They moved on into the main city and Nicholas took in the sights. Stone streets crisscrossed neighborhoods of walled compounds. The houses showed little to the outside world since all the rooms faced inward toward an atrium—a central courtyard, open to the sky. From the street, all that showed was a front door, and a small window or two, placed high to keep out intruders. Creeping vines draped the walls with bright flowers below, giving a garden feel to the neighborhoods.
White-columned temples poked their colorful crowns above the surrounding homes, and he could catch a peek of vineyards beyond. Tall oak and laurel trees spread shade throughout. A huge bathhouse and gymnasium dominated Myra's forum. Its merchant stalls held many more colors and textures than Patara. To the northeast lay a large outdoor amphitheater that Nicholas figured could seat the whole city of Patara. Beyond it, to the north towered the green slopes of Mount Taurus. A squarish honeycomb of rock-cut tombs stood out on one cliff face, painted brightly in the red, blue and yellow of Lycaonian tradition. On a lower ridgeline, a massive garden temple to Artemis looked down upon the city.
“It’s a beautiful city,” said young Nicholas.
“Don’t let it deceive you,” said old Nicholas. “It is but the smile of a theater mask. Beneath the surface lies darkness and despair. So many people here have yet to know the hope of Christus.”
“Yes uncle,” said young Nicholas, not completely understanding. He felt that if someone heard of Christus yet didn’t show interest, then maybe he was content in his ways.
They passed into a neighborhood where the homes pressed more tightly together so that it was hard to tell where one house began and the other ended. His uncle stopped at the door of one house and knocked. A woman answered and happily wrapped her arms around old Nicholas. Though she too had the wrinkles of age, she had the pink cheeks and beautiful smile of a young girl. Young Nicholas recognized her as his Aunt Berenice. She turned to him still smiling and said, “Welcome to your new home young Nicholas. Or perhaps, not so young.” She chuckled and said to the older Nicholas, “I hardly recognize the boy who last visited us. Now what shall we do with two Nicholases?” She paused and looked at young Nicholas. “You shall be Nicholas,” and turning to his uncle, she said, “And you have always been ‘my dear.’” The couple laughed a led young Nicholas inside.
He found the house small and quiet. The older cousins that he met on his last visit had grown up and moved away. The floor was flat, gray stone, lacking the colorful mosaic pictures of home. A few potted flowers by the atrium pool gave the place a bit of color. Two bedrooms, a dining room and kitchen surrounded the atrium. The house lacked the colorful wall paintings that decorated his parents’ estate. Only the dining area bore a single picture on a wall: An anchor and two fish. Nicholas remarked, “I remember this. You like fishing?”
“Fishing for men,” said his uncle. Nicholas recognized that as the call of Christus to his first followers. His uncle pointed to the anchor and added, “En kurios,” saying the Greek for “in the Lord.”
Young Nicholas completed the familiar Christianus pun, saying “Ankura,” the Greek for anchor.
“Yes,” said old Nicholas. “The anchor of our soul.”
White-columned temples poked their colorful crowns above the surrounding homes, and he could catch a peek of vineyards beyond. Tall oak and laurel trees spread shade throughout. A huge bathhouse and gymnasium dominated Myra's forum. Its merchant stalls held many more colors and textures than Patara. To the northeast lay a large outdoor amphitheater that Nicholas figured could seat the whole city of Patara. Beyond it, to the north towered the green slopes of Mount Taurus. A squarish honeycomb of rock-cut tombs stood out on one cliff face, painted brightly in the red, blue and yellow of Lycaonian tradition. On a lower ridgeline, a massive garden temple to Artemis looked down upon the city.
“It’s a beautiful city,” said young Nicholas.
“Don’t let it deceive you,” said old Nicholas. “It is but the smile of a theater mask. Beneath the surface lies darkness and despair. So many people here have yet to know the hope of Christus.”
“Yes uncle,” said young Nicholas, not completely understanding. He felt that if someone heard of Christus yet didn’t show interest, then maybe he was content in his ways.
They passed into a neighborhood where the homes pressed more tightly together so that it was hard to tell where one house began and the other ended. His uncle stopped at the door of one house and knocked. A woman answered and happily wrapped her arms around old Nicholas. Though she too had the wrinkles of age, she had the pink cheeks and beautiful smile of a young girl. Young Nicholas recognized her as his Aunt Berenice. She turned to him still smiling and said, “Welcome to your new home young Nicholas. Or perhaps, not so young.” She chuckled and said to the older Nicholas, “I hardly recognize the boy who last visited us. Now what shall we do with two Nicholases?” She paused and looked at young Nicholas. “You shall be Nicholas,” and turning to his uncle, she said, “And you have always been ‘my dear.’” The couple laughed a led young Nicholas inside.
He found the house small and quiet. The older cousins that he met on his last visit had grown up and moved away. The floor was flat, gray stone, lacking the colorful mosaic pictures of home. A few potted flowers by the atrium pool gave the place a bit of color. Two bedrooms, a dining room and kitchen surrounded the atrium. The house lacked the colorful wall paintings that decorated his parents’ estate. Only the dining area bore a single picture on a wall: An anchor and two fish. Nicholas remarked, “I remember this. You like fishing?”
“Fishing for men,” said his uncle. Nicholas recognized that as the call of Christus to his first followers. His uncle pointed to the anchor and added, “En kurios,” saying the Greek for “in the Lord.”
Young Nicholas completed the familiar Christianus pun, saying “Ankura,” the Greek for anchor.
“Yes,” said old Nicholas. “The anchor of our soul.”
Click here to go to beginning of the book
No comments:
Post a Comment