Silas glanced up sharply and saw Urbanus standing back. “I assure you Jesus lives.”
“And what of the reports that Jesus’ body was hidden so that the disciples might make false claims about his resurrection?”
“It is not a new claim, Urbanus.” Silas shook his head. “Those rumors have circulated for years. The Jewish leaders paid the guards at the tomb to spread them. I might’ve believed them had I not seen Jesus for myself. But I and the disciples were only some of the many who saw Jesus. He spoke to hundreds of His followers. He spent forty days with us after He arose from the tomb, teaching us and preparing us to go out and make the truth known: that we all can be reconciled to God through Him. Later, He appeared to Paul.” He spread his hands and shrugged. “The world will always lie about Jesus.”
“And hate those who follow Him,” Epanetus said.
“If only He had stayed with us, the world would know.”
Silas smiled. “Someday, at the name of Jesus every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”
Curiatus looked back at the others. “Miracles are proof.”
Diana put her hand on her son’s knee. “Miracles don’t sway people. Remember Silas telling us about the ten lepers Jesus healed? Only one went back to thank Him.”
Epanetus agreed. “It wouldn’t matter if five hundred witnesses of Christ’s resurrection testified in a court of law. The fact is, my friends, some will refuse to believe, and no amount of evidence will ever sway them.”
Silas felt their dejection. He had felt little hope when he came here. Yet, the weeks and work of remembering had helped renew him enough to give them some encouragement.
“The proof is in this room.” He looked around slowly at each of them. “When Christ comes in, we change.” He smiled, his heart lifting as he thought of others he had known. “I’ve seen thieves become honorable and generous. I’ve known temple prostitutes who married and now live as faithful husbands and wives. I’ve seen homosexuals become chaste servants of God.”
“Even so, Silas,” Patrobas said bleakly, “don’t you long for heaven? Don’t you long for an end to the suffering? for the fear to be over?”
Silas let out his breath softly. He stared down at his clasped hands before speaking. “Every day over the past months, I’ve asked the Lord why I’m left behind when all but a handful of friends have gone on to be with Him.” He looked into the faces of those listening. “I’m not alone in those feelings. Life is a struggle. Even in the best of times, it’s a battle to live for Jesus in this fallen world.” Hadn’t he felt the emptiness and vanity of life when he had everything a man could want? “It would be a relief for anyone to accept Christ one day and be caught up into heaven with Him the next.”
There was a soft twittering of laughter.
Oh, Lord, I have lived like a man without strength for too long. Help me speak what I know is true, and heal my angry, doubting heart.
He brought them back to earth. “But what of the lost?” He smiled sadly. “Remember. Jesus called us the salt of the earth. Our presence preserves life and gives others time to know the truth. The Lord will come when God decides. For now, we hold fast to faith. We cling to Jesus’ promises in the midst of tribulation.”
Sometimes the tribulation came from within the body of Christ. He and Paul and Peter had written countless letters to the churches, warning them against false teaching, encouraging believers to turn back and follow Jesus’ example. Love others! Live for what is right! Live pure and blameless lives! Be faithful!
Tribulation came from losing sight of Jesus and looking at the troubled, fallen world. Peter walked on water until he took his eyes off Jesus.
Everyone in the room sat silent, the only sound the water splashing from the fountain.
“I came to you broken in spirit and struggling in faith. The world is a sea of despair, and I was drowning in it. I have said words to you that I’d forgotten.” He looked up at Epanetus standing in the corner. “Thank you for making me remember.”
When I returned to Jerusalem, the council gave me a letter from Peter, who had gone north to Antioch to encourage the church there. I struggled to read Peter’s writing. He had taken his wife and several traveling companions. Now, we learned he had sent four of those companions north—two to preach in Cappadocia, while two others traveled farther to reach Parnassus in Galatia. Peter intended to visit the churches in Pamphylia and Phrygia, travel on to Ephesus, then sail to Rome. Several men from Antioch had offered to go with him, but Peter said they were needed in Syria. I felt a fillip at those words.
“I leave on the new moon and pray the Lord will provide me with a companion who can write in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. Jesus called me a fisher of men, but never a man of letters.”
I could almost see Peter’s self-deprecating smile, and chuckled. “He needs a secretary.”
“Yes. He does.”
James’s tone made me look up. He smiled at me. “Paul and Peter in Rome. Think of it, Silas.”
I caught his excitement. “The Lord aims at the very heart of the empire.”
“Who will we send?” another asked.
“Someone must go and help Peter.”
From the moment I read the first few lines, I had known what the Lord wanted of me. Smiling, I rolled the scroll and held it like a baton. “Send me.”
And so they did.
I took John Mark with me.
I sold the last of my reserves, accepted the help of others within the body of Christ, and headed north. We all knew Peter could be impetuous. He might not wait. When I arrived and was brought to him, I saw I had barely reached Antioch in time. “Oh, ye of little patience,” I said, grinning.
Peter had finished packing. He turned to me with a laugh. “Silas! I dared not hope!”
We embraced. Though much older than I, he still was the stronger. A look of relief came into his wife’s face. “God is kind to send you with my husband.”
I kissed her cheek. “I am the more blessed.”
Peter slapped me hard on the back.
I laughed. It was good to see him. Of all the disciples, Peter remained my favorite. The first time he told me he had denied Jesus three times before the Lord was crucified, I knew we had much in common.
“We leave for Tarsus in the morning,” Peter told me.
“Will you allow Silas so little time to rest, Peter?”
“We have little time, beloved. Besides, I grow older by the day.”
Old, perhaps, but robust. He was twenty-five years older than I, and I was hard-pressed to keep up with him. There were days when I longed for sunset so that he would stop and I could rest!
His wife managed without apparent difficulty. “The Lord has given me fifty years to learn to keep pace with him, Silas.” She even managed to prepare meals when we camped!
I never tired of listening to Peter talk about Jesus. Who could speak with more authority than one who had been among the first to be called? Jesus had lived in Peter’s house in Capernaum. Peter had seen his mother-in-law healed of a debilitating fever. He had seen Jesus turn water into wine at a wedding in Cana. Peter had been on the mountain when Moses and Elijah appeared and spoke to Jesus. Peter had seen Jesus as He truly was: God the Son, the Light of the world. God had revealed Jesus as Messiah to this humble, oft-stubborn, hot-tempered fisherman. Peter had been in the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus prayed in preparation for His crucifixion. While others fled into the night, Peter had followed after Jesus and the mob that arrested Him, staying close enough to see Him interrogated. Peter had listened to Mary Magdalene, and entered the empty tomb. And he had been in the upper room with the disciples when Jesus came and proved death had no power over Him.
Before the Lord ascended, He commissioned Peter to “feed My sheep.” And while doing so, Peter never lost sight of his weakness. He always spoke freely of his failings.
“Jesus asked me to pray, and I fell asleep during His hours of greatest need. When Jesus was a
rrested, I tried to kill Malchus,” a fellow brother now, and one of those who had traveled north with Peter. I had heard them joke about Peter’s bad aim.
“I denied even knowing Jesus, not once, but three times.” Tears often streamed down his cheeks when he spoke. “Jesus called me Petros, ‘the rock,’ and my faith was sand. And still He loved me, as He loves you. He forgave me, as He has forgiven you. He restored me, and will restore you. Jesus asked me three times if I loved Him, once for each time I denied Him. Jesus knows us better than we know ourselves. . . .”
I wondered at times why there were no riots in the cities we visited, few attempts to murder Peter. He spoke the same message Paul did and with the power of the Holy Spirit. Yet, the Jews paid no attention to him. I can only surmise the Jewish leaders thought a fisherman beneath contempt. Paul was a scholar; Peter was not. Paul had been one of their own, even one elevated in stature by his intellect and training under Gamaliel, the grandson of Hillel, to whom only the best and brightest could apply. Peter had been trained by Jesus, the One who opened the gate to all willing to come into His fold.
Thousands came to know Jesus through Peter’s testimony. I saw the light come into the eyes of so many.
As we traveled the same route Paul and I had taken, I saw and was able to introduce dear friends. Aquila and Priscilla opened their home to us in Ephesus. Timothy and I spent precious hours together. He missed Paul, but had become an able leader. He loved Paul like a father, and grieved deeply over his imprisonment. “I fear he will die in Rome.”
And so he would. I knew at the time, but did not tell Timothy lest his confidence be crushed. He still worried he was not up to the task Paul had given him.
“Paul would not have sent you back to Ephesus to deal with difficulties among these believers if he had not had confidence in your faith and ability to teach. Hold fast to what you know, Timothy. Do you remember what Paul taught you?”
“He taught me many things.”
“And what did he say about Scripture?”
“It is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right.”
“And through the Scriptures, God prepares and equips His people to do every good work.”
“Yes,” Peter said, “but remember, too, my friends, it is not you who saves. It is the Lord who captures the heart. Unless the Lord calls someone, they will not come.”
“I am learning that every day,” Timothy said bleakly. “My words often fail to convince—”
“Your work is to believe, my son.” Peter spoke firmly. “And testify to the truth of Christ. Jesus is the only begotten Son of God, crucified for our sins, buried three days, and raised. You teach that, and the Holy Spirit will do the rest.”
Peter spoke in simple words, and God used them to crack open the hardest hearts.
Yet, still, I have learned that it is not in the nature of some men to allow God to do the work. People—even those with the best of intentions—try to save others by their own strength, thinking their words can persuade and change hearts. They often find themselves disciplined by God. I pray Timothy never went down that path.
We sailed from Ephesus. Peter stood at the helm, savoring his time on the sea, while I groaned for the feel of land beneath my feet. We arrived safely in Greece and met with Apollos.
Men were often in awe of Peter, and he knew how to put them quickly at ease. He revealed his frailties and failures. “We are all ordinary men who serve an extraordinary God.”
Priscilla and Aquila had sent their greetings to Apollos.
“I am indebted to Priscilla and Aquila,” Apollos said. “They had courage enough to take me aside and correct my teaching. I knew nothing of the Holy Spirit.”
I laughed. “Priscilla is like a mother hen.”
Apollos grinned. “Indeed, she is. She took me under her wing rather firmly.”
Corinth was beset with problems.
“So many turn back to their old habits.” Apollos sought Peter’s advice. “The people can’t seem to break away from sin.”
“Without God, it is impossible. Even those who have accepted Christ and received the Holy Spirit contend with the sin nature. I battle natural inclinations every day.” Peter slapped Apollos on the shoulder. “The problem, my young friend, is not how to break the chains—God has already done that—but the willingness to enslave ourselves to Jesus, who sets us free.”
“A great paradox.”
“Our faith is full of paradoxes. It takes the mind of Christ to understand.” Peter laughed. “That’s why the Lord had to give us the Holy Spirit. So we could understand.”
While the Lord promised peace of mind and heart to believers, the Christian life is a constant battleground, for the world is set against God. We also struggle with the power of sin. We fight against sinful desires. We war against our selfishness. Even when we do good, pride tries to steal glory from God. One paradox after another. The only way to win is to lay down our arms. The only way to live is to die, to give up our life to Christ. Jesus is the only victor, and only by surrendering completely to Him do we share that victory.
Peter said it more simply. “Trust in the Lord and the power of His strength. . . .”
The church leaders gathered daily, plying him with questions, and the once hotheaded, impetuous fisherman spoke with the patience of the Master.
The oft-asked question: “How do we avoid persecution?”
Peter said, “Jesus did not avoid crucifixion. He gave up His life for our sake, and calls us to do the same for others.” He never wasted words. “Trials will show that your faith is genuine. Be glad when persecuted. Instead of asking to avoid it, ask for the strength to endure.”
Believers walked with us over the Corinthian isthmus. Peter used every moment to teach. “We are one body, together in Christ. Nothing can separate us. Think clearly in the midst of tribulation. Exercise control. The Lord has given us the ability to restrain ourselves. Don’t complain. Live as God’s obedient children. Don’t slip back into your old ways. Remember, the heavenly Father to whom you pray does not have favorites. He will judge or reward you according to what you do. Believe in Him and behave in a way pleasing to the Lord.”
Before we boarded the ship, he gathered them close. “Hold fast to your faith, children. Live your life in reverent fear of the Lord, who loves you and sent His Son to die for your sins. Rid yourselves of evil and show sincere love for each other. Pray. . . .”
I longed to unfurl a scroll and write his words down, but had not the opportunity then. But I remember now. He dictated short, beautiful letters, copies of which I keep with me. The words they contain are my shield of hope against arrows of doubt. I tell you, whenever Peter spoke, his words came like pearls from God’s treasure box.
“If we die with Him . . .” he said.
They responded as we had taught them. “We will also live with Him.”
“If we endure hardship . . .”
“We will reign with Him.”
“If we are unfaithful . . .”
“He remains faithful, for He cannot deny who He is.”
Peter embraced and kissed them one by one as he had kissed his own children good-bye, trusting God to protect and guide them in the difficult days ahead.
I often think of Apollos, Aquila and Priscilla, and so many others I met along the road.
And I pray for them, knowing, if they live, they still pray for me.
We had hoped to board a ship destined for Rome, but ended up sailing to Tarentum instead. Perhaps I became used to sailing, for the journey across the Savonic Gulf did not leave me a huddled mass beside a putrid basin in the belly of the ship, or hanging over the stern. I even joined Peter at the bow, though I had cause to think better of it later. When the ship dipped, a wave splashed up over me and had not Peter grasped hold of my belt, I would have slid down the deck and underfoot of working sailors. His laughter boomed.
How I loved that man! He was so unlike the scholarly men I had known, and yet, like a father.
I have not been on the sea since that voyage, but when I stand by the window here in Puteoli, and smell the salt sea air, I think of Peter and his wife. Not as they died, but as they lived, and live still in the presence of the Lord. All pain and suffering is over.
For them.
Before we reached land, Peter had become acquainted with every sailor aboard our ship. He knew wind and sails, and they knew he was one of them—a man of the sea. When his Galilean accent proved too difficult for some, I translated. He told them sea stories: the Flood and Noah’s ark! Moses parting the Red Sea! Jonah swallowed by a huge fish! the stormy Sea of Tiberias and God the Son, Jesus, who walked on water! Jesus, crucified, buried, raised, offered life eternal to anyone who believed.
As we neared Tarentum, Juno, the first mate, came to Peter. “I have decided to give up the sea for the Lord. As soon as we reach port, I will ask Asyncritis to release me and go to Rome with you.”
Peter put his arm around him and faced him out to sea. “I told you of the fierce gale when we were on the Sea of Galilee and how Jesus slept? how we awakened Him, and He commanded the wind and sea to hush and be still?”
“Yes.”
Peter put his hands on the rail. “We crossed to the country of the Gerasenes. No sooner had we come out of the boat than we saw a wild man running out from among the tombs. He came toward us. He had been chained and shackled there numerous times, but nothing could hold him. I was much younger then, and far stronger than I am now, but I feared the man would do harm to Jesus. He screamed curses at us and frothed at the mouth. When he picked up stones, I thought he meant to hurl them at us. Instead, he gashed himself until his arms and legs streamed blood. Jesus said, ‘Come out of the man, you evil spirit.’ Just a few words, quietly spoken as the man ran toward us. I thought the demoniac meant to attack Jesus, and I got in his way.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I often put myself in front of Jesus. You see, I still didn’t understand who He was.”
Sons of Encouragement Page 86
