Empire's End

by JERRY JENKINS

  Only one cloak remained at my feet, and when I stooped and draped it over my arm I found it blood-soaked and it stuck to my sleeve.

  “Sir!” I called, and the man turned.

  The cacophony had ceased, all others had vanished, and now it was just the two of us in the punishing heat of day. I had to shield my eyes, not against the unforgiving sun but rather the severe glow of his countenance. The man seemed to look upon me with compassion, and when he reached for the gory cloak, I tried to keep it from him. Despite my objections he peeled it from my arm and pulled it on over his pristine tunic.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, throat constricted. “Forgive me.”

  “I do not charge you with this sin,” he said.

  With a gentle smile, he straightened and smoothed the blood-caked cloak, then carefully lay at my feet, crossed his hands over his chest, and closed his eyes.

  “No!” I howled, falling to my knees over him. “No, Stephanos! No!”

  I was suddenly awakened in the darkness by the wails of a little boy, the snorts of an old man, and the frightened murmurings of a woman.

  “It’s all right, Corydon!” Taryn whispered urgently. “He’s just having a bad dream.”

  I found myself on all fours, sobbing.

  “Check on him, Father. He said ‘Stephanos.’”

  “Surely not.”

  “He did!”

  I coughed and cleared my throat as I heard the old man groan, rising.

  “Forgive me, please!” I said. “All is well. It was just a dream. I am so sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “You scared me, Master Paul!” Corydon said.

  “I’m sorry, little one.”

  “Do you need anything?” Taryn said. “Water?”

  “I’m fine. Just embarrassed. Please pardon me.”

  I heard a whap on the wall of the tent and Nadav’s tense voice. “Everything all right here?”

  “We’re fine, son,” Alastor said. “Thank you. What of the night?”

  “Nearly fourth watch, sir.”

  About two and a half hours later I awoke from a sound sleep—thankfully with no more incidents—covered against the chilly predawn. What roused me now was Taryn again quietly placing a light breakfast out for me, this time a cluster of plump grapes, a bowl of roasted grain, a warmed piece of flatbread, and a cup of water.

  In the faintest light from the other side of the curtain where she had apparently lit a small lamp, I noticed she had not bothered to apply her veil. That touched me, because while it was common for a woman to eschew her veil in her own home before her family, this meant she had already accepted me, if not as family at least as familiar. I assumed I had won this consideration by the kindnesses I had shown Corydon.

  I also noticed she didn’t rush from my presence though she knew I was awake. I thanked her for the food as I raised up on my elbow to reach for the grapes. She knelt beyond the small table. “You so appreciated the roast grain, and there was a bit left.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, careful not to scare her away. “And again, so sorry about disturbing you in the night.”

  “Think nothing more of that. But are you aware of what you said?”

  “What I said?”

  “Excuse me, but I couldn’t make out much, and I know it was just a dream. But you clearly said ‘Stephanos.’”

  Fortunately I had just filled my mouth, which gave me time to think. I held up a finger and took a sip of water. “I know that is—was your husband’s name. Your father mentioned it yesterday. It must have stayed in my mind.”

  “I see,” she said, rising. “Just curious. Do you need anything else?”

  I shook my head. “You have been more than kind.”

  “It’s nothing, sir.”

  Suddenly I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. Eager as I was to commune again with the Lord, I did not look forward to the walk across the desert or the short, treacherous climb.

  Given the new proximity of my sleeping quarters to where Taryn labored most of the day, plus the implicit permission she had given by not fleeing from my presence, I arranged the cup and bowl on the table and carried it outside. Setting it near the tent wall on the other side of her work area, I quietly announced it was there. To my delight she quickly opened the flap and thanked me, actually smiling.

  I couldn’t pretend I didn’t detect pain and grief in her eyes still, but her panic in my presence seemed to have abated. How I prayed her Stephanos and Stephen the Martyr were two entirely different people. If they were not, how would I ever bring myself to tell her?

  Few outside the Sanhedrin knew my role in that stoning.

  I had known nothing of Stephen beyond what I considered his blasphemy. I could not have told you whether he was married or had a family, and now I hoped that he had not. Hoped was not even the word for it. Had anyone been in the crowd to support him that day, I would have known of it. Even fellow members of The Way had fled when it became obvious what was to become of him. Of course they had their own loved ones to think of.

  Now as I hiked across the Arabian sands again, I had to wonder whether it was possible God would meet me at the same place in the wilderness every day and teach me the unsearchable riches of His Son, yet not tell me that He might have sent me nearly a thousand miles to sleep within feet of the widow of the very martyr I had put to death.

  It couldn’t be!

  And I didn’t dare ask. It seemed so obvious He would tell me. Surely this woman’s husband was only coincidentally named the same and from the same region. Surely.

  Facedown before the Lord on the plateau, I emptied myself of all distractions save that one—which I found impossible. I wanted to ask, nay, I wanted to demand. But who was I to question the creator God? The woman who had immediately enchanted me with her shyness and grace—then her beauty and elegance—until that very morning had done all she could to avoid me. Now, captivated as I had been, I knew I should be evading her, just when she finally seemed to be softening.

  The nightmare had been such a close call. I would have to watch every word I said while awake, and hope I didn’t blurt out anything again in my sleep. What would she and her father think? What would Corydon make of it? I could not shun him! That would be entirely unfair and impossible to explain.

  Again, I worked to put it all out of my mind and concentrate on what God had for me that day. I was amazed at my capacity to be diverted from the import of such a privilege. Would anyone else be able to think of anything but the prospect of communing with God? Yet here I was worrying about a slight possibility and its ramifications, just when the Lord Himself was to speak to me.

  I lay before Him, face buried in the crook of my arm, vainly trying to rid myself of anything but openness to His voice, and I was miserable. All because of an old man’s utterance of one word, one name: Stephanos.

  I was desperate not to do anything to cause the Lord’s silence again, but this was not the result of anything I had said or done. I was powerless to control my response to it. The more I tried to separate myself from the bonds of it, the tighter they wrapped themselves around my spirit until I thought I would go mad.

  But God knew. He had formed my innermost parts. I need to tell Him, ask Him, nothing. Whatever I needed, He would give me. All He asked of me was to be a vessel willing to be filled. And I was.

  Jesus spoke to my heart: This is the will of God for you, your sanctification. You are to abstain from sexual immorality. Maintain yourself sanctified and honorable, not in lust or passion like those who do not know My Father. He is the avenger, and He calls you to holiness.

  Was this instruction for my calling? I had not lusted after this woman. I had just met her and hardly knew her. I had merely been intrigued by her. But I would accept this counsel from the Lord no matter how it was intended. It was doubtful He had led me so miraculously to this place for some purpose other than to teach me about Himself, especially if He had a specific calling for me. Apostle to the Gentiles. I couldn’t deny He
had been preparing me for this since my birth.

  Now concerning those who die trusting in Me, there is no need to sorrow as others who have no hope. For if you believe I rose again, then believe My Father will bring with Me those who sleep in Me, for this you may say confidently by My word, that those who are alive at My coming will not precede those who are dead. For I Myself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then those who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet Me in the air. And thus they shall always be with Me. Therefore comfort everyone with those words.

  But concerning when this will happen, that day will come as a thief in the night. Watch and be vigilant. Put on the breastplate of faith and love and the helmet of the hope of salvation. For My Father did not appoint you to wrath but to salvation through Me, who died for you.

  So comfort the fainthearted, uphold the weak, be patient with all. Don’t return evil for evil, but pursue what is good both for you and for all. Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in everything, for this is My will for you. Do not quench My Spirit. Do not despise prophecies. Test all things and hold to what is good. Abstain from evil.

  He who calls you is faithful and will bring all this to pass.

  I responded, Yes, Lord.

  I will require of you patience and faith, for you will suffer persecutions and tribulations in your work for Me. This will give evidence of the righteous judgment of My Father, that you may be counted worthy of His kingdom. Be assured He will repay with tribulation those who trouble you, and He will give you rest when I am revealed from heaven with My mighty angels and in fire take vengeance on those who do not know Me and on those who do not obey My gospel. These will be punished with everlasting destruction, banished from My presence and from the glory of My power.

  I wondered, Can I know and proclaim when the Day of the Lord will be?

  That day will not come until the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition who exalts himself above God and is worshiped, sitting as God in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God. That lawless one will be revealed, and I will consume him with the breath of My mouth and destroy him with the brightness of My coming.

  The coming of the lawless one is the work of Satan, who will deceive all who perish, because they did not love the truth so that they might be saved. For this reason My Father will send them strong delusion, and they will believe the lie, and they all will be condemned who did not believe the truth but took pleasure in unrighteousness.

  Though the Lord fell silent, I sensed He wanted me to meditate on what He had revealed to me. I remained there in the Spirit, unmoving, reflecting. How long this reverie lasted I cannot say, but when He spoke again I was aware the sun was much higher than when He had last spoken.

  I am not sending you out to baptize but to preach My gospel, not with wisdom or eloquence, lest My death should be made worthless. For the message of My cross is foolishness to those who are dying, but to those who will be saved it is the power of My Father. It is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.” Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer? Has not My Father made foolish the wisdom of this world? It will please Him through the foolishness of the preaching of His gospel to save those who believe.

  Jews ask for a sign, and Greeks seek wisdom. You preach Me crucified, which to the Jews will be a stumbling block and to the Greeks foolishness, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, I am the power and the wisdom of My Father. God’s foolishness is wiser than men, and God’s weakness is stronger than men.

  I will not call many wise, mighty, or noble. But My Father has chosen the foolish things to put to shame the wise of the world, and the weak things to put to shame the things that are mighty of the world; and the base things and the things that are despised of the world My Father has chosen, that no flesh should be proud in His presence. But you are in Me. As it is written, “He who glories, let him glory in the Lord.”

  So don’t worry about excellence of speech or wisdom when you declare the testimony of My Father. You need know nothing except Me and Me crucified. You may be weak and fearful, even trembling, and your preaching may not be persuasive. But in My Spirit and with power, My Father will be manifest through you.

  It is written, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” But My Father will reveal them to you through His Spirit. For the Spirit searches all things, the deep things of God. No one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God.

  The natural man does not receive the things of God. They are foolishness to him, because they are spiritually discerned. He who is spiritual judges all things, yet he himself is rightly judged by no one. For “who has known the mind of the LORD that he may instruct Him?”

  Some you will have to speak to not as spiritual people but as carnal, as to babes. Feed them milk and not solid food until they are able to receive it. Where there are envy, strife, and division, people are carnal and behave like mere humans.

  As a wise master builder, lay the foundation and let another build on it. But let each take heed how he builds. For no other foundation can anyone lay than the one that is laid, which is Me. If anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, or straw, each one’s work will become clear, because it one day will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort it is. If anyone’s work endures, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet as through fire.

  You are the temple of God, and the Spirit of God dwells in you. If anyone defiles the temple of God, My Father will destroy him. For the temple of God is holy.

  I knew the instruction for that day had ended, and I felt a profound change in me. As one might imagine, hearing the very voice of God humbles a man to the point where he feels like a worm, lower than low. All the while I was in communion with God I felt the depth of my unworthiness, of my sin, of my wretched lostness.

  Yet in the silences that followed, even in the silences He allowed between revelations to me, it was as if my Creator knew me—as David of old had exulted about Him—and knew my frame and remembered that I was dust. In those moments He warmed me, filled me, comforted me with His presence. I was overwhelmed by His love and forgiveness.

  I, of all people, had no right, no claim to His endless, immeasurable mercy. I had been the chiefest of sinners, a murderer, and I had not seen myself for who I was, had not shown remorse, regret, or sorrow. I had not repented when He showered me with grace—only when was I faced with my depravity and could do nothing more than receive His righteousness.

  I had read the ancient Scripture without understanding, and now it was as if God’s own light of truth shone on it from heaven and made clear as crystal for me the meaning and the object, about whom this had been written: “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned, every one, to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”

  Enraptured by the truth that there was nothing I could have done about my sin and that God had laid upon Jesus my iniquity, all I could do was lie in the sun and weep. Unable to frame words, I merely praised my Savior until my eyes were dry.

  When I reached my work table an hour later, trying to refocus on things temporal, I prayed God would soon tell me specifically what He wanted me to preach in His name. Where was I to go, to whom was I to speak, and what was I to say?

  7

  TRUTH

  THE RED SEA

  I ENDURED THE DIRE consequences of a conflicted mind. Thrilled with the majestic truth that rolled to my spirit from God and Jesus on high, I longed to be launched like a great ship on the vast ocean of Gentiles in need of the redeeming message of the gospel of Christ. Yet in the routine of daily life I was tormented with the fear o
f being found out. Had I been the agitator, the instigator behind the murder of the head of the household where I now resided?

  If Stephanos, the late husband and father, was Stephen the Martyr, I was!

  So vexed was I by the very uncertainty that I came to believe that learning the awful truth would be better than not knowing. That illogic alone should have proved I had not thought through the consequences, for what would I do with the truth revealed? No outcome I could imagine would assuage my guilt without injuring anew the bereaved.

  As Alastor—and even Corydon when the mood struck him—aided me in fashioning repaired sections for Zuriel’s ragged tent, the old man apparently felt compelled to encourage me for what I had brought to the wounded remnants of his family.

  “Moving is always fraught with strife,” he said, as I busied myself stitching together great rectangles of dark wool and Corydon scampered here and there. “But frankly, the long journey here was miserable. Taryn was useless, and I couldn’t blame her, poor thing. No woman deserves to lose a husband that way.”

  I stopped working and looked up at him, hoping my full attention would elicit a detail that would illumine me. But as before, the mere mention of his son-in-law and whatever way he had passed suddenly overtook him. Alastor pressed his lips together and shook his head as if to steel himself against whatever was rising in him. He waited until Corydon skittered out of earshot. “And this one, naturally he did not understand where Papa was and kept begging for him.”

  Now the old man could not speak again. I went back to my work and tried to take the burden off him while at the same time angling for more information. “Lost in a battle, was he? A military man?”

  Alastor breathed deeply through his nose and wiped his forehead and beard with a hand. He shook his head, and his voice came pinched and labored, as if he were ready to burst into tears. “He was valiantly fighting for a cause, I’ll say that.”