He thought back on Stephanas, who devoted his days to silent prayer. He still felt Stephanas had been wasting his time on his knees when he could have been out doing things, but here in the cell, there was nothing else he could do. He thought to himself, If he can do it, I can do it. He began to fill his time praying for anyone and everyone he could think of, friends, relatives, enemies. He prayed for a great reward for the believers he knew, if they were still alive. And he prayed for the unbelievers that they would come to believe. He searched his mind and recited the words of Christus and the apostles as he could remember from their writings. He recalled the Apocalypse of John the Apsotle that foretold a day of wrath from God. He wondered if these were the final days approaching that day.
One day Silvanus came to the cell with another official dressed like him. Silvanus merely gestured at Nicholas and said, “Here he is.” The official nodded and they both left. After that, this official would look in on him rather than Silvanus. Nicholas realized that this was the new proconsul, probably keeping him alive as a favor to Silvanus.
Years passed and the proconsul showed Nicholas to a new successor. This new successor would also come to check in on him every few months and usually he would say nothing. One time though, he said to Nicholas, “It’s all a story, isn’t it? You have no gold.”
Nicholas did not respond.
The proconsul said, “I should kill you... All followers of Christus are now required to sacrifice to Caesar or be killed.”
“Then kill me,” said Nicholas. “Whatever story you believe, I will not sacrifice to Caesar.”
The proconsul shook his head. “Silvanus believes the story, so you still retain some value to him... And so you retain some value to me.”
Some months later, the proconsul returned and asked, “Are you truly ready to die?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas.
“Like all the others,” muttered the proconsul in disgust. “The streets are strewn with the bodies of your kind. The forum reeks with the stench of burning flesh. The more we kill you, the more you infect others with your superstition. Why do so many believe in this folly of rising from the dead?”
“Because it is true.”
The proconsul let out a gasp of disbelief and left.
Then one month Silvanus returned. His friends in Rome had given him another turn at proconsul. He took a long look at Nicholas and said, “So pitiful... Almost seven years, and still you cling stubbornly to your treasure... Have you nothing to say?”
“You can have it,” said Nicholas. “My treasure is hidden with God. If you pray to him, you too can have such treasure that...”
“Silence!” snapped Silvanus. “You will show respect to your proconsul.”
Nicholas said, “I meant no disrespect. I speak only what I know to be true.”
Silvanus turned to leave, saying, “You are full of lies, just like everyone. But I have time to strip them away. You do not.”
Nicholas could not deny it. The years of imprisonment had taken a toll. Though he was just shy of 30 years old, he felt old and weak, and not far from death. Some days passed and Silvanus did not return.
One day Silvanus came to the cell with another official dressed like him. Silvanus merely gestured at Nicholas and said, “Here he is.” The official nodded and they both left. After that, this official would look in on him rather than Silvanus. Nicholas realized that this was the new proconsul, probably keeping him alive as a favor to Silvanus.
Years passed and the proconsul showed Nicholas to a new successor. This new successor would also come to check in on him every few months and usually he would say nothing. One time though, he said to Nicholas, “It’s all a story, isn’t it? You have no gold.”
Nicholas did not respond.
The proconsul said, “I should kill you... All followers of Christus are now required to sacrifice to Caesar or be killed.”
“Then kill me,” said Nicholas. “Whatever story you believe, I will not sacrifice to Caesar.”
The proconsul shook his head. “Silvanus believes the story, so you still retain some value to him... And so you retain some value to me.”
Some months later, the proconsul returned and asked, “Are you truly ready to die?”
“Yes,” said Nicholas.
“Like all the others,” muttered the proconsul in disgust. “The streets are strewn with the bodies of your kind. The forum reeks with the stench of burning flesh. The more we kill you, the more you infect others with your superstition. Why do so many believe in this folly of rising from the dead?”
“Because it is true.”
The proconsul let out a gasp of disbelief and left.
Then one month Silvanus returned. His friends in Rome had given him another turn at proconsul. He took a long look at Nicholas and said, “So pitiful... Almost seven years, and still you cling stubbornly to your treasure... Have you nothing to say?”
“You can have it,” said Nicholas. “My treasure is hidden with God. If you pray to him, you too can have such treasure that...”
“Silence!” snapped Silvanus. “You will show respect to your proconsul.”
Nicholas said, “I meant no disrespect. I speak only what I know to be true.”
Silvanus turned to leave, saying, “You are full of lies, just like everyone. But I have time to strip them away. You do not.”
Nicholas could not deny it. The years of imprisonment had taken a toll. Though he was just shy of 30 years old, he felt old and weak, and not far from death. Some days passed and Silvanus did not return.
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