The Centurion's Wife

by Davis Bunn; Janette Oke

  “The disciples came to Galilee just days ago because they were told to do so, first by heaven’s own messengers and then by Jesus himself. They arrived, but he was not here. So in the middle of the night watch, they went fishing. They caught nothing. As they rowed back toward shore with the dawn, a stranger called to them to cast their net once more. They did not want to, of course, for the water was shallow, there would not be any fish, and they were very tired. But they did so and could not lift the net, it was so full. At that instant, they recognized the man standing on the shoreline. Overjoyed and full of excitement, they waded ashore. Jesus sat with them, ate with them, and taught them the next lesson. That of tending his flock and reaching out to the world with his message of love and peace and redemption. And then he told them to return to Jerusalem—and wait.”

  Alban sat and listened to the crickets and other night sounds surrounding them. A bird of prey called to its mate. Fishermen passed below them in the nearby lake, the oars creaking softly. Finally he said, “You accept all this as truth.”

  “I do indeed. And how could this be?” The elder’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “Because I heard his teachings myself. I saw him heal sick people, feed them from baskets that never got empty. I knew then he was a prophet from God. Now, after seeing the disciples’ faces, their features illuminated by something from within, and hearing their eyewitness testimonies, I believe he is something more. I believe he is the Messiah, the One whom the ancient prophets told us would come.”

  The town’s only inn was full, as the main market was the first day of each week. Alban could have demanded a room from the innkeeper, but in truth he had no desire for company. Instead he camped by the sea in a sandy cove used by fishermen. The rocks rose up high behind him, forming a natural windbreak. The beach smelled strongly from the nets draped over upturned boats and the drying racks along the rock wall. Alban slept in snatches, waking to the sound of lapping water and the echo of the elder’s words. The next morning he bathed in the lake’s chilly waters, ate a breakfast of bread and dates, then walked his horse back into Tiberias.

  The town was a very different place today, the central plaza turned into a noisy bazaar. The synagogue’s front courtyard served as a classroom where young boys studied scrolls as somber greybeards marked their progress. Alban hitched his horse along a side lane and stood by the waist-high wall, waiting for Eli or another of the elders to finish expounding on a passage. Eli did not look over until one of the youngsters plucked at his sleeve and pointed.

  He quickly came over. “Forgive me, centurion.”

  “I wanted to thank you once more for your hospitality.”

  “You honored my family and my home.”

  “I accept your words about Jesus as truth. How I will be able to express this to Pilate is beyond me.”

  “I would urge you to ask the Lord our God for guidance.”

  Alban pondered that. Such simple words, spoken so naturally. Yet holding such impossible challenge. He, a Roman officer, should ask the God of the Judaeans for help. “Pilate told me to determine one thing more: whether Jesus was a threat to Roman rule.”

  The elder must have been expecting this question. He folded his hands formally and began, “In the book of Isaiah, one of our holy texts written by a prophet of old, there are these words: ‘Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on David’s throne over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord almighty will accomplish this.’ ”

  Alban leaned against the stone wall that separated him from the synagogue and the elder. “You are saying that Jesus will rule, but he will do so in a manner different from how Rome rules.”

  The elder smiled. “You would make an able student.”

  “Do you expect Rome to simply fold its tent and walk away?”

  “I cannot say. It will be as God wills.”

  Alban pondered all that he had heard. Overlaid upon the elder’s statement was his recollection of the previous night’s conversation, and beyond that the healing of his servant lad, Jacob. He recalled the prophet describing Alban as a man of faith. The invitation in those words—ones he had not understood at the time—captured something deep within.

  The elder added, “I think all will be revealed in the next week.”

  “What makes you say this?”

  “You are not the only one who has spent the night in reflection. The final festival of the spring season is this coming Sabbath, fifty days after Passover. In Hebrew it is called Shavuot, though many now call it by its Greek name, Pentecost. It marks the end of the spring harvest, and the day carries a divine purpose. We are called to draw near to the throne of God, to receive an earthly foretaste of the splendor to come.”

  “What does this have to do with possible revolt against Roman rule?”

  “I do not know, centurion. Perhaps nothing at all. But I think that in six days the risen Messiah will reveal his plan for mankind.” The elder lifted his hands in the traditional Judaean blessing. “Go in peace, centurion, to love and serve the Lord.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  The Village of Bethany

  LEAH AWOKE IN TIME to watch the dawn star slowly fade with the rising sun. She was surprised at how refreshed she felt, for she was sleeping little in Bethany. The days had been spent in hours of toil and more hours of study. Martha and Mary read well and knew the Scriptures as thoroughly as Lazarus. Cleopas often studied with them too. When it came time to pray, the men moved into the common room while the women prayed in the kitchen. Yet their voices resounded throughout the small house, joining them in a quiet force that resonated through Leah’s entire being.

  Each night she had lain in the upstairs chamber she shared with the other three women, listening to their quiet breathing. So many thoughts kept her company, many of them impossible and frightening. And yet she was slowly coming to a remarkable sense of peace. Not even the tumult in her mind when she thought about the centurion or the prophet could disturb her calm.

  Leah stood for a long moment, her head scarf in her hands. Her thoughts reached once again across the miles to her mother and her remaining sister. What would they think if they could see her now? She had seldom given a moment’s consideration to the Judaean blood flowing through her veins. Yet she now donned the covering signifying that heritage. She also saw it as something connecting her to this community of believers. Could she live as they lived? Did she really want to be one of them? How would it change her life if she acknowledged her right to call herself a Judaean? Certainly there was nothing to be gained socially, politically, or economically. No, the reverse was more likely to be true. So why was she even contemplating it?

  She did not have the answer to that. She only knew she was drawn to those deeply buried roots. A yearning drew her to these Judaeans, a sense that here lay the answer to her soul’s emptiness. She knew that once she accepted the customs, the life, the faith that made her one with this people, there would be no turning back. She would not be a Judaean today and a Gentile tomorrow. It was all—or nothing at all.

  Yet precisely what religion was drawing her? Leah already sensed that there was a growing divide between the traditional Judaean community and the followers of Jesus. This new group still observed the religious Laws, attended the Temple, and honored the Sabbaths and holy days. But hadn’t their own Temple leaders conspired to make sure Jesus was killed? Where did she fit? And what of her betrothal to a Roman centurion? She still had no answers.

  Leah descended an outside stairway so steep it seemed little more than a slanted ladder. As with the other mornings, she found Martha already at work in the kitchen. The woman paused long enough to nod once, then came over to greet her with a swift hug. “How did you sleep?”

  “Enough,” Leah replied. “I slept enough.”

  “I often find it remarkable how time for reflection can erase my need for more hours in bed.
”

  “And I find it remarkable,” Leah replied, “how well you understand me. Even when I don’t understand myself.”

  Martha shrugged, looking rather embarrassed. “My sister is the one who sympathizes best. She listens with her entire being. I find it difficult to stop my work long enough even to let someone finish a thought.”

  “But I do not want to distract someone from what she is doing. You and I are so much alike I feel as though we are related.”

  Martha eyed her with the same piercing quality she had revealed their first night in Bethany. “Does this mean you have another question for me?”

  “There, you see? You know before I speak.”

  “Make yourself useful while you talk. Seed those pomegranates and squeeze the juice. Lazarus enjoys nothing more than fresh pomegranate for breakfast.” As Leah began working, Martha went on. “So what did you want to ask me?”

  “I have never met Jesus. But I feel as if I know him.” Leah shook her head. “How can that be?”

  Martha poured milk into a churning bowl and began stirring. “The first time Jesus appeared to the disciples after he rose from the dead, one of them was not present. When Thomas returned and heard what had happened, he said that unless he was able to touch the Master’s wounds, he would not believe. A few days later, when the disciples gathered for their evening meal, Jesus appeared again. He invited Thomas to do just that—inspect where the nails had pierced his hands and feet, and put his own hand into the wound made by the soldier’s spear. Thomas exclaimed, ‘My Lord and my God!’ Do you know what Jesus said in return?”

  Leah had stopped her work to listen, and she now shook her head.

  “He said that Thomas had believed because he had seen. But blessed were those who believed who had not seen.”

  Leah put down the knife, wiped her hands, and crossed the kitchen to stand before Martha. “I want to believe.”

  Martha’s smile was more beautiful because it was rather rare. “My dear one, you already believe. What you want to do now is follow.”

  By the time they began the climb to Jerusalem, the five were weary from the journey and the hot, dusty road. Leah was grateful for the others’ silence, as it granted her time to reflect upon all she had heard. Over and over she silently repeated, “My Lord and my God.” She savored the joy flooding her heart, replacing the turmoil she had known for so long. If she needed any further evidence that these impossible events were real, it came in the form of this undeniable peace and joy.

  She knew she would not be willing to give it up for anything in the world. She was certain this newfound faith would cost her, but the price could never be too high. Even if it included losing the man she realized now she could learn to love. . . .

  The newfound clarity in her heart and her vision left her certain that Alban was a good man, and that she was coming to care for him. At the same time, she suspected that belief in Jesus would not likely be compatible with the duties of a Roman officer, especially one who might be next assigned to crush this new and troubling sect—whether or not their leader was back from the dead. She could not help feeling fingers of fear around her heart.

  She wiped dust from her eyes and straightened her shoulders. Her resolve remained intact. She would present her last report to Procula. When the woman told her husband, Pilate might well declare the betrothal invalid and prohibit Alban and Leah from going through with their marriage. There was a bitter irony in all this—possibly to be granted the freedom she had been sure she desired, only to have that freedom now cause such deep pain.

  Or, worse, an angry Pilate could have one or both of them killed. For a moment, fear again engulfed her. Yet this was followed by a new experience, one so vivid she glanced behind her to see if someone followed. She heard a voice, though no one was near enough to account for it. “I am with you, Leah, always.”

  She faltered for a moment at something she had almost forgotten. Of another voice that had called to her, in the depths of her illness, reaching through her fevered state and bringing her back to health. It was the same voice that spoke to her now. She was sure of it.

  Martha glanced her way, then looked at her more carefully. “You look happy, Leah. Are you?”

  “Yes,” Leah replied. “Oh yes.”

  Since Procula was not expecting Leah at any certain time after returning from the Bethany visit, she went straight to the believers’ compound to see Abigail. The girl was in her bed when Leah entered her room. After warm greetings and hugs, Abigail assured Leah that the scalded leg had begun to heal, and the pain was not as severe.

  Abigail told Leah, “In a day or two I shall stand again, I’m sure. I might even begin to walk with a stick. Hannah has already found one for me—a long one.” Abigail laughed as she stretched her arm upward. “Nathanael had it cut down to proper size. I would have needed to be Goliath’s size to use it.”

  The same strong-smelling black ointment was still smeared on the burn. Abigail wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care much for the smell, though I am getting used to it. But it has worked its good.”

  Leah nodded her understanding. “I am so relieved that you are recovering.” She paused, then said, “I have news of my own.”

  Abigail’s eyes grew wide. “Your bridegroom has fulfilled his requirements?”

  Leah turned sober. “Not yet. But it’s even better than that.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I believe Jesus is alive, that he loves me and has forgiven me.”

  “Oh, Leah, I’ve been praying. . . . Come here. Let me give you another hug.” Tears were already starting in her eyes, and Leah found she could not keep her own dry.

  “Oh, I’m so glad. So glad,” said Abigail in Leah’s ear as they embraced. “Does Martha know? Mary? Nedra? We had agreed we would not stop praying until you too believed.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Between Tiberias and Jerusalem

  ON THE RIDE BACK into Jerusalem, Alban felt as though his entire world had been shaken and put back together in a manner he scarcely recognized. A soldier’s task was to read the terrain, ferret out any enemy or risk, and conquer both. But he no longer knew who or where the enemy was. Only on one point was he certain: Jesus was alive and deserved unwavering allegiance.

  When Alban arrived back in his chambers above the fortress stables, young Jacob was pathetically glad to see him. Linux had not yet returned from ferrying the Parthians north to their five-year punishment on a galley. Alban allowed the lad to prepare a meal because Jacob desperately wanted to do something for him. But he insisted Jacob sit with him as they ate. Alban described briefly what had happened to him, skipping over much of the ambush and spending more time on his mystifying encounter on the hill above the oasis. He was uncertain how much Jacob understood. Nor did it truly matter. Alban spoke as much for his own benefit as the lad’s.

  “And because I now have a new Master,” Alban concluded, “I don’t know what will happen in the future. I do not even know what your future will hold.”

  Jacob quickly said, “I will do as you wish, master, whatever it is.”

  “What I wish,” Alban replied, “is that you too learn about Jesus and discover what he has in mind for you.”

  “I want to serve you.”

  “And for that I thank you, Jacob. But there is more for you, my lad.”

  “You saved me from bandits who murdered my family,” the boy exclaimed. “You have treated me as you would your own son. What else should I do but follow you?”

  “Do you understand what I have just told you?”

  “Not really, master.” Though he spoke softly, the words were plain. “But you do. And that is enough.”

  Alban found it necessary to swallow hard. “I know you desire to be a Roman soldier. But God knows what he wants you to be. You will find his path and follow it. To be a man of war is not enough. I accept that now. You must also seek to be a man of peace.”

  “Are you saying I should not be a legionnaire?” Jacob
asked quietly, a frown reflecting his disappointment.

  “I am saying that God will show you what he wants you to be. Of that I am certain.”

  “But you will not send me away.”

  “I will never send you away. How could I ever get along without you?”

  After their meal, Alban wrote a message for Linux, saying he needed to take care of a legal matter, then could be found at the disciples’ meetinghouse. He then went to the formal baths, taking Jacob with him. After a few complaints from the boy, they scoured their bodies with a pungent mixture of soap and perfume and sand, rubbing and dousing and rubbing some more until their skin glowed. This was followed by the hot bath, then the steam room, and finally the cold bath. Afterward they dressed in togas belted with woven fabric since Alban would not be carrying his weapon.

  He stepped back a pace. “I thought I remembered what you looked like under all that dirt!” he quipped.

  Jacob grinned, his teeth shining bright in his face.

  The Antonia Fortress central courtyard rang with the boisterous voices of off-duty soldiers. A group of them gambled in the forecourt over a design carved into the flagstones. Alban was filled with conflicting emotions. He had known this kind of atmosphere all his life. It was his world. But how much longer? He walked into the main hall feeling like an outsider.

  The tribune’s aide was seated in the commandant’s outer office. He nodded in response to Alban’s salute. “Is this the lad?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re Jacob.” The officer handed Alban a parchment, one corner weighted by a wax seal. “This is a fortunate day for you, boy.”

  Alban talked of other things on the way back to their rooms, waiting until they had entered and seated themselves to say, “This is for you.”

  “What is it, master?” Jacob made no move to accept the document.

  “It is called manumission. It means you are no longer a slave but a free man.”

  “I didn’t ask for it. I don’t—”

  “Jacob, listen to me.”