Friday, June 16, 2017

June 16, 2017 - Runner


Runner

“Try to keep up,” he said gruffly exiting the door.  Liberius laughed as we passed by him.


We left the house and trotted through the crowded streets of the Subura.  Though early morning, some of the taverns were already full with those who worked night shifts at the docks or cleaning the streets of the wealthier parts of the town.  There was a line of grouchy people outside of the latrines.  Some did not wait to get inside.  You could not run through this part of the city, because there was always a crowd and the Subura was filthy with the rubbish people threw out of their windows at night or other unmentionable filth.  The stench of the streets and the unwashed bodies surrounding us was almost unbearable.  But Timothy ignored it and ran through the crowd at a slow trot.  He never looked back, as if he did not care if I was there or not.




As we started the climb out of the Subura, up the Esquiline, the air became cleaner and the neighborhood less crowded.  There were still tenements, but also homes of the rich, public squares, imposing public buildings, and temples.  The streets were wider and there was less traffic crowding them.  Timothy began to run faster, sometimes weaving between pedestrians, but always careful not to touch anyone.

I bumped into a man as I tried to catch up, only to have him curse me.  Ahead I saw the gate.  Timothy looked back.  Smiling he said, “Don’t lose sight of me once we are out of the gate.”


That moment he looked back allowed me the chance to catch up.


“Only a fool looks back to see who is following him,” I said panting at his side.

Timothy laughed and darted ahead of me.  He was through the gate and moments later I was behind him.  I was panting.  I needed to stop to catch my breath.  But Timothy was far ahead of me.  I could not stop.


“It is for freedom, that Christ has set us free.”  Paul’s words rang in my ears.  Freedom.  Christ.  Set free.  I felt the words rise in me.  They were real.  I had only known this Christ for a few days.  The years of listening to what others said about him no longer mattered.  He was becoming real to me.  But there was one more thing I needed to do.

Timothy was ahead of me and was not looking back.  He had a good, steady pace.  Fatigue left me.  I wanted to run beside him, my new brother in Christ.  I pushed harder and felt my legs burn.


Timothy turned off the road to run through the fields of freshly harvested hay.  A horse tethered to a tree, stopped munching on the hay and stamped and snorted.  He longed to be free to race with us.  I wanted to run beside the horse too, but now I had to catch this man ahead of me.


Timothy jumped a log and seemed to soar across a small stream.  I strained to get closer.


“It is for freedom, that Christ has set us free.”  I was free.  I laughed.  I had not felt free my entire life.  I had been chained.  Chained as a captive in real chains.  Chained as a slave in Ephesus and Colossae to a good family, but still separated as a slave.  And chained by the sins of bitterness and debauchery.  Now I was free.  Christ had set me free.  Never again would the chains of slavery bind me, even if I remained a slave my entire life.  Never again would I go back to the hatred that bound me worse than chains.  Never again would I return to the debauchery that drove me into pain.  I was free.


Suddenly, I felt the chains fall off my feet.  My legs were no longer bound by my slavery.


So, I ran.


I jumped a log, just moments after Timothy.  He heard me, but this time he did not look back.  He knew I was behind him.  He was running toward a forest.


I ran seeing the trees ahead. I wanted to be in this forest.  I wanted to feel the trees speak to me.  I wanted the freedom of the forest.  


So, I ran.  Faster and stronger.  I ran.


At my side was Timothy.  I had caught up to him.  I did not turn to look at his face, but I could sense his surprise.  He laughed.  His joy was infectious.  He enjoyed running and I had caught up to him.  


“You know how to run!” he shouted.  He was running faster.


“I haven’t run since I was a child.”  I felt joy grow with every stride.


He started to push faster, straining past his normal pace, so he could pass me.  I could sense the tension growing in him.  It was not anger, but the tension of the race.


I pushed harder.  I was faster.  I was free.


I no longer had to prove to anybody that I was the fastest.  I didn’t have to race the deer or wolf.  I didn’t have to outrun the slavers.  I ran because I was free. I could run past Timothy, because I was as free as he was free.


It felt good to feel the wind in my hair.  It felt good to feel the burn in my legs.  It felt good to be free.


Timothy shouted, “Wait.  Stop.”


By the sound of his voice, I knew he was far behind.


I stopped, the forest in front of me.  I bent panting, my hands on my knees.  I was not tired, but more refreshed than I had ever been.  I could smell the forest beckoning me.  I wanted to run in this forest, but there was something more important I had to do, so I could forever be free.  I would not live another day as a slave.


“You know how to run,” Timothy repeated as he stopped beside me.


“I am free.” I said.


“What?”  He was panting and looked confused.  I am sure he thought I was about to run away.


“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.”


“Paul taught you that?”


“Yes, Brother.”  I had never called anybody brother before.  I had no brother or sister when I was a child.  Philemon had wanted his slave to be his little brother, but he also wanted his slave to serve him.  A brother does not enslave his brother.  I had never known what it was to have a brother.  This runner standing next to me was my brother in Christ.  We both had the same father in Paul, who taught us both to be believers in Christ.


“What are you going to do, Onesimus?”  


I had been plagued with this question for weeks.  It was known I, the runaway slave, was living in Rome, in the house of Paul.  Probably Philemon knew by now.  Maybe Timothy had even told him.  Even from this far away, he could summon the authorities to take me.


“I am never going to be a slave again, Timothy.”


I had thought long about this.  I could not be a slave any longer, no matter the consequences.


“I don’t know what to say, Onesimus.”  I knew Timothy was perplexed in how to handle me.  He thought I was about to run away.


“Am I your brother, Timothy?”  He felt like a brother to me now.  We both were Christians.  We both were runners.  We both were free.


“I am not sure how to answer you.”


“Paul says repeatedly that we are all brothers in Christ if we believe.  He says there is no difference in someone being a Gentile or Jew, a Greek or Roman.  He says to me often that Christ does not look at me as a slave.  He says there is no difference between you, a Roman citizen, and me, a slave.”  Timothy bent his head and looked at the ground.  “So, I ask you, Timothy, am I your brother in Christ?”


“I cannot help you escape, Onesimus.  Philemon is my cousin.  I must do right by him.”


“I am not asking you to help me escape, Timothy.  I could run now if I wanted to.  No one would notice and no one would care, except you.  I could be far away before you could summon the authorities.”  I took a deep breath and looked around at the beautiful countryside so close to the crowded noisy city of Rome.  “But I want to know if I am your brother.”


“You are my brother in Christ.”  Timothy said it without hesitation.  “I have watched you change over the years, especially in these weeks here in Rome.  I have listened to your words.  I have heard your answers to Paul.  I believe you are a Christian, like me.  I have believed that for a very long time and that disturbed me.  How was I supposed to act toward you, my brother in Christ, who is also my cousin’s slave?  Yes, Onesimus, I believe you are my brother in Christ.”


“Then I need your help to be permanently free, my brother.”


“I told you, I won’t help you escape.”  He looked at the ground.  I knew the battle was real inside him.


I grabbed him by the shoulders, making him look at me.  “Brother, I want to go with you when you return to Ephesus, and then on to Colossae.”


“What?”  he asked confused.


“I need to return to Philemon.”  Suddenly what I needed to do made more sense than anything I had ever done in my life.  I was afraid, but I also felt at peace.  “I need to ask his forgiveness for stealing from him and running from him.”  

This is an excerpt from my newest novel, Onesimus, available on Amazon in a few days.
Link to my Amazon author page

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