My Enemy, My Love (Truly Yours Digital Editions)

by Darlene Mindrup

  From the prophecies of Micah, Beker quoted, “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are small among the clans of Judah, out of you will come for me one who will rule over Israel, whose origins are from old, from ancient times.”

  Barak shivered at the power of the words. Someone today, but also from ancient times? How could this be so?

  “Was not this Jesus from Nazareth?”

  Beker smiled. “This is true, but he was born in Bethlehem at the time of the census during Quirinius’s time. It’s a matter of public record.”

  “Who were his parents?”

  Leaning back against the stone of the hillside, Beker studied Barak thoughtfully before he answered. “His mother was a woman named Mary.” He paused. “His father was Jehovah.”

  Barak rose swiftly to his feet. “That’s impossible! You sound like the Romans with their half-gods.”

  “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: the virgin will be with child and will give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.”

  Barak recognized Isaiah’s prophecy. Immanuel. God with us. How was it possible?

  “But he died,” Barak told him flatly.

  Beker nodded, tears in his eyes. “This was foretold, also. The Jews want land and power. The Lord wants souls. Jesus wanted His people.” Beker gazed off into the distance. “When He was a child, Jesus was brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. His earthly father was a carpenter, as was Jesus Himself, an occupation of no little worth. Yet He gave it all up and died with only the robe that He wore.”

  “Then where is the power?” Barak demanded angrily.

  Beker’s eyes came back to his and Barak felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. “He rose again. There have been over five hundred witnesses to this fact. People who saw Him hang on the tree also saw Him later as He walked among them.” His voice grew soft. “I was one of them.”

  Barak turned in surprise and stared down at the old man. Surely the man had truly lost all reason.

  Beker’s eyes lifted to his, and Barak saw nothing but the shine of truth. He seated himself again, slowly.

  “There are those alive who can tell you this now, myself included, and perhaps we can convince you. But in the future we will all be dead and there will be no one to vow to the truth of His Resurrection. It will have to be believed here,” he pointed to his head, “and here,” he pointed to his heart, “and accepted on faith alone.”

  Barak shook his head. “It is hard to believe.”

  “You believe in Moses. Have you ever seen him?”

  No. He had not. Why, exactly, did he believe in a man who had lived so long ago? There were his writings, of course. Those same writings that spoke of the Messiah to come.

  The afternoon was waning, but still Barak could not bring himself to leave.

  “Tell me more.”

  Beker complied. “Isaiah told us that He would be ‘despised and rejected by men.’ I think you can see the significance of that statement in relationship to Jesus. King David himself predicted that He would be betrayed by a friend. Jesus’ friend, Judas Iscariot, not only fulfilled that prophecy, but one by Zechariah as well. ‘So they paid me thirty pieces of silver.’ ”

  “This Judas,” Barak asked. “He knew that Jesus was the Son of God?”

  Beker nodded, lifting a blade of grass and beginning to chew on it.

  There were no words to express his anger over such perfidy. Barak glared at the old man, but held his tongue. Son of God or no, to be betrayed by a friend was the foulest of circumstances.

  “Isaiah told us that ‘he was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.’ ”

  “I remember that now,” Barak told him, his heart beating faster. “Uncle Simon spoke of the man Jesus and how He refused to speak in His defense except to declare that He was the Son of God.”

  “There are other pieces of scripture,” Beker told him. “He ‘was numbered with the transgressors,’ He ‘did not hide my face from mocking,’ ‘they have pierced my hands and my feet.’ So many Scriptures, if we would only open our eyes.”

  Could it possibly be true? “If the Messiah’s mission was not to free our people, then what was it?”

  “Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed.”

  “The sacrificial lamb,” Barak murmured.

  “It is as you say,” Beker agreed.

  Barak watched the sky take on a purple hue, orange streaks blazoned across its surface.

  “It’s getting late. I must go.”

  Beker said nothing.

  Barak rose to his feet, but smiled down at the old man. “You have given me much to think on, old man.”

  Beker nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “Be careful, young Barak. Seek out the truth, but know that in doing so you will find many enemies. The Lord Jesus Himself said, ‘I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law—a man’s enemies will be the members of his own household.’ ”

  “The prophet Micah said this,” Barak told him, and Beker dipped his head in agreement.

  “Surely, if we know the Scriptures and can see that they are true, others will listen.”

  Beker smiled sadly. “First, they must open their hearts.”

  “I have never known Uncle Simon to run from the truth.”

  “Your truth, or his?”

  Barak had no answer. He said his good-byes and retreated down the hill, his mind more confused than ever. He had to know the truth, and there was only one way to find out. He must return to Jerusalem.

  ❧

  “We have found Amman.”

  The words struck terror to Anna’s heart. She clutched her tunic, her eyes flying to her father.

  “Is he. . .”

  “He is alive, but barely. It would seem that those he owed money to couldn’t wait for their pound of flesh.”

  Anna shivered. “What do we do now?”

  “With Amman out of the way, you are free again.” He took a seat on the couch across from her. “Perhaps you can regain some of the sparkle you are missing, hmm?”

  Anna felt the color climb to her cheeks. It was not the threat of Amman that had her feeling as though the world had ended. Truth be told, she had scarce given the man a thought the past few weeks.

  “Bithnia will be coming for you in two days. I have sent her word.”

  Jerking her head up, she stared at her father in surprise. “There is no need.”

  “There is every need,” he argued. “You have become a shallow shadow of yourself lately. I think you need to get away. To forget.”

  She knew he understood, for he had never forgotten her mother. His love had remained true all these years, as Anna knew hers would be for Barak. There was something intransigent in the bond that had been formed between them, something she couldn’t define.

  “It’s not so easy, is it, Father?”

  He got up from his seat and crossed to her side, sitting down next to her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he leaned back among the cushions, hugging her close. Anna nestled close to him, tears not far from the surface. For the first time, she understood his pain.

  “My little girl,” he murmured softly. “If only there were something I could do for you. Some way to relieve your hurt.”

  “What of Amman?”

  He hesitated a moment, then shrugging his shoulders, he told her, “I didn’t want to worry you further. They do not expect Amman to last the night.”

  She supposed she should be glad, but Anna realized that God loved Amman as much as anyone else. Jesus had died for him as well as for Anna. Her heart felt heavy as she realized that she had mi
ssed a golden opportunity to witness to the Arab. Perhaps she could have won him to the Lord.

  “I will pray for him.”

  Tirinus turned to her in surprise. “Pray for him?”

  She lifted her face from his shoulder and nodded. “God loves Amman, Father. I have forgotten this.”

  Tirinus shook his head. “I don’t see how Jehovah could love such a creature.”

  “He is Amman’s Father, as well as ours.” Her eyes twinkled up at him. “Would you love me any less if I were not an obedient daughter?”

  He tweaked her nose. “Perhaps. Who knows?”

  Anna knew. The love in her father’s eyes was so strong, she doubted anything could remove it.

  Pushing her to her feet, he commanded, “Get ready to return to Jerusalem. I am sending Emnon with you.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “I will not take any more chances with your safety.”

  “As you wish.”

  Tirinus watched her walk away and sighed. Life had been so much simpler when she was but a child. Now that she had grown into a woman, he knew his life would never be the same. Someday Barak would return to claim her, and he would lose her forever. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the morning. The same magnetism that had flowed between Tirinus and his wife now flowed between his daughter and the Jew. Nothing could stand in the way of such a powerful love.

  He would send her back to Jerusalem until that time, but he would miss her as though a part of him were gone. It had always been this way.

  Sighing again, he went in search of Emnon.

  ❧

  “Uncle Simon, I wish to return to Jerusalem for Shavuot.”

  Simon lifted his head from where he sat mulling over the accounts of the grain harvest. His eyebrows went upward.

  “What of your mother?”

  “I have hired a village girl to look after her. It’s just for a few weeks.” Barak dropped into the seat across from him. The lamps had been lit against the fast falling darkness, and Barak studied his uncle through the smoke drifting in the room.

  Simon leaned back in his seat, watching Barak intently. “You have not been yourself since returning from Sychar. Does this desire to visit Jerusalem again so soon have anything to do with that?”

  For a moment, Barak was tempted to lie. But only for a moment.

  “I intend to seek news of the Messiah. I wish to find out, once and for all, if this Jesus could possibly have been Him.”

  Simon’s face took on the hue of a thundercloud as he glared across at his nephew. “Don’t be ridiculous. The man was a fraud.”

  Barak leaned forward. “How can you be so certain?”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he? A dead man cannot rule on the throne of David.”

  “There is no throne of David!” Barak argued hotly.

  “There will be again,” his uncle answered, his voice lacking conviction.

  “I have to know, Uncle Simon. I have to be certain.”

  Simon rose to his feet, flipping the chair back in his anger. “No! Even Saul of Tarsus was taken in by these miscreants, and he was far more zealous than you.”

  “I’m going.”

  There was the same inflexible tone in his voice that he had used in dealing with Ahaz and Miriam about their marriage. The breach it had caused between Simon and his friend was only now beginning to heal. Still, he knew his nephew, and there would be no stopping him.

  “Go, then. But know this. If you return here spouting some nonsense about this Jesus having been the Messiah, I will disown you before everyone. You will have nothing.”

  “Nothing but the truth,” Barak refuted and saw his uncle’s face darken further.

  “Remember what I said,” he spat, turning back to his table.

  Barak retrieved his uncle’s overturned chair and set it beside the table. “I will remember.”

  As he passed through the door, he saw Adonijah waiting for him.

  “I’m going with you.”

  Barak shook his head negatively. “I need you to stay with Mother.”

  “I have to go,” Adonijah argued, and Barak saw the same determination in his friend’s eyes that he knew dwelt in his own.

  A long look passed between them, a message sent and a message received. Barak nodded.

  “Get your things.”

  Twelve

  Once again the streets of Jerusalem were crowded with Jews who had made the pilgrimage for Shavuot, the Feast of Weeks. The babble of voices grew louder as Anna and Pisgah neared the Temple area. For Anna, it held bittersweet memories, and she felt the ache in her heart that was never far away.

  As she did any time she walked the streets of Jerusalem, she found herself searching for a familiar face among the crowd. It was futile, she knew, but somehow she was unable to control her wandering eyes. Or the way her heart would increase its pace when she saw someone who closely resembled Barak. The pain of disappointment was always as sharp each time she was proved wrong.

  As she ambled along in the warm afternoon sun, Pisgah fluttered along at her side, full of enthusiasm and excitement.

  “Look, Anna. The Temple is crowded today.” She wrinkled her nose impishly. “Should we go inside? At least to the Court of Gentiles?”

  Anna shook her head. “Not today, Pisgah. Some other time.”

  “Oh, please,” she begged. “We never did get to go the last time you were here.” She closed her mouth suddenly, her eyes full of contrition. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. That couldn’t have been a happy time for you.”

  Anna didn’t answer. Was it an unhappy experience? In many ways, yes, but she wouldn’t have missed the chance to know Barak for all the gold in Jerusalem. It was better to have known love than to have married and never known what love could be.

  A huge crowd spilled over from the Court of Gentiles past the outside gates and beyond. People were trying to move forward to get a better look at what was inside.

  Curious, Anna and Pisgah crossed the street and tried to move closer to the gate. Jostled by the seething crowd, Anna wrinkled her nose at the smell of unwashed bodies. Above the chatter of voices, they heard one lone voice, strong and clear.

  Anna asked a woman standing near, “What is happening?”

  The woman’s face was full of eagerness. “The apostle Paul is speaking to the crowd. He is telling them of Jesus and how He fulfilled the prophecies of the Messiah.”

  Anna felt a little thrill of fear. The apostle Peter had been arrested only a short time ago for preaching the same message. King Herod Agrippa had had the apostle James slain with a sword and threatened the same with Peter. Only a miracle of God had saved him.

  Since King Herod’s death, the new procurator, Cuspius Fadus, hadn’t bothered with the Christian community, but the worry was always there.

  Still, to hear the apostle Paul himself would be worth the risk.

  “Can you see anything?” Pisgah asked, craning her head for a better view.

  “No.”

  Frustrated, Anna tried to hear the voice and its message. She could hear the voice, but the words were still indistinct.

  The murmur of the crowd grew into an angry babble as devout Jews argued with Paul. The multitude was divided in its opinion of the apostle. Many believed his message, many did not.

  As the mob of people began to take sides, a riot threatened to break out. Anna could hear Paul’s voice begging for attention, but the crowd was in a frenzy.

  Anna felt a firm hand latch on to her arm.

  “Come,” Emnon ordered, beginning to pull her from the crowded area.

  “Wait!”

  Emnon was firm in his refusal. “I have orders from your father to see that nothing happens to you. Soon, there will be a riot and Roman guards will come. You come with me now.”

  He hurried her away from the Temple and back toward the market street, Pisgah running to keep up with them. Anna was almost out of breath when Emnon stopped.

  “You sh
ould be safe here,” he told her, glancing down at her gloomy face. His mouth tilted up into a rare smile. “It was for your own good. Yours and Mistress Pisgah’s.”

  Anna sighed. “I know, Emnon. But I hoped to get a chance to hear the apostle Paul.”

  “Another time, perhaps.”

  Would there ever be such a time again? Anna felt frustrated at this missed opportunity. The trio wandered around the merchant booths, but much of the pleasure was ruined for Anna. Even Pisgah seemed more subdued, and by mutual consent they agreed to return to Aunt Bithnia’s villa.

  As they were crossing the street to return to the Upper City, Anna stopped, her heart suddenly lodging in her throat.

  There coming from the Temple area was Barak, and close by his side was Adonijah. They were deep in discussion with each other and failed to notice anyone around them.

  For a moment, Anna was tempted to call out to him, but then she rebuked herself for such a foolish thought. Still, she watched the two until they were out of sight. Barak’s tall form had regained some of its color and she knew it must be because of days spent in harvesting the grain. He looked healthy again, more handsome than ever, and Anna praised God for his healing.

  Pisgah had not missed the direction of her cousin’s look and knew the reason for the longing in Anna’s eyes. She laid an understanding hand on her cousin’s arm, silently offering her sympathy.

  “Let’s go home,” Anna whispered.

  ❧

  Barak strode along with Adonijah by his side. “Do you believe what he says?”

  Adonijah shrugged. “I’m not certain. There is still much that needs to be investigated.”

  Nodding, Barak told him, “I agree. How do we go about it?”

  A group of Roman soldiers hurried in the direction they had just come from. For a moment both men stopped to watch, then turned and proceeded on their way.

  “Trouble,” Adonijah suggested.

  Barak agreed, but his mind was not on the soldiers. Instead, it was on the man they had just heard speak—Saul of Tarsus, now known throughout the Roman realm as Paul. “To hear the man speak. . .there is power in his words.”

  “He believes what he says, that’s for certain. But how do we go about searching out the truth?”