by Angela Hunt
Luke’s pen stopped scratching the papyrus. “You never told me you were married.”
Paul shook his head. “Perhaps you shouldn’t mention it in the book. I married because my parents wished it, and because it is the duty of every young man to take a wife and rear children in the knowledge of Adonai. As a young man, I noticed that all the men I admired—my teacher Gamaliel and practically all the members of the Sanhedrin—were married. Any good Pharisee would take a wife, so I did.”
Luke leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Did you love her?”
Paul felt a rueful smile twist his mouth. “I loved her as a Pharisee should—which is to say, I was intent on being her master and Lord. I did not strike her and I allowed her freedom in our home, but I was not particularly interested in anything she had to say. She was a woman, uneducated in religious matters, and overly concerned, I thought, with womanly things. If I had been married after I met Yeshua, I would have loved her better. I would have loved her as Christ loves her.”
Paul stared into the light over his head, trying to remember what Daphna had looked like. “She was a little thing,” he whispered, “and barely fourteen when we were wed. When I brought her home, I bade her sit while I explained all the things she should do in order to keep a proper religious home. She would have to be rigorous in her observance of Shabbat, the challah loaves would have to be baked the day before, and she would have to pray the proper prayer strictly before sunset on Shabbat. She would have to raise our daughters to be good wives. She would have to do this and that perfectly in order to please me.”
“And did she?”
“What?”
“Did she please you?”
“Until she died.” Paul pulled the admission from a well from which he seldom drew. The memories were too painful, even now, and too removed from the man he had become. “She died with my unborn child inside her,” he said, his throat tightening. “And I felt I had killed her.”
“Many women die in childbirth,” Luke said, sympathy in his voice. “Especially women as young as your wife.”
“I mourned her,” Paul said, “and then I returned to my life of learning. Though some encouraged me to take another wife and have children, I was content to remain agamos, unmarried.”
“Peter has a wife,” Luke said, his thoughts clearly running in another direction. “And the believers at Jerusalem—the rest of the apostles are married, and James, and the Lord’s brothers.”
“That is HaShem’s will for them.” Paul rose up on his elbows. “But not for me because I have devoted everything I am to spreading the news of the gospel. Apparently a wife is not for you, either.”
Luke lowered his gaze. “I nearly married once. At Philippi I met a widow.”
“Truly?” Paul turned to better see his friend’s face. “You never mentioned her.”
Luke shrugged. “She was a good woman and a great friend. I lived in Philippi for six years, shepherding the new church—”
“So why didn’t you marry her?”
“Because I knew I wouldn’t stay in Philippi. I sensed that the Lord had more work for us to do. Together.”
Paul nodded in understanding. He and Luke had shared many joys as well as trials, and if anyone understood the bittersweet blessing of the unmarried life, Luke did.
“Now,” Luke said, picking up his pen, “tell me about your relationship with Stephen.”
Paul settled back on the floor and made himself as comfortable as his broken body would allow. “I knew Stephen from the Temple,” he said, “so what eventually happened left me stunned and disbelieving. . . .”
Paul stopped speaking when he heard the familiar squeak. “There he is. Interrupting as usual.”
“Who?” Luke looked around, his eyes wide.
“I call him Thaddeus,” Paul said. “Jonah was given a vine to shade him from the sun, while I’ve been given a rat to keep me company.”
“I’m here now,” Luke said, glancing over his shoulder, “so Thaddeus can leave us in peace.”
Paul pushed himself up, ready to resume his story. “I should continue now.”
“Yes.” Luke picked up a stack of papyrus sheets and settled them on his lap. “Tell me more about Stephen. You were both students under the Sanhedrin, correct?”
Paul nodded. “I was a few years older, but I remember when Stephen’s group came to the Temple. Every year when the new boys entered, I always felt the sting of jealousy. When I first climbed the Temple steps with my father, I wanted to be the most eager, the best student of the lot. I did develop a reputation as being the brightest student in my group, but each year I studied the new lads with wary eyes. What if one of them loved the Law more than I did? What if one of the lads found greater favor in the eyes of Gamaliel?
“I would not have admitted it at the time, but now I see that I was proud. Proud of being a blameless student of the Law, proud of my devotion to HaShem. My father was proud of me, my teacher was proud, even my mother and sister expressed pride in my achievements. I memorized all six hundred and thirteen laws in the Torah, and like a fool I eagerly pocketed the praise of my parents and teachers.
“I had been a student of the Sanhedrin for about five years when I met Stephen. He was a first-year boy studying under a lesser rabbi, yet his eyes glowed with determination and an eagerness to please. He was always the first to respond to a question, and his answers, while not always what the rabbi expected, were original and thoughtful.
“The other rabbis praised Stephen to the skies. They congratulated his father when he arrived to walk Stephen home, and his mother strutted like a peacock when the family attended Temple services. I might have been able to ignore his success if I hadn’t overheard Nicodemus tell the high priest that Stephen was likely to be another Sha’ul. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘he might even surpass Sha’ul in honor and righteousness.’”
Luke’s head rose abruptly. “Nicodemus?”
Paul chuckled. “I thought you might recognize the name. Yes, Nicodemus was a leader of the Pharisees, and a man of some importance among the priests and scribes. He was also extraordinarily cautious. He never made a statement unless he was certain of its truth, so when he predicted that Stephen might surpass my achievements—”
“You were hurt,” Luke said.
Paul shook his head. “I was destroyed. I felt all my studying and striving had been for nothing. Therefore, I determined that not only would I be the best student, I would also strive to be the best example of a righteous Pharisee. I would live a blameless life. I would chastise others who searched for the easy path. I would follow the leaders closely and emulate their actions and attitudes.
“I did not want to harbor hate in my heart for a fellow Jew, but jealousy snaked into my soul and left its bitter poison. So years later, when Stephen began to speak of an itinerant teacher called Yeshua, I recognized my chance. He was following a liar, a false Messiah, and if he continued, in time Stephen would do or say something unforgivable. I had only to wait . . . and keep an eye on him. And that is exactly what I did.”
“Rabbi Gamaliel!”
Sha’ul strode through the Temple courtyard, intent on reaching the man who stood with two Sanhedrin students. All three lifted their heads at the sound of Sha’ul’s voice, but once they spotted him, they hurried off in another direction.
“Rabbi Gamaliel, is it true?” Breathless, Sha’ul planted his feet on the cobblestones and placed his hands on his hips. “Is it true you have let those blasphemers go with only a simple flogging?”
Gamaliel pressed his lips together. “Forty lashes minus one is no simple thing.”
Sha’ul pointed to the steps that led from the Temple courtyard to the sanctuary. “That ignorant fisherman stood in this holy place and accused the high priest of killing the Messiah! Then he had the gall to add that God raised the false messiah from the dead! You should have ordered the fisherman and his companions to be crucified. If not that, you should have stoned them on the spot.�
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Gamaliel drew a deep breath and fixed his eyes on Sha’ul. In a calm voice, he asked, “What if their words turn out to be true? We would be accused of stoning or crucifying the servants of God.”
“The servants of God? But Jesus of Nazareth was a glutton, a drunkard, and a friend of tax collectors and sinners. Those men preach that their so-called messiah was crucified, but you know the Law—any man hanged on a tree is cursed by God!”
“Sha’ul.” Gamaliel gave him a smile that seemed forced. “Wisdom tells us one thing: if the plan or undertaking espoused by those men is of human origin, it will fail, but if it is from God, we will not be able to stop it. No one will be able to stop it.”
“But—”
“The council has ruled on this,” Gamaliel said, stepping away. “The matter is finished.”
Sha’ul stiffened. “Rabbi, I have always respected you, but I am beginning to have doubts about your commitment to the Law.”
The teacher stopped and cast Sha’ul a sharp look. “Do not forget who has taught you everything you know. Hear me when I say the only wise action in this moment is to watch and wait.”
Sha’ul pounded his chest. “My passion comes from my love of the Law given to us by the God of Israel. I am a true servant. If I act in any way, it will be because I love HaShem and His Law more than anything on earth.”
Buoyed by confidence in his own zeal, Sha’ul stalked away.
“The last time I saw Stephen, he was lying on the ground, blood running from his head.”
Paul swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat. Even after all these years and the forgiveness of Christ, the thought of Stephen’s death made Paul’s blood run thick with guilt.
“I did not know it at the time, but the community of believers in Jerusalem had chosen seven faithful, Spirit-filled men to help the disciples serve those in need. They prayed and laid hands on these men, and one of them was Stephen.”
Luke’s pen stopped its scratching. “When did he become a believer in Christ?”
Paul blew out a breath. “I am not certain, but it might have been as early as the day of Pentecost. Or perhaps it was when Peter and John stood before the Sanhedrin and preached that Yeshua ha-Mashiach ha-Natzrati—Jesus the Messiah from Nazareth—had been raised from the dead to become the cornerstone of salvation. When the members of the great council realized that Peter and John had never studied at the Sanhedrin or been discipled by any of the leading rabbis, they were amazed that mere fishermen could speak with such authority. But what could they say when those fishermen had miraculously healed the man standing between them? Stephen could have been in the council chamber that afternoon. Perhaps that was the day he believed.”
“Were you there, too?”
Paul shook his head. “I had gone to celebrate Shabbat with my sister and her family. But not long afterward I began to hear reports of Stephen and the miracles he performed in the name of Yeshua. Overflowing with love and power, he worked many wonders and signs among the people. Later, as I traveled from synagogue to synagogue, I heard troubling reports. Wherever Stephen appeared, Jews from the Temple—that is to say, those who had been educated by the rabbis, as I had been—were debating Stephen and losing those debates. Stephen spoke with authority, and he understood the Torah and the writings of the prophets. They could not find fault with his statements.”
“What did Stephen argue?”
“He was not one to choose some obscure point of the Law and debate it. No, Stephen always presented the simple truth: that Yeshua was the Messiah and the Temple in Jerusalem was no longer the only place we could worship God. Such a message was dangerous, you see, because it threatened the authority of the priests and rabbis who ruled the people through the Temple.”
“But surely Stephen didn’t spend all his time debating. Hadn’t the community chosen him to serve its members?”
“Yes.” Paul’s throat tightened in a spasm of guilt. “He actually spent very little time debating the religious leaders, because he was usually out in the street exhibiting charity to widows and orphans, preaching truth to the crippled and blind, and healing people in Yeshua’s name. Meanwhile, I remained in the Temple, fasting, praying, and studying the Law lest I offend it in the smallest detail. When God looked down on us, He saw me being blameless and useless. Stephen, on the other hand, was ministering in His Son’s name.”
“Hmmm.” Luke peered at his notes.
“You have a question?”
“I don’t understand what instigated Stephen’s trouble with the Temple leaders. I know you didn’t like him, but he was busy doing good, so why—?”
“Because I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like him. Others were also jealous of his obvious gifts. Stephen did steer clear of trouble at the Temple, yet he visited the synagogues of Jerusalem and unintentionally stirred up trouble everywhere he went. I heard complaints from the synagogue of the freedmen, the synagogue of the Cyrenians, and the synagogue of the Alexandrians, who had always been known as superior thinkers. My home synagogue, the synagogue of Cilicia, was filled with learned men, and none of them could defeat Stephen with logic or words from the Torah.”
“What did you do, then?” Luke asked. “You had been biding your time, waiting to see if the movement would die out . . .”
“I grew tired of waiting,” Paul admitted. “Along with others from the various synagogues, I began to spread rumors saying I had heard Stephen speak blasphemies against Moses and HaShem. Then on an appointed day we incited the people of Jerusalem in the Temple courtyard until the incensed mob rushed Stephen, bound him, and led him to the Sanhedrin.”
“Surely he spoke as he had earlier,” Luke said. “Since he had addressed the Sanhedrin before.”
“The mood had changed.” Paul winced as he recalled what happened next. “And we who opposed him had made plans for his second appearance. We had false witnesses appear before the court, men who said, ‘This man never stops speaking words against this holy Temple and the Torah. We have heard him say that this Yeshua will destroy this place and change the customs Moses handed down to us.’” Paul softened his voice. “I was in the council chamber that day, and I witnessed everything I am about to relate.”
He waited, letting the silence stretch until Luke caught up.
“On that day, standing before the Sanhedrin, Stephen spoke a perfect account of the history of Israel. The scribes wrote down every word; the chief priests and rabbis sat spellbound, in awe of the power and authority in his language, his manner of speaking. He greeted the chief priests and rulers with respect. Then he began with Abraham and told our national history, moving through the years of Moses and the Tabernacle. He spoke of Solomon and the building of the Temple. And then he said, ‘However, Elyon our God does not dwell in man-made houses.’”
Paul looked at Luke, who was driving his pen across the papyrus. “To men who had based their entire lives on the holiness of the Temple, those words were considered blasphemy.”
Luke stopped and glanced up. “He insulted every member of the Sanhedrin, then.”
“Yes, and they could not stand it. As they cried out in rage, Stephen kept talking. ‘Oh, you stiff-necked people! You uncircumcised of heart and ears! You always resist the Ruach ha-Kodesh; just as your fathers did, you do as well. Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? They killed the ones who foretold the coming of the Righteous One. Now you have become His betrayers and murderers—you who received the Torah by direction of angels and did not keep it.’”
Luke’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “I imagine those comments were not well received.”
“They were not. And Stephen’s case was not helped when he looked up and his face began to shine with an unearthly light. ‘Look,’ he said, smiling up at something we could not see, ‘I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!’
“That was the end. He had no sooner finished speaking when nearly every man in the chamber covered his ears and
rushed at him. They might have torn him limb from limb on the spot, but someone remembered it would not be right to murder someone—even a blasphemer—on holy ground.”
Luke held up a finger, silently imploring Paul to wait, so he did. Luke finished his notes, then looked over at Paul. “You said nearly every man in the room rushed at Stephen. Did you notice who remained seated?”
Paul grimaced in good humor. “Yes, I did. Only two remained in their chairs: Gamaliel and Nicodemus.”
Rising up on tiptoes in an effort to see above so many taller men, Sha’ul paced at the edge of the crowd that had risen up in the great chamber of the Sanhedrin. Then the object of his search appeared—like a piece of seaweed caught by a huge wave—Stephen was lifted by the crowd and taken out of the Temple. Screaming for justice and death to the blasphemer, the mob carried him past the Antonia Fortress and through the city gate.
The shouting quieted in the open land outside the city walls. The desert area had little to recommend it for beauty, but it did have stones.
The hostile horde dropped Stephen onto the sand. He struggled to his feet, wiped sweat from his brow, and regarded the widening circle of accusers. The mob remained silent, milling about him in that peculiar silence that occurred when a collective decision had been made but no individual was brave enough to act.
“Sha’ul!” Another Pharisee spotted Sha’ul at the edge of the crowd. “You are a renowned student of the Law. Do you agree that this man has committed blasphemy?”
Sha’ul looked around the circle, pleased to see that every eye had turned toward him. Including Stephen’s. He stepped forward. “I do.”
“Do you agree that this man deserves to die?”
Sha’ul intended to hold Stephen’s gaze, but he could not. He expected to see defiance, temper, and arrogance in Stephen’s eyes, but instead he saw . . . compassion. Even love. Paul turned his head. “I do.”
