by John Hagee
Jacob knew he was talking about his father’s betrayal that morning.
“That night,” John continued, “we couldn’t believe the fierce winds that stirred the waves. The boat began to pitch and toss out of our control and to take on water, front and back. The sail was ripped completely off. We frantically tried to bail the water out of the boat as we prayed, but we knew death was near. Peter screamed so loudly, you could hear him above the howling winds and the crash of the waves against the hull. I was amazed the boat did not split in half.”
“Where was Jesus?” Rebecca asked.
“That question was on every man’s lips. We were in that storm for nine long brutal hours. Why didn’t He come instantly? Why did He let us bail water and pray in panic most of the night?”
“Why do you think He waited?” Jacob too had wondered where God was during their long terrible ordeal that day.
“I think He did it to allow our self-sufficiency to reach its absolute end. Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity.” John stifled a yawn. “You see, we had been in storms all our lives, but never one like this. We were professional fishermen—seasoned sailors with rock-ribbed confidence borne from years of fighting the sea for a living. That night we tried every trick we knew to keep our boat afloat . . . but nothing worked. Our self-sufficiency was gone. Our confidence completely failed. We believed we were beyond the help of the Master and we thought we were going to die.”
“Where were you in the boat?” Rebecca asked.
“I was sitting on the last seat in the back with James. If I was going to die at sea, I wanted to die with my brother.” The Apostle turned to Jacob. “Did you know that the fishermen who lived around the Sea of Galilee believed that just before you drowned you would see a ghost?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s what we’d always heard. So when we saw Jesus, we were terrified. We thought He was that ghost. Then the Master came walking across the water in the darkness of the night saying, ‘Don’t be afraid! It is I.’
“Peter was the first to speak—he generally was the first to open his mouth. He cupped his hands to his face and screamed to be heard over the howling winds. ‘Lord, if it is You,’ he said, ‘command me to come to You on the water.’
“Jesus said one word, ‘Come,’ and Peter jumped out of the boat and started walking on the water as if it were made of stone. When he walked right over the waves and didn’t sink, we wept and shouted for joy . . . and then everyone in the boat got deathly quiet.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked when John paused. She was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, listening raptly.
“Peter was sinking. Was it a cruel joke? Were we deluded fools for believing a man could walk on water? Peter looked down and then cried out in terror, ‘Lord, save me!’
“Immediately, Jesus stretched out His hand and caught Peter, saying to him, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’
“The two of them walked through the tempest toward us, and as soon as they were safely in the boat, the winds died instantly and the sea was smooth again.”
Jacob slapped an insect crawling on his leg. “There’s another lesson here, right?” He thought he knew what that lesson was, but he wanted John to reinforce it.
“Of course,” John answered. It was too dark now to see the expression on John’s face, but Jacob knew he must be smiling; the Apostle loved give-and-take with his disciples.
“The first time Peter walked on the water,” John said, “he took his eyes off of the Master. He looked at the raging sea around him and started to sink. But the second time Peter walked on the water, he held the hand of Christ and made it back to the boat; then the winds stopped.
“When you focus on Christ and not the circumstance, the powers and principalities of darkness cannot touch you, much less defeat you. Learn this, both of you. In the storms of life on this island, never take your eyes off of Jesus.”
“But why did Jesus rebuke Peter for his lack of faith?” Jacob chided. “He was the only one who got out of the boat. You and the others stayed put. At least Peter tried.”
“That’s exactly the point, Jacob. Action without faith is presumption. Jesus was letting us know again that without faith in Him, we could do nothing . . . nothing at all.”
The stillness of the night surrounded Jacob as the three of them sat quietly in the darkness. Clouds obscured portions of the sky, and there was just enough starlight to make out John’s white head next to his. “We really should go inside now,” Jacob said as he stood up and offered a hand to the Apostle.
“Yes, we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow,” John said without a trace of dismay in his voice.
They picked up their blankets and entered the cave, standing still for a few minutes to let their eyes adjust to the darkness. Then they held hands as Jacob led them into the narrow passageway, his free hand feeling along the wall of the cave as he guided them into their bedroom of solid rock.
Tomorrow night, Jacob thought, we won’t wait until it’s completely dark before going to bed.
They spread their blankets on the ground and lay down. Jacob wiggled his fingers in front of his face. The inner room of the cave was so dark, he could not see his hand.
Rebecca scooted closer to him. “I’m scared,” she whispered in the darkness.
“Keep your eyes on the Savior,” Jacob told her.
“I will . . . but can I hold your hand too?” She wove her tiny fingers through his much larger ones.
Jacob squeezed his sister’s hand in reply, then closed his eyes. He was asleep almost instantly.
18
REBECCA WOKE TO THE SOUND OF SINGING. John’s raspy off-key voice reverberated off the walls of the cave in one of his favorite hymns: “Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you. Wake up, O sleeper . . .”
Is it time for church? she wondered, half-asleep.
“Time to get up, Rebecca.” This time it was Jacob’s voice she heard, his hand she felt on her shoulder.
Suddenly she remembered where she was. Devil’s Island. I’m a prisoner! she thought in panic. My first day to work in the quarries.
She sat up and looked around, unable to see much, although the darkness had changed from pitch-black to a charcoal gray. “Is it morning?” Rebecca asked, still somewhat disoriented.
“Almost daybreak,” John said. “We have just enough time to walk down to the camp before roll call.”
“And another delicious meal,” Jacob said sarcastically.
“And water, I hope.” Rebecca was ravenously thirsty. She realized with dismay that she couldn’t wash her face or clean her teeth, let alone bathe. She could not even change out of the dirty tunic she had already worn for two days. Homesickness swept over her as she thought of her comfortable bedroom at home and the bathroom with its large marble basin and servants to draw the water.
Hastily she ran her fingers through her long hair—That will be the extent of my grooming today, she thought—and stood up. “Jacob, where are you?”
“Right here,” he answered, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”
Once they had walked through the narrow passage from the inner chamber to the mouth of the cave, they could see better. As they exited, Rebecca noticed that the sun had not yet risen, but the level of gray had lightened considerably from the gloomy interior of the cave.
Silently, the three of them walked down the mountain in the early morning coolness. John led the way, his new walking stick firmly in hand as they carefully worked their way over the rocks. Halfway to the main camp, Jacob stopped Rebecca. “Where’s your cloak?” he asked. “You’re shivering.”
Rebecca felt the gooseflesh along her bare arms in surprise. She had been so distracted by thoughts of what the day would hold, she hadn’t realized how cold she was. “I must have left it in the cave. I had it spread over me, along with my blanket.”
Jacob looked at the camp below and then back up the hillside, judging how long it
would take him to double back to the cave and then make it down the mountain. “I’ll go get it,” he offered.
“No, we’ll be late,” Rebecca said quickly. “Besides, I won’t need it when the sun comes up and I’m working.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Come on, we’d better hurry.” She was terrified of what might happen if they reported late on their very first day.
“I wonder where we’re supposed to go,” Jacob said as they neared the main camp.
“Just follow the other prisoners,” John replied. “They’ll know the way.”
It soon became obvious where they would report each morning. Several tables were arranged in a row outside a rather large weather-beaten building at the edge of the camp; at least a hundred prisoners were already lined up in front of the tables. Rebecca was wondering if it made a difference which line she stood in when a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“You’re new.” The gruff voice belonged to a grizzled character with wild, curly hair sprouting all over his head. From his tattered clothes and lack of equipment, she figured he was a fellow prisoner.
“Y-yes. How did you know?”
“I notice pretty things.” The man grinned, showing a mouth full of crooked yellow teeth with some noticeable gaps.
Jacob whirled around and glared at the man, who held up a hand as if to halt any reprisal for his comment. “I was just going to tell you,” he said, “that they got us listed by date of arrival. New ones on that end.” He jerked a thumb toward the right, then walked over to the leftmost line.
While they stood in the line for newer arrivals, Rebecca listened to the prisoners ahead of her give their names to two clerks who were scanning a series of tablets laid out on the tables. When a clerk found the prisoner’s name, he punched a mark in the clay.
After their names had been checked off the list, Rebecca, Jacob, and John followed the other prisoners into the makeshift building that served as a mess hall. Workers—Other convicts? Rebecca wondered— handed each prisoner a cup of water and a bowl of thin gruel. Their meal in hand, the prisoners found a place at one of the long wooden counters lining the walls and sat down on the rough benches provided for the diners.
“Give us this day our daily gruel.” Jacob grinned in Rebecca’s direction. He tilted the bowl of watery mush to his mouth and drank from it. “I guess they thought spoons might make us feel too civilized,” he said when he had finished.
“More like too dangerous,” John said. “You can be sure they won’t put anything in your hands that could be used as a weapon.”
Rebecca did not eat the gruel; she merely looked at her bowl. This really isn’t food, she thought. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not food. Her stomach was empty, yet she had no appetite.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Jacob asked.
“I don’t think I can eat this.” Rebecca thought of family meals in the triclinium at home, with her mother and father reclining beside her and the table in front of her spread with delicious food, and could not reconcile that image with sitting on rough-hewn benches next to common criminals who gulped down gruel from wooden bowls.
“Try,” John urged. “You need to eat something before you work.”
Rebecca took a few sips from her bowl, then set it down. The stuff was awful. She picked up her cup of water and drained it. “You take the rest,” she said to Jacob as she pushed her bowl toward him. “That’s all I can eat.” When Jacob hesitated, she added, “Don’t let it go to waste.”
He downed the remainder of Rebecca’s meal in a single swallow, then set the bowl down noisily on the counter. “Can you imagine how Naomi would chastise the cook for this swill?” he asked with a wink.
In spite of the apprehension that had killed her appetite, Rebecca smiled. She suddenly knew she could survive, as long as she had her brother with her.
“There you are, child.” Servius appeared behind them, and Rebecca turned to greet him. “I was worried about you,” he said, “when you got separated from our group yesterday. I thought you were right behind us as we started up the hill.”
“John thought we should go in the other direction. We found a good cave. Did you?”
Servius nodded respectfully to Jacob and John. “Tolerable,” he said. “It’s crowded but has the advantage of being very close to the camp. Not as far to walk on these old legs.” He turned to Rebecca. “I feel I should be taking care of you, though. If you need anything . . .”
“No, I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine, but her heart went out to the faithful old servant who had helped raise her. They were both convicts now—equals—but he was still looking out for her. “I have John and Jacob to take care of me,” she said. “You need to concentrate on taking care of Servius for a change.”
“On your feet!” The soldiers who guarded the prisoners walked through the room to round up the work crews. “Time to move.”
Some two hundred prisoners stood and slowly filed toward the entrance, prodded by the guards, who tried to hurry them with shouts and threatening looks. As they went through the door, the condemned men, and the handful of women among them, handed their cups and bowls back to the workers who had doled them out earlier.
Rebecca stepped out into the sunshine, knowing she had crossed a threshold in her life, as surely as she had just stepped across the threshold of a rickety old door. There would be no going back to life as it used to be. With one pinch of incense she had gone from a privileged citizen of Rome to a criminal for Christ. Now her mother was dead, her father was an infidel, and she had been sentenced to hard labor for life. Her only consolation was that her brother was by her side.
As Jacob marched toward the quarry with the other prisoners, he fretted over Rebecca. Tomorrow I’ll make sure she eats her gruel, he promised himself. She can’t work all day on an empty stomach. And John . . .
Jacob looked at the Apostle, who was walking a few steps ahead, beside Rebecca. He was having no trouble keeping pace with the crowd, his tall stick swinging confidently as he marched. But how long can he last hauling rocks? Jacob wondered.
The prisoner who had given them directions outside the mess hall stepped alongside Jacob. “Didn’t mean no offense earlier,” he said. “She your wife?” He pointed to Rebecca.
“Sister,” Jacob answered.
“I got a sister too.”
“I see.” Jacob didn’t know what to say, and he wasn’t sure if talking was against the rules. Some of the others were carrying on conversations, but they kept their voices low and their eyes straight ahead of them.
Soon they passed the last of the ramshackle buildings that made up the camp. These must be the barracks for the soldiers, Jacob thought. They offered more protection from the elements than the standard army tent, but they looked none too sturdy.
“They call me Tonsorius,” his new friend said.
“Tonsorius?” Jacob caught himself before he laughed out loud.
“Yeah. Used to be a barber.” The man ran a calloused hand over his wild mane of hair. “Could use a haircut myself now.”
“Mine’s Jacob.” It didn’t seem appropriate to shake hands, so Jacob simply stated his name.
“What’d you and your sister do to get sent to this godforsaken place?” Tonsorius asked.
“We refused to sacrifice to Caesar.”
“And they sent you to Devil’s Island for that?”
Jacob nodded. “What did you do?”
“I was a little too good at my job,” Tonsorius said with another gap-toothed grin. “Slit a man’s throat.”
Jacob jerked his head to look at the convict walking beside him. “You murdered him?”
Tonsorius shrugged. “Found out he had forced himself on my sister. He needed killing, I figured.”
Jacob glanced at Rebecca and desperately wished he could yank his sweet innocent sister out of this gang of murderers and thieves and hide her someplace. She didn’t belong here, and she wasn’t safe here. Jacob knew that if someone f
orced himself on Rebecca, he could turn into a Tonsorius in an instant.
“I didn’t charge him for the shave, though,” Tonsorius added, as if that explained the situation to his satisfaction.
Jacob certainly did not know how to respond to that. After a while he asked, “Do you have any advice for a newcomer like me?”
Tonsorius beamed, obviously pleased with the question. “You saw Brutus, the camp commander, when you arrived. He’s tough and unbending, but not excessively cruel. Of course, he doesn’t have to be—there’s plenty of others ready to crack the whip for him. But you cause trouble, and he’ll make trouble for you.”
Just as Tonsorius warmed to his subject, he fell quiet for a minute. The guards were looking their way. Jacob kept his eyes on the dusty road as they trudged up the barren hill in silence.
“The trick is to work steady,” Tonsorius said after a minute or two. “Work too fast, and you’ll make enemies out of the rest of us. Work too slow, and you’ll get the overseer’s whip.”
Jacob nodded soberly. He wasn’t worried about working too slow; he was strong and sturdy. But what about Rebecca and John?
“When you do get the whip, Marcellus will patch you up if they hurt you too bad.”
“Marcellus?”
“The medical officer. Good fellow. Not many like him around here.”
Jacob saw huge boulders just ahead and knew they had reached the quarry. The prisoners in front were stooping to pick up what looked like baskets.
“One more thing,” Tonsorius said. “Drink water every chance you get. You’ll wilt like a daisy if you don’t.”
“Where—”
“They’ll have water on the side of the road when we start hauling.”
“Thanks for the help.” Jacob gave the wild-looking man a final glance as they parted. Tonsorius seems harmless enough . . . for a murderer, I suppose. The reality of the situation hit Jacob hard. He was on a prison island with hardened criminals and probably would be for the rest of his life. In a few years he would look like Tonsorius, with rotten and missing teeth, unkempt hair, and filthy rags for his clothing. He might as well have received a death sentence—it would have been more merciful.
