"Well," he thought, "I guess that is the end of that!"

Approximately fifty years after the crucifixion of Jesus an old man sits in a dusty alcove scribbling away at parchment. His name is Joseph bar Sabbas. Most know his name as Justus. Shadows dance on the walls above his head with the flickering of the candlelight he requires to write his story.

Justus was just a young man when he saw John baptize the Lord Jesus. From that moment on, he followed his new Master. Through the next several years he saw every miracle, heard every word, witnessed every healing. He, along with his friend Matthias, camped at night with Jesus and the apostles, ate with them, laughed with them, fished with them. Justus was every bit as qualified to be an apostle as the ones actually chosen.

But when it came time to choose the man to supplant Judas Iscariot, it was Matthias, not Justus, who was chosen. At the time, like Naomi, Jeremiah, David and others, he could not help but feel rejected by God. He did not understand why. He had followed Jesus with all his heart. But the lot had not fallen to him. It had selected his friend instead.

He was confused. Hurt. He didn't understand. He had been with Jesus since his baptism with John. He had spent nights under the stars with him and the disciples. He had been with them on the Sea of Galilee and on the grassy slopes of the mountain. He had heard the sermons, seen the multitudes fed from a few loaves and fishes, seen the dead raised and countless people healed of disease. He had been there that awful day when he saw his Lord suspended between heaven and earth, blood oozing from his wounds. He had seen the empty tomb and the resurrected Christ with the others in the upper room. Finally on the mountain he watched his savior, Lord and friend ascend into the clouds back from whence he came. Yet as it might have done with others, this did not adversely affect Justus for long. He poured his life into the service of the resurrected Christ. Now in these his twilight years, like the four Gospel writers before him, Justus, the "rejected" disciple, sat down and taking instrument in hand began to scratch words on papyrii. Shadows on the wall watched him write . . .