A Bridge Between Nations

Marcus could sense death in his house. He stood on the roof, hands clasped behind his back, watching the midmorning sun climb the horizon. It had been a restless night full of sick room visits and whispering servants as they rushed for water or poultices. Hours of pacing had his feet throbbing and there was a pinching between his shoulders that would not release.

Still, he couldn’t permit himself to rest, not while John lay dying just below.  

Taking a deep breath, Marcus traced the last seven years of his life. John had been five years old when his parents fell to illness, leaving him with no home and no family. Since the boy’s family had served Marcus, he’d felt responsible and brought the child into his home. It wasn’t long before the boy snuck his way into Marcus’ heart, filling his world with laughter and adventures.

They’d built toy boats together and made up stories about a Roman Centurion named Mattias who spent his time quelling unrest throughout the empire.

A man of Marcus’ station should never have allowed such a close relationship to develop, especially with a servant boy, but there was no helping it now. John was as dear to him as a son and the prospect of a life without him was unfathomable.

A pit had opened in his center, deep and cold, and it widened as the seconds slid into minutes.

He heard the creaky ladder behind him and closed his eyes, trying to steel himself for the worst. A moment later someone spoke, his voice hushed to a whisper, but Marcus knew Simon well enough to recognize him; “Master, they say he is coming.”

Opening his eyes again, Marcus frowned. Living amongst the Jewish nation, he had come to admire their teachings. He had even helped to build their local synagogue and took pains to listen and learn from the elders they had in place. Being a Roman might have given him a position of power, but for all the Empire had to offer it could not answer the more meaningful questions in life.

Honor and duty were paramount, of course, but could a man truly be honorable if they followed someone less so? Marcus had seen enough bad military leaders and knew that not everyone in power should be, which begged questions about those even higher up in the chain of command.

But Jewish teachings, or at least those teachings that Marcus had been allowed to hear, proved that they placed their hope and honor on an all-powerful God. And that faith could not be squelched by mere enslavement or the conquering of their nation. They believed there was a purpose behind those trials, a bigger picture they could not fully see, and that gave them a sense of power that neither Marcus nor the Roman Empire could ever compete against.

“You say he is coming here?” Marcus asked, turning to face Simon.

The man nodded, glancing down the ladder at something. There were shadows in his eyes, fear and doubt for the boy slipping away, and Marcus felt the pit in his core split all the wider. Jesus was coming here, but would he get here in time? And even if he did, was there anything this strange prophet could do for John?

It did not escape Marcus that there were rules against a Jewish teacher such as Jesus coming to the house of a Roman. And yet, the man was coming.

Marcus had heard Jesus speak once already. When crowds rallied around a single voice as they did with this Jesus, those in power took notice and Marcus had been sent to observe. But instead of rallying against the Romans, as several other zealots had in years past, this one was different. Jesus reinforced ideas that had always appealed to Marcus; loving God and loving neighbors and living in peace.

And, of course, there were the miracles, which was why Marcus had sent a plea for the man.

But those miracles, or at least those that Marcus had heard about, seemed to have more to do with individual faith.

“Your faith has healed you,” Marcus murmured.

“Sir?” Simon asked, but Marcus was far away, remembering tale after tale of this Jesus and his miracles.

Faith.

It was all about faith. But what was faith?

John had asked that question not long ago and Marcus, not fully understanding his own answer, had said; “Faith is a choice. You choose to believe and you continue choosing it no matter what lies before you.”

Could it really be that simple? Could a miracle happen in this house merely because Marcus chose to believe this Jesus?

“Sir?” Simon asked again.

Straightening his shoulders, Marcus started for the ladder. Every step felt firmer than the last, and without even realizing he’d done it, Marcus made his choice. “Go and tell this Jesus that I am not worthy to have him under my roof. But if he will simply speak the word, John will be healed.”

Simon blinked at him, looking for all the world like he’d been smacked. But he was a good servant and instead of questioning simply said; “Yes, sir.”

Marcus almost chuckled at the expression on Simon’s face. “I myself am a man of authority, with soldiers under me. I believe in the authority of Jesus and I know, if he wills it, that it can be done.”

With another nod of his head, Simon ducked and headed down the ladder. Marcus hesitated, glancing back at the horizon. The pit in his core seemed less cold now, not gone but at least not stretching wider and that would do for now. Reaching for the ladder, he swung himself off the roof and started down.

John would need him when he woke.