What a Strange Little Man

by mastraessle

A man, his wife, an archeologist and one of the twelve disciples of Jesus battle evil bent on the destruction of all Christians in the year 3176. In this first installment of seven, does this unlikely team have what it takes to pay the ultimate sacrifice?

One

The air was thick with dust kicked up by the Roman citizens who walked about this fair city. As Michael emerged from the inner chambers of the local prison, he noticed there were a lot more people roaming in the marketplace than usual. The mixture of the warm sun and dust made it difficult for him to breathe; yet it was a refreshing difference to the air he had been breathing in the prison. The sky was beautifully blue with just a few patchy, white clouds floating along as if not having a care in the world. The noise from the people reverberated in his head, and was unlike the peace and quiet he experienced at his prison post.

Michael Aurelius is a prison guard. He kept the innermost part of the prison safe from would-be attackers, and stopped the occasional prisoner who attempted escape. It would cost him more than his job if one ever got away, but he knew that going in. Nothing about his career made him stand out any more than any other guard doing his duty for Caesar. All this made him wonder why the lot fell to him to guard this particular man. Was it somehow in his destiny? How was he to know this prisoner would bring such a change in him?

He was a strange individual, not very tall, slightly bald, and very confident. Michael found himself wondering if all the stories he had been telling were true. No matter, he would be dead by sundown the following day. If he had actually accomplished all he said he had, Michael couldn't imagine why anyone would want him dead. But these things were not for him to decide. The execution order came from much higher than his superior officer. Besides, he was a Roman soldier; what did it matter to him if they wanted to kill another prisoner? Yet, Michael was definitely troubled about something. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

After a few stops in the marketplace, he headed for home. He knew his wife was waiting for him. It wasn't a long walk to his house, just around the corner and up the street covered with shadows from the setting sun. Thoughts of the man in the prison were lingering. He was hoping his wife could ease his mind with a good supper and conversation. Michael knew the prisoner was not going home to a wife or a fine, hot supper. He would not experience the comfort of a soft bed and a soft wife beside him. Michael pitied him.

Why him, though? He was not the first he had guarded whose life would be taken. Why should thoughts of him haunt Michael? Why should Michael care if he is put to death? His mind drifted back to the day he first saw this strange little man…

It was a normal day just like any other day in the prison. The first time Michael laid eyes on this fellow, he could tell he was not going to be an ordinary prisoner. He remembered all the men he had seen brought to him, all in the same fashion as this man, yet something was different. The heavy chains that bound his hands and feet were made to deter escape. If a prisoner did escape, they would not be able to run far, due to the sheer weight of the shackles. But that didn't seem to bother this man; it was almost as if he welcomed them. And if that wasn't enough to peak Michael's interest, the man was calm. Most would be fighting the trip to the prison, making the guard's job that much more difficult. This man was not fighting at all; he was chatting with the guard detail walking on either side of him! His demeanor could not be mistaken for defeat; he was simply calm. It was hard to imagine why he was acting so peculiar.

Michael finally came to his house with a sigh of relief. The house was not so bad given the nature of the Roman Empire. It included three rooms; the front room was small, with a brown table that was 24 inches square in the center of the room. It was built solidly and stood up from the floor only 18 inches. There were pillows on the floor around the table, also brown; one for each side. The stone walls were decorated with blue and maroon drapery hanging in a pleasant fashion as to make any guest feel comfortable. Off to the right was a crudely cut window which allowed an occasional breeze to blow through the front room and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was not much bigger than the front room and had a window in one wall for the breeze to take out the heat of the oven. The usual shelves made of whatever wood Michael could find, lined the walls and were filled with fruit and vegetables. A small table set off to the left of the oven and was where preparation of the meals took place.

Off to the right of the kitchen, and adjacent to the front room was a bedroom. It was decorated with blankets and soft pillows to rest on after a hard days work. A small table was also in this room where the water pitcher, basin and towel were kept. Michael knew there would always be fresh water and clean towels when he arrived home from work.

The heavy wooden front door was dirty and in need of repair. As he reached for the handle to open it, he remembered opening the iron-bar door to welcome the new prisoner. Why couldn't he get this man out of his head? Michael tried to ignore the thoughts and went on in the house. His wife, Mary, met him with his usual goblet of wine to help remove the drudgery of the day. The aroma of the hog cooking in the kitchen filled the small, yet comfortable front room. He removed his sandals and sat at the little brown table in the middle of the front room.

"How did your day go?" she asked, as she always did.

"I'm not sure. This man I've been telling you about is going to die tomorrow, and I can't seem to shake the thought of him from my head."

"Everything has a purpose, my husband. Everything has a purpose," she said. She had an uncanny knack for saying the right thing at the right time.

Mary is a beautiful woman with dark, shoulder length hair and red highlights outlining her face. Her eyes are as blue as gems, as penetrating as the noonday sun, and just as bright. She is almost as tall as Michael is with a fine figure that makes him proud that she is his wife.

"I can't think of a possible reason for me to have grown so attached to a prisoner. I have never done so in the past, yet there is a unique quality about this gentleman that keeps me engrossed in his tales. They have affected me so that troublesome dreams haunt me in the night," Michael said, wondering if he really believed all he had heard the strange little man say. "Why, just today he was telling me of an instance where some of his friends had to help him escape a crowd of angry men! You'll never believe how they accomplished such a feat; they placed him in a basket, and with the aid of a rope, let him down from the top of the city wall. Unbelievable! I've heard some strange stories before, but this man's tales really tops them all."

Michael rambled on for some time, wondering if Mary was even listening.

"Michael! Supper is ready," Mary said from the kitchen.
As he entered the room, the aroma of the meat, potatoes, and fresh baked bread assailed him. Once again, his mind wandered back to the prisoner in the cellblock, and he felt a tinge of sadness.

"I almost wish I was taking some of this fine meal to him, Mary," Michael said.

Mary looked at him as only she could, which told him it was time to stop thinking about work. As her captivating eyes found his, any remaining thoughts wandered to an evening of romance. That is, right after he consumed this table full of food and wine.

Two

The light came through the window before the sun actually came over the horizon. It washed the bedroom in light and announced it was time to get out of bed. Michael didn't have to report to the prison for a few more hours yet, but he wanted to step into the morning air in order to get a perspective on the day. He stood in front of a crudely cut window long enough to notice the sun was now rising over the horizon. A cool breeze filled his lungs. He knew it was the strange little man's last day on this earth. Whether he would go to the place he was telling Michael about or not, he could not tell. This one thing he did know; they would take his head from his body today, and Michael was sure he would want to talk before that took place.

Time crawled by as Michael endeavored to surmise a plan of action to bring some sort of comfort to the man. He could not imagine how he would feel knowing today was his last day to be alive. Michael really had no idea what the day would hold for him, at least not until sundown. A shudder came over Michael like he had never felt. Suddenly, his mind was racing faster than the chariots at the coliseum, his heart started pounding hard in his chest, and he had to find a place to recline. He fell to his knees, and then to his back; He did not know what was wrong. Maybe he had caught a chill in the night and it was catching up with him now. All he knew was he had to lay still for a while.

Laying flat on his back, on the cold stone floor of the bedroom, he closed his eyes, and drifted off. He was not sure if it was the tales the strange little man had been telling or the fresh morning air that inspired the dream, but dream is exactly what he did… at least he thought it was a dream.

Michael was standing atop a high mountain covered with snow. The sun was brighter than he ever remembered it being, and the sky was so beautiful he reached out as if to take some of it home. The oddest thing though, Michael was not cold. He was clad in his usual day's dress, which consisted of a leather uniform over a loincloth. A sword at his side, and a spear in his right hand with the butt of it stuck firmly in the snow at his sandaled feet. Michael inhaled deeply as if he were going to be able to store that fresh mountain air for further use. Exhaling, he opened his eyes to behold what could only be described as a spirit, or a man, standing in front of him.

He spoke quietly, in almost a whisper, "Hear this man."

Michael was surprised at his words and answered, "What man, Lord?"

He seemed to get taller as he spoke, "The man I have sent to you."

Michael was perplexed, "The man you sent to me?"
He explained, "The man in your charge. He has the words of life."

Suddenly he was back in his house, standing on his feet. As he came to himself, Mary was standing beside him with eyes opened wide, and hands gesturing about her head.

"Michael, Michael, who are you speaking to?" She asked a little bewildered.

He had not realized he was saying anything, so he asked, "What did I say?"

She laughed as she replied, "You said something about a man being sent to you. Your expression was troubled and it was as if you were speaking to yourself."

Fear gripped Michael for the first time in a long time. He had known fear a few times when training in the Roman Army, but this was different. This difference made him uneasy. He could not put this fear into words.

"What else did I say?"

Now Mary's voice was hesitant with fear, "You are scaring me, my husband. Are you all right?"

Reaching out to touch her shoulders Michael assured her, "I'm fine. It is this strange little man in the prison; I am thinking of him once again."

Then she said something he had never heard her say, "Well, I will be glad when today is over, then maybe you will stop this and finally get some rest." Although it was something of a surprise for Michael to hear her speak in that tone, he agreed and turned to the table to wash his face.

Stepping up to the table in his bedroom, Michael thrust his hands into the copper bowl on the table next to the bed containing the fresh water his wife had just poured, and splashed his face. As he stared at his reflection in the rippling water, he remembered something the strange little man had told him. Then, it was his face reflected in the water instead of Michael's.

He could hear him saying, "I was a young man, a devout Hebrew and even a member of the Sanhedrin. I was very angry with a group of rebels that were stirring up sedition everywhere they went. They were part of an organized group of people called "The Way." They were teaching things that were unlawful for Hebrews to teach. Some of it was considered heresy. There was one particular young man who was railing against the rabbis and leaders of the community about their religious habits. He even dared to refer to the law in his speaking. He spoke of Moses and David. He incited such madness that the crowd began to stone him. I looked on in disbelief. How could he be so blind? Could he not see he was making the people angry? Then he really got them stirred when he said something about seeing the Son of Man at the right hand of power. He then prayed, 'Father, lay not this sin to their charge.' He died that day, and I was stirred to a passion I had not felt before. I became determined to lead in the fight against these rebels. The Way was nothing more than a cult, all it needed was some direct action taken against it, and it would disappear forever"

Michael dried his face with the towel next to the copper bowl and turned to his wife. She looked at him acknowledging she knew he had drifted away from reality again. Michael reasoned away her look as Mary being Mary and started for the living room where he knew he would find his sandals next to the front door. He sat on the little brown table in the center of the room, and started the lacing process to secure his sandals. He looked up to find Mary standing by with a nice lunch wrapped in a thick, brown cloth. The fragrance of the fresh-baked wheat oozed out from under the wrap. Michael smiled. He had a great woman, food, employment, and a relatively nice place to live. After a breathtaking kiss and embrace from Mary, he was ready to tackle anything. Even the heavy wooden door met him with gratitude; he was able to open it without too much of a struggle.

Up the street and around the corner and he would soon be face to face with the strange little man once again. It was so disheartening to think about him dying today. He was trying to put it out of his mind when he was suddenly stopped by an elderly gentleman who asked, "Are you Michael, the guard of the prison house?"

An old man stood in front of him, crooked by the events life had brought him. He was wearing a nice looking opaque robe that draped down near his ankles and a maroon cloak that went over one shoulder and down his back to his waist. His sandals were in better shape than Michael's were. Michael stopped his progression to the prison, having a little time to spare for the old gentleman, and engaged his question.

"Yes, I am. You have me at a disadvantage, sir; have I seen you before?"

He softened his voice a bit and answered, "Why, yes you have. I have visited the man you are guarding, and wondered if I might inquire about him."

He certainly had Michael's attention. With a closer look Michael remembered him coming in to see the strange little man before, but he never thought it wise to listen to others' conversation, so he didn't know if there was a relation or not. If there were, he would certainly be of more use to him today than Michael would be.

"What is it you want to know?" Michael implored the old man.

"My name is Simeon, and, as you can probably tell, I don't have many days left," he started. Then he asked, "But I was wondering if it is permitted to bring something to the man in prison?"

Curiosity reeling Michael asked, "What sort of item do you wish to bring into my prison?"

Holding out a ragged, torn parchment he said, "A letter from a friend. I have traveled many miles to see that he gets it today. I would be in your debt if I could hand deliver it to him."

Being the sort of man that he was, he requested to see the parchment, which he was glad to hand over. The inscription stated it was from a man named Timothy.

"Is Timothy related to this prisoner?"

The old man seemed surprised by the question. It was as if Michael should have known who this strange little man was, and why he would be receiving a letter from somebody named Timothy.

"No, well, not really. You see, Timothy is as special to him as a son would be to you and me. The three of us know each other," he explained.

Questions were running through Michael's head like a waterfall over a cliff, and were filling him with an insatiable desire to know more of this old gentleman and where he fit into the strange man's life.

He continued, "Have you ever heard of Jesus of Nazareth?"

Michael was taken aback by this question. He had heard some stories about a fellow that stirred up quite a fuss in Jerusalem once, but why this question, and what was its connection to him, or this parchment?

He went on, "I knew Jesus; well actually, I met him in a most conspicuous way. I helped him with a terribly heavy load he was carrying one day. I had never met the man before that day; and was not too eager to help him, but a soldier seemed to think I had plenty of strength, and urged me to his side. Anyway, when I was compelled to help him, I reluctantly picked up his load, and walked with him. From that day to this I have been in that man's debt, and will be until the day I die."

Three

As they walked toward the prison, they talked some more about this 'Jesus' character, and what he was like. Simeon described Jesus as a woman would describe her lover:

"His eyes were full of compassion and purpose, with the determination to accomplish his task out-weighing everything else in life. His mother was standing nearby, but was not allowed to come to the aid of her son," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"You see," he went on, "this man was going to die that day, and the burden I was helping him carry was the object of his crucifixion."

Michael remembered some of the things he had heard about Jesus. He was supposed to have raised people from the dead, and do all sorts of other…what were the people calling them?...ah yes, miracles! But Michael didn't believe in such things. A man needed only to have his good senses and a strong back in order to get the things needed for survival. Sometimes it even afforded luxuries. Michael knew he had some of those luxuries; a good woman, a nice, soft comfortable bed, and plenty of food. What more could a man need?

"Tell me, Simeon, did you see this man die?" Michael asked.

"No," he said, "I was nearly worn out from carrying his load, and my children were somewhere in that angry crowd; I needed to get to them to see if they were all right." I noticed the concern on his face when he spoke of his children.

"Well then, why the indebtedness?"

His answer was as strange as what Michael had been feeling about the strange little man he wanted to see that day.

"I can't quite put my finger on it. All I know is from the day he looked into my eyes something inside me changed, and I started seeing life differently," he said.

"How do you mean 'differently'?" Michael asked, as they were seated at a table in the marketplace. The servant of the establishment poured each a goblet of water as the old man spoke more about his experience.

"I seem to have more patience than I've ever had, and I also seem to love everybody."

"Is that uncommon for you?"

"Well, I have never considered myself a rough individual, but I was a little pre-occupied with myself and my family."

Michael couldn't see anything wrong with that. He thought about how much he loved his wife, and supposed there isn't anything he would not do for her. When the day came for children, he was certain he would be a good father.

He continued, "I used to think I was a great father and husband, but I tell you, my wife has even noticed a change in me. She says I wake in the morning with a spring in my step, albeit not as strong as it once was, and that things don't bother me like they used to. When she asks me why this is, I can only tell her what I am telling you. Something about that man made me feel better about myself. I have a peace that I did not have before our meeting." He then looked soberly into Michael's eyes and said, "I doubt very seriously that our meeting was chance."

Michael sat there in silence for the next little while, trying to soak in what he had just heard.

How can a man who doesn't say a word to you affect your life so intensely?

Michael wondered if this was what he had been experiencing the past few months. Was he going to be like this old man someday? He lifted the goblet of water to his mouth and didn't quit drinking until it was emptied. He drew a deep breath, and looked at the old gentleman and said, "Let's go deliver your parchment."

They entered the small door at the top of the stairs and started the downward descent when the old man looked at Michael, squinting his eyes as his hands clutched his chest.

"What's the matter?"

The old gentleman didn't say a word as his knees buckled under him, and he fell down the remaining few steps to the floor of the hallway. Michael started after him and was met by the other guard on duty.

"Something's wrong with his chest!" Michael exclaimed to his fellow guardsman.

"What shall we do?" he asked.

"Go and get the captain; and hurry, man!"

He ran down the hall past the cells where the prisoners were kept, and off to the right. Michael could hear the clapping of his sandals as his flat feet smacked the cold stone floor upon which Simeon was lying. He knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his. The old man opened his eyes and looked intently into Michael's. He then stretched out his right arm and pushed the parchment into his chest as he uttered these words with his last breath, "See that he gets this, won't you?"
Michael had seen death too often. As he lost consciousness, Michael knew he wasn't coming out of the prison alive. Michael felt as if he was robbed somehow. This man could have shared insights to the strange little man that he was unable to get otherwise.
Michael looked down at him. His face was peaceful, calm, lifeless. Michael took the parchment from his hand as it went limp and struck the floor with a lifeless, deafening sound. The letter from Timothy was now in his possession. He didn't have the time to tell Simeon he would give it to the strange little man in the cell right down the hall, but as he turned to look in that direction, he noticed the man was standing at the bars that were the door of his cell. He had been watching the tragedy as it unfolded. Michael couldn't help but feel pity for his strange little prisoner.

The captain of the guard came to where Michael was kneeling. He was a tall man with a square jaw and a full beard, neatly groomed. His big, brown eyes looked down at them.

"What do we have here?" he asked.

"This is Simeon; he is—was—a friend of the prisoner, sir. He had this parchment to deliver."

He reached down with his long arm and opened his hand. Michael knew what he wanted, so he handed him the parchment. He scrutinized its content from top to bottom, folding and twisting it as if it possessed some kind of magic that would free the prisoner from his cell. Then he tossed it back without rolling it back up.

"Get this man out of the hall before you make your delivery," he barked as he returned to his office.

Romy, a fellow guardsman, and Michael lifted the old gentleman up from the floor, and carried him to the area where they take prisoners after execution.

Romy was a fish out of water. Michael often wondered why he chose this profession. He was very intelligent with a neat, clean appearance. His short, light-colored hair made his face shine with something one could describe as innocence. He wasn't much taller than Michael was, but he was in much better shape. This made Michael glad they were on the same side. Even though Rome was invincible, Michael would surely hate to meet this fellow on the battlefield. With his help, it was hardly a struggle to get Simeon down the hall and into the undertaker's room, which was dimly lit by candles burning on two tables on either side of a rectangular stone slab table.

"Gregory, why don't you get some more light in here? I can barely see my hand in front of my face," Romy said with a little jest.

"He probably doesn't want to see too clearly," Michael said solemnly. He knew he wouldn't.

They laid Simeon on the slab as Gregory, a rough looking man with course hands that matched his voice said, "Who's this?"

Michael squinted his eyes to see him because he was standing in the shadows, and informed him of Simeon.

"Don't do visitors," he growled.

"The captain told us to get him out of the hall, and this was the only place we could think of to bring him. You wouldn't have us dump him in the street would you?" Romy asked smartly.

"Well, you might consider the alley between the prison and the marketplace," The rough old caretaker said coldly.

"You can do it if you want to, but I will have no part in it," Romy replied succinctly.

As they left the room, Gregory began mumbling about extra duties, and clanged about with his tools. Michael and Romy exited back into the hallway.

"Shall we deliver the parchment now?" Romy asked curiously.

Michael could tell he desired to know its content. He was always wondering what everybody else was doing.

"It shall not meet your eyes. It is not addressed to you, or me," Michael retorted.

"Well, the Captain read it! Give it to me and let me read it," he said sharply.

Determined to keep the missive out of Romy's hands, Michael raced to the cell where the strange little man was, and threw it between the bars next to his feet. He stooped over to retrieve it, reclined on his bed made of stone, opened the parchment, and smiled as he read.

Michael's thoughts ran wild. Though he was glad to see him smile, Michael wondered what could be written on that parchment that gave him such enjoyment on the day of his death. Then the strange little man shouted, "He gets it! He finally gets it!" This was more than Michael could take.

"Gets what?" Michael enquired most anxiously, "You have stirred me so I don't know what to do most of the time! Please, tell me what is it he finally gets!"

The strange little man replied, "He finally understands what sacrifice means. Timothy is my son in the Spirit," he said. Michael had no idea what he meant. "I have been teaching him about the example of servitude Jesus left us to follow," he continued, "and it had been difficult for him to understand. But these words he wrote to me explain an action that proves he finally understands."

Four

Michael could not imagine why such a thing would bring so much pleasure to the strange little man, but again, he thought it was nice to see him smile.

"Tell me about this 'Jesus'," Michael whispered.

He didn't want anyone to hear him speak about this man. Michael had heard that some took a dim view of him, and he sure didn't want to risk his position here at the prison. The strange little man pulled a stool made of twisted vines up to the bars of his cell and sat down. Michael grabbed a chair and sat in front of him. He knew if the Captain walked in while he was doing this he would likely be reprimanded, but curiosity had gotten the best of him.

He started, "I was once a man about town. I was the one citizens sought to learn the finer points of the law. The training I received as a child had served me well for I fear I would not have been able to have an audience with Nero had I not been so trained."

"You've seen Nero?"

"Spoke with him just last week. He is quite certain that he is the reason I will die today. But this is the end to which I was appointed from the moment I met the Christ," he stated factually.

"Who, or what, is the Christ?"

Michael was about to be told why he was here. This was exciting because guards usually don't talk much with the prisoners. It was just not done; but this fellow seemed to have liberties others did not. Michael sat closer to the edge of his chair as he went on.

"It all started when I was a young man. I was known as a great teacher of the law. People wanted to hear me speak everywhere I went. This was largely due to a teacher named Gamaliel who taught me some of the finer points of the law and how to apply reason to every day life. Due to the years of training I received, I was enraged by the heresy of a group of people known as 'The Way.' They were called that because the things they taught were new to the people, and they were convinced their 'way' was the true way to know God. Jesus had ushered in a doctrine none of us were ready to accept. I had heard of others claiming to be the Messiah, but none had gained such a following as this man. The excitement of a messiah would usually die down after the man making the claim was imprisoned, so my training would not allow me to accept this teaching as anything but heresy. It stirred the crowds to praising God in the streets! They were doing things in the marketplace that was only supposed to take place in the synagogue."
Michael interrupted him, "Why did that cause such an uprising? People are always doing strange things today."

He quickly responded, "Well, you see, they were doing things that only the high priest was allowed to do, such as showing the peoplehow to forgive othersof their sins without making any kind of sacrifice. But what really made us angry was they were using the name of Jesus, instead of Jehovah, to do this!"

"And this is wrong?"

"Oh yes, my friend," he said, softly yet sternly, "At least I thought so at the time."

Michael thought it odd that he would be calling him his friend when in just a little while he would be escorting him to his death.

"There was only one way for a man to have his sins forgiven," he continued, "And it most certainly was not by calling on someone named 'Jesus'!"

He stood up and paced to the back of his cell until he was covered in darkness. The cell was very dark since torches or candles were not permitted. The only light they could see came from the hole cut in the door at the top of the stairs at the end of the hall during the day and at night-light was provided by torches and candles along the walls in the hallway. It was always drafty and cool during the day, and could get very cold at night.

He was noticeably agitated, as he seemed to lose his train of thought. Then, from the darkness, his voice cried out.

"How could I have been so blind, Lord? How could I have been responsible for so many deaths?" Then he paused as he drew a silent breath, and whispered, "And how could you have forgiven me so easily?"

He drifted away in thought, and Michael stood as the Captain came around the corner.

"It looks like today is his lucky day!" He stated matter-of-factly, "Nero has taken ill and won't allow his execution until he is well again. So he may have a few more days yet…at least for now."

The captain walked by, never missing a step as he climbed the stairs, unbolted the door, and stepped outside.

Michael could tell it was quite breezy outside from the dust that was propelled down the stairs as the Captain left. He turned to look at the prisoner who was now kneeling on the floor, hunched over as if in pain, and weeping uncontrollably.

Once again, he had managed to peak Michael's curiosity to an insatiable level, but he could not bring himself to disturb him any longer. Michael picked up the chair he had perched on moments ago, and returned it to its place against the wall across the hall from his cell. Romy poked his head around the corner to Michael's left, and gestured for him to come where he was. He wondered what mischief he could be into now, and responded to his gesture. However, he was not prepared for what he was about to see.

Michael entered the room where he was, and there was Gregory standing over the body of Simeon, holding some strange object in his hand. It looked like some kind of medallion made of bronze. He hadn't noticed it on the old man while he was alive, but then he wasn't trained to look at people in that sort of detail. He was trained to notice concealed weapons; they never knew when someone would try to free a prisoner.

"Let me see that," Michael said reaching out his hand.

"Just so you know, Gregory said I could have it," Romy said, making sure Michael heard him clearly.

Michael examined the object closely, turning it over and over in his hands. It was a tarnished piece of bronze with some sort of odd stamp on it, worn around the neck by a long leather string.

"It's a fish," Gregory said.

"A fish? How do you know? You rarely leave this building," Romy countered.

"Always desiring to be the smart one, eh Romy?" Michael slyly interjected.

He could tell his remark offended him, but he didn't dare go against Michael rank. He had done so before and it cost him extra guard duty while Michael got the time off.

"What's that supposed to mean, Michael? I was only saying the truth. Gregory never leaves this dark, dank place. I just wondered how he would know that it was a fish!" Romy defended.

Gregory turned and walked away from them mumbling. There was indeed a fish stamped on the bronze medallion. Then Michael remembered the strange little man was wearing one of these when he was brought in here. He turned to leave the room with the medallion when Romy reminded him it was his. Chuckling under his breath, he assured him he could have it, but that he needed it for only a moment or two.

Michael couldn't hear the strange little man weeping any more, and thought he would be able to inquire about the medallion, and what it meant, but when he arrived, he was asleep on the floor. He seemed very tired when they spoke earlier, so he let him sleep. It was almost time for Michael to leave anyway, so he returned the medallion to Romy and went back to his post.

"The meal was wonderful," Michael said to Mary. "I need to recline in the front room so I can meditate."

Michael knew she would understand the reasoning behind his statement and that he needed some time to clear his head. After an eventful day at his post he was weary, and thought if he could reflect upon the events of the day, he could make some sense of it all. He was wrong; at least about making sense of it all. He did meditate, however, and concluded he must be going quite mad. If the thoughts in his head ever reached his mouth, his comrades at the prison would surely mock him. It seemed to be very difficult for him to stay focused on one subject. He tried to think about all the things the strange little man had told him, but feared his head would explode. It was just too difficult to understand.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mary asked as she rubbed his temples with her fingertips.

"I'm not really sure, my love. I keep thinking about the passion that drives the strange little man in the prison. The odd thing about it is I can't understand him most of the time, yet I am drawn to him as a drunken man is to his wine; and I must say, with the same intoxication. It's like his words are in my blood and bones. If I don't hear him every day I feel like I have missed something important."

Realizing he must sound a little foolish, Michael started to withdraw his last statement when he was overcome by the massage he was getting from the hands of an angel. Her fingers were working their magic on his head as he felt as if he were drifting into the trance the body enters into right before sleep.

"Relax," was the last, soothing words he heard Mary say.

Michael could no longer fight the temptation, and floated away in slumber. What happened next troubled him for some time.

Michael shook himself as he stood to his feet. He looked around the room and Mary was gone. His head was spinning. He must have stood up too fast, and caused the blood to rush from his head. When it did stop spinning, Michael tried to focus on something in the room, and realized he was not in his house.

"Where am I?" Michael demanded, although he didn't see anyone who could answer the question.

The room was very dark, but Michael knew he was not in his house. Stretching out his arms, he began to search for something his hands could touch that would help him identify where he was. Michael took two steps and stopped, and then took two more steps and stopped. Repeating this slowly, he figured he would find a wall, or door, or something. Suddenly his hands did feel something. It was cold and hard. He investigated a little more and discovered it was cylindrical and vertical.

"Oh, my God," he said, "I'm in prison!"

Michael shook himself again, thinking this must be a dream. He even pinched himself to see if he would awaken. He felt his clothing and noticed it was not his uniform, or even his toga. He turned around in horror, wondering what in the world could be going on, and noticed a little bit of light in the distance. He walked toward it until he was right up next to it, and put his eye right where it was located as if he was looking through a crack in a wall. He saw something that looked like the outline of a tree. Then it hit him; this was a crack in a wall… a prison wall… his prison wall! How could this be? He was in his house, not five moments ago enjoying a nice massage from his wife. How could she let them take him while he was sleeping? Suddenly there was a light shimmering off his chest. It was being reflected by something. He reached his hand toward his chest and felt an amulet of some sort. He turned it in his hands a few times and recognized its shape. It was the bronze necklace Romy had taken from Simeon earlier that day. But how? And what was he doing with it? He couldn't help but think what Romy was going to say when he found out he had it. Then something even stranger occurred to him. Whose clothes did he have on? Michael used the chink of light coming through the wall and moved about trying to inspect the garments.

"Wait a minute! These garments belong to the strange little man in my prison!"

"Does it surprise you?" a voice rang out, breaking his concentration.

"Who's there?" Michael asked nervously.

"Why, it's you," the voice replied.

Okay, Michael thought to himself, 'I am crazy'. Then he spoke restlessly, "How can you be me when I am in here and you are out there?"

"It's easy when you are where you are," the voice answered.

Michael was beginning to feel frightened by this whole experience. The voice answering him was his own.

"Don't be afraid," the voice continued. "You wanted to know the passion the strange little man in the prison was feeling, right?"

Michael hesitated, and then answered, "Yes," fearing what he might do next.

"Come a little closer, we don't want the Captain to hear us, do we?"

It was his own thoughts coming back to haunt him. Michael had been afraid of the Captain's reaction if he were to find out about his conversation with the strange little prisoner earlier today.

"No, I guess not," he replied cautiously, moving toward the voice.

"Pull up a chair and tell me what you are feeling right now," the voice said invitingly.

Michael was feeling a bit weary from the experience he was having, and thought to sit would be a good thing to do about now. He pulled the makeshift stool made from twisted vines up to the bars that were now in full view and sat down. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the anxiety leaving. It was as if some spirit, making him feel strangely nice and comfortable, inhabited him. Michael shuffled his feet a bit and detected an object on the floor by his right foot. He reached down to pick it up, and discovered it to be the parchment Simeon had delivered. Somehow, Michael had become that strange little man.

Michael was having the memories and thoughts of the strange little man; at least he knew they were not his own. He suddenly wondered what his face looked like. The little prisoner was a bit shorter and not as stocky. How could he have changed into someone else? Michael knew he must have been dreaming. Why couldn't he wake up? Was his desire to have the answers to many questions so strong as to cause such a transformation?

"Yes," the voice broke in, "You will have the answers you seek, but they will not come now, or be what you are expecting. Reason cannot explain what you are experiencing now, nor can it stifle the drive in you to learn more about what drives the strange little man."

"Who are you?" Michael asked again, hoping the voice would tell him something different this time.

"I cannot say exactly, but I do know you are in control of these things you now see and hear," came the strange reply.

Once again, Michael was racing in thought.

"If I'm in control, then why can't I wake up?"

"Are you sure you are asleep?" the voice asked mysteriously.

"How else can this be?"

"I just told you that reason cannot explain…" the voice started as Michael broke in impatiently.

"No! Don't say that! You cannot convince me that I'm not dreaming!"

By now, Michael was losing control, and as a guard in the Roman Army, that was not a good thing.

"Don't worry about how you are here, just accept it and learn. You are on the brink of a most wonderful discovery," the voice insisted, "If you will hear the man that has been sent to you, your life will change forever!"

"What do you mean? I have been hearing him; almost every day now for quite some time," Michael replied. His next question was unexpected.

"Well then, what have you learned?" he asked.

Michael didn't quite know how to answer him. Did he want him to tell him what he had learned about the prisoner, or something else?

"I really don't know that much about him . . ." He interrupted before Michael could finish, as if the voice knew what he was going to say.

"Not about him, about you!" he said.

That statement sounding like something he would say. If there was anything Michael was able to do during an interrogation it was to get under a person's skin. Whoever this was, he was good at what he was doing.

"He has said nothing about me," Michael said simply.

"Has he not said things that made you realize he has something you don't? Has he not told you, in so many words, that there is one main difference between the two of you?" the voice interrogated.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"You Roman soldiers are really a hard-headed lot, aren't you? Have you not heard, I mean, in your heart?"

Michael was feeling uneasy again, and was ready for this whole experience to be over.

"How can one hear with his heart? Does it have ears?" He asked in reply to the question.

It looked like Michael was going to get his wish; the voiced dropped and faded with these words, "You are not yet r-e-a-d-y…" Somehow, Michael knew it was over.

In what seemed like an instant, Michael was back in his house, and Mary was there, still holding his head and massaging his temples. She noticed his eyes open.

"Hello, you didn't sleep very long," she said quietly. Michael sat up and looked at her inquisitively.

"Have you been here all the time?"

"Of course I have dear, why would I go anywhere?" she answered cautiously.

Michael could tell his tone of voice was making her uneasy, so he calmed himself as he stood to his feet and straightened his toga.

"Don't worry about it, honey, I must have been dreaming. I think I'll get some more wine," Michael said starting for the kitchen.

"Oh, no you won't, my husband. I will get it for you. You work so hard and long for me, please allow me to serve you tonight," she said inspiringly.

While she was in the kitchen, Michael pondered on his recent experience, and concluded he would keep it to himself, at least for now. Attempting to change the thoughts in his mind, he struck up a conversation about something he thought would be irrelevant to his experience.

"We had an unexpected visitor in the prison today, honey. He was a refreshing old gentleman that had come a great distance to see the strange little man," he said, trying to sound interesting.

"That's nice, dear," was the reply from the kitchen.

Michael didn't think she was listening, so he raised his voice a little.

"He came to deliver a parchment to the strange little man, but before he could get it to him he died."

"What? He died? Were you there when this happened?" She asked, suddenly concerned about his state of mind.

"Why, yes," Michael said. "He died on the stairway down to the main hall of the prison; just grabbed his chest and collapsed."

She entered the room. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and the light from behind her made the silhouette of her body shine like the angel she is. Michael wondered how he could be so fortunate to have such a lovely woman as his wife. She handed him his goblet, and he instinctively grabbed her around her waist, pulled her up close, and kissed her deeply. As he pulled away, he felt a weight on his chest. He slowly placed his goblet on the table, turned away from Mary, and reached for his chest. Michael didn't move for what seemed like an eternity. How was he going to explain this?

"What is it?" Mary inquired.

Michael looked down his nose to see what was in his hand, and could not believe what he saw. He was wearing a bronze amulet with a fish stamped on it.

Five

Just then, a sound came from the front door. Michael recognized the voice of Romy calling to him. Without hesitation, he went to see what he wanted. By the time he arrived at the door he tucked the amulet under his toga. He opened the door to see a frantic Romy with Simeon's amulet in his hand.

"What are you doing with that?" Michael asked.

He looked at Michael as if he didn't know what he was talking about, and noticed Michael was looking at his hand.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked in return.

Michael felt his chest, as if by some strange magic Romy had taken the amulet he was wearing.

"Did you come out here in the middle of the night to ask me that?"

"Actually, no. I came because the strange little man wanted to see you. He was afraid he would be executed tomorrow, and he insisted on seeing you tonight," he said.

Michael turned to Mary, who was standing directly behind him now, and looked into her beautiful blue eyes.

"I guess I better go and see what the trouble is, dear," he explained, as he reached for his cloak.

Mary touched his arm and said, "We'll continue when you return."

Michael had never done anything like this before, but then he had never had a prisoner quite like this strange little man. All the way to the prison, Romy went on about the significance of the amulet, but all Michael could think about was the one hanging around his neck. What would he say if someone noticed it? He knew Nero would have him imprisoned if it was even remotely connected to these people known as 'The Way.' Michael's thoughts shifted to the crazy individuals who were a part of this sedition against Rome. Why would they do such a thing? Don't they understand the power of Rome? Why would they put their families in danger like that? He knew he couldn't do it. He loved his wife more than life itself, and even if he did become part of 'The Way', he would certainly keep it to himself.

Just as they reached the marketplace, Romy grabbed Michael's arm, and stopped walking. He looked at him inquisitively.

"I asked you if you knew what this meant?" he asked holding the amulet in Michael's face.

"Not exactly, but I know it has something to do with that strange little man in the prison."

"Well, I inquired around town about it, and discovered its direct connection to a man called Jesus. Have you heard of him? He is the one who was supposed to have risen from the dead after being crucified. The report is that more than four hundred people saw him after his resurrection. This amulet is a symbol of something he said to some of his closest followers," Romy explained rather excitedly.

Michael tried to calm him down but to no avail. He was evidently terrified by the whole idea of someone coming back to life after they were dead.

"Well, I don't believe a word of it! Come on, Romy, you can't tell me you really believe that, do you?"

"What if it's true? Aren't you afraid of what those people who died in our prison would do to us?"

Michael could tell this was getting out of control, so he tried a little harder to get him to calm down.

"Romy, if I were you, I think I would be afraid of what people might do to you when they hear you talking like this."

As Michael looked into his eyes, he could see the fear. He then began to tell about a man who had come to visit the strange little man before.

"There was this man who came to see our prisoner some time ago. I remember because he gave this visitor a parchment to carry with him as he returned to his own home," Romy started. He took a deep breath and continued, "He said his name was Onesiphorus, and that he was from Ephesus. I listened as they talked, and I'll tell you, this man's life must be in danger. As they talked, I could hear the caution in their voices. But that was when I noticed it." He stopped abruptly, shook himself a little, as if he had a chill, and looked up at Michael. He could see the fear in his eyes as he held out the amulet. "He was wearing one of these," he said.

Michael stared at the amulet, knowing what he was suggesting. This bronze amulet with a fish stamped on it was their symbol. This meant they were all part of "The Way." The night wind had picked up a bit, so Michael motioned for them to continue on to the prison. Romy was acting very strangely, and he could tell he didn't want to go back to the prison.

"What's wrong with you, Romy?" Michael asked. "You seem a bit tense tonight."

I heard them speak of something called a 'Christian,'" Romy started again, as they walked, "Onesiphorus told our prisoner how people in Antioch were using that word as a mockery of them following this Jesus fellow."

"Christians? Why that word?" Michael asked. He was very intrigued by this term because he had heard the strange little prisoner use the word 'Christ' before, but didn't quite know what it meant.

"I don't know. It was the first time I had heard the word," Romy explained.

Just then, as they walked, the amulet Michael was wearing sprung out from under his toga. He quickly put it back, but it was too late, Romy spotted it.

He stared at Michael in disbelief.

"Don't ask," he said. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Well try me, man, I have to know!" Romy said excitedly.

"I have no idea how this got around my neck," Michael said. He then tried to explain the events of the evening, but could tell he wasn't buying any of it. He reached his right arm across Romy's chest to his left shoulder and turned him; they were now face-to-face.

"Your secret is safe with me," he said, assuring him that he would tell no one.

"I don't have a secret. I just can't tell anyone about this because I don't really understand it myself! Just keep it quiet until I can explain it without it sounding so crazy. People will surely think I am mad!" Michael said, as they once again picked up their pace.

As they headed for the door of the prison, Michael could hear voices in the hall. They both stopped in front of the door.

"Listen," Michael whispered.

"They're at it again," Romy whispered back.

The voices were speaking of things Michael couldn't recognize. He remember hearing something about a holy ghost, healings, and things he knew would bring the authorities down on him if he were speaking them. Michael opened the door and saw another strange little man. He was pressed up next to the bars of the cell that held the strange little prisoner. He could tell they were crying.
"My departure time is close," said the strange little prisoner.

"Are you not fearful?" asked the other man.

"I have finished my course, and I have kept the faith. I know there is a crown of righteousness ready and waiting for me," was the reply of the strange little prisoner.

Michael was speechless. He wondered how a man could know such things. As he walked toward them, the visitor looked at him, and he could see a little fear in his eyes.

"Do not be afraid, my friend. I will not say anything of your conversation," Michael said.

Did those words just come from him? He wondered about his sanity more than ever, but he continued because he was very interested in hearing more about this word 'Christian.'

"What's your name, my friend?" Michael asked the strange little visitor.

His countenance changed to reveal an unusual peaceful look in light of the nervous expression he had a moment ago.

"My name is Onesiphorus. I am from Ephesus. I hope I'm not in trouble for being here so late. Something told me I needed to visit my friend one more time," he explained.

Onesiphorus wasn't very tall and had a graying, short beard and an olive complexion. He didn't seem to be very threatening, but Michael had learned the hard way not to assume anything. He was gripping something in his left hand. It was rolled up and dark brown in color, and bound by a leather string.

"What's that you have, there?" Michael asked.

"It is a message I am delivering to a friend in Ephesus," he explained, as he held it out for closer inspection.

"I do not need to see it. I don't think you would be a part of some sedition against Rome, would you?" Michael asked, trying to be clever and interrogative at the same time. It didn't fool him at all.

"You are correct, it is simply a message of edification to a man I know in Ephesus," he said honestly.

"Would that be Timothy?" Michael asked. He could tell this surprised him.

"Do you know Timothy?" Onesiphorus asked.

The strange little prisoner had kept silent until now. He looked at his friend as he came into the light. On his face was the trail of the tears he had shed moments earlier.
"He knows of Timothy through Simeon," the strange little man said as a few more tears ran down his saddened cheeks and splashed onto his chest. Michael concluded that it was the memory of their lost friend that brought the tears to their eyes.

"I am sorry about your friend," Michael said, trying to console them in their loss.
"We are going to miss him, but we know he is far better off where he is now," Onesiphorus said with a slight smile.

This was very interesting. Michael had heard so many different opinions about what happens to a person after they die, but this was the first time he had a chance to inquire about it.

"So you believe in life after death?" Michael asked.

The two men looked at each other as if to ask whether they should share their secret with a Roman. Just then, Romy came up to where they were standing.

"This ought to be interesting," he said. Romy was genuinely interested in the subject, especially after learning what he had learned earlier today. "I have heard some interesting, albeit strange, things today," he continued.

"Romy, remember what I said to you a moment ago?" Michael asked, trying to get him to use caution in what he was about to say.

"I know, Michael, but I have got to know! Maybe these two can make some sense of it all," Romy pleaded. He looked like a boy with a new toy he couldn't quite figure out.

"It all started with a man called Jesus," the strange prisoner said. When Michael heard that name, he cut the strange little man off by raising his hand in a gesture of silence. He walked down the hall and looked into the captain's quarters to be sure he wasn't there, then returned to where he was before and motioned for him to continue.

"As I was saying, it all started with a man called Jesus. This man was, and is, fulfilling many prophecies left by the patriarchs of Hebrew history. For many years the Hebrews had been looking for a Messiah; the one who would deliver them from their oppression," the strange little man started.

"If you are referring to the Empire, I am sure it would take more than one man to overthrow it," Michael said, trying to assure himself.

"He was not concerned with overthrowing any empire. He faced that whole problem when he introduced himself as the Messiah. Everyone thought he had come to free the Hebrews from some geographical captivity. In actuality, he came to free the Hebrews from themselves!" the strange little man explained. The pitch in his voice was increasing as he went on.

"The irony of it all was the very people he came to free were the ones that wanted him crucified. But when he rose from the dead, he showed the world what he really came for," he said with a sort of expectant look in his eye. Michael believed he knew his statement would cause questions to arise. He was not disappointed.

"What was that?" Romy and I asked in unison.

"Why," he continued. "He came to free man from his sin!"

Onesiphorus looked around as if he was afraid to say what he was about to say. "We wear this symbol of our faith," he said, as he pulled his amulet from under his cloak.

Michael reached for his chest with his right hand as Romy looked at the amulet he held in his hand. They were identical to the one Onesiphorus was wearing. Romy looked at Michael, his face contorted with fear.

"What do you suppose the Captain will do to us?" he asked fearfully.

"Well, this has certainly been a day full of surprises," Michael started, as the hand on his chest changed into a pointing finger aimed at the strange little man. "As a matter of fact, ever since you came to my prison, things have gotten stranger and stranger. My wife probably thinks I'm insane, which, I might add, is something I'm wondering myself, and there's no telling who else has noticed the changes in me lately."

Michael was certain the irritation about the recent events was illustrated in the tone of his voice, and by the expression on his face. What the strange little man said next shocked both Romy and Michael.

"I know exactly how you feel, my friend. I was once the biggest threat the followers of Jesus ever experienced. I was sure they were heretics, and I was doing God a favor by arresting them and throwing them into prison. I was on my way to Damascus to get further authority to round up the lot of them when a blinding light struck me. I fell from my horse and could not see a thing. I heard a voice from the heavens that instructed me to quit persecuting the followers of Jesus. When I asked him his name, he said he was Jesus. I was humbled by the whole experience; three days later my sight returned and I received further instructions to take the news of salvation to the gentile nations."

His story was intriguing to say the least, but Michael still had questions that needed answers.

"What about dreams that seem almost real. Have you had experiences like that?" he asked sincerely.

"Yes, I have. I once dreamed a group of people from Macedonia wanted me to come to them. Many people had heard bits and pieces of information concerning Jesus, but what they needed was someone who had seen and heard him personally," he explained.
"Did you go to Macedonia?" Romy asked.

"Eventually. Many things happened to strengthen me for the task that was laid before me, which inevitably brought me here," the strange little man said.

He spoke with a strange tone in his voice; one Michael was not familiar with. He sounded like a man who was very certain about what life had dealt him. There was no anxiety in his voice at all. Here was a man who knew the only way he was coming out of this prison was to be taken to his death. It was absolutely astonishing.

"I am tired and would like to rest," he said convincingly.

Michael could see he was, indeed, very tired. Romy returned to his post, and Michael invited Onesiphorus to stay at his house that night. It was late and his journey back to Ephesus would have been treacherous in the night. He followed Michael out of the prison and through the marketplace to his house.

Six

Mary didn't quite know what to make of Onesiphorus. She was surprised that Michael had brought a visitor home with him, but assured him this changed nothing about finishing the previous conversation.

"You look tired," she said to Onesiphorus.

"I am. It is so kind of you to offer me a resting place," he replied.

"I am very intrigued by you and your friend, but it can wait until morning. Would you like something to drink?" Michael asked, as he noticed Mary moving toward the kitchen.

She brought in some bread and wine.

"I hope this will satisfy you both for the evening," she said, as she served Onesiphorus first and then her husband.

Mary was the perfect hostess. She knew how to serve; from the heart. Although they didn't get many visitors, she was always able to make them feel welcomed and comfortable. Michael could tell she would rather be sound asleep in her bed right now, but she never said a word about it.

"How did you come to know your friend in our prison?" Michael asked trying to make pleasant conversation. Onesiphorus was troubled about losing his friend, revealing the tremendous bond they had.

"It's sort of an ironic story, but if you don't mind, I would like to ask you something," he said.

"If I can answer I certainly will."

Michael couldn't explain it, but something about this man gave him a feeling of confidence and comfort. As a guard in the service of the Roman Empire, this was unusual because of the stigma his job held in the eyes of the local non-Roman population. Michael learned early on that simply because the city was occupied with Romans, it didn't mean all who lived there were Romans.

"Do you know when the…uh...execution might be?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm afraid I can't say. It was supposed to be today, but since Nero fell ill, I'm not sure when it will be."
"He wants to be there, then?"

"I guess he does. Why does this man pose such a threat? He seems harmless enough to me."

"I am certain I do not know. I can only assume the leaders of Rome are afraid of the same thing the leaders of the Hebrews were afraid of,"

"What would that be?"

"Well, it seems the Sanhedrin was afraid of Jesus because he didn't do things the way they taught the Hebrews they should be done. They felt they were the final authority of the law."

"How do you mean? What law? Is there another law besides Roman law?"

"Certainly there is. The Hebrews have something they call the Torah. In it are the writings of the prophets of old, and the words God gave to Moses on Mount Sinai," he explained.

"And Jesus disobeyed these laws?" Michael asked genuinely.

"No, he did something far worse; at least according to the Sanhedrin. He fulfilled them," he said.

"What's that mean?"

"It means that Jesus is the Messiah. All that he said, and all that happened to him was foretold by the writings in the Torah."

"Everything? I mean, from what I hear he suffered a grueling death. I heard some of the stories about the beating he received. I don't see how the man survived that, let alone carry his cross to Golgotha to be crucified."

Michael was trying to be careful. He didn't want the knowledge that he did have about Jesus to cloud the information that Onesiphorus was willingly offering. Not so much out of fear of a conspiracy, but mostly because he knew Jesus was directly connected to the strange little man. He thought if he gained information from someone other than the strange little man, he would have a better understanding of the passion that drove the prisoner.

"It is all true. My friend in your prison has suffered similar beatings and punishment for what he believes," Onesiphorus said.

"How can what a man believes cause him to be imprisoned? I mean, couldn't he just keep it to himself, he would probably live longer," Michael asked.

"He believes the vision he told you about tonight. I believe he actually heard the voice of Jesus, and it changed him so much he had to tell others," he explained.

"How does this pose a threat to something as powerful as the Roman Empire?"

"The only way I can figure is that some of the people of Rome believe in the Messiah, and that makes them act differently. I guess it is interpreted as some kind of movement against the Emperor. Some do refer to Jesus as a king. Yes, that's got to be it," he said, as if he had just had an epiphany.

"A king? But he is dead, isn't he?" Michael asked rather perplexed.

"As you and I know death, yes, he is, or rather, was. But, if he is truly the son of God, I believe he now lives on a spiritual level. How this is, I cannot tell. I just know I believe it," he said.

"Spiritual, huh? I guess that's beyond a simple jailer's mind," Michael said, trying not to show how uneasy he was about such things.

"You are no simple jailer, Michael. My friend has told me a great deal about you. He says you are a unique individual, and I agree with him. I have never received such a friendly welcome in Rome, I can say that for sure."

Onesiphorus was growing very weary, so Michael suggested they continue in the morning. They finished their bread and wine and retired for the night.

As Michael entered the bedroom where his wife was, he noticed the anxiousness in her eyes. He knew he was not going to get to sleep right away.

"What is it, dear?" Michael asked, trying to pretend the events of the evening didn't happen.

"How are we going to explain that amulet you are wearing? And why haven't you removed it yet?" she asked. Michael sensed the fear in her voice. He took her in his arms and held her close with a reassuring hug.

"Until I have some answers myself, let's just keep this to ourselves, okay?"

"If you think that is wise, I will do as you ask," she said.

Once again, Michael felt her overwhelming love for him. He had heard many soldiers speak of how their wives were busybodies, always wanting to know other peoples' business. Mary was not like that. She was as much a part of Michael as he was of her. They lay down together, she put her head on his shoulder, and he felt safe. It was as if her love protected him should he have another strange dream.
"Michael, I have something I must tell you," she whispered.

"Tell me what is on your mind, my love."

"Please do not think that I love you any less than when we met. In fact, I love you more. But this," she hesitated, "This is something I didn't know how to say. In light of recent events, however, I think you should know."

Michael sat up in the bed, and looked at her with all the love he had for her in his heart. Her hair fell around her angelic face and framed the look of despair her wrinkled brow displayed.

"Mary, there is nothing you could do or say that would make me stop loving you," he said, "Please, tell me what it is that troubles you."

"Well," she said, "I have one of those amulets myself."

Michael stared at her motionless, speechless. Her face was still contorted with the wrinkle in her brow increasing in tension. Is this the woman he married? Had she always been a part of 'the way' or had she recently converted? After a while of staring, Michael found the courage to respond to her comment.

"You do? And how did you acquire it?"

"I am a believer. I hope it isn't too big a surprise for you. I wasn't trying to be deceitful, I just didn't know how to tell you," she explained nervously.

Michael held her close and squeezed her gently. She was crying almost uncontrollably as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Michael continued to embrace her, confirming his proclamation of love. They made enough noise that it disturbed Onesiphorus.

"Is everything all right, in there?" he asked from the other room.

"Yes, my friend. Everything is just fine," Michael said, as he looked into Mary's eyes. "Honey, I'm not sure what it means to be a believer, but all I know is the love in my heart for you surpasses anything you believe or don't believe."

"Oh, Michael, I am such a lucky woman to be married to a man like you," she said. She looked as if the weight of the world had just been lifted from her shoulders.

Michael wasn't sure what the future held, but he knew they could face it together. Yes, he is a soldier in the strongest empire the world has ever seen, but he was still just a man. His father was also a soldier for the empire, and in his day, he witnessed some gruesome atrocities, and was even commanded to carry out some of them, but he was as tender as a child was when it came to his mother. Michael was never afraid of him or the power at his disposal. And he never thought the way his father treated his mother was a weakness.

The empire was a cruel one. However, as long as Michael did as he was told, and obeyed those in authority, he had nothing to fear. He had led many men to their death, and could still love his wife passionately, and that spoke volumes to him. Mary had nothing to fear. After all, he was not a man without influence. If need be, they could escape from this place and go to another city. But right now, he would settle for a good night's sleep.

Mary fell asleep on Michael's shoulder as he thought about all the recent events, and the changes they made in him. He wondered what it all meant, and what the future held. Then he thought of something he hadn't yet considered. He thought back to the charges he was given while in training for the position as a guard. He was told to protect the empire with his very life, and up until now, it had been pretty dull. They always promised the young trainees excitement and adventure. All he had ever seen in the way of excitement was now expressed by the inside of a prison house, and men under arrest. At times, he was even certain some of them were innocent of the crimes for which they were imprisoned, but that was not for him to judge. The only prisoners he ever got in the prison where he worked were the ones who were to be executed.

Then this strange little man was brought in. Michael's life hasn't been dull since that day. For a prisoner, he sure had a lot of influence. He was always writing or receiving parchments. As Michael thought of the cities he told him about, sleep overtook him, and he drifted away and dreamed of stranger things than the night before.

There were odd-looking chariots without horses, and people speaking into an object they held to their ear. They didn't wear togas and cloaks; instead, they wore things that fit next to their bodies and came down their arms to about their wrists, and down their legs. Some of the garments stopped about halfway down, while others went to their ankles. Instead of sandals, they wore something that covered their whole foot, and had ties on top of them.

Michael went from seeing these things to a room where there were many expensive-looking goblets made of precious gems. They were filled with different colored liquids. Some were bubbling. A man was standing in the corner of this room, wearing a long white robe that was open in the front. It seemed to represent something. He was thin, with a bald spot on top of his head, making a circle of the hair he did have. He was examining a statue of a man. This statue was incredibly life-like, and was dressed like the strange little man and Onesiphorus. Michael could not tell where he was or what was going on. He walked up to the man in the white robe, and he spoke to him like he knew who he was.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Right here. Well, I mean…" Michael started.

"Never mind. I need you to tell me who this man is. Have you seen him before?"

"I assure you, I have not. He does look like a man I have in my prison, but I do not know this man."

"What prison, man? What are you talking about? Have you forgotten where you are? The life you once knew is gone; surely I don't have to remind you…"

As the man in the white robe spoke, the dream faded.

It was the dawning of a new day.

Seven

When Michael awoke, he sat up in his bed. Mary was already awake and delicious smells were coming from the kitchen. He heard conversation, too, and assumed Onesiphorus must also be awake. Feeling like he hadn't slept at all, he pushed himself out of the bed, splashed some water on his face, dried it off, and headed for the kitchen. The sun shining through the window to his right as he entered the room made a silhouette of Onesiphorus, and bounced off Mary like a reflection off clear water.

"I have seen a lot of things since I became a believer," Onesiphorus was saying as Michael walked in. They had evidently been talking about their experiences since becoming a believer.

"What sort of things?" Michael asked.

"Good morning, dear," Mary said. She always greeted him with a kiss and some hot cider made with fresh apples and cinnamon she purchased at the market. It was a very refreshing drink first thing in the morning.

"Good morning to you, my love. Tell me Onesiphorus, what sort of things have you seen?" Michael asked, hoping they could continue the conversation from the night before.

"I have seen the sick made well by just the touch of a hand," he said, eyes opened wide.

"The touch of whose hand?"

"A man came through Ephesus not long ago. I believe his name was Phillip. I cannot remember where he was from; maybe Galilee. Anyway, one of my master's servants was very ill. We thought she was going to die. She was burning with fever and weak to the point of death," he said, with a little expectancy in his voice.

"Well," Mary said, putting down her goblet, "What did he do?"

"He came into the room where she was laying, touched her on her forehead, and she sat right up in the bed!" He continued, "I had never seen anything like it in all my life."

"Is she still well today?" Michael asked.

"Oh, yes. People come to our house all the time to hear the story of her healing," he said.

"Is that all, or is there more?" Mary asked with great enthusiasm.

"I have heard stories about how Jesus raised a man from his tomb!" Onesiphorus said.

"Do you believe those stories?" Michael asked.

"I am inclined to, yes. After all, if Jesus could bring himself back to life, I guess he could do it for others," he said, "I have not ever seen it, nor have I met anyone who claims to have been raised back to life, but no matter, it doesn't change how I feel about Jesus."

"How do you feel about Jesus," Michael asked.

"He has changed a life of pain into a life filled with joy," he retorted gleefully.

"Was something wrong before?"

"Not physically, no, but I had a poor outlook on life and had even considered ending mine. You see, I didn't like the daily tasks assigned to me and thought it was all for naught. There were times when I wondered 'what's the use? I am making no difference in the world at all,'" he offered.

"Yes, a man must feel his worth," Michael affirmed. If there was one thing that Michael took stock in it was his feeling of worth. How can any man go through life without a purpose?

"Yes, indeed, but a man with no hope is most miserable indeed. I was such a man," he said.

Michael noticed quite a change in his countenance as he finished, and understood exactly what he meant.

"What changed you? You certainly don't seem hopeless now," Michael added.

"You are so right. One day the man in your prison walked into our city. He stood on the street corner and beckoned for a long time for people to stop what they were doing and listen to what he had to say, so I did. I listened to him tell of a man who was the son of God. A man, do you hear? A man! That was never before heard in our city. Ephesians' citizens worship the goddess Diana. There is a beautiful temple there and priests to lead in worship. The people listening got very angry, and told others what he was saying. One evening, after he finished speaking, I invited him to our house for rest and refreshment. It was then that he convinced me of salvation through Jesus," Onesiphorus told.

"You mean it was just that easy?"

"Easy, you say! Easy? Hardly. All I had ever known was the worship that took place in the temple of Diana. But there was something in his voice, something about his words. It was as if I could feel his words penetrating my heart. They brought such joy inside of me I decided I wanted more of this 'Jesus.' And more was exactly what he offered," he said with joy.

Onesiphorus went on about the different teachings the strange little man had presented to him. Michael tried to listen but his mind kept drifting back to the dream he had during the night. It seemed, he figured, that these dreams were going to haunt him until he could make sense of them. If there was a God, or Jesus, or any such thing, Michael knew he was going to have to discover, and maybe interact with them. Maybe they had some answers for the questions he was afraid to ask. Who is Jesus? Who is this strange little man? How does all of this tie into the dreams, or do they tie in at all? Michael was sure of one thing, he had to find some answers, and quickly, or he might go mad.

"Michael, hello Michael," she sang.

"Uh, yes, dear? What were you saying?" Michael asked, innocently.

"Onesiphorus was wondering if he could visit your prisoner again today," she said frankly, which let him know they knew he had drifted away.

"I'm sure there won't be any problem. You might want to keep your conversation to a quiet whisper, though. There's no telling what Captain Antonio would do if he interpreted what you said as sedition."

Captain Antonio was a very good soldier. He was considered a hero in many a soldier's mind. He had won many battles without the loss of one man! He was very well-known for his strategic abilities. But he was a ruthless man. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to arrest Onesiphorus, or anyone, at the slightest hint of a plot to overthrow the emperor.
"We have learned to be discreet," Onesiphorus replied.

Mary had set a beautiful morning meal and they all devoured it with thanksgiving. Onesiphorus was growing on Michael, and he hated to see him go. He found himself trying to persuade him to stay a while longer.

"Will you be leaving for home after your visit?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I must. I do have a parchment to deliver to Timothy. I believe it has some important instructions regarding his ministry to the people of Ephesus," he related.

"Are the citizens of Ephesus very responsive to your beliefs?"

"They're coming around. We still have a lot of work to do, but the Lord is gracious and provides the miracles needed to get through to them," he said.

"What kind of miracles?" Mary asked.

"Some you can see right away, and others take a while to manifest," he replied.

"What do you mean?" Michael asked.
"Well, some who would normally seek a physician's help come for prayer, and when we pray using Jesus' name, they go home well. Others will come doubting, and making trouble, but the more they return, the more of the truth they hear, and eventually they are persuaded to believe," he explained.

"What do you think it is that changes them?" Michael asked.

"I'm not quite sure I can say it's the same thing for everyone. It was most difficult for me, at first, but when I could see, with my own eyes, the difference this good news was making, I could not reject it. It's probably the same for others," he replied.

"I have to admit, it's very intriguing. I have seen many cruelties in life, and I know for sure what not to do, or say, in the Empire in order to stay alive and provide for my wife. I believe it would take something extraordinary for me to believe otherwise," Michael said, very sure of himself.

"Michael," Mary interrupted, "You better head off to work. You don't want to keep the Captain waiting."

She was right. Onesiphorus thanked her for the hospitality, and the two men departed.

Eight

"I hope my wife did not offend you, my friend. We have a very good relationship, and we tend to forget the ways of others. We don't get many visitors, so I'm sure she was quite excited to see someone else in our home besides me," Michael explained with a bit of uneasiness in his eyes.

The face of Onesiphorus was gentle and peaceful.

"Yes, well no offense was taken. And you are correct in your assumption of Ephesus. We do have some trouble with women who overstep their place, but they are usually the busybodies and don't know what they are talking about anyway. I enjoyed my conversation with Mary. I can't help but wonder, though, how is it that she is a believer and you are not?" he asked.

"To be honest with you, Onesiphorus, I just found out myself that she is a believer."

"Really? And you were not angry with her?"

"At first, I didn't know what to say. But with recent events still fresh on my mind, I couldn't be angry with her. I have always thought there was a higher power than the Emperor, but I never voiced my opinion for fear I would end up where we are headed now, only as a resident," Michael said humorously.

"There is a certain danger to it, isn't there?"

"Mary is a strong woman. I don't know what I would do without her. If she wants to believe in this Jesus, she will get no argument from me. Besides, if believing in him makes people act like you and my strange little prisoner, it can't be all that bad, can it?"

The sun was up in full strength as they walked toward the prison. Michael knew it would be much cooler once they were inside. He was still wearing his amulet, but for some strange reason it didn't bother him now. His new friend didn't seem to care if his amulet was showing; it bounced on his chest as they walked together on the dusty road. The crowd had started filtering into the marketplace, and soon the noise would begin. The shop owners were very persistent in trying to get your business. They called out their wares and offered special deals. Every owner assured that his deal was the best in town. Sometimes Michael would grow weary of them, but he had passed this way enough that they knew when they could approach him and when they should leave him alone.

Today was different, though. The shop owners saw Michael walking with someone who was clearly not a Roman. They took this as an invitation to sell their goods to them both. Both men played with some of them, acting as if they were going to buy, or that they were interested in their product. They laughed, and actually bought a few things on the way through.

One shop owner, Cornelius, approached the men with a smile on his face. This was not uncommon for Cornelius, for he was a very friendly fellow.

Just a little older than Michael, tall and slender with a short, well-shaped beard, and a laugh was recognized even in the noise of the marketplace. He always wore brightly colored, fine clothing made of wool. This was such a contrast to the normal garb worn in the marketplace, which was tan or brown in color as to hide the dirt and dust kicked up by the traffic.

"Well, well, Michael. I don't believe I have ever seen you walking with another man unless he was your prisoner. Who is your friend?" he asked, politely.

"Cornelius, this is Onesiphorus from Ephesus. He is here visiting a prisoner; I thought I would extend some hearty Roman hospitality to him while he was here," Michael proclaimed, rather proudly.

"Really, you? You are showing hospitality?" he said, jokingly.

Cornelius and Michael played chess quite often when the marketplace business was slow. They had known each other for quite some time and had a unique relationship. Michael didn't know that Cornelius was from Philippi and they were always known for their wit. But it wouldn't have mattered; he would like him just the same.

"Yes, believe it or not, Romans can be friendly," Michael said, as he laughed.

Then he looked around, as if he were a spy or something, and whispered, "Where did you get that fine amulet?"

Michael felt as if he had been found out for a moment. Realizing, though, that this man was a good friend, he tried to remain calm.

"I guess I had forgotten I was wearing it, my friend. If I told you how I acquired it, you would think me mad," Michael said, waving his hand in man's face.

"I have been a vendor in this marketplace for many years, my friend, so I have seen and heard some pretty fantastic things," he assured, "so learning your secret will not be a shock to these ears."

"Well, when I have a little more time I will enlighten you."

"Maybe over a nice game of chess?" he asked, "It's been a while since I let you win."

"Let me win?" Michael asked, "When have you ever let me win?"

"All the time, old friend, all the time," he said. A customer approached his table just outside his tent. "I'll talk to you later. I must sell my wares, you know."

Onesiphorus and Michael continued on to the prison. When they arrived at the door, Romy met them. He was grinning from ear to ear. Michael wondered what he was up to.

"What's got you grinning so early in the morning?"

"You're never going to believe it," he whispered.

"Well, out with it man. Don't keep us in suspense!"

"When the Captain came in today, he was acting weird. So, I kept my eye on him. You remember last time he acted strangely!" he replied.

Michael remembered the time of which Romy spoke. The Captain had come to the prison one day in a peculiar mood. The prison had an unusual number of visitors that day; only they weren't visiting the prisoners, they were visiting the Captain. These men were from the court of the Emperor and had come to offer Captain Antonio a seat in the Senate. Michael also remembered how furious they were when he turned them down.

"So, you think he's been offered the seat in the Senate again?"

"I don't think so. This time he stopped and had a short conversation with our strange little prisoner. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I have never known Captain Antonio to do this before," Romy said, almost as if he were afraid of something.

Onesiphorus went on inside and down the stairs to see his friend while Romy and Michael finished their conversation. As he looked past Romy down the steps into the hallway, a comfortable looking chair had been added to the hallway. Onesiphorus had pulled it up to the bars and was visiting with his friend.

Romy and Michael entered and shut the door as he continued his story.

"Captain Antonio was smiling as he walked away from the cell that keeps our strange little prisoner. Either he is moving up or the prisoner is moving out, I figure," he said.

"It could be either. I am sure he would like to get rid of this strange little man. He would then have no prisoners to guard, and he could take some time off. Who wouldn't like to have some time off?"

Michael realized the question he had just asked gave little regard for the life of the strange little man, and he felt a twinge of guilt. That was the first time that had ever happened, but then here lately, many first times had been happening in his life.
As they walked toward Onesiphorus, the Captain rounded the corner from his office. He was still smiling. Then Michael saw something that caused him to rub his eyes to be sure they were not deceiving him. Captain Antonio was wearing an amulet just like his.

"Michael," he said, "I am glad you have arrived. Would you step into my office for a moment?"

"Yes sir," Michael said, as he walked past Onesiphorus.

They went into his office and sat down. He was seated behind a big table made from a fine piece of wood. The craftsmanship was exquisite. The sculptured edges were leaves on a vine that wrapped the perimeter of the table, and climbed on top of it at each of the four corners. The four massive legs looked like tree trunks, and gave the huge table ample support.

"Nice table, sir. When did it arrive?" Michael asked, trying to make conversation. He was a bit nervous because the Captain only called them into his office if they were to be disciplined.

"It was a gift from the Senate. But that's not why I called you in here," he said almost politely. His hand reached for his amulet, and as he held it out from his chest, "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"Yes, I have. The man that died in our prison was wearing one. I believe it has something to do with a Galilean named Jesus," he replied rather factually.

"Yes, as a mater of fact, it does. It has a lot to do with him. His followers use this as an emblem to show their belief in him as the son of God," he said confidently.

"I have heard the same report, sir."

Captain Antonio placed his hands on his desk, and motioned Michael to come closer.

"I have just come from the Senate, and a remarkable number of them have amulets such as this. I was simply amazed by it," he said quietly.

Michael was unwilling to say anything about his yet, but his statement made him wonder why he was wearing one. Michael had to be certain of all the facts before revealing his own amulet. Besides, at this point, he wasn't really sure what to believe.

"Is….is that one yours, sir?" he asked, rather boldly.

"Yes, it is. The prisoner you have been guarding these past two years has persuaded me to believe the truth it represents; becoming fishers of men. It has made a profound difference in my heart. I see things from a different perspective now, and I know this is going to make some changes in the way we do things around here," he said with authority.

Michael could hardly believe the strange little man had been two whole years. Furthermore, he wondered if the Captain really knew what he was talking about. Is it possible to be persuaded so easily? Michael knew the Captain was a hard man, but the change in his demeanor was proof that something had happened. Michael was just not certain what it was.

"But, sir…." he started.

"Don't get me wrong, Michael, I am still a Roman in every sense of the word. However, I do believe there will be some changes, even in our laws, because of this man Jesus." Captain Antonio proclaimed this with such conviction that it confused Michael even more.

"Well, sir, congratulations on your accomplishment," he said, wanting to get back to his post.

"I know you and Romy both have one, Michael, and I'm just letting you know it will not be considered an offense of the law for you to wear it in here."

Michael felt a bit of relief in that fact, but there was still the matter of the law.

"Has the law changed? Are you not afraid to wear it outside? What will happen if the other soldiers see you wearing it?" Michael asked sincerely.

"I'm not sure. But I do know I feel compelled to wear it."

Confidence.

"Well, I am not convinced of this Jesus yet, and I believe I would be careful, sir, if I were you," Michael cautioned, even though he offered no explanation why he was wearing one.

"I didn't get to this position any other way, Michael. I have learned to be cautious in all that I do. That is why I have not accepted the seat in the Senate. It is hard to tell who your friends and enemies are in the Senate. They could like you one day and stab you the next. That is not the life for me. I would rather be a soldier. This way, at least, I know my enemy," he explained.

"Yes sir, I see your point. And what of our prisoner, sir; any word on his execution?"
Michael didn't try to mask the concern in his voice. For some reason, he was going to miss this strange little man.

"Nero is still not well, but I'm afraid it will be soon anyway," he said sadly.

The two men stood there and looked at each other for what seemed like a long time. Michael was not accustomed to having conversations of this nature with his superior officer. He broke the silence by speaking softly, "I, too, have grown rather fond of him, sir."

"I have never met anyone like him," the Captain said, "He is so intelligent! He could have any position he desired if he would stop preaching Jesus, yet he chooses to die for this man."

"I don't think it's the man he is dying for, sir. I believe it is a way of life he is trying to preserve. His visitor stayed with me last night, and I was exhilarated to hear his stories. Absolutely fascinating stuff! Do you know he believes the dead can be revived? He says he has personally witnessed a very ill girl being made well by a man who simply touched her! My wife and I were astonished by these things."

"I would very much like to meet your friend, Michael. Come, introduce me to him," Captain Antonio said, as they exited his office into the hallway.

The hallway was quiet as the men at the cell seemed reverent. Michael could hear the strange little man saying something.

"I believe he is praying," the Captain whispered.

They stood there, not moving for some time, while he prayed. He seemed very genuine with his words.

"….help Timothy, Oh Father, to be a wise master builder for your kingdom. Guide Onesiphorus in his part to help the church in Ephesus. So many are fearful of the Romans, and some are fearful of their own countrymen. Take away their fear so they might aid in the building of your kingdom. Let their love be without malice, or misguided motives. Fill their hearts with who you are in order that they may lead others to the truth that will set them free. My time here is almost over; I can feel you calling me home. I will soon depart from here, and come home to you. I know you're waiting for me. I have finished the work you started in me, and I have not been unfaithful to you. I anticipate our reunion with gladness of heart. Encourage those with me now so they are not sorrowful at my departure. Help them understand what you have shown me so they, too, will look forward to their day of departure. I accept all things as in your hands, amen"

Michael stood there speechless. Captain Antonio had tears streaming down his face. Michael could not speak. Michael dared not speak. He looked at Romy, and then Onesiphorus, and then back at Captain Antonio. Then his eyes fastened on the strange little man in the cell. His heart began to pound in his chest, harder, faster, his eyes watered and his stomach shook, his head was swimming, he didn't know what to do. He turned and walked back to the Captain's office and sat down at the table, in the chair across from his. He put his face in his hands and wept some more, but he could not tell why; he simply did not understand.
Onesiphorus entered the room and asked if it would be agreeable for him to stay another day. Michael nodded affirmatively. He left the room to let him think. Michael didn't know what to make of the prayer he had just heard. Was he included in that last part? Is there something to look forward to at the end of this life? Was he doing what he was supposed to be doing? For the first time in his life, he wondered about his purpose.

Nine

As Michael pondered, the door at the end of the long hallway opened and closed. He wiped his face with his hands, proceeded to the entrance, and was stunned to see Mary standing there. She had never been here before, so he knew there must be a good reason for her appearance. She swept past Captain Antonio with a nodding of her head and made her way over to Michael.

"Michael," she whispered, "You forgot your lunch."

Michael had never done that before, but then he had never had a visitor to stay all night at either.

"Thank you, honey. I guess the excitement has really affected me."

"Are we getting old, Michael?" Romy teased.

"Very funny Romy. I'll beat you in a foot race any day of the week!"

Michael really didn't know if he could or not, but he wasn't going to let him know it. They had the kind of relationship that allowed competition without offense. He was an aggressive opponent in any situation. His passion for sporting events was much deeper than Michael's, but then he wasn't married either.

"I brought our new friend some refreshment as well," Mary said, interrupting their skirmish.

"I'm sure he will be thankful," Michael said as he took the bundle.

It looked as if there was enough food inside of it to feed several men, and the wine flask could not have held any more drink. Captain Antonio walked up to them.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" he asked pleasantly.

"Uh, sure, sir. Mary, this is Captain Antonio Farbus. Captain, this is my lovely wife Mary," Michael said. He was still uneasy about the change in the Captain's demeanor.

"So nice to meet you, Captain," Mary said.

"The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure. Would the two of you like to use my office to talk?" he gestured toward the entrance to his office.

"That won't be necessary, Captain," Mary said, "I can't stay, and I wouldn't dream of disturbing the routine of your day. Besides, I must get to the marketplace before all the fresh fruit is gone."

"Well, then, all right. Please come again anytime. We don't get many visitors that are as easy to look at as you are," he complimented.

Michael didn't know the Captain knew such words; let alone how to use them in this fashion. He always thought of him as a faithfully married man. In fact, Michael really didn't know if he was married or not. How can you work with people and not know things like this?

Michael felt as if he had just recently been introduced to the world. Things he had never given any thought to were occupying his mind. A man's social status never made a difference to him. The simple things in life were just that; simple. It never dawned on him to be thankful for them, or to recognize them apart from everything else. He knew he was a very fortunate man, but all that consumed his thoughts were things he needed in life. He rarely gave thought to the other man.

Michael was good at his job, and rarely missed a day of work. He was faithful to his wife, and to the people he did business with in the marketplace. Everything was just right. Why wasn't he aware of these feelings before now? His mind began racing once again, which caused him to feel a little light-headed, so he made his way to the chair Onesiphorus had been occupying earlier. He sat down feeling odd, as if he didn't know what to do next.

"Michael, do you need to go home?" Captain Antonio asked.

"No sir, I'll be all right. I just need to sit here a minute."

"Would you like us to pray for you?" Onesiphorus asked as he came to where he was sitting.

"No," he said, "I assure you I will be all right. I guess there's just been a lot of excitement around here today."

Michael was not exaggerating. Learning about the Captain's conversion, and the discovery of Mary's beliefs made him wonder about Romy. Had he converted as well? He suddenly had an overwhelming urge to speak with the strange little man alone. "I wonder if I might be able to speak to the prisoner alone, sir?" he requested.

"Certainly, Michael. We will go into my office, so you can have some privacy," the Captain said.

"I really must be going," Mary interjected as she looked at Michael and whispered, "I have something I want to tell you when you get home this evening."

The Captain, Romy, and Onesiphorus left the hallway and Mary went up the steps and exited the building. Michael scooted the chair a little closer than Onesiphorus had placed it, and looked at the strange little prisoner.

"I wonder if you might be able to shed some light on some things I don't understand," Michael said.

"If I can, I certainly will," he assured.

"I have experienced some rather strange events lately. Feelings that I can't explain have been flowing through me, and my mind's been clouded with unfamiliar thoughts."

"My friend," he said, "This is the beginning of a transition for you. You have been a Roman soldier for a long time. Your life shows it. Everything you do is built around that premise. But now it's not enough. The military mind has taught you discipline, and you are quick to obey it. Love for your fellowman is not an emotion you are accustomed to dealing with, but it is love that will ultimately guide the rest of your life."

"Love?" Michael always thought that was reserved for marriage. "It certainly doesn't seem to have a place in the every day life of a soldier."

"If you could move mountains with the strength of your arms, it would mean nothing without love. Love is the ultimate motivator. If it's not, then everything is done in vain," the strange little man said.

"I don't understand," Michael confessed.

"I didn't either, at first, but after a while it started making sense. I have gained many more friends through love than I ever did through intellect," he said.

"Knowledge is a powerful tool. I have heard that you are very intelligent," Michael said.

"Yes, I have had some rather extensive training in matters of the law. However, I could teach until I could speak no more and do it all for nothing! Without love motivating me, I'm just a horn blasting in the ear, or a pretty flower that will soon fade away. It is only the deeds accomplished through love that will last," he explained.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Love has been tried like gold put through fire. If love dominates your thoughts and actions, hope will prevail and your life will be full. Let me ask you, Michael. What are your plans for the future?"

"I really haven't given it much thought. I know whatever I do will be in the service of the Emperor. But I can't tell you exactly what that will be."

"What are your dreams, then," he asked.

Michael was not expecting this question. Maybe the strange little man didn't mean it the way he took it. But this could be his opportunity. Should he tell him of the dreams he'd been having? Would he be able to tell him what they meant? Michael decided he would take a chance that he could.

"It's funny you should ask about dreams. I have really had some strange ones lately."

"Did you know dreams are a way for God to speak to you?"

"No, I didn't know that. Would you like to hear about my dreams?"

"If you are comfortable telling me. You see, dreams can reveal the inner thoughts of a man. They can tell us what we are capable of doing," he explained.

"I have had two dreams that indicated that you were not brought here by coincidence," Michael confessed.

"Yes, I knew I was to come before Nero," he said.

"Amazing. Did you dream it?"

"Not exactly. It was told to me, though."

"Well, how did you know for sure?"

"How is it that you know the sun will rise in the east?" he asked.

"I just know it. It is a law of nature," Michael offered.

"The same is true for the believer. They just know when something is right."

"I wish I could be so sure."

"You can be, my friend. Every man is born with a spirit, and that spirit longs to worship. What makes the difference in believers is that they know it."

"They know what?"

"They know the spirit within them was placed there by God, and it longs to worship him," he explained.

"Is that where this love comes from? From God? It seems pretty wimpy to me," Michael said.

"Love is not wimpy. Love is a key that unlocks untold treasures," he explained.

"What kind of treasures?"

"Not the kind you can put in a purse. Love opens the way for enemies to stop hating, it sees beyond the faults of others, and brings people together."

"I see, so if my motivation is fueled with love it would make me a better person?"

"It definitely would. There are many things that simply cannot be accomplished apart from love," he stated, as if by experience.

"I suppose it could be this love that has caused the dreams and feelings I have experienced lately," Michael concluded.

"Yes it could be, but it is God's love, not man's," he said.

"So there is a difference. Which is worse?"

"One is not worse than the other, only different. One will cause a man to go beyond what is asked of him, the other is reciprocated."

His logic was indisputable. Michael used to think he was a man of logic. He knew deep inside that if he were a good man, things in life would meet him pleasantly. Now, after listening to this man, he wasn't sure. Was Michael in such a need for a change that God would pay attention to him? Was he such an awful person that he needed that? He never thought of himself as awful, but then, what man would? Did love need his attention?

"Michael, are you listening?" he asked, breaking Michael's concentration.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Michael asked.

"Are there other dreams besides the ones you said informed you that I was here for a purpose?" he asked.

As Michael described his latest dream about the tall thin man and the strange goblets, the strange little man looked at him in amazement. When Michael finished, he sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Pretty crazy, huh?" Michael said.

"Not really," he said, "Unique, but not crazy."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I will have to ask God about this. Do you really want an interpretation?" he asked cautiously.

"I would certainly like to know," Michael said confidently.

Ten

In the Captain's office, Romy, Onesiphorus, and Captain Antonio were discussing Jesus. They were comparing stories they had each heard to see if their stories validated one another.

"I've heard how he cured a man possessed of devils on a certain island," Onesiphorus said.

"I was in the marketplace once, and overheard a group of men who claimed they saw two of his disciples cure a man who had been a cripple from birth. The man was supposed to have jumped to his feet, and ran into the temple," Romy offered.

"In the Senate, he has many followers," the Captain said as he stood and looked at the two men confidently, "Although, I believe, they are secret followers. Each man I met had an amulet like the one I'm wearing. The same ones that offered me a seat told me about the way Jesus taught in the temples. They said he never tried to hide anything like the Sadducees claimed. I think they were afraid they would lose their power. I've watched many a man fall to the temptation of power."

Romy walked around the huge table and stood next to Captain Antonio, took a dagger from under his tunic and laid it on the table. The other men were a little surprised that Romy would hide a dagger in his tunic. He was a guard after all; he should be able to wear weapons without having to conceal them.

"This is what makes me wonder," he said, as he pointed to the dagger. The gem on the black leather handle glimmered an eerie red as they all stared at it. Romy continued, "It's very easy to conceal one of these. Sometimes you don't know if someone is coming at you until it is too late!"

Romy was concerned that some of the rogue members of the Senate would plot against the believers who were members of the Senate.
It wouldn't be the first time rogue members would take matters into their own hands.

"I agree," said the Captain, "It is a perilous time we live in. A man must know who his friends are."

Onesiphorus stood now and leaned over the table, placing his hands on the flat, smooth surface.

"Gentlemen, I believe some things are worth dying for; but more importantly, I believe there are some things definitely worth living for!" he stressed.
"Amen to that," said Captain Antonio. "The good news of salvation must be told and lived!"

"Do you think Michael will come around?" Romy asked.

"The way I see it," said the Captain, "He has no choice."

"How so?" asked Onesiphorus.

"He has been undergoing some dramatic things as of late, and I think he's beginning to understand," explained Captain Antonio.

"What things?" Onesiphorus asked curiously.

"For one, he has never had any friends who I have met. You would be the first he has had any relationship with. He is either here or at home. Every once in a while he will play a game of chess with one of the merchants in the marketplace, and will even engage with Romy in a bout of wits, but that's about the extent of his existence as I know it," the Captain offered.

"What a sad way to live. No friends; it must make life boring," said Onesiphorus.
Romy was curious how Captain Antonio knew so much about Michael. He never noticed the Captain speaking at length with any man in the prison. He wondered if he didn't have all his guards investigated.

"Romy, I can see the Roman soldier in your eyes," the Captain started. "I make it a policy to know the men under my command. It's important that I know what motivates you. That way I can assign duties accordingly. Please do not take offense."

The Captain had just gained a great deal of respect from Romy. He was surprised that he had offered an explanation, but in a sense, it made him feel better. He had never done that before.

"Sometimes, this military amazes me. It is no wonder we are the strongest in the world," Romy said proudly.

"Love is stronger," Michael offered as he walked into the room.

"What was that?" Romy asked.

"According to our resident genius out there, love is stronger than even the Roman Empire," he explained.

"What are you talking about?" Captain Antonio asked.

"He says that even if we have the strength to move mountains, if we don't have love, we are nothing," Michael retorted, "Imagine, the Roman Empire—nothing!"

"Are you sure he said that?" Onesiphorus inquired.

"Well, he didn't use those exact words, but I believe that's what he meant."

"As long as he's been around, I guess he would know," Onesiphorus started, "He has seen and experienced things I'm not sure I could have endured. He told me about being shipwrecked on an island once. When a viper bit him on the hand, the natives of the island thought he was surely an evil man, and the gods were punishing him. He just shook the snake off into the fire and felt no harm. He said they tried to make him out to be some kind of god, then."

"What an amazing story! And you believed him, right?" Michael asked sarcastically as he turned to leave the room. "You guys are hopeless!"

He was exhausted from the events of the day and returned to his post. It was just too much to take in. Michael couldn't wrap his mind around most of what the strange little man had said to him since his arrival. This idea of salvation lacked merit, in his mind. Although there had been a tremendous change in Captain Antonio, this much was evident. He would give it a few days and see if the Captain stayed in this "salvation frame of mind".

He stayed in a small room at the end of the hall next to the stairs that led out of the prison. It was lit by one candle on a small table where he checked people in and out. Nobody could get to the prisoners without going by this post. It was not a comfortable place, but it served its purpose.

Michael really needed some time to clear his head. So many new ideas and thoughts had been presented to him it was making him crazy. He had no more of an idea what was going on than when the strange little man first arrived. Except for gaining a great deal of information, nothing seemed different. Of course, the Captain and Romy sure had changed. Why couldn't he see what they did? Is it so hard to believe? What was in him that was keeping him from what they all considered truth? Maybe they can show him. Maybe he could learn.

As Michael sat at his station, he thought of Mary. He felt a wave of emotions surge through him that he could not put into words. He wondered how she had been able to conceal her Christianity from him all this time. At times, he must have seemed like a complete idiot to her. He thought of the nights that he came home without telling her how much he appreciated her respect and love, and that just added to the feelings. The times when special days would go by, and his late, feeble attempts to make her feel what she means to him were expressed in less than adequate ways. Once again, he realized what a fortunate man he was. He sat there staring at his table. The candle flickered in the corner of the little room as his thoughts wandered this way and that.

"Imagine," Michael said out loud, "She has stayed with me because her religion has given her a deeper relationship with me than she would've had otherwise."

The strange little man had been right all along. Love is the strongest thing in the world. Michael couldn't imagine loving anyone the way he loved Mary. What she had brought into his life was immeasurable. He got up from his post, and went to the strange little man's cell.

"Tell me more of the power of this love," he said.

"There are three important things in life: Faith, hope, and love. The greatest of these things is love. There is no greater tool given to man whereby he might gain friends and companions," the prisoner replied.

"Faith, hope, and love. Tell me, what is faith?" he asked.

"Faith is something that proves what man says is impossible," he started, "it's the feeling that tells you, even when the odds are stacked against you, that the outcome is in your favor. I recall an instance when I was on board a ship in the middle of a storm. I was a prisoner on this ship, yet the sailors asked my advice on how to weather the storm."

"Why did they ask you for advice, are you a sailor?"

"No, I'm just a tent maker. But I had instructed them to eat no foodbecause I had a dream warning of the coming storm, and how to prepare for it. I knew from the dream that their bellies would be full of food and wine and they would be unprepared for the storm," he said.

"A dream told you of the storm before it happened?" Michael asked curiously.

"Oh yes, as I told you before, God will speak to us in dreams, and He certainly showed me clearly what to do," he went on.

"Did everyone make it out all right? Besides you, I mean," Michael asked.

"Sort of," he said, "The ship was wrecked, but we all wound up on an island called Mileta."

This must be what Onesiphorus was talking about earlier in the Captain's office, Michael thought to himself, so he listened to see if their stories were going to be the same.

"We all made it to the island in one piece. Not one crewman or prisoner was lost," he continued.

"What happened next?"

"We were all cold from the water and the wind, so we tried to build a fire when some of the natives of the island saw us. At first, we were afraid they might kill us, but instead they helped to build the fire. When we were all just about warm, I grabbed a small log, and carried it over to place it on the fire. A snake was on the log, and when I put the log close to the fire the snake bit me on the hand," he said.

"Did it scare you?" he asked, "You obviously survived."

"Oh yes, and it hurt, too. I had to shake it off, for it had latched onto my hand. But the Lord was with me, and I experienced no pain afterward," he said, showing the two scars on his right hand where the snake had bit him, "The reptile fell into the fire. However, the natives said I was surely an evil man, and though I had escaped the storm, the gods would not allow me to live. After I felt no harm from the bite they changed their minds and thought I was a god."

"That must have been quite an experience. What did they do with you next?"

"It took some time for me to convince them I was just a man, and I think some of them understood, but there were still some who would not waiver in their opinion."

"So it was faith that helped you through this ordeal?"

"Without a doubt. But it was more than my faith. A better description would be the faith of the Son of God; a faith that is like a special gift. It helps the believer know how absolute God really is," he explained.

"Is anything really absolute?" Michael asked. "It has been my observation there is no such thing. I have watched men who I thought were full of integrity fall to different temptations. I can say, very assuredly, I have yet to see what my character will withstand."

"What do you mean when you say 'withstand'?" he asked.

"Well, let's take the most common of temptations; sex. I was raised to be pure until I was married, and so was my wife. But the temptation was strong, even before I met Mary. She has told me that she, too, fought a fierce battle concerning purity. You are probably aware Roman soldiers aren't known for their morality. But I was determined to be different," Michael explained.

"How long have you been married?" he asked.

"Long enough to know I cannot live without her," he replied.

The strange little man stood to his feet, and approached the bars of his cell. Michael could tell he wanted to say something he didn't want anyone else to hear. He stepped closer, and turned his head so he could whisper in his ear.

"Your work is not in the prisoners you keep. Speak to your wife tonight about a dream she had, she will explain what this means," he said solemnly.

Michael stepped back, and looked at him in amazement. He had never considered anything like this before he met this man. He kept telling himself he was only a prisoner, and a crazy one at that! Michael couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to get so anxious about what he said. However, Michael did assure him he would do as he instructed.

The Captain came around the corner as Michael was on his way back to his post. He heard his footsteps as they halted short of where he was and knew he had stopped at the cell where he had just been. They were speaking, but he could not make out what they were saying, and continued on to his post. He wasn't there long before Captain Antonio came to where he was.

"That has got to be the strangest man I have ever met," he said. "I noticed you've had several conversations with him. Does he not speak strangely to you?"

"How do you mean 'strangely'?" Michael asked.

"You know, it's like he speaks in proverbs, and his meaning is hard to grasp," he said.

"I hadn't noticed. I've been able to understand him, okay," Michael said trying to convince himself.

"Maybe it's just me. Anyway, I'm headed home. Romy has said he will stay for a while, and then he was going to go get some rest before relieving you tonight. If you have any problems, you know how to reach me," he said as he started up the steps to the door.

There was a large bell on a tall pole right outside the door of the prison that was for emergencies such as a jailbreak or other trouble deemed an emergency. When the bell rang out, soldiers from within the city would come to aid in the emergency. Michael knew he meant not to disturb him unless it was an emergency.

"Yes sir, see you tomorrow, Captain," he said respectfully.

"Lighten up, Michael, you seem tense," he said as he disappeared through the door.

Lighten up? Was this the Captain Antonio who never showed emotion, even when the innocent were being executed? Something had definitely changed about him, that's for sure.

Eleven

The silence in the prison was suddenly broken by the voices of Gregory and Romy as they walked toward Michael's post. As he turned, he could tell Gregory was upset with Romy. Gregory's age was showing this evening as he limped a little on his left leg. His hard life as an undertaker had taken its toll on the poor man. He was still very good at his job. He was waving his hands in the air at Romy. Watching the two of them made Michael smile as he remembered the many disagreements Romy and he have had over the years.

"Would you two mind keeping your voices down?" Michael asked.

"Why, are you meditating or something?" Gregory asked.

"No, but a few minutes of silence really felt good for a change," he replied.

"Michael," Romy started, "I am having a difficult time describing some of things we have learned to Gregory. Do you think you could help?"

"Me? I am not sure if I believe everything I've heard lately myself."

"I don't care if you believe them or not, I just need help telling it the way we heard it. Could you help?" Romy retorted.

"All right, I'll try. What is it you want to know?" Michael asked.

"Onesiphorus was telling me about this group who call themselves 'The Way.' He said they now have a new name," Romy said.

"They?" Michael asked, "I thought surely you were a believer as well."

"I'm really not sure what it means to be a believer, Michael. I only know my life has been tremendously affected by something. I cannot say for sure what it is, but I like it. It makes me feel as if I have a purpose beyond that of the Roman Empire," Romy explained.

"Interesting. If you have been changed, what is it that changed you?"

"This afternoon I was talking to our prisoner when he asked me about eternity and what I knew about it. I tried to describe our training as soldiers, and the kind of future it would hold in the Empire, but I don't think I was very successful. He wasn't impressed. He only pressed me to think about eternity," Romy said.

"There's more to life than the Roman Empire!" Gregory argued.

"Yeah? Well I don't know about much else. I'm still a young man, you know, and I've got a lot to learn," he paused for a moment, and then pointed his thumb back to the cell as he continued, "That man back there has made me do some serious thinking about the future. Do you know he believes in life after death?"

His question stopped the conversation for some time. Michael looked at Romy, and then at Gregory, who was rolling his eyes in disbelief. However, it seemed Michael had heard something about this subject before, but with everything that had happened lately, it was hard to distinguish one thought from another.

"Where is Onesiphorus?" Michael asked.

Romy seemed surprised by the question.

"He's still in the Captain's office. He told him he could stay if he wanted to, until your shift was over," Romy answered.

"Why don't you guys go ask him about eternity, and what it means to be a believer? He knows more about these topics than I, and he also has experienced this…what did you call it?" he asked.

"They are now calling it 'Christianity'," Romy said.

"Christianity," Michael said, remembering the definition for 'Messiah,' "I guess it fits."

"Fits what?" Romy asked.

"Again, I say go ask Onesiphorus." Michael ordered.

They looked at each other and must have agreed he wasn't any help, and turned and walked away. Michael could still hear them, a few minutes later, as they talked with Onesiphorus at the other end of the hallway. Romy always got excited when he learned something new. His face would turn a bright red as his heart thumped harder in his chest. Beads of perspiration would appear on his brow and his eyes were those of a child receiving a new toy.Michael believed it was his exuberance demonstrated while learning that was a key in his rapid promotion in the ranks. It probably won't be long before he reached Michael's level. He is a good soldier.

Michael turned and sat down at his table, and started thinking about the dream he had last night.

Is there a larger purpose for his life than the Roman Empire? It's hard to think of anything more worthy. It was all he had ever known. He had dreamed about it as a child, and was now living it. How many people get to do that?
Michael stood up from his stool and walked up the steps to the door. He could see the entrance to the marketplace from the window in the door. There was a lot of business taking place that day. He was thinking about Cornelius and how a nice game of chess would be a great distraction. So many things were happening within the Empire, and even some of the Senate members had become believers. Michael wondered how much of an impact this would have on the Roman Empire.

He watched the children play in the dirt as the consumers in the marketplace traded their money for goods. What would the world be like a hundred years from now? Will these 'Christians' flood the earth with their doctrine of love? Is there coming a day when even something as great as the Roman Empire would be nothing but a memory? Michael couldn't imagine living any other way.

He pushed the door open, stepped out into the sunlight, and tried to let the wind blow through him like it does the trees. He loved the breeze. He had ever since he was a boy. He would just stand still when he noticed the wind in the trees and close his eyes. It was then he would dream of becoming a great warrior for the Roman Empire. He would be like his father. A great warrior. They seemed so peaceful that day. It would have been an awesome change to be at peace again. The breeze sure felt good, cooling the sweat on his brow. He stood there reflecting on the events of the day.

Michael's respect for the strange little man had grown to the point that he considered him a friend. He could not say that about any other prisoner he had guarded. He was sure this man challenged people wherever he went and wondered if he kept a journal of his adventures. It sure would be some interesting reading. The marks on his body spoke volumes concerning his life. He had suffered greatly for his beliefs, of that Michael was sure!

As he continued to watch the marketplace, his thoughts returned to Mary, and he was reminded of her latest confession. He shuddered to think she would undergo even a small amount of what this man has suffered. Suddenly he felt angry about the whole thing.

If he had never met this man, these thoughts wouldn't be running through his head! Does his god do this to every one of his followers? What kind of god would require such radical devotion? Of course, Michael didn't have a god. He didn't believe in those things.

Or did he?

Michael noticed a change in the color of the dirt where he was standing. The sun was shaded by a dark cloud. Storms blew up out here rather quickly, so he turned to go back inside as the clap of thunder met his ears. The rain was not far behind, so he went to his post and made sure nothing important would get wet, as the rain would come through the hole in the door.

Storms always made a mess in the prison house. The dust would turn to mud, and if the rain came hard and long enough, the mud would run under the door and onto the steps. This made them very slick.

Michael walked down the hallway to check on the prisoner, and Onesiphorus as well. The little man in the cell was lying on his bed asleep. He went down to the Captain's office, and noticed Onesiphorus was also napping; his head on the Captain's table. As he turned to exit the room, he literally ran into Romy, nearly knocking himself down as he entered the room.

"Finally, someone who is not sleeping!" he said.

"No time for sleep now, Michael. I think I've convinced Gregory," he said.

"Convinced him of what?"

"Of Jesus, of course. What has been the hot topic around here for the past few months? It's been Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus of Galilee," he stated rather excitedly.

"There are two of them?"

"No, they are one and the same," Romy explained.

"I guess he got around."

"I suppose he did. Either that, or his fame spread faster than he did," Romy explained.

Michael thought about the different stories he had heard about Jesus, and realized they did come from different areas of the Empire. He supposed he could have lived in both places at different times. Romy scratched his head as he continued.

"After he was crucified, they say he was seen by four hundred people at one time or another. I guess that would prove the theory of life after death," he said.

"Did you see him?" Michael asked.

"No, but can all these people be wrong? What would make a man, such as we have in our prison; suffer the things he has suffered if life after death wasn't real?" Romy challenged.

"There are a lot of crazy people out there, Romy," he reminded him.

"I suppose you're right, Michael, but that doesn't change my mind about the changes that have taken place in me," Romy defended.

"You are your own man, Romy. I don't have the right to dictate how you should live. Nor would I consider it my duty."

"I know, Michael. I consider you a good friend, and I rely on the advice of elders," Romy said.

A friend? Not just a friend, but a good friend! Michael was puzzled by the notion. Either he didn't know what friendship was all about or Romy had a different standard for friends than Michael.

"What makes you think you have convinced Gregory to believe in Jesus?" Michael asked in hopes of getting some information he could compare to his thoughts on the subject.

"Because, when I asked him if he believed in God he said yes. Then I asked if he could believe in a one-time sacrifice for all sin, he said he could. After that, he looked up and confessed his belief in Jesus for the remission of his sins, and a remarkable change came to his countenance," Romy explained.

This description took Michael's breath. For a second, he looked bewildered by Romy's statement. Gregory? Looking up and confessing? Somehow, Michael had a difficult time picturing Gregory doing anything like that. He gathered his thoughts hoping Romy hadn't noticed.

"How so?" he asked.

"You know how he always looked like he had been eating lemons all day? Well, his face doesn't look so sour anymore. He actually smiled!" Romy said.

"I don't believe I have ever seen him smile," Michael said.

"He does now. Jesus has made a difference in Gregory, that's for sure," Romy said.

Michael didn't know what to say. He looked at Romy who, he had to admit, did seem a little more lighthearted than in days gone by. He hasn't been as obnoxious as he usually is. Maybe Gregory did change as Romy had just described. Then something hit him; he was the only one in the prison who hadn't confessed to believing in Jesus. His own Captain, and superior officer, had confessed this belief. They call them 'superiors' for a reason, right? Superior battle strategists, superior soldiers, superior intellect… Michael's heart sank.

As he pondered on these thoughts, he heard the strange little man call his name.

"Yes?" he asked as he walked up to his cell.

"I have an answer for you about your dream, if you're ready to hear it," he said.

Michael's heart was still reeling by his previous thoughts. Now there was a whole new set of emotions flashing through his body. His heart was racing, yes; but for a different reason now. Michael knew that this was going to be life altering. He wasn't sure what the strange little man was going to say, but from his tone, it was going to be life altering.
Michael was right.

"It seems God has a specific purpose for you and your wife. It is a different and strange one, but it is specific nonetheless," he said.

"How strange?"

"I believe you're in for a trip to a strange land where they do things quite differently than we do here. They certainly have a strange way of living, as I recall. They have devices that enable them to communicate over vast areas of the world. The odd thing was the fact that John was there," he said.

"Who is John?" Michael asked.

"He is a disciple of Jesus Christ. One of the original twelve that followed him during his ministry years on earth," he said.

"What was he doing there? I mean, in my dream?"

"He was helping you, and a man of science, spread the good news of Christ," he said.

"Me? A Christian?"

As if Michael didn't already have enough on his mind, now he was throwing this at him?
He didn't say anything; he just looked at Michael allowing his mind to examine what he just said. A long time passed before he spoke again.

"I'm not sure of some of the things God showed me about you, but I can say this much for sure, you are a key to a geographical locale coming to the knowledge of Christ," he said. "And I don't mean a small place either."

His argument was convincing, but Michael decided he would take what he had learned today and discuss it with Mary to see what her thoughts were on the subject. He was sure Mary would have further insight to Christians than what he had, and maybe she could shed some light on his dreams. He has a greater respect for her than before her confession of Christianity. Michael was certain she would be able to make some sense of all this.

"Do you know where I am going to be?" Michael asked the strange little man.

"I'm not sure, it did look quite different than any land I've ever seen," he replied.

"I hope I can get a better understanding of this before it happens."

"It does help to know what God has in store for us, I agree."

"Have you ever been put in a spot like this?"
He thought for a moment and then responded, "I can't say that I have. I have been in some tight spots because of my faith, though, and God has always brought me through. Sometimes I had to suffer at the hands of my enemies, and sometimes I was spared. I would say it depended on what I needed to learn," he stated.

"So there is an intellectual side to all of this?"

"Most definitely, there is," he replied in agreement.

Michael guessed it was a logical statement, after all, he thought of himself as an intellectual individual. Maybe not as learned as the fellow across from him, but a scholar nonetheless. By this time, Michael's emotions had calmed a bit which made the next question easier to ask.

"Do you think God directs everything in our lives?"

"I am certain he has a definite plan for us that will be completed. However, because he allows us to have free will, I believe he leaves it up to us as to how we get from where we are to where we are going," he explained.

"Interesting," Michael said, "Then everything I have experienced until now has been for a purpose?" Michael was hoping he hadn't taken the wrong path in life.

"I am sure of it. For many years, I lived according to the law. I was trained in matters of the law, and the law dictated to me a certain way to live, much like your training as a soldier does for you. But when I met Christ, all those things I learned took on a new meaning; one I like to call the 'spirit' of the law," he said.

"Could you describe this spirit of the law as a deep, moving feeling inside?" Michael asked.

"I suppose so. I guess the more you experience it the more it becomes second nature."

"I can't imagine the transformation you have undergone. I can only imagine the training I have had as something that is hindering my understanding of all this."

"Faith is the key, Michael. Without faith it is impossible to understand, or even accept, the things of the spirit."

Faith is something Michael had heard a little about from different people, mostly while in the marketplace. Most folks wouldn't stop a Roman soldier just to have idle conversation, but he did recall Cornelius mentioning something about it. He was really looking forward to his next chess game. He intended to be a little more inquisitive about him and his beliefs.

"How can a person know whether he has faith or not?"
"That's a difficult question to answer. It's different for everyone. I believe you to be a man much like myself in intellectual matters. In order for me truly to believe, I had to place my limited wisdom aside, and just accept what I saw and felt the day I met Christ. It will probably be the same for you. Once I accepted my experience as truth, I was challenged with things that made me rely on that truth. Every time I did, I learned something new and I always remembered a law that represented the truth I learned," he said.

"Interesting," Michael said, "I had no idea it was so intricate."

"Intricate, yes, that's a good word," he agreed.

With that, he turned and walked to the back of his cell, paused there a moment then turned and faced Michael again. "Let's not forget the part of your dream where John was present," he said.

"Yes, what do you make of that?"

"I'm not sure, have you met him?" he asked.

"No, I wouldn't know him if he walked up and slapped me."

"Amazing. God is saying you will definitely know him when you see him. He will be wearing a bronze amulet, much like the one you're wearing."

"Does every Christian wear one?"

"I can't say. The people I know do, and I understand from Captain Antonio there are members of the Roman Senate that believe and wear one," he said.

"Yes, I have heard the same thing. It makes me wonder what Emperor Nero will say when he finds out. You know he will find out."

"Yes, I'm sure it's inevitable. However, Christianity will prevail; of this I am certain," he said.

Twelve

Michael stood in front of the cell, speechless, for a long time. His face became twisted by thoughts of this man's fate. He found himself wishing there was something he could do to change it. The strange little man looked into his eyes to the point of making him a little nervous.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm concerned for your well-being. I know, sooner or later, Nero will get well and carry out the execution."

"I am not concerned. As I've said before, it was to this end I was born. No man has done what I have done. I've been given an audience before all the magistrates of Rome at one point or another. I have shared the truth about the Son of God, and some have listened, while others thought me mad. I have finished the job Christ instructed me to do," he said calmly.

"I wish I could be as calm as you. I have grown rather fond of you. You are quite an unusual man. I've never seen such clarity in purpose in even the greatest of our generals." Strange, Michael thought. He felt as if he was bragging about the fact; as if he was somehow responsible for the strange little man's confidence.

"Thank you, Michael. You can have the same assurance about who you are, and what you are chosen to do. It all comes through faith in the Son of God."

Conviction. He was truly committed. Even though it meant certain death.

"Well, that's where I fall short, I'm afraid. I'm not sure I have the capacity or capability to measure up to the faith required to give my life for Christianity."

"Are you afraid to die on the battlefield?" he asked.

"No, but I have received a lot of training for that very thing."

"I have as well. All the experiences I've had to this point have prepared me for this moment," he said.

As they were talking, Captain Antonio entered the building shaking off the rain, and approached them. Romy was right behind him. He must have slipped out, Michael thought, while he was talking to the strange little man. The Captain turned and asked politely if he could have a moment of the strange little man's time. Michael returned to his post so they could have some privacy. Romy walked with him, still shaking off the rain.

They spoke quietly for a few minutes, and then the conversation got louder and louder. The strange little man seemed angry about what the Captain had said to him. Michael thought that maybe it was bad news. He felt compelled to come to his aid.

"What's the problem, sir?" Michael asked the Captain.

He looked at Michael for a moment as if to size him up for something.

"You can trust him," the strange little man said.

"You think so? He doesn't claim to be a believer, even though he does wear the amulet," the Captain replied.

"I know, but I feel very comfortable in his presence," the prisoner said convincingly.

"All right," said the Captain as he looked at me, "We're planning a jailbreak."

Michael nearly fell over. Captain Antonio was probably the most rigid soldier he knew, and for him to even consider something of this magnitude seemed ridiculous.

"What did you say?" Michael asked in disbelief.

"You heard me," the Captain said, "But our friend here won't go."

"I'm still having difficulty with your first statement. His response makes sense, knowing him, but to say I'm surprised at you would be the understatement of the year!"

"Keep your voice down, Michael, I'm taking a great risk here," Captain Antonio said.

"I can understand, sir, I'm just astonished at your words."

"Are you, now? Do you want to see this man die?" he asked.

"Of course not, sir, but what can we do? We have an impeccable record here, and to have a jailbreak would look very suspicious; for all of us," Michael warned.

"Listen to your companion Captain, he makes sense," the strange little man said.

"I . . ." the Captain started as he looked at the prisoner, and then at Michael.

Captain Antonio felt a pain in his heart. This was not new to him, for he had seen many people die, but this seemed needless. He could not come to the same conclusion the Emperor had about this little man. How could he want him dead?
"Captain, this man believes this is his destiny," Michael said.

"What?" he asked surprised.

"I've finished my course," the prisoner said, "I'm ready for my departure from this world. It only means a better life for me, for to be in the presence of my Lord is my greatest desire at this point."

"Your greatest desire?" asked the Captain, "Mine would be to live another day!"

"And that is your destiny," the strange little man assured him.

"Destiny or not, I'd sure like to get to know you better," the Captain said solemnly.

"Thank you, Antonio, but better still, get to know Jesus better," he instructed.

With that, he turned to his right as a bright light illuminated the darkened room. A figure stood in the midst of what looked like a cloud, or smoke, or something. Michael could tell he was speaking, but he couldn't hear what he was saying. The prisoner had fallen to the floor, and he felt the urge to do the same. The Captain was already there. This lasted only for a few minutes but it was something Michael would never forget. As quickly as it came, it was gone.

After a long silence, Michael asked, "Was that Jesus?"

"Why yes, Michael, it was. So you saw him too?" the strange little man asked.

"Yes, as did the Captain," he replied.

"What was he saying?" the Captain asked.

"He was encouraging me in the final task of my life," he said as he looked directly at Michael.

Michael knew what he meant.

The rain was coming in the prison house, as it had done many times before, and making a mess of the steps. Romy was fighting a fruitless battle of trying to keep them clean.

"Don't bother with that now," Captain Antonio ordered.

Romy stood up, looked at the mess, and said, "Yes sir."

Michael was still reeling from the last look the strange little prisoner gave him and he struggled to return to his post. Every step away from the cell was more difficult than the one before. He managed to make it to his stool, but it felt like it took all of his strength to get there.

"What's up with you?" Romy asked.

"Well, it seems I have become our strange little prisoner's final task," Michael said almost in disbelief.

"What's that mean?" Romy asked.

"I don't really know, Romy, but I'm sure I'll find out."

"I guess you've heard Nero is feeling better," he informed.

"No, I haven't."

"That's what I heard a few minutes ago, so I thought I would come and let you know," he said.

Michael looked at him wondering if he looked as sick as he felt, and said, "Romy, if it's okay with you, I'm going to go home now."

"Go ahead, Michael, I'm sure you need some time to think," he said.

Romy knew Michael's good nature and was glad he served under him. Michael had always treated him as an equal, at least to a certain degree, and that made Romy a better soldier all the way around; or at least Romy thought so.

Michael believed Romy understood how he felt. He was sure showing his new character in letting him go home early without a fuss. He had a good sense of judgment. He knew Michael didn't need his permission for anything and thought it was just part of his good nature.

Michael left the building and walked slowly. The rain beat on down like pebbles falling from the sky, but it didn't seem to bother him as he pondered the strange little man's last words. Obviously, he was going to be a Christian, but how? What was it that was going to make the dramatic change in his life needed for such a transformation? Michael's understanding of life has been so challenged he was certain nothing could surprise him now.

He was thoroughly soaked by the time he rounded the last corner to his house when he remembered Onesiphorus was supposed to come home with him today. Hot flashes went up his spine and he wondered how he could be so self-centered. He turned to go back only to see him running in the rain.

"I didn't hear you leave," he shouted over the pounding rain.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm not usually so forgetful. Please forgive me."

"Quite all right, Michael, don't worry about it."

Then Michael did something he had never done before to any other man, he embraced him. There they stood, looking at each other in the pouring rain. Michael was hoping he couldn't see the tears running down his face, as they looked into each other's eyes. It was hard to stay focused because of the rain, so Michael suggested they get on home. He agreed, and they walked the rest of the way home with arms around each other's shoulders, splashing in the mud.

Mary was quite surprised to see them home so early and she laughed as they entered, soaked through and through. She led their guest to a place where he could change into something dry as Michael went to do the same. He could smell the hot cider from the kitchen, and couldn't wait to get something warm in him as well as on him.

They all met in the kitchen, and Mary served up three goblets of hot cider, which they went after like moths to flames. The second round was served as they slowed their pace, and began to share the events of the day with Mary.

"Wow," she said, "You guys have certainly had a busy day, haven't you?"

"Yes," Michael said, "But Romy tells me Nero is better, so I'm sure the execution will be set as soon as the rain lets up."

"It will be a sad day for me," Onesiphorus said.

"It will be for me, as well, my friend. I've grown rather fond of this fellow."

"The love of God allows us to see things from a different perspective, wouldn't you say, my husband?" Mary asked.

"Yes, I would. I know I have never had such a relationship with a prisoner before. In fact, he has had an impact on every person with whom he has had contact."

"Imagine," Onesiphorus started, "Making such a difference in other people's lives!"

Michael looked at Mary when he said that, and remembered what the strange little man said earlier about their future. He wondered if, somehow, she already knew. He did say to ask her about a dream she had, and that would somehow explain his dream a little better.

"Honey, have you had any strange dreams lately?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have," she replied.

"Should I go to the other room?" Onesiphorus interjected.
Mary and Michael looked at each other, and replied together, "No, you can stay."

Mary told Michael her dream about a strange place where people spoke into strange objects, and got around in funny looking chariots without horses. She also told about the man of science, and John.

Michael stared.

"I've had the exact same dream, my love. Do you know what it means?"

"I have prayed for quite some time about it, and believe we are going to experience a dramatic change in our lives," she said.

"That's what the strange little man said," he assured her.

"He didn't say anything about those little things they were speaking into, did he?" she asked.

"All he said was it was some sort of device through which they communicated."

"And the man of science?" she inquired.

"He didn't really know. He just said we would all be spreading the good news of Jesus Christ."

Onesiphorus sat back in his chair as he looked on in disbelief. Michael was sure if he was him, he would think them crazy as well.

"It's kind of hard to believe, isn't it?" he asked.

"That's an understatement," Michael said, "But the way things have been going lately, I wouldn't be surprised if we were all whisked off to the future to come to the aid of mankind!"

"Oh, honey, don't be silly. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for everything in our dream," Mary said.

"Maybe you're right, dear, but I certainly don't know what it is."

"I have heard people speak of things like this before," Onesiphorus said.

"You mean dreams?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Onesiphorus continued, "They usually coincided with something that was going on in their lives, and it is believed the dreams were sent by God."

"Why doesn't he just appear to them?" Michael asked.

"We believe he lives on a plain of such purity and holiness it would slay any onlookers," Onesiphorus said.

"If he is anything like what I saw at the prison today, I can certainly understand why he doesn't show himself readily to everyone," Michael said remembering the overwhelming feeling he had when Jesus had appeared in the cell.

"I can say for sure that God loves us enough to help us in our daily affairs," Mary offered.

"You think so?" Michael asked. "Tell me of some instances where this has happened for you."

"Do you remember when Captain Antonio came to you with your promotion to guard of the prison?" she asked.

"Yes, I do."

"I had a dream three nights before it happened. He came to you holding a scroll, and asked you to hold it while he read another one to you," she said, "The one he read to you was a proclamation of your promotion; I don't know what the other one was."

Michael was astonished. He had never told her how the promotion took place, only that he had received one, and it would mean more money for them. For her to known before it happened she would have had to ask someone from the palace and that was not allowed. Very few women were even granted access to the palace unless they were servants or handmaids.

"Amazing, I never knew you were so insightful, dear. I am surely a blessed man for having a wife such as you," Michael said.

"I've had dreams as well, my friends. One predicted the meeting between me and the man in your prison," Onesiphorus said.

"This Christianity stuff is really a good thing."

Mary smiled at his statement and said, "I guess you could call it that."

"Maybe this dream of us in another place has something to do with all these crazy thoughts I've been having lately." Michael said.

"What sort of crazy thoughts?" Onesiphorus asked.

"Well, I've been hearing a strange language in my head for some time now, and I think I'm starting to understand it,"

"At first," Mary broke in, "It sounded like gibberish, and slowly progressed into an understandable new language!"

"Yes!" Michael said, "How did you know?"

"It's been happening to me as well. As a matter of fact, it is the language spoken by the man of science in my dream," she said.

Michael was awestruck. This was too much to excuse as coincidence. They all spoke either Greek or Aramaic, but, in the dream, a different language was spoken. Mary had been seeing and hearing the same things he had, and yet neither of them knew. This strengthened Michael's connection with the strange little man, after all, he was the one who instructed him to ask Mary about her dream.

Michael felt the excitement well up within him again. It was like watching the strange little man talk to Jesus. Thoughts began to race like the chariots at the coliseum. Was he to understand they were going on a trip? Where would they be going? The people of this new place were stranger than the little man in the prison. How are they going to be able to cope with all this change?

Mary brought him back to the present.

"Michael, God is preparing us for something neither one of us can understand at this point."

"I agree, Mary, maybe we shouldn't talk about it too much outside of these walls," Michael said, thinking others would surely think they were mad.

He looked at Onesiphorus as he thought about the incident in the prison this afternoon. A flash of warmth crawled up his spine as he looked at him.

"What is it, Michael?" Onesiphorus asked.

"Something incredible happened while the Captain and I were visiting with the strange little man. A bright light overcame the darkness in his cell, and a man stood in the midst of what appeared to be a cloud. I could see his lips moving, but I could not hear what he was saying. The Captain and our prisoner were lying flat on the floor while I stared in amazement. It seemed as if time had been suspended long enough for the man in the cloud to say something to the prisoner, then he disappeared."

"Who was it?" Mary asked.

"The strange little man said it was Jesus. I didn't know, of course, because I've never seen Jesus before. All I knew was he was like no one I had ever met, and although I couldn't hear his words, I knew they were powerful; as if they were spoken with authority!"

"Did anyone hear him?" Onesiphorus asked.

"I don't know about the Captain, but the strange little man heard every word," Michael answered.

"Did he tell what was said?" Mary asked.

Michael looked down from Mary and Onesiphorus to the table where they were sitting, closed his eyes, and was overcome by a chill. Tears welled up in his eyes, streamed down his face, and splashed to the table.

"He told me Jesus was the man in the cloud, and he had given him instruction for a final task. As he said these words, his eyes were fixed on me. I knew what he meant. I remember trying to swallow, but I couldn't. I was so overwhelmed by the vision of something that majestic I didn't know what to do or say. But I knew I was his final task."

"I would have thought it would have been encouragement for his martyrdom," Onesiphorus added.

"He is quite ready for that. He made sure both the Captain and I knew it," Michael reported.

Michael was not going to say anything about the jailbreak plan the Captain and he spoke of earlier today. He hoped the Captain understood how the strange little man felt about his offer. He clearly did not want to be considered anymore of a criminal than he was already.

"I was so beside myself I left work early, and completely forgot Onesiphorus was still in the Captain's quarters."

Onesiphorus looked at Michael and said, "It's okay, Michael. It was not the first time I have been forgotten. My life as a servant has made me a humble man. I try not to complain."

"Just the same, I am sorry my 'Christian' friend," Michael said touching his hand.

Mary turned to retrieve some bread she had made earlier, and placed it on the table.

"Would you like some wine?" she asked, "It might help calm the nerves a bit."

"I'm not sure I want to be calm right now, dear. I don't want to miss something that might need my full attention. The way things have been going lately, I never know when something strange is going to happen," Michael replied.

Onesiphorus took the offer and Mary filled his empty goblet with wine. He raised it to his lips, and sipped on it as if he were reading something in the wine. He lowered his goblet, looked at Michael, and said, "My friend, it's hard for me not to be envious of you. There are a great number of men who would gladly stand at your post just to get the chance to speak with your prisoner."

"Yes, why is that?" Michael asked.

"It's because of who he was and who he is now. At one time, he was the greatest threat to the followers of Christ. He was feared by many, so when news came of his conversion, it was met with much skepticism. Many suspected it was a trick to lure them out into the open."

There was a period of silence spent looking at each other. Michael could tell by the expression on his face that he truly loved the strange little man.
"Why is he such a threat to Nero? He is, after all, just one man," Michael stated.

"Yes, that's true, but he is a special individual with much learning and persuasive abilities. Nero is afraid he will undermine his empire," Onesiphorus said.

"He is quite persuasive, that's for sure," Michael said.

Thirteen

For the rest of the evening, they discussed different aspects of Christianity, as they understood them. Michael couldn't offer any insight apart from his latest experiences. Mary knew much more than he anticipated, while Onesiphorus knew more than either one of them. What he did come to understand, though, was the way God worked in each situation described in their conversation. In each case, he was thorough in his methods as well as loving and considerate in his responses to his followers. Of all the different gods Michael had heard about from both the Romans and the Greeks, Jesus seemed to out-rank them all.

To him, the Greeks were not of much use. It seemed all they were interested in was philosophizing about one thing or another. Even though they have a unique view of world politics and religions, Michael would still rather talk to a Roman.

"Onesiphorus, have you had many encounters with other religions or philosophies?" Michael asked, hoping to get a better contrast to Christianity.

"Only what I have heard from others. I do know there are a lot of different gods to worship, much like the Egyptians we are taught about in the synagogues."

"I have heard tales of the Egyptians, and how powerful they were at one time," Michael offered.

"They were indeed. Along with learning about the Egyptians, we were also taught of Moses," Onesiphorus said.

"Moses… Moses; it seems like I have heard of this man. Tell me more. Was he a Christian?"

"Not in so many words. He did believe in God, who is the Father of Jesus Christ," he explained.

"Interesting. Who was Jesus' mother?" Michael asked curiously.

"Her name is Mary. Her giving birth to the Messiah was miraculous," Onesiphorus said.

"What do you mean?"

"She had been with no man before Jesus was born. Many say this was a fulfilling of prophecy. I am not as well educated on prophecy as I am on Jesus."

"If his birth was foretold it would certainly explain Nero's fear of our strange little prisoner."

Onesiphorus paused in reflection as his countenance changed dramatically.

"Could you imagine raising the Son of God in your home? I sometimes wonder what Mary encountered with the child Jesus," he pondered.

"Do you suppose she ever had to correct him?" Michael asked seriously. It was hard for him to accept Jesus as he saw him earlier, which made it even harder to think of him as a child.

"He probably played and learned as any other child in the city," Onesiphorus said.

"The most supreme being I have ever seen in my life, playing like a child. That sort of puts a new twist on things doesn't it?" Michael asked.

"I would certainly say it adds to his credibility as a savior."

"I see what you mean," Mary said, "If he grew up as we did, then he would certainly understand our struggles, wouldn't he?"

"It makes for a good case, Mary," Onesiphorus answered.

"He must be one special man!" Michael started, "To be born into this world yet be of a heavenly origin. It is difficult to wrap your mind around, isn't it?"

"My mind is too tired to wrap around anything right now," Onesiphorus said.

It was easy to see the events of the day had exhausted him. Michael could tell he was ready for a good night's sleep. However, he wondered if any of them would sleep well knowing what Nero was about to do.

"Why don't you go on to bed, Onesiphorus. Mary and I will try to keep the noise down so you can rest," Michael said.

"Thank you, my friend. I believe I will," he said walking away from them, heading to his room.

Michael looked at Mary in a way that told her how he was feeling concerning the strange little man in the prison. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring hug.

"Things will be all right, my husband," she said.

"For us they will, I know. I wish I could say the same for my friend in the prison," he said with concern.

"He's your friend, now? My, my, he certainly has gotten to you, hasn't he?"

"Yes, I guess you could say that. I'm just not sure if I can, or should, do anything about his fate."

Mary looked at him with her deep blue eyes. Michael always loved it when she looked at him like this. She could penetrate his soul with one glance, and she had not failed this time, either.

"Now, Michael, you know things of that nature are not decided by men in your position. You are not doing wrong by obeying your emperor."

"I realize that. But when Captain Antonio—" Michael's voice stopped short as if he was about to give information to an enemy interrogator.

"What about Captain Antonio, Michael?"

Michael nodded his head calling Mary closer to him. His eyes went narrow and he cupped his hand around his mouth. "He suggested a jailbreak!"

"Really," she said sarcastically, "the big man, himself? Are you sure?"

Mary often referred to the Captain as 'the big man' because he always considered himself in a different class. Sometimes she would get very upset about the way he treated the guards, and others.

"I'm not kidding, dear. He actually asked me to help."

"And you said…" She said, leading into him into his answer.

"I was shocked! Of course I refused to help, but the real shock was what the strange little man said." he replied.

"You really should learn his name, Michael," she advised.

"Honey, you know our policy on that. Anyway, he refused to even consider it."

Michael knew Mary loved to hear about the things he encountered while at work. Maybe she had a fascination with the human psyche, Michael thought. If she did, she wasn't sharing it with him.

"Did he, now. I wonder why?" She asked.

"He said it was his destiny," Michael said sorrowfully.

"He said his destiny was to die?" she asked surprised.
"Yes."

"Someone needs to have a talk with that man! We need him! He obviously knows more about Jesus than any one we have met; can't he see that?"

"I'm sure he does, and it's no use trying to talk him out of it, he's convinced he has finished the work God gave him to do…that is, except for me." Michael confessed.

That thought ran through his mind in slow motion, detailing every possible scenario as to how this was might happen. It was unnerving for him. He didn't know if he needed to panic and run for his life, or stick it out just to see how it did happen.

"God must really have a purpose for your life. I have never seen anyone work so hard to convince a single man of the kingdom of God," Mary said.

"I sure don't know what he sees in me. I'm just a guard in a prison house."

Mary's eyes drew close and her eyebrows formed a "V" on her forehead. "You're more than just a guard, although there's no shame in what you do," she encouraged.

"You think so?"

"I know so, honey. I can't think of anyone who has influenced my life more than you," she said as she turned to face him and moved in close.

Their embrace helped Michael draw strength for the task ahead. They stood there, not moving, for a long time. Michael was again reminded of the reason she was a part of his life. When everything around him seemed to be falling apart, she was always there to give him strength. She could pull character out of him when he was sure there was none left.

Michael backed away from her one step so he could gaze into her mysterious blue eyes.

"Mary, I don't know what I would do without you."

Fourteen

Michael wrestled with sleep the entire night and lost. After tossing and turning a while, he made himself get up. He walked silently into the kitchen, made his way to the front room, and reclined at the table in the middle of the room. He thought about the vision in the prison that left him awestruck, and started thinking out loud.

"I wonder if this is all real. I couldn't have imagined it, because Captain Antonio and the strange little man both saw it. I wonder why I couldn't hear what he was saying."

"What who was saying?" Onesiphorus asked.

He had come from his room and was watching Michael meditate. He rounded the table and faced Michael with an inquisitive stare. Michael wondered how this man feeling since he had known the strange little man a lot longer than he did.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't. Between the rain and the thoughts of the execution, my mind would not cease."

Onesiphorus looked as if he, too, had been wrestling with sleep, and had fared about as well as Michael had.

"I usually pray when nights are long."

"I'm not sure I know how."

"It's as easy as talking to me."

"Hmm. I see, then God will talk to me as you do?" Michael asked.

"Sometimes. He communicates with me in many different ways," he said.

"You mean like dreams."

"Yes, and through other people as well."

"I see. So if we aren't able to hear him one way, he has another avenue to get our attention?"

"You're a very perceptive man, Michael."
"Here lately I think I'm more crazy than anything else."

Onesiphorus chuckled a little and reclined next to Michael. They sat there silently for a few minutes. Michael was trying to picture himself as a Christian. He really didn't know how to be any different than he was.

"How is it, Onesiphorus, that a man can live a certain way for a long period of time, and then suddenly become someone else? Is a man's character so easy to change?"

"I have learned the only way a man's character can be changed is by supernatural intervention. In other words, if he tries to do it himself, he's in for a lot of disappointment."

"There have been times when I thought I needed to change something about myself, mainly to please my wife, but found it very difficult, and sometimes even impossible."

"Do you feel you have changed from what you were before you were a guard?" he asked.

"I guess I have to some degree," Michael, said reflecting on his past.

"The change that God causes is much deeper than what any military can do to you," he offered as encouragement.

"Obviously. I guess that's where the struggle comes in."

"The best thing to do is to not struggle," he offered.

"I'm afraid that's just about as hard for me to do."

"You are faced with a dilemma then, my friend, which only you can work out," he said.

"I'm afraid," Michael said hesitantly. He was uncomfortable sharing his feelings with other men. He had no trouble telling Mary, but telling another man was new for him.

"Of what?" Onesiphorus asked.

"I don't really know. Maybe it's the fear of not measuring up," Michael answered..

"That makes sense," he said, "Many people have the same difficulty. I have learned to rely on the grace of God when I feel inadequate."

"The grace of God?"

"Yes. Some describe it as the unmerited favor of God. I like to think of it as God doing for me what I can't do for myself; like being holy."

"There's obviously more to this Christianity than can be learned in one night."

"Or even a lifetime."

"Can you teach me how to pray?"

"As I said before, it's just like talking to me, only he's much more powerful," he reiterated.

"That doesn't seem too hard. He hears you every time?"

"I am certain of it. I can't recall a single petition he hasn't granted in one way or another."

"I'll try," Michael said as he looked up at the ceiling of the front room, "God? Are you there? I hope you can hear me. I know you probably don't feel like you should have to hear me, after all, I am a grown man, and this is the first time I am speaking to, or even recognizing you."

Michael groped for words to the point he felt like he was making it up as he went along. Maybe, he thought, that is what you're supposed to do.

He continued.

"So much has happened to me since I met this strange little man, and I need your help. My faith, if I have any, is very weak. I need your help if I am to change. My heart is so attached to this prisoner I've been guarding these two years. If he is to die, don't let his death be in vain…change me, please. If you could see your way clear to spare the strange little man in my prison, or least make his death painless, I would be in your debt, amen."

When Michael finished his prayer, he was still looking up, and noticed how gray the ceiling was. He thought about how thankful he was for a roof over his head, and room in which to recline. He had seen many with much less, and some with nothing, begging in the street for anything they could get. Michael promised himself he would do more for them the next time he saw them. Then he noticed something different. He hadn't ever thought to help those poor people before. Maybe this was a part of Christianity he could actually understand.

"Do you think God can spare his life?" Michael asked Onesiphorus.

"I know he can, but sometimes our deepest desires are not what he intends us to have," he answered.

Michael's heart began to race as he thought about the strange little man and his hands pinched in tightly formed fists.

"Surely he can save the life of a man as great as the one in my prison!" Michael almost shouted.

"Yes, he could. He will do, or allow, what needs to be done," he assured.

There was no doubt to Michael that Onesiphorus believed everything he just said. The proof was in his voice. Michael could not help but respect him for his faith. He found himself wondering if he could do the same.

"Well, my friend," Onesiphorus started, "I think I will try to get some sleep." With that, he stood and left the room.

Michael stayed to see if God would speak to him. It would be a wonderful thing if he could save this strange little man. He lost track of time as he reclined at the table and drifted off to sleep. But he will never forget what happened next.

He was awakened by a mist that had entered his home and rested on his body. It felt like the morning dew. He sat up and noticed it was not on the table or the floor around him. Michael stared into the mist with eyes as wide as he could get them. There seemed to be a shadow of a man moving around the room.

"Onesiphorus?" He inquired softly. "Is that you?"

There was no answer. Michael noticed the shadow was nearing the spot where he was reclined, and he began to be fearful. He reached his hand out as if to try to stop the man in his house, for he was close enough to touch. Michael's hand passed right through him as he stood in front of him. He realized he must be dreaming, but it seemed so real. Then he spoke.

"You have touched the heart of God, Michael, and he sent me to tell you this. The man in your prison was sent to this earth to do a specific task. That task has been accomplished. You know what it takes to be a man of faith, and God will provide for you when you think you are going to fail," he said in a whisper.

As Michael strained to hear him, he noticed his clothing had become soaked with this mist to the point it was dripping to the floor. The man reached out and touched Michael's chest, and suddenly he was dry and the room was empty. He stood to his feet and quickly spun around as if to check the room for an intruder. Words escaped his tongue; thoughts ran together as if they were trying to convince Michael that what just happened was real.

"Onesiphorus!" Michael cried, knowing he was closest in proximity.

Onesiphorus came running from his room, eyes round and wide looking for the danger he concluded was the author of Michael's cry. Mary also came running in alarmed to see Michael is such a state of shock; at least that was what she thought she saw.

"Did you see or hear any of that?" Michael asked as he pointed around the room.

"I'm sorry, my friend, I did not," Onesiphorus said, shaking his head.

"What is it, dear?" Mary asked.

"I was asleep in here when a mist filled the whole room. I noticed it was only resting on me, and nothing else. I was wet, but everything else was dry!" He said walking around the room with extended arms to show the movement he saw. "Then there was this man in here, and when I tried to touch him, my hand passed right through him. All I could see of him was a shadow, but he spoke very plainly to me."

"What did he say to you?" Mary asked.

"He told me that God had heard my prayer."

"Your prayer?" Mary asked.

"Yes, my prayer. He said he heard my prayer!" He said with amazement. Feeling as giddy as a school kid, he wanted to leap as high as he could.

"What prayer?" Mary asked. "What did you ask for?"

"I asked him to spare the man in my prison."

"What did he say?" Onesiphorus asked.

"He said the strange little man had done what God sent him to do."

"That was all?" Onesiphorus enquired.

"No, he also said I know what it takes to be a man of faith, and he would help me in times of doubt."

The three of them stood there and looked at each other for a while.

"I tell you, I was soaked through and through with this mist, until it was dripping off of me. When he touched me I was suddenly dry, and the mist and he were gone."

Michael walked around the room some more. Maybe there was some sign left to corroborate his account of the event. There was no way to sleep tonight. Michael was so full of excitement that his heart pounded.

"He said God had sent him!" He said in disbelief, breathing hard, "To me!"

Michael stopped walking, overcome by a feeling of unworthiness. He dropped to his knees, and Mary ran to his side to steady him.

"Are you all right, Michael?" She asked as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"I have never been better," Michael said, trying to catch his breath.

Then he began to weep. His mind was racing through all that had transpired over the past few days and weeks, and it had all come down to this moment. Suddenly, he knew there was something more to life than mere existence. Somehow, it had escaped him before. But then he encountered this strange little man, and now he knew; there was definitely more to life than what he had been living. He looked up at Mary, and noticed she was crying too.

"This changes everything!" Michael said. "I must tell the strange little man."

"Well," Mary said. "Let's not bother him tonight. You can tell him tomorrow."

Onesiphorus agreed, and they retired to their respective rooms for sleep. Michael lay there next to Mary, his heart so full of joy he didn't think he was going to be able to sleep. He turned on his side to look at her.

"Is this what being a Christian feels like?" He asked.

"It is even better than that. If you could imagine a deep, heart-felt assurance that everything in your life is orchestrated for your best interest, then you have only begun to share in the wealth of Christianity," she said.

"I don't know if I could handle feeling any better than this."

"I have heard some say that the real secret to being a Christian is only that you trust God."

"After tonight, I can tell you I do. I never thought he even existed, but to see what must have been an angel, and to hear him say God sent him to me is very convincing indeed," excitement still charged his words.

"God is real, and so is his son, Jesus," Mary said.

"I want to know more about Jesus," he said.

"You will learn how to get to know him," she said.

"How is it possible to get to know someone who is a spirit?"

"He's more than just spirit, Michael. When he appeared before his disciples they could touch him."

"Will I be able to touch him?"

"I don't know. After your experience tonight I would certainly say anything is possible."
She was as excited for him as he was for himself. They stared into each other's eyes and knew life would be much different.

With eyelids beginning to get heavy, Michael kissed his wife, and drifted off to sleep.

Fifteen

When the sun woke Michael the next morning, he felt better than he had anticipated. He sat up on the edge of the bed and thought about the events of the night before. Mary was already awake; he could hear her in the kitchen. The smell of hot cider filled the house, and stirred him to his feet. He walked to the table with the bowl of water on it, and splashed his face. It was very refreshing, but he couldn't wait to get a goblet full of Mary's hot cider.

"Good morning, my husband," she said sprightly.

Michael never tired from hearing those words in the mornings. It was an invitation to have a great day. As he walked into the kitchen, he noticed she was alone.

"Where's our guest?"

"He is outside. He said something about the morning dew, and how he wanted to feel it for himself," she answered, "Why don't you join him?"

Michael grabbed his goblet of hot cider, and went to the front of the house as Onesiphorus was coming inside.

"So, how's the dew this morning?" Michael asked.
Onesiphorus stood there with his hands in front of him, shaking them wildly.
"Wet," he said.

"Were you expecting something different?"

"Not really. It is a gift from heaven, I suppose."

"It does keep the dust settled for a little while, doesn't it?"

"That it does, Michael. So, how are you feeling this morning? Any dew on you?" he asked comically.

"No, my friend, I woke nice and dry on the outside, but the buzz of last night is still within me," Michael answered.

"I can only imagine."

Mary called the men to the kitchen to eat. As usual, she had cooked enough for an army, and they ate well. The conversation around the table was focused on the strange little man, and the events of last night. Mary had made some fresh bread and prepared some tasty looking fish.

"I can only say," Michael started, as he reached for some bread, "that last night has made a profound impact on me. I won't be able to see anything, or anyone, the same anymore."
"God is famous for that very thing, Michael," Onesiphorus stated.

"If this is what every Christian feels, I can understand why men like our prisoner would be so influential. With all the different gods that Romans worship discovered to be no more than a piece of marble on a stand, I can see why the God of Christians would be so controversial."

"Yes, many gods have come and gone, and I can say I have never encountered one like the one I serve now," Onesiphorus said.

Michael and Mary knew the Romans were very religious people, but most of their gods had a Greek background. The trouble was that the descriptions of these gods were left to the worshiper. However, they had never heard any of those worshippers describe what they knew about this God.

"Michael, do you think you will actually get to meet Nero today?" Mary asked.

"I doubt it," Michael said, "He rarely mingles with the guards."

Her change of subject matter left the men quiet as they thought about the day that was ahead of them. No one in this house wanted to lose a man who had become such an important part of their lives. Nero was another matter, though. It seemed people in powerful places were always fearful of losing that power. This was not very appealing to Michael. He could not imagine having to look over his shoulders everywhere he went for fear of safety. He was happy just being a guard. It affords some amenities without all the headache of powerful positions.

"I had so hoped he wouldn't have to die," Michael said.

"Me too," Onesiphorus said.

They all sighed, and decided they would make the best of the whole situation. One thing was certain to Michael; people would talk about this man for years to come. He would see to it!

"We better be off to the prison, dear," he said as he stood.

Onesiphorus joined him and thanked Mary for being a gracious host.

On the way to the prison, they encountered Cornelius. He was as jovial as ever, and invited Michael to a game of chess. He asked if they could do it later, but he insisted Michael knew there was something other than chess on his mind. They went inside his little tent he had put up for protection from the sun.

"Please sit," he said as he gestured with his hands.

"What's on your mind, Cornelius? I know you aren't that eager to get beat again," Michael said.

"Such confidence, Michael. No, you're right; there is something I need to tell you," he said secretly.

"It must be quick, my old friend, for I am on a mission this morning," he said, trying to sound like a spy.

"I must tell you of a man called Peter. He came to my house, and we shared some very interesting experiences while he was there. What made this so important is the fact that he is a Hebrew. As you know, they don't usually mix with us Gentiles. Anyway, he said he had a strange dream about animals he was to eat, and how God spoke to him in reproof in order to get him to eat something that Hebrews are known for declaring unclean. Well, as it turns out, God was trying to get him to come to my house," he told them.

"Why your house?" Michael asked.

"Because I needed to hear more about Jesus, and I was sure God could bring me someone who could tell me," he answered.

"I see, and why do you feel the urgency to tell me these things?"

He leaned forward, and softened his voice.

"I had a dream last night that you were visited by an angel of God who was simply sent to prove to you the existence of God. It reminded me of this because of Peter's dream leading him to me. Therefore, I felt I should tell you of this dream," he said ending the mystery.

Onesiphorus and Michael looked at each other as Michael's heart rate increased significantly. Cornelius watched in amazement as his friend the jailer suddenly burst into joyous expressions. He could see the difference in Michael's eyes and knew he was right.

"Well, my friend," Michael started, "It happened just as you have said. An angel came to my house sometime last night, to tell me God is real."

"Praise be to Yahweh!" Cornelius exclaimed.

"Yahweh? Who's he?" Michael asked.

"That is the Hebrew name of the God who sent the angel to you," he explained. "I have learned a great deal about the Hebrews from Peter, and from others I have encountered since that day."

Michael never really knew where Cornelius was from, only that he has had this spot in the marketplace for some time now. He was here most of the time, but when he wasn't, someone else was here to keep the business going.

"I take it, then, that you've been around," Michael said.

"Yes, I have been to many different cities and towns. It is the same everywhere now. People in the marketplace are always talking about recent events. It's the best place to sit and listen, my friend, you can learn a lot," he instructed.

"Is this not your business?" Michael asked.

"Oh yes," he said, "I also have businesses like this in other cities. God has blessed me with a household of loyal people. I pay them well, and they treat me with respect," he said.

"Who knows, Cornelius, I might need a job some day," Onesiphorus said.

"Just find me, my friend. I will come to your aid," Cornelius replied.

The two men stood as Cornelius led them out of the tent, said farewells, and were on their way to the prison.

As they approached the door leading into the prison, they slowed their pace. Neither one of them wanted to go in only to hear that today would be the last day they would see their friend alive. Michael opened the door for his guest, and they walked down the steps together. They could hear Romy down the hall arguing with Gregory.

"I hope we don't have to listen to that all day," Michael said.

"Will he not go home after being here all night?" Onesiphorus asked.

"He's young, and every time we have an execution he stays around. There have been a few times I was thankful for that. Crowds can get unruly," Michael said.

"Why do people throng to executions?" Onesiphorus asked.

"I'm not quite sure, Onesiphorus, maybe they don't have much excitement where they live."

They reached the cell of the strange little man. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed. His hands were folded in his lap and he wore a solemn face. His breathing was controlled.

"Hello my friend," Onesiphorus said, greeting the strange little man with a smile.

He stood and approached the bars of the door, and reached out to take his hand in friendship.

"This is the day," he said somberly.

"Do you think so?" Onesiphorus asked.

"Yes, last night an angel came to strengthen and prepare me for my next journey," he said.

"You were not the only one visited by an angel last night," Onesiphorus said.

"Really? Did you see one too, my friend?" he asked.

"Not me," Onesiphorus said, "Michael was visited in his front room during the night."

The strange little man's focus was suddenly on Michael. He felt a presence emanating from him like a surge of sound waves from a trumpet blast. It caused him to want to kneel before him. This had to be the same God that he witnessed last night through the angle's visit.

"What did this angel say, Michael?" he asked.

"That I knew what it took to be a man of faith, and that God would prove himself real by helping me when I would be in doubt," Michael answered.

"Amazing," he said as if he felt what Michael felt last night, "My prayers have been answered."

The excitement from last night started welling up inside of Michael, and he didn't know what to say to the strange little man. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing would come out. He could feel the words inside him, but they would get cut off just before the vocal chords.

"Do you wear that amulet for a reason now?" he asked pointing to Michael's chest.

Michael gathered his thoughts, and was able to put a few words together, "I would have to say I do."

Romy came around the corner, and joined them with Gregory not far behind. As they stood with the prisoner, a light shined through the cracks in the back wall of the jail cell. All eyes were focused on the light. A man appeared as if he walked right through the rock wall. Everyone fell to their faces on the cold stone floor.

"Please, arise. You are the chosen from who will flow the very essence of God who loves his creation, and will bring it back into its original design. Be strong, Romy, as I have strengthened you for the other guards who are believers. Gregory, do not forget the vision I gave you as my Father gave it to me. Michael, prepare for the journey you and Mary are about to embark on, and Paul, my brother, I am here to carry you to where you have longed to be since you met me," he said and sat on the bed.

The strange little man's name was Paul, Michael thought to himself. He went to sit beside the man who walked through the wall as if he had known him all his life.

"Who—who are you, lord?" Romy asked.

His eyes were as round and wide as they could be without them popping out of his head. Gregory must have been thinking the same question as he nodded his head when Romy asked.

The man looked at Romy and smiled, "I am Jesus."

As he spoke those words to Romy, the place was enveloped with the brightest light they had ever seen. It grew in intensity to the point where they could not see. Accelerated thought left them reeling. They had just seen Jesus. Michael was dumbfounded, and numb all over.

As the light faded, he called out for Mary.

"I am here, Michael. Are you?" She said.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in Rome.

John

and

The Herodians

(What a Strange Little Man Series)

Book One

One

It seemed like only yesterday Michael was in the city of Rome. The events leading to his present situation were unlike anything he had ever encountered. However, he's was no longer in Rome, and these surroundings were nothing like what he had been accustomed to. Mary adapted quicker than Michael did in the two years they'd been here, but God is always true to his word; he had helped him in all his doubts.

Michael learned to use the technology of the time era he was in to do what he did best: guard. Some things he was still unfamiliar with, but time will prove to be a good teacher. Michael owned a security business and was doing pretty well, according to the standards of the day. He still hadn't met the man of science, or John. God sure takes his time producing what he promises, he thought. The words of Onesiphorus come back to him and reassure that God knows what he is doing.

Mary and Michael now live in what is called an apartment. It has one large bedroom, decorated to Mary's taste, with maroon draperies and royal blue walls. Michael's favorite room is the living room. It has blue carpet on the floor and a small table in the center of the room surrounded by comfortable pillows, resembling the one in Rome. Michael reclines there in the evenings. This is his daily connection to his past.

Mary has found plenty of entertainment using the appliances in the kitchen to do her cooking. She's still amazed by the speed with which she can prepare a meal, and says she enjoys the extra time she gets to spend with God. They had grown accustomed to this time era. Yet, neither one of them were concerned about the law prohibiting Christianity in the United Countries of the World.

Michael gained significant information about this society by the public records at his disposal. He had read many interesting things about the past few hundred years. He found references to something called the United States. He guessed it was a smaller version of the United Countries of the World. The year 3076 is much different from A.D. 65, that's for sure. Many wars have taken place since they left Rome, which was actually many centuries ago, even though it had only been two years for them.

"Michael, are you ready for supper?" Mary asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Sure, dear, I'm always ready for your fine cooking."

The meals are quite different from what Mary made in Rome because there are now so many more options from which to choose. She made a tender roast, some potatoes, bread, and a fruit cobbler. She still makes a great hot cider to help get Michael going in the mornings, and her interest in his daily activities is still one of her main interests every evening.

"How did your day go?" Mary asked as she handed him a glass of wine.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied. Michael liked the wine of this century; she served it chilled.

"I was thinking about Paul today, and wondered what he would think about the world as it now exists," she said.

"He would more than likely think the whole population went absolutely stir crazy," he said.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence as they watched the news on the viewer. It was placed in the wall in the living room so they could see it from the kitchen. Both were engrossed by its technology. The reports were of the usual kind that they had grown to expect during this time of the day. The weather was predicted as being sunny and calm for the coming days and the various reports concerning world and local events were normal. Then, as they watched, a breaking story interrupted the usual flow of the news. It was a story about a scientist. They both put their forks down, and stared in excitement as the man of science from their dream was on the viewer.

"Citizens of the world," the newscaster said as he indicated the man standing next to him, "This is Dr. Woody Tenny. He's an archeologist from the western hemisphere. He has just discovered what could be the most historical find of the millennium. A man cryogenically preserved from what looks like a time era long forgotten."

The scene was dusky dark as the yellowing sun set on the horizon behind the newscaster. Cameras were hovering everywhere around the scene's location. Michael thought that the man of science was being intruded upon, but at the same time, he seemed comfortable with it.

The newscaster moved a little closer to the man of science.

"Dr. Tenny, can you tell us who the man is and how old he might be?" he asked.

"I am afraid not. I will have to see if I can trace his clothing to a time era in the past, then we'll be able to tell more about him. I can tell you this much; he is very old," Dr. Tenny replied.

Michael and Mary looked at each other, placed their napkins on the table, and Michael went for the videophone.

"See if they say where Dr. Tenny will be, while I call the office," Michael instructed.

He pressed the button that connected him directly to the office. A few seconds later, his assistant's face was in full view. Bob was younger than Michael, with dark eyes and a fair complexion.

"Bob, I won't be in tomorrow, and I may be out the rest of the week. Something incredible just came to our attention, and we must investigate," Michael said.

"I understand," Bob said, "I will hold the fort down while you are gone."

"Did they say where he is?" Michael asked Mary.

"Some place in the Colorado Territory. I believe that's in the western hemisphere. Will we need special passes to go?" Mary asked.

"I don't believe so, dear. Besides, I have some clients that live over in that area who would be glad to help me find Dr. Tenny."

Michael punched some numbers in the infopod on his wrist, and put the sequence in the videophone. A familiar face soon came into view. Tom Amendola.

"Tom, I need some assistance," Michael said as he gazed into the small screen.

"Anything for you, Michael," he said.

"I need to find a Dr. Woody Tenny. I need this information right away."

"No need to wait, Michael. I know the man. He's done some work for me on some land I own."

"If I come to where you are, can you introduce me?"

"I believe that could be arranged, Michael. What's going on?"

"I'll explain when I get there. We're going to leave tonight, and it will take us a few hours to get there. I'll call you when we are close. Thanks, Tom."

Michael pushed the button to turn off the videophone.

Mary looked at him with expectant eyes as they tried to think of what to take. They packed as quickly as they could, raced to the transport Z-7, and were in the air seconds later. The comfort of the Z-7 is unmatched: the leather cushions are like sitting on air. They rested as the autopilot steered them to their destination.

"Will you need any refreshments?" the voice from the A. I. asked.

"No thank you, Sam," Michael replied.

Sam was the latest in artificial intelligence. Michael gave him the name Sam after Samuel Risidus, one of his neighbors from their past who thought he knew everything about everything.

The interior of their transport was, of course, royal blue. Mary picked the color. Michael knew she chose it because it was what she used as home décor in Rome. She loved it, and to Michael, that's all that mattered.

"Well, dear, here we go again. When I promised I would follow you around the world, I never expected it to be literal. But a promise is a promise," Mary said.

Michael leaned over the console that separated them and kissed her on the cheek.

"Let's get a nap before we get into Colorado, okay?"

She leaned in, put her head on his shoulder, and Michael was safe again. This was his safe haven. Even during the most trying times, he knew she loved him, and it somehow gave him the strength or the extra push he needed to get through. Paul was right love is the ultimate conqueror.

Two

"Michael, we are nearing your destination. If you are going to contact Tom, you will need to do so now," Sam said, waking him from his nap.

The stars were unusually bright from this altitude, even though the Z-7 wouldn't fly very high. The clear darkness might have been an omen if not for the knowledge Michael shared with his Creator. He knew the dark skies were as beautiful as the blue skies. Stars and clouds, night and day, all created.

"Mary, look at the stars," Michael said.

Mary shook herself awake, pushed her hair back with her hand, and looked at the stars.

"They're lovely, aren't they?" she said, "Makes you appreciate God's abilities, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure God's understanding is way beyond ours, dear," Michael said as he tried the connection to Tom on the videophone. The one in the Z-7 was a bit smaller than the one in their apartment; Michael strained his eyes, which were still groggy from the nap.

"Tom, are you awake?" he asked, waiting for a reply.

"Hello, Michael," Tom said, "How close are you?"

"I'll be there in a few seconds."

Rounding a corner in mid-town Colorado, the Z-7 made its approach and lightly set down in Tom's front yard. They gathered their belongings and headed for the house. Tom met them at the door with a refreshing cup of hot cider. He knew how much they liked cider, and though his wasn't quite as good as Mary's was, it was still a welcomed drink at this late hour. Tom wasn't very big, but he was quite influential. He knew many people in high places. His slender build, smooth looks, wavy black hair, and square chin made him seem passive, but Tom was anything but passive.

"I hope your trip was a pleasant one," Tom said as they set the luggage down in the front room of his house.

"We monopolized the time in a nap. Considering why we've traveled to this part of the United Countries, we knew we should get some rest," Michael said.

"Yes, why do you want to meet Dr. Tenny?" he asked curiously.
Michael and Mary looked at each other. They hadn't told anyone of the dreams. It was difficult enough to try to explain their arrival in this century, although only a few people knew, so they didn't dare mention the dreams. People thought they were strange enough. Michael knew people would not readily accept them in this century, so he and Mary had decided to use wisdom in sharing that part of their lives. They gathered around his kitchen table, and sipped on cider while Tom drank his coffee. Michael never could acquire a taste for that black drink.

"Nothing like a good cup of coffee to keep the blood pumping," Tom said.

"I suppose, if you like that sort of thing," Mary said.

Tom's kitchen was elegant. The table where they were seated was made from fine mahogany, with a natural finish applied that really made the different shades of red glow. His walls were made of a stone substance that looked as if someone had ground the stones up and made some sort of cement, which was then applied as if it were painted on. The lights hung from the ceiling right above them and were sufficient to light the area they occupied. The aroma from the coffee mixed with that of the cider, and filled the kitchen with a pleasant odor.

"We're here as a direct result of a dream we both had," Michael started. "Mary and I dreamed of the man we saw on the viewer earlier today. We also dreamed he had discovered the frozen man."

"It's called cryogenics, Michael, but this is certainly exciting! Do you know who the man is?" he asked with eyes wide open.

"He's a man from our century. His name is John," Michael answered recalling the dream.

"Is there some special reference to him that makes this discovery important?" Tom asked.

"You mean, besides the fact that he is one of the original twelve disciples of Christ?"

Tom dropped his cup of coffee to the floor. They all stood as it made a thundering crash on the marble floor. Tom seemed to ignore the spill. He didn't expect that. His rapid pulse and bulging eyes were evident that he understood the magnitude of what Michael had said.

"Are you serious? Are you sure it's the same John?" Tom said as he ran toward a vault behind a large portrait hanging in his hall.

He worked the tumblers of the lock with ferocious speed, and retrieved an old black book. He nearly tripped on the lion-shaped throw rug that protruded from the hall into the kitchen into the hall. He placed the book on the table and began turning the pages until he came to the page for which he was looking. He ran his lengthy index finger along the top of one of the pages.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, "People will never believe it, but it is recorded right here in John's gospel."

"What is?" Michael asked. He had never seen a record of this nature. He assume it's because Christianity is outlawed in this century, so he was fascinated to learn of its existence.

"Right here, in the last chapter! I can't believe it," he said as he sat down looking very dumbfounded. He placed the book on the table so that Michael could see the page he was referring to.

"What's it say?" Mary asked, leaning over the table.

"It seems Peter was inquiring about John to Jesus, who gave him this answer: 'What is it to you if I let this man live until I return?'" Tom read.

"So according to this record, John is supposed to live until Jesus returns?" Michael asked.

"That's what it says, but John states, in the same passage, that Jesus didn't say he would live forever, but only 'If I want him to, what's that to you?'" Tom explained.

They looked at each other in disbelief letting the information sink in a bit.

Michael finally broke the silence.

"With the events leading up to our presence in this century, nothing about Jesus surprises me. I guess it would be possible that John didn't fully understand his role, especially when you consider the ramifications of eternal existence."

"It's too much for me," Mary said.

"Can I be there when you tell Woody who the man is?" Tom asked like a child.

"I suppose. Do you think it's going to be difficult to get to him?"

"It shouldn't be. However, with this new discovery, you know the government is going to get involved," Tom informed.

"Well then, I guess we had better get to him before they do," Michael resigned.

"You do understand there is no way we can keep this from the government," Tom stated matter-of-factly.

"It would be my guess that Jesus wouldn't have it any other way."

"It sounds risky," Mary warned.

"It does indeed, but what choice do we have?" Michael argued. "We didn't dream all of this just so we could be spectators."

This was Michael's attempt at calming their fears. It didn't work like he had hoped, although he wasn't sure if anything could calm Tom at this point.

"You're right!" Tom started, "If the Christians in the past had been participators in politics, Christianity would have never been forced underground."

"Do you mean the present state of affairs could have been avoided?" Mary asked.

Tom looked like he was glad Mary had suggested it. Tom was a fierce supporter of the truth and has always believed that most of the today's truth was suppressed by the government.

"I'm sure of it," Tom answered. "Every other religion in the world survived except those centered on Jehovah, or Jesus. Christianity has suffered persecution in every century since the crucifixion of Christ."

What Tom wasn't saying intrigued Michael as much as what he was saying. Michael knew it was more than mere persecution that drove these people into the caverns of obscurity.

"Amazing," he said, "You would think man would learn from his mistakes."

"It seems the more technologically advanced we become, the less we need any type of deity," Tom said.

"Man has outwitted himself again."

"You're right, Michael. It happened all throughout history, and man never learned. I guess we shouldn't expect him to now."

Tom cleaned up his coffee spill, and poured himself another cup. As they sat back down at the table, they all sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments. Michael reflected on the experience with Jesus in Paul's cell, and tried to imagine what he had planned for this century. After struggling with that, he decided they had better formulate a plan of some sort. It was because Woody Tenny was a man of science that made Michael think it would be difficult to convince him of the strange circumstances that brought them here. Especially when they tried to explain how it was connected. He drew the strength he needed from the dream.

"We should probably think of a way to share our information with Dr. Tenny without arousing suspicion," he said.

"Do you think it's possible for us to go to him tonight?" Mary asked.
"I haven't spoken with him in a few weeks, it would be good to see his mug on the phone," Tom said walking to the videophone. Punching in the correct sequence of numbers, he was soon looking at Dr. Tenny.

"Woody? How are you doing my friend? I wasn't sure if I could reach you at this location, but I had to try," Tom said.

"What's so important that you called me at this hour, Tom?" Dr. Tenny asked.

"It's concerning your discovery," Tom answered.

Tom looked like a child with a secret he just couldn't hold any longer.

Dr. Tenny was fully awake now as he leaned closer to the screen on the videophone.

"What about it?" he asked.

"I have some friends here who say they know who he is," Tom offered.

"Yea, them and about a million others," he retorted.

"You don't understand, Woody. These people know him because they have seen him before," Tom said.

Three

"What do you mean?" Dr. Tenny asked.

Michael stepped up to the videophone and introduced himself.

"Hello Dr. Tenny. My name is Michael Aurelius. What I am about to tell you may sound crazy, but bear with me until I am through."

"You have my full attention," he replied.

"My wife, Mary, and I are from the past. To be more precise, we are from the time era called the first century. While there, I was a Roman guard in a prison house that held a strange little man named Paul. He was a Christian back before it was outlawed. Over a period of two years, he convinced me of a man called Christ. He told me he had seen him face to face," he started.

"Yes," he replied, "There are ancient texts that explain what you have just told me."

"I'm glad, then you won't have any problem with the rest of my story. On the day that was set for Paul's execution, Christ came into the prison cell where Paul was. He walked right through the wall! He was quite a bit taller than Paul, and dressed as a scholar in a long elegant white robe with a purple cloak that draped over his right shoulder and flowed down his chest to his waist. He was undoubtedly real. All of us there saw him, and heard his voice as he strengthened Paul with words of encouragement. The next thing I knew the room started to get brighter and brighter until I could not see. When I could see again I was in this place, or rather, millennium."

"Interesting, but how does that help me?" he inquired.

"I had a dream about you, and the frozen man. It was told to me, in that dream, that the frozen man is called John," Michael said, wondering if he was really believing him or not.

"I see," he started, "Then you can tell me about the time he is from?"

"I can. I would like to come where you are tonight."

He paused as if he was trying to formulate a plan.

"I can't see why that would be a problem, Mr. Aurelius. I'll just make it an all inclusive invitation, so Tom, I will expect you as well," he said.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Tom replied.

With that, the videophone communication ceased.

Michael had worried without cause, or had he? Was Dr. Tenny readily accepting this information because he had no other recourse? Maybe he was the type person who needed all the information he could muster before confirming a fact. It could be that he just wanted Michael to come to test a theory he had already formulated. After all, Michael had told him they were from the first century.

The excitement in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Michael turned to retrieve his cider, and noticed Mary was already headed for the front door. Tom looked at Michael with a grin on his face.

"This is surely going to be an exciting night," he said.

"You don't know the half of it, my friend," Michael replied.

"Honey, do we need to take our luggage?" Mary asked.

"Let's not take a chance; better load it up."

As they prepared for departure, they talked some more about the excitement they were all feeling. Imagine, here Michael was, a man from the past living in the future, going to meet a man from the past. It made Michael's head spin. He wondered if the world was ready for what was about to transpire.

"I wonder if people will accept John," Mary said.

"I don't know how I am going to react yet, so it would be hard for me to guess what others will say," Tom said.

"What about you, Michael?"

"I'm unsure, myself, dear. I suppose it will depend on what he has to say," Michael offered. Loading the luggage was becoming quite a chore due to the late hour. Tom and Michael were getting short of breath.

"I… am very intrigued about…. the whole idea of people… from the ancient past living now," Tom said between breaths.

At last, all was loaded and they were on their way. Tom was at the controls, since he was the only one who knew where they were going. This wasn't the first time he piloted their vehicle, so Mary and Michael sat comfortably behind him as they went on silently.

"Mr. Tom," said Sam, "Will there be any need for refreshment?"
"No thank you, Sam," replied Tom.

Floating along on the wind, the traffic suddenly got very heavy. Michael couldn't see clearly, due to the darkness, but there appeared to be some markings on the side of the vehicles around them.

"Tom?" Michael asked as he, too, noticed the traffic.

"I would guess it's the government," he offered.

"Do you think they are going to Dr. Tenny's?"

"I couldn't say, but as long as we don't break any laws they won't bother us," he replied.

Just as Tom finished, the other vehicles increased their speed, and were soon out of sight.

"How far is it?" Mary asked.

"Not very far, now. Just a few more minutes," Tom said.

They climbed a little higher and were soon at the top of a mountain. Colorado was a beautiful place to see in the sunshine and had an enchanted appearance about it in the light of the moon. Michael saw some lights in the side of the mountain, and was sure it was their destination. Tom turned the Z-7 toward the lights and they were soon coming to rest on top of a peak almost covered with snow. It reminded Michael of the dream, or vision he had a couple of years ago. It was certainly breathtaking. He couldn't wait to see the view in the sunlight.

A man was emerging from the castle-like home built in the side of the mountain. They knew it was Dr. Tenny. He looked exactly as he did in Michael's dream. Exactly.

"Welcome, my friends. Come, we have much to talk about," Dr. Tenny said with outstretched arms.

Michael's first impression of the man was one of relief. His tone and demeanor suggested one of trust.

"I'm very anxious to see your visitor," Michael said.

"I'll bet you are," Tom said.

"I just want to see him up close," Mary said.

"Do you, now?" Dr. Tenny replied.

"Dr. Tenny, is he alive?" Michael asked.
"Please, call me Woody. I haven't quite figured that out yet," he replied.

They all decided to get the luggage inside, so for the next few minutes they struggled with the task. Michael could tell his body was in need of rest.

"Have you heard from the government, yet?" Tom asked.

"Oh, yes. They certainly want to know who this man is," Woody said.

"I guess I can understand," Michael said. "I remember how interested people were in me when I first arrived."

"I can't imagine in my wildest dreams what it must be like," Woody said.

Michael could tell he was a very curious man. As they entered his home, Michael noticed many historical artifacts placed on tables and hanging on the massive stone walls that gave the place a unique antiquity. The tall walls looked like a jigsaw puzzle of stones, each fitting against the other as if it belonged in no other place but there. Huge Grecian columns throughout added to the flavor of the home and made him feel like he had traveled back in time.

"What is all this?" Michael asked as he motioned to all the items on the walls and tables.
"Just trinkets I've picked up here and there," he answered.

"Trinkets, he says," Tom interjected, "I imagine there was a price for each of these, whether monetary or otherwise."

"I agree," Mary said. "Some of these are beautiful."

Mary perused the items as Tom and Michael finished with the luggage. Exhausted from the day, they sat in the dining area of Woody's home. A man rounded the corner dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. He was carrying a tray with glasses of cool refreshment. They each took a glass, thanked the gentleman, who was gone as quickly as he came.

"It's called tea, Michael," Tom said as he noticed the expression on Michael's face after taking a sip.

"It's made for gulping," Woody offered.

"Amazing," Michael said after a gulp. "We should have more of this tea."

"Well then, you shall!" Woody said as he summoned for the man with tray.

As the tea glasses were being refilled, they spoke of things to come.

"I can tell you from my past experiences, the future for us will be filled with adventure and danger," Michael said.

"Just what I need; more danger!" Woody exclaimed sarcastically.

"Let us not be overwhelmed by the odds that face us. If Christ can bring a man and his wife from the first century to this one, I have every confidence he'll protect us no matter what the danger," Michael said courageously.

"I'm with you, but can it wait until tomorrow?" Woody said.

"It sounds like a wise suggestion to me," Mary replied.

"I just want to look in on my new companion," Woody said.

"I'll join you," Michael said.

"Wait for me!" Tom said excitedly.

They followed Woody into a long hallway that led to an inner chamber. As they entered the chamber, the castle took on another trait. The ceiling was high above with several lights suspended by huge, long, rusty chains. It reminded Michael of some of the cold, dank dungeons he had to visit back in Rome.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

There he stood. Just like in the dream, a man frozen in time almost like a statue. As Michael turned around, Woody put on a white lab coat and the dream was complete. Michael got as close to John as he could without touching him. He could now see clearly that indeed he was frozen somehow and yet still alive. His eyes were not closed and seemed to be taking in a brand new world of sights.

"How is this possible?" Michael asked.

"I'm not quite sure. What makes it more intriguing is the way he is frozen," Woody offered.

"Will he be all right?" Mary asked.

"I'm sure of it," Woody started, "If what you two say is true about time travel; I guess it is possible for this man to be here in this state."

"So you think Christ caused this?" Michael asked. "I guess the information Tom read to us at his house was true. Jesus did intend for John to be alive at his return."

"I can't come up with any other explanation. The technology for this is still fairly new, and we haven't had much success," Woody explained.

As they talked, they heard a sound coming from the front of the house. There was definitely someone out there. They all followed Woody to investigate. A loud pounding sound came from the front door.

"Dr. Tenny! This is special investigator Chris Ryan from the U.C.I." a voice rang out from the other side of the door.

The government had arrived.

Four

Michael, Mary, and Tom arrived at the door as Woody opened it for the investigator. The man in the doorway was a tall, thin man, clean-shaven with short brown hair. He was wearing a blue suit that appeared to be tailor made for him. He stood there holding his picture identification for all to see.

"Come in, sir," Woody said respectfully.

"Thank you," he said.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Woody asked.

"No thanks, I just want to get this done so I can go back home," he said.

It was obvious he didn't want to be here, but like so many people, rules dictate priorities.

"What can I do for you?" Woody asked.
"I have been sent to investigate your find," he said.

"Follow me," Woody said.

Dr. Tenny led the man back to the big room from where they had just come. Mr. Ryan inspected John closely, took out a little notebook, and made few notes. He seemed as captivated by his eyes as Michael was, but made a meticulous inspection of his clothing, hair, sandals, and the peculiar medallion around his neck. He then turned to address them.

"I guess the only thing left is for you to predict when he might be ready for questioning," Mr. Ryan said.

"I really can't say. We've not had much success with cryogenics. I'll contact you as soon as any change occurs," Woody said.

"So you think it's cryogenics?" Mr. Ryan asked.

"I can't think of any other explanation at this point," Woody answered.

For some reason, Michael felt uneasy with Mr. Ryan. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something suspicious about the man.

"May I see your identification again?" Michael asked.

He was hoping his years of experience would help determine if Mr. Ryan was who he said he was. Michael was not disappointed. He held his picture I.D. up for him to see. Upon closer investigation Michael noticed a shadow on the bottom right edge of his photograph.

"Thank you," he said. "You never can be too careful these days."

"I suppose not," Mr. Ryan said as he handed a card to Woody and made his way to the front door.

Woody followed him as a cordial host would, and wished him a good night. He then called Michael, Mary, and Tom back to the kitchen.

"The man is not who he says he is," Michael said quietly.

"How do you know?" Tom asked.

"I wouldn't be as successful as I am if I didn't notice things like this," he retorted.

"What gave him away?" Mary asked.

"He had pasted his picture over another one. The I.D. was fake."

"Who do you think he is?" Woody asked.

"It seems you have gotten many people stirred up with this find of yours, Woody," Tom offered.

"Maybe you're right," Woody said, as he rubbed his chin with his hand.

"Things could get quite sticky in the next few days," Michael warned.

"So the adventure begins!" Mary said. She always had a flair for the dramatic.

The excitement of the day had left them all drained emotionally, so they sat quietly for the next few minutes until Tom broke the silence.

"Well, I think I'm going to go to bed. It has been a long day," he said.

"Your room is where it has always been, Tom. Be my guest," Woody said.

Mary looked at Michael as if to say she would like to do the same thing.

"Why don't you go to bed, honey? I would like to talk to Woody some more," Michael said, kissing her on the cheek.

"All right, dear. You won't be long, will you?" She asked.

"I will be along in a few minutes."

As she exited the kitchen, Woody went to the coffeemaker for a refill.

"I'm curious, Woody. What do you know of the time era John is from?"

"While I am an archaeologist, I haven't explored into history this ancient before, and what we have back there is really ancient history!" he said as he pointed to the room where John was.

"For me, it's like yesterday," Michael said.

"That's amazing, Michael. While you're here, I would sure like to spend as much time with you as possible."

"That's fine with me," Michael started. "Maybe my knowledge can be of some real practical help for once."

"I would think your unique historical knowledge would have plenty of opportunities to aid you in your line of work."

"I use what I know all the time. However, I cannot employ the knowledge as fact, because people would not take me seriously."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I were to say I have experience in the field of security because I was a Roman guard in a prison in Rome, would you employ me?"

"I see your point. Believe me when I say I believe you are who you say you are."

There, he had said it. A commitment. He believed Michael's past. This was a good start.

"Unlike our recent visitor."

"What do you make of him?"

"I'm not sure. Are there any factions against the government that you know about?"

"There are many of them. I have never had any personal contact with one, at least not to my knowledge, but I am sure they exist."

"What about Christians?"

"I hadn't thought of that. Mr. Ryan was certainly the most polite government agent I've ever met, and I have an ongoing relationship with them," he said, "They are always rude."

"If any of the Christians are historians, they could have recognized the clothing John is wearing as being from the first century," Michael said.

"I see. So Mr. Ryan could have been a Christian just wanting a peek for himself."

"It's probably bigger than mere curiosity, Woody. It's my opinion he represented a group of people. He went through a lot of trouble to make sure we couldn't recognize him as anything but who he said he was."

"It is so sad that Christians have to resort to such tactics."

"I agree. I can say with considerable certainty, if Christ was not involved in my daily life, I would not be here talking to you tonight."

"I believe, without a doubt, it was he who led me to this discovery."

Another reassurance.

"I can only say what I know to be the truth, Woody. After tonight, our lives will never be the same."

"What do you think will happen when John revives? You do think he will, don't you?"

"According to my dream he has to. When he does, if he is anything like Paul, he will be more interesting, and strange, than anyone you have ever met."

"I'm anxious to learn more, Michael, but you must be tired," Woody said.

"I am indeed. I think I will join my wife. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Woody," Michael said thankfully.

"Think nothing of it. Any friend of Tom's is a friend of mine," he offered as Michael exited the room.

Mary wasn't asleep when Michael entered the bedroom. She wasn't even in bed. She was sitting in a chair with a lamp on a table next to her. She was reading a book.

"What's that you have there?"

She looked at the front of the book and said, "It's called the Holy Bible."

"What's in it? Is that the book Tom was reading from at his house tonight?"
"I don't know. It may be another copy of it, I guess," she offered.

"So, how much have you read?"

"Not much, I'm reading the section called "The Acts of the Apostles," she said.

"What's it about?"

"I'm at the part where it speaks of your strange little prisoner," she offered.

That was all she had to say. Michael was hooked. They spent the next few hours pouring over the text. When they finally got too tired, and decided to see if they could sleep a little, a strange noise came from the hallway.

Five

Everyone converged at the end of the long hall, and noticed it was shaking. The wall hangings and table decorations were in danger of crashing to the ground. Everyone was trying to get to the artifacts, but were having a difficult time walking. The shaking finally stopped, and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"What was that?" Mary asked.

"I think it was an earthquake," Tom replied.

"I don't think it was," Woody said.

"Why not?" Tom asked.

"The only part of the house affected was this hall," he stated.

Everyone's attention was suddenly on the room at the end of the hall. Woody raced ahead and entered the room first. Tom was next, followed by Mary and then Michael.

"He's moved!" Woody exclaimed.

John had certainly changed his posture, but he still looked frozen.

"It doesn't seem to be enough to make a difference," Michael said.

"It doesn't have to be a lot; just enough to say he's alive," he explained.

Tom examined John closer by walking around him slowly. When he was face to face, he stopped. His eyes were suddenly wide, and his respiration increased.

"He's breathing!' Tom said.

"Are you sure?" Woody asked as he drew closer to John.

The two of them stood in front of John as if they were waiting for him to speak.

"Come on, fellas. He's not going to say anything," Michael said as he motioned them to step back a little.

"How can you be sure?" Tom asked.

"Because I don't see any bubbling liquids in the lab," Michael answered.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Tom asked.

"It would be my guess," Woody started, "It has something to do with his dream. Am I right, Michael?"

"Indeed."

"What was the hallway earthquake about then?" Mary asked.

"I'm not sure," Woody replied.

They all cautiously stepped back into the hall, and were awestruck. There on the table across the hall from where they stood was an odd-looking metallic object. It was cylindrical, about four inches in diameter and eighteen inches long, highly polished, and had no apparent opening in it all. They approached the object slowly.

"What do you think it is?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. I have never seen this type of metal before," Woody answered.

"Can we touch it?" Mary asked.

"It seems to be harmless," Woody replied.

"Wait!" Tom exclaimed as Woody was about to touch the object.

"What?" he asked.

"We don't know where that thing came from, and you said it was unlike anything you have seen. I just don't think it would be wise to move it," Tom said.

"And what has made you the expert all of a sudden?" Woody asked as he grabbed the object.

As he lifted the cylinder from the table, a man's calm but authoritative voice was heard to say, "Lay it at the feet of my servant, John."

At the sound of the voice, they stood very still for a few moments; then Tom spoke.

"Okay, that was weird," he said.

"I agree, but nevertheless we better obey the voice," Michael said as he looked at Woody.

"You're the resident spiritual man, Michael. Let's do it," he said.

Everyone walked back into the room where John was, and laid the cylinder at his feet. They all stepped back and watched. Nothing happened.

"Oh well," Tom said. "We did our part."

"That we did," Mary said, "Let's go back to bed."

"Not me," Tom said, "But I will go for some more coffee."

"Good idea, Tom," said Woody, "Let's go to the kitchen."

They walked to the kitchen and sat around the table. For a long time they simply stared at each other or the liquid in their cups. Reflecting on the dream that foretold their arrival here, Michael was sure the cylinder was involved; even though he couldn't remember seeing it in his dream.

"We all heard the voice, right?" Tom asked.

Everyone nodded affirmatively. There was no question everyone felt the same about the experience.

"The arrival of the cylinder is certainly a mystery, and the voice only makes it more intriguing," Woody offered.

"I still can't help but feel it is significant to John's present state of being," Michael said.

"I agree," Woody said.

"Otherwise we wouldn't have been instructed to place it next to him, right?" Mary interjected.

"Correct," Woody started. "Strange as it may seem, I'm convinced it will aid us in reviving John."

"I guess there is no way to determine the time frame," Michael said, tired from the long day.

"I'm afraid not, Michael. There have been too many failures in this field for me to risk reviving him without some outside intervention," Woody explained.

Mary slid here chair closer to Michael, he could tell she was bothered by all of this.

"Are you all right, Mary?" Tom asked.

"I'm just a little tired. The past few years have been full of revelation," she said.

"Revelation?" Tom asked.

"Yes. The things we have experienced are not possible according to man's knowledge," Mary said.

"I certainly can't think of anyone who has traveled through time," Tom said in jest.

"Or found a man cryogenically preserved from a time era long before technology even considered the possibility," Woody added.

Michael suddenly felt the urge to learn more about John. Why not? They had the history of the first century believers written in that book Mary and Michael read earlier; why not use it now? Certainly, it could shed some light on what to do next. Even though they were all excited at seeing John, nobody knew how to revive him.

"Mary, would you go get that book we were reading earlier?" Michael asked.

"I know where you are going with this, Michael," Tom said as he went to his room.

Mary returned with the book, and Tom came back shortly after her.

"I want to see what this book says about John," Michael said.

"There are other historical books to aid in the study of first-century life," Woody said.

"Do you have such books here?" Michael asked.

"I do," he said as he left the kitchen to retrieve what he had.

As they were busy retrieving information, Michael closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on Jesus. He felt as if he needed special instruction about what steps to take, so he prayed quietly for him to help them.

"I will guide you, Michael. You need not to be afraid," Jesus said.

Michael opened his eyes to see if he was here. He was not, yet the voice was real.

"Tell Woody to study the material composition of the cylinder," he instructed.

"Okay," he replied.

"Who are you talking to, dear?" Mary asked as she returned with the book.
"Jesus."

"What did he say?" she asked.

Woody and Tom returned to the kitchen with enough material to keep them busy for a while. Books on top of books. Some were large enough to be encyclopedias while others were short. They were all different sizes, but the collection covered most of the center of the table.

"Woody, Jesus wants you to study the composition of the cylinder," Michael said.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"He just told me."

His stare spoke volumes.

"He speaks to you?" he asked.

"Is that not common among Christians?" Michael enquired.

"I haven't heard of anyone who has heard his voice."

"That's amazing! It must take a great deal of faith to believe in him if he does not talk to you."

They slowly sat down, still looking in Michael's direction as if he was going to perform some kind of miracle.

He returned their stare.

"What?"

"Please forgive us. It's just not normal for us to hear such direct instructions from the Lord," Woody said.

"Why?"

"Maybe it has something to do with the lack of faith in this generation," Tom offered.

"Yes," Woody started, "That's got to be it. There are so few of us left that it makes it difficult to express how we feel. We never know how it will be received."

At this word, everyone fell silent. Not one of those gasping, take your breath away silences, rather one that was reverent. As they sat looking at each other, a mist formed over their heads, and started descending upon them. The look on Tom's face said everything Michael needed to know about spiritual experiences in the thirty-first century.

Six

Just as Michael was about to describe what was happening, Jesus spoke.

"I commission the four of you to embark on a great journey with John. Speak the words I give you to the remnant that is in this city. Do not be afraid of the opposition. Remember this: Light always overcomes darkness," he said as the mist lifted.

Woody's face contorted into humility as rivers poured from his eyes. Tom sat with his eyes closed while Mary spoke praises in her native language. Michael found himself wishing he could stay in this ambiance.

"We have work to do," he said, "It doesn't look like we're going to get any sleep tonight."

"I agree," Tom said, "And what better atmosphere in which to work!"

They started reading through the material on the table. Mary read the book from the bedroom; Tom read the book he brought, while Woody and Michael perused the information in the books he brought in.

"Let's try to focus our attention on John's writings," Woody suggested.

"Already on it," Tom replied, "I see in the first epistle he wrote that he tells of God being a light, and that there is no darkness in him at all and here, in his gospel it says "The Light shone where it was dark and the darkness did not stop the Light from shining."

"I think it's understood, then, that as long as we do what Jesus instructs us to do, we shall be in this light," Michael commented.

Woody laid a rather large historical book in the center of the table. He ran his index finger along the bottom of a page, and then to the top of the next indicating the passage he was about to read.

"This is what life was like in first century Palestine," he said, as he read from the book,

"The seekers of God could be saved by the Messiah's direct intervention, but the city and its system was completely corrupt, and misrepresented God. This general interpretation of who God was resulted in persecution of Christians because they believed the Messiah had come, while the Jewish leaders could not agree on the matter."

"It's hard to believe I lived there a few years ago," Michael said soberly.

"It doesn't seem to be much different than today," Tom said.

"How did John view all of this?" Mary asked.

"It appears he was greatly affected by the attitude of the day; he was known as one of the 'sons of thunder.' This name typified his impetuous nature. After experiencing a close relationship with Jesus, his view of life changed," Woody offered as he looked at the big book on the table.

"It makes sense that he would be the Apostle for this age," Mary said.

"In light of what we are experiencing, I'd have to agree," Tom said.

"He is also known as the disciple of love," Michael said.

"It will be interesting to see how this characteristic of John manifests," Woody said.

Michael was beginning to believe Woody was more compassionate than he had first thought him to be. His eyes revealed something different from his face. His bearded face depicted the struggles of his life. Every crease in the skin around his eyes told a different story. Michael tried to imagine what it would be like to be a Christian influenced by these enigmatic times. Where do these Christians hide? Do they have a secret meeting place?

"How many Christians do you know?" Michael asked Woody.

"It's hard to say. Some are reluctant to express their beliefs in public," he explained.

"Is there a place where you can meet with them?" Michael asked.

"I'm sure there is, but it has been a long time since I have attended such meetings," he paused, rubbing his chin, "I'm not sure if they still consider me to be a Christian. That's how long it's been."

"That could explain Mr. Ryan's subterfuge."

"Yes, it could."

This complicated things a bit. How were they supposed to know whom to trust? Michael tried to convince himself Jesus would reveal the Christians to them.

"This is really going to take some faith on our part," Michael said.

"Without a doubt," Tom agreed.

"Just remember what the angel told you, Michael," Mary interjected.

"How can I forget? I'm sure that God is the reason we adapted to this time era so quickly."

"Jesus, angels; are there any more interesting things about you, Michael?" Woody asked.

"I'm sure he's seen things we can't even dream about, Woody," Tom said.

"I'm sure you're right, my friend," Woody said as he turned his attention back to the big book.

There was a long period of silence while each read from different books, desperately trying to find information about John before he was revived. Peace settled in as they read. Each of them started making notes on tablets of paper with the anticipation of sharing information upon completion. After many cups of coffee and cider, they stopped reading.

"Lots of good stuff, here," Tom offered.

"Before we start comparing notes, I think it would be a good idea to pray," Michael said as he recalled the incident in his front room back in Rome.

They joined hands as they sat around the table. Michael with a stiff back and gentle hands held Mary's hand directly to his left. She was united with Tom to her left and the circle went around until all were joined and silent.

Michael prayed.

"Jesus," he started, "Come to our aid in this hour of need. We need to know about John before you wake him from his long sleep. Please allow the information we have gathered to flow in the right direction. Amen."

As they compared notes, they were fascinated at the amount of information there was about John. According to these sources, this man was responsible for the revelation of many characteristics of Jesus. He was full of compassion, loved people regardless of who they were, and desired to help as many as he could. He was regarded as the disciple whom Jesus loved. Woody discovered that John's Gospel was considered to have a central focus on the spiritual applications to Jesus' teaching. They were all commenting on the various facts and legends they uncovered through the books on the table.

"Absolutely amazing!" Tom remarked.

"When he is revived, John will be able to shed light on many misunderstandings handed down through the centuries," Woody offered.

"I'm looking forward to his first-hand knowledge of Jesus," Michael said.
"With all we learned from Paul, it would certainly be interesting to hear what John learned while personally involved with Jesus," Mary said.
"The book I was reading states he lived in Ephesus," Tom said.

Michael had heard of Ephesus before. That was where Onesiphorus lived. Oh, he thought, if he could only see them now. What a… what is the phrase he had heard?... ah yes, 'mind-blowing' experience this would be for him.

"Ephesus? Are you sure?" Michael asked.

"That's what it says," Tom said, pointing to the reference.

"Onesiphorus was from Ephesus," Mary said.

"So was Timothy," Michael said.

"Did you meet Timothy?" Woody asked.

"Not directly, but Paul spoke of him often," Michael said.

"You are a privileged man, Michael," Woody said.

"Sometimes I wonder."

He knew he had seen more death and mayhem than the whole lot of them at the table with him now. He was sure they would not have liked it any more than he did.

Mary stood up, and moved to stand behind Michael. She placed her hands on his shoulders, and began to massage.

"Hey, can I get one of those?" Tom asked.

"If you ever marry, you might to actually start enjoying life, Tom," Michael jested.

While Mary worked her magic on Michael's stiff shoulder muscles, he felt the tension of the long day float away. Tom and Woody were very tired, and he could tell they were quite ready to end this session. As exciting as the evening and night have been, wisdom dictated they take a break.

"I think I will try to sleep for a few hours," Michael said as he stood.

Each went to their respective rooms, and soon there was peace and quiet once again.

Michael laid his head on his pillow and dreamed.

Seven

Michael ran to the front door of Woody's house as the pounding grew louder, and more rapid.

"Let me in!" the voice cried out from the other side of the door.

He heard a rapid popping sound in the distance as he opened the door.
"Mr. Ryan. What a surprise. What are you doing here?" Michael asked.

Mr. Ryan was shaking all over and his face was twisted with terror. Sweat was pouring from him as he started toward the open door.

"My name is not Ryan, but no time for that now," he said frantically as he pushed his way into the house.

"We guessed that already," Michael assured him as he moved out of his way.

"There has been an outbreak of violence at the foot of the mountain," he explained.

"And the popping sound?" Michael asked.

"My guess would be some sort of gunfire," he returned.

"Gunfire? About what?" Michael asked, a little fearful.

He sat on the floor next to the door, now shut, and tried to catch his breath.

"I guess I'm not as healthy as I believed," he said.

"Come with me, I'll get you some water."

As they walked toward the kitchen, Mary and Tom met them. Tom reached a hand to one eye and gently rubbed. Mary was pulling her fingers through her hair. Neither of them had a clue what was happening.

"What's going on?" Tom asked.

"This man needs some water," Michael instructed as Mary ran ahead to the kitchen.

"You people must be Christians," the man said.

Everyone stopped and looked at him. The expression on his face told them he was a man in need.

"What's your name?" Michael asked.

"William. William Conrad," he said between breaths.

His breathing was becoming more labored! There was something he wasn't telling. Maybe he was at a loss for words or didn't know how to say it.

"Well, Mr. Conrad, what brings you here at this hour of the morning?" Tom asked.

"You have to tell me first, are you Christians?" he asked. His agitation was at a crescendo.

"Yes, we are," Mary said as she handed him a glass of water.

"Thank you," he said, gulping it down quickly.

"There was a violent attack against some men who were trying to explain Christianity," he went on. "Obviously the people didn't receive their approach."

"That's an understatement!" Michael said pointing to the door referring to the gunfire.

"I couldn't believe it, either," he said. "They just started shooting those men. They were in the park at the foot of the mountain."

"Did they see you?" Tom asked.

"I'm afraid they did," he said. "I think they're headed this way!"

"Why didn't you say so before?" Tom asked.

Woody came running down the hall eyes round and wide. He was shaking more than Mr. Conrad was. He tried to run his hand through his hair but stopped short at the sight of the man in the kitchen.

"What is it, Woody?" Michael asked.

"I just looked outside my window; there are five or six men heading up the path to the house with guns!" he said.

Just as Woody finished speaking, men pushed the front door open. They were more than mere men, they were a mob looking for a place to vent their hatred. One seemed to be the leader as he moved to the front of the mob. He was tall, about six foot, slender, and aside from the pure hate that was in his eyes, he looked fairly average.
"Christians! More Christians!" they shouted.

More people followed the first group. All men bent on the destruction of anyone who claimed Christianity. The front room filled with people; all shouting angrily about something. The leader of the livid mob pointed his weapon at Woody and fired. The bullet passed right through Woody, causing him no harm. Michael watched in amazement as the rest of them opened fire on all of them. Bullets flew, but no harm came to anyone.

"Michael! Michael!" Mary shouted. "Wake up! You're shouting," she said.

Michael sat up in bed, shaking all over. Sweat beaded ion his brow and his chest heaved with exhaustion. Woody and Tom were soon standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"What happened?" Woody asked.

"Are you guys alright?" Tom asked.

"Michael was dreaming," Mary said calmly.

Michael caught his breath as he placed his hand on Mary's shoulder to steady his spinning head. He blinked and shook himself harder. He had to break free from the fear that gripped his heart.

"It seemed so real!" he gasped.

"What did?" Woody asked.

"Yes, tell us your dream," Tom urged.

"The bullets passed right through us," Michael said trying to remember more details of the dream.

"Bullets?" Mary asked.

"Yes. There was an angry mob outside; Mr. Ryan was here, only his name is William Conrad—they broke in and just started shooting!" he said, piecing the dream together.

"Slow down, man. It's all right, nothing like that happened. It was just a dream," Woody said.

"Yes. I know, but my dreams always have some sort of meaning."

"He's right," Mary said. "The dreams he had prior to our arrival were the most fascinating I've ever heard and they all, without exception, affected our lives."

"Onesiphorus said it is a way for God to communicate with us," Michael said wishing he, or Paul, were here right now.

"The sun's about to rise. Let's go to the front porch," Woody suggested.

Michael crawled out of bed, still tired from the dream, and made his way to the porch. The breeze coming across the mountain was fresh and cool. The multicolored pigment of the sky revealed God's splendor as the sun peeked over the horizon, announcing his creative passion.

"What a view," Michael said, staring at the blended shades of red and pink.

"It makes you wonder how people can dismiss this beauty as simple science," Woody offered.

"I'll go in and make some cider and coffee," Mary said.

"There's no need," Woody started. "I have it all set on a timer. It should be brewing about now." He looked at his watch.

The four of them stood there taking in the sight, which brought a feeling of awe. They wondered about the infinite knowledge it took to create something so wonderful.

The front porch they occupied was about twenty-five feet across and fifteen feet deep. The stone under their feet was unusually smooth and different shades of gray. The outer edge was lined with Grecian columns that appeared to be marble. Several reclining chairs were backed up against the front wall of the house. Michael made his way to the closest one.

"This is great, Woody," he said trying to forget the terrible dream.

"I like it," he returned. "It's sort of like your dream."

"Come again?" Michael asked, intrigued by his statement.

"Well, this place makes me feel invincible. It's almost as if nothing can touch me, here," he explained.

"Oh, I see. Maybe that's what the dream was about. We will be protected from the harm people try to do to us." Michael was trying to believe the best. Right now, the best was sitting on this porch admiring the horizon and taking in the peace.

"I hope so," Tom said nervously. "Look who's running up the path."

Woody and Tom looked in amazement as Mr. Ryan, better known as William Conrad, was making his way up the path to the house. There didn't seem to be an angry mob, or any shooting as in the dream, but Michael was convinced it meant something.
William Conrad slowed his pace as he approached the front porch. Once he reached it, he stopped and leaned against one of the massive columns and tried to speak.

"I hope … you don't… mind… my early…morning arrival," he said panting rather hard.

"Not at all, Mr. Conrad," Michael said, letting him know they knew who he was.

The expression on his face changed at the mention of his real name. He was still breathing hard and the look in his eyes gave away his fears.

"How is it . . . that you know . . . my name?" he asked between breaths.

"Let's just say it was revealed to me in a peculiar manner."

"What's brought you back to my house?" Woody asked.

"After my late night visit, I learned the Herodians were gathering strength in the city below your house," he answered, his breathing finally returning normal.

"The Herodians?" Michael asked.

"They're a group of people bent on destroying any Christians they find," Tom answered.

"Peculiar name, but I guess it makes sense," Michael said.

"Yes, I believe they take their name from an ancient king who was dedicated to the destruction of first century Christians," he said.

"It would serve them well to remember his fate," Michael warned.

"They can't see past the end of their noses," Woody quipped.

"People of this century are increasingly dogmatic when it comes to their way of life," Tom explained.

"People of this century?" Mr. Conrad asked.

"You heard him correctly, Mr. Conrad," Michael said as he stood to go back into the house.

The conversation moved from the porch to the kitchen table. Mary had the coffee and cider ready for them. She turned to offer some when she noticed their guest. The sight of him must have frightened her because she almost dropped everything in her hands. She managed to get everything to the table in one piece, but Michael noticed something different about her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. She sat down, took a deep breath, looked at Michael and then to Woody.
"It took me a little while to find everything, but I managed," she said.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I guess I could have helped, but your husband's dream has me in a dither," Woody responded.

"What brings you here, Mr. Conrad?" she asked. "Was an angry mob chasing you?"

"Angry mob? What are you talking about, and how does everyone know my name?" he asked frantically. He blinked several times and reached a hand to wipe his brow.

"You'd better sit down, Mr. Conrad," Tom said.

They all sat around the table. The sun shining through the window off to Michael's right animated the dark and light shades of the mahogany table. All eyes were fastened on him. Mary looked at Michael and nodded. He knew was up to him to explain the situation to the new guest.

"Mr. Conrad—," he started.

"Please. Call me Bill," he interrupted.

"All right, Bill. What I'm about to tell you may sound a little crazy, but since we all know you're a Christian, maybe it won't be so difficult to grasp. I must ask for complete discretion on your part after hearing this."

"You have my word as a Christian," he assured.

Tom, Woody, and Bill scooted as close to the table as they could as Michael related the story of Paul, Onesiphorus, and the events leading up to their arrival. It felt like telling a fairytale to Michael. He tried to imagine what thoughts were going through the minds of his listeners. Every time he told it there was another detail, he would remember. It made the telling of it easier for Michael.

"Amazing," Bill said quietly.

"It's more than that," Woody said. "It's proof that God exists! How can people doubt the genuine details of the first century you know so well?"

"By the signs of the time, my friend. Just as it was in the first century, people will only believe what they want to believe," Michael offered.

"I guess you're right, Michael. With all the 'intelligent' people we have in this century, it's tough to introduce the idea of faith," Woody said sarcastically.

"It's tough to introduce anything new to them," Bill offered.

"I take it you've tried?" Mary asked.

"Time and again," he answered. "But I would still like to know how you knew I wasn't Mr. Ryan."

"Your Creator told me," Michael said simply.

Bill's face changed from its peachy color to almost white. He thought he was going to faint. Everyone at the table saw his reaction and agreed the reaction was the same for each of them. Michael and Mary had revelation of a being that was true deity. It was unlike anything Bill Conrad had ever heard.

"That's the normal reaction," Michael said referring to his countenance.

"You okay Bill?" Tom asked smiling.

"It's just that I've never met anyone who has actually had a conversation with God," he explained.

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg," Tom added.

"You mean there's more?" he asked.

"A lot more," Michael answered. "However, I don't have time to go into all of it now."

"Meeting you is going to bring hope to many people I know," Bill said.

"As I understand it, that's the reason Mary and I are here."

"Tell me how I can be of assistance," he offered.

Michael knew his offer was genuine.

"That's very noble of you, Bill. You can count on being a part of it," he assured him.

"This is so exciting," Tom started. "I can plainly see a revolution of sorts beginning right here on the side of this mountain in Colorado."

"Ironic," Woody said. "I understand, from research, that a Christian organization was once housed right here on this mountain. From what I could gather they were involved in some sort of battle for family values."

"Really?" Mary asked.

"I think it had more to do with Christian families than those who were not," Woody said.

"What makes you say that?" Bill asked.

"If memory serves me, it was called 'Family Focus' or something like that. The available information is sketchy," Woody said.

"I guess the battle for Christianity has been going on for some time, then," Tom interjected.

"I can't account for recent history, but I can say for sure there was a battle in Rome," Michael said.

"I thought Christianity spread quickly in the first century," Bill said.

"It touched every city I knew about," Michael said.

"Just as it is in this time era, there were a lot of first century believers afraid to reveal their Christianity," Mary said.

"I can't wait for John to wake up, then we'll finally know the real truth about Jesus," Woody said.

"It's been a long time coming," Tom started, "Christianity has needed something to spark it back to life and John's arrival could be that spark."

"Who's John?" Bill asked.

"If he's like Paul, it will be his ability to love and genuinely care about people that will set him apart," Michael said. "Paul was convinced love was the greatest of miracles."

"He was right, my husband. The experience of this love, and genuine care about people was always the motivating factor of early Christianity."

"It's almost a thing of the past," Bill said. "Neighbors don't even know each other in this generation."

"Everyone knew who I was when I walked down the street," Michael said remembering the daily trip through the marketplace.

"Yes, dear, but you were a Roman soldier."
"Hmm, you've got a point, honey."

"Who's John?" Bill asked again.

Nobody answered.

They sat for a few minutes, enjoying the coffee and cider. Mary walked over to the window above the kitchen sink and inhaled the mountain air. Michael walked over to where she was, and gazed at the beauty of God's creation. He enjoyed the beauty of the earth more than ever before. He used to walk past many of these same wonders and never give them a thought. Since his personal relationship with the Creator of it all began, a deep appreciation for it emerged.

He placed his arms around Mary's waist from behind her, and whispered into her ear how much he loved her. She smiled as she turned to face him. She embraced him, moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, "We're going to have a baby."

Eight

"Come on, guys, who is John?" Bill asked. Then his expression changed as if he had just had an epiphany. "Wait! He's the frozen man, isn't he?"

Mary walked back over to the kitchen table with a smile on her face that lit up the room. Her expression was enough to raise questions from Tom and Woody.

"What is it?" they asked in unison.

"It seems we're going to have a child," Michael said, staggering back to the table.

"Well, that's great!" Tom said.

"Congratulations," Woody exclaimed.

"Yeah, great, it's wonderful," Bill said, a little perturbed. "But, WHO IS JOHN?"

They all looked at him as if he had asked the question only once.

"He's one of the original twelve disciples," Woody explained.

Bill's peachy face, once again changed to a ghostly white. He lifted his hands to each side of his face and stroked his cheeks in a downward motion.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not, Bill," Michael started. "He is from the same century as my wife and I."

He thought for a minute and then said, "It has to be God! How else can this be?" His color had returned to his face, and he was now intent on seeing John again.

"Would you like to see him, now?" Woody asked grinning, as he pointed the way to the lab.

Woody, Tom, and Bill left the kitchen, leaving Mary and Michael alone. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He looked into her eyes and said, "I cannot find words that express my joy."

"I know. It's a dream come true," she beamed.

"Can you imagine the privilege afforded us to not have to raise a child under the Roman Empire?"

"There was a time I would have argued with you about the Roman Empire, but I've learned there's more to life than just that," Michael said.

Just then, Woody's servant entered the kitchen and sat at the table. His countenance was distorted by perplexity. Joshua was, by nature, a calm man. His demeanor was that of a servant. He walked with respect and yet gave to all without question. Michael knew he truly had the heart of a servant. But something was definitely bothering him today.

"Something wrong?" Mary asked, genuinely concerned.

"I— I had a strange dream last night, and I don't know why," he said as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Do you mind telling us the dream?" Michael asked.

"Not at all," he said as he cleared his throat. "I was in this field of tall, golden grain. It was leaning under the stress of maturity. I don't know much about farming, but I could tell it was ready for harvest." He paused for a moment to catch his breath, and ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair, then continued, "As I stood in the middle of this field, a huge black cloud came over the horizon. At first, I thought it was going to storm, but then I noticed it was only about five feet up from the ground. It was so black and ominous. It was scary. To make matters worse, it was headed right for me! I tried to run, but couldn't move. As it drew closer, I knew it meant the end for me, so I began to pray. All of a sudden a child appeared, as if he came from within the grain itself. He couldn't have been more than two or three years old, but he stood, raised his hand toward the black cloud, and said 'Stop.' I woke up with sweat all over me, and came in here to get some water."

Michael pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. Mary had already retrieved a glass of water for the gentleman and gave it to him.

"The grain represents the people of God, the field is the world. The cloud is the resistant force from this age opposing God. The child," Michael said, as he paused to realize the significance of this child, which slowed his speech a little, "The child is one born in this age, but not from this age."

Mary fainted. The two men quickly rose from their chairs and went to her, kneeling on either side.

"Mary," Michael said. "Are you all right?"

"Mrs. Aurelius, can you hear me?" Joshua asked.

Mary sat up slowly, and leaned into Michael's chest. Her strength had not yet returned. When she finally composed herself, she looked at Michael.

"How did you know how to interpret that dream?" she asked.

"I can't say," he started, "It just came to me. It was as if the words were someone else's and I was just repeating them"

The three of them sat on the stone floor in a sort of triangle. Michael was to the right of Mary and Joshua was on the other side of Michael.

"I don't believe I know your name, sir," Mary said to the man sitting with them.

"Joshua," he said.

"Well, Joshua, that was quite an amazing dream," she said.

"I believe God gave him this dream for our personal benefit," Michael said.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"Come on, honey; a child born in this age, but not from this age?"

"You mean…." she said as she stared off into the distance, and placed a hand on her stomach.

"Exactly!" Michael said. "Joshua told us the dream right after you told me about being pregnant."

"Our God is a wonderful God," Joshua said. "I have often wondered why my mother gave me this name. I sure didn't feel like I could live up to it. She said the name Joshua was the Hebrew version of Jesus and she spoke with respect concerning the Joshua of the Bible, and thought I would be like him. Since Joshua led the Israelites after Moses, he was a very relevant man for his time era. I never thought I would be like that; especially when she told me about the walls of the city Jericho. This dream, however, sort of puts things in a new perspective."

"As you said, Joshua, God is wonderful. I can see the likeness in your spirit," Michael said.

Mary stood, and the men joined her. She assured them she was all right now, and they need not worry. Michael's mind went back to some of the dreams he had while in Rome and he felt an overwhelming sense of purpose. His life as a jailer paled in the light of the role for which he was being prepared. He really felt unqualified for the task, but God did not prepare him just so he could stop before its completion.

Mary was his fortress of support. She had often said she would follow him anywhere, and she is a source of strength he could not get from any other human being. He couldn't tell her what the future would be like, but he knew it was not going to be dull.

Joshua left the kitchen to get started on his daily tasks while Mary and Michael walked down the long hallway to see John. Woody, Bill, and Tom were standing around a table where the smooth, metallic cylinder was. Woody was busy inspecting its design and composition.

"There you are," he said as he looked at Michael. "Where have you been?"

Mary and Michael looked at each other and shared the news of their coming child and how it related to Joshua's dream. They all looked as if they didn't quite understand what they had just heard. Instead of explaining further, Michael turned their attention to the cylinder and asked if Woody had discovered any of its properties.

"It's unique in its makeup. I can say what it is not, which sort of helps determine what it might be," he explained.

"Tell us," Tom said.

"It's some form of titanium," Woody said.

"I didn't know there was any left," Tom mused.

"It is odd to see it in the shape of a cylinder," Woody stated.

He picked it up and held it close to his eyes, turning it this way and that. Then he stopped and inspected a section of the end with a little more scrutiny. He hurriedly put it back down, ran to a desk, and searched through the drawers frantically.

"Don't touch it," he warned. "Aha! Here it is," he said as he retrieved a large magnifying glass.

Making his way back to the table, he picked up the object, and studied it under the magnifying glass. After a closer inspection, he placed it on the table, laid down his magnifying glass, and placed his finger on the rounded end of the cylinder. A small burst of pressure was released as the end he touched rotated automatically and revealed its contents.

Inside was a blue gel housed in a clear membrane, a scroll, and some very familiar pieces of bronze. Woody inspected each of the items until he could identify them. The last item he inspected was the scroll. It was in Aramaic. Michael recognized it from letters he had seen in Rome.

"May I?" Michael asked as he reached for the scroll.

"Certainly," Woody said as he handed him the sandy-colored paper.

It had a nice feel to it, as if it had just been made. The wax seal was still very soft and easily broken. As Michael unrolled it, the paper was smooth and unbroken. This was uncommon in his experiences with papyrus. It sure looked like papyrus, but he was certain there was something different about it. The Aramaic text was perfectly written without the smudges so common during the first century. It was a message for Woody.

"Woody, this is a message for you. It is addressed to you," Michael explained.

Nine

Everyone gathered around the scroll and listened.

"Woody, let your faith be strong. The contents of this unusual cylinder hold the purpose of launching a worldwide movement of my holy power. Follow these instructions and watch what I do. The medallions are for you, Tom, Joshua, and Bill."

He knew Bill would be here.

"Wear them as a reminder of what I am calling you to do. The gel in the membrane contains a substance to bring John to life. Anoint him with it, and I will do the rest. Do not be afraid of the opposition, I will protect you. There is no chance of failure. What I have begun, I will also complete. Be strong."

Michael inspected the bottom of the scroll closely and then looked at Woody. "It's signed 'Jesus'."

Woody picked up the medallions and handed one to each of the people as per instructions; Joshua had entered the room sometime while Michael was reading the scroll. Then Woody picked up the gel, walked over to John, broke it open, and began to rub it on John's exposed areas as if he knew that was where he was supposed to put it. His arms, hands, legs, feet, and face were covered with the blue gel.

"Well, there you go," he started. "I guess that's how I should put it on him anyway. Now all we have to do is wait for Jesus to do the rest."

Woody cleaned his hands with a cloth that was lying on the lab table next to the cylinder.

"I feel like a cup of coffee," he said as if he had just won a victory.

They all adjourned to the kitchen and gathered around the table as Joshua brought cups and some coffee to the table. Mary offered to help, but Joshua insisted she allow him to serve. Michael could tell the contents of the cylinder was going to have a lasting affect on them all as they sat in silence for quite some time before Woody spoke.

"Please sit with us, Joshua," he offered.

"Thank you, sir," he said as he sat and poured himself some coffee.

Michael wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but this had a unique flavor. He liked it.

"I added some cider to it, sir. I had hoped it would please you," Joshua said.

Michael raised his cup to him in salute, and sipped some more of the unique coffee.

"I think he is just trying to get you hooked on the caffeine," Tom suggested.

"After the news Mary gave me earlier, anything to help me deal with the excitement is a good thing," he said.

"Actually, caffeine will only hype you up more," Bill offered.

"Thanks, Bill. Michael needs more hype," Mary said sarcastically.

"Exactly!" Michael retorted.

Everyone laughed, which broke the tension they were feeling inside.

"Imagine, getting to personally know one of the original twelve," Woody said. "Imagine!"

"I wonder how long it will be before Jesus does his part concerning John?" Tom asked.

"I can assure you, the timing will be perfect," Joshua added.

They sipped their coffee therapeutically, drifting on the mist of thought. Michael's thoughts combed through the recent events trying to find the logic in them and then he focused on the group Bill had mentioned earlier.

"Can anyone give me more information about the Herodians?" he asked.

"They're a group of people who oppose anything that is remotely religious. Recently, they've had a propensity for violence, especially against Christians. No one is sure why they suddenly took to aggression, but it's getting progressively worse. Their attacks are becoming bolder, and less prejudicial in nature. They seem to hate anyone who is different than they are," Bill offered.

"What do you have to do to be accepted by them?" Mary asked.

"I'm not really sure. I can only say it can't be a very relaxing way to live," Bill answered.

"Well, how relaxed do you think our lives will be when John is revived?" Joshua asked.

"According to the scroll we should be well protected," Woody offered. "That's not to say there won't be some surprising experience to it."

"I don't believe we'll lose sleep over it," Mary encouraged.
"It can't be any worse than living in the first century," Michael said.

"I can't imagine how that was, Michael," Joshua said.

"For certain people, I would imagine it was much the same as it is for the Herodians."

"Does anyone know why they chose that name?" Tom asked.

"I think their leader's name is Herod," Bill answered.

"Is there really someone in this century by that name?" Mary asked.

"Either that, or he had his name changed," Woody suggested.

"No matter, it still represents the very force that was opposed to Christ in the first century, so I imagine it is no different now," Michael offered.

"Were they violent back then?" Tom asked.

"I'm not sure if that really describes it, Tom. They were certainly that; however, a certain deviousness was also added," Michael replied.

"So they were sneaky and violent," he said.

"I guess you could say that. It was difficult to tell who was and who was not your friend."

"What can you tell us about Herod?" Bill asked.

"He was King of Judea around the time Christ was on the earth. It was reported that he had one of the disciples beheaded, and, according to Paul, he was a great threat to Christianity. Many feared he would come after them. His father tried to have the Christ child killed by ordering the slaughter of every male infant in the area. Hmmmm," he said rubbing his stubbly chin, "It is very interesting, and I have never thought of it until now, but he died shortly thereafter."

"It seems I read somewhere," Woody started, "That he married his brother's wife, and John the Baptist challenged him in public."

"What is it that makes him influential enough for this group to name themselves after him?" Bill asked.

"Yes; and why would anyone want to be that closely associated with his name?" Mary asked.

As the questions were asked, a knock came at the front door. Michael had an uneasy feeling as Joshua went to answer the door only to have it kicked out of his hands by an angry man. Everyone stood and ran to the living room to intervene.

"Hold it right there," a man said, pointing an automatic weapon at them.

He was scrubby-looking with unkempt, dirty hair and clothes. He stood only about five feet tall, but was very muscular. The exposed parts of his body were covered with bleeding scrapes and cuts, and he seemed to be in a great deal of pain. Everyone looked at each other for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do next when more men entered the house, all carrying weapons.

"What's this all about?" Woody asked.

"Just stand there and be quiet!" the scrubby man demanded.

Michael moved over to where Woody was standing and touched him in assurance. He recognized the man and if he wasn't mistaken, things were playing out as they had in his dream. He wondered if they were going to fire their weapons at them. Another man entered the house. He was dressed in a nice pair of slacks, a white shirt with long sleeves, and a brown leather jacket. This was their leader.

"My name is Herod," he said.

Ten

They waited for him to say something else as he inspected everyone with his eyes. He started with Bill and worked his way around the semi-circle where they were standing until he inspected everyone.

"I understand you found something of interest to the government," Herod said.

"I guess you could say that," Woody offered.

"Yes, I guess I could," he said as his eyes wandered around the room. "I suppose we'd better have a look."

He started to move toward the hall as if he knew right where John was standing. Everyone followed him to the chamber down at the end the hallway. What they saw was not expected. There, where John had been standing was a small puddle of the blue gel, but no John.

"Well?" Herod asked as he turned to look at Woody.

"He was here a little while ago," Woody offered.

"What do you mean? Where could he be now?" he interrogated. His eyes were now blazing hot and everyone expected him to turn violent.

"I really couldn't say," Woody answered, looking around the room.

No one could tell what had happened, but one thing was obvious; John had been revived. Now the real adventure would begin. Michael almost felt giddy. He was ready to experience some more of the miraculous things he did before his arrival in this century; it had been two years! He was certain he would, in light of currently keeping company with John, who is one of the original twelve disciples of Jesus.

All the guns were now pointing at Woody. Michael saw Herod raise his right arm, and then something difficult to explain happened. Everything Herod and his men were doing seemed to slow to a snail's pace, while the rest were not affected. Herod's lips were moving so slow it was hard to understand his words. A slow changing of expressions on the faces of those men holding the guns told Michael what they were about to do.

"Woody!" he yelled, "Over here."

Woody, a little anxious, immediately recognized the time dilation that was taking place. He didn't know quite what to make of it, but walked over to where the others were standing, and then they turned and exited the room.

"Are you okay, Mary?" Michaelasked.

"Yes, although I am not sure how. My pulse isn't even raised," she replied.

"Explain what just happened," Tom said.

"Why? Let's just be thankful we got out of there," Bill said.

"I can only say it must be a slowing of time. Look at the clock on the wall. The second hand is moving very slow," Woody observed.

They were soon outside when it dawned on Michael that they didn't have a clue as to the whereabouts of John. He stopped and turned to go back in the house.

"Where are you going, Michael?" Mary asked nervously.

"We can't just leave John in there."

"Did you see him? I didn't see him. Did you see him, Woody?" Tom asked excitedly.

"I didn't see him, Tom. However, Michael has a point. If John is in there he will need our help to escape," Woody said.

They cautiously entered the house. None of them remembered hearing gunfire, but they were sure they were about to be shot and didn't want to walk into an ambush. It was very quiet in the house. They didn't even hear any sound from the room down the hall.

"The clock is back up to speed," Woody noticed.

"Yes, it is," Michael said.

As they walked down the hall, they couldn't hear anyone moving or talking. Entering the room, Herod and his men were gone.

"Tell me we aren't dreaming," Tom said.

"I assure you, we are not," Woody assured.

The gray stone walls were speckled with a spattering of holes, leaving chalky powder on the floor at the base of them. The room had been riddled with bullets. They stared at the mess left in the wake, and then started searching for John. The fact that Herod and his men were gone inexplicably gave them reason enough to be thankful, but they were uncertain about John. The search under tables and behind the huge storage cabinets turned up nothing. Tom suggested they pray.

"Prayer has been a key in all the recent events," he said. "Maybe it will help us locate John."

"I agree," Woody added.

A small circle was formed with Mary to Michael's right, followed by Woody, then Tom, Joshua, and Bill. A reverent silence filled the air as they closed their eyes in meditation. Tom prayed, and then Bill, followed by Mary, Michael, and finally Joshua. When they opened their eyes, John was standing in the middle of the circle.

"May this house be blessed with peace," he said, smiling.

Nothing could have prepared them for this. Even after miraculously escaping gunfire, to see a man suddenly appear where no one was a moment ago was a bit unnerving. Certain that their staring was making him uncomfortable, they moved to greet him.

There was no evidence of the blue gel. His hair and clothes were different from what he had been wearing. He was wearing a rather nice looking pair of gray slacks and a blue short-sleeve shirt. His dark curly hair was neatly combed, and he was clean-shaven. He seemed a bit uneasy with the garments, but he did look more like a man from the current century.

"The master said it would be better for me to dress this way," he explained, as he moved his shoulders and arms around trying to adjust his new attire.

"Master?" Bill asked.

"Why Jesus, of course," he replied.

"Right," Bill returned sarcastically.

"Why not?" Tom started. "Michael talks to him all the time. It could only be logical that one of his disciples could do the same."

Tom was beside himself with excitement. His eyes were like two big saucers making semi-circles of his eyebrows. Woody was being a scientist as he inspected John, while Bill stood motionless in disbelief. It was obvious John had made a profound impact on them.

"I'm Michael Aurelius," Michael said extending his hand in friendship.

"And I'm Mary, his wife," Mary offered, as John took Michael's hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all," he said as he turned to face Woody. "And you must be the one who followed the Master's instruction to bring me here."
"I suppose you could put it that way," Woody replied.

"It's the truth, so I can say it no other way," John said.

"Do you know what happened to Herod and his men?" Joshua asked.

"The Master moved them to another location," he explained. He said it like it had been a natural occurrence.

"No matter," Michael said. "We have a lot to catch up on. I, for one, am interested to hear any instructions Jesus may have given you concerning our mission."

"By the way, where exactly did you go when you left this room?" Woody asked.

"It's hard to say. I can only explain it by saying I was in the presence of the Master," John replied.

"Wow," Bill said. "What does he look like?"

"He looks like Jesus of Nazareth," John answered wittingly.

"Yes, I'm sure he does, but can you describe him?" he asked.

"He is a little taller than I am. His robes are white; his gentle, loving, and powerful hands look like those of a carpenter, only with scars from the nails that pierced them. He is full of strength and energy. His persona is like pure energy, glowing white and making my skin tingle," John described.

Michael had never heard any speech like his before. The words he used weren't new, but they had a penetrating effect, reaching down deep inside him and filling him with hope. He didn't know why God chose this particular generation to accomplish all these miraculous events, but he was sure life would never be the same for many people.

"Are you hungry?" Joshua asked.

"Yes, I am. Do you have any fish?" John replied.

"I think I can put something together for you," Joshua offered.

Everyone followed Joshua and John to the kitchen, and gathered around the table. Soon conversations about the events of the evening, and the past couple of days were buzzing through the air. John's stories of his experiences with Jesus were fascinating. Then John looked directly at Mary.

"The child you are carrying will be like Paul," he said.

The room fell silent.

Michael's mouth fell open. He really didn't know how to respond to the news that his son was going to become like Paul, whom was affectionately dubbed "the strange little man."

He was reminded that it was he who woke the spirit within him, though. And he is responsible for the birth of many of the early churches. Even with all the wonderful experiences he must have had, it was still hard for Michael to imagine the persecution he endured.

Michael guessed by their silence, everyone was handling the news of a 'new' Paul pretty well.

"Did you know Paul?" Mary asked, breaking the silence.

"Our paths crossed a couple of times, but the stories of his accomplishments among the Gentiles are well known," he said, as he paused in reflection. "At least I think they were well known."

"It will take a little while for you to get used to the thirty-first century," Michael said.

"I see," he replied.

"Many things about life in the first century are still so real to us that, at times, it is difficult for us to separate them," Mary said.

"They call it technology," Michael said.

"I can see a definite improvement in the quality of life," John said.

"I don't know about that," Tom said. "Sometimes I wonder if all this technology hasn't made man lazy."

"There are still things that must be done by hand, Tom," Woody explained, as he gestured at the artifacts in his house.

"I see your point," he replied.

"John, how did you and the other disciples handle the persecution of your day?" Bill asked. He was hoping for a solution to the current predicament.

"We simply trusted Jesus to protect us," he answered.

"The type of persecution they experienced is quite different than what we are experiencing today," Woody offered as he gestured for John to continue.

"Persecution was very physical in the first-century church. Some tried to hide from the Romans, thinking they would escape it. Ironically, the Romans were not really the greatest threat to the church in the beginning. The Jewish religious leaders hated the Christians. They feared they would lose control of the people. All their prestige and income was derived from the temple and as long as people were placing their faith in them, they had a certain amount of control. But when Jesus came and started referring to them as snakes and sinners, the minds of the people began to change concerning the authority of the Pharisees and Sadducees. To add confusion to chaos, Jesus was raising the dead, causing the blind to see, making the lame able to walk, all by simply speaking a word to them. This did not sit well with the Pharisees. The Sadducees, who didn't believe in life after death, were infuriated. Consequently, any who believed in Jesus as the Messiah were marked. But in all of their attempts to thwart the growth of Christianity, our numbers increased daily," John taught.

"Did they ever stop persecuting you?" Bill asked.

"Not to my knowledge. But the Holy Ghost sent me to a cave to pray one day, and that was the last thing I remember until I saw Woody's face," John said.
"Were you persecuted physically?" Tom asked.

"I was once placed into a vat full of boiling oil, but as you can see, no harm came to me," he said showing his arms to us all. "Another time I was beaten on the bottom of my feet until I thought for sure I would never be able to walk again, but I got right back up and went into the temple to tell others about Jesus."

John's attention turned to Mary again. She was turning pale and looked as if she was going to faint. John pushed his chair back, stood, and walked over to where she was and touched her right shoulder. No one knew that Mary was ill before John made his move towards her, because once John touched her, the color of her skin returned to normal. She looked up at John who only pointed a finger to the sky.

"I know," she smiled. "Give God the glory."

"Yes, it is only he who can make things right; both in our spirit and our body," he said.

"I wonder if he might tell you what we should do about the Herodians?" Bill asked.

"Jesus mentioned to me that God has allowed many such groups to flourish to bring his people together," John said.

"Well, I think his plan backfired!" Bill exclaimed, genuinely perturbed.

"Do you not think there are more Christians than the small group that you know?" John asked.

"I think so. I mean, I've always tried to assure myself of it, but I guess I've not been too successful," Bill replied.

"Just as God hardened the Pharaoh's heart in Egypt to enslave the Hebrews to bring about the law, the Herodians are nothing more than a pawn to move God's people out from their hiding places into the open," John assured.
"Why, then, has he brought us together?" Tom asked.

"I think it is to be his hands, feet, and voice to this generation," Michael said.

"This is true, Michael. God has always used man to fulfill his plans and purposes on the earth. A restoration of faith must begin in the hearts of his chosen first, and then the rest of the earth can be restored to its rightful place among God's creation," John said, as he took his place around the table once again.

"It's easy to see how complex this can become," Tom offered.

"It becomes complex when we try to understand things we should just accept," John said.

"We had no idea how Jesus was able to do the things he did in the first century, and after many questions, Peter, James, and I finally agreed we would try to just accept him for who he said he was."

Joshua came to the table pushing a cart lavished with food. The aroma from the fish, potatoes, carrots, and bread teased their senses until they stood and helped themselves to the meal. John began to cry.

"What's the matter, sir?" Joshua asked.

"I've never seen a better prepared meal in all my days. It is a feast fit for a king," he explained.

For the next few minutes, all was silent as they enjoyed the feast Joshua had cooked. John was very careful not to put more on his plate than what he could eat while the rest piled their plates full. Michael almost felt ashamed. . . . Almost.

Eleven

After he finished eating, John rose from the kitchen table and headed for the front door. Michael followed him because he wanted to know how he knew about their child and how he had known what to do when Mary was ill. It would also be his chance to speak with him alone. They were from the same time era, and Michael thought he could answer some of his questions about this century. He found a comfortable spot on the edge of the porch where he sat down and let his legs hang over the side. Michael sat down beside him.

"Well, John, what do you think of this new way of living?" Michael asked.

"There is nothing new under the sun," he said.

"It's certainly new to me," Michael returned quickly.

"It is for me as well; but not for Jesus," he said, indicating he had already had this conversation with Jesus.

"I can see you are going to be a tremendous source of encouragement for me."

As they looked out over the horizon, Michael noticed how blue and beautiful the sky was. There were a few fluffs of clouds floating by without a care in the world, making shadows on the ground below them as they passed overhead. The hills and dales were green and rolling, giving him an urge to run and play as he did as a child. He hadn't experienced that sensation since becoming a Roman soldier, and it was somehow refreshing.

"Kinda makes you want to jump and run, doesn't it?" John asked.

"You, too?" Michael asked, surprised. "I had never noticed the beauty of creation before I met that strange little man in my prison back at Rome."

"I suppose this is quite the adventure for you, isn't it Michael?" he asked.

"That's an understatement. To think that God would choose me out of all the people available who could have done a better job at this than I have; it's just too much for my little mind to fathom," Michael said.

"I felt that way, too. I was happy being a just being a fisherman. When Jesus invited my brother and me to follow him, I really didn't know what to expect, but when he looked into my eyes; I can't explain it; it was as if my whole life changed in that one glance," John explained excitedly.

"That's what Simeon said."

"You mean the man who carried the cross for the Master?"

"He mentioned something about helping him with a load he was carrying; so yes, that had to be it."

"Did you get to speak with him at length?"

"Long enough to know the look Jesus gave him changed his life."

"What else did he say? Did the Master say anything to him that day?" he asked like a curious child.

"He didn't say. He was just there to deliver a letter from a man named Timothy to my prisoner. He was a nice fellow; it sure was a shame to watch him die," Michael replied sorrowfully.

They sat silently for the next few minutes reflecting on their individual pasts and then Michael sighed heavily and looked into his eyes. He noticed the same look in his eyes as was in the eyes of Paul back in Rome. It was like there was a mysterious force behind them that seemed as if it would leap out at any minute. It was almost eerie. Yet, it was something Michael longed to experience. He wondered if it took a closer encounter with Jesus that what he had to gain this depth of life.

"I really have to know something John," Michael stated, trying to focus on the reason he followed him out here.

"Anything for a fellow believer," John said.

"How did you know about Mary?"

"You mean about your child or that she was ill?" he asked.

"Both."

"The answer to both is Jesus."

"How did you know she would be well after you touched her?" Michael was prodding for more insight.

"I just knew. It is difficult to explain, except to say that just as sure as an apple will fall to the ground when released from my hand, Jesus will heal the sick by the prayer of faith," he explained.
He made it sound so simple. How could someone so powerful be hidden from such a needy generation as this one?

"Do you think others will regain their faith and perform miracles as you did with Mary?"

"It is inevitable. From the spark of faith within you the Father recognized he could use you for this task he has placed before you," he said. He paused for a moment and then continued. "Every man is born with the same amount of faith. The difference is made when someone is compelled to rely on that faith; that's when miracles take place."

"Miracles. I wonder how often that word is used today?"

They sat there watching the sky as if something spontaneous was about to transpire, but it only served to stir up the spirit within Michael to worship God. Then, as if he had lost control of his arms, he raised them to the sky and spoke words of praise to God as if he were standing right in front of him. John was inspired to do the same. Michael felt something strange inside him giving him determination and knowledge for the task ahead. He felt as if Jesus wanted to say something.

"Speak, Master," John implored.

A voice came to Michael's ears as it did in the front room of his home in Rome. It filled every fiber of his being until he thought there was no room for any more words:

"Michael, I have given you John to awaken this generation from its long slumber. I have prepared many people for this mission. The cup of iniquity of this generation is full, and I will have mercy before I bring destruction. I will guide you to these people, and together you will shake those who wait to be awakened."

As the voice dissipated, Michael turned to John and noticed tears were following the curves of his smiling face as they flowed down and dripped from his chin. His face seemed to glow as if it were illuminated from behind his skin.

"You're smiling," he said softly.

"So are you."

"Then I am to understand you heard the voice, too?" Michael asked.

"The voice was Jesus," he replied. "And yes, I heard it too."

"I'm going to have to learn to recognize that voice more readily," Michael said as he rose to his feet.

"Don't worry, my friend. Before long it will be as easy as recognizing the voice of your wife," John said, encouraging him.

Just as they started for the door, Woody came out on the porch. His face was contorted in a manner consistent with perplexity. His eyes were narrowed and his brow wrinkled.

"Please stay out here for a few more minutes," he pleaded.

They went to the chairs that lined the front wall of Woody's house and sat down.

"I just received a communication from the government. They want to send someone over to inspect John," Woody said.

"Let them come," John said.

"Are you sure?" Michael asked.

"There will be no hiding the truth from the people. When the government discovers my authenticity, they will not be able to deny it. They will, of course, ask for some kind of sign," John explained.

"What will you do?" Woody asked.

"I'm not sure, but I do know it will only be what I hear Jesus telling me to do," John replied.

Woody and Michael stared in awe. To think that someone could be in such direct communication with Jesus that they would be able to hear his instruction alone was just mind-boggling. Yet, somehow, he knew that's exactly what John would do.

The sun was almost set when Bill joined them on the porch. His eyes danced with excitement as he sat on the porch in front of John.

"I need to ask if you would be willing to come with me to the next meeting of believers," he said.

"Certainly. We will all come," John replied.

"All of you? Is that wise?" Bill asked. "What if the Herodians ambush all of us together?"

"We're protected. Wherever we go, the Holy Spirit will precede us in preparation of our arrival. God will not allow his plan to fail. We will certainly meet opposition, but he that resides within us is more powerful than he who chooses to oppose us," John explained.

"When do you want to go?" Woody asked.

"First thing in the morning," Bill answered.

The men stood to enter the house when a vehicle drove up and stopped close to Michael's Z-7. Two men emerged, dressed in black, and carrying what appeared to be a briefcase.

"The government has arrived, gentlemen," Woody proclaimed quietly.

"They are not to be feared," John said.

As they approached the porch, Woody extended a friendly hand to welcome them to his house. They walked inside and sat around the kitchen table. Mary, Tom, and Joshua had moved from where they were, so the table was a perfect meeting place.

"Well now, gentlemen, what can we do for you?" Woody asked.

"Believe it or not, we're here to inspect this archeological find of yours and determine whether it has any governmental value or not. I guess they want to display it in a museum or something of that nature," one of the men said.

"Would it be all right if we introduced ourselves first?" Bill asked.

The other agent stood, shook his head, and pointed at Michael. The rest of the men stood, expecting a round of hand shaking and introductions.

"You would be Michael Aurelius, the renowned security man," he started, and then moved his finger around the table. "Woody Tenny, of course, and William Conrad. However, I am not sure who you are," he said as he pointed at John.

Bill seemed uneasy that they recognized him, but Michael was more concerned about what they were going to do when John was introduced.

"Fine," Woody said. "And your names are?"

"I am Crockette, and this is my partner, Boothe," the taller man said, pointing to the man who had just spoken.

They didn't seem to be threatening at all; in fact, they looked like a couple of guys just trying to do their jobs. Michael wasn't quite sure how they would react to John.

"Who is this man?" Crockette asked.

"This is my new friend, John," Woody said.

"And where is he from?" Boothe asked.

Mr. Boothe was not as tall as Crockette and looked as if he had had a rough life. His face was lined with wrinkles that told of a life filled with trouble and anguish. With the small space between his eyes, his stare could be quite alarming.
"You would find it hard to believe," John said.

"Try me," Boothe returned.

"I am from the same time era as Jesus Christ," John said softly.

"Yeah, and I'm the President of these here United Countries," Boothe replied sarcastically.

"He's telling you the truth," Woody said.

"Well, now," Crockette said, as he walked a circle around John. "This changes everything."

Crockette was the taller of the two, but was quite a bit heavier than anyone in the room. The thunder of his voice echoed through the chambers of the mind, even when he was not screaming. His face was not mapped with wrinkles, as was his partner's, yet it was full of anxiety that grew more intense upon learning about John.

"Is this true?" he directed his question to John.

"It is," John replied.

"So, did you know Jesus personally?" he asked sincerely.

"As much as three years would allow," he replied solemnly.

Michael could tell he missed his life in the first century before the crucifixion took place.

"You were friends, then?" he asked. Again, he was sincere; not interrogating or threatening, as was the usual expectation from the government.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, could I see some identification please?" Michael asked remembering what happened earlier when Bill came disguised as an agent.

"Certainly," they said in unison.

They pulled out a black leather carrier that folded in the middle and held a large photograph with their name and information on it; the other side held an official government badge. Everything looked official.

"Thank you," Michael said, after inspecting them closely.

"Back to the question, if you don't mind," Crockette said.

"We were more than friends," John said. "I can't explain it."
"I see," Boothe cut in. "Then you were there when he died and was proven to be a false prophet."

His statement infuriated Michael. He wanted to lash out with some smart reply that would cut him in the heart of hearts, but something restrained him. Then he looked at John, who was as calm as he could be. Michael guessed he had heard such things before, and it didn't sway him then, so why should it be any different today?

"I was also there to see him after he rose from the dead," he answered calmly.

Boothe tensed up as he put his hand in his jacket pocket. This movement caused Bill to react by backing away. Everyone thought he was going for a gun, but instead he pulled out a piece of paper that looked like an official document.

"This is an official order from the highest court in the country to take this man back with us. I assume he is the archaeological discovery brought to life somehow," Boothe said.

It didn't seem likely that they could understand the complexity of "brought back to life somehow" which threw a shadow of doubt into Michael's mind concerning the authenticity of their visit. If not from the government, then from where? If their identifications were fake, they were good, real good. Still, they accepted the reviving of John as if it were a common thing; this alone was enough to make Michael proceed with caution.

Woody inspected the document carefully and, with disgust, handed back to Boothe.

"John, you are now official government property," Boothe said smugly.

"I belong to Christ," he said, again very calmly.

"Wait a minute," Crockette said with authority, "I am the ranking officer here; why was I not told of this document?"

Boothe suddenly seemed uneasy. His hand shook as he placed the paper back into his pocket. Crockette moved next to him and looked into his eyes.

"Let me see that!" he demanded.

Boothe took the paper out of his pocket and placed in the hand of Crockette. He turned toward John, opened the document, and read it. Then he paused as if he were pondering his next action.

"I need to contact the office," he said, as he reached his hand into his pocket.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Boothe said, pointing a pistol at Crockette.
Twelve

Boothe's actions surprised everyone, even his partner. Michael was right. They all stood very still waiting for his next move. Crockette looked at Boothe as if he suddenly didn't know who he was. As Crockette stepped toward his partner, Boothe turned the gun on John.

"Move over here with me," he ordered.

John moved next to where Boothe was standing. Crockette walked over to Michael, and then at his pocket where his hand was. Michael could tell he wanted him to follow his lead in the action he was about to take.

"Well, Boothe, I guess you know what you're doing," he said, leading Michael to say something.

"I suppose you know this is called kidnapping," Michael offered.

"You two have no idea who you're dealing with," Boothe replied.

"Suppose you tell us," Crockette said.

"I work for an elite group of men determined not to let religion dictate how free men are going to live," he said proudly.

"In other words, you have no idea, either," Michael said smartly.

"Well, no. I haven't met the leader face to face, but I know he will accept me when I bring him John," he said.

"So let's see if I understand," Crockette started. "You're willing to risk everything you've worked for up to this point for a chance to meet this guy?"

"You don't understand who he is," Boothe replied.

"I know exactly who he is," John said.

"Have you seen him?" Boothe asked.

"Nose to nose," John replied. "His time on this earth is very limited."

"How do you know that?" Boothe requested.
"Remember where he's from?" Michael asked.

"Better yet, remember who he knows!" Woody stated.

"This is not a debate, gentlemen," Boothe said.

"We will not go with you," John said.

"Sure you will. If you don't, I will shoot your friends one at a time," Boothe threatened.

They all looked at each other wondering if they were making the right choice, but their faith in what John was saying gave them the strength needed to do what they did.

"How many people have you killed?" Crockette asked.

"None. But there is always a first time," Boothe replied nervously, as he shifted the gun around in his hand.

"So you don't know what it feels like. You've never seen the look on the face of the person or heard the bullet as it enters and exits the body. You've never experienced the nightmares afterward that make you question your ability to judge situations. They can teach you how to aim and pull the trigger, but they cannot teach you how to deal with the mental anguish once you've fired on someone!" Crockette explained coldly.

It was easy to tell Crockette didn't like using firearms. Michael noticed he carried one, but he wondered if it was loaded. Something about him told him he was a family man who wanted to be able to go home to his family at the end of the day

Michael felt at ease when he realized that Crockette had shifted Boothe's focus. Crockette's eyes never left Boothe's during the confrontation. Maybe it was the sheer size of the man that unnerved Boothe. What ever it was, they were all glad that Crockette could pull this off without any harm to anyone.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for your weapon," Crockette said, as he held out his hand.

"Of course," Boothe said, handing him the gun.

As the gun changed hands Mary, Tom, and Joshua entered the kitchen. They could tell something tense had just happened. Joshua asked if anyone needed refreshments.

"Yes, Joshua, that would be appropriate," Woody said.

They all sat down around the table and devised a plan for these agents to complete their assignment successfully.

"Exactly what was your assignment?" Michael asked.

"As I said earlier, we were to come and inspect your find," Crockette answered.

"Was there a purpose for this inspection?" Michael asked.

"Of course. We were to determine whether there was any governmental value in your discovery," he answered.

"I guess we could say he's just a man," Boothe offered.

"Yes, but they're going to want to know something about this man. Is he alive? Is there something about him that could threaten the stability of the government?" Crockette explained.

"I see," Michael started. "We wouldn't want you to lie to your superiors, but there has to be something you can say that will at least stall them."

"We can tell them that he is alive, but not ready for the world yet. Or maybe that the world isn't ready for him. Other than that, he's just a piece of history with no threat to the government," Crockette offered.

"When do you have to make this report?" Woody asked.

"Tomorrow," he answered.

"Well then, it's settled. You tell them what you just said and we will take it from there. That way you have done your job, and we will be on track for ours," Michael said.

"Just what is your job?" Crockette asked.

"If I told you, then you would feel the need to tell your superiors. We can't take the chance that they'll misunderstand it as a threat to the country."

"I see," he said.

"Is there a threat to our country?" Boothe asked.

"Only from people like the Herodians," Woody replied.

"So you think we should concentrate on groups like the Herodians?" Crockette asked.

"Of course I do. They are the real threat because they think they are fighting detrimental religion, and all the while they are forming a cult themselves," Woody explained.

"I can say the government is aware of their violent nature. But I do not know if there are any agents assigned to follow them. That's not my department," Crockette said.

Joshua brought some fresh brewed coffee and tea to the table, served it to the guests first and then to the rest. A servant's heart.

"Please join us, Joshua," Woody said.

"If you don't mind sir, I would like to retire for the evening. Our prayer meeting was very intense and it has left me drained," he explained.

"Of course," Woody said, as he looked at Mary and Tom. "Prayer meeting?"

"Yes, we felt the need to pray as you all went out to the front porch," Mary answered.

"I have never felt anything like it," Tom said.

"I understand why you were compelled," John started. "I remember when Jesus wanted us to pray while he went a little deeper into a garden to pray alone. It was the night he was betrayed by Judas."

He paused for a moment and then continued.

"If only we could have stayed awake!" he said sorrowfully.

"From what Paul told me, it wouldn't have made any difference, John. It was supposed to happen the way it did. He seemed to know a lot about such things," Michael said, trying to comfort John.

"Thank you, Michael, but still…" he said as his voice faded and his face showed wrinkles of anguish.

"I think we'll be taking our leave," Crockette said, as he stood with Boothe and headed for the front door.

"At least we came to an understanding of the situation at hand, even if you couldn't give us information on the Herodians," Bill said.

"We have learned some things tonight we will not forget. Prayer works and Jesus is real!" Crockette said.

Thirteen

With the agents gone, the tension eased, and the calm ambiance of the conversation returned. Michael felt, for the first time, that they could actually pull off this plan to bring Christians out of hiding. He had personally met a disciple of Christ, and was learning what it meant to be a disciple. Not only that, he had seen things that were undeniably real, yet there was no logical explanation for them.

"That was surely an invigorating meeting with the government," Tom said.

"You should have been in here for the big show, Tom," Bill said.

"Yeah? I thought there for a second we were going to be turned into Swiss cheese," Woody said jokingly.

"I didn't think that for a moment," Michael said, trying to hide his fear of the whole incident.

"Honey, I'm getting tired," Mary started. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Yeah, it's been a long day for me as well," Tom said, as he rose from the table.

They all said their goodnights to them as they headed off for their respective rooms. Woody looked at John and suggested they formulate a plan for tomorrow.

"My suggestion is we pray," he said.

"How?" Michael asked.

"Do you not know how, Michael?" Woody asked.

"Yes, of course I do. That wasn't what I meant. I was referring to a strategy. Is there a certain way, or thing, for which we should pray?"

"I have always found that praying for souls is the best way to enter hostile territory," John said.

Hostile territory? Michael wondered if he was referring to some past event, but remembered that this man had walked into enough places where he knew he was not welcomed. His compassion for the people compelled him to go. Maybe there was a specific way to approach situations such as the one they were facing. Michael knew they were going to face the Herodians, and by John's words, they would be opposed. But the question in his mind was 'how'?

"Really?" Woody asked.

"Yes. On many occasions when I was instructed to enter a new city with the gospel, I prayed for men and their families to be converted. No matter how much opposition I met, many came to accept Jesus as the Messiah," John explained.

"But wasn't most of that backed-up with some sort of miracles?" Woody asked.

"Not all the time. Jesus did tell us some would accept our word because of who we were. Others did need miracles, but miracles were mostly based on need," John said.

"Need?" Michael asked.

"Certainly. Many were sick in that day and some were vexed with devils of many sorts. I am glad to say all succumbed to the name of Jesus," John explained.

"Wow. That must have been exciting!" Bill said.

"I guess you could say that, Bill. But remember, all this excitement came at a great cost to God," John said, reflectively.

"I guess there's not a higher price to pay than to give your only son as a ransom for people who really didn't seem to want any help," Woody pondered.

"It is hard for me to imagine what God was thinking in the grand scheme of things, but this much I am assured of: He loves his creation more than words can articulate," John said.

"You have certainly brought a new light to the failing faith we've hidden in the closets of our hearts all these years," Woody said.

"That is the purpose for my extremely long lifespan," John said.

"Yes, I suppose you could put it like that. No one has ever been preserved as long as you have and lived to tell about it. Just the fact that you were preserved by means beyond anything our science can explain proves it is a miracle any way you try to say it," Woody explained.

"Among all the miracles Jesus performed in the first century, the one that received more attention than any other was his ability to accept all men the same. His love reached from the lowest to the highest in every city he entered," John said.

"You know, it's a shame we have to classify people into categories," Bill said.

"It is the ability to get beyond our self-made barriers that will catapult Christianity in this century," John said.

"We better get some help in that area before tomorrow," Michael said.

They sat quietly and sipped their coffee and tea thinking about the task before them. Then Bill spoke from his heart.

"Father, we come before you in the name of Jesus. Please bring down our barriers of prejudice when we see these men tomorrow. Help us not to see differences, but similarities so we can all be helped by the Holy Spirit to push on to one goal," Bill prayed.

Michael was amazed at Bill's prayer. He must have been really listening to what John was saying about the love God has for his people. He found himself hoping they could stand before these other believers tomorrow and fan a dying ember into a spark that might blaze again for Jesus. He knew he could use a fresh fanning of the fire in him, and he had only been in this century for a couple of years. It was hard for him to imagine how generations have kept any kind of faith at all.

"In an era where men have grown so indifferent that church no longer plays an important role, it's good to meet people like John and Michael. They give me something to hope for again," Woody said.

"After what I saw in Rome, Woody, it's good for me to be here tonight," Michael said.

"Myself as well," John affirmed.

They looked at each other and decided this would be a good note on which to end the evening, and agreed to meet for prayer in the morning. John, Woody, and Bill headed off to bed when Michael realized all the cups were still on the table. He gathered them and placed them in the sink, and started some water to wash them. As he turned off the water, the room seemed to get brighter. He turned, and there before him, was a man with flowing robes and a staff in his left hand. He was taller than he was, and he felt something emanating from him that made Michael feel inferior. He fell to his knees and bowed his head.

"Please get up, Michael. I have been sent here to take you to a man who is troubled by a dream about a wolf wandering in the desert alone. This wolf is fearful, for he can find nothing to eat and no comfort in his surroundings. The man to whom I am taking you has had this dream on several occasions, and it troubles him more and more each time. You will tell him what the dream means."

"How will we get there?"

"Touch my garment," he replied.
As Michael reached out to touch his robe the brightness appeared once again, and they were standing in a room where a man was sleeping on what appeared to be a cot. The man who brought him here was gone, and he was alone in the room with this man whose back was turned to him. He seemed familiar, but Michael couldn't quite tell who he was because the lighting was dim. As he rolled over, he was surprised to see it was Herod.

Fourteen

The next actions happened so fast Michael could only describe them as a blur. And with the spinning in his head from the trip, he was still unsure. First Herod's eyes opened, next his right hand went under his pillow. He pulled out a gun, pointed it at Michael, and pulled the trigger time and again. The gun would not fire. This served only to infuriate him more. Soon there were two more men in the room with them.

"I don't know what makes me angrier, the fact he is in my room or how he could have gotten past you two!" he screamed.

The two men didn't attempt to say anything. They simply seized Michael by the arms and forcibly removed him from the room.

"When you're ready to know what your wolf dream is about, call me," Michael said quickly.

"Wait!" he said.

They released Michael and stood by the door.

"I'm waiting," he said, prompting a response from him.

Then as if Michael knew how to interpret dreams all along, he began to interpret his dream.

"The wolf in your dream is you, and the desert represents the mission you have set upon. The fact that you cannot find anything to eat and that you are incredibly uneasy by your surroundings means you will not achieve your goal," he started.

"How do you know these things?" he interrupted.

"Herod, there is a power higher than you; much higher," Michael said, feeling an unusual calm.

"I hoped there was, that is why we came to where you were earlier. This brings me to another question. Where did you, or we, go? I remember giving the order to shoot all of you, and then we were here. It left us quite unnerved," he said much calmer than before, but still uneasy.

"You should hear what I've been through the past couple of years," Michael said.

He motioned for his men to leave the room. As they left the room, they looked at each other as if to say they had never seen Herod act this way before.

"Go on," he implored.

"I am a man from the first century, just as Woody's discovery is from the first century," Michael started.

"Amazing. But how?" he asked very perplexed. "How is that possible? It's not possible! I swear, you had better have a good explanation for this, or I'll…" he dropped his words as if something unexpectedly closed his throat.

Michael seized the opportunity.

"It's rather hard to explain, but I'll try," Michael said hesitantly, not knowing what he was going to say.

As Michael explained his story to him, he sat on the edge of his bed as if he were a child listening to a bedtime story. When Michael related the parts of the story about Jesus, he had him go into as much detail about him as he could. Michael did his best, but felt as if he failed telling it the way it felt inside. Even after two years, it still burned in him as if it were yesterday.

"Herod is not my real name," he surprisingly confessed.

Michael guessed that the combination of his words and the Holy Spirit moved him to do this.

"I guessed as much. No offense, but I have been in the business of security for a long time."

"I could really use someone like you; to help me discover secrets about the forces that oppose me," he said.

"If I were you, I would be more concerned about the power you are opposing."

"Are you speaking of the higher power you mentioned earlier?" he asked.

"Yes. Comparing the power you have to his is like comparing the strength of an ant to the weight of your foot as you step on it."

"I see. You think I should give up my cause, don't you?"

"In a way, yes. I think you could make a difference in this generation, but in a more positive way."

"How do you mean?"

"You are a persuasive man, Herod. Doing the right thing for the right reason could mean a better life for a lot of people."

"And the right thing would be working for your cause?"

"It is not my cause; it's Christ's."

Herod looked at Michael as if he was making the decision of a lifetime, and in a way, he was. It would change the direction he was dedicated to at the time and help many people as well.

"I need some time to think. I'm going to have my men show you to a comfortable place to rest," he said, as he called for the men to return.

"Show this man to our spare room at the end of this main hall. He's not a prisoner, but do not let him wander around," he ordered.

Michael was compelled by the Holy Spirit to comply with his wishes. He followed the men to the end of the main hall of the complex. It was drab and lacked color, character, or even class. Michael thought a man with Herod's ability could have secured better housing for his cause. The rooms were not well lit, causing shadows to linger everywhere, giving Michael a chilling feeling.

"Here is your room," the man on Michael's right said.

"What is your name?" Michael asked, as he took another look around the room.

"Robert," he replied.

"Well, do you fellas want to play cards, Robert?"

They looked at each other and welcomed the opportunity to break the monotony. Besides, it would make it easier for them to keep an eye on their 'guest'. The Holy Spirit had other plans. Robert stayed with Michael while his partner got a card table and some chairs. They sat around the table and started to play rummy.

"Where you from?" Robert's partner asked.

He was a short, chubby man with a child-like face and short, sandy colored hair, which gave him a look of innocence. He was wearing a worn-out brown T-shirt and blue jeans. Robert was about two inches taller than his partner was. The shadows in the room made his eyes hard to see, but they appeared to be a blue-green color. He was wearing a white-collar shirt and blue jeans. As they sat at the table, they were inspecting Michael as well. This was going to be an interesting night.
"I don't suppose there would be any way I could contact my wife, just to let her know I'm all right," Michael said.

"There isn't anyway to do that from here," Robert said.

Michael hoped Mary was asleep and hadn't noticed his absence. However, if she had, he was certain she and the others would be praying.

"I'm Michael Aurelius, and to answer your question; I'm from Rome."

"You mean, like Italy?" Robert's partner asked.

"Yes, uh, what's your name?"

"My name is also Michael," he answered.

"Do you know that your name means 'one who is like God'?" Michael asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Hmm, I didn't know that. Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

At first, Michael thought he was trying to antagonize him, but his eyes said all Michael needed to hear, he could tell he was simply being inquisitive.

"I believe to know the meaning of their name gives a person some insight to the events of his life," Michael explained, as they each took turns at the game.

"Do you think there really is a God?" Robert broke in.

"I know there is."

This was going as good as Michael had hoped. These men weren't really a threat beyond their confusion concerning their purpose in life. Who better to help them than the Holy Spirit?

"How can you be so sure?" Michael asked.

"I have personally met his son."

The room suddenly got quiet as the two men tried to concentrate on that statement. The game went on for a few minutes before Michael decided it was too quiet.

"Would you like to have the same assurance of God as I do?" he asked boldly.

Again, there were moments of silence. Finally, Robert said he would, and then Michael joined him as well. As he explained how he came to know Jesus, the card game became less important until all cards were on the table, face up. The attention of the men was definitely not on the game. At the end of the story, they decided to pray and accepted Christ as their redeemer. The tears on their faces related the stories of their lives and how those stories just took a turn for the better. Just as they were about to speak, Herod entered the room.

"I have made my decision," he announced.

The men stood to welcome Herod into the room. He looked as if he had been through a terrible windstorm. His hair was tossed around his head in a very unruly manner; his clothes were rustled and wrinkled as if he had been wrestling with someone. He was short of breath and his cheeks were blush-red and wet with what appeared to be tears.

"I see you two have made the same decision as I have," he said entering the room and closing the door.

A sigh of relief passed through Michael's heart.

"Yes, we have," they returned in unison.

"What am I going to do, now?" Herod asked, fearfully.

"You just simply tell the truth," Michael said.

"Do you think they will listen after all the time I've spent telling them how Jesus was a fabricated character from someone's wild imagination?" he asked, honestly.

"What difference would it make, sir? They have a free will just like us, and they are capable of making decisions for themselves just like Robert and I did when we decided to follow you. Now, the only difference is we will be following you as you follow Jesus," Michael proclaimed.

Michael knew his mission here was moving at a good pace; better than he anticipated.

"It is the influence you have had all along, Herod. The charisma in your spirit draws men to you. All you have to do is be as convincing about what you know now as you were about what you thought you knew before," he instructed.

"It sounds easy enough," he said, cautiously.

"Does anybody know what time it is?"

"It's almost dawn," Robert replied.

Herod closed his eyes and bowed his head. He stood very still, and slowed his breathing.

"What's he doing?"

"He does this whenever he is getting an idea. He usually does it right before a meeting, or when we are about to engage the, uh, enemy," Michael said, once again realizing the new life he was now experiencing.

"Yeah, let's be quiet so he can think," Robert whispered.

Michael decided he would say a quiet prayer while Herod was meditating. He really didn't know what to expect next, after all, it wasn't his idea to come here. He asked the Holy Spirit if he would reveal the reason he was still here. It was obvious to he was brought here to help Herod and his followers understand the truth about Jesus. He just didn't know what was going to happen next, but the fact that he was still here meant there was something further he needed to do.

"I have it," Herod said. "I will introduce you to the members of my group at our meeting this morning. You can tell them what you told me. I only hope they will understand as I have."

"Sounds like a plan," Michael said.

"Well, it's the best I can come up with on such a short notice," Herod said.

"It'll have to do," Michael said with a strangely found confidence.

He wondered what the others were doing. He was sure they would be worried about him when they discovered he was missing. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but it was difficult.

"How many followers will be present this morning?" he asked.

"More than three hundred, I think," Robert said.

"Robert keeps track of who's who in our organization," Herod said. "I don't know how I would survive without these two men."

"I usually take care of the finances," Michael said.

"Usually?"

"Yeah, until recently we didn't have a problem keeping enough finances to accomplish our goals, but lately it's been difficult to keep enough to keep this place open," Michael explained.

"When did the loss of finances begin?"

"I believe it was about two years ago. Since then, we have barely made ends meet," Michael said reflectively.

Things started coming together. God had everything on a timeline, and it was starting to become evident to Michael. He thought he could use this in his argument to convince Herod's followers.

"We better try to get some rest," Herod said. "We have a very important meeting in a few hours."

His wisdom was sound. They left the little room where they had been playing cards and Herod went back to his room. Michael left their guest in the capable hands of Robert who showed him the way to a more comfortable room with a bed.

"Here you go, Michael. I'll leave you to your thoughts," Robert said as he left.

"My thoughts," Michael whispered. His thoughts began flipping over and over. "What will I say in the morning? How am I going to attempt to convince a group of men who have learned to hate to suddenly believe in faith?"

Then he remembered how he was able to interpret Herod's dream. So many amazing things have happened to him in the past four years; interpreting dreams only added to the list. Michael was fully expecting something miraculous to take place that morning, but what it would be, and how it would happen was beyond him.

He put his head on the pillow at the head of the bed and closed his eyes in hopes of a dream, a vision, or some other intervention from God. It didn't come. Instead, he tossed and turned for the next few hours, wrestling with one thought then another. Finally, the time came to rise and prepare to go with Herod. He told himself to be confident. He told himself not to worry. He told himself that God would not let him do this alone.

A knock on the door invited Robert into the room, carrying two tall, black mugs filled with coffee. The fresh aroma filled the room before he entered. Michael welcomed the friendly gesture.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Thank you. I seem to be acquiring a taste for the black drink."

"It sure helps me get going in the mornings," he said.

"Have you seen Herod?"

"He has already left for the front hall."

"Where is this front hall?"
"Follow me, I will take you there," he said. "Any idea about what you are going to say?"

"Not a clue," Michael said, nervously running a hand through his hair.

They followed several different hallways and corridors until arriving at a set of double doors.

"I hadn't realized this place was so big," Michael said.

"Wait until you see this room," he replied, as he reached for the doorknob.

As the doors swung open and light from the room filled their eyes, Michael could feel the tension in the air. It was as if the crowd knew something was going on. He was sure they knew of the change in their leader. He entered the room from behind a chair with a very tall back, which almost concealed Michael's entrance. Herod was standing next to the chair facing them as they entered. His eyes met Michael's as he said, "The crowd seems a little restless."

Fifteen

Michael viewed what must have been several hundred people, some sitting, some standing, but all were troubled by the unusual circumstances taking place right before their eyes.

"Michael, it's good that you are here. I hope you have the words to address this unpleasant crowd," Herod said.

Michael looked out over the crowd and saw a vast array of different nationalities represented. The ceiling was high above their heads with flags from the different countries waving from the blasts of air produced by the massive air-conditioning vents lining the walls just beneath the ceiling. It was a breathtaking sight to behold so many different nationalities in one room all fighting for one cause.

Michael stepped up to the podium and tapped on the microphone, which brought a silence to the room. All eyes were now on him. If God was going to do something, now was the time.

"Good morning," he started. "My name is Michael Aurelius. I am from Rome."

The crowd began to murmur among themselves. The sound was increasing the longer Michael delayed.

"I am not from your time era."

He would not have said that under normal circumstances, but this was far from being normal. However, it did bring the desired result, for a hush came over the crowd.

"I was brought to you by the Holy Spirit. I am not here by accident, or even my own design," he continued with confidence.

As he paused to allow them to digest that last statement, Herod stepped up to join him.

"I was asleep last night, with my door closed and two men in the hall. As I rolled over in my bed, I noticed Michael standing in my room. I reached for my weapon under my pillow, took aim, and pulled the trigger several times. Nothing happened. My gun was fully loaded before went to bed. It simply would not fire!" He explained as if he still didn't believe it himself.

Michael interjected, "I was just as shocked as he was. I was about to retire to bed myself when an angel appeared before me and told me of a dream your leader has been troubled with lately. He then brought me to Herod's room and left."

"Go ahead," Herod said. "Take your best shot!"

Herod's statement caught Michael by surprise, but as he saw what Herod was looking at he noticed a man in the front row had jumped to his feet, pointed his hand gun at him, and pulled the trigger three or four times. Nothing happened. A deafening silence came over the entire crowd as they noticed what had taken place.

"God sent me here to tell you that your struggle against him is in vain. There is no power greater than his. He is here now….among you…..beside you….above you…..beneath you," Michael said, with growing confidence.

Then Herod pointed his right index finger over Michael's head to the left.

"Look!" he exclaimed.

Michael turned to see what he was pointing at and felt relieved that God had not been slack concerning his promise to take care of them while they did his work. He was more than happy to welcome John. He just didn't expect him to float in, but that's exactly what he was doing. He was fully aware of his surroundings, and even smiled at Michael as he came to rest next to where he was standing. He turned to address the crowd.

"My friends, hear me. I have come to bring you good news. There is hope for mankind; we can all be free from fear and domination. We need not seek hiding places, or be anonymous any longer. The power that lives in me can live in you. You are people of free will. I stand before you to offer you a better way of life; a way that will eventually bring all mankind together; a way that will allow for peace. A way that will assure you of a final destiny," he said very convincingly.

The man who tried to shoot Michael earlier stood, and addressed them.

"What is it that we must do? Why is your way better than what we have been doing?" he asked genuinely.

"All you have to do is believe, and the second part will become apparent," John answered calmly.

By this time, Robert and Michael had joined them by the podium. Then a familiar mist hovered above the crowd. It looked exactly like the one Michael experienced in Rome. He could hear a faint sound in the distance. It sounded like weeping. Soon it spread throughout the crowd. People were standing, looking up at the mist, while others were sitting or kneeling, but the weeping was prevalent.

"I think we're done here," John said, as he looked at everyone.

"I think you're right," Michael said.

"You and I have a trip to make, Michael," he instructed.

"What about us?" Herod asked.

"You have experienced real life for the first time. Tell everybody you know. Keep holding meetings here; just change the agenda. God assures me you will be fine," John said.

He and Michael turned to walk out the way Michael came in when the angel that brought Michael suddenly appeared before them. Michael knew what to do; he reached out his right hand, and laid it on his shoulder and John did the same thing. When the angel left them, they were standing in the kitchen of Woody's house where everyone else was sitting around the table, holding hands in prayer.

The two men shared all the events of the morning and the night before. They seemed relieved that Michael and John were back, safe.

"If all our meetings turn out like this one, this will not be as difficult as I expected," Michael said, as he sat down.

No sooner had he said that, the phone rang. Woody walked to the wall where the phone hung next to a piece of medieval art, and pushed the button to see a familiar face. It was Herod. Michael walked up to where Woody stood and could tell something was troubling him.

"What's the matter?" Michael asked.

Herod got real close to the viewer and lowered his voice to almost a whisper.

"Some of the people were not convinced," he said.

"That was to be expected, wasn't it?" Michael asked.

"Yes, but they are growing violent. I'm afraid someone's going to get hurt," he replied.

"All you have to do is trust—,"

Michael's sentence was cut short by some men who broke through the locked door where Herod was. He turned to face his aggressors as Woody and Michael watched on the view screen. Soon the room was full of people demanding answers for the sudden change. They couldn't see Herod's face, so it was difficult to tell how he was reacting to the turn of events.

"We want to know what made you decide to change everything!" shouted the man who seemed to be leading the mob.

He wasn't very tall, but his face was contorted by the wave of anger that consumed his mind. He was wearing a shoulder holster with a gun in it, as of yet he hadn't pulled it out.

"Gentlemen, please," Herod pleaded. "I am as shocked as you are concerning the recent turn of events. All I can tell you is I have never been more sure about a decision in all of my life."

"Well, I am not convinced!" he sharply returned.

The men behind him were murmuring among themselves, and Michael could see this was going to get out of control.

"Herod," he shouted.

He did not reply. The noise level in the room made it impossible for him to hear. The leader of the mob drew his gun and pointed it at Herod. It looked as if he were going to shoot him. There was a loud sound, and then the screen went blank.

"Can you call him back?" Michael asked Woody.

"I'm trying, but the connection seems to be disrupted," he replied.

By this time, everyone from the table was in the hall with the two men, shocked.

"Oh, Lord," Joshua started. "Please let Herod be okay. He just put his trust and faith in you. Please help him."

He had taken hold of Mary's hand, who understood the gesture, and soon they were all holding hands, praying. Michael felt such an overwhelming feeling of anxiety.

"If it's possible, Lord, show us that he is unharmed," John whispered.

"Look!" Tom said, pointing at the viewer. It was on again. They could see into the room where Herod was sitting in a chair with his back to the viewer. The entire group of men was lying on the floor.

"Herod, can you hear us?" John asked.

As he turned to face the viewer, they saw blood on his right shoulder.

"Have you been shot?" Michael asked excitedly.

He just stared at the viewer, and didn't say a word. He rolled his eyes around as if he were trying to regain his focus. Then he shook his head, and looked directly at the viewer.

"I'm okay," he started, as he looked at his shoulder. "I don't remember being shot."

He reached his left hand up, rubbed his right shoulder, and continued, "I don't think it's my blood."

"Can you explain what happened?" Tom asked.

"I don't know. After you left, some other members arrived, overheard that I was now a believer, and tried to persuade the crowd to stop what they were doing. When they learned of the changes we were about to make, things started getting out of hand. Then, after determining their efforts were in vain, they resolved to take matters into their own hands. I am afraid I have trained them all too well. There was only about ten or twelve of them, but after the experience with the mist, no one was willing to resort to violence to stop them. I became fearful, and ran back here to hide. Obviously, that didn't work. They broke in right after I called you, and threatened me with my life if I didn't change back. When I told them I could not comply, they decided I wasn't going to be anybody's leader, and they drew their weapons. I closed my eyes, thinking this was it," he started, as tears welled up in his eyes. "You want to know something strange? After I closed my eyes, I wasn't afraid anymore. It was as if Jesus was standing here with me, and there was no reason to fear what they could do to me. Anyway, a bright light flashed immediately followed by a loud clap of thunder; at least that's what I think it was. I was blinded for a few seconds, and when I could see again, these men were lying on the floor. It looks like some of them are dead. I was so stunned by the force of the sound that I felt lucky to find my way to the chair. I still feel a bit disoriented," he said, placing his hand on his forehead.

"You do look a bit shaken," Michael said.

There was several seconds of silence before Woody suggested he clean up a bit before the law enforcement officers arrived.

"Wait a minute; I hear something," he said. "It sounds like the fire department. I'll have to call you back."

The connection was severed as he pushed the button on his viewer. All in Woody's house looked at each other, and came to the same conclusion: "We must go there." Woody headed for his office where he kept his keys and they were in the air a minute later.

"What are we going to do upon arrival?" John asked.

"I am not sure, but we will be there to support Herod," Woody said, caringly.

"I would like a closer look at those men in his room," Michael said.

"There's been too much bloodshed, dear," Mary said. "Will we always be plagued with such events?"

"I hope not, Mary," Michael replied.

She was always the peacemaker wherever they went. He remembered once, in Rome, there were two men fighting in the marketplace. Within minutes, she had them apologizing to each other. She is an amazing woman, and he knew he was a blessed man for being a part of her life.

As they arrived, they could see a glow coming from the building. It looked as if it were on fire. However, there was no smoke, or blaze.

"Am I seeing things?" Tom asked.

"If you're referring to the glow emanating from Herod's complex, we see it too," Woody answered.

They landed at a safe distance so they wouldn't interfere with the firefighters, who were running around the building trying to locate the source of the glow. Michael walked up to the fire chief.

"You won't find any fire," he said confidently.

"And you are?" he asked.

"My name is Michael Aurelius, and what you are witnessing is the presence of God."

"Yeah, right," he offered skeptically.

"Well, you boys do what you think you need to, but I'm going in there to see if my friend is okay," Michael said, walking away from the fire chief.

"Be careful," he yelled.

Michael entered the large room where the meeting took place earlier today. Many men were still there praying and worshipping God. The presence of God was so strong it was as if the air was thick. Each breath he took he felt more and more compelled to join them on his knees in prayer, but his concern for Herod kept him moving toward his room. He walked to the platform where the podium was located, and exited through the doors behind the tall-backed chair. Breathing was a little easier in the hallway, which joined the main meeting room and Herod's office. He met Michael and Robert as they were leaving the office.

Afraid that the man would interpret his urgency for panic, Michael composed himself.
"Hey, guys, is Herod still in there?"
"Yes he is. For some reason he doesn't want to leave," Michael offered. "I saw the people on the floor and tried to compel him to leave but he wouldn't move. He is sitting on the floor, motionless."

They passed him, walking toward the main meeting room. Michael entered the room where Herod was, and noticed he was sitting next to an injured man praying for him.

"He's still alive, but I don't know how long I can keep him that way," Herod said, looking up at Michael.

Michael couldn't help but notice the tremendous change in Herod. He was praying for one of the men who, just a few moments ago was trying to kill him. Michael felt confident that God would do whatever it was he had been praying.

"Let's get him into the main meeting room."

"Good idea," Herod said, as he placed his hands beneath his shoulders to raise him to a sitting position. Michael joined him, and a moment later, they were carrying the man down the hallway to the main meeting room. Once inside the room, they laid him next to the podium.

"Now what?" Herod asked.

As he asked his question, they were joined by Mary, Woody, and Tom, who were also inquisitive.

"Now we wait. If my guess is right, he should be well in a matter of minutes," Michael explained.

"Do we need to go get the others?" Tom asked.

As Tom asked his question, John walked up to where they were standing, reached down and took the man by his hand, helped him up, and declared him healed by the authority of Jesus.

"I guess we better go see if there are any others that need this kind of help," Mary suggested.

"Maybe you're right. Let's go get the others," Herod said.

Sixteen

Tom and Woody left with Mary and Herod to bring the other men into the main meeting room. Michael stayed with John to try to describe a burning sense of urgency he was feeling.

"John, I can't explain what I'm feeling inside." he started.

"It is like an urgency to do something, or that something else is about to happen, right?" he guessed.

"How did you know?"

"I have felt it many times, my friend. I remember once, on an island we visited with Jesus, there was this boy who was deeply troubled by demonic spirits. I felt the same urgency then, but did not know what to do. I guess I was afraid that whatever I tried would fail, and the poor boy would suffer still," he explained.

"So you did nothing?" Michael asked.

"You are correct. However, Jesus did what we feared we could not; he spoke to the boy, and he was suddenly in his right mind, no longer troubled by the tormenting spirits," he finished.

"So that is why it was so easy for you to help this man who was dying?"

"That was just one of the things that built my faith," John suggested.

As John finished his statement, Mary came running up to them, urging them to follow her to Herod's room. They complied, and came to the room where the men had been lying on the floor, but there were no bodies; just Herod and Tom scratching their heads.

"Where did they go?" Herod asked fearfully.

"They didn't come past us," John offered.

"Let's go see if they are in the crowd in the main meeting room anyway," Michael suggested.

"You are suggesting they got past us without us seeing them?" John asked.

"Stranger things have happened," Michael proclaimed.
They left the room, and headed for the main meeting room. By now, they could hear the firemen in the building, still searching for a fire.

"What are the firemen doing here?" Herod asked.

"There is a glow emanating from this building. The whole area is aware of it," Michael said.

"So they think the building is on fire?" Herod asked.

"I guess so. I tried to tell them otherwise, but they wouldn't listen."

They arrived at the double doors that opened into the main meeting room, and scanned the crowd with their eyes.

"It will be difficult for us to recognize the men from the room, Herod. We didn't get a good look at them," Tom said.

"I don't see them yet, either," he said, acknowledging he would be the only one who could recognize them.

They strained their eyes looking through the crowd for new faces, but it was no use; only Herod was going to be able to tell if the men were there or not.

The firemen finally gave up on their quest, wrapped up their hoses, and drove away. Standing side by side, they watched the crowd of men as they wept, prayed, and sang praises to a God they had all but forgotten.

Michael had lost all track of time as he wondered if the rest of the adventure God would send to them was going to be as exciting as the past few days. What an exhilarating turn of events had taken place in his life, orchestrated by God, and commencing in Rome where he met that strange little man.

To be continued…

Get your hardcopy at Publisher's website: .

The

Secret

Of

The

Parchments (tentative release late 2009)

In the dark, he paced as he had many times before. He had just come from a meeting with his superiors and they expressed their concern about his focus on one man. They had no idea who this man was, though. They didn't hear when he told them that he was from the first century. In fact, they didn't believe him when he told them he was from the first century. As far as the mystery man was concerned, they didn't see the danger he posed to their plans, which he guessed included terrorism.

"No matter. They will learn soon enough, but I fear they will learn too late. I am not certain why I am here yet, but I know that this man can shed some light on my past and why I was brought to this time era. He might even be able to tell me my name," he thought to himself.

He paced back and forth in his dark office until there was a knock at the door.

"Yes," he said, a bit perturbed.

"There is a message for you," a voice said from the hallway.

A yellow envelope passed through the opening between the bottom of the door and the floor. He walked over to the door, stooped over, and snatched the envelope from the floor. He tore the yellow message carrier open to reveal its contents. A small piece of paper fell out and floated to the floor. Unnerved by this, he felt a twinge of fear grip his heart, but he couldn't explain why. He slowly bent down in a squatting position and reached out with his right hand. The other hand held the over-sized message pouch. His hand trembled a bit, but he fought the fear and retrieved the small piece of paper.

Looking at it in the little bit of light that came from under the door, he could make out two words: "Meet Me". He turned the note over several times, as if it were going to change as he turned it. He stood up straight and looked into the darkness of his office. He had no idea from where this note originated. He walked to his desk, placed the large envelope at the center of it, and carefully laid the little note on top of the envelope. He sat in his chair and stared at the note.

Everything he had ever known since awaking in this century had been dark. He remembered his moment of realization. He remembered how he felt; eerie and scared. The room he was in was dark and he was alone. He remembered the table he was lying on. Cold and hard. No soft cushion as he was accustomed to in his house. No servants to cater to his needs, no woman standing close by. All of these became his focus in his first few moments of realization. He was not at home. And from the look of things, he couldn't make out where he was.

He remembered closing his eyes in hopes that it was all just a dream and he would wake up soon back at his house, back to his soft cushions, back to his servants and woman. He was not so fortunate. Sitting up on the side of the table, his eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. Everything looked so strange. He didn't understand what he was seeing.

Then, a man came through a doorway to his left. He was dressed in strange garments.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked.

He shook his head.

"What's your name?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, let's start with where I found you."

Then man unfolded a story with details that were unfamiliar to him. He remembered trying to understand what flashlights and cameras were. These words were foreign to him. This went on for some time. Then, another man came in and dismissed the first man. He was holding something in his hand that looked like a weapon of some kind. He later learned it was a syringe. He told him not to be alarmed and that he would have answers to all his questions in a few moments. The man stuck the syringe in his arm and he suddenly felt limp, fell back, and slept.

When he woke, he was aware of his surroundings. He knew where he was told the unbelievable truth of when he was. Anything beyond that, he couldn't tell. He had hoped talking with Michael might wake up something inside him that would jog his memory. He hadn't thought that what was in that syringe might be blocking his memories. He hadn't thought that the man who gave him the injection didn't want him to know. He hadn't thought of a lot of things, but he would.

The angel stood to his feet and looked over the edge of the mountain into Woody's castle. He has heard what John said about the Dark One and was excited to see what their next move would be. Another angel came next to Michael, looked into the castle and went for his sword.

"Not yet, Gazardiel. The New Beginning will come, but it is not yet time," the Archangel said, calming his friend.

"I guess I am a bit anxious. It is about time man got his act together," Gazardiel reported.

"There have been many chances for them, and in some cases, I thought they might strike out. However, in each case, they quit too soon."

"Yes, but this time it's different."

"I won't argue that fact. This could, quite possibly be the crew that finds the strength and resolve to usher in God's kingdom."

"It makes sense. John and Michael are there. If they can't find a way to tap into the power that resides within, I am afraid El Elyon might decide it is time to start over. You know, he did promise not to destroy the earth with a flood again. But what's to keep him from the imploding the whole planet and speak another sphere into existence?"

Michael placed his right hand on Gazardiel's shoulder and pulled him up close.

"Patience, my friend; patience," he said.