“I know, but in humor resides the truth. Not only am I the right person to ask about the one true God, but yes, I also know I am. In my mind, it is not conceit when it is true. If I thought I were an authority on Judaism and was not, I would be guilty of foolish pride. But I doubt you could raise an issue about my religion about which I am not versed. Try me.”
“I am a Stoic, as you know.”
Saul nodded.
Luke hesitated, not wanting to admit to this man that he had found the philosophy wanting, especially when it came to personal piety.
“But you miss God,” Saul said. “Do you not?”
“You know Stoics believe in logic and reason, that which can be seen and felt and studied.”
“Don’t tell me God cannot be studied, Luke. I have been studying Him and His ways and statutes for as long as I can remember. I began studying the Scriptures when—”
“You were five, yes, I’m aware. Deeper stuffical school at thirteen.”
“You have a good memory.”
“You generally don’t let people forget.” Again Luke had allowed his bitterness to come through, and he hated himself for it.
“When I talk about myself, I mean to talk about God,” Saul said.
“The true student of Scripture should reflect the Author.”
Luke wanted to tell this self-possessed man that he was a poor representative of God, if there was a God. But rather he said, “Just as an academic pursuit, I’m curious: Does the practice of your faith make a difference in your personal life?”
“Who I really am, you mean? In private, behind a closed door?”
“Precisely. Are you able to control your passions, to keep out the things of the world that would distract you?”
“Let’s sit,” Saul said, unusual for him. Luke had rarely seen him sit except for a meal or a lecture. He joined the man on a stone bench.
“My pursuit of God
is
my passion,” he said. “I do not plan to marry, if that is what you’re aiming at. My entire life will be sacrificed to the Lord for His service and for obedience to His law.”
“So pride, jealousy, anger, sloth . . . none of these things invade?”
Saul fell silent a moment, another rarity. He rubbed his hands together and seemed to study the darkening sky. “Not for a long time. Though these are the things that come to mind when we celebrate a feast of atonement.”
“Atonement for sins?”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. It’s just—well, I—I just have never seen these things manifest in you.”
“Nor I in you, Luke, but I daresay that is not due to your Stoicism.”
“Why?”
“Your philosophy, as I understand it—and believe me, the longer I study here, the more I know of it—is not about laws and statutes. I rarely need to atone for sins, because I am focused on following God’s laws. It is my life.”
Now Luke had something else to envy, though he was no less put off by the man.
“Interesting,” was all he could muster.
“That’s it? That’s all that was on your mind?”
If he only knew.
INTERVAL
Fifteen years bridged Luke’s life from the time he graduated from the university in Tarsus until an encounter with an old acquaintance would change his life and make his one ="3">The talk of the campus the day he left was that the irascible Saul of Tarsus was on his way to Jerusalem to work in the temple, with designs on one day becoming the youngest member of the Sanhedrin. “And he’ll probably do it,” was the general consensus, even by those who could barely stand to be in the man’s presence.
Luke had to admit he would be glad to be out of earshot of Saul and wondered if the three hundred miles between Syrian Antioch and Jerusalem was enough. He had long since resigned himself to the fact that one of his major issues with Saul was jealousy. He didn’t want the man’s reputation—for he was widely considered obnoxious and annoying—but to Luke it seemed unfair that his own good qualities were not worthy of such fame.
For his part, Luke headed back to Theophilus’s estate to serve as the family and business physician. Luke pleaded with the master to not welcome him with the same type of fete he had hosted when sending Luke off to university.
“Sorry,” Theophilus said, “but the meat and fruit have already been ordered.”
“Please tell me the slaves have not yet been invited.”
“They haven’t, but no doubt they expect to be and are eager to come.”
“Trust me, they are not. If you value my opinion in the least, accede to my wish that this be a private party, perhaps just your paid staff and the family.”
Theophilus scowled. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Here’s my thinking on your freedom, Luke. I would like to ask you to serve me here for five years. At the end of that time, if you wished to stay on, we could talk about compensation. Otherwise, you would be free to pursue any employment avenue you wish.”
“Thank you, sir. And I have one more request. I would like to live in the same chambers I stayed in before I left.”
“In the slave quarters? Wouldn’t it be easier for you and more comfortable right here in the house?”
“Of course, but I fear it would separate me too much from my people. And I would always be just moments away if you needed me in the night.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“But once you are a freeman, if you were employed here, I would insist—”
“That would be fine.”
BUT IT NEVER CAME to that. During the five years Luke served as Theophilus’s physician, his work often took him into Antioch for supplies and consultation with other doctors. He enjoyed his role in Daphne and occasionally at the Mediterranean retreat and seemed to endear himself to the entire population of the compound, but the squalor of the worst parts of the city seemed to plant something deep in his heart.
Every timeh="1em">
“Starting with all the hubbub in Judea.”
“I’m not aware.”
“Really? My aides tell me a working man from Nazareth is causing a commotion, traveling about, speaking to great crowds about the kingdom of God.”
“Indeed?” Luke said, laughing. “And is he planning to usher it in?”
“I don’t know, but they say many believe he has healed people.”
That gave Luke pause. Had he not, in spite his devotion to Stoicism, found himself longing to be known as a great physician, one of the best in the land? “Healed them? Healed them of what? And how?”
“The blind, the lame. He heals them with a touch or a word. Rumor has it he raised a man who had been dead and in the tomb four days.”
Luke shook his head. This had better not be true. And how could it be? “People will believe anything. Surely no one with a brain is accepting this. Is Rome aware of it?”
“If not, it soon will be, unless the novelty of it wears off or until he is exposed as a charlatan. I should think the Jewish leaders would be most upset, as he apparently has no authority to be expounding on these matters. Others have arisen to draw great crowds, only to fade into obscurity. But if you hear any more out of there, let me know.”
AS LUKE LAY TRYING to sleep that night, he couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of his old friend Saul responding to this obscure teacher arousing such interest from the people. Woe to the poor man if he was forced into a debate with Saul!
By the time Luke had enjoyed his festive sendoff—and Theophilus was right that many of his fellow slaves seemed genuinely happy for him (including Diabolos)—and gotten started on his new career, he didn’t have to venture to the harbor for news from Judea. The fame of the carpenter named Jesus was spreading. Even some visiting the free clinic had stories and opinions about the controversy.
A woman told Luke, to his uproarious amusement, that the teacher had fed thousands of people with just a couple of fish and a few loaves of bread.
“And I suppose you’ve heard of all the healings too,” Luke said, still chuckling. “A blind man? A bleeding woman?”
“Oh, more than that,” she said. “I heard that more than once he healed everyone gathered to listen to him.”
“Everyone? All of them? How many?”
“Hundreds at least,” she said. “That’s why some think he’s of God.”
“Of God? Do people really believe this?”
“Some believe he could be the Messiah.”
“Indeed?” But Luke could see that his merriment was offending the woman. He managed a serious look. “And you? What do you make of it, ma’am?”
“Do you and the Pharisees agree on anything?”
“Yes. Even those middle-class doctors of the law ascribe to the truth that the Lord our God is one God.”
“And whom should I ask about Saul of Tarsus?”
The rabbi waved toward a wide opening behind him. “I haven’t seen him for a long time either, sir. But one of his own ought to know where he has gone.”
Luke found his encounter with the Pharisees just as unproductive. When he mentioned Saul’s name, the elders looked at one another and hesitated. “What is your business with him?” one said.
“We attended university together, in Tarsus.”
“You might look for him there.”
“In his hometown? Is he no longer a leader here? Is he back making tents?”
An older rabbi shrugged and chuckled. “He was no leader here, though he carried himself as if he were.”
“Come now, Iseabail,” another said. “We certainly cannot fault him for his zeal. He was no sloth, that is sure. He was clearly the most strident among us against the Nazarene and the other blasphemers.”
“Nonsense! He merely watched the cloaks of those who executed one of them.”
“But he made up for that, leading his own team to ferret out the secret meeting places and bringing the insurgents to justice.”
“And sometimes death.”
“But where is he now?”
“That’s my question,” Luke said. “What, he simply disappeared?”
The men eyed one another again. Finally Iseabail spoke. “We don’t know where he is, but there are rumors. A few years ago, Saul was actually rising within the synagogue—”
“With clear ambitions to become the youngest member of the San
hedrin one day,” another said.
“Oh, that is not all bad,” Iseabail said. “At least he had focus. Saul was leading the effort against these many cells still meeting furtively, despite the admonitions of the temple and the king and even Rome, and he had seen countless numbers of them brought before the authorities. The last we knew, he was on his way to Damascus to conduct similar activities—with our authority. He never returned.”
Luke stood waiting for more, but was met with silence. He opened his palms to them. “That’s it? You didn’t go after him, ask about him, try to find him? What if he came to a bad end?”
“Of course we went looking. Or someone did. I don’t recall who just now. But the report we got was that he had left the synagogue and perhaps even left the faith.”
“Oh, surely not,” Luke said. “I never knew”
is middle, a more chiseled look to his features, but Luke would have recognized him anywhere. Still small and wiry, he seemed to have the same energy he had always had.
“Dr. Luke!” he exulted, first pumping Luke’s hand, then embracing him. “What are you doing here, old friend?”
“I could ask you the same. I have heard all kinds of rumors about you.”
“I’ll confirm or deny them all if we get time. Are you coming or going?”
Luke told him his schedule, and Saul grew suddenly serious. “Please,” he said, beckoning the young man and introducing him as his traveling companion. “Barnabas came from here to fetch me. He and I studied under Gamaliel in Jerusalem years ago, but he has been ministering here, not just to Jews but also to Greeks, for some time and now needs my help. Barnabas, Luke was a fellow student of mine at university. Listen, ask the captain if there might be room for me to stay aboard until their stop at Joppa, then I’ll catch another vessel coming this way. If there is, see to getting my things back on ship. You can proceed into town to meet with the brethren.”
Ministering? The brethren?
Could it be true that Saul had aligned with his former enemies? And had this Barnabas been working near Luke in Antioch?
As Barnabas hurried off, Saul said, “I should have asked first whether I would be welcome to sail with you.”
“The Saul I knew would never have asked,” Luke said, smiling. He was alarmed when Saul did not appear amused.
Saul threw his arm around Luke and drew him close. “First, my name is Paul now. Can you get used to that?”
“I’ll try, but—”
“Before we converse a moment more, I must beg your forgiveness.”
“My—?”
“Hear, me, Luke, please. I have prayed for the chance to one day plead abjectly for your pardon for how boorish I was to you at university.”