As Sure as the Dawn (55 page)

It wasn’t until Rizpah accidentally overheard a conversation between Freyja and Varus that she understood why no one listened to what she had to say. Anomia made sure no Chatti would listen, for the young priestess had warned everyone that she was an Ionian witch who had come to deceive them.

Rizpah said nothing to Atretes about this for fear of what he would do. Anomia roused passions in him that were best left untapped, and the less he had to do with her, the better.

Rizpah could do nothing but accept the situation. She listened as they shouted back and forth, praying with quiet dignity and perseverance all the while she served them.

God, show me what to do. Show me how to do it. Give me your love for these people. Let me hide myself in your peace and not let the storm shake my faith.

Even as she served food to the men debating with Atretes, she meditated on the Scriptures Shimei and Theophilus had taught her. Around her, other men filled their horns with honeyed wine and beer. She went over psalms that spoke to her of God’s sovereignty, his provision, his love—all while the men argued.

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.
Over and over, she said the words in her mind, slowly, to calm her nerves, then even more slowly, to savor and treasure them as they brought forth the peace she craved, a peace beyond understanding.

She didn’t think anyone noticed.

“Guilty! How am I guilty?” Varus raged, standing on his good leg, his face contorted.

“Sit down and hear me out!”
Atretes shouted.

“I’ve heard enough! Bow down to this weakling god of yours, but I won’t. Forgive? I’ll never bend my neck to him.”

“You’ll bend your neck or
go to hell!”

Frightened, Caleb put his hands against his ears and started to cry. She picked him up and held him close, speaking quietly to allay his fears. Atretes became impatient. “Take him outside! Get him out of here!”

She left the longhouse, thanking God for the respite. She let her breath out in relief and nuzzled her son’s neck. He smelled so good to her. “He’s not angry with you, little one,” she said, kissing him. “He’s angry at the world.”

Marta’s children ran to her, eager to play with their little cousin. Laughing, she put Caleb down. Most of the children in the village ran about naked and dirty. Other than to make sure they didn’t wander off too far, the mothers left them to roam and play at will. Caleb delighted in their exuberant company, as did she. What a blessed change from the gathering of angry men in the longhouse.

“Elsa! Derek!” Marta called from where she worked at her loom just outside the doorway of her longhouse. “Come away from Rizpah and stop bothering her.”

“They’re no bother, Marta,” Rizpah said, smiling.

Marta ignored her. “Derek! Come here!”

Rizpah’s smile faded as the children walked glumly back to their mother. Others were called away until she stood alone in the street, Caleb bobbing up and down and chattering excitedly. Marta spoke to her children briefly and nodded toward the woods. They argued, but were quickly silenced and sent on their way. Elsa looked back at Rizpah, her expression poignant.

“Go, Elsa!”

Caleb wanted to go with them. “Sa! Sa! Sa!” he said, toddling after his older cousin. Crying, Elsa started to run. Caleb fell. Pushing himself up, he cried. “Sa . . . Sa . . .”

Hurt, Rizpah knelt down and set him aright. Brushing off his linen tunic, she kissed him. Straightening, Rizpah lifted Caleb and looked across at Marta. How could she do this?

Pressing her face into Caleb’s neck, she prayed. “God, take my anger away,” she murmured, fighting back tears. Raising her head, she saw Marta was sitting with her head down, her hands still in her lap.

Her anger toward her sister-in-law evaporated. Marta wasn’t cruel. She was afraid. When she looked up again, Rizpah smiled at her gently to show she held no ill will against her. She remembered what it was like to live in darkness and be afraid.

“We’ll go for a walk and visit Theophilus,” she murmured to Caleb and started down the street again.

“Theo . . . Theo . . .”

“Yes, Theo.” She set him down and took his hand, pacing her steps to his much smaller ones.

Theophilus’ grubenhaus was almost finished. A small fire was burning in the open area in front of it, but their friend was nowhere around. Curious, she stepped down into the sunken hut to see inside. He had done more digging since the last time she came to see the house. The hollow was five feet deep and ten by twelve feet in size. In the far corner was a pallet of straw and two thick, woolen blankets. Nearby was his gear, neatly stacked.

A simple timber structure was erected over the sunken room, the superstructure comprised of a gabled framework of slanting poles tied to a ridge pole that was held aloft on six uprights. The walls were made of rough-hewn planks, the roof was covered with thatch, the floor was beaten clay.

The grubenhaus smelled of clean, rich earth. It was cool inside now, but she knew in the winter with a small fire burning, it would be comfortably warm.

“What do you think?” Theophilus said from the doorway above and behind her. Startled, she glanced back at him. He rested one arm against the lintel and leaned down, smiling at her.

“It feels more inviting than Varus’ longhouse.” She immediately regretted her remark. She hadn’t meant to criticize.

As she came outside into the sunshine, Theophilus took Caleb from her and lifted him in the air, jiggling him and getting him to laugh. She smiled as she watched him play with her son. Atretes was so busy arguing with his kinsmen, he had no time for Caleb.

She noticed the dressed rabbit Theophilus had spitted and set over the fire.

“A good, fat one,” Theophilus remarked. “Stay and share a meal with me.”

“I’d love to stay, but share with Caleb. I’m not very hungry.”

He assessed her face and saw she was deeply troubled. “Things aren’t going well?”

“Well enough under the circumstances, I suppose,” she said evasively and saw his look. “He’s sharing the gospel. In fact, he’s shouting it to the very rafters. And Varus and the others shout right back about the power of Tiwaz.” She sat down and rubbed her temples. “He’s not listening to them. They’re not listening to him. No one’s listening to anyone or anything.”

“God works through people in spite of their shortcomings, beloved, and often through them.” He put Caleb down and gave him a pat on the behind.

She looked up at him bleakly. “I want to believe that, Theophilus, but when I watch Atretes and listen, I can’t see the difference between him and all the others, except that I love him. I wish he would bridle his tongue.”

Caleb sat down beside her and played with the grass. She ran her hand tenderly over his dark hair as she went on. “Varus and the others are stubborn and proud and fierce beyond all reckoning. So is Atretes. There are times when he looks ready to grab Varus by the throat and throttle him if he won’t believe in Jesus as Lord.”

“I’ve felt that kind of frustration before.” Theophilus grinned. “It was a
long
road to Germania.”

She smiled. She remembered as well—far better than he—and she didn’t want to see Atretes revert to the kind of man he had been.

Her head was aching. She rubbed her temples again. “It took a miracle to change Atretes’ mind about Jesus.”

“Miracles are happening around us every day, Rizpah.”

She rose, agitated. “You know the sort of miracle I mean. It would take the sun going down at noon to convince these people.”

“Sit,” he said gently, and she did so.

“Atretes hasn’t changed, Theophilus. He’s as angry now as he ever was. I’ve never seen a man so determined to have his way. And if he does, he’ll drag his people kicking and screaming into the kingdom of God, whether they want to be there or not.”

Restless, she got up and turned his rabbit.

His mouth curved in amusement as she sat down again. She was full of nervous energy. If she’d been in the army, he would have ordered her to run it off.

“Do you remember when you told us the Word of God is the sword of truth?” she said.

“I remember.”

“Well, Atretes has taken that to his heart. He slashes at his kinsmen with words. He batters them mercilessly with the truth. The gospel has become a weapon in his hands.”

Theophilus sat and clasped his hands between his knees. “He will learn.”

“After he’s driven these people back into the arms of Tiwaz?”

“They never left.”

“And this will make them want to leave? I fear for all of them, Theophilus. I fear for Marta and the children. I fear most for Atretes. He’s on fire for the Lord, but what of
love?”
She wondered sometimes if Atretes was more concerned with saving his pride than saving souls.

“What have you to fear, Rizpah?” Theophilus asked quietly. “Do you really think God’s plan will collapse over the frailties of one man’s temper?”

His quiet calm stilled the riotous thoughts whirling in her head.

She knew what he was really asking. Did she believe God was sovereign? Did she believe God had a plan for Atretes and her and these people? Did she have faith enough in Jesus to believe he would complete the work he had begun?

One question stood before her, stark and simple:
Where lies your faith, Rizpah? In others? In yourself? Or in Me?

Tears pricked. “My faith is weak.”
O Lord, my God, I’m such a poor vessel. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Why do you put up with me?

“You have what God has given you.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Who knows better than God what you need, beloved?”

She raised her face, letting the sun warm her. She wanted to hold onto his words, hold them tight. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “In the mornings, when we all pray together, Atretes is so calm. He’s happy. In the morning, I believe nothing will stop the Lord from fulfilling his purpose in our lives. I’m filled with assurance and hope.”

She looked at her friend, wishing she were more like him. “It’s later, when I listen to all the angry shouting, that I wonder who’s really in command.”

She looked up at the blue sky and the drifting white clouds. “Sometimes, I wish Jesus would come back now, this minute, and set things right. I wish he’d shake the earth and open all their eyes to Satan’s schemes. Then Varus and Freyja and Marta and all the rest who live in fear of Tiwaz would know.” She thought of the look on Marta’s face. The poor woman was afraid and ashamed. “I wish they could see Jesus and all his majesty and glory coming down from heaven. Then they’d know Tiwaz is nothing. Then they would be free.”

“Not everyone who saw the signs and wonders Jesus performed was convinced he was the incarnate Son of God.”

“Atretes was convinced.”

“Atretes was ready to be convinced. Someone had planted the seed before you met him.”

“Hadassah.”

“He was hungry for Christ. Miracles are no guarantee faith will follow and never more important than the message of salvation.”

“Yes. We wait and hope. And we pray.”

He smiled and said nothing.

She sighed. “Patience has never been one of my virtues, Theophilus.”

“You’ll learn.”

“It’s how I’ll learn that concerns me sometimes.” She gave him a wistful smile. “Don’t you wish Jesus would come back
now
and save us all this trouble?”

“With every breath I take.”

She laughed. “Thank God I’m not alone. I have an idea. Why don’t we build a house honoring the Lord and go inside and close the doors and never come out again.”

Though she jested, he saw the desperate unhappiness in her eyes. “What light can shine from a closed house, beloved? God wants us
in
the world, not hiding from it.”

Her smile fell away, her own frustration revealed. “Atretes isn’t hiding. He’s standing in the center of an arena again, lashing out at any who oppose him. He lambastes brother, kinsmen, and friends alike.” She waved her hand toward the village. “When I left, he was in the midst of a
yelling
match with Varus about the
peace
of God and what it could mean to the Chatti. Peace, Theophilus. How will they ever understand when this is the way he tells them?”

“He will learn, Rizpah. He
will
learn. We need to be patient with him.”

“As he’s patient with them?”

“No, as God is patient with us. Contrary to what you’re thinking right now, Atretes shouldn’t be your first concern. Our first obligation is to the Lord.”

“I know, but . . .”

“You know, but are you acting according to what you know or what you feel?”

She sat down, feeling bereft. She had always been quick to speak and slow to listen. It was one of her failings, like Atretes’ quick, hot temper and long, seething memory.

Theophilus stood and turned the rabbit. “Look upon Atretes as a child in faith. He’s learning to walk by faith, the way Caleb learned to walk on his two legs. Remember how he stumbled and fell over and over at first. Sometimes he hurt himself. He was clumsy. He went where he shouldn’t go. And often he cried in frustration.” He straightened and nodded his head toward the sunny meadow. “Look at him now.” Caleb was toddling happily after a butterfly. “Every day, his feet are more sure.”

He smiled at her. “We’re the same way. We’re learning to walk with Christ. It’s a process, not a finished act. We make a decision for the Lord and are saved, but it doesn’t end there. We have to apply ourselves diligently to our own sanctification. What Scripture I know, I’ll give to you. You apply God’s Word in day-to-day practical living. The truth itself will witness to these people.”

“But look around you. There’s so much here that is contrary to what God tells us is right.”

“Our work isn’t to change the way these people live. It’s not to fight against a pagan idol any more than it’s for Atretes to try to beat into their heads a belief in Christ. Our work is to devote our own lives to pleasing God. It’s that simple. We’re to devote our efforts to learning to
think
as God thinks, to
see
ourselves and others through his eyes, to
walk
as he walked. That’s our life’s work.”