A note from the Pastor’s desk:

“Aristarchus my fellowprisoner saluteth you, and Marcus, sister’s son to Barnabas, (touching whom ye received commandments: if he come unto you, receive him;) And Jesus, which is called Justus, who are of the circumcision. These only are my fellowworkers unto the kingdom of God, which have been a comfort unto me.”

Colossians 4:10-11

Good Morning Dearly Beloved,

In the lonely confines of his Roman imprisonment, the Apostle Paul looked around his room and found a rare, beautiful gift: a small, fierce remnant of loyalty. In Colossians 4:10–11, the Apostle isolates three specific men—Aristarchus, Marcus, and Justus—and brackets them together with a profound designation: “who are of the circumcision.” Out of all the Jewish believers in his orbit, only these three stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the apostle to the Gentiles, risking their own standing to validate his controversial ministry. The Apostle concludes this brief greeting by stating that these men “have been a comfort unto me.” The Greek word he uses for comfort is ‘parēgoria’ — a medical term denoting a soothing balm or an ache-relieving medicine. The Apostle’s prison cell was heavy with hardship. Still, the collective presence of these three men acted as a divine analgesic, proving that God uses diverse models of loyalty to soothe the hearts of His weary servants.

The first ingredient in this soothing medicine is Aristarchus, whom the Apostle labels as “my fellowprisoner.” To truly understand the weight of Aristarchus’s loyalty, one must trace his scars through the Book of Acts. He was a Thessalonian (Acts 20:4) who stepped into the crosshairs of a raging, violent mob in Ephesus, where he was caught and dragged into the open theater (Acts 19:29). Years later, he willingly boarded a ship to accompany Paul to Rome, enduring the terrifying, multi-day tempest and eventual shipwreck off the island of Melita (Acts 27:2). The title “fellowprisoner” (“synaichmalōtos”, meaning a prisoner of war caught by the spear) suggests that Aristarchus was either legally targeted alongside the Apostle or, more likely, voluntarily chose to enter the Roman penal system as the Apostle’s personal attendant. His loyalty was not defined by eloquent theology or strategic leadership, but by the quiet, unyielding ministry of a shared cell block. Aristarchus represents the loyalty of absolute presence—the battle-tested companion who refuses to leave your side when the storms of life turn into a prison sentence.

Next, the Apostle introduces Marcus, identified as the “sister’s son to Barnabas,” and issues a striking apostolic directive: “if he come unto you, receive him.” This single sentence is a monumental monument to Christian reconciliation. Years earlier, during the first missionary journey, John Mark had abruptly left the Apostle and Barnabas in Pamphylia and returned to Jerusalem (Acts 13:13). This act of faint-heartedness caused such a sharp, painful division between the two veteran apostles on their subsequent journey that they ultimately split up and went their separate ways (Acts 15:37–39). Yet here in Rome, the coward of Pamphylia has matured into a trusted partner, so much so that the Apostle publicly clears Mark’s tarnished reputation and demands the Colossians give him a full, unhesitating welcome. Marcus represents the loyalty of restoration, offering profound comfort to the Apostle by proving that a believer’s worst spiritual failure need not be their final chapter, and that grace can turn a quitter into a gospel writer.

The final element of the Apostle’s comfort is a man named “Jesus, which is called Justus.” Unlike Aristarchus, who populated the high-stakes drama of Acts, or Marcus, who penned a Gospel account, Justus appears here on the pages of Scripture and then vanishes into historical anonymity. We know absolutely nothing about his background, his family, or his subsequent ministry, save for his name, which means “Just” or “Righteous.” In a world obsessed with prominent platforms and dynamic resumes, Justus stands as the beautiful representative of the ordinary, unsung believer. He possessed no spectacular pedigree or famous narrative, yet the Apostle places him on the same footing as the giants beside him. Justus represents the loyalty of the unsung, comforting the apostle simply by showing up, standing firm, and being reliably righteous in a dark corner of the Roman Empire.

When we combine these two verses, we see that the medicine that soothed the Apostle’s heart was a composite blend of three entirely different lives. God did not give the Apostle three identical heroes; instead, He comforted him with a veteran who absorbed his suffering (Aristarchus), a restored failure who redeemed his past (Marcus), and an ordinary saint who stabilized the present (Justus). Together, as a unified Jewish remnant in a hostile Gentile capital, they formed a picture of the kingdom of God. In this place, distinct backgrounds, past faults, and quiet lives were woven together into a singular, life-giving support system. Colossians 4:10–11 delivers a timeless truth: you do not need a uniform circle to find true Christian community, because the ultimate comfort is found when diverse models of faithfulness lock arms in the truth of Christ.

Our Prayers are with you daily,

Brother Jeremiah