Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 34

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 34

© 2021 by Amber Wright

A NEW TIRIA

“How do you feel now, my young Fil’os?” John asked her in his gentle, caring way.

Julia scooted up on her pillows on the couch and fixed her eyes onto the kind old John who had raised her from the dead, her parents told her. “Stronger. I can never thank you enough.”

“Thank God,” John’s blue eyes crinkled around the edges as he looked at her warmly. “He is the One Who brought life into you. Thank Him for He is life.”

Julia stared at him. This man with white hair would take no praise. The God he talked about must be very great, very real. Who was this Jesus he gave all the tribute to? “Can you tell me more about the Man called Jesus? You say He raised the dead and healed the sick. What did He look like?”

She wanted to know and “see” this Man in her vision, to know what type of Man He was. He must have been very strong and tall—the type of the great conquerors throughout time. She waited for John to speak.

“He was about your size but with brown hair.”

Julia blinked her surprise away, and continued to watch John. His faraway look turned into a thoughtful expression, as if his memory was shaping into words themselves. She swallowed softly, quietly as she could, straining to hear his every word.

“His voice was quiet but when He spoke,” John made the words real to her, “creation listened. Every power of darkness faded, vanished. When He spoke, demons cried. Poor men heard their Master, their Prince of Peace.”

Prince of Peace, Julia felt the words still her fears of tomorrow where dangerous rulers dominated the world and ruthless armies plundered the weak. How l long for beautiful peace upon earth. Have I found my answer…to a new life?

~

“Polycarp is worrying me,” Tiria told her in a confiding whisper. “Just look at him! He looks so sad.”

“Wouldn’t you be sad if your betrothed just died?” Junia frowned into the pot of lentils over the fire as she stirred. Its smell wafted into her nostrils, taunting her and causing her stomach to rumble with hunger. She faced Tiria. “Well? Wouldn't you be sad, too?”

“Maybe a little,” Tiria adverted her eyes, giving the wheat cakes another flip on the flat stone. “But Saint Paul says to ‘rejoice evermore’.”

“Maybe you should try cheering him up then.”

“I doubt that’ll do any good. After all, I am such a silly girl. He wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

Junia paused. Confident, vain Tiria acting insecure? This was new. She had always thought that Tiria was so confident and vain about herself, never for a moment thinking that somebody did not wish to talk to her. But Junia had been wrong. Yes, very wrong. Tiria fooled me. I thought she was rude when, her thoughts grew even quieter, she probably needed my encouragement. Oh, why didn’t I notice!

Junia gave Tiria a sincere, warm smile. “I’m sure he would want to talk to you. After all, you’re such a talkative girl who has very interesting conversations. Try him.”

Tiria’s dusky blue eyes lit up and her mouth curled into a small smile. “Are these done, you think?”

Junia inspected the round, golden-brown wheat cakes, and nodded. Tiria’s family had always had servants, another reason why Tiria may have been so smug. She knew nothing about cooking, cleaning or haggling at the market. And so she must have always felt handicapped, Junia summed up, chewing on her lip in regret. I never even gave her a chance. She began to think up a way to mend the past—with Tiria.

“Junia,” Andronika walked over to them with a screaming Nika. “Where’s our mothers? I can’t make Nika stop crying, and I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“She’s teething,” Junia smiled. “Don’t forget, I’ve had five babies to grow up with. My sisters’ and my brother’s children.”

“But what do I do?”

“Ask our mothers,” Junia giggled. “I think they’re in the back of the cavern, repacking our dried things.”

Andronika hurried off, trying to hush Nika all the while.

“I have a lot to learn, still.” Junia sighed. Probing deep into herself, she realized. She knew so little. Would she ever be wise—truly wise?

“Of course,” Tiria chirped and scooped up all of her wheat cakes onto a wooden plate. “We all do, especially two 16 year-olds. Now, are we eating or not?”

“I want one!” Paul’s little hand reached out for a scorching hot wheat cake.

Tiria stepped back, just in time. “No, Paul, it’s hot!”

“But you said we eat now!” Paul pouted.

Junia listened to Tiria and 3 year-old Paul argue, and stifled a laugh. Paul could be so demanding—and Tiria never gave in. So there they stood, toe to toe.

“But I want one!”

“You can't!”

“But could I have one if I was Nicolas?” Paul suddenly grinned.

“No!” Tiria’s face flamed into a brilliant red.

Paul trotted back to Junia, shaking his black curls. “She said no.”

“Soon it will be time to eat,” Junia gave the top of his head a kiss. “Now, will you help your cousin Eunice carry the bowls to the table?”

Paul nodded obediently, and trotted off to help her.

After they had eaten, they gathered their belongings. Here comes my backache once again, Junia flexed her back with a groan. Last night they had taken shelter in a drafty, cold cave at the base of the mountains. Today they would begin their climb to the warm huts of the shepherds high in the mountains. She hoped her back would not ache as much as it had so far. Carrying two large baskets was heavier than she had ever imagined.

Junia inhaled a deep breath, slowly let it out. The mountain air smelled so fresh compared to the dankness of the dripping cave they had come out of. She felt better already. Her feet were less achy against the grass instead of on the hard rock floor. Her thoughts soared along with her rising spirits. What will today hold? Are the Romans still killing, burning, destroying? No, I shall not think about that. Not when the sky is so blue—so spacious, high and beautiful. A smile made its way into her worry creased face.

“I told you there’s always reason to rejoice!” Tiria sniffed the air deeply, closing her eyes. “Here’s proof.”

“Of course, the shepherds.” Junia grinned.

Tiria’s eyes popped open with a confused blink.

Junia grew confused herself. “Well, isn’t it because of them?”

“I would have said yes to that twenty-four hours ago.” Tiria smiled, yet a sober expression made her look older, wiser, more stable-minded. “But now, the answer is no. Last night changed me.”

Junia saw a blur of black cross her vision but thought nothing of it. Is this really and truly Tiria?

“Last night as I packed to flee,” Tiria had this deep look to her eyes, “God changed me forever. He gave me life and I...” Her eyes grew watery.

Junia watched Tiria swallow a few times with eyes adverted. Wonders never cease.

“Last night, I gave God back my life because,” Tiria's voice was husky, “I realized I had left Him far behind. I didn't love Him, truly I didn't. I thought I did—but I didn't,” her words ended bitterly. She twisted her nose, blinked a few times. She looked so broken.

If we could only be honest with ourselves like Tiria, Junia felt a lump form in her throat. So honest. Junia, do you really love God? Well enough to give up every desire to fulfill His Plan for you? The lump in her throat grew larger. Her thoughts paused when Tiria spoke again.

“But now I love Him. I love Him because He first loved me.”

Time seemed to fade into endless space as Junia heard these words pierce into her soul. Yes, she would love Him. Enough to give up every desire to fulfill His Plan for her. He knew the Way as much as she did not. I love Him because He first loved me, her heart began to sing, dance—once more. The night that had held her bound for so many endless months began to evaporate. Darkness had met its climax. The dawn was breaking within her.

“Thank you, Tiria, for reminding me.” Junia squeezed her friend's shoulders. “It's hard to remember. I'm learning—every day.”

Tiria's eyes shone gratitude. Their friendship had returned. They had had their battles but now God's amazing grace had washed away their sins—their contempt for each other. Now they were free indeed, forgiven and facing the new day.

Junia humbly cleared her throat. “To love God first is most important, yes. But the second is, love your neighbor as yourself, Tiria. I failed,” her voice broke and she felt so empty inside. “I failed you, Tiria. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Tiria's jaw dropped, her eyes watering with tears. “Junia, please no. I failed, not you.”

Junia hugged her. “Let's be friends. Real friends?”

“Let's.” Tiria briskly brushed her tears away, her voice turning into a husky whisper. “Now, don't tell anybody I've been crying.”

“I won't.” Junia flexed her back, feeling the ache and weight of the baskets hanging onto her shoulders like millstones. “I feel a second backache coming on. I agreed to hold Nika part of the way up.”

“We'll split. She's such a cute thing—I love her to bits! But she needs to start walking. Yes, even at seven months old!”

They shared a laugh.

Where were the others? Junia gasped. They had lagged too far behind now. And what was that noise she was hearing now that things were quiet? “We'd better hurry and catch up with the others before—”

“The Romans get you!” a voice hissed behind her.

Junia felt her heart jerk away, little gasps coming from her throat. “You!”

Nicolas only laughed. “I just wanted to scare you—and I see it worked.”

“Not hardly!” Tiria lifted her chin despite her shaking voice. “You only startled me. Where did the others go?”

“Somewhere,” Nicolas grinned mysteriously, then he pointed ahead.

Junia saw a flash of white. Paul was skipping between everyone, making a stir she could tell from that distance. Paul, she mentally shook her head.

~

Lucius squinted in the burning sunlight as the barge drifted down the Tiber River into the port of Rome, Italy. The beat of drums and uneasiness rolled into his ears as slaves with looped ears swarmed through his vision. Behind him were memories of ashes and death; before him lay the dark night of uncertainty. The sun may have been burning down upon him but inside him the sun had set when his mother had whispered those last words. When she had taken her final breath.

Lucius squinted even harder.

Yesterday would never return. But why did he feel so wasted, so empty? Life held no meaning for him now, only to find Elder John. Perhaps help him escape. It was the only thing he lived for. He gripped the rails of the barge as tightly as fear gripped his hammering heart. Had he been too late? Was Elder John already dead? If so, his mother's words would burn into him forever for he would had failed everyone, including his mother—the one he loved best. Yes, he bitterly stared into the blur of activity of the port, I loved her more than God. She dried my tears, not Him. She kissed away my hurt, not Him. Yes, I loved her—and He took her away! He stifled a bitter sob. Would life ever hold meaning for him ever again?

More drum beats.

Lucius looked up in time to see a procession of soldiers marching down a street near the port. They marched with a white-haired male captive in between them. His heart stopped. Is the captive Elder John? Please no, God! If You loved my mother— Even his words stopped. God would not care about his prayers, would He? He, Lucius, was a complete failure. The ache in his heart grew deeper, stronger, more painful. It was no use for him to continue his search. Something in him told him the old man captive was Elder John. His thoughts raged within him. The next thing he knew, his feet were jarring against the bottom of the barge. They had reached port.

The landing was abrupt, quickly over. Lucius vaguely felt his sandals move along the wooden gangplank and he entered Rome, capital of the great Roman empire where the treacherous emperor breathed and executed his treacheries. He pushed his way through the crowd and his right hand clung to his purse at his side. All the money he and his mother had ever had was in that bag.

Lucius moved his feet in the direction of the procession of soldiers with the old man, shoving his way through people of all shapes and sizes. Every face looked the same as the next, a blur of citizens and slaves alike. The air was thick with dust. He tilted his head forward to avoid the glare of the sun and its rays burned onto the back of his neck. He dripped with sweat, stifling hot. He squinted to keep the trampled up dust from blinding him, and he could see no sky. Large temples, statues, tents, market stalls and buildings were everywhere. How do I find my way—in this place so dense? He felt his feet flying through the air.

Lucius landed on the ground with a thud. He was choking on a mouthful of bitter dust when he heard the little voice speak.

“Why did you do that?”

Lucius stared at the crutches laying beside him, then looked up to where the voice still insisted he had knocked him down on purpose. The voice belonged to a little boy with a big scowl and a twisted foot.

Lucius attempted to smile but ended in another swallow. “I'm sorry.”

The little boy only scowled harder.

Lucius pointed to the crutches, not knowing what else to say, “Do you use those?”

“Yes!” The boy snapped and sat up straighter on the ground. “And you made me fall! Who are you?”

A little spy? Lucius narrowed his eyes and was on the verge of a panic. Can I trust him? His common sense returned as he eyed the crutches again. He was only a little boy—a little crippled boy, at that. The Romans had a superstition about lame children. He mustered up a smile in spite of the circumstance. “Lucius. What's your name?”

“I'm Eli and I'm six years old,” Eli said importantly, sticking out a grubby-looking hand for him to shake.

Lucius nearly choked on a laugh this time. Here he was, sitting stupidly on a dusty street in Rome, Italy with people milling around him, meeting a little cripple boy—on his way to find Elder John. Life was such a tangle. “Nice to meet you, Eli.”

Lucius stood, helped the little cripple boy to his feet and safely onto his crutches again. The little boy beamed up at him, clearly forgiving him.

“Now that we're friends,” Eli hobbled along on his crutches which kicked little rounds of dust behind him, “I'll lead you around.”

“Thank you,” Lucius had no choice but to say.

His thoughts jumbled and one thought surfaced higher than the rest, Lead me to Elder John, boy, and I will thank you forever. He inhaled a deep breath, forgetting the dust, and stifled yet another choking fit. He followed Eli, a frown etching into his face. Who was this little cripple boy and where would his journey end?

~

“At least they dumped us into the same hole,” was Demetrius’ grim welcome.

Marcus watched Demetrius closely, wondering how badly the Romans had treated his friend so far. The once fierce robber captain looked haggard, in pain, with dark circles around his eyes which gave him an even harder stare. The hard life had caught up with Demetrius.

“Good to see you, Fil'os.”

“At least you’re alive,” Marcus winced as his tunic pulled away from the dried blood sticking to his back. “Junia was worried about you. Begged me to go find you, and I've found you.”

A dark look crossed Demetrius' face. “How is she?”

“She’s doing fine,” Marcus watched Demetrius’ eyes wince so he added, “But she misses you.”

Both fell silent.

Miners hammers filled the stagnant air, cracking against the stone which they mined from. The mines of Patmos were even more severe than Marcus had imagined. But he was here, and so was Demetrius. They must withstand the island—or perish.

Demetrius slammed his hammer against the rock. “Marcus?”

Marcus stopped his hammer, chisel midair, beads of sweat forming under his squinted eyes as the sun burned upon him. Already the tops of his shoulders were red with welts. “Yes?”

“Don't you wish you could undo your whole life,” Demetrius' voice cracked, “and start over?”

“We have started over, Demetrius.” Marcus reminded him, pounding his hammer onto the rock again.

“But if I could only undo!” Demetrius slammed his hammer against the rock even harder. Pieces of rock crumbled beneath his tool. “If only I could undo everything.”

“You wouldn't have met Junia...or Elder John.”

Demetrius' throat twitched oddly as he twisted his head from him. “You haven't heard then?”

“Heard what?” The sun beating down on his head turned to ice. Marcus stood there, staring at the chisel in his hand, a lump of frozen flesh.

“Elder John has been taken to Rome for execution,” Demetrius spat the words out bitterly. “The Christians are being hunted down, killed, burned alive—maybe even Junia, the rest.”

Marcus stared. Elder John, to be executed? The Christians being killed, burned alive? Nothing made sense. Was he even alive? He felt dead, watching Demetrius ramming his hammer against the rock wall as if striking the Romans who had shattered their world apart. What if Junia is dead? Demetrius will never forgive himself—even if he wasn't there to protect her and help her escape.

“I thought you knew,” Demetrius indented the pause with another blow to the shattering rock. “Didn’t you?”

“No, I didn't know.” Marcus' thoughts circled inside him, No God, not them. Please? They didn't deserve to die. Snippets of memories with his friends entered his mind.

“I thought…” Demetrius stopped hammering. “If I had not met them all this would not have happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Marcus forced the words out through a pinched throat. “The Plan—happens.” Believe, Marcus. It is your only hope...in this death-like existence.

Demetrius grabbed his filled basket of rock and began to walk away, looking more stormy than Marcus had ever seen him.

“Demetrius?”

Demetrius did not reply.

An ache filled Marcus. If Junia is dead, then so is Andronika…and the rest of them. He beat his hammer against the rock wall, a silent scream filling him. Why do the innocent have to die and the guilty man live? My God, how…! Words failed him so he chipped away at the rock, its sound piercing the air and waking him back to reality. The words he told Demetrius repeated itself into his awakening brain, The Plan—happens.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother