Lydia

By M. Therese Casey

In 48 CE when Lydia meets Paulus at the river in Philippi, she invites him and his
companions to her house. Her friend Preta, the priestess of the goddess Artemis,
is swept into the role of spy. Loukas, traveling with Paulus, fears goddess worship
and wonders how Lydia can worship both Yeshua and Artemis.
Lydia, Preta, and Loukas tell the stories of their loves, their confl icts and their
hopes as the Way grows in Philippi. When Paulus calls Loukas to come to Ephesus in
53 CE, Lydia hopes that their trip will quell Loukass fears and resolve her own conflicts.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 11, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462809615

Book preview

LYDIA

66704-FINA-layout.pdf

M. Therese Casey

Copyright © 2009 by M. Therese Casey.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Credits:

Author picture: Cheatham/Gottschall

River: Casey

Cover picture: Art Resource

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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66704

Contents

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

PART TWO

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

PART THREE

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

PART FOUR

CHAPTER 25

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

In honor of the women of the First Century CE, who opened their homes to the people of the Way.

In memory of my husband, Larry A. Finan.

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Lydia

March 48 CE

Water has always terrified me. The always began one night when I was a child of four. Rain attacked us from the sky with shouts of thunder and stabs of lightning. I thought the water brought the terror. I had clung to my mother in our bed, and I must have drowsed because I woke up to an empty bed and a terrible scream. At first I thought the scream came from the rain, but it was from my mother at the door of our room. Strange men were there, standing mutely, dripping with rainwater. My mother waved them away, and though they turned into the falling rain, they looked relieved to go.

Other slaves had heard my mother, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of women soothing my mother’s sobs. One took me back to bed, and though she smelled different from my mother, I slept. Only in the morning did I find that I no longer had a father. He had been on a trading ship on its way back home to Thyatira. In the storm, two men had been lost, one of them my father. One woman said that the water took him, as if the rain had swept my father off his ship, or was it the sea that grabbed him with monstrous hands? He was lost at sea, another said as if he were still alive and had just lost his way. In my nightmares, I searched for him so I could save him from the water. I could not save him, and the fear followed me while I grew.

That spring morning in Philippi, I had not planned to go to the river; but I woke up early, still happy from the evening’s festivities. I dressed quickly and walked through my atrium to the front door. My house servant Arria heard me, and her husband, Justus, brought blankets for the wet grass. He had appointed himself my protector when we went beyond the city walls. We joined Euodia and two of her servants.

Euodia and I spent most Sabbath mornings with those who studied the Hebrew writings and worshipped the Hebrew god, Yahweh. There were only three families of Jews in Philippi, and two of these women had become our leaders reciting psalms and reading from their Torah. Hearing these texts brought me back to my childhood in Thyatira and my master, Krator, who was called a God-fearer, one whose god was the Hebrew Yahweh. He did not convert to Judaism, but he admired the Hebrew writings and taught me to read with the psalms. The story of this God choosing a people was filled with poignant waiting, first in the desert and now for the coming of a Mashiah.

As I breathed in the sweetness of the ripe fig trees in the morning air, I walked the path along the road lined with red poppies and said, We missed you last night, Euodia. It was a lively ceremony.

I’m not like you, Lydia, I need my sleep. But I don’t mind getting up for this. These women sing beautifully. We see the sunrise. The prayers are so moving.

Euodia’s bulk hinted that she was hardly a walker, but she gamely kept pace. We caught up with Rhea, whose old hands shook with a tremor while she greeted us. Her granddaughter, Dympha, was with her, and we slowed down to Rhea’s steps.

When we came within sight of the riverbank, the moving water of the Gangites filled me with uneasiness. It runs swiftly, and I usually sat far back from the riverbank where I could look away from the moving waters. However, Euodia motioned for me to follow Rhea to a place near the river, so I gathered my widow’s cloak, spread it on the flat rock beside her, and sat with my back to the water.

One of the Jewish women stood and intoned the first song. Her voice held sweetness like that of Syntyche, who had led our songs last night. The trees framed her, and the sounds of the river and the birds were her accompaniment. As the women’s voices joined hers, we were enclosed in the song that carried over the water. I felt myself move into the place of the spirit.

When young, I discovered that place inside me, and its attraction increased as I grew up. To enter it, usually I had to prepare myself with quiet, but that day at the river, the dawn light and the singing brought me there immediately.

In the middle of the song, I saw four men in traveling clothes coming toward us, all with walking sticks. The shortest, who was hunched over and almost bald, approached one of our women and spoke quietly to her. She nodded, got up, and went to Claudia in the front of the group. After more whispering, Claudia waited for the end of the song and then announced that a wandering preacher wanted to talk to us.

I had seen and heard enough of those people to be annoyed. I didn’t have time to listen to their exhortations, which always ended with requests for alms. As he came to the front of the group, I realized I couldn’t leave. Euodia’s choice of a seat condemned me to sit through what the man had to say or be quite rude.

I think I had not completely left my own spirit place when he began speaking. At least that is how I explained to myself what happened next.

I am Paulus, and I have come to share with you some good news. You worship the God of Moses and of Abraham and Sara and well you might. You gather here to worship that God, the one true God, the Creator of all we see. You know of Yahweh’s promise to his chosen people and to all who trust in him. I became interested.

I worship your God, and he is the God who promised to send us a savior, a Mashiah. Then his voice changed. I was a Pharisee. I thought myself zealous for our God, but one day riding to Damascus to punish those I thought were blasphemers, Yahweh knocked me off my horse and struck me blind. Someone said, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ I asked, ‘Who are you?’ and he said, ‘I am Yeshua whom you persecute.’ A brave man, Ananias, met me in Damascus and poured the water over me. From that day, I have preached about Yeshua.

I heard him within my open spirit. Yahweh had touched him. Who was this Yeshua? I wanted to hear more, but then Paulus gestured toward the river and said, I want to give you this water, this water of Yeshua. Then he will be with you. He wanted us to go into the river. What was this? A ritual cleansing? A Jewish practice? There was no time for questioning. Claudia started a hymn, and around me women sang. Leaning on me for balance, Euodia stood and held out her hand to me. I had to go with her.

When the first woman walked up to Paulus, he put his hand on her head, and she sunk into the flowing river. I shuddered. I could not be under the water no matter what the meaning of the ceremony. As the women ahead of me each sunk below the surface of the river and rose through the water again, I became more and more afraid. I wanted to step out of the line. Then Rhea approached Paulus, and one of Paulus’s helpers, a man with dark curly hair, handed him a shell. Paulus leaned down, scooped up some water with the shell, and poured it on the old woman’s head. When it was my turn, I pointed to the shell, and Paulus poured the water over my head.

When Paulus murmured over me, Be baptized in the name of Yeshua, I plunged even deeper into my spirit. When Claudia ended our service, it seemed that the water had made me thirsty to find out more about this Yeshua.

I found myself in front of Paulus.

Sir, I am Kratora Lydia. If you find me worthy of your God, come and stay at my home. He looked at me, smiled, and nodded.

What made me, a widow, offer my home to people I didn’t even know?

Loukas

The day Paulus preached at the river, I met Lydia over his sleeping body.

I’m Loukas. I’m traveling with Paulus. I’m a physician.

Kratora Lydia.

What happened?

Another of your group came to get me. He was in a fit, but his spasms lessened, and now he’s sleeping. You’ve seen this before, Loukas?

No, I’ve never seen him at the onset. Only afterward. He will sleep deeply now.

Is he in ill health?

No, this is rare. Maybe with all the traveling yesterday from Neapolis and then this morning . . . I trailed off. I had often tried to find the cause of Paulus’s attacks, but without success. We both looked at him in silence.

I had come to Lydia’s door to bring Paulus’s traveling bags from my sister’s house, where we had stayed our first night. Silas saw me and rushed me to the sleeping room where Timothy hovered fearfully in the background.

Will he need soporifics, some dill perhaps? Lydia asked.

I think he’ll sleep long without them, Lydia. I’ll stay with him until he wakes. Sometimes after an attack, he’ll be confused.

Silas, would you see to the bags? Lydia directed. Silas looked glad to leave.

Lydia left, and I found a stool and sat beside Paulus. That morning was the first time I had seen Paulus preach to a group of women; we were usually in synagogues, or he would preach to men in the agora. Watching the women’s orderly procession, I had the eerie sensation that they had done a blessing with water before, but I don’t see how this could be.

Paulus opened his eyes. I felt dizzy, Loukas.

Yes, you had spasms, but now you need rest. He nodded and went back to sleep. He would sleep through the night.

He has awakened and gone back to sleep, I said to Lydia on my way out. He will sleep normally now. Call me at Hecate’s if you need me.

My way to Hecate’s house led me through the city. We had grown up in Philippi, and I recognized houses and shops along the way. Philippi was proud of its self-containment. Peopled mostly by transplanted Greeks, it joined the Greek’s love of beauty with Roman efficiency.

I remembered a morning walk with my father.

See all the different kinds of shops, Loukas? Over there are bakers and spice dealers and in front of us pottery makers and woodworkers, down the road metal workers, butchers. Out on the hill, you can see men building a new house. Now, what do they all have in common?

In common? I struggled to understand what my father meant.

What do they all need?

Need? Someplace to work? I guessed.

Slowly he answered, Yes, that’s true, but how do they get a place to work?

They look for it?

And when they find it?

They move in! I was confident now.

Why does the owner of the place let them?

Because he likes them? I could see my father was beginning to tire.

Because they pay him, Loukas, he said impatiently. They give him money.

I could only nod.

And who lends the tradesman the money if he doesn’t have it? He didn’t wait for an answer. I do!

You do? I said, surprised.

Yes, many of these people got their start from me, but you have to be smart. You just can’t give your money to anyone . . . One of the shopkeepers interrupted him.

I had tried to repeat the rare conversation to Hecate, to show her how grown up my father considered me, but my mixed-up version failed to impress her.

When we had arrived in Philippi last night, I had to ask the way to Hecate’s house. Close to the amphitheater, said a helpful shop owner. It has a brass door handle. It was one of the homes built by the Romans when they resettled Greeks in Philippi, and so it was constructed in the Roman style. A servant answered our knock at the front door, and Hecate didn’t wait to be summoned. My sister stretched out her arms to me.

Loukas! You are so welcome!

Her husband, a sturdy man with a well-shaped head of thick hair and a clipped beard in the Roman style, directed the others where to put their traveling bags.

It’s been so long, I said.

I thought maybe you would come after Orillia . . .

I thought about it. Then I met Paulus, and I said I’d travel with him.

How long?

For a year or so, as long as he needs me.

Well, I’m just glad he decided to come here because he brought you. She kissed me. I’m lucky to live here, Loukas. It’s even better than when we were children. Biton works in gold and silver, and he sells what he makes before it cools. My children are safe with so many retired soldiers, you know. They keep watch. Besides . . .

Yes, I know. You sound like our mother.

She laughed and looked around. You didn’t bring any paints? How am I going to get a portrait of my children?

I haven’t gotten back to it since . . .

Well, now you’re home.

Paulus and the others returned from the sleeping rooms, and she said, I know you’re all tired. After your meal, we’ll let you sleep. Tomorrow we’ll have our real celebration of your homecoming, Loukas. I’m on my way to worship.

Biton sat with us as we ate bread, cold beef, cucumbers, olives, and fruits. When he left us, I tossed for a while on the pallet on the floor, but I did not hear Hecate’s return.

When I went to her house the next morning for Paulus’s traveling bags, she said, Paulus and the others will be quite comfortable at Lydia’s. She has a good house, but you’re staying here, aren’t you, brother?

I want to.

Good, now go on to your Lydia, but remember your way back home.

Preta

I reached into my spirit and tried to find the goddess. My body swayed gently as though I were in ecstatic dance. I imitated the movements I had seen the young women use in the temple at Neapolis. The dancing made me remember those days.

As a young woman, I married a minor government official. I had thought him so regal, so distinguished; but during my first year of marriage, I discovered that my husband was not regal but cold, not distinguished but distant. I decided that if the delights of the marriage bed were not to be mine, at least I would enjoy my role as a married woman. I started with small dinner parties for my husband’s colleagues. As he rose in the ranks of government, my parties became larger and more elegant. When he died, friends urged me to remarry, but I wanted a new life. I had liked managing a fairly large house with some entertaining, a few slaves. One day when I went to the temple for a ceremony, I found myself watching what the priestesses did. They led large groups of women. They provided a comforting atmosphere, they cultivated many friendships, and they taught others to become priestesses.

I sold my house, and with a large donation, the head priestess accepted me into training. My friends were surprised; they had noticed no particular devotion in me. However, from the first day, I enjoyed the company of the other women while I observed how our leaders oversaw the temple activities.

I watched the other apprentices closely. They were all younger than me, but they had cultivated practices impossible for me. They could fall into trance states easily. They danced gracefully to the goddess. When they spoke of her, their voices trembled, and their eyes shone. I gathered their experiences and took them for my own. Finally, when the head priestess called on me to describe my own trance experience of Artemis, I said, I am a woman split in two. One side of me belongs to the earth, while the other half of me lives in another world—a spirit world where ills and graces are conjured and delivered to the earth world with the rush of lightning or the growing of seed. I struggle to keep these sides of myself laced together, sewn side by side with the threads of my thought, the tough cords of my will. The priestess nodded.

During ecstatic dance, I followed the most graceful women and imitated their moves. When asked about my dance experience, I said, I no longer know that I am moving through air and stepping on earth. My absorption with the spirit fills me, makes me happy, and I want to stay with the spirit. When my body tires and comes again into my awareness, I sink to the earth. Often I cry as if I will never again be spirit filled. I forget that before the dance I hesitated to give myself over to it, fearing the ecstasy. Yet if I did not go into the spirit, I would have nothing to give to the servants of the goddess. If I stayed in the spirit, the gifts of the goddess could not reach the women of earth. So I strengthen my will to be a joiner, a bridge, for all women. It was a beautiful thought, and for me it was just that, a thought. I longed for the true presence of the goddess but was left with only my imaginings.

The healing arts were easier for me. The names and properties of herbs, what they looked like, and how they were grown—all that could be learned. However, I listened to those with special healing talents describe what happened within them during their healing rites. They said that their hands became warm when they touched a sick person. The warmth opened the priestess to the power of the goddess. I had tried to heal, but my hands remained cold, and the person felt no better. My teacher tried to tell me that that it often took some time to develop the art, but I knew that I would never be able to ease pain. Although I lead the women in healing rites, I don’t lay my hands on those who are ill.

When I heard that a position in Philippi was vacant, I spoke to each of our teachers, casting my candidacy in words that would appeal to each.

I want to share the gifts of the goddess, I said to the generous one.

I want the beauty of the goddess to flower in Philippi, I said to the artistic one.

And finally, to the ambitious one, I said, I want to expand the reach of the goddess to all the women of Philippi.

The other women waited to be chosen.

It was only when I arrived in Philippi that I saw how well it would engage my talents. It had no temple, and the worshippers were scattered. I gathered small groups of women for services with singing, dancing, and delicacies, just the way I had done in my own home. Gradually our numbers required more space and we moved to the outdoors.

One spring day, my servant Syntyche said, Lydia is here, mistress. She was waiting in the anteroom where Artemis was enshrined. The scent of fresh laurel and jasmine, warmed by the candle fire, swirled around me as I entered the room.

As we walked through my atrium, I remembered the first time I saw Lydia. She and her husband had just come to Philippi to live in the house left to Pirro by his uncle. Her dark eyes remained on mine while I welcomed her to Philippi in the name of Artemis. I had recognized her true experience with the goddess. She would be valuable to our worship. Since then I had observed her welcome timid women into her circle. Silent people sang when Lydia was there.

I’ve not seen you since our rites two weeks ago, Preta. Lydia seemed preoccupied. There’s been so much . . . Lydia was busy; her trade in wools and linens was brisk.

While she settled herself on the cushions in my room, I lit a candle. Syntyche brought goblets of light wine and water.

As Lydia sipped her drink, she told me, You know we go to the river many Sabbath mornings. Well, the morning after our rites, I went there with Euodia, and the others and a traveling preacher came. He told us that the god of the Hebrews had touched him. I believed him, Preta. She glanced at me to see my reaction, but I simply nodded.

He poured water on us, and that same god came to me, Preta. I felt something deeper, more intense than I have ever known. Her experiences before now had deepened her peace and made her more relaxed. But the woman who sat across from me sat tensely upright.

Lydia, why are you troubled? It sounds like a cleansing ceremony of some sort. Like those we’ve had during our Artemis honorings.

Yes, but this was different. This time it was someone or something quite other. And I did want it, more than anything, but I . . . I don’t know what it means.

In the silence after she spoke, I felt her distress and tried to enter it.

What are you afraid of, Lydia?

Preta, this is something new.

A new practice?

It’s more than that. They talk like it’s a whole life.

They?

Paulus and his friends. They’re staying at my house.

How could that have escaped my notice? Lydia taking in itinerant preachers? Not the wisest course for a young widow alone.

They act like I’m one of them, but I have no clear picture of what that means. The experience is still with me, but I’ve had no time to understand it. Suddenly she laughed, I got myself into that, in a burst of enthusiasm!

I laughed with her, happy to see her sense of humor return. It had been a long time since we had joked about her enthusiasms—impulsive decisions she later regretted.

This new practice, Lydia, what does it require of you?

Well, nothing now. I’m so busy feeding Paulus and his friends and all the people who come to the house. I often can only join them for a bread and wine ceremony on Sabbaths at the end of our evening meal. I’m sure there’s more. She trailed off.

And how long will they be staying with you?

Well, as long as they’re here in Philippi, I suppose. I don’t really know about their plans. She looked abashed. Perhaps I should find out!

When Lydia and Pirro had come to Philippi two years ago, they quickly became known for their hospitality. Their invitations turned many customers into friends. That all changed last summer—such a tragedy! His accident at sea had crushed her into unaccustomed seclusion. Without Pirro’s fun-loving nature, she’d become more serious.

With these Hebrew guests, Lydia had recovered some of the energy she had before Pirro died. Color bloomed in her high cheeks as she talked about Paulus and Loukas. They were attractive to her. She said she didn’t completely understand the new teaching called The Way, but she spoke of a man-god, his death, a shameful one, his rising. So there was a new god in Philippi. At least while the preacher was here.

After Lydia left, I wondered why an itinerant preacher had such an effect on her. When she talked about her experience, she used some of the same words that she’d used for our worship. Had she simply been granted a trance from the goddess? She said Paulus had taken her deeper to see what he saw.

Lydia, though young, was mature spiritually, a true daughter of the goddess. Our group drew from her strength. Recently I had noticed that she had healing gifts. I had begun to depend on her.

The preacher would move on; they always did. I’d heard them in Neapolis. They spoke in the marketplace, they solicited alms, primarily from the rich, and they were away. Paulus would be soon gone. If he left confusion, I would be here to help Lydia and the others. The events at the river might simply have come at a time when Lydia was particularly sensitive. She was strengthening herself, and her increased spirit power would serve the goddess well.

CHAPTER 2

Lydia

April 48 CE

When I had invited Paulus to my house, Arria shook her head in annoyance. She loved having guests, but she wanted to be ready, the pantry stocked and bed hangings aired. Justus’s eyes narrowed as he calculated exactly the number of guests I had gathered. If we ran out of wine or fresh food, he would be harder on himself than I would be.

Freed by Pirro’s uncle’s death, they had stayed on to care for the house. They knew it better than I did. With Paulus’s arrival, Arria and Justus swung into action. Seating appeared from back rooms, bowls graced the low tables, and laughter and talk spilled out of the rooms. Even on that first day, the guests visibly woke up Justus’s pride in the house. When I told him that many would return in the evening, he immediately promised fish and vegetables from the marketplace even late in the day.

For a year before, my hushed, quiescent house had slept as I had mourned Pirro. I fell into dreams that took me back to Thyatira during the first months of our marriage. Then I would awaken to an empty bed and remember that my husband was no longer with me. I wanted only to sleep and dream.

The servants had allowed me to sleep. In fact, Preta came with soporific herbs, a service she performed for many grievers. Justus, in his element when making important decisions and bullying tradespeople, had sulked in enforced leisure. Arria’s brown eyes looked at me sympathetically while she maintained her distance. She didn’t want to be too close to someone who had lost her husband. My house shut like my grieving heart.

The meals and conversations of Paulus and his companions brought me back to myself, a new self. I became an awakener, a welcomer, a provider. My house suddenly was filled with life.

Each morning, murmured Hebrew prayers drifted from Paulus’s room. I recognized the psalms that I had heard outside the synagogues in Thyatira when I went with my master, Krator.

When Paulus and Silas came out of their quarters, Arria had olives, fruit, and bread ready for them. Paulus often said, Not more food, Lydia! I’m still full from the feast last night! But Silas and young Timothy were always ready to eat.

One morning, Paulus sought me in the storeroom where Justus and I were talking about supplies.

Could I speak with you, Lydia?

I invited him to the atrium, where we would be in a public setting.

I want to talk with you about our plans. I am a tentmaker, and I intend to work at my trade while I am in Philippi. I have my tools.

He spoke more loudly than one usually does in conversation.

How can I help?

Perhaps you know someone who would let me work in a corner of a shop—perhaps a leather shop or any shop where traders gather.

I know of a shop that might welcome you. A tentmaker might bring in other customers. I will talk to the shopkeeper today. If Paulus were skilled, the shop owner would thank me.

His serious face relaxed slightly.

I want to pay my own way. As I started to demur, he said, If a man doesn’t work, he shouldn’t eat.

Such a solemn man. Many men did not respect themselves if they did not work. But an itinerant preacher? They usually think their preaching is their work, and they expect to be paid with offerings.

We would like to stay here through the winter.

I stopped, stunned. These people were guests. How could they expect to be in my house that long? And it was not just them. Since the first night, when Paulus had asked me if he could invite some of those at the