I've been thinking quite a bit these days about one of my favorite Bible women, Priscilla. Much of her story is told by Dr. Luke in Acts 18. Her life speaks to so many areas of our own lives -- which may be at once unsettling, discouraging, frightening, and packed with opportunities to serve Christ through our adversity.
So, as a project that may appear in a compilation book one day soon, I've written a short fictionalization of her life -- along with a devotional that can help us apply her lessons to life today. So, if you stick with me on a rather long one today, I'd love to share with you what I observed (with a few literary license additions that are true to the culture of the day). Hope you enjoy!
Blessings and prayers, Julie
A Press-toward-the-goal Life
Julie-Allyson Ieron
AS TOLD BY A FICTIONALIZED PRISCILLA
It’s
not like my life was safe before my husband Aquila invited a certain Jewish
rabbi into our sparse home, nestled in the shadow of the Temple of Apollo in old
Corinth. In fact, by then we’d already weathered one upheaval. But that day
would mark a significant upturn in danger and adventure for us.
Years
before, Aquila and I had met in our families’ synagogue in Rome. After our
marriage we made a decent living, crafting tents of goat hair and selling them
to shepherds, travelers, merchants, Bedouins, even soldiers. The Roman
soldiers, especially, loved our tents for their durability and workmanship.
Mostly,
Aquila did the heavier work with the large cloths and skins, fashioned tent
pegs, and ran the business side of the operation. My job was to weave the
tent-cloth. I was known for my skill in using natural dyes to create color and
pattern on the tapestries hung between rooms of the more lavish tents of
sultans and merchants. This helped us obtain commissions from powerful and
wealthy fellow-citizens.
We
kept to ourselves, worshipping on the first day of the week with other
followers of The Way, but causing no affront to the Roman way of life. That
couldn’t be said, though, of the angry Jewish religious leaders who converged
on Rome. A mob of them stirred up so much trouble for followers of The Way that
Claudius Caesar took notice.
He
would have none of this sibling squabbling between Jews and Christ-followers.
To keep the conflict from disturbing the peace in his seat of government, he tossed
us all out of our homes and expelled us from our city. He didn’t care that we
were the peaceful ones. He ousted both sides—Jews and Christians of Jewish
nationality.
We
were better off than most. Our Roman soldier customers learned of the decree and
stationed themselves at our home. This bought us extra moments to gather our
most necessary belongings and hastily plan our exodus. God must have been
looking out for us, because a customer had commissioned a traveling tent and
then decided he didn’t want it after all. So, we left with only that tent, our
looms and working tools, and our scrolls of God’s precious Scriptures.
We
made our way by both land and sea, feeling at once aimless, and again like
Abraham of old—looking for a city whose builder and maker was God. Actually, the
land travel I didn’t mind; it wasn’t all bad living in a tent we had crafted
with our own hands. But my arthritic joints and aging constitution didn’t do as
well on the voyage across the choppy Adriatic Sea.
Eventually,
we landed in the great commercial center of Corinth by way of the port at
Cenchrea. My relief was boundless. Never again did I wish to board a sea-going
vessel. I made my preference known loudly (and often) to my patient Aquila. I
was sure we’d have plenty of business for our trade in Corinth’s bustling
marketplace; we would settle in to stay. I wouldn’t allow him even the most
wistful mention of one day returning to our old life in Rome. Forgetting what
is behind, I reminded him. Pressing toward what’s ahead. I’ve always found
those great words to live by, especially if what I saw ahead was blessed, dry
land.
Again,
we set out to lead quiet lives; we avoided trouble and conflict at every
opportunity.
It
was just weeks after settling in Corinth when Aquila rushed into our work space,
making an uncharacteristically boisterous entrance. I stopped my even motion at
the loom, and the yam stalled awkwardly between the warp threads I was working.
I grimaced as I noticed how that stop marred the perfect pattern I’d been
crafting. It was to be a tapestry curtain, commissioned by a Corinthian
nobleman for his bride’s traveling tent.
Just
as quickly, though, I forgot my weaving woes as I recognized the guilt etched
in my husband’s face. I’d seen that look before. Our conversation, dripping
with husbandly compliments, is seared in my memory.
“Prisca,
my dear,”
I hated it when he started a conversation with
that familiar variation of Priscilla; it always meant trouble.
“I
have invited a visitor—a rabbi—to stay with us.”
“Oh,
husband, we are barely settled. We don’t even have an extra bed palette to
offer to a guest. And business is not established enough yet for us to support
a rabbi out of our abundance.”
“You
are a most gifted hostess, my precious wife. I know you will be able to make
our guest and his fellow-traveler welcome. He is a tentmaker. He is willing to
work with us to build the business here in Corinth. He is a stranger here, like
we are. And … He is a follower of The Way.”
Well, when you
put it like that …
With
only those few moments’ notice, I sprang into action—bustling as best I could
to create a comfortable place for the travelers who followed a few paces behind
Aquila.
I
heard them before I saw them. Two strange male voices. The dominant one had the
sound of the Asian dialect—from what you in your day would call Turkey; and
yet, he had a schooled accent—Jerusalem, I’d guess. It was then that I looked
up from my frenzied preparations into the piercing eyes of the rabbi guest, a
teacher of The Way called Paul.
Oh,
this day would bring trouble, absolutely. But I felt the Spirit of God inside
me affirm that these men were kindred spirits—true Christ-followers not to
fear, but to welcome.
This
Paul and his fellow traveler Luke carried their own bed palettes—and their own
scrolls of the Scriptures. Luke also packed a medical bag because of his
training as a physician. Who knew we would all need those skills and those
salves he carried? Soon, but not yet.
Together,
we settled in comfortably. The two men became like extended family—connected to
us by circumstance, certainly, but also by a shared faith and love for our
Messiah and Savior Jesus Christ. Our stimulating conversations about Him made
work hours pass quickly. It turned out that Paul was quite the scholar. His
schooling made his exposition of the ancient Scriptures come alive with
implications for us as disciples of the Messiah.
The
other great news was that God blessed our work efforts with much business in
this new city. Soon our tentmaking was generating enough to support all of us
comfortably.
Every
Sabbath, we went together—Paul, Luke, Aquila, and I—to hear Paul reason with
the Jews and devout Greeks in the synagogue. Many came to faith in The Way by
trusting Jesus, God’s Son, as their Savior from God’s wrath.
I
wasn’t terribly thrilled, though, when two more of Paul’s associates, Silas and
young Timothy arrived from the Macedonian province. With this bigger entourage,
Paul needed a larger base of operation, so he moved to the house of Titius
Justus, next door to the synagogue. Paul’s tentmaking time with us was limited then,
but he still worked when he could. Aquila and I missed the hour-by-hour
closeness we had shared. We rejoiced, though, that The Way was being preached
with success. Even Crispus, the synagogue ruler, came to faith.
I
remember when Paul stopped by one morning to share with us a vision he had of
God telling him to keep on speaking without fear—that no one could harm him
here. That set my motherly heart on edge; if God had to warn him not to be
afraid, what mischief was around the corner?
Yet
life went on for eighteen months in this relaxed routine.
Then
things started happening fast. Those troubled Jewish leaders set their sights
on Corinth, this time to stir up trouble for Paul. They dragged him before the
proconsul’s tribunal and launched a united attack against him.
We
sheltered Paul as best we could from the crowd’s growing fury. Those were perilous,
uncertain days. His life and ours were in great danger. When we needed him, Dr.
Luke was always ready to minister to injuries caused by the crowd. We all clung
to the promise God had given Paul—not to be afraid.
We
were glad when the proconsul refused to judge the case, but it became clear God
was moving Paul out of Corinth.
Separately,
Aquila and I prayed about this move. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer
I feared God would give.
“Prisca?
You awake?”
“Yes,
my husband.”
“I’ve
been thinking.”
“Thinking?”
“About
the fact that we aren’t Corinthians. This isn’t our true home.”
“Yes,
my Aquila. We are like these tents we craft for our customers. We are pitched
here in this place for just a short time. Until the fields are harvested. Until
the wind of the Spirit moves us onward.”
“My
love, that is exactly what I have been thinking.”
“So,
it is time to pick up our stakes and move again.”
“You
knew?”
“I
have heard Paul talking with Luke about sailing for Ephesus. The Spirit of God
confirmed this direction in my heart. As much as another sailing journey makes
me uneasy, I’ve been feeling a sense of anticipation about it that I can’t
explain.”
“Paul
has indeed invited us to sail with him. We must go with him to points unknown,
my precious Prisca.”
“I’ve
already been packing our few belongings. We are ready to go.” I could feel the
muscles in Aquila’s neck relax into sleep as I lay awake planning our next
exodus.
We
did sail, this time across the Aegean Sea to Ephesus with Paul and the others.
It was a safe and blessedly short journey. A trade like ours is needed across
the Empire, so Ephesus offered us plenty of work. Paul, as was his pattern,
sought out the synagogue where the Jews gathered; we held down the home front. Too
soon, God’s Spirit moved him on from there. We, however, felt it God’s will for
us to stay in Ephesus.
Those
were productive years for us in Ephesus working alongside young Timothy, whom
we grew to admire. We had the privilege of watering God’s garden of believers
after Paul and Timothy did the planting. The harvest was plentiful, even in a
city known for its wanton debauchery. The awe-inspiring Temple of Artemis, flaunting
its vile practices, towered over the city. Even so, we saw the pure truth of
God proclaimed with power. The Church was planted, took root, and grew strong
amid opposition from the enemy of the faith.
In
Ephesus, as in Corinth, Aquila brought home a visitor. This time an eloquent
preacher named Apollos who knew only of John the Baptist, but nothing of
Christ. Apollos was a bold speaker, and a teachable one. Much as we used to do
in those Corinthian days with Paul, this time Aquila and I sat for long hours with
Apollos at our Ephesian dinner table, our scrolls of the Scriptures unfurled
before us. We explained to the young preacher the teachings and faith of our
Resurrected Messiah. It was a sad day for us (yet also a proud one) when, after
learning well the lessons of The Way, Apollos moved on into powerful public
ministry refuting the troublemaking Jewish leaders. We always considered him
our son in the faith.
And
we, learning that Nero succeeded the assassinated Claudius, took one more
journey: back to Rome. God led us all the way home again. One by one our old
circle returned, gathering in the work room of our home on the first day of the
week to share the journey, to worship our Risen Lord, and to pass the faith
along to men and women just like you. Oh, and Paul? He sends his greetings. He
expects to be in Rome very soon. I wonder what new adventures his coming will
bring.
DEVOTIONAL: NONFICTION
AS TOLD BY JULIE
While
I’m not proud to admit it, I’m a looker backer. I major in the skill of longing
for yesterday. How many hours do I waste being wistful over emotions left
unspoken, sorry over words spoken carelessly, sad over friendships severed by
space and time? Maybe you feel a similar angst with me and bemoan how much of
life we squander looking behind. As I read Priscilla’s life story, recorded by
Dr. Luke in Acts 18, I’m amazed at the forward-thinking wisdom she exhibited.
Amazed … and envious.
Her
life had more twists and turns, more heart-pounding adventure, and more opportunities
to fear than most twenty-first-century movie scripts. That I don’t envy. Yet,
without a spoken word recorded, Priscilla speaks volumes to women of our
generation through her choices and attitudes.
Several
themes from her life challenge me where I struggle:
·
her
sensitivity to God’s Spirit (how hard I find it to listen for God’s still,
small voice)
·
her
adaptability to unsettling circumstances (I hate
change of all types)
·
her
willingness to follow God’s convoluted path (I’m programmed to like the direct
path of least resistance)
·
her
wisdom in teaching the lessons of the faith so clearly that others could run
with them (too often I feel proprietary about the message).
But
for us today, Priscilla’s most poignant lesson may be her forward-looking life.
She couldn’t have felt much personal safety or security living in tumultuous
Rome while Jewish leaders were stirring up crowds against her faith. In her
sandals we’d have felt a longing for the safe and secure days before this
strife.
Not
Priscilla, though.
She
couldn’t have enjoyed being evicted and put out of her hometown. After all, travel
security in her day would have been far more challenging than our uneasy moments
in airport full-body scanners. Yet, she journeyed far not once, but three
times: from Rome to Corinth; from Corinth to Ephesus; from Ephesus back to
Rome. And in every setting, no matter the comfort or circumstance, she taught
the faith, opened her home to fellow believers, and worked hard with her hands.
She looked forward to heavenly glories with Christ rather than longing for what
was behind.
Did
she complain? Did she worry? Did she become discouraged or fearful or panicked?
We have no indication of it. In fact, whenever Paul writes about her, he speaks
highly of her grace and her partnership in ministry for the sake of the gospel.
So,
when Paul instructed the Philippian believers to forget the challenges and
disappointments of yesterday and press toward the high goal of God’s calling on
their lives, I wonder whether Priscilla’s picture flashed before his mind. Troubles,
disappointments, and challenges dotted her life’s landscape. Yet, through them
all, she modeled for him—for us—the resiliency of one who doesn’t allow
circumstances to deter her from pressing toward the upward call of God in
Christ Jesus.
One
day, when I grow up in Christ, I want to be like Priscilla.
Scripture verse:
Philippians
3:13-14 (ESV) Forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies
ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in
Christ Jesus.
Author Bio:
Julie-Allyson
Ieron is
a perceptive journalist who investigates God’s truth and crafts discoveries in
ways that engage your mind and resonate with your heart. She is receiving critical
acclaim for her book: The God Interviews:
Questions You Would Ask; Answers God Gives (Leafwood Publishing, 2012). Additionally,
as a longtime caregiver for her father who succumbed to pancreatic cancer in
early 2013, Julie continues her ministry of encouragement with the release of Comforting Words for Caregivers … And Those
They Love (Warner Press, August 2013), a devotional written from his
hospital room.
© 2013, Julie-Allyson Ieron. All rights reserved. For reprint permission, email: orders@joymediaservices.com
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