The Scribe (19 page)

“Such was my pride, you see. I had given money to the poor every time I entered the Temple. I had always tithed as the Law required. One day, I would rise as a ruler among God’s people. Because of wealth . . . I thought I was so
good
Jesus would have to say, ‘Nothing more is required of you, Silas. The Lord is well pleased with you.’ Words of praise! That’s what I had heard all my life. That’s what I expected, fool that I was. I wanted God’s assurance before witnesses that I had a right to live forever.”

He let out his breath slowly. “Jesus looked at me with such love. ‘If you want to receive eternal life,’ He said, ‘keep the commandments.’

“‘Which ones?’ I asked Him, thinking one was more important than another, and Jesus listed them. ‘You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. Honor your father and mother. Love your neighbor as yourself.’

“I had kept all those commandments. I even thought I had kept the last one by giving a few coins to the hungry widows and orphans who sat on the steps of the Temple, the poor and destitute I graced with a paltry gift in the streets! I was so sure of myself that I said I had obeyed all the commandments and then asked what else I must do. I wanted to hear Him say, ‘Nothing more.’ But Jesus didn’t say that.”

He looked at Epanetus. “Jesus looked into my eyes and said, ‘If you want to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.
Then
come, follow Me.’

“I felt as though the breath had been punched from me. All the assurance I had lived with all my life fell away. If obedience to the Law wasn’t enough, if wealth was not a sign of salvation, I was undone. I had no hope! ‘
Then
come,’ Jesus had said. If I was willing to give up everything my father and his father and his father before him had gained, and give up all the increase I had worked to achieve,
then
I could become His disciple.”

Silas gave a bleak laugh. “It was the first time my money and position had closed rather than opened a door. I went away, confused and miserable because I knew I couldn’t give up anything.”

“But you went back!”

“No, Curiatus. I didn’t.”

“But you must have!”

“I never approached Him again. Not directly. When Jesus looked at me that day, I knew He saw
inside
my heart. I was laid bare before Him. Nothing was hidden. Even the things I didn’t know about myself were clear to Him. I thought it had to do with money, but He had many wealthy friends. He raised one from the grave! I didn’t understand why He said all that to me, and not to others. It was a long time before I fully understood my sin.

“Money was my god. Worshiping the Lord had become mere ritual in order to retain it. ‘Let go of it,’ Jesus had said, ‘and then you can come to Me.’ And I was unwilling. I clung to what I had inherited. I continued to build upon it.”

Oh, how Silas regretted the time he had wasted!

“I wanted to be able to worship God without giving up anything. So I did what I had always done. I worked. I went to the Temple. I gave my tithes and offerings. I gave generously to the poor. I read the Law and the Prophets.” He clenched his fists. “And I found no peace in any of it, because I now knew that all my money would
never
be enough to save me. Jesus’ words made me hunger and thirst for righteousness. I wanted to please God. I couldn’t stay away from Jesus, but I couldn’t face Him either.”

He smiled ruefully. “Whenever Jesus came near Jerusalem or into the city, I went to hear Him. I would lose myself in the crowd or stand behind men taller and broader. I stood in shadows, thinking I was hidden from Him.”

“And found you couldn’t hide from God,” Epanetus said.

Silas nodded. “Sometimes I talked with the disciples—never the twelve closest to him, for fear they might recognize me, but others, like Cleopas. We became good friends.”

He closed his eyes. “And then Jesus was crucified.”

No one moved. Silas sighed and looked around the room. The memories flooded him. “Some of my father’s friends were among those who held an illegal trial in the middle of the night and condemned Him. They could not execute Jesus, so they enlisted the help of our enemies, the Romans, in order to carry out their plans. I understood them. I knew why they did it. Wealth and power! They loved the same things I did. That’s what the trial was all about. Jesus was turning the world upside down. They thought when He died everything would go back to the way it was. Caiaphas and Annas, along with many of the priests and scribes, thought they could still hold everything in the palms of their hands.”

He looked at his palms, and thought of Jesus’ nail-scarred hands. “In truth, they held no real power at all.”

“Were you at the Crucifixion?”

“Yes, Curiatus. I was there, though I wish I could have stayed away. When Cleopas and I saw that Jesus was dead, I remember being thankful it hadn’t taken Him days to die.”

Silas shook his head. “The disciples had all scattered the night Jesus was arrested at Gethsemane. Cleopas didn’t know what to do. I let him stay with me. He went out a few days later to find the others and then came back. Jesus’ body had been removed to a tomb, but now He was missing. One of the women claimed she had seen Him alive and standing in the garden outside the tomb. But this was the same woman who had had seven demons cast out of her, and I thought she had gone mad again.

“Cleopas and I were both eager to be away from the city, away from the Temple
.
He feared capture. I did not want to see the smug satisfaction of the scribes and priests, the Pharisees who had plotted and schemed and broken the Law to murder Jesus. Nor did I want to be around to see how the religious leaders might hunt down the disciples one by one and do to them what they had done to Jesus.” His mouth tipped. “I even left my fine mule behind, and we set off for Emmaus.”

Silas clasped his hands, but could not still the trembling inside. “As we walked along, we talked about Jesus. He had been a prophet; of that I had no doubt. But we were both left with so many questions.

“‘I thought Jesus was the one,’ Cleopas kept insisting. ‘I thought He was the Messiah.’ I had thought so, too, but I truly believed that had He been the Messiah, they couldn’t have killed Him. God wouldn’t have allowed it.

“‘But the signs and wonders!’ Cleopas said. ‘He healed the sick! He made the blind see and the deaf hear! He raised the dead! He fed thousands of people with nothing more than a loaf of bread and a few fish! How could He do all those things if He was not anointed by God?’

“I had no answers, only questions, like he did. Cleopas was grieving. So was I. A man we didn’t recognize came and joined us. ‘What are you discussing so intently as you walk along?’ He wanted to know. Cleopas told Him He must be the only person in Jerusalem who hadn’t heard about all the things that had happened over the last few days. ‘What things?’ He said. Cleopas told Him, not patiently, about Jesus. We said He was a man we believed to be a prophet who did powerful miracles. He was a great teacher we thought was the Messiah, and our leading priests and religious leaders had handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified by the Romans.”

Silas rubbed his hands together and wove his fingers tightly. “And then Cleopas told Him about the women who had gone to the tomb and found it empty, and Mary Magdalene, who claimed she saw Jesus alive. I’ll never forget the man’s words. He spoke to us as though we were frightened children, as indeed we were.

“The man sighed and called us foolish. ‘You find it so hard to believe all that the prophets wrote in the Scriptures. Wasn’t it clearly predicted that the Messiah would have to suffer all these things before entering His glory?’ He reminded us of prophecies we had not wanted to remember. The Messiah would be despised and rejected, a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. His people would turn their backs on Him. He would be struck, spat upon by His enemies, mocked, blasphemed, and crucified with criminals. Others would throw dice for his clothing.

“The stranger spoke the words of Isaiah I had heard, but never before understood: ‘He was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on Him the sins of us all.’”

Silas felt the tears gather again. “I trembled as the stranger spoke, the prayer shawl over His head. I knew the truth of every word He said. My heart burned with the certainty of it. The day was late when we reached Emmaus, and we asked the man to stay. When He hesitated, Cleopas and I pleaded.

“He came in with us. We sat at the table together. The stranger broke bread and held it out to each of us. It was then I saw the palms of His hands and the scars on His wrists.” Silas blinked back tears. “I looked at Him then. He drew the mantle back, and we both saw His face. For the first time since that day when He told me to go and give everything I owned to the poor, I looked into His eyes . . . and then He was gone.”

“Gone? How?”

“He vanished.”

Everyone whispered.

“What did you see in Jesus’ eyes, Silas?” Diana spoke gently.

He looked at her. “Love. Hope. The realization of every promise I’d ever read in Scripture. I saw an opportunity to change my mind and follow Christ. I saw my only hope of salvation.”

“What about all your money, the houses, the property?” Urbanus asked.

“I invested it. I sold off property as needs arose in the church. Food, a safe place to live, passage on a ship, provisions for a journey—whatever was needed. I sold off the last of my family holdings when Peter asked me to come with him to Rome.”

Epanetus smiled. “You gave up all of your wealth to spread the message of Christ!”

“I gained far more than I gave up. I’ve been welcomed to hundreds of houses, and had a home in every city I’ve lived in.” He looked around the room, into each pair of eyes. “And brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, even children beyond counting.” He opened his hands, palms up. “And along with all those blessings, I gained the desire of my heart: the assurance of eternal life in God’s presence.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “I haven’t a single shekel or denarius left to my name, but I am richer now by far than I was when all Judea gave deference to me as a rich young ruler.”

The hour was late when the gathering dispersed. Small groups left at intervals and went out different doors so they could melt back into the city without rousing suspicion. Diana and Curiatus had been among the first to go. A few lingered.

“What you’ve written will be read for generations to come, Silas.”

Silas could only hope the copies of Paul’s and Peter’s letters would be protected. “The letters will guide you. . . .”

“No. I meant
your
story.”

The woman turned away before Silas could say anything. He stood, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, as the last few disappeared into the night.

One man’s view of what had happened was not a complete record of important events! All he had done was immerse himself in his memories, write his own views of what had happened. He had allowed himself to dwell on his feelings.

Silas had never walked with Jesus during those years when He preached from Galilee to Jerusalem, or traveled with Him to Samaria or Phoenicia. Silas was not an eyewitness to the miracles. He had not sat at Jesus’ feet. When Jesus had told him what he must do, he had refused!

I came late to faith, Lord. I was slow to hear, slow to see, and oh, so slow to obey!

Silas took the scroll and went into his room.
Of what value is this scroll if it leads any of Your children astray?
He added a piece of wood to the fire Macombo had built on the brazier.
Let this be my offering to You, Lord. My life. All of it. Everything I’ve ever done or will do. Let the smoke rising be a sweet incense to you. Set my heart aflame again, Lord. Don’t let me waste my life in reverie!

“What are you doing!” Epanetus strode across the room.

When he reached to pull the scroll out of the fire, Silas grasped his wrist.
“Leave it!”

“You spent weeks writing the history, and now you burn it? Why?”

“They will make too much of it. And I don’t want to leave anything behind that might confuse the children.”

“It was all true, wasn’t it? Every word you wrote!”

“Yes, as far as
I
saw it. But we serve a greater truth than my experiences or thoughts or feelings, Epanetus. The other scrolls—the ones I’ve copied for you—hold that truth. Paul and Peter spoke the words of Christ, and those words will remain.” He released Epanetus. The scroll burned quickly now. “What I wrote there served its purpose. It’s time to let it go.”

Epanetus glared at him. “Are you not Jesus’ disciple, too? Why shouldn’t you write what you know so that it can be a record for those to come?”

“Because I was not an eyewitness to the most important events of Jesus’ life. I didn’t walk with Him, live with Him, eat with Him, hear every word He spoke from morning to night. I wasn’t there when He walked on water, or raised a widow’s son to life. Peter was.”