After two weeks in a hurricane, the passengers found themselves way off course and more than a little worse for wear, but they were alive. Emaciated, exhausted, and thoroughly waterlogged, they had survived the storm and all 276 of them had washed safely onto the sandy shore of Malta.
The celebration was short lived; however, as they looked up from their embraces to discover themselves totally surrounded by natives.
Luck—or something—seemed to be on their side that day. The natives had already prepared a fire, not for cooking the saturated sailors, but for drying and warming them. Spirits lifted higher than ever, as the crew, captain, passengers, and prisoners all ate together for the very first time.
Even the Apostle Paul couldn’t help but enjoy the overwhelming sensation of camaraderie that comes with escaping death together, and decided to pitch in and collect some firewood. But as he dropped his brush on the fire, a snake slithered out and fastened itself firmly to the meat of Paul’s hand.
The natives gasped, assuming he must be an evil man. Why else would the goddess Justice supply a deadly viper as a greeting to him who had cheated death?
The apostle, meanwhile, simply rolled his eyes, shook the snake from his hand and went back to celebrating.
Written by Troy DeShano