Neither of us would soon forget the events of this day. The same is surely true for everyone else, especially the young man with the key.
The pardon was preceded by adversity, as often it is. She refused to leave us alone. Try as the hunter might, her incessant squib began to grate upon my companion’s usual calm. He thunders in the name of the way… she speaks no more.
Others do. The anger of her master’s rod soon wields its punishing blows to our backs. Bruised and bleeding, we are dragged off and hurled into a prison chamber.
The hunter seems unmoved by our abuse at the hands of the blinded ones and begins to offer hymns to the way. His joy is pandemic; I join in.
Our songs are accompanied by a surrounding of seismic convulsions. The walls fill with crevices and the doors to our cells unhinge. We are free!
The young man with the key draws his sword, but not for us. Fear embalms his face. He intends to do himself harm. We refuse our liberty and the hunter consoles.
Every event of the day has played its vulnerable role. We know this when we hear the young man with the key ask, “What must I do to be saved?” The hunter of the way preaches Jesus… and we know the fellowship of His suffering.