In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1)

Please don’t call me a “doubter.” If you must call me anything at all, I prefer that you call me “a practical thinker.” This doubting thing, you see, has gone on far too long and you must help to dispel that image of me.

Thomas here again. Note I did not call myself “Doubting Thomas” as you might have desired, and if you did, that is your problem and not mine!

This time I want to talk with you about faith. Now, you may believe that someone like me would not be qualified to even bring up the subject of faith.

“So when they had come together, they asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He replied, ‘It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’”

My name is Ananias and this is my story. I have told it many times and each time, I pray that the retelling will glorify my Lord, Jesus Christ.

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John and realized that they were uneducated and ordinary men, they were amazed and recognized them as companions of Jesus. When they saw the man who had been cured standing beside them, they had nothing to say in opposition.

Then the temple police went back to the chief priests and Pharisees, who asked them, “Why did you not arrest him?” The police answered, “Never has anyone spoken like this!” Then the Pharisees replied, “Surely you have not been deceived, too, have you? Has any one of the authorities or of the Pharisees believed in him? 

“After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem but to wait there for the promise of the Father.” (Acts 1)

“How can you believe that stuff? Surely you have more sense. I thought you were smarter than that, but I guess I was wrong.”

Those were the words of my best friend, Cornelius. He and I go way back, all the way to our childhood in Ephesus, the city of our birth.

But now, something has come between us. Yes, and it’s become quite an obstacle to our friendship. And, if you guessed it’s my faith in Jesus Christ, you’d be correct!

“Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given to me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”

I have never thought of myself as anything but ordinary. Surely, no one could accuse me of being a prophet, much less an apostle, one of the inner circle of Jesus. And you should know that I have never sought fame or glory, and have always lived with my share of self-doubt and insecurity. But something of Jesus has gotten into me. Or maybe a better way to say it is that something of Jesus has awakened something in me. Yes, something that was perhaps always there, waiting to be discovered and given birth.

My name is Lydia and this is my story, written to you from what you call the first century. Of course, in my day, it was not the first century, since time in the Roman Empire was measured from the founding of Rome.

I was originally from the city of Thyatira, in the Asian kingdom of Lydia; hence my name. You see, in my time it was customary for slaves to be given the name of their home territory. So, I was Lydia from Lydia! And yes, I was a slave.

Before I go on, let me interject something important here. Because you must understand this: my story is not my own. No, as you will see, my story is God’s story, though I didn’t know it for the longest time.

“I thank my God for every remembrance of you, always in every one of my prayers for all of you, praying with joy for your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because I hold you in my heart, for all of you are my partners in God’s grace, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel.”

Paul is dead, executed by the Romans. Peter is also dead, crucified upside down, also by Rome. Reading about this in your time, you may not feel much from these losses. You have the perspective of history, a history that seems to envelop us, in our time, in a deep sorrow. Because we, the followers of the Way in what you call the first century, we are devastated, wondering: what more can they do to harm our fragile faith?

I am a self-made outcast, isolated from my own culture. No, I’m not a leper, though I might as well be. I often feel like a leper, anyway. And I wasn’t born blind, either. My infirmity is private, hidden from view. I look normal and healthy on the outside, but I am anything but that on the inside.

You might call me a “late bloomer.” In fact, I am just that, a person who, late in life, found himself involved in things he never dreamed of. And if you knew me, you’d be as surprised as I am. Why? Because no one could have predicted what transpired in my later years. Not my friends, not my family and especially, not me!

Go back through your Bible and see how many of us late bloomers you find. I wager that you’ll be amazed.

Can you tell me the difference between “belief” and “faith?” Can you?

If you can, please do tell me, because I’m really struggling. Really struggling. You see, I know that, as a Christ-follower, a person of The Way, I need an abundant supply of faith. Life in my time and place demands it, and I fear that I come up very short when a strong faith is required.

“As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”

You won’t know my name, nor my place in the history of our faith. I am a nobody, in some ways, not even a person, because, you see, I am a slave in the city of Philadelphia (known as the city of brotherly love), in the Roman province of Asia. I live in the early years of what you call the second century.

Most important, I am a follower of Christ. I did not come to my faith as a Jew, as some did, but instead, as a gentile who followed many gods. And of course, as a subject of Rome, I am expected to worship the emperor as a god, and to testify that “Caesar is Lord.”

To the angel of the church in Ephesus write: These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand, who walks among the seven golden lampstands:

These words, written by a man named John on the island of Patmos, came to us in Ephesus, hand delivered via a messenger. How do I know? I know because I was the messenger. You see, I own a boat and was called into service by my church, the Ephesian church, to carry supplies to John, who had been exiled to Patmos. As a result, I got to know him quite well from my biweekly visits.