Jonathan Trigell - The Tongues of Men or Angels

There is a community of Christianoi in Troas, a few converted by Paul himself, when he passed through some years ago. And since he intends to bid the ship to leave the next day, Paul addresses them at their gathering on the first day of the week.

As Paul speaks, for longer even than normal, a young man sitting at the third-storey window drifts into sleep and slowly topples sideways, drops from sight. Paul, who watched it happen, charges down the stairs, still quick on his robust legs for his fifty-six years. And he lifts the lad up in his arms, at first fearing him dead, then exploding into relieved laughter as the youth comes round. A little dazed and bloodied but none the worse bar that. It is the first time Paul’s followers have heard him laugh in weeks. And the whole group breaks bread and worships together, and they all talk with their master until dawn, renewing their bonds of faith. They think perhaps the spell of Paul’s fear has been broken.

But then, the next day, instead of boarding the ship, Paul erratically decides to travel overland to Assos, to foil anyone who might be waiting in ambush at the Troas port, leaving his disciples further unnerved.

The ship, as ships do, though, hugs the shore and hops from port to port and Paul joins it at Assos, and from there they sail to harbours in Mitylene, then Chios, Samos and Trogyllium. Paul refuses to let the Thracian captain make the obvious next stop, at great Ephesus, where Trophimus is from, instead ordering the ship on to Miletus. Paul is nervous of porting in Ephesus because those men who had come from Jerusalem have so turned the congregations against him. But he holds the ship at Miletus, further down the coast, and from there he summons certain members of the Ephesus community, who, Trophimus says he thinks, remain loyal.

They come, to Paul’s relief, but still he cannot conceal his sadness when he sees them. ‘Since I’ve been gone, I know that grievous wolves have come among you and harmed the flock. Some of your own men even arose and distorted the truth in order to lure others into following them. But, despite what they may say, I never desired anyone’s silver, gold or fine clothes. You witnessed how I worked with my own hands to support myself. And now I am on my way to Jerusalem, not knowing what will happen to me there, or what suffering is waiting for me. Though I don’t place any value on my life, I have a great fear that none of you will ever see my face again.’

And all of them cry as they put their arms around Paul and kiss him affectionately and pray with him. They urge Paul to abandon his visit to Jerusalem, but he won’t and he rejoins the ship.

From Miletus they sail to Kos, then Rhodes and on to Patara. The greatest stretch of open water, the distance most to be feared, is where, from Patara, the ship crosses far to the west side of Cyprus to reach Tyre, risking wreck and storm. Most ships take the safer but greatly longer route along the coasts of Cilicia and Syria. But Paul hastens now, hoping to make Jerusalem in time for the Feast of Weeks.

And instead of crashing waves and dark skies, three dolphins accompany the travellers much of the way. As if to show that the Lord of Hosts, His Son and the Spirit that moves are with them. The dolphins leap across the bow and ride in the wake. They dive and circle alone and all as one. They roll and hang and flick their sideways flukes. They shine and smile. And there is such visible intelligence evidenced in the insentient fish that it is clear that Yahweh, whose hand moulded every creature, is at work in these ones this very day; so Paul cannot but take it as a sign that God will keep him safe.

When the Praetorian Guards finally strike, they come with the wrath of Mars. Wooden bolts are shattered as strapped boots kick in doors. Those who protest are hacked down where they stand. The delay in the round-up was not through mercy but efficiency. The black cloaks draw up plans, before drawing their long knives.

They take the congregations as they meet for their communal meal on the day of Solis. Those house churches not destroyed in the fire are encircled, dark sharks around a raft; the Christianoi who assemble together in the camps are even easier to take captive. Most of the arrests are made within a single evening.

Paul needs no tracking down. Manius hands over his prisoner to his comrades with an unapologetic shrug, then rubs his wrist and stretches his arm as though his predominant sensation is one of pleasure at finally being rid of an encumbrance.

Aristarchus tries to make escape, sliding on his belly beneath the back flap of the group’s marquee. When half his body has passed, he gives a dog-yelp of pain and his legs go limp. They are wrenched out of sight from the other side and that is the last Paul will ever see of his friend.

Paul thanks God that Useful and Timothy at least will be safe enough at Colossae. The boy was sent away in plenty of time, back to his old master, Timothy with him to ensure Paul’s letter would be publicly read and Useful forgiven.

Epaphras, Demas and Luke, if God wills it, will also evade capture: they left just days ago, armed with epistles to continue the ceaseless argument against those false apostles who would Judaize and circumcise the whole world if they were able.

But for Paul and Silas, it is gaol. And the imprisonment is truly that this time: no house arrest or manacled wrist, but a black and barred pit of filth. Floor slick with piss and faeces from stinking slop pots knocked over in the dark. A reeking dungeon into which new prisoners are lowered by rope. One of the ropes has a seat attached, for those who are too disfigured and broken from torture to hold on.

Roman citizens cannot be tortured, but many of the captives are immigrants, freedmen and slaves, and they are put to the rack as a matter of course. They return to the pit prison with their spines twisted and their arms dislocated, without fingernails, sometimes without fingers. They find it hard to speak when they come back, with their broken jaws and holes from pulled out teeth; but, by the rate at which the Praetorians find more Christianoi meeting places after each questioning, it seems they speak enough at the time. And to look at those misshapen, bloodied creatures, it is not possible to hold them responsible for anything they might have said.

Silas is taken away one morning. If morning exists in the murk of the prison cavern. He walks away as a broad, proud son of Adam; he comes back two days later as a shuffling beast, sightless and tongue-less. Paul weeps.

It is becoming clear that the Christianoi are not even to be scapegoats for the fire. Because the lot of the scapegoat is not so bad: on the Day of Atonement it is prodded and spat at and driven out of town and poked with reeds and heaped with scorn and maybe in the wilderness the wolves will one day catch it. But the other goat is taken straight to the altar to be held down and cut through the jugular. Perhaps it would be better to be the scapegoat.

Many of the Christianoi are resolute: they take first the fire and now this persecution as final evidence that the end of days is here, just as they have been told to expect. Paul encourages them in this belief and they are greatly lifted by his presence among them. He seems to emit a field, like the change of air around a fountain, a force invisible, yet tangible. To be with such a figure of the movement at this time of horror is a poultice of great comfort. Paul draws strength from the solace he gives to others and endeavours to be stoical and strong. If this is how the trumpet is to sound, he will not be found wanting. If this is the shape that battle must take, Paul will still wear faith as a breastplate and salvation as a helm. He will not thrice deny the Christ, like Cephas did.