Free The Scribe by Francine Rivers Page B

“the big fisherman,” Peter. We knew if God did not intervene, Peter would be crucified just as Jesus had been.
    We prayed that if Peter was crucified, God would raise him like Jesus. Who then could deny Jesus as Messiah, Lord and Savior of the world?
    I confess I had no hope of ever seeing him again.
    Someone knocked at the door. Whoever it was knew our code. We sent a servant girl to open the gate, but she ran back. “It’s Peter.”
    “You’re out of your mind, Rhoda.”
    “I know his voice.”
    “How can he be at the gate when he’s chained in the dungeon?”
    The knock came again, more firmly this time. Cleopas and I went. And there he was, big and bold as ever! Laughing, we opened the door and would have shouted to the others had he not had the presence of mind to quiet us. “They will be looking for me.”
    What a story he told us! “I was struck awake while sleeping between two guards. And there stood an angel of the Lord, right in my cell. It was all alight. The chains fell off my hands and the door opened. And I just sat there.” He laughed. “He had to tell me to get up! ‘Quick!’ he told me. ‘Put on your coat and follow me.’ I did. Not one guard saw us as we passed by. Not one! He took me to the gate.” He spread his arms wide. “And it opened by itself! We went along a street and then the angel vanished. I thought I was dreaming!” He laughed again.
    We all laughed. “If you’re dreaming, so are we!”
    “We must tell the others you’re safe, Peter.”
    “Later,” I said. “First we must get him out of Jerusalem before Herod sends soldiers to find him.”
    Herod did search for him, but when Peter could not be found, he had the two guards crucified in Peter’s place on charges of dereliction of duty, and left their bodies to rot on Golgotha.

    John Mark returned to Jerusalem, and Mary came to speak to me. Her husband and my father had known each other. “He’s ashamed, Silas. He feels like a coward. He won’t tell me what happened in Perga. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”
    When I came to the house, he couldn’t look me in the eyes. “My mother asked you to come, didn’t she?”
    “She thought it might be easier for you to talk to me.”
    He held his head. “I thought I could do it, and I couldn’t. I’m as much a coward now as I was the night they arrested Jesus.” He looked up at me. “I ran away that night. Did you know? A man grabbed hold of me, and I fought so hard my tunic was torn off. And I ran. I kept on running.” He buried his head in his hands. “I guess I’m still running.”
    “Everyone deserted Him, Mark. I rejected Him, remember? It wasn’t until I saw Jesus alive again that I acknowledged Him.”
    “You don’t understand! It was my opportunity to prove my love for Jesus, and I failed. Paul wanted to keep going. I told Barnabas I’d had enough. Paul scared me to death. I wanted to come home. Not much of a man, am I?”
    “Who’s Paul?”
    “Saul of Tarsus. He’s using his Greek name so they will listen to him.” He stood up and paced. “He’s not afraid of anyone! When we were in Paphos, the governor, Sergius Paulus, had a magician, a Jew named Elymas. He had the governor’s ear and caused us all kinds of trouble. I thought we’d be arrested and thrown in prison. I wanted to leave, but Paul wouldn’t hear of it. He said we had to go back. He wouldn’t listen to reason.”
    “What happened?”
    “He called Elymas a fraud! He was, of course, but to say it there in the governor’s court? And he didn’t stop there. He said Elymas was full of deceit and the son of the devil. And there was Elymas, calling down curses on us, and Sergius Paulus’s face was turning redder and redder.” He paced back and forth. “He signaled the guards, and I thought, This is it. This is where I die. And there’s Paul, pointing at Elymas and telling him the hand of the Lord was upon him and he’d be blind. And suddenly he was. The guards backed away from us.