I, Saul (39 page)

Few outside the Sanhedrin knew my role in the execution of Stephen. I did not refer to it as murder then, as I do now, because even witnessing it from close enough to hear the horrid blows and the ripping of the flesh could not diminish my conviction that we had carried out the judgment of God Himself.

I knew the commandments; I knew the sin of putting another god before the God. The Jesus followers, who had begun calling themselves the people of The Way, had had the audacity to elevate Jesus to the position of a Christ, the Messiah. And despite his demise, they had now revered
Stephen—who seemed able to conjure the same miracles, yet who also proved merely mortal in the end.

Now would they worship their leader, the Galilean fisherman Peter, who may not have had the silver tongue of Stephen but was convincing enough to persuade thousands to become followers of The Way? Or would they revere Peter's brother James, or the other James among them, one of the brothers of Jesus? Perhaps the new favorite would be young John, who apparently everyone agreed had been Jesus' favorite.

It mattered not to me, for while I had undertaken this assignment convinced I was an agent of God, it also served to raise my stature with Annas and Caiaphas and thus most of the rest of the council. I say most, because while Nathanael was proud of me, some—very few, in truth—agreed with the ever-timid Gamaliel who felt the Sanhedrin had overreacted in stoning Stephen to death.

Gamaliel tried to reason with me, to discourage such acts in the future. His counsel fell on deaf ears. He had lost my respect. I felt no need of his approval, as I had for so many years.

However, the death of Stephen did not have its intended effect on the people of The Way. Continuing to insist that Jesus had resurrected from the dead and could not be termed a martyr, they began calling Stephen the first martyr to the cause of Christ. Rather than cowering in fear of the same fate for themselves, some even expressed envy for the fact that Stephen had been privileged—imagine!—to have been persecuted this way for the sake of Jesus.

Stephen's violent death seemed to have discouraged no one from stepping up to replace him—not the young men of the sect nor even their mothers. Within days of his burial, dozens of devout believers seemed determined to take his place. Their new leaders were bolder, their proclamations louder, their resolve more intense. Even worse, they now began traveling to distant lands to expand the influence of their lies and subversion.

The daily tasks and assignments I had handled for Nathanael for years since leaving school—challenging and educational as they had been—held little interest for me anymore. I took personally the failure of the Freedmen and the Sanhedrin to hinder the astonishing growth of The Way. I had gotten a taste of blood, and I rather liked it. This, I told myself, was not violence for violence's sake, but the purest form of justice ever enforced. If the only way to stop the spread of apostasy was to arrest, imprison, or kill these people, that was what I must do.

Before a week had passed, Caiaphas—no doubt with the encouragement of his father-in-law—visited Nathanael's office one afternoon and asked that I join them. When I arrived he informed Nathanael that he was reassigning me. “Nathanael,” he said, “I know if this were left up to you, you would never let him go.”

“That is true,” Nathanael said. “But he has earned whatever station you see fit for him, and I gladly confer him to your service.”

The high priest said he wanted me as his special
assistant, with all the power and authority of his office. “I want The Way driven from Jerusalem. Their teaching is illegal. Their assembling is illegal. Making known their beliefs is illegal. You have proven yourself able and committed.”

“That I am,” I said, eager to get started. “I will proudly bear your authority, but as for your power, I will need resources. Men, weapons, horses.”

“Present me with a manifest,” Caiaphas said, “and consider it done.”

I immediately went to my office and began a list of the men and supplies I would need. I took to Caiaphas my request for ten men with horses, ropes, whips, and chains. These, he said, would be at my disposal by dawn the next day. Until late that night in my office, I formed a plan of attack. I knew from The Freedmen the homes in which the people of The Way congregated before going out to spread their false doctrine.

I confess I wondered whether I would get the best of the temple guards, or soldiers who currently had no assignment. Imagine how pleased I was the next morning when a complement of brawny horsemen arrived. Every one appeared about twice my size, yet they well understood who was in charge.

The next day and for several weeks after, I led my men on daily raids. We would begin before sunrise and quietly surround a house owned by one of Jesus' wealthy followers. Then we would storm in from every entrance, me leading the way through the front. We denounced them in the name of
God, whipped any who tried to flee or retaliate, then bound their hands and tethered them to our horses to be dragged off to prison.

As I reflect on those days of fervency I recall being infused with what I considered righteous anger, a godly hatred of these opponents of the Scriptures. My team and I were merciless, swift, and brutal. Fear in the eyes of my prisoners or pleading on the parts of mothers to not separate them from their children had no effect on me.

I had been born for this, schooled and trained for this. I felt uniquely equipped for the task.

The entire council was aware of the many prisoners I had delivered, and many congratulated me. Only Gamaliel seemed to take issue with the effort. He asked to see me one day, and I was certain even he would reluctantly praise me. He admitted he was impressed by the efficiency of my venture, but he asked kindly, “Does the nature of the work ever give you pause? Does it never bother you?”

I could have easily made myself look better in his eyes by saying, “Of course, no one really enjoys having to confront people so forcefully.” But the fact was I did enjoy it. I was not a tyrant to gain power for its own sake. I was enforcing the will of God. What could be a higher calling?

I said, “Nasi Gamaliel, I feel alive, fulfilled, as if I am living life to the fullest, defending and glorifying the name of the Lord.”

He looked at me sadly and conceded, “If the high priest, or more accurately his father-in-law, wishes to drive these
people from the City of David, they could not have chosen a better man for the job.”

I thanked him most sincerely. Naïvely—I realize now—I took his words as the highest personal compliment he had ever paid me. My goal was to do anything I could contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. I cast my votes for the many death sentences decreed in Israel and even in foreign cities.

Learning that many of the people of The Way had scattered into Judea and Samaria and spread their influence as far as Damascus, I went again to Caiaphas, breathing threats and murder against them. I asked for a letter of introduction to the synagogues of Damascus. “Any disciples of Jesus I find there, whether men or women, I will bring to Jerusalem in chains.”

This seemed to please the high priest. “Damascus is outside Roman law,” he said. “So you will encounter no restrictions.”

When he supplied me with the letters, I was thrilled to see they were signed by both him and Annas. With my band of enforcers, I traveled about 135 miles north of Jerusalem to the city that had so captured my attention as a child. Was this the culmination of that deep attraction? In those days I had been unable to imagine what possible role that city could play in my adult life. I was about to find out.

On horseback for the better part of four days, we traveled the way of the Sea of Galilee, crossing the Jordan River by bridge a few miles north of the Dead Sea. My excitement
built as we neared Kaukab, about twelve miles south of the great walled city of Damascus. This was the stretch of road on which my father and I, heading south when I was thirteen, had encountered heat so fierce we wondered if we would be able to continue.