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On a cold spring morning a woman stumbled through the dark trying desperately to get to her destination. She could see wisps of her breath as she quickly and carefully found her footing on the old stone path in the dim light of predawn. She didn’t bother to bring a lamp because her hands were already full of extremely rare and precious items. She had purchased them near Sundown just two days ago. These things were crucial to her mission today. Besides, the sun would soon be up and by then, a lamp would be a useless burden. She had set out with a few friends, but they had quickly fallen far behind her. It was no matter – they had all eaten little and slept even less in the last two days. They were weak and exhausted from fear, grief, confusion, and shock. Her friends were equally determined to help but lacked her strength and perseverance. If she had to fulfill her obligation and vows all alone, so be it. Her stomach was still twisted in knots of emotional pain. She tried to shrug off the uncontrollable bursts of tears that kept coming, they only made it harder for her to see the path she was trying so desperately to follow. In the cold morning air, she could still feel the salty brine of her tears flowing down her face. Her matted hair was loosely tied back in her haste to get to responsibilities. She felt some sense of urgency although she didn’t know why. Her duties would still be waiting for her when she arrived. They certainly weren’t going anywhere now. When she was little, she had strength and hope and determination to become something. She certainly had a lot of talent and intelligence. But life has its way of beating people down and stealing young dreams. Despite her bad start, her countless setbacks, and the stupidity and evil of other people, she had pushed on and made something of herself. She had become well to do as a single woman in a time when few ladies had the opportunity to be anything outside the home, or outside of living in the shadow of a man for that matter. But for all her accomplishments she could never cure the deep pain of the emotional scars that tormented her mind. Those dark and mocking voices that constantly ridiculed and shamed her, those condemning thoughts that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she accomplished, regrets and sorrows piled up until they loomed over her life like a mountain at the edge of a vast desert plain. The dark thoughts never left her alone. Until the day she met . . . . him. She had seen a large crowd gathered on the sand of the great lake, intrigued, she went over to investigate what was so fascinating that such a large group would stop their daily lives to gather this way. She heard his voice booming over the crowd long before she could get a glimpse of what he looked like. “Oh this is the new teacher, the prophet, the supposed miracle worker I’ve heard so much about” she thought to herself. Having never been a shy girl, she made her way carefully through the crowd to get a better view. His words had just finished as she stepped through the final row of people on the sand. He was being rowed back to shore by a fisherman. The rough and tumble fisherman who had loaned the prophet his boat to use the acoustics of the water to speak to such a large crowd. As he stepped from the boat onto the sand he looked straight into her eyes. With the one look she realized – he knew her. He knew all her secret thoughts, all her desires and dreams, and he even knew about the dreaded voices which constantly tormented her mind. He came directly towards her and in a few words spoken gently, firmly, and with authority – the voices fled. Peace filled her entire soul. In that moment she chose to follow this teacher no matter what the cost or how far he would travel. She instantly decided she would give up everything to learn from him and serve him. No matter the sacrifice, she would never question, and no act of service would ever be withheld. For the first time in her life, she experienced peace and love. Along the way they began calling her, the Magdalene. At first it was just a non-descript reference used to separate her from the numerous other women named Mary who followed Jesus. The others, all came from much better families and healthier backgrounds. Magdalene was her hometown. It was just a handle to describe where she came from, she had nothing more remarkable about her to use as an epitaph. Eventually it took on a different nuance. Magdala was the word for tower. “Mary the Tower” they called her because of the her strength of her convictions, her dedication to following Jesus, her service to others, and as a testament to her survival skills after enduring so much in life. She stood strong. She had earned that nickname. Although her experience with Jesus was uniquely hers, she would see it repeated with thousands of others over the next few years. No matter how large the crowds grew she would come to learn that the teacher never saw crowds, he only saw individuals. His insights were profound, his touch healing, and his words carried the weight of heaven itself. And they had killed him for it. On this cold spring morning she was still grieving with the deepest of pain and sorrow. While she had wept for two days, the very universe itself had changed. She didn’t know it yet, but she was about to be blessed with incalculable joy.

“I need immediate prayer” came the urgent message across our family text group. “One of the little girls I live with was just airlifted to the hospital while on vacation. They aren’t sure what it is, but it’s very serious. Her name is Addie and she’s 4 years old”. My wife and I knew the emotional power of this request. Our daughter has been renting a room with a family in the city where she lives on the other side of the United States from her mom and me. It’s been a good transition spot while she’s been in between apartments and making some changes in her own life. The family has three little kids. The little girl mentioned is super close to our own daughter who is 28. She is like an adopted niece, or maybe our daughter is the adopted aunt. Addie and her older sister stand patiently outside her bedroom door each morning waiting for our daughter to emerge. Our daughter claims Addie as a “mini-me” even though they have no blood ties. Addie has an adventurous spirit, confident leadership personality, and a talkative nature that inspires and impresses adults. Just like our daughter did as a little girl. The family had left for vacation after Christmas. This message came to us on Dec 26th. Later that night, our daughter called us in tears. Addie didn’t make it. I’ve never heard our daughter weep so heavily in all her life. A couple of days she was informed that it was sepsis, a bacterial or viral blood infection that is hard to detect, but curable. She’d been sick, but the doctors couldn’t figure out why. Now it was too late. What is a family to make of such horrific events? Where is the protector God, now? Why does He allow this? How can He possibly be trusted after an event like this? These are the moments when trust in God gets pulled so far apart from actual life experience that faith is stretched into a thin translucence that hangs on only by the tiniest of threads - if it holds together at all. There is no praise left, only cold, empty lament. Jesus must have a special heart for little ones. Through most of human history major portions of the population never made it past the first 5-6 years. Only in the last 80 years or so has child mortality leveled off and stabilized and even then, it’s only in highly developed countries. Why does God take so many children from earth? What is their destiny? Do children automatically go to heaven? I believe the answer is yes. When King David’s baby fell sick, he fasted and prayed. But when the child died, he rose and washed and ate. His servants didn’t understand why he didn’t totally fall apart once the child died. His response was, “But now he has died; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” 2 Samuel 12:23. David would be known for centuries as a “man after God’s own heart”. He is one of the great heroes of the Judeo-Christian faith and definitely in heaven. His words, recorded under the power of the Holy Spirit, tell us that children who die are in heaven. That’s what his phrase I will go to him, means. Jesus implied that little children do indeed have guardian angels and are held under the grace of God when he said, “Take heed that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that in heaven their angels always see the face of My Father who is in heaven. For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost.” Matthew 18:10-11. An interesting difference because when Jesus spoke about adults while he was in the house of Zacchaeus, he said 10 For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.” Luke 19:10. The implication is that he doesn’t seek the little ones because they are already in connection to him. The Prophet Jonah was angry that God did not destroy wicked Nineveh. God’s answer to Jonah’s anger was that His pity and compassion and restraining His wrath, was due to the innocent children in the city who weren’t even old enough to tell their right from their left. The presence of children spared the city and gave them an opportunity to repent. “But the LORD said, “You have had pity on the plant for which you have not labored, nor made it grow, which came up in a night and perished in a night. 11 And should I not pity Nineveh, that great city, in which are more than one hundred and twenty thousand persons who cannot discern between their right hand and their left?” Jonah 4:10-11 Do children grow out of this protection at some point. Most definitely. Is there an age of accountability in the Bible? That is way harder to prove. It probably varies from individual to individual and only God knows for sure when the line is crossed. The historical perspective has been somewhere around age 12-13, corresponding with both Jewish customs of adulthood. Some look at the incident when he was twelve and Jesus separated himself from his own family to identify with his heavenly Father “Why did you seek Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father’s business?” Luke 2:49 I have always been intrigued by Isaiah 57:1-2a which states The righteous perishes, And no man takes it to heart; Merciful men are taken away, While no one considers That the righteous is taken away from evil. 2 He shall enter into peace; Sometimes, God takes the righteous away to spare them from the evil that is in the society around them. I have wondered if the reason he takes children is that he knows all their possible choices and destinies in life. Does he take some to spare them the pain of life that would have been? Perhaps he takes them to insure they come to heaven to be with him. Only He knows if given a chance at a full life it would not turn out well and they would’ve been lost to him forever. God is wiser than we can ever hope to comprehend. Just a few days prior to receiving this news from our daughter, my wife and I watched a video of the story of Tara, posted by friend Randy Kay. The YouTube channel RandyKay.org does interviews with people who have had Near Death Experiences. Tara was raised in a devout Christian home. At 10 years old she completely rebelled. Pregnant at 14, drug addicted, sex-trafficked, another child murdered, and a criminal history, her story describes overdosing while under arrest, dying, going to hell, getting rescued by Jesus, and eventually waking up in the morgue on a table with a sheet over her head. Her life story is horrific. Her rescue and redemption are miraculous. I could not help but think of Tara’s story when considering why God takes some children so young. Only God knows the outcomes of their life choices. Does he do severe rescues? Maybe. I do know that parents who have lost children and kept their faith seem to share a common understanding. These little ones always belonged to God. They become grateful for the time they had with such love and delight, which is better than having never known them at all. They are absolutely confident they will meet again for eternity. Stephen Curtis Chapman’s 5-year-old daughter was tragically killed in an auto accident. it brought forth an album Beauty Will Rise with many of the songs his personal laments and insights from the long healing journey of the loss. I’ve read some incredible insights and poetic wisdom written by Kalley Heiligenthal, a Bethel worship leader whose 2-year-old daughter died in 2019. If your struggle is finding faith again after such tragic loss, there are those out there who can guide you. There is hope.

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This question comes up often – “What is the unforgivable sin”? And better yet, “Should I be scared that I, or someone I care about, may have committed it? The statement about a sin not being able to be forgiven is found in four main passages - Matthew 12:31-32, Mark 3:29, and Luke 12:10. The story behind the statement is fleshed out mostly in the Matthew text with some insights from Mark. In the Luke passage it stands alone. It’s safe to say that for deeper understanding a person should look at the full context of what was going on when Jesus made this statement. What had just happened? Who was he talking to? What had already been happening? The setting: Jesus heals a demon possessed man who is both blind and mute. Jesus heals him so that he both sees and speaks (Matthew 12:22-24). His miraculous power is undeniable. It wasn’t done in secret it was a very public miracle. Details of the story: Religious leaders had been coming from Jerusalem to see if Jesus was for real. These leaders knew the Scriptures better than anyone else. They have no explanation for the undeniable miracle. They can see Jesus has great spiritual power. But they refuse to admit it comes from God. Instead, they say the source of his power is Satan (Matthew 12:27). In some translations Satan is called “Belzabub” meaning Lord of the flies in others it is “Belzabul” (Hebrew) Lord of Manure The crowd is now suggesting Jesus is the Messiah (Matthew 12:23). To admit it was God’s power that had delivered this deaf and mute man, meant that the religious leaders would have an obligation to accept all Jesus said and did. That’s what Jesus means in the phrase - if I cast out demons by the Spirit of God, surely the kingdom of God has come upon you (Matthew 12:29). They would have to bow down to him, even obey his teaching. But Jesus isn’t one of them. He doesn’t do things their way with their expectations. In fact, they had seen plenty of miracles up to that point and their hearts had turned against Jesus to plot a way to destroy him rather than bow to him (Matthew 12:14). Jesus’ Reaction: A House Divided Cannot Stand (Matthew 12:25-27) Jesus is pointing out the obvious - Why would Satan fight himself? Jesus cannot be on Satan’s side because he’s fighting Satan’s goals and objectives by delivering this man from spiritual bondage rather than entrap him in demonic bondage. Jesus goes into the whole image about the Strong Man (Matthew 12:29) showing that he has the power to break into Satan’s house and rescues us from spiritual bondage. Keep in mind that at this point in history Satan has control of the earth and mankind. It’s before the cross and resurrection so Jesus is breaking into the Strong Man’s House (ie Satan) and plundering what Satan has taken captive. Jesus is taking people back from spiritual bondage Satan has held them in. • Jn 12:31, “Now is the time for judgment on this world, Now the prince of this world will be driven out.” • 2 Cor 4:4, . . . “the god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers so that they cannot see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” • 2 Tim 2:26, . . . “and that they may come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him to do his will”. Definition of The Unforgivable Sin, Blasphemy against the Holy Spirit (Matthew 12:31-32) Specifically then, this sin would be “ascribing the undeniable power and miracles of Jesus, to Satan instead of God”. Some say this sin can’t be committed today it could only be committed when Jesus walked the earth. Others would say it can be committed, but it takes exceptional hard heartedness. These leaders had witnessed the power of Jesus’ miracles and heard his teaching. They knew the Scriptures well. They not only turned their backs on him, but they also plotted to kill and destroy him. They, ironically join sides with Satan themselves. They in fact, do the very thing they claimed Jesus had done. This sin is not committed from indifference or ignorance, it is callous, premeditated, and brutal. Notice that the sin is against the Holy Spirit, not against Jesus. Why is this significant? What The Holy Spirit does. In scripture there are some 80 activities and roles which God the Holy Spirit takes on. But the basic tasks are to convict people of sin, draw people to Christ which means causing us to understand who Jesus is and what he’s done for us. The Holy Spirit illuminates the mind to comprehend God and He affects the Heart to connect with God. The Holy Spirit is the one who regenerates human beings, causing us to have the new life, or in popular language – be born again. Therefore, to cut ourselves off from the Holy Spirit, means there is no way left for salvation because there is no other means for forgiveness or eternal life. We can’t come to Jesus Christ without the Holy Spirit. To blaspheme the Spirit is to aggressively deny the only means by which we could ever believe in Christ and the only way we could receive Christ. We cut ourselves off from the only person of the Trinity who could give us the new birth required for salvation. The reason its unforgivable is that the Holy Spirit is the path to get forgiveness. Rule of Thumb: If you’re worried you’ve committed it – you haven’t. Say, what? Well, worry is a sign of caring and concern. It demonstrates a still present, basic, fear of God at some level. If you are concerned that this might be you, then the presence of the worry shows you aren’t that far gone. Someone who commits this sin would never have a fear or worry about it – only contempt and hatred. A final thought: Notice that up to Matthew 12, Jesus preaches The kingdom of heaven is at hand. From chapter 13 on, he begins to speak in parables with words to the effect, for those who have an ear to hear. Many scholars and pastors would say Matthew 12, and the commission of the sin of Blasphemy against The Holy Spirit by the religious rulers of Israel, is a turning point moment in history.

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In early September we moved into a new house. It was a huge downgrade from our old place, but a lot of different circumstances led us to believe that God was re-directing us to a new place for the next phase of our lives. There was barely enough time in the new home to paint some walls, get our things in, and do a bit of yard clean up before the weather turned cold and eliminated all outdoor work. Winter came early and lasted a long time. One tree in our front yard was an overgrown and unruly monster. It hadn’t been trimmed or shaped for a long time. Its wild branches dangled to the ground blocking all sunlight to the landscape feature beneath. Its branches spread out in haphazard ways that made it looked like a slob who had just woken up from a night of hard partying. It obscured the scenery to the park across the street and hid the house from view as well. We cut it back a bit and trimmed the lowest branches to get back some semblance of shape. Then winter set in. The leaves fell, the branches twisted this way and that and it remained a barren brown piece of sticks, devoid of all beauty and life for the next several months. Spring came. As the rest of the world began to put forth buds and blossoms this tree remained dormant and lifeless. We cut it back some more. Flowers began to bloom elsewhere in the yard. Buds and leaves appeared on many other bushes and plants, but this tree remained a bundle of sticks and twigs. We wondered if we had gone too far and killed it in our overzealous pruning. It was ugly but it’s ugly had been reduced in size and looked under control now. Finally, in late April it exploded over-night in the most beautiful pink blossoms. Underneath the tree, the ground below, which now received sunlight, burst forth with the beginning of plants and flowers that had not existed when we moved in. It was gorgeous and gave us a great delight when sat on our front porch to share a morning coffee or an evening beverage as we waved to joggers, mommies pushing strollers, and numerous dog-walkers who passed by all day long. We didn’t know what we had. We had not lived in the house long enough to experience the different seasons, so we were unprepared for the beauty that emerged from the seemingly dead tree. Experience had taught us that something would emerge, this time more controlled and shapelier. But the blossoms were breath-taking, and the explosion of pink grew in size and beauty over the next few weeks. The flowers and plants emerging underneath had always been there but had been obscured and unable to grow in the shade of the overgrown tree. Someone who lived in the house before knew that the tree was beautiful and the plants beneath were lovely. It had all been carefully planned years before but then neglected. The neglect caused a loss that could only be regained by pruning and eliminating what was overgrown. Someone already knew what our tree would become, but they weren’t here to tell us, so we applied our best guesses from our own past experiences to reshape our tree. In John Chapter 15 Jesus compared life in him to being like gardening, specifically he used the illustration of grapevines. He says in the first couple of verses, “ I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit .” There are times in our lives when it looks like God takes away so much that the loss looks like destruction and death. It feels like something was killed and won’t ever come back to new life and beauty. Often, he is preparing instead for new growth to emerge that is lying dormant and blocked from receiving the warm attention that he desires to shine on what is already in us, but unable to flourish. If we only had the experience to see what is coming, we might be more patient, or careful. But we don’t have the experience to know the future and so we can panic or fall into depression or despair. Take courage that others have experience. They have been through hard things and losses before us. Their stories can teach us what will emerge on the other side. If we don’t have the connection to learn from others, we are on our own, applying, our own guesses and past experiences to what we face. The church is meant to be a place where the isolation of going it alone is ended. Where the stories of others who have faced difficulties and hardships can be shared so that those of us who can’t imagine future blessing can receive hope. We aren’t meant to do this life alone. There is beauty coming. 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ.

I am sitting at one of our pew tables out in the main coffee shop area, which also doubles as our sanctuary on Sundays. I’m talking with a fellow pastor who is up from San Diego visiting his daughter. As we are talking, a woman who is casually dressed in white leggings and an oversized green T-shirt is walking about the room taking photos and jotting down notes. She walks down the hallway, takes more photos, goes into the restroom for a moment, and comes out scribbling on a note pad. What are we getting a surprise health inspection? I wonder as I try to stay focused on my conversation. This is odd. I glance over to Chris who is running the barista bar and he’s unconcerned. I figure he must know what’s going on, but I’m suspicious. My conversation ends, we part company and I go to up to Chris and ask, “What gives?” giving my head a jerk toward the woman who is now in the corner on a laptop. “Oh, she’s a professional Google reviewer who wandered in and is writing up a piece on our place,” he enthusiastically responds. Alright, I’ll bite. I figure I’d better go over and say hello and introduce myself, what with me being the pastor of the church that built the place after all. I admit that I do get a little guarded and protective of our space, sort of like the west highland white terrier we used to have. Woof! I introduce myself to El who travels the U.S. and writes Google reviews for only two things, coffee shops and - drum roll – churches! Cymbal crash. That’s it. No other places. Not restaurants, hotels, shopping malls, or boutiques. Just coffee shops and churches, separately of course. She does this professionally and has been on the road for 15 years. I notice her T-Shirt has a saying on it about living in Faith and figure she must be a Christian. I’m smart like that. As we talk more, I discover that she is Jewish. She was born in Jerusalem but moved to Spain in her youth and her in own words, “Was raised a Gentile”. She calls herself a Hebrew though and openly admits that she is Messianic; meaning she believes in Jesus as the Son of God and savior of the world. She came to faith by being caught up to heaven when she was just a little girl and meeting him in a vision. I’ve been around enough and heard enough by now to not second guess what Jesus may or may not do to reveal himself to a person. But I’m hooked like a rainbow trout. I want to know more – wouldn’t you? We stand and talk for quite a long time as she tells me her story. More of her story is for her to tell. But I discover that she also tutors and teaches people from all over the country who know nothing about the Bible, The Holy Spirit, or Jesus, but are desirous to know more. When she travels through various cities and towns, she meets up with them face to face. Of course, the obvious meeting place of choice is the local coffee shop. Since she met in so many of them, she started writing reviews. She was meeting people who could use a little more support on Sundays, so she started attending various churches and writing reviews of them too. She found us because Google sent her to the coffee house a block or two away and she didn’t like it. She strolled our little business district and wandered in. She fell in love. “The only negative in my review is that you aren’t open longer,” she tells me. We talk a lot more about Jesus, the church and what she is observing in society. She speaks about the gap she sees between people who don’t attend church, but have a hunger to know more, and what the churches offer in terms of an entry level. “You’ve got it right,” she says with surprised relief like a person discovering water after a long hike. “I think you have found the perfect balance to be both a church and have the business work. This is easily inviting to people who wouldn’t start off going to church. Usually, I see huge churches that start selling coffee in their lobbies. That only takes the Christian people out of society and into their own closed group. But this! This is something very different.” She exclaims. “When we started this eight years ago, I searched all over, looking for a church that was doing this.” I tell her. “I found big churches with coffee shops in their lobbies. Those are usually only open for church services and never the kind of place the general public would enter. I also found some churches that had totally separate buildings where they started a coffee shop. But I never found one that was a church as a coffee shop. So let me ask you, in all your travels across the U.S. have you seen anyone else doing this?” “No” she says. “I’ve never seen this. This is totally unique”. But I think this is what is needed. The future of the church is already shifting. I think what you are doing here,” she stops and pauses, leaning in conspiratorially, “is the future” she concludes nodding her head like a gambler quietly giving you their best inside tip. It is a gamble being on the front edge. The things we had to learn about tax codes and health permits, and banquet licenses and all manner of business savvy methods would fill a book. How we learned to blend those with a church would take up several chapters. The mistakes we have made along the way would fill several more. The only thing that made the gamble feel less risky is that we heard the Holy Spirit telling us to lead the way into this wild frontier of unsettled territory. The culture is shifting in many parts of America. The study of revivals shows long periods of spiritual draught in a nation where the church is less dominant, and spiritual fruit is harder to come by. Old methods no longer work, and no one quite knows the new methods yet. People in small pockets of Jesus’ church explore new methods of ministry and immerses themselves in desperate prayer. That’s how John Wesley and George Whitfield began preaching in the open air, touring the country by horseback. The old church wouldn’t let them in, so they came up with a new method. We now call that time the Great Awakening. Across the church world I’m reading and hearing more about how we have all been through a national downturn spiritually. What seemed to be working wonderfully was put to the test during covid and we aren’t so sure of ourselves and our methods anymore. Even as I write this, I’m finding the old method of depending on a strong Sunday service to do the bulk of the work for ministry and church growth is in me. I knew we needed to try something new and so we built a different box to house or ministry. But I sometimes fear we haven’t gone far enough with what fills the box and how we train ourselves to use it. It isn’t easy being out on the frontier. But I rather enjoy the view.

An Old Man wakes up from a night of restless dreaming. He shakes himself awake with a start from his haunted memories. Just seconds ago, he was being dragged through the streets of a city by an angry mob, he was raising his arms in his sleep trying to ward off their brutal striking blows. He dreamed of being mercilessly dragged to the outskirts of the city as the mob picked up stones to hurl at him. In his nightmare he was just crouching down and trying to cover up his head as the first stones began to pummel him. He awoke with a start. His heart was beating fast, he was drenched in sweat, and he was breathing much too hard. For a moment he was completely disoriented as he glanced about the room around him. It took a moment as the dream-memory faded and he recalled where he was. He raised his arm up to wipe the sweat from his brow and he heard the jangling of the chains. The chains that he constantly wore and had been wearing for several years now. “Oh, it was just a dream” he thought to himself relieved. Only he knew the dream was a memory of something that had happened to him many years before. “I’m glad I’m not there anymore,” he thought to himself with a thankful sigh. The guard approached him and unlocked the shackles so that he could dress. Any moment a new guard would come in to change the watch over him in his imprisonment, and he would be shackled to a new guard for the next three-hour shift. It was a different guard, every three hours, night and day. It had been like this for a year and half. Before that, he had been chained to a soldier for months while traveling to this city. That was a journey which almost killed him and everyone he was with. Before that, he had languished in a prison cell for more than two years while his case was on appeal. He lifted the covers and got out of bed with aches and pains that would destroy a man of lesser resolve. No one would have guessed how strong he was by looking at him. He had a slight build, wasn’t tall compared to other men and the tufts of hair left on his balding head made him seem very unimpressive. The old man saw the shocking wince in the guard’s eyes as he sat up. He knew it was from exposing the mass of twisted scars and misshapen lumps of flesh that covered his body. The old man had been beaten with rods and whipped to the point of death by authorities numerous times in his life. Now the scars were just horrific reminders of the pains he had suffered. Most of the feeling was gone from his back. Some of the broken bones he sustained had never fully healed straight and nerve tissue had permanent damage. He should be dead by now, Lord knows his tormentors had tried to kill him, but somehow he had survived. He got out of bed and moved to the wash basin, splashing cool water over his face and head. He dried himself off with a slightly dirty towel and wondered about breakfast. He had been living under house arrest for a long time now. He was free to have guests but not free to leave. He had to pay all his own expenses but had no way to work. He depended on the generosity of his visiting friends to keep him financed and supplied with food, drink, medicine, and other essential items. He was thankful that he had good friends. As he began to shave, he looked himself over in the reflection of the polished brass mirror that hung over the wash basin. His face looked old, even to him. But inside his mind still felt as alert and bright as it did when he was a young scholar at the top of his class in the most elite educational institution his country had to offer. The authorities used to love him. Now they hated him. He was once their up and coming elite protégé destined for great things in leadership and in government. But now the elite leaders and heads of government wanted him dead. They had tried to kill him many times over. He paused the motions of shaving for a moment and looked deep into his own eyes. These eyes had seen so much, they had seen more of the known world than most of his contemporaries would ever see. They had seen miles and miles of road, hundreds of towns and rustic villages as well as major ports and metropolises crammed with people of all nationalities. These eyes had seen the beauty of dozens of mountain ranges, vast plains of planted grain on thousands of acres of land. They had seen mile upon mile of ocean waves that sometimes were delightfully peaceful and other times raged like a frightful monster bent on killing and destroying anything in its path. These eyes had seen him shipwrecked four times. They had seen him in danger and peril from highwaymen and robbers too many times to count. These old eyes had looked into the faces of men who had chained him, beaten him, and whipped him. These eyes remembered their raging faces and the spittle that blew from their mouths as they cursed him. They had seen the faces of the great and elite, the rich and powerful, robed in magnificent splendor as he stood before rulers, governors, and even kings telling them his story while on trial for his life. For just an instant as he gazed into his own face, he even remembered the time when his eyes could see nothing, and he was blind. But that was so many years ago now, so long ago that it felt like another man from another lifetime. He shook off the memories and finished shaving and dressing. As he felt the manacles being shackled around his wrists again, he could not help but stare at the face of his new guard. He looked so young. He was an experienced soldier though; the old man knew he had to be to get this elite position in the capital city. He could not imagine what this young soldier had seen and done compared to all the horror and danger that he himself had experienced. “You may be the professional soldier, but I am certain that I have seen and experienced so much more violence than you have. Hopefully, more than you will ever have to see.” he thought to himself. He could see that this new young soldier was trying hard to not show any sign of wonder or amazement at the prisoner he was shackling. After all, the old man was the most famous prisoner in the Empire. He was talked about the length and breadth of the kingdom. He was hated and loved by hundreds of thousands of people across numerous borders. He could see the slight confusion on the face of the young soldier, so he spoke the words out loud that the young man was thinking. “I know. I’m not much to look at, am I? How could such a small and insignificant stature as mine create all this drama? Believe me, I wonder that myself.” He could see that the young men felt caught off guard that his face had shown his thoughts so easily. The old man could not help but feel a strong admiration and affection for this new young soldier. He vowed inwardly, “I will make sure he knows my story before this shift is over.” Today was a going to be a good day. He moved from the room where his bed was kept and made his way through the house to the kitchens while the young soldier shackled by the wrist to the other end of his chains followed. The ever-faithful women who remained diligently at his service from the friendship and admiration they felt for him, were just setting out his breakfast. “They are here and setting up in the next room” he was informed. The old man felt joy flow through his soul. The young men who had come were special to him. One especially was like the son he never had. They had shown up early to get a start to the day’s project. The old man was a great writer and his scholarly mind never stopped turning. He needed to write a letter to a small community of followers who lived near the same region where he had been almost stoned to death so many years before. “Almost? Perhaps they succeeded”, the old man thought. Maybe the Lord had raised him back from the dead. He often wondered whether he had actually lived or died when he recalled the incident. Two days before, another worker in his cause had also come to the capital city as a chained prisoner. He had spoken to the old man of the urgency of writing a letter of instruction to his hometown, a city the old man had never visited. The fellow prisoner was a friend and confident, but their work been in different regions of the kingdom. The shackles on his wrists and the age of his eyes prevented him from writing the letters on the page like he used to do when he was young. His handwriting was too large now and took up too much room on the expensive and precious parchment. He needed a scribe with a neat hand to do the writing as he dictated his thoughts and words. His young protégé had come to help him write another of his letters. Most of his previous letters had become quite famous throughout the Empire among those who followed the way of Jesus of Nazareth. His letter to the cities of Galatia, the two letters he has sent to the Corinthian church, two other letters to the church of Thessalonica, and his famous letter to the saints in the city of Rome, were already widely being circulated. The Old man knew that the letters he constructed where written under the power and authority of the Spirit of God. He finished his breakfast moved to the front room. The Old man immediately felt the power and presence of the Holy Spirit around them. “Hello Timothy. Thank you for coming to help me. The Lord has put it in my heart since the coming of my fellow-prisoner Epaphras, to write some words of encouragement and instruction to our brothers and sisters in the mountains of Asia”. He turned to the two other young men leaning against the wall and said, “Tychias you will carry it to them, and Philemon, I want you to accompany him. I’m sending you back to your master to resolve your status as a runaway slave. I have already crafted a letter for you to carry for that purpose”. He then prayed, inviting the Holy Spirit to take over and speak through him for what was about to be written was of utmost importance. When he finished, he said, “I don’t know how much longer I have to live. This trial may come up at any time and I might be sentenced to death. Let’s get started, shall we? Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, To God’s holy people in Colossae, the faithful brothers and sisters in Christ: Grace and peace to you from God our Father.