Apostasy Rising

by J A Bouma

  Alexander put his hand to his mouth, choking back a cry of excitement and honor, tears moistening his eyes transfixed on the entrance to the cave that continued glowing in pulsating beams of orange and white.

  Was it a campfire? He couldn’t smell any smoke, though there could be an updraft taking it away from the other side.

  Or was it more heavenly? He tingled with the thought that he was feet away from a heavenly messenger relaying God’s very message about the prophecy concerning the end of the age.

  The voice continued: “I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this scroll: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this scroll. And if anyone takes words away from this scroll of prophecy, God will take away from that person any share in the tree of life and in the Holy City, which are described in this scroll. He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus. The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Alexander said softly, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. To hear the Word of God with virgin ears had released an unexpected valve of emotion. Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit himself falling afresh on him at the literal hearing of the Word.

  The light dimmed from bright, pulsating beams to a smaller dancing light, like that of a fire. He moved toward it to get a better view.

  Something stiff in his path, hidden in the darkness, sounded a loud crack under his weight.

  Alexander froze. He slowly lifted his leg to find a broken branch.

  “Who goes there?” an old, cracking voice questioned from inside the cave in the common tongue of the Empire, Koine Greek.

  Alexander’s mind raced with possible responses.

  Should he run? No, he was supposed to be found by John, or at least engage him to bring back an elixir for the future Church.

  Should he call out? Maybe, but how would he explain his identity?

  Was he a Roman soldier on patrol? No, he was the farthest thing from a Roman soldier. Another exiled Roman prisoner, perhaps? That’s the cover story they had concocted. It made the most sense—but now he wasn’t so sure.

  His mind swam with possibilities, trying to spin a story that would all at once convince the apostle John and shroud his mission. Then again, how could he lie to an apostle?

  He wished he would have sorted it out before traipsing through time, but he had to act.

  It was now or never.

  Chapter 18

  “Hello?” the voice echoed from the entrance to the cave once again.

  A man of eighty years appeared with an inflamed stick of wood. Tanned, leathery skin stretched across a bony frame, the kind that farmers and outside laborers from Tripolitania had. Wisps of thinning ash gray hair clung to his head. A thick beard covered his face and was badly trimmed around the edges.

  “I know you’re out there. Show yourself!”

  Alexander took a breath and took a step out from the shadows and into the man’s firelight. He said, “Hey there, sir.”

  Hey there, sir? This wasn’t Alexander’s next-door neighbor. This was John the Apostle, writer of the fourth Gospel, three letters to early Christian churches, and the Apocalypse, for Pete’ sake!

  He continued, hoping his command of Greek thanks to his mother’s native tongue would be comprehensible to this ancient man. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just arrived and saw the light…”

  “Ah, a fellow Roman prisoner, exiled for the good of the Empire,” John said, snorting out a laugh. “Come, sit and eat with me, dear fellow.”

  He motioned for Alexander to join him then turned back inside the cave.

  A smile crept across Alexander’s face, his pulse quickening at the thought of sharing a meal with one of his early Christian heroes.

  John’s Gospel had been influential in bringing Alexander to the faith. The simplicity of the sixteenth verse of the third chapter had penetrated deep within his soul: ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ He read those words early in life, having been commanded to memorize it by his priestly father. Through trials and doubts, this verse above all else continued to breathe meaning into a faith that had ebbed and flowed. It was a grounding verse that reminded Alexander of a God who loved him enough to die for him, a God who opened wide the invitation to follow and believe in order to receive unending life—in this life as much as the next.

  And now he was stepping into a cave housing this one who had sustained his faith and compelled him to do for others what he had done for him.

  Alexander took cautious steps to the entrance and peered inside. The cave was about the size of his home back in Tripolitania, a cavernous hexagonal room vaulted high with a dome that glowed orange from the fire within. Shadows danced about, changing the configuration of the walls in undulating waves. A makeshift spit was draped over the fire with what looked like rabbits or squirrels roasting over the open fire, sizzling and hissing with dripping juices. John was squatting over his meal, turning them every few seconds.

  The apostle motioned toward Alexander. “Come in, come in, lad. A storm will be rolling in soon, so you’ll be wanting some shelter. And if your trip over was anything like mine, you’ll be wanting some food, too.”

  He hesitated, but then stepped in and sat down by the fire, a welcomed relief from the chilly outdoors.

  “So, what be your name, lad?” John asked.

  “Alexander,” Father Zarruq replied, hoping that name was common enough.

  “Ah, a Greek fellow. Nice to make your acquaintance, Alexander.” John outstretched his hand to greet his new companion.

  Alexander hesitated, overthinking every move, wondering how they would affect the space-time continuum. Then he remembered what Sasha said, something about him not being able to alter what had already passed.

  He nodded and took John’s hand with glee, smiling and shaking it vigorously. As he did, he noticed John’s skin for the first time. It looked melted and deformed, like a candle or a chunk of cheese had sat out in the sun too long.

  He recalled the ancient stories of John’s torture at the hand of Emperor Domitian. Somehow John was considered a threat to the newly installed Emperor, and he was brought to Rome and cast into a vat full of hot oil in the presence of Roman Senators. By God’s grace and mercy, he survived the torturous experience, which led to his banishment to Patmos. Exile was a common punishment used during the Imperial period for a number of offenses. Among them were the practices of magic and astrology, even prophecy, whether pagan, Jewish, or Christian. And the boldness of the apostle John proclaiming salvation through Jesus Christ was enough to raise the ire of the Empire. When the vat of boiling oil didn’t work to shut his mouth, Domitian had hoped exile would.

  John followed Alexander’s gaze to his deformed skin and withdrew his arms back to his side. “So what seditious act brings you to Patmos, friend?”

  What seditious act did bring him to Patmos? Alexander didn’t have an answer. He needed one, and quickly. “Unauthorized religious worship,” he said, hoping to create a bond with John that would encourage camaraderie.

  His eyes went wide for a second and his lips curled into a knowing smile. Then it vanished. He grabbed a stick lying on the ground. Squatting low, he drew a curved line in the dust. Then he asked, “Do you know the way, dear child?”

  The way? Alexander searched his memory for a clue to what—

  And then he remembered.

  The Way was how the first Christians were known, because Jesus Christ provided the way to salvation and was a way of living that was an alternative to the way of the world.

  “Yes, brother.” Alexander took the stick from John and drew another arc to complete what he knew was a symbol of the early Church. “His name is Jesus Christ, Son of God, our Savior.”

  The man’s eyes went wide again, and he mumbled under his breath, “Ichthus.”

  Ichth
us, the Greek word for “fish,” served as a symbol consisting of two intersecting arcs, the ends of the right side extending beyond the meeting point so as to resemble the profile of a fish. The symbol was adopted by early Christians as a secret symbol to indicate a brother or sister in the Lord. The ultramodern Church had assumed it as its name, a sort of act of resistance to the Republic post-Reckoning and close identification with the heart of the faith.

  “Praise God from whom all blessings flow!” John exclaimed, jumping up and down and embracing Alexander with surprising strength. “What a delight to share this plight with a fellow brother of the Way!”

  Alexander smiled, playing along with the man’s excitement. “Yes, I never thought I’d find a fellow follower of Jesus on this rock! Now tell me, why has the Empire sent you here?”

  John shrugged. “For the same reasons any of us are, I suppose. They saw me as a threat. But no matter.” He sat down and continued attending the roasting animals over the fire.

  Alexander needed to move the conversation along. As exciting as it was to be sharing a meal with the one whom Jesus loved, as he was known in his gospel, he was here on a mission to extract and retrieve something from him that the future Church could use to right itself. He decided a different, bolder tact was needed.

  He took a breath and said a quick prayer. Time to get John the Beloved to talk, for the sake of the future church.

  Chapter 19

  Alexander cleared his throat and sat down across from John. “When I saw the light coming from your cave entrance, I thought I heard what sounded like another voice coming from within. Did you have another companion with you?”

  John went quiet, staring knowingly into the shadows, squinting at Alexander and considering his words. Perhaps the man wondered whether he should share what he had experienced.

  The man hesitated, but leaned in and whispered, “Yes, my brother. It was an angel of the Lord!” There was a look about him of intense joy combined with bewilderment. “Early this morning, I was sitting in my cave deep in the Spirit, praising our Lord and Savior alone but along with the thousands of others on this Lord’s Day around the Empire. While I was deep in prayer, I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet. He said: ‘Write on a scroll what you see and send it to the seven churches.’ And then he started naming the seven major Roman cities in Asia minor. Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, Laodicea.”

  He stood and continued, “I was so startled by what I had heard! And when I turned around to see the voice that spoke to me—to me, brother Alexander—my eyes beheld seven golden lampstands arrayed around the room. And standing amongst the lampstands was someone like a Son of Man. Brother, it was him, the Lord! He was just as I remembered him when I witnessed him ascending into the heavens along with the others.”

  John was becoming animated now, dancing around the cavernous room, the intensity of the fire matched only by the intensity of this last apostle.

  He continued, “The man was dressed in a robe that reached down to his feet and bore a golden sash around his chest. The hair on his head was white like pure wool and his eyes were like blazing fire. His voice was like the sound of rushing waters as he spoke to me. When I saw him, I did the only thing I knew to do. I fell at his feet as though dead. As I laid prostrate before him, he put his hand on me and said, ‘Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.’ And then he told me to write down what I had witnessed and what he would tell me would take place now and in the future. So I did, filling scroll upon scroll with his urgent message.”

  Alexander could hardly contain himself. Off in the corner, stacked in the shadows he noticed the scrolls, big sheets of paper rolled up into long coils of ancient revelation and truth. Where he got them, Alexander could only guess. Perhaps a miraculous provision by the Holy Spirit?

  Question after question blazed through his mind: Where do I start? What should I ask? What does the future church need from this ancient voice?

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” John said, filling the silent void left by Alexander’s excitement.

  He refocused his attention, finding John squatting now over his fire and sizzling meal, staring at the embers beneath with a fallen face.

  “No, it’s not that at all!” Alexander treasured.

  “It’s fine, young one. I’d probably have a hard time believing it myself.” He chuckled as he blew at the embers beneath his meal, stoking the flames back into existence.

  “But I do believe,” Alexander said, sitting closer next to John. “And I’m eager to hear what he had to say. What did he tell you? He said to write a letter to the seven churches, isn’t that right? Why those seven? And what did he have you say to them? What’s going to happen?” Alexander stopped himself, realizing he was becoming overeager with his questioning.

  John sat staring at the fire, its flames dancing in his eyes as he slowly rotated the small animals cooking and hissing. Then all at once he jumped up, looking and pointing at Alexander. “You need to eat, lad. I bet you’re famished from your journey.”

  He snatched the large stick that held their dinner, legs stiff from the heat and carcases cooked to a crisp, then eased a large charred rodent-like animal with a singed tail off from the spit to the cave floor. Squirrel, by the looks of it.

  Alexander forced a smile and nodded in gratitude. Surprisingly, it smelled delicious. He carefully picked up the charred carcass and brought it up to his mouth. It salivated in anticipation, but he wasn’t so sure. His new friend began to attack his own rodent, so he joined in by crunching into the charred leathery brown meat tasting like chicken that clung to the small frame. After picking at the parts he could stomach, Alexander set down his first course, even as John began attacking his second.

  “Not to your liking, lad?” John asked with a full mouth, gesturing at the wasted meat as he continued devouring his own.

  Alexander started rubbing his stomach to feign illness. “I think the journey over the Aegean affected me more than I realized.” He quickly added, “The meal was delicious, though. Thank you.”

  John nodded and continued crunching away at his second course as Alexander poked in silence at the fire with a stick.

  “We live in dark times, my friend,” the apostle said abruptly.

  Alexander startled at the sudden interruption. He looked up to find John once again staring at the fire, his lips glistening with grease in the firelight. He wiped his mouth and turned toward Alexander.

  “Dark times, I tell you.”

  “For the Church?” Alexander asked, confused by John’s meaning.

  “Indeed. Now, and later, brother.” John turned back toward the fire. He threw two logs onto the hot embers to revive their only source of light and heat.

  “Is that the message that our Lord and Savior brought you? The message for the seven churches?”

  John continued staring at the pulsating embers as fire began to take hold of the logs.

  “The seven churches,” John mumbled. “Now there’s a lovely lot if I’ve ever seen one! Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea. Seven cities that are pagan to the core. And seven churches that have borne witness to the risen Christ in seven different ways.”

  John turned to Alexander, this time positioning his whole body toward him. His face grew grim and fierce, hard and penetrating, the firelight casting darkened shadows across his face. Alexander shifted uneasily, unnerved by the sudden change in posture.

  The apostle continued, “You’ve got Ephesus and Laodicea who are in danger of losing their very identity as Christian churches because they’ve compromised with their pagan cities. You’ve got Pergamum, Thyatira, and Sardis who have been somewhat faithful in different ways, yet have also compromised their witness to Christ’s words and works. And then there is Smyrna and Philadelphia, the two most unlikely of the churches to have proven themselve
s faithful! They are the smallest and poorest of the bunch, the least of them all. And yet they are the most loyal to Christ’s name. They have remained faithful despite intense persecution by Roman pagans and religious leaders alike.”

  John paused to catch his breath and adjust the fire to continue lighting and heating their conversation.

  “So these letters you speak of,” Alexander started, “the ones to the seven churches of Asia Minor. What do they say? What’s this urgent message you speak of?”

  “Faithful witness and overcoming, that’s what, lad. Shaking awake those churches from slumber, they are. Churches who’ve been lulled asleep by false teachers inside the Church, as well as pagan ones on the outside. Provoking them to repentance so that they don’t disqualify themselves for the prize of Christ’s promised life. Strengthening the two faithful churches so that they persevere in their witness. That was the message of Lord Christ.”

  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, may that neural recording device work to soak up every ounce of these blessed words!

  “Overcoming, you say? Overcoming what?” Alexander asked.

  “Those blasted false teachers whose lips drip the same seductive, toxic poison of Balaam and Jezebel!” John huffed and shifted back and forth at the mention of the Old Testament prophet and wife of Ahab.

  “You’ve heard of the Nicolaitans, haven’t you, lad?”

  Alexander panicked. He remembered that Revelation mentioned this splinter group, which the letters to the seven churches addressed in part. But should he acknowledge it? Would that alter the space-time continuum if he spoke of a group that hadn’t yet been written about? He settled on ignorance, figuring that was the safest bet.

  “Who?”

  “The Nicolaitans. A troublesome group of heretics blazing their way through the region, they are. Insist that our brothers and sisters can and should cozy up to the pagan culture and cults of the Empire, they do. Nothing wrong with participating in the imperial cult of Empire Rome, they say. Encouraging idolatry and immorality, they are!”