FRANK G. SLAUGHTER
The Road to Bithynia
A Novel of Luke, the Beloved Physician
Published by eChristian Publishers
Escondido, California
Contents
Author’s Preface
Publisher’s Preface
Book One: The Scroll
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
Book Two: The Miracle
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
Book Three: The Christians
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
Book Four: The Travelers
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
Book Five: The Writing
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
Author’s Notes
Copyright
To Jane, Frank, and Randy
Author’s Preface
Students of the New Testament will recognize that portions of this novel are dramatizations from the Acts of the Apostles. This is to be expected, since the chief characters of this book also played prominent parts in the Acts, and St. Luke is generally credited with authorship of both it and the Gospel which bears his name. Where appropriate, dialogue attributed to the characters is taken from actual records of the speeches made by them in the Acts, as well as from the Epistles of St. Paul. Except for several passages from the New King James Version of the Bible, easily recognizable as such, much of this quoted material is taken from the Charles B. Williams translation of the New Testament, published by Moody Press, Chicago, Illinois. I am indebted to Moody Press for their kind permission to quote from this translation without crediting individual passages, which would, of course, be impossible in a work of fiction. I am also indebted to Dr. Williams for the hours of genuine pleasure which his beautiful “Translation in the Language of the People” has given me.
It would be impossible to list the many hundreds of references consulted in writing this novel. I should like, however, to acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. Graham Chambers Hunter, whose book, Luke, First Century Christian (Harper and Brothers), helped immeasurably to crystallize my concept of Luke, as well as giving me invaluable facts about his life, and to Dr. Edgar Goodspeed, through whose fine biography of St. Paul (John C. Winston Company), I first learned of the historical existence of the leading feminine character.
My purpose in writing The Road to Bithynia is twofold: First, to study the events of the life and ministry of Jesus, and the growth and spread of the early Christian church, through the eyes of an educated Greek physician of the period who possessed an unusual warmth and breadth of character. And second, to seek in these events and in the philosophy of the early Christian faith lessons which this most beautiful of all written stories has for us in the troubled world of today. Where I have succeeded in these aims, credit is due the man through whose eyes I have been privileged to look at this fascinating and inspiring period of history: Luke, the physician. Where I have failed, the fault is my own. To those who will quarrel with me over the character of Paul—and there will be many—I offer no apology. Although there is ample authority in theological writing for all controversy portrayed in this novel, I have tried to see and understand Paul as first of all a human being, with all the frailties and virtues which such a state implies, remembering that it was a humble carpenter of Nazareth who showed men the way before ever they knew He was the Son of God.
It is my sincere wish that many will see in these pages, as I have been privileged to see through the eyes of Luke the physician, Luke the man and Luke the Christian—The Road to Bithynia.
—Frank G. Slaughter
Publisher’s Preface
This best-selling book was originally published by Frank G. Slaughter in 1951.
This edited version of the book still contains the author’s vivid pictures of the first-century world in which Luke, Paul, Timothy, Silas, and several other key characters of the early church would have lived. This version also still contains the well-crafted characters of the original version—a mixture of men and women described in the Bible as well as fictionalized characters developed from Frank Slaughter’s imagination. It all adds up to create a compelling story of what might have happened. In addition, Dr. Slaughter’s own insights into the medical field create rich and intense scenes when Dr. Luke practices medicine as it was done in the first century.
We understand that Frank Slaughter wrote this as a work of fiction, reading between the lines of the character of the apostle Paul. He saw him as a flawed person, just as all of us are. Dr. Slaughter’s depictions of Paul’s life are not necessarily agreed to wholeheartedly by the publisher, but we let the character of Paul stand as Dr. Slaughter wrote him—a testament to the work God can do in any person’s life.
Our hope is that you enjoy this old book with new eyes and that it sends you back to read the firsthand accounts of this time period as recorded by Luke in the Book of Acts.
All revisions to this text come from the publisher, eChristian, Inc. Although Frank G. Slaughter is no longer alive to give us his approval, his two sons have graciously given us permission to bring new life to this best-selling book.
Almighty God, who callest Luke, the Physician, whose praise is in the Gospel, to be an Evangelist, and Physician of the soul; May it please Thee that, by the wholesome medicines of the doctrine delivered by him, all the diseases of our souls may be healed; through the merits of Thy son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
—Collect for St. Luke the Evangelist’s Day, Book of Common Prayer
Book One: The Scroll
Whoever comes to Me, and hears My sayings and does them, I will show you whom he is like.
(Luke 6:47)
I
The sun was a thin blood-red crescent above the low-lying range of hills to the west as two men climbed a winding stone stairway in the fortress of Antonia that towered above the city and served as headquarters for the Roman garrison. The older man was grizzled, his face craggy, and his skin seamed by the sun and wind of military campaigns in the far-flung climates of the empire. His toga was of fine wool, dyed a rich purple according to the custom of high-ranking Roman officers, and over it he wore the harness and jeweled short sword of a centurion. The other man was young, a youth just eighteen, but as tall as a full-grown man, although hardly out of the toga praetexta of childhood. Th
ere was a gravity about his regular even features and warm brown eyes that belied his youth. His well-muscled body and eager spirits made nothing of the climb, but the old centurion was puffing long before the two of them reached the top of the stairway and came out on a broad balcony. The soldier leaned against the stone parapet to get his breath. “There is what you have been so anxious to see, Luke,” he said. “Jerusalem, the Holy City of the Jews.”
The young man looked eagerly out over the city, for he had heard much of it from Jews in Antioch. But what he saw did not impress him. “Is that all there is to it, Silvanus? Surely there must be more.”
“It is a mean city,” Silvanus agreed. “Nothing like our Antioch or Rome. But look up, not down. The glory of Jerusalem is on the hilltops. Look at the towers there by the west gate, where the road to Joppa enters the city.”
The young man’s gaze followed the soldier’s pointing finger. From the broad stone wall on the west, three great battlemented towers reared toward the sky. Windows, breaking the solid stone of the walls, marked the rooms inside them, and from the battlements and turrets above a small army could have loosed a hail of missiles upon any attackers.
“Herod the Great named those towers after his relatives and friends,” Silvanus explained. “The tallest is called Phasael, after his brother. The next Hippicus, for his friend. The smallest is Mariamne, after his Queen.”
“I remember reading of her. He had her murdered, didn’t he?”
“That is the story. Some say because he was afraid she might be unfaithful to him, although others insist that he was afraid she would poison him. All the Herods have a penchant for evil. But look to the east; there is the crowning glory of Jerusalem.”
The youth caught his breath, as had many another, at his first glimpse of the holy temple of the Jews. His eyes widened and he leaned his elbows on the stone parapet, resting his chin in cupped hands to stare at it. Here was something of what he had expected from Jerusalem. Walls of polished granite enclosed the square structure on the summit of a little hill. It rose in three broad terraces, each supported by colonnaded archways. Through the open arches Luke could see protected arcades surrounding each terraced level. The dying rays of the sun, reflected from the polished metal columns, blinded him for a second. “Look, Silvanus,” he cried. “The columns are of gold.”
“Not quite.” The centurion smiled. “But they are of Corinthian bronze, perhaps the next thing to it.”
The momentary flash from the columns had been the last of the day’s sunlight, but although darkness was now falling rapidly, the polished granite walls and the pure-white marble of the terraces and gates continued to glow with the warmth stored in them during the day. For a long moment the youth did not speak, enraptured still by what he saw.
“Others have been stricken dumb by the beauty of Herod’s temple,” Silvanus said. “I brought you up here because I knew you would appreciate it, Luke.”
“Why do you call it Herod’s temple?”
“Several temples have stood here before this one, but Herod built the most magnificent of all, I suspect because he hoped that a monument to their God would make the Jews forget his heavy taxes.”
“It would have been simpler and cheaper to erect statues to Him, as we have in Antioch.”
“The Jews abhor idols, Luke. Their law forbids them.”
“Do they have laws? I thought Rome governed here.”
“Rome does, in civil matters,” Silvanus explained. “But the religious laws of the Jews go back for centuries to a man called Moses, who led them out of bondage in Egypt.”
“But they are still a Roman state,” Luke protested. “And the laws of Rome are just and good.”
“The Jewish God, Jehovah, is a jealous God. He will let the Jews put no other laws above those He gave to Moses centuries ago.”
“Where does this Jewish God dwell, Silvanus?” Luke asked, smiling. “Is He so jealous that He must have an Olympus of His own?”
Silvanus caught the irony in the young man’s voice. “They set Him so far above all others as to place His dwelling in the sky, Luke,” he said somewhat severely.
“Such as on the planet Venus?” Luke pointed to the evening star. “Some of the old Greeks believed the planet might be inhabited.”
“I am a soldier, not a philosopher,” Silvanus reminded him.
“But you have visited many lands, Silvanus, and you found each with its own gods. I find it easier to believe that all gods exist only in our minds than that each country has a different one and even the Roman emperors are divine.”
“It is not good to believe in no gods whatsoever,” Silvanus told him. “Besides, it is not wise for a Roman to openly question the divinity of the emperor.”
Luke grinned. “I will take the Jewish God then, since He seems to be the most powerful one of all.”
For a moment Silvanus said nothing, but stared into the dusk where the great white temple still glowed faintly. Then he shook his head slowly and said, “You would not like Jehovah, Luke.”
Luke sensed the seriousness of the old centurion’s manner, and his own voice lost its sarcastic note. “Why, Silvanus?”
“Some years ago a young Jewish Teacher named Jesus of Nazareth was crucified here in Jerusalem. He was a kind, harmless man whom the people loved.” Silvanus turned somber eyes upon his young friend. “There are many who believe that Jesus was the Son of Jehovah.”
“His Son!” Luke repeated. “But you said their God dwelt in the stars, Silvanus. How could His Son—if you grant that Jehovah does exist and could have a Son—live and be crucified as a mortal man?”
“I am only telling you what they say.”
Suddenly a thought struck Luke. “Did you ever see this Teacher?” he asked.
Silvanus seemed to be looking at something far away. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I saw Him once and heard Him teach.”
“Do you believe that He was the Son of the Jewish God?”
The centurion fiddled nervously with the sword at his belt, a habit of his when worried or uncertain. “I don’t know what to believe, Luke,” he admitted. “There are things about Jesus you can’t explain. But it is getting late. We had better prepare for the evening meal.”
“Wait, Silvanus,” Luke said. “This criminal, this man Stephen that Theophilus has come here to judge. Does he have anything to do with the Teacher you spoke of, Jesus of Nazareth?” Theophilus, deputy governor and chief magistrate of Syria, was the youth’s foster father. Luke’s real father, a Roman freedman, had been a trusted member of the Roman judge’s retinue for many years before his death.
“This man Stephen has already been tried and found guilty,” Silvanus said. “Theophilus is only here in case he stands upon his rights as a Roman citizen and appeals to Rome.”
“But why do we have to go to all the trouble of traveling from Antioch to Jerusalem to interfere in a religious controversy?”
“This has become more than just a religious controversy, Luke,” the centurion explained. “Ever since Pontius Pilate allowed Jesus to be crucified there has been unrest throughout Judea. Stephen is a follower of Jesus, and Sixtus, the proconsul, is afraid of more trouble if he is executed.”
“Why doesn’t Sixtus forbid them, then?”
Silvanus smiled. “You may understand books, Luke,” he said tolerantly, “but you know nothing of political affairs. The Romans cannot interfere in a strictly religious matter such as this without stirring up a lot of trouble. But because Jesus has followers who are important in the empire, Theophilus must report to Rome that Stephen has been granted all of his rights under Roman law.”
“When is the trial of Stephen to take place?” Luke asked.
“Tomorrow morning. And you can be present,” Silvanus added with a smile, “since you would pester me to death about it anyway.”
Luke linked his arm affectionately
through that of the grizzled soldier. “Come along then, old friend,” he said with a warm smile. “Let us see if the food in Jerusalem is any better than the looks of the city.”
II
Although the hour was early, the narrow streets of Jerusalem were thronged with people as Luke followed the soldiers escorting the prisoner Stephen from the dungeons of the Antonia to the council chamber of the Jewish high court, the Sanhedrin. For the most part, the populace stayed well out of the way of the soldiers; those who did get too close were elbowed summarily aside by the brawny men of the legions. Everywhere there was the clatter of voices speaking in many tongues, for it was a season of holiday and feasting and many people had come to the city, some to worship, others to trade.
The streets were narrow and lined with shops. Once, in a section of wider streets, Luke hurried forward to get a good look at this prisoner who had caused the most respected judge in the Roman provinces along the eastern end of the Mediterranean to be sent here by Rome. The man marching along in the center of the square of guards was of middle stature, his robe torn and dingy, of poor stuff indeed. But his head was erect, and he held his manacled hands before him as he walked, more as if they were a badge of honor than a sign of his lowly status as a prisoner. He glanced to neither side, although crowds lined the street and shouted curses at him.
Stephen was obviously part Greek; his ancestry visible in his olive skin and dark hair. His face was pale from confinement in the dungeons, his beard short and ragged, and his long hair unkempt. In his eyes, however, burned an intense, fanatic light, a look of fierce pride, not at all what one would expect in a man who, according to rumor, was already doomed.
As he walked along looking at Stephen, Luke noticed just ahead of him a tall, striking figure in just such a sorry robe as the prisoner wore. The man was heavily bearded and obviously a Jew, but there was something about him that particularly attracted Luke’s attention. For even though his robe was cheap, the big man radiated a kindly majesty, and infinite wisdom and tolerance shone from his deep-set eyes as they swept over the crowd and the prisoner.
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