Sometimes Christian

The dirt road home was far from straight. It curved around hillsides, sloping up and down, disappearing from sight with every bend. It had been so long since Simon had taken this path that everything looked foreign and he feared that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Perhaps time had worn the desert down, scouring away at familiar rocks and landmarks, or perhaps he was simply not used to traveling in this direction. Whatever the reason, he found himself trekking back several times, hunting for landmarks that would confirm his road. Rubbing his face, Simon hesitated on the borders of his father’s lands, unable to move. How could he return? What right did he have to ask for even the slightest mercy? He knew his father was a forgiving sort, he’d even scorned the man for being too lenient at times, but this was different. Simon’s betrayal was deeper, more intimate and profound, and he knew it. And, of course, there was Bethany. He remembered her as he’d last seen her, bloody and...

A party of luxury raged through the night, full of laughter and dancing and vice. Drapes in vivid blues and purples hung through the hall, and the table was bursting with a feast of overly spiced meat and wine. Firelight cast shadows into hidden alcoves and set the gilded trappings to a warm, golden glow, and servants wove their way around merry guests as they indulged Antipas. Outside in the corridor, a young girl prepared to perform a special dance for her stepfather under the careful instruction of her mother. Far from the revelry, in a dark place made for forgotten men, a jailer sat with his prisoner. The two were a study in contrasts; the prisoner with shaggy hair and a full beard, arrayed in camel skin and several weeks’ worth of grime, and the jailer neatly groomed in a linen tunic. The jailer stood calmly outside the cell, one shoulder propped against the wall, and the prisoner shuffled from wall to wall, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed in thought. “You know ...