II

Led by Justin,
I walked along streets,
down alleys,
moving ever further
from the gleaming heart
of Rome.
Yet,
as we slipped
through districts
home to disregarded
citizens,
the criminal
or the poor,
I began to feel at home.
I knew these streets,
these people;
I had hidden
and sheltered among them
in Jerusalem.
Heads were lowered,
eyes averted
hoping to avoid notice,
or searching
for easy prey.
All the time we walked,
Justin spoke cheerfully.
He spoke
of his wife,
Eliza,
of his son
Lukas,
and his voice swelled
with love
and pride.
He offered me lodging
as I had nowhere
to stay,
and claimed it
his happy duty
to do so.
He asked
my business in Rome.
I thought long,
then answered
I was there to observe.
It was a reply
that puzzled,
though he was too polite
to pry further.
At a doorway
set back in shadow,
we stopped.
Justin turned,
smiled,
declared me welcome
in his home.
At last
he thought to ask
my name.
"Lazarus,"
I said.
His face...
bright bright so bright
kind face familiar I know
can't be is can't be is
Jesus calm voice Jesus
My friend I have work for you
everything so bright eyes hurt
...lit up.
"We know you.
John
spoke of you.
Enter,
friend,
and be at peace."
As I crossed
the threshold,
I looked down
and saw,
carved into stone
low
by the ground,
a sign
that I was in the right place.
An X.

Thank you Chris. I am really enjoying reading these

outstanding line

can't be is can't be is

i can feel the punctuated feeling in this line. it's like an awakening made on the edge of a great discovery, it literally gave me goose bumps. i can see arms waving enthusiastically in homage and reverence.

But where in the past
I had been shunned,
feared,
and persecuted,
here I felt only love,
and acceptance
of what had happened to me.

in these lines you can see that lazarus was eventually rewarded with the peace and fellowship that comes from suffering in the truth.

...open your eyes wake up open your eyes...

for you died but you did not sleep, yes, i see this, very well put here, another strong line.

My eyes opened,
slowly,
I saw shadows
and firelight
flickering on stone walls.

this makes me think of the parable of the cave, christ would therefore be the sun that their eyes have never seen? did you deliberately parallel this with the cave?

My visions;
were they delusions,
or inspiration?
Were they gifted
by fever
or God?
When talking
of the Divine,
is it ever possible
to know certainty?
Or must we act
on faith,
trusting
that a higher hand
guides us?
But...
what if we're wrong?

are delusions manifestaions of the brain to find the divine or give the divine an opening or is the presense of the divine so incomprehensible and all encompassing that our minds cannot fathom the information about a presense we cannot identify with so much to the point that it drives us mad? yes! only through faith can we find a way to accept that which is not knowable but yet is sensed.

you have broadened my perception as i have been reading these and i want you to know how much i have enjoyed them.

i can't wait to see what you do next.

VI


Time passed.
Days
turned into weeks
and Justin continued
his ministry.
I spoke with those
who wished to hear
of the Jesus I had known,
and answered their questions,
though I left Justin
to speak of Christ,
to combat the rhetoric
of Matthias.
At meetings,
the atmosphere was strained.
Though believers
did not desert,
a subtle shift was noticed,
a realignment
as sides were picked;
Justin
or Matthias.
Justin preached love,
tolerance,
understanding.
Matthias
talked of sacrifice,
Last Days
and blood.
As doctrines drew support
a confrontation loomed,
a fight for control.
Meanwhile,
fresh rumours circulated,
accusing Christians
of necromancy,
cannibalism,
of causing crop failure
by not honouring
the Roman gods.
The city
became even more dangerous,
believers lived
and went their way
under constant threat
and a pall
of fear.

My final meeting
I will always remember.
The sun blazed,
high in an azure sky
unspoiled by clouds.
Entering the tavern,
the cellar,
moving down the passage
we used to reach
the cavern,
was disorienting,
moving from bright heat
to cool shadows.
The meeting started.
Justin led the group
in prayer.
I noticed
fewer people than usual,
and Matthias was absent.
I felt a chill
dance up my spine;
something was badly wrong.
I sensed movement,
shadows flickering
near passage entrances.
Suddenly,
soldiers swarmed.
Appearing from all sides
they surrounded us,
swords drawn
and shouted instructions
not to move.
I caught Justins gaze,
and I saw he knew
as I did,
Matthias
had betrayed us.
telling his followers
to stay away,
he had handed us over
to Roman authorities.
Stepping forward,
a centurion cast eyes
over the meek
and fearful captives.
"We want only
your leader here.
All others
may go free."
I saw the blood drain
from Justins face,
and I thought of Lukas
his son,
and his wife Eliza.
I saw his jaw clench.
I saw him start to move.
I recalled Jesus instructions
from my fever,
and I...
witness only do not intervene
...stepped forward
and spoke.
"I
am their leader."
There was stillness
and silence
as eyes turned to me.
The centurion
made a gesture,
and the soldiers seized,
shackled,
and led me away.

VII

If God shows you mercy,
you will never know.
Maybe you'll imagine,
but only a pale shadow
of the reality;
you will never Know
what it is
to be tortured.
I know.
In a dungeon
under the brutal care
of a Roman soldier,
I found the pits
of despair,
and the heights
of agony
you cannot even dream of.
When you are tortured
there is no past,
there is no future,
only an eternal
now
where you are trapped,
fixed in place
by the pain.
I was asked
to name other leaders,
those in Rome
that preached Gospel
and sought conversions.
To my shame,
I would have done so
had I known.
Anything
to end the pain.
The pin-point agony
of splinters
being driven beneath nails;
the tearing of muscle
as limbs were pulled,
stretched,
twisted beyond limits;
the stink
of burning flesh,
as red-hot metal
was pressed to my back.
I screamed,
I begged,
(Lord, how I begged),
I lost all dignity
in my desire
for a mercy
that would never be granted.
While others
may hope for death,
I was denied
even that.
Time passed;
how much
I don't know,
days,
weeks,
it was all blurred by the pain.
I screamed so much
my throat tore,
and I tasted blood.
After a time
there were no more questions,
but the pain continued;
the soldier,
gleeful in his
demonic curiosity
to see how much
I could take.
Then...
nothing.
No pain.
I found myself lying
at the edge
of a blue lake,
a figure
sitting near me.
I sat up,
and looked at the man
gazing at me
with serene grace.
"Hello, my friend."
It was Jesus.



VIII


Smiling,
he warned me
we didn't have long,
that this place
was not real.
I begged him
to save me,
to allow me to stay,
or to let me die.
There was compassion
in his eyes,
even as I knew
the answer would be no.
"I warned you
not to intervene,"
he rebuked me.
I explained my reasons,
that my actions
had saved a good man,
and exposed the mendacity
of a bad one.
Jesus shook his head.
"Things are not always
so simple,
or as they seem.
Justins death was necessary,
and for the good."
I told him
I did not accept that;
to sacrifice an innocent
in so brutal a fashion
so that others
may be saved,
was not the act
of a loving God.
Jesus smiled,
sadly,
and asked,
"What do you think, then,
of my death?
Of my sacrifice?"
I pointed out
that as he knew
his betrayer,
and the manner
he would be handed over,
and could therefor have escaped,
that he had volunteered,
Justin had not.
"No,
my friend,
I did not volunteer;
I accepted
the necessity.
And when the time comes,
you will do the same."
With those words,
I found myself
back in my body,
back in the pain.
The soldier grasped
my right hand,
took my little finger
and with a violent twist
tore it off.
As ligament
and skin ripped,
so did my mind.
Insanity claimed me.

omg, chris, i shuddered and cried

so then lazarus made a choice out of freewill so that fate could take it's course?

bravo, chris, looking forward to part III
as always i'm your avid reader

i agree, absoultely beautiful <3

waiting with baited breath for more

<3

you did it I like it very much <3

II

Jerusalem!
My heart beat faster
at the thought;
the last time
I had seen the city,
it had been aflame.
Agreeing to return,
I was given rooms
and made comfortable,
as preparations were made
for the journey.
It was to be
a state visit,
led by the Emperor's mother,
though unofficially
Helena had other aims.
In my time
spent as a prisoner,
Christianity
had become accepted,
was no longer persecuted,
and Helena
was an ardent believer.
She visited me often
in the weeks
before we travelled,
and questioned me closely
about Jesus:
what he was like,
his teachings,
his humanity
and his divinity.
I answered
as best I could,
but I fear I disappointed.
I still saw Jesus
as merely human;
a great teacher, yes,
warm,
generous
and kindly to those
with good hearts
and those in need.
But despite my dreams
and visions,
I could not see him
as his followers did.
Given this,
I wondered at Helena's
continued insistence
that I travel with her.

We departed Rome
at daybreak,
a great convoy
of wagons and caravans,
legions of troops,
the Imperial Standard
leading the way.
The journey was long,
though as a favoured guest
I rode in a caravan,
so did not suffer,
as others did,
the weariness of marching
day after day.
The soldiers
were disciplined
and bore the burden,
but from the civilians
that travelled with us,
cooks,
blacksmiths,
scribes,
whores
to entertain the troops,
there was constant grumbling.
After a week passed
I grew bold,
and asked Helena
the reason for my presence.
She smiled,
slyly,
and said I was there
to help find something.
Mystified,
I did not ask again.
Day followed day,
and I could see excitement
build in my host
as we neared our destination.
Then one day,
I was woken
from a light doze
by a soldiers call;
he stood atop a rise
and looked back
at the line of people
snaking away,
and pointing ahead
called out,
"Jerusalem!"

I think that this poem is pretty great. I like the story, and it gives real insight into what it would be like in that time to be in this case the victim of a mirracle.

Hey Chris - i like your writing!



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/16/2010 07:54AM by Pebble.

IV

The servant led me
through dawn-quiet streets,
impatiently
urging me on.
As I followed,
I wondered
what had been found.
I realised,
whatever it was,
it was the reason
I had been brought,
that Helena
was about to reveal
her plan.
Lost in speculation,
it was only
as we arrived
that I knew our destination:
Golgotha.
My stomach
turned to ice
as I cast my gaze
upon the notorious hilltop.
On the western slope,
near the base,
shielded by stunted,
twisted trees,
a group of people
were working.
I was taken to them
and met by Helena,
a joyous,
radiant smile
on her face.
She ushered me
to the pit being slowly,
carefully dug.
Clutching my arm,
she spoke rapidly,
excitement in her voice.
"We found it!
The traditions,
guarded
and passed on,
kept secret
among true believers...
they were right!
It's where they said it was.
A little time
and care,
and we found
the exact location."
I was bemused,
unable to make sense
of her words.
She had brought me
to the edge
of the excavation,
and pointed down
to reveal her find.
I saw little,
at first;
some men crouched,
brushing dirt away
with their hands,
slowly uncovering
a beam
of sturdy wood.
I saw no reason
for excitement.
Helena saw my puzzlement,
and directed my eyes
to a placard
fixed to the timber.
Four letters were visible;
though soil-stained
and worn,
they could be read,
and I knew then
what they had found;
I.N.R.I.
"The Cross,"
Helena reverently announced,
"The Cross of Jesus."

Leaving the site,
Helena and I
made our way back
to the villa.
She buzzed
with excited energy,
and finally explained
the reason I was there.
Returning to Rome
with the Cross,
she would claim
it was I
who had revealed
its location to her.
Spoken of
in the Gospel,
a friend of Christ,
my name
and presence
on the expedition
to retrieve the Cross
would provide legitimacy.
I told Helena
I had not been
at the Crucifixion,
and had no knowledge
of the Cross's
final resting place;
she waved this aside
as unimportant.
The good done
would vastly outweigh
the lie.
The Cross
was genuine,
would inspire Faith,
and enable Constantine
to establish Christianity
as the religion
of the Empire.
Leaving me
to return to her room,
she looked back
and said to me,
"With Christ as its head,
the Empire will never fall."