The Hidden Flame

by Janette Oke;T. Davis Bunn

  Jacob looked very surprised, and for one moment his guard seemed to fall away. Abigail saw his throat constrict as he tried to swallow. "That is most kind," he finally managed, and indicated Alban standing nearby. "But my path seems directed elsewhere at this time."

  "As it should be," Stephen said with a smile. He waved at the sound of Peter calling his name. "But know that whenever you return, at any time, our home is yours."

  Abigail gave Jacob one more hug. Then she stepped forward, moving through the smiling crowd, to her proper position beside her bridegroom.

  The afternoon passed too quickly. Almost before she could totally comprehend what was happening in her life, the gathered group was cheering and throwing flowers toward the small platform where they had knelt when Peter prayed for them. She felt Stephen's hand seek her own. She now belonged to him. When she returned to her simple lodgings, she would no longer journey alone. She would never feel alone again.

  C H A P T E R

  THIRTY-FOUR

  SEVERAL DAYS AFTER THEIR FATEFUL nighttime conversation, Ezra met Saul at the Temple. One glance at the young man's face was enough for Ezra to know that he bore alarming news. "Several Temple priests have joined the followers' ranks," he spat out.

  The shock pushed Ezra back a pace. "You are certain?"

  "Gamaliel received word from the high priest this morning. I was in the chamber."

  "What does Gamaliel say about this?"

  "The same as yesterday and the day before and last week. We must determine whether they truly speak the word of God."

  Ezra felt as though his insides were being twisted. He was losing his oldest and best friend. "He too is joining them?"

  "I cannot accept that would actually happen."

  Ezra forced himself to center his attention on the young man. He felt empty, hollow. "We should continue our discussions elsewhere."

  "They are gathering again at Solomon's Porch."

  "I do not need to see any more of that group," Ezra replied grimly. "Not ever again."

  Ezra took the main thoroughfare into the wealthy district by the city's northwestern wall. This was the only portion of Jerusalem where Hellenized Judeans could safely gather. The broad plaza was filled with men and women wearing brilliantly colored robes. Ezra even spotted a few Judeans wearing Roman robes, their beards oiled and curled in the Greek style, smelling strongly of perfume. Ezra led Saul into a tea shop where three travel litters rested by the entrance, waiting for their owners' wishes. Ezra saw Saul's mouth curl in derision. Such conveyances were rare in Jerusalem these days, for many Judeans had taken to stoning these extravagant displays of wealth from shadowed alleyways.

  The shop owner recognized Ezra and bowed the wealthy merchant into an ornately decorated alcove. Ezra ordered, waited until the curtain had been drawn, and said, "I do business here from time to time. We can speak freely and not be overheard."

  Saul leaned across the table to declare, "This group must be crushed."

  Ezra studied the man opposite him. Saul of Tarsus was the sort of Pharisee that Ezra normally avoided. Stiff-necked and bullish in his opinions, every pronouncement was made in the stubborn certainty that he alone knew what was right. Ezra and Gamaliel had been schooled under a very different philosophy. Their rabbi had insisted that only God could say what was truly the correct viewpoint, and such edicts were delivered through his prophets. This bred a certain flexibility in scriptural study, where the rabbi would present two different views of the same passage and order his students to find the truth in both commentaries. But such recollections only brought another piercing regret over this schism between Ezra and his oldest friend.

  Ezra pushed all such thoughts aside and said what he had decided upon just before dawn. "We cannot risk a direct attack upon the apostles."

  Saul's beard jutted with indignation. "These leaders are the reason for all these troubles! Erase them and the crowds will evaporate!"

  "Will they? Are you so certain of this? Was this not precisely the same argument the Sanhedrin used against Jesus of Nazareth? They crucified the man, and still their numbers grow." Ezra waved that aside, halting Saul in the process of further argument. "There is a greater problem."

  Ezra related how he had traveled to the arena and how their warning against the followers had been rebuffed by the new prelate, Marcellus.

  Saul's features darkened. He conceded, "If we attack them outright, the group indeed might revolt. The prelate could then blame us for the uprising."

  "That we must avoid at all costs," Ezra agreed. The prospect had robbed him of more than one night's sleep. "If the Romans decide we caused a riot by persecuting the apostles, we would be the ones planted on Golgotha."

  "What do you propose?"

  Ezra leaned across the table and whispered, "We select from among the followers a leader, but one not from their top rank. We bring him forth on charges before the Sanhedrin."

  "What charges? They are all known to be rigidly observant of the Law! That is the part-"

  "I have thought of that. You have allies among the ranks of rabbis, yes? People who are frightened of what these followers represent?"

  "They are most terrified," Saul said, his face grim.

  "Bring the man before the Sanhedrin and have several of your cohorts level accusations against him."

  As Ezra outlined what they might say, Saul began nodding with such vehemence his entire upper body was set in motion. "Such allegations are so grave the Council will be forced to condemn him."

  "And thus we can start with one man, test their mettle, and then gradually attack the entire group." As Saul started to rise, Ezra halted him with a hand on his arm. "It would be best if you moved against them somewhere other than the Temple. We want to carry this out away from too many eyes."

  "I know just the place, and just the man," Saul said, his dark eyes burning.

  Ezra released the Pharisee's arm. "Go, then. There is no time to lose."

  Linux walked along the now-familiar lane leading from the city center to the compound where he had first met Peter. The way was filled with Judeans racing against the hour to their homes before the Sabbath shofar sounded its haunting cry over the hills. Thankfully the fierce heat had lessened. A gentle wind blew from the north, casting a faint promise of fresh air and new beginnings. The sun crowned the western slopes, its ruddy light cascading over the rocky terrain as a hawk circled the forested hills beyond the city's borders.

  Linux wore a simple tunic of rough weave and a belted cloak, the garments of most Judean commoners. He had purchased them from an astounded merchant earlier that afternoon, changing in the merchant's back room, and he now carried his Roman garb in a cloth satchel. Stephen had said nothing about his attire when he had made the invitation. But Linux had seen the looks cast his way by those who had overheard. He had no wish to draw attention to himself, or place his instructor in a position to draw disapproval from other followers. The commoner's clothing was his way of hiding in plain sight.

  The new tribune had not contacted Linux further since their one brief encounter. Linux also had heard nothing more from the governor. Simply to give himself something to do and burn off restless energy, he had taken to helping train new recruits. It was a duty most officers of his rank and background-a former member of the prelate's personal guard-would have scorned. Yet Linux had never known such a time of constrained isolation. He was not made for enforced idleness. But his request for patrol duty had been turned down-by whom, and for what reason, Linux was never told. So he filled his hours and waited for his time of daily instruction with Stephen.

  Linux arrived at the plaza to find the outer door standing open, a rarity in such uncertain times. He joined other late arrivals to slip inside, hopefully unnoticed. But his height and clean-shaven face, along with his evident foreignness, drew attention. One of the men standing inside the entrance moved toward him with a frown, but another touched his shoulder and murmured something Linux could not hear. He did not recognize
the man who spoke on his behalf. The guard, still looking reluctant, nodded Linux inside.

  Whenever he was among the followers, Linux always felt himself on guard. Even with Stephen he felt a certain reserve, but he put it down to the fact that Stephen was a Judean and he a Roman, and second, Abigail. Whether present or not, she had always seemed to cloud the air between them. But not today. Linux entered the courtyard and had an immediate sense of being fully engaged, within and without.

  As though in confirmation of this change, Stephen's voice called, "Linux!" Linux watched him work his way through the crowd. "God's greetings upon you, brother. I wish you a blessed Sabbath."

  Linux felt overwhelmed by the words. Though never before offered to him, he knew they were a traditional salutation, used by religious Judeans each week. "I wish you the same, Stephen," he said a bit awkwardly, not quite sure of the appropriate response.

  "Come." Stephen led him to an empty place at one of the tables. He raised his hand, and those seated around it quieted. "This is Linux, a student of mine, and a God-fearer. I ask that you make him welcome." To Linux he said, "These are brethren from the Hellenized community. You understand that, yes? Good. Now you must excuse me. I am called to help with the distribution of the wine and the bread."

  Stephen started to move away, then stopped and turned back. He settled his hand upon Linux's shoulder and said, "I am glad you came to share our Sabbath celebration."

  "And I as well." Linux felt himself moved more than he could say, understanding that Stephen's words were for the others at the table also.

  Stephen waited until Linux was seated to lower his head and move in close enough that Linux could feel the brush of his beard. "Signs and wonders. Do those words mean anything to you?"

  "I don't think so...."

  Stephen's hand rose and fell. "I sense that God will speak with you this night, my brother. When that happens, I urge you to listen."

  Abigail saw Linux enter the compound and watched her husband hurry over to welcome him. The Roman's very presence made Abigail nervous. It was not at all usual for a soldier to be welcomed to break bread with the brethren. What was Linux doing there? In spite of Stephen's regular meetings with the man, was it all a ruse to spy on them? Had he truly become a follower?

  She felt unsettled about it all, and she prayed again for Stephen-for extra wisdom in his dealings with Linux, and for protection for them all....

  She noticed there were some others who shared her concern. Stares, shuffling feet, murmurs among the more conservative among them were signals of their unease. Even many of the Hellenized, who sat slightly apart, looked on with puzzled expressions.

  But Stephen seemed to take no notice. He drew Linux forward to a seat among the Hellenized Judeans. After speaking with them a moment, he left to take his place at the head table.

  Abigail glanced back at Linux. He looked slightly uncomfortable, then seemed to settle in, his eyes intent on Stephen and the others who were to serve with him. Stephen was sitting beside Nicolas, whom Abigail quite admired. Though he was a Greek, he had chosen to follow the Judean God, accepting that Jesus was the Messiah, whose death and resurrection brought forgiveness of sin to all who believed. In fact, the entire group had no problem accepting the sincerity of Nicolas. He already had been selected, along with Stephen and five others, to serve in the distribution to those in need.

  She saw Stephen bend his head toward Nicolas and speak quietly. The other man nodded in agreement. While they talked, Stephen informally stretched an arm over the back of the man's chair, not quite touching his shoulders but showing to all that he considered Nicolas a true brother in every sense of the word. Once again, Abigail felt deeply moved by Stephen's boldness and his lead in declaring that the message was meant to be shared among both Jew and Greek. Her beloved was truly a wise and godly man. She felt her cheeks warm under their covering as she thought about their few but wonderful days together as husband and wife.

  Abigail's attention was drawn back to the head table and the apostles, who seemed to rise as one. Peter nodded to Stephen to lead them in the first prayer. Then they broke the bread and shared the wine. Stephen, Nicolas, and other men took up the baskets of bread and the goblets of wine to serve each table of the gathered followers.

  Stephen surprised her once again. As the others moved to serve the Hebrew believers, Stephen directed his steps to the Hellenized group. They would be served at the same time as their Judean brethren. And Linux was included.

  Abigail studied not just the act but the soldier's response as he was served. It was obvious, even at this distance, that the man was deeply moved. She watched as he bowed his head and couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were going through his mind. Had he indeed been bold enough, needy enough, to reach out to their God as his own Savior?

  Surrounded by those who had somewhat reluctantly made room for him, Linux watched the twelve apostles and seven others, whom Stephen had referred to as deacons, at the front table. Everything he saw and heard was new, but Linux had hungered for this. He did not know what it was exactly or why he yearned for it. But he recognized it as the same feeling he experienced before his studies with Stephen.

  Unlike many Roman officers serving in Judea, his Aramaic was flawless. Some of the apostles spoke in Greek, most in Aramaic. Stephen was invited to pray. He did so in both languages, moving back and forth between the two with such fluid ease it was hardly noticeable.

  Linux opened his eyes and lifted his head, noting that others also had been drawn by the man's words and were watching as well. Including Abigail, who was seated with the other women. He had not noticed her before, as the women's tables were at a distance from the main body and they wore almost identical shawls. But Abigail's face was not quite concealed, no doubt because she was so absorbed in what she was hearing. Her face shone with an inner light that matched the illumination on Stephen's features. She gazed at her husband with something akin to awe.

  Her husband.

  Linux had a sharp sensation of the night being torn in two. On one side of the divide lay all the feelings he had known for Abigail up to that point. The experience was both vivid and wrenching. The convicting reflections on all his impure thoughts and desires could not have been clearer. It felt as though some inner awareness had now been awakened. With each word Stephen prayed, the experience only grew stronger. On the other side, each of those desires and yearnings was being lifted up for inspection-not only his, he realized. Something else was inside him, something new... He could only identify it as God. Not merely the Judean God. My God.

  God was helping him sift and sort-those selfish and evil desires pushed to one side, the hunger for truth and holy living gathered on the other.

  Linux saw with utter clarity that he had never loved Abigail. He had wanted her. He had lusted after her. He had desired to possess her. But love? What was love? What in his entire life had ever revealed what the word actually meant-until now?

  Stephen and the others at the table broke the bread in the baskets before them, and one of the others then prayed about a broken vessel, a perfect sacrifice. Words Linux knew he should have understood, because Stephen had spent their last two sessions explaining what would happen during the communion service. How they followed a pattern that had been set in place at their last meal with the Messiah during the Passover feast, the night before he had been taken from them. Linux knew all these things, yet he was unprepared for what was happening. Not there at the front table, as next the wine was poured and blessed and shared. No, what was happening inside him.

  Linux glanced at Abigail. She continued to study her husband, and Linux saw there on her features a love so pure and intense that it left him shaken and ashamed. He was observing something so intimate, so revealing, he knew he was intruding even at this distance. He knew also he did not deserve such a love, had never in his entire life done anything to cause another person to care for him in such a manner.

  He dropped his gaze to his hands, at th
at moment relinquishing the woman who had never been his to claim. He also turned away from the desires and wrath and lusts that were no longer a part of his world.

  Making a space for a Savior's love that had been waiting for him...

  Signs and wonders. Stephen's words returned to him. Linux now understood what the man had meant. For there was no question but what he had just experienced came from beyond him-a sign of his transformation, and certainly the wonder of it all.

  Love so pure, so intense, burned away all he had been. No longer was he the second son, the princeling who would never make his rightful claim, the man of thwarted ambitions, the lonely officer trapped in a post and a land that hated him and all that he stood for. None of this mattered. Not in the face of this love.

  Linux realized he was weeping. But he did not care. There was a rightness to the tears, to the exposure they meant among this gathering. For they were no longer strangers. All followers-just like him.

  C H A P T E R

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THE GATHERING DID NOT END so much as gradually disperse. His tablemates remained guarded, but several of them offered him cautious farewells as they took their leave. Linux remained where he was, more comfortable with his solitary position at the table than he'd ever been before. He felt a childlike ease, so protected, so accepted he could expose his most hidden weaknesses and fears and uncertainties and know all was well, all forgiven, all blessed. The stone he had carried inside was finally dissolving. Inner wounds were now open to healing light, and the gift of hope was like an illumination around him.

  As he had promised earlier in the evening, Stephen came over, along with an older woman. But even as Linux rose to meet her and Stephen made introductions, the woman's name slipped from his mind. Abigail soon joined them. Yet even her presence did not erase the reality of his encounter with signs and wonders. If Linux had needed some evidence that the moment did indeed contain a miracle, it was this.