Here are Anam Cara, we like to share those things that are speaking to our souls. One of the dear friends of the ministry (whether she knows it or not) is writer and theologian Tina Francis. Her reflections on the Scripture readings for Easter 7 spoke to our hearts in a way that brought liberation, hope, and one of the things we delight in most—profound and transformative questions.
Below is the text of both the Scripture passage she reflects on and her considerations on it. We encourage you to visit the full reflections on all the texts of the day here for more of her work.
Acts 16:16-34 (ESV)
16 As we were going to the place of prayer, we were met by a slave girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners much gain by fortune-telling. 17 She followed Paul and us, crying out, “These men are servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation.” 18 And this she kept doing for many days. Paul, having become greatly annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, “I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” And it came out that very hour.
19 But when her owners saw that their hope of gain was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the rulers. 20 And when they had brought them to the magistrates, they said, “These men are Jews, and they are disturbing our city. 21 They advocate customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to accept or practice.” 22 The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates tore the garments off them and gave orders to beat them with rods. 23 And when they had inflicted many blows upon them, they threw them into prison, ordering the jailer to keep them safely. 24 Having received this order, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks.
25 About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them, 26 and suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and everyone’s bonds were unfastened. 27 When the jailer woke and saw that the prison doors were open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, supposing that the prisoners had escaped. 28 But Paul cried with a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” 29 And the jailer[e] called for lights and rushed in, and trembling with fear he fell down before Paul and Silas. 30 Then he brought them out and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” 31 And they said, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” 32 And they spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. 33 And he took them the same hour of the night and washed their wounds; and he was baptized at once, he and all his family. 34 Then he brought them up into his house and set food before them. And he rejoiced along with his entire household that he had believed in God.
She was a slave girl who knew things—things that made powerful men nervous. Her life was measured in coins passed from hand to hand. She was doubly bound—owned in body and haunted in spirit—and had nothing left to lose. So, she followed Paul and Silas through the streets, shouting what was true—but truth spoken by the wrong person is still ignored. Eventually, Paul—frustrated, not merciful—turned and cast the spirit out. It fled. And she was free.
But her freedom meant someone lost their income. A substantial loss for the men who—we should say it plain—owned her. So, they retaliated the way power always does when threatened. Paul and Silas were seized, dragged before the authorities, stripped and beaten. Shackled like dangerous men. Because profit lost is a dangerous thing—a crime.
In the darkness of the prison, with broken bodies and aching wrists—they sing. A hymn through swollen lips. A melody wrapped around bruised ribs. And the earth listens. The prison shakes. The doors fling open. The chains fall.
And curiously—they do not run.
The jailer, who held the keys, sees the destruction and panics. Fearing disgrace, he prepares to take his own life. But Paul calls out—loud and tender—interrupting despair: “Do not harm yourself. We are all here.”
Record scratch. The whole story turns inside out. The captives stay. The jailer is the one set free. The ones in chains do the freeing. The kingdom of God arrives—not with fanfare, but soft-footed, in the dead of night. And a prison becomes—somehow—a place of joy.
- Who are you in this story? The girl who shouts the truth? The prisoner who sings anyway? The jailer undone by grace?
- What chains—seen or unseen—are still binding you?
- And what if freedom doesn’t look like escape, but like staying put… until something sacred breaks open?
Featured image from Unsplash