A casual search of the Internet will reveal two schools of thought on the

origin of the first Bible. While some believe the good book was
commissioned by the Roman emperor Constantine in the fourth century,
others contend the various books of the Old and New Testaments were not
compiled until a much later date. As the Bible itself is full of inconsistencies
and contradictions, I felt free to choose the version that best suits my
purpose.

CONSTANTINE’S BIBLE

Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea, gathered his flowing robe about him and
strode into the great hall. As he approached the throne, the old man
bowed low before Constantine the Great, emperor of Rome and, for all
practical purposes, the world.

“Great Caesar,” he murmured through his magnificent beard.

“Arise, Eusebius.” The emperor fluttered an impatient hand. “I’m

anxious to hear your report.”

“And I am anxious to share the good tidings,” the old bishop purred.
“You will be pleased to know that nearly three hundred of my fellow
bishops will attend our spring council.”

“Only three hundred?” Constantine didn’t look at all pleased. “That’s

barely one in four. How dare they defy my edict?”

“If the emperor will indulge me for a moment,” said Eusebius. “Three
hundred will be more than enough to complete the work before us. A
smaller council means less argument and a greater chance to reach a
consensus.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Constantine scratched at a spot on his balding

pate, a most disagreeable habit in the bishop’s view. “But whatever the
number, there will be a consensus. You and the others must compile the
teachings of our faith into one canon. One doctrine for all to follow.
Understood?”

“Yes, Caesar. But there are certain problems inherent in such an

undertaking.”

“Solve them.”

“I will do my …”
“You will do whatever is necessary,” said Constantine. “I’ve done my part
haven’t I? I’ve torn down the old temples and destroyed the graven
images. I’ve put thousands of infidels to the sword. And never once did
you hear me complain. Well, did you?”

“You have been most generous of spirit.”

“See here, Eusebius,” said the emperor. “I’m a Christian. You’re a

Christian. We want all God’s children to be Christians, don’t we?”

“Yes, Caesar.”

“And that’s never going to happen until we have one definitive volume of
prophesy and law.” Constantine frowned. “I’m through waiting. Get
your people moving on this.”

“My course is set,” said Eusebius, “and great Caesar has been most
patient. But I wonder if some small inducement might further smooth
the way.”

“You expect me to grease the skids?”

“It would prove most beneficial, your grace.”

“I may as well be dealing with the Senate.” Constantine sighed and

shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. Tell your people I’ll pay for twenty
copies of the completed canon.”

“I was hoping the emperor would commission one hundred copies.”

“You were, were you?” Constantine laughed. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll
take fifty copies provided they’re written on the finest parchment.”

“Caesar is most generous.”

“And cash on delivery. Not one sesterce in advance. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Constantine called for wine to seal the bargain. He toasted the wily
bishop with a tip of his goblet and said, “So who’s your point man for
this project?”

“My assistant, Jerome.”

“Wasn’t he the events planner we used for the winter carnival?”

“The same.”

“I remember him. Ambitious young fellow. Rather full of himself. And

he works for you now?”

“He has my utmost confidence.”

“That’s good,” said Constantine the Great. “I hope for your sake, old
friend, this kid knows what he’s doing.”

**

The largest banquet hall had been hired and then filled to overflowing
with the many bishops, their scribes, and body servants. They were a
fractious, unruly bunch, gathered from the four corners of the known
world. A trumpeter from the Tenth Legion was hired to call them to
attention. When they finally quieted, Eusebius mounted a raised
platform to address the crowd.

“My friends in Christ,” he began humbly. “We are called to this great
council to perform the most important task of our careers.”

The bishop of Caesarea went on to convey the emperor’s wishes, placing

great emphasis on the lucrative commission for fifty hand-written
canons. He spoke for over an hour, exhorting and cajoling the princes of
Christianity to set aside their differences and act selflessly for the good of
the Church.

When he finished his speech, Eusebius called his assistant to join him
on the dais. “I have chosen Jerome of Antioch to guide us in our holy
work,” he announced.

A voice from the back of the room called out. “You expect us to take
orders from your AA? That’s not going to happen.”

The great hall rumbled like far-off thunder signaling a coming storm.
Jerome seemed not to notice, but the old bishop turned red with anger
and shouted to be heard.

“Silence!”
He raised his arm above his head and showed them a parchment scroll
tied with a purple ribbon. “I have in my hand a letter of marque bearing
the seal of our emperor, the great Constantine. Caesar himself has
decreed that Jerome of Antioch lead this council. Will any here defy
Caesar?”

If any would they didn’t say so. Eusebius let the implied threat hang
over the crowd for a bit, then spoke to them in a fatherly tone. “The
emperor has accepted the Christ. He is one of us. I shouldn’t have to
remind you what that means.”

Always a careful man, Eusebius reminded them anyway. “For three

centuries we have been persecuted, tortured and vilified. But today the
power of Rome embraces our faith and offers its hand in brotherhood.
We dare not turn our backs. This time will never come again.”

It was a stirring bit of oratory and they were won over to a man.
Eusebius accepted their cheers and applause with grace, then silently
nodded for Jerome to take over. The young man from Antioch stepped
forward, showed the assembly his most sincere smile and shouted, “Are
you all as excited to be here as I am?”

Scores of jaws dropped open but no one would admit to sharing Jerome’s
enthusiasm.

“I’m absolutely thrilled to be working on this project,” he continued

undeterred. “And I’m looking forward to getting to know all of you
gentlemen. I’ve taken the liberty of having a fruit basket delivered to
each of your rooms as a let’s-get-acquainted gift. Enjoy.”

A voice broke the silence of the dumbfounded holy men. “Where the hell
did they find this guy?”

Jerome ignored the remark. “Now I think we should get started by

mentally dividing the room in half,” he said. “Everybody on my right will
be assigned to cover the older scriptures—for the time being we’ll call
these the Old Testament.”

“Catchy title,” said Bishop Secundus.

When the snickering died down, Jerome pointed with his left hand.
“And all of you over here will work with the Gospels and everything
written since the crucifixion. These of course will be the New
Testament.”
“Okay now, we all have our work cut out for us. People of the Old
Testament group? I think your assignment can be summed up in three
words—condense, define, and collate. Substantial editing may be called
for.”

“New Testament people? I’ve come up with a short list of goals we should
be aiming for. First off, there are way too many Gospels. Let’s read them
over carefully and choose the best four or five. I’m thinking Matthew,
Mark, Luke, and Barnabas, but you may have a better idea. And Paul’s
letters would make wonderful chapters. Who would like to tackle the
Apostle Paul? Volunteers?”

Jerome focused on the name tag of a portly bishop in the front row.
“Titus? How about you?”

“Aw, I don’t know. With all due respect, Paul was quite a windbag.”

“And you’re just the man to bring focus to his work,” said Jerome.
“Choose whomever you want to help, but make sure you have some good
spellers on your team. We all know the Apostle Paul was a Christian
with a capital K.”

Jerome waited for a laugh that never came, then clapped his hands
together. “All right, people. You all know what’s expected of you. Now
let’s bring this one home for Jesus.”

As the council toiled, Jerome was everywhere, offering advice, settling

disputes, and massaging egos. Despite his best efforts, little real
progress was made and by the tenth day, some of the bishops were
threatening to leave for home. Jerome fell back on lessons learned while
working in the private sector.

“People? People, I need your attention. Eyes front, please.”

“For Christ’s sake,” grumbled Rufinus. “Now what?”

“You can’t say that!” someone shouted. “That’s blasphemy … Isn’t it?”

“Sure it is,” said the Bishop of Cyprus. “Rufinus is a blasphemer!”

“I am not.”

“You are, so.”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“People please!” Jerome stamped a sandaled foot on the dais to restore

order. “We’ll discuss blasphemy at a later date. Right now, I have a little
surprise for you. Is everybody listening?”

They were.

“The emperor has generously offered to sponsor a little incentive

program,” Jerome told them. “He has donated some wonderful prizes to
be awarded to the bishops who go that extra mile in helping to meet out
goals.”

“What about the scribes?”

“I’m sorry, only bishops are eligible.”

“Figures.”

The scribes grumbled, but the bishops were naturally competitive and,
eager to out-do one another, they fell to their tasks with a will.

The emperor himself stopped by one day to check their progress.

“How’s the incentive program going, Jerome?”

“Caesar’s generosity has had great effect on the council, as you see.”
Jerome swept an arm over the busy crowd.

“Amazing what people will do for a set of steak knives,” said Constantine.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your work, young man. Looks like you’re
needed over at table six.”

Jerome wove his way through the New Testament section to one of the
Gospel groups. “Problem, Jacob?”

“I’d like to cut this line about the disciple whom Jesus loved best,” said
the bishop. “Sounds a bit gay if you ask me.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” said another.

“You would,” said Jacob. “How about it, Jerome? We need a ruling
here.”
Jerome folded his arms across his chest and furrowed his brow in
thought. “No, I think we can leave it as is,” he said. “Love should be a
major theme here. We should promote the image of Jesus as a man of
love, but emphasize that it’s a pure, emotional love, not necessarily
physical.”

“So he’s to be a lifelong virgin like his mother?”

“Why not?”

“And speaking of Mary, how do we explain her other kids?”

“We don’t,” said Jerome. “Any mention of them should be very low-key.
We don’t deny them but we don’t make a big deal of it either.”

“And how are we coming on the disciples?” he asked moving to another

table.

“We’ve got the list pared down to sixteen.”

“Still too many,” Jerome said. “Make some more cuts. Remember, just
the most important ones.”

Jerome moved on to the Old Testament section. “Isaac, how are you
doing?”

“Well, I think we got some of Moses’ story down to manageable size. We

had to do some major editing on the Red Sea episode.”

“Tell me about it.”

“In the original version, Moses and Aaron part company at the Red Sea,
each taking half the people in different directions to meet on the other
side. We’ve got entire chapters detailing both their journeys. Far too
many pages and it’s boring besides.”

“I see what you mean,” said Jerome. “How did you handle it?”

“With a miracle,” Isaac said with a sly grin. “In our version, Moses smites
the ground with a big stick and voila! The sea splits in two leaving a dry
path straight through the middle. Moses and his whole bunch simply
walk across.”

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!”

Isaac made some modest noises but Jerome leapt onto a chair to address
the others. “Did you hear that, people? Now that’s the kind of thinking
we need. Kudos for Isaac’s team!”

When the applause died down, a grizzled old bishop said, “It’ll never
work.”

“Why not?”

“Because the original story of the Red Sea is already written in the
Torah,” he said. “You can’t have two different versions and the rabbis
will never change theirs. You know what sticklers they are.”

“True,” said Jerome. “But they’re not unreasonable. We have some

friends in the Jewish community don’t we? Let’s send someone over with
a rough draft. Let them read about our miracle. They may just go for it.”

And so it went. The weeks stretched into months and the bishops
labored on under the guiding hand of a man who began his career
entertaining at children’s birthday parties. Jerome of Antioch knew
intuitively how to get the best effort from his team and he was lavish in
his praise when they performed well. In turn, the bishops came to
regard Jerome with respect and even a certain affection. They confided
in him and sought his opinions on everything from punctuation to
fashion.

When the bishops’ work was finished, the sixty-six books of the Old and
New Testaments were given to the scribes along with Constantine’s order
for fifty parchment copies of the Holy Christian canon. The emperor
declared a three-day holiday of sumptuous banquets and games,
including an entertaining bout between seven Thracian pagans and a like
number of African lions.

Jerome begged off the festivities and asked the emperor to give him leave
to visit his home and family. Reluctantly, Constantine bade him go after
first securing Jerome’s promise to return in time to oversee the
construction of a low-income housing development.

When Jerome finally arrived at his home, he embraced his young wife
and whispered in her ear, “Boy, am I glad that’s over.”

“You have been sorely missed, my husband,” she said. “Our children
have cried for their father and my bed has been a cold and lonely place.
Every day I have prayed for your safe return and He has heard my
prayers. All praise to Zeus!”
“Amen,” said Jerome. “Amen.”