Prologue

Late First Century A.D. 

My name means fortuitous. I’m not so sure the name has always been descriptive of my reality, but today it seems so. To have the opportunity to serve my Lord in such a noble capacity is beyond all I ever imagined. Bishop of Chalcedon—who would have thought?

Andrew is here. He walked personally with our Lord, you know. As one of the original twelve, he has seen much in the fascinating but sometimes devastating years that have ensued. He is here to pass the blessing to me and to install me as Bishop of this Christian outpost on the very edge of hedonism.

The great man certainly carries a presence about him that seems to indicate a God-given right to officiate in such matters. His age alone dictates respect. His dress is stately—a long, flowing robe woven of the finest wool, a silken sash appearing as if it were fit for the blessed Moses himself, fine leather sandals with new laces, and a head-piece that announces the presence of glory itself.

Andrew’s beard is white now, deserved both by his age and his wisdom. He has let it grow of late and it only adds to his stately presence. I’m thankful he could come, for so many others could not. Some are in hiding, hoping to avoid the various sects and governments who would persecute them, some, less fortunate, waste away in prisons or pits, and some even less fortunate than these (or more fortunate, if you think about it) exist in this world only as corpses or bones buried beneath the earth.

Andrew risked his life and the lives of countless others to make his presence at this impressive occasion. Others who could not attend stand out like missing jewels from an ornate crown. Peter, who stood boldly before the Roman Emperor Nero, and faced execution as a result, is absent, of course. His death, thought by Nero to deliver a deathblow to the youthful Christian sect, only served to strengthen and embolden those of us who remain. We have all missed him terribly, but his spirit goes before us and we continue on in that spirit. Timothy and Titus are both engaged in capacities that preclude their travel, but others such as Gaius and Apollos have followed Peter into martyrdom. They were my friends and my heart aches at the loss.

So many friends and family who have graced my life are no longer in this world. Thankfully, our Lord assured us of a grand reunion one day, so I know my grief to be temporary. But, though many of those so precious to me over the years cannot be here, there are others who stand before me in praise and celebration and they cause my heart to sing. Aristarchus, my mentor and friend who has been a second father and more to me since the days I first discovered the joys of Christianity, is here. He is old now, and our roles have reversed in many ways, but he remains at my side and I depend heavily upon him.

Onesimus is another who has walked beside me over the years. We first met in the confusing flurry of a riot in Ephesus when we were both just lads. Onesimus was a slave at that time, a runaway slave at that, and I became instrumental in his regaining his freedom. I have leaned on Onesimus so much over the years, and he on me, I don’t know what one of us would do without the other. I am grateful to God that he is here today.

The brightest face among those gathered on this propitious occasion belongs to Triantafilia, my precious wife, Tria to me and to those who know and love her. What a beautiful person she is, both inside and out. She is God’s greatest worldly gift to me and I treasure her like no other. She has always believed in me, and I tell the truth when I say there have been times that I would have fallen were it not for her. Even as I struggled with the idea of assuming this bishopric, she refused to allow me to focus on my insecurities and drew me like a magnet toward the strength she knew God had placed within me. Of a certainty, she is a formidable force and I know better than to deny her the voice she insists on having in my affairs.

Others stand before me in the ornate courtyard we are gathered in: John Mark, Epaphras, Diomedes, and others that have been instrumental participants in my story. And what a story it is. I stand amazed at the fullness of my life and the experiences I have had as a follower and ambassador for my Christ. It all seems like a dream now, a vivid one to be sure, but a dream nonetheless. It all began with my anxious wait to meet a man named Paul…

Copyright 2011 Don Tillman
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