SPIKELETS OF WILD oats rustled and danced beside the path in the noonday sun, indifferent to the crisis raging in Shana’s heart. A nightmarish sense of unreality disconnected her from all but her immediate mission as though a part of her brain had shut down. She crossed the field and stopped on the crest of the Mount of Olives to survey the city, so magnificently displayed upon its ochre platform beyond the Kidron valley, with the temple rising above the high walls. The track floundered down through the olive groves into the gulley, where pebbles lay like brown eggs on the dry bed of a seasonal stream. She selected one and held it tight in her hand to steady her as she approached her beloved Jerusalem – the city with a hidden sting, which had caught her husband in its evil claw and gulped him into its dark gullet.
It swallowed her too through the gaping jaws of the arched gate into the teeming uproar of its innards, where she became an insignificant speck in the functioning of a huge, hostile organism. Alongside, but set apart from her, the inhabitants went about their business, unconscious of her predicament. Men pushed loaded carts or drove packed donkeys, women hauled baskets swollen with fresh produce, beggars called out on the fringes while the holy men, with elaborately turbaned heads and long white beards, passed them by.
Ignoring the overt glances of the street merchants, Shana covered her face with her headscarf and walked briskly through the maze. She thought she would easily remember the way to the house where she had so often met with the disciples after the Master’s departure, but many things had changed, and she found herself in an area she did not recognise. In a fluster, she began to zigzag back and forth, retracing her steps and then losing her way again. In her distress, she had forgotten to pray, which was now her only recourse. She ducked into an alcove and brushed away her tears, feeling like a frightened lost child, and wordlessly turned her mind heavenwards. After a while, a gentle reassurance steadied her and she stepped out again and walked where her feet seemed to take her. Soon the palace towers came into view, which she used as a guide until she recognised a row of buildings. Quickening her step, she crossed the road and headed towards the northern quarter. This part was well known to her – how often she had dashed down these streets to meet with the disciples after Yeshua’s departure, to share their sorrow and draw strength before having to race back home to nurse Juanita.
The house with its upper room stood like a beacon before her, and she knocked at the door with bated hope. The door opened to reveal a stout, kindly woman who regarded Shana closely.
“Shalom. May I be of service?” she asked, an element of mistrust apparent in her cautious greeting.
“I–I’m looking for Peter. Does he still stay here?” Shana’s voice croaked in her tight throat.
“Yes, he’s at the temple now for the time of prayer. Whom shall I say called?”
Shana exhaled with relief. Peter was her closest human connection to the Master.
“My name is Shushana. Thank you, I will go and find him there.”
“Wait,” the woman said, drawing her inside and closing the door. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Peter’s, and John and Mary and Abigail and–”
“You are a follower of Yeshua?”
“Yes, I travelled with him in Galilee.”
The woman’s face lit up. “Oh, my dear,” she said, taking Shana’s hands and searching her eyes with awe. Then she grew serious. “You know of course that it is dangerous to be seen among his followers. Some of our dear ones have been taken from us. Peter and the others are careful to observe Jewish customs publicly, but we have to meet privately to worship our Lord.”
“My husband is in prison,” Shana blurted out, choked with emotion.
The woman reached for Shana’s hands again, her eyes wide with compassion. “Come, my dear, sit down and tell me all about it. My name is Anna. This is my home, which is open to all the Lord’s people.” She drew Shana down onto a cushion, one of many scattered around the small room. It was dark and chilly inside in spite of the warm day. A thick curtain hung over the front window and only a little light leaked through the back entrance, which was shut off with a heavy woven mat. After Shana had told her story, Anna said, “We know Nathan well and grew very fond of Rafael too – such a fine man. Yes, I know about his incarceration. We have all been praying for him, and Rufus who they arrested with him, and for you too, my dear. What a shock this must have been.”
“Tell me how it happened. You would know more about it than I do,” said Shana.
“Rafael was staying at a brother’s house nearby, where the church met regularly, and Rufus was being raised up as their leader. They came here often to visit with Peter. One morning, they were walking together in the temple courts, and an associate of Saul’s heard the mention of Yeshua’s name and confronted them with direct questions, which they were compelled to answer. Evidently Saul began watching them, looking for an opportunity to have them arrested. One night when Rafael and Rufus were praying together in Yeshua’s name on the roof of the house, Saul’s men surrounded them. The house is in a noisy street so the men would never have heard them unless they had climbed the steps to listen – Saul is fastidious about having genuine witnesses to support his cases.”
Anna put her arm around Shana’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m talking about your husband. This must be very disturbing for you.” Shana nodded, not daring to speak lest the tears should start.
“Some of the brothers have been taking turns to go to the prison daily,” Anna went on. “They have not been allowed to see them yet, as far as I know, but they will not give up and they have managed to pay the guards to deliver food to them. Prison rations are very meagre.”
“But–but surely they risk getting arrested also?”
“Yes, there is always that risk. They are visiting as family members, which is true enough.”
“Then I will go too.”
“I don’t think that would be wise, dear. If the prison officials find out you are his wife, they will almost certainly tip-off Saul’s crew, who are very determined.”
“I will say I’m his sister.”
“It’s unlikely they will allow you in as a woman. Rather leave it to the brothers.”
“Surely there is something I can do?” cried Shana in despair, tears welling in her eyes.
Anna hesitated, summing her up thoughtfully, and then said, “I have heard that occasionally women volunteers are allowed to work in the prison. They offer their services so they can be near their loved ones and do whatever they can to better their conditions. They are probably only allowed into the women’s section though, but–”
Shana clutched fiercely at this straw. “I will go tomorrow.”
“The prison allows limited numbers of helpers, and not many can endure the work. It could be very distressing, and you will still probably not be able to see him.”
“I’ll do anything if there’s a chance it might help him,” cried Shana.
“Wait till you have seen the brothers, they can tell you more. We are meeting here tonight after nine. Will you be able to come?”
“I will find a way.”
“The entrance is via the back lane. Be careful. If you see anyone about, just keep walking past.”
Shana went once more to see whether Abigail was home, but the steps remained unswept and there was no answer at the door. There was still a chance she might be at the meeting tonight. She started back to Haziel’s. The walk gave her time to think. It was a comfort to know that others shared her concern for Rafael. It seemed that everything that could be done for him was already being done, and she could make little difference, but perhaps just knowing she was near would cheer him. On the other hand, it might give him more to worry about. Nonetheless, she resolved to go to the prison the next day; anything was better than doing nothing.
Back at the house, she wandered around listlessly. It was so lifeless without Judith. The goat stalls were empty and evidently no longer used; Judith’s loom, covered in dust, stood desolate in the corner of the courtyard with a few rags flung over it. Shana recognised Judith’s apron and shook it out, and underneath was the old tunic she used to wear when she dyed the wool – pathetic relics of the bustling woman they had once clothed.
She went indoors. There was nothing in the food basket and the ashes in the hearth had solidified. Taking up Judith’s basket, Shana went out to the small village market; it was time her cousin had a decent meal. It came so naturally to take up the household duties again, almost as if she had never been away.
When Haziel came back from his shop that evening to find a large vegetable and corn stew awaiting him, he was visibly pleased. “Women certainly have their uses,” he said, helping himself greedily.
Shana waited until he laid down his spoon and patted his bulging stomach.
“I want to visit my friends in Jerusalem tonight,” she said.
“Go ahead,” he mumbled, yawning noisily.
“You know I can’t go alone,” said Shana.
Haziel eyed her as she stood in front of him with her hands behind her back.
“So now I’m to be an accomplice to your subversive activity, am I? Was this your favour offering then?” He indicated the empty bowl.
“Please, Haziel. You can leave me there; I will stay the night.”
He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and grunted, which Shana took as consent.
“Thank you, it means a lot to me,” she said, and he grunted again.
It was so quiet outside Anna’s house that Shana thought the meeting had been cancelled and was about to run back after Haziel when a small glimmer of light showed through the curtain. She crept forward to peek into the room. To her relief, it was already crowded with people. She let herself in quietly and Anna came forward to greet her, a warning finger held to her lips. Peter leapt to his feet and gave her a rough hug, while John waited behind him, smiling shyly. Everyone spoke in low voices, showing animation only in their expressions. There were several women, none of whom Shana recognised except Mary, the Master's mother, but there was no sign of her friends.
“Mary and Abigail have gone to Galilee,” whispered John. “When the trouble started, Mary attracted too much attention so we advised her to leave, and Abigail went with her.” Shana was greatly disappointed but relieved that they were safe. She sat down cross-legged on the floor with the others, and Peter stood in front of them to begin his teaching, his cheerful face already comforting.
“Friends, we who are born of God are no longer children of darkness but children of the light; we are not citizens of this world but of heaven and the world to come. As such, our hope goes beyond this life, which is but a moment compared to eternity. Although in this world we have troubles, through faith in Yeshua we can overcome all obstacles. The evil one cannot harm us, we are shielded by God’s power, and this is why we can keep rejoicing in times of trial. Those who persevere through trial will receive the crown of life and an eternal inheritance greater than we can even begin to imagine.” Peter looked over their heads into the distance with such a rapt expression of transcendent joy that Shana found herself briefly swept up with him into the heavenly realm he could perceive so clearly.
He went on. “The Master warned us that the world would hate us the same way it hated him; for this reason, some of our brothers are in prison. Just as he suffered, we are called to share in his sufferings.”
The room grew very quiet. Peter walked up and down with his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating together with all of them what this could mean. He was nothing like the Peter Shana remembered who so often spoke without thinking, and his long pause added weight to what he said next. “We should not be surprised when all kinds of trials and tests come, for they serve a purpose of great worth in the kingdom of God and will reap an exceedingly valuable harvest, not only for ourselves but for others also.”
This was a subject Shana had always resisted, but now she could not avoid its relevance and listened carefully. After another thoughtful silence, a young man raised his hand, and Peter nodded to him.
“Does that mean we are to allow our brothers to be mistreated and do nothing about it?”
“Not at all,” said Peter. “As soldiers in the army of God, the battle we fight is not against flesh and blood but against the invisible powers and evil spirits that control this world. Our greatest weapon is our faith. In practice, this means that through prayers of faith we call on the power of God to deliver those who suffer and trust him to guide us in action to do everything we can to help them. But we can always have hope because we know that those who suffer according to God’s will are blessed.”
The young man looked agitated. “Is all suffering according to the will of God? What about that which results from wrongdoing?”
"Good question," said Peter. "Would anyone else like to give an answer?"
An older man stood up. “All the problems in the world are a result of mankind disobeying God, thereby reaping the consequences of wrongdoing. The Father disciplines us as his children, like any good father does, sometimes using hardship caused by our own or another’s sin. But we cannot say that sin and its destructive effect is ever the will of God. However, faith and perseverance during trials transform hardship into character and spiritual maturity, which results in blessing.”
Peter interjected. “This is a mystery too vast for us to fully understand. We have been given freedom of will to choose life or death, blessings or curses. There is much needless suffering as a result of wrong choices, but the Master made it clear that some suffering is according to God’s will.”
"And somehow God is able to work out everything, even the suffering we bring upon ourselves, for our good if we trust him," said the older man.
“Are we all then called to suffer?” asked a woman anxiously.
This time John replied, speaking slowly in his quiet, reassuring manner. “Our Lord Yeshua mentioned trials and tests of various kinds, which I believe come upon all God’s children in different ways. This encompasses anything, from our daily struggle to resist temptation and deny the cravings of our sinful nature, to suffering insults or injustice at the hands of wicked men, or even the greater sacrifice of martyrdom only a few are called to, as was our dear brother Stephen.”
Shana listened intently. Could this mean that Rafael had been individually chosen by God to suffer in prison for a purpose? And since it affected her too, could this be his will for her also?
A hot flame of anger flared up but quickly burnt out. Who was she to call to account the Most High? She dared not resist his ways just because she could not understand.
“May I ask a question,” she whispered.
“Please do, sister.”
“You said the evil one cannot harm us, but how can my husband be protected in the terrible conditions of prison?”
Peter looked at her with deep compassion. “We are praying for your husband’s deliverance and also that he will be strengthened and comforted in a supernatural way while he endures this severe trial. He is not suffering as a wrongdoer but as a Christian, therefore we must take comfort that it is according to God’s will. The evil one cannot touch him, and only good will come out of it. Our Lord has not deserted him.”
After a time of prayer, the others left in the early hours of the morning, and Shana curled up on a cushion, covered herself with her cloak, and went to sleep. She still had more questions than answers but was too tired to try and work it all out. However, she drew solace from the new conviction that this trial served a divine purpose. She was not helpless because she could pray, and if her prayers were in agreement with the will of God, no power in the universe could stop them being answered. And if God was completely good, loving, and all powerful, then logically she had nothing to worry about.
These things she tried to explain to her heart, but logic was not a concept it easily accepted and it seemed stubbornly determined to hang onto its fear.