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NOTES:

CHRISTIAN SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"Philemon's Dilemma"

by Isabel Baird - Chania, Crete, Greece

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Isabel Baird: “I was born in Glasgow but brought up in Bromley, Kent. I trained as a teacher and taught in primary and secondary schools. I was a missionary with Youth With A Mission (YWAM) for five years in various parts of the world – from a garbage dump in Manila to training English As a Foreign Language (EFL) teachers in Hawaii. My first degree is from the University of Glasgow, and in my mid-forties I returned to academic study and gained an MA and PhD in Applied Linguistics. I have been in Greece for about 9 years teaching EFL and working as an oral examiner. My interest in writing has always been present, but it never seemed to be the right time to put pen to paper. Now I believe the right time has come, and my desire is to write stories worthy of publication.”
 

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

NB: There seemed to be a lot of discrepancy in the judging of this one!

1. A bit too much historical research and a bit too little fiction. Style not especially inspired; misuse of "disinterested". This one didn't grab me much.

2. Excellent Christian content, motivating me to go and read those (Bible) books again. Colourful, well written, good visual impression. I liked the slipped-in references, too, that only someone Bible-smart might pick up on, such as Laodicea's lukewarm water being spat out (i.e. we know this is God speaking to Philemon, though he doesn't!), and others. Cleverly written; liked the direct reference between first and last sentences too. Well drawn conflict, top-drawer lesson delivered, and the story gives a whole new insight into what might have occurred (making this good fiction), the things that were stirred up by Paul's declarations. Intelligently written, and above all, a pleasure to read.
 

THE STORY:

“Impossible! Plain impossible!”

Apphia lingered in the colonnade outside Philemon’s study and couldn’t decide whether the barely audible words were uttered in anger or despair. Five minutes earlier she had seen her husband’s early morning visitor leave hurriedly.

“You’ve gone too far this time Paul!” A loud bang and scraping noise followed. Now she knew he was angry, very angry. Her body tensed.

Suddenly the door flung open and Philemon swept past her, his dark red woollen cloak flapping in the rush. Without a word he strode towards the entrance gate, reaching it just as the gatekeeper scrambled to open it.

 “Lunch … Will you be home for …?” Her husband’s bald head disappeared through the gate before she could finish.

What had happened? This was the behaviour of the man she had reluctantly married, not the husband he had become since meeting the Apostle Paul. As she had done so many times before, she slowly walked down the colonnade past the small fountain towards her room.

“Silvius!” she called. A fair-haired youth appeared from the shadows and bowed. “Your master will be late for lunch. Ask Archippus to join me at the usual time.” The youth bowed and withdrew to the shadows. Apphia entered her room and softly closed the door behind her.

Once out in the street, Philemon headed north towards the River Lycus. The river was his refuge, the place where he could think and pray without interruption.

Usually he walked up Main Street and crossed the Forum, greeting fellow merchants and negotiating with traders who had come from all parts of the Roman Empire to buy the dark red wool which gave Colossae its name. Today, however, he was in no mood for business and slipped into a normally deserted parallel alley.

 “Philemon!  I say, Philemon!” someone called from behind. He immediately recognised Marcius’ voice. Reluctantly, he stopped and turned.

 “I hear Tychicus is in town,” Marcius puffed. “Shall I prepare anything special for tomorrow?”

“No. Everything’s taken care of,” Philemon replied tersely.

“Oh, good. Mm … by the way, I’ve just been speaking to Ephraim from the Synagogue and he says we should … “

“Not now, Marcius,” Philemon interrupted sharply. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“Right,” Marcius replied, rather taken aback by Philemon’s tone. “Right, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yes. Good-bye,” Philemon said firmly and continued striding up the alley.

“’Bye, Philemon.” Marcius looked at Philemon’s receding back and wondered what had upset him, because surely something had. He hadn’t seen Philemon so agitated for a long time.

When Philemon reached West Way he hurried across and sneaked into another narrow alley. He paused momentarily. Satisfied that no one was following him, he continued on his way to the river.

Half way up the alley an old woman slowly came towards him. It was Eurydice. There was nowhere for him to hide.

“Oh, Philemon, fancy seeing you here. This is most fortuitous. Come, I want to show you my leaking roof. It really does need fixing. Could you send someone to …?  ”

“Yes, yes, Eurydice … I’m afraid I can’t come now;” he muttered, all the while carefully manoeuvring his portly frame around her. “I’m in a hurry. Perhaps we can talk about your roof tomorrow … must dash. Sorry. See you tomorrow. ‘Bye.”

“But Philemon we’ve already talked about it! Winter is coming, so ….” She stared after him, wondering why he was behaving so strangely.

    Philemon felt guilty. The welfare of the widows in his community was his responsibility, but a leaking roof was not a priority at that moment.

    As he neared the end of the alley, a draught of cold air hit him and he drew his cloak closer about him. Late October was unpredictable: one minute you could feel the warmth of fading summer, the next the frosty breath of winter.

    At the end of the alley Philemon followed a track across a field. He ducked under the bough of a tree, walked up a slight incline and looked at the gently flowing river. His spirits lifted. The fertile plain stretched before him and in the distance the hills were silhouetted against a mottled-grey sky. He never tired of this view.

His destination was a large rock embedded in the bank. As he picked his way towards it, to his dismay he realised he was not alone. Sitting on the rock was a lightly dressed old man. Philemon wanted to shout, to swear, to … he didn’t know what; everything seemed to be conspiring against him. The stranger turned and smiled.

“Ah, welcome … beautiful spot … so quiet.”

“Yes,” Philemon managed to say through gritted teeth.

The old man bent down and cupped some water in his hand and drank.

    “Oh, that feels better. You know, you’re very blessed to have this cool, refreshing water. I’ve just come from Laodicea and the water there is awful … lukewarm  … piped from Denizli 5 miles away. To be honest, I’ve often had to spit it out, it’s so disgusting.” Droplets of water fell from the old man’s beard. “Come down and join me. There’s plenty of room.”

    Exasperated and feeling totally out of control, Philemon eased his way warily towards the rock and perched on the edge. The two men stared into the distance and remained silent for a few minutes.

The old man rummaged in his bag and brought out a bottle. “See this?” he said holding it up. “Laodicean eye salve … good stuff … want to try it?”

    Disinterestedly Philemon glanced at it and grunted: “No … no thank you.” Inconsequential chatter was the last thing he needed. He felt utterly miserable.

The old man picked up a forked stick, examined it and then laid it on the rock between them. After a few moments he said: “Something seems to be troubling you, my friend.”

Philemon’s first reaction was to make it clear in no uncertain terms that he was not ‘his

friend’, but something from deep within stopped him. His grandfather came into his mind. Often the two of them would spend time together at that very spot.

    “Maybe there is,” Philemon replied sullenly. He looked at the river and wished he were as free; no concerns, no demands, no responsibilities.  He glanced at the old man and envied his apparent sense of peace. He tugged his cloak tighter about him.

After several more minutes silence Philemon said haltingly: “I received two letters this morning from a man I respect and trust. One is addressed to the small community I belong to and the other to me personally.”

He paused and turned to look at the old man again. “I owe him everything … his teaching changed my life.” He turned away and stared at the ground. “But now he’s asking me to do something that is so alien to my way of thinking that … well … I don’t know if I can.”

The old man picked up the stick and drew on the ground. “Carry on, I’m listening.”

Somewhat disconcerted Philemon continued: “Well … well if I don’t … well … I feel as though I’ve betrayed his trust in me. And ... and that’s not all, you see … my decision is going to affect a number of people.” Philemon put his head in his hands. “So many people are dependent on me … so many.”

    The old man threw the stick towards the river and said: “Relationships are always hard.” The stick plopped into the water and started bobbing up and down. “I suppose what you have to consider is whether or not his request is reasonable … consistent with his teaching.”

    Philemon watched the stick being carried effortlessly by the current. Reasonable? Consistent? Was it? Was this what it means to be a Christian?

    “You know, usually the solution to our problems is simple, if we’re willing to accept it,” the old man continued. “I bet if you look around here at the trees or the river you’ll find the answer you’re looking for.”  

    For the first time that morning Philemon wanted to laugh. “Silly old fool,” he thought. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

    A veil of sunlight broke through the clouds and caressed the river. Philemon watched the stick float in the shimmering water. He loosened his cloak as a warm breeze brushed against him. To his relief the old man appeared to be dozing.

    He gazed back at the river and absent-mindedly looked for the stick. It had disappeared. He scoured the surface. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. “Now I’m concerned about a missing stick!”  

Finally he spotted it in the shade ensnared by weeds. It was so entangled that the river flow couldn’t dislodge it. A bird flew overhead and dived into the river. It flapped its wings so forcefully that the disturbance created small waves which rolled into the weeds. The sudden motion freed the stick and once more it floated unhindered.

    Philemon jumped up. “That’s it! That’s it!” he cried. The sudden movement and shout startled the old man. “That’s it!” he repeated, while punching the air with his hands and laughing. The old man chuckled.

    Philemon took off his cloak and laid it on the rock. He went to the river’s edge, cupped some water in his hands and drank thirstily. He returned to the rock and, looking at the old man, added rather sombrely: “But I don’t know how the others will react.”

    The old man looked straight into Philemon’s eyes and said gently: “I said the solution was simple; I didn’t say its execution was.”

    Philemon’s apprehension didn’t last long. His spirit was bubbling and the renewed joy he felt was evident by the large grin on his face. Somewhere at the back of his mind he remembered hearing his wife say something about lunch. He had to get home. There was so much to do before tomorrow.

He picked up his cloak and gave it to the old man. “Here, take this. You’ll need it more than me … nights can be cold.”

The old man stood up and took it: “Thank you … thank you.”

“No,” Philemon insisted, “I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

They took their leave and Philemon made his way to the top of the incline as quickly as possible, the lightness in his spirit and the thought of lunch driving him home.

Sunday for Philemon was the most important day of the week. It was the time when the small band of believers would gather in his house to celebrate the bread and wine and share an agape meal. Before dawn Apphia and Archippus would oversee the arrangements for the day, while he was in his study preparing himself for the service.

On this particular Sunday he stayed slightly longer in his study than usual. The events of the previous day had had a profound affect on him and he felt both excited and apprehensive about telling the others. His prayers were ardent and direct. Not only did he ask for the words to express himself clearly, but also for the hearts of his listeners to be open to receive them.

A knock at the door told him Tychicus, Paul’s messenger, had arrived. The two men greeted each other and, after a brief exchange, went to join the expectant buzz emanating from the meeting room.

After welcoming everyone Philemon introduced Tychicus. When he announced that Paul had sent them a letter, the candlelit faces staring at him glowed with excitement, and parents gathered their children to them. Philemon trembled slightly. He glanced out of the window at the breaking dawn and trusted that his prayers would be answered. He began to read.

As he read, he could sense the community’s self-assurance slowly diminish. At first they received Paul’s words enthusiastically. They applauded when he commended their love for all believers and mentioned Epaphras, and cried out “Allelujah!” and “Praise the Lord” when he described Jesus Christ, but when he referred to his own sufferings and outlined the code of behaviour they should adopt, they grew quiet until by the end they sat in total silence.

Philemon sympathised with the stunned look on their faces. He knew how bemused they felt at Paul’s warning about clinging to irrelevant traditions and uncritically accepting new teachings; how astonished they were that the instructions about household relationships were not restricted to wives, children and slaves but included men also; and how bewildered they were by his claim of brotherly affection for Onesimus, the thieving runaway slave.

Their world was being turned upside down.

Philemon waited for a few moments and then said gently: “Well, I’m sure you’ll all agree. Paul has given us plenty to think about.” Blank faces stared at him and fidgeting children were poked.

“You know,” he continued, “there was one phrase that kept going round and round in my head: ‘Christ is all and is in all.’ What does Paul mean? What does it mean for us?”

He let his questions hang in the air while he looked through the window at the lightening sky. After what seemed ages, he spoke.

“This is how I see it. We’ve all been derided by our Jewish friends. They have called our faith in the Lord Jesus simplistic and deluded. Unthinkingly, in our insecurity, we have been tempted to observe their traditions, rituals and rites. But if we follow that route we’ll become entangled in the dos and don’ts of a stagnant institution. And that’s not all. We’ve also been lured by the eloquence of visiting preachers into accepting their interpretation of the gospel message. Paul is asking us to think what faith in Jesus Christ means.”

Philemon paused and scanned the room. He saw everyone was listening to him. Emboldened he continued.

“Hold on to Christ, that’s what Paul is asking us to do. Why? Because He is supreme. If we don’t heed Paul’s words, then we’ll be enmeshed in a web of deceit, and the freedom we should have in Christ will just flow past us.”

Words flowed powerfully from his lips.

    “Do you remember the story one of our visitors told us about the disciples in the storm and Peter walking on the water?” Some heads nodded. 

“Surely we are like those disciples. We are buffeted by wave upon wave of different traditions and philosophies that seek to overwhelm us. Yes, our way of thinking is being challenged, but if we keep our eyes firmly fixed on our Lord Jesus and not on the storm around us, then perhaps we will be able to walk on the uncharted sea of faith and do things we never dreamt possible.”

Shafts of early morning sunlight shone on the heads of the congregation. They sat motionless, transfixed by the change in Philemon. Never before had they seen him so animated or heard him speak with such authority and conviction. Even the children refrained from fidgeting, as though they too sensed that some transformation was taking place.

“I know what I’m talking about,” he announced.

He told them of Paul’s letter to him appealing on Onesimus’ behalf, his outrage at the request, his test of faith and the revelation he had that if Onesimus was now a Christian, then Christ was in them both equally and they were equal before Christ.

His eyes filled with tears when he said: “I have been forgiven so much, so how could I not forgive Onesimus.” Some of the eyes looking at him also filled with tears.

Philemon stepped forward and opened his arms wide as though embracing everyone in the room. “We are all brothers and sisters in Christ. Let us seek forgiveness if we need to and let us extend it freely.”

The whole room was bathed in the bright morning sunlight. As they allowed his words to seep into their minds and touch their hearts, their bewildered expressions lightened.

Philemon walked over to his household, and then to Marcius and Eurydice. Marcius followed suit and approached his household, while Eurydice talked to her neighbours. Soon the whole community was either talking or laughing or crying. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

Archippus started singing and one by one everyone joined in until the entire congregation rejoiced in a crescendo of praise.

 “Is our faith simplistic or deluded?” Philemon asked them.

“No, it isn’t!” everyone shouted back.

“No,” Philemon repeated in a loud steady voice, “it’s rock solid.”

In the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, Philemon and Apphia strolled arm in arm along the colonnade and sat down together opposite the fountain.

“It’s been some weekend,” Philemon said.

“Yes, it has, a life-changing two days, I think.”

“Mind changing is more like it.” Philemon looked at the fountain and then started chuckling.

“Did you see the look on Eurydice’s face when I announced that half the collection money was going towards repairing her roof? There was a definite twinkle in her eye.”

Apphia laughed. Then she said: “You know, I really appreciated Paul’s words of encouragement to Archippus.”

“Yes, and weren’t everyone’s prayers for his missionary work really powerful?”

They both stared at the water cascading down the sides of the fountain. A ray of sunlight pierced the water creating a rainbow.

 “God’s promises, they’re real,” Philemon remarked and then added: “There’s one of our Lord’s sayings that really sticks in my mind which I now know, without a shadow of a doubt, to be true.”

He turned to face Apphia, took her hand and then said slowly and deliberately: ‘All things are possible to those who believe.’”
 

Copyright (c) 2009 by Isabel Baird - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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