by Diaz, Debra
“I tell you this, Nikanor, and all of you, that Jesus Christ is the giver of peace, he is the truth, he is the ruler of nature, and the savior of mankind.”
“Savior?” Philo asked. “What does he save us from?”
“The punishment for sin. Separation from God the Father, who is holy and demands holiness—something no one can attain by himself.”
The man named Timaeus, who was about Paulus’ age and dressed in fine clothes, spoke up with a look of indignation. “Wait a moment! What are you calling sin? Why should we not do what we will, as long as it harms no one? How can you call this sin?”
Before Paulus could answer, the bearded man, Alexandros, asked, “And who is this ‘God the Father’? Are you saying there are two gods?”
Paulus looked at first one, then the other. “Sin is the breaking of any one of God’s laws, Timaeus. And there is but one God, existing in three persons—Father, Son and Spirit. All the same, but separate. This is a mystery, even to believers.”
“And where does this Jesus come in?” asked Alexandros.
“He is the son of God, who voluntarily came to earth as flesh and blood, to take on the sins of the world and to give his life in payment for them—because he remained holy, and undefiled. This satisfied his Father’s requirement for justice.”
One of the older men snorted. “How is it possible for a man to life a perfect life?”
“I don’t know,” Paulus admitted. “But I know he did, because God accepted his sacrifice, and raised him from the dead. I don’t have all the answers, but this I can tell you…”
For the next two hours he told them all he knew of Jesus…what he had learned from Stephen, from John, the other disciples…what he had seen himself. No one moved; others came and sat on the grass and listened. Again the spirit of God came to him, and the words flowed without conscious thought; he saw and discerned in the faces around him all manner of reactions: doubt, mere interest, wonder, acceptance—and hostility.
When he had finished, he said, “This is a simple truth, one simple enough for a child. That God so loved the world that he gave his only Son—that whoever believes in him would be saved.”
A silence fell. Paulus went back to the platform and sat on it, still high enough to be seen by everyone.
Alexandros stood up. “All of this is very good talk, young Antonius, but where is the proof of all you say?”
“Again, the proof that Jesus is who he said he is—and that he spoke the truth—is inherent in the fact that he rose from the dead. You will agree, will you not, that he could not do so—were he not God?”
“I think we can agree on that,” Alexandros replied easily. “But what proof can you show us that he did rise from the dead?”
“I can declare to all of you that he was seen by hundreds, including myself, after his resurrection.”
“But that is merely you telling us so,” said Timaeus. “Forgive me, but I am a lawyer. You say you saw him—was it face to face, and how can you be sure?”
“I saw him at a distance. But others saw him as close as you are to me—and touched him. A body, not a spirit.”
“You are asking us to take your word on this, sir,” Sophus remarked, rather than questioned.
“Not at all. They may not be present, but any of the eyewitnesses would tell you the same. How many would you require, Timaeus, to seal your case—a hundred, five hundred? As for Jesus’ divinity, search the Scriptures and read of the prophecies concerning the Messiah, and see how Jesus of Nazareth has fulfilled them.”
“Jewish beliefs!” Timaeus exclaimed. “Jewish writings!”
“Admittedly, you must accept them as God’s word, if you are to believe in Jesus. But how then, do you explain the obvious fulfillment of its prophecies? And God’s promise to redeem mankind goes back to the beginning of time, to the Garden of Eden. I challenge you to read and search them…it is written that you will find God, if you seek him with all your heart.”
Alexandros said quietly, “Again, you have told us some very interesting things, Antonius. But you have provided no real evidence to support your claims.”
“That’s because it is a matter of faith, Alexandros. But if I might say one thing more. Not here—yet—but in some places men and women are being imprisoned, tortured and killed for their belief in Jesus Christ. To me, that is a very strong argument for his case.”
“Why?” Sophus asked. “Men both noble and ignoble have died for this cause or that one. They will even take their own lives, to preserve their honor—we see this every day in Rome!”
Paulus met his eyes. “As someone once said to me…men might die for a cause, but how quickly would they give up their life for a man they know to be dead? Why should his disciples keep preaching about him, if there is any chance the resurrection did not occur? Does that not say to you that they are convinced of it?”
After a pause, Alexandros confessed, “That is something to think about. Almost you persuade me, Antonius!” He walked toward Paulus. “I want to thank you for what you have told this gathering. We are happy for our friend Nikanor, and his family. I do believe that you healed him—by whatever means. Perhaps you were able to do it by virtue of your own enlightenment.”
“Ascribe nothing to me, Alexandros—it was the power of God. But I caution you—not all miracles are of God. I told you of God’s enemy, Satan, and he is powerful. He is a created being and not a god, but he is sometimes able to imitate, in some way, the works of God.”
“Why would your God allow him to do this?” Sophus asked.
“Because,” Paulus answered, “if men wish hard enough to be deceived, God will let them be.”
Sophus’ tone held a bit of sarcasm. “And why should men wish to be deceived?”
“Some are drawn to beliefs that build up their own egos, satisfy their pride. They don’t want to know the truth.”
“And I see that we are back to the beginning,” said Alexandros. “What is truth, you asked. You proceeded to tell us your own perception of truth. It is for us to consider your arguments, and weigh the evidence.”
Paulus had risen to his feet, and bowed slightly. “I could ask for nothing more.”
A woman stood up and cried, “I believe! Tell me how to be saved!”
She, followed by another woman and three men, came forward and stood by him. He explained and prayed with them; the men under the trees seemed embarrassed by the display…and when he looked again they had gone. He was disappointed that Nikanor had not stayed, at least to question him further. Still, he was both humbled and glad at the coming of these five.
He also explained to them the meaning of baptism, and how it symbolized, among other things, the burial of their old life, and the rising to a new one. “There is a lake nearby,” said one of the men, and they all consented to go there at once. As they were setting out, a man who had been standing off to the side reached out and touched his arm. It was Timaeus, the lawyer.
“Antonius, the hour grows late, and I would speak with you further. When you have finished with these—good people—I invite you to dine with me. My farm is on the road you see before you, half a mile from here. Will you come?”
Paulus hesitated. It would make him very late getting back to the villa, but he didn’t see how he could refuse. “Thank you, Timaeus. I’ll be there before the sun goes down.”
Having been ordained by Jesus’ inner group of disciples, Paulus had baptized many people over the years, but there was something memorable about this time…the two women and three men, none of whom knew each other, were happy and full of questions, and they sat on the bank and talked with him for a long time…while the sun lowered and the bleating of sheep came from a nearby meadow. He told them what he thought they were ready to learn, and gave them the names of people he knew in Rome who could loan them copies of the Hebrew Scriptures. Most lived in the neighboring area, and he had an troubled feeling of leaving them adrift…always before he had stayed in a place long enough to teach and he
lp new converts before moving on.
However, they promised to all come together to worship, and to bring their families. He knew God would provide a leader—he had never failed to do so.
At last they went their separate ways, and Paulus set out for Timaeus’ house. He stopped at the marketplace first; the crowd had thinned and the shops were beginning to close, but he bought a few slices of bread topped with melted cheese, and drank from the fountain. The sun was almost behind the mountains when he came upon, not a farm, but a villa even more luxurious than the one owned by Horatius. He saw a slave working among some shrubbery and asked, “Is this the house of Timaeus?”
“Yes, sir. May I tell him you are here?”
“Yes—the name is Antonius.”
The slave hurried away, and soon another one had come to escort him inside. Timaeus came to greet him, in finer clothes than before.
“I am glad you could come, Antonius. The dining room is this way…I hope you don’t mind if we sit at the table, rather than recline? You…and a woman friend of mine, will be my only guests tonight.”
“I prefer sitting, Timaeus. I haven’t dined the Roman way in so long I wouldn’t know how. And what happened to that quaint little farmhouse I was supposed to be looking for?”
The man laughed as they walked into a vast dining room; the large table had three plates set around one corner. The room was filled with gold-inlaid furniture, thickly padded couches and chairs, statues—mostly nude—plants, and birdcages, from which came the trills and flutterings of their occupants. Large pillars stood throughout the room, painted to match the colored panels in the walls. The sound of slaves scurrying back and forth came from the corridor, and soft music floated from behind a bamboo screen.
An attractive, blonde-haired woman, dressed in a lavish and revealing gown, soon joined them. “This is Vita,” Timaeus said, without further explanation. “Vita, may I introduce Antonius, the man I was telling you about?”
The woman greeted him, eyeing him with considerable interest. Slaves began bringing in trays and platters of rich foods, and pitchers of a deep red wine. Paulus had to refuse constant offers of refilling his cup—and tried not to partake too liberally of the food, even though he was ravenously hungry. A huge side of pork, raw clams and salted snails, vegetables flavored with oil and vinegar, and wheat cakes topped with honey—fortunately the meat wasn’t much to his liking.
They talked casually for a time, and when a lull fell, Paulus said, “You mentioned that you wanted to speak with me about something, Timaeus.”
“In good time, Antonius—have more wine—well, there’s the water if you insist. Music, Faustus!”
The music increased in volume and tempo, and three scantily clad dancing girls swirled sensuously into the room. Paulus began to perceive he had been brought to the villa under false pretenses, and noticed that Vita was watching his face keenly.
He got to his feet, saying over the music, “If you will excuse me, I’ll wait to speak with you in the corridor, Timaeus.”
“Oh—forgive me. Faustus!” The music stopped abruptly, and the swishing girls stopped to stare at Timaeus. He waved a hand at them; they glanced at each other, and with looks of baffled indignation, left the room.
“I am sorry, Antonius,” the lawyer said, as Paulus reluctantly resumed his seat. “I didn’t consider that perhaps you were not used to such—temptations.”
Actually, Paulus felt rather swamped by them lately, but he said, “Never mind—I have a long walk home and must ask you again what you wanted to discuss with me, Timaeus.”
The man took a moment to pick at his teeth with a napkin, while Vita sipped from her cup and watched Paulus from beneath her lashes.
“I have been thinking about things you said today,” Timaeus said. “You spoke most eloquently of this man’s crucifixion. I saw tears in your eyes.”
There was a long hesitation, and Paulus said, “I was there.”
Timaeus leaned forward. “How can you have so much love, Antonius, for a Jew?”
Paulus surveyed him in silence, recognizing a familiar hostility. He restrained a flare of anger. “God chose a man named Abraham to be the progenitor of a race that would bring his son into the world. Because of this, they are his chosen people. But they have rejected God’s son, and the furtherance of his kingdom has been given to the Gentiles. But in spite of this, they will always be his chosen people—because he made a covenant with them.”
“What do you mean by ‘chosen people’?”
Paulus went on patiently. “As I said, it was through the Jews that the Savior was brought into the world. They are under God’s protection—they will never be destroyed. All the same, they will be judged for rejecting the Messiah. Yet only God has the right to judge them—no one else.”
It was obvious Timaeus didn’t like what Paulus was saying, for he was neither smiling nor affable now. He changed the subject. “What if I were to tell you, Antonius, that I believe this life is all there is? And if that is so, why should I not partake of all the pleasure I can, and enjoy it as long as I can?”
“But—what if—this life is not all there is?”
“A question I choose not to consider!”
“Your choosing not to consider it, Timaeus, does not negate its possibility.”
“I don’t need religion!”
“No,” Paulus agreed. “Religion crucified him.”
Timaeus almost sneered. “I suppose you consider yourself a better man than I—above it all—because you deny yourself pleasure, and seek to follow the teachings of some dead Jew!”
“It is a living man I follow…a living God. I find much pleasure in life, Timaeus, and he asks us to give up only those things that would harm us…in body or spirit. And what do I consider myself? A sinner. Saved by grace.”
They had not much to say to each other after that. Paulus said he must leave; Vita invited him to stay the night. He politely refused. Timaeus once more took on a face of amiability and offered the use of his carriage, but the moon was bright and Paulus preferred to walk. He bade his host and hostess goodnight, feeling a strange combination of annoyance and regret.
It wasn’t the first time he had faced hostility and prejudice, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was always hard for him not to be angry; it made him marvel again at the self-control Jesus had shown during his trial, when everything done to him had been cruel and unjust.
He increased his pace, knowing that Alysia would be waiting, perhaps wondering if he’d been recognized and carted off somewhere. The moon shone brightly on the road and the rocks that lined it; he passed through the deserted marketplace and entered the road to Horatius’ villa. It was darker here, due to the trees, and he kept hearing sounds, almost like stealthy footsteps…but every time he turned he saw nothing.
It wasn’t like him to imagine things. He hadn’t carried a weapon in years, and still hadn’t grown used to not at least having a knife in his belt. Robbers were everywhere, not just in the cities. Or it could be an animal—a fox, or even a wolf. Again he turned and saw nothing, and decided it must be the breeze stirring the branches above him.
He reached the villa at last, and Alysia was waiting for him.
CHAPTER XV
Something woke Paulus; he slid out of bed and for some reason put on his clothes before walking to the long window where the shutters had already been pushed back. He could see only the pond from here, but there was a glow upon it that shouldn’t be there, and he smelled smoke. The sound of men’s voices seemed far away, but full of an unnatural excitement.
“Wake up, Alysia—there’s a fire somewhere,” he said, and ran from the room, his steps ringing swiftly down the long corridor. He burst through the door at the end, and saw flames licking hungrily at the wooden door and rafters of the stable. Men and women slaves had gathered before it, some holding buckets, and a man came out leading two of the horses. A cacophony of frenzied neighing and stomping came from within the stalls.
&nbs
p; Paulus ran toward the stable manager, who seemed panic stricken and at a loss as to what to do. “Get as many buckets as you can find!” he shouted over the din. “Form a line from the pond to the fire—fill the buckets and pass them from person to person. Keep watch over the line and make sure the buckets are moving as fast as they can be moved.”
The man nodded and ran toward a small storage shed. Alysia and Rachel ran toward Paulus, and joined the “bucket” line as he directed. He, too, raced to the shed, calling for others to follow him. In a moment the men emerged with blankets; they hurried to the pond, doused the blankets in water, and after throwing them around their heads and bodies, entered the stable to release the rest of the horses.
Smoke stung his eyes; Paulus knew, from prior experience, that in a matter of minutes he wouldn’t even be able to see his hand in front of his face. Wild with terror, the horses leaped and kicked at the doors of the stalls. The fire swirled, sending out sparks that landed in the hay piled against one wall. Paulus told one of the men to have the water bearers douse the hay and get it out, then he plunged toward the stalls and began opening doors. The horses reared and galloped madly to freedom.
It wasn’t long before he and others had released all the horses except the foals…but it was too long, for now the smoke was so thick it was impossible to see. At the other end of the stable he could hear the frenzied squealing of the foals. Listening hard, Paulus thought all the men were out, and feeling his way toward the stable door he went through it, doubled over with coughing. Far down the line Alysia watched him anxiously. She had thrown a robe over her nightgown, and her hair swung loose as she grabbed the buckets and passed them to the person in front of her.
Letting go of the protecting blanket, Paulus turned, his eyes streaming, to look at the building…and saw that it was lost. Only the outer walls were of stone; most of the inside was wood, and in places, the tiles on the roof were already collapsing. The men closest to it were being driven back by the heat. He made a gesture toward the line of water bearers. “It’s no use,” he shouted. “Let it burn itself out. There’s nothing else close enough to catch fire. Throw me that axe—some of you come with me!”
