I didn’t believe it. Not at first, when I heard his voice through the doorway. When I’d heard the knock I was frozen with terror, expecting it to be more of Herod’s soldiers come to arrest us all, all the believers in the Way of Christ. Lots of the believers were gathered there, all of us praying for Peter’s release and, to be honest, for our own safety. But it was a struggle to have faith. James, John’s brother, had already been taken and killed by Herod. If God wasn’t going to save him, why would any of us be saved? Even Peter.
And yet here he was, outside the door. I knew his voice. He’d been here dozens of times, talking to my employer, Mary, about the teachings and stories of Christ. I’d listened too. I’d hovered in the doorway, torn between my duties as servant and the desire to join them, until Mary beckoned me in. I wasn’t even from the same background as most of them. My name, Rhoda, is Greek, like my family. The people of this land usually stick together against outsiders. I wasn’t sure they’d want me joining them.
But they welcomed me, servant, outsider, as one of the family. Peter told me that God loved me, like God loved all of them, loved me enough to have died to give me freedom from my mistakes that weighed me down. And I believed him.
*****
That night I’d been with them, praying, when we heard the knock at the outer door. Like I said, I froze. It could have been Herod’s soldiers. But there was a chance it was more of the believers, so I went to the door, and asked who was there.
“It’s Peter,” he said. “Let me in!”
It wouldn’t have mattered what he said. I knew that voice.
I didn’t think. I was so shocked I turned and ran back to tell the others.
They said I was out of my mind. I think they thought the fear had made me lose my grip on reality. But I knew what I’d heard. I kept insisting. Someone suggested it must be Peter’s spirit. I think they’d given up hope, and assumed he was already dead.
Peter kept knocking. I was embarrassed when I realised that I hadn’t even opened the door. Eventually the whole group of believers, led by Mary, followed me back to the door and crowded round as I opened it. I’m sure at least half of them thought it was going to be soldiers sent to kill them.
I opened the door with trembling hands and saw Peter standing there, alone, leaning against the doorway for support. He looked the worse from his stay in prison. He also looked confused.
Everyone was astonished. For a few moments everyone stared at each other in silence. Then someone started asking questions and suddenly everyone was talking at once.
Mary shushed them and beckoned Peter inside. It took a while for him to tell us how an angel had appeared in his cell earlier that night and told him to get up, get dressed, and follow. Peter had obeyed, but had thought it was some kind of dream vision. I hadn’t been the only one confused that night. It wasn’t until they were outside the prison and the angel disappeared that he realised it was real. The guards hadn’t seemed to see them, doors had opened by themselves, and Peter was free.
Peter couldn’t stay. Mary’s house was too well known as a meeting place for the followers of the Way. He told us to make sure the other believers knew what had happened, and then left. I closed the door behind him and went back to the others. We should have been full of joy, but for a while we just looked at each other in shock. Our prayers for Peter’s freedom had been answered, and we hadn’t even noticed it. We’d been too bound up in our own grief and fear to believe that God might actually listen, that the knock at the door might be the answer we were looking for. A few of the believers mumbled apologies for not believing me as they left, but I didn’t really blame them. What had happened was unsettling.
*****
The next morning there was a big commotion all across the city. I heard that Herod had the guards who were guarding Peter killed. I felt sorry for them. I was glad Peter was free, but I still wasn’t sure I understood. Why did our Lord let James be killed, but free Peter? Is it right that Peter’s escape meant the guards were killed, when it wasn’t their fault he’d escaped? If God loves justice, why does it feel like God caused something that would result in injustice? Even though it was human choices that led to it- Herod’s choice to arrest Peter, and to kill the guards- why did God intervene in some situations and not others? I can’t work it out. I suppose I just have to have faith.
And just because Peter escaped this time, will he be safe in future? Will any of us? Herod’s not going to be happy, and I fear that he’ll seek revenge by hunting down every believer he can find. It feels like things could get a lot worse as a result of what happened.
I know I should trust God, but I’m scared. Even a miracle doesn’t stop me having doubts and being afraid. But my mistress, Mary, is calm. I asked if she was worried about Herod coming for us.
“Maybe he will,” she said. “Maybe we will suffer, as James did, and Stephen, and as many others will undoubtedly do. We’ll just have to try not to be so bound up in our fear that we miss what God is doing or saying through us. But Rhoda, even if the worst happens, we won’t be alone. God will be with us.”
She’s right, of course. Before I wasn’t sure of that. Now I am.
Based on Acts 12:1–19: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+12%3A1%E2%80%9319&version=NIVUK
