05 - Peter Breaks the Barrier

Gaius Caligula was killed by a Roman aristocrat, and no one mourned his passing. Bleeding from a hundred wounds, the corpse of Jupiter’s brother lay in the gutter like the carcass of a mad dog. Petronius was fortunate enough that the news of Caligula’s death reached Palestine before the command to commit suicide because of his failure to carry out the royal decree concerning the image and the Jewish Temple.

Caligula’s successor, the timid Claudius, assumed the purple with the direct assistance of the Jewish King Agrippa, who’d been able to carry on an active campaign among the senators and army leaders in favor of his friend through his extensive connections in Rome. Because of these services from his boyhood friend, Claudius treated Agrippa as one of his most trusted councilors. He not only made Agrippa’s title of King formal, but also enlarged his territory and returned all the provinces to him that had belonged to his grandfather, Herod.

Claudius went further. He extended his graciousness to Agrippa’s people, openly declaring himself a friend of the Jews. He restored the privileges of the Alexandrian community and heavily punished those who were responsible for the pogroms there. He reaffirmed all the rights granted the Jews by Julius and Augustus, proclaimed full tolerance for the Jewish faith, and instructed the governors of the various provinces to protect the synagogues against any attempted intrusions.

The effect of all this was a resurgence of the old envies among the Greek peoples of the empire. Louder than ever, many Greeks cried that in refusing to worship the local gods, the Jews were showing that they were aliens. Many of the more pious Gentiles, however, regarded the restoration of Jewish rights as a reward for their devotion to their God. They admired the extraordinary steadfastness of their faith in the days of persecution. The hideous death of the Caesar-god was hailed as a miracle.

So side-by-side with renewed hostility there was a wave of admiration and wonder. Jewish synagogues were now being attended by ever-larger numbers of Gentiles who were attracted by the mysterious bond between this heroic people and its God.


The first person to carry the gospel abroad, and to preach salvation to the Gentiles, was Philip, the head of the Cilician Synagogue. He first went to Samaria, fleeing Saul’s persecution, and when word got back to Jerusalem of the many souls won for Jesus among the Samaritans, the leaders had no objections. On the contrary, they rejoiced that their lost brothers in the faith were returning to the fold of Israel. They argued that, in accepting Messiah, the Samaritans were, by implication, accepting the prophets. They saw the finger of God in this, and the beginning of the unification of all Israel. Simon and John went up to Samaria to lay their hands on the converts and to bring them under the wings of the Holy Spirit.

When Simon saw the power of the spirit in Samaria, and the joy that the converts experienced at the common meals, he decided to branch out into other nearby towns. Some of them were entirely Jewish and others were of mixed population. He went down to the city of Lydda, a completely Jewish town, nestled in the green fields of the Sharon valley. From there he went to the harbor town of Joppa, which had a mixed population of Jews and Greeks and was not far from Caesarea. Simon stayed there with a tanner who was also named Simon. The tanner had been the first person in Joppa to join the new faith, and by the time Simon arrived, there was already a small community of believers, all Jews. Simon spent some time there strengthening their spirit.

The Greeks of both Joppa and Caesarea had been profoundly impressed by the unforgettable demonstration of Jewish faith that had occurred in nearby Akko. In both towns the rumor of a risen Messiah, and of the hopes associated with him, had also become widespread among the non-Jews. A spirit of unrest and awe came on the Gentiles, not only among the townspeople, but among the members of the Roman garrison as well.

One of the latter, a centurion by the name of Cornelius, became a pious, god-fearing Gentile. He did much for the Jews of his city, and they mentioned his name with respect and affection. Simon learned that the Gentiles of both cities greatly desired to enter the congregation of believers, but he also knew that they had a problem with circumcision and the laws of kosher food.

No right-thinking Jew, of course, could sit with Gentiles at the same table or even live under the same roof with them. By law, if a Gentile so much as touched any food, it became unclean and could not be eaten by Jews. On the other hand, the common meals were the most powerful instrument of Simon’s faith. It was at the breaking of bread that he told of the life, death and resurrection of Messiah and that the Holy Spirit came on the believers and they spoke in tongues. So how could Gentiles experience all this if Simon couldn’t even sit at table with them?


One day Simon sat with Simon the tanner, looking out over the waters of the Great Sea. It was toward the evening in summer. Far off, in the faint mist that lay on the sleeping waters, he saw the masts and the different colored sails of ships from different provinces anchored in the harbor of Joppa. Compared to the tiny Sea of Galilee, this was quite a sight. He thought of how these waters led to so many distant places with so many people who’d never heard the name of God and knew nothing about Messiah. They worshipped idols, or were deceived by stargazers and soothsayers. He himself had recently encountered a man known as Simon the Magician, who had offered to purchase the right to distribute the Holy Spirit. This Simon went about with a certain whore by the name of Helena, and he told the poor, credulous Samaritans that she was the mother of all living, even the gods. It stood to reason that all the other cities also had their deceivers and women idols. All these were waiting to be delivered from the bonds of falsehood by the word of the true Messiah.

Simon suddenly remembered the words of the lord when he told them that they should be witnesses for him in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, AND to the ends of the world.

“Could it be,” Simon thought, “that God desires salvation for everyone?”

Aloud he said, “What can I do if the Holy Spirit descends on us only when we sit together and eat the lord’s body and drink the lord’s blood? The Rabbis have forbidden us to sat at table with unclean Gentiles who eat all sorts of unclean things.”

“The Rabbis also forbid eating together with ignorant Jews who don’t observe the law,” answered Simon the tanner. “Yet here you sit with me, a tanner who is so befouled by my trade that my wife has the right to divorce me if I hadn’t told her what trade I followed before we were married. You sit here with me and break bread with me and eat from the same bowl.”

“Well, the lord also sat at table with simple and ignorant people,” answered Simon. “And not just them, but tax collectors and even women of sin, if they repented. There wasn’t a soul in Israel fallen so low that my Rabbi would not sit at table with him. In fact, the lower the man had fallen, the dearer he was to my lord. He never avoided the company of sinners and tax collectors.

“But I never saw him sit at table with Gentiles, or eat anything unclean.”

“Tell me, rabbi,” said his host. “Has not God created the heavens and earth and all that is between them? Can anything God created be unclean? I’m a simple man and unskilled in the scriptures, but I ask myself, Who is the man who can make unclean what God created?”

Simon was confused by the straightforward question. He’d never thought of it like that before. As a Jew, he’d always taken it for granted that there were foods that were allowed and foods that were not allowed. It was in the order of nature.


Simon continued to wrestle with these thoughts. He tried to imagine how the lord would act if he saw all these Gentiles longing for admission to the Kingdom of Heaven and not allowed in because of the law. He thought of the lord Messiah going in to the son of the centurion of Capernaum to bring him out of his sleep of death. He thought of how the lord Messiah had dealt with tax collectors, fallen women, and Canaanites. And he finally decided that the lord would remove the barrier. He’d open wide the gates of the Kingdom to the Gentiles.

But as usual in these situations, Simon did nothing without some sign. For now he would just wait. But while he waited, he won no new souls for the holy congregation. He spent most of his time walking back and forth on the seashore, watching the fishermen cast their nets into the deeps.

One day while doing this, he came on a group of fishermen and looked at the contents of the great net they were hauling in. There were a large variety of creatures in the net, things that swam and things that crawled, the like of which he’d never seen before in all his fisherman’s life. He didn’t even know that the sea was full of so many different creatures. As the net flattened out on the sands he saw fish that were shaped like stars, while others were as black as the darkest night. Some had blown-up bellies and fat oozed out of them. There were also creatures in the form of miniature flying horses and others with huge, overlapping scales, bearded and bewhiskered fish, and fish with sail-like fins. And there were insects like gigantic spiders, with prehensile claws that made him think of tormenting demons in the nether world. There were creatures that in no way resembled living things. They were like dumb, dead growths, covered with gluey feathers. There were creatures the size of a man’s finger, with transparent skins through which could be seen the repulsive workings of their vitals. And there were others that called to mind petrified plants, but the moment they were touched they opened enormous jaws. And this entire hideous conglomeration squirmed and rolled in a slimy thickness.

The men and women of Joppa came out to the shore and bought everything from the fisherman. They split the oysters and the other sea-creatures between two rocks, and brought them to their lips, so that the living ooze ran down their chins. Simon was filled with a retching disgust, and in his heart he gave thanks to God for having made him a Jew and separating him from other people.

He slipped back into his room in the upper chamber of Simon the tanner’s house.


When the time of the afternoon Shema came, Peter lay down on the floor with his face in his hands and prayed long and hard. He prayed for clarity of spirit and illumination of heart. In the midst of his intense supplication, he became aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit. Heaven opened and light poured down. A great table descended from above, and on its radiant cover stood an enormous dish containing four-footed creatures and birds and sea beasts, some of which he knew and many of which he did not know. Crawling things were there, too, like he had seen in the fishermen’s net.

Then he heard a voice, “Rise, Simon! Kill and eat.”

Terror held Simon’s heart like a vise. Was this a dream, or a vision? Was it the Evil One tempting him, or was this a sign from the Lord? He called out, “No, I’ve never eaten anything unholy or impure!”

Then the voice rang out sternly, “What God has made clean, do not make unclean!”

Desperately he repeated, “I’ve never eaten anything unholy or impure!”

And again the voice rang, more sternly, “Arise Simon, and eat! What God has made pure, do not make impure!”

When this happened a third time, Simon was convinced it was a sign from heaven! He stretched out his hand to the now pure food. But as he did so everything vanished.

He continued to lay with his face to the floor for a long time.

Then, when he came down from the upper chamber, he was told that certain men had come, asking after him. They were messengers from the Gentile city of Caesarea. Their message was, “Cornelius the centurion, a just and god-fearing man, whose name is held in esteem by the Jews, was visited by an angel of the Lord, and told to send for you. You are to come to his house so that he may hear your words.”

This was the final proof for Simon.


Simon took some men from Joppa and went up to Caesarea with the messengers. He came into the house of the Gentile Cornelius and told him that God regarded no people as His favorite, but accepted all who feared him and walked in the paths of righteousness.

The Gentiles assembled in the house were filled with joy. Together with the Jews they sat at table and experienced the visitation of the Holy Spirit, and to the amazement of the Jews they spoke, then and there, in tongues.

Seeing this, Simon called out, “Can any man forbid these people from being baptized with water?”

And he directed that the men should be baptized in the name of the lord, even though they hadn’t entered into the covenant of Abraham.

And this was the first time that Gentiles were admitted to share in Messiah without first passing into the Abrahamic covenant.

04 - Stiff-Necked People

A rather perplexing problem presented itself to the artisans of the Roman Empire. The smiths, metal workers, and sculptors had to figure a way to transform the feeble, effeminate features of Caesar into a mighty image of a Jupiter, fit to be placed in the temples of all the provinces, while at the same time staying as true to the mortal original as possible. Caligula was short with a narrow forehead, tender cheeks, and curved nose. His one outstanding feature, if it could be called that, was his receding chin. This, along with his dangling lower lip and little blinking eyes, reduced the artists of the empire to despair. The sculptors in Sidon had an added complication due to their local style. The statue they finally turned out for the Jerusalem Temple had a typical Asian cast of features. The nose was flat and broad. The head, reared on a thin slender neck, the one detail that was true to Caligula’s picture, produced the effect of a caricature.

Petronius, Proconsul of Syria and a man of classical education, first saw the statue when he arrived with his legions in the harbor of Ptolemaeus. He had an extremely difficult time repressing an explosion of laughter. The hideous face on top of a comical neck rising out of a gigantic Jupiter-body was too much for him. He said nothing, of course, partly because he knew that any disrespectful remark would certainly reach the ear of Caesar, and partly because he had learned from his predecessor in office, Vitellius, of the obstinacy and inflexibility of the Jews. He knew from his own sources that the Jews had abandoned their fields and were streaming en masse toward Akko, along with their scholars and priests, to protest the image’s appearance, and he had no intention of encouraging them in their refusal to admit the statue to their Temple.

His first thought was that somehow they’d heard how grotesque the image was and were coming to protest against having such a monstrosity in their beloved sanctuary. He couldn’t help but be sympathetic to that view, so he was already hatching a compromise solution. Perhaps he could prevail on Caligula’s friend Agrippa to convince Caesar to take away the hideous statue and substitute one of the masterpieces of Phidias or of Praxiteles that Caligula had brought from Athens to Rome. After all, the Temple in Jerusalem was one of the most famous sanctuaries in the Roman world, and obtaining a work of art worthy of their venerable religious tradition would be a good way to win the gratitude of the Jews.

At least ten thousand men, women, and children had already poured into Akko from the Jewish countryside, and still they continued to arrive. They were of all classes and all were in mourning. Some had sprinkled ashes on their heads. They chanted songs of lamentation, filling the air with doleful sound. The Greeks in Akko stared in astonishment. There was an atmosphere of unspoken fury and hidden insecurity filling the little harbor. Many men carried scythes and shepherd’s staves, formidable weapons in the hands of an enraged multitude.

Now Petronius was a skillful Roman administrator with a sense of justice. He was so dedicated to Roman order and peace as to virtually worship them. This sense of justice caused him to seek insight into the local customs and traditions of the people he was sent to govern, and he sincerely wanted to avoid outraging their sensibilities. But he was also, first and foremost, a Roman soldier, and a challenge to the emperor’s edict had to be met squarely.

As he stood there he studied the multitudes. He marveled that they’d dragged themselves through the heat, for there’d been no rain for three months. He knew their intentions were peaceful despite the staves and scythes. They had, after all, brought their women and children. Also, their spokesmen were Aristobulus and Helius, brothers of King Agrippa. They’d also been educated in Rome and were counted friends of Caesar. Nevertheless, he took no chances. He stationed his fully armed legionaries at strategic places around the forum and the marketplaces, strengthening them with bands of mounted German auxiliaries. Only when he felt certain that he had the situation well in hand, and that his men were ready, at a moment’s signal, to hurl themselves on the masses, did he admit the spokesmen to his presence.

He’d already decided they could be placated with an acceptable work of art as a substitute. So he was literally stupefied when the spokesmen told him it wasn’t the unworthiness of the image that offended them. Under no circumstances, they said, would they permit any likeness of any man of flesh and blood to desecrate their sanctuary. Such a proposal was contrary to their faith, and they were prepared to lay down their lives rather than allow it to be carried out. It was for this reason, and no other that they’d left their fields and shops and come in such multitudes to petition the Proconsul.

Petronius was speechless. These men spoke Latin, and they’d been educated in Rome. Aristobulus had played with Caesar’s children in his youth. They wore Roman togas, for goodness sake. And yet this Aristobulus was saying things incomprehensible to a Roman. It was against their law to place an image in the Jewish sanctuary? What sort of law was it that would openly defy Roman law? And what made them so special? There was not a single nation that had not been delighted to place Caesar’s image in their temples and to offer sacrifice to him as a god. Their gods had shown no jealousy. They considered it a compliment to be considered a brother-god to Caesar. It was only the Jewish God who was too jealous to allow another to share his honors.

Petronius now understood that all the fantastic stories told him concerning the inexplicable obstinacy of these eternal troublemakers had been right. He had to call on all the strength that Roman discipline provided him and remind himself of his importance as Rome’s representative, in order to keep from losing his temper.

Quietly and with an ironic smile, he said, “If the statue produced by the Sidonian master is unworthy of your great Temple, I will intercede for you and ask Caesar to send a statue covered with gold and produced by the best Greek artisans. For I’ve heard that your God is a great lover of gold. And with the help of your king Agrippa, perhaps we can persuade Caesar to treat your God with the dignity which you regard as his due.”

“If Caesar were to send us the Capitoline Jupiter, covered with gold from head to foot, or the great Zeus of Athens, we would not admit the image into our Temple.”

The Roman paled, and his blue eyes flashed.

“Am I to take this as a declaration of war on Rome? Is that why you brought multitudes with you?”

“No! We do not desire war with Rome. But we cannot transgress our law, which forbids us to recognize a man of flesh and blood as a god and to place his image in our Temple.”

“I am here to fulfill the decree of Caesar. My commands do not issue from your law. I do not need your permission. I have my legions.”

“The people will oppose them.”

“Then your people will war against Rome?”

“If our people cannot war against Rome, it can at least die for its God and for the law of its God.”

“Hear me! I have been in many lands, and I’ve not seen anyone die for his god or his laws. I’ve seen people die only for Caesar and for the laws of Rome.”

“You will see it here, in Judea.”

“I am here to carry out the Roman law, not the law of Judea.”

With that the interview ended, and Petronius issued his command to a waiting legionary.


The Caesar-image lay on a wooden platform mounted on six wheels, draped in linens, like a mummy. On Petronius’ command, the linens were unwound as the image was slowly lifted into an upright position. The bronze head, covered with gold leaf, flashed in the sun. The Jews closed their eyes, so as not to see the abomination, but when the centurion gave the order to start the platform rolling toward Jerusalem, a terrific cry of lamentation went up from the vast assembly. And suddenly a living wall of flesh pressed forward until it surrounded the platform and the legion that accompanied it. Like sheep huddling against a storm the Jews pressed themselves together in the path of the monster.

The first wave of armed legionaries, headed by the mounted Germans, burst upon the wall of living flesh. It yielded, but it did not break. Wherever an opening was formed, a mass surged forward to close it. In vain did the mounted Germans force their horses against the solid mass of men, women, and children. In vain did the legionaries press forward, slashing wildly. Where one person fell, a dozen took his place. Like a rock in the midst of a raging flood, the wall of flesh and blood withstood the fury of the onslaught. There was no attempt at defense. They fell where they stood. Only a great wailing, a gurgling of pain and desperation, went up.

Petronius stood on the terrace of the government house and looked on. This was sheer madness. In his entire long and varied career, he’d never seen anything like it. It was obvious these people were not here to wage war, or to oppose Rome’s laws as such. No hand was lifted against the legionaries. If they would at least defy Roman law actively by fighting, he would feel justified in giving the command for a general massacre. But this was different. This was something not so easy to cope with. Amazingly, the Jewish representatives had spoken no more than the simple truth. These people would rather suffer annihilation than admit the image to their Temple.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. These fanatics would let themselves be slaughtered to the last man, and the land would be left desolate. What would be the point of dragging the image into an empty and abandoned Temple? No work was being done anywhere in Judea. Any Jews not already here were either on their way, or were assembling in the towns that lay on the road to Jerusalem. At the rate things were going there would be no Jews left to do homage to Gaius the god, or to offer sacrifice to the new divinity. Caligula wanted to be worshipped in a living shrine. To put the image into an abandoned temple in a depopulated land would be the greatest insult of all.

What a baffling situation.

Slowly Petronius came to the decision that the best thing to do was to do nothing. The only way out was to wait until he could advise Caesar of this extraordinary dilemma. Enough damage had been done to the prestige of Rome and the dignity of her law.

Having made that decision, other feelings began to well up in him, feelings akin to admiration. This was devotion to a god! And the wonder was even more incomprehensible when he reflected that the God for whom they offered their naked and defenseless bodies to the swords did not exalt them above their neighbors. On the contrary, their God had abandoned them to the fury of their enemies, and as far as he could tell, the only reward they earned for their faithfulness was misery. They were oppressed by the strong and despised by their neighbors. On top of that they bore a heavy burden of capricious laws. And yet – they were prepared to die for this God! What was the secret of this indestructible bond? What hidden bliss streamed out of the mysterious deity to inspire such fidelity? No other god in the Roman Empire commanded the obedience offered this unknown and invisible God of the Jews. Was it possible they had the answer to the question of what lay beyond death? Petronius was afraid to pursue these thoughts any further.

“Halt the procession!” he suddenly commanded.

And to his astounded entourage he said, “Caesar sent me here to place his image in the Temple so that the Jews might worship him. The dead cannot worship!”

And to the Jews he called out, “Return to your homes and your occupations! I will send a full report to Caesar. I would rather pay with my own life than be responsible for the destruction of so many lives offered up in the name of your God – and mine!”

The officers became paralyzed at such astounding words. The Jewish spokesmen stood silent and open-mouthed.

But from the mass in the square an ecstatic shout went up, “Hosannah! Hosannah!”

And just like that, all bitterness and despair were gone. Joy, exultation, and triumph filled the air, and the masses threw themselves to the ground in hope.

When Petronius turned to the Jewish spokesmen with a bewildered look, they pointed to the sky and said, “Look and see, Petronius, what your pious words have moved the Lord to do.”

Everyone looked up. The sky, which had been blazing blue, had suddenly darkened. The sun was covered by a gigantic mass of leaden, rain-bearing clouds. Slowly they marched across the sky with a little wind, breathing the freshness of hope. As the clouds passed overhead, the first gentle drops fell on the upturned faces, and three months of dearth ended.

“Hosannah! It’s the latter rain!”

It was a miracle and a sign! With the latter rain would come better and happier days.

“God has heard the pious words of a Gentile, and they have found favor with Him!” said the Jews to one another.

03 - The Gospel Reaches Rome II

The Jews stopped work on the afternoon of the sixth day each and every week, and streamed homeward into the Jewish quarter from every part of the city. This was true of all, free-born Roman Jews, old inhabitants of the city, the half-free, and the slaves. No power had been able to break them of this habit for it was on this day that they stretched out their hands to each other to show their union as branches of the great tree of Israel. The rich brought baskets of tuna fish, caught in the Tiber. The poor brought baskets of vegetables, or little salted fish, which they fried in a coating of dough. The odor of onions and garlic wafted from Jewish homes and, although Gentiles made fun of the Jewish taste for these vegetables, they were attracted by the appetizing smell.

The Gentiles couldn’t understand how men could waste one day in seven, doing no work, but passing the hours in prayer and communion with their God, but every Friday afternoon they could hear the tumult of Sabbath preparations, the mingled noises of cooking and washing. When evening fell, tiny candles starred the darkness, and all Rome knew that the Jews had begun the celebration of their Sabbath.


One Friday, Priscilla prepared for an unusually large gathering. Besides the workers in her husband’s factory, she invited nearly half the membership of the synagogue, for a traveler had arrived from the Holy City with some very strange news.

This visitor had presented himself to the synagogue rulers with the fantastic story that Messiah had revealed himself, and the redemption had begun. The man said that he’d been baptized in Messiah’s name, and was fulfilling the commandments of Messiah by coming here. He was living in the hourly hope that the Kingdom of Heaven was about to begin.

Word spread with lightning speed, and a thrill of hope went through the community. Priscilla and Aquila immediately invited the man to be a guest in their home, and this was the reason for the special preparations and large invitation.

The Jews of Rome used the eating habits of the homeland, sitting on mattresses on the floor rather than half reclining on low couches like the Romans. The oldest and most honored ate from a low table. The others stood around the walls. A clean, white sheet was spread on the table, and light from the oil lamps placed on the sheet was reflected in the jar of Roman glass that held the red date wine. The table was loaded with vegetables, fried fish, and rolled cakes. The master of the house made the Sabbath benediction, after which the assembly ate the common meal. This was followed by the singing of certain verses from the Psalms. Finally the visitor, who sat at the head of the table next to the father of the synagogue, began to deliver his news of Messiah.

The man’s name was Andronicus, and though his name and language were Greek, his features showed that he was definitely a Jerusalem Jew. He was one of the oldest members of the congregation, and had personally heard Messiah himself preach in Jerusalem.

“Brothers in Israel,” he began, “I’m here to tell you that the holy Messiah of the God of Jacob came to us, but because of our many sins, we were not worthy and did not know him. Therefore he was delivered into the hands of the Gentiles, who tortured him beyond imagination. This was just as the prophets said, ‘He turned his cheek to the smiters and stretched out his body to be beaten.’

“He died for our sins. All of this was ordained by heaven, for our sakes, that he might atone for our sins, and that through his sufferings we might be raised from death, and win redemption. He took death on himself willingly, so that he might be a pure offering for all of us.

“But know this too, that he lives with God in the heavens, even as it is also written. He showed himself to his disciples; they saw him, just as we see each other here. And he sent them to carry the news of his coming to the world, and to prepare the world for him. For salvation will come suddenly like lightning at midday. Therefore we must be prepared. All that we go through today is the warning of his approach.

“The evil one grows stronger and rages against us in the form of Caesar, who would exalt himself above the Lord of the world and wipe out the name of God from the earth. That’s why he commanded that his image be placed in the Holy of Holies. I say that these are just birth pangs, and that redemption stands at the door, knocking and pleading for admission, even as the wisest of all men has sung, ‘The voice of my beloved calls, open my sister, my bride.’

“These words were written of Messiah, who knocks on our doors. Therefore we must be prepared for the day when Messiah comes on the clouds of heaven with the legions of the Lord of Hosts. He will ascend the judgment seat to judge the living and the dead. He will call together his flock, and the dead will rise from their graves, even as Daniel prophesied, ‘some to eternal life, some to eternal death.’”

The assembly shuddered in awe at this news.

“What must we do to be worthy of admission into the Kingdom of Heaven?” asked Zadoc, one of the fathers of the synagogue.

“You’ve heard that John came baptizing and preaching repentance,” resumed Adronicus. “John was Elijah the prophet, who fulfilled the prophecy, ‘A voice shall be heard crying in the wilderness.’ After him came the pure and holy Messiah of the God of Jacob, Jesus of Nazareth, who, though born of a women, was yet the messenger of the Lord. Therefore let everyone who desires to be saved and to enter into the kingdom of heaven be baptized in the name of Messiah, and let him believe with perfect faith that Jesus of Nazareth, who died for our sins and rose from the dead, is that Messiah.

“We must be a holy people, who love our enemies and forgive those who do us evil. We must purify our hearts, removing all sin and uncleanness. We must cling to him, and be made one with him. For his disciples teach that when they feasted together at the Passover, just before he sacrificed himself, he broke bread and gave them all to eat, saying, ‘This is my body.’ And he took a goblet, made the benediction, and gave them to drink, saying, ‘Drink, this is my blood.’ What else can this mean, but that all who believe in Messiah must become a part of him, must live in purity and holiness, even as he lived. This is what the disciples teach, and they learned it at the holy source.”

Andronicus went on to talk about the things Messiah taught, the deeds and wonders he performed, and the prayers he composed. He also told them more about his death and resurrection and of the martyrs in Jerusalem. One could have heard a pin drop as he told of Simon and John and of James, the lord’s brother, and of all the other holy ones. He told of the persecutions they’d had to endure and of the death of the martyr Stephen, who had died with the name of Messiah on his lips.

“And all those who believe in Messiah must be prepared to offer up their lives as testimony, and to suffer even as he suffered.”

Included in the story of persecutions was that of a certain young man named Saul, who persecuted the faithful in Jerusalem. He told them how Saul had gone to Damascus for the same purpose, and how Messiah had appeared to him on the road.

He told them further of the marvelous things God had done with the Gentiles, in opening their hearts to the word of God. Them too Messiah had taken into the Kingdom of Heaven. And now the news of Messiah was spreading out to the remotest corners of the world, as he’d told his disciples to do, and would soon cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.

During the hours that this was going on, word passed through the various dwellings in the house about the words being spoken in the home of Aquila and Priscilla. Groups of Jews left their own Sabbath feasts, and were stealing in quietly. Soon the place was jam packed with Jews. All eyes were trained on the speaker, some dark and flashing and others damp with tears of hope. Some faces showed tender smiles of belief and others bore a hovering shadow of doubt. And other faces there were, that showed neither belief nor doubt, but a silent, far-off longing.

All night long Andronicus sat with the Jews in Priscilla’s house, and before the Sabbath dawned, the first congregation of Messiah had been founded in Rome.


Since baptism could not be performed on the Sabbath, the ceremony was delayed until the day after.

And so it was early on Sunday morning when a company of young Roman aristocrats, returning from a banquet and staggering with drink, saw a strange spectacle at the Pontus aqueduct. A group of men and women, dressed in white, stood shoulder deep in the water. A man with a long gray beard was baptizing the males, while a woman leader was baptizing the females. It was a damp, wintry morning.

“Look at that!” cried one of the revelers, pointing to the men and women steeped in the waters of the aqueduct. “Rome is filled with alien and sinister faiths. Jews!”

Another answered, “Our Roman matrons have taken a fancy to the God the Jewish women sell them along with their Oriental cosmetics. Let me tell you, the conquered will soon be masters of the conquerors. Before you know it, we’ll be spending every seventh day in idleness and turning up our noses at a savory piece of pork.”

“It’s high time something was done about it,” returned the first. “Come! Let us sacrifice a suckling pig to the god Gaius.”

03 - The Gospel Reaches Rome I

No one could remember exactly when the Jews had first settled in Rome. It was known that after the Hasmonean kings signed a pact of eternal peace with the Roman Senate, Jewish merchants suddenly appeared in large numbers to sell their Palestinian figs, spices, and oils. Later there was a flood of Jews from Alexandria, the harbor through which the grains of Asia and Africa passed to Rome. Pompey also brought great numbers of Jewish slaves back to Italy after the siege of Jerusalem, who were sold in the Italian market.

The Jewish congregations of Rome ransomed many of the latter once it became known that they didn’t make good slaves. Their faith interfered with their complete service. In particular, their obstinate observance of the Sabbath and of the food laws prevented them from becoming perfect servants. On the other hand, they were noted for their intelligence, their skill in commerce, and their international relations. As Jewish communities spread throughout the entire empire, they became excellent commercial agents, stewards, and managers. In these capacities they were highly appreciated by the practical Romans. In fact, many Romans manumitted their Jewish slaves and raised them to positions of trust.

The Jews were greatly helped by the fact that the city of politicians, senators, soldiers, slaves and idlers, produced nothing, and the slaves of corrupt overseers had worked the fields of Italy to the point where the fertility of the soil decreased to nothing, and Italy became totally dependent on the provinces.

The fact is that the Jewish slaves Pompey had brought to Rome in chains became so powerful that the great Cicero was afraid to attack them openly, and when he did have occasion to mention them unfavorably, he would lower his voice. The Jews took an active part in the elections and campaigned for their own candidates among the Roman masses. Nor were they specialists in any one field. They were bankers, merchants, actors, and makers of everyday items. Jewish oils became very popular among Roman matrons.

The Jews of Rome had their own quarter on the right bank of the Tiber. It was a densely populated quarter, with tenement houses towering roof to roof above the narrow alleys. Sweet savors of cinnamon, delphinium, and attar of roses hung heavy on the air from smoking tripods. The women poured the oil into little vases, mixed the salves and unguents, and carried them in baskets to the homes of the wealthy Roman matrons. But the Jewesses spread more than cosmetics, shawls, and sandals among their Roman clientele. They spread their belief in the one living God and in the sanctity of the Temple in Jerusalem. More than one Roman matron found herself drawn to the faith, with its strange institution of the Sabbath, its spiritual security, and its unshakeable belief in the after life. More than one Roman matron neglected the services of Jupiter to pay tribute to the strange God in the distant and sacred Temple.


There came a day when no Jewish women appeared with their perfumes in the aristocratic district. No Jewish merchants were to be found anywhere. The wealthy, who had their shops on the Campus Martius, suspended business. They closed the banks, offices, and perfume depots. Looms, braziers, ovens, and pottery wheels were all abandoned. Even Jewish politicians, who were always seen around the Forum, were gone. Every Jew had fled to the Jewish quarter, for it was on that day that they learned that Caligula had ordered the desecration of the Holy of Holies with his image.

A great cry of lamentation and despair went up from the Roman Jews. This was not just another calamity to which Jews of the Diaspora had become accustomed. It was the end of the world. Some of the older immigrants from Jerusalem had ashes in their hair in sign of mourning. A ceaseless wailing could be heard coming from streets and open windows.

By early evening the great synagogue, named in honor of Caesar Augustus, was filled to overflowing. Rich and poor, young and old, all bodies, became one body – the body of the Jewish people in exile.

Philo the philosopher was there, looking like a broken old man. He was pallid, frail, and stooped as if under the weight of a physical burden. His eyes were swollen and his white hair was tinged with yellow. But as he stood in the pulpit to address the Jews, he looked as calm as he had that night in the magistrate’s house when he watched the Alexandrian mob storm the Jewish quarter.

Tonight he had some of the same feelings he’d had then. The Jewish people were one body with many heads. Individuals could be slain, but Israel could not. Though they slay my body, he thought, it will live on in the other bodies, for my blood will be in their veins, the blood of the patriarchs. My faith will be there, my hope and aspiration.

But this decree was different. Individual Jews were not in peril so much as Israel itself. What did it matter if Jews of Alexandria had their rights restored to them? If Israel went on living, the Jews of Alexandria would go on living, with or without rights. But if Caesar were to have his way, then the Jewish community of Alexandria would certainly perish, even if it had its rights restored. This is what he preached to the assembled Jews of Rome.

“Brothers, and men of Israel. What Caesar desires he will never fulfill, for even if we are called on to sacrifice our lives, we will not turn back. Death with honor is better than life with shame. Death is what we can expect because of our opposition. But let it happen. Let us die a glorious death in defense of our laws. Let us rest our hope in God the redeemer. He has protected us in the past. Perhaps he will find us worthy this time also.

“Let us then bear witness for Him, and show the world that Israel alone among all people stood firm in the day of trial and refused to dishonor the name of God by bowing down before a creature of flesh and blood, who lives today and tomorrow is in the grave. Let us trust in the justice of God, for there is no faith without trust. And even if we don’t live to see that justice, let us die trusting that God’s word will triumph, and that the people will remember us as the faithful witnesses of the living God. For then the spirit of God will cover the earth, and the glory of Israel will be manifest to all eyes. People will stream to the hill of God and bow down before him because of our testimony.”

Complete silence followed as Philo walked uncertainly to the Moses seat. When the head of the synagogue asked if any one wished to question the speaker, no voice was heard.

Much was written on their clean-shaven faces though, because even though most of the congregants were clean-shaven like Romans, dressed like Romans, and had Roman names, that didn’t make them Roman. Every one of them was prepared to literally fulfill the admonition of the speaker and die a thousand deaths rather than desecrate their sanctity.

There were certain pious Gentiles who were in the habit of attending Sabbath services, and some of them were in the synagogue that day. These Gentiles trembled at this defiance cast in Caesar’s teeth. Surely these men knew that for this defiance they could be thrown to the wild beasts in the arena, or be nailed to the cross. So the hearts of the Gentiles melted with dread of the God of Israel, who could pour such a power of faith into the veins of His believers.


One Jewish house, located near the Synagogue of the Hebrews, was more agitated than the others. The house looked no different. Windowless and doorless, there were holes that admitted some sunlight and allowed the inhabitants to crawl from room to room. It was really more of a night shelter than a home, for the families spent their days by the city gates, on the bridges, and in the squares selling their perfumes, herbs, and silverware. In the rooms, or rather, holes, there were rolled up mattresses, tripods on which to prepare meals, and a few other light household possessions.

There was no private life in such pent up places. Every woman knew what was cooking in her neighbor’s pot. The most trivial affairs, as well as the most intimate, were public knowledge. There was always incense burning in braziers, and unguents being smeared on bodies because Rome’s underground system of canals did not extend to this area, resulting in a constant fetid smell in the air.

In spite of all this, there was the joy of a common faith that bound all of them together in loving brotherhood.

In this one particular house there lived a certain young couple that’d just recently migrated from Pontus in Asia to Rome. The man’s name was Aquila, and his wife’s name was Priscilla, though her friends called her Prisca. Both were well loved by the people, the wife maybe a little more. Aquila was a weaver of cloths and tents out of fine goat’s hair, a trade that was well established in Asia, but was relatively new in Rome. The peculiar virtue of this material was that, while it was as dense as felt against rain, it was much lighter and more elastic. Because tents and mantles of washed and combed goat’s hair were a novelty in Rome, Aquila was able to establish a small industry in the Jewish quarter with the modest capital he’d brought with him. In addition to his trade, Aquila could interpret Holy Scripture and even quote some of the verses in the original Hebrew. This was enough to give him considerable standing among the Jews. He was elected an elder of the synagogue soon after his arrival, and then promoted to the position of one of its heads.

But his wife Priscilla had the greater influence. She knew the names and personal affairs of everyone who lived in the huge house and of nearly everyone in the quarter. She knew, for instance, that Alexander the sausage maker’s wife had fallen sick and needed rubbing oil. She lay in a little room on the lowest level among heaps of raw, fly-covered meat and the acrid smell of Alexander’s occupation. With her own hands Prisca applied oil to the paralyzed woman’s body. She also saw no evening smoke going up from Justus the mason’s room, which meant that he, his wife and three children were starving. Justus was well on in years and couldn’t find a job at his trade, so before the end of the second day, Priscilla was in the room with a basket of bread and a promise that her husband would take Justus into his factory.

Priscilla went on to found a Sisterhood of Pious Women in the Synagogue, which she named, “Daughters of Jerusalem”. Its special function was to care for poor women in childbirth. During a woman’s confinement, a member of the sisterhood would remain in the house to take care of the new mother, and also to do the washing and the cooking for the family. A second sisterhood created by Priscilla founded an orphanage near the synagogue, and a third was founded for visiting the sick and providing dowries for poor brides. It was soon understood that whenever a needy case arose, the first person to be notified was Priscilla.

More than anything, Priscilla was known for her hospitality at home. It was common practice for large groups to gather there on Sabbaths and festivals to listen to news of the Holy City brought by travelers from Palestine, who would always be guests of Aquila and Priscilla. The elders held their meetings there, funds to be sent to Jerusalem were raised there, and Jewish scholars would assemble there on certain festive days, for learned talk, interpretation of texts, and discussion of the salvation to come. The hostess herself even participated in these discussions. Priscilla was the daughter of a scholar, and had learned much from listening to scholars in her father’s house. She knew many verses from the prophets by heart, and was no stranger to the legends and the laws. Such participation would have been unheard of in Palestine. But among the Jews of the Diaspora, the position of women was closer to equality with men than it was in the homeland.

Priscilla’s learning, as well as her charitable work, earned her the title of Mother of the Synagogue, the equivalent of her husband’s title as a Ruler of the Synagogue. She was privileged to attend the sessions of the elders and rulers, and to take an equal share in the direction of all Jewish affairs.

You couldn’t tell by looking at this woman that she could summon up the physical energy to assume all the obligations required of a synagogue official, a charity organizer, and the mistress of a household that was a hospice for strangers and travelers. She was a bit short, with a delicate face and hair drawn back and knotted. Although there was great power in her eyes, she had small ears, a long, straight nose, small, full lips, and an energetic chin. But what distinguished Prisca from all other women was the magnificent power of her hips, which seemed to be poured of Corinthian bronze and filled with immeasurable energy. All the energy of this otherwise delicate female frame was concentrated in those hips, which were built to support the weight of a Hercules. One would have thought she was destined to bear a mighty generation of sons. But if so, then that destiny had been frustrated, for Prisca was childless. So all the energy that would have been used for bearing sons was diverted into charitable and public activities.

From the first moment she heard the calamitous tidings from Jerusalem, Priscilla never rested. Like a commander she continuously encouraged the men to organize themselves to resist any attempt to bring Caesar’s image into the synagogues. Oddly enough, the number of Gentile visitors to the synagogues actually increased after the command. The non-Jews actually envied the Jews because they alone had dared to stand up against accepting Caligula as a god. Priscilla played on these sentiments of bitterness and envy.

She said to the women in particular, “Do you think you’ll only have to sacrifice to Caesar? He’s declared his sister, Drusilla, a goddess also, and you know full well what their relationship is.”

“That whore!” exclaimed Lucina, the wife of Procopius, the swordsmith.

“And Caesar has other sisters he’s made deities. Whoever he takes to bed becomes a god.”

Many Romans joined the Jews who guarded the synagogues, and when other Romans came near with images of Caesar, they helped them beat off the attacks.

This desperate Jewish obstinacy had a profound impact on the pious Gentiles. They came to the synagogues in ever-larger numbers.

02 - Difficulties of Deity

During the first two years of his reign the Roman mob indulged the emperor Gaius Caligula just as the Roman legions had when he was a child during his father’s wars. His outrageous whims were regarded by the plebes as the charming fancies of a spoiled only child. He’d barely assumed the throne when he began to display his longing for the fantastic and extraordinary. He did everything to attract attention, except venture on the field of battle, and all his “exploits” were confined to Rome. No Caesar ever built a palace like the one Gaius Caligula built for himself on the Palatine hill. The modest residence of his predecessor was completely eclipsed by the vastness of the new Caesar’s edifice. With its endless rotundas, basilicas, arches and windows, it took up a quarter of a mile of frontage on the northern edge of the Palatine. He pulled down the famous homes of distinguished men of the past, such as Cicero and Crassus, and even removed the sacred altars of the Vestal Virgins from his path. He had a bridge built from his palace across to the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline hill so that he could visit his “brother” god without having to climb down the side of the Palatine and up the side of the Capitoline like some ordinary mortal.

Far from begrudging him these fancies, the masses were delighted by them. They continued to applaud even when he showed obvious signs of lunacy. He once ordered that all grain ships, which normally brought wheat from Asia and Africa, be gathered side by side in the port of Baia, so that they formed a pontoon bridge on the water from Baia to Puteoli, a distance of three and a half miles, so that he could drive his chariot across the sea. The result of this insanity was a famine in the city of Rome, which depended on the provinces for its supplies. But because the Roman mob was at least as hungry for circuses as it was for bread, they came out with their empty bellies to enjoy the remarkable spectacle of a Caesar driving his wild horses over the sea.

By the time the Senators realize what calamities they’d brought on the country by their spineless indulgence of the young prince, it was too late. They couldn’t stop the process they’d set in motion. Thus they went on competing with each other to win the favor of a ruler who was driving Rome and the empire to ruin. Not trusting each other, they continued to worship the “deity”, and to feed him with gifts. The provinces were squeezed dry so that Caligula could fulfill his wild fancies.


Long lines of deputations, consisting of the most prominent citizens and the priestly hierarchy of the various provinces, waited to prostrate themselves before the new god, and to bring him their offerings. It was shortly after the palace was finished. The priests of the Egyptian goddess Isis, in their long, hornlike headgear, and short aprons, had just finished depositing their offerings, and a group of priests from Ephesus had just entered to worship the new deity.

Now Caligula had decided that it would be fun to appear before each deputation in the guise of its god. The actor Appelus was helping the imperial buffoon with the makeup, and Helicon, the drunk Egyptian priest, was teaching him the mysteries of the various deities. They were joined by Apion, the Greek grammarian from Egypt, who’d come to Rome at the head of the delegation bearing complaints against the Jews. So between each deputation, Caligula was changing costumes like a cheap actor in the circus. He wore a golden beard to look like Zeus for a Greek deputation, and he put on the female garments of Isis, for the benefit of the Egyptian delegation.

Now he was being dressed in a stiff costume of hammered silver, transforming him into Artemis of Ephesus. The costume was very uncomfortable. The top consisted of many breasts that swung against his body and bruised his chest. They weren’t soft, like a woman’s flesh. They were metallic globes. His lower half was tightly encased in a narrow silver skirt that pressed on his thighs and hindered motion in his legs, so that he could neither sit down nor bend over. He had to stand there like an image poured into one mass of metal. But Caligula took his duties as a god very seriously. No discomfort was great enough to prevent him from discharging his high obligations.

Of all the costumes Caligula would wear, perhaps this Artemis was the most difficult and exacting. It wasn’t just the costume itself. Artemis was a great goddess of many mysteries and secret words. Her legs were engraved with mysterious signs that only her priests could read, but which Caligula had to learn to properly fulfill the role. Helicon instructed his master-god in the content of the mysterious inscriptions.

“Oh, great god Gaius! Know that when Artemis moves her many mother-breasts, she causes the milk of her divine desire to flow into those who behold and worship her. And if Artemis can move her worshippers to such ecstasies of passion, how much more can you, incomparable god? Fill the breasts of Artemis with your virile strength, and move them mightily. Let those who behold you be driven into madness of lust, for you are both man and woman. You are the giver of passion, like Venus.”

While Helicon taught Caligula the inner secrets of the goddess, Appelus instructed him in the matter of deportment.

“O mighty god, Gaius Caesar, who has come down from heaven to bless us with your glorious form! What goddess can compare to you in graciousness and in the tenderness of your smile? If your divinity will indeed condescend to bestow its presence on the pious pilgrims of Ephesus, you will surely rouse to jealousy the great and proud goddess who waits for them at home. For the pious Ephesians, your smile will be ample reward after the long and painful journey they have made to bow down before you. Smile, god Gaius, hold your hands on your hips, for even as you are mightier in manhood than Zeus and Jupiter, so you are more alluring in womanhood than Venus. For like the supreme gods, you are hermaphroditic. Smile, great god Gaius, smile!”

But Apion outdid both of them in his flattery.

“Who dares to mention Jupiter in the same breath with the god Gaius?” he asked. “The gods lie before you silent, dumb and terrified. I’ve traveled much great god. Nowhere have I seen the image of a god that approaches you in manhood, or of a goddess who approaches you in beauty. Jupiter is gray with envy, and Aphrodite’s head has sunk down on her breast. As soon as the subjects of your provinces see your likeness, they cut off the heads of gods and goddesses and place your image on their shoulders. The women of the empire sleep with the image of your divine body in their arms. The men must disguise themselves in your image when they desire their wives’ favor. Ah, that Homer were alive today, to sing of your deity, of the power of your muscular arms, and the softness and sweetness of your hips! In all the temples of your empire, except one, your statue stands as an ornament. And that one blasphemy is committed by the Jews.”

Suddenly Apion noticed that Gaius’ face had darkened. His narrow forehead was wrinkled, and his eyes had turned into slits. Everyone there seemed disturbed, and the little Greek became fearful.

Apion was a shriveled, undersized figure of a man, resembling a raisin left out in the sun too long. He was a master not only of many languages, but also of the nuances of gestures and grimaces in those languages, and he realized that his calculated accusation had somehow missed its mark. He’d hit a sore spot in Gaius, but he didn’t know where. Surely it couldn’t have been his remark against the Jews. He’d also been careful to start with a long and highly seasoned introduction of flattery. He’d put Gaius above Zeus and Jupiter. What more could he have said? In desperation, he returned to his most beloved subject, the great poet, Homer, lamenting Homer’s absence at this time in history. If the singer of the Odyssey could be reawakened from his slumbers. . . .

Both Helicon and Appelus tried to signal the perspiring little Greek to stop talking about Homer, but before he undersood their signals, the Caesar-god himself burst into speech.

“Hold your tongue, you foul little toad!”

And Gaius’ cold blue eyes seem to Appelus to flash like swords.

“You dare choose that wretched, limping, rhymester they call Homer to sing of my deeds and my divinity, My beloved horse, Incitatus, has more poetry in the music of his neighing, than your Homers and Virgils! Do not mention their names if you would not have the skies darkened with my thunderstorms!”

Apion’s face went gray. His dull little eyes sank deeper into his head, and his heart beat furiously, for he knew he was standing on the brink of the abyss. Instinctively he grasped for something, and, taking his cue from Caesar’s mention of his beloved horse, he said, “O mighty god! What mortal can compare to deity, even when that deity takes on the form of an animal? How wise of you to make your great Incitatus one of your priests, to bring before you the prayers of all horses. How profound is your wisdom, Caesar, in making Incitatus a Senator of Rome. Surely he is entitled to that position, for he represents all horses in the Senate. But he is more than Senator and priest. He is divine, too. Incitatus is the god of horses even as you, great Gaius, are the god of men.”

Soothed by the praise of his beloved horse, Caesar assumed his familiar expression of satisfied pride, the look that covered his inner emptiness. Apion pressed forward, not wanting to lose the advantage, and returned to the purpose of his mission, the punishment of the Jews.

“Mighty god! What joy came on the nations when they learned of your divinity! In Egypt, we put our goddess Isis in second place, to make room for you. No one anywhere questions your deity. None, I say, except the Jews. Oh, who can wipe out the disgrace of their blasphemy and their impiety? Hear, O god, of the desecration they’ve committed against you. When we brought your divine image to their great synagogue of Alexandria along with a he-goat and a slaughtered swine, as an offering for you, the Jewish rabble came out against us and fell on your innocent worshippers. For three days and three nights they rioted and slaughtered. And whom do they prefer above you, great Caesar? Hear me, O god. There is a place in their temple they call the Holy of Holies. No one is allowed to enter it except their High Priest. Do you know that he prays to an ass’s head that hangs on the wall of their Holy of Holies. This they worship! This they prefer to you!”

“An ass’s head?” murmured Caesar in astonishment. “I thought their God was neither to be seen nor heard.”

“It’s just like he says, great Caesar!” declared Helicon, the expert in religious mysteries. “O mighty god, it’s time that you, the elder brother of Jupiter, bestow your deity on the Jews, too. Command them to put an end to their barbarous idolatry. Great Caesar, the God of the Jews envies you. He dreads your deity and has instructed the Jews to ignore you. Show this Jewish God how much mightier you are than He. Command the Jews to place your statue in the Temple of Jerusalem.”

Thus Helicon seconded the petition of Apion. And Caligula, disguised in his Artemis role, sweating under the weight of her robes, and suffering under the impact of the swinging, metallic globes, listened, and was aroused. This was a challenge to his delusions of deity. He issued an order to Petronius, Proconsul of Syria, concerning the Temple in Jerusalem.

* * * * *

For months the Jewish delegation pleaded in vain to be admitted to Caesar’s presence, lingering at the doors of his palaces, and following him whenever he came out. Finally wearying of their persistency, Caligula admitted them. The meeting took place at the same time that he was meeting with architects, gardeners and other specialists submitting plans to make changes in the layout of his mother’s gardens on the banks of the Tiber. Caligula was often preoccupied with building projects rather than running the government. In fact, his two biggest diversions, his affairs as a deity, and the construction of his many building projects, kept him preoccupied most of the time. On occasion, however, he did mange to squeeze in a little government business.

While Caligula was studying the plans, Philo reminded him that the great Julius Caesar had confirmed their rights, and that both Augustus and Caligula’s predecessor Tiberius had repeated that confirmation. He discussed their contributions to the commerce and industry of Alexandria, and their share in its schools. But Caesar didn’t seem to be listening. He was focused on the plans for a great hanging garden that would be supported on pillars of wood, a garden that would seem to be floating in the air, as was altogether becoming for the Caesar-god.

Suddenly Caligula interrupted the leader of the deputation. “But tell me, why won’t you little Jews eat swine meat?”

“Our laws have forbidden it from the most ancient times. This practice of ours does no harm to anyone – certainly it does none to the swine,” answered Philo.

This was a little too daring. One did not jest with Caesar. Fortunately, he’d paid no attention to the reply. He’d immediately plunged into a discussion of the hanging garden.

Just when it seemed he’d completely forgotten the presence of the delegation, he blurted out another question, this time in the pouting playfulness of a spoiled child, “But tell me, why won’t you little Jews offer me sacrifice?”

Then turning pale with rage, he squealed, “Am I not god enough for you? All the nations recognize my deity, except you!”

Philo decided that his only option was courage. So he answered, “The Alexandrians also worship animals, like the crocodile and the cat. But we’re not like the Egyptians. We received the tradition of the one living God from our fathers. And yet there are three times when we did bring sacrifices on your behalf. When you were proclaimed Caesar, when you were cured of your sickness, and when you returned in triumph from your expeditions to Germany and Britain. On each of these occasions we offered up sacrifices in our Temple for your peace and prosperity.”

“Yes, sacrifices for me, but not sacrifices to me. You offer sacrifices to a God you can neither see nor hear. What has he ever done? Has he conquered the Germans? Or the Britons? Where are his victories? You prefer such a god to me?”

For the moment Caligula forgot his engineers, architects and gardeners. He drew himself up to his full, though not very impressive, height.

“You blasphemers and unbelievers! How long will you continue in your stiff-necked obstinacy against my deity? And to think that Agrippa is my dearest friend, bound to me by many gifts and by the memory of our childhood years. Hear me, you Jews! Do not drive me too far!”

Turning to his own entourage, he said with unexpected pathos, “I still believe these men are not guilty. I pity them, for they are foolish rather than wicked.”

With that he signaled for the withdrawal of the delegation, and the Jews left without having their petition even considered.


A few weeks later Philo and his companions were entering Puteoli hoping for another meeting with Caesar. They were met by a Jew from Palestine, whose bulging eyes seemed about to leave their sockets and whose face was as yellow as ancient parchment. His clothes were stained and tattered, like those of a man who had not yet washed himself after a long journey. He told them he’d just arrived from Palestine, at the head of a delegation of Palestinian Jews. He brought news with him, the like of which had not been heard by any generation of Jews since the beginning of the world. Caligula had dared to do what no other Caesar had even dreamed of. He had ordered his image to be placed in the Holy of Holies in Jerusalem, and he’d commanded the Syrian Proconsul to occupy Acco with an armed force, ready to descend on Jerusalem if they did not obey.

01 - Alexandria

The air of Alexandria, celebrated throughout the empire and praised by many a Roman poet, was at its freshest and clearest on the shore of Lake Mareotis where the water from the Nile came streaming in, bringing the sweet odor of green fields. The house of the wealthy magistrate of the Alexandrian Jews was located here across from the government house and just outside the Jewish quarter. The great arched windows of the house shone with many lamps of glass and earthenware, hanging by silk cords from the capitals of the columns.

A large group of Jewish harbor workers was assembled at the foot of the stairs clashing little cymbals and chanting, “King! King!” for the visitor inside the house was Agrippa, the new Jewish king. There were perfume merchants, potters, weavers, even housewives with their children. All had left their occupations and schools to greet their new king. Wealthier Jews also came from other quarters in their mantles of Sidonian linen and oil glistened hair.

Agrippa himself, who had tried and failed to slip into town unnoticed, was inside the house with members of the Jewish Senate, including the philosopher Philo, the magistrate’s brother. Agrippa, who’d been imprisoned by the emperor Tiberias, was released and exalted by the new emperor Caligula. So instead of prison chains, he now wore the golden chains of kingship. He was on his way to Palestine to replace his brother-in-law, Herod Antipas. He stopped off in Alexandria to visit the magistrate, who had lent him great sums of money during his years of waiting.

Because of the chanting he was forced several times to show himself, but to the crowd’s disappointment, he wasn’t clothed in scarlet. He didn’t even carry a scepter. He came out wearing a Roman toga, his thin, pointed nose twitching in irritation, his eyes hidden under frowning brows. He did permit himself a gracious smile, though his thoughts were centered on his aristocratic origins, his high connections in Rome, and the great sacrifice he was making in leaving the capital of the world, where he was an intimate of Caesar, to take over as ruler of an obscure little kingdom. So he stood there with that wearied look the mighty think becomes them in the presence of the poor of the earth.

The joyous tumult became louder when his wife appeared. She was known for her piety and for the fact that she was the only one who could keep her husband in check and maintain his interest in the Jewish masses. The Jews expected a lot from a king, especially one of their own blood. His anointing made him a symbol of Messiah, so it was hoped that his wife’s influence would be high enough to make him a good king. It was true that he was not the legitimate heir to the throne, not being in the line of direct descent. But since he was descended from the Hasmonians, who were also of the Davidic line, the Jews forgot the Edomite side of his ancestry, and treated him as legitimate.

And so a riot of celebration had broken out in Alexandrian Jewry. The street was packed from end to end and the harbor was deserted. After a while, the magistrate sent his servants out to disperse the people, telling them to get back to their jobs. It was dangerous to arouse the envy of the Greeks and Egyptians by such demonstrations. And indeed, shouting “Hail, King!” did not fill the stomach. So once they realized that Agrippa was not coming out again they finally went back to the harbor, shops, and marketplaces, leaving only the chronic idlers who lived for such occasions.

After meeting with the leading members of the Jewish Senate, Agrippa withdrew to the library with the magistrate. Leading scholars of the Academy of Alexandria, hoping to see some evidence that Agrippa would continue the traditional Herodian attachment to the sciences, joined them. City officials were also there, partly in hope of gifts, and partly in hope that the new king would build some striking edifice in Alexandria. Joined by officials of the world’s greatest library, they were all anxious to hear the latest news from the imperial capital. Agrippa was close to the most important figures of Rome and was considered highly influential. In the eastern territories his views and decisions would be of huge importance.

There was one notable absence from the group. The governor of Alexandria, Caesar’s local representative, Flaccus, was not there. Speculation as to why he wasn’t there ranged from an unwillingness to pay homage to the new king, to the cold relations that existed between him and the magistrate. Or maybe he just had other things on his mind.

It was common knowledge that Flaccus’ days as governor were numbered, as there was no love lost between the new emperor and the governor. So his absence was matter for speculation, but nothing more. They agreed that he was the only one who stood to lose by this piece of tactlessness, and Agrippa felt himself too powerful to take the matter to heart.

In fact, he was rather pleased by the popular reception in spite of his outward indifference. He was surrounded by the leading figures of Alexandria, his friends and family, his son Agrippa and his lovely daughters, Veronica and Antelope. The latter was also the bride of the magistrate’s son.


As the meeting went on, a new and different kind of tumult could be heard coming from the street. Some of the guests went to the windows and saw a crowd gathering in the half darkness. The servants hurried through the courtyard to close the gates and then reported that some Greeks and Egyptians were gathering. Amid rising voices, there were cymbals clashing and flutes wailing.

The guests started to become uneasy. All except the king, of course, who kept his calm bearing and maintained the same look of boredom he had when the Jews were cheering. In the imperial court, the great never betrayed emotion in the presence of the masses, nor even show interest. The magistrate looked at the king, composed himself, and imitated his indifference. The guests, though, couldn’t help but show their concern.

One of the servants reported that Karabas, a famous city buffoon, was there with a prayer-shawl on his shoulders, a scepter in his hand, and a crown of papyrus on his head. The Greeks and Egyptians were dancing around him and shouting in a lusty voice, “Maron! Maron!”

(Now Maron was an ancient Olympian god, who guided the chariot of Dionysus.)

Looking out the window, the magistrate could see the mob surrounding Karabas, gesturing in a grotesque imitation of the Jews, and yelling in a Jewish accent.

The magistrate consulted the captain of the guard about this insult to the new Jewish king, but the captain responded that it would be folly to attempt to disburse the mob. The priest Isidorus was in the crowd egging it on, and messengers had been sent to the governor’s palace to report this rebellion. Meanwhile, the Gentile guests were quietly slipping out of the room, without a formal goodbye. Before long, only the Jews remained.

The yelling of the mob became louder as new masses poured into the square. A tortured screaming was heard. The mob was breaking into Jewish homes and herding men, women and children into the street. Flames began to light up the sky.

Where was the governor, whose duty it was to preserve order in the city? Where were the mighty legions of Rome? Didn’t the governor know that the second largest city in the empire was in revolt?

Aristobulus, the king’s brother, and the only member of the family on speaking terms with the governor, rushed into the room. His face was white. He reported that the governor refused to see him. He simply sent word that the indignation of the Alexandrians was just and he would do nothing. He was still governor, for now, and he would decide what was right and what was wrong.

This, then, was the last desperate act of a governor who knew himself to be condemned to death. If nothing else, the empire was founded on law, and if a Roman governor refused to maintain order, what was there left in the world? Savagery would be the state of man, and the empire would dissolve and melt away. Flaccus knew he was a condemned man, and this was his revenge on the Jews.

Meanwhile, new and frightful reports poured in. Broadswords were being distributed from the arsenal while officials looked the other way, and a massacre had begun in the Jewish quarter. City officials mixed with the mob and said that the governor was in sympathy with the rioters. Jewish women were dragged out of their homes into the theaters and forced to eat swine’s flesh. Something had to be done, but no one had an answer.

“One thing we must not do,” explained the king, “is to set ourselves against the legions. We can’t provide Flaccus with the excuse that he was defending the soldiers of Rome.”

So word was quickly sent out in the name of the king, the magistrate, and the senate, that under no circumstances were the Jews to defend themselves. They must shed no blood, but rely on the clemency of Caesar and the justice of Rome. Caesar would restore their rights and punish the rioters.

The king was certain that the law and order of Rome would prevail. Agrippa felt he knew Gaius well, for they had talked often. The new Caesar had freed him from his chains, right? And Agrippa’s mother, Bernice, was the most intimate friend of the mighty empress. Jewish privilege was a sacred right in the traditions of Rome, ever since the days of Julius. This was just an insane act of a criminal bent on self-destruction, an official who, in desperation, was taking revenge on the people of Agrippa for his impending fall.

So Agrippa showed no signs of vulgar excitement. He patted Veronica’s head and sent the women off to their apartments to lie down and rest as best they could, while he remained in the library with the old philosopher Philo and a few members of the Jewish Senate.

In spite of his outward indifference, the king was far from calm. This spoiled man, whose whole life was a gamble, was accustomed to staking huge sums of money on a single roll of the dice, money he usually borrowed or extorted from his friends. For him life had but one meaning, power. So he couldn’t help but be aware, at this moment, of the insecurity of his position, backed not by the might of Rome, but by the Jews, a futile and impotent people. The only crutch he had to rely on were a few words on a bronze tablet dictated by a Caesar. Tomorrow another Caesar could recall the appointment. In the meantime any higher Roman official could laugh in his face like Flaccus was doing now.

This was the foundation of his kingdom. He thought of the people whose king he’d become and remembered that the Jews had never accepted Rome as the foundation of their strength. They looked to the grace of God, and His promise, as their security. The people were courageous enough to stand up to Rome, for Rome was a human thing, uncertain and deceptive. Not so the Law of God, which the Jews obeyed. No, Rome was not the foundation of the Jews. Jerusalem was. Perhaps his wife was right. Whenever he returned from an audience with Caesar, radiant with joy, she would quote from the sacred books of the Jews, “Put not your trust in princes.”

“Perhaps I would do well to listen to the words of the rabbis in Jerusalem,” he said to himself.

He quickly shook off these thoughts, though, for if he lost his faith in Rome, he was naked indeed. He would not let himself be unsettled by a meaningless riot. Tomorrow the incident would be over, and the day after it would be forgotten.


There was another in the room also deep in thought. The famous scholar and philosopher Philo, the brother of the magistrate, was now past sixty, but he looked even older. He had a permanent stoop from bending over his manuscripts, but his face, for all the evidence of the years, was filled with light. He wasn’t accustomed to being in the company of the great, and in fact, he’d always avoided them. His brother tried to draw him into the conversation several times, but without success. He just stayed in a corner with his thoughts.

Philo was not afraid either for his own life or the life of his companions. He believed they were in the hands of God, and if God decided that their time was up, so be it. If their time was not up, no power could prevail against them. Wickedness itself didn’t frighten him, for evil is transient. Only goodness is eternal, for goodness is the nature of God, not evil. God first created the spiritual world of ideas, and this spirit ruled the world. Evil might overshadow it for a moment, but it was bound to emerge again.

No, what disturbed Philo was quite another matter. He believed that the Jewish law was the highest wisdom and the highest love that God had given to the world. Only this wisdom can bring the peace of God to mankind. But what is God’s love and wisdom worth if these things are entrusted to a weak, persecuted people, to pitiful, insecure human beings who are being swept away in a storm of ignorance, defilement, and depravity?

In such a soul, anchored as it was in God, the incidents of that night would not give rise to feelings of revenge, but rather of pity. What men call evil is really only ignorance and blindness. What good does it do that the Jews are a peculiar people, chosen of God, if the world is evil because of ignorance? God’s wisdom must be made to cover the world; the Torah must become the portion of all mankind. The Logos, or directing spirit, appointed by God as His first Son to rule the world with love and justice for all, must become the redemption of the whole world, not just the peculiar people.

This was Philo’s philosophy, developed over time. The peculiar people, chosen and trained by God, had only been given the idea. The embodiment of the idea would have to emerge in the power of the Logos. The Logos in action, not the Logos in thought, is the wisdom of God. Therefore, the wisdom of God cannot be the privilege of individuals, or even of a peculiar people. It had to become the redemption of all humanity, as only through the Logos in action could love and justice be brought to humanity.

This was the philosophy on which Philo meditated in that night of terror.

* * * * *

There was a history of agitation behind the Alexandrian riots, which the Jews ignored. A man named Apion had written a number of scurrilous insane pamphlets advocating the destruction of the Jews. And the authorities, far from trying to suppress him, actually gave him their implicit backing.

The Jews had ignored these warnings, and in fact, they felt quite secure in their position. Alexander, the city’s founder, who wished to replace Tyre, which he’d destroyed, had brought them there. The Jews had taken the place of the Phoenicians as traders. Jewish merchants owned the ships that dropped anchor in the harbor. The workers in the harbor were all Jews. What would the city be without them?

So who cared if Apion reviled them, and Isidorus, the priest, preached against them? It was common knowledge that Isidorus had turned the temple of Isis into a public brothel and that he collected vast sums from the women who served as prostitutes. And it was also common knowledge that Apion was a common thief, who’d once been sold as a slave for his crimes. So who would listen to them anyway?

So rather than draw more attention to the libels, the Jews had ignored them. But the agitation bore fruit. The riots that began that night lasted for weeks. Agrippa slipped out of the country secretly, but as long as Flaccus remained in power, the mob roamed the streets and did as it pleased. One section after another of the Jewish quarter was attacked. Drunken crowds went from street to street dressed in Jewish clothes they’d stolen. Day after day the most brutal excesses were committed with impunity. Over here was a group of terrified Jews, their clothes having been ripped from their bodies. Over there was a Chaldean stargazer standing in a circle of admirers, a heap of stolen goods at his feet.

Throughout the weeks of rioting the Alexandrian theater was filled with spectators watching things never seen before in the history of the city. Jews were thrown into the arena to become playthings for the tormentors. Their faces were smeared with wine and honey, and lumps of swine meat were forced into their mouths. The crowds roared with glee as men, women, and children fought, screamed and writhed with loathing as the forbidden meat was forced between their teeth.

Members of the Jewish Senate weren’t spared either. In fact, they were subjected to special treatment. They were stripped naked, thrown across benches, and lashed.

In between these brutalities, actors entertained the spectators with obscene parodies of Jewish life. One appeared wearing an ass’s head, supposedly representing the Jewish God. Others, in Jewish costumes, bowed before him. The ceremony of circumcision was enacted several times, much to the delight of the women spectators. And from time to time, “serious” speakers, such as Apion and Isidorus, came in to harangue the Alexandrians on the baseness of the Jews.


Flaccus the governor published an edict withdrawing from the Jews the rights guaranteed them by the Roman Senate, and Philo left his ivory tower to go among the people and exhort and encourage them.

Philo assured his people that the edict was unlawful and would be overturned by Rome. He pleaded with the people to offer no armed resistance. Not only was it useless, it would only lead to more excesses in Alexandria and would compromise their cause in Rome. The important thing, he said, was not the individual Jew, but rather the Jewish people as a whole. The storm will pass, and God’s justice will prevail. Be patient, and endure. Accept the calamities as the will of God, and wait for a better time.


But then the news got worse. Word came from Rome that the wild young Caesar, Gaius, better known as Caligula, had proclaimed himself a god and had ordered all people to place his image in their temples and to offer him sacrifice. All of the people in the empire obeyed – except the Jews.

A great transformation suddenly took place. The people who’d submitted to every cruelty and indignity with the meekness of lambs, suddenly became like lions. Even Philo came out for resistance. He told the Jews to suffer a thousand deaths rather than prostrate themselves in worship before an idol. Such an act would strike at the very root of Israel. Let them slay you, he said, but do not throw even one pinch of incense on the altar fire.

Of course this gave the Greeks of Alexandria a new weapon against the Jews. Apion called them blasphemers and eternal aliens. The Jews were enemies of both the gods and Caesar. But this time Apion did not get his way. When a mob appeared before the great Alexandrian synagogue with an image of Caesar they intended to install there, the Jews, who had suffered the long pogrom without counterattacking, closed the doors of the synagogue, threw themselves on the idolaters, and drove them clear out of the Jewish quarter.


Philo realized that the time for action had come. As old as he was, and a stranger to public affairs, he agreed to head a delegation to Gaius Caligula, the emperor.

A delegation of Alexandrian Greeks also proceeded to the capital, to present their side of the story.

20 - "I Will Send You"

Saul stood under the shadow of a large cypress tree, waiting for someone to come through the gate of Mary the widow’s house, on Mount Scopus, in Jerusalem. His cloak, stained with oil, blackened by the earth, and ripped by the wind, left patches of his stringy body exposed. His sandals had burst their seams, and his knobby anklebones looked like the gnarled roots of olive trees. It was just before dawn in late summer.

In making the journey from Damascus to Jerusalem, he walked all day, and slept wherever he could find a spot, whether between the pillars of some rich house, in some camel drivers’ inn, or out in the open sky. He didn’t take the time to try to earn something at his trade, for he was in a hurry to reach Jerusalem, but there were always good people along the way who had compassion. One had given him a loaf of bread, another a plate of green vegetables, a third a cup of water. It would be unheard of for a stranger to die of hunger among Jews.

Now he stood and waited

With the first glimmer of dawn Barnabas appeared. His bearing was the same as always in spite of the sackcloth covering. He still looked like a king, tall and graceful as a palm tree, just as he had when he dressed in Tyrian linen and flashy rings. Young Mark was with him, and Saul was surprised to see that he was almost as tall as his uncle. He could hear them talking earnestly as they passed him unnoticed.

“Joseph Barnabas! Joseph Barnabas! Noble one!”

Uncle and nephew looked around and saw the stranger in tattered clothing and burst sandals. This was not a new sight for them, for many like this came to the disciples’ home. Barnabas immediately scrounged in his bag to put something into the outstretched hand of the stranger.

This didn’t offend Saul, since he’d already accepted handouts on this trip. But this gift from the friend of his youth did cause a confusion of emotions. There was both pain and a strange sense of sweetness. The humiliation did him good, helping to purify him through shame. So he took it as a teaching experience. His eyes brightened and his heart was filled with joy.

He whispered thanks to the lord for his graciousness.

Then Barnabas looked into the eyes of the man who now held the coin in his hand, and tears suddenly filled his own eyes.

“Saul, my beloved brother!”

“Am I worthy to be your brother, Joseph Barnabas, after what I did to you and yours?”

“But you never stopped being my brother.”

“Not even when I persecuted the faithful?”

“Not even then, for I knew you would come to us. Your footsteps were always on the path back, even when you struggled so hard against it.”

“The lord was stronger. He overcame me.”

“Yes, we heard. Messengers from Damascus told us what happened to you.”

“But Joseph, my hands are stained with blood. Can you forgive me for what I’ve done.”

“Who are we to hold you defiled when God has declared you clean.”

“Joseph, my brother,” said Saul, weeping in the arms of Barnabas.

Between them Barnabas and his nephew led Saul into the house.


Saul was washed, rubbed with oil, fed and clothed, while Barnabas pondered what to do with his friend, whose name was still synonymous with terror among the faithful. Saul interrupted these thoughts, asking about Simon Peter. Could he talk to the man who had walked with the lord? Barnabas sent word to Simon cautiously.

He didn’t have to send far, for Simon was living at that time in a little apartment in the courtyard of Mary’s house with his wife and his mother-in-law. The two women tended Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene, who were both ailing.

Simon had also heard of Saul’s conversion and disappearance into the wilderness, and he received the news of his visit with mixed feelings. Certainly he rejoiced that Saul had seen the error of his ways and turned his heart to the good. No doubt God would use him in a great way. But at the moment, there was need for caution. His presence in Jerusalem would have to be kept secret for now. The memory of his deeds was still fresh in the minds of the congregation, and they wouldn’t trust him. So it was decided to keep Saul in the house for now, and not let him go out.

When Saul saw Simon, he said, “I’ve come to learn from you Simon, for you sat at the feet of our lord when he was here.”

“How wonderful are your works, O Lord,” said Simon. “Blessed be the God of Israel, who has worked a miracle in you, Saul. We heard what happened, and our hearts rejoice. You are now a beloved brother to us.”

And Simon embraced Saul and gave him the kiss of peace.

“You are a witness to the lord, Saul,” continued Simon. “The mouth that cursed him is now filled with blessing. The hand that killed the disciples now heals them. You are chosen of the lord, Saul. Therefore, may we never again speak of your deeds, which have been wiped clean by grace.

“But hear me, Saul. Many believers are still bitter, and their hearts are hot. Stay here until we can prepare them for you. And as the spirit instructs us, so will we do with you.”

“May God reward the congregation doubly for the kindness shown me,” said Saul.

Simon sent for his wife, and said to her, “A brother who was far from us has come home, and is therefore doubly dear. Prepare a bed for him, and set the table. Give him what food we have. Our brother Saul will be with us as long as he stays in Jerusalem.”

For two days Saul listened as Simon told him everything he knew about the lord. Then the pupil suddenly turned teacher. Saul told Simon his own ideas about the nature of the lord, as he’d discovered them during his time in the wilderness. They were the same ideas he’d advocated in Damascus.

The fisherman listened and became confused. Simon was fixed in the Jewish ways he’d been brought up in since childhood, for the lord did not change the ways of Moses or the prophets. He just set them in a new light. They were still the traditional ways of Israel. In his view, the Gentiles could find salvation in Jesus only by accepting the Jewish faith. Messiah’s coming meant that the nations would come to the mount of the Lord and would live in the ways of Jacob. Either that, or they would cease to be. But Saul seemed to be saying that the uncircumcised Gentiles were also children of Abraham merely by their faith. And what were these strange words “Son of God?”

“These are hard things to understand, brother Saul,” he said, perplexed. “When our lord was with us, he said that heaven and earth would pass away before even one jot or tittle of the law.”

“But even though our lord performed miracles,” answered Saul, “and taught the Torah to his disciples, we can’t think of these things as if they were done and taught by some rabbi of flesh and blood. For even in the flesh our lord was spirit, and we can’t judge according to the flesh.”

This was too much for the simple aging fisherman, so Saul didn’t press the issue. The thought occurred to him that perhaps it would be better if he could talk to James, the lord’s brother, who had a reputation for wisdom and piety. James, though, still lived down in the old dwelling in the David wall, with those believers who were Pharisees, so this would have to be discreetly arranged, so as to maintain the secrecy. Barnabas went to advise James of Saul’s arrival and to ask him to come to the house.


It was late at night when James came to visit. He was hardly through the door when Saul began expounding his views on Messiah. Messiah, he said excitedly, is a radiation of deity, the personification of divine redemption. Messiah is the Son of God, with power to bind and loosen not only on earth, but in heaven also. He is the authority delegated by God to order the worlds in justice. By his death he destroyed sin, and likewise the law, which had created sin. James listened closely and was astonished by these strange words.

He answered, “I don’t understand you. Messiah came to fill out God? Only idolaters believe God can be improved. Messiah came to fill out and complete man, and to prepare the world for redemption. God is Who He is. It is written, ‘The beginning of wisdom is the fear of God.’ I don’t hear the fear of God in what you say.”

“This was all true,” answered Saul, “until the coming of the lord. Up until then it was proper to fear God, who expressed Himself in law. But Messiah freed us from fear. He gives us a closer relationship with God. From now on we serve God in love.”

“Those are fine words, Saul, and it is true that God wants us to love him. But love of God is not a sounding cymbal. Love of God is expressed in deeds. For who are we that we can love God? Can we conceive His being? Can we comprehend His nature? Has anyone seen or touched Him? Idolaters love their gods because they’ve molded them with their hands, and they love their own work. But we hold no treasure in our hands. We have only the law given to Moses on Sinai. We can only love God by obeying His will, fulfilling His commandments, and serving him with all our heart. Love of God is not an empty sound, and it’s not the same as the love of man for man. We express our love through the fear that fills us and our obedience to His will.”

“That’s just faith in works,” responded Saul, “which is a stumbling block. Messiah has brought us a new faith, which is love.”

James did not answer. For him the young man Saul no longer existed. He turned to Simon who was seated in a dark corner of the room, trying hard to follow all this, and said, “Saul will not preach these things in the synagogues. It would destroy the peace our congregation has had lately.”

“No, that’s not his intention,” answered Simon. “He’s shown himself to us, and no one else knows he’s here.”

* * * * *

Not being allowed to preach in the synagogues could never deter Saul, of course. He soon went out everywhere proclaiming that Messiah was the Son of God. He argued with the Hellenists in the synagogues whether they were believers or not.

The people he encountered were astonished that this was the same man who had so recently persecuted the faithful, dragging them before the High Priest and putting them to the lash. The rift between the believing and non-believing Hellenists had healed since Saul’s disappearance, and no one was punished for believing in Messiah. It was felt that if Messiah did come back on the clouds, then the truth of the matter would be known for sure. But now Saul’s disputes were dividing the congregation again.

Moreover, the faithful didn’t trust him. This strange “Son of God” business wounded their deep-rooted Jewish feelings, and they thought maybe this was a trick to destroy the congregation. And even those who didn’t question his sincerity mocked him, and a saying arose among the believers, “Saul went out to find asses and found the kingdom.” The fact that the heads of the congregation did not accept Saul made him an outsider, both among the Hellenists and among the others. Once word got out that Saul was forbidden to speak in the synagogues, his words had no effect, except to stir up bitterness, disputes, and even fights.

The resentment got to be so great that his life was in danger. There was even talk of killing him.

This greatly disturbed the disciples, who feared a renewal of the persecutions from the Priesthood. James, in particular, was angered by Saul’s actions, and he said to Simon, “Saul must be sent away from Jerusalem. They won’t listen to a man who only persecuted them yesterday.”

Simon agreed. But how to persuade Saul? He seemed quite determined to get Israel to see the meaning of Jacob’s ladder.

And Israel seemed just as determined to throw it back at him. The House of Israel listened only to those who were recognized and accepted. They were bound with the thongs of the law.

Finally Saul said to himself, “There’s a great world outside Israel, and there are other people waiting for redemption. Is not God the God of the Gentiles, too? And didn’t the lord say to the disciples that they should be his witnesses to Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the world? Yes, to the ends of the world.”


Shortly after this thought, Saul found himself in the Synagogue of the Libertines surrounded by men with fury in their eyes as he talked about “the Son of God”. One of them exclaimed, “Saul of Tarsus, didn’t you drag men away for less than this? Didn’t you stone one, and were we not your helpers?”

Saul looked up, and recognized the witnesses who had carried out the sentence against Stephen.

“Didn’t you say then that the hands of the witnesses should be the first against him? Shouldn’t we execute the same sentence on you?”

And they no doubt would have had not Barnabas appeared, accompanied by a group of believers. After that, Barnabas stayed at Saul’s side for the rest of his stay.


It was a bitter time for Saul and he felt a great burden. He continued to stay in Simon’s house, but he knew it was out of pity, not friendship. Simon didn’t have the heart to turn him out, and he was too stubborn to leave the city without a sign. All he had was his faith in the lord, whom he believed himself to be serving with all his heart.

One day Saul was stretched out in the Temple court praying in his heart, “Holy servant of God, our lord and master, show me your face. Let me hear your voice like on the road to Damascus. Reveal your will to me, for I’m in ignorance.”

A strange joy suddenly came over him. He looked up and saw the Temple shining in the sunlight, surrounded by the children of Israel kneeling in prayer. He looked up toward heaven and saw an intense blue blazing in the blue depths, and out of that core of light someone emerged with slow steps. He heard a voice echoing in the chambers of his heart, “Arise, and hurry away from Jerusalem, for they will not accept your testimony concerning me.”

Saul was not lost in the vision. He stayed clear headed, for he knew the vision was a message, and he must read it right in order to know what was expected of him. He called out, “Lord, you know how I persecuted those who believe in you. You know that when they shed the blood of your witness, Stephen, I was there as one of the killers, for I guarded the clothes of those who killed him.”

Then Saul bowed down again, and hid his face once more in the stone floor of the Temple court.

And the voice spoke again, “Go, Saul, for I will send you far away to the Gentiles.”

* * * * *

And just like that, he had his answer. When the disciples heard that he was willing to leave Jerusalem, they gladly sent him to Caesarea, and his friend Barnabas accompanied him part of the way.

“The words of the lord will be fulfilled,” said Saul. “Until then I will wait in suffering.”

“Until then I will pray to God that the fulfillment comes soon,” answered Barnabas.

The two friends exchanged the kiss of peace. For a long, long time Barnabas watched Saul as he rode away, the dust rising under the quick, quiet steps of the little donkey.

END OF PART ONE