Rhoda’s Faith

Rhoda made her way down the darkening street, balancing a water pot on her head. “It’s not true what those women said,” she told herself. “My Lord Jesus did rise from the dead on this very day. I know He did, even though I was too little to remember.”

The young girl lifted her face from the gray cobblestones to the sky. It was still blue and the tallest houses still shone with sunlight. Rhoda smiled. “It’s just like these dark streets. You have to look higher to see that God has not forsaken us, that His Son still lives,” she whispered to herself. “He has been shining in my heart ever since… ever since….” Rhoda’s voice faltered, but inside her thoughts went on. It was last summer when I understood that God sent His Son to die for me… the day that Brother Peter first preached at Mistress Mary’s house. And now Brother Peter was in prison.

The clang of a shutting gate made Rhoda shiver. She must not think of that horrible day last week when they heard that Brother James had been killed. But the jeering of the crowds still rang in her ears. Had it not been the same way when Jesus was crucified? “Let us not be doubtful, but believing,” Brother Thomas had told them that fearful night. “It was the words the Master told me, and we must not forget that He has promised to be with us always… even unto death.” It was the next day that the king’s soldiers had come for Peter.

Do you have words to praise your Lord Jesus now, foolish one? Rhoda shook her head to brush away the mocking thought and nearly upset her water jar. “I will trust in Him,” she said fiercely, turning to hurry down the dark alley toward home.

The darkness seemed to follow her through the gate into the torch-lit courtyard. Many had already gathered for the prayer meeting in Mistress Mary’s home. Rhoda hurried to pour water for the new arrivals, but the doubts would come. What good will it do to pray? How can we know God will answer? He let Brother James get killed.

She was interrupted by Sister Martha’s quick voice. “Rhoda, would you please take these hot rolls to the kitchen? I thought some might be hungry if the meeting runs late like it did last night.” Her warm smile and words helped a little. Rhoda knew that the others were bearing the burden, too. She must be brave. She must believe.

In the kitchen Trusty, the dog, met her with a quick wag of the tail. Brother Thomas had found the poor thing on the street at the beginning of the passover and had suggested Rhoda care for it. As the wet nose touched her bare foot, she remembered again his words: “He has promised to be with us always… even unto death.” The girl put her arm around the dog’s neck and felt the warm life within. “Trusty, if I care so much for you, I know that Jesus cares for me,” she whispered.

More water was needed at the gate. Rhoda was hurrying back with another jug when she saw who it was—Peter’s mother-in-law. “Yes, Rachel has heard that the execution is set for tomorrow,” the old woman was saying in a steady voice, “but I don’t believe Herod will have his way this time.”

“It will be as God wills, mother,” the gentle voice of Mistress Mary answered, as she took her arm and led her toward the gathering room. “We must never doubt His plans, though they be different than ours.”

A small sob caught Rhoda’s ear and she turned to see little Salome following along in her grandmother’s shadow. Rhoda ran to put her arms around the child’s neck and kiss her wet cheek. “Don’t cry, deary,” she whispered. “Are you afraid?”

The little head nodded and leaned close to hers. “I want to see Papa again,” she said. “I want him to hug me again, and—and—” Salome began to hiccup. “I want to—to say I’m sor—sorry for breaking his—his lamp.”

“I’m sure he loves you very much,” Rhoda said, taking the small girl into her lap and brushed the hair from her wet cheeks. “Jesus will take care of your papa. Do you want to come and see my dog? His name is Trusty and he is very nice.”

“You have a—a dog?” Salome looked up at the bigger girl with a tear-stained face and tried to smile. A handful of water washed off the little cheeks and quieted the hiccups. Soon Salome and the dog were playing happily on the kitchen floor. Rhoda smiled as she handed her small friend a roll. Little children trusted so easily.

It was more than an hour later when Rhoda lifted the sleeping Salome from the hearth. The kitchen was getting cold and her grandmother would want to know where she was. “Be good, Trusty, and watch the kitchen for me,” Rhoda whispered as she started off across the dark courtyard.

The child was heavy and so walking wasn’t easy. A cold gust of wind blew and the girl turned to shield her burden. Salome moaned and turned her head. Rhoda looked down at the little face in the moonlight and thought of the father in his prison cell. Was it cold in there? Would Brother Peter ever see his family again? Poor little Salome! Oh, Lord God, send help even right now! her heart prayed.

A murmur of voices greeted Rhoda as she stumbled through the door into the gathering room. “Is the little one asleep?” Mistress Mary whispered as she lifted the little girl and laid her on a blanket. Her grandmother was sitting nearby with her old wrinkled hands clasped and head bent. One of the men on the other side of the room was praying. “Lord, our eyes are upon You. Our brother may be in prison, but we know You have not forsaken him.”

Young Master John looked up as Rhoda sat down by the door. He looked tired, and very sad. Rhoda knew that he had always liked being with Brother Peter. She gave him a little smile. How she wished she could lift off the trouble that hung over them like thick smoke! Again she whispered a little prayer, “Lord Jesus, I know You love us and care for us. If You would be pleased, send Brother Peter back to us.”

The minutes ticked by as prayers continued to flow from full hearts. Rhoda was getting sleepy. She leaned against the doorpost and thought of all the late meetings she had sat listening to Brother Peter preach. He had such an energetic and interesting way in which he spoke, that even she could understand. Like the time he described the day he had stepped out onto the stormy sea of Galilee. “It was a marvelous feeling to be standing out there, actually walking on the waves toward the Master! The wind was high that night and we had been rowing hard….”

Rhoda’s head jerked up. What was that? She heard the sound again. No, it wasn’t Trusty’s bark. It sounded more like a knock at the gate. Who could be coming in at this late hour? She blinked her eyes awake and slowly got to her feet. Salome’s grandma was praying, but Rhoda couldn’t hear what she was saying. She could hear someone at the gate though.

The courtyard was darker now, for the moon was hidden by the rooftops. The stones were cold on her bare feet. Knock, knock! Rhoda shivered. “Who is it?” she asked.

“It is I, Peter!” came a muffled voice through the door.

Rhoda’s heart leaped. She knew that voice. It was Brother Peter! Oh, she must tell the others quickly!

Grandma was still praying when Rhoda flew into the room, half laughing in her excitement. “He is here at the door! Brother Peter is here!” she cried. Faces turned toward her as in a dream. But it wasn’t a dream! Rhoda was sure.

“Hush, dear,” Mistress Mary said, laying a hand on her arm. “You are overtired and have been hearing things.

“No, no! It is true!” Rhoda skipped on her feet and nearly kicked little Salome.

Sister Martha lifted her hand. “Dear child, don’t go crazy!”

“Don’t make a fool of yourself, Rhoda,” Master John hissed.

“But he’s there at the gate—Brother Peter is at the gate,” Rhoda insisted. She looked from one disbelieving face to the next. Would no one listen?

“What is the child saying?” Salome’s grandma asked. “Did she say she’d seen Peter?”

“Maybe it was his angel,” John’s uncle Barnabas said. He smiled at Rhoda kindly. “Wasn’t that what you saw?”

Rhoda shook her head. “Angel’s don’t knock. Just hear him now!”

The room fell silent. Knock, knock, knock! Master John looked at his mother. “Someone is at the gate,” she said. “We better go see.”

Rhoda danced on her toes in excitement as she followed Mistress Mary and the others to the gate. Oh, open it and let him in! She wanted to shout. Brother Peter is really here! Yes, for there was his voice again. John unbarred the door.

There stood the familiar form of the man for whom they had been praying all night. “It’s Brother Peter!” a young woman gasped, as they all stood there in amazement.

“How did you—how did it—what happened?” Master John faltered.

“Are we seeing things, or is this really you, my brother?” said a deep voice from behind Rhoda. She turned to see Uncle Barnabas.

“It is really I,” said Peter, a wide smile spreading on his face.

“My son, Simon Peter!” an exultant voice cried, and Grandma pushed forward. “I knew that God would indeed deliver you, and surely He is worthy to be praised!”

A chorus of voices began then, and it was with some difficulty that they were quieted enough to hear the amazing story. “I can’t stay long, but I must tell you all how the Lord has delivered me from prison this night,” Brother Peter said in his deep, ringing voice. “I was asleep, chained between two guards, when I was startled by a bright light and an angel that smote me on the side. ‘Arise up, quickly!’ he said. And just like that the chains fell from my hands….”

Rhoda leaned forward and caught a glimpse of two little arms wrapped around the bearded man’s neck. A tear came to her eye, but she blinked it away with a happy smile. The Lord Jesus had heard her prayer and had brought Salome’s papa back safely.