Empire's End (10 page)

Even at full volume, the man spoke eloquently as he recited our own rich history and demanded: “Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed those who foretold the coming of the Just One, whom you have betrayed and murdered.”

“
You
are betrayers and murderers?” I shouted to my cohorts. “How dare he? He comes into our domain and accuses
us
of such heinous deeds?”

The assembled gnashed their teeth and rose up as one, rushing him. In my dream I was suddenly next to him at the dais—why, oh, why had we honored him with such a place of prominence when it was he who was under indictment? He turned and looked fully into my eyes as if he knew me. Then he gazed up as if through the ceiling of the great arched chamber.

“Look!” he said. “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!”

“Blasphemer!” I screamed, and the council cried out, covering their ears. Then they surrounded him and dragged him away. I ran ahead, leading them to a plain strewn with rocks, and urged them to stay away from any pit and to use no stones large enough to crush him. I shouted, “This
must not look like an execution, but merely a punishment gone awry!”

As they forced him into the open where he could not hide, I took their cloaks and pointed them to the piles of rocks. Nearly seventy men began throwing at him. First one, then another thudded into his belly and chest, and he called out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!”

He knelt and cried, “Lord, do not charge them with this sin!”

Now, in my dream that had become a nightmare, he lay dead in a pool of blood. I raised both fists, then congratulated the men as I returned their cloaks. They, we, I had done a righteous thing. Each grinned broadly at me and said, “You murdered Stephanos.”

When it had actually happened, I believed it had been a great day and that I might be lauded within the Temple for my role in it. That night I had slept soundly for the first time in months. But now, in my dream, everything was askew. Suddenly I didn't want the credit, didn't want the attention, was puzzled by those who had thrown the rocks now praising me, nay, accusing me, not of having justly executed a blasphemer but of having murdered him.

Though the stone-throwers had numbered fewer than six dozen, in my dream the line seemed to go on forever as I handed them their cloaks, yet the pile of garments never grew smaller. My smile and enthusiasm waned as I fought to get them to stop congratulating me and calling it murder. “No!” I said over and over, “not me, you! And not murder, justice!”

Suddenly the next man in line was Alastor, small and hunched and fifty years older than I knew him to be. His scraggly beard had been bleached pure white, blown by a dry wind to reveal a face pale and drawn and wrinkled. I was pierced by his gaze and tried to evade it. He refused his cloak, refused to shake my hand, and solemnly shook his head. In a voice hollow and ethereal, and pointing a shaky, bony finger, he rasped,
“You're not Paul of Damascus at all. You're Saul of Tarsus, and you murdered Stephanos.”

“No! No, Alastor! I—”

But in an instant he had become a slender young woman dressed in black from head to toe, a veil covering her face, an angelic boy on her hip staring at me with eyes so large and deep and dark that I knew he saw past his fun new friend to the very soul of an assassin.

As I opened my mouth to plead with the woman, her veil disappeared to reveal such beauty and pain that I could not utter a sound. “You murdered my Stephanos,” she said with a lilt, as if it had just dawned on her.

The boy lowered his chin and said, “You killed Papa.”

I found my voice and reached desperately for mother and son. But she was backing away! “Wait!” I cried. In an instant I saw only a lone figure remaining, dressed in gleaming white with his back to me.

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?