventory of the torrent of messages that had arrived for Jon in the last twenty-four hours, including Reuters from London, the Associated Press in New York, the U.S. Embassy in Athens, and the CIA. Marylou Kaiser and Richard Ferris had been calling every hour. Fortunately no one had revealed their whereabouts in Greece, except for phone numbers Marylou had been all but forced to give the government. Otherwise, the press would have besieged the Macedonia Palace.
“It’s been crazy, Jon,” Shannon said, “absolutely crazy.”