The Angel and the Cross

by Sigmund Brouwer

  Why hadn’t the soldiers understood him? What had gone wrong at the palace gates?

  He fell into a troubled sleep.

  Where I appeared to him in a dream.

  Angel Blog

  Dreams, of course, were a common way for Our Father to use angels to deliver a message to humans before the great victory.

  I could go on and on with example after example, but I won’t. By now, maybe you should just take my word for some things. By now, you can also guess that I’m not a big fan of television. What it has done is reduced your attention span. You want things now, and you want things quickly. Then you want things to be over with so you can get on to the next thing.

  There were days, you know, when human children spent hours in long and dangled discussions of learning. Now, brains blunted by sugar-coated cereals and hyped-up music disguise the fact that there is nothing of substance on the television screen to go with the music. In other words, if I gave you example after example, you would lose interest much too quickly.

  What’s good here, however, is that you don’t have a remote control. You can’t switch from me to a more sweet-natured angel. You can’t flip the page and find the nature channel. You’re stuck with me, unless you simply shut this book. And if you do that, you won’t find out what Quentin was destined to do.

  Still with me? Not over at the television, getting your brain sucked out of your head?

  Good. Let’s talk about Quentin’s destiny.

  After he was safe again, and sleeping, I was given instructions from Our Father to speak to him in a dream. No, I won’t tell you how the instruction reached me in the moments after Quentin fell asleep. Remember? It’s the why of it that’s more important.

  Nor am I going to tell you how I appeared to him in his dream. Just that I did.

  In his dream, I told him that I had been sent to deliver a message from Our Father. I told him that he had a great role to fill, one that was crucial to all people. I told him that he had a choice - to obey the will of Our Father, or not. I told him that Our Father was worthy of his trust.

  Quentin didn’t like this. He had questions for me. How did I know? How could he trust me? How was it supposed to happen?

  See what I mean? How. How. How. Very annoying.

  I told him instead why he needed to choose. Repeated why it was important - that by serving Our Father, Quentin would help us win the great victory against the Evil One. I told him why he needed to give himself up to Shel.

  He almost woke up from the dream at that point, he was so angry.

  Give himself up? Give himself up? He’d just gone to great lengths to escape.

  Why, he demanded when he settled down, did he need to give himself up?

  I told him he was learning.

  Learning?

  Yes, I said. Finally, he’d asked a why question instead of a how question.

  He asked why he shouldn’t just wake up and get rid of me from his mind.

  I told him that Shel would also have a dream. And that if he went to the town well at a certain time, he would see her there. That this should be ample evidence to trust the message I’d been given to deliver to him. That if he saw her, he should take that as a sign to go with her.

  All of this conversation happened in his sleep. When he woke, he was in a bad mood. But curious enough to go to the well.

  It often happens this way with you humans.

  Chapter Nine

  An hour later, Quentin saw her again at the town well. Her. The enemy.

  This time, instead of drawing himself up proudly as he had done while a prisoner, he quickly turned his head away in shame, all too conscious of his smell and his appearance. His stomach growled painfully. The women lined up to take their turns pulling the bucket up from the well openly scorned the filthy rags he wore.

  She stepped away from the women. She did not falter as she approached, as if she knew exactly where to find him. Quentin saw the same high cheekbones and haunting dark eyes that had burned into his memory. For a moment, his heart ached. Then he reminded himself who she was. The enemy.

  “It is you,” she said.

  Quentin dropped his eyes to stare at his feet, very conscious of how he must look and smell.

  “I had a dream about you last night,” she said.

  Quentin looked up, startled. “A dream?”

  She nodded. “An angel spoke to me and told me I would find you here. The angel said you would return to us.”

  Quentin shook his head, thinking about his own dream. “Impossible. Angels do not exist.”

  “You are here,” she said, “as I was told in the dream. And you aren’t running away.”

  “Only a fool would believe in angels sent from God.” Quentin said weakly, his heart not truly in the protest.

  “There is one true God,” Shel said fiercely. “He alone can make the earth shake and cause the rivers to turn when He so desires. Surely he can send an angel when he chooses.”

  “That’s wonderful if you happen to worship Him,” Quentin said, trying to make light of her anger.

  Shel looked at him sternly. “Don’t speak like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. She was entitled to her beliefs. And there was the fact that each of them had had the dream.

  Her anger softened at Quentin’s apology. “My father was so angry to discover you gone this morning. He has spies all through the city searching for you. Even spies near the palace gate. Of course, with you looking and smelling as you do, none of them would guess you were the Roman.”

  “Very amusing. Wait until a gang of foreigners kidnaps you some day and soldiers beat you to a pulp. I only wish I knew why this was happening. Here I am, surrendering, and I barely even know what Zealots do.” He grinned, for her giggle was contagious. “Except, of course, kidnap innocent Romans.”

  “I’ll explain what I can,” she promised. “But first you need to bathe and change.”

  His stomach tightened and growled.

  “And eat,” Quentin said as he began to follow her. “I really need to eat.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Everyone is busy searching for you,” Shel said, sweeping her arms at the quietness of the rooms around them. Simple and rough wooden chairs served as furniture. The limestone walls had few decorations.

  Shel disappeared, then returned with a large basin filled with cool water.

  “Who exactly is everybody?”

  Shel left again, but continued to speak as she moved from room to room. “I can’t tell you. The Zealots do not reveal themselves as such. It is too dangerous.” She returned with neatly folded towels, a clay jar of ointment, and a fresh robe. “This is not a steam bath, but it should help anyway.”

  She spun on her heels and left before Quentin could say anything.

  He sponged himself with the cool water, smiling wryly as the water slewed dirt into the basin. He winced at the feel of the ointment against his scrapes, and grinned with sheer pleasure of wearing soft cotton again as he slipped into the robe.

  “You promised food!” he shouted, almost happy to be so near this strange and mysterious young woman.

  Shel appeared almost immediately with bread cakes and a knife to cut them.

  As he ate, Quentin thought of her recent words. The Zealots do not reveal themselves as such. It is too dangerous.

  He said around his last mouthful, “It’s too dangerous to reveal their identity because the Zealots want to overthrow Roman rule over the Jews here. They’ll do anything at all to make it happen.”

  Shel returned his gaze without flinching.

  Quentin shook his head. “This is insane. I am a Roman. I have been kidnapped by your Zealots, which is an offense demanding execution. Yet I am here, waiting for their return.”

  “The angel,” whispered Shel.

  “Yes, the angel,” Quentin repeated.

  He stood.

  “Pelagius!” he shouted suddenly. “Show yourself! Tell me again that you have a task fo
r me to change the course of history.”

  The room remained silent after his outburst.

  “See?” Quentin said bitterly. “I’m crazy to be here. Tell me, since Pelagius --if he is not something I’ve imagined --won’t tell me, what task am I fulfilling by returning?”

  Shel became pale. “The angel did not tell you?”

  “Not what the Zealots want of me. Tell me, or I will leave.”

  “But the angel!”

  “Forget the angel! It is still my choice. I must know more, or I’ll leave.”

  “The Zealots want the sacred goblets,” Shel said. “You are to be held ransom until the sacred goblets stolen from the temple in Jerusalem are returned. Your father received them as a gift from the governor of Syria.”

  “Goblets? I am worth a small fortune, and they only want goblets?”

  “They are made of gold and have been passed from generation of priest to generation of priest since the time of King Solomon.”

  Quentin frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose that is enough to warrant your God sending an angel.” He brightened. “That should be easy enough. I’m certain my father will bargain in good faith. Especially when he finds out what the goblets mean to your people.”

  Another thought struck him. He spoke aloud, more to himself than to Shel. “Why did the angel say my return would change the course of history?”

  Shel became very pale and almost trembled.

  “What is it?” he demanded sharply.

  She shook her head. “It is worth my life to tell you.”

  A chill stiffened Quentin. What could have frightened her so badly?

  He stood. “Tell me, or I shall leave.”

  A voice boomed from behind him.

  “No, little puppy. You shall remain.”

  Without thinking, Quentin dove forward with the knife he had used to cut bread cakes. He pulled Shel to him and spun her so that she was a shield, then pressed the knife against her throat. The hours of combat training had served him faithfully.

  Forgetting his promise, forgetting everything except for the fear he had seen in Shel’s eyes as a reply to his question, Quentin spoke hoarsely to the bearded men who had entered the room so silently.

  “I leave with her. Or we both die.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The largest of the men, the leader who had kidnapped Quentin, reacted first. Beneath his flaming red hair and beard, he grew purple with rage.

  “I shall roast your ears for breakfast, or my name is not Barabbas!” he roared. “Harm my daughter and I will split you like a dog in the streets!”

  Barabbas!

  Quentin nearly recoiled at the rage in the large Jew’s voice.

  The roaring giant was giving him no choice but to fight back. Quentin tightened his grip on the knife. “Once I am safely away, she will be released. Unharmed.”

  They stared at each other for several minutes as if no other people existed around them - the wild-eyed, fanatical Jew with angry blood vessels bulging like snakes from his neck. The slim, young Roman who refused to tremble despite the cold fear that filled him.

  Barabbas finally grunted, “Go. You have two minutes before I follow. If she has even a scratch, I will find you and rip you apart with my bare hands.”

  **

  Upon entering the alley, Quentin immediately dropped the knife and released Shel.

  “I’m sorry. You are free.”

  “Your promise to the angel,” she protested.

  “It’s much too late.”

  With that, Quentin whirled around and began to run.

  For the first few minutes, he was conscious only of the passing doorways, the heat of the day, the pounding of his heart and the rasping air that moved through his lungs.

  Then he became aware of another sound. Someone breathing hard behind him.

  Who could be that close?

  Quentin turned his head, nearly stumbling as he did so.

  The girl was in full flight behind him!

  He urged his burning legs to go faster.

  She stayed close behind.

  After rounding three more corners and following twisting alley through twisting alley, he stopped.

  She stopped too.

  They stared at each other, panting.

  “Wh...wh...why?” Quentin finally gasped.

  She only fought for breath. “Because... you need... me.”

  He shook his head.

  She shook hers. “With me...you are safe. When... you are hidden... I leave.”

  He shook his head again.

  She grinned and said between heaving breaths. “You... can’t... out ...run me.”

  Before he could reply, they heard the heavy pounding of footsteps.

  Quentin shot away. Near the town wall some distance ahead, he spotted his only chance for escape – a donkey and a cart.

  Without caring whether the girl was behind him - although he knew she was - he turned toward the cart.

  When he reached it, he dove down under the blankets piled sloppily in the back.

  Before he finished wiggling to the center of the pile, the cart shook.

  When would that girl give up?

  Obviously, not just yet.

  “Ouch!” he said in a muffled voice.

  “Oops. That was your face, wasn’t it?” came the hoarse whisper from the darkness that pressed down on them.

  “My nose. That was your sandal pressed against it. You’re worse than an angel for sticking close by.”

  She said nothing but only held his arm.

  Shouting voices came closer.

  Quentin felt his entire body tighten in fear.

  “With me you are safe,” she whispered to his sudden tremble. “Soon they will be gone, and you will be free.”

  What was with this girl? First she wanted him among the Zealots. Then she wanted him away from them. And, for that matter, what exactly was going on? They wanted him for more than goblets. Quentin was certain of that judging by the look he had seen on the girl’s face. But what else did they want from him?

  Quentin had no time to wonder.

  The donkey brayed a high screech. With a lurch, the cart moved ahead.

  Angel Blog

  To be human is to be faced with decisions. Constantly. From birth until death. Decisions lead to mistakes. Mistakes lead to failure. And you think mistakes and failure are bad, don’t you?

  Well, you’re wrong. Mistakes and failures aren’t necessarily bad.

  You believe this because you’ve bought into the culture that surrounds you.

  Success. Success. Success.

  This is what that culture screams for you to pursue. And to have success, you need nice homes, nice cars, nice teeth, nice armpits – sorry; deodorant commercials always make me laugh – nice teeth, nice hair, nice boyfriends or nice girlfriends, blah, blah, blah.

  Don’t get me wrong. You should pursue the ultimate successes. But get your priorities straight. For example, what’s more important for a grown woman – shaved legs and armpits that smell good, or having the love and courage to stay up all night holding a sick baby who’s throwing up all over? (Sick babies, unlike armpit deodorants, don’t smell good. Or so I’m told. Angels don’t have a sense of smell.) I’d say love and courage are more important than nicely shaved legs and armpits that don’t stink, but you never see television commercials celebrating moms staying up all night.

  What are the ultimate successes? The truly important things are largely ignored in your television and magazine ads. Relationships. Those matter. Worry first about a good relationship with Our Father, a good relationship with your family and friends. Then, if your armpits are a little stinky, what does it matter? I know, I know. I can’t get away from commenting on human armpits, but when you think of the millions spent on commercials and the billions spent on deodorant, it speaks volumes about life in the 21st century.

  Anyway, you’re human. You’re going to make mistakes and have failures as you seek the ultimate su
ccesses. Don’t be afraid!

  So why not be afraid of mistakes?

  Here’s one thing you might not have noticed about the division between the Old and New Testament in your Bible. In the Old Testament – which describes the historical unfolding of Our Father’s plan for you until the arrival of His Son – look at the adjectives that describe Our Father.

  Trustworthy.

  Just.

  Righteous.

  Slow to wrath.

  As you humans saw His actions through the centuries, you came to know and understand His nature much more fully.

  Then look at the gospels in the New Testament – which describes the arrival of Our Father’s Son and the great victory against the Evil One– and discover how humans learned something new about His nature. Count the times you see the word Father in the New Testament.

  Yes, the Son arrived with something incredible to reveal. Our Father is truly like a Father. He’s not some great judge in the sky waiting to pounce on your first mistake and condemn you for it. No, no, no. He’s like a Father!

  This is great news!

  Parents love their children. Watch parents with their babies, especially when babies are learning to walk. When the baby falls down, the parent doesn’t rush over and shout, “Loser!” No, if the baby is hurt, the parent comforts the baby. If the baby is fine, the parent smiles with love as the baby gets back up and takes a few more wobbly steps.

  For babies, the ultimate success here is learning to walk. But that takes falling down. Again and again. And it takes getting up. Again and again.

  You think you should never make a mistake in your life? You think every single thing you do should be successful?

  Ha!

  Our Father loves you the way a parent loves a child. This was a message His Son delivered again and again. When you make a mistake, Our Father’s love for you doesn’t disappear. He doesn’t look down on you and shout, “Loser!” No, He’s there to comfort you if you approach Him in prayer.