Day 241: Acts 12:1–5

About that time King Herod cruelly attacked some who belonged to the church, and he killed James, John’s brother, with the sword (vv. 1–2).

I have studied and even taught Acts 12 many times. I love the story of Peter’s deliverance from prison, but I had never before regarded the events from John’s point of view. How devastated he must have been!

By this time in the Book of Acts, the disciples all knew the Jews could make good on their threats. They had crucified Christ and stoned Stephen. They told Peter and John to stop speaking in the name of Jesus or else.

They chose “or else.” Acts 8:1 tells us that a persecution had scattered the believers, but the apostles remained in Jerusalem. Yes, John and Peter trekked to Samaria, but the ministries of the apostles remained intact in Jerusalem for this period of time. I assume that they simply did not yet feel released by the Holy Spirit to center their ministries elsewhere.

Now in a terrible wave of persecution, James was arrested. I wonder if John saw them seize his brother. If not, who broke the news to him? Can you imagine the sear of terror that tore through his heart? Remember, John was the apostle who’d had connections when Jesus was arrested and was able to get into the priest’s courtyard. Don’t you know he tried to pull every favor and call on every connection he had? He probably couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He no doubt fell facedown on the floor and begged God to spare his brother’s life.

Beloved, don’t hurry past this scene. James was John’s flesh and blood. All the disciples were terrified, but none of them could relate to John’s horror. Surely prayer meetings took place. Don’t forget, these were men with the power and authority of the Holy Spirit to heal diseases and cast out demons. No doubt they named and claimed James’s release and demanded his life in prayer. For all we know, James claimed his own life before his jailers and forbade them to harm one of Jesus’ elect. After all, the disciples were promised power and were told they would be Christ’s witnesses all over Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and the uttermost parts of the earth. His ministry had just begun! No, this couldn’t be the end. He would surely be delivered!

Then they killed him.

I pity the person who came to John with the news. In 2 Samuel 1, David was so horrified by the report of Saul and Jonathan’s deaths that he had the bearer of bad news slain. Although John had no such authority or desire, don’t you imagine he wanted to shake the bad news out of the bearer’s mouth and demand a different ending? Don’t you also imagine that he tried his hardest to shake the reality out of his own head? James was the first of the disciples martyred. Reality must have hit like an unsuspected tidal wave, crashing on the shores of servant lives.

More than any of the other ten, John must have replayed the events a thousand times in his mind, wondering if his big brother had been terrified or calm. Did he think of their parents? Hadn’t Zebedee been through enough? How was he going to tell his mother? Had James felt any pain? Was it quick? Was he next? Then before he had time to steady from reeling, he learned he was not next. Peter was.

Have you ever felt like a percussionist had just slammed king-size cymbals on both sides of your head? “Not Peter! This was too much! Not James and Peter! Not both of them, Lord! Please, please, no, Lord!”

Perhaps John’s mind flew back to that time on the lake shore when “Peter turned around and saw the disciple Jesus loved following them. . . . When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, ‘Lord—what about him?’ ” (John 21:20–21 hcsb).

“Yeah, Lord! What about me? How will I go on through all of this without James and Peter? What are You doing? What aren’t You doing? Will You let them kill all of us?”

John had good reason to believe Peter might never make it out of that prison. But then he did. God granted him a miracle . . . scarcely before they had mopped the blood of John’s big brother off the floor. Can you imagine the mix of emotions John must have felt if he was anything like the rest of us?

When you grapple with questions like, “Why did God let the blood of my brother spill but performed a miracle for my best friend?” the explanations of others only frustrate you more. In fact, often we only bother asking so we can release a little anger in the demand of a better answer. Rarely will it come.

Solitude is not so much the place we find answers. It’s the place we find our own square foot of earth from which to grapple with heaven and decide if we’re going on—possibly alone—without our answers. And many of us will. Why? Because the privilege of wrestling with such a holy and mysterious God still beats the numbness—the pitiful mediocrity—of an otherwise life. Sometimes we don’t realize how real He is until we’ve experienced the awesomeness of His answerless Presence. He knows that what we crave far more than explanations is the unshakable conviction that He is utterly, supremely God.