Witness from Ephesus

Note: This was written in answer to “How can we know the Bible was true?” The answer the story illustrates is that if when the New Testament was written and circulated, it had not been true, there would have been witnesses around who would utterly discredit the testimony of Paul and the other authors.

This was not the case. Still living witnesses of Jesus’ life and the early ministry of the Church rather supported the words of Paul and Peter. These apostles even appealed to this argument as proof of their authority. God chose certain men to deliver to us the specific words He wanted in the Bible. Many at the time were witnesses to the same events, and believed the same theology.

“There,” said Paul. “All done.” He reached for the manuscripts his secretary handed him. “Lord Jesus,” they prayed, “use these simple words to speak truth to the people of Corinth. Help them to be impresssed by your love for them. Cleanse them from the sins they keep doing. I pray, Lord, for my messenger. Help him to reach Corinth safely. Let him minister to Your saints there.”

The messenger left early the next morning with the blessings of the church at Ephesus. The letter to the Corinthians remained unsealed. He opened it and began to read to pass the weary hours of his journey.

“Paul, called to be an apostle…” he read. Once, he had visited Ananias in Damascus. The man who witnessed the transformation of Saur from Tarsus, Ananias held Paul (who had changed his name from Saul) as a specially called apostle of Christ. The messenger read on.

Later in the day, he again stopped to remember. “For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified…” Jesus the Messiah, in Greek translated “Christ,” had been crucified. The messenger was one of over 500 witnesses who had seen the marks from the nails in Jesus’ hands. Truly the sight had been moving. His own life had been changed forever.

The further the messenger went from Ephesus, the faster he read. “For you have been bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body.” Paul didn’t take a breath most days without the purpose of glorifying God. In the devastating moments when he did reveal pride or impatience, Paul was in tears over the price his Lord paid. The eternal image of Christ’s wounded hands always returned to break his heart.

“And that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day, according to the Scriptures.” Joseph of Arimathea died two weeks before the messenger set out. A great memorial had been made for him. The Pharisees remembered what he had done for God. Christians remembered what God did for him. Then he was buried in his tomb.

The prophet, Isaiah, spoke of Messiah being buried with the rich at His death. Joseph’s tomb had been Jesus’ resting place. Yet now Joseph himself resided there – alone. He became an eternal witness to the truth of the prophet and of the resurrection.

Only four days from Ephesus, with most of his trip still to go, the messenger finished reading Paul’s letter. The greetings at the end were like a list of beloved friends. He remembered the party they had thrown when Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus came to them. Their news excited Paul. Nights were spent in fellowship and study of the Scriptures for weeks afterward. Would such a party be given for him?

As the trip progressed, the messenger read the letter over and over until some parts were burned into his mind and written on his heart. Sometimes he would read passages out loud to those who traveled with him. “Paul writes truth,” reported an elderly woman. “My son in Corinth mentioned many of those things.”

“Ma’am, do you think people will still believe him in a hundred years?”

“Why not,” she chuckled. “I believe it – and I would know. If we who know accept it, so should our children and grandchildren. Paul is a messenger of God. He wrote the truth. How else will they know the truth?”

To God be all glory.

Cool Day in Capernaum

It was a cool day in Capernaum. The wind blew from the south over the Sea of Galilee. The fishermen were ashore now, nearly done selling their day’s catch. Peter made his way along the familiar harbor, watching the sunset reflected in the waves of the lake.

Memories of the old days: fishing on the sea and living a simple, stable life flooded his thoughts. It had been a day like any other when he and Andrew had first met Jesus, but in that instant, his life had been turned up-side-down. Now they were all going up to Jerusalem in a few days and his hopes were high. Rumors, like the summer flies on the plains, were multiplying across the land that Jesus was the Messiah who would free their people and set up His kingdom on earth. Romans authorities were very unsettled over this Jewish sentiment.

Maybe that was why Peter tried to blend in with those tending their nets when he saw several Roman tax collectors heading for him. Before, he would have fit perfectly among the tackle and boats. Now he stood out, apparently, because the tax collectors continued directly towards him. Peter believed Jesus was the Christ and was eager to see Him set up His kingdom. With all Jesus had been saying these last few days about betrayal and death, though, Peter wasn’t sure Jesus shared his expectations. A haughty voice, tainted with the aristocratic accent of the empire’s capital, interrupted his thoughts: “Doesn’t your Teacher pay the temple tax?” they asked, implying He should pay.

“Yes, He does,” answered Peter, wondering where on earth Jesus would get the two drachmas to pay it. When Jesus said he didn’t have any place to lay his head, the empty purse went without saying. Judas kept poor collections that Jesus wouldn’t think of using for Himself. They camped outside, and some wealthy friends made sure they had enough food. Some days there was barely enough. Peter hurried back to the house where Jesus and His disciples were staying. Before he could even report the bad news, Jesus was asking Peter about it in His simple, profound way. “What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of earth collect duty and taxes – from their own sons or from others?”

When Peter calmed himself enough to consider the well-paced question, he replied, “From others,” and wondered where Jesus was going with the simple question. Jesus said, “Then the sons are exempt,” and a smile played on His lips and love danced in His eyes at the familiar, confused expression on Peter’s face.

“…but so that we may not offend them, go to the lake and throw out your line,” Jesus continued, His expression changing to sadness. “Take the first fish you catch; open its mouth and you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for My tax and yours.” Peter put his coat back on, grabbed his line, and resumed his scrambled mood, bumping the doorframe on his way out.

As he passed the staring people and sat down beside the lake, Peter began to wonder if this, like almost everything else Jesus said, meant something more. On the surface, it appeared to be directives for paying a tax, and his tax with it (which was nice), but Peter liked to try to find the meaning of the rest of Jesus’ riddling words when he had the time. Was He saying that He was a prince? And if so, was He paying the tax because His kingdom on earth wasn’t coming yet? Or was He saying His kingdom was already here?

A fish bit and Peter left his questions unanswered to catch the tax fish.

Peter returned after delivering the payment to find Jesus teaching in the house. Jesus spoke of ‘your brother’s sins,’ and it aroused an old question in Peter’s mind. When Jesus was done with His lesson, Peter asked Him, “Lord,” and Jesus turned His gentle eyes on Peter; how he loved students with questions! “How many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?”

Jesus glanced at Andrew, who was glaring at his brother, and smiled. His own half-brothers were not nearly so bold. These men, whose brotherhood was baked by nights on the trying sea, had no concept of restraint. “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.” Andrew looked relieved; the Teacher was on his side. Then Jesus told them a story to illustrate. Peter listened eagerly, hoping for the zinger that would stop Andrew from smirking. It never came. “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart,” Jesus closed.

The next morning, early, Jesus, His disciples, and large crowds went from Galilee to Judea across the Jordan. After a few days’ teaching there, the group continued on their way through Jericho towards Jerusalem. With each passing day, hopes rose, thinking the promised kingdom had come.

Everyone was expecting Jesus to declare himself. James and John’s mother even asked for her sons to hold high office in Jesus’ coming kingdom. Jesus handled all the questions, requests, and hopes in His loving way, but no matter how many times He rebuked them or tried to calm their hopes with the truth, they refused to listen. They were convinced.

When the group was near Jerusalem, at Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, they halted and Jesus sent two disciples ahead to find Him a donkey’s colt on which to ride in. The disciples went away quickly and accomplished their secret mission. In the mean time, most of the crowds made their way into Jerusalem and cut down branches as they went to spread on the road.

People stopped what they were doing and looked up to see a man, riding on a donkey so small and slow that it would hardly be thought worthy of a passenger, coming down the road amid the excited shouts of thousands. Jesus rode quietly, troubled by the knowledge that very soon He would be alone and these cheering crowds would no longer cheer. The rest of the city, filled with more and less informed people who had come for Passover, wondered who He really was and what He would do at the feast.

To God be all glory.

Touching His Hem

She pushed through the crowd, bent almost double. So many strangers! Only a few familiar faces turned to glare at her, saying she had no right to be here. The faces were older than she remembered. It had been a long time since she ventured out into her village. Ahead she could see one of her doctors, but he wasn’t looking this way. The money purse at his hip taunted her. It might be weighted with the money she had paid him, without getting any relief in return. Now he was here to see Messiah. So was she, and nothing else mattered.

Closer to the road people were pressed tighter together. As far as she could see, they were even choking the road. She pushed against the relentless people for five minutes before she heard them begin to cheer. “Teacher! Master!” – some were more direct in their questions. “Are You the one?” A Pharisee? The man was young, so she didn’t recognize him. There had been a time when she was the friend (or enemy) of every leader in Israel. That was over thirty years ago, before.

As the crowd grew louder, she desperately dropped to her knees and made her way between legs and around purses. Nothing else mattered. If she could just see Him, touch Him, she knew everything would be better.

But all the people, jostling in the way! It was hopeless. The Master would be here and gone before she could get close. She crawled forward anyway.

Cheers deafened her. No time to cover her ears. Just crawl. At last she tumbled onto the road. There He was! That must be Him just ahead, with all the people reaching out to Him. He would pass her by. Just then He stumbled backward from the weight of the people. She blessed the crowds she hated. He was just within reach. Her fingertips stretched to touch His hem, trying to snag it and draw herself closer. Immediately she felt it; she was healed. In awe, in bliss – pure bliss – she remained, crouched on the ground.

Jesus turned to look at the woman, bowed now in reverence. He spoke tender words, but ones that silenced those near. “Who touched Me?” One of his followers began to point out what everyone else was thinking: how silly a question that was. But the woman raised her head to meet His eyes. He already knew it was her; He looked at her as though He had always known it would be her.

At first whispering, then raising her voice so the people around them could hear, she told her Lord the whole truth. She told of her illness for 30 years, of using all her money to pay doctors until now, when she had nothing. A few days ago she had heard of the Teacher. A few hours ago word had come that He would be coming this way. So she had determined to see Him. She pointed at the crowd as she told how she had been forced to crawl to Him. A smile spread across her pain-free face.

“Then I touched Your robe, Lord, and I am healed.” A few people murmured; a few cheered. He took her hand and raised her up. A man ran up, quietly pressing through the people, but with the demeanor of a servant, he dared not interrupt. Jesus saw him. Sadness flitted across His face before He turned back to her.

“Daughter,” He used a word she had not heard in decades, “your faith has made you well. Go in peace.” As though the very words He spoke carried power, peace filled her. She walked tall and straight away from Him through the crowd. At the edge of the crowd, she turned to see all the people leaving. Jesus and a few of His followers went on down the road with the servant.

To God be all glory.

Nathanael’s Dark Night

Nathanael sat in a lonely room, bending over his parchment to make out the tiny characters written there. How many times the last three years had he sent messages to Yacob about these very texts? Now his host, an old friend, was snoring from the shadows of the small house. After what happened today, how could one sleep? Indeed, each time his own eyes closed with the heaviness of his grief and exhaustion the darkness came alive, revealing itself in the memorized faces of evil incarnate. “Crucify him!” they yelled.

He drew his hand across his brow, finding there beads of sweat. Wiping his hand on his sash, the young scribe tried to return to studying. Some faces were too familiar. Old friends. Men who were in training to be scribes as he had been… before. Some had been his teachers. After hearing Yeshua teach, how could one apply that title to anyone else? He had the words of life. Yeshua had become Nathanael’s life. Now He was dead.

As young Israelites hoping to distinguish themselves as scribes, Yacob and Nathanael had apprenticed themselves to those religious leaders who were willing to teach. They studied Scripture, carefully copying out entire passages in their notes. Poor students made the most of their parchment by writing in very small print. The two friends had found early in their course of study that the Messianic passages were their favorites. With politics as they were in Israel, who wasn’t thinking about the Messiah? Each verse was studied and puzzled over. They consulted the rabbinical commentaries.

Still there were anomalies. Rabbis debated whether some passages were truly about the awaited Messiah. One would read along, get caught up in the glorious conquering mission of God’s Anointed Prophet, in whom His Name dwells. Next would be a verse about suffering, or being despised of the people. The wave-like emotions of the text brought to mind the ups and downs of the walk with Yeshua the past months.

From Galilee to Jerusalem, Yeshua and His growing company of followers had steadily made their way to the city for the feast. As in the beginning, nearly three years prior, still Yeshua performed miracles. He healed the sick, multiplied food, commanded storms to cease, and cast out demons. Some whispered rumor said He could raise the dead.

“Raise the dead? All of Israel had heard of Lazarus. Dead four days. Then Yeshua tells him to come out of the tomb, so he does. We ate with him in Bethany this week,” pondered Nathanael. “No wonder the people thronged to worship Him when He entered the city for Passover. So how could one with such power let Himself be led, like a lamb to the slaughter?”

This made him mindful of a prophecy of Isaiah. He searched the sheaf of papers. Rabbis said it was about Messiah, but how could that be? Words like wounded, cut off, smitten by God were only painful reminders of the death of his hope. How firmly they had all believed!

Pharisees fast. Saducees tithe. Scribes study. Rabbis teach. The people of the land pray. Yes, they ask for their needs. And the Eternal provides. At the beginning of his journey, Nathanael too was praying. He had been studying, but there was so much he didn’t understand. Following Solomon’s example, he went to pray for wisdom. Like Daniel, he confessed his sins and the sins of his people. Then he sighed beneath the fig tree in the morning. How he yearned for the kingdom of God to come! Turning with his thoughts, he prayed for Messiah to come quickly.

For the first decade in hundreds of years, this had become a prayer the educated could truly hope to see answered. Daniel’s prophecy of weeks should be fulfilled soon. Scholars debated over the decree which set the calendar in motion. Either way, time was running short.

Some eager fools ran to the wilderness, chasing any rumors of a Messiah. Most were rebels, hoping for power or glory like Judas Maccabee had won. Others were good teachers, who denied they were the Promised One. Hopeful peasants would not be deterred.

The priests and Sanhedrin took a different view. When Messiah descended on the Temple Mount to establish His dominion, they would not be caught following some dusty peasant rebel. No, they would be dressed their finest, talking the loudest, presenting the largest sacrifice.

Nathanael would probably be doing what he was today: praying. More and more the burden of knowing the law and the prophets drove him to pray. Then he read the Psalms for expression and comfort.

“I looked for comforters, but found none.” A Psalm brought him away from his memories. He knew it wasn’t written on any of the papers in Yacob’s collection. No one thought that was a Messianic prophecy. Most of his thoughts drew from Scripture in one way or another. His mind was saturated with it. That was one thing that drew him to Yeshua: though He didn’t commentate on the Law, He constantly alluded to Moses, David, Isaiah, and the others.

In a time when most teachers were trying to separate themselves by saying something new, Yeshua drew crowds by making practical sense of what was written before. Sometimes Nathanael could almost finish His sentences. Other times the things Yeshua said were so shocking that only days later, in the contemplative silence of walking the countryside, would he recognize that the Teacher had been drawing a truth from some overlooked passage of an oft-ignored prophet.

The day they met was still a puzzle. Nathanael was praying. His friend Phillip found him in a place where they had often debated the meaning of prophecy. That was long ago. Phillip had fallen in love, gotten serious about working to provide for a family. Nathanael had continued his own work.

As kids they were part of a sect that was discreetly referred to as “those waiting for the kingdom of God.” Their parents paid careful attention to news that might give them clues as to when Messiah was coming. They were on the watch. Nathanael couldn’t count how many times he had heard the story of Widow Anna, the prophetess, who before he was born brought news to them of a baby Messiah dedicated at the Temple. And this coincided a few years later with Herod’s decree to murder all infant boys in Bethlehem, whence Messiah would come. What Herod had heard (if anything), no one dared ask. The king had been notoriously suspicious and half mad.

That day three years ago was reminiscent of the old stories. Phillip ran to the tree, and held his knees to catch his breath. “We have found Him,” he didn’t wait to pant out. Adding details his friend would understand, he continued, “of whom Moses in the Law, and also the prophets wrote.” Phillips eyes were bright from running, but something else also seemed to light them.

Nathanael had long known Phillip’s enthusiasm about John the Baptizer. Surely he wouldn’t run all this way just to remind him? “Jesus of Nazareth,” Phillip finished.

Nathanael’s heart stirred. The branches above his head rustled. There was something in the way Phillip spoke. His words were honest and sober. Nathanael knew his friend, and trusted him. But he frantically ran over verses in his mind searching for some reference to Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” he wondered aloud.

“Come and see.”

“You mean He’s close?” he thought. The two men left the fig tree standing alone in the deserted field.

Yeshua saw Nathanael approach. His greeting excited curiosity in Nathanael to this day, unless… “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no deceit!”

Unable to think of anything else to say, and rather stunned at the recognition in the Rabbi’s voice, Nathanael said, “How do you know me?” Phillip would have asked if his friend had not. Though he was beaming, though he said he believed Yeshua was Messiah, he didn’t yet know what that meant. None of them did. Would they ever?

“Before Phillip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Yeshua looked at him with a piercing glance now dearly missed, and a familiar hint of a smile.

Who hears the prayers of the heart but God? No one had been near the fig tree. Nathanael liked to pray in private so no one would see his tears or hear his confessions. Yeshua’s eyes glistened, almost weeping for the passion of this Israelite. In the years that followed, Nathanael had seen others’ emotional outbursts affect Him the same way.

In that moment of beginning everything had come together. Years of waiting. Pages of text. John the Baptizer. Phillip’s testimony. And this. By words whose significance was lost on all others, Yeshua confessed his identity.

“Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”

That day Nathanael left his watching and his parchments. He observed the Word come alive. His confession settled once for all his faith and his willingness to follow. But something else happened that Nathanael did not expect. He would have served his Master in any way, gone into battle for Him. But his Master became his friend, one he loved to follow not only because He was worthy, but because He was beloved. Many of His followers felt it. They dared not discuss it lest they be thought impertinent.

Nathanael shaped some warm wax between his thumb and finger. Only a few days ago Yeshua had made his heart rejoice by calling them friends. He felt that way, too! “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend,” Yeshua once said. Perhaps they were not His friends. Not one stood by Him when He was on trial. All had fled.

In the darkness Nathanael had stumbled and tripped through the outskirts of Jerusalem, following phantom lights his eyes thought he saw. Finally he got his bearings and came to Yacob’s house. There he had remained, frightened, until a servant brought the news: Yeshua had been sentenced to crucifixion and was already dead. The sky was dark the first time Nathanael looked out, though the sun had not set. All mourned for Yeshua.

For hours Nathanael sobbed, ignoring the customs of the holy feast he should have been observing. Occasional reports increased his understanding of how the impossible had happened. Yeshua was often associated with the impossible. The thought was bitter. Yacob delivered the news and left him alone.

At last Nathanael arose. An idea had struck him. Three years he had not been forced to search the Scriptures himself for comfort. Yet that is what he had done before. It might help again. Understanding and answers might give him peace.

Yacob obligingly brought his notes out of storage. When it grew too dark to read, he brought candles. As of yet Nathanael could not speak. No, he could not even pray. How does one pray when the Son of God is dead? “Son of God” is what he had said, right? And for three years he lived proof. But now everything was in doubt. Who else could Yeshua have been?

Over and over again Nathanael read the verses. Many words and prophecies he’d never associated with the Messiah perfectly described what he was going through. If he could just put them all together, maybe they would make sense.

The sun rose, a bright Sabbath morning. Yacob the bachelor scribe invited Nathanael to worship with him. Finding comfort in ritual, in stubbornly affirming things which seemed senseless to believe, Nathanael went through the day. If it weren’t Sabbath, he would have taken a long walk. He thought that the sons of Zebedee, sons of thunder, would have hammered something (or someone) to release their frustration. It sounded tempting.

Instead he spoke. He poured out his heart to Yacob. They sat under the broad open window at the front of the house. Nathanael was silent when anyone drew near, for fear of the Jews. Yacob urged him to go on, getting excited about the details, the fulfilled prophecy his friend reported. “But it can’t be! He’s dead. He isn’t the one,” Nathanael reminded.

With a more patient heart Yacob answered, “How could so many things be right – and nothing wrong – except this?” His eyes hesitated, showing by their vibration his debate between two options. He spoke again. “Almost I would ask if our Enemy has not cast some mighty unforeseen stroke. If the Evil One cut off the Messiah… But that would be blasphemy.”

“Messiah is not just a man. He is the Son of God. If… if Yeshua is Messiah, this is a heavy stroke indeed. It is not possible – is it – that the Adversary could win?”

“If so we are the most miserable of all souls.”

Nathanael sighed. “The last meal, Thursday night, we all said we would die for Him.” The weight of his failure buried him again. After a few moments he looked up, resolved. His eyes were grey, miserable, and without hope; but they were fierce. “He was my King and my Friend and my Rabbi. The Sanhedrin, if reports be true, has claimed Caesar as their king. They have befriended the god of this world. Whether He wins or loses, I will stand with the God of Israel. I don’t understand. All I can do is what I know is right.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Yacob hoped to sit this fey mood out. “What about the others? What do they think?”

“I haven’t seen them. John would be with his brother, Yacob. Phillip is probably with Andrew, and Simon with them. We all scattered from Gethsemane.” Thinking of his friends reminded him that three years of itinerant ministry had yielded him more than just one friendship. He and Phillip were closer than ever. “I should find them, see if I can help: I don’t know, comfort or make plans.”

“Tomorrow, my friend.”

To God be all glory.

Thanks to Snapshots of Joy for the graphics!

You Cannot Follow

What was that? Jesus was going where Peter couldn’t follow? No. Not possible. Peter would die to see His reign established. There may be a glorious battle or a few rebels. If necessary…

They went for a walk. Deny Him? Crazy. Today?

“Pray,” Jesus said. Everything was confusing. It had been a long, busy week. Sleep came. The rest of the evening was a mixture of sleep and nightmare waking.

Swords. Shouts. Torches. Judas. The battle had started! Peter drew the sword Jesus had counseled his followers to buy, and swung. No time to think or aim – Peter had made a promise.

Never yet had Peter been so surprised as when he heard Jesus rebuking him, and witnessed his Teacher healing the enemy. The enemy!

Torches flickered into the distance. Jesus was gone. Silently, Peter followed.

Only one disciple remained with Peter. They trailed the mob to the house of the high priest. At the door, a servant girl challenged him. “You are not one of this man’s disciples, are you?” Peter’s breath caught. “I am not,” he mumbled, and moved quickly towards the fire.

While warming himself, another man confronted Peter. After a quick reply, Peter diverted his eyes and moved to the edge of the firelight.

A man asked him, “Were you with him?”

“No, no.” This wasn’t right. Where was the great battle – the establishment of the King? Old doubts raised by Jesus’ cryptic comments returned. Until the cock crowed, Peter hadn’t realized. This was it. This had been the chance to stand.

A question in his eyes, Peter turned to his Teacher’s face. How many times had he practiced that movement? Never would the memory of that face, that instant, be forgotten.

“You cannot follow. You cannot follow.” The words echoed in Peter’s mind with resounding clarity. It was not so much that the road was blocked as Peter was unable to walk, even crawl, this road Jesus trod.

Failure didn’t come easy for Peter. For the first time he noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks. The nightmare engulfed him. He fled to the black streets.

To God be all glory.

Healing Ruth’s Mother

“Simon! Simon!” Andrew ran up to their boat, breathless. “We’ve found him! We have found the Messiah!”

Simon looked at his big brother doubtfully. “I’ve never heard an introduction like that before. Come into the shade. You’ve been in the sun too long. Help me prepare this net.”

“No, no. Put that stuff down. Come on. You have to meet Him.” Andrew took the nets out of Simon’s hand and started dragging him away from the boat. “John, you know, the crazy guy who preaches by the river? He said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.’ I heard him. Then there was this man…”
“Look, Andrew. You can go meet this latest messiah, but there is work to be done. Someone has to do it, and it looks like me. I want to go home before midnight. Ruth hasn’t cooked supper in days. She’s been taking care of her mother. I’m hungry. Leave me alone.”

“But Simon, only Messiah can take away sins, right? I mean, God and His Messiah? Don’t you know what that means?”

“Yes, Andrew,” said Simon. “It means that this guy is a revolutionary. The Romans will hate him and he’ll stir up trouble like all the others before him. Eventually they’ll catch him and crucify him for treason. And unless you want to be on the cross next to him…”

“He’s for real, Simon. It won’t hurt to meet Him.”

“Fine. This once, I’ll go.” Simon realized his work would never be done with Andrew pestering him. The oldest brother had always known how to get his way. He shoved the nets aside and stomped angrily down the coast. He was a bit curious. Andrew wasn’t the impulsive one. Usually, Andrew would sit down and think things through. Who was this person who had so affected his brother?

After a long walk, Andrew suddenly stopped. Jesus looked at Simon and said, “You are Simon, the son of Jonah. You shall be called Peter.” Then He smiled a knowing smile at Simon’s confusion. “It has begun,” He thought.

This wasn’t right. Where was the fiery sermon? Where was the rally? How could a guy like this, who didn’t say, “Hi. I’m Jesus. I’ve heard a lot about you,” ever dream of defeating Roman regiments?

Over the next week, Peter and Andrew went back to fishing. But they couldn’t stop talking about Him. James and John, the thundering sons of the patriarch fisherman, Zebedee, listened to Peter and Andrew bounce suggestions around. What if Jesus was for real? What if He wasn’t? The sons of Zebedee gave each other looks and shrugged their shoulders.

After the synagogue meeting on Saturday, Peter was home with his wife. Her mother was doing worse, with a high fever. “Simon, you should ask Him. I heard he cast out an unclean spirit. Maybe he can help her. You talk about Him so much.” Ruth pleaded with Peter to go find Jesus immediately.

“It’s Sabbath. He can’t work on the Sabbath.” Peter looked to his mother-in-law. For all his married life ,she had been like his own mother, living with them and cooking for them. Perhaps he should go now, before it was too late?

A knock sounded on the door. “It’s probably Leah. She was going to bring over some soup.” Peter got up and opened the door, hoping his wife’s chatty friend wouldn’t stay long.

“Peter,” Jesus nodded, and walked in. Ruth came out of the side room to see whose was the unfamiliar voice. The look on her husband’s face told her who it was. “I knew He’d come,” she said to Peter. “Let’s ask.”

He nodded his head an looked at Jesus, who stood just inside the door smiling. “Jesus, you are welcome here. My mother-in-law, though, she’s sick. Could you help her – if it’s not a problem?” Ruth already stood beside the door into her mother’s room. Jesus stood over her, rebuked the fever, and smiled. Color filled the old woman’s cheeks. She got up, reaching behind Peter for a basin. She returned passed her stunned daughter to offer the water for the Guest’s feet. Then, while Peter and Ruth worked through their bewilderment, she brought out bread for the Sabbath meal.

“Ruth, sit down. We all know how much you’ve done the past few days I’ve been ill. Have some bread,” ordered her mother. Ruth wept. Peter still stood stiffly in the corner, his eyes searching for some clue from Jesus. Just like that! Jesus spoke – without even touching her – and she was well. Just like that! A prophet like Elijah of old was spending Sabbath in his house.

Daniel in the Hands of Babylonians

Smash! The door of the neighbor’s house shattered into a thousand splinters. Soldiers of Babylon’s notorious army had come at last into the city to gather plunder after a long siege. They were drunk with the thrill of victory. After months of privation and fervent prayers of the captive Jerusalemites, the siege had defeated the city. Prophets declared that God was fulfilling His promised judgment on His unfaithful people. Some prophets, that is. Actually, a majority of Daniel’s people had turned to listen to the prophets whose words flattered and provided false hope. Their messages ranged from, “Give allegiance to the gods who will protect you,” and, “The king should seek help from Egypt,” to, “Plead with the Eternal that He would turn from His wrath. Always before, God has delivered His people.” But Daniel had studied at the feet of the old rabbis and the prophets who spoke the word of the LORD. When the Israelites had complained in the desert southwest of Judah, God had judged them. He was merciful and slow to anger, but Judah had deserved this for a long time.

Mama cried in the corner, as every breathing woman in Jerusalem did tonight. The presence of the soldiers meant that their husbands, the last defense, had perished. No time for traditional mourning of sack-cloth and ashes: soon the soldiers would simply kill them all. So Mama knelt in the corner, saying kaddish and gasping out prayers that the remnant would mourn their deaths forever.

If Daniel, a sturdy 15, had known any battle songs, he would have been chanting them. However, the laws and songs of his God were seldom violent. When Daniel studied the law, he saw that every law – even every judgment – was evidence of God’s mercy. Instead, he quoted the most fundamental truth of his faith: “The Lord our God, the Lord, is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” In Daniel’s current mood, it sounded something like a call to rally. Every mother in Judah hoped her son would survive as part of the remnant that would always remain in fulfillment of God’s promises to Abraham and David. Out of such a hope Mama shushed her only remaining son. If he were not so defiant, maybe he would be favored and spared.

Ashpenaz strode into the plundering band of troops, and a hush followed. Keeping a level head amidst such circumstances could mean a promotion. Besides, he had orders from the king. Nebuchadnezzar did not want gold or jewels as much as he wanted converts to witness his kingly prestige. That would show the world that Babylon’s might was in the mind as well as the sword. So the king himself had deployed his highest court official to choose very healthy, extremely teachable young men from each conquered nation.

All the men groaned at the reread of the edict. Ashpenaz was to enter each building, accompanied by his personal guard, first. If and when he found good subjects, nothing should be done in front of them to scar their impression of Babylon’s armies. Once the captive was escorted away, then the sack of the city could continue. At the completion of this sentence, an unstoppable roar resumed.

Next door, Daniel gripped his knife tighter as the noise grew. Fear must not show. The soldiers would be merciless if they thought there would be sport. A doubt crept into his mind, and breached the dam of doubts that now flooded his young thoughts. “Could I run? My life is in ruins. How could the Eternal do this to us, the faithful? To prevent the torment, why not turn the blade on himself?” The door to their own house swung open. An arrogant, unscathed officer strode in. Daniel thrust the doubts aside, replacing them with strategies for his fury.

Daniel stepped one brave, threatening step toward the official. He gave them a defiant look, as though he and his little knife could stand between them and his mother, and prevent them most of all from reaching his temple. They would desecrate it. Ashpenaz smiled Daniel whispered again his creed, expecting his death. Scanning Daniel, Ashpenaz decided the boy looked healthy, had obvious spirit, and the words he was muttering sounded poetic, as only learned men spoke. Yes, a fine example.

“Take him,” he nodded towards Daniel. At first he struggled, but, seeing a glimmer of her faintest hopes, Mama called him down. For a moment, Daniel hesitated, and considered defying Mama. But that would defy his God, all for which he was trying to stand. He would be no better than the soldiers taking him. Nothing and no one was harmed as Daniel was marched through the house, but the moment he passed the threshold, the destruction inside began.

This street boasted the houses of the wealthiest families in Judah, most of them members of the royal clan. Down the road, Ashpenaz selected several more young men: Azariah the nephew of one of the queens, Hananiah a son of a successful wine merchang, and Mishael the only child of a Levite who oversaw temple donations.

The morning arrived, leaving the prisoners shackled, but together, in a tent outside the city. Very few Hebrews were left alive inside the walls. Rumors claimed that their weak king, Jehoiakim, had been captured and would go to Babylon to betray his people as a vassal of the emperor. At least, that was how Daniel and his fellows interpreted the news.

Eventually, as the smoke thinned over Jerusalem, the boys began to share their stories. Before, they had seen each other in the streets, even played together, but now, after on enight, they were new people. What had been was entirely erased. This new life was marked by the events of the previous night.

Hananiah’s older sister had been taken as wife for one of the higher-ranking officers. Mishael spat, because such a marriage was against their law. As a Levite, Mishael was an expert. His father had died a swift death before his eyes, protecting some sacred scroll from defamation. Azariah, the oldest of the group, had been home alone.

Throughout the hours, the four pondered and discussed last night, their current situation, and what to do next. “We should make a resolve,” said Daniel, by far the most passionate in the group, “to keep the Law. We have seen the fruits of disobedience. Since you are the Levite, Mishael, we will ask for your expertise. In memory of our home, our God, and what happened here, we will pray towards this place every day. Mama’s last prayers were that the remnant would not forget. I will remember the prayer of King Solomon, ‘And if they turn back to You with all their heart and soul in the land of their captivity where they were taken, and pray toward the land You gave their fathers, toward the city You have chosen and toward the temple I have built for Your name; then from heaven, Your dwelling place, hear their prayer and their pleas and uphold their cause. And forgive Your people, who have sinned against you.’ Surely the Eternal will remember the prayer of Solomon, even from long ago.” All four of them agreed to uphold the standards of the Law to their deaths, and to pray daily to the One God.

As their trek northward began, whispers told that they were being withdrawn early. Some rumored that the sack of Jerusalem had not been completed. Had God spared them? Then, when they reached Syria, the messages were undeniable: a vassal-king had been set up in Judah, a relative of Jehoachim. They boys’ eyes glimmered as they received the news. Perhaps there were enough fiery young men left to fuel a rebellion.

The ecstasy of the thought dwindled with every step further from their homes. What good would a rebellion do them? While the captives were treated well, the desert sun and weary miles depressed the whole camp. Daniel was also aware that they were passing through relatively hostile territory. Nebuchadnezzar’s armies were hated in many lands.

Babylon was a land hovering just inside their maps. None of the young men knew how long the journey would take; they estimated several months at least. In their Torah, Eden had been near or surrounding Babylon, before the flood of Noah. Nimrod, the great king, had set up his throne near there. Abraham had grown up in Ur, a now desolate city in the in the southeast of the Chaldean empire. Judah’s brethren had been taken decades ago by the Assyrians. Tales told that the Babylonians had extended their empire to include Assyria under the rule of Nabopolassar and his general-son, Nebuchadnezzar. The whole area seemed to be prone to vicious turmoil and violent conquests.

Nebuchadnezzar was famous for many things: his ruthless armies, brilliant strategies, lovely palace, dependence on mysticism, and arrogance not the least. His official, Ashpenaz, followed suit in at least two of those ways. The first was obviously his arrogance. When he walked your way, something about the look in his eyes, or perhaps his gait, made you feel incredibly small. Less obvious at first, but more deadly, were his strategies. In his camp, everything was ordered, clean, and polished. He was strict on behavior, but he let his men have their fun whenever there was a chance. Loyalty and friendship were gained by brilliant tactics. Ashpenaz would make a man feel it was an honor to do some menial task, or that he was merciful to ask only this much. Were it not for Ashpenaz’s own devotion to Nebuchadnezzar, Daniel would have thought he was preparing to supplant him – or his heir.

Strategies were not for soldiers only. Already the captives’ conversion was beginning. They were given new, Babylonian style clothes and haircuts. A bit of a skirmish arose when one of the young men refused to cut his hair, for he had made a Nazarite vow. Despite his protests, Ashpenaz saw that every curly lock was trimmed. Also, Hebrew was forbidden in the camp. In this way, the boys were forced to learn the tongue of the Chaldeans quickly, and they were all much quieter; Ashpenaz had disenabled their ability to organize and communicate a revolt.

As they neared Babylon, the young men were offered dainties and pleasures forbidden by the Law. Daniel and his friends stood resolutely apart from those who gave in, shaking their heads at one who looked to them for guidance. In some ways they had become leaders of the group. More and more as the language became easier, the other boys would come to the four friends with their problems and questions. On the other hand, they were outsiders to the half of the group who gave in to the guards.

“Daniel? Daniel, I would like to speak with you,” called Josiah. His parents had named him that in memory of the faithful king, but Josiah had turned traitor. Inside his tent, Daniel was surprised to hear Josiah’s voice. They had been friends in the other world, in Jerusalem. He saw and felt the pressures Josiah had. Many times, even Daniel thought he would give in himself. Daniel could not be angry with Josiah. Rather, he pitied him.

“Come.” Both boys were in the top five in fluent speech. The other three proficients were also “traitors.” Daniel was a quick learner. “What is it, Josiah?”

“I had to talk. Daniel, this won’t be easy if you resist.”

“It will be impossible if I don’t.”

“We have no hope of returning to our old way of life,” continued Josiah. “Our God did not save us. There is no point in continuing to serve Him.”

“Right and wrong have not changed.”

“Lots of the boys look up to you. They follow your lead. The guards told me that once we get to Babylon – start the real training – there will be punishment for resistance. By your example, the others will be hurt.”

“I won’t change.”

“But don’t you see? That is the point. We will change. The question is how: with pain or without?”

“Then they will have to decide; I cannot give or withhold pain. From what you have said, I think their choice for me will be pain.”

“They are saying that if we cooperate, we get an audience with the king.”

“I don’t care.”

“Daniel, we could ask to return, for the lives of our people!” Josiah pleaded.

“Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t give favors, and if you asked, you would probably get your head chopped off.”

“Yours will be chopped off if you don’t do what they say!”

“If my life matters so little to them, I’ll live it how I like.”

“There is no purpose,” Josiah argued.

“There is every purpose!” For the first time, Daniel raised his voice. “God is still there. Right is still right. If He wants to use me, I want to be ready.”

“Whether He’s there or not, he isn’t powerful enough. I’m on the winning side.”

“For what? To be paraded around like plunder? Some life!”

“Positions are being offered under Ashpenaz in the court of the king for those who finish training best.”

“No, Josiah. I have seen what disobedience to God costs. The sight wasn’t pretty. Jerusalem burned. My family died. Mighty Jerusalem gave herself finally standing for right. If necessary, I will follow.”

Josiah ducked out of the tent. Soldiers called the thoughts now invading his mind ‘doubts.’ But weren’t they convictions? For once, he saw everything from Daniel’s perspective: Josiah was a traitor, God was just, and Jerusalem was noble even though she had been wrong. And this perspective would not be shaken off.

After Josiah had returned to the other side of the camp, Daniel knelt. The effort of the debate had drained him. Scarcely 16, his fists flew like a boy, and the passion that drove him was the same fire from his boyhood, but something was different – in the way he looked at life and the way he addressed his God. Through either the tragic captivity or some natural process of growing up, God had become personal to him. Daniel turned back towards Jerusalem. “Have mercy on Your people…” he began.

A little later, Daniel and Hananiah made their rounds of the camp, encouraging their side to remain true. As they neared the unmarked line between their sides, they heard a raucous in one of the tents. Technically, they weren’t supposed to cross the line, but who would know? Daniel movied in closer to hear. The Babylonian words he picked up he recognized as curses, but as of yet, their group hadn’t interpreted the meaning. None of them were brave enough to ask.

Hananiah was ever the most mischievous. He could manipulate his voice to sound like almost anything. After listening for a while, he pulled up a weed, set it on his head, and marched to the front of the tent. “What on earth?” thought Daniel. Then, putting on his gruffest imitation of Ashpenaz’s voice, thickly laden with a Babylonian accent, Hananiah demanded to know what was going on. The soldiers snapped to attention inside the tent, silenced by their commander.

Daniel watched the scene from behind a crate. This stack had been lugged there by Daniel and a few of the strongest faithful that afternoon. He laughed. The silhouette shadowed on the pale goat-skin tent looked exactly like Ashpenaz in his officer’s cap. The ear-to-ear grin on Hananiah’s face was not noticeable in the shadow. If Hananiah was caught with that ridiculous clump of weeds on his head, he’d be done for.

“We were just persuading a captive not to defect back to the other side, sir.” Despite their fear of the officer, the soldiers believed he would understand the fun.

Continuing the charade, Hananiah tried to conceal the concern he felt, “Yes? Which one? Is he hurt?”

“Yes, sir. Josiah, sir. We sent him on a debate mission as you ordered, but it had the opposite effect. He said, when he came to me, he said that no matter what we offered, he wanted back into the other side of the camp. So I told him there’s no going back. But he picked up his things and walked out, so we dragged him back. He gave us a struggle, but we won quickly enough, sir.” As if to punctuate the actual meaning, Josiah moaned from the corner. Daniel flinched. By your example, others will be hurt. Others? Even Josiah? It had started with him.

“Our policy is not force!” snapped Hananiah, half enjoying the game, half angry. “Let him go back if he chooses. Offer gifts, honors, and ease, but no threats! That is not your job.” How often did Hananiah sneak over to spy out their policies, Daniel wondered. But Hananiah had made a mistake; the soldiers were letting Josiah go, and leaving the tent themselves. Hananiah looked around like a cornered jackal.

“Hey, what?” the first soldier looked confused. The shadow had dwindled to an ornery boy, weed tipped over atop his head. “Where is Ashpenaz?” they demanded. Lying wasn’t allowed.

“He isn’t here. He had business to attend to.” Hananiah returned to halting Babylonian. “Excuse me.” Hananiah scurried away, back to his tent.

Daniel was forced to remain in his hiding place until the guards were gone. While he waited, he listened to the defeated sobs and occasional moans from Josiah. Was doing right really worth the cost? What if everyone suffered like this? But amidst the sobs, Daniel thought he faintly caught the words, “Love the LORD your God…” That passage was sung over cradles, cheered at feasts, quoted on Sabbath, cried in battle, and wept at death. Which was it now?

Abigail

Abigail sat under a lonely tree at her home in the desert near Carmel. Her stack of scrolls that she was supposed to study lay, unopened, a few feet away. She simply could not focus today. King Saul was away at battle – her two brothers and father with him. Rumors had reported that the Philistines held the upper hand with their unchallenged giant from Gath.

“Giant?” she had questioned. “There are no more giants. They all died with the rest of the Anakim.” That’s what her father said, at least. All accounts seemed to agree, though, that a man nearly as tall as the tree she sat under had the whole Israelite army terrified. Maybe her father was wrong.

That was all quite far away, though. Abigail had to worry about her studies and chores. “It isn’t fair,” she though, “I’m the only girl in the whole Maon region that has to study. Even all the boys, the usual victims of schooling, get a break for the excitement of far away places and legendary giants. Why am I stuck with boring scrolls and chores?”

There was no time to ponder this question; however, because just then her mother called up the hill, “Abigail! Chores!”

Abigail was no ordinary girl. Ever since she was little, it had been evident that she was beautiful, and not only that – she was smart, too. She had long, dark curls that flowed down her back and big, blue eyes that twinkled in the morning sunlight. Born during the rule of Samuel, the last judge, she didn’t seem to fit in with the evil society that was rampant in Israel. She longed for times of glory such as she read about: with Moses and Pharaoh in Egypt.

The house of Abigail’s father was one of the few that had remained faithful to Jehovah, the God of her people. Now, in their desire to become more like the nations around them, the people had chosen a king. At first, he had seemed perfect: tall, handsome, and a strong leader. But when faced with real danger, Saul had proved a coward greatly lacking in faith.

As unusual as it seemed to all of her friends, Abigail’s father had decided that she, too, must study and become wise in the fear of the Lord. “She will make some man a wonderful wife someday,” he said, but that was just what Abigail was afraid of.

When the floor was swept, she took the laundry down to the little brook to wash. She had this terrible sense of foreboding that something, something was happening. Abigail glanced at all of the surrounding hills worriedly. No, it was safe; no raiders were coming, and no messengers had yet appeared over the horizon.

The setting sun cast long shadows all around as Abigail made her way back to the little house where dinner was waiting. The harsh desert wind blew strong in her face. She looked up just in time to see a cloud of dust rolling toward her. There was no more time for thinking. Abigail lifted up her long skirt and bolted for the house. “Dust storm, Mama!” she called, slamming the door behind her. Her mama appeared around the corner, tying on a scarf. “I’m going to get the goats in the barn. You cover the windows.” Mama was always calm. Abigail would rather scream and hide in her room.

After the windows were shut, Abigail sat down at the dinner table. Her sense of foreboding was not gone, but now, at least, she was hopeful. Mama came in, took off her scarf, smoothed back her hair, and dipped her hands in the wash-bowl. They both bowed their heads in silent prayer, pleading for the safe return of their family and thanking the Almighty for the day’s bread.

The desert wind blew so hard, it shook the house so it rattled, but Abigail thought she heard a faint knock on the front door. The three men didn’t wait for the door to open, but burst in quickly. Abigail’s brothers together picked her up and danced and sang around the little room. Her father laughed merrily and his eyes shone.

Later, the two bewildered women got the rest of the family to sit down and tell them what happened.

“We all thought it was just going to be another uneventful day,” Abigail’s father reported. “There had been no word from King Saul, so we all sat down to talk. Maybe there was an extra bit of noise in the next tent, but none of us thought anything of it. Suddenly, the battle trumpets blew. We all sprang up to collect our helmets and swords, then ran out to the lines.

“The giant – yes, he was a real giant – stomped down into the valley between our camps. ‘Where’s he going?’ we all wondered. Just then, a short little boy ran down from our camp yelling and swinging his slingshot. All of us men lined up were asking ourselves what on earth that kid was doing. After all, he was only a little older than you, Abigail.

“Well, the giant took one look at him (turns out his name is David) and roared with laughter. He had barely gotten ten words out, though, when the stone hit him right between the eyes. Speaking of eyes, none of us men could believe our own. That big man: helmet, sword, and all, fell straight to the ground so hard that the little kid running towards him nearly fell over.

“What do you think David did next? He grabbed that big Philistine’s sword and hefting it with both hands, dropped it right down on the giant’s neck!” Abigail closed her eyes and shuddered, trying to block out the gruesome image. “We rushed the Philistines and defeated them with David at the head and King Saul at the rear.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mama. “Saul has his thousands, but David his ten-thousands!”

“That isn’t all, either,” declared Joshua, smiling at his big brother. “David and Saul are coming through here – this very town – on their way home!”

“What a day you’ve had! Thank the Lord you are safe! Praise Him for sending a little boy to give you victory and teach King Saul a lesson! But you have come a long way. Go to bed, all of you. Get some sleep!”

As Abigail slipped into bed, she silently disagreed with her parents. David was not little if he was older than her; she certainly wasn’t little. She thanked God, all the same, for bringing her father and brothers safely home.

“Wake up, Sunshine!” called her father early the next morning. “David will be here soon!” Abigail rolled over and groaned. The sun wasn’t even up yet! Neither was “Sunshine.” She dressed quickly, though, and right after a quick breakfast, she received the order to “Go pick some flowers!” Fearing to miss David and Saul’s visit, Abigail wasted no time.

Soon, the whole town was out along the main road, dancing, singing, and chanting, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands.” When King Saul, Abner (the commander of the army), Prince Jonathan, and David approached, music played and flowers flew. Saul did not look up or smile, but just glowered back at David.

After they had passed, and the crowd was thinning, Nabal, the son of a rich, proud man from the country, made his way to Abigail’s father. “A job well done,” he commended the soldiers as if it was his right. (Nabal and his father had not gone to fight, but had sent servants in their places.) “I wanted to speak with you, now that you’re back,” he stated, turning towards Abigail’s father and glancing her way.

As he took her father’s arm and stepped away, Abigail felt her stomach tighten and her head grow light. She knew her parents approved of Nabal and his money, but something in that glance made her cringe.

“Steady, Abigail,” said Joshua, putting out his arm to catch her fall. “A little too much excitement, maybe?” Seeing the look on her face, he changed his mind. With one, meaningful look, he seemed to say, “I understand. Don’t worry. Let’s just get you home.”

Ever since they were little, Abigail and Joshua had been close. They seemed to be on the same caravan of thought. Although Joshua was sometimes a pain and Abigail had seen less of him recently, they always listened to and understood each other. That’s why, right then, on the walk home, Joshua also felt a twinge of fear.

In some of their talks, Joshua and Abigail had agreed that Nabal was an arrogant manipulator with only his own self to care about and look after. He was definitely not their favorite person. Now, Joshua was sure, Nabal would get his way.

“Any better?” he asked. The look on her face said no. “Are you sure that’s what he wanted?”

“What else would he want from Father?” she threw back. “And you know him: always getting what he wants. But… Joshua, I-I couldn’t stand it. What shall I do?”

“You could be very rude to him. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to marry someone who would make his life miserable.”
“Brilliant. Then not only he, but also everyone else would hate me. That’s wrong. Besides, by then it would be too late. It is probably too late already.” Abigail objected.

“Maybe you could run away. Go… to Egypt? The Philistine camps?” She frowned. “I know, King Saul’s palace.”

“By appointment only,” she quoted the king’s decree. “Just give up. There isn’t any other way.”

“But you’d be miserable.”

“I’d have plenty of money.” Abigail seemed to end the conversation. Maybe she was just imagining it.

“Morning!” Mama’s voice betrayed her excitement. “Your father went out early. He should be back soon.” If Mama said one more word…

“I have chores. I’ll be back for lunch,” Abigail called, leaving the house with an armload of laundry brought home from the battle.

Down at the creek, she met Miriam. Their brothers were talking a ways off. Neither girl said anything as Abigail set to work. After a while, she noticed Miriam was watching her. “Anything wrong?” asked Abigail.

“I thought you would tell me. Everyone in town is talking. You see, Nabal told the Levite who will be performing the ceremony, and he told his sons who told my brothers who told me. I think that is what they’re talking about over there. At least they were. You are so lucky!” Miriam could talk sheep up a mountain. “Well, aren’t you excited?”

“Excited? No. Nervous? Yes.” Answered Abigail. It seemed like a reasonable reply. She hoped Miriam wouldn’t ask any more questions. The tears were already threatening to burst out. But she had no such luck.

“Understandable. Mama says every bride gets nervous. How did you accomplish such a thing?” Miriam had pushed it too far.

“Accomplish such a thing?” Abigail burst out crying and screaming. “Accomplish? Me? I didn’t accomplish anything! Just because Nabal is a descendant of Caleb and has lots of money, he thinks he can do whatever he wants.” By now Joshua and Miriam’s brother were there, trying to calm Abigail down. “Now he decided that what he wants is to ruin my life. No problem.” She broke into sobs.

“Umm,” said Joshua, “I think we’ll take a walk.” Then to Abigail, “Come on; it’s going to be ok. You hear Mama and Father talking last night, too?” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. “When Father comes back, you’re going to have to try to be happy and surprised. Do you want to practice?” His forced smile was so terrible; she couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s better,” he laughed. “Since we can’t change it, we might as well laugh at it.”

Joshua and Miriam helped Abigail with the laundry. Everything Joshua folded looked like someone sat on it, but it made Abigail laugh. Abigail carried the pile home. She laughed, talked, and smiled all the way. Joshua seemed to have the magic touch.

Abigail’s father was home for dinner, but he didn’t seem excited or anything. All evening, Abigail watched him, looking for some sign, but it didn’t help. Finally, the time came to go to bed. “See you with the sunrise, Sunshine!” her father called. Everything was the same.

She lay awake in bed, too worried to sleep. Soon, she could hear quiet whispers in her parents’ room. “That’s wonderful,” her mother said. “When shall we tell her?”

“Shhh. You’ll wake them. We will tell her tomorrow after it has been finalized with his father and the elders.”

“She will be so happy. I can hardly wait.”

“I hope so,” came her father’s reply. Abigail didn’t sleep all night.

“Sunshine, I have some news for you,” started her father. Joshua watched her closely from the corner, praying. “You and Nabal the Calebite are to be married!”

No one in such circumstances could have been a better actress. Abigail was excited and eager, her father confident and pleased, her mother joyfully wistful, and her oldest brother calmly happy. Joshua sat apart, still in his corner, looking relieved and laughing at his wild, beloved sister.

In a few months, after making a new dress and informing all of the family, everything was finally ready. Abigail was excited. Maybe he would be better once she got to know him. When everything around her was rejoicing, it was hard not to be happy. Only Joshua looked distressed, but he tried to be cheerful around her. She needed it, even if he was the only one who knew that.

When the evening of the ceremony came, Joshua thought she nearly glowed. Nabal actually smiled at her. Joshua toasted their happiness with all his heart, danced as little as possible, and left for home.

The quiet walk away from the party was almost a relief. Joshua prayed as he walked that God would make her happy and give her the chance to show the greatness and beauty she was born with. His heart told him she would stand out.

Years passed and Nabal’s wealth grew. His home in Maon was one of the finest in Israel or Judah. When his father died, he left him all of his property, including one thousand goats and three thousand sheep. Nabal did not change his ways, however, and he became surly and mean in all his dealings.

To everyone but Joshua, Abigail appeared happy. She hosted banquets and parties without limit. Abigail also grew in beauty and intelligence, often counseling Nabal in the difficulties of the day.

This morning, the event being discussed by everyone from elders to servants was the death of Samuel. She had felt a strange love for the wise old man, and she went with Nabal to mourn his death. David was there in the company of his mighty men, looking very distressed, much older than when she had seen him before. He and Samuel had been close friends.

Soon after their return home, the announcement was made that David and his men, who had protected their borders for some time, were coming to live in Maon. He had been in and out of the gossip often in the years since his victory over Goliath, but Abigail had not seen him before the funeral service since the victory parade.

Nabal began, soon after, the busy task of shearing his many sheep. One morning, a few days into the task, Abigail awoke with a sense of foreboding. She passed it off as worry over the selling price of wool. Abigail went down to visit her mother and spent the better part of the day with her. When Abigail returned, however, the foreboding was stronger, so she asked a servant about the events of the day.

“Yes, Miss Abigail, something rather strange did happen today. David sent messengers from the desert to give our master his greetings, but Nabal hurled insults at them. Yet these men were very good to us. They did not mistreat us, and the whole time we were out in the pastures near them, nothing was missing. Night and day they were a wall around us all the time we were herding our sheep. Now think it over and see what you can do, because disaster is hanging over our master and his whole household. He is such a wicked man that no one can talk to him.”

Though Abigail knew her servant was right, she scolded him for his disrespect. After he had gone, she sighed, wondering what to do. When Nabal was angry, it was true: no one could talk to him. So, without speaking to him, she gathered a great supply of fine food from her pantry and sent it with her personal servants to David. Then she quickly changed into a fresh dress and followed them on her donkey.

She reached David’s men in a narrow mountain ravine. They were armed and headed for a night raid on Nabal’s home. “Stop! Who are you?” they demanded, drawing their swords. “What brings you here?” Her thoughts at that moment almost made her laugh. She realized that she had rather expected them to be raising slings and loading them with rocks.

When Abigail had picked out David from among the troops, she dismounted, stepped forward into the light of his torches, and bowed before David with her face to the ground. For a breathless moment she wondered if they would even listen to her, a stray woman in the wilderness at night.

David was a just man. He heard her story and accepted her gift. Nabal was forgiven, and all David’s men praised her bravery. Then the famous warrior told her to go home in peace. Abigail and her servants rode home quietly and without fear.

She rejoiced in David’s kindness. Through her years with Nabal, she had come to doubt whether anyone was good, or if all men, deep inside, were like Nabal. This had hardened her and made her almost bitter, but David’s mercy had begun to soften her heart.

With this newfound hope, Abigail thought she could face anything – almost anything, that is. Returning home, she found Nabal in the middle of a drunken banquet. Disgusted, she left the dining room and fled for privacy.

The bright desert sun shone through the window onto the bed. Nabal groaned and pressed his eyes tighter shut. What a headache! Presently, he heard Abigail’s sweet voice singing and her footsteps flitting around the room.

He opened one eye, then another. What happened to his room? It was so clean and, “Ouch!” so bright. Abigail seemed happy like he’d never seen her before.

“You’re awake,” she declared,” but are you sober?” Abigail smiled reproachfully. “Drinking all night again?” she teased. Nabal wondered what was going on. Abigail was always angry when he got drunk.

“What happened to you?” he questioned. The calm little Abigail suddenly disappeared.

“I saved your life; that’s what!” she yelled. Nabal looked confused. He couldn’t remember anything life-threatening that had taken place. Abigail went on, telling the story from the beginning. “You risked all of us by your – your arrogance! What were you thinking?” She asked, but she was never to receive a reply.

Nabal’s heart failed him at that moment, but he was still alive. Abigail’s parents came to help, but she sat with him all day long. Joshua didn’t come.

Those were the worst ten days of her life. Abigail feared Nabal would continue like this forever, trapping her in a marriage that meant nothing. Would the elders and priests take pity on her and let her leave Nabal to his miserable fate? Gifts were sent from neighbors. Rumors were started. Nabal? He just lay there, not doing anything.

Her fears were finally ended when after ten days Nabal finally died. Abigail went into mourning. A faint, unheard sigh went through the land as the news spread. “Nabal the Calebite has passed away. Not to speak ill of the dead…” So it went.

When the news reached David, he sent his condolences. A startling message was sent along with his sympathy, though. He asked Nabal’s widow to marry him! Abigail was amazed and thrilled to the depths of her soul. Could she have made such an impression in so short a time? She knew she had stuttered, terrified for her life and the lives of her servants when she met David. Yet this – he wanted to marry her?

After the days of mourning, Abigail put up her hair, dressed in her favorite dress, and with five of her maids, rode out to meet David. She left a steward in charge of Nabal’s land and property.

Joshua appeared for her wedding with David, smiling happily. Abigail truly shone this time – and continued to shine for the rest of her life. When she gave birth to their son, Daniel; when David was crowned king; and when the Ark of the Covenant returned to its rightful place, Abigail was there, smiling adoringly at David.

“God blessed Abigail. She was born for such greatness,” thought Joshua. “Now she is the queen of the greatest nation on earth!” He recorded this and many other stories of the first kings of Israel. Joshua became David’s chief historian, who carefully left a record of Israel for all people, for all time.

To God be all glory.