3829 AM (69 CE) – ONLY A REVELATION TO YOU
On an island, far away from the chaos unfolding in Jerusalem, Yochanan woke from a fitful night’s sleep. He looked around and got his bearings, and his captor was still there, standing, waiting, guarding. His captor always seemed to be there. That pagan, the soldier, the Roman, the guard. Sure, his face would change day to day as one relieved another, but the stoic contempt was always the same. The animus for this assignment was always the same. It was the fact that he had to guard some frail, old man, the last of a dozen instigators, a man supposedly so dangerous that he was designated a threat to the Emperor personally.
Yochanan said nothing. What could he say? What defense could he mount? He was a nobody, the caretaker of nobodies.
Immediately his thoughts were interrupted by that still small voice, “Yochanan, you know that’s not true.”
Yochanan sighed deeply. The guard did not care enough to even turn his head. Yet, Yochanan knew the Creator was right as always. He was not a nobody, but a shepherd and caregiver of a group of powerful individuals who could heal the sick and raise the dead. And that was the threat the emperor could not tolerate.
Yochanan straightened his sleeping area, rolling up his mat. As far as prisons go, this was not a terrible place. Yochanan left his assigned dwelling and went outside to start the morning fire. Looking out across the great Aegean, Yochanan could see his breakfast flying up and out from the water, attempting to acquire their own morning meal.
The expert fisherman cast a smallish net far into the sea, and the many stones attached to the edges of the net caused it to sink quickly. Drawing a rope bound to the edges of the net, Yochanan drew the net back up to the rocky shore. He controlled the pressure on the rope, allowing just enough fish to escape so he could draw it in.
As usual, dozens of fish, shellfish, and other sea life fought for their own lives, flapping about in this new, unknown alien existence. Quickly, John selected several specimens with fins and scales, based on his hunger and appetite, and just as quickly set the remainder free.
Holding the animals high in the air, Yochanan spoke loudly, “Blessed are you, Hashem, king of the universe, by whose word all things are created.”
With the expertise of more than eighty years of practice, Yochanan cleaned and filleted the fish, throwing the entrails and bones back to the waters from which they came. Using natural herbs and salts found on the island, he cooked his meal on the morning fire which was now glowing coals, with the precision and passion of a master chef. Taking a couple of plates, he portioned the flavorful nourishment for himself and his guard. Yochanan ate quickly, cleaned up, and left to take care of the remaining morning rituals, including his prayers.
He would return after his prayers and clean the guard’s plate. There was never a thank-you nor fellowship. Not only would the Roman not eat with Yochanan, but he would also never, ever let Yochanan see him eat. So was Yochanan’s routine three times a day, every day for years, feeding his captors and being a servant to those who despise him and his Master and Rabbi.
“It is well,” the still small voice said, as the comforter once again soothed the pain of isolation that Yochanan had so long endured, “you must continue to write.”
Obediently, Yochanan walked back up the stony path to his assigned dwelling. Sitting down at a small table, he spread out his parchments, grabbed a quill, and continued his writings.
He wrote, “… to the seven churches that are in Asia ….”
Used with permission by the author. Find the author’s complete works online: Complete Works of Mack Samuels
