Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 27

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 27

© 2021 by Amber Wright

THE UPBRAIDING

“These are the facts, Bishop Diotrephes.” Elder John stated firmly yet gently.

From Demetrius’ view, the bishop looked thoughtful as he seemed to weigh the matter carefully in his head…very slowly, as usual.

“Lies—all lies!” Demas stood angrily, balling up his fists tightly at his sides. “Bishop Diotrephes, these are all lies. Don’t believe them.”

The bishop knitted his brows and gave Demas a stern look at his outburst. The deacon looked sheepishly down and sank back into the condemned chair which only a few months before he had been an accuser of that seat. But today was different—with Elder John there.

“Do you have proof of this evidence?” Bishop Diotrephes asked justly as if he had always demanded the proof in such councils.

Elder John nodded, withdrawing the small bags of money with the church’s initials on them. “Here they are.” His voice was grave as he lifted each bag for the bishop to see. “Found in Deacon Demas’ own chamber.”

“Lies, Bishop Diotrephes!” Demas stood up, his face trembling and whitening with rage. “That child of Satan—Demetrius—stole them and had one of his men put them in my house three days ago.”

“Would a man draw a knife on a man just because that man is bringing something to him?” Elder John voiced the question which momentarily silenced Demas.

“Would I return here on my own if I were that thief?” Demetrius now spoke up, knitting his brows, and shook his head at the title that Demas had just given him: child of Satan. “Why would I put the money in your house? If I’d have had the sense, I’d have kept it.”

“Ah, but you were trying to steal it.” Demas did a wicked smile, acting as though he had Demetrius in another trap, ignorant of the fact that he was sinking into the trap he had set himself. “You sent a man to do it, too. Do you admit to that?”

“I do.” Demetrius nodded once, wondering where this was leading.

“Hear, everyone! Demetrius admits that he was trying to steal the church’s money and had sent his man to do it.” Demas looked pleased with himself. “He has been the thief all along. I only managed to get this money back three days ago and he was trying to steal it back again. Demetrius, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into this time!”

“Deacon Demas,” Elder John's voice was stern as he narrowed his white eyebrows. “If you had gotten this money back three days ago as you say you did, why have you not had the audacity to tell anyone about it? Why did you not bring it back to the church? Tell me.”

“I…uh...” Demas reddened, looking angrier by the second. “I didn't remember to, that’s why. I was so startled at having gotten this money into my possession that I simply could not think for the past three days.”

Plucky answer, man who is my father. But Demetrius listened in silence.

Demas turned to the bishop. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.” Bishop Diotrephes said slowly, looking as if he had not a clue to this newly-arisen problem. “But why did you kill a man for trying to steal the money from you, even though it was the church’s money? He would have been punished inevitably.”

“Surely a man as good as you, Bishop Diotrephes,” Demas began smoothly with a sly smile taking shape on his half-sneering face, “could not consider that a crime when it was in the best interests of the church. Wasn’t church property worthy of such measures?”

“But you killed a man.” Elder John spoke up as Bishop Diotrephes seemed at a loss for words. “A human being that God created! Have you no shame as a deacon of this Christian church?”

“Surely a devil such as one of the band,” Demas spit out, “can’t be considered a human being that God created! What has such a trifle as this to mar my good name? I’m a deacon, aren’t I—elected by the church? Aren’t I to be respected and treated more civilly that that brute?”

“To be respected, you must first be respectable.” Elder John stared down the smooth-talker before him.

“Good name? Brute?” Demetrius exploded, echoing Demas’ words with a gaping stare at the condemned man sitting so calmly before him. Then with a half-strangled voice, “You killed my best friend who was trying to save your so-called good name! Now, tell me. Who is the brute, the devil, the child of Satan?”

Demas’ thin white lips trembled and his expression froze. He could not smooth-talk his way through any more. “At least I didn’t spend it and I kept it safe. And I didn’t turn out to be a Robber-Captain like you! At least I kept my name clean.”

“But your hands have been dirtied,” Elder John said solemnly, “for you have stolen the Lord’s money and have laid blame on an innocent human being. Your heart is also dirtied for you have spoken falsely and have led this church into believing a lie. May God have mercy on your poor soul!”

“Your name clean?” Demetrius narrowed his eyes, his voice growing hoarse. “You took my mother when she was only a child. You were a robber yourself until you decided that Christianity was a good thing to hide you from the Emperor where they would never find you.”

“Silence!” Demas’ lips trembled in rage, his eyes beading as stones.

“I will not be silent.” Demetrius took a deep breath to steady his voice. “I’ve been silent for too long. My mother lays in a grave because of you. You said you loved her. You said you’d marry her but you didn’t. You didn’t keep your promises—none of them. And now you want me out of the way to clear your guilty conscience. But it won’t work. Not this time. You won’t put me in a grave.”

“Do you have a witness, Demetrius?” Elder John spoke quietly, looking over at the stilled, white-faced Demas.

“The only witness I have,” Demetrius lowered his head and his voice fell into a raspy whisper, “lies beneath the ground, silenced forever!”

“I need not this council to cast me out.” Demas stood, white-lipped and proudly tilting his head. He added simply, “The gods will bless me.”

At these words, the whole council gasped. Demetrius knew what their thought was: How could they have been so blind to a liar, a traitor, a feigned worker in the church, a reprobate to the Faith? He saw them stare in silence as Demas walked out of the council with a proud, sneering air. Demetrius watched him go through his wet eyelashes. He had no choice. He had to say what there was to say. It was either the Christians’ bad name…or his father’s. Not only time but life was cruel.

He sat there, rubbing his temples, now realizing how tense he had been through the whole council. How his head ached. His mind whirled. How he wished he had not been the reason for a deacon of the Christian church to be exposed. But it was too late. The deacon was gone and not likely ever coming back. He stretched his head forward, trying to shake off that terrible headache.

After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Deacon Junius’ voice. “Demetrius, we will go eat now.”

Demetrius stood with a forced smile. Food sounded pretty good to him just then—now that his slate had been wiped clean and his job had been done, his business in the city. He sighed. But the price it had cost him! At least, it was over. Over for good.

~

The air was light and cool, just right for harvesting. Junia rushed around from kitchen to patio, taking loaf after loaf of bread from the oven and setting them onto the borrowed tables that were spread across the back yard for the big dinner. Borrowed reed-woven chairs stood neatly around each table, making the yard look festive. It was that time of the year again—harvest time.

Junia was putting a loaf of bread on the table when Andronika stopped beside her with a happy grin, little Andronika on her shoulder. Junia patted the baby’s head who was blinking up at her with those inquisitive dark eyes.

“Happy today?” Junia pushed back her damp hair curling around her forehead. “Harvesting always is a happy time!”

“Yes!” Andronika leaned close to whisper into her ear. “Everyone is welcoming me back—including Tiria.”

Junia smiled. Tiria had been jealous of Andronika’s liquid eyes and petite features, and had been furious whenever Nicolas would even speak to Andronika the year before. So Tiria must have indeed changed.

“I think Elder John has something to do with it.” Andronika’s whisper lowered. “Why, one lady even called me a child. Imagine that!”

“Imagine that!” Junia smiled and looked around, content; then, she spoke in a serious tone. “In fact, both of us are still what you call a child.”

“But not quite.” Andronika giggled, changing her baby to her other shoulder. “I’ve been sixteen for quite a while and you’re almost there. By the way, I forgot when your birthday is.”

“This Saturday.” Junia knitted her brows for emphasis. “I don’t know why Judith chose her wedding day to be the same as my birthday—of all the 365 days out of the year! Now I’ll have to share my birthday with her wedding day.”

“That’s not that bad.” Andronika’s grin melted into a thoughtful frown. “Little Andronika shares her birthday with my father’s death.”

“The very night after you would’ve died.” Junia’s voice was quiet, remembering that treacherous night when she had been captured. “Had Marcus not rescued you.”

“For days I wished Marcus had not come in after me.” Andronika sank her gaze onto the brick floor. “It would’ve saved me from such a scar on my life that I shall forever wear.”

Silence fell. The only noises were the voices outside. Junia heard Andronika sniff, slowly sigh, and saw her look up.

“But now I know.” Traces of tears lined the girl's dark-circled eyes. “It wasn’t chance that night. It was God saving me for the life that I would bring into this world—and for the life that He would use, me and my broken pieces.”

“We all go through our broken pieces, Andronika.” Junia gave Andronika a small smile and briskly smoothed the blue veil on her head that was attached by a yellow headband. “Sometimes I wonder if God doesn’t break us on purpose to make us to be exactly what He has planned for us.”

Andronika just stared at her blankly and little Andronika burped twice.

“Sometimes I wonder if He doesn’t allow our hearts to be broken,” Junia poured out her deepest thoughts, “and let us stay broken in our spirits for a season just to perfect our praise. As the Psalmist says, ‘The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise’.”

Andronika nodded and looked as if she felt better that somebody else had their broken pieces, not just her.

“God has taken my broken pieces,” Junia sighed softly, “and has mended them together again.”

Andronika gave her a questioningly look.

“There’s many ways to our broken pieces, Andronika. Many ways. I was full of hate. I couldn’t think of that man without some plan for revenge, and I thought when he was to be exposed that I would be happy. But when I heard about the council and how things turned out, I cried.”

Andronika nodded once, still silent.

“I know it must sound awful to admit, hating like that, but now when I think about him I can begin to know how God felt when He cast Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden. Though he deserved it, I feel sorry for him.”

“I’m sorry to have eavesdropped,” Demetrius stepped from behind them with a small basket of grapes, “but I agree with you, Junia. It is hard for me to know that I was the reason for a man to be cast out of church.”

Junia turned to face him fully. “You weren’t the reason. I was the reason, and I’m sorry for him. I told Elder John, not you.”

“I won’t argue with you, Junia. You're pretty stubborn sometimes,” he set the basket of grapes down onto the table, “when it comes to defending people.”

“When it comes to justice.” Junia smilingly corrected him. “I like proof and not false evidence, that’s all.”

“Here’s some grapes.” Demetrius looked around the busy kitchen where dinner was near complete. “Heart is where the home is.”

“No, home is where the heart is.” Junia breathed in the aroma of fresh grapes and fresh bread, and gave Demetrius a silly smile. “Sorry. I had to have the last word.”

“No, you don’t.” Demetrius shook his head with a grin as he popped a juicy grape into his mouth. “I'm having the last word. It’s…home at last.” He jabbed his index finger straight at her as he whirled around to walk back outside.

Junia felt her mouth fall open in surprise. A faint smile froze at the corners of her mouth. What had he just said? She knew that line would echo to the beat of her heart forever: Home at last.

~

“Quick—quickly now, girls!” Judith’s mother urged them, fixing Judith’s gauzy white veil over her daughter’s thick brown curls up on her head.

“I—I feel as if I should faint.” Judith stammered, her cheeks flushed.

“Don’t. At least not yet, Judith.” Junia sized down her huge smile as she looked in the mirror, fixing her white linen veil attached by a bright blue headband that matched the blue silk threads and beadwork on her dress. “Not until you say ‘I do’, then Rufus can carry you. I don’t feel like a backache today.”

“Junia, I must say, you look like a bride in all that white.” Judith giggled, sounding more relaxed. “Who’s the groom, now? You shouldn’t pull a fast one on me just because my wedding day is your birthday.”

“What!” Junia’s hands palms flew over her face. “There’s plenty of blue on my dress to show that I’m not a bride.”

“Not today.” Andronika put in with a knowing smile as she glanced from Judith to Junia.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Junia feigned ignorance and gave her veil a final pat. “We’d better hurry or you’ll be late for your own wedding, Judith. Come along, my Fil’os!”

“Just an excuse to throw off my question.” Judith gave her a grin, watching her closely as her face grew hot and probably looked very red as it usually did when she felt upset. “They haven’t even started the music. But I’ll shut my mouth or you’ll be fainting.”

Junia fanned herself with a nearby fan and said airily, “It’s just a hot day. That is all.”

“Uh-uhm?” Andronika smirked and raised her brows in question.

“Well, it’s not a cold day.” Junia tried to scrub the telltale red from her cheeks.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother