September 22, 2006
*Part five of a tale that illustrates spiritual bondage as well as the freedom and healing that can be found in Jesus Christ.
Abigail stared at the ground, keenly aware of her own haggard condition in contrast to her friend’s healed body and transformed countenance. “How could Ann forgive me?” she mused silently as she stood there. A dull pain throbbed behind her eyes and a sick feeling swirled in her stomach, the lingering side effects perhaps of Mohjac’s wine from the night before.
The summoning bell clanged in the distance, announcing with its harsh tolling yet another wretched day of slaving for Mohjac. Abigail’s eyes glanced upon Ann’s face. A twinge of suspicion cast its shadow in her mind and she distrusted her friend. “Is this some sort of trap?” she wondered. Ann regarded her silently, but there was something in her face that Abigail had not seen for so long that she could hardly remember the word for it. “Hope,” she realized. “The word is ‘hope’.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, it’s time to go,” she said and began to walk towards the doorway. But then she stopped, realizing that Ann was not following. “We should go quickly, Ann. They will beat us if we are late.”
Ann stood still and gave her an almost sad looking half-smile. “I’m not coming,” she said. “I don’t serve Mohjac anymore. I truly have been set free.” Abigail gave her a terrified look but turned and walked out the door hurriedly. A slave master was standing outside, no doubt waiting to punish anyone who had not heeded the call. Ann came to the doorway just as the slave master whacked his wooden rod across Abigail’s back, soliciting a cry of pain from her. When he looked over towards Ann, he suddenly stood still. Abigail was certain that he would punish her friend for being slow, but to her surprise, instead of the sound of a beating, her ears caught an angry muttering emanating from the slave master as he went on his way. He was apparently no longer interested in Ann.
When Abigail arrived at the gathering place for her daily assignment, she found that she was to pick berries with her brother, Narryl. At first she was overjoyed for she had long hoped to be able to spend time with him, desiring to restore their relationship. But once they were in the fields, she quickly discovered that he was no longer at all the brother she remembered. He was surly, rude, and taunted her incessantly. While they worked at filling their baskets, she ventured an attempt to tell him about the changes in Ann. He sneered and mocked the stranger. “Either he’s a figment of your imagination or he’s some sort of dangerous imposter,” he concluded. “I knew your friend was a fool, but I didn’t know that she was that big of one. You’re a fool, too, if you listen to her. You should do as I do and enjoy life. After we’re done here, I’m going to meet my friends and we’re going to party. You should come, too.”
Abigail didn’t answer. Although her hands were busily pulling berries from thorny bushes and placing them in her basket, she had a moment of true insight, reflecting on all the things that she had seen and heard in the last several weeks. She knew that Narryl and his friends were either deliberately or subconsciously hiding from their hurts. She knew that they were so bedazzled by worthless trinkets and so befuddled by Mohjac’s liquor that they could not see their chains or comprehend their imprisonment. She could see clearly a path towards destruction before their feet and knew that her path also was heading invariably in the same direction.
Her thoughts turned towards Ann and her message of hope. An image of her chainless and joyful companion arose in her mind and she found her heart stirred strangely within her. She thought of the stranger and felt her soul reaching out to the hope that he offered.
But an obnoxious squawking shattered her ponderings. She looked over her shoulder and saw a huge black bird, a tremendous raven, clinging to a large, barren branch in a nearby tree. The bird eyed her menacingly, stretched out the pinions of his wings, and flapped them several times. A foul odor of rottenness washed over Abigail. As the sickly odor of despair swept over her, memories of every selfish or wicked deed that she had ever committed also flooded over her. The raven then spoke in a croaking voice, “You cannot be forgiven. You’re a traitor… to that high-and-mighty stranger, to your friend, and to your self. Anyway, he’s only the giver of false hopes. Why trust someone who makes such outlandish promises?” The great black bird bobbed his head up and down. “You might be a traitor but at least you have some sense,” it said with a tone that sounded a great deal like amusement. Abigail sighed and her shoulders bent in defeat. “It’s all true,” she cried within herself. A hoarse sound, like mocking laughter, burst from the raven’s beak. The giant bird then batted its wings triumphantly, rose into the sky, and quickly disappeared into the waning light.
But the seed of hope that was now in the girl’s heart had not been sown in vain. “Maybe he’s right,” she thought to herself. “Maybe he’s right. But what do I have to lose in the end if I do trust the stranger?”
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“O LORD, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy; in Your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief. Do not bring Your servant into judgment, for no one living is righteous before You. The enemy pursues me, he crushes me to the ground; he makes me dwell in darkness like those long dead. So my spirit grows faint within me; my heart within me is dismayed. I remember the days of long ago; I meditate on all Your works and consider what Your hands have done. I spread out my hands to You; my soul thirsts for You like a parched land. Selah. Answer me quickly, O LORD; my spirit fails. Do not hide Your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit. Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for to You I lift up my soul” (Psalm 143:1-8 NIV).
To be continued…
(Thom Mollohan and his family have ministered in southern Ohio the past eleven years. He is the pastor of Pathway Community Church, which meets on Sunday mornings at the Ariel Theatre. He may be reached for comments or questions by email at pastorthom@pathwaygallipolis.com).
