Sons of Encouragement

by Francine Rivers

  Joseph, a Levite of Cypriot birth, told me, “Saul is in Jerusalem!” We all called Joseph “Barnabas” because he constantly encouraged everyone in their faith, even those who whined incessantly about their circumstances. “He would like to speak with us.”

  Ah, Barnabas, the one to always think the best of a man. Even a man like Saul of Tarsus! I remembered being angry at him for the first time. I had not forgotten the night that Pharisee entered my house, nor the weeks of pain I’d suffered until my broken ribs healed. “I don’t trust him.”

  “The Pharisees despise him, Silas. He’s in hiding. Did you know priests went up to Damascus to find him, and when they did, he was preaching in a synagogue and declaring Jesus is the Christ? They argued, but he confounded them with proof from the Scriptures. He knows the Torah and Prophets better than anyone.”

  I grew more stubborn. “The best way to find and kill all of us is to pretend to be one of us, Joseph.”

  Barnabas studied my face with eyes too much like Jesus’. “Do you hold a grudge against him for what he did to you?”

  His words cut deeply, and I answered through gritted teeth. “I have no right to judge any man. None of us do.” And then the knife. “But we must be discerning, Joseph. We must see what fruit a tree bears.”

  Barnabas wasn’t fooled. “And how can we see unless we look?”

  “You’ve met him.”

  “Yes. I’ve met him. I like him.”

  “You like everyone. If you met King Herod, you’d like him.”

  “You’re afraid of Saul.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid of the man. Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of him!”

  “I assure you I am in my right mind, Silas, and we must meet with Saul. He is a believer. More zealous than anyone I know.”

  “Indeed, he’s zealous. I saw how zealous. Were you in Damascus?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not as quick as you to believe reports from men I don’t know. What if it’s all an elaborate plot to hunt down and kill Peter and the rest?”

  “Jesus said not to fear death, Silas. Perfect love expels all fear.”

  Gentle words gently spoken, but a spear to my heart. “Then we know, don’t we? My love is not perfect.”

  His eyes filled with compassion. “Is it fear, Silas, or hatred at the heart of your suspicions?”

  Confronted, I confessed. “Both.”

  “Pray for him, then. You cannot hate a man when you pray for him.”

  “It depends on the prayer.”

  He laughed and slapped me on the back.

  The council met. Barnabas defended Saul vehemently. His words challenged our faith in God. We should fear no man, only God. And God had received Saul already. Proof was in his changed character, the power of his preaching—both evidence of the Holy Spirit.

  Of course, Barnabas turned to me. “What do you think, Silas? Should we trust him?”

  Another test of my faith. I wanted to say I was too biased to give an opinion. A coward’s way out. Jesus knew the truth, and the Holy Spirit dwelling within me would give me no peace until I repented of my bitterness. “I trust you, Barnabas. If you say Saul of Tarsus believes Jesus is the Christ, then he does.”

  When the man I hoped never to see again stood before the members of the council, I wondered if he had changed. He no longer dressed in the finery of a Pharisee, but the eyes were the same, dark and bright, and his face full of tension. He looked around the room, straight into the eyes of each man who received him. When his gaze fixed upon me, he frowned. He was trying to remember where he had seen me before. I knew the moment he remembered.

  Saul blushed. I stood stunned when his eyes filled with tears. But he surprised me even more. “I beg your forgiveness,” he said in a pained voice. I never expected him to speak of that night, certainly not here among these men.

  It was the look of shame in his eyes that convicted me most. “I should have forgiven you a long time ago.” I rose and stepped toward him. “You are welcome here, Saul of Tarsus.”

  Saul did not remain long in Jerusalem. His zeal got him into trouble with the Greek-speaking Jews who could not defeat him in debate. Barnabas was afraid for him. “They’ve already tried to kill you more than once! They’ll succeed if we stay here.”

  “If I die, it’s God’s will.” He had changed in faith, but not personality.

  “God’s will or your own stubbornness?” I asked.

  Barnabas spoke up again. “We are not to test the Lord.”

  Saul’s face stiffened. “You misunderstand me.”

  “Oh?” I met his glare. “Then what do you call it when you put your head into the lion’s mouth?” We always seem blind to our own weaknesses, and quick to point out those of others.

  We sent him down to Caesarea and put him on a ship back to Tarsus.

  The apostles came and went, preaching in other regions. Jesus’ brothers and I, along with Prochorus, Nicanor, Timon, Parmenas, and Nicolas, remained in Jerusalem, attending the flock Caiaphas, Annas, and the others were so intent upon destroying. It was a daily struggle, encouraging the discouraged, teaching those new to the faith, and providing for those who were driven from their homes. By the grace of God, no one went hungry and all had a place to live.

  Sometimes I long for the months following Pentecost, when Christians met openly in the Temple and in homes throughout the city. We ate together, sang together, and listened eagerly to the apostles’ teaching. Joy filled our hearts to overflowing. Our love for one another was evident to everyone. Even those who did not embrace Jesus as Savior and Lord thought well of us! Not Caiaphas, of course. Not the religious leaders who saw Jesus as a threat to their hold on the people.

  I did not run from suffering, nor did I run to it. I had seen Jesus on the cross. I saw Him alive several days later. I had no doubt that He was the Son of God, the Messiah, Savior and Lord. If only all Israel would receive Him!

  Even after several years, even after Philip told an Ethiopian eunuch about Jesus, we did not fully understand that Jesus meant His message for every man and woman, Jew and Gentile. When Peter baptized six Romans in Caesarea, some of us took issue. How could a pantheistic Roman be acceptable to God? Jesus was our Messiah, the One Israel had expected for centuries. Jesus was the Jewish Messiah.

  What arrogance!

  Cleopas reminded me I was a Roman. Offended, I told him it was only because my father had purchased citizenship.

  “You were still born a Roman, Silas. And what about Rahab? She wasn’t a Hebrew.”

  “She became one.”

  And there was the line of my reasoning, for a while at least. Some said these men Peter brought back with him would have to be circumcised before they could become Christians.

  Simon the Zealot took one look at Cornelius, a Roman centurion, and flushed to the roots of his black hair. “The Law forbids us to associate with foreigners, Peter, and yet you entered the house of an uncircumcised Roman and ate with him and his family.” He pointed. “Surely this is not the Lord’s will at work here!” He glared at Cornelius who looked back at him with calm humility, his sword still in its scabbard.

  Peter stood firm. “Three times the Lord told me, ‘Do not call something unclean if God has made it clean.’”

  Everyone spoke at once.

  “How can these people become one body with us?”

  “They know nothing of the Law, nothing of our history.”

  “Ask the Roman if he knows what Messiah means!”

  “Anointed One of God,” Cornelius said.

  Two Jews had come from Caesarea with Cornelius and his family. “This man is highly respected by the Jews in Caesarea. He is devout and fears God, he and all his household. He prays continually and gives generously to the poor.”

  “I assure you they understand as well as any of us here.” Peter told how an angel had come to Cornelius and told him to send for Peter, who was staying in Joppa. “At the same time the angel spoke to Cornelius, the Lord showed me
a vision. Three times the Lord spoke to me so that I would not go on thinking a man is unclean because of what he eats or whether he has been circumcised. God is not partial. The Scriptures confirm this. Here is the great mystery that has been hidden from us for centuries. The Lord told Abraham he would be a blessing to many nations. And this is what the Lord meant. Salvation through Jesus Christ is for all men, everywhere—for Jew and Gentile.”

  Cleopas looked at me and raised his brows. I knew the Scriptures, and felt the conviction of the Holy Spirit.

  Peter spread his hands. “Why should we doubt this? Jesus went to the Samaritans, didn’t He? He went to the Ten Towns. He granted the request of a Phoenician woman. Why should it surprise us that the Lord has sent the Holy Spirit to a Roman centurion who has prayed and lived to please God?”

  The net of grace was cast wider than we imagined.

  Peter left Jerusalem and traveled throughout Judea and Galilee and Samaria. The Lord worked mightily through him wherever he went. He healed a paralytic in Lydda, and raised a woman from the dead in Joppa.

  Some Christians moved to Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch to get away from the persecution. Soon believers from Cyprus and Cyrene arrived in Antioch and began preaching to Gentiles. We sent Barnabas to investigate. Rather than return, he sent letters instead. “I have witnessed the grace of God here.” He stayed to encourage new believers. “Great numbers are coming to Christ. They need sound teaching. I am going to Tarsus to find Saul.”

  These were hard years of deprivation due to drought. Crops failed from lack of rain. Wheat became expensive. It became increasingly difficult to provide for those who remained in Jerusalem. We managed and asked nothing from nonbelievers, but prayed for God’s wisdom in making the best use of our resources.

  Barnabas and Saul arrived with a box full of coins from Gentile believers. “Agabus prophesied a famine will come over and affect the entire world.”

  A Gentile prophesying? We marveled.

  “The Christians in Antioch send this money to help their brothers and sisters in Judea.”

  All of us, Jew and Gentile, were bound together by a love beyond our understanding.

  The famine did come, during the reign of Claudius.

  Persecution worsened.

  King Herod Agrippa arrested several of the apostles. To please the Jews, he ordered James, the brother of John, put to death by sword. When Peter was arrested, we scrambled for information in hope of rescuing him, but learned he had been delivered to four squads of guards and was chained in the lower part of the dungeon beneath the king’s palace.

  We met in secret at Mary’s house, wild with worry. Her son, John Mark, had also gone to Antioch with Barnabas and Saul. We discussed all kinds of plans, outrageous and hopeless. With so many guards, we knew no one could ever make their way into the prison, free Peter, and get him out alive. Peter was in God’s hands, and we could do nothing but pray. This we did, hour after hour, on our knees. We pleaded with God for Peter’s life. He was like a father to us all.

  The city filled with visitors for Passover. King Herod promised to bring forth Jesus’ greatest disciple, “the big fisherman,” Peter. We knew if God did not intervene, Peter would be crucified just as Jesus had been.

  We prayed that if Peter was crucified, God would raise him like Jesus. Who then could deny Jesus as Messiah, Lord and Savior of the world?

  I confess I had no hope of ever seeing him again.

  Someone knocked at the door. Whoever it was knew our code. We sent a servant girl to open the gate, but she ran back. “It’s Peter.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Rhoda.”

  “I know his voice.”

  “How can he be at the gate when he’s chained in the dungeon?”

  The knock came again, more firmly this time. Cleopas and I went. And there he was, big and bold as ever! Laughing, we opened the door and would have shouted to the others had he not had the presence of mind to quiet us. “They will be looking for me.”

  What a story he told us! “I was struck awake while sleeping between two guards. And there stood an angel of the Lord, right in my cell. It was all alight. The chains fell off my hands and the door opened. And I just sat there.” He laughed. “He had to tell me to get up! ‘Quick!’ he told me. ‘Put on your coat and follow me.’ I did. Not one guard saw us as we passed by. Not one! He took me to the gate.” He spread his arms wide. “And it opened by itself! We went along a street and then the angel vanished. I thought I was dreaming!” He laughed again.

  We all laughed. “If you’re dreaming, so are we!”

  “We must tell the others you’re safe, Peter.”

  “Later,” I said. “First we must get him out of Jerusalem before Herod sends soldiers to find him.”

  Herod did search for him, but when Peter could not be found, he had the two guards crucified in Peter’s place on charges of dereliction of duty, and left their bodies to rot on Golgotha.

  John Mark returned to Jerusalem, and Mary came to speak to me. Her husband and my father had known each other. “He’s ashamed, Silas. He feels like a coward. He won’t tell me what happened in Perga. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

  When I came to the house, he couldn’t look me in the eyes. “My mother asked you to come, didn’t she?”

  “She thought it might be easier for you to talk to me.”

  He held his head. “I thought I could do it, and I couldn’t. I’m as much a coward now as I was the night they arrested Jesus.” He looked up at me. “I ran away that night. Did you know? A man grabbed hold of me, and I fought so hard my tunic was torn off. And I ran. I kept on running.” He buried his head in his hands. “I guess I’m still running.”

  “Everyone deserted Him, Mark. I rejected Him, remember? It wasn’t until I saw Jesus alive again that I acknowledged Him.”

  “You don’t understand! It was my opportunity to prove my love for Jesus, and I failed. Paul wanted to keep going. I told Barnabas I’d had enough. Paul scared me to death. I wanted to come home. Not much of a man, am I?”

  “Who’s Paul?”

  “Saul of Tarsus. He’s using his Greek name so they will listen to him.” He stood up and paced. “He’s not afraid of anyone! When we were in Paphos, the governor, Sergius Paulus, had a magician, a Jew named Elymas. He had the governor’s ear and caused us all kinds of trouble. I thought we’d be arrested and thrown in prison. I wanted to leave, but Paul wouldn’t hear of it. He said we had to go back. He wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  “What happened?”

  “He called Elymas a fraud! He was, of course, but to say it there in the governor’s court? And he didn’t stop there. He said Elymas was full of deceit and the son of the devil. And there was Elymas, calling down curses on us, and Sergius Paulus’s face was turning redder and redder.” He paced back and forth. “He signaled the guards, and I thought, This is it. This is where I die. And there’s Paul, pointing at Elymas and telling him the hand of the Lord was upon him and he’d be blind. And suddenly he was. The guards backed away from us. Elymas flailed around, crying for help.” John Mark paused. “The governor went so white I thought he’d die. But then he listened to Paul. He was too afraid not to listen.”

  John Mark flung his arms high in frustration. “He even ordered a banquet, and Paul and Barnabas spent the whole night talking to him about Jesus and how he could be saved from his sins. But all I wanted to do was get out of there and come home!”

  “Did Sergius Paulus believe?”

  John Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. He was amazed. Whether that means he believed, only the Lord knows.” He snorted. “Maybe he thought Paul was a better magician than Elymas.”

  “How did you get home?”

  He sat and hunched his shoulders again. “We put out to sea from Paphos. When we arrived in Perga, I asked Barnabas for enough money to get home. He tried to talk me out of leaving. . . .”

  “And Paul?”

  “He just looked at me.” John Mark’s eyes filled with tear
s. “He thinks I have no faith.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “He didn’t have to say it, Silas!” Folding his arms on his knees, he bowed his head. “I have faith!” His shoulders shook. “I do!” He looked up, angry in his own defense. “Just not the kind to do what he’s doing. I can’t debate in the synagogues or talk to crowds of people I’ve never met. Paul speaks fluent Greek like you do, but I stumble around when people start asking questions. I can’t think fast enough to recite the prophesies in Hebrew let alone another language!” He looked miserable. “Then later, I think of all the things I could have said, things I should have said. But it’s too late.”

  “There are other ways to serve the Lord, Mark.”

  “Tell me one thing I can do, one thing that will make a difference to anyone!”

  “You spent three years following Jesus and the disciples. You were at the garden of Gethsemane the night Jesus was arrested. Write what you saw and heard.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You can sit and think about all that, then write it down. Tell everyone what Jesus did for the people, the miracles you saw happen.”

  “You’re the writer.”

  “You were there. I wasn’t. Your eyewitness account will encourage others to believe the truth—that Jesus is the Lord. He is God with us.”

  John Mark grew wistful. “Jesus said He came not to be served, but to serve others and to give His life as a ransom for many.”

  The young man’s countenance transformed when he spoke of Jesus. He relaxed into the firsthand knowledge he had of the Lord. No one would ever doubt John Mark’s love for Jesus, nor the peace given to him through his relationship with Him.

  “Write what you know so that others can come to know Him also.”

  “I can do that, Silas, but I want to do the other, too. I don’t want to run and hide anymore. I want to tell people about Jesus, people who never even imagined such a God as He is. I just don’t feel . . . prepared.”

  I knew one day Mark would stand steady before crowds and speak boldly of Jesus as Lord and Savior of all. And I told him so. God would use his eager servant’s heart. He had spent his life in synagogues and at the feet of rabbis, as I had. But his training had not extended into the marketplaces or gone so far as Caesarea and beyond.