THE MAN IN THE CELL NEXT DOOR KEPT BABBLING AT THE MOON, BUT Asher made no effort to block the sound. He clutched the unfolded sheet of notebook paper and read the message again:
Tomorrow—I will do what I can. If I can’t convince someone in Rome to help you, I will pray for a heavenly defender.
Always, Claudia.
Tears welled up in his eyes as he read the message a third time. Dear Claudia. What a friend she had become! Faithful, loving, and merciful. All the things Jesus was.
That thought brought another in its wake, with a chill that struck deep in the pit of his stomach. Claudia has become more like Jesus in the last week than I have in the last two thousand years.
He felt the bitter gall of envy burn the back of his throat. How could one so young and inexperienced come to a fuller understanding than he? He had been following the path of martyred saints for generations, subjugating his desires, denying his earthly impulses, avoiding temptations of the flesh. He had shunned the spotlight, given himself to study and research, and all for—what? To be rebuked by a young American who could hardly quote Scripture without prompting?
Lifting his eyes to the cracked and stained ceiling, he whispered, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
No answer came from heaven; he heard no sound at all but coarse laughter from the man in the next cell. Asher stretched out upon his bunk and folded his hands behind his head. Hearing wisdom from Claudia’s lips and seeing the light of holiness in her eyes only amplified his feeling of estrangement. The chasm between himself and God yawned like an open wound.
Had he always been separated like this? Claudia said she felt the Spirit of God speak to her; he had actually awakened her in the night. Never in all the winding length of Asher’s memory had the Spirit spoken to him. Never had he felt the confidence that lit Claudia’s face as she spoke of grace and love and forgiveness.
But grace and love and forgiveness had to be earned! One had to labor to be worthy of the high calling of Christ Jesus. One had to live a holy and blameless life! Even Jesus said his followers would have to drink the cup of suffering . . .
He breathed deep and felt a stab of memory, a sharp shard of Scripture: And if they are saved by God’s kindness, then it is not by their good works. For in that case, God’s wonderful kindness would not be what it really is—free and undeserved.
The words made his throat ache with regret. Had he been so misled? Could the key to unlocking his life really lie in simple trust?
His mind filtered back to the afternoon. He and the other prisoners had filed into the dingy recreation room to watch an American movie, The Wizard of Oz. He had thought it a silly story until the end, when Dorothy discovered she didn’t need the wizard, the witch, or the magic of Emerald City to return to her true home. She only had to close her eyes, tap her heels, and whisper, “There’s no place like home . . .”
Dorothy had worked, risked death, and suffered for no reason . . . no, that wasn’t true. In her journey, she had made friends and influenced people along the Yellow Brick Road. But it wasn’t until she learned that the desires of her heart lay in her own backyard that she could find her way home.
Asher let his gaze rove over the stained ceiling, the crumbling walls, the filthy floor. He had been searching for a true home, a place of rest, all his life. Just as Dorothy had set out to disarm the Wicked Witch of the West; he had set out to disarm the Antichrist. Now Claudia wanted him to stop striving and rest.
The sound of crazed laughter filled the heavy air. Asher closed his eyes, bracing himself against the diabolical sound. Across the hall another man let a stream of curses fly, stunning the laughing simpleton into silence, at least for a moment. From another cellblock rose a shriek as thin as a paper cut, accompanied by pulsing sobs. Asher clapped his hands over his ears and rolled onto his side, trying desperately to block the vile sounds of human pain and madness. He’d grown soft in the last sixty years. After leaving Nazi Germany, he had wandered mostly in civilized countries, leaving behind the cries and whimpers of suffering men . . .
As unexpected as a ray of sunshine in the middle of a summer shower, another sound suddenly poured from a distant cell. A tenor voice, pure as mountain spring water, began to sing a hymn Asher had not heard in ages: Grazia sorprendente, quanto dolce il sano che ha salvato un miserabile come me! . . .
Asher rolled off his bunk and walked to the locked door, then folded his hands around the iron bars. He pressed his face into the narrow opening, trying to get as close as possible to the source of the sound. Ero perso ma ora mi sono trovato . . . Ero cieco, ma ora vedo.
The cursing stopped as the heavenly voice floated over the complex. Attraverso molti pericoli, tormenti e difficolta gia sono passato . . .
Asher could feel each separate thump of his heart against the wall of his chest. Questa grazia é stata la mia salvezza e la mia guida.
Would grace lead him home? Unable to control the spasmodic trembling within him, Asher clung to the bars and took a deep breath. “Father,” he whispered, his mind curling lovingly around the thought of release. “Father, will you hear me?”
Asher waited, oblivious to everything but the certainty that he had found what he had been seeking for years. “Father, can it be so simple? Jesus said I would live until I saw him clearly—Father, I would see Jesus!”
And then, like a warm wind that stirred his soul, came a voice he had never heard or felt or sensed: There is a path before each person that seems right, but it ends in death. Fear not, beloved. My grace is sufficient for you; my strength is made perfect in weakness.
A hot tear rolled down Asher’s face as his heart sang with delight. The truth was so simple even a child could grasp it. A blush of pleasure rose to his cheeks as he lifted his hands in praise and thanksgiving, then joined in the song.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found, ’twas blind, but now I see.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come,
’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.