Unstoppable

UNSTOPPABLE

by

Wil Tustin

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© 2017 Wil Tustin. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 03/31/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7577-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7576-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-7575-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903988

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Table of Contents

SEASON TO EMBARK

1. A Place to Depart

2. A Place to Begin

3. A Place for Truth

4. A Place to Dialogue

5. A Place to Comfort

6. A Place to Part

7. A Place to Plant

8. A Place to Discourse

9. A Place to be Challenged

10. A Place to Bend

SEASON OF CHANGE

11. A Place to be Battered

12. A Place to Turn Around

13. A Place to Discuss Leadership

14. A Place for Discord

15. A Place to Debate

16. A Place to Council

17. A Place for an Outcome

18. A Place to Chronicle Grace

19. A Place to Document Heavenly Insights

SEASON FOR A SECOND TRIP

20. A Place to Return

21. A Place for a Friend

22. A Place to Sow

23. A Place of Accusers

24. A Place of Imprisonment

25. A Place to Uncover the Truth

26. A Place to be Expelled

27. A Place of Numerous Gods and Goddesses

28. A Place to Enlighten

29. A Place of an Unknown God

30. A Place to Settle Carnality

SEASON OF INSIGHTS

31. A Place for Friendship

32. A Place to Get Together Again

33. A Place to Teach

34. A Place to be Bold

35. A Place to Record the Gospel of Hope

36. A Place to Share Additional Wisdom

37. A Place to Impact

38. A Place of Death

39. A Place to Endure

40. A Place of Malice

41. A Place for Sequels

42. A Place Needing Clarification

A SEASON TO STRUGGLE FOR LIFE

43. A Place to Return to

44. A Place to Survive

45. A Place of Dire Straits

46. A Place to Persist

47. A Place to Behold Death

48. A Place to be Wise

49. A Place to Rekindle Friendship

Acknowledgements

About The Author

SEASON TO EMBARK

1

A Place to Depart

He that is discontented in one place will seldom be content in another.

Aesop

It had been a little over twelve years since the Lord’s ascension to Heaven. Barnabas, John Mark, and I awoke at first light that June morning. We packed our cloth sacks to leave Antioch, and then I suggested, Let’s go to Manaen’s house and bid farewell to those gathered there for the sunrise service.

Much to our surprise there were more than a hundred people standing outside Manaen’s house. When we approached the crowd, a brawny man pulled out a butcher’s knife. He began waving the long blade in the air.

Titus joined us when we reached the crowd and whispered in my ear, Paul, as an apostle, maybe you should leave town now.

As we loomed closer to the man, he began hacking at something below his waist. Blood squirted everywhere.

What’s happening? Titus asked in a state of panic.

It seems the congregational members are making a covenant among themselves, Barnabas replied. One of the butchers is cutting a lamb in half.

Then we heard the butcher shout, Let’s do what our Jewish ancestors did when they made a covenant. Let’s pass through the two halves of the lamb’s carcass to consummate our pledge to pray for Barnabas and Paul during their journey.

Titus mumbled, That’s a strange way to take an oath.

It’s a Jewish tradition, I informed him. If anyone passes through the two halves of the lamb and breaks the covenant, they will be broken in half.

We prayed and fellowshipped for about a half hour, and then a vast majority of the crowd went to work. The rest joined us for our journey to Seleucia. Our entourage walked downstream, since the Orontes River was dangerously high from a late-night storm. Three young boys carried our four sacks of food and clothing. We had a paucity of provisions but an abundance of hope and faith.

It took us several hours to arrive in Seleucia. Before reaching the harbor’s dock, one of our congregational members, Edrie, motioned for John Mark, Barnabas, and me to follow him to his shipyard. He was a successful Seleucia shipbuilder who lived in Antioch.

When we entered Edrie’s cramped workspace, one of his captains was sleeping off a drunken binge on top of a few lumpy sacks in the corner. Edrie shook the sailor awake from his stupor.

Get up, sailor!

Sir! he mumbled, tumbling off the sacks and onto the sawdust floor.

Find passage to Cyprus for my three friends.

Consider it done, the captain slurred from all fours. When we got into port last night, my drinking buddy was a Roman trade ship captain. His vessel is leaving tonight at high tide for Salamis, Cyprus.

Alleluia, we shouted as the sea captain collapsed back on the sawdust floor.

Plus, he owes me a huge favor. The captain snickered, rolling over on his back and spitting out pieces of sawdust.

Barnabas reached out his hand to help the man up and said, God works in amazing ways.

You men are sailing for free, he mumbled, then hiccupped and wiped at the spittle around his mouth. This one is on Captain Regelus.

The three of us thanked him for his assistance and headed toward the dock beneath dark clouds.

We had only been waiting a short time in a vacant lot beside the dock when the Roman trade ship captain barked, Prepare to board! He’d decided to set sail early because a storm was blowing in from the northeast.

We’re probably the first group to send men out to share The Way with Gentiles, Manaen chuckled as we walked down the creaky dock.

Where will your travels take you? Titus asked over the harbor’s noisy activities.

Our first stop will be Cyprus, Barnabas said before stepping onto the gangplank. That’s my family’s home. From there it’s wherever the Holy Spirit leads us.

*                    *                    *

At high noon the crew raised anchor and the three of us christened our lives as those sent out to the Roman world. We left behind salty tears for the salty seas. We sculled out of the harbor, past colossal stone barriers. Our hull sat high in the water since it was loaded with empty barrels made of Lebanon wood. The ship was on its way to Cyprus to fill hundreds of barrels with salt-white gold, the crystalline currency of the Roman Empire.

After waving goodbye to our friends on the port side, we walked the deck to find a place to stow our belongings. That’s when we heard a loud commotion in the ship’s wooden hull. We went below to check out the ruckus while the crew raised the sails.

Before we reached the bottom step, we saw one hundred Roman soldiers drinking and lounging in the ship’s belly. They were assigned the task of guarding the white gold’s final leg from Cyprus to Italy. Several drunken soldiers lying against the ship’s hull cursed at us. One shouted above the others, We don’t want you stinking Jews down here!

John Mark looked around from the bottom step and couldn’t find any room for us. I saw an inebriated optio’s tattooed insignia arm resting on the bottom step. He raised his forearm and grabbed John Mark’s foot. He shouted, Let’s run our swords through this Jew and see if he smells better dead.

Barnabas and I pulled John Mark from his grasp and he scurried up the ladder. We found a quiet place on the vessel’s starboard deck and settled in for the trip. The journey from Seleucia to Salamis, a port city on the eastern coast of Cyprus, was about a two-day voyage.

After the crew set sail, we made our way west across the choppy Mediterranean Sea to Cyprus. Our eyes quickly lost sight of land. Within twelve hours of our departure, the vintage craft made of Lebanon timber bobbled atop the growing swells like an aimless piece of driftwood.

Between gastric burps, I said, I’m not a fan of turbulent water.

Maybe the choppy sea will be the only challenge we face on this trip, Barnabas encouraged, knowing that probably wouldn’t be the case.

Or maybe its simply a prelude of things to come, John Mark said, eyeing the stormy clouds above us.

Life is never boring, I acknowledged, when you’re doing the Lord’s work.

The three of us huddled on the damp deck while the Roman soldiers slept off their drunken binge in the dry, cramped hull. The cold ocean sprays kept us awake that night. So rather than fume, we knelt in prayer, asking for safety and quoting Ecclesiastes, while idle deck hands mocked us amid the heavy mist.

Hours later I was still awake, staring out into a fog so thick one could cut it with a Roman soldier’s dagger. We had slowed because of the fog but were still sailing along when a voice screamed, Spill the wind out of the sails!

The ship’s port side came alive in an uproar. I too jumped up and made my way to where I could see. The crew had turned their attention to a small, distressed coastal ship drifting in a strange manner. Smoke rose from its stern to signal the vessel’s plight. The captain maneuvered close, allowing us to investigate the ship’s status. Through the dense fog we saw five young maidens, crying on the deck. They were wailing, as though faced with great calamity.

Within moments I couldn’t help but sense the sudden transformation in the behavior and attitude of our crew. Maybe it was the longing for female companionship or seafarers’ concern for others that caused them to drop their guard and help the distressed maidens.

The crew threw several bronze hooks onto their ship’s rails and brought the boat astern, then laid a wooden plank between the vessels. Several of the sailors crossed nimbly, ready to offer assistance to the women. To their surprise, the maidens jumped to their feet, ripping off their garments, revealing the firm bodies of young men rather than women.

Several of our crew yelled, Pirates!

Their muscular tattoos revealed they were Phoenician pirates. Within seconds, twenty other men appeared brandishing swords on the misty deck. John Mark and Barnabas silently joined me at our ship’s rail. I sensed death’s presence as chills sprinted up and down my spine. The feeling grew heavier when a voice yelled, Take no prisoners! Within seconds, ocean mist and death dripped from their swords as they slashed their way aboard our vessel.

The three of us had no weapons to defend ourselves. So we dashed to the starboard side and did the only thing we could do, pray. I heard both John Mark and Barnabas beseeching the Lord to spare the sailors who had stopped to offer aid.

Someone in our crew pleaded, Have mercy on us!

An exception to the crew’s pleas for mercy came from the first mate, who opened the hull’s hatchway and thundered, We’re being attacked! Get your drunken asses up here! Those were his last words before an attacker grabbed his head, yanked it out of the hatchway, and slit his throat wide open.

The second mate offered himself as bait, cutting the ropes holding the boats together against the strong northeastern winds. Two men grabbed him by the back of the neck. They took turns running their blades through his chest.

Easy pickings! shouted what appeared to be their leader.

He seemed confident and strong, though not particularly old. Phoenician pirates seized and terrorized vessels across the Mediterranean Sea and had done so for years. They typically stayed a step ahead of the Roman navy. This man had probably stolen his share of rich cargoes.

I wondered how he’d feel to discover our ship was traveling empty.

His men were appraising their prey beneath a flapping topsail when the half-dressed, hung-over Roman soldiers came gushing out of the hatchway like an erupting geyser. Their swords swung in all directions.

The Phoenician captain bellowed at his men as he saw more and more soldiers pouring out onto the trade ship’s deck. He didn’t know the soldiers were on board and it was to late too position his men at the hatchway to cut them down.

The Roman soldiers were skilled in open field combat, not fighting on a slippery, confined deck. The soldiers outnumbered the brigands four to one, but the Phoenicians’ swordsmanship nearly evened the odds. The soldiers struggled with their large, iron swords against the Phoenicians’ thin, silver blades.

Nearly a third of the Roman soldiers were cut, sliced or pierced by the pirates’ swords. The mayhem had the soldiers bewildered until their centurion finally got on deck. He’d had way too much to drink that night. He quickly sobered up, shouted out commands, and his soldiers started fighting like a trained Roman unit.

Meanwhile, Barnabas and I each had grabbed a couple of pieces of wood by the fore cabin to defend ourselves. Within seconds Barnabas walloped an attacker on the head. The man had been about to carve his initials on John Mark’s chest. Instead, he fell to the deck with a grunt.

After we rescued John Mark, I noticed our captain abandoned the rudder to put out a flaming headsail. I dashed to the afterdeck around battling warriors to man the rudder, but one of the pirates was there ahead of me. He was trying to swamp our sturdy boat. There was no way to engage him in swordsmanship, so I blindsided him with a flying tackle. My momentum carried us both into the ship’s rail. The pirate tumbled overboard into the cold sea as I grabbed hold of the slippery rail. I dashed back to the rudder.

The captain shouted from the bow, Leeway a point, Leeway a point! I looked over my right shoulder to find the pirates’ boat headed straight toward us.

Turning aft, I saw two pirates picking up Barnabas. They were about to toss him into the sea when two Roman soldiers ran their swords in tandem through their chests. The pirates’ corpses, along with Barnabas, tumbled overboard into the Mediterranean’s cold surges.

John Mark, who had been hiding beneath several nets, jumped out and began looking for rope. He found mooring line and threw the rope within Barnabas’s reach. Barnabas grabbed hold of the rope as he drifted away from the vessel. John Mark, two brawny Roman soldiers, and I pulled Barnabas, as well as one of the crew, back on deck.

The two soldiers returned to the bloody conflict, while John Mark and I tended to Barnabas and the deckhand. The shaking crewmember was the ringleader who had been orchestrating the catcalls and insults upon us before the skirmish.

The shivering sailor’s teeth chattered. I c-c-an’t b-believe you risked your lives to s-s-save me after what I said to you.

We forgave you before you even said them, I remarked, wrapping my shawl around him. Withholding forgiveness hampers the Lord’s mercy.

The Roman soldiers were now fighting side by side, advancing across the deck like a huge swell. The clash quickly turned into a rout. The seasoned, organized soldiers clearly outmatched the remaining Phoenician pirates. Within moments, the conflict was over.

Our captain made a pass by the burning Phoenician vessel to rescue Roman soldiers and crewmembers from the sea. We pulled five soldiers and two sailors back onboard. The fifteen-minute conflict resulted in the death of four veteran crewmen, eight seasoned Roman soldiers, and all twenty Phoenician pirates.

John Mark, Barnabas, and I watched red flames engulf the pirates’ sail, gunwale, cordage, and hull. We could feel the heat from the flames, even after the waves and wind separated the vessels. Just as the ship had appeared out of nowhere, it disappeared into the foggy abyss.

The captained shouted, All able bodies on deck.

He put all of us to work. I sewed the numerous wounds among the crew and soldiers while Barnabas and John Mark helped toss bodies overboard. They paused to say a prayer for each soul before their sea burial.

Once the deck was cleared, we knelt in prayer. Barnabas prayed, Thanks Lord for our seasoned crew and gallant soldiers.

We praise you for our vessel and letting it remain seaworthy, added John Mark, while several crewmembers and soldiers joined us.

Also, thanks for our captain and centurion and their wisdom during our battle, I concluded our prayer as the captain screamed at us to reset our bearings, trimmed the burnt sails, and leveled the vessel. He hoped to stay in front of the approaching storm.

Hours later after we had eaten some freshly caught fish, drank some rainwater, and rested, we heard a sailor bellow, Land.

The three of us, along with all the crew and soldiers, made our way to the rail, peering into the fog and dimness until we made out a silhouette of land, Cyprus.

It’s a beautiful island, Barnabas boasted as John Mark and I held onto the ship rail fighting the pitch of the stormy sea.

I’ll take you at your word, since I can’t even see it, remarked John Mark. Then all three of us turned, looked into the pounding rain and gusting wind, and couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

2

A Place to Begin

The beginnings of all things are small.

Cicero

Huge waves swamped the deck as our vessel sailed into a harbor. Even when we were within shouting distance of the dock, we could barely see the rows of grape vines that embroidered the hillside or mountain ranges in the background.

We peered through the heavy morning rain and hardly saw the city’s wooden dock. This is our first stop on Cyprus, Salamis, my hometown, Barnabas told us as the crew scurried about the deck preparing to dock the boat.

Never been there, I said over sailors cursing the weather.

It’s the busiest harbor and largest city on the eastern side of the island, added Barnabas. I learned how to sail a boat on these waters.

Hopefully in calmer waters than this, John Mark replied, trying to settle his seasick stomach. He stared at the horizon, attempting to get his mind off the boat’s rocky motion and said, Tell me something about Cyprus.

For centuries my hometown and the rest of Cyprus have been under foreign domination, Barnabas added. Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Phoenician, Persian, Greek, and Roman rule. Still, regardless of who holds jurisdiction over Cyprus, it is known as the Mediterranean’s delight.

Are they’re many of our race on this island? John Mark asked while the crew and dockhands tied down the boat.

There is a large Jewish community and numerous synagogues, Barnabas answered as two sailors lowered the bow anchor. Thousands emigrated to Cyprus over the years.

Are there many believers here? John Mark asked over the captain’s commands for departing the vessel.

Barnabas shot me a whimsical glance after a sailor nearly knocked him down and said, They started moving here about a decade ago.

During Saul’s years of persecuting the Jerusalem believers, John Mark teased, feeling better and leaning against the rail watching raindrops bounce off the wooden dock.

Emotions of anger and remorse over took me, after John Mark’s thoughtless remark. Barnabas noticed the conflict within me and encouraged, Paul has put that phase of his life behind him and has been forgiven.

I was truly blind at that point in my life, I regretfully remarked, shaking my head over the shouts of several soldiers sneaking in a final game of dice.

What kind of commerce do our brothers and sisters engage in on Cyprus? John Mark asked, watching the crew lower the gangplank in the heavy rain and strong winds.

Barnabas lifted one hand to cover his brow from the raindrops and said, There are numerous, thriving Jewish businesses in Salamis and throughout the island. Cyprus is known for its commerce in wines, olive oils, textiles, fruits, vegetables, salts, honeys and for the copper mines. Several Jewish families have been successful in these lines of business.

Like Barnabas’s clan, I chuckled, and Barnabas joined me. We’d known each other long enough that we knew what would elicit laughter.

Barnabas turned his gaze to the distant hills, and his laughter stopped.

I still hear the moans of slaves laboring in the copper mines, he said, his voice low. It’s a sound you can never forget.

It was nearly dusk and almost the beginning of the Sabbath when we exited the trade ship. We were covered in blood, rain, and sins from the journey, so we stopped at a ritual bathhouse and cleansed our bodies and souls before we went to the synagogue. Then we hurried to Barnabas’s family synagogue, the most pious congregation in the city. We arrived just in time for prayers.

I noticed several of the congregants were believers from Jerusalem, who had moved to Cyprus to escape my persecution. That group became deadly silent when we entered. I overheard several believing Jews who were standing beside us whisper, He has come to take us back to Jerusalem as prisoners.

We were surprised that they and the elders had not heard of my Damascus conversion, since I’d been preaching and teaching the gospel for a while and had even been back to Jerusalem. However, we’d heard that these elders were relentlessly trying to limit the gospel’s exposure and influence in their congregation. The elders were delighted to see me. They knew the traitors, as they imagined them, in their synagogue couldn’t survive my incessant salvo of terror and persecution.

A curly-haired woman, one of Barnabas’s aunts, greeted us with a knowing smile. She lit the Sabbath lamp and said, One of our favorite sons has returned home. She turned toward the rabbi, waving the oil lamp’s black smoke away from her face and said, Rabbi, would you let Barnabas address our congregation this evening?

The rabbi nodded and beckoned Barnabas forward. He walked easily, all the while unrolling John Mark’s unfinished scroll of Jesus’s parables. He greeted the congregation and read, Do you bring in a lamp to put it under a bowl or a bed? Instead, don’t you put it on its stand? For whatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed, and whatever is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open. If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.

I heard several of the elders whisper, Those are words of wisdom.

Consider carefully what you hear, Barnabas declared. He motioned for me to stand and said, My dear friend, Paul, is going to place the lamp on the stand.

Thank you for letting me address your congregation, I said. I will interpret this parable from Jesus the Christ. May it be a light to your soul.

The elders were so offended by my opening remarks they got up and left. They managed quite a distraction, muttering and swishing their robes, some even stomping their feet. Others followed the elders quickly. Still many remained, only one from Barnabas’s family - his aunt - though most were restless throughout my message. When I finished, over seventy percent of the men had left the sanctuary.

Before Barnabas, John Mark, and I departed, the group that had stayed behind erupted into turmoil.

We honor, worship, and teach the Law here! How dare you speak such words of sacrilege in this building! shouted the rabbi.

Stepping into the rainy night, we were accosted by the head elder. Never return to our synagogue! Your words reinforce the blasphemy a handful of misguided ones in this congregation embrace. Barnabas, take your band of heretics and leave our community.

And you, Saul or Paul, whatever your name is, how could you? You were a leading Pharisee in Jerusalem. Now look at you. You’re cow dung!

Another elder, the first to leave when I’d stood to speak, shouted at me with a clenched fist.

I stopped and said, Remember Isaiah’s words in the holy scroll. ‘These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain: their teachings are but rules taught by man.’

Ahava, one of Barnabas’s friends, joined us outside. We were nearly a block from the synagogue when she offered, Barnabas, you probably won’t be welcomed at your home after that sermon. You can stay with my family. We are all new believers.

Only if it won’t cause you any problems, Barnabas said. But I’m afraid your family won’t want us at your house after all the ill feelings we caused at the synagogue.

Don’t worry. We’ve been living with harassment since our enlightening. Ahava waved off our concern. Then she asked, Do you teach the gospel to other peoples?

We teach the good news to all, I told her.

She stopped walking, and we stopped with her. She turned and met our eyes one at a time. Mind if we help you blaze this new ground in Salamis?

Please do! Barnabas and I simultaneously responded before smiles lifted our lips.

Good, Ahava said, clapping with excitement. When the Sabbath is over, we’ll go to the measuring cups and share the good news.

What are the measuring cups? John Mark asked, breaking his silence. He was frowning, no doubt wondering if he’d be asked to prepare a meal. John Mark wasn’t too handy with food; his mother had done all the cooking in his house.

Just outside the marketplace there are three stone measuring cups: a liter cup, pound cup, and omer cup. Lines always gather around them as people check their purchases to make sure merchants didn’t rip them off. It will be a wonderful place to share the gospel to all people.

Rain started to pour down harder, and Ahava hurried us along, chattering all the way.

We spent the next couple of nights with Ahava and her family in Salamis. Most of the daylight hours were spent in the marketplace, by the measuring cups, teaching both Jews and Gentiles the message of Jesus. Barnabas spent the afternoon breaks trying to make amends with his family, but made little progress.

We were in our element, as competent with words as the Roman soldiers had been with their swords against the pirates.

*                    *                    *

On our fifth day in Salamis, Barnabas, John Mark, and I spent some time exercising in the city’s renowned gymnasium, and then we decided to travel across the island to Paphos. Our strategy was to spend most of our time in population centers so we could reach as many people as possible. Still, we canvassed the inland’s rugged terrain and rural areas, planting the seeds of the gospel in fertile souls.

Barnabas would remind us every morning, It’s the word of God that moves people, not us. Don’t rely on your own understanding, but on God’s wisdom. Our goal is to enlighten them, so they’ll put aside anything that puts distance between themselves and God.

I always cherished Barnabas’s words of wisdom, he rarely shared them, but when he did they were like gold coins. Because of our fellowshipping and stops, it took us several weeks to reach the western coastal town of Paphos. Along the way we taught in synagogues as well as in Gentile villages. The Holy Spirit inspired men in those villages to volunteer to teach others and to open their homes to those eager to know the gospel once we were gone. They established home churches.

Barnabas, I don’t remember Paphos mentioned in any of my synagogue classes. Tell me about the city. John Mark waved his hand toward the city’s outline as we finally drew close.

Paphos is a trading center as well as Rome’s capital city for Cyprus. Emperor Claudius recently relinquished Cyprus’s jurisdiction to the Roman Senate.

Relinquished? John Mark asked. What do you mean?

When Caesar Augustus became emperor, he created two types of provinces, imperial and senatorial, said Barnabas. Senatorial provinces are territories under the Roman Senate’s rule and have a minor military presence. These provinces have Roman proconsuls or governors.

Like Tarsus! I proudly chimed in.

Imperial provinces are territories under the emperor’s dominion and have a major militarily presence, added Barnabas. These provinces have Roman prefects.

Ah, like Judea, commented John Mark.

It’s not uncommon for provinces, like Cyprus, to be moved or traded by the emperor and senate, I remarked as we approached the city gate.

What about the city, itself? questioned John Mark.

It’s on the southwestern extremity of the island and has a great harbor, its major commerce, replied Barnabas. Along with worshipping Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, in all those magnificent heathen temples you see. This area is supposedly the mythical birthplace of her or where Aphrodite landed when she rose from the sea.

Sounds like we got our work cut out for us, said John Mark. Barnabas and I nodded our heads in agreement.

Our sandals kicked up dust and excitement among the beggars, prostitutes, and vendors who littered the main gate’s thoroughfare. A hundred paces or so from the gate, the begging intensified as pleading fingers grabbed our dusty mantles. Just before we entered the gate, children crawled through gaps in the crowd to see the strangers. An atmosphere of excitement and curiosity danced about us.

Barnabas placed a silver coin in a blind man’s hand, then told us, The current Proconsul of Cyprus is Lucius Sergius Paulus. He’s from a rich, noble family in Rome. He’s an intelligent man.

John Mark whistled. It’s good for a leader to be wise.

I don’t know if he possesses wisdom, but I’ve heard he’s been well schooled, I said.

Yes, Barnabas replied. Prior to Lucius Sergius’s appointment as Proconsul of Cyprus, he was curator of all temples in Rome under Emperor Claudius. He has an unquenchable thirst for religious study and craves celestial insights like an alcoholic does wine. He accepts all religions, beliefs, and philosophies congruent with the Roman Empire.

They say his court is filled with soothsayers, exorcists, astrologers, sages, magicians, and sorcerers, as well as the priests and priestesses of Aphrodite, I said, passing through an engraved bronze gate threshold that towered above us. Plus he lends his ears to any logic, philosophy, religion, knowledge, or superstition.

He’d certainly be open to hearing about Jesus; what would be more alluring than knowing a man had risen from the dead? What would be more enticing to the proconsul than to know God was now accessible to man?

On entering the capital city, we sensed merchants, craftsmen, and even slaves were aware of our purpose and us. Everywhere we turned people pointed at us, whispering, Those are the ones.

Within two hours of arriving in Paphos, twenty Roman soldiers, swords drawn, surrounded us in the marketplace. Accompanying the soldiers was a Roman official who ordered, Follow me! You have been summoned to the Proconsul’s palace.

Who are you? John Mark naively asked.

I’m the Proconsul’s personal messenger, Laarissa!

Why have we been summoned?

We have had several Jewish militants make their way to Cyprus and cause unrest among the Jews, Laarissa harshly replied. Sergius Paulus wishes to find out your intentions.

I’m a citizen of Cyprus, Barnabas said. We come in peace. Please have your soldiers set aside their swords.

When Laarissa refused Barnabas’s request, I said, We were planning on meeting him anyway. We consider the escort an honor.

Laarissa snorted his reply, Ha-ha.

Barnabas’s and my gait become smoother and longer as we were eager to meet the proconsul. John Mark even more so, he stomped ahead of us, arms swinging with force, and matching Laarissa stride for stride.

John Mark asked Laarissa as we were escorted from the buzzing marketplace at sword point, Is there any other reason the Proconsul would want to speak to us?

Laarissa had grown tolerable of John Mark and whispered, Yes, Sergius Paulus wants to hear your teachings. He’s seeing you against the advice of his court. Apparently the proconsul wants to hear your mystical words and see your magic.

Sergius is in for a big surprise because we are men of God, not magicians, Barnabas informed Laarissa. Then he turned to me and murmured, Don’t be shocked when you see Sergius. He was born with only one eye.

And his prominent parents still raised him? I asked, surprised.

His mother had five miscarriages before Sergius was born, Barnabas said. So his father reluctantly picked him up and raised him.

John Mark turned around, still walking, and asked, Why is that surprising?

Under Roman law, a newborn is laid at its father’s feet and he can either pick up the infant, claiming it as his child, or walk away, I remarked. If the father walks away, the infant is thrown on the city’s dump. Children with birth defects usually die on the dump, unless someone rescues them and raises them as slaves or prostitutes.

John Mark was horrified by the thought of a father discarding his son, like he had disposed of the family’s garbage every week at the city dump in Jerusalem. That’s terrible, he cried out.

It is, I replied.

John Mark’s inquisitive mind and head turned back toward Laarissa. Do all your residents worship Aphrodite? Every city or village we passed through had a statue of her.

Yes! The Goddess of Love is protector of marriages, inspirer of passions, and core to our sexuality. Laarissa turned slightly and bowed, no doubt in the direction of Aphrodite’s temple.

What’s the mythology behind Aphrodite? John Mark asked.

It’s not mythology, it’s our religion! Laarissa reprimanded. Aphrodite was born when Uranus, the father of the Greek gods, was castrated by Cronus, his son. Cronus tossed Uranus’s genitals into the ocean. His genitals caused the sea to foam up, and from out of the foam came Aphrodite. She was washed ashore in Old Paphos.

The setting sun peeked through a crack in the cloudy horizon, and a brilliant ray of yellow light shone upon a hilltop marble palace. The soldiers’ swords nudged Barnabas and me toward that colossal structure.

Laarissa continued, Zeus, the presiding god of the Greek pantheon, found humor in orchestrating a marriage between Hephaestus, a crippled god and unhandsome craftsman, and Aphrodite, the fabled and beautiful goddess. Zeus had a girdle of gold crafted and placed upon Aphrodite. The girdle, along with her beauty, made her irresistible to the other gods.

This does sound familiar, as if I’ve heard pieces of the story. Please continue, John Mark said.

Barnabas and I shared a grin over John Mark’s curiosity.

I’m sure you know it, Laarissa said. There is none like Aphrodite. He tapped at his jaw, as if to find his place. Hephaestus was infatuated with Aphrodite, but she quickly became bored with his physical appearance. She began an affair with Ares, the god of war. Hephaestus, discovering his wife’s infidelity, crafted a large, invisible net and hung it above their bed. Hephaestus told Aphrodite he was leaving town on business. Instead, he hid in their closet. When Ares arrived and embraced Aphrodite, Hephaestus lowered the net and snagged the lovers in their sexual act.

Laarissa turned back to make sure we were keeping up, then he led us up an incline.

Hephaestus eventually released them, but never divorced Aphrodite. She didn’t change after being freed from her net of infidelity. She went on to have sexual relationships with Dionysus, Hemes, Poseidon, and numerous other gods. Zeus became offended with her actions and punished Aphrodite by making her fall in love with Anchises, the glorious mortal and Trojan prince.

As we turned onto the Palace Road, Barnabas said, Now tell him what is required of every female on the island.

I’m getting to that part, Laarissa growled. Every woman, regardless of her status, is called to offer herself at least once for Aphrodite. The sexual act is an act of worship. The proceeds are used to maintain the temples.

Everyone? John Mark asked.

I looked at Barnabas, wondering about his mother and sisters. He shook his head.

All but you stupid Jews, Laarissa said. "Even Sergius’s wife offered her body as an act of worship