Paul, Apostle of Christ

by Angela Hunt

  Luke felt the sting of tears in his eyes. “If Jesus has a plan,” he said, smiling, “we will do our best to safeguard it. You will take off that Praetorian tunic and put on something else. You will remain inside these walls unless you absolutely must go elsewhere.” He clasped the guard’s arm again. “We owe you a tremendous debt, and we will do our best to support you. Until then, remember this—the servant of God cannot be killed unless God allows it.”

  The big man’s eyes brightened, and he grinned as Aquila led the group in a prayer of thanksgiving for his deliverance.

  After the midday meal, Aquila went down into the garden and cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of all those gathered in his courtyard. The men, women, and children who had taken refuge in his house stopped what they were doing and gathered around.

  He took in their faces, all those who waited to hear from him—they were no longer the faces of strangers, but friends. Luke, Tarquin, Cassius, Eubulus, Octavia, and so many more. For months they had worked, worshiped, and prayed together. They had become a true community, sharing all things. But now it seemed as though the world was determined to split them apart.

  “We have been asked,” Aquila began when everyone had quieted, “to build a community in this city, preach the gospel of Jesus Christ, love the people of Rome, and pray for its leaders. We have done all those things, everything the Lord would have us do, yet now it seems there is no clear answer about a way forward. Should we stay here when our lives are in danger at every moment? Or should we go, taking the gospel of Christ with us?”

  Cassius, young Tarquin’s cousin, lifted his head. “What does Paul say?”

  Aquila looked at Luke, but Priscilla answered before he could speak. “This is something each man and woman must decide for themselves,” she said. “Each of you must pray, and then do what you feel the Lord would have you do.”

  A flutter of alarm ran through the group. Aquila gave them a moment before lifting his hand again. “Some of you have families and children. It is not wrong for you to want to protect them by leading them out of Rome. Others, though, may feel called to stay.”

  “How can we go?” one man asked. “We risk our lives every time we slip through your gate. How could we all leave without drawing attention?”

  Aquila nodded toward Eubulus. “We know the Lord has a plan for you, and no one knows the city better than a Praetorian. If you can think of a way we could safely move everyone out . . .”

  Eubulus stood, hooking his thumbs over his empty sword belt. He rubbed his chin a moment, looked around at the group, and said, “An old aqueduct lies beneath the emperor’s new palace. It has been half buried and forgotten, but it leads out of the city. An entrance to the tunnel lies beneath the property of a wealthy Roman family. They do not like the emperor’s new palace and may be willing to turn a blind eye if we want to use the tunnel.”

  “Why would they want to help us?” Cassius asked.

  Eubulus smiled. “They would never say so publicly, but they know Nero had their villa burned to the ground. They want the tyrant dead and Rome returned to the people.” He drew a deep breath. “We may have their sympathy, but such an exodus will not be easy. We will have to make preparations, and we may have to travel in small groups, at least until we are deep into the countryside.”

  “Where would we go?” Octavia stood, fear evident on her face. “I have never lived outside Rome.”

  Aquila gave her a confident smile. “Each family may decide for themselves, but first we would go to Ephesus. The Ephesian community will shelter us until each family determines what’s best for them.”

  “Is Ephesus safe?” Cassius asked.

  “It is. Although the journey to Ephesus is a long one, Timothy lives there, the community of Christ is strong in that place, and the Greeks are far more tolerant of Christians than the Romans.”

  “Still.” Another woman stood and looked at Octavia. “We were Romans before we were Christians. This is our home.”

  “Of course.” Aquila pressed his hand against his chest. “I do not make this decision lightly, but I believe there is much good to be done outside of Rome—and we can do it.”

  He looked over the crowd as many nodded in agreement. He had made a good argument, and he might have instilled the confidence they would need to commence preparations—

  A dissenting voice cut into his thoughts. “I believe,” Priscilla said, coming to stand by Aquila’s side, “we can do much good by staying here.”

  Aquila’s heart twisted as he looked at his beloved wife. He could not be angry with her for expressing an opposing opinion. How could he be upset with the woman who had spent more than half her life at his side? She had every right to pray for wisdom, just as he did.

  But if she stayed in Rome, she would eventually be discovered. And discovery, they both knew, meant certain death.

  Priscilla gripped the rim of a stone fountain and looked at the people she loved as a mother and sister. “It is true we have never seen Rome darker,” she continued, “but if we abandon it, will it not be cast into total darkness? How can we be lights on a hill if we desert the hilltop? How can we be the salt that preserves if we abandon the city to decay?”

  More murmuring, more heads nodding.

  “Who would have taken in Tarquin if we were not here? You have seen what happens to young orphans in this city. They starve to death on the streets or are forced into prostitution at the temples. What about the widows begging on street corners for coins to feed their children? Would you have them forced into slavery because we are not here to feed and clothe them?”

  As the voices of assent grew louder, Cassius stepped forward. “We should not forget that Nero is the source of all this trouble,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “The citizens of Rome are not responsible for the deaths in my family. Nero is. Aquila spoke of those who want to overthrow the emperor—are they not our allies? Think of the good that could be done once Rome is delivered from Nero’s evil grip.”

  Aquila set his jaw as several voices agreed with Cassius. “There are no easy answers,” Aquila added, raising his hand again for quiet. “And there is no right answer for all of us. You must trust God to lead you. But if some of us are going to leave the city, we need to leave soon. Every day brings new dangers. Every day”—he glanced at Eubulus—“another person from our community faces death.”

  “You should choose a date,” Luke said, and Aquila’s thoughts turned to the appointment Rome had set for Paul. “There is a time for prayer, and a time to act in faith.”

  Priscilla turned to him, and in her eyes Aquila saw a tide of fear. Talking about leaving was one thing; setting a departure date was something else altogether.

  “I was thinking,” Aquila said to Luke, “that we could leave at the summer solstice. We will leave Rome when Paul does.”

  Luke nodded slowly. “That . . . makes sense.”

  The courtyard swelled with silence as each person realized that their much-discussed plan had just become a reality. On the twenty-first day of Junius, a group from their community would leave Rome, probably forever.

  Eubulus waved a hand to get the people’s attention. “The most difficult part of moving our people out of the city will be getting word to the family who owns the land over the aqueducts. They will have to provide access to the tunnels so we can leave without being noticed. Someone will need to carry word to Palatine Hill. Nero knows this family, and he does not trust them. He has spies everywhere, so we will have to send a message with someone who would not arouse suspicion. Someone . . . unlikely.”

  His dark eyes searched the crowd. His gaze lingered over a group of women, and then a small voice broke the tense silence. “I’ll go.”

  Aquila turned toward the source of the sound and spotted ten-year-old Tarquin with his hand uplifted. Smiling, he shook his head. “Thank you, son, but we could not send a child—”

  “I can go,” Tarquin insisted. “Who would think to question an orphan on the stree
t? No one would look twice at me, and I want to help.”

  Luke tugged on his beard. “Do you know the area around Palatine Hill? It has been greatly changed in the last few months. We would not want you to wander into a dangerous area.”

  Tarquin’s face lit with an impish smile. “I know the city as well as I know this courtyard. I could find my way without any trouble. And I’m fast and as slippery as an oiled fish. No one is going to catch me.”

  Priscilla looked at Aquila. “I cannot send a child. The risk is too great.”

  “I want to go.” Tarquin grinned at Priscilla, and Aquila knew his wife could never resist that smile. “Please, dear lady. Let me do this to help everybody.”

  Priscilla glanced at Luke, then Eubulus.

  “I can think of no one better,” the Praetorian said.

  Finally, she looked back at Aquila, and he nodded to her.

  “All right,” she said, returning Tarquin’s smile. “But I will not stop praying until you have safely returned.”

  As the meeting dispersed, Luke joined Aquila and Priscilla in a quiet corner of the house. Aquila wrote a letter on papyrus and sealed it with his signet ring.

  “Can you discern a prevailing opinion?” Aquila asked. “I cannot tell.”

  “I believe most will go,” Priscilla replied, “while some, I hope, will stay behind to continue the work here.” She looked up as Tarquin came toward them, a broad smile lighting his face.

  “Here is the letter.” Aquila placed the sealed message in the boy’s hand. “Show this to our friends on Palatine Hill. You will know the house—it has recently been repainted with a blue door.”

  Priscilla pulled him close. “You are a very brave boy, Tarquin. Be careful out there.”

  “I will,” he promised. “I am fast—”

  “And you are slippery.” Luke smiled at the lad. “You will need to be. May the Lord guide your footsteps, my young friend.”

  The boy nodded, then slipped away through the courtyard gate.

  “Now let us take stock.” Aquila moved to the balcony and called to the Praetorian below. “Eubulus, I assume you will leave Rome.”

  The guard gave a nod. “I would not survive long if I remained here. Too many Praetorians know my face.”

  Priscilla looked at Luke. “And you, friend? What will you do?”

  “I won’t abandon Paul. I have promised to be with him until the end. But afterward . . . I may slip out of the city and join you on the road to Ephesus.”

  “Once we are gone,” Aquila said, “we will not be able to help you navigate a safe exit. You’ll be on your own.”

  “You have already done more than enough for me, so I would not ask you to wait on my account,” Luke said. “Finishing this book and remaining with Paul might be the most important tasks I have ever undertaken. More important, I believe it is what Christ wants me to do.”

  “How is the book coming?” Priscilla asked. “Do you need our help today?”

  “Yes.” Luke nodded. “Though last night we spent some time working on what will be his last letter to Timothy. I wrote it for him as he dictated.” He blinked back tears as the memory flooded over him. “In it he says his farewells.”

  Priscilla’s hand went to her heart. “Is he so eager to—?”

  “He is.” Luke forced a smile. “Our brother is ready.”

  “Tell me,” Luke said, breaking a loaf of the delicious bread Priscilla had set on the table, “about how you first met Paul.”

  Aquila and Priscilla shared a smile, shook their heads, and laughed. “Is this for your book?” Priscilla asked. “I’m not sure anyone would be interested in the story.”

  “Tell me anyway,” Luke said. “I never know what the Spirit will nudge me to write.”

  Aquila lowered his cup of honey water and grinned. “We would never have met Paul if men didn’t need to work in order to eat.”

  “You were all tentmakers, correct?” Luke said.

  “Right,” Aquila replied. “And we were much younger in those days.”

  “Sometimes I feel like we’ve always known him,” Priscilla said, “because once you meet Paul—”

  “No one ever forgets him,” Aquila finished. “We were living in Corinth when we met him. We’d left Rome because of Claudius—”

  “He made all the Jews leave,” Priscilla inserted. “And no one knows exactly why.”

  “I have an idea why,” Aquila said, swirling the water in his cup. “Romans crave homogeneity. They want to assimilate conquered territories and have everyone worship the same gods. While most cultures don’t mind adding another god to their pantheon, we Jews worship one God only. And when we refused to worship the emperor or his gods, we became known as intractable. Uncooperative. Un-Roman.”

  Priscilla shrugged. “In any case, we had to leave Rome. We hadn’t been in Corinth long, and we were still trying to find new customers . . . and help.”

  “So you found Paul.”

  “Exactly!” Priscilla smiled. “We told friends we were looking for an experienced tentmaker, and one afternoon Paul came to our house. He said he had experience with tent making, and his next question was whether we were Pharisees or Sadducees.”

  “I said we were neither,” Aquila said. “That we didn’t have time to get into arguments at the synagogue. So Paul showed up the next afternoon with his tools, and we started working on a large tent for a wealthy family. But the entire time Paul was sewing, he was telling us about Yeshua. By the time we finished the tent, both Priscilla and I were believers.”

  “You know Paul.” Priscilla passed a clay pot filled with stew and smiled with approval as Luke filled his bowl with the fragrant mixture. “Paul worked six days of the week with us, but on the Sabbath he would go to the synagogue and lead discussions.”

  “He tried to convince Jews and Greeks that the Messiah had come,” Aquila said. “At first he tried to be subtle, knowing that most Jews didn’t want to hear about Yeshua. But then he became impressed that the need was great and time was short, so his subtlety vanished. He started preaching that Jesus is indeed the Messiah.”

  “I’m sure you have heard,” Priscilla added, “that his message did not go over well at the synagogue. One day Paul left the building, stood in the middle of the street, and shook out his tunic, shouting, ‘Your blood be on your own heads! For my part, I am clean; from now on, I will go to the Goyim!’”

  “So he went to the Gentiles,” Aquila said, “and we went with him. When he sailed to Ephesus, we went with him. We made tents while Paul preached to the Gentiles, and as a result, many believed in Yeshua.”

  “He’s so determined,” Priscilla said, resting her chin on her hand. “You probably think he was hard to work with.”

  “I had wondered,” Luke admitted, “whether he considered tent making a joy or a necessary evil.”

  “Paul does everything with joy,” Priscilla said, smiling. “We used to have contests in the shop. Or we’d see who could sell a certain tent first.”

  Aquila nodded. “Paul is diligent, though with new believers he was as gentle as a nursemaid. He guided them patiently, taught them well, and consoled them when they wandered into false teaching. He did the same with us, because we certainly didn’t understand everything.”

  “How could we?” Priscilla laughed. “We had lived in Rome, in Pontus, and several cities in between. We rarely visited the Temple, so to us HaShem was more a concept than a personal God. Paul made Him real. And then he introduced us to HaShem’s Son.” The glint of amusement left her eyes. “I still find it hard to believe that in a few days we’ll be living in a world without Paul. I had hoped the Lord would allow him to live for many more years.”

  “His body is weak,” Luke said. “If God granted him more years, he would no doubt spend them in physical misery.”

  “We must not be selfish.” Aquila sighed. “We love Paul, and it will not be easy to let him go. Yet death will bring an end to his terrible suffering.”

  “But
not to his testimony.” Priscilla leaned forward and tapped Luke’s arm. “The book you are writing, and Paul’s letters to the churches, will allow his words to reach thousands of others.”

  “Who knows?” Luke smiled. “These books might be read for a hundred years.”

  Priscilla beamed at him. “Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  “Indeed,” Aquila said, lifting his glass. “Here’s to a long life for Paul’s written work—and yours, Luke. May it outlive you both and bring glory to Jesus Christ.”

  Luke lifted his cup, as well. “Amen.”

  Mauritius sat at the foot of his daughter’s bed, his hands folded and his eyes closed. According to the water clock, he had been praying to Jupiter and Bona Dea for the past hour, but he had seen no improvement in his daughter’s condition. Caelia had not moved or opened her eyes, nor had the blush of life returned to her cheeks.

  Why had the gods not heeded his prayers? Had they not seen his vigorous defense of their honor at the Castra Praetoria? He had killed thirteen good men for their sakes.

  Because his daughter looked half dead, Mauritius was afraid to stop praying. What if he gave up and her soul fled the earth as he walked away?

  He heard the swish of fabric and opened his eyes. The sound had not come from the bed, but from his wife, who had slipped through the doorway and now sat beside the sickbed. She, too, was watching Caelia, and the look of devastation and fear on her face was enough to twist Mauritius’s heart.

  “I was remembering,” Irenica said in the voice she reserved for dreaded things, “when Caelia was a little girl. She used to sit at the window and watch the sparrows sing and fly around the garden. She would have stayed there all day if I had not urged her away.”

  Mauritius remained silent. How could he reply? He had not enjoyed the luxury of watching their daughter play; he had been too busy training the emperor’s guards.

  “Do you remember,” Irenica went on, “our house on Palatine Hill? Remember the way the light slanted through the windows? The lovely trees and flowers in the garden? That garden was Caelia’s favorite place on earth.”