The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  Where the road met the Judean plains, he made out the figure of a man walking ahead of him. He finally noticed the lone traveler carried a leather sack upon his shoulder and leaned upon a long staff. There was something about the man, perhaps his gait, that called to Jacob. He touched his heels to the donkey’s sides and further closed the distance.

  The sun was strong, and its rays glanced harshly off the scrub and rocks and on the traveler. Jacob grew increasingly certain now he knew the man. He called across the remaining distance, “The Lord’s greetings to you!”

  The man stopped and lifted a hand. “The peace of Jesus upon you, my friend.”

  A faint chill rose up Jacob’s spine. “Philip?”

  “Aye, ’tis I. And I know that voice.”

  “It is Jacob.”

  “Alban’s charge.” The disciple stepped off the path as Jacob rode up to him. “What are you doing, traveling alone in these hard days?”

  “I serve the trader Jamal. He has sent me to Joppa. And yourself?”

  “The Lord sent an angel.” He spoke as easily as he might discuss the weather. Philip pointed ahead to where the road divided. The two main routes took aim for Caesarea to the north and Joppa straight west. But a smaller route, little more than a trail, broke off also. This one, Jacob knew, traveled straight south to the region known as Gaza. “I was ordered to travel the road to Gaza. Here I am. Why I have come, I cannot say. Do you think perhaps it was to meet you this morning?”

  “Friend, I must warn you, the road to Gaza has been almost abandoned because of bandits. It would be far safer to head straight for Joppa, then turn south.”

  “Perhaps,” Philip replied. “But the angel’s instructions were clear enough. I go where the Lord leads me.”

  Jacob looked around with a small shiver. “Have you eaten?”

  Philip patted the cloth bag slung over one shoulder. “The followers in Jerusalem were most generous. But I am short of water.”

  Jacob fumbled in his haste to unfasten his waterskin. When Philip had drunk his fill, Jacob asked, “If you have walked from Jerusalem, you must be most tired.”

  “I had a donkey, but he went lame.”

  “Then you must ride.” Jacob shifted most of the second donkey’s load to his own saddle. He arranged the remaining supplies and stretched the blanket across the animal’s back, then helped Philip to mount. When they were once again upon the trail paralleling the Roman road, Jacob checked the hills behind them. He knew they faced grave peril, taking this way. And yet . . . He could not argue with the inner voice that bid him to accompany this man. Gone for the moment was all thought of Jamal’s urgent mission. His thoughts were totally with Philip. “Did you say an angel?”

  Philip moved forward so they were riding side by side. “I was deep asleep in your sister’s main room. I heard a voice call to me, and I went out to the edge of the village overlooking the valley.” Philip spoke with detached calm. “Have you heard your sister lives now in Nain, a village that oversees a great crossroads in the Megiddo Plains? Alban granted her a market stall there.”

  Jacob had immediate questions about the information, but all he could think to ask was, “May I ask what the angel told you?”

  “I was bathed in a light as powerful as it was strong. I knew I was witnessing a miracle. I knelt in the sand. An angel said I was to travel the road from Jerusalem to Gaza. Nothing else. Nothing else was required.”

  Jacob hesitated. “If I had a chance to speak with God’s messenger – ”

  “You would have a thousand questions. Yes, I do understand. If someone had spoken with me about such an event, I would have said the very same thing. But it was not like that.”

  “No?”

  “When the angel appeared and spoke those simple words, I heard not just the command, but I felt the presence of God. There was no condemnation. There was no admonishment. Instead, there was . . .”

  Jacob nodded his understanding. “You are a servant of God. You are doing his will. You are open to his command. He said go, and you obeyed.”

  Philip smiled. “When I spoke of this miracle in Jerusalem, I needed hours to make some of our group understand. You are indeed as clever, as well as devoted to our Lord, as your guardian claims.”

  With other of their leaders, Jacob might have felt a trace of awe. But Philip was unique among those who had followed in Jesus’ footsteps. He was raised in a Hellenized family, as his name suggested. He had been appointed along with Stephen to take care of the widows and orphans in Jerusalem. He had served well, particularly those of Greek heritage. He had gone on to become a gifted evangelist. Philip carried himself with a sense of quiet transparency. Most content with silence, he listened far more than he spoke. And when he did speak, it was not about himself. The result was a sense of deep intimacy, not with the man himself but with the one whom Philip served.

  “May I ask about my sister?”

  “She is doing very well indeed,” Philip told him. “Abigail’s new home is situated upon a quiet lane leading from the village square toward the hillside. It is a protected place, and very peaceful. I shared quarters with Alban, who is feeling much better, by the way. From the porch you can look out over the crossroads far below, and the Megiddo Plains. Your sister and her daughter should be safe there. Abigail already is making friends and serving our Lord.”

  Jacob felt a pang of longing for his sister. It sounded like she was settled in a place that would be home. He was glad Alban seemed to have accepted that such a life was not for Jacob. At least not for the immediate time. He now walked a yellow plain beneath the glare of a wintry sun, the day as hot as the night had been frigid. He had slept without fire, wrapped in a single blanket, with only donkeys for company. And yet he had known then as he knew now that this was what he was to do until he was directed otherwise. “I am very happy for Abigail and Dorcas.”

  Philip glanced over at Jacob, and once more offered his quiet smile. “I am aware of the disagreement between you and your guardian. Alban told me about it, along with his sincere hope that there would be peace between you. I suggested to him that perhaps God’s plan for you was as unique as the life you have known thus far.”

  “I do pray for God’s guidance.”

  “I know this. And so does Alban.”

  The two looked at each other for a moment. Jacob clicked to the donkey and said, “To live confined to a market stall . . .”

  “Is not your destiny.”

  Jacob’s head jerked back so sharply the donkey faltered. “God has told you this?”

  “No, my young friend. But I hear your heart’s desire. And so must our Lord. And I also see how your sister flourishes in Nain. She needs safety. She needs a haven in which to raise her child and serve a community of followers. You, Jacob, must follow your own calling.”

  “Alban fears . . .”

  “Of course he is concerned about your safety. But if this is how you are meant to best serve our Lord, then . . .” Philip smiled. “I shall pray for you both. Your safety, as well as Alban’s peace in the matter.”

  “Thank you, Philip.” Jacob felt a small quiver in his heart. “I hope and pray, if God does speak with me, I shall not grovel in shame over having taken the wrong course.”

  “I shall pray that when God speaks,” Philip said, holding Jacob’s gaze with his own, “you are open to listening first, then saying simply, ‘Yes, Lord.’ ”

  “You are right, and you – ” Jacob stopped when Philip peered intently out to where the road curved south and disappeared around a rocky promontory. “What is it?”

  “I thought I heard something.”

  Then Jacob heard it too. From ahead and around the bend of a small hill came the murmur of voices and the jangle of harness. Jacob reached out to restrain the older man but Philip was already eagerly pushing his mount forward. “Come, my young friend. Let us go and see the Lord’s hand at work.”

  As soon as they rounded the hillock, Jacob saw stretched out along the trail a
long line of armed men, some on horseback, accompanying the beautifully decorated chariot of an obviously wealthy official. Such an armed troop would have frightened off any bandit gang, no matter what riches the group might carry.

  Somewhere in the distance, the Gaza road connected with the main Roman coastal route. There sprawled the unkempt fishing villages that made up the Gaza community. Jacob had journeyed upon the southern coastal road four times with Alban. Each caravan they guarded had met travelers coming from Egypt and the southern deserts. Alban had taught him to identify the strangers by symbols on face and body. Most desert tribesmen marked the rite of passage to adulthood by cutting the young men’s cheeks. The knife slashes were filled with a mixture of pitch and lemon juice, so they healed cleanly but remained deeply scarred. The pattern of these scars declared to which tribe the men belonged. Understanding these tribal markings was vital, for some of the desert-bred men were easily slighted, leading to conflicts. Saluting them by their proper tribal name was an important means of gaining respect. And avoiding unnecessary clashes.

  Now the men in the long line were resting their mounts and taking refreshment. Jacob was ready to advise Philip to take caution and restrain his donkey.

  As they drew near the entourage Jacob told him, “These are Ethiopians.”

  Philip said, “I must go to them.”

  “I would counsel you not to do that.” Jacob pointed to the caravan’s center, at the chariot surrounded by a troop of personal bodyguards. It was a massive affair, three times the size of one intended for battle. The curved sides were covered with brilliant sheets of what could have been either bronze or beaten gold, shining in the afternoon light. Three men rode upon the chariot, a driver and a servant who held a sunshade above the third man. “That is no ordinary merchant. Either he is a king’s messenger or someone . . .”

  Jacob stopped because Philip was urging his donkey forward. Jacob swallowed hard and reluctantly followed.

  Soon enough a guard caught sight of them and shouted toward the soldiers at the chariot. Three mounted guards wheeled about and raced toward them. Immediately Jacob did as Alban had instructed him in the past. He scrambled off the donkey’s back and knelt upon the trail. He slipped the knife from his belt and laid it before him. Then he leaned down and pressed his forehead into the dust.

  The Ethiopian warriors must have understood, for they kept their weapons sheathed. Jacob slowly lifted his head to see that the senior officer wore a chain of gold, thick as a snake, and held a miniature shield over his otherwise bare chest. As he opened his mouth, Jacob saw two of his front teeth had been knocked out, another declaration of tribal manhood. The warrior spoke in a tongue Jacob did not need to understand. “They want us to leave, Philip.”

  Philip too was off the other donkey’s back, but he stood with his hands outstretched. “I greet you in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ,” he said in Greek.

  The warrior stared at Philip from atop his horse.

  “I wish to have words with your master. Please tell him that I come bearing the gift of eternal life.”

  The warrior gave no sign that he had understood. But he wheeled his horse about and rode to where the chariot had halted. He spoke to the official, who turned to stare back at them. Only then did Jacob realize what he was seeing. “The official holds a scroll,” he said, his voice low.

  The warrior saluted the official, then called to his men in the same guttural tongue. The rear guard motioned Jacob and Philip forward.

  Jacob’s heart hammered in his chest. Every person, even the camel drovers, was dressed in ornate robes. And was heavily armed. Whoever he was, this man held a great deal of influence in Ethiopia.

  The three men in the chariot watched their approach in silence. The robe on the official was beaded with what appeared to be tiny gemstones, and every motion, every ripple of wind, created a flickering rainbow of colors. Soft featured and wide of girth, the man’s skin was oiled, and as they approached, Jacob caught the fragrance of sandalwood.

  The man’s gaze was extremely intelligent. Cautious. Watchful. Jacob knew without the slightest doubt that this was a man who had long held the power of life and death.

  Philip halted by the chariot, lifted his hands palms upward, and repeated his greeting in Aramaic.

  The Ethiopian’s accent was heavy but understandable. “Why are you here?”

  “An angel of the Lord came to me in the night,” Philip told him, bowing his head respectfully. “I was ordered to come south. When I saw your caravan, I was commanded to approach it and speak with you.”

  The Ethiopian stared at him a moment, then lifted the scroll, turning it so it faced toward Philip. “You can tell me what I hold?”

  Jacob felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and his heartbeat quicken. He could see it was a scroll written in Greek. The text, known as the Septuagint, was a translation done by Judean scholars, and it had been completed a century and a half before Jesus was born. Jacob had studied those very scrolls in his youth, and he knew the text was usually referred to as the Seventy, representing the number of scholars who had labored on the translation. All students were required to memorize the prophets in Greek as a beginning to their studies. The Hebrew version of the Scriptures was used only during the formal reading of the Sabbath services.

  Philip switched back to Greek and replied, “You hold the book of Isaiah, sire.”

  The official responded in the same tongue. “Tell me what it says.”

  Philip closed his eyes. His voice took on the songlike cadence of true devotion as he recited from memory, “ ‘He was like a sheep being led to be killed. He was quiet, as a lamb is quiet while its wool is being cut; he never opened his mouth. He was shamed and was treated unfairly. He died without children to continue his family. His life on earth has ended.’ ”

  The official looked down at the scroll, smiled, and nodded approval. “I am Yashkin, treasurer to Candace, empress of Ethiopia. And you . . . ?”

  Philip bowed low. “I am Philip, servant of the Messiah.”

  “Do you understand of what the prophet speaks?”

  “I do, sire.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “That is why I have come.”

  The official gestured and said, “Come up and sit with me.”

  Philip climbed up and joined the Ethiopian on the gilded bench. Together the two men spread the scroll across both their laps.

  When the guards resumed their positions, the head guard called out loudly and the caravan resumed its trek. Jacob tethered the donkeys to the wagon behind the chariot, and took up a position between the two vehicles. He was offered a silver cup of water sweetened with pomegranate juice and honey. Otherwise he was ignored. He did not mind. He was close enough to hear Philip’s words. Though the story was by now well known to him, still it held a powerful resonance. What he saw and heard was not merely a retelling of the Lord’s coming, but rather the fulfillment of words written centuries before by their most revered prophet.

  Philip had made himself ready, and the Lord had called him to service. Jacob watched the two men and heard far more than Philip’s words. The breeze carried a second voice, one that spoke directly to his own heart. Of discipleship. Of making ready a life, so that it too might be used – even in ways he had not yet considered.

  After a time, the caravan approached a grove of date palms. Yashkin cried out, “Look, here is water! Can I not be baptized?”

  “If you so desire,” Philip said. “If you truly believe . . .”

  “I believe. I believe.”

  The official ordered the caravan to halt. The two men walked across the sandy expanse to the small oasis and the spring’s edge, followed by Jacob and several of the guards. Yashkin stopped only long enough to remove his embellished outer robe and hand it to the servant who had not left his side. Philip grasped the man’s hand and led him into the water. When they were waist deep, Philip declared in a voice that rang strong over the sunlight sparkling upon the
water’s surface, “I baptize you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. As the water washes your outer body, so may the Spirit cleanse the inner man. Rise up into the eternal life that has been prepared for you!”

  The official came up out of the water, wiping both the spring’s waters and his own tears from his face. “Amen,” he said brokenly. “Amen.”

  The two men stepped from the water, Yashkin’s voice and hands raised in praise to God. Jacob moved closer to learn Philip’s wishes. Would they be continuing on with the Ethiopian?

  But the disciple was no longer with them.

  Jacob searched in every direction. He looked around at the guards, the servants. A ripple of astonishment coursed through the crowd. The guards hunted through the caravan. But Philip was not to be found. The only man not shocked by the disappearance was the official himself. He clambered back into the chariot, blind to all but the joy that overflowed his very being. He spoke a word, his voice still laden with emotion. The chief guard gave his call, and once more the caravan moved on in its southerly journey.

  Jacob remained standing beside the road, the donkeys’ reins in his grasp. The official’s joyous song was still audible after the caravan disappeared into the golden dust.

  It had all been so strange. And wonderful. And Philip . . . ? Jacob searched the area around the spring once more, then climbed onto his donkey’s back and headed north, his own song filling the evening.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Caesarea

  After the unexpected but rewarding meeting in the home of Cornelius, Linux spent the next five days at the garrison being ignored.