“Good day, Philip.”
“Good day, friend.” Philip paused, suddenly overtaken by awkwardness. But Daniel continued on, eliminating the need to explain his coming.
“I am grateful to see you here. I prayed long for your safety.”
Philip felt a wave of mingled gratitude and confusion. Why would this man pray for him? It felt unsettling and, of all things, comforting.
For the first time, he realized the truth. He was lonely. And Daniel’s kindness triggered something his embittered heart had not felt since his capture. Something that hinted of peace and the feeling that someone cared for him, humiliated and worthless though he was.
A sudden mist overshadowed his gaze.
What is wrong with you? One day a wrestling champion, the next a sorry sap! Be a man.
Philip lifted his chin, blinking back the irritating mist. “You are too kind, Daniel. That is why I came to see you. I wished to thank you for the goodness you showed me yesterday.”
“It was nothing, Philip. I was pleased to serve you.” Daniel paused, his eyes resting on the metal collar. “So this was your punishment?”
Philip’s cheeks burned. “Yes.”
“I praise God your master was generous.”
“Generous indeed.” Philip spoke sarcastically, the old flash illuminating his eyes. “My master knows I prefer death to dishonor.”
Daniel stood considering him. “Does he know you are here?”
“I do not know or care.”
“Were I not a Christian, I would call you a fool.”
Philip gazed at him. “Why do you not? I would like to see what this God of yours does to those who disobey Him. Would He strike you dead?”
Daniel’s eyes grew absent, a look of distant musing upon his features. “Our God, Philip, is not like the gods of the Romans. He cannot be compared with the deities of all other nations. He is love, not this vindication you speak of.”
Philip leaned on the counter. “And what is love?”
Daniel looked at him, a grave smile hovering above his lips. “Your sarcasm does not do you credit, my friend.”
“I am in earnest, Daniel.” Philip looked steadily at him. “I do not mock you. Your religion is a strange one and I would know more of it. What is love?”
Daniel moved around the marble counter, coming to stand beside Philip. Slowly, his hand found Philip’s shoulder. When he spoke, it was contemplativeness that seemed to hallow his bearded countenance.
“You must sense there is a true love beyond the worship of Venus or you would not ask me so sincerely, Philip. And you are right.” He paused. “Love in its fullest meaning is best described by what our God did for us. He sent His only Son, Jesus the Christ, to die on a Roman cross for our sake.”
“But I don’t understand why. Why should a god die for mortal man?”
“Because we are unholy. Nearly our every action is corrupted by sin, and no man who is a sinner can stand before our holy Jehovah. That is why He sent His Son to die, taking our punishment upon Himself.”
Philip struggled to understand the strange concept. Daniel seemed to see his confusion. The pressure of his hand deepened on his shoulder.
“Take your master as an example. What sort of a man would he be if he had let you go unpunished yesterday?”
Philip felt a wave of angry color wash over his face. What kind of a question was that? Did he imply Marcus had been right?
Daniel clearly noticed his annoyance and hastened on. “No, hear me out, Philip. Whatever his faults, your master is just. He could not overlook your behavior. But, if I had offered to take your punishment upon myself, he could have let you go, knowing that justice was paid.”
Daniel paused a moment. “It is the same way with Jehovah. As the Righteous Judge, He cannot overlook sin. Yet, He could grant us a way of escape by laying our punishment on another. And that is what, in His love, He did.”
Though inwardly irritated Daniel had implied Marcus had been just, Philip brushed away the thought and dwelt on his explanation. But, still, the idea of a deity loving mortal man was too much for his mind.
“And what must one do to receive this sacrifice, Daniel?”
“Nothing. Only true acceptance, Philip.” Daniel’s look grew distant. “As I have heard a dear brother in our faith say, only believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved.”
“Saved from your God’s wrath, you mean?”
“Yes, that, and also saved unto a new life. You become a child of God and are granted fellowship with His Son.”
“Fellowship with God?”
“Yes. More than that, His Spirit dwells within you.”
Philip looked closely at Daniel. “You do not deceive me, I trust. Are you certain these things are true?”
“More than certain.”
“And this is what enables you Christians to face death without fear?”
“Yes.” Daniel looked steadily into Philip’s half-troubled eyes. “God’s Holy Spirit is our Comforter, Philip. When the time comes for death, He gives the peace we need–the peace that passes all human understanding.”
Peace.
The word stood out to Philip like a beacon of hope for a storm-lashed ship. What he would not give for peace, for the joy and confidence these Christians possessed. Like him, they knew grief, but, somehow, their manner of meeting it was so different from his own.
His heart twisted. Impatiently, he struggled against the rising feeling of emotion in his breast. His thoughts were turbulent, more than he could handle. He heard his own voice, low.
“It is truly a religion for the hopeless.”
“And are you not hopeless?”
Daniel’s voice was gentle, but his words cut Philip to the quick. It hurt his pride to realize his own low position. Still, his honest mind would not allow him to lie.
Yes. You are hopeless–hopeless and miserable. There is nothing for you in the way you are going. Your life has no meaning worth speaking of.
But who could tell if the Christians truly could offer him any better hope?
Chapter Eleven
Philip left the bread shop, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled deeply of the warm air. An hour within the bread shop had left him slightly cramped and keen for an aroma other than that of freshly-baked loaves. Still, though the fresh scent of the clean air was refreshing, it seemed strangely heavy, as if the atmosphere was closing in around him.
As he strode away from the shop, he could not shake the feeling that the air was thick and leaden. He felt almost as if someone was following him, but, looking around, he could see no one of suspicion.
A cold chill washed over him.
Why did he feel so strange, so turbulent? He had felt this way once before, right before his first clash with the Romans. It was almost as if, somehow, there was a looming battle.
A battle here in safe Rome? Ridiculous.
But he could not shake the feeling. He could not put aside the thought that, somewhere, a war was raging and he was mysteriously a part of it. But why?
As he walked, Philip lifted his eyes, seeing smoke rising from the Temple of Vesta. Her sacred fire burned day and night, attended by the Vestal Virgins.
Vesta. The goddess of home, the hearth, and family.
Philip paused in contemplation, his eyes drifting over the lazily-rising smoke. He had seen Lady Persis offer Vesta reverent worship, throwing offerings into the hearth-fire to discern her wishes and omens of the future.
The oddity of it struck him as never before. The goddess of family was served by virgins. Not a whole lot of family happening there.
Philip abruptly started, realizing his own thoughts. He doubted the deity of the Roman gods. He mocked them in his mind. And, worse still, he doubted his own forest deities.
The Christians already had a hold on him.
Philip struggled with the rising turbulence in his chest. How was this possible? It had happened so suddenl
y. In one day, he had gone from worshipping his gods and that of his nation’s conquering foes to suddenly doubting their power, their very existence.
His chest swelled. Something tugged at his heartstrings, something more powerful than he had ever felt before. He couldn’t fight it.
The air grew thicker, the atmosphere heavier.
Philip looked around. The milling plebians, the patricians, the slaves–didn’t they feel it too? Why did they look so intent upon their activities, as if nothing was happening?
He broke out into a cold sweat. Fear pounded at his heart, suffocating him.
On one side, he felt darkness, a luring power that urged him to enter any one of the many temples around him and offer a sacrifice of renewed allegiance to the Roman gods.
What were the Christians but sorcerers anyway? They had cast a spell on him. He had to escape it! Instinctively, he sensed if he went to the temple, this strange turbulence would leave him. He would be free.
Or would he? Was it possible this terrible, looming heaviness would increase?
He gives the peace we need–the peace that passes all understanding.
Something like the flicker of torchlight seemed to be piercing the darkness. He felt it. But what darkness? It was the middle of the day; the sun shone high overhead.
What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling, seeing things no one else was?
Philip stepped toward the temple of Vesta. If anyone could help him, she could. Surely she would condescend to look upon the distress of slave. He would offer a sacrifice, pledging himself to her worship.
His steps jerked to a stop. No. He could not go.
He believed.
There was no use in offering a sacrifice to a goddess he knew was nothing more than the figment of a people’s imagination. Vesta was dead. And so was the entire Pantheon.
Light rushed through the darkness shrouding his mind, rending it like a veil. It was as a new dawn, overspreading the sky and banishing darkness forever. The tugging on his heartstrings grew more intense.
He believed.
Philip turned, breaking into a run. Run and don’t stop!
The darkness was gone and the air was light and clean, but he was being followed. This strange, unseen battle wasn’t finished. Someone, something was trying to keep him from returning to Daniel.
His heart pounded against his chest. His eyes roved restlessly, searching for the fastest path back to Daniel’s home. He leaped over fruit baskets, ignoring the angry shouts and amused laughter of the forum’s shoppers.
Run!
Daniel’s humble bread shop rose before him. Panting, breathless, he threw himself against the door, flinging it wide.
Daniel looked up, startled. Then, his eyes warmed, understanding.
He knows.
“Daniel, I believe.” Philip felt the words spill out before he could think. There was no time to wait. He knew it. There was something urgent about his situation. Something was trying to hold him back. And he didn’t like it.
His voice broke a little. “Daniel, I want what you have. I want this Jesus the Christ. I…I need your help.”
“Are you certain?” Daniel moved closer. His face, tanned by the eastern sun and lined around his eyes with hardship, was gravely quiet.
“Yes.”
“Do you understand what our faith rests on?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Philip’s breathing quickened. “I understand your God died to save us from His wrath. I don’t comprehend much beyond that, but I know I want it, Daniel.”
Daniel wiped his flour-covered hands on his short apron. Kindness shone out from his eyes, but Philip sensed a grave hesitance. “Philip, I will not choose my words carefully. It was only yesterday you told me you rejected Christianity. And I do not think you know what you will be giving up.”
“But I–”
Daniel silenced him with a gesture. “You hate your master. As a slave from a conquered people, you also hate Rome. I have seen it, Philip. You want revenge, perhaps even the deaths of your tormentors. These things cannot be in Christianity.”
He paused. “You know already that persecution haunts us. I do not think you fear it. I only warn you, no man who puts his hand to the plow may look back. You cannot put Christianity on and off like a tunic.”
“Nor would I wish to, Daniel.” Philip lifted his chin firmly. “I am not fickle.” Desperation bordered on his tones. “Why do you dissuade me? Am I not worthy?”
“None of us are worthy, Philip.”
“Then why do you hold me back?”
“I have no desire to hold you back.” Daniel looked steadily at Philip. “I would only ask that you be sure. Hate holds you a prisoner, but you must be certain you truly wish to be freed. Only then can I help you.”
Philip struggled within himself, pondering Daniel’s words. Vainly, he fought against the certainty that this Jewish breadmaker was right.
Hate did hold him captive, constantly gnawing at his thoughts, his heart. It washed over him every time he served Marcus, whenever he saw the flashing red cape of a legionary, when he touched the lash mark scoring his arms. He was controlled by hate, even to the point of planning his vengeful future.
He thought back on yesterday. He had wanted to kill Marcus then. A great part of him still wanted to. That was part of what troubled him. Maybe he was fickle.
Hate had caused him to live, but not in the truest sense of the word. He lived unto anger and bitterness. That wasn’t life. Being honest with himself, it was a living death.
And he wanted freedom from its hold.
Philip looked up at Daniel. His eyes misted over, an aching lump rising in his throat. He was ready. Forget his sworn oaths to overcome the Romans, to crush Marcus. He was ready to relinquish this terrible hate and give it all to this Jesus who loved him.
“Daniel, you know I believe. I don’t quite know why, but I do. I can give up hate if this God of love will help me. I want this peace you have spoken of.”
“All which God does, He does for good.” Daniel’s lips lingered over the Jewish proverb, his eyes absent. “He will help you and give you this peace if you ask Him.”
“Then help me, Daniel. Yesterday, you said I must call on Him. How?”
“Pray.” Daniel’s work-lined hands rested on his shoulders, gripping them. “You’ve only to ask Him.”
Philip’s eyes drifted upward. How many times he had looked up at a lifeless statue, flattering it, bargaining with the gods to fulfill his request. Now, however, there were no entrails of an animal to decree his future, no sacrifice to make in return for his demands. There was only quietness and the overwhelming feeling that Someone was listening to him.
Strangely, he never remembered exactly what he said. Looking back, he recalled something about wishing to serve Jesus Christ, about wanting to be freed from hate and bitterness. And, most importantly, he remembered asking for peace.
His first true prayer was no masterpiece, but, as Philip finished, he felt an overwhelming sense of quiet fulfillment. The die had been cast. He was a servant of Jesus Christ. And, come what may, he would be a good one.
Daniel made a gesture if he would embrace him, but Philip was too overwhelmed to respond. His mind felt as if it was spinning, overwhelmed with a plethora of thoughts and questions. One in particular stood out to him.
“What must I do now?”
Daniel laughed unexpectedly, his chuckle rolling through the room. “You are a Briton to the core, Philip. Always eager, always impulsive.”
“I want a purpose, Daniel.” Philip’s tones grew low. “In my country, I obeyed my chieftain, following his commands in peace and war. Now you must be that chieftain. Command me.”
“Jesus Christ is your leader, Philip, not I,” Daniel corrected him gently. “And his command was this: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, soul, mind, and strength; and love thy neighbor as thyself.”
Philip considered him. Slowly, he dropped his eyes, fingering the metal band around h
is neck. “That will not be easy.”
“Because you understand who your neighbor is?”
“Yes.”
“Take heart, my friend. The ones Jesus spoke those words to did not begin to understand. You do.” Daniel paused. “The servant is not above his master, Philip. The first step towards your own peace is in honoring Marcus.”
Philip cringed. “I am beginning to regret I asked you to command me.” He paused, allowing his resolution to return in full force. “I have many questions unanswered, Daniel. There is much I don’t understand about this Christianity. But this I do know: I will do all within my power to please the God who loved me enough to die for me.”
“Then I think you will do well.” Daniel seemed to choose his words carefully. “If you ever need encouragement or help, I am always here. Come to me often, and I will teach you the ways of Jesus Christ.”
“I will come.” Philip stepped forward, attempting to take Daniel’s hands and press them to his forehead in his old tradition. His heart swelled with gratitude. Already, his heart was lighter than it had been in many weeks.
Daniel stopped him with a quiet word. “That is not how we Christians part, Philip.”
He pressed his hands across his chest, then, made the sign of the cross. Slowly, hesitantly, Philip copied him.
With an approving nod, Daniel held open the wooden door. “Go quickly to your master, Philip. And,” he eyed Philip shrewdly, “it would be best if you informed him of your departure next time.”
Philip bent in a half-bow before stepping out. “Servus sum[4], my friend.”
Swiftly, he stepped into the street. Pausing only to wave, he broke into a light run, expertly avoiding all collisions with the milling shoppers.
As he went, he realized that the air was no longer thick. He could breathe freely and the darkness that had haunted him a few minutes ago was gone.
It was confusing, but, at the moment, he didn’t care to consider it. All he knew was the sense of freedom bordering on his heart. Dozens of questions flooded his mind, but he was free.
Yet, somehow, he still sensed that he was being followed. It was not an eerie following as before, but, even still, he cast a glance behind him. No one out of the ordinary was there. There were only the milling shoppers, the rich patricians, the tall columns and shrines of the Forum.
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