Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 45

 

Sacred Scrolls; Chapter 45

© 2021 by Amber Wright

DEATH HAS NO STING

Dyonysius watched the prisoner John speak to the poor, ignorant people of Patmos, irritated at himself for actually listening.

“And the Master said unto us, ‘Go your way and tell what things you have seen’. What you have heard. The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear and the dead are raised.” John then added reverently, “And ‘Blessed is he who shall not be offended in Me’. His words.”

Words, have they any power? Dyonysius cast his frown towards the sun that was slipping into the Aegean Sea, and his eyes narrowed even more. Just like the sun, the body rises and sets. Each day like a person. But somebody will always start some

fantastic belief to rouse people’s emotions and— Suddenly, he was gasping. Pain shot up his right leg from his ankle. He squeezed his neck sideways to look down. A viper lay in a coil by his sandal, its head buried against his foot. Panic made him gasp even more. The liquid of poison was stiffening his foot…his ankle…his shin. Any moment, I die. Taking air, he managed to speak one word. “John?”

~

Time to make bread again, Tiria grumbled to herself as she sat there dully, watching Junia stir the wheat bread dough briskly and little puffs of flour rose from the bowl. She made it look so easy. She grumbled even more, Why is it that everything I do turns out wrong? It's not fair! The dough looked smooth like silk, no lumps in it.

Nika’s hands reached forward into the bowl, the little scamp.

Thankfully, Andronika pulled Nika back before the baby could plunge her dirty fingers into the dough. “No, Nika. Sit still,” her mother told her for the hundredth time that day.

“Still.” Nika echoed her, kicking out her feet and wriggling her dirty toes in the cool evening air. “No.”

Were babies always so dirty? Tiria grumbled silently, taking in what everyone else was doing, sitting there as dull as a razor was sharp. She felt like saying nothing, and that was what she was doing.

“Here, Nika.” Junia spooned out a little ball of dough and handed it to the child. “Play with this.”

Nika grabbed the dough and frowned at the dough squashing between her fingers, “No! Still!”

The girls laughed.

Andronika started to stand. “Maybe I should make her take a nap.”

Nika looked at her mother with blinking black eyelashes and grabbed onto her mother’s chin with dirty, sticky fingers. “No, still.”

Andronika sat down and Nika giggled happily, clapping her hands with every finger oozing with dough.

Junia kneaded the dough vigorously, mixing a reproving frown with a smile. “I’m afraid you’re spoiling her.”

“Yes, I’m afraid.” Andronika shrugged.

“You’re afraid?” Paul stopped skipping and stared at Andronika with blinking black eyes. “But you’re a big girl.” He glanced down at Nika squeezing her dough. “I want a cake!”

“But Paul,” Junia started to protest.

“If she has one, I get one!”

“Here.”

“Thank you,” Paul said meekly and trotted off.

Listening in, Tiria smiled ruefully. How can everything be so normal when...it’s not? Her plastered smile turned into a moody frown as she closed her eyes. But that did not help. It only made her feel more miserable. Polycarp’s face scrolled down her vision—in chains, in prison, in Roman hands, dead perhaps—and her thoughts whirled around in a maddening way. Her own words taunted her, accused her, Saint Paul says to rejoice evermore. She blinked. But I can’t, Lord…sorry.

Tiria bit onto her bottom lip to keep from crying—until it tasted vaguely metallic—until a twinge of blood met her tongue. She swallowed with effort, casting her eyes onto the sinking sun where it was lowering on the horizon over the treetops. Her whirling thoughts melted into one. Could her heart live beyond the next sunrise? Or would she be doomed to live in this frozen nightmare existence?

~

Dyonysius' body heaved and swayed as the prisoner John held him firmly by the waist. Pain and numbness shot up his leg, worsening as each second passed. He would die.

“Sit and rest,” John told him.

Yes, rest into the unknown, Dyonysius fell to the ground, gasping for air. It was all he could do to sit there, the muscles in his back tightening with each breath he took. He heard somebody chopping the viper—the viper which had bitten him and stuck its poison into him. It was too late. The poison was in him—in his veins, in his life, in his heart. Soon he would die and sink into the unknown. Where would he go? Where would his spirit find rest? Would he be a haunt among the countless others who had not found peace before they died? Would his spirit walk the earth, trying to find the peace that every soul thirsted for?

With a blinking red vision, he saw the scaly, chopped up viper beside him. The viper was dead, but it was too late. He would soon be dead as well. His breath broke into strange raspy noises inside his throat. Yes, I’m dying—for certain. He tried to swallow but slobbered instead, his back sliding backwards until he felt his metal armor jar onto the sandy ground.

Voices murmured.

Dyonysius felt his face twist oddly, pain tingling somewhere inside his numbness. His mouth opened and he strangled out a whisper, “John?”

His blinking red vision dimmed into black patches and sunlight faded. Faraway, he heard a hum of voices…himself choking…the rattle of his throat…and sounds grow fainter. His body sank, as if melting into the ground, yet he saw no brownish sand. He could not see; he could not feel; his tongue hardened like a rock, tasteless, dry. Every smell and feeling vanished. Vagueness surrounded him. The voices humming above him died away. Silence covered him like a cloak of dread, and his senses became dead.

Then he felt the touch.

A hand held onto his ankle where the viper had bit him. He lay still, unable to move or think…or actually pray. He cracked his eyes open to see an outline of a man at his feet. A peaceful feeling swept through him as light entered into his eyes, a light so bright it blinded him. Finding vision again, he watched the man in a white robe bend over his feet, a mist-like glow surrounding him. His eyes closed again, too heavy to stay open. Am I dead? I have to be. But where am I—heaven? How can I be when I never believed in God? I never even believed in heaven. Somebody touched his shoulder.

“Dyonysius, arise,” the Voice from the brightness spoke.

Dyonysius forced his eyes open. The hand that had held his ankle was beckoning him to stand. Then, it stretched towards him and gripped his arm. In the man's hand was etched a scar, and from that hand a vein of strength broke across his entire body. His gasping stopped. His numbness ceased. The sharp twinges of pain disappeared and his breath returned to him. “Who are you?”

“You will know Who I am when you hear the words I give My prophet John.”

Prophet? Dyonysius struggled to think from the past. Where had he heard that word? Ancient days. Holy men. Prophets. Israel. The Messiah of the Jews… The bits and pieces of Jewish studies came sweeping through him like a very vivid recollection. Back home in Italy, his family had Jewish slaves. As a youth, he had always listened to the strange tales of one of the old men. From sheer curiosity, he had defended himself. Then he had studied the Jewish religion, Still yet curious. Now the words of the old slave and the Hebrew Sacred Scrolls came back to him, Seek ye me and ye shall live. He struggled to sit up, “Who are you!”

“Do you believe in Me?”

“No, I never have. I don’t know how…”

“Believe and you will live. Can you do this?”

He gulped in reply. Who was this Man?

“Dyonysius! Can you believe?”

“Yes.”

The white robe faded away into the light, vanishing with these words. “Then arise in My Name.”

The white robe disappeared and the blinding light sank into the evening shadows of twilight. He blinked, and blinked again. Who was that Man Who had given him back his life?

John stood over him, peering into his face. “Dyonysius, rise in the name of Jesus Christ!”

Jesus Christ. A smile inched its way across his face. So that was the name of the wearer of the white robe. He had heard it spoken before, and now he had witnessed its power. Dyonysius stood on wobbly legs and looked down at John. Although his breath was weak, his heart was strong and pumping under his armor and red cloak. “Sir, what can I do to be saved?”

“The water is waiting,” John pointed to the stream which emptied into a small pool of drinking water. “The pool will not save you but it will prove to God you have accepted Him. Water symbolizes life, the Water of Life, and those who drink of It shall never thirst again.”

Accept the peace that your soul thirsts for, Dyonsius. Accept the life I have given you this day. Through the death of your old self,

you have found the gift that every man and woman has sought since from the fall of creation. Be free. Free yourself this day.

How could he free himself?

Accept Me.

Dyonysius knew Who was speaking silently to him; he moved forward to the pool and felt his toes tingle in his leather sandals. Feeling replaced the numbness in his body, leaving no trace of muscle spasms. His thoughts were vivid and clear as he spoke back to God. Jesus Christ, You Who raised my life again, I accept You. He glanced up to the purply blue sky, I don’t know how to say it—but please forgive me? Please accept me! Tears rolled onto his cheekbones. He felt unworthy. He had scorned the very One Who had given him life. And yet now, he felt…cleansed. His troubled mind gave way to peace, gratitude, thankfulness, praise—longing to be what he was born for. He stopped before the pool and looked into its sparkling waters of dark liquid. Water of Life, may I never thirst again. He worked his armor and cloak off, and was unlacing his sandals when a girl spoke.

“John,” the girl asked shyly, “will you take me there into the water after him? I want to be God’s too.”

The old man smiled at her and spoke kindly, “All who thirst, let him and her come. Come, thirst no more.”

~

“Eat,” Andronika placed the plate of steaming food right under Tiria’s nose. “If we all let ourselves die when another dies, soon there will be none left of us.”

Tiria glanced up, accusingly, frowning. She had been brooding all morning, not eating, and now it was noonday. Mealtime. A time to eat. But she had not appetite. No, not when… “You take no pity on me!” she snapped in return, then glanced the other way—offended, hurt, in mourning.

Tiria clenched her jaws. Mourning for the dead when he could still be living, that could only be…me! She found her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, feeling the need to feel pain literally to make the inward pain not feel so intense. If only Andronika would go away and leave her to brood. She glanced up to snap at her another time.

“I stood where you stand last year, Tiria.” Andronika told her quietly, her dark eyes misting noticeably.

Tiria winced. She knew the story—perfectly. Must I hear it again?

“But I didn’t just wonder if he was dead.”

Please…don’t pain yourself, Andronika. I know!

“I watched him die. I watched him lower to the earth.” Andronika inhaled a deep breath, her eyes blinking listlessly straight into her face. “And Nika lost her father.”

Tiria swallowed, Maybe I did need to hear it again.

“But can we let our minds remember only the pain?”

Tiria felt her heart jump unexpectedly. She had only few pains compared with Andronika. She had a father and no scars. She had no child to bear the mark of being a sinner. Guilt nagged her insides. She had no reason to brood, or despair…or even cry.

“No, but we live unto Christ.” Andronika smiled as she knelt to give her a hug. “We remember the joy and hope of our salvation.”

Tiria nodded, mutely.

“We remember the good times of life. We smile because death has no sting.”

Tiria nodded again, watching Andronika stand and begin to walk away. Her mind popped open to the thankful present and her voice emerged into a hollow sound, “Andronika?”

Andronika turned to face her. “Yes?”

Tiria struggled to find the right words to thank her and to tell her how grateful she was for the cheering up. But she could only murmur a strange sentence, “Please remember me when you remember the good things of life.”

A Few Greek Words:

Fil'os: friend

Meh'tehr: mother

Pah'tehr: father

Adher'fi: sister

Adher'fos: brother