Devil's Island

by John Hagee

  Keep your eyes on Christ and not the circumstance, Jacob told himself, remembering John’s story from the previous evening. That was not going to be easy.

  Passing in front of the lean-to where the equipment was stored, Jacob stopped to pick up one of the tightly woven straw baskets. They were odd-shaped containers with one side curved and the other side flat, so they would fit against the workers’ backs. Instead of handles, the basket had leather straps that looped over the shoulders. He ran a few yards to catch up with Rebecca and John, who had already picked up their baskets.

  They quickly fell into the work pattern. Huge chunks of stone had been chiseled out of the mountain and placed in massive piles some two hundred yards apart. Several prisoners at each pile used sledgehammers to break the boulders into smaller pieces, and the other prisoners’ job was to load the split rock into their baskets and haul it down the mountain to the construction site at the harbor, roughly a mile away.

  As he gathered rocks and loaded his basket, Jacob noticed there were almost as many guards as there were prisoners. The work crews would have to be carefully supervised, he realized, to make sure one of the prisoners did not use a hammer or pickax as a weapon.

  One of the guards saw Rebecca pick up her half-full basket, as if testing to see how heavy it was. “Fill it to the top!” the guard shouted. “Make every trip to the harbor count.” With that he cracked his well-oiled leather whip in the air over their heads, the sound echoing off the walls of the quarry. Rebecca flinched and immediately went back to loading rocks under the glaring eye of the guard.

  Tonsorius was right, Jacob thought. The overseers are eager to use their whips. He had a feeling they would use threats of force to drive the inmates beyond their physical ability.

  “When your basket is full, start to the harbor immediately,” another guard barked.

  His own basket almost to the brim, Jacob slowed his pace to allow Rebecca and John to catch up with him. Rebecca sneezed several times from the dust they stirred up as they worked, and Jacob fought down another wave of anger. She doesn’t belong here.The phrase echoed in his head along with the sound of the overseers’ whips, which they cracked regularly for effect.

  Soon all three of their baskets were full. “Time to go,” John said. With a great effort, he tried to swing the heavy load up and over his shoulders. As John grunted and tried again, Jacob realized there was no way the Apostle could lift it. Quickly, Jacob lifted the basket of rocks and placed it on John’s back, then did the same for Rebecca, and the trio began their maiden voyage toward the harbor.

  The sun was already bearing down, and in spite of the mild temperature, the exertion caused the sweat to pour from their bodies. With only a bowl of gruel in his stomach, Jacob felt his strength already being drained. The basket straps dug into his shoulders, leaving his arms numb. He grew angrier with every step they took, knowing it was a major effort for John and Rebecca just to walk under the weight of the loads on their backs. John used his walking stick for balance; even so, Jacob feared he would topple over any minute.

  Every few yards along the road a guard stood watch to make sure no one tried to escape or waste time. Jacob looked ahead of him down the mountain. The long line of criminals trudging toward the harbor under their heavy burdens looked like ants in single file marching toward a jar of honey. There would be nothing sweet at the end of this trail, however.

  How do I keep my eyes on Christ and not the circumstance? Jacob asked himself. He started to ask John, then decided to wait until later; he didn’t want the elderly man to have to answer while he struggled to carry his basket.

  Finally they arrived at the harbor, emptied their baskets, and started back for another load. Apparently they didn’t start fast enough. The crack of a whip filled the air. Already Jacob had become so accustomed to the sound, he didn’t immediately realize that the tail of the whip had caught John from behind. But when John stumbled and then righted himself before falling, Jacob noticed the bright red line that appeared at the back of the Apostle’s neck. It was a glancing blow, not a direct hit, but it unleashed the fury Jacob had been struggling to suppress.

  Without thinking, Jacob growled his anger and dropped his basket, starting for the guard who had used the whip. Just as quickly, John grabbed his forearm and said, “Stop it! Don’t give him a reason to kill you.”

  Jacob trembled from the effort to stifle his emotions. Rebecca, pale and frightened, looked at him pleadingly.

  “Pick up your basket,” John said. “Let’s go.”

  Jacob knew John had just saved his life, but he still had trouble calming himself as they started back to the quarry. Only one load, he thought, and I’m ready to explode. Rebecca’s too delicate. John’s too weak. And I’m too angry. We’re never going to make it.

  As they walked the mile back to the piles of rock to repeat the whole process, Jacob noticed prisoners wielding large jugs stationed on the side of the road. He hadn’t noticed the water carriers earlier. The three of them stopped for a quick drink from the common cup. Rebecca drank and then poured some of the water over her hands, which were dry and red.

  She doesn’t belong here. We don’t belong here.

  The noise of the quarries was monotonous—the hammers seemed to fall into a pattern, punctuated by the staccato of whips slicing through the air. Occasionally there was a muffled cry when a whip found a human target. The work was mindless and strenuous— and seemingly endless.

  Stoop down, pick up a rock, toss it in the basket. Stoop, lift, toss. Stoop, lift, toss.

  When they had refilled their baskets, Jacob again hoisted John’s and Rebecca’s on their shoulders, and they made another round-trip down to the harbor and back up to the rock piles. Jacob’s shoulders and back ached, and his feet were almost numb, but he estimated he was in much better condition than the others. Before long, Rebecca’s hands were raw and bleeding, which simply fueled Jacob’s anger because he was helpless to do anything for her.

  It was late afternoon, he guessed, when they made their third trip to the harbor. He was worried about Rebecca, who had hardly spoken all morning—What was there to talk about, anyway? he asked himself—and John appeared on the brink of physical exhaustion, yet he smiled gamely as Jacob removed the basket from his stooped shoulders and dropped the rocks into the water.

  “These rocks are heavy,” John said as he rubbed a shoulder, “but we will survive because we are standing by faith on the Solid Rock— Christ Jesus.”

  Jacob frowned. He knew what John said was true, but he was in no mood to hear a sermon. He had tried keeping his eyes on the Savior and not their dire situation, but he couldn’t see Christ anywhere on Devil’s Island. This was living hell.

  As Jacob turned to go back to the road leading up the mountain, he noticed a new ship in the harbor. The old hulk they had sailed in on yesterday had departed, and in its place at the dock was a much larger, newer ship. In a split second Jacob took in the scene: sailors lowering the gangplank, guards herding shackled prisoners into rows on the main deck—twice as many as had been in their group—and a soldier in a red-plumed helmet swaggering in front of them as if he were Caesar himself.

  Damian. Jacob froze at the sight. He’s here with a boatload of prisoners. Jacob knew without being told that they were Christians, probably from the towns around Ephesus, and that they had been subjected to the same ordeal his family had been through. That murderous snake, Jacob thought, as the image of his mother falling under Damian’s sword flashed through his mind and stabbed his heart.

  “Get a move on!” a voice shouted.

  “Jacob, the guards . . .” Rebecca tugged on her brother’s arm, a worried look on her weary face.

  He immediately turned around and started up the hill with her and John. “Did you see the new arrivals?” he asked.

  She shook her head no.

  Good, he thought. He did not want the knowledge of Damian’s presence to add to his sister’s trauma. Damian had leered at his beautiful si
ster earlier—did the monster have his sights set on her?

  Surely Damian wouldn’t be staying, Jacob told himself. He was probably just dropping off another group of his victims. But why did he accompany that ship personally? Damian hadn’t traveled to Patmos with their boat. So what was he doing here?

  As he wearily put one foot in front of the other, Jacob continued to stew over Damian’s arrival, Rebecca’s safety, and the injustice of their imprisonment. But when the forced laborers reached the quarry again, thoughts of Damian left Jacob’s mind as he gave himself over to the mind-numbing, backbreaking work.

  19

  ABRAHAM COULDN’T SLEEP. He had just buried his wife of twenty-five years and knew he would never recover from the overwhelming loss. After the simple, very private funeral, Abraham had put off going upstairs as long as possible. Even after the rest of the household had gone to bed, he remained downstairs. Quintus had sat with Abraham, so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

  Finally, when he saw Quintus was about to fall asleep sitting straight up, Abraham told him, “You don’t have to keep me company; go on home.” But when Quintus stood to leave, Abraham had second thoughts. “No, it’s too late,” he said. “You should stay here tonight. Take Jacob’s room.” A lump had formed in Abraham’s throat as he thought of the two empty bedrooms upstairs that belonged to Jacob and Rebecca. I want my children back, he thought forlornly.

  Abraham had gone upstairs with Quintus and shown him to Jacob’s room, then entered the master bedroom, feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life. He could not bear to sleep in the huge, carved bed without his wife, so he had removed the bedcovers and spread them on the floor.

  Now he lay sleepless on the cold, hard floor, haunted by memories. He had forgotten to light the charcoal brazier—one of the servants usually did that, but most of them were gone now—and the room was chilly. Suddenly he couldn’t stand the thought of Elizabeth lying in the tomb, unprotected from the elements, and he wanted to take a blanket to the mausoleum for her. I need to cover her up, he thought irrationally. In cooler weather she would always sleep in two tunics at night, snuggling against him to share his body heat. And if he got up in the mornings before Elizabeth, he always tucked the covers around her so she would stay warm.

  Abraham was not only haunted by memories of his wife, he was haunted by his sin. He remembered the words of King David, “My sin is ever before me.” That’s how I feel, he thought. There’s no way I can put it out of my mind.

  His thoughts drifted to Job, the biblical figure who had lost all his children as well as his fortune. I managed to keep my fortune, Abraham thought, but I lost my wife and two of my children. He had never thought his life would parallel that of Job, but now he had a better grasp of Job’s suffering. Abraham remembered how, in the midst of his catastrophes, Job’s wife had told him to “curse God and die.” Job had complained and questioned, but he had not cursed God. While Abraham hadn’t cursed God, he had denied Him—and right now he wasn’t sure there was a difference.

  For a long time Abraham lay trapped in his spiraling thoughts, and then finally, toward dawn, he closed his eyes . . . and promptly opened them in hell.

  Abraham felt the flames lick at his body and heard bloodcurdling screams. Damian’s countenance—or was it Satan?—appeared before him. “Welcome to my kingdom,” the floating face said with a roar of fiendish laughter.

  The flames were far hotter than any fire on earth, and the pain they inflicted was beyond bearing. Uncontrollable screams of agony bellowed from Abraham’s mouth. He looked down at his hands, now scorched and blackened, as demons surrounded him, mocking and taunting him. “Your money won’t help you here. Caesar can’t deliver you from this pit.”

  He had never been so thirsty. His mouth was parched, his lips were swelling, and his tongue was so thick, he could not swallow. “Water, please,” he cried out. “Just a drop of water.”

  “There’s no water here—and no mercy. This is your eternal reward.”

  The smell of human flesh burning without the relief of death was a gut-wrenching stench. Abraham looked down a dark, unending corridor of human bodies on fire, screaming, writhing, and cursing. This was suffering on a scale his mind could not grasp. He screamed, “Why am I here . . . Why?”

  Then he remembered: he was a traitor. He had denied Christ and worshiped Caesar.

  From his waterless inferno, Abraham looked across an immeasurable divide and saw the throne of God, brilliant in its splendor. A river flowed from beneath the throne, and Abraham knew he would never touch a drop of its clear, sparkling water. Instead, he would burn in this agony of pain for all eternity, out of reach of the river, separated from God.

  Then came a pain far greater than the physical pain, an unimaginable anguish. He saw Elizabeth standing beside the river. How beautiful, how radiant she was in her robe of white, her burnished golden-red hair adorned by a martyr’s crown. Abraham extended his arms toward her and shouted with all his might, “Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth!”

  The sound of his own screams woke him up. The nightmare had left the blankets twisted and his clothes soaked with sweat. His head was pounding, and he gingerly touched the knot where the soldier’s club had caught him just above the ear.

  Abraham got up and opened the shuttered window. As daylight streamed into the room, he blinked and rubbed his sleep-swollen eyes. It must be almost noon, he realized. He gripped the windowsill, visibly shaken by the graphic dream. In Scripture, God had often spoken to men in dreams, warning them or even foretelling their future. Had God sent this dream? Was God going to send him to hell?

  In the distance Abraham could see the blue-green waters of the sea, and he suddenly remembered a verse from one of the ancient Jewish prophets: “You will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea.” But surely not this sin, Abraham reasoned. I denied the Savior. I broke the first commandment.

  In broad daylight he seemed to see things more clearly. Abraham realized he had left his first love, Christ. All those years ago he had fallen in love with Jesus; that love had taken him to Jerusalem and then brought him to Ephesus—had brought him to Elizabeth. It hadn’t been wrong to love Elizabeth; it was wrong to love her more than he loved God, however. Over the years Abraham had let his profound love for his wife and children overshadow his devotion to God, and at the very moment it had mattered the most, he had been loyal to them rather than to his Savior.

  It was also wrong, he realized now, to think he could resolve situations that were out of his control. “I’ll fix this,” he had told Elizabeth when Damian arrived in Ephesus with his legionnaires. What made me think I could manage things that only God could control? he wondered.

  Abraham knew the answer now: pride. He had trusted his own strength more than he had trusted God. But this hadn’t been a business crisis he could settle with skillful negotiation or an influx of cash. This had been a spiritual test, and he had failed it miserably.

  Abraham hung his head in anguish. Was there forgiveness for him? He wished he could talk to John, ask the Apostle to pray for him. Abraham didn’t think he could pray for himself, and if he could, he wasn’t sure God would listen to the plea of a traitor.

  His gaze fell to the open peristyle below his bedroom window, and he remembered something John had said as the church met there one Sunday. Abraham had been sitting on a bench in the garden while he watched the white-headed preacher pace back and forth on the colonnaded porch, gesturing as he spoke.

  “If we claim to be without sin,” John had said, punching the air with his forefinger, “we are deceiving ourselves. The truth is not in us!” Then the Apostle had suddenly stopped and opened his arms expansively. “But if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us. He will forgive us,” he had repeated for emphasis, “and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

  John had known the Lord’s faithfulness for more than six decades; he knew what he was talking about. Encouraged by his memory of John’s wo
rds, Abraham began praying aloud.

  “Father God—Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—I confess my sin before You and humbly ask Your forgiveness. Cleanse me by the power of Your blood, and restore to me the joy of my salvation. As You gave Samson a second chance, give me a second chance to prove my love and loyalty for the Son of God. I have sinned a great sin, but please forgive me, heavenly Father. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

  Abraham felt the stirrings of a fragile peace, the first peace he had felt in weeks. He still felt an immense burden of sorrow, but the torment that had accompanied it was gone.

  As he bathed and dressed, Abraham decided he would still go to Rome and appeal to Caesar. He would try to win Jacob’s and Rebecca’s release from Devil’s Island—and John’s too, of course. But Abraham knew now that God would have to be the One to bring an end to their imprisonment. Abraham would put the appeal in motion, and this time he would leave the results to the sovereign Lord of the universe.

  As soon as he went downstairs, Abraham’s peace was in jeopardy.

  Without Servius, the household staff was in disarray. Abraham had to wander from room to room to find someone to prepare a meal for him; when the food finally arrived in the dining room an hour later, it was inedible.

  Then Quintus appeared, wearing his I-really-don’t-want-to-tell-you-this look, the one he always wore when there was bad news to report. Abraham led him out into the peristyle, where they could talk privately as they strolled.

  “Naomi was at the harbor this morning . . .” Quintus hesitated a moment, waiting for Abraham’s nod. When it came, he continued, “To see Kaeso.”

  “Kaeso?” Abraham was instantly alert. Naomi was hatching a scheme of some kind; he could feel it.

  “He came to see me as soon as she left. Her visit didn’t sit well with him.”

  “What did she want?”