The Price of Faith

The evening air hung heavy with incense from the nearby temple of Apollo as Luke made his way through the narrow streets of Ephesus. His sandals clicked against the worn stone pavement as he approached the modest dwelling where Paul had taken temporary refuge. The year was 57 AD, and the apostle’s life had become increasingly precarious with each passing season.

Luke found Paul seated near an oil lamp, his weathered hands tracing the lines of a letter he was composing. Despite the numerous wounds and scars that marked his body, Paul’s eyes still burned with the same intensity Luke had witnessed on their first meeting years ago.

“Peace be with you, brother Paul,” Luke said softly, settling himself on a simple wooden stool across from his friend and mentor.

Paul looked up, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And with your spirit, beloved physician. Your presence is a balm to my soul.”

Luke studied Paul’s face in the flickering lamplight, noting the fresh bruises that marked his jaw. “The Jews in Macedonia – they found you again?”

Paul’s laugh was tinged with both mirth and weariness. “When have they not found me, dear friend? It seems I cannot set foot in a city without their accusations preceding me. But come, you’ve traveled far to record my testimony. Let me tell you of God’s faithfulness even in the midst of persecution.”

Setting aside his writing materials, Paul shifted to face Luke more directly. “You know, I often think back to that day on the Damascus road. How ironic that I, who once breathed threats and murder against the followers of the Way, should now be hunted by my own kinsmen.”

Luke pulled out his writing materials, preparing to document their conversation. “Tell me, Paul. Help me understand the depth of their hatred. You were once one of them, after all.”

Paul’s eyes grew distant, remembering. “That’s precisely why their hatred burns so hot, Luke. In their eyes, I’m not just a heretic – I’m a traitor. I was their champion, their rising star in the Sanhedrin. Trained at the feet of Gamaliel himself, I was zealous for the traditions of our fathers. When I turned to Christ…”

He paused, running a hand over his graying beard. “Well, imagine if one of Rome’s most decorated generals suddenly declared allegiance to a barbarian king. The betrayal they feel runs that deep.”

“But surely they can see the truth in your teachings?” Luke pressed. “You speak with wisdom and reason in every synagogue.”

Paul’s laugh was bitter. “Ah, Luke, if only wisdom and reason were enough to pierce the veil of religious fervor. Do you remember what happened in Antioch of Pisidia?”

Luke nodded grimly, his stylus moving across the parchment. “The jealousy of the Jewish leaders was palpable that day.”

“Jealousy – yes, that’s the heart of it,” Paul agreed. “When they saw the crowds that gathered to hear the gospel, when they witnessed God-fearing Gentiles embracing the message of salvation… their jealousy consumed them like a fire. They incited the prominent women and leading men of the city against us. We were driven out like common criminals.”

“And yet you returned to Lystra after being stoned and left for dead,” Luke reminded him. “I’ve never understood how you found the courage.”

Paul’s eyes sparked with sudden intensity. “Courage? No, dear friend. Necessity. ‘Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!’ The stones they threw at me in Lystra were nothing compared to the weight of that divine commission. Besides,” he added with a wry smile, “I had already persecuted the church so severely myself – it seemed only fitting that I should taste the same cup I had forced others to drink.”

Luke leaned forward, his medical instincts surfacing. “The scars from that day – they still pain you?”

“Everything pains me these days, brother,” Paul chuckled. “But each scar is a reminder of God’s sustaining grace. Do you know what truly wounded me more than the stones? The fact that Jews had traveled all the way from Antioch and Iconium to poison the minds of the people against me. The same people who had been ready to worship me as Hermes just days before were suddenly convinced I was worthy of death.”

“The swiftness with which crowds turn is frightening,” Luke observed. “I witnessed it myself in Thessalonica.”

Paul’s expression darkened at the mention of that city. “Ah, Thessalonica. Where they dragged Jason from his home simply for showing us hospitality. The accusation there was particularly clever – ’these men who have turned the world upside down have come here also.’” He smiled grimly. “At least they recognized the power of the gospel to overturn their carefully ordered world.”

“Tell me about Jerusalem,” Luke prompted gently. “The riot at the temple – I’ve heard various accounts, but I want to record your perspective.”

Paul fell silent for a long moment, his fingers absently tracing the marks of chains on his wrists. “Jerusalem,” he finally whispered. “My beloved Jerusalem. How often I longed to help them see that Christ was the fulfillment of everything they held dear. But they could not bear to hear that God’s salvation extended beyond the boundaries they had drawn.”

“When they saw me in the temple that day… Luke, if you could have seen the hatred in their eyes. Jews from Asia recognized me and began shouting that I had defiled the holy place by bringing Greeks inside. It wasn’t true, of course, but truth matters little to those consumed by religious fury. The whole city was stirred up. They dragged me out of the temple, beating me as they went, fully intending to kill me right there in the streets.”

Luke’s stylus scratched quietly as he recorded Paul’s words. “If the Roman tribune hadn’t intervened…”

“I would have joined Stephen in a martyr’s death,” Paul finished. “Sometimes I wonder if that might have been easier than what followed. The forty men who took an oath neither to eat nor drink until they had killed me – what became of them, I wonder? Are they still fasting?” His attempt at humor couldn’t quite mask the pain in his voice.

“What hurts most, Luke, is that I understand their zeal perfectly. I was them. When I stood watching Stephen’s execution, holding the cloaks of his killers, I believed with all my heart that I was serving God. That’s why I cannot hate them, even as they hate me. But oh, how I weep for their hardened hearts!”

Luke paused in his writing. “You’ve never spoken much about Stephen before.”

Paul’s face contorted briefly with old grief. “His death haunts me still. The grace in his face as he died, the power of his testimony… I try to honor his sacrifice by showing the same forgiveness he demonstrated. When they stone me, beat me, plot against me – I remember Stephen’s words: ‘Lord, do not hold this sin against them.’”

“Yet the plots against you seem to grow more frequent,” Luke observed. “The ambush attempts, the false accusations, the constant threat of violence…”

“They follow me like my own shadow,” Paul agreed. “In Damascus, they watched the city gates day and night to kill me. In Jerusalem, they mob me. In Corinth, they dragged me before Gallio’s judgment seat. In Ephesus…” He gestured to his current surroundings. “Well, you see where I must hide now.”

“How do you bear it?” Luke asked quietly. “The constant danger, the betrayals, the physical toll…”

Paul’s reply was immediate and fierce. “I bear it because Christ bears me. ‘Five times I received from the Jews forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I was stoned.’ Each time, I should have died. Each time, God preserved me for His purposes. These light and momentary afflictions are preparing for me an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.”

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. “Listen, Luke. Record this carefully. My people’s hatred of me is not really about me at all. They hate what my existence represents – that the old barriers have been broken down, that God’s favor extends to all who believe, that their privileged position as exclusive custodians of God’s truth has ended. In their eyes, I am a deadly infection that must be cut out before it spreads.”

“But their very opposition proves the truth of the gospel! Every plot they devise, every stone they throw, every false witness they bring against me – all of it demonstrates their desperation to silence a message they know, deep down, threatens their entire worldview. Their hatred is the thrashing of a dying system, and even as they persecute me, they fulfill the scriptures they claim to defend.”

Luke set down his stylus, his medical training causing him to notice Paul’s increasing pallor as he spoke with such passion. “You should rest, brother. Your recent beatings…”

Paul waved away his concern. “There will be time enough for rest in glory. For now, there are still letters to write, churches to strengthen, souls to win. Besides,” he added with a gleam in his eye, “I’ve learned that my weaknesses showcase God’s strength all the more clearly. When I am beaten, chains fallen away through an earthquake. When I am imprisoned, songs of praise bring salvation to jailers. When I am shipwrecked, barbarians witness God’s protection and healing power.”

“Still,” Luke persisted, “even you must have moments of doubt, of weakness…”

Paul was quiet for a long moment. “Of course I do, dear friend. I’m not made of stone, despite what my enemies might think. There are nights when the weight of it all seems unbearable. The physical pain, yes, but more than that – the rejection by my own people cuts deep. Every time I enter a synagogue, I see faces that remind me of my father, my teachers, my former friends. Every time they turn against me, it’s like losing my family all over again.”

He stood slowly, pacing the small room. “But then I remember my encounter with the risen Christ. The scales that fell from my eyes in Damascus – they revealed not just my physical blindness, but my spiritual blindness. How can I not share that light with others, no matter the cost? When I see Gentiles coming to faith, when I witness the power of the gospel to transform lives, when I see Jews and Gentiles worshiping together as one new humanity in Christ – ah, Luke, that joy makes every scar worthwhile!”

“And your opponents?” Luke prompted. “What would you say to them if they were here now?”

Paul’s face softened with genuine compassion. “I would say what I have always said: ‘Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved.’ Their zeal for God is admirable, even if it is not according to knowledge. I would remind them that I understand their position perfectly – I once stood exactly where they stand. And I would testify once again to the incredible grace of God that opened my eyes to see that Jesus is the Messiah they have longed for.”

“But wouldn’t that just provoke more violence?” Luke asked.

“Probably,” Paul admitted with a slight smile. “Truth often does. But I cannot be silent. ‘For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.’ If speaking that truth costs me my life – well, ’to live is Christ, and to die is gain.’”

A commotion in the street outside drew their attention. Paul moved quietly to the window, peering cautiously through the shutters. “Ah,” he said calmly, “it seems our conversation must end for now, dear physician. There are some rather agitated-looking men asking questions in the street.”

Luke quickly gathered his writing materials. “Another hasty departure in the night?”

“It seems so,” Paul replied, already gathering his few possessions. “But take heart – this cat-and-mouse game they play with me only serves to spread the gospel further. Each city they drive me from becomes a seed for a new church. Their persecution scatters the message like wind scatters seeds.”

As they prepared to slip out through the back of the house, Paul gripped Luke’s shoulder. “Make sure you record not just the persecution, friend, but the triumph of God’s grace through it all. Let future generations know that no amount of human hatred can thwart divine purposes. The more they tried to silence the message, the more it spread. The more they tried to kill me, the more God’s power was displayed in preserving me. The more they tried to discredit me, the more opportunities I had to testify to the truth.”

Luke nodded solemnly. “And what of your future? Surely you can’t continue like this indefinitely.”

Paul’s eyes held a strange mixture of peace and anticipation. “I go to Jerusalem bound in the Spirit, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies that imprisonment and afflictions await me. But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.”

The sounds of searching grew closer. Paul quickly checked that the way was clear, then turned back to Luke one last time. “Remember, brother – in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

With those words, they slipped into the darkness of another Ephesian night, the hunter and the hunted playing out their roles in the great drama of salvation. Behind them, they could hear voices raised in frustration as their quarry once again eluded capture. But Paul’s quiet humming of a psalm floated back to Luke’s ears as they made their way through the shadows: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”