Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 12

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 12

© 2021 by Amber Wright

ACCUSATIONS

Demetrius turned back to Junia. “Who would have stolen the money?”

“Somebody who wanted your name to be ruined.”

Like it isn’t already.

“Some people don’t like you here. That could be the reason.”

“But why!” He hit the wet post with his palm. “Why do people dislike me here? Is it just because I’m a stranger? Or is it something else?”

Something else like my father spreading news about me? I am the son of a harlot—but I thought these people forgave everybody like Jesus did in the scrolls of Elder John. As for the Roman debtor hound, I’m only giving my father a taste of what he has given me. He gave Junia a desperate stare, begging to know the answer yet fearing what she would have to say.

“With a couple of people I know that something else is,” Junia did a swallow, “jealousy.”

“Jealous—of me?” Demetrius felt his jaw drop. “I don’t see how I could be the target for that. You’re mistaken. You must be.”

Fear sounds more like the reason—not jealousy.

“I’m not mistaken.” A pause. “There is reason.”

Demetrius felt his slacked jaw tipping up into a smile at her straightforward answer. Then he realized the downpour had turned into a mist and that the dark stormy sky was breaking into the colorful shades of evening. And across the mists on the horizon, a rainbow shone through the gloom. Would he believe in its promise? He would dare to.

“I’d better go,” Junia piped up, “or I’ll never get home.”

Demetrius turned back to her. “Good idea. Me, too.”

Readjusting his hood, he quickly scanned the street for any eavesdroppers. “This rain could last all day. And,” he dropped his voice, “you know what?”

“What?” Junia blinked, looking surprised.

“I’m going to find that real thief.” He was surprised how determined and calm he felt. “Whoever he or she is stealing, I’ll find him. I’ll get to the bottom of this, trust me.”

“Be careful—thieves are dangerous. You could be hurt.”

“I doubt anybody would care.” He frowned, raised one eyebrow, “Or would there?”

“Somebody would care.” Junia turned to face him and tapped her thickly robed heart with her forefinger; then, she dove into the drizzling street with its snorting pigs, barking dogs, whining cats and mud puddles.

Demetrius felt his heart lurch strangely at her remark. She would care if I was hurt—why, how? She knows I’m a son of a harlot. So why should she care? Nobody else does. But there was no answer for the unexplained. He must wait to know that answer, however long it would take. But for the present, he was grateful that somebody cared for him—somebody for the first time in fourteen years.

He stepped out into the misty rain, pulling his hood down to conceal his face from any prying eye lurking about.

~

Junia rushed into the house before the downpour drenched her and shook off the droplets of water from her midnight blue hood. A crack of thunder shook the floor beneath her. Then she heard voices…her name…and her heart pounded. What was going on?

“Demetrius?” her father spoke in a questioning tone.

“Yes, Demetrius.”

She gulped. That sneering voice belonged to no other than Lucius. And that boy could hold a grudge for years. What have I brought upon myself? The same usual regrets. She felt a groan inside her as she crept to the doorway and peeked inside the room where her father, Lucius and the other men were sitting on reed-woven chairs facing the fire pit. The air was solemn, chilling her despite the warmth crackling from the fire on the large clay hearth.

Junia felt a shiver and braced herself soundly so she would not make any tapping feet noises. Her thoughts froze with her feet. Surely, Demetrius would find the thief—and prove his innocence. This senseless rumor would pass, and leave her feeling comfortable again.

“Who saw him?” Her father’s voice sounded tight.

“I did.”

Junia could not mistake Deacon Demas' sneer. She heard Deacon Abner add, “We can’t take this lightly, Junius. We can’t allow thieves in our congregation. It’s against the rules. Bishop Diotrephes is very strict with the regulations and we deacons are duty-bound to carry out his orders.”

His orders? Junia took a step back, feeling a knot twist inside her stomach. What about God’s orders? We don’t do something because a man tells us to. We do it because God said so. Besides, we shouldn’t judge a man until we have proof…

“The Romans crucify thieves. If word reached them…”

Junia heard Deacon Demas pause with tact, and she pushed her brows together in a frown. Stealing isn’t the only sin around here, Demas the Deacon. What about the gossip that we so often “forget” that breaks up brothers and sisters in the Lord? Do we only choose a few right things to do—just enough to get us an entrance into heaven? No. We must to do it all, no matter how difficult it is. She felt her pulse drowning out their voices as she poured out her heart into the throbbing of her skull as she mused. What about hate that separate us from God? What about truth? We lie. We don’t speak what God says. We make our own rules, and then we wonder why we grow so heartless. She found her spit shooting down her throat as the scraping of a chair pierced into her thoughts.

Silently, Junia pulled her wet hood over her head again and peeked into the room where they were speaking. Her father’s profile looked serious as he began pacing the floor, a thing he usually did when he pondered important matters. She froze. Instantly, she knew what was happening. No God, not Demetrius! He’s not guilty…he isn’t. Her hand flew up to over her mouth; then, their voices became a blur in her ears and fear speared into her a feeling of helplessness. She could do nothing—say nothing—that would matter. The men would settle the issue. That was how it was always done.

Junia pressed her face into her palms, melting back into the shadows once again. She did not want to hear the rest, but as she crept away she could not help but to hear.

“I did not trust this Demetrius the first day I saw him,” came Lucius’ tart remark. “Something about him was so unusual. I’m not surprised that he is a thief.”

She felt the third step jar under her right foot.

“Nor am I,” Deacon Abner agreed. “There’s something about him I just don’t like.”

“He’s an untrustworthy young man, Junius.” Deacon Demas’ voice sounded hard. “At least you can admit to that. Will you agree with us then?”

Junia paused on the tenth step, waiting for her father’s crucial answer. Pah’tehr, stop them. Don’t let this happen. Find out the truth.

“I trust I’m doing the right thing. I will see about this council you want.”

Her father had agreed.

Junia’s pulse pounded into her skull once more as she heard them pushing back their chairs, patting her father’s back, speaking more words that had no meaning. The noise became a blur. A daytime nightmare.

It was happening now, the council to try Demetrius for theft. If he was found guilty, he would be cast out. If he was almost proven guilty, he would still be cast out. That was how these times were. Characters were slipping.

As her thoughts whirled madly, they drifted down into one disturbing reflection: Most people like you when you do what they want you to do. So, where are they who love you for who you are—and not for what you can give them? Her feet flew up the last few steps and she closed her bedroom door feeling as heavy as her drenched layers of clothes.

Lucius had said she would be sorry, and she was getting there. If only it did not have to hurt this bad.

~

Junia squinted in the bright afternoon. After two more days of storm and clouds, the sun had finally come out and she was at the market buying a few vegetables for the evening meal.

Junia grabbed at the vegetables, not caring if they were bruised or not, and paid the sellers without much haggling. Even though the sun had come out and the clouds had parted that day, there were still clouds in her heart—big ones. The council had been planned for the Thursday of next week.

Everything was falling into place. All, that is, but the evidence Deacon Demas needed to prove that Demetrius was the thief. The only proof he had was that Demetrius had been hanging around the church, but he had never caught him with anything. It’s all so confusing, Junia thought as she paid the last grocer. Nothing is sounding right. It’s a lie—or a trick somebody is playing to work on everyone’s emotions. She raised her troubled head and pushed back her equally troubled thoughts when a familiar voice spoke beside her.

“Junia? Shalom.”

Junia saw Demetrius watch for her reaction and his eyes swirl with some sort of excitement she wished she could muster herself. So not to dent his enthusiasm, she feigned a cheerful smile. “Shalom, Demetrius. Isn’t it such a beautiful day after all the rain we had last week?”

“Yes, it is.” Demetrius glanced around with a cautious air before lowering his head in a whisper, “ I’ve named a thief!”

At that, Junia stared at him in shock.

Demetrius pierced a stare back at her. “I’ve named a thief. The thief.”

Junia felt a wave of faintness rush over her. In all the weeks she had hoped and believed Demetrius was not the thief, now she was scared to know who it really was. Please let it not be somebody I know… “Who is it?”

“You’ll never believe me,” Demetrius looked away.

Junia waited and silence filled her with dread.

The young man rubbed his chin in a distracted way. “I can’t help who and what I saw. It’s horrible, really. I can’t say it now.” He stared off in a daze, silent, thoughtful.

“Please, Demetrius?” a gulp. “I want to know...and help.”

When Demetrius leaned over to whisper the man’s name, Junia’s hand flew to her mouth. She stared up at him, paralyzed with fear. The words that warned her before now echoed into her ears, The ones you fear sometimes are not to be feared, and the ones you don’t fear are to be feared. Watch him. “Watch him,” she muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Him—you saw him?”

“I was peeking through the bushes when I saw him. He was carrying a bag and walked very slowly, cautiously.”

“I’d say so!” Junia felt her temples throb with an odd pain. “He had to be slow and cautious so nobody would suspect him. Normal thieves run away from their thievery, but he must be better than a professional.”

“He is,” Demetrius glanced away, “a professional.”

Junia felt her heart stop. “Did he see you?”

Demetrius heaved out a sigh. “Not until I had to stand up because of a cramp in my foot, crouching for so long in one place.” He raised his dark eyebrows in exasperation. “That’s when he yelled at me something terrible. I left then. I wasn’t about to listen to him when all this time he’s been accusing me of stealing. I guess he has ‘more evidence’ against me now. Not that it matters.”

“Demetrius, that’s horrible.” Junia cast her watery eyes to the ground, knowing what fate he could have. It was so wrong. So unjust. But she could not help it. Her voice came out in an empty whisper, “What are you going to do?”

“Face the charges.” Demetrius shrugged, narrowing his dark eyes into nowhere. “Submit to the verdict—whatever I’m supposed to do.”

‘Whatever I’m supposed to do’, echoed into Junia. She felt the sun shining inside her fade into nothing. Submit and be cast out, that’s what it will be. This can’t happen! Demetrius is only new to the Faith. He’ll leave for good—if he thinks this mess is all there is to Christianity. God, what have we left undone! But perhaps she could do something. Anything…

“Demetrius.” Junia took a brisk lungful of air to ease her constricting throat. “I can speak to my father. He’s a deacon and he’ll know what to do. He—”

“Wait!” Demetrius raised his hand out as if to stop her words, then quickly lowered his voice. “What will happen if a deacon of the church is exposed as a thief?”

“He’ll be put out of office, of course.”

“I thought as much. And then what?”

“Then if he doesn’t repent, he’ll be cast out for the destruction of his body and the saving of his soul.” Junia felt her throat calm. “I never cared for the man so it would be a...”

“It would be a—what?” Demetrius stared at her oddly.

“A relief.”

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother