The morning sun poured into the temple courtyard, illuminating the gathered followers of the Way as they brought their gifts to the apostles. The custom of selling one’s goods and bringing the proceeds to them had caught on among the brethren, as everyone sought to move with the belief that they all things in common, and to ensure that there was nobody among them who lacked anything.

It was a beautiful sight—men and women, rich and poor alike, willingly laying down their offerings at the feet of the Lord’s servants. Nobody demanded that these acts of generosity be done; it was simply the love of God at work.

At the back of the temple, Berechiah sat cross-legged with a few other young men, carefully counting the coins and small bundles of goods brought by their brothers and sisters in the faith. Beside him, Micah, one of the fellow helpers, smiled as he added up the amounts. 

“It never ceases to amaze me, brothers,” he commented, shaking his head. “See how willingly they give! People are selling their fields, their homes—just so that no one among us will lack.” 

Berechiah nodded, his fingers sorting through a small pouch of silver. “It is the love of Jesus at work. He has changed everything. People no longer look at material gains as ultimate necessities, but as tools to help others. It is beautiful.”

Jubal, another of their group, let out a low whistle. “Indeed. Can you imagine a Pharisee doing this? They always boast in their wealth, in their fine robes, and yet here are fishermen and tentmakers, freely giving all they have.”

They chuckled in agreement, the joy of the moment filling their hearts.

“Is that the proceeds from Barnabas you have before you, Berechiah?” Micah asked, pointing to one pouch next to him.

Berechiah glanced at it briefly and nodded. “Yes, yes, that is what Barnabas brought.”

“Excellent. That is one hefty pouch right there.”

Berechiah nodded. “Oh yes, it is. I heard it is the proceeds from a parcel of land that he sold.”

Jubal nodded in admiration. “Would you look at that? Selling a whole land to ensure your brothers and sisters are well to do–“

A sharp voice cut through their conversation, sharp and unmistakable. 

“Ananias, why would you do this? Why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and keep back part of the money for yourself?” 

The young men froze. Berechiah turned his head sharply toward the sound. The voice belonged to Peter.

Micah furrowed his brow. “What is happening?” 

Berechiah, confusion evident on his face, shrugged before beckoning to the others to check it out. He quickly rose to his feet, the others following him, as they moved toward the scene. 

From a distance, they could see a fellow believer they recognized as Ananias, standing before Peter. His posture was stiff, and his face drawn. The apostle’s gaze was unwavering, his voice filled with divine authority.

“Wasn’t the land yours before it was sold? And after it was sold, wasn’t the money still at your disposal? Why have you contrived this deed in your heart?”

Berechiah and his friends glanced at one another, Peter’s words explaining all they needed to know.

“Wait, so… Ananias lied?” Jubal wondered as the man fumbled with his words before the apostle. “He pretended to give everything… but held some back?”

Berechiah nodded. “It appears so. But… but why would he do that? Surely he could have admitted to giving part of the money. The apostles would not have reprimanded him.”

Peter’s next words sent a chill through the young men’s bones.

“Ananias! You have not lied to men, but to God.”

For a moment, silence filled the temple. Not a word was spoken.

Then… Ananias suddenly swayed. His eyes rolled back.

And in an instant, he collapsed.

A gasp rippled through the gathered believers. Some stumbled back. Others covered their mouths in horror.

Berechiah’s blood ran cold. His limbs felt frozen as he stared at the lifeless form of Ananias, his body sprawled on the ground before Peter.

Dead.

“Oh my goodness!” Micah gasped, covering his mouth.

Peter looked up, surveyed the young men at the back, and beckoned to them. “Carry him out and bury him.”

Berechiah swallowed hard. He exchanged a glance with Micah, Jubal, and the others. Their hands were trembling with shock, but they moved forward, their legs heavy as if wading through deep waters.

As they lifted Ananias’ body, his skin already turning cold, Berechiah’s heart pounded in his chest. He had seen miracles—healings, wonders—but never had he seen such swift and terrible judgment. He had only heard of certain examples in the Torah.

But this… this was real. And it was not a cute matter.

God was among them. And He was holy.

And demanded holiness.

***

The midday sun had begun its descent when Berechiah and the others finally returned from the burial site outside the city. Their hands were caked with dirt, their tunics dusted from hours of digging.

The weight of what had happened still hung over them. None of them had spoken much as they laid Ananias in the ground. It was not grief that held their tongues, but a deep, lingering fear.

They had known that God was mighty. They had seen the sick healed, the lame walk, demons cast out—but never had they witnessed judgment with their own eyes like this.

As they settled back into the temple courtyard, shaking the dust from their hands, Micah, who stood near the entrance, suddenly stiffened. His breath caught in his throat, and he turned sharply to the others.

“She’s here,” he whispered.

Berechiah’s stomach dropped. “Sapphira?”

Samuel nodded, eyes wide.

The young men exchanged glances, hearts pounding.

Sapphira was the wife of Ananias. And from all indications, it appeared she had no idea what had happened to her husband.

They shifted closer to the gathering, peering from the side as Sapphira approached Peter. She moved with a mixture and confidence, unaware that she was stepping into the same place her husband had stood and died hours earlier.

As she drew closer to them, Peter looked at her with the same unwavering gaze he had given Ananias.

She bowed respectfully. “Please, I have come to seek my husband. He told me he was coming to give you the full proceeds from the sale of our possessions, and he has not returned home since.”

Peter stared at her. “Tell me,” he started, his voice calm but firm, “the price Ananias brought to us, is that the price you two received for the land?” 

Berechiah barely breathed. Micah whispered, “Please speak the truth. Please speak the truth.” 

Sapphira lifted her chin. “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “That is the price.”

The young men stiffened. 

Berechiah swallowed hard, shaking his head.

“No… she’s lying too,” Jubal whimpered, sounding as though her fate was sealed.

Peter exhaled, his expression sorrowful. “Sapphira, how is it that you have agreed together to test the Spirit of the Lord?” His voice dropped, heavy with the weight of divine judgment. “Look—the feet of those who buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out also.”

A stunned hush fell over the entire room.

Then… Sapphira gasped.

Her body wavered. 

And just like her husband, she collapsed.

A collective shudder ran through the crowd once again. Gasps, murmurs—some stepped back in fear.

Berechiah and his friends stood frozen. For a moment, no one moved.

Peter slowly turned his gaze toward the young men.

They knew what to do.

Their legs felt every bit as heavy as the first time, but they stepped forward regardless, not wanting to disobey the apostle. They knelt down, hands once again trembling, as they lifted Sapphira’s lifeless form.

They carried her out in silence, retracing the same path they had walked earlier.

The same grave that had received her husband was now to receive her.

*

By the time they returned, the temple courtyard was still buzzing. People were whispering among themselves, their faces pale with a mixture of awe and fear.

Berechiah and the others returned to their small station silently. For a long moment, no one spoke. The weight of what they had seen and experienced had settled deep in their bones.

It was Jubal who finally broke the silence after a long while. “Hmm. Brothers… never… never have I seen such a thing.”

Micah let out a slow breath. “The Lord does *not* take deception lightly.”

One other lad, Festus, who had just arrived and heard what had happened, shook his head in disbelief. “They thought they could lie to God?” He exhaled. “They saw His works, they knew His power—yet they still chose deceit?”

Berechiah ran a hand over his face. “It is terrifying.” He looked at the others, his voice quieter. “We must never take this lightly. The Lord is holy.”

Micah, his expression still dazed, murmured, “God walks among us.”

They all nodded.

Fear had gripped the entire community—not a fear of men, but of the Almighty Himself.

This day had certainly taught them a lesson that none of them would ever forget: God is not to be mocked.

***

“So, Ananias brought money before the apostles, claiming it was the full price of a field he sold. But Peter knew the truth—God revealed it to him. He asked Ananias why he had lied, and before he could even answer… he fell dead. Right there, before all of us.” 

A heavy silence filled the room.

When Berechiah returned home that evening, the entire family was seated, quietly discussing the events of the day. The pale look on the seventeen year-old’s face as he entered the house immediately attracted their attention, and he wasted no time telling them all he had witnessed that day.

He shook his head as he continued. “We carried his body out and buried him. And then, three hours later, Sapphira came, and she had no idea what had happened to her husband. Peter gave her a chance. He asked if the price was correct. And she—” He swallowed hard. “She upheld the lie.” 

Mathea closed her eyes, whispering, “Oh, mercy.”

Berechiah exhaled. “Peter told her that the men who buried her husband were at the door. And at that very moment, she too collapsed.”

Shiloh sat back, his face dark with contemplation. “And you buried her as well?” 

Berechiah nodded. “In the same grave.” 

A deep, sobering quiet filled the room. Each of them was processing what had just been spoken. 

Finally, Shiloh spoke, his voice low but firm as he looked around at each of them. “This is the same God who struck Nadab and Abihu dead for offering strange fire before Him. The same God who opened the earth to swallow Korah and his followers when they rebelled against Moses. The same God who struck Uzzah when he touched the Ark of the Covenant.” 

Mathea whispered, “God is holy.” 

“Yes,” Shiloh confirmed, nodding solemnly. “And He does not change.” His eyes moved between his sons. “We have seen His love, His power, His mercy—but let us never forget His holiness. We must be careful how we walk before Him.” 

Gedaliah, who had been silent, finally spoke. “This will cause the fear of the Lord to spread among the brethren.”

Berechiah nodded. “Everyone—and I mean, everyone—is speaking of it. The chatter around the temple was intense, even when I left. None will dare take the Lord lightly now.”

Shiloh folded his hands together. “As it should be.” He exhaled. “Let us remember this, and walk in honesty before the Lord, in reverence and truth.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the family.

Tonight, there was no laughter, no lighthearted conversation. There was only reflection on this new reminder.

The God they served was not to be mocked.

That was a pretty sobering event for the early church, wasn’t it? A brutal reminder that God is not to be messed with…