TRIBULATION TRIAL

I am writing this on the threshold of death. I only hope that it gives strength to those who face the same things that I faced.


It began in the summer, a year and a half ago. I stood before the jury, hands shackled in front of me, staring at the judge. I was still dressed in the clothes I had worn to work that morning, although the tidy suit and nylons were dirtied and ripped from the rough handling I had received from the police. Even the tidy chignon I usually wore my hair in was falling in untidy wisps across my now-dirty face. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I longed to wipe my face. I stood in the summer afternoon's bright sunlight which beat through the dirty windows into the stuffy courtroom. I looked quite a sight.


I stood quietly, head bowed, knees shaking. I knew what I was accused of, and I knew I was guilty. I just didn't know how to admit it without the stigma of my guilt affecting my family. But, even then, I knew that nothing could persuade me to lie, or change my mind. Prayer was the only thing that would save me now.


"All rise," the bailiff's bored voice startled me from my reverie. "The honorable Judge Winston Smythe presiding." The judge walked into the room and sat at the bench. I sneaked a peek at him as he settled himself down in his chair, and the room was instructed to sit. Everyone sat, except for me. There was nowhere for me to sit.


"Joan van Camp, you are accused of high treason to our country, and the entire world order. How do you plead?" the bailiff's voice droned. The judge looked at me, finally, and I studied his face. He looked so kind; fatherly even, perhaps I could throw myself on the mercy of the court?


"I - I don't feel that I'm guilty of treason..." I stammered.


"Guilty or not guilty?" the bailiff's voice was sharp, now, not bored. I was wasting his time.


"I'm not guilty of treason! Just prayer..."


The judge cut me off. "Young lady, you know as well as I that prayer and treason are one and the same. That is, prayer to any false god other than the ruler of this world." His voice was kind, in contrast to that of the bailiff. "He has given peace to this world, united all the countries, provided food and shelter and health care to all who wish it. He deserves our adoration." The judge paused, looked carefully at me, and then continued.


"Miss ... van Camp, is it? Miss van Camp, perhaps you just haven't been given the chance to worship the god of this world. I give you that chance now. Kneel now, and pray to the god of this world, the head of the government, President Lucifer de Vil, and all charges of treason will be dropped against you. And then we can give you this microchip, which will provide you with all your needs, keep track of your bank accounts and assets. We can implant it in the palm of your hand this afternoon." His voice was fatherly, encouraging, and almost I was tempted to accept his offer, for I knew what the outcome of refusal would be.


"I'm sorry, I can only pray to the Lord Jesus Christ..." I began.


"Stop!" Judge Smythe yelled. "Do not commit an act of treason in this court room! Obviously, you're guilty," he went on, "and you must be punished. I hereby sentence you to 6 months hard labor, and a full indoctrination course. Next case!" he finished, with the pound of his gavel on the podium. The guards beside me roughly grabbed my arms and marched me from the court room.



Six months later, I stood again before the court. This time, I was dressed in drab, gray flimsy prison garb. I stood, shivering, in the chill winter sunlight which filtered through the dirty courtroom windows.


"Joan van Camp, you have completed the 6 month sentence and the full indoctrination course. Are you prepared to kneel in fealty to King Lucifer de Vil, and accept the microchip?" The bailiff's voice was bored, tired, as if he said this hundreds of times a day. Who knew, perhaps he did.


"I will not pray to Lucifer de Vil," I said calmly, quietly.


"What??" Obviously, as many times a day as the bailiff asked this question, this answer was not expected. I heard the shocked in-take of breath from some of the observers, as well. Not many people were willing to accept the wrath of the court more than once.


The judge spoke now, giving me one more chance to comply with the court's edict. "Young lady, this court has been lenient with you. We will not be so in the future. Kneel now, and pray to King de Vil, or you will be sentenced again."


"No. Jesus Christ, son of God, is my Lord and King. I will pray to none other."


The judge was livid. "TRAITOR!! You are hereby charged with high treason in the first degree, and contempt of court. I sentence you to one year of hard labor. All of your possessions are forfeit to the crown. And you will go through the second-level indoctrination courses. I need not remind you that these courses include brainwashing and beatings in their techniques to change your decision to one that the courts can accept." The gavel pounded, he hollered "Next!" and I was ushered unceremoniously from the room.



Again, I found myself shivering in the cold winter sunlight trickling in through the courtroom windows. This time, I was considerably thinner. I cradled my arm, which was recently broken, gently in my other hand as best I could with the handcuffs on, since it was neither in a cast nor set. The bruises on my face from the most recent beating stood out in brilliant color on my otherwise pale face. I limped forward and stood before the judge, as requested.


As I looked around the quiet courtroom, I saw members of my family present. "Uh, oh, what does this mean?" I thought to myself.


"All rise for the Honorable Judge Winston Smythe," the bailiff mumbled. I saw my mother stand, her hands on the shoulders of my two young children. I longed to go to them, hug them. They looked thinner, also, and the clothes they wore were shabby. Apparently they had had a lot of trouble over the past year and a half since I'd been imprisoned.


"Young lady, I ask you again. Will you renounce your treasonous loyalty to your god and pray to the Emperor Lucifer de Vil?" The judge's voice was stern, harsh even. I could find no trace of the kindly man I had seen on his face the first time I came before his bench.


"Your Honor," I began, quietly, humbly, "I must respectfully refuse..."


"Wait now, please, while I explain the next phase of your sentencing," the judge interrupted me. "You have twice been convicted of treason. Your next refusal, as you know, will most likely result in your death. But are you prepared, also, to sentence your children to death, as well?"


I gasped. My refusal to comply would hurt my children? How could I allow that? Just as I caught my breath, I heard a noise to my left, and I turned to see the children being pushed forward next to me. They both ran forward, tears on their faces, and hugged me, as I hugged them back as best I could with handcuffs on. How could I possibly do anything to hurt them? Flesh of my flesh, they were my life.


"Mama, Mama!" my daughter whispered in my ears. "Do the right thing. No matter what..." I was so relieved to hear her say that, but my heart was still heavy in my chest. Then my son whispered, "Remember what He said to the thief on the cross, 'This day shall you be with me in heaven..."


At that moment, my children were wrenched from my side by the armed guards. I saw the tears on their faces, and felt the tears on mine. But my son gave me a thumbs-up gesture, and I knew what he meant.


"Judge Smythe, I know what the consequences of my actions are. And although I regret that you find it necessary to punish my children as well as me, I cannot change my position for their safety, or my own. My fealty, my love, my prayers go to the one and only Savior, Jesus Christ, son of the living God." It was done. I would surely be executed now.


The courtroom was silent, save for the sound of sniffles coming from my children. My son had his arm around his little sister, comforting her. They knew now they were sentenced to death, but they both held their heads up high. It was no surprise when the three of us were scheduled for the firing squad. In an act of extreme leniency, the judge allowed us an hour before our execution would be carried out. My daughter slipped me a small pad and pencil as we were walked out of the courtroom.


I sit now in my cell, awaiting the firing squad. I look forward to that time, when I shall be with my Lord in glory, for I shall be given a special crown, a special place by His side for being a martyr for Him.



7. But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ. 8: Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, 9: And be found in him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith: 10: That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death . . .

Phil:3:7-10