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Abo of Tiflis was certain that Islam was the one true faith — until he studied the Holy Bible and found himself more convinced in Christianity than in Islam.
It was cold in the dungeon. The prisoner stood there in the middle of his dark cell. He held a candle in each of his hands. His fellow prisoners had ceased watching him hours ago and were sleeping all around him. Hot wax dripped down from the burning candles onto each of his shackled hands, which were chained to his neck, as he continued to recite the Psalms.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
This was to be a night of prayer for Abo. An angel had revealed it to him that he was soon to be executed.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”
Abo had not been consumed by fear upon hearing the angel’s message. Much in him had changed over the years since his baptism. Grace had gifted him with conviction worthy of martyrdom. Worldly men are very eager to kill those with conviction that would be disruptive to the order which they are familiar with, and so he was to die. And as he continued to pray, the memories of his past, of his salvation, of having landed in this dungeon, began to flood into his mind.
“He leads me beside still waters.”
Abo was only a child when Baghdad was founded as the capital of the empire. His mother and father, both of Arab blood, had raised their children there as Muslims. He’d learned a trade as a young man, living in the capitol, that was highly sought after by the wealthy and the royal few: perfumer.
A skilled perfumer could make acquaintance with men of rank. Abo met one such man of royal blood. He didn’t know at the time that his acquaintanceship with an earthly prince would set his feet on a path to follow the King of Kings.
Continued below.
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It was cold in the dungeon. The prisoner stood there in the middle of his dark cell. He held a candle in each of his hands. His fellow prisoners had ceased watching him hours ago and were sleeping all around him. Hot wax dripped down from the burning candles onto each of his shackled hands, which were chained to his neck, as he continued to recite the Psalms.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
This was to be a night of prayer for Abo. An angel had revealed it to him that he was soon to be executed.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”
Abo had not been consumed by fear upon hearing the angel’s message. Much in him had changed over the years since his baptism. Grace had gifted him with conviction worthy of martyrdom. Worldly men are very eager to kill those with conviction that would be disruptive to the order which they are familiar with, and so he was to die. And as he continued to pray, the memories of his past, of his salvation, of having landed in this dungeon, began to flood into his mind.
“He leads me beside still waters.”
Abo was only a child when Baghdad was founded as the capital of the empire. His mother and father, both of Arab blood, had raised their children there as Muslims. He’d learned a trade as a young man, living in the capitol, that was highly sought after by the wealthy and the royal few: perfumer.
A skilled perfumer could make acquaintance with men of rank. Abo met one such man of royal blood. He didn’t know at the time that his acquaintanceship with an earthly prince would set his feet on a path to follow the King of Kings.
Continued below.
St. Abo, Martyr and Convert From Islam, Pray For Us!
Abo of Tiflis was certain that Islam was the one true faith — until he studied the Holy Bible and found himself more convinced in Christianity than in Islam.
