by Tim LaHaye
“Such as?”
“Anywhere, man! You can shop in the markets. You can visit the prisons. You could be a messenger. You can’t stand there and embrace friends or pray with them, but you can seem to be impartially bearing news back and forth. Of course, you would have to do the same for all, brothers and sisters and foes alike, but imagine the possibilities.”
THIRTY
Taking Paul’s advice, Mark moved out of the Christian ghetto into a tiny apartment near the Forum, identifying himself as a scribe and seeking work. Soon he had enough to buy food and pay his rent. When he had extra, he bought meal and grain and bread in large quantities, and under the cover of darkness smuggled it into the city and delivered it to secret believers. They kept him up on the news, especially on who had been arrested, imprisoned, tortured, or put to death. Generally, those were the fates—and in that order—of anyone who had been caught and identified as part of the Nazarene sect.
While the populace had tired of Nero’s macabre shows of death, apparently the emperor himself remained bloodthirsty. Hardly a victim was executed without his watching from his private boxes at the arenas or from his balcony when these were carried out in his garden or at the Circus on his grounds.
Mark, dressed in the garb of a Roman citizen so as not to give himself away, forced himself to attend many of these spectacles, horrifying as they were. Sometimes it was all he could do to keep from hiding his eyes and bursting into tears, whether he knew the victim personally or not—and ofttimes he did. He believed it his duty to witness these atrocities and to pray for each saint as he or she was humiliated and interrogated.
All were asked why they believed in a dead Man, and nearly all testified that they believed Jesus was alive. All were given the chance to recant their allegiance to Him and bow to the gods of Rome and specifically to the emperor. But even those who did were then found guilty of arson and put to death in no less ignoble fashion.
Mark tried to spread the word among the faithful that they must not acknowledge him if they saw him at any of these venues, for he was occasionally finding his way even into the prisons to serve as amanuensis to prisoners who could afford it. Often he would pretend to be working for hire for a believer he knew had no money, but in this way he was able to trade news and encourage the condemned.
Mark had not realized how exhausting was his work and the alertness he had to maintain in order to succeed in his double life until he found himself so exhausted one afternoon that he had to retire to his quarters. There he collapsed on his cot and slept through his afternoon mealtime and into the evening.
He was roused near midnight by urgent knocking and worried that perhaps he had been found out and was being hauled in for sentencing himself. But the knock, fast as it was, did not carry the boom of the Roman soldiers, who wanted to bring attention to themselves and awaken everyone around.
Mark hurriedly padded to the door and opened it to two young men he had known from Silas’s congregation. “We risked our lives coming here,” they said, peeking out from hooded cloaks. “It’s Peter and Esther. They have been arrested and several with them.”
“Where have they been taken?”
“To Mamertime Prison.”
“And has Paul been informed?”
“No, and we dare not venture out any further.”
“I will tell him and try to get to them as soon as possible.”
MARK KNEW IT would arouse suspicion if he showed up at the prison near the Capitoline Hill in the middle of the night, but there was no going back to bed. He grabbed some fruit and rushed north to see Paul. He hated to wake the apostle, but he would want to know.
It took so long for Paul to answer his knock that Mark feared he too had been taken, or was lying ill—or worse, had passed. But eventually the diminutive man, now in his sixties, appeared at the door. Mark quickly spilled the news, and Paul urged him to move on. “You must not risk being seen with me,” he said. “So far your disguise has proved a success. But here, let me give you a brief message for our friends. I hope it will encourage them.”
He quickly scribbled a greeting assuring them of his prayers, but of course he did not sign it.
MARK WAS GRATEFUL that he had fallen asleep so early in the day, because he could not even attempt to doze the rest of the night. As soon as it made sense for him to be seen out and about, he made his way to Mamertime Prison and strolled through the cell blocks and dungeons as he frequently had.
He didn’t dare arouse suspicion by asking after Peter, and with hundreds of prisoners incarcerated, he feared finding him might take all day. Mark wondered how long they would allow Peter to linger before his execution.
As Mark descended a stone stairway he passed a jailer on his way up. “Guess who we’ve got down there,” the jailer said, nodding toward the dungeon. “Peter of the Nazarenes himself. They’ve got his wife in the women’s section too.”
Mark merely nodded. When he reached the underground compound he spotted Peter almost immediately, sitting, his head in his hands. The only light came from torches mounted on the walls outside the cells.
“Anyone need anything written?” Mark said, and he noticed Peter’s head jerk up. He knew the old man would know enough not to give him away.
“I do, young man,” Peter said, and he slowly stood and moved to the bars. Other prisoners were gnawing on stale bread for their breakfast and talking among themselves.
Mark pretended to be arranging his writing materials as they whispered, and he passed the note from Paul.
“I really do need something written, Mark,” Peter rasped. “It’s urgent that I get this second letter out to the churches. Can you do it?”
“Of course, sir,” Mark said, loudly enough for guards and other prisoners to hear. “But it will cost you.”
They pretended to haggle over the price until everyone else lost interest. “I don’t know whether they’ll let you into the women’s section, but—”
“I will bring any news I can find, Peter, you know that.”
During the next several days they toiled over the letter. Mark was not allowed into the women’s area, but from what he could gather, Esther was alive and unharmed, though she was growing thin. No wonder, because Peter was doing the same. The prisoners were given bread and water twice a day, and all soon began to look gaunt, their cheekbones protruding.
“I am the only believer in this area,” Peter said. “Except for those two guards.”
“Really?”
“They fear for their lives, but they are now believers. I would not tell them about yourself, however. Too much is at stake. They could be forced to tell anything they have heard. I finally got them to find out about my disposition. I feared Nero would let me rot to death in here, but they assure me that he knows exactly who I am and intends to make the most of my demise.”
“Unless we can devise some way out of here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mark. Prisoners don’t escape from here. And anyway, if this is God’s will, this is where I want to be.”
“Have they told you what form your, uh, end is supposed to take?”
Peter nodded. “Apparently he wants Esther and me together at the end. I know she is as willing as I to die for the cause, but it pains me to think of her enduring any discomfort, let alone torture.”
Mark slipped Peter a chunk of bread, and he immediately shared it with his cellmate on the condition that he keep it hidden. If word got out that Mark was smuggling food in, all would be lost.
Mark was amazed that Peter’s mind could be clear enough to result in the letter to the churches that he felt privileged to write. The old man was so eager to see it through to completion and for Mark to get it on its way that he worked until he could barely keep his eyes open.
Much older than even Paul, Peter impressed Mark with his ability to use metaphor to make his points. At one point early in the missive he referred to his mortal body as his tent that he would soon have to put off. He dictated, “…an entranc
e will be supplied to you abundantly into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. For this reason I will not be negligent to remind you always of these things, though you know and are established in the present truth. Yes, I think it is right, as long as I am in this tent, to stir you up by reminding you, knowing that shortly I must put off my tent, just as our Lord Jesus Christ showed me.
“Moreover I will be careful to ensure that you always have a reminder of these things after my decease. For we did not follow cunningly devised fables when we made known to you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of His majesty. For He received from God the Father honor and glory when such a voice came to Him from the Excellent Glory: ‘This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’
“And we heard this voice which came from heaven when we were with Him on the holy mountain. And so we have the prophetic word confirmed, which you do well to heed as a light that shines in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts; knowing this first, that no prophecy of Scripture is of any private interpretation, for prophecy never came by the will of man, but holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit.
“But there were also false prophets among the people, even as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Lord who bought them, and bring on themselves swift destruction. And many will follow their destructive ways, because of whom the way of truth will be blasphemed.”
After lengthy warnings and exhortations, Peter finished his letter with encouragement, as always.
“Therefore, beloved, looking forward to these things, be diligent to be found by Him in peace, without spot and blameless; and consider that the longsuffering of our Lord is salvation—as also our beloved brother Paul, according to the wisdom given to him, has written to you, as also in all his epistles, speaking in them of these things, in which are some things hard to understand, which untaught and unstable people twist to their own destruction, as they do also the rest of the Scriptures.
“You therefore, beloved, since you know this beforehand, beware lest you also fall from your own steadfastness, being led away with the error of the wicked; but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory both now and forever. Amen.”
PETER URGED MARK to get the letter past Paul first, and then to make sure it was copied and circulated in Rome, while the original was to go to the churches abroad. Mark was in the middle of all these chores when the dreadful announcement came from the palace. Word quickly spread throughout Rome of the day and time of the so-called trial of the ringleader of the Nazarenes.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, in two days, the apostle Peter and his wife would be processed, as the official notice put it. And the whole of Rome was welcome to witness with joy the justice meted out to this enemy of the state, the empire, and the gods.
THIRTY-ONE
All is under way as you wish,” Mark told Peter the morning of his execution.
“You will be there this afternoon, will you not?”
“I don’t know whether I can bear it.”
“You must, for my sake, and for Esther’s. You have been like a son to us.”
“Then why require me to see it? I wish to remember you as you are.”
“It will give us comfort to know that you stand with us. Now, please.”
Mark said, “As you wish,” but it was as hard a promise as he had ever had to make.
That afternoon, under an unforgiving sun, he joined tens of thousands in Nero’s Circus as Peter and Esther were brought in chains from their respective cells. The emperor had left the palace and was prominent in his royal box.
Mark’s heart ached as Peter and Esther stared into each other’s eyes, not allowed to get near each other or talk with each other. They were forced to kneel about ten feet apart, and the chief executioner asked questions. Remarkably, for Mark knew they had not had opportunity to plot together, they answered every inquiry the same, in unison.
“Are you members of the Nazarene sect?”
“We are.”
“Are you guilty of destroying the city of Rome by fire, either by your own hands or by those you hired?”
“We are not.”
“Do you worship the emperor, Caesar Nero, as your god?”
“We do not.”
“Do you acknowledge the gods of Rome and bow to them and sacrifice to them?”
“We do not.”
“Will you renounce your allegiance to Jesus, whom you call the Christ and the Messiah and the Son of God?”
“We will not.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the empire and by Caesar, I sentence you to death.”
Esther was unbound and led a hundred feet to the center of the arena, where she was wrapped with freshly cut animal skins. Mark could only imagine how the bloody things felt and smelled. Vicious wild dogs were let loose from cages at one end of the ring, and Esther was prodded and commanded to run, but she would not.
Peter cried out, “Esther, my beloved! Remember the Lord!”
And as the beasts closed on her, she slowly knelt and raised her hands toward heaven. The crowd stood and roared as the dogs tore at her limbs and at her neck, ripping her to pieces and devouring her flesh.
Peter raised his face toward the sun and wept aloud, and Mark stood in the midst of a frenzied crowd that ignored him as he sobbed.
As Peter’s chains were removed, he appeared pale, as if about to topple. Mark wished he had the power to rescue him, to stop his captors and abscond with him to the sea where the beloved apostle could be delivered to the saints who so revered him.
But to Mark’s horror, and certainly to Peter’s, as he was lifted and guided forward, slaves passed him with a rough-hewn cross that took Mark’s mind back more than three decades. Peter began to resist, to fight and pull away. Mark was surprised. He had expected Peter to maintain his dignity to the end the way his wife had.
But this was not about fear of death. Plainly Peter had resigned himself to that. No, he was violently protesting the manner of his execution. “Anything but that!” he cried out. “I am not worthy to suffer the same end as my precious Savior!”
But the cross was laid out on the ground and he was forced upon it. Still he fought and screamed and raged. As the spikes were driven into his hands and feet, Peter turned to the executioner, his ancient gravelly voice as desperate as Mark had ever heard it.
“If you have an ounce of humanity left in you, sir, do not, do not suspend me in the way my Jesus was put to death! I beg you! I beg you! At least hang me upside down!”
The crowd began to roar, “Let the man die however he wishes!”
The executioner looked to the emperor’s box and lifted his hands, palms up.
Nero called out, “What is it to me if he dies sideways? Just finish him!”
And so the executioner directed the slaves to turn the cross, with Peter pinned to it, upside down and drop the top of it into the hole in the ground first. Peter let out a great groan when it violently settled in.
“My Lord and my God,” he managed, his voice constricted, “into Thy hands I commend my spirit.”
And within seconds, Peter was dead.
EPILOGUE
Just under a year later, the missionary Paul was dragged from his quarters by Roman soldiers and hauled along the Via Ostia. Because of his Roman citizenship, the law prohibited torturing him, but he was also so well known to the authorities as a champion of the gospel of the Nazarene that he was not even proffered the courtesy of an interrogation.
Mark watched from the road as the great apostle and apologist for the faith spoke clearly of his belief.
“Silence!” the executioner shouted, but Paul would not be dissuaded.
“What is your plan if I continue to testify, sir?” Paul said, almost as if amused. “Do I risk death?”
“A quicker death,” the
man growled, handing the great blade to a muscled, black-hooded man.
Paul’s head was also covered, but he continued to speak, only louder. “I declare the gospel I preached, which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures.”
Even as Paul’s head was forced down onto the chopping block, he said, “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes. The just shall live by faith.”
MARK HAD SEEN more than enough violence and bloodshed for one lifetime, and yet in the sobriety that permeated him after the losses of so many dear friends, he found one truth ironic: Christianity had been little more than a small sect, a nuisance to Rome, before Nero blamed the inferno on believers. His garish displays of brutal torture and execution were so extreme that he engendered pity for and then sympathy with the martyrs even on the part of the Roman citizens.
That people were devout enough to be willing to die rather than to renounce their faith in Christ made people all over the world take notice and want to know more about their beliefs.
Nero was soon deposed, and he committed suicide to avoid execution, but a pattern of persecuting Christians had begun.
MARK EVENTUALLY WAS led by the Holy Spirit to leave Rome and believed God had called him to plant churches more than twelve hundred miles away in the great Egyptian city of Alexandria, which lay northwest of the Nile Delta and along a narrow strip between the Mediterranean Sea and Lake Mareotis.
By the time he reached Alexandria, he had traveled by horse, wagon, ship, and camel, and on foot, and had ministered everywhere he went. Church bodies had sprung up and people had come to faith in Christ. Finally reaching the city gates of Alexandria, Mark realized he had broken a strap on one of his sandals. A curious child directed him to a cobbler whose shop was set up in a large tent off the city square. The ruddy man wore a leather apron, and sweat poured from him.
