Read Online Rebekah's Treasure by Sylvia Bambola - Free Book Online
Authors: Sylvia Bambola
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Ephesus.”
“Why . . . that’s where John the Apostle lives!” At once my heart is stirred. “Do you know him?”
Zechariah leans on one arm as he reclines on his mat. “Yes, it’s with his blessing that I came here nine months ago to encourage the saints. John and I heard of their many struggles, and we reasoned they were in sore need of God’s word. That’s why I’ve brought John’s codex with me—so full of the good news, so full of the wondrous deeds of our Jesus.”
“His
codex
. Then . . . you’re a follower of John?” I glance at Aaron. Oh, how I wish Aaron could have followed the Beloved Apostle. But John was getting on in years. By the looks of things it was doubtful that Aaron would ever get that chance now. “John was a guest at our house, staying many times in our upper room, especially after the Master died. I was young and only spoke to him once. But you actually
know
him.”
Zechariah plucks another fig from the bowl. It looks so puny between his large square fingernails. “Yes, yes, and the rest of them, too.I was among the three thousand who fell under Peter’s teaching. Oh, how the Spirit moved that day! There he was, the big clumsy fisherman, speaking to us with such
power
! And there we were, the lot of us, weeping and wailing and crying out to be saved. I tell you, it’s a day I’ll never forget.”
“What has happened to them? We heard that Peter and Paul died in Rome. What of the rest? Do they still live?”
“Some. Jude is in Edessa, Simon in Africa. Matthias, in Cappadocia, or . . . is it Egypt? Philip is reportedly in Hieropolis. The others are dead. Martyred for the faith. Andrew was crucified in Patras in Achaia. They say he was bound to an X-shaped cross rather than nailed, in order to increase his suffering. He hung for two days before death claimed him. I was told Thomas died at the hands of an enraged heathen priest, somewhere in the Far East. A spear, they say, killed him. Nathanael—guileless Nathanael—the reports claim he was beaten, then beheaded by King Astyages in Armenia. And Matthew was martyred in Ethiopia. How? I don’t remember.”
“And what of John? Is he well?”
Zechariah pours out more wine. “He’s well, but aging like us all.” He plucks at the hairs of his gray beard and chuckles. “Ephesus has grayed John’s hair, too, what there is left of it. The man is nearly bald. I think he’s lost one hair for every convert he’s made. It has been a struggle, and Satan has put up many obstacles. Oh, how fiercely loyal the Ephesians are to their goddess, Diana! How they love her sacred oak groves. But the slaves love her best, for any one of them can claim sanctuary in her temple.” He moves his heavy bulk as though trying to get comfortable, then begins telling us stories of John’s efforts to reach these follows of Diana, goddess of the hunt, and of the moon, too.
He talks for hours, until it grows dark, then he tells us we must stay the night. Oh, how this barrel-chested man can talk! And oh, how he made us laugh. Yes, we actually laughed, at least Aaron and I did. Esther didn’t utter a peep. She didn’t even smile.
“There. There it is! The house I’ve picked for you and your family—a fine dwelling, don’t you think?”
I try to hide my disappointment as Zechariah points to a mudbrick house with a collapsed roof. He hops, first on one foot then another, almost as if dancing. The man can’t contain himself for joy.
Aaron’s face tightens. “It’s nearly destroyed. How can my mother live here?”
“No, no,” Zechariah bellows, “the damage is only superficial. I’ve inspected the dwelling myself. It is strong. True, some stones are charred from fire. And the door is off its hinges, and of course there’s the roof. But the rest of the structure is sound. As sound as the Antonia fortress in Jerusalem.” He slaps Aaron good naturedly on the back. “And the believers have promised to help you fix what needs fixing . . .
“Why . . . that’s where John the Apostle lives!” At once my heart is stirred. “Do you know him?”
Zechariah leans on one arm as he reclines on his mat. “Yes, it’s with his blessing that I came here nine months ago to encourage the saints. John and I heard of their many struggles, and we reasoned they were in sore need of God’s word. That’s why I’ve brought John’s codex with me—so full of the good news, so full of the wondrous deeds of our Jesus.”
“His
codex
. Then . . . you’re a follower of John?” I glance at Aaron. Oh, how I wish Aaron could have followed the Beloved Apostle. But John was getting on in years. By the looks of things it was doubtful that Aaron would ever get that chance now. “John was a guest at our house, staying many times in our upper room, especially after the Master died. I was young and only spoke to him once. But you actually
know
him.”
Zechariah plucks another fig from the bowl. It looks so puny between his large square fingernails. “Yes, yes, and the rest of them, too.I was among the three thousand who fell under Peter’s teaching. Oh, how the Spirit moved that day! There he was, the big clumsy fisherman, speaking to us with such
power
! And there we were, the lot of us, weeping and wailing and crying out to be saved. I tell you, it’s a day I’ll never forget.”
“What has happened to them? We heard that Peter and Paul died in Rome. What of the rest? Do they still live?”
“Some. Jude is in Edessa, Simon in Africa. Matthias, in Cappadocia, or . . . is it Egypt? Philip is reportedly in Hieropolis. The others are dead. Martyred for the faith. Andrew was crucified in Patras in Achaia. They say he was bound to an X-shaped cross rather than nailed, in order to increase his suffering. He hung for two days before death claimed him. I was told Thomas died at the hands of an enraged heathen priest, somewhere in the Far East. A spear, they say, killed him. Nathanael—guileless Nathanael—the reports claim he was beaten, then beheaded by King Astyages in Armenia. And Matthew was martyred in Ethiopia. How? I don’t remember.”
“And what of John? Is he well?”
Zechariah pours out more wine. “He’s well, but aging like us all.” He plucks at the hairs of his gray beard and chuckles. “Ephesus has grayed John’s hair, too, what there is left of it. The man is nearly bald. I think he’s lost one hair for every convert he’s made. It has been a struggle, and Satan has put up many obstacles. Oh, how fiercely loyal the Ephesians are to their goddess, Diana! How they love her sacred oak groves. But the slaves love her best, for any one of them can claim sanctuary in her temple.” He moves his heavy bulk as though trying to get comfortable, then begins telling us stories of John’s efforts to reach these follows of Diana, goddess of the hunt, and of the moon, too.
He talks for hours, until it grows dark, then he tells us we must stay the night. Oh, how this barrel-chested man can talk! And oh, how he made us laugh. Yes, we actually laughed, at least Aaron and I did. Esther didn’t utter a peep. She didn’t even smile.
“There. There it is! The house I’ve picked for you and your family—a fine dwelling, don’t you think?”
I try to hide my disappointment as Zechariah points to a mudbrick house with a collapsed roof. He hops, first on one foot then another, almost as if dancing. The man can’t contain himself for joy.
Aaron’s face tightens. “It’s nearly destroyed. How can my mother live here?”
“No, no,” Zechariah bellows, “the damage is only superficial. I’ve inspected the dwelling myself. It is strong. True, some stones are charred from fire. And the door is off its hinges, and of course there’s the roof. But the rest of the structure is sound. As sound as the Antonia fortress in Jerusalem.” He slaps Aaron good naturedly on the back. “And the believers have promised to help you fix what needs fixing . . .
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