The Order of the Redeemed Page 2

  Zacchaeus grabbed his walking stick and clutched it with a tight grip, glaring into the hallway as a vision of beating James played through his mind. A feeling of defeat overtook him, and he swallowed the anger. Why? After all I’ve done for her.

  The thought fueled the feeling of anger once again. I don’t have to beat him myself. I’ll let the people outside do it for me.

  Zacchaeus stepped towards the door with a look of determination.

  “Zacchaeus.” The voice was soft and low as though she were gently trying to wake a child.

  Zacchaeus hesitated. Tears ran down his face as the mixed feelings of defeat and anger tugged him in each direction. He turned, unable to utter any of the words inside him.

  “I’m sorry, Zacchaeus.”

  She came to him and tried to put her arms around him. He pushed her back with a look of disgust.

  “Why, Ezra? Why did you do this?”

  “I needed more. You were never there for me.”

  “Never there. My whole life was built around what YOU wanted.”

  “You could have done more for me. If it hadn’t been for me pushing, you would never have amounted to anything,” she scowled.

  The look of disgust toward him allowed the anger he was battling to rise again and overtake him.

  “How dare you say that? I was happy. A lot happier before I became a tax collector. I despise it. But I did it because it was what you wanted. You wanted your big house and your fancy things, and this is how you repay me?”

  Zacchaeus turned and walked towards the door.

  “Please don’t tell them.” She grabbed his arm. “We can work this out.”

  He pulled his arm from her as though he had been touched by a hot piece of metal.

  “Get away from me, ADULTERESS.”

  Zacchaeus turned and opened the door.

  “No, please,” she pleaded.

  “ADULTERESS!” Zacchaeus shouted into the busy street. “ADULTERESS!”

  The word made its way through the dusty street like a strong wind, impacting everyone in its path. The people exchanged uncomfortable glances. Several of the adults sent their children running home, almost certain this was about to turn into a horrible scene.

  “Who? Who is the adulteress?” asked a gray-haired man with bushy eyebrows and green eyes.

  “Ezra. My wife. I caught her with James the tax collector. They’re inside.”

  Zacchaeus walked in through the door followed by several of the people in the growing mob outside. The back door was open, and James could be seen running away, already a good distance from the home. Ezra, who was now sitting at the table, arms in front of her with her head bowed, looked up with a blank stare.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, woman?” quizzed the old man.

  She shook her head, indicating she had nothing to say, then lowered her eyes, looking at the ground once again.

  “Take her out of here,” the old man shouted to the men who had followed him into the house.

  “No! Please, no.”

  Her words had the effect of a cup of water thrown on a blazing fire as several men forced her towards the door. Her eyes made contact with Zacchaeus as she searched his face for any indication that he might help her. He shifted his eyes to the ground to avoid her stare.

  The door closed, and Zacchaeus stood in the large quiet house alone. Outside he could hear the mob receding to the outside of town where he was certain Ezra would be stoned.

  She had it coming.

  We could have worked it out. Her words came back to him.

  NO. No, we couldn’t have worked it out.

  He walked back to the bedroom as if to remind himself of why she was being taken away.

  Our bed.

  He came back to the room to remind himself of what he had seen only a little while before. Instead, he was overtaken by the feelings he held for Ezra as he thought of all they had done together. The whole house belonged to both of them. He felt he had also betrayed her by not giving them a chance, by having the mob take her away.

  “EZRA!” he shouted, running out the door.

  His heart raced as he followed the direction he heard the crowd take her. Zacchaeus ran down the street and up the steep hill. He struggled to push his way through the mob surrounding her. Between the frantically moving people in the crowd he saw several large stones strike the arms she held in front of her, protecting her head from the oncoming stones.

  “STOP!” he shouted as he tried to push his way through the unyielding crowd. “STOP!”

  Ezra entered his field of vision again. Her arms had now dropped. He could see her struggling, trying to keep them up. Zacchaeus was knocked to the ground by the jostling of the onlookers. He struggled to stand again.

  “EZRA!” he shouted.

  Her arms slowly dropped as the last bit of willpower gave in to the unrelenting onslaught of stones. Her eyes made contact with his as a stone echoed a hollow thud from the side of her head, causing her to effortlessly slump to the ground. Zacchaeus pushed through the crowd fueled by a sudden burst of rage.

  “No!”

  He placed his body on top of hers, holding his hand to the crowd.

  “STOP!” he shouted.

  A stone that had been hurled before he was there struck the side of his head, causing a bloody spray.

  “Stop!”

  He refused to move, not caring if there would be more stones. The physical trauma of the stones failed to match the emotional onslaught he was enduring. He held her limp body close, protecting her from the stones he was sure were coming.

  The stone that caused the now dripping wound in the side of his head proved to be the last.

  He turned to stare at the crowd. Several of them still held stones poised to throw. An eternity passed by as he waited for the crowd to decide how this scene would end. He had made his move to protect her and could only wait for their response.

  A young, slender-looking man who earlier had shouted for her stoning in a rage of bloodlust made eye contact with Zacchaeus. The reality of the situation hit the young man as he saw the anguished look in his eyes. He dropped his stone and pushed his way out of the crowd. Slowly the rest of the mob followed suit and left.

  Zacchaeus pulled away from Ezra, looking into her face for any sign of life. Blood and dirt had matted her long black hair. A large spot of blood from where the final rock had struck her caked the side of her face, down her neck, and into her clothes.

  “It doesn’t feel good to be cheated? Does it?”

  Zacchaeus glanced up and squinted through the sun, trying to identify the only person other than himself who remained. The man stepped to the side to block the sun, allowing Zacchaeus to identify him.

  Zacchaeus was speechless at the bruised face he recognized as Jarod, the man from the week prior whom he had beaten for calling him a cheater when he had overcharged him. A look of satisfaction crossed the man’s deeply bruised face and red eye. He turned away, leaving Zacchaeus alone with her body.

  A wave of guilt passed over him as he looked into her face that no longer scowled back at him.

  “I’m sorry, Ezra,” he cried as he pulled her close to him.

  * * *

  A large crowd began to pour into Jericho. Children ran through the streets shouting, and adults pushed to move in closer to the center of the crowd. Zacchaeus tried to get a closer look as well at the man who was causing all the excitement, but due to the large crowd this proved impossible.

  He could not contain his excitement as he thought back to the way the woman had explained this man. “Jesus, he’s a Nazarene. He’s like no one I’ve ever seen before,” she revealed. Her eyes lit up as she thought back to the day she met him. “A large crowd was preparing to stone me for adultery. He saved me.” Her eyes glowed as she talked about Jesus.

>   Redemption from my sins, Zacchaeus thought to himself in amazement at the power this one man must have. It sounded so unbelievable, but in his heart, he wanted it so badly. He was to meet with him later today to discuss the circumstances of his redemption.

  I don’t think I’m going to be close enough to see him, and I know I won’t see over these people, thought Zacchaeus as the crowd began to work their way to the center of town, pushing Zacchaeus back. He looked around and spotted a tree in the direction the crowd seemed to be heading. The gamble paid off. The mass of people swarmed around the tree as it came by.

  Zacchaeus stared in amazement at the size of the crowd. He had lived in Jericho all his life and had never seen the city so full of people. He trembled at the thought that someone who caused so much interest would wish to see him. Zacchaeus spotted a man looking up in the tree and walking towards him. His gaze seemed to penetrate into his soul as if to say, “Time to rest from your guilt.”

  He wanted it so badly. To live free of the suffering, to sleep at night without waking, to once again understand joy.

  “Come down, Zacchaeus, I must stay in your house,” declared Jesus.

  Zacchaeus jumped the twelve feet to the ground in his excitement. The crowd looked on spitefully for many of them knew Zacchaeus for the sinner he had been and were unwilling to let him change. As they entered the house, Zacchaeus could not contain his excitement. He offered Jesus a seat at the large wooden table that held two lit candles near the center.

  “Margaret!” shouted Zacchaeus toward the rear of the house.

  A young servant woman appeared from a back room.

  “Margaret, bring us something to drink and prepare supper. We have a guest.”

  “What do you wish of me, Lord?” asked Zacchaeus, focusing his full attention back to Jesus.

  “Only that you take the steps required to redeem yourself. Entire lives have been wasted on guilt, souls that were destroyed focusing on one mistake. I came to free the penitent from that guilt, that they may know joy again, to once again give them passion for life. You are the one that has been chosen to be the foundation of the organization which will provide many sinners with this opportunity. You have a choice, Zacchaeus. Do you wish to redeem yourself by working for a cause much greater than yourself?”

  There was no question in his heart. The desire for redemption was with him all the time.

  “What must I do?” he responded.

  “Soon one of my disciples will deliver a cup to you. You will know it is my disciple when he says, ‘The master is gone. This cup was used the last time I ate with my lord. He wishes for you to have it.’ You will drink from that cup, and you will understand all the work you need to complete to begin your redemption.”

  Chapter 1

  Twelve-year-old Kirk Murphy stood in the back of the Catholic church in rural Lansing, Missouri.

  “Hello,” he whispered in a quivering voice.

  He looked down at his right hand, surprised to see a sword in it. He held the sword up in the dim light to admire it.

  Wow. It’s so shiny . . . and heavy.

  He swung it from left to right and pushed it forward as though he were running it point first into something. He had played with cardboard swords before, but this one was real. A little heavier than he imagined it would be, but he felt he could manage it.

  The church seemed so quiet with no one else inside. He looked at the front. The light coming through the stained glass windows softly illuminated the lower portion of the statues behind the altar. This gave Kirk a feeling comparable to someone who thought he may have just discovered a body part but wouldn’t know for certain until he moved in for a closer look.

  The pews slightly reflected the light off their varnished surface.

  Kirk tried listening for any sound. He had never been in a place this quiet. It gave his ears a strange sensation to strain for the slightest background noise when there was none to be heard.

  Be brave, he thought to himself, trying to stand taller.

  The back of the church was decorated with statues. In the dim light, they seemed haunting. His imagination was giving life to the statues. He would look intently at them, focusing until he was certain their eyes moved. A chill ran down his neck.

  In the back of the church he saw a statue of Michael the Archangel defeating the dragon. The statue stood about six feet tall, and the dragon was curled around the angel’s feet with Michael holding a spear above him ready to strike his head; the dragon poised as though he would strike the angel’s legs.

  As Kirk looked at the statue he remembered being taught in Sunday school that the dragon was symbolic of Satan defeated by Michael and the angels in a war fought in heaven. The dragon’s eyes moved. A chill passed through him. Kirk blinked and looked at the statue, waiting for the eyes to move again.

  Must be my imagination.

  The candles in the windows gave an eerie glow against the stained glass. Kirk moved behind the pews to the confessional, a small room about five feet by eight feet located in the back of the church.

  From the dim glow of a streetlight through the stained-glass window adjacent to the confessional, he could see the door was slightly cracked open. Kirk thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest as he reached for the doorknob. Much to his own surprise, no thought of walking out of the church or of not opening the door ever crossed his mind.

  He had no idea why he was here, but the thought reverberated in his mind. Open the door.

  He pulled the door open slowly. The hinges creaked, growing in amplitude as the door opened. Kirk looked inside trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness inside the small room.

  A noise like the low growl of a lion pierced the quiet of the church as two large glowing eyes opened before him. He screamed as he stumbled backwards, attempting to gain any distance between him and the door before falling to the floor.

  Debris filled the air as the small room exploded around him. Kirk looked up from the dust to see a dragon standing over him. The dragon was just as he had seen in many of the books he had read. The arms were scaly up to where his pointy, ivory-like claws protruded, gleaming.

  The dragon’s height was enormous. Its head was larger than the size of Kirk’s entire body, reaching almost all the way to the church ceiling twenty feet above them. His wings remained tucked against his body as the space in the church would not allow him to stretch them to their full mass. The dragon’s tail snaked back into what was left of the tiny room. He lowered his head until Kirk could feel his hot breath on his cheeks. The dragon opened his mouth to reveal large, sharp teeth.

  He’s so big. It was the only thought Kirk’s mind could ponder, as he stood dwarfed by the monster.

  The dragon took a deep breath in through two large nostrils and paused for what seemed like an eternity, and then he exhaled. The wind blew through Kirk’s hair, strong enough to make him take a step backward to maintain his balance.

  “Fear . . . I can smell it on you.” The dragon’s eyes glowed more intensely.

  “Wh-what do you want?” Kirk’s voice trembled.

  “To defeat you and take your soul, or should I say cause you to defeat yourself. As you grow older, you will find it harder to stay on the path of the righteous.” The dragon’s tone became sarcastic. “Clean your room, don’t fight with your sister, don’t cheat at school.”

  The dragon lowered his head to let Kirk look him in the eye and fear him. “DO YOU THINK IT’S ALWAYS GOING TO BE THAT EASY, THAT BLACK AND WHITE?” Kirk’s hair blew in the warm breeze of the dragon’s breath. “Ha! You may be able to fight temptation now, but as you grow older, I grow stronger and harder to defeat.”

  The dragon stood straight up, readying himself to strike, exposing his underside to Kirk.

  Kirk remembered a book he had read about an older knight teaching a squire to defeat a dragon.

&
nbsp; “Look for the weak spot underneath the dragon and strike it with your sword,” explained the brave knight who had fought many dragons in his time. “That is where the dragon’s weakness is.”

  A quick glance and Kirk spotted it, nearly seven feet from the ground.

  “Harder, but not impossible,” replied Kirk as he ran toward the dragon, jumping off a pew to gain the height and momentum he needed to bury his sword into the dragon’s soft underbelly. The dragon screamed as he fell back into the room, tearing the remaining portion of the wall to the ground.

  Kirk amazed himself. He was terrified and yet he stood his ground in the face of the beast.

  As brave as the knight in my book, he thought to himself.

  “I’ll see you again, Kirk,” moaned the dragon as he slumped to the ground.

  “Kirk! Wake up, Kirk. You’re going to be late.”

  Kirk raised his head from the pillow and looked at the clock.

  7:15. Wow. I was sleeping good. Mom usually turns the light on at 6:45.

  John, his brother, who had given him the wake-up call, was dressed and heading out of their bedroom for breakfast. Kirk immediately jumped from bed, feeling a rush from the courage he had shown in his dream. As he ran down the stairs, he was able to discern by the pleasant aroma that filled the house that they were having sausage and pancakes for breakfast.

  “Good morning, Kirk,” said his mom, smiling as she crossed from the table to the sink to begin the task of washing up after cooking the large breakfast.

  “Pass me the syrup.”

  “You need to say please,” sneered his sister Madeline as she stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Just pass me the syrup, or I’m going to pass you my whole plate in your lap—food and all.”

  “Kirk, just say please,” his mother asserted, shaking her head.

  “Please,” he grumbled.

  “Now say thank you,” stated Madeline with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Madeline, that’s enough.” Her mom’s smile never faded.