Fire and Sword (18 page)

“Saul has made quite a change,” said Serus.

“And an impression,” Crispin agreed. “More and more people are coming from darkness to light. The Most High did well to call him.”

The two angels were situated inside the little house in which Saul was staying. Outside, groups of angels stood about—assigned to protect the community of believers. From time to time one of Kara’s angels would come in close to observe, only to be driven off by one of the host.

Inside the house several women were packing food. Saul was saying his good-byes to the men, thanking them for their hospitality in Damascus. Many of them were tearful. They had grown to love Saul while he was with them. So much had happened in such a short time.

“The Lord has used you mightily, Saul,” said Ananias, the man who had introduced Saul to the group. “Many have come to believe because of you.”

“And many have come to hate you,” said Joseph, the owner of the house. “I’m sorry you have to leave us on such terms. But the Lord’s will is not for you to die by an assassin’s dagger in Syria.”

Saul looked at the men with compassion.

“Thank you all,” he said. “I’ll never forget the kindness you have shown me. You took me in knowing that I had been sent to arrest you. May God continue to bless you here in Damascus.”

“And may God bless your mission in Jerusalem, Saul of Tarsus,” said Ananias as the men gathered around him to pray. “It isn’t everyone that the Lord calls by throwing them off the back of an animal.”

“At least He didn’t talk to him like He did with Balaam and his donkey,” someone called out.

Everyone laughed.

Saul smiled.

“He talked, my brother,” he said, rubbing his sore hip. “He talked.”

They all shared his laughter.

“Special indeed is your mission, Saul.”

Saul looked into the eyes of the men who loved him. He felt compelled to tell them something—to speak a parting word of encouragement, of comfort. It was as if the very Spirit of God was rising in him. For some reason he thought of Stephen.

“I once held the clothes of men who stoned a man to death. His only crime was that he loved the Lord. I recall that his blood spattered my ankles. I only hope that I can atone for that murder in a small way by bringing as many people into the Kingdom as I can. And should the Lord require my life, I will consider it a small thing in comparison to what He has given to me. Pray for me, brothers, that I will fulfill God’s mission.”

The men prayed for Saul, and he took the pack of food that the ladies had provided for the trip. He thanked them one more time; then a knock came on the door. It was Saul’s escort to the wall of the city. Ananias made sure that the street was empty.

“Good-bye, my friends,” Saul said. “May the Lord bless you all.”

Then he vanished into the darkness.

“Back to Jerusalem I go,” said Serus, as they followed the men.

“Your task is a great one,” said Crispin. “I’m sure there will be many attempts on Saul’s life before this is over. Keep him, Serus. Saul bears watching.”

Serus watched the men lower Saul in a basket over the city wall. Crispin’s words rang heavily as the angels watched Saul slip off into the night. He could only imagine where the Lord might take such a man; the enemy would certainly be planning his destruction. He looked at Crispin.

“I wonder what Lucifer is thinking right now?” he finally said.

“I’d say he is thinking the same thing that
you
are thinking,” said Crispin, smiling. “What am I going to do with Saul of Tarsus?”

Paul’s Cell, Rome, A.D. 67

“So do not be ashamed to testify about our Lord, or of me His prisoner. But join with me in suffering for the gospel, by the power of God, who has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of His own purpose and grace. This grace was given us in Christ Jesus before the beginning of time, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior, Christ Jesus, who has destroyed death and has brought life and immortality to light through the gospel.”

Paul looked up from his writing. His eyes were bothering him. Luke was reading another portion of the same letter. Here they were—the two of them—in a Roman cell reading what was probably Paul’s final encouragement to Timothy. If only he could deliver the letter in person. But that was not to be—not this time. At least Luke could still come and go as he pleased. Perhaps he could get this letter to Timothy as he had the first. After all—this was his mission. He continued reading.

“And of this gospel I was appointed a herald and an apostle and a teacher. That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him for that day …”

Paul laid the writing down, staring vacantly at the parchment.

“Paul?”

No answer.

“Brother?”

“I’m sorry, Luke. My mind was elsewhere.”

Luke smiled at his old friend. “Jerusalem?”

Paul laughed. Then he coughed uncontrollably. Luke handed him a cup of water.

“Jerusalem. Apart from the city that awaits us in Heaven, it is the only place that truly captured my heart. And yes—when my mind wanders, it usually finds itself there. I miss it, Luke. Even though it would have none of me.”

Luke looked at the letter Paul had been writing.

“Herald, apostle, and teacher,” Luke said. “I’d say that sums it up neatly.”

Paul smiled.

“I left out old and achy,” Paul said, warming his hands at the meager fire. “And scarred. I believe I reminded the Galatian church of the marks I bear on my body for the cause of Christ.”

“You wear them well,” Luke said, sitting next to the old apostle.

“I certainly wear them.” Paul rolled up a sleeve and indicated a long scar along his forearm. “Remember the riot in Ephesus? Someone in that crowd had a nasty tool that he thrust at me. And my back. Looks like the bottom of a ship, it’s so marked up. But all that was later. After leaving Damascus I enjoyed a marvelous season of ministry with Barnabas in Antioch.”

“You hadn’t yet met Peter, right?” asked Luke.

“Not yet,” Paul said. “But as I recall he was pretty busy himself during that time. Very busy indeed.”

Chronicles of the Host

Antonia Fortress, Jerusalem, A.D. 43–44

“What am I going to do with Saul of Tarsus?”

Nobody looked at Lucifer.

The council that so often offered advice was silent. Lucifer looked over the angels who had thrown their lot—and their destinies—in with him. How long ago it all seemed—when they were angels of standing in the Kingdom. Now they were fugitives, rebels whose cause was to compromise the Most High’s plans for men—and to forestall the dire prediction that hung over them all: that the Seed of the woman would one day crush the head of the serpent.

“I have Berenius and others on it,” said Kara, breaking the silence. “He is stirring the passion of the Jews to intrigue. They were only hours from killing him in Damascus.”

“Yes,” said Pellecus. “Watching the gates of the city.”

Kara sneered at the angel who so often opposed him.

“Who would have suspected they would lower him through a window? Humans are so unpredictable.”

“I would say humans are
quite
predictable,” Lucifer said, sitting down at the table on a balcony of the Herodian. “And that will prove to be our advantage in the end. Humans will always succumb to their base instincts—especially fanatics.”

“Saul won’t be taken by trickery,” Pellecus said.

“Agreed,” said Lucifer. “I’m not talking about trickery, Pellecus. I’m talking about the religious fools who believe they do the Lord’s work by silencing Saul. Continue fomenting their hatred, Kara. They might have missed him in Damascus—but Jerusalem will be another story.”

“The affair with Cornelius has certainly raised concerns in Caesarea Philippi,” said Pellecus. “Some of our greatest work has been undone there.”

Lucifer glared at Tinius. “You are ruler over that region. What happened?”

“Don’t accuse me!” Tinius snapped. “An angel appeared to Peter in a dream and sent him to that idiotic Cornelius. Why he couldn’t be like the other Romans, I don’t understand. His heart was good toward the people. He even gave money to support a synagogue there.”

Kara laughed. “Bad use of money, Tinius. Romans don’t build synagogues—they burn them. At least that’s what Romans who are managed well do.”

“Cornelius was already beyond our reach,” said Tinius. “Our power is limited with such men. Human minds can be influenced—but they cannot be overcome without consent.”

“Enough!” said Lucifer. “What of this angel, Tinius?”

“He brought a dream to Peter. Of all sorts of animals deemed unclean to his people. These Jews! And in the dream Peter was commanded to partake of the animals, but he refused because he was unclean. Three times this happened. Finally the voice in the dream told him that what the Lord has called clean is no longer unclean.”

“But why Cornelius?” asked Kara. “Just because he loves the Jews?”

“No, Kara,” said Pellecus. “Because he is a Gentile.”

Pellecus walked to the edge of Herod’s palace where the group met. Behind and below him the city of Jerusalem lay in backdrop. The Temple was clearly visible, and the sound of a trumpet announcing evening prayers sounded clearly.