Antioch stirred with life as dawn spread gold across its rooftops. Greek merchants opened their stalls, the scent of spiced wine and baked bread drifting through narrow streets. Camels from the east knelt to unload silks and frankincense. Roman soldiers clanked past synagogues where prayers rose like incense to heaven.
In a large upper room near the market, believers gathered for the agape feast. Rugs covered the floor where men and women reclined side by side—Jews and Gentiles, free and slave, united as one family in Christ. Laughter rippled among them as bread was torn and olives passed around.
Peter sat near the centre, his eyes warm with affection as he shared bread with Gentile brothers. Beside him, Barnabas dipped bread into olive oil, nodding as Peter recalled walking with Jesus on Galilee’s shore.
Paul stood nearby, leaning against a wooden pillar, arms folded across his chest. His stern face softened as he watched them. This was the gospel alive—walls fallen, one new man formed in Christ.
“For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility.” (Ephesians 2:14)
Then whispers rose at the doorway.
“They’re here,” someone murmured.
In stepped men from Jerusalem, robes pure white, prayer tassels swaying as they walked. Faces solemn, eyes scanning the room, they carried with them the silent weight of James’ authority and the conscience of Jerusalem’s holy traditions.
Peter saw them. His smile faltered. For a moment he hesitated, fingers tightening around his piece of bread. Then, with a forced cough, he set it down and slowly rose, moving away from the Gentile tables to sit among the circumcised believers.
Barnabas looked up, confusion clouding his brow. Seeing Peter leave, he too rose, quietly following him to the Jewish side of the gathering.
Paul’s chest tightened. His heart thudded painfully as he pushed away from the pillar. The chatter fell to a hush as he strode across the room, sandals brushing the woven rugs. He stopped before Peter, whose eyes were lowered, his shoulders heavy with silent guilt.
“Cephas,” Paul said, his voice low but edged with righteous anger, calling him by his Aramaic name that cut through the walls of fear.
Peter raised his eyes, shame flickering across his lined face.
“How is it,” Paul continued, his voice shaking, “that you, a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, yet now force Gentiles to follow Jewish customs?” (Galatians 2:14)
Peter opened his mouth, but no words came. Nearby, Barnabas shifted uncomfortably, torn between Jerusalem’s traditions and the gospel’s freedom he had preached alongside Paul for years.
Paul’s gaze turned to the men from James, their faces guarded and unreadable. His chest burned with a holy fire. He turned back to Peter, his voice quiet but resolute:
“We who are Jews by birth and not sinful Gentiles know that a person is not justified by the works of the law, but by faith in Jesus Christ.” (Galatians 2:15–16)
Silence fell thick upon the room. The men from James said nothing. Peter lowered his eyes. Barnabas shifted his weight, heart heavy with conviction. Around them, Gentile believers looked on with confused grief, some wiping tears from their cheeks.
That night, Peter lay on his mat, staring at the dark rafters above. Hot tears slid down his temples as guilt and regret churned in his chest. He remembered Cornelius’ house, when the Holy Spirit fell upon Gentiles without circumcision or ritual purity.
“Then I remembered what the Lord had said: ‘John baptised with water, but you will be baptised with the Holy Spirit.’ So if God gave them the same gift he gave us… who was I to think that I could stand in God’s way?” (Acts 11:16–17)
In Jerusalem, James prayed long into the night, unaware of the incident. Yet his spirit felt a heaviness, as if the cords of unity were being stretched thin across lands he had never walked.
And far away in his room, Paul knelt in prayer, tears falling onto the clay floor.
“Lord,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the earth, “keep your gospel pure, free from every chain.”
Thus the Church continued its journey—fragile, beautiful, bearing within it the weaknesses of men and the perfect strength of its risen Lord.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7)