The barabbas legacy, p.1
The Barabbas Legacy, page 1
The Barabbas Legacy
Copyright © 2021 by M.D. House. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the author.
This is Book 3 of the Barabbas Series.
Book 1 – I Was Called Barabbas
Book 2 – Pillars of Barabbas
Book 3 – The Barabbas Legacy
Other Books by M.D. House
Patriot Star (soft science fiction)
Introduction
This three-book Barabbas series has been an incredibly fulfilling and serendipitous journey for me. I had long wanted to be a fiction writer, but spent twenty-five years in a different career, writing only a little. Since I primarily enjoyed reading science fiction and fantasy, I presumed I would write only in those genres.
Apparently, God had a few other ideas. Several years ago, the singular story of Barabbas began pressing itself upon my mind and heart. We know very little about the man, but we can all picture that one memorable scene with Jesus of Nazareth and Pontius Pilate. After imagining the particulars of that event in various ways, and trying to picture over many months the life of the least-known man involved, I started writing about it. Scenes came to mind, and then I began to link them. At some point I decided I could expand and further organize my maunderings into a full-fledged story.
I’m so happy I did. The first novel, I Was Called Barabbas, required a tremendous amount of work, and I was still employed full-time in that first career. Soon after its release, I started working on Book 2, Pillars of Barabbas … and then the Covid pandemic hit. A lot of change happened, and I finally decided to semi-retire so I could focus much more on writing. It has turned out to be a beautiful decision.
Launching Pillars in March of 2021 with the help of a publicist—the kind and diligent Nicole Ballengee—was an amazing and enlightening process. I did interviews with many incredible people, like Eric Metaxas, Tricia Goyer, Paul Reeves, Lisa Burkhardt Worley and Aurora Geis of Pearls of Promise Ministries, Dave Kirby, Chautona Havig, Roger Marsh, Rick Probst and Dan Ratcliffe of FaithTalk Live, Jaime Vaughn, and Roberta Foster. I had talented editing and design help, too.
Given my desire to move several other projects forward, I originally planned to launch this capstone to the Barabbas series in March of 2022. But as it began to develop, the possibility of launching early demanded attention. The planning and the writing came together in sometimes miraculous ways, and then I found an editor in Julie Frederick—an American living in Great Britain, where a portion of this third installment is set—who latched onto the project with a passion similar to mine. The designer, too—Lance Buckley, who created the stunning covers for the first two Barabbas books—hit another home run with the cover for Legacy. I also engaged the fabulously talented Kirby Heyborne to narrate the audiobook. The rest, as they say, is history.
My hope is that this book will both fire your imagination and fill your soul with the blazing warmth of the resurrected Christ’s perfect love and inimitable teachings. As I’ve reviewed and edited this work, I’ve cried many times, giving me some reassurance that what I’ve felt profoundly in my soul might translate to yours in ways you will find enjoyable and useful.
It’s on to other projects now, but we may find ourselves returning to the world inhabited by Barabbas and his family in the near future. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
M.D. House
November 2021
Prologue (Barabbas)
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in him should not perish,
but have everlasting life.
John 3:16, KJV
“Did you ever imagine, my husband, that you would administer the covenants of marriage to one of your own sons?”
I wasn’t sure why Chanah had waited until now to ask me that question. The wedding had been held several weeks ago, near the end of winter, in the sixty-seventh year after the Lord’s birth. The long journey from Rome—all on foot and mostly under gray skies—had turned arduous once we entered the towering mountains of northern Italy, and we were nearly to Trento. If she had waited this long, couldn’t she have waited a little while longer, until we had arrived and had a chance to rest a bit, and I could breathe properly?
Still, I smiled at the memory. Simon and Porcia had faced each other across an altar of God, in a house dedicated to him by none other than the recently martyred Peter. The presence of the Spirit had been poignant and powerful, nearly enough to overcome the strength in my knees. I had imagined our ancient first parents, Adam and Eve, kneeling at similar altars, giving thanks to God and seeking his guidance as they made their way in a newly fallen world.
“No, not really.” It wasn’t an eloquent response, but short enough that it didn’t interrupt my next intake of desperately needed air. I turned my head, wondering why she wasn’t breathing harder. Neither she nor the girls seemed to be feeling tired at all, and they had walked as much as I had. The three mules we led were laden with provisions and gifts, so nobody had gotten to ride. We might have hired a wagon, but it wasn’t worth the expense, whether our own or that of the Lord’s Church.
Chanah’s cherubic face split in a radiant grin. “It was amazing. I could feel the presence of angels, maybe even Peter himself, though he’s probably extremely busy helping the Savior on the other side.”
I nodded, absorbing her sweet serenity but still focused on filling my lungs and keeping my weary legs moving. I was a large man, and supposedly strong. But I was carrying a heavy pack, and unfortunately, age was catching up with me. Or perhaps it had already caught me.
“Why do they want to live in Melita?” asked Sophia, our vibrant, bright, and witty seventeen-year-old. She sounded almost glum.
“I don’t know,” said Chanah. “But Simon has good memories from that place, not just bad ones. I think I’m more surprised Porcia agreed, though.”
“She’s smitten,” added Sophia, her wit emerging. “Well and truly. I don’t get it.”
Chanah laughed. The sound was so pleasant I almost forgot my laboring, aching muscles. “Of course you don’t. He’s your brother, and you’ve teased him way too much to think anyone could hold him in high esteem.”
“That’s why they’re moving to Melita,” said Marian, two years her sister’s senior. “To get away from you.”
“Ha ha,” Sophia retorted with a smirk, swinging her hip into her sister. They both giggled, and then Chanah joined in. Soon I added my slightly wheezing version to the chorus. As I did, we rounded the final bend in the road before Trento, getting our first view of the picturesque mountain town, settled among squat green foothills in a valley slightly wider than I had expected. The farmland appeared fertile, the Adige River clean and strong with the spring runoff beginning to surge. The natural beauty added a breath of warmth to the otherwise chilly air.
I stopped, causing the rest of my family to pause. The mules, too. A man driving a small wagon pulled by a single donkey grumbled loudly as he passed, complaining he had almost run us over. I smiled and waved at his back, then further soaked in the scene before us.
Chanah sidled up next to me and held my right arm with both hands. Evening was not far off. “We wondered why Esther had to find a man this far north,” she said reverently. “I think we have our answer. Rome is beautiful, but this is … I can’t find the right words.” She leaned her head on my shoulder briefly, then turned as Marian and Sophia approached to stand next to her.
“I can see why Esther and Marco love it here,” remarked Sophia, suddenly serious.
“When it’s not the dead of winter, yes,” added Marian, who was always more practical, like her mother, whom she resembled in looks, too, with her rich dark hair and large green eyes. “I doubt Levi enjoys it much.”
Sophia pursed her lips at that. “Well, Great Uncle knows he could come live with us in Rome if he wanted to. It’s much warmer there.”
She was right. I wasn’t sure why Levi didn’t, other than the fact his adopted daughter Esther was here. An orphan from Samaria, she had bravely fled an abusive slave master at eight years old and ended up in Jerusalem. Slaves were all too common in the Roman empire—and beyond—even in Judea. Levi and my departed mother Ruth, whom he had married after my father died, had taken Esther in. That was after Levi had been miraculously healed of leprosy by the apostle Matthias and Mary the mother of Jesus. I closed my eyes briefly, remembering the awe of first seeing my uncle at our door, healed. I wasn’t a Christian then, though by divine providence I had met Mary. I had met Jesus, too, of course. My awe increased as I reflected on just how much he had done for me—for me!—my heart swelling with indescribable feeling.
“Beloved, are you all right?” Chanah had brought her face close to mine, and I felt a single tear fleeing rebelliously down my right cheek.
I sniffled, blinking. “Yes, just astounded—again—at how blessed I am. And I really hope Paul is still here, though I would guess he has already departed.”
Chanah hummed. “You’re probably right, but we’ll see him again. I’m sure of it.”
I knew she was, but I wasn’t. Paul was likely well on his way to Spain, a place I doubted I would ever visit. It was a vast province, and he was still on the run from Roman authorities, so it would be nearly impossible to find him anyway.
As if
I smiled, freeing my arm to place it around her shoulders and squeeze. What a treasure she was, one of the most faithful and powerful women God had ever placed on the earth. And she had somehow chosen to marry me. I knew God had forgiven me, just as he had Paul, but my past was still real—more real at some times than at others. And Chanah was aware of it all.
“Can we keep moving, please?” asked Sophia. “I’ll turn into a block of ice if we stand here much longer.” Her reverence had dissipated with a couple of gusts of cold mountain air.
I took a deep breath, feeling remarkably refreshed after such a short break. I winked at my youngest. “Yes, and I’ll try not to slow us down.” She gave me one of her classic expressions of teasing impatience. For some reason, I loved that look.
Esther and Marco’s house stood in stalwart pride halfway up the south side of the first significant hill in the eastern half of the valley, the farthest west of a loose cluster of homes belonging to members of Marco’s family. I noted that most of the homes in the area were built on the south sides of hills, which made sense given the angle of the sun, especially in the winter. Marco and his father and brothers farmed a large tract of land running south for at least a mile, and nearly to the east bank of the river. They had a few cows and sheep, too, along with oxen and mules to pull the heavy single plows.
It was still light enough to see, the sun hiding somewhere behind the grayness, which meant farmers were out across the valley preparing the soil for planting. That included Marco, so it was Esther who answered the door after we had secured the mules to a post at the side of the house—a very pregnant Esther. She hadn’t informed us in her last two letters, smuggled to us in Rome to preserve the secret of Paul’s location, but the mischievous glint in her eyes as she greeted us warmly told us she was delighted by our surprised faces.
Chanah squealed in delight, of course, as did Sophia. Marian was more reserved, if only slightly. After we had all entered the broad, plaster-sided home half-built into the hill, I set down my pack and closed the door, welcoming the warmth from the well-stoked fireplace in the corner of the large main room, which comprised both living area and kitchen. Several small windows provided sufficient light, though somewhat dim in comparison to that provided by the larger windows of homes in Rome’s warmer climate.
They owned four chairs, which meant I got to sit on some rugs. That was better, anyway, because it almost felt like I was putting my feet up, which they sorely needed. I leaned back against the front wall and listened to the conversation—with keen interest at first, then with growing drowsiness.
“Jesse. Jesse!” A tap on my shoulder from Chanah brought me back into the conversation, and I willed my eyes open fully.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be this tired yet. I’m glad to finally be here, Esther. Your home is beautiful … and warm.” I smiled, hoping my weak explanation was adequate.
Esther laughed. “It’s okay. We were just talking about how the baby is due in a couple of weeks or so. Of course, since it’s my first, it could be any day now.”
“Or you could go longer,” noted Chanah.
“Please don’t say that,” pleaded Esther, gently patting her very round middle with a hint of exasperation. I had no useful comments on such things, so I stayed silent.
“Well,” said Chanah, glancing at me, “we can stay until you have the baby, whenever that is.”
I didn’t object, even though I wanted to make sure we were back in Rome by the time Cornelius’s trial was held. The date was only tentatively set, which meant it would probably get delayed until late spring anyway. Though I wasn’t convinced I would be of much help, Emperor Nero seemed to at least tolerate me, and the saints, and our temple. How long that would last was profoundly uncertain. Political tensions were building. Some of our people were still being persecuted for the Great Fire, even though most citizens of Rome agreed Christians had nothing to do with it … other than assisting in the rescues and the rebuilding! Senator Manius Aviola, himself a Christian and our good friend, had assured me the Senate wouldn’t move against the Christians, but Chanah and I, along with other church leaders, enjoined the members to constant prayer, greater faith, and more earnest charity.
Chanah and I prayed daily for Nero, too. After he had ordered the execution of Peter, something seemed to have … broken … inside him. Despite the Senate placing immense pressure on him, and though he had made Peter’s death far less painful than the Senate had demanded, I knew Nero believed his own soul was irretrievably damned. In my anger and grief—at Peter’s murder, the continued harassment of the Roman saints, and the Roman officials’ fanatical search for Paul—I had largely ignored the young ruler, leaving him to battle his demons alone. I was trying to repent of that, having requested an audience with the emperor three times over the winter. Each time, however, his steward Octellus, also now a Christian along with other members of Nero’s household, had reported that Nero refused to give any response to the requests. Octellus had also disclosed he was becoming increasingly paranoid and moody … even violent. What else could I do?
“Jesse, what’s wrong? You seem disturbed about something.” Chanah’s gentle voice roused me from my pained thoughts. I looked up at her, a little embarrassed I had revealed them so clearly.
“I’m fine. I was just thinking … about Rome, and the challenges there.” I switched my gaze to Esther. “But I should be here, rejoicing in the time we’ll get to spend with Esther and Marco.”
“And their new baby,” piped in Sophia.
I chuckled, trying to further ward off the gloom. “And their baby, yes. My uncle Levi, too.”
Just then the front door opened, and Marco walked in. His arrival came earlier than I had expected, since there was still some daylight left. Right behind him was his father, whom I had never met. I hurriedly got to my feet, my joints creaking in protest.
Marco wore an anxious expression, and when his father turned to face us I figured out why. I remembered his name being Paolo.
“You,” he said, pointing fiercely at me, his voice nearly a growl. “Have you come to torment my son further?”
I blinked in surprise, sparing a glance for Chanah before responding. “We are just here to visit. Esther is a sister to me.”
When Paolo glanced at Esther, his gaze softened only slightly. He whipped his attention back to me.
“She is a kind and faithful woman, despite the evil you’ve filled her head with,” he spat.
My eyebrows rose, my mind searching for how to respond. I wished Chanah would step in, but she didn’t. I felt irritation at the unwarranted attack start to build, too.
“Can you be more specific?” I asked evenly.
He took a step closer, perhaps thinking I would be intimidated by that. We were of about the same age, though he was smaller. His gnarled, accusing finger nearly touched my chest.
“You sent that thief and deceiver Paul to us, and he tricked several families into giving him their hard-earned money to help him continue his journey. His two henchmen bullied some of them into doing it.”
“Morech and Antonius?” asked Chanah with a tone of disbelief.
“Yes,” he said disparagingly, glaring only briefly at her.
“How did Paul and his ‘henchmen’ bully them?” I challenged, folding my arms to keep them in check. In my younger, morally lost days as a headstrong Jewish rebel, I would have already thrown Paolo to the floor, especially after his implied insult to my wife. I worked hard to make sure those tendencies didn’t resurface.
“He preyed upon their fears,” he replied with barely restrained fury. “He threatened the welfare of their souls if they did not help him. He is a smooth talker, that one. And now you are here to bleed us further.”
I glared back at him, my anger rising. “You mean with the mules laden with supplies and gifts for the Christians here? That’s how I’m going to ‘bleed’ them?” My tone was heavy with ire and sarcasm, and I could feel the tension in the room increase dramatically. Then I realized what I had done in inviting the spirit of contention. I raised a hand as I lowered my head.
