Paul Apostle Of Christ (Paperback)Angela Hunt
His Story Will Change the World, But Only If It's Shared in Time
Paul, Apostle of Christ is the story of two men. Luke, as a friend and physician, risks his life every time he ventures into the city of Rome to visit Paul, who is held captive in Nero's bleakest prison cell. Before Paul's execution, Luke resolves to write another book, one that details the beginnings of "the Way" and the birth of what will come to be known as the church. But Nero is determined to rid Rome of Christians.
Paul has survived so much-floggings, shipwreck, starvation, stoning, hunger and thirst, cold and exposure-yet as he waits for his appointment with death, he is haunted by the shadows of his past. He wonders if he has been forgotten . . . and if he has the strength to finish well.
Two men struggle against a determined emperor and the frailties of the human spirit in order to bequeath the gospel of Jesus Christ to the world.
About The Author
The author of more than 100 published books and with more than 5 million copies of her books sold worldwide, Angela Hunt is the New York Times bestselling author of The Note, The Nativity Story, and Esther: Royal Beauty.
Size140 x 203 mm
Number of Pages336 pp
The Seventh Day of Junius The hooded man darted into a niche in the dark alley, his heart pounding against his sternum. His ears, tuned to catch the slightest sound, warned him of approaching footsteps—heavy footsteps, accented by the metallic scrape of sword hilts against iron buckles. The Greek pressed his spine into the recess in the aged wall, willing its shadows to cloak him. He could not be caught in this part of the city without a valid reason for venturing near Nero’s prison. Not even his medical bag would suffice as an explanation, since the only residences in this part of Rome were the former palaces of Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula. He drew back, the wall biting into his shoulder blades, as two members of the Praetorian Guard moved through a nearby puddle of torchlight and continued on their way. “I still say it’s a nasty business,” one Praetorian remarked. “I have seen men die in all sorts of ways, but that has to be one of the worst.” The other man replied, but the crunch of gravel beneath their sandals obscured the rest of their conversation.
When they had turned the corner, the Greek physician held his small bag next to his chest and changed his destination to a place that would be infinitely safer.
In the heart of Rome, directly across from a monument to Julius Caesar and the famous Roman Forum, another man sat in a cavern hewn out of stone. A single candle pushed at the darkness, scattering its light over a tattered blanket, an empty bowl, an overturned stone cup. The man’s toes, riding above misshapen and callused feet, shone weakly in the gloom. Paul, called Sha’ul by his people the Jews, closed his eyes at the all-too-familiar sight. Day after day, hour after hour, he leaned against the wall of his windowless prison and stared at his toes, which had long since ceased to fascinate him. Sometimes, especially if the guards did not remember to lower the daily allowance of water and food, those wizened appendages took on the appearance of men he had known: Demas, who loved the world more than Christ; Crescens, Titus, Alexander the coppersmith, Governor Felix. He closed his eyes, slamming the door on the images of those who had deserted him. He would rather envision beloved friends: Timothy, so young and full of righteous zeal. Priscilla and Aquila, fellow tentmakers with whom he had shared laughter and many a meal. Barnabas, his constant encourager. Aya, his sister; Avniel, his nephew. And Luke. Beloved Luke. Keeping his eyes closed, Paul crossed his arms and smiled as the iron bracelets clanked. As far as he knew, his friends were alive . . . and still free. Thank you, Yeshua. May God be praised.