He had to know this! I knew from my memorizing of the ancient Scriptures as a child that He knew my innermost being! A sob rose in my throat, and desperate as I was to return to a right relationship with Him, I dared not speak. Had I ruined everything? I would never be impudent with an earthly ruler! How could I with God the Father? I felt as bad as I had on the floor of Judas’ house.
As my horse raced on, I rocked along, head bowed, weeping, aching for another word, anything from my God. I would never speak in His presence again if only He would forgive me. All my life I had been desperate for a walking-and-talking interaction with God like the ones enjoyed by biblical heroes of old. Christ Himself had confronted me and now God had spoken to me. But in my exhilaration I had overstepped my position.
I determined that from now on I would speak to God only in spirit. I would be open to Him always, listening. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.
You will no longer identify yourself by your Greek name.
Oh, praise God, He was speaking to me again! And though I was confused, I would merely listen. I would obey, of course, but if I was no longer Saul, who was I? And identify myself to whom? Where was I going and to whom would I be speaking?
By your Roman name.
When it was to my advantage I used the name Paul, but growing up a Pharisee and in my role with the Sanhedrin I had always been Saul. I could not have been more puzzled or curious, but I had always been a fast learner. I was not about to pester my Lord God with questions. Nothing sickened me more than His silence, and clearly He had something in mind for me.
For as long as I could remember, I had been filled with purpose—an early riser, busy all day. How I longed to devote that vigor and passion to my Lord, if only He would tell me what He wanted me to do.
I knew nothing more than to be prayerfully silent and listen. This I did as patiently as I knew how for the rest of the day, finally so confident of my balance on the broad back of the great beast Theo that I folded my hands in my lap and sat straight up, back rigid, hood hanging loosely about my neck, eyes closed.
Still aware of the moist air, the sound of the sand beneath my horse’s hooves, and the warmth of the sun on my scalp, I alternately dozed and hummed praises to God—trying to be patient. This I found nearly impossible as the sun reached its zenith, then arced out over the Red Sea and began to wane.
The miracle of riding a speeding horse for hours on end without pain or fear or hunger or fatigue had lost its novelty—how long could this go on? Would Theo take me to the ends of the earth? What did my Lord have in mind? I determined that I had been aboard this animal for almost twenty-four hours and could well have covered as many as nine hundred miles. No one in his right mind would believe it. I wouldn’t have myself had I not been the foolish-looking man perched atop the magnificent stallion.
As the sun flattened and broadened and its hues began to change from yellow to orange, suddenly both sky and sea seemed to burst into flames of color painted just for me by God Himself. I was captivated, mesmerized, overcome. How many times must I have seen this before without ever giving it a second look? As I spread my arms to gather it in, God spoke deeply to my soul—making me wish I had parchment and quill—but I would never forget one syllable.
My Son is the very image of Me, the firstborn over all creation. For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. And He is the head of the body, the church, who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in all things He may have the preeminence.
For it pleased Me that in Him all the fullness should dwell, and by Him to reconcile all things to Himself, by Him, where things on earth or things in heaven, having made peace through the blood of His cross.
At this I lowered my face into Theo’s mane and sobbed. Would that God would speak to me this way and that I would have the unspeakable privilege of sharing it.
My horse thundered on as my tears streamed, but I was soon startled by a break in his gait. He hadn’t slowed, but something had caused him to miss a step. I sat up and peered into the distance. In the fading light a rising cloud of dust could mean only one thing: a caravan.
Giving not a hint of slowing, Theo would in a matter of minutes overtake the plodding camels and carts. But I feared we would also spook the massive security detail that protected the precious goods—silk or spices and incense, perhaps ivory. And there was the matter of the Roman garrison, no doubt still in dogged pursuit. Did I dare give them a chance to make up ground?
Had it been up to me, I would have steered clear of the caravan, shambling along about forty yards east and maybe half a mile ahead of us. A gentle breeze carried back to me clear aromatic evidence of its cargo, reminding me afresh of the miracle of my sated appetite. At any other time, particularly when I had gone an entire night and day without a bite, the pungent fragrance of cinnamon, pepper, onion, garlic, and the like would have sent me on a course toward warm bread, sizzling meat, and an appropriate libation.
Now it merely piqued my interest, kindled my imagination, and made me nostalgic for faraway places and long-forgotten friends.
It was too much to hope for that the caravan guards would ignore an enormous black stallion with a tiny, bald, middle-aged man on his bare back, racing madly past them along the shore of the Red Sea. By the time we pulled to within a couple of hundred yards of them, three of their black-clad guards peeled off and galloped over to intercept us.
As we drew near, I could see from their dark countenances and turbans that they hailed from the Far East. One eased his mount directly into Theo’s path and casually raised a hand in a not-unfriendly manner, as if to request I stop for a chat. As Theo had had a mind of his own since I had leapt astride him a full day and night before, that decision was out of my hands. I merely smiled and shrugged as we flew by, and the guard’s steed skittered back as the man quickly unsheathed his weapon.
The three lit out after us, shouting in a language I did not recognize, and they were soon joined by at least a half dozen others. Though they were all no doubt well trained and their horses fresh, fit, and fed, they were no match for a mount and rider already tested to their limits for twenty-four hours and empowered by the God of the universe.
By the time Theo finally, strangely, bore hard to his left and made me reach desperately for his mane again, our pursuers had disappeared. At long last, it appeared we had reached some sort of a destination. The great animal slowed to a gallop, then to a trot, then to a walk. He eased across the trade route past a sign I would not have been able to read at the speed we had been going: Jeddah 185 miles.
He slipped behind a tall rock outcropping and down a ravine that led to a shallow dip unlike anything else I’d seen in the Arabian desert. He stopped on a rocky plateau that overlooked a cluster of dwellings that appeared to comprise a shabby Bedouin settlement. It reminded me of a bleak city of refuge I had seen years before. And had my horse not followed this unlikely path, I would have seen not a bit of evidence of it—nor could anyone else. In the middle of the vast Arabian desert, it was the perfect spot to hide a dwelling place.
And so, Lord?
I slid off Theo’s back, expecting to feel tight, cramped, weary. If this was not a dream, if I really had traveled from Damascus to 185 miles north of Jeddah from sundown to sundown on horseback, I could not imagine ever doubting or questioning God again for as long as I lived. What must He have be planning for me?
Is this where I am to reside, Lord?
“You?”
I jumped and whirled at the sound of an ancient voice, instinctively reaching to my waist for a weapon that wasn’t there. An old man stood watching me in the fading light, holding the hand of cherubic dark-eyed boy not more than four years old.
Remember.
God had reminded me of how I was to identify myself. “You what?” I said.
“You are the one the Lord told me of in a dream?”
“Not again,” I said.
“This is common for you?” the old man said.
“It has happened before.”
“Not to me, stranger.” He turned to the boy, who looked scared. “If he tells us the correct name, Corydon, we will know he is the man of God.”
“My name is Paul,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “Where am I?”
The man gasped but did not take my hand. He gathered the boy close to him and said, “Could he have come so far, so fast? Does his horse look tired? And where is his saddle?”
“You’re saying the Lord told you where I was last night?” I said.
The man nodded solemnly.
“If I tell you where that was, will you shake my hand and tell me where I am?”
He nodded, but his fingers trembled.
“Damascus,” I said.
He took my hand but fell to his knees, causing the boy to burst into tears and cry out, “Grandfather!”
“It’s all right, son,” I said. “Corydon, is it?” The boy fought to stop crying, pressing his lips together. He nodded. I helped the man to his feet. “And you, sir? Your name?”
“Alastor. And you have arrived at Yanbu.”
I knelt so I was eye level with the boy and showing deference to his grandfather. “Sir, you have plainly walked with God much longer than I. But am I to gather that below us is an enclave of followers of The Way?”
The old man nodded. “We have all been driven many miles from our various homelands.”
“As have I.”
“We are to take you in.”
“Who else knows this?” I said.
“No one.”
“Will I be accepted or suspected?”
It was nice to see Alastor smile at last. “If I were you, Paul, I would not tell the story of your journey.”
That made me chuckle. “I barely believe it myself, sir.”
“The Lord told me you would come to us with nothing, but that we were to offer you food and lodging in exchange for your trade.”
“My trade?”
Alastor nodded. “We are to leave you alone so He can meet with you in the wilderness in the mornings, and you will ply your trade in the afternoons.”
“Did He say what my trade was to be?”
Alastor shook his head. “You must understand, Paul. I did not know it was really the Lord until you confirmed what He told me. Forgive me, but you do not look like someone He would have sent.”
“Coming all this way so quickly—”
“And without a saddle. Or sunburn.”
“I understand,” I said. “But as for my trade, I—” Do not reveal your training. “—I, ah, don’t know what I can offer.”
“Paul, if you do not know, I certainly don’t either. But for now I must obey the Lord. Are you thirsty, hungry, tired? Let’s water and feed your horse and wash your feet, have my daughter set another bowl at the table—”
“Oh, I’m not—” Accept. “I would be so grateful. Thank you, sir. And Corydon, I am eager to meet your parents. Tell me—”
“The lad has recently lost his father, sir.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“And his mother is still in mourning, so—”
“I understand. Don’t put her to any trouble.”
“She likes to keep busy.”
I asked Alastor if he and the boy would like to ride down to the settlement while I led the horse. He looked to Corydon who nodded, and I helped them both up onto Theo.
Curious eyes met us as we approached the commune, but the unsmiling people only nodded and kept to themselves.
A cluster of nine unwieldy tents lay hidden about a mile from the trade route and another quarter-mile from the sea. The dwellings consisted of crude, rectangular sections of woven dark sheepskin and goatskin sewn together and supported by wood poles anchored to the rocky ground by wood pegs. A glance told me my father, a master tentmaker, would have been horrified at the workmanship. Frayed edges and gaping holes clearly allowed in wind, dust, dirt, rocks, and whatever chill the night winds brought. It dawned on me what trade the Lord intended for me to barter here.
Alastor gestured toward the largest tent, set at the far left end of the compound, and handed Corydon down to me. The lad quickly wriggled from my grasp and ran inside calling, “Mama, a man!”
I moved to help Alastor, but the old man assured me he was all right and deftly slid off Theo, bellowing a strange name. A young man of ruddy countenance came running from another tent, bowed to me, and was introduced as Nadav.
“Our guest is Paul of Damascus. Bring him water to drink, wash his feet, take his horse to the trough, and let the elders know all will meet him tonight at second watch.”
“Yes, Rabbi,” Nadav said. He turned to me. “Welcome, Paul of Damascus.” He looked at Theo and turned back with a puzzled expression.
“He’ll follow you,” I said.
Nadav made a clicking sound and Theo followed him to the middle of the compound.
“You didn’t tell me you were a rabbi, Alastor. Your name—”
“Is not Hebrew. My family is Hellenistic. But yes, I am a lifelong student of the Scriptures.”
Do not reveal your training.
“Interesting. As it happens, sir, while I appreciate your hospitality, I am not thirsty, nor are my feet—”
“You have come a long way, Paul. And don’t deprive the young man the blessing of serving you.”
“Very well.”
“Ah, my daughter, Taryn.”
I could barely make out the lithe, veiled figure just inside the opening of the tent. She stood motionless, seeming to protect Corydon, one dark hand around his shoulder, peeking out from the shadows, the waning sunlight revealing long slender fingers that somehow portended a certain gracefulness.
It was not my practice to greet unbidden a married woman, let alone a widow, but her own father introduced us. Her entire being seemed hesitant, even unwilling. How fresh must be her grief? Alastor laid a hand gently on my shoulder and nudged me toward her.
“Taryn, our guest is Paul, a brother in Christ from Damascus.”
She offered a nod and flashed a glance at her father. Annoyance? Panic? Frustration?
“I regret any inconvenience,” I said.
“Not at all,” she said, but her tone and eyes betrayed her.
“Nadav will refresh him. Do I smell stew?”
She nodded, eyes cast down. “Just broth with vegetables and bread. Then some figs.”
“I don’t want to be any extra work,” I said.
“We have plenty,” she said, backing away. “You are welcome.”
Somehow I didn’t feel welcome.
“Taryn, please,” Alastor said in a tone more disappointed than scolding, “I have more to tell you.”
“Forgive me, Father,” she said, turning back.
“I’ll be back for supper. Please prepare the room for an elders’ meeting at second watch.”
“Very well.”
Nadav arrived with a cup of water for me to drink and a bowl to wash my feet. Taryn and Corydon had disappeared behind the curtain that separated the two main sections of the tent, and I heard them whispering as she worked. Presently, the boy reappeared and watched intently as Nadav dried my feet. Corydon removed his own sandals and put his tiny feet into mine then amused himself by padding around in them.
I made a great show of pretending his sandals were mine and trying to force my feet into them. I stood as if I didn’t notice that my toes barely fit through the straps and the heels stopped before the middle of my feet. I strolled to the front of the tent as if to gaze out at the horizon, which made Corydon laugh aloud and call for his mother to “come and see the funny man!”
“I’m not washing your feet again!” Nadav said.
Taryn pulled back the curtain slightly and peeked out, shaking her head at Corydon in my big sandals. I raised the hem of m
y tunic a few inches so she could see his little ones on me. It warmed me to see her put a hand to her mouth over the veil as if to keep from laughing aloud.
When she went back to her work, I kept Corydon giggling by acting as if I were shocked to have just discovered that we had on each other’s sandals. I began a long process of trading him one for the other where we kept ending up with one large and one small sandal each. He found this endlessly entertaining, and it dawned on me that I had not played with a child since I had been one myself.
Nadav said he needed to get back to his family as he would be coming back for the elders’ meeting. I asked if I could chat with him as he walked, telling Corydon to tell his mother I would be back. “Can’t I go with you, Master Paul?”
“Not this time, son. I’ll be back soon for supper. You tell Mama, okay?”
As the boy ran back, Nadav whispered, “I believe she was pleased that you amused him.”
I asked him all about the place, the elders, the well, who did what, where they got their fabrics, their clothes, their tools, everything. He told me of their communal garden, livestock, and how much of their diet consisted of fish from the Red Sea. “I’m sure Rabbi Alastor will explain much more tonight.”
Back at Alastor’s tent, I was hesitant to enter, given that his daughter was alone with the child. I lingered outside as the sky blackened. Pulling my mantle off my shoulders, I gathered it at the neck against the cool breeze and gazed into the heavens to see what stars had begun to appear. Silently I said, This is where You would have me meet You in the mornings?
Not a temple, not a forest, not a meadow. A desert. A wilderness.
Whether Corydon heard me or just noticed me when he came from the back to play, I do not know, but he immediately squealed, “Master Paul!” He knelt, slipped off a sandal, and came running, waving it over his head. “Look! Look! I found your shoe!”
“Indeed you did!” I said, taking off one of my own. “And I found yours!”
Leaping into my arms, he nearly bowled me over. “Corydon!” his mother called, appearing from behind the curtain. “Don’t bother our guest. Grandfather will be here soon, and it’s time to eat.”
Empire's End Page 4
