Chains and Grace
The pilgrim’s path is rarely a smooth one.
Didn’t our Lord Himself say, “In the world you will have tribulation”? Tribulation, I think we can all agree, is not something we eagerly put into our plans for the weekend. But thankfully, our Savior, who knows full well that we are His little sheep (and sometimes rather wobbly ones at that), was quick to add: “But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.”
With every trial and temptation, He never leaves us to face it alone. He always adds His loving presence to the mix, and one way or another, He leads us safely into His arms.
When we read about the heartbreak and chaos in today’s world, including even the suffering of some of His own children, it’s easy to lose sight of that promise. But He always comes through. Sometimes in ways so unexpected, we can only smile and say, “Lord, I didn’t see that one coming, but thank You from the bottom of my heart.”
That’s the heart behind this week’s story. I hope it gives you a quiet chuckle, a spark of hope, and a gentle reminder that even in hard times, God is still writing beautiful endings.
Rescue would not come.
When the soldiers grabbed him, Cyprian Rowe knew that this was the end.
The night had been wonderful until the soldiers’ boots had stomped through the door. Their cruel shouts and their flashing, wicked eyes were more chilling than the icy winds from the snowy fields outside. The candles extinguished immediately and the once inviting fire now fought to stay lit, spitting out sparks into the cold air.
He, being the pastor of their small underground church, was the first to be dragged off, the protests of the others echoing in the tense atmosphere.
Hauled off into the snow, they kicked and spat at him while yelling their curses.
“We heard your so-called Savior enjoyed drinking with low-lives. Some king He is.”
Cyprian wished he’d pass out. He experienced the entire ordeal in slow motion and while he wanted to help the others; give them comfort and break the force of the Evil One, there was nothing he could do. He was thrown into an open wagon, hands and feet bound.
And yet, a strange peace enveloped him.
A different peace than the one he’d felt earlier while quoting scriptures in front of the open fire. Despite the cold and the pain, this peace was stronger. It was deeper; more tangible.
“Fear not. I am with you, even until the end of time.”
While he shivered and his heart ached for his friends, he knew the Master was near.
But earthly rescue would not come, that much was clear.
***
The jail was dark.
No friend remained but the heavenly Companion, to whom he clung in quiet desperation. The scurrying rats were the only other creatures around, their beady eyes glaring with animosity. Mercifully, he dozed off into a fitful sleep.
After a few hours, a whispered word startled him. “Psst, over here… Fancy a slice of bread?”
He opened his eyes and saw a gaunt looking man before him. His sunken eyes were filled with uncertainty.
It was the jailer, who was holding out a chunk of bread.
Another person in service of the Evil One?
“For me?” Cyprian whispered, not sure if the offering of bread was a cruel joke to break his spirit.
The man nodded. “Take and eat. I wish I could rescue you, but I can’t.”
No joke.
Cyprian’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you so much. I don’t need rescuing, though,” he continued. “My soul’s secure.”
“You should be terrified. Tomorrow, you’ll die. What is that peace you carry?”
“I know the One who gives me peace that passes all understanding. His name is Jesus.”
The silence that followed seemed full of unspoken words. At last, the jailer spoke and said, “I heard about him. Can you tell me more?”
And so, they talked for hours. In the end, a tear rolled out of the jailer’s eye too, and he asked in a whisper, “Do you know who is to behead you tomorrow?”
Cyprian’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“It’s me,” the jailer said and looked away, ashamed. “I can’t recuse myself without signing my death warrant… but if I go through with it, I’ll lose my soul.”
Cyprian’s gaze softened as he placed a steady hand on the jailer’s trembling arm.
“Then choose life,” he said gently. “Not mine, but yours. In Christ.”
The jailer blinked, stunned.
“I’ve already given my life,” Cyprian continued, his voice calm and steady. “But you still have a chance to live.”
Silence lingered, thick and sacred.
The jailer glanced toward the corridor, then back at Cyprian. Slowly, he reached into his cloak and pressed a cold iron key into Cyprian’s hand.
“Soon the guards change,” he whispered. “Run. You’ll be safe.” His voice broke. “I won’t let your blood stain my soul.”
Cyprian clasped the key, his heart pounding. “My friends are here too. I can’t leave them.”
The jailer shook his head. “They have all been set free. It’s you, their pastor, they want. You must live to proclaim the message of Jesus.”
A lump formed in his throat as Cyprian stared at the jailer. How strange and wondrous, that in a dungeon of death a soul might be reborn.
“Thank you,” he said as he squeezed the jailer’s hand. “You may have just saved a soul.”
The jailer gave a trembling smile. “You saved mine. I am now secure too and ready for whatever comes.”