Yet there Simon was, unmistakable, slumped against the mud-brick wall of his house, tears streaking his weathered face. Andrew’s own eyes welled up at the sight. The day was a bleak capstone to a week of dread. Inside, the house brimmed with people, but a heavy stillness smothered it—no movement, just the amplified sound of stifled sobs.
Andrew had followed Simon outside. Even in the dark, the pain radiating from his brother was palpable. He hesitated, unsure. Dare he approach Simon in this rare, raw moment?
Simon sensed him anyway. “What do you think, brother?” The words barely escaped, trembling through short, ragged breaths.
Andrew stepped closer, resting a hand on Simon’s neck. “We must pray. God can heal this fire in her bones.”
Simon didn’t argue—didn’t want to dampen Andrew’s flickering faith—but he pulled away, staring at the stars. Silent questions burned in his chest, the kind all men howl in their anguish. Around them, life droned on: dogs barked, sheep bleated, the faint scent of Capernaum’s fires hung in the air. Meaningless. Empty.
They stood in uneasy quiet until Andrew ventured again. “What of the Healer?”
Simon shook his head. “She won’t survive the Jordan. You know that.”
“No, Simon—not John. The man in Galilee. The Christ!”
“The demon fighter?” Sarcasm laced Simon’s voice now, sharp and bitter. “The one who wants to rename me? The Messiah you keep prattling about?”
Talk of the Nazarene had swirled lately—teaching in synagogues, casting out a demon from a man shrieking curses. Most dismissed it as a stunt. Simon had met him once, dragged by Andrew after John the Baptist spouted some cryptic line about a lamb and sin. Andrew had been giddy, but Simon found Jesus unremarkable—too ordinary. Worse, the man had called him “Petros,” a rock, sparking laughter from the others. No one mocked Simon and won his favor. He’d fired back later, chuckling with the skeptics: “Nothing good comes from Nazareth.”
Andrew could chase after this Nazarene or that wild locust-eater in camel hair, dunking sinners in the Jordan—fine. Simon had told him to keep it off fishing time. Andrew, ever loyal, obliged.
When Andrew recently credited the Jordan’s waters for their latest haul, Simon saw through the hint. Ceremonial washings boosting fish? Absurd. He’d brushed it off, too weary to argue.
“He won’t come,” Simon muttered now. “Why would he care about the mother-in-law of a man he calls a rock?”
“Do you mind if I ask him?” Andrew pressed.
Simon’s wife cut in, her voice fierce from the doorway. “Andrew, what are you waiting for? Go!”
Simon shot her a glare, jaw tight. He’d be no part of some sideshow. This Christ wouldn’t come anyway. Kicking the dirt, he wondered if they had enough for a funeral. Deeper still, guilt gnawed at him—he loved her, this woman, and feared she’d never known how much.
“He’s coming! Go tell Simon—the Christ is coming!”
Simon jolted awake against the wall, disoriented. How long had he drifted in his grief? His wife grabbed his arm. “You’ll need to invite him in, Simon!”
He stumbled to the front, half-dreaming. Torches bobbed in the distance, a crowd swelling from the synagogue’s direction. Andrew’s voice rang out, unmistakable: “Here, Rabbi! This way! Almost there!” He darted ahead, then back, while the figure behind him walked with maddening calm.
Firelight revealed the Nazarene—same ordinary face Simon remembered. Their eyes locked. “Andrew pressed me to come see your mother-in-law,” Jesus said, firm. “May I enter, Cephas?”
That name again—“Peter”—snapped Simon alert, bristling. “She’s very sick, my Lord,” he stammered. “A fire’s raging in her bones. We fear she won’t last the night.”
Jesus’ gaze cut sideways at “Lord,” piercing through Simon’s flippant tone. Then, gently, he took Simon’s wife by the face, whispering something private. She clutched his hands, weeping. “Yes,” she said, urgent. “She’s in here.” Jesus ducked into the dim, sickness-laden room.
He emerged a moment later, scanning the gathered faces. Andrew spoke first, voice steady. “Rabbi, you can make her whole. I believe it with all my heart.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
Simon marveled at his brother’s certainty.
Jesus beckoned them inside. In the cramped space, he raised his hands and eyes heavenward, whispering words Simon strained to catch but couldn’t. Then Jesus stepped over the trembling, fever-wracked form on the floor. In a voice like thunder, he rebuked the illness—cursed it, in the name of Abraham’s God, as if it were a living foe.
Simon thought he’d hated this sickness. Now he felt Jesus’ fury dwarf his own, raw and commanding. After a pause, Jesus knelt, looked up at Simon’s wife, and said simply, “Your mother is whole.”
Before anyone could move, she rose—steady, alive—kissed Jesus’ cheek, and the room exploded in praise. No sound like it had ever filled Simon’s home. Outside, shouts grew: “The Master healed her! Praise God! The Messiah!”
They sat, stunned. Andrew grinned at Simon, hopeful. Simon’s wife and her mother—now bustling as if never ill—brought bread and wine. Simon stared at Jesus. That rebuke had pierced him, too, arrowing past the fever into his doubting heart.
Jesus left later, same unhurried stride, toward the synagogue. He didn’t say “Cephas” again.
“Andrew,” Simon rasped, “tell James and John we’re not fishing this morning. We’ll go tonight.”
How could he fish now? Too much churned in his mind.
Song 2- Fire in the Bones
(Verse 1)
I’ve never let them see me break
Never let the cracks show through
But here I am, my knees are weak
And I don’t know what to do
(Pre-Chorus)
I hear Andrew’s voice, a hopeful cry
Speaking of a man, the healer of time
But why would He come for me?
For the woman who raised my bride?
(Chorus)
Fire in her bones, burning through the night
She fades like embers losing light
Can He command the flames to cease?
Can He bring this storm to peace?
(Verse 2)
I met Him once, He called me rock
A jest, a name, a word, a thought
I laughed, I turned, I cast my doubt
But now I call His name out loud
(Pre-Chorus)
And there He stands, walking slow
A carpenter’s son with a heart aglow
He looks at me, He sees right through
Like He already knows the war I lose
(Chorus)
Fire in her bones, burning through the night
She fades like embers losing light
Can He command the flames to cease?
Can He bring this storm to peace?
(Bridge)
He speaks a word, He calls it out
Like fire itself should know His sound
And in a breath, the fever’s gone
She stands, she smiles, she carries on
(Chorus)
Fire in her bones, now turned to grace
The heat has left without a trace
And in my chest, something stirs
A fire now burns inside of me
(Outro)
I call Him Lord, but does He know?
How deep my doubts, how much I’ve closed?
Yet still He walks, yet still He stays
And still He calls my name today
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