The Rome Gospel

By Ben Chenoweth

The apostle Paul is dead, executed by the emperor Nero. When news of the apostle Peter’s arrest reaches Yohanan, also known as Mark, he decides the time has come for him to leave Rome. However, before he can board a ship to Cyrene, the city of his birth, he receives a divine call to become a servant of the word — someone who can retell the account of Jesus.

In order to do so he needs to spend time with one of the last eyewitnesses still living in Rome, a woman named Junia. The process will be a lengthy one, and the danger of arrest is a daily risk. But Mark is unprepared for the memories that are stirred up, memories of his childhood, the failures and successes of his adult life, but most importantly the memories of a horrible, dark night many years ago in Jerusalem...

Become immersed in the context that gave rise to the first written gospel, the Gospel of Mark, in this exciting historical novel by Ben Chenoweth, author of "The Ephesus Scroll" and "The Corinth Letters".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Chenoweth
• Release date: Sep 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370477081

Ben Chenoweth

Ben lives in Melbourne, Australia, with his wife and two children. He has an interest in the intersection between theology and the arts, and to that end has written a play based on the life of Saul, a musical based on the Biblical book of Esther, and a novel that is actually a thinly-disguised commentary on the book of Revelation (as he says, "If others can do it, so can I!") For those who might be interested, he lists C. S. Lewis, Peter Shaffer and Neal Stephenson as his literary inspirations. A few comments about the books: "Meeting Of Minds" was written way back in 1994, so please be kind! It is my first novel, and it has clear influences: Douglas Adams' "Hitchhikers' Guide To The Galaxy" series, the TV series "Max Headroom" and Neal Stephenson's "Snow Crash" to name the obvious ones. "Saul, First King Of Israel" was written in 2001 as a way to put some of the scholarly materials I was reading as part of a Bachelor Of Theology into more of a popular format. But then I chose to write a play. Go figure! "The Ephesus Scroll" is the first novel in my Exegetical Histories series. The novel has two timelines and the action cuts back and forth between them, like Neal Stephenson's "Cryptonomicon". The first timeline is set in 93 AD, during the reign of Domitian; the second is set in the recent present (2005-6), mostly in St. Petersburg, Russia. Having two timelines is my way of answering two important questions about the book of Revelation: what did it mean for the people who first heard it, and what does it mean for us today? "The Corinth Letters" is the second novel in my Exegetical Histories series. This novel examines the context that gave rise to the books of 1 and 2 Corinthians, while also adding in romance, document forgery, archaeology, and descriptions of delicious Greek cuisine. "The Rome Gospel" is the third (and most recent) novel in my Exegetical Histories series. This novel covers the writing of the gospel of Mark against the background of persecution in the wake of the great fire of Rome. It also traces Mark's life, as he meets important leaders like Peter, Paul, his uncle Barnabas, Timothy, and an apostle who just happens to be a woman.

Book preview

Prologue – Rome, 64 AD

Fwoah! It’s going to be a hot night, tonight!

The proprietor of the lamp oil shop was just putting the finishing touches to a wooden shelf on which he intended to display a selection of pottery lamps. His assistant, a boy in his early teens, nodded in agreement. They were both dripping with sweat, the boy because he had spent most of the afternoon unloading large amphorae of oil from a cart into the storage area at the back of the shop, the proprietor because he was somewhat portly and the sawing and hammering involved in making the shelf had rather taken it out of him. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, fervently wishing that the wind that was currently blowing dust into the shop from the street outside had been cool. Instead, the midsummer hot wind did nothing but blow the sweat into his eyes.

The shelf had taken longer than he had initially anticipated. He had been apprenticed to a carpenter many years ago so he had thought it would be a simple affair; funny how the skills of one’s youth fade with the passing of time! Then, as the daylight had started fading, he had been forced to light a couple of lamps in order to finish the job. But they had plenty of lamps and plenty of oil, so that was not a problem! However, the hot wind caused the lamps to flicker wildly.

It’s like the breath of Cerberus himself, panting at the gates of Hades, he said, poetically.

But the boy, evidently lacking an appreciation of the finer points of theology, made no reply.

There! The shelf was ready; tomorrow he would get the boy to stock it with lamps.

All right, lad, that’ll do. Let’s pack away these things and then I’ll lock up.

The boy collected the tools and was just turning towards the rear of the shop when a ferocious gust of wind blew out one of the lamps. In the shifting shadows of the remaining lamp, the boy did not see his master’s foot in his path, and so he tripped, sending the tools flying across the room, the hammer hitting the burning lamp hard enough to break it into pieces. The proprietor called out in pain, but his attention was drawn to the sight of tongues of fire falling from the lamp stand, as burning oil dripped onto the oil-sodden straw that lay on the floor of the shop.

Out lad, out! he called to the boy, as he made a dash for the street. The boy, quickly picking himself up, also saw the fire, now rapidly spreading across the floor. But it was too late: the way out was now cut off by a wall of flames. Fanned by the hot wind, flames were quickly advancing towards him across the floor, forcing him into the back of the shop from which there was no other exit.

The proprietor by this stage had managed to get outside. As he looked back at his shop, built into the side of the Circus itself, he could see that the whole interior of the shop was alight, including the walls and ceiling. There was no sign of the boy.

Where are you, lad? he called, taking a couple of tentative steps towards the shop, his eyes narrowed against the wall-like radiant heat. As he lifted up his arm to shield his face, the oil store at the back of the shop exploded, obliterating the shops on either side — and the luckless proprietor standing in the street — sending great gobbets of liquid fire in all directions. The effect was strangely beautiful, yet terrible at the same time. The Circus, an enormous structure built predominantly of wood, was instantly ablaze, as were many of the surrounding buildings.

Fire! Fire!

The call went up as a number of people saw the flames, leaping now higher and higher against the darkened sky. Soon one entire side of the Circus was completely engulfed in flames. The hot wind was blowing cinders ahead of it so that other fires quickly started in the thatched roofs of cheap tenement buildings downwind. The city, suffering the effects of a long, hot summer, was bone dry, and so the flames needed little encouragement.

Those that were able to get out onto the streets tried defending their houses from the flames. But there were no easily accessible water sources; a few people tried to draw water from wells but it took too long and resulted in far too little water. There was nothing for it but to flee. But where to go? The streets were narrow and quickly became jammed with people. Hemmed in by wooden buildings on all sides, many people perished. Those on the outskirts of the city fled into the surrounding countryside. Of those that remained in the city, the lucky ones managed to get to an area of clear ground, and there they were forced to wait it out.

The fire burned for six days. In the end, the progress of the fire was only halted by the combined efforts of the populace to demolish buildings well in advance of the flames to create an area large enough that the fire could not jump. Then, somewhat suspiciously, another fire broke out in a completely different region of the city that resulted in further death and destruction.

On the seventh day, when all of the fires had been contained and the smoke finally began to clear, more than two thirds of the city had been affected by the fire. Three districts had been burned to the ground; seven had been reduced to nothing more than a few scorched and mangled ruins; only four districts remained unscathed. The stench of burnt flesh was everywhere. Those who had somehow managed to survive could only look on the devastation and weep. The task of cleaning up the city seemed to be an impossible one, one that would have caused even the famous Hercules to recoil in fear.

But the clean-up operation commenced, nonetheless.

Then eyewitness reports started to emerge that people had been seen starting fires in certain parts of the city and that there had been gangs of men preventing others from fighting the fires. Some concluded that, since there had been much looting of shops and personal property while the fires burned, some opportunistic types had sought to increase the chaos by lighting more fires. However, the explanation that quickly came to prominence and spread through Rome faster than the fire had was that the emperor Nero, known to have wanted to remodel Rome as a means of demonstrating his self-importance, had paid arsonists to light the fires to clear the ground for his rebuilding program. As a result, there was much bitterness directed towards the emperor. Surely, the arsonists had been in his employ!

When word of this reached Nero, he strenuously denied the charges. But his protestations were ignored, despite his on-going efforts to provide food and shelter for the displaced citizens of Rome. So he looked around for a scapegoat. When one of his civil servants happened to mention in passing that the district in which a majority of the Christians lived had escaped the fire unscathed, Nero seized upon the news gladly. He would make sure that the people of Rome would know who was responsible for the fire. Oh yes, he would…

Rome, 66 AD

The man stood in the shadow of the alleyway, scanning the crowded street for a few minutes, before slipping silently into the throng of people hurrying from place to place. He did not think he was being followed, but these days it certainly paid to be sure. The sounds of hammering came from all around, the rebuilding process still very much a part of life in Rome almost two years after the Great Fire. Also still very much a part of life, at least for the believers, was the constant threat of arrest swiftly followed by horrible forms of torture, the likes of which had not been seen before. The man shuddered, a chill passing down his spine, despite the warm spring weather. In his mind’s eye he could see the awful spectacle as some believers, both men and women, were daubed with tar and then set ablaze to provide light at one of Nero’s evening banquets. He had not personally witnessed the scene; palace servants, secret followers of Jesus, had told of it at a gathering in a dingy basement a few weeks ago, weeping uncontrollably as they did so. His imagination had filled in the blanks and now such images disturbed his thoughts during the day and filled his dreams by night.

Now he was on his way to another gathering, the location of which had been decided upon at the last one. The persecution had meant that meetings could not be held in the same place each week. And it meant that communication between fellow-believers between meetings had to be kept to a minimum. Gone were the days of communal meals and helping one another out in practical ways; the survival of the church in Rome was at stake.

Yet, paradoxically, the church was growing. Somehow or other, new converts were being made and were coming to meetings, despite the security threat this caused to the existing believers. The man, in his darker moments, had looked at some of these people with suspicion. Were they simply putting on a front? Were they feigning faith in the Messiah simply to gain access to the community of faith, only to turn around and denounce them to the authorities, thereby receiving a reward for their services to the state? Perhaps this was the case with a tiny minority. A group of believers in the region of Rome beyond Porta Capena, near the Via Appia, had been arrested after a list of names was submitted to a local magistrate. It had supposedly been anonymous, but there was also talk of money exchanging hands. So, yes, it was possible that a false convert had been responsible. But he had been surprised to find that almost all of the new converts were staying true to the faith, despite the risk to their own lives in doing so. When he had spoken to them he had found that almost all had come to Jesus because they felt the Christians were being unfairly treated. They had not been responsible for the fire! And yet as they suffered terribly at the hands of the bestial Nero they did not waver and they did not rile against their persecutors. Instead, they had submitted meekly to horrible death after horrible death — men, women, and yes, even children — seemingly without fear. The sight had been enough to turn the stomachs of many in the crowds that had flocked to the rebuilt Circus to witness the spectacle. And quite a few of them, struck by the uncanny lack of a fear of death on the part of the martyrs, had then somehow sought out those believers who had not yet come to the attention of the authorities. And so the church continued to grow.

The man glanced behind him as he came to a street corner. No one appeared to be looking his way so he turned into the new street. Not far now, he thought to himself. He had left behind the area affected by the fire and was now in the vicinity of the harbour of Trastevere, to the west of the Tiber River, a densely populated and extremely rundown area, known for its sizeable Jewish population. Looking around at the rickety buildings, some six or even seven storeys high, he wondered how they managed to remain standing. As he arrived at his destination, he offered a heartfelt prayer to God for protection, both for himself – as he knocked on the door he saw the door frame wobble, causing him to question the structural soundness of the building into which he was about to step – and for the occupants of the flat who were hosting the gathering.

Who’s there? a woman’s voice called from within.

It’s I, Mark, the man replied.

He heard the bolt being drawn back and then the door opened to reveal the smiling face of a young woman.

Greetings, Mark, she said. Come in, come in.

Claudia, it is good to see you again, Mark bowed solemnly and entered the tiny portico.

If you want to go upstairs, our apartment is on the third floor, second door on the right.

I remember, replied Mark. And you?

I’ll wait a little longer, Claudia said, indicating the door to the street with a slight movement of her head. There may yet be others.

Very well.

Turning, Mark made his way up the darkened stairwell, passing the second floor landing, until he reached the third floor. The narrow hallway was dimly lit by means of windows, partially boarded up, at either end. He continued along the hallway then knocked on the correct door.

Who is it? This time it was a man’s voice.

It’s Mark.

The door was opened quickly. It was hard to make out the features of the man standing in the doorway for there were a number of lamps lit in the room behind him. But Mark had recognised the voice.

Linus, it is good to see you again, he said, stepping forward and kissing the man on both cheeks.

Likewise, replied Linus, returning the kiss. Come in, brother.

Mark did so. The room in which he found himself, despite its rather small size, was such a contrast to the dingy hallway. The room was clean and tidy, with a few dining room couches pushed against the walls and several rugs on the floor. Four lamps on sturdy lamp-stands were blazing in the four corners of the room, illuminating the faces of the people seated on the couches and on the rugs. Mark recognised most of them, although there were (inevitably, it seemed) quite a few new faces. As he made his way through the room to a couch that appeared to have been left unoccupied, he greeted those he knew and was introduced to those he did not. He tried to keep his suspicion in check. Through an open doorway in the wall directly opposite the front door, he could see into the other room that, together with the one he was currently in, made up the apartment. A handful of young children were playing on the floor with some wooden toys. Beyond them the sounds of the city could be heard through an open window, the ever-present cacophony of many people living in an urban slum.

He sat down on the couch. Most of the people were watching him, to see whether he would officially start the gathering. This was clearly more than simply a deduction on their part based on his age — he was in his early fifties, assuming he had not lost count of the passing of the seasons. Either they had heard his Jewish accent, or they knew who he was and therefore were well aware that he had been a believer for longer than everyone else present. He even heard a whispered Is that an apostle? from across the room. He frowned. No, he was not an apostle. He was a friend of apostles, that much was true, and had had a long association with many of them. But he was not worthy to be numbered among them. Definitely not…

After a little while, Claudia appeared at the door, ushering in another woman whom Mark did not recognise. Claudia helped the woman find a space on the floor, and then she and her husband Linus made their way over to the couch Mark was sitting on and sat down beside him. Linus motioned with his hands and silence fell.

The Lord be with you all, he began, speaking quietly.

And also with you, replied the gathering.

Brothers and sisters, I thank you for being willing to come here today, despite the dangers. For it is important that we continue to meet together, so that we can encourage one another in our faith and perseverance through this dark valley of suffering. It pains me to report that Valeriana and her family were arrested a couple of days ago. I have tried to learn more about their whereabouts, but my usual source has been quiet of late. We will stop and pray for them in a few minutes. But before we do, does anyone else have any news to share with the group?

I do. A man at the back stood up. I have heard from an associate that Peter himself was arrested last night.

Exclamations of shock echoed around the room. Many people started weeping. Next to him, Mark felt Linus react with a start.

Not Peter as well! he heard Linus whisper. Oh, Lord, what’s to become of us?

Someone started praying in tongues and before long everyone was praying quietly. Mark, too, prayed for Peter’s protection and release. But a small part of his mind was thinking, Perhaps the time has come to leave Rome…

After the time of prayer, Linus again motioned for quiet. While waiting for silence, he picked up a few pieces of parchment he had left under the couch.

This news is not good, he began. In recent months, Peter has done much to encourage the growth of the church here in Rome. Many of you, myself included, have sat at his feet and listened intently to all that he remembers of the ministry and teachings of Jesus, our Lord and Saviour. We can but pray that the Lord will protect his faithful servant.

A number of people said, Amen! Mark nodded wearily. But it was hard to prevent thoughts of the relatively recent martyrdom of Paul coming to mind.

Clearly Paul was on Linus’ mind, too, for he continued, But there are no certainties. May I read the following words of Paul…

Mark looked over at the parchment in Linus’ hands. He was not surprised to see his very own handwriting, for it was a copy of a letter that Paul had written to Timothy only last year, some weeks before his death, that he himself had copied and brought with him when he had returned to Rome. But he had been too late; he had arrived after Paul’s execution.

Linus was reading. Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David; such is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship to the point of imprisonment as a criminal, but God’s message is not imprisoned! So I endure all things for the sake of those chosen by God, that they too may obtain salvation in Christ Jesus and its eternal glory. This saying is trustworthy: If we died with him, we will also live with him. If we endure, we will also reign with him. If we deny him, he will also deny us. If we are unfaithful, he remains faithful, since he cannot deny himself.[1]

He shuffled through the parchments, looking for another passage, and then continued, For I am already being poured out as an offering, and the time for me to depart is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith! Finally the crown of righteousness is reserved for me. The Lord, the righteous Judge, will award it to me in that day—and not to me only, but also to all who have set their affection on his appearing.[2]

Then putting down the parchments, Linus looked up at the gathering. Paul was indeed poured out as a drink offering, and Peter may well follow. But Paul’s death was not in vain! For you yourselves are witnesses, testifying on his behalf to his faithfulness and dedication to Jesus, by virtue of your presence here today. May we, too, endure this time of testing so that we may also reign with Christ. May we say with Paul that we have kept the faith, and so be worthy of the crown of righteousness, just as Paul was.

This time there was a much stronger chorus of Amen! Mark, too, had been stirred by Linus’ words.

However, as the meeting continued he found himself turning over and over in his mind the idea of leaving Rome. As he considered it as objectively as he could, he came to realise that he was not reacting from a position of fear. The thought of martyrdom did not appeal, certainly; but it also did not fill him with dread. No, it was the fragility of life that concerned him more, particularly the seemingly fragile existence of the church. Yes, the church was growing through persecution, even, it seemed, as a direct result of persecution. But what if every believer living in Rome were to be arrested? Surely the thing that would guarantee the survival of the church would be for her to spread out! There was no need for everyone to be clustered in Rome…

And then he felt like a name was placed in his mind, as if planted there by a still, small voice: Cyrene...

Cyrene! The jewel of North Africa and the greatest city of the Pentapolis, as the five cities of that region were known far and wide. Cyrene! The city of his birthplace and his early years of childhood. Cyrene! A place he had not seen in some forty years…

The rest of the gathering passed in a blur. When Linus gave the final benediction, Mark came to with a start and turned to Linus and Claudia, who looked like she was about to get up and assist some of the other women with preparing food.

Linus, Claudia, a moment, if you please, he said, eagerly.

What is it? asked Linus.

I feel that the Spirit is prompting me about something and I would appreciate it if you would pray and discern with me.

Of course.

What has the Spirit said to you? asked Claudia.

Mark paused for a moment. Well, I know that it might sound like I want to run away, despite all of your stirring words, Linus, but I think that I’m to leave Rome for Cyrene.

Leave Rome! exclaimed Claudia.

Oh, said Linus, sadly. Your leadership and experience will be sorely missed.

Well, it’s not decided yet, replied Mark. Will you pray with me?

Certainly.

Mark, Linus and Claudia sat in silence on their couch amidst the sounds of people quietly talking amongst themselves as they ate bread dipped in olive oil. After a few minutes, Claudia began speaking. "Mark, my son, you are to be a witness for me in Africa: put on the mantle of a servant of the word[3] and take the good news to the land of your birth; and know that I will be with you always!" Then there was silence again.

Mark looked up to see Claudia blushing furiously. He assumed that it was because she was so much younger than him and yet she had just called him her son.

Claudia, he said with a smile, those were not your words; they were given to you by the Lord Jesus himself. For how could you possibly know that I was born in Africa?

Is that true? she replied hesitantly. You’re right, I had no idea! The words just came to me…

So you’re to become a servant of the word? said Linus.

Mark frowned. Apparently, although I’m tempted to question our Lord’s wisdom.

Why do you say that? asked Claudia.

I don’t think I have the memory for it! To be able to learn and recite the account… I’m really not sure I can do it.

Well, God seems to think you can, replied Linus. And knowledge of the account will be essential to your ministry in Cyrene.

If you’ll excuse me, I must go and help the others, said Claudia, standing up. Without another word she hurried off into the other room.

Linus turned to look at Mark, who was staring off into space, his brow creased.

So sad to hear about Peter.

Mark came to himself with a start. Indeed! We must pray without ceasing for his release.

We will. And you, my friend, you need to spend some time with a servant of the word!

Mark sighed. True. If my memory can handle it…

Linus laughed. I’m sure you’ll be fine. And you can always jot down some notes to help you remember.

Mark nodded slowly. I guess. I hadn’t thought of that.

Now, who can you learn the account from?

Who’s left? The question hung in the air for several moments. Unfortunately for the churches of Rome, the recent persecution had depleted the numbers of those people who had memorised the traditions about Jesus, either directly through martyrdom or indirectly as they had fled the city in search of a safer place to live.

Eventually, Linus said, Junia is still with us.

"Oh, I know the name — Paul spoke of her[4], I believe — but I have never met her."

I think I can arrange that. In fact, there may even be someone here today who can pass on a message… Linus looked around the room until his eyes fell on a young slave woman who was sitting on the floor talking with two other women. Ah yes! Daria! he called out. Could you come over here, please?

The young woman got up quickly.

Sir, what can I do for you? she asked demurely, her head bowed.

Daria, can you get a message through to Junia? Mark here needs to learn the account from her.

Daria’s eyes widened and she darted a glance at Mark. Oh yes, sir. My mistress Drusilla is Junia’s patroness and she lives in my mistress’ household.

Very good, said Linus with a smile. Then it’s settled! Mark, my friend, you’ll be ready in no time…

A week passed and word came through to Mark that Junia was happy to teach him the account. She had arranged a time for him to come to the home of her patroness, Drusilla. Apparently, Drusilla’s husband was travelling in Asia Minor on business so Drusilla was happy to act as a chaperone whilst still giving them the privacy they would need. As Mark made his way through the streets of Rome, the ever-present sounds of building ringing out around him, he clutched his travel bag tightly, not wanting to lose a grip on his precious writing implements. Some of his pens had been with him for a long time, one a gift from his first teacher, old Simeon himself, although that was one he never used and only carried with him for sentimental reasons. The thought triggered a moment of nostalgia; he had not thought about Simeon in a very long time.

When he arrived at the house, he quickly saw that Drusilla and her husband must belong to the patrician class, for their home — untouched by the