Empire's End (5 page)

As Theo rumbled through the desert sand, I felt God the Father gently urge me to relax, to sit up, to ease my grip on the horse's mane, to rest my palms on my thighs. Despite the unexplainable ride and the miraculous escape from the Roman cavalrymen, still I was hesitant to obey. Yet as
soon as I did, I found myself as comfortable and confident as I had ever been, even when I'd enjoyed the security of a saddle.

Without shade or breeze, except for that caused by the speed, my thinning hair wafted and my face was refreshed, and I felt no need even to squint into what should have been a blinding sun. Yet I had been in the Arabian desert for hours.

The same zeal you brought to your former life you will dedicate to the gospel of My Son
.

“Yes, Lord!” I shouted. “I will proclaim Him for as long as You give me breath!”

You will be My witness
—

“Yes, Lord!”

But suddenly, by His silence, I felt a deep rebuke. Now I fell silent and lowered my head. I dared not even beg forgiveness. I had interrupted the very God of the universe, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He had said He would use my zeal, but had that fervor already offended Him? I wanted to leap from Theo and prostrate myself, hiding my face in the sand. What was wrong with me?

He had to know this! I knew from my memorizing of the ancient Scriptures as a child that He knew my innermost being! A sob rose in my throat, and desperate as I was to return to a right relationship with Him, I dared not speak. Had I ruined everything? I would never be impudent with an earthly ruler! How could I with God the Father? I felt as bad as I had on the floor of Judas' house.

As my horse raced on, I rocked along, head bowed, weeping, aching for another word, anything from my God. I would never speak in His presence again if only He would forgive me. All my life I had been desperate for a walking-and-talking interaction with God like the ones enjoyed by biblical heroes of old. Christ Himself had confronted me and
now God had spoken to me. But in my exhilaration I had overstepped my position.

I determined that from now on I would speak to God only in spirit. I would be open to Him always, listening.
Mercy. Mercy. Mercy
.

You will no longer identify yourself by your Greek name
.

Oh, praise God, He was speaking to me again! And though I was confused, I would merely listen. I would obey, of course, but if I was no longer Saul, who was I? And identify myself to whom? Where was I going and to whom would I be speaking?

By your Roman name
.

When it was to my advantage I used the name Paul, but growing up a Pharisee and in my role with the Sanhedrin I had always been Saul. I could not have been more puzzled or curious, but I had always been a fast learner. I was not about to pester my Lord God with questions. Nothing sickened me more than His silence, and clearly He had something in mind for me.

For as long as I could remember, I had been filled with purpose—an early riser, busy all day. How I longed to devote that vigor and passion to my Lord, if only He would tell me what He wanted me to do.

I knew nothing more than to be prayerfully silent and listen. This I did as patiently as I knew how for the rest of the day, finally so confident of my balance on the broad back of the great beast Theo that I folded my hands in my lap and sat straight up, back rigid, hood hanging loosely about my neck, eyes closed.

Still aware of the moist air, the sound of the sand beneath my horse's hooves, and the warmth of the sun on my scalp, I alternately dozed and hummed praises to God—trying to be patient. This I found nearly impossible as the sun reached its zenith, then arced out over the Red Sea and began to wane.

The miracle of riding a speeding horse for hours on end without pain or fear or hunger or fatigue had lost its novelty—how long could this go on? Would Theo take me to the ends of the earth? What did my Lord have in mind? I determined that I had been aboard this animal for almost twenty-four hours and could well have covered as many as nine hundred miles. No one in his right mind would believe it. I wouldn't have myself had I not been the foolish-looking man perched atop the magnificent stallion.

As the sun flattened and broadened and its hues began to change from yellow to orange, suddenly both sky and sea seemed to burst into flames of color painted just for me by God Himself. I was captivated, mesmerized, overcome. How many times must I have seen this before without ever giving it a second look? As I spread my arms to gather it in, God spoke deeply to my soul—making me wish I had parchment and quill—but I would never forget one syllable.

My Son is the very image of Me, the firstborn over all creation. For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. And He is the head of the body, the church, who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in all things He may have the preeminence
.

For it pleased Me that in Him all the fullness should dwell, and by Him to reconcile all things to Himself, by Him, where things on earth or things in heaven, having made peace through the blood of His cross
.

At this I lowered my face into Theo's mane and sobbed. Would that God would speak to me this way and that I would have the unspeakable privilege of sharing it.

My horse thundered on as my tears streamed, but I was soon startled
by a break in his gait. He hadn't slowed, but something had caused him to miss a step. I sat up and peered into the distance. In the fading light a rising cloud of dust could mean only one thing: a caravan.

Giving not a hint of slowing, Theo would in a matter of minutes overtake the plodding camels and carts. But I feared we would also spook the massive security detail that protected the precious goods—silk or spices and incense, perhaps ivory. And there was the matter of the Roman garrison, no doubt still in dogged pursuit. Did I dare give them a chance to make up ground?

Had it been up to me, I would have steered clear of the caravan, shambling along about forty yards east and maybe half a mile ahead of us. A gentle breeze carried back to me clear aromatic evidence of its cargo, reminding me afresh of the miracle of my sated appetite. At any other time, particularly when I had gone an entire night and day without a bite, the pungent fragrance of cinnamon, pepper, onion, garlic, and the like would have sent me on a course toward warm bread, sizzling meat, and an appropriate libation.

Now it merely piqued my interest, kindled my imagination, and made me nostalgic for faraway places and long-forgotten friends.

It was too much to hope for that the caravan guards would ignore an enormous black stallion with a tiny, bald, middle-aged man on his bare back, racing madly past them along the shore of the Red Sea. By the time we pulled to within a couple of hundred yards of them, three of their black-clad guards peeled off and galloped over to intercept us.

As we drew near, I could see from their dark countenances and turbans that they hailed from the Far East. One eased his mount directly into Theo's path and casually raised a hand in a not-unfriendly manner, as if to request I stop for a chat. As Theo had had a mind of his own since I had leapt astride him a full day and night before, that decision was out of my
hands. I merely smiled and shrugged as we flew by, and the guard's steed skittered back as the man quickly unsheathed his weapon.

The three lit out after us, shouting in a language I did not recognize, and they were soon joined by at least a half dozen others. Though they were all no doubt well trained and their horses fresh, fit, and fed, they were no match for a mount and rider already tested to their limits for twenty-four hours and empowered by the God of the universe.

By the time Theo finally, strangely, bore hard to his left and made me reach desperately for his mane again, our pursuers had disappeared. At long last, it appeared we had reached some sort of a destination. The great animal slowed to a gallop, then to a trot, then to a walk. He eased across the trade route past a sign I would not have been able to read at the speed we had been going: Jeddah 185 miles.

He slipped behind a tall rock outcropping and down a ravine that led to a shallow dip unlike anything else I'd seen in the Arabian desert. He stopped on a rocky plateau that overlooked a cluster of dwellings that appeared to comprise a shabby Bedouin settlement. It reminded me of a bleak city of refuge I had seen years before. And had my horse not followed this unlikely path, I would have seen not a bit of evidence of it—nor could anyone else. In the middle of the vast Arabian desert, it was the perfect spot to hide a dwelling place.

And so, Lord?

I slid off Theo's back, expecting to feel tight, cramped, weary. If this was not a dream, if I really had traveled from Damascus to 185 miles north of Jeddah from sundown to sundown on horseback, I could not imagine ever doubting or questioning God again for as long as I lived. What must He have be planning for me?

Is this where I am to reside, Lord?

“You?”

I jumped and whirled at the sound of an ancient voice, instinctively reaching to my waist for a weapon that wasn't there. An old man stood watching me in the fading light, holding the hand of cherubic dark-eyed boy not more than four years old.

Remember
.

God had reminded me of how I was to identify myself. “
You
what?” I said.

“
You
are the one the Lord told me of in a dream?”

“Not again,” I said.

“This is common for you?” the old man said.

“It has happened before.”

“Not to me, stranger.” He turned to the boy, who looked scared. “If he tells us the correct name, Corydon, we will know he is the man of God.”

“My name is Paul,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “Where am I?”

The man gasped but did not take my hand. He gathered the boy close to him and said, “Could he have come so far, so fast? Does his horse look tired? And where is his saddle?”

“You're saying the Lord told you where I was last night?” I said.

The man nodded solemnly.

“If I tell you where that was, will you shake my hand and tell me where I am?”

He nodded, but his fingers trembled.

“Damascus,” I said.

He took my hand but fell to his knees, causing the boy to burst into tears and cry out, “Grandfather!”

“It's all right, son,” I said. “Corydon, is it?” The boy fought to stop crying, pressing his lips together. He nodded. I helped the man to his feet. “And you, sir? Your name?”

“Alastor. And you have arrived at Yanbu.”

I knelt so I was eye level with the boy and showing deference to his grandfather. “Sir, you have plainly walked with God much longer than I. But am I to gather that below us is an enclave of followers of The Way?”

The old man nodded. “We have all been driven many miles from our various homelands.”

“As have I.”

“We are to take you in.”

“Who else knows this?” I said.

“No one.”

“Will I be accepted or suspected?”

It was nice to see Alastor smile at last. “If I were you, Paul, I would not tell the story of your journey.”

That made me chuckle. “I barely believe it myself, sir.”

“The Lord told me you would come to us with nothing, but that we were to offer you food and lodging in exchange for your trade.”

“My trade?”

Alastor nodded. “We are to leave you alone so He can meet with you in the wilderness in the mornings, and you will ply your trade in the afternoons.”

“Did He say what my trade was to be?”

Alastor shook his head. “You must understand, Paul. I did not know it was really the Lord until you confirmed what He told me. Forgive me, but you do not look like someone He would have sent.”

“Coming all this way so quickly—”

“And without a saddle. Or sunburn.”

“I understand,” I said. “But as for my trade, I—”
Do not reveal your training
. “—I, ah, don't know what I can offer.”

“Paul, if you do not know, I certainly don't either. But for now I must obey the Lord. Are you thirsty, hungry, tired? Let's water and feed
your horse and wash your feet, have my daughter set another bowl at the table—”

“Oh, I'm not—”
Accept
. “I would be so grateful. Thank you, sir. And Corydon, I am eager to meet your parents. Tell me—”

“The lad has recently lost his father, sir.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“And his mother is still in mourning, so—”

“I understand. Don't put her to any trouble.”

“She likes to keep busy.”

I asked Alastor if he and the boy would like to ride down to the settlement while I led the horse. He looked to Corydon who nodded, and I helped them both up onto Theo.

Curious eyes met us as we approached the commune, but the unsmiling people only nodded and kept to themselves.

A cluster of nine unwieldy tents lay hidden about a mile from the trade route and another quarter-mile from the sea. The dwellings consisted of crude, rectangular sections of woven dark sheepskin and goatskin sewn together and supported by wood poles anchored to the rocky ground by wood pegs. A glance told me my father, a master tentmaker, would have been horrified at the workmanship. Frayed edges and gaping holes clearly allowed in wind, dust, dirt, rocks, and whatever chill the night winds brought. It dawned on me what trade the Lord intended for me to barter here.

Alastor gestured toward the largest tent, set at the far left end of the compound, and handed Corydon down to me. The lad quickly wriggled from my grasp and ran inside calling, “Mama, a man!”

I moved to help Alastor, but the old man assured me he was all right and deftly slid off Theo, bellowing a strange name. A young man of ruddy countenance came running from another tent, bowed to me, and was introduced as Nadav.