Fire and Sword (16 page)

Sustrin smiled. “I have considered these things, my prince,” he said. “And something greater is emerging even now …something that will counter the work of Philip in Samaria.”

Nergal looked at Sustrin. “Another weapon?” he asked doubtfully.

“Another Philip,” smiled Sustrin. “By the name of Simon.”

“Simon?” asked Nergal, puzzled.

“Simon,” responded Sustrin. “The sorcerer.”

Philip’s work in Samaria had been very rewarding. Ever since coming to the city he had met with great success in displaying the Lord’s power and in preaching the good news of freedom found in Christ. He could hardly wait to return to Jerusalem and report on the progress being made to the north. The people seemed genuinely interested in hearing about the Lord, many of them following him around the city. But one man in particular seemed extremely interested in his activities.

“Rise, get up!”

The crowd gasped as once more a man, who had been crippled by an ox cart, was able to stand up straight for the first time in years. The man began weeping and bowed down low, trying to kiss Philip’s feet. Philip backed away.

“Don’t give glory to me,” he warned the man. “The glory is the Lord’s and His Christ. Believe on Him, one and all!”

The crowd welcomed the healed man into their midst, patting him on the back and talking to him. Philip smiled at the man. How marvelous and gracious was the Lord! As he turned away from the crowd, he found himself staring at a man who had been following him for many days. The man looked at him and nodded his head.

“May I help you, my friend?” asked Philip.

“Please, sir,” the man said. “I am Simon. I am a healer in this city. I have been watching you … your ability …”

“Not my ability,” Philip corrected as they walked together. “The Lord’s.”

“Ah, but the power must be from you,” Simon continued. “Just as my powers are from me. I am known as one having the Great Power. I …”

“There is only one Great Power,” said Philip, who discerned Simon’s motive. “That of the Living God.”

“Please, sir,” Simon pleaded. “You must tell me how you do it.”

Philip turned to Simon: “I told you, the power is not mine—nor is it mine to give away!”

Before entering the house where he was staying, Philip admonished Simon a final time: “I return to Jerusalem to share the good news of what the Lord is doing in Samaria. I advise you to find the true source of power.”

Simon, knowing that a crowd had watched him and Philip walking together and conversing, quickly began to speak to them.

“This man also has a source of power,” he began. “And together we shall continue to work the miracles you have seen! But the Great Power requires from you evidence of your faith.”

Simon looked back at the inn that Philip had entered. Perhaps he should follow the man? So many holy men and miracle workers had come and gone. But this one was different—he didn’t claim the power; he only confessed it. Yes! He would talk to Philip about this Christ and would follow him! Yes—he would even be baptized by him! He turned to follow Philip.

“Great One!” came a shout from behind. Simon looked as the crowd advanced upon him, people pushing through with all manner of petitions. Some held out coins. Others held out empty hands. Simon signaled to an aide in the crowd, who collected the money, smiling all the while.

“It pleases the Great Power to know that your money is worth nothing in light of your devotion.” He glanced briefly back at the inn, and then turned back to the crowd. As if inspired, Simon closed his eyes and added, “But remember—the power is not mine nor is it mine to give away … true power has its price!”

He turned and entered the inn.

“True power has its price,” repeated Nergal, one afternoon some weeks later. “And humans will do anything to achieve a measure of it. Simon is quite correct there.”

Rugio and Pellecus nodded in agreement with Nergal. They had joined him in Samaria in the effort to stem the growing influence of the now scattered believers. Rugio had sized up the strength in the region and believed that a few more warriors should be mustered. Samaria, like Damascus, was becoming increasingly important in the conflict.

“The lines must be held here in Samaria,” said Rugio, as he scanned groups of arriving warriors who were taking up positions in and around the city. “Judea is all but lost to us for now. Samaria is the next line of defense.”

“By your own strategy?” asked Sustrin, who did not like outside interference in his domain. “We have our own way of dealing with these matters.” He glanced at Nergal. “Or rather the prince of this region does.”

“It is by Lucifer’s orders that we are here,” said Rugio.

Sustrin nodded uneasily. “We are, of course, honored,” he said.

“Yes, we can tell,” smirked Rugio.

“Don’t be alarmed, Nergal,” said Pellecus. “We are merely here in support. Your authority remains intact … for now.”

“You are always welcome in Samaria,” said Nergal, glancing at Sustrin. “And I believe you will be able to report to Lucifer that all is well here. Philip left weeks ago. I had him watched all the way to Jerusalem. And Simon has taken his place as the local mystic. He now tries to invoke Philip’s authority in his work. Stupid humans.”

Nergal glanced approvingly at Sustrin.

“Possibly,” said Pellecus cryptically. “Unfortunately Philip’s report stirred up more interest. The fools in Jerusalem are in fact sending another delegation here. This time headed by Peter himself.”

“Peter?” Sustrin said.

“And John,” added Rugio.

“Interesting,” said Nergal, looking at Sustrin. “See to the legions. Have them start a campaign of religious fervor in this city. I want the people particularly eager for Simon’s services when our friends arrive. Let’s give Peter and John a measure of Samaritan hospitality, shall we?”

Sustrin grinned. “I shall see to it personally,” he said as he vanished.

Peter and John were amazed at the level of spiritual poverty that was apparent in the once proud city of Samaria. The former capital of the Northern Kingdom of Israel had become a patchwork of religious expression, dominated by the local Jews. Yet amid all of the spiritual activity there was a void—a lack of credible and meaningful faith. The people were hungry for something spiritual, but they were feeding on myth.

“So much has happened in this city,” John said, as they made their way through the busy streets. “Is it only a couple of years since we were in this region with our Lord?”

“Yes,” said Peter, waving away a merchant who held out some exotic weaving. “And now He comes back in you and me. Philip has done well here.”

“Sirs?” spoke a voice nearby.

Peter turned to see a well-dressed man, semi-bowing to them.

“You are friends of Philip?” the man inquired.

“Yes, Philip is our friend and brother.”

“Then you serve the same Christ as he?”

“We do,” said John, looking at Peter.

“Then I should like to be baptized,” the man said.

“Of course, my friend,” said Peter, looking around. “Let us find a pool, and we can…”

“No, no,” said the man. “You don’t understand.”

By now a crowd had begun to collect around the three men.

“I have been baptized in water. Philip saw to that. But he spoke of another baptism. Another possibility …”

Peter and John reached out to the man, laid their hands on his shoulders, and began to pray. At first the man looked around at the crowd and smiled, feeling the awkwardness of being the center of such attention. But when he began to pray and ask the Lord to touch him, he was suddenly filled with the Spirit of God. He cried out loud in joyous praise to God.

The crowd was astonished, though some, who had also been converted by Philip, asked to be prayed for as well.

“The Lord is good,” said Peter. “Their hearts are open.”

“And God is willing,” John said, as he reached out to pray for the next person.

“And God is willing,” sneered Rugio.

“Of course He is willing,” said Pellecus. “Every opportunity He has to dupe these people with His Spirit presents another difficulty for us.”

Rugio and Pellecus were watching as people approached John and Peter seeking answers, asking to be baptized, or satisfying their curiosity. Pellecus shook his head in disbelief.

“You must remember, Rugio, that these people are born to fall for something religious,” he began. “They are a murky blend of their own gods, gods imported by conquering armies, and the God of Jerusalem. Even Simon has succumbed to the teaching of these men.”

He sighed. “I long for the Baals.”

Chronicles of the Host