John's Story (5 page)

“I know you are correct, rabbi,” Ignatius said. “But our Lord has given me such boldness to speak publicly for His name’s sake and against this world’s system that there is little doubt I will one day push Rome past its breaking point. Caesar Domitian has proven anything but tolerant and moderate, but even if I should outlast him, there is no telling the tenor of those who might follow him. Some say there is a plot afoot to again unify the empire by forcing everyone, even the Jews, to bow before Roman gods.”

“I pray it never becomes so.”

“I pray the same, loved one, but I am a realist. And you know, because you taught me to be this way, our message and the way I proclaim it does not change with the winds that blow from Rome. Regardless of the emperor or his degree of tolerance for us infidels, I will, as our dear departed Paul so eloquently put it, preach Christ and Him crucified.”

John shook his head. “And the Master called my brother and me the Sons of Thunder. What would He call you?”

“To martyrdom, I hope,” Ignatius said.

“I too can imagine no greater honor, friend, but I confess I pray He spares you as He has me so the saints may continue to prosper under your wisdom.”

“The courage is of the Lord, father. Any wisdom is from you.”

T
HAT EVENING,
Ignatius explained that when Polycarp’s confidential invitation had arrived, he was already planning a tour of the Asian churches. “This fit perfectly into my plans, and my colleagues and congregation graciously permitted me to come.”

Polycarp said, “He has agreed to speak at special nightly meetings for the entire fortnight. And, rabbi, beginning first thing tomorrow, you and I will take a refreshing break. A warm, steaming break.”

John sighed. “Please, Polycarp, don’t begin with the—”

“But you should walk every day anyway, sir.”

“Granted. But we do not need—”

“Yes,” Ignatius said. “Yes, we do.”

“
You
know of this already?” John said. “You two have been conspiring?”

“We have,” Ignatius said. “And I think it will be just the tonic for you.”

John shook his head. “Surely you know the Roman baths are mere fronts for temples to false gods, filled with idols, and—Well, if you are both determined to frequent them, I should resign as your mentor.”

“It is too late for that,” Ignatius said. “I beseech you give it a try. Allow us to teach you something this once. You walk with the Holy Spirit and you are immune to pagan gods. Allow the heat of the water to refresh your ancient bones.”

“You are both unbending and unrepentant, are you not?”

Ignatius and Polycarp caught each other’s eye and laughed.

“Get your rest, rabbi,” Polycarp said. “Enjoy a late breakfast. We shall leave mid-morning.”

“Good night, rebellious youngsters,” John said, waving them off. And as they left he slipped beneath his blanket, thanking God for young men who seemed to love him so much.

And he actually looked forward to the healing power of the hot water, Roman or not.

C
an you not just walk?” John said the next morning as he struggled to keep up with Ignatius. “It seems you march everywhere. By the time we get there, I will need whatever repairs the waters offer.” Polycarp hung back with John, but it was obvious he would have rather broken free and rushed to the Varius Baths too.

John slowed even more than he needed to as they approached the colossal building. He had a bad feeling about it all, and while he had decided that his young friends were right—that it was harmless and spiritually neutral—he was repulsed by the extravagance and the homage clearly paid to pagan gods and to Rome. He was not blind to the beauty and magnificence of the architecture, but the very idea of paying—though the amount would be minuscule—to traffic in a Roman establishment bothered him more than he could say. But Ignatius had already pledged the stipend for all three from personal funds.

“I accept with gratitude,” the old man said. “But we both know your resources come from the Lord’s work and the Lord’s people.”

“Then do not think about it.”

But John could think of little else. He felt conspicuous and was grateful the baths were busy but not terribly crowded. When the men had paid and were directed to the cold room to shed their outer garments and slip into the wood sandals, John was ready to be done with this. But Ignatius and Polycarp’s enthusiasm was hard to ignore. The taller Ignatius had changed in an instant and was ready to go. Polycarp helped John put on his sandals. As if knowing their elder was self-conscious, the other two allowed him to fall in between them as they moved to the warm room.

“Ahh!” Ignatius roared. “This is where you work up a sweat and prepare for the hot water in the next chamber.” He strode about, slapping Polycarp on the shoulder, sweeping his arms here and there, and stretching. John wished Ignatius would settle down, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that the warmth from the floor and the walls felt wonderful on his skin and already seemed to be seeping into his bones and joints.

While Ignatius and Polycarp moved about, working up a sweat, John sat and crossed his legs and arms, feeling the moisture begin to pour from him. He immediately grew drowsy.

“Come, come,” Ignatius said. “Get yourself good and warm so the hot water will not be such a shock. Then prepare for the plunge into the cold.”

“I feel well,” John said. “Allow me to just sit here and enjoy this.”

“But we’re going into the next room and the spring-fed bath soon,” Polycarp said. “Will you be ready?”

John tucked his chin to his chest, and his breathing quickly became even and deep. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. “You go when you’re ready. I’ll be along.”

“Let us go,” Ignatius said.

“Are you sure, master?” Polycarp said. “You will join us, will you not?”

“I will. In time.”

Steam poured through the door as the two left, and John heard vendors from the pool room offering refreshments—wine, cheese, and sausages—for sale. He found himself dozing in the soothing heat but planned to follow through on his promise to join his young friends.

John opened one eye as other parties moved into the warm room, and most took no notice of him, moving on as soon as they were ready. Soon a party of a half dozen entered, and all seemed to be listening to the obvious leader, a thick, stocky, athletic man of full face and thin lips who seemed to speak with authority. Through the steam John squinted to watch the man, who clearly had the attention of the rest.

“Many conclusions can be drawn from the life and teachings of Jesus,” he said. And John had to wonder if the man had any idea that he shared a room with someone who had been a personal friend of the Christ. “My Egyptian teachers and angelic muses confirm that the world we live in, as well as the one we will go to upon death, were not created by the Supreme Being but by the Demiurge. Jehovah has not given us the world and the law, but rather the angels have.”

Heresy! Who is this?

“Is Jesus the Christ?” one of the young men said.

“No, no. Jesus was the son of earthly parents, and the Christ descended upon Him at His baptism but left Him again at His crucifixion.”

“Let me ask you this, Cerinthus,” a young man said, and John shivered despite the heat.

Cerinthus!

The small group headed into the baths, and the old man leapt to his feet. He pushed through the door and called out, “Polycarp! Ignatius! Come now! We must leave!”

Ignatius stopped and turned in the shallow water. Polycarp rushed from the pool. “What is it, master? Are you ill?”

“We must leave this place now! An enemy of the truth is here, and we must flee lest the roof cave in on him and crush us too!”

The men splashed from the water and leaned in to John. “What is it, rabbi?” Ignatius said. “Who is here?”

John pointed. “That is Cerinthus!”

“Verily? The Gnostic? I’ll debate him right here!”

But John pulled him away. “If you still consider me your mentor, you will come with me now. I do not want to meet my end in a Roman bath. Now, please!”

“Do we have time to rinse in the cold pool?” Polycarp said, but John’s look alone was his answer. The two hurried back to the cold room, drying and dressing while kicking off their wood sandals and replacing them with their own leather ones. With his young charges on either side, John rushed toward the exit, eager to breathe freely again in the open air.

“Do you really believe God will strike him dead in there?” Ignatius said.

“I don’t know,” John said. “But I’d rather die a martyr’s death than be taken in the judgment meted out to an enemy of the truth.” But he slowed. Something was niggling at him.

“I remain in a mood to counter him,” Ignatius said. “Are you sure it is he?”

“No doubt,” John said, stopping. Had he grown so old that he was now a coward? Where was the Son of Thunder his own Master had christened? “Am I wrong? Shall we take him on, right here, right now? Oppose him before he draws yet a larger crowd on the street?”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure,” Ignatius said. “I long to see you face him and tell them the truth.”

Y
ou’re flushed,” Polycarp said, bending close to John, who had dropped onto a wood bench in the changing room. “And breathing heavily. Isn’t he breathing heavily, Ignatius? It seems to me he’s—”

“Breathing heavily, yes, I can see that.
Panting
is the word you’re looking for there, Polycarp. Let him catch his breath.”

“I am angry, that’s all,” John said. “You young pups can’t wait to debate the man. I prefer tearing him limb from limb.”

“My, my,” Polycarp said.

John stood. “You don’t understand, Polycarp. You weren’t with the Master when He—”

But the blood rushed from John’s head and he teetered, then plopped to the bench again.

“Whoa there, old-timer,” Ignatius said. “Steady. Deep breaths.”

“I didn’t mean to agitate you, rabbi,” Polycarp said.

“Well, you did! You think scolding me will ease my fury? It doesn’t. And all this does is make me chastise myself. What am I thinking? A believer all these years and still no control over my emotions.”

Ignatius massaged John’s back. “Settle now. You have reason to be indignant. But think, man. You are no match for the young Cerinthus. If he is the one you pointed out, I should be the one to take him on.”

“I would that you not fight him either, Ignatius. Though I would love to see that. But for a man who never saw Jesus, let alone walked by His side for three years, to speak as with authority…”

“I know,” Ignatius said. “I know. Let’s gather our wits about us.”

“I don’t know how long we should let him sit without eating, Ignatius,” Polycarp said. “The noon hour approaches.”

“I’m fine,” John said.

“No, he’s right,” the Bishop of Antioch said. “Why don’t we head toward the theater. You wanted to pray and remember Paul there, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Unless you are not up to it.”

“Don’t play the fool,” John said. “I am up to anything, but I’ll not forgive myself if I let that heretic out of here without facing him.” He rose but allowed his young consorts to each take an arm. “I’m all right.”

As they moved again into the steaming baths, John recognized one of the young men in Cerinthus’s entourage, lounging by the door.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Are you not a disciple of Cerinthus?”

“I certainly am!” the young man said, grinning. “He is in the water and about to speak. Would you care to meet him?”

“I would very much, but I should inform you that I plan to—”

It was all John could do to restrain himself. He wanted to follow the young man, to shout, challenge, start the argument himself as soon as he saw Cerinthus. But he knew he must not. He prayed silently that God would give him the patience, the fortitude, to hear the man out. Paul had been so good at this, listening and then picking apart a man’s arguments logically and forthrightly. Soon enough the double-talker would be seen for what he was—a blasphemer, a cultist, an antichrist.

Who had allowed this man to address the bathers? Would the Romans allow a true Christian the same privilege? Of course not. Worse, another young man, who had assumed the role of master of ceremonies, introduced Cerinthus as a Christian!

And why did this crowd, certainly largely unaware of who the man was and what he was about, applaud him before he began? Would they worship any man who appeared worthy, even before hearing him?

Cerinthus looked to the tile floor and raised a hand for silence, and John was sickened by that obvious fake humility. “I am but a poor man,” he began, “not of any rank or privilege that should lend me credence. I consider myself a believer, though I will be swift to say you will not find me among the worshipers of Jesus who turn their backs on the Sabbath and try to institute a new day, a so-called Lord’s Day. It is the Christ I worship, not the man Jesus.”

John felt on his arms the grips of both his friends, as if they knew instinctively that such heresy might make him bolt. He shuddered.
Jesus
is
the Christ! I know it! I know it! I knew Him! I know Him still.

“I do not come to tickle your ears,” Cerinthus continued. “I speak plainly so you may understand. Though I have studied long under divine instruction and may be considered an educated man, I do not set myself above you. I will not mislead you. I tell you clearly that I deny the claims of the divinity of Jesus made by many of His followers. He never said He was the Christ. He never claimed Godship for Himself.”

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. Cerinthus 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.”