Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 39

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 39

© 2021 by Amber Wright

ALPHA AND OMEGA

Sleep filled the flimsy hut as Elder John lay there awake, a faint crash of the Aegean Sea meeting his ears. He could not sleep. Surely a man of my age can sleep like these young men. He glanced around the dimly lit room. They were all asleep—all, but him. A stroll might do me good, and he slipped outside into the warming spring night.

The night was serene and so silent as John's feet padded across the fine sand and broken pieces of rocks left by the miners. He lifted his eyes and the endless black sky was sprinkled with uncountable twinkling stars. A smile spread across his weathered face. God had made the world beautiful, vibrant and free.

“What does man think he is doing to it?” His whisper melted into the breeze as he walked on, thinking how the landscape of God’s creation was being ruined.

True, he knew gems and assorted rocks had been mined throughout the ages, but what would the earth look like after a season? Would it be hulled out, stripped of all beauty? Worse? Would the earth fall apart having no interior rock and hard substance to keep the soil intact? He stopped. The Master had told them heaven and earth would pass away, but His Word shall stand forever. There was nothing to fear. He, John, was sheltered in the Rock Christ Jesus. Let the world fall apart, he should not worry. He would be safe in the arms of God.

The bright moonlight shone down upon John as he walked. His thoughts turned to the work they were secretly doing there, when their labor of mine-work was over for the day. The Sacred Scrolls was being printed by the volumes and Matthias took them to distribute throughout the world, wherever there was a people who had an ear to hear. Already John had shared the Gospel to the little group of poor people outside of the mines and they were begging him for more.

“Yes, God is good.” Wind whistled into his ears and gently blew his garments. “He makes the bad times shout forth praise. He turns our mourning into dancing. He prepares the way, every step.”

John found himself entering the little cave where they hid their writing materials, where they hand-printed the Sacred Scrolls by light of candle. Here in this cave, he prayed and relaxed. Once inside the dank-smelling darkness, his thoughts returned to the earth bound by man. His eyes closed and his lips moved. He prayed for his brethren and his enemies alike. If he could not pray for those who hated him, how would God answer his prayers for his brethren? People must love, forgive, not hate; for those who hated were counted as murderers in the kingdom of heaven. Yes, he even prayed for the Romans.

As John's heart soared into lofty heights of praise to God, a warmness blew against him. Strange and serene was the feeling, yet silent. His breath caught. He knew that feeling for he had felt it before…long, long ago. He listened as it slowly whifftted around the bare rock walls. He grew very still, waiting, hands still up in prayer.

“John.” The Voice was loud and clear, like a trumpet.

John felt his heart pounding in his chest.

“What you see write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches of Asia.”

John turned to the Voice and his gasp echoed against the walls. A brilliant light filled the backside of the cave, forming seven golden candlesticks. In one fleeting moment, John saw the outline of a Man clothed in white complete with golden girdle and white wig as the judges wore to judgment. The Man’s eyes flamed of fire, His feet like fine brass, in His right hand were seven stars and from His mouth came a sharp, two-edged sword. The Man's countenance was as the sun at noonday.

John fell to the ground, as dead.

The Voice spoke again from its glorious brightness. “Fear not. I am Alpha and Omega.”

~

When Demetrius found Elder John gone from the hut, he imagined the worst. Perhaps the Romans executed him in the middle of the night? He was relieved when he and Marcus found him in the little cave, with a stub of a candle lit on the slab of rock where they usually wrote the Sacred Scrolls. Then Elder John had told them. God had showed him a vision of things to come, the secret sins of the churches and about the reward of those who overcame.

Blinking back sleep, Demetrius carefully wrote each word Elder John spoke. Tonight, of all nights, he must concentrate. He could not fail this most important work; not one word must be missing or added to it. He dipped the quill into the ink, The Revelation of Jesus Christ. Each word he wrote gripped his soul and woke him up fully.

A few lines later, he wrote, John to the seven churches which are in Asia: Grace be unto you, and peace from Him which is, and which was, and which is to come... Jesus Christ Who is the faithful witness and the first begotten of the dead, and the Prince of the kings of the earth. Unto Him that loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood...

When Demetrius glanced over at Marcus, who stood in the entrance of the cave as watchman, a prickle of fear started inside him. Suppose Marcus' eyes closed while on watch? Suppose a guard found them out and killed them on spot? Suppose...he had the faith to conquer his fears? He released his worries with a sigh. If God will make a way, God will make a way through the trouble that may come with it. No time to doubt. Elder John was still speaking and he must write those words.

“I, John, who also am your brother and companion in tribulation,” the words flew onto the papyrus, “and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos for the word of God and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.”

Demetrius felt an electricity jar inside him. Patmos. God planned this—this bad time for us—so He could warn His churches, strengthen the weak and cheer the faint. I had to be here to help. God planned this. He felt awed by the fact he was included in this great task. God made me a prisoner so I could write this for Elder John, Marcus for the watchman, fellow-printer of the Sacred Scrolls, and Elder John—for the greatest part of all—to receive the Word of God and this vision. Inside, he trembled excitedly, strangely warm. Why had God chosen him, the worst of sinners, to share this important work with Elder John? The only answer that came to him was, Redemption; for it placed his sins into the sea of forgetfulness and God would remember them no more.

The words of Saint Paul added to his thoughts, Those who are dead in sins are quickened together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus. Together, saved by grace through faith. Not of themselves, it is the gift of God. Not of works, lest any man should boast.

“Unto the angel of the church of Ephesus,” Elder John told him, “write.”

Demetrius briefly closed his eyes, Ephesus and the saints along the Cayster River, Junia and her family. God, please be with them.

~

The light from the end of the tunnel blazed a path for Junia and the girls with her. Sparkling in the sunlight, the stream bubbled impatiently. It supplied them with water to wash their clothes, and fresh water to drink and cook with. She and Julia walked in silence while Tiria rambled on to Judith which name her baby should have.

“I think it should be Cleopas or David, like the king of Israel.”

“But Junia thinks it's going to be a girl.”

“Well then, name her Tiria!”

“I think one is...” Judith glanced sideways at Junia with a smirk.

“Is—what?” Tiria scowled, whether it was a real one or not.

“Enough.”

“Thanks, you make me feel so wonderful about myself!”

Judith laughed.

“How about Junia then? Or can you not handle two of them either?”

“No, I wouldn't.” Judith laughed again, shaking her head. “Junia, you're a dear but...”

“But I'd be just a little too hard to handle if I was your daughter?” Junia laughed along with Judith. “Yes, I'd say one Junia was enough for at least two decades.”

“Then that means your granddaughter will be named Junia, eh?” Tiria grinned, bouncing a little. “I'm calling my grandson Tirius—whether my grown child likes it or not!”

“Why not just have your granddaughter be called Tiria?” Julia piped up, looking a little more at ease with them than she had at the first.

“Well, there's the point.” Tiria giggled out, “I believe I'm a little too...”

The beauty of blinding sunlight poured onto them as they entered into the fresh air of the day outside. Words failed Junia. It was so beautiful, the gushing stream, the mountain peaks in the distance, the soft green grass, rocks poking up everywhere and a few twisted trees framing the landscape. The clear blue, blue sky where the sun shone from.

“I'm too brazen and bold for a girl! That's why he'll have to be a he, Tirius.” Tiria unfolded her arms and flailed them through the air, “This is like heaven out here!”

The sparkles of the gushing stream danced merrily in the morning sunlight.

Junia turned to Julia. “So, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.” Julia smiled, fidgeting with her nose. “And you?”

“Sixteen, same as you.” Junia raised her brows for emphasis. “But sometimes I feel sixty-one, especially when I get headaches from worrying over everyone's problems.”

“But God takes care of the problems. You should rest.”

“I wish it was that easy to let go...” Junia sighed, her words jumbling into thoughts. Can I ever let go of Demetrius? Pain from injustice? Everything?

“Perhaps I can help,” Julia offered quietly.

“Would you?”

“I am willing.”

“Thank you very much. I'm beginning to feel much younger already!” Junia pulled her waterpot from her hip. “I believe after a nice breakfast, I'll be sorted a bit and maybe we could take a walk so I can pour out my woes to you.”

“Gladly,” Julia giggled and sank her waterpot into the rushing stream which quickly filled with water.

“Oh no!” Tiria sounded like she was dying, squealing away.

Panic rose in Junia's throat. With a yank to her waterpot, she searched the stream until she located Tiria downstream, quite alive and not drowning in the least. Her heart thudded to a stop. That girl! She turned back to filling her waterpot.

~

“What’s wrong, Tiria?” Nicolas asked her with a chuckle, part of the man-group that was guarding the females in case there were Romans lurking around.

“I caught a fish!” Tiria frowned at the fish splashing around in her waterpot. It could only be me!

“Good job. Pass it over.”

“But it might bite me!” Tiria snapped, moody beyond measure.

“I wish I could catch fish that easy,” Tarsus peered into the splashing waterpot, making Tiria feel like a good human again.

“Fish for breakfast sounds good, Tiria.” Noah walked over to her and her quaking waterpot.

“B-but—in our drinking water?” Tiria wrinkled up her face, pushing the waterpot towards Noah. “If you would be so kind as to take the fish, I would be grateful.”

“What a catch!” Noah grinned at the fish the size of his hand.

Tiria felt droplets of fishy-smelling water blink onto her face and she jumped back, knocking into Tarsus' face. Her insides flipped. Was she constantly to be a cyclone?

“I do apologize.” Tiria absently dumped the fishy-smelling water from her waterpot, drenching the skirt of her robe. Next thing she knew, the waterpot was rolling towards the stream. She sank onto a boulder, flattening her palms against her face. “What a morning! And it hasn't even started.”

“Here's your waterpot, filled.” Polycarp handed it to her with a flat smile, as if it pained him to do so.

“What a dear!” Tiria ignored the morbid way he smiled—at least he was finally smiling. Suddenly, she felt her face flame. “I mean, thank you, Fil'os!”

Polycarp's flat smile lingered in her vision as he walked away. Still in mourning, dear me! What must I do? Tiria chewed on her knuckle, in deep thought; then, she found Junia watching her as if reading her thoughts. “What?”

“Why don't you be a good dear and cheer him up? You-know-who.”

“How?” Her whine sounded too tragic for her own liking. Bristle up, Tiria! Whining—that's not something Tirius would do. She felt a chuckle coming on, talking to herself about her future grandson like this. What she did not think of!

“How you usually do,” was Junia's instant reply.

“But I've got to change.”

“I thought you had.” Junia stared at her as if she was in the middle of telling a lie or had just confessed to one.

“I mean, I have to change this drenching robe!” Tiria stood on sticky legs, her moods skyrocketing. She had to leave now before she said something she shouldn't.

“Right, go on then.”

“Right, here I go!” Tiria faked a cheerful grin. “Cheerful for the cheerful.”

They shared a giggle. Polycarp was anything but cheerful—now, at least. He was still in mourning over Dorcus, his dead betrothed. But there was always tomorrow to try to cheer him up. She, Tiria, would count on that—the tomorrow that was full of promise. She broke into a smile as she entered the darkish tunnel that led to the huts to change out of her wet robe. Yes, the cheerless life can be quite cheerful when one sets their... She concentrated on finding a suitable word, “Waterpot onto it and catch a fish!”

Her breath trapped, realizing she had said those words out loud. There was Polycarp, walking ahead of her, hearing it all. Enraged with embarrassment, Tiria rushed past him and pummeled herself mentally for her stupidity. Polycarp would never talk to her ever again, she was that stupid. She heard a groan escape her, and her feet began to fly.

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother