John's Story

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  When word reached Rome that keeping John locked up in Ephesus seemed only to spawn more house churches, he was shipped to Rome for final sentencing. When the boiling in oil failed and he was sentenced to Patmos, John worried he would never see or hear from his beloved brothers and sisters again. Few men sentenced to Patmos ever returned alive.

  Old and feeble as he was, and as horrific as the trip from the capital had been, the first few days on the rocky isle found John so aglow from the miracle in Rome that he went about his backbreaking mining chores with gusto. Other prisoners needled him, badgering him to perform supernatural feats. The guards made him the target of their darkest vehemence, whipping and beating him for the slightest offense, ostensibly to make an example of him.

  And while John reeled from the blows to the point of delirium and wondered, as did the others, why he had been spared the pain of the oil, not to mention death, and yet felt every sting of this torment, he continued to pray for grace. Once, when he had been beaten to where tears streamed, a guard bellowed, “Do you think we like this assignment any more than you do?”

  John had replied quietly, “I can only imagine how hard this place must be for you.”

  That guard never touched him again.

  Eventually the work—the breaking of rock virtually every waking hour to reveal marble—so wore on the old man that he could barely move. And yet he never complained. Every day had begun with the prayer his Lord had taught him and his giving of himself to God for His use. What that use was, John did not know. He saw the softening of the one guard and sensed perhaps the same in one or two others. And fellow prisoners started to give him a wide berth, eventually tiring of making him the object of their venom—or worse, their sport.

  AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS, John resigned himself to the notion that God had allowed him to be sent to Patmos to die. Surely that was what the emperor had had in mind. Why Domitian thought physical labor would kill a man whom boiling oil could not harm, John had no idea. But killing him slowly it certainly was. He began to look forward to heaven.

  John tried to keep track of the days of the week, and occasionally a guard would confirm that he was right. But eventually even the seemingly compassionate ones tired of his incessant worry over what day it was. He was the only inmate who cared when Sunday fell. Certainly no quarter was given to anyone’s religious bent. Jewish prisoners were forced to work the entire Sabbath. And John, who soon determined he was the only Christ follower on Patmos—Domitian had taken great delight in parading the others before crowds in the Colosseum before their horrible deaths—had to play out any Lord’s Day worship only in his mind.

  It amused him to see the response of his fellow prisoners and the guards when he hummed the simple melodies of worship that had spread through the Asian churches under his charge. He prayed aloud, even smiled at times. Often he would simply softly recite a Psalm or a passage from the Pentateuch. He could even bring to mind the great theological treatises contained in letters to the churches from his martyred friend, the missionary Paul. Anyone within earshot seemed astounded at how much John remembered.

  But then came the Lord’s Day morning when the clanging of the guards’ swords on the stone walls of the prisoners’ barracks had a new effect on John. Normally he had to force himself to recite the daily prayer in the manner Jesus had taught him, and he had to fight off a terrible black cloud of despair to face another day in the mining caves. Yet this day he seemed to spring to his feet, his head full of ideas, warnings that must be communicated to the churches that had been under his care.

  John knew this was of God. He wolfed down the meager breakfast slopped into his bowl, and he and the others tramped out to be allotted the tools for their merciless work. But all the while he toiled, God seemed to fill his mind with more exhortations to the churches, each with specifics that matched what he knew of the people. John had the feeling that every word was from the Lord Himself. The more the words came to him, the more desperate he became to record them.

  Prisoners were not fed again until the end of the day, when they could barely move, but the evening meal seemed their only reward, the one thing to look forward to. It had larger portions than breakfast did, and while it consisted primarily of stale lentils shipped from Rome and old bread delivered from the Asian mainland—supplemented every other day by cast-off fish too small to market—everyone devoured every bite.

  Every day, usually after the noon hour, a prisoner or two would drop from exhaustion or thirst, and that was the guards’ signal to call the water break. Each prisoner was granted a generous measure of water and enough time to consume it while sitting briefly. That was when John, his mind swirling with messages from God, whispered the offer of his evening’s ration of bread to a man he’d seen writing letters, in exchange for ink and an overused quill.

  “They won’t send your letters, you know,” the man said. “Mine are merely stored for when I ever get off this godforsaken island.”

  “Oh, it is anything but godforsaken, sir,” John said. “As long as God’s children are here, He is here.”

  “He is here? You’re a fool.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I suppose you’ll need papyrus too,” the other prisoner said. “I had to bribe the guard for that.”

  “I’m afraid I need much,” John said.

  “That’ll cost you your water.”

  Jesus had talked of being the Living Water. He would have to suffice. John pushed his cup to the man, who drank it fast while careful not to waste a drop. “Tonight,” the man said.

  John soon regretted giving up his water. Within minutes the men were forced back to work, John sent alone deep into a cave. Many a prisoner had been caught napping when assigned alone, but John was known to be trustworthy. As he worked, the messages to the churches seemed complete and of a piece in his mind. He bent to hammer at a huge rock. A cramp developed behind his thigh, and as he rose to relieve it, he felt lightheaded. He reached to steady himself and then turned and stared, having heard behind him a loud voice, as of a trumpet, saying, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last,” and, “What you see, write in a book and send it to the seven churches which are in Asia: to Ephesus, to Smyrna, to Pergamos, to Thyatira, to Sardis, to Philadelphia, and to Laodicea.”

  It was Jesus! It had been so long since John had seen Him that he turned to see where the voice was coming from and saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of them One like the Son of Man, clothed with a garment down to the feet and girded about the chest with a golden band. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and His eyes like a flame of fire; His feet were like fine brass, as if refined in a furnace, and His voice as the sound of many waters; He had in His right hand seven stars, out of His mouth went a sharp two-edged sword, and His countenance was like the sun shining in its strength.

  John fell at His feet as dead, and Jesus laid His right hand on him, saying, “Do not be afraid; I am the First and the Last. I am He who lives, and was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore. Amen. And I have the keys of Hades and of Death. Write the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which will take place after this.

  “The mystery of the seven stars which you saw in My right hand, and the seven golden lampstands: the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands which you saw are the seven churches.”

  John was overwhelmed and remained in the Spirit as he was shown all the wonders of heaven and of the future. Hours later he awakened in the barracks, where a guard told him, “When we found you we believed you dead and prepared a coffin to slide you into the sea. But still you breathed and your heart beat.”

  John sat up. “I am as alive as I have ever been.”

  “Then you will work as usual tomorrow.”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you make it to dinner?”

  “I am famished.”

  John did not have to search for the prisoner to whom he had prom
ised his loaf. “The quill and ink and papyrus are in your bed,” the man said, grabbing the bread, and he was gone before John could thank him. As soon as John had eaten, he felt rejuvenated and rushed to his mat to find the writing tools. In the dim, flickering light of an oil-fueled torch, he sat scribbling all night, knowing he would pay for it the next day with fatigue. John wrote on and on through the night, feverishly recording everything the Lord had shown him that day.

  The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave Him to show His servants—things which must shortly take place. And He sent and signified it by His angel to His servant John, who bore witness to the word of God, and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, to all things that he saw.

  Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it; for the time is near.

  John, to the seven churches which are in Asia: Grace to you and peace from Him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven Spirits who are before His throne, and from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler over the kings of the earth. To Him who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and has made us kings and priests to His God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.

  Behold, He is coming with clouds, and every eye will see Him, even they who pierced Him. And all the tribes of the earth will mourn because of Him. Even so, Amen.

  “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End,” says the Lord, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”

  I, John, both your brother and companion in the tribulation and kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was on the island that is called Patmos for the word of God and for the testimony of

  Jesus Christ. I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day, and…

  Following page after page of prophecies about Christ’s return in the clouds and seven years of horrifying tribulation before his final glorious appearing on earth, John finished by documenting what God’s angel had told him of heaven.

  …There shall be no night there: They need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever.

  Then he said to me, “These words are faithful and true.” And the Lord God of the holy prophets sent His angel to show His servants the things which must shortly take place.

  “Behold, I am coming quickly! Blessed is he who keeps the words of the prophecy of this book.”

  Now I, John, saw and heard these things. And when I heard and saw, I fell down to worship before the feet of the angel who showed me these things.

  Then he said to me, “See that you do not do that. For I am your fellow servant, and of your brethren the prophets, and of those who keep the words of this book. Worship God.”

  And he said to me, “Do not seal the words of the prophecy of this book, for the time is at hand. He who is unjust, let him be unjust still; he who is filthy, let him be filthy still; he who is righteous, let him be righteous still; he who is holy, let him be holy still.”

  “And behold, I am coming quickly, and My reward is with Me, to give to every one according to his work. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last.”

  Blessed are those who do His commandments, that they may have the right to the tree of life, and may enter through the gates into the city. But outside are dogs and sorcerers and sexually immoral and murderers and idolaters, and whoever loves and practices a lie.

  “I, Jesus, have sent My angel to testify to you these things in the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, the Bright and Morning Star.”

  And the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” And let him who thirsts come. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely. For I testify to everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: If anyone adds to these things, God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book; and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part from the

  Book of Life, from the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book.

  He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming quickly.” Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus!

  The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.

  John finished just before dawn and rolled onto his mat on his back. He needed to try to recoup his energy after his collapse and his sleepless night, but he was so full of the images and prophecies he could barely remain prostrate, let alone close his eyes. Soon would come the clang of sword against rock, the cursing of his fellow prisoners, and the start of another relentless day. He had become convinced that enough days like that—even if he got his rest—would kill him. And yet the instructions from the Lord were clear. He was to send to the churches the message that had been entrusted to him. No one could do that for him. If the guards would not even send the personal letters of a prisoner to the supply ship, there was no way John could trust them to safeguard a message for Asia from the living God.

  John began to believe he would survive Patmos after all.

  LITTLE MORE THAN a year later, Caesar Augustus Domitian was assassinated in a palace coup, ending his reign of terror. He was replaced by Marcus Cocceius Nerva, who, though his sovereignty would last fewer than two years, made immediate changes, setting about to restore the image of the government in the eyes of the populace. He renamed Domitian’s lavish dwelling the House of the People, personally resided elsewhere, pledged an oath to the Senate vowing he would execute none of its members (Domitian had killed eleven and exiled more), allowed no statues to be made of himself, and established economic measures to help the poor.

  More significantly, Caesar Nerva released all those imprisoned by Domitian and freed exiles not found guilty of serious crimes.

  John, the beloved apostle and disciple of Jesus the Christ, was free to return home.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Fall, A. D. 96

  John’s decrepit body bore the ills of age and months of punishing labor, yet his mind was afire. While the memory of his miraculous deliverance from death in Rome was ever-present, his spiritual experience on the barren island in the Aegean surpassed even that escape.

  He had worked to rags his one piece of attire, and upon his release had been issued a scratchy, cheap imitation of a Roman toga. He could not wait to burn it along with the memories it evoked and replace it with a silk undergarment covered by a common tunic.

  The old man was puzzled at the seasickness that attacked him, despite his life on the Gennesaret as a fisherman until he was twenty-five years old. Even with all John knew of how to combat the malady, his belly churned and bile rose in his throat. He was grateful to be sailing on an empty stomach.

  Ignoring his physical agony, John was giddy at the prospect of returning to his beloved home. He leaned this way and that, trying to peer through the cloudy horizon in hopes of a glimpse of the Ephesian harbor. He dragged his fingers through knotted hair, untangling but a few wispy white strands. John leaned over the side and caught a glimpse of his visage in the water, stunned to be reminded of his aged grandfather before he died.

  Clutched to John’s chest was a ragged leather bag containing the treasure of a lifetime: brittle papyrus bearing his shaky handwriting. He had had to grind black rock and mix it with water to fashion more ink he hoped would not fade before he could copy his work with better tools. The result of that furious scribbling represented the entirety of his earthly possessions, other than his garment.

  Otherwise his bag was empty. John had not a copper coin to his name, never mind bronze or silver or gold. He didn’t know how he would even get off the craft, not to mention make his way to the church or to his quarters. Surely his humble chamber had been appropriated for someone else by now. He had no idea whether the news of his survival of the oil cauldron in Rome had even reached Ephesus, so how could anyone know he had been released from Pa
tmos? Surely his comrades assumed him dead.

  John could pay for help getting him from the boat to a surface conveyance and then for the price of his ride, provided those who aided him could wait for their fare until he reached his destination. But he would not beg, would not expect a workingman to count on a mere promise of recompense. He tried to stand, to test his legs, but knees and ankles would not cooperate, could not bear even his wasted frame. He feared he weighed less than he had as a twelve-year-old.

  The boatman had gazed upon him with what appeared pity as he helped him aboard hours before. Had it been compassion he detected? Might the boatman at least help him to the pier? And even if so, what then? Perhaps God would grant him the strength to somehow make his way to the church, where the brethren might succor him until he regained some strength. There was so much to tell, so much to do. How John missed his cherished brothers and sisters in the faith, especially his young, devoted disciple, Polycarp.

  In spite of John’s eager anticipation, when clouds blocked his view of Ephesus, crushing fatigue overtook him, and he dozed. At the sound of the lowering of the sail and wood against wood as the oars were loosed to propel the boat into the harbor, he roused, relieved that even while unconscious he had kept the priceless package pressed against his bosom. And even under overcast skies, Ephesus assaulted his senses all at once, filling his heart.

  Fishing boats were offloading. Gulls darted and dived. Men on the dock hurried about with heavy ropes, and what appeared to be a welcoming party awaited. People waved, bounced on their feet, and smiled, but John could not bring them into focus from that distance. Only when the craft nudged the pier did he realize the small band—a young man, an older man, and a middle-aged couple—were there for him.