“Jesus said again, ‘Peace to you! As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.’ And then, Polycarp, He breathed on us and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.’
“When Jesus was gone, Thomas returned, and of course we told Him we had seen the Lord. Can you blame Him for not believing us? He said, ‘Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.’
“Eight days later we were again meeting privately, but this time Thomas was with us. Jesus came, again without the door opening, and stood in our midst saying, ‘Peace to you!’ He said, ‘Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into My side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing.’
“We could only smile as Thomas said, ‘My Lord and my God!’
“Jesus said, ‘Thomas, because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.’”
John lay back on his bed and sighed.
“More stories!” Polycarp exulted. “There must be many more.”
“Oh, there are,” John said softly. “Many have already been written. But for my purpose, I have told almost all I want to tell.”
“Almost?”
“Yes, I will get to one more. But first, I want you to write this:
“And truly Jesus did many other signs in the presence of His disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in His name.”
“I pray many will,” Polycarp said, his voice thick.
“I too,” John said. “Now, after these things several of us were together at the Sea of Tiberias. Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, my brother James and I, and a couple of other disciples were there. Peter wanted to go fishing.
“I said, ‘We are going with you also.’ We went out and immediately got into the boat, but that whole night we caught nothing, not one fish. In the morning a stranger on the shore called out to us, ‘Children, have you any food?’
“We apologized and said we did not. We would have been happy to share if we had. He shouted, ‘Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some!’ We were amused. We had been fishing all night from both sides of the boat. But what was the harm? We cast the net on the other side, and we were not able to draw it in because of the multitude of fish.
“I said, ‘Peter! It is the Lord!’
“Peter threw on his outer garment and plunged into the sea. The rest of us rowed the boat about two hundred cubits to shore, dragging the net full of fish. Jesus already had a fire of coals going, cooking bread and some other fish. He said, ‘Bring some of which you have just caught.’
“Peter dragged the net to land, full of large fish, one hundred and fifty-three; and although there were so many, the net was not broken. Jesus said, ‘Come and eat breakfast.’ Yet none of us dared ask Him, ‘Who are You?’ We knew it was the Lord. We sat with Him and He served us the bread and fish. This was the third time Jesus showed Himself to us after He was raised from the dead.
“After we had eaten, Jesus said, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me more than these?’
“Peter said, ‘Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.’
“Jesus said, ‘Feed My lambs.’ And He said a second time, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me?’
“Peter said, ‘Yes, Lord; You know that I love You.’
“And Jesus said, ‘Tend My sheep.’ And He said a third time, ‘Simon, son of Jonah, do you love Me?’
“It was clear Peter was grieved because Jesus had asked him this yet again. He said, ‘Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You.’
“Jesus said, ‘Feed My sheep. Most assuredly, I say to you, when you were younger, you girded yourself and walked where you wished; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not wish.’”
“What was He saying, rabbi?” Polycarp said.
“I believe He was signifying by what death Peter would glorify God. And when He had spoken this, He said to Peter, ‘Follow Me.’ Polycarp, I will always believe that the Lord asked Peter three times whether he loved Him to allow the man to make up for the three times he had denied Jesus. Peter turned around and saw me and said, ‘But Lord, what about this man?’
“Jesus said, ‘If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me.’
“You know, young friend, the word somehow went out among the disciples that Jesus had told Peter that I would not die. But of course that is not what He said.
“Now finish it this way:
“This is the disciple who testifies of these things, and wrote these things; and we know that his testimony is true.
“And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.”
TWENTY-ONE
The Lord’s Day dawn broke chilly and windy, the wood lattice-work covering John’s window tapping rhythmically and allowing in brief bursts of pink and orange. He pulled his blanket to his neck, then tested his appendages, contracting and stretching arms and legs, hands and feet. Carefully pushing himself to sit up, he left the bed and knelt on the cold floor, beginning his day the way he had more than twenty thousand times since the departure from earth of his risen Lord.
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”
He added his own refrain: “Father, I am wholly yours today, as always. Use me as You see fit.”
Rising, John found himself already sturdier than the day before. His stomach had settled, while he knew it would take the heat of the day to temper his muscle and bone. He pulled the window fully open and saw women streaming to the local wells, pitchers balanced on their heads, shoulders, or hips. And he was struck to realize that his gospel account was finished. God had spared him long enough and favored him with compatriots as loyal and faithful as Polycarp and Ignatius so that the task would be completed. Now if he could only see it copied enough times before Ignatius’s departure that it could be circulated to the other churches.
As important as that, of course, was getting more copies into the hands of people right here in Ephesus. While the evil serpent of vain philosophy and deceit threatened the truth around the world, its very head now resided in John’s own adopted city. It had been the blasphemous teaching of the Gnostics that had spurred—yea, necessitated—his version of the gospel, and now he prayed God would use it to thwart both the fledgling Gnostic church and the institution of higher learning that Cerinthus also planned. John believed with all his heart that the truth of Christ need fear no man-made religion, but he was also persuaded that he himself had been called to stand and fight.
Today was the day Cerinthus was expected at the house church. John remained troubled in his spirit over whether allowing the enemy in was the right thing. But he trusted the wisdom of his young friends and prayed they had the mind of God about this.
Would Cerinthus even show up? John’s first visitor brought the answer. Polycarp knocked quickly and swept in, as invigorated as John had seen him in weeks. “Oh! You’re awake! Good. Good. And how did we sleep?”
“I slept well, son. How did we sleep?”
“I hardly slept at all, of course. You finished the hard work. I finished the easy. Well, are you ready for news?”
“And if I am not, will I not hear it?”
“Of course you will,” Polycarp said, smiling. “I have news.”
“What a s
urprise.”
“He’s here. Cerinthus is here. Along with a few of his disciples. They are dressed in finery, and already they are talking with Ignatius. You must come.”
Polycarp pulled him to the window and pointed through the shrubbery to where Cerinthus, with a couple of young men earnestly listening behind him, spoke animatedly with Ignatius.
“Do you really think I should be there?” John said.
“One of us must spell Ignatius. He must prepare for the gathering. People are beginning to arrive already.”
“Very well.”
“Are you up to it, teacher? I don’t want to tax your strength.”
John’s very looked silenced Polycarp, and they made their way out. John prayed silently the whole way, not knowing what to expect. The stocky Cerinthus greeted him with a hearty smile and introduced him to his disciples.
“Your man Ignatius here has been very kind, sir, and I appreciate the warm welcome.”
John was not smiling. “He has a way of being kinder than I,” John said. “It was his idea, not mine, that you be invited. And while I can be civil, having allowed myself to be overruled by a protégé, let me make clear to you how I feel about your presence here today.”
“Oh, I think I know,” Cerinthus said, more loudly than John expected and making the old man suspect the Gnostic was not as comfortable as he tried to seem. “I realize that it can be disconcerting to have someone who disagrees—”
“Pardon me, sir,” John said. “But you need to know that I take seriously my calling as shepherd of this flock. I cannot, nor will I, allow anyone to attempt to have sway over the hearts and minds of those under my charge.”
“You fear ideas.”
“I fear nothing, sir, but you will not be allowed to speak. And if you make a display of your disagreement over what I teach and preach today, I will ask that you be removed from—”
“So you’re saying that you fear nothing but me and my views. Plainly you give those under your ‘charge’ no credit for being able to think for themselves. Why not let them hear both sides of the argument and exercise their own brainpower?”
“There are not two sides to this argument, sir. I walked and talked with the Master Himself, and—”
“Then you know better than anyone that He was a revolutionary. That He feared no opponent. The very message I have for your devout followers—”
“Followers of Jesus.”
“—is that their salvation is in their intellect and that—”
“Even the Apostle Paul wrote that he would gladly be a fool for Christ.”
“I deny Paul.”
“That is why you have no place here.”
“But I have been invited…”
“And you are welcome to sit quietly and listen. I am speaking today on—”
“A thousand pardons, rabbi,” Ignatius said, “but am I not expected to teach today?”
“Excuse me,” John said to Cerinthus, and he pulled Ignatius aside. “I am so sorry, Ignatius. Forgive me, but the Lord has just now impressed upon me that I should read from my gospel today, to counter this heresy head-on. I should have talked with you before announcing it to Cerinthus, and I hope I have not embarrassed or offended you.”
“I am at your service, teacher. You know that.”
“Would you be prepared, along with Polycarp and whomever else you choose, to escort Cerinthus and his men out, should the need arise?”
“Of course.”
John turned back to Cerinthus. “Excuse my manners. I would ask that you sit in the back and not draw attention to yourself.”
“I am willing to oblige, sir, but I feel compelled to tell you that many in your gathering will recognize me from the street. In fact, some seem quite interested in what I have to say.”
John did not know how to respond. Was this man to be believed? Could he have already had an influence on newer believers? John prayed it wasn’t so. But a few minutes later his worst fears were confirmed. As he and Ignatius and Polycarp found their places and prepared to begin a service of worship, singing, the Lord’s Supper, and John’s teaching, John was stunned to see Cerinthus being warmly greeted by many in the congregation, including at least one elder, who seemed to be speaking to him as an old friend.
John’s next conundrum came when Cerinthus and his companions partook of the communion bread and wine. Paul had taught that people in churches died when some partook of the body and blood of Christ unworthily. Certainly Cerinthus was not a true believer, even if he considered himself one. John found himself praying earnestly for the safety of his own flock, and God granted him peace while also seeming to encourage him to be bold in his teaching.
He would tell the people, and in the process inform Cerinthus, what he had been doing during the time Ignatius spelled him. His flesh warned him against it, but God seemed to nudge him otherwise. As he finally stood to speak, warmed by the smiles from his own people, John was ready to plunge right in, to identify Cerinthus as a heretic, and to read from the papyrus he and Polycarp had been working on for so long.
He began by thanking Ignatius for standing in for him, but he was soon interrupted by some who insisted that he recognize and welcome “our most distinguished guest and his friends.”
John hesitated.
“Cerinthus, the lauded thinker and follower of Christ,” a man called out.
“Well, yes, he is here,” John said, “and we have extended a welcome based on certain conditions….”
“How rude!” someone called out. “Can we not fellowship with such a celebrated man of letters?”
John held up a hand. He would not be chastised into weakness by his own people. “Let me be forthright,” he said. “It is the very teaching of this man, whose ideas I consider heretical, that have motivated me to write—with the able assistance of our own Polycarp—my version of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My purpose is not only to establish without question that Jesus was fully God while fully Man, but also to aver that He was God’s own Son, deity in His own right, and that He claimed that very office Himself on many occasions.
“I was there. I knew Him. I heard Him. And my account is true.”
John was aware of a hum of excitement and anticipation, but he was also vexed by people looking to Cerinthus, apparently to see what he made of all this. The man sat there with a condescending smile, shaking his head. And as John began reading his gospel aloud, Cerinthus grew only more animated in his disdain. John wanted to chastise him, to call him out, to have him removed, but now he dared not. He would be only giving the man permission to counter him, and then John would appear close-minded if he did not allow it.
Most gratifying, however, was that as John began his treatise and continued with the stories of the eight miracles he had recorded, he felt the blessing of God. The house fell silent and the people sat rapt, knowing they were hearing these accounts from a man who witnessed them firsthand. Many wept as the stories unfolded, and John could be grateful only that he had this unparalleled opportunity to drive home the best evidence he knew against the heresy of the Gnostics.
When the long service was over, people streamed to John, thanking him, encouraging him, exhorting him to spread this gospel far and wide. And yet many also crowded around Cerinthus, treating him with deference and respect. John would not have wanted that they be rude or unkind, but he was still troubled in his spirit that the enemy had sat at his feet in the very house of God.
As Cerinthus and his disciples made their way through the crowd to John, John overheard him saying, “Well, it was entertaining, even amusing at points. But when you get past the gifted storytelling, you are left with the imaginings of a well-intentioned but fading old man. It was less a historical account than a prejudiced treatise of his own particular viewpoint.”
John wanted to call Cerinthus down right there, but he would not. Cerinthus finally reached him and said, “John, John! Most informative and uplifting. I reject most of it, of course, but—”
“B
ut this is neither the time nor the place to debate it,” John said. “Let me put you on notice that I plan to cast as widely as possible the truths I expounded today.”
Cerinthus’s phony smile dissipated and he leaned close to John’s ear. “I would advance cautiously, old man. Very cautiously. Your flock, as you call it, is not unanimous in its support of you or what you are teaching, as you will soon see.”
Sadly, that proved true. Cerinthus succeeded in his efforts to further cripple the Ephesian church. Several faithful attenders left the house church over the next several weeks, and Cerinthus in fact began a small Gnostic church that began to grow. John redoubled his efforts to counter the blasphemy, especially after Ignatius had left for his tour of the other churches.
John rallied somewhat physically and believed God had given him, as it were, a second wind. If he was to exhaust his life, what better way than in defense of the truth of the gospel?
Shortly after, John received a message that might have changed the course of Polycarp’s life. Ignatius had written that the church in Smyrna needed a new bishop, and he urged John to consider Polycarp for the post. It was perfect, a wonderful idea, but before John could even present the opportunity to his young charge, John’s sleep chamber was invaded in the middle of the night.
PART TWO
THE REVELATOR
TWENTY-TWO
Ephesus, A. D. 95
The Roman soldiers who rousted the old man from his bed and hauled him to a local jail, while rough and ruthless, seemed almost apologetic. “Guess this ends your little gatherings,” one of them said. John was shoved into the back of a wood wagon and the door slammed and locked.
John had to smile. His arrest would only empower the church. While Polycarp would be unable to leave for a high post as long as John was detained, this might be the best thing that ever happened to the Ephesian body of believers. They would finally realize the seriousness of their cause. They would step up the work of copying and circulating John’s gospel.
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