Do Your Utmost: Chapter 15

Writing Update: I've finished the writing and initial editing! Even though there are parts of the book I still feel could be better, I'm calling it finished for now. The rest of the chapters are scheduled to be posted over the next month.

Fifteen: To The House of Carpas

Mark jumped to his feet. For a moment he continued staring at the empty space, as if expecting Alexander to reappear. Then he turned to Timothy. “You were right after all.”

Timothy shook his head. He could not believe that he had let down his guard so much; even knowing Alexander’s character he had not been watching, had stopped expecting trouble.

“What is going on?” Philip was frowning, confused by their reaction.

“Are you sure that it was Alexander the coppersmith who sent those letters?” Mark was already convinced, but he asked anyway.

Philip shrugged. “That was the name signed. Whoever the man is, he has a full understanding of the things going on in Troas, and a persuasive style. We accepted the information, which has been accurate so far, and never questioned whether it was meant for harm.”

“He is persuasive all right.” Mark said. “I brought him here as a friend, and he tried to keep us from connecting with the Christian community. But why?” He turned to Timothy, voicing the question that Timothy too had been asking himself.

What possible purpose could Alexander have for this charade? He must have realized that they would figure out what was going on eventually.

“There is little point in asking these questions now,” Timothy replied. He turned to Philip and Loukas. “If Carpas is in prison, where should we go to find the books and parchments that Paul requested?”

“His wife would know.” Philip replied. “The family has been keeping a low profile, to avoid attracting attention, but they will be glad to help you and Paul—it was he who first brought the gospel to this town.”

“Then take us to her house.”

“We cannot set out until it is dark,” Philip explained, “the house is watched by Carpas’s enemies, who would delight in the chance to cause further disturbance.”

“There are hours of daylight left!” Mark exclaimed. “Must we wait so long, doing nothing?”

“We cannot put Carpas’s family in more danger than is absolutely necessary.” Philip said firmly.

Timothy lay down on the cot to rest, hoping that the time would go faster, while Mark sat with their visitors at the table, discussing church life in Troas and Cyprus to pass the hours. At some point he dozed off, and when he awoke, the room was much darker. Mark and the others were standing now, and they had opened the door to look out on the street. Even with the door open, there was little daylight in the room, and Timothy sat up.

“Is it time to leave?” he asked, quietly.

“Perfect.” Mark spoke in a hushed tone. “There are still people walking about, so we will not be too conspicuous, but the light has faded enough that someone cannot be recognized from across the street.”

Bending over the side of the bed, Timothy pulled out his sandals and slipped them onto his feet. He saw that Mark had already put on his cloak and sandals, and was holding Timothy’s cloak over his arm. When Timothy stood up, he held it out to him, and Timothy threw it over his shoulders, holding it close across his chest.

Joining Philip and Loukas at the door, he bent his head to hear the shorter man’s whispered instructions. “We will go first, you and Mark follow several paces behind us. In two smaller groups we will be less noticeable. I am known to Carpas’s wife, and she will let us in through the back door.”

Timothy almost smiled in the half-dusk, wondering if these elaborate precautions were truly needed. Still, when Philip slipped out the door and headed down the street, he waited a little before closing the door and setting off after them. Mark strode along next to him, impatient to reach their destination. Every few steps he had to pause, and allow Timothy to catch up. Ahead of them, their guides were only vague outlines, moving splashes of darker grey in the twilight.

There were a few other people on the street, but they were uninterested in Timothy and Mark, hurrying along with bent heads, focused on getting home for the night. When the two men in front of them turned a corner, Timothy almost missed it. He would have continued straight along, but Mark pulled at his elbow, and they ducked down the same side-street that Philip and Loukas had taken, quickening their pace to keep them in sight.

Another sharp turn right away, then one in the opposite direction. Timothy tried to keep the layout of the city in his mind, but he soon became confused about which direction they were facing. At last, Philip came to a halt at a wooden gate. He tapped thrice, short and sharp, then waited for a full minute and tapped again, once. There was a short delay, before the bolts thudded back into their sockets and the hinge swung open.

Philip and Loukas slipped through the gate, and Timothy and Mark, who had hung back a little, moved forward to follow them. The gate began to close, but Philip leaned back and whispered something, and it was caught and held by an unseen hand while Timothy and Mark stepped through.

They were in a courtyard paved with stone. Somewhere, water was running, and the occasional noises from the street behind them were swallowed by its cheerful gurgling. Philip was moving forward, to the back door of the house. As he approached, it opened, and all four of them stepped inside.

Do Your Utmost: Chapter 14

Fourteen: Troas, still.

As it turned out, Alexander was already inside, kneeling beside a pile of supplies, which he was packing into crates. He looked up when they entered. “Did you find this Carpas person?”

Timothy shook his head, without saying a word. Let Mark answer, if he thought it necessary to explain further.

Instead, Mark just said, “We will keep searching this afternoon, after we have had some food to strengthen us.”

Alexander nodded, and turned his attention back to his task.

They had just finished eating and drinking when there was a soft tapping at the door. Glancing at Timothy in surprise, Mark went to open it. On the step stood two men. By their appearance and attire, Timothy doubted that they were fishermen or sailors; they looked like they had come down to the harbor from the more prosperous parts of the city. One of them was quite tall, with a big bushy beard covering most of his face, while the other was clean-shaven.

“May we come in?” The shorter of the two men asked.

Mark stood aside, and they stepped past him into the house, the taller one bending to get the top of his head under the doorframe.

“You are John Mark, the Evangelist, and you are Timothy, the companion of Paul, and the pastor of Ephesus?” The shorter man, evidently the spokesman, turned to each of them as he asked, and Mark and Timothy nodded in response. “We are Christians of Troas.”

“Why have you come here?” Timothy spoke for the first time, stepping forward, to confront the men.

“We come to greet you in the name of the church, and to welcome you to our city.” The man answered mildly.

“Oh, there is a church in Troas after all?” Mark’s face was bland and innocent as he asked the question, but Timothy thought he could detect a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Perhaps, if you will allow us to sit down while you continue your meal, we can explain matters.”

“Please do sit down. We have finished eating, but you are welcome to refresh yourselves with what we have to offer.” Timothy motioned to the wine, bread, and fruit that sat on the table.

“I am Philip, and this is a friend and elder in our church, Loukas. Shortly before you arrived we heard, as did the other brethren, of your coming, but also that you were deceivers, and not to be believed. This word came by letter from Ephesus, as well as Cyprus, by what we thought was a reliable hand. Since we were not sure, we tried to be careful, and watch how you conducted yourselves for a few days before making a decision. However, I saw your actions this morning—your conversation to each other, and then the worship you offered to the Lord—and convinced Loukas to come see that you are who you say you are.”

For the first time, his companion spoke up from behind his beard. “You have a letter from Paul?”

Timothy slid the parchment to him across the table, and he examined it, muttering to himself. Philip leaned sideways to get a closer view, and there were several minutes of silence while the two of them scanned the text.

Timothy was surprised to find these believers so suspicious. Outside the church there was always a great deal of opposition and skepticism, but he had never had his credentials doubted by the brethren. What circumstances would make them distrust the word of a fellow Christian?

Loukas was pointing to a passage at the end of Paul’s letter, and Philip was nodding his head in response to some murmured comment. At length, they looked up, and Philip passed the scroll back to Timothy, who tucked it into his belt.

“You must forgive our coolness. There have been instances here, where believers have been turned in by those we thought were friendly to our cause, so we have learned caution. The Romans usually ignore our meetings, but they are forced to respond when we are accused of refusing to worship their gods. When you two showed up, asking about Carpas, we were concerned for his family. It was not a question someone who was familiar with the church here would ask.”

He paused, as if expecting some remark, so Mark asked, “Why not?”

“The Romans arrested him three months ago, and he is awaiting his execution.” It was Loukas who answered, the rough words stunning Timothy and Mark.

After a moment of silence, Timothy asked, “Who told you we could not be trusted?”

“Yes, that is interesting.” Philip said. “It seems to have been this same Alexander the coppersmith whom Paul talks about in his epistle to you. Do you know who this man is?”

Timothy’s eyes flew to John Mark, then they both turned to the corner where Alexander had been a few minutes ago, fixing cord around their luggage. The cases were stacked against the wall, and the remaining rope was coiled into a neat bundle, lying on the floor next to the boxes, but the man himself was gone.

Do Your Utmost: Chapter 13

Thirteen: Troas

Though Timothy had been in Troas before, with Paul, and had met Carpas a few times at various meetings of believers, he had never been to Carpas’s house, and did not know where it was. He had gone to the houses of brethren that he knew of to find news of Carpas, but after more than ten years, many things had changed. The Christians he had met as a boy had little remembrance of him, and none could give him directions to Carpas. By the time he had met up with John Mark back at the wharf and followed him to their lodging, he was thoroughly discouraged.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise as he opened the door to the house where they were staying. It was late in the evening, and they had been in the city since early afternoon. When they first landed, Mark had suggested that it would be more efficient to split up, with Timothy focused on finding Carpas, while he and Alexander met with some of the other believers, and found a place to live in for a week or two.

“Just that.” Timothy was tired, walking all day right after recovering from a long bout of sickness, and the glare of the sun had brought back his headache. He did not want to talk, to give details. It made things worse that Mark was obviously refreshed by being on shore, bursting with enthusiasm, and was already talking about the many opportunities for evangelism that Troas afforded. It was easy for him to be energetic, when all he had to do was find a nice, cool room to stay in during the heat of the day.

“Well, we have food and drink on the table. Why don’t you eat, and go to bed? We will find Carpas tomorrow. There is plenty of time—no ships are leaving for Greece or Italy for several days anyway.”

Timothy did not have the energy to ask what Mark had been doing all day. He swallowed the weak wine and ate a few dates, then collapsed into the single bed with which the room was furnished. As he was drifting off to sleep, he did wonder where Alexander was, but his mind was too exhausted to be interested in the question.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the twenty-first day of the eighth month.

We have landed in Troas, and are settled in a room. Alexander found it, while I was ascertaining when the next ship leaves for the west, either Greece, or somewhere on the Italian coast. As it turns out, none of the brethren here have room for three men in their house, so we are renting a room near the harbor. This is not ideal, but it will suffice for the present, and we have enough money, as long as we are careful with it. When Timothy got back, he seemed rather downcast and worn out. I should have noticed when we landed that he has not fully recovered from his illness, and kept him from searching for Carpas until tomorrow, but he is so quiet, I never know what he is thinking and feeling. I thought he would be glad to be on his own, since he is still uncomfortable around Alexander, but now I fear that he is resentful of my suggestion to split up for the day. I wish I could help him in his search, but he is the only one of our party who has seen Carpas before, when he came here with Paul years ago.

These are small worries, however. The Lord will take care of us, and tomorrow we will all be better rested, and ready to complete our mission here. The believers will know where this Carpas is, it cannot be too hard to find him.

Mark said as much to Timothy in the morning, after they had all eaten, but by mid-afternoon, he was regretting his words. Evidently, it could be too hard. The Christians of Troas had never heard of a man named Carpas. They remembered Paul coming through their city, of course they did—had he not been the founder of the church there? But cloaks, books, parchments…all these suggestions drew a polite and apologetic blank.

“Where is the community in this town?” Mark threw up his hands in exasperation, after the third unsatisfactory interview. “The Christians don’t even seem to know each other. Each house we find is by inquiry on the streets, and when we leave, we have to start from nothing again—no network.”

“Something is wrong.” Timothy agreed. “The way they are evading some of our questions…it does not feel right. It is not like the way the believers behave to each other in Ephesus.”

Mark frowned. “They cannot possibly be pretending that they are Christians if they are not?”

“No!” Timothy shook his head. “That’s not it. More like…almost like they do not trust us.”

“Why would they doubt us? They should know you, at least, you have been here before. You have even shown them the letter from Paul! And how could we harm them, anyway?”

“I do not understand, Mark. But something is going on, and we need to find out what.”

“First, I think we should head back to our lodging, get a bite to eat, and stay out of the sun for a while.” Mark laid his hand on Timothy’s shoulder. “You look tired still, my friend. Do not wear yourself out.”

Timothy rose from the bench on which they had been sitting, and shook the dust off his cloak. Together, they turned their steps back toward the port, the sun beating down on their heads as they trudged along in silence.

After a few minutes Mark said, “I hope at least that Alexander is having better success than we are.”

Timothy did not respond. He was hoping that Mark had not made a major mistake by sending Alexander to buy supplies for the next leg of their trip. He told himself that it would not even make sense for Alexander to steal from them, since they would easily find out, but he was still nervous about the situation.

“Father in heaven,” Mark began praying aloud, as they walked, “I pray that You allow us to finish our undertaking in this city without further delays. Give us the trust of Your followers here. Help us to see what we must do. All these things I ask in the name of Your Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

He glanced at Timothy as he finished, and Timothy muttered “Amen.” He was embarrassed by the stares of the few people within hearing distance, but he was also ashamed that he had not already been praying for their mission. As they entered their rooms, he did not notice that one of the men across the street, who had heard Mark praying, was still watching them keenly. It was not until the door closed behind them that the man turned away, and strode back in the direction of the city.

Do Your Utmost: Chapter 12

Twelve: Harbor

“Timothy?”

Someone was pounding on his head. No, they were pounding on the door. Or was it just the inside of his head pounding against his skull? He groaned, hoping that whoever was making the noise would go away. The last week and a half was a blur in his memory. Rough seas had kept him more or less seasick the whole time, and he had only a vague idea of sleeping, waking, trying to eat, and utter misery.

Misery…wait. The constant pitching of the ship was no longer twisting his stomach into knots. He realized with relief that he was not miserable. Yes, he appeared to have a headache. Wincing, he sat up in bed. The throbbing intensified for a few moments, then subsided back to a dull pain.

Now that he was awake, his brain was beginning to clear. Had someone been calling him? Listening, he could hear nothing but the creaking of the ship and the waves lapping against the sides.

“Hello?” his throat was parched, and the word came out as almost a croak. Grabbing the pitcher that stood by his bed, Timothy swallowed the last bit of brackish water left at the bottom.

The door opened a crack, and Mark’s worried face peered around the edge.

“We are just outside the harbor. The captain is waiting for high tide.” He came into the room. “Last night the sea calmed down, so I hoped you would be feeling better.”

“I have never been this seasick before.” Timothy brushed a hand over his face. “Not even on the first voyage I took with Paul to Philippi. And I was very sick on that trip.” He grimaced at the memory.

“Alexander and I were both sick too for the last few days,” Mark nodded. “The sailors themselves admitted that the Aegean was more choppy than usual for this time of year.”  

“Is there anything to eat?” The hollowness in his stomach reminded him how little food he had eaten recently.

“I brought you a biscuit.” Mark held out a rather lumpy piece of bread. “There’s salted meat of some sort too, but…”

Timothy chuckled at the dubious expression on Mark’s face. “I think I will just have the biscuit, thank you.”

Munching on the stale biscuit, Timothy considered. Alexander was not really that bad, compared to several days of seasickness. He just had to think about him as changed. A different person. Right? That was good theology.

A small, nagging voice in the back of his head asked, “What if he isn’t?” but he ignored it, firmly.

The ship was moving again, sailing into the harbor. They would be in Troas in a few hours, ready to disembark. He would go on deck to enjoy the sunshine and the fresh breeze, and if he saw Alexander—he would be pleasant.

With great care, he stood up, making sure that his head did not move fast enough to send stabs of pain through his body. He opened the door and stepped out into the passage, swallowing the last crumb of his breakfast as he did so.

As he emerged from below deck, the sunlight sprang at him, intensified by the reflection from the water. He narrowed his eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness. Standing up on the deck, he shaded his face with his hand. Mark was waving to him from the bow of the ship, and he began to pick his way toward him, stepping over ropes, and around the barrels and crates that lined the sides of the ship.

When Mark was close enough that he was not just a black silhouette, Timothy saw Alexander standing next to him.

“Peace to you, Mark, Alexander.” The words of greeting felt awkward, but it was a start.

Do Your Utmost: Chapter 11

Notes:
I changed the title, and the numbering system was confusing so I'm just posting whole chapters, but it's still the same story. You all can let me know which title you like better, if you wish.

Eleven: En Route to Troas

“Why does all this mean that we have to take Alexander with us to see Paul, a person against whom Paul himself specifically warned me in his letter?” Timothy rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He and John Mark had been talking in circles around each other for a quarter of an hour, and his head was beginning to ache. This was supposed to be a short, simple trip up the coast, before heading across the Mediterranean to Rome, to pick up Paul’s belongings, and a few scrolls that he had requested. Instead, only a few hours in, it was becoming a nightmare.

“Give him a fair chance to prove himself.” Mark wished he had not told Alexander that they were going to Troas. Finding out what ship they would sail on had been easy, and now Timothy thought that Mark had actually invited Alexander to come without asking him. This upset him, and made him less willing to listen to Mark’s reasons as to why they should bring the coppersmith along.

“He had his chances in Ephesus!”

“And I had a chance in Lystra, Derbe, Iconium, Antioch…I messed up all of them, yet I was still redeemed in the end.”

“I’m not taking him.”

“But he is on the boat right now, which means you cannot avoid him at least until we get to Troas.” Without waiting for a response, Mark pushed himself away from the rail of the ship which they had been leaning against, and strode away toward the bow of the ship, afraid that if he kept talking any longer his impulsiveness would get the better of him and he would say something he would regret later.

Timothy sighed. He knew Mark was right, but his blunt way of telling Timothy what he needed to do set his teeth on edge, making him reluctant to admit the logic of Mark’s position. Besides, he did not understand how Mark could fail to see Alexander’s scheming. How was it honest to come on board the ship at night, just before they weighed anchor, so that Timothy did not find out until they were already underway?

Mark had acknowledged that it could be suspicious, but pointed out that there were any number of perfectly innocent—even admirable—reasons for the action as well. Easy for him to suspend judgement—he had not seen the results of Alexander’s treachery.

The jerky pitching of the ship was not helping Timothy think, and the queasy, unsettled feeling in his stomach was part of what had made him snap at Mark. Why was this voyage having such an effect on him, when he had traveled by sea with Paul many times without being sick at all?

Deep breath. Try to think of Alexander as changed. Give him another chance. Closing his eyes, Timothy prayed.

“Dear Lord, I can’t do this myself. Take away my pride that keeps me from listening to John Mark. Help me remember my own sin, and not look down on Alexander in self-righteousness. Give me the strength to act according to Your ways. Amen.”

Get to Troas. Find Carpas, and collect Paul’s cloak and books. That was all he needed to focus on.

“Timothy.”

Turning his head, Timothy saw that the brawny coppersmith had come up beside him.

Yes, Lord. Very funny. I’m laughing—Ha. Ha.

“Alexander.” His voice was tense, but he made eye-contact. Alexander was just as wary as he was, and Timothy wondered if he was affected by the motion of the ship as well.

“Look, I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am about the things I said in Ephesus.” Alexander shifted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Even though he had retired from smithing years ago, he was still a giant in bulk compared to Timothy. “I was angry that you rejected my ideas—now I realize that they do not hold together, that they contradict other teachings of Scripture—but you must admit that the Christian doctrine can be rather confusing.”

So straightforward. The perfect blend of hesitation, remorse, and frankness. Could be completely genuine…could be very good acting. The exact same line he had been fed five years earlier.

Beware of Alexander the Coppersmith.

Give him another chance.

He greatly resisted my work.

God can change people.

“Have you talked to Mark about when Paul first came to Ephesus, years ago?” Forcing his voice to be casual, Timothy waited for his reaction.

Alexander’s lips tightened, and his grey brows drew together over his eyes. “That was before I became a believer.”

When did you become a believer? After Simon’s son was killed by the Romans because of the false report you filed? The question hung in Timothy’s mind, but he did not ask it. Already he was regretting the first question. Had he not just prayed for wisdom in his speech? Instead he was throwing his words at the man like daggers, to hurt.

Even the fool is counted wise if he holds his tongue. As he thought of wisdom, the words of Solomon came into his mind. Fine, then, if that was what it took. Grimly, he stared at the water flowing past the ship and slapping up against it in bursts of salty spray. In the lengthening silence, Alexander grew nervous, shifting his position, and glancing sideways at Timothy.

The wind had freshened, and the ship was moving through the water briskly, heeling over to one side. Ten more days of this, Timothy was thinking. How am I going to survive ten days of avoiding this man? Then the ship lurched more sharply than before, catching a gust of wind, and Timothy’s stomach flopped over in response. Suddenly he knew that at least for the next few hours, he was not going to have to worry about Alexander.

“Excuse me.” He managed to mutter through clenched teeth, before rushing toward the hatch that led below deck.

No…no…get to your room! He fought down the wave of nausea that rose up in his throat, fumbling with the latch on his door. Bursting in, he threw himself on his bed with a groan, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Before Winter (13)

 Ten: 

…The Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. Grace be with you. Amen. 

After reading the last line, Mark looked up from the manuscript. “So. Paul is imprisoned again.”

Timothy nodded.  

“I will come, of course, since he asks it. Cadmus can look after the church here well enough, though taking care of his family makes traveling far difficult. But Timothy,” Mark frowned, “We have not finished discussing Alexander. I will talk to him before I leave, and ask for an explanation of  your accusations.” 

“You will only hear lies…” Timothy began, but Mark held up his hand and Timothy fell silent. 

“It is only just to hear his side. I will go find him now, and you should rest. If you have really been searching for me all over Cyprus, you must be very tired.”

It was not much of a joke, but Timothy smiled weakly in response, acknowledging the effort to ease the tension. 

Mark stepped past him, out of the room. He was taken aback to find Alexander standing right by the door, waiting for him. 

“We need to talk.” 

“Yes, we do.” Mark began walking along the dusty street, and Alexander fell into step beside him. 

“I haven’t told you everything about my life in Ephesus. I let you think that I left in perfect harmony with Timothy and the church there, but…that’s not exactly true.” 

“Obviously.” 

“We had differences of opinion on some things, and he wouldn’t wait to hear my side of the story. Instead, he accused me of heresy, and threw me out of the church. When I tried to meet with some of the brethren for fellowship, I must have been followed by an informer, because almost as soon as I entered the house Roman soldiers were pounding on the doors, shouting for everyone to come out. Some were arrested, but since I wasn’t, everyone assumed that I had called in the soldiers. I had to leave the city after that. I got angry, I admit, and said things that I wish I had not, especially about Timothy. I think my words hurt him personally, and that is why now he cannot accept the idea that I might have changed.

I was on my way to Rome when I met Tychicus, who told me about the letter, and that Timothy would be going to see Paul. I came here to meet him, to explain, and to ask him to take me with you two to Rome. I saw from his reaction that he’s not ready to listen to me.” Alexander shook his head sadly. 

“Since I’ve been here, I see that I was wrong in some of my ideas. I want to talk with Paul about doctrine, and to ask his forgiveness for the ways I hurt him and the church.”

“Why wait until now to tell me all this?”

“I thought if you got to know me, you might be more likely to believe me. I was planning on telling you before Timothy got here, but I didn’t think he would arrive for another week or two. Please, ask Timothy to bring me too. I know he won’t listen to me, but I’ve got to see Paul.”

Mark was silent for a moment before answering, thinking about Alexander’s story. At last, he said, “I’ll talk to him, and tell him your side. I don’t know who I believe, though, Alexander. I’ve only known you for a few weeks. Timothy has been a leader in the church for years and years.” 

“Judge me by my works here, not the words of another.” Alexander said. They had reached the door of the house where Alexander was staying, and he now stood with one foot on the step, facing Mark, his hand stretched out in farewell. Nodding, Mark grasped his hand, before turning back toward his own rooms. 

A frown crept onto Alexander’s face as he watched Mark leave, thinking about Timothy’s reaction to his presence. This was going to be harder than he had hoped it might be. 

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, still the eighth day of the fifth month.

Too much has happened today to process properly. Timothy showed up unexpectedly, and asked me to come to Rome! It seems that Paul is to be executed within the year, which causes great sorrow in my heart. At the same time, I am filled with confusion over Alexander. Timothy is irrationally angry at him, as far as I can see. I do not completely believe Alexander’s story—why should he pull me away from the seaport to do mission work when he knew Timothy was on his way with an urgent message?—but I think that he deserves continued observation before I decide. Either way, I believe it is better to bring him with us, but it will be hard to convince Timothy of this. Lord Jesus, give me wisdom to make the right choices, and to know how to respond to these two friends of mine. 

Before Winter (12)

Nine: The roads of Cyprus

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the sixth day of the fifth month.

We set out today, and have just arrived at the first town we will visit. I knew of one Christian family here, so we are staying with them for the night. After we break our fast, I plan to go speak to the people in the marketplace.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the seventh day of the fifth month.

Back on the road, after preaching again this morning. Praise the Lord, some did respond to our message. I directed them to the believing family for fellowship and discipleship.

The thirty-third year since the resurrection of Jesus Christ, on the eighth day of the fifth month.

The response in this city has been good. Alexander wanted to push on this morning, but I am convinced the Lord would have me stay a few more days. There are many public places where I can preach, and the people are listening. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over Cyprus for you.”

Mark looked up from his journal and saw a dark-haired, Jewish man standing in the doorway. He looked familiar, but Mark could not place him, until Alexander rose from his stool with an exclamation. 

“Timothy! Your journey must have been faster than I expected.” 

Timothy turned to look at Alexander, and his eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here?” The surprise turned into a black scowl, and Timothy stepped toward John Mark. “You’re letting that heretic preach the gospel all over Cyprus?” 

At these abrupt words, Alexander stiffened, and opened his mouth to respond. Then, as if thinking better of it, he bowed his head, and swiftly left the room. Mark watched him leave, bewildered, then turned to Timothy.

“What was that about?” Mark demanded. “How could you treat Alexander like that? He is a brother in Christ!”

“You have no idea who he is.” Timothy was still seething at the thought of that trouble-maker acting so cheerful, addressing him as if they were friends. After leading honest converts astray into false doctrine, and even getting the Romans to throw believers into jail! 

“So, enlighten me.”

“He was preaching heresy in Ephesus, blasphemy against the name of Christ! The leaders of the church tried to reason with him, but when he would not listen, we counted him as an unbeliever, as Paul instructed.”

John Mark frowned. “I saw no sign of that here. His theology seemed orthodox. He must have realized his error, and wished to redeem himself.”

“Redeem himself!” Timothy snorted in derision. “He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“How do you know that? It’s only if you’ve never experienced it that you can’t understand it, Timothy. Everyone needs redemption, and you can’t judge who deserves it and who doesn’t.”

“I know that I need redemption; I have done things contrary to God’s standards, for which Christ paid the price. But how does that change things? When someone has proved that he is untrustworthy, why give him another opportunity to hurt you?”

“Because God can always change him.”

“What if trusting him hurts other people?” Timothy thought of the raided houses in Ephesus, each one visited by Alexander as a friend, and then that trust used for destruction. 

“I’m not saying to be foolish, but everyone is inconsistent, trust is never fully earned. You have to take a risk and give it. God is in control, remember? The eternal soul of a human being is the most important thing in the world, and anything we can do to save one is worth the cost.” 

“And you have gained this deep insight because you once left the ministry as well, hurting Paul terribly.” 

“Timothy, I’m not saying it was good, but I have learned. And even now, if I betrayed you as well, if for some crazy reason I got so angry I killed you, God could and would still forgive me, if I truly repented.” 

“But if you do something that bad, can you repent?”

“How many Christians did Paul kill?”

Timothy sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “I have been trying to catch up with you for days, and as soon as I find you, we begin arguing.” Thinking of Paul in jail at Rome, Timothy’s throat constricted. “I am supposed to be convincing you to come to Rome.” 

“Rome?” Mark raised his eyebrows, abandoning the discussion for the time being. “What’s going on in Rome?”

Reaching into the fold of his cloak, Timothy pulled out the letter, and handed it to Mark.