Epilogue: Micah and Eliab

The road did not announce their sending. There was no trumpet. No public declaration.

Just hands laid quietly on shoulders in a borrowed home, oil still damp on skin, and a prayer spoken with more trust than certainty.

“Go,” someone had said. Not loudly. Not forcefully.

And they went.

Micah and Eliab, the former temple priests, walked now from town to town, welcomed by some, questioned by many, resisted by others. They spoke in homes, under trees, in courtyards where children lingered and elders listened carefully.

They did not begin with arguments. They began with a story.

About a God who came closer than expected. About a veil that tore.

About a presence that no longer asked permission from tradition.

Often, Eliab would pause mid-sentence.

Not because he was unsure of the truth but because he felt the old pull.

The desire for clarity. For lines. For something that could be guarded.

And each time, Micah would notice. Not correcting. Not rescuing.

Present.

Eliab learned that sanctification did not erase temptation—it taught him to recognize it.

One evening, after a long day, they sat near a small fire with a man with eyes burning with zeal and passion. 

He listened with such intensity that Eliab and Micah wanted to speak to him. 

“You walked with Him, Jesus, the Son of God?” the man said at last.

Micah nodded.

The man leaned forward, voice low.

“Tell me… how did He sound?”

Micah smiled softly.

“He spoke like someone who wasn’t afraid of being misunderstood.”

Eliab added, “Like truth didn’t need to be defended.”

Micah searched for words.

“He sounded gentle. But not unsure.”

The man closed his eyes briefly, as if remembering a voice he had only heard once.

“And when He corrected you?” the man asked.

“It felt like being named,” Micah said. “Not shamed.”

Eliab nodded. “He didn’t humiliate us. He called us forward.”

The man exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t hear Him like that,” he said.

Micah looked up. “You didn’t?”

“No,” the man replied. “I met Him later.”

Eliab felt something tighten in his chest.

“Later?”

“After His death.” the man said. 

The fire cracked.

“I was certain,” the man continued, “that I was right. That I was defending God. The Law. The traditions.”

Micah listened closely now.

“I had Scripture memorized,” the man said. “Authority. Zeal. I was a pharisee of pharisees and I used all of it to oppose Him.”

Eliab whispered, “So did I.”

The man nodded.

“I followed truth about God… while fighting the God who is truth.”

Micah felt the weight of the words settle.

“And then,” the man said quietly, “He spoke my name.”

Silence.

“Not in accusation,” the man continued. “In mercy. As if He knew exactly who I was and still wanted me.”

Micah whispered, “the road to… Damascus…”

The man nodded.

The man before the former priests was the man they had heard about. A murderer called by God to preach His truth and goodness to the world. 

“My name is Paul,” he said gently.

Eliab laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You’re THE Paul?.”

Paul smiled. “Only by grace.”

He stared into the fire for a moment longer, then said, almost amused,

“You know… there are these Galatians...”

Micah smiled. Eliab sighed knowingly.

“They want to add the Law back in,” Paul continued. “As if Christ needs help.”

Eliab spoke before Micah could.

“The veil doesn’t grow back.”

Paul’s eyes lit up.

“Exactly.”

The fire burned low.

Paul lay back, staring at the stars like someone still surprised they shone for him.

Eliab looked from Paul to Micah, wondering how to say what was circling his mind since Paul had revealed himself. 

Lord, You… the way you choose people.. The way you anoint… from David to Solomon, from Peter to Paul...”

Paul laughed quietly. “The one who hunted Him and His people”

Eliab lifted his eyes heavenward.

“Only You,” he whispered, “only You would take men so sure they were right… and make them servants of grace.”

He glanced at Micah.

“And only You would use my brother’s courage to save me.”

Micah looked to the dirt, the same dirt that God laid at the foundation of the world. 

“And only You would use Eliab’s faithfulness to keep me grounded.”

They sat there, no hierarchy, no system, no veil.

Just gratitude.

“We thank You, God,” Micah said.

“We thank You,” Eliab echoed.

Paul closed his eyes, peace resting easily on his face.

In the hearts of three men gathered around a campfire, the Spirit stirred.

The way to God remained open. 

It is Jesus. Not a system.

Some would still choose distance.

Others would step forward.

And Jesus still gentle, still near would keep surprising and turning the most unlikely of hearts.