The Advocate

by Randy Singer

  When the leaders had finished distributing the bread, Andronicus took a cup of wine. “When he drank the wine after the Passover meal, Jesus said, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.’”

  Andronicus took a sip of the wine and then nodded at Junia. She stood in front of him and shared a drink from the same cup while others lined up.

  Theophilus took his place in line with Flavia and Mansuetus. When it was his turn, he looked into the eyes of Andronicus, a man who had actually seen the risen Christ.

  Nero’s threat seemed far away. Theophilus’s fellow believers were close, and Jesus was even closer.

  He watched Flavia close her eyes as she drank, letting it all sink in. Mansuetus looked as serious as Theophilus had ever seen him.

  It took three or four cups, but when everyone had finished, Andronicus closed the ceremony with a prayer. Only then did he turn it over to Theophilus so that the host could tell the others about the new danger from the emperor.

  Without mentioning Seneca’s name, Theophilus explained that several followers of the Way had already been arrested and were prepared to testify falsely against the rest of the believers. Theophilus told everyone that he would help defend them if they were charged.

  The entire room was silent for a few minutes after Theophilus finished. Eventually, those who had been believers the longest stood up to share their experiences. The stories were different, but the themes were always the same. Christ had suffered. His disciples had suffered as well. Now it was their turn to stand strong in the faith. A few shared their own stories of being thrown into prison for nothing more than believing in Christ.

  “We should not fear an emperor who can only harm our bodies,” Priscilla said. “We should only fear the one who has authority over both body and soul.”

  Theophilus gained strength from this time of sharing. He had expected that they would all discuss strategies for protecting themselves and their families. Instead, person after person talked about the will of God and their belief that God could deliver them if he chose to do so. If not, they were prepared to suffer for their faith.

  Somebody’s remarks brought to mind what Paul had said in his letter. It had been an exhibit in Paul’s trial and Theophilus had kept it. He quietly instructed Mansuetus to retrieve the scroll from his study. Within a few minutes, Mansuetus returned.

  As host, Theophilus had the last word that night. He told the others about his role in the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. Twice he choked up and had to regain his composure before he continued. Procula was nodding along. Everyone listened intently as Theophilus described the suffering and passion of Jesus.

  He ended by taking the scroll that contained a copy of Paul’s letter to the believers in Rome and read his favorite passages.

  “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. . . .

  “What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? . . .

  “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? . . . No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

  When Theophilus finished, there was hardly a dry eye in the room. He closed the scroll and handed it back to Mansuetus. The believers sang a hymn, and because it was late, the other leaders stayed for the night.

  CHAPTER 93

  They left at three in the morning. Mansuetus made it clear to his father that he was not happy. He saw this as running from danger. “How can you read Paul’s words about God’s love and protection like you did last night and then send me off to Greece?” he asked.

  But for Theophilus, the matter was not open for discussion. He and Flavia were of the same accord. There were those who were called to stay in Rome and face the wrath of Nero. Others were called to spread the faith to the rest of the empire.

  It had been a quiet but tearful farewell when Mansuetus said good-bye to his mother. The two of them had always connected at the heart, and at times Theophilus envied that relationship. He was his son’s teacher and disciplinarian. His job was to mold Mansuetus into a man. But Flavia had always been much closer. She and Mansuetus had a comfortable and jocular relationship—as much friends in the last few years as mother and son.

  Mansuetus had held his mother for a long time while she cried quietly on his shoulder. He tousled her hair, kissed her on the forehead, and told her how much he loved her. She pursed her lips and nodded, unable to speak.

  Neither Mansuetus nor Theophilus looked back as they rode away. Theophilus knew it was one of the hardest things his son had ever done.

  An hour into the ride, Theophilus began to talk about his time in Greece as a boy. The School of Molon had given him confidence and purpose. He told Mansuetus about the strenuous physical training and the voice exercises by the Aegean Sea.

  “Until I married your mother, those were the best days of my life.”

  For most of the ride, Mansuetus didn’t talk much. It was apparently his way of protesting the decision to send him away. But in the last hour or so, he admitted he was nervous about being on his own. He had never known life outside Rome. More important, he didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to Theophilus and Flavia.

  Theophilus kept his chin up, his tone positive. He told Mansuetus how proud he was of the man he had become. Mansuetus had been the first to embrace the faith that now sustained the entire family. God had given him gifts of leadership and intelligence and passion. Those things would be needed for this new movement of faith. But Mansuetus also needed to be trained in rhetoric, and no place could do it better than the School of Molon.

  The two of them arrived at the port of Ostia an hour before dawn. Theophilus gave his son a large portion of the money the family had so carefully saved from his wages as an advocate and then a teacher.

  Mansuetus appeared shocked by the amount. “What are you and Mother going to do?” he asked.

  “There’s more where this came from,” Theophilus said casually. How much more, his son didn’t need to know. Living in Greece and attending the School of Molon was not cheap. Mansuetus would need almost everything the family had saved.

  While father and son waited, watching the workers load the ship on which Mansuetus would sail, Theophilus decided it was time for a story. It was something he had heard a few weeks ago as the Jewish believers talked about the Hebrew Scriptures. It was the story of a famous Hebrew prophet named Elijah and his young protégé, Elisha. Before Elijah was to depart and be taken up to heaven, he asked Elisha a question: “What can I do for you before I am taken?”

  Elisha’s reply was that he wanted a double portion of Elijah’s spirit. Elijah told his young disciple that if he saw Elijah when the old prophet was taken away, a double portion of Elijah’s spirit would stay with Elisha.

  Theophilus explained how Elisha was indeed there when his mentor was taken up to heaven. Elijah left behind his cloak and Elisha picked it up. He then struck the waters of the Jordan, and the waters parted just as they had with Elijah. And that was only the start of the miracles done by Elisha, miracles that were far greater than those of his mentor.

  “God has favored me, Mansuetus,” Theophilus said. “He has allowed me to be part of some of the greatest trials in the history of the Roman Empire. But I believe he has greater things in store for you.”
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  He gazed at his son, his heart swelling with pride. Then he took his sleeveless cloak out of his bag and handed it to Mansuetus.

  “It gets cold in Rhodes at night,” Theophilus said.

  Mansuetus took the cloak in his hands, his eyes moistening. Theophilus placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and prayed that God would do greater things in his son’s life than God had done in his own life.

  When Theophilus finished praying, both of them sat in silence for a few moments, watching as the rising sun at their backs shimmered on the sea before them. Theophilus thought about his own hasty departure from Rome nearly forty years earlier and the adventures that had awaited him in Greece. Mansuetus would take that school by storm.

  But before his son boarded the ship, there was one more thing Theophilus wanted him to have. He took out the most precious possessions he owned—the copies of the two manuscripts written by Luke—and put them in Mansuetus’s bag.

  “Guard these with your life,” Theophilus said. “And let your life be guarded by the words in these books.”

  Mansuetus stared at his father, his jaw set. He nodded, and Theophilus knew the manuscripts couldn’t be in better hands.

  “I love you, Father,” Mansuetus said.

  “I love you too, Son.”

  They embraced and fought back the tears. Theophilus watched his son walk onto the ship and had a horrible feeling he would never see him again. He remembered what Luke had written about the baptism of Jesus, how a voice had filled the air after Jesus came up out of the water. “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”

  That was the way Theophilus felt at that moment. He sat down on a stone and observed the final preparations for the voyage. He watched the ship sail away until it became a dot on the horizon. Then he tied Mansuetus’s riderless horse to his own, mounted his tired animal, and wept as he headed home.

  CHAPTER 94

  Theophilus took his time on the way home. He stopped at an inn for breakfast and watered the horses. He wasn’t anxious to get back to the suffocating chaos that had overtaken his house.

  By the time he hit the rolling hills near his estate, it was early afternoon, and the sun was bearing down. The horses’ hooves kicked up dust, and Theophilus was parched. The grain fields of the neighboring estates were brown from the late summer heat. He crested a hill and looked out to the horizon, where he could see his estate about a half mile away.

  His heart caught in his throat. There was smoke drifting into the sky.

  He kicked his horse into a trot and squinted into the distance. Had the place caught fire while he was gone? He rode quickly around a curve and crested another long hill, aghast at the horror that lay before him. White and black smoke billowed from the next hill over—his house and fields seemingly on fire. He unhooked Mansuetus’s horse and spurred his own into a gallop—past the statues at the entrance gate and down the long path lined with grapevines, through the orchard and onto his property.

  Fire had destroyed everything.

  He dismounted a few hundred feet from his home and stepped through fields that were still smoldering, small pockets of flame and smoke scattered everywhere. His sandals burned from the heat.

  He ran up to the portico and gaped at the rubble before him. All of the wood from the house had been reduced to ashes and soot. Concrete statues had been tipped over and smashed. Portions of the house were still standing, sturdy stones that had only blackened in the blaze. But the entire roof had caved in, and large sections of his house were nothing more than a smoldering heap of charred remains.

  “Flavia!”

  No answer.

  “Flavia!”

  He walked around the exterior, trying not to burn his feet. He screamed his wife’s name and the names of the others who had been staying at his house. He found a long pole and tried to move some of the materials in search of charred bodies.

  “Flavia!”

  He searched frantically, pushing debris aside with the pole. He found no one.

  Everything Theophilus owned had gone up in flames. His books. His clothes. The furniture and utensils in the house. Everything a total loss.

  He returned to the front of the property and retrieved his horse. Panicked, he rode to a neighbor’s house where he learned the awful truth. The Praetorian Guard had arrived right after dawn. They had arrested everyone and torched the house before they left. They had told the neighbors to stay away.

  His neighbor, a friend for the last several years, had at one time risen to the rank of tribunus in the Roman legions, fighting distinguished campaigns in Germania and Britannia. He gave Theophilus a sword, along with his own breastplate, belt, and a new pair of sandals to replace the damaged ones Theophilus was wearing. He insisted that Theophilus take his horse and eat something before he left.

  Theophilus refused the food, drank a glass of wine, mounted the horse, and headed for Rome. He had no idea what he would do when he got there.

  They were waiting for him.

  As Theophilus neared the city, spurring his horse as fast as she would go, he ran into four members of the Praetorian Guard. Theophilus reined his horse to a stop.

  “It took you long enough,” the commander said.

  “Where’s my wife?”

  “She’s been charged with arson.”

  Theophilus hadn’t slept the entire night. He was exhausted, not processing things very quickly. He sized up his options. They were trained soldiers. Four against one. But he was furious and willing to die if he could only rescue Flavia.

  “What are you doing with that sword, graybeard?” one of the soldiers sneered.

  “Somebody burned down my house and kidnapped my wife. I’ve come to set her free.”

  Too late, Theophilus heard hoofbeats behind him. He turned and saw another half-dozen guards coming down the road. They brought their horses to a halt and blocked his path of retreat.

  “Toss your sword on the ground,” the commander in front of him said. “I understand you’ve got a reputation as one of Rome’s best advocates. You won’t be able to help your wife if you’re dead.”

  “Will you take me to see her?”

  “Throw down your sword!”

  The soldiers all drew their own swords. Behind Theophilus, an archer strung his bow. The commander was right—Theophilus couldn’t help Flavia if he was dead.

  Furious, he pulled out his own sword and speared it, tip first, into the ground.

  “Dismount the horse,” the commander ordered.

  Theophilus obeyed, dismounting slowly, staring at the soldiers the entire time. When his feet hit the ground, the soldiers quickly dismounted and swarmed over him, shackling his wrists together so they could lead him off to prison. “What am I being charged with?” Theophilus asked.

  “Arson. Setting fire to the city of Rome.”

  Anger clouded his thoughts as the soldiers pushed him along the road. They seemed to find great enjoyment in parading him through the city.

  Theophilus kept his head up, determined to act like the innocent man he was. Parts of the city were still ash heaps, while other areas had been cleared so new construction could start. Thousands of slaves stirred up dust and ashes. It seemed everyone was covered in a thin layer of black soot.

  The guards walked Theophilus through the ruins of the Forum and past the burned skeleton of the temple of Vesta. At the foot of the Palatine Hill, they threw him into a dungeon with about thirty other prisoners.

  Andronicus and Junia were there, calm and reassuring. This wasn’t the first time they had been imprisoned. Epenetus and Priscilla were in the cell as well.

  Theophilus asked if anyone knew what had happened to Flavia. The others explained that about five hundred soldiers had shown up at Theophilus’s house right after dawn and arrested everyone. Two men had resisted and were killed on the spot. Their bodies were dragged inside the house before the soldiers started the fire.

  Flavia had fought back and had been overpowered, though nobody
knew where she was being held. The soldiers had given the prisoners in this cell no information about the evidence against them or when they might stand trial.

  The cell had no windows and no light except a single torch that flickered on one of the walls. The floor and walls were made of stone. The place was damp, and it stank.

  “What do you think will happen?” Priscilla asked Theophilus.

  “They’ll put us on trial. They’ve probably got witnesses who will say they saw us start the fires.”

  The others had lots of questions about how the trials might work, and Theophilus did his best to explain the process. But after a while it became obvious that the more they talked about the possible arson trials, the more everyone began to worry. It was Junia who changed the whole tone of the conversation.

  “I think we ought to pray,” she said. “God can take care of the trials.”

  For the next two hours, the believers prayed as they had never prayed before.

  CHAPTER 95

  The torch flickered and went out during the night, leaving Theophilus and the other prisoners in total darkness. Early the next morning, two soldiers walked into the cell, and light came streaming through the door. Theophilus squinted while his eyes tried to adjust. The soldiers pointed to a young woman named Julia, who had been separated from her two children when she was arrested.

  “Come with us.”

  They jerked her to her feet, and Andronicus rose as well. He began praying loudly for Julia’s safety.

  “Shut up, old man,” one of the soldiers said. He pushed Andronicus in the chest, forcing him back against a wall. Angered, Theophilus stood, as did a few other men. But a hard look from the guards kept them at bay. Julia sobbed as they led her away.

  The prisoners sang hymns and prayed while she was gone. A few hours later they brought Julia back and threw her on the floor. Her limbs were dislocated and she could no longer stand. Her face showed the shock and horror she had been through, her eyes vacant and distant.