Theophilus

THEOPHILUS

The Friend of What God

By Dr. Wilfred Fisher

My name is Theophilus. You have heard of me? No doubt you have for you have read the gospel of Luke and the book called The Acts of the Apostles. I am the man who gave those writings to you. You thought Luke the beloved Physician sent them your way? Oh no! Under the inspiration of God’s Spirit Luke wrote them. But he wrote them for me not for you. They were mine. Suppose I had just kept his letters or even destroyed them. Read the first few words of these two great books and you will know they were mine. The Gospel begins thus:

“Forasmuch as many have taken in hand to set forth in order a declaration of those things which are most surely believed among us, even as they delivered among them unto us, which from the beginning were eyewitnesses, and ministers of the word; It seemed good to me also, having had perfect understanding of all things from the very first, to write unto thee in order, most excellent Theophilus, that thou mightiest know the certainty of those things, wherein thou hast been instructed.

And the Acts of the Apostles starts with this:

“The former treatise have I made, O Theophilus, of all that Jesus began both to do and teach, until the day in which he was taken up, after that be through the Holy Spirit had given commandments unto the apostles whom he had chosen

Yes these two great letters were written to me and sent to me, Theophilus, but I did not keep them for myself I passed them onto you. Will you help me pass them onto others?

Now you know my name and you have heard all the Bible tells concerning me. Not much is it? Not nearly as much as I once aspired to have history record after the name Theophilus

Perhaps that name tells as much about my parents as it does about me

You students of the Greek tongue know its meaning, Theophilus, The Friend of God. That is what my parents wanted me to be so that is what they called me. You here in Rome may well ask, Friend of WHAT god. It was not so in the little village where I was born and spent my years until the growing dreams of young manhood drove me forth to conquer the world. Only one shrine invited our worship. It was the shrine of the Greek Goddess Diana whose temple was in Ephesus from whence came the silver image we worshipped. The image of the goddess we believed came down from heaven. My father would permit no other god to be named in our home. My mother as in everything agreed with him. Of course I followed where they led. And I with them dreamed of the day when I would truly be the friend of Diana doing great things to extol her magnificence, experiencing the blessing of her favor, helped by her power. Even so I might have followed in the footsteps of my father to be what he was all his days, a tiller of the soil, reaper of its bountiful harvest, had it not been for the soldiers of Rome.

Why they came to our peaceful valley, I do not know. But come they did. As soon as I saw them I sensed the presence of the disturbing power. We boys of the village followed them everywhere. One of the soldiers took a special liking to me. What stories he had to tell, travel, adventure on land and sea, strange sights and foreign lands, battles, victories under the banner of Rome. We were but grubbers of the soil. He was a man. What a man is suppose to be, a conqueror. Never again could I be satisfied with our narrow valley. I must see, yea I must conquer the world. Then he discovered the object of my worship. How he laughed at the very idea of Diana. A goddess! A woman god! What did she know of power? What did she know of blood and battle and victory? Forget Diana and come with me he cried. Worship Mars the god of battle. Mars and Mars alone has made Rome the master of the world. Take the sword and follow the god of war. Be a conqueror and not a slave.

With such words he allured me and changed my love. Theophilus still but now the friend of Mars. A soldier I must be. My goal was not achieved in a bound. No training camp for men of war was near and I was not yet a man. Boys will be men if given time. At last I reached that status. I thought manhood would mean freedom for me. I was tired of taking orders why should my father control everything I did. I would get away from his constant commands. I would join the army. How little I knew in those days of arrogant self-certainty. I joined the army to escape constant commands. Quickly I learned what it means to be subject to orders every moment of every day. I was not allowed to think. I was told that the officers would do the thinking for me. I must simply obey without question and without hesitation. They turned me into a deadly fighting machine. I learned to kill with sword, with spear, with arrow or with my bare hands. I purposed to be the best fighter in all the legions of Rome. I was Theophilus the friend of the god of war. Mars was my friend too it seemed. War was good to me. Bringing swift advancement while leaving others in the ranks below, or died.

My first promotion came when we battled the barbarians of the north. The sub officer over me was knocked senseless by a glancing blow from an axe wielded by a roaring giant of fierce countenance. Three of our best men ran forward to save our officer but the giant killed them all. I saw the mistake they made trying to fight him with the sword. A sword length away was just the right distance for his deadly axe. Dropping my sword I drew a razor honed two-edged dagger. I ran close to the giant, too close for him to swing the axe at me. The dagger brought me victory. But even better, our centurion looked on and saw me win. He had not deigned to notice me before. Now he knew I could fight. When the sub officer died from the blow he received I was appointed to take his place. A new idea began to form in my mind. If it was great to fight hand to hand with the enemy, would it not be greater to be a high officer, to be that most deadly of all fighting men, the general as the head of an army he has trained to act as his own body. That meant study. And I studied. I learned tactics and strategy; I read the stories of great battles and victorious commanders. Their methods I came to know, their tricks I began to employ. Their victories I duplicated. Advancement came rapidly. My ambition was to be the greatest friend of Mars. The head of the army. The conqueror of all.

Then came the shock. My golden god had feet of clay. Mars was not the greatest god. Bacchus, the god of drunkenness could give orders to Mars and Mars must obey. He was a scrawny little man and weak that senator from Rome. He had been long at the wine when he came to our army camp. I was with the great general for he had called me to a council of war when the Senator staggered in. For anyone I knew to enter without being called by the general meant a flogging by the very least. I looked at the general anticipating the anger rising in his face, the command leaping forth to punish the intruder. What then was my surprise to recognize not wrath, but fear. And it was the little fop of a stranger who spoke. He wanted to know why the general did not have a stone path through the mud to his tent so a senator could come without getting his shoes dirty. And the general said “Yes Senator. I will have a stone path made at once sir. If I had known your Excellency was coming it would have been constructed before.” And he bowed to the man whose neck he could have broken with one hand.

A General. Who would want to be a general if he must bow before a politician? I wanted supreme power. And it came not from Mars. I must change gods again. It sickened my stomach to do so but I knew no other way to begin. I must learn the art of a politician. Here was the first truly successful politician I had seen. So I sought his company, flattered his ego, and even sipped his vile wine. Thus I began my new career. And thus I discovered that Bacchus, the god of drunkenness is truly greater than Mars the god of war. Need I tell the story. I learned whose favor to cultivate. Those who would not favor me I learned how to destroy. And wine was usually involved in their destruction. I would get them drinking, learn what they would never have told me in soberness and use that information against them. Thus by dragging others down, I began climbing to the top. I was Theophilus the friend of the great god Bacchus. First the helper of a city councilmen’s secretary, then secretary, then councilmen, next I was sitting judge, my eyes turned to the provincial capitol for another upward step. I became assistant to the governor. Again wine served me well. It served me well because I drank so little of it! Just a sip to give the impression of being a jolly friend. But I got the governor drinking more and more and if he was increasing drinking or getting ready to drink or getting over his last drunken spree, he left more and more of the power in my hands. And I saw to it that the news of who was running the province so well leaked through to Rome.

At last I caught the attention of Caesar himself. Could the next step be the Governor’s chair? I love my authority to judge all men in the province. Those who pleased me I freed, even if I knew them guilty especially if I saw how to use them to undermine an enemy or to advance my plans for things to come. Those who did not please me or those who supported some political foe I sentenced to prison and the stocks to be beaten or to toil as galley slaves. How the accused trembled before me. They knew my power.

Then came the strangest prisoner. My first impression was he was not afraid. He rather that he somewhat pitied me. A prisoner who I could torture or kill at my pleasure and he pitied me. Why? Because I did not know his god. Strange indeed. I was Theophilus, the friend of god. The prisoners name was Paul. He claimed to be a Roman citizen but did not look the part. He plainly was of Jewish birth. His accusers too were Jews. And their accusations? That he taught people to worship contrary to the laws of Rome. Was that not exactly what the Jews themselves were doing? Why should they care that another man did the same. Or did they wish to eliminate competition for having the most objectionable religion on earth.

In any case, I questioned this Paul and found him to be the most bigoted man. He did not believe in Diana! It even appeared that he had been run out of Ephesus because he had decreased the sale of shrines to the Greek goddess there. He did not believe in Mars! He called it “sinful” to offer the blood of enemies to the god of war, claiming that a sufficient blood sacrifice had already been made by someone he called Jesus. And as for Bacchus, this Paul said he surly was not a god but a demon who was worshipped by drunkenness.

Oh the effrontery of the man! In the presence of me, Theophilus, friend of Bacchus to speak such blasphemy. I was filled with wrath. This Paul must be beaten with rods. I gave the order in tones of thunder with a red mist rising before my eyes. Then the red turned black. The room began to reel. I fell unconscious from my throne.

I awakened in my own bedroom. My servants had told me what had occurred and added that Paul had been beaten as directed and surely had learned to respect my power. Even in sickness I wanted to brood over him so ordered him brought from his cell to my bedside. He came, guarded, and chained. I was about to ask him how he felt after the beating when he asked me how I felt after my fall. And then he said he would pray for my recovery. Afraid of me? Not at all. Angry over the beating? Not a bit. He acted as if we were friends! That I would not permit! I ordered him returned to his cell. As he was leaving, he remarked that I ought to see his traveling companion, Luke by name. I asked about this Luke and learned he was a physician. The suggestion sounded reasonable so I ordered him to brought to me at once.

He came. From my bed I looked up and saw him for the first time. This man who was destined to become my most cherished friend. He bore the marks and carried the tools of his profession. But at once I saw there was something different about him. He looked concerned as if he cared for me. And before he treated me he prayed. Prayed for my recovery. Prayed in the name of that man Paul had mentioned. A man by the name of Jesus. I could never forget the reverence, the love with which the physician spoke this man’s name. Jesus. He truly believed in that name. Then Luke ministered to me.

Were his medicines better than the other physicians? I do not know. I only know that far sooner than I had reason to expect, I was well. Then I wanted to know more about this Jesus. I sent for Luke that he might tell me more. But he was going somewhere. Ministering to the sick in the city slums! Imagine, leaving me the Deputy Governor for them. I could not understand.

Who else could tell me about Jesus? One remained where I could reach him! Paul was still in my jail. I sent for Paul and asked him about this man. Man? Paul insisted he was more than man. That he was God. Or the Son of God, which I was not sure.

And where did this god rule? Paul said “Everywhere. He was not the god of a city or a tribe he was the God of the universe, the supreme, the creator and ruler of all.” The supreme? That was the god for me! I had surrendered Diana for Mars and Mars for Bacchus. Now was this Jesus greater still?

I had to know. So I asked Paul

“Has this Jesus ever faced any powerful foes?”

“Oh yes!”

“What happened then?”

“They crucified him!”

Crucified him. Then he could not be supreme. If he was dead what good would it do to follow him? A dead god? Paul might worship such but never Theophilus.

“So his enemies defeated him,” I sneered

“Never” said Paul

“Well they must have done so if they killed him he is dead and gone”

“No! He lives today! He conquered sin through his blood and then he conquered death by his resurrection so we need never fear its power because he lives we too shall live forever!”

That was too much for me. A man who was a god. A god who died yet had power still to rise from the tomb. Take Paul hence I cried.

I heard enough. And too much, and perhaps it was too little.

Enough to say I will not believe such fairy tales.

Yet suppose it could be true? Enough to awaken many questions about Jesus.

Too little to answer those questions satisfactorily.

I could not believe. Was it true?

It was not fitting for me, the deputy governor to listen to the ranting of this prisoner, Paul. Yet I wanted to hear more.

Then Luke came. One can always confer with his doctor. Luke talked of Jesus while I listened with eagerness but also with unbelief. He told me that Jesus, though man, was also God. How could that be? Luke said he was born of a virgin. Could a physician believe such a thing? How do you know I asked? Have you ever checked the facts for yourself or are you deceived by cunning fables?

No. He had never checked.

He told of the things Jesus taught. And Luke heard them directly from Jesus?

No he had not. He told of the miracles wrought by this one called the Christ. Had Luke seen the miracles? Had he a doctor checked any who claimed Jesus cured them?

No he had not.

So I questioned him. I forced him to admit that everything he had heard was second hand. Was it true? He believed but he could not say I was there when it happened.

So I refused to believe. Now something inside hungered and wanted it to be true.

I had nothing against Paul. It did not appear that his freedom could harm me. So the next day I let him go. He left for new regions and Luke followed him.

With their departure the world turned dull grey. Theophilus, friend of god. But to what God should I give my love? I had tried several and from each had gained something but still I was unsatisfied.

Was there a supreme God above all others. Was he like Diana a god of the silver shrine, was he like Mars a god of bloodthirsty power, was he like Bacchus the god of drunkenness and worldly pleasure? None of these could satisfy. I knew it now.