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"Do you understand the charge against you?"

I struggled to concentrate on the question. The oppressively hot meeting room was packed with university officials dragging heavily on clove cigarettes and snorting out bluish clouds of smoke like restless dragons sizing up their prey. With beads of sweat dotting my forehead, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat trying to quell a threatening wave of nausea.

The rector (president) of the university repeated his question impatiently.

"Do you understand the charge against you?"

"Yes, I do. But I said and did nothing to intentionally offend the tenets of Islam." I spoke slowly, wanting to pronounce each word correctly in the local dialect.

"You are not permitted to defend yourself," shouted one of the university deans. "You are here to understand why it is you are facing ten years in prison and to learn what happens to infidels who spread lies about religion among idealistic students."

Leaning forward in his chair to deliver his vitriolic remarks, the dean did little to hide his hatred for myself and the other two Christians who taught in the predominantly Muslim university in Asia. There was little doubt in my mind that he was the one who had gone to the Islamic leadership of the city and filed the charges against us.

Ten years in a foreign prison. The very real possibility of that struck me with a force that made it difficult to breathe. I felt as if the room was closing in on me and at any moment I might faint.

Why was this happening? I had left a successful career in the United States as a police officer to follow God into full-time missions, and where do I find myself? Facing prison. The irony of the situation pained me.

I closed my eyes and thought of my wife and three sons. The night before we had huddled together in fervent prayer, trusting that somehow God would intervene in a situation the American embassy found unimportant. We held hands and thanked God for the recent salvation of a student who was the real cause of the uproar at the university. Her conversion had been a dramatic deliverance from demonic oppression, and she wasted no time in proclaiming the source of her eternal freedom to everyone on campus.

"Jesus died for us," she shouted to a classroom filled with students just prior to one of my lectures. And when questioned by the accusing dean as to why she believed the lies Christians had told her, she answered confidently, "I believe them because I know they really care about me. Do you care about me?"

Was Herni's acceptance of Christ worth ten years in prison? Yes, of course. But as I stared into the angry eyes of our accuser, I could not help but feel a deep sense of helplessness and despair, and a gripping fear I had never experienced in my years on the police force.

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