The midday sun hung high over Jerusalem as a small group of disciples carried a lifeless body outside the city. Their steps were slow and their hearts heavy with grief.

Stephen—their brother in the faith—was wrapped in burial cloth, his broken and mangled body bearing the cruel marks of his final moments.

Shiloh walked among them, his face lined with sorrow, his hands gripping the edge of the cloth-covered stretcher that bore Stephen’s remains. The other men carried their burden with reverence, their heads bowed as they wept for their fallen soldier in the Way.

A few days had passed since the dearly loved disciple had been callously murdered. The apostles, having grieved over his unfortunate demise, had directed a group of disciples to bury him. As devastated as the entire community of believers were, the current climate was too dangerous to allow many to witness his burial. This delegation would suffice.

As they reached the burial site, they found a vacant space, and the youngest among them began to dig a grave. Shiloh and the others stood by, wiping their eyes as they gazed at the wrapping before them.

A man that was full of the Spirit, one that had performed many wonders and signs, serving the people. Quenched in the prime of his life by men who despised their Lord.

Once the grave was ready, they gently lowered Stephen to the ground. For a long moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the rustling of the wind through the olive trees.

Then, one of the disciples broke the silence, his voice thick with emotion. “Oh, Stephen… brother, how quickly they silenced you.”

Another, his hands clenched at his sides, muttered, “They could not stand against the wisdom of the Spirit within you. So they took your life instead.”

Shiloh inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his sorrow. Finally, he spoke.

“They took his life, but they did not take him.” 

The others turned toward him, listening.

Shiloh looked down at the grave in which Stephen’s body lay. “He is not here. He is with the Lord.”

A murmur of agreement passed through them.

“Witnesses said he saw the heavens open,” another disciple whispered. “He saw Jesus standing at the right hand of God.”

Tears welled in Shiloh’s eyes as he nodded. “Yes. And now, he stands with Him.” His voice thickened. “Our brother has finished his race.”

A heavy sigh rippled through the group.

One by one, the men knelt, lifting their voices in prayerful lament, mourning not as those without hope, but as those who knew their fallen brother had gained something far greater.

Shiloh’s lips trembled as he whispered, “Rest now, Stephen. You are home.”

The wind carried their prayers heavenward as they began to bury him, dust covering dust, sorrow mingling with hope.

Stephen was gone. His flame blown out by wicked men.

But his eternal flame burned brighter than ever, as he was now in the presence of the One who died to save him.

***

The scent of freshly baked bread filled the market square as Gedaliah handed a few coins to the vendor, accepting the warm loaf wrapped in cloth. The square was its normal self, with merchants calling out their wares, women haggling over prices and children weaving through the crowd.

A normal scene in everyday Jerusalem.

But… there was now this… discomfiting feeling in the atmosphere. One that had settled over the city since Stephen’s untimely demise.

As Gedaliah tucked the bread into his bag, he noticed a familiar figure approaching—Gideon.

And from the moment he saw him, he could see that something was off.

Gideon’s usual bright expression was dimmed, his steps were slower than usual, and his shoulders were tense. When he reached Gedaliah, his greeting lacked its usual warmth and excitement.

“Gedaliah,” he said with a small nod.

Gedaliah frowned. “Gideon… what is wrong, brother?”

Gideon forced a weak smile and gestured to a nearby stall. “Let me buy some bread first.”

Gedaliah nodded, waiting patiently while Gideon quietly paid for his loaf. As they stepped away from the noise of the market, Gedaliah turned to him.

“Now tell me,” he pressed, “what is troubling you?”

Gideon exhaled, gripping the bread in his hands. “It’s the city,” he murmured. “Something has changed since Stephen’s death.”

Gedaliah felt a chill run through him. Clearly, he was not the only one who felt it. “I see. I have felt it myself.”

Gideon nodded, his gaze flickering around, as if he was wary of who might be listening. Then he lowered his voice.

“It is as though a spirit of hostility has settled over Jerusalem. There is rage in the streets against us. And leading it all—” he hesitated, “—is Saul of Tarsus.”

Gedaliah stiffened at the name. This zealot and Pharisee who was present at the stoning of Stephen was moving with a fierce hatred for the followers of the Way. 

Gideon continued, his voice tight. “He is moving aggressively, going from house to house, dragging our brethren away. Men and women. They are taken to the council, thrown into prison—some are even beaten.”

Gedaliah clenched his jaw. “For speaking the truth. Shocking, is it not?” 

Gideon gave a bitter chuckle. “They do not want the truth, Gedaliah. They want to silence it. They thought killing Stephen would end it, but it is clear it will not. So now they are hunting all of us.”

Gedaliah’s grip on his bag tightened. He had feared there would be consequences after Stephen’s death—but this? This was worse than he imagined. 

Gideon placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Brother, listen to me. Jerusalem is no longer safe for us. If you can, consider leaving. Things are only going to get worse. We are in dangerous times.”

Gedaliah swallowed hard, his mind racing.

Leave Jerusalem? His home?

The thought unsettled him. And yet…

He could not ignore the warning in Gideon’s eyes.

Indeed, these were dangerous times. And sticking around and praying for the best felt a lot more risky.

***

It was evening, and the small home was dimly lit, the scent of warm broth lingering in the air as Moriss and Amariah helped a young widow fold her washed garments.

She had lost her husband months ago, leaving her to care alone for two small children. Like many others, she had been receiving help from the brethren—those who had shared all things in common, ensuring no one among them lacked.

This evening, it was the turn of Moriss and Amariah to assist her. They had been doing this for a couple of months now, and she was always delighted to have them around to help her.

“Here, sister,” Amariah said gently, setting aside the last of the folded tunics. “That should lighten your burden for today.”

The widow smiled wearily. “Thank you, sister Amariah. Truly I am grateful. I genuinely do not know what I would have done without the love of the brethren.”

Moriss nodded. “The Lord provides for His own. You are not alone.” 

The widow nodded. “I believe that is the last of the chores–“

A loud crash silenced her instantly, as the door slammed open, and armed men stormed inside.

The women screamed as Saul of Tarsus strode in, his sharp eyes scanning the room with burning intensity. Behind him, temple guards filled the doorway, their hands gripping their weapons, their faces stone-cold.

Moriss barely had time to react before one of the soldiers seized him by the arm.

“You two!” Saul’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Followers of the Nazarene.” 

Amariah gasped as another guard grabbed her roughly, yanking her forward.

The widow fell to her knees, terrified to the bone. “No, please—” 

Saul barely spared her a glance. His gaze remained fixed on Moriss and Amariah, his lips curling in contempt. “These people are poison, spreading their lies in the name of that wretched blasphemer. And you—” he pointed at them sharply “—are among them.” 

Amariah struggled, her voice firm despite her fear. “We have done nothing wrong!”

Saul’s eyes darkened. “Fools! You know what your crime is, and it is simple—you call that deceiver the Messiah.” He turned to the guards. “Take them away!” 

The soldiers obeyed instantly.

Moriss gritted his teeth as he was dragged toward the door, his sandals scraping against the floor. Amariah gasped as the guard yanked her forward, her arms bound tightly.

The widow sobbed, reaching out helplessly. “Please, do not take them away! They are my helpers; I do not have anyone else to assist me. Please, do not do this!”

Saul didn’t even cast so much as a gaze in her direction. “Stay out of this, woman. Or you will be next.”

Moriss glanced back at the widow and shook his head, silently urging her not to speak again.

As they were hauled out into the street, people stopped and stared as the soldiers paraded them through the city, their grips rough and unrelenting. 

Saul walked ahead of them with righteous fury, his voice loud, piercing and brash.

“These are the ones who defile the Law of Moses! They follow the false prophet from Nazareth!”

Some onlookers jeered, while others remained silent, their faces unreadable. 

Moriss clenched his jaw. So this is what it has come to. Lord, may Your will be done. 

Amariah swallowed hard but lifted her chin. If Stephen endured to the end, so will we.

The spirit of hostility had caught up with them, and now they were in the hands of their enemies.

How troubling this information would be to the rest of the family…

Yep, the persecution of the church is underway. What will Gedaliah and his family do now?