by Tim LaHaye
Liar! Jesus told me Himself that He and His Father were one!
Someone from the crowd called out, “But what of the teachings of the missionary Paul?” And John was proud of whoever that was, while yet hoping it was not a member of his church. Oh, that true followers of Jesus would ignore this man!
“Again,” Cerinthus said, “I speak not to gain popularity but to tell the truth. I regard Paul as apostate. He clearly taught that Christ existed before the foundation of the world, but I say that only matter is eternal and a product of the Deity. Material things constitute the body of the Creator God. Creation, the world, is then the transformation of what preexisted, and that does not include the Man Jesus.
“God created the universe by His wisdom, a demiurgic hand, not through another entity, another being, another person.”
Not true! Jesus was with God from the beginning, and it was Jesus Himself who created all things!
“What is he saying, master?” Polycarp said. “I thought a demiurge was a Greek magistrate.”
“No, no,” John said. “The Gnostics believe the Demiurge is a deity who created the world out of chaos and originated evil.”
Cerinthus said, “I can see the puzzlement on your faces. Let me explain. Our universe is made up of two realms, the good and the evil. The Son of God, the Christ, rules over the realm of the good, and to Him is given the world to come. But the Prince of Evil is the prince of this world. The Christ resides between God and His creation, thus He is not a creature, but still not equal to or even comparable to the Father.”
John quivered and moaned, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out.
“The union of Christ with Jesus is a mystery,” Cerinthus intoned.
It is not! They are one and the same!
Ignatius leaned in and whispered to John. “No wonder people’s ears are tickled by this nonsense: people do not want to accept that they cannot save themselves. They do not want their salvation to rest in the grace of God. They’d rather believe this and play a role in their own destinies.”
Someone else spoke up, and John turned to try to see him because the voice was familiar. Polycarp did the same and whispered to Ignatius, “He’s one of ours!”
“How, then,” the man said, “is a man saved from his sins? For Jesus to die for our sins, He had to be the Christ.”
“No, no,” Cerinthus said. “You see, man is saved by knowledge, by believing in the Teacher, God, and by being baptized for the forgiveness of sins. Thus he receives knowledge and strength to be able to obey the law. I am telling you a revelation of Christ and His apostles.”
John could contain himself no longer. “I am one of those apostles,” he shouted, “and you, sir, are misinformed! Gaining the knowledge and strength to obey the law will leave one still under the bondage of his sin! You cannot work to save yourself!”
The crowd stirred, but Cerinthus quieted them, squinted through the mist, and smiled condescendingly. “You are one of the apostles?”
“A disciple! I knew Jesus personally.”
“Indeed? If that is true, you are the only one who remains, and that would make you John.”
“I am he.”
Cerinthus bowed. “I greet you with humble respect, if you are to be believed.”
“It is true,” Polycarp said, “and I vouch for him.”
“And who might you be? Mary of Magdala?”
The crowd roared. Cerinthus continued, “Unless you too were an eyewitness to Jesus—and you are clearly too young for that—you can vouch for no one who said he has seen the Man.”
Voice shaking, John said, “Let me tell you, sir, you have it all wrong.”
“And let me beseech you, honored associated of Jesus, to act as He would wish and hold your tongue while I have the ears of these people.”
“But you do not deserve their attention, man! You are lying, making bold claims from thin evidence, confusing truth with—”
“I assure you, John—if that’s who you are—that when I am finished here I will urge any who wish to to stay and listen to you.”
He turned back to the people. “The salvation I preach and believe has nothing to do with the redemption of every human soul. It is a grand, cosmic process. It is the return of all things to their state before a flaw in the realm of the good brought matter into existence and entrapped some of the divine light. The Christ was sent as a savior who united Himself with Jesus, the son of Mary, at His baptism.”
“You must not continue with this!” John cried, but Cerinthus ignored him.
“The human is a creation of the Demiurge, a composite of soul, body, and spirit. Your salvation rests in the return of your spirit to God.”
“No!” John yelled. “Men of Ephesus, hear me! Your salvation lies in your resurrection, based on the work of Jesus the Christ on the cross and His resurrection!”
Cerinthus plunged ahead. “There is no resurrection of the body! God revealed Himself in Jesus and appeared as a man in Judea; to know him, and to become free of the angry, vengeful Creator God of the Old Testament, this is salvation.”
“Your savior, then,” John said, “is not my Savior! Your savior does not save. Where is the atonement for your sins? You recognize no sin to be atoned for, except ignorance. How does your savior suffer for you? How does he draw you to God or grant you grace? To you Jesus was merely a teacher who brought truth, which you believe alone can save. You know nothing of the real Savior, who said He came to seek and to save all who were lost.”
“It is true that we differ,” Cerinthus said. “I do not debate that. My savior has no human nature; He is not a man. He only seemed to be a man.”
“He was both God and man!” John said. “I knew Him! I know Him!”
Cerinthus smiled patiently again and addressed the crowd. “Ephesians, if you would believe this man is truly the disciple John, ask him about the magic language.”
“The what?” John said, as people whispered. “I do not know of what you speak.”
“Of course you do! You say you were there! My angel muses tell me that Jesus and His disciples often broke into a gibberish of only vowels. Spells have been cast made up of vowels in sets of twenty. Tell us, O great one who was there, what did it all mean?”
“It means your muses cannot be angels, but rather demons! This never happened! I was His friend. He knew me by name. He called me beloved.”
“If that is true, sir, if you are truly one of His, you know that we obey God by abstaining from flesh, meat, and marriage, and by leading an austere life. In this way we earn our salvation.”
“Such a life is well and good and may be profitable,” John said, “but in Christ we are free from such strictures.”
“Now who is the blasphemer?” Cerinthus said. “If you knew the truth, you would worship the Father, the Son, and Hyle, which is matter.”
“I worship God the Father,” John said, “and His Son Jesus the Christ, and the Holy Spirit.”
“That is where you are wrong, sir! The Son is the cosmic serpent who freed Eve from the power of Hyle. We represent the universe by a triangle enclosed in a circle, because the number three is the key to all mysteries. There are three supreme principles: the not-generated, the self-generated, and the generated. As we study these mysteries, we exercise our God-given intellects, and knowledge frees us.”
“Vain philosophy and deceit!” John yelled. “Paul calls these ‘profane and idle babblings and contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge—by professing it some have strayed concerning the faith.’”
It appeared to John that Cerinthus had lost patience with him. He addressed the crowd: “Men of Ephesus, whom would you rather hear, this deluded old man who claims to have been a friend of Jesus, or one who has been mentored by angels into a new revelation?”
“You! You!” the crowd cried, and John was stunned. “We know the old man and his old ideas! Tell more of the new!”
John tried to regain a hearing, but the crowd shouted him down. Cerint
hus continued to harangue, and Ignatius said, “Polycarp, this is no good. Let us go.”
“No!” John said. “Stay and fight! When he is gone, the crowd will remain.”
“No,” Ignatius said. “The crowd has spoken. Desist in trying to cast your pearls before swine.”
FIVE
The men made their way out onto Curetes Street and headed northwest past the Latrines toward Marble Road. Polycarp slowed as they neared the Mazaeus and Mithridates Gates into the Agora on their left. “We must enter and find some refreshment,” he said.
“At least some shade,” Ignatius said, and John was grateful for their concern.
A few minutes later they sat under a canopy, sipping wine, and John was soon rejuvenated. “To the theater,” he said, eager to pray.
The three exited the gates again and turned left to head north. Soon they stood under the covered portico of the massive twenty-five-thousand-seat theater. John put a hand on each man’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and lifted his face toward heaven. “Lord,” he said, “I am nearly overcome with the privilege of standing here where your servant Paul bravely faced angry accusers, lo, many years past. How I have thrilled to the accounts of his traveling companions being seized and dragged here before thousands, and Demetrius the silversmith raging against Paul and his teaching that men are to worship Christ, not idols made with hands. Oh, I pray You would grant us such courage in the face of opposition and heresy….”
John was startled by a commotion when Cerinthus and his party hurried past.
“We must not let one more word of his heresy go unchecked,” John said. And as they followed Cerinthus and his people from a distance, excited crowds passed them. People were shouting. “Hurry! Cerinthus! Outside the stadium!”
The stadium farther north covered more ground than the theater but held only about half as many spectators. John assumed this impromptu event outside the place would probably draw no more than a hundred, but he was mistaken. As he and Polycarp and Ignatius rushed along as fast as old bones would carry him, more and more people passed them.
John turned to the bishop. “Ignatius, send Polycarp ahead to reserve us places near where Cerinthus will speak. Otherwise we will be futile in our efforts to challenge him again.”
Polycarp gathered his hem and sprinted on. “Look for me near the front!” he called over his shoulder. By the time John and Ignatius arrived, John was stunned to see people crowding the street, pushing close to surround Cerinthus and his huddled disciples. “There must be more than two hundred men and women here, Ignatius. How did they know of this?”
“Cerinthus is eloquent and has become popular, preaching on street corners. And he has many volunteers who spread the word of where he will be. I tell you, John, his intellectual approach to pleasing God by doing good works resonates with the people.”
The two picked their way through the murmuring assemblage to find the waving Polycarp about six deep from the head of the crowd. John could see Cerinthus’s head above those of the disciples who surrounded him, all eager young men appearing proud to be there and desperate to please him.
For his part, Cerinthus appeared preoccupied, and while he seemed to be chatting with his charges, he peered over and around them at the growing crowd. Finally he gave the nod to one who called for attention.
“Men of Ephesus!” he cried out. “Welcome to a brief treatise by the brilliant man of intellect, Cerinthus, a follower of the Christ!”
Again John was repulsed by the blasphemer claiming the name of Christ. But as they approached, Cerinthus nodded to a couple of his own young disciples, and they quickly descended upon John and Ignatius. “You have had your say, old man. Now why not leave Cerinthus alone? He does not come to your church and counter you.”
“This is his church?” John sputtered. “This is public property, and I have every bit as much right to be heard here as he does! As for the heretic—”
But Ignatius quickly stepped between John and the young men and was soon joined by Polycarp. The two urgently tugged their teacher out of the crowd and away, back to the streets that led to his home. “Please, master, this is clearly not the place or time. Cerinthus owns this crowd and they will not hear you.”
More than once John stiffened and turned, nearly unable to keep from heading back to the stadium. “Something must be done!” Burning deep within him was the need to somehow defy this new form of blasphemy that sounded so erudite and yet flew in the face of all he knew to be true.
Worse, he knew such slick-tongued men had the power to sway the weak-minded, yea, even many within his own congregation. John wept with fury, desperate to plan a rebuttal before this false teaching swept the city.
All the way back to the memorial home of Aquila and Priscilla, John spoke earnestly to Ignatius and Polycarp. “You see, gentlemen, this is important. It is doctrine. It is teaching. The life of Jesus is dramatic enough, and He must have known that opportunists would run away with all the stories and create their own systems, their own interpretations. That is why He spent so much time with us. You have no idea how much time the Master invested in simply telling us the mysteries of His kingdom. I feel a tremendous weight of responsibility as the last of His confidants. If in just sixty years men like Cerinthus—with what motive I would not venture to guess—can get it so wrong, how urgent it is that I set the record straight for as long as I have breath.”
The young men kept trying to slow John, urging him to calm down and preserve his strength. And yet he did not stop talking.
Finally Ignatius led him to a bench and made him sit. “Now, hear me, master,” the bishop said, squatting before him. “You are allowing yourself to grow so agitated that it cannot be good for you. Let us not jeopardize your health when you have so much to tell us. You’re no longer a young man.”
John sighed and took a deep breath. “I need not be reminded of that, friend. What troubles me is the effect Cerinthus and his kind might have on true believers, even those from our own gathering. Rumor has it he is founding his own school, which could impact the world. But my immediate concern is Ephesus and the believers here—not to mention the lost. Might he not leave behind some of those eager young disciples? We must counter them, counter him, at every turn.”
Polycarp’s concern was worn into his young face. He paced, his countenance clouded. “I don’t know what more you can do, rabbi. It is too much to ask that you follow this man about and debate him in public. Perhaps you should—when you have fully regained your health—plan to speak every Lord’s Day on these matters. Tell the people what Jesus Himself told you, and soon we will not have room for everyone.”
“Believe me,” John said, rising, “this is that important. Perhaps I should teach with Luke’s or Mark’s or Matthew’s accounts in hand, adding what the Master taught us in private. But Matthew and Mark wrote their accounts with different purposes and audiences, and Dr. Luke helped complete the full story. They did not write in the face of all this opposition. They saw the Lord die, saw Him buried, saw Him alive again. Nothing could make them doubt. But what might my colleagues have written had they known the minds of the Greeks and the Romans?”
By the time the men reached John’s small quarters, he was exhausted and acceded to their urging that he try napping. One of the women delivered fruit and a cup of water, and when his stomach was sated and his thirst slaked, John stretched out on his pallet. But weary as he was, his mind continued to race.
The old apostle rolled up on his side and let the breeze from the window fan his face. And he felt a deep urgency in his spirit. “What is it, Lord?” he whispered. “What would you have me do?”
John rose and knelt by his mat, knees aching. “Father, I am at Your mercy. I will do whatever You give me the strength to do. Preach? Teach? Do the work of the evangelist? Tell me. Please.”
He laid his head on his mat and found himself dozing, pierced with a recollection of falling asleep when Jesus had asked him to stay up with Him.
Of all tim
es, it had been the night Jesus would be betrayed. All evening the Master had seemed, to John, to be acting out of character. Yet as he reflected, he realized that Jesus was entirely Himself. He had spoken plainly, had loved and served His men, had prayed with them, prayed for them, seen to their nourishment, talked of His future, predicted His own end, washed their feet. That last had caught everyone off guard, just as had His averring that He would be betrayed. To a man they had pledged their loyalty, Peter the most vociferous, but Jesus foretold that he was the one who would deny Him thrice before the cock crowed twice.
Peter had responded in anger, “If I have to die with You, I will not deny You.”
The pain of having been singled out was etched on Peter’s face, and John not only believed his friend, but he also joined the others in chorusing, “Yes, yes, I would die first.”
And yet it had been just after this that Jesus went to His favorite place to pray, and John and the rest had followed, as was their custom. John had always loved to hear Jesus pray. It was one thing to be taught by Him and to try to approach God in the manner the Master had instructed. But to come to believe that your teacher was the Son of God Himself and then to hear Him speak to His Father directly…
Jesus told John and the others to pray so they would not enter into temptation. It was not unusual for them to be puzzled by such comments, but it was unusual that no one asked for clarification. What form of temptation had He meant? What were they to avoid? It was clear Jesus was deeply distracted and troubled in spirit, yet He had not asked that they pray for Him, but rather for themselves.
As they made a show of huddling near the trunk of a large olive tree, Jesus moved away from them about a stone’s throw and knelt. John listened carefully as the teacher prayed, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done.”
John squinted in the darkness as his dearest friend seemed to recoil and then open His eyes, as if something or someone had interrupted Him. He soon returned to His reverie, praying earnestly, but John could no longer make out the words. Anyway, John himself was to be praying against falling into temptation. He turned and bowed his head, but almost immediately fatigue washed over him.