Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 13

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 13

© 2021 by Amber Wright

PILLAR OF INJUSTICE

Demetrius felt shock cover his entire face. Had Junia really said that having Deacon Demas out of the way would be a relief to her? He would and could not blame her—but he had not expected to hear this from her. He turned the subject to more importance. “But what would happen if the people of this city found out that a deacon of a Christian church was a thief? What then?”

“I don’t know.” Junia sounded unsure.

“This can’t happen. I won’t do this to you all.”

“W-what?”

“I’ll take the blame.” Demetrius sounded more sure than he felt. “I can’t let this city think evil of a Christian church.”

“But what will you do?”

“I’ll be the thief,” he said in a final tone.

“No, Demetrius!” Junia’s face paled, her eyes taking on a look of panic. “You can’t take the blame of a crime you did not do. The real thief must be the thief—whatever may happen. Please don’t. Please?”

Demetrius could not let her begging words sway him—not if he wanted to protect her and the Christian church’s reputation. “I’ll plead guilty to the charges. I’ll accept the verdict.”

“No! Don’t plead guilty.” Her words were muffled with a sniffle. “Tell them the truth.”

The truth. Pain filled him knowing what he must do. For her. For them. For God. It must be done.

“Tell them you are innocent because you are.”

“Nobody else thinks I‘m innocent.” His left eye flinched and the scene before him focused onto the people milling about them. “No one but you believes in me. Why do you think I’m innocent?”

He fixed his gaze upon her, waiting for her answer. He watched her swallow and raise her eyes boldly.

“Because I trust you, Demetrius.”

Inside, he could not number the beats of his heart. She trusted him. He had never known such gratitude as this, to be trusted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a wetness drip onto his cheekbones, and sank his gaze to the dirt street. “Thank you, Junia. Shalom.”

“Shalom, Demetrius.” Junia called after him as he began to walk away. “Remember, I trust you.”

~

“Take him away,” a man’s voice ordered within a thick mist of gray and darkness. “Do what I have commanded. Carry out my orders.”

Junia blindly stumbled forward, trying to locate the man who had spoken. She felt the gray mist thicken about her as she moved her feet along. After what seemed like forever, she reached the platform that looked Roman and yet somehow not. Instead of the brassy eagle of Rome mounted on each side of the seat, a charred black cross leaned against one armrest. She lifted her eyes; then, she saw the face of the man who had spoken. “Bishop Diotrephes!”

At Junia’s gasp, the bishop glanced down at her with expressionless eyes from his lofty throne.

The scene passed.

Junia found herself at a public whipping pillar where a young man stood bare from his waist up and tied by his wrists. A man began to whip him. She could only imagine the pain the young man was enduring. The whirring sound that came from the whip sent a chill up her spine for she knew there was nothing she could do—then.

Junia stepped closer to the whipping pillar. As her eyes focused, words began forming onto the handle of the whip: Hate. False Witness. Pride. Jealousy. Lies. Gossip. Lover of Unbelief. Deceit. Love of Money.

She blinked, realizing the darkness and gray mists had rolled back for her eyes had seen the truth in that place of confusion. Then she knew. The words on the whip’s handle, the charred cross on the platform and the gray throne were only symbols. A mystery to others; an answer for her. Some people used religion for personal gain, still black-hearted inside and lost forever.

Junia looked back to the beating. The whip tore shreds of skin from the young man’s back as blood emerged from his welted flesh. She winced, glancing away, and looked up. There engraved in bold letters on the pillar just above the prisoner’s head was one word: Injustice.

Then she did what she must do.

“No! Don’t do this evil. Please?” Junia heard her scream echo into the empty spaces of air. “Injustice! You will be—”

She felt a hand push her forward roughly and a man bark, “Let the deed be done, you weak-minded female!”

The next thing Junia knew, mud flattened against her face where she had been thrown. In the middle of raising herself from the ground, she came eye-level with the feet of the prisoner. She stared, her heart beating strangely. Little scars lined the tops of his feet—scars, she knew, that had been made at the house of his friends. Her stomach knotted.

“Jesus?” Junia grabbed onto those scarred feet, a volcano of horror erupting inside her. “Jesus, what are they doing to You?”

“Inasmuch as they have done unto the least of My brethren,” His voice spoke sadly from above, “they have done it unto Me.”

“No, God!” Junia screamed as she gripped those feet tighter, her heart made of flesh and not of stone. “They can’t do this. They can’t!”

“Look into the face of this prisoner.”

Junia stood on trembling legs, raised her eyes to look into the prisoner’s face…and her mouth went a cracked dry. “Demetrius?”

Demetrius turned his eyes to her with a look of total pain and rejection. He inched his head upwards in a nod. Then, it fell back onto the pillar, his dark hair blackening with sweat and vibrating as each lash pounded against his back from the whip.

Junia stood there, watched his head flop onto the side of the pillar and his body sag by the ropes attached to him. Her eyes widened. Had he fainted or…?

“He is dead,” the man who held the whip said simply, sounding pleased with himself.

Junia’s eyes shot to the man holding the whip and her voice strangled out, “Demas…how could you? Murderer!”

“It is not the first time he has murdered,” a voice spoke from above. “Look on that hill. See what he has done.”

Junia looked and saw a man twisted in agony on a cross atop a hill nearby, and her voice cracked with astonishment. “But Jesus was crucified over sixty years ago.”

“Have not I said that you crucify Me afresh by the sins you trespass?” His voice spoke with a sternness yet still gentle. “You put Me to open shame when you use the whip of Satan with all his deeds written on it. My child, love one another as I have loved you.”

…The morning sun shone into the room as Junia heard the words echo in her ears, “My child, love one another as I have loved you.”

She sat up and rubbed the wetness from her eyes. It had only been a dream, but the meaning of it was clear to her as the vividness of the scenes imprinted into her mind. The beating of injustice, Satan’s whip, and the Son of God being beat and put to open shame again.

“Lord,” Junia prayed softly as she pulled her robe over her plain white tunic. “Remind me of Your sacrifice and the pain You took for me all my days…lest I forget and become like those who have no hope.” She sniffed. “Like those who kill the spirit, steal hope from man, leave empty hands unfilled. Like the unjust who break away our peace in You.”

A breeze floated into the room, drying her tears.

She combed through her hair, “I don’t want to put You to open shame. Please, Jesus, be my strength for I have none of my own.” She closed her eyes with force. This would be the hardest part to pray. “And give me love for the murderer…please.”

When Junia opened her eyes, she felt peace sink deep into her soul and soothe her troubled spirit. Although she did not know what the future held, she was prepared for the worst for God had warned her in a dream. She would hope for the best—no matter what troubles lay ahead of her. Her faith in God would see her through.

~

Later that week, Junia was returning from the market when she saw a gaudy figure walking down the street towards her. The girl with a silky brown braid wore a sleeveless red silk robe, decked in flashing jewels around her neck and wrists and ankles.

As the girl came closer, Junia gasped. “Andronika!”

Andronika looked up with a startled, frozen stare and began pulling up her shamefully low neckline.

“Hello, my Fil’os.”

“Junia,” the girl’s voice threaded with misery, “I have come to the end of my journey—it’s no use. Thank you for being my friend in my lowly hour but I can’t be good any longer. I’m lost forever!”

“Andronika, don’t say that!” Junia stared at those pain-filled eyes before her. “You’re not lost forever. You can still come back. Jesus cares for you…and so do I.”

“I have had the verdict, Junia.”

Junia stilled. What can she possibly mean—the verdict?

“I tried to come back but they wouldn’t let me.”

“Who didn’t let you?” Worry gripped her, ‘They wouldn’t let me.’ Who and why? Junia swallowed, fearing the answer of who.

“The church council.” Andronika said bitterly as she narrowed her dark eyes into nowhere. “They said I am lost forever and that my child will never be saved when it’s born. They said it’s no use for me to come back—even if I was savable—because my baby would never be saved.”

“Oh, Andronika!” Junia blinked back the tears that were blurring her vision. “If Elder John was here, he’d say no such thing!”

Andronika stared back at her with dark-circled eyes, motionless, mournful, as if dead inside.

“It was evil fate that brought you to this position, but that doesn’t mean you’re unsavable.”

Andronika lowered her eyes to the ground.

“No man—and I mean no man—has any right to say that. The Apostle Peter had the keys to the Kingdom and yet he denied Jesus not once but three times.”

She saw Andronika brighten a fraction, and Junia went on. “After the resurrection, Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. Jesus is forgiveness. Peter knew better. Andronika, it was weakness that he yielded to the temptation.”

“Weakness?” Andronika looked up at Junia with dazed eyes, holding onto her bulging stomach with a grimace. “Ah weakness, the curse of women. The curse of the human race! The curse why we live in sin and shame to this very day—from our weak mother of humankind, Eve!”

“Andronika.” Junia took her friend by one shoulder to calm her and firmly told her in a kind voice, “But that curse was taken away when God chose a virgin—a woman, Andronika—to give birth to the Son of Righteousness. It may have been a woman that brought forth the curse, but it was also through a woman that brought forth the blessing.”

Andronika nodded, did a little sigh.

Junia dropped her hand. “God used Mary’s womb for His great plan of redemption to bring into this world that Child Who was the Deliverer of the human race—Emmanuel Who came to save us from our weakness.”

When Andronika remained silent, Junia added, “So you see, we may be a part of the curse from Eve but we’re also a part of the blessing from Mary. It’s up to us to choose, the curse or the blessing. Don’t lose hope, Andronika. Be a part of the blessing.”

Andronika was beginning to look a little hopeful when Junia saw the girl’s eyes harden again. As she turned to see who or what Andronika was looking at, a man clamped his hand on her wrist.

“Partaking with an adulterer, Junia!”

The man’s growl sounded familiar as she turned to face him. There he stood with narrowed eyes, the little mouse with ears of keyholes and eyes of stone. Deacon Demas.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother