John's Story (6 page)

T
he 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 times, 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.

His mates were not praying aloud, and one—he wasn’t sure which—had drifted into deep, rhythmic breathing, as if about to snore. John had to smile. Perhaps the temptation to sleep was what they were to pray to avoid! They had been fed, washed, had ventured out into the cool evening air—and now they sat. Perhaps on another evening they would have been content, but for himself, sorrow consumed John. Jesus had spoken elusively at first, but soon He clarified that His end was near. John could only hope and pray it wasn’t so. Sadness at that prospect only made him sleepier. He was not aware of drifting off, but suddenly Jesus stood in their midst, and John jerked awake when sweat from Jesus’ chin dripped onto his head.

Jesus said, “Why do you sleep? Rise and pray, lest you enter into temptation. Peter, James, John, come with Me.” He told the others, “Sit here while I go and pray over there.”

John and his brother and Peter rose and followed to where He had been praying. “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful,” He said, “even to death. Stay here and watch with Me.” He went a little farther and fell on His face, saying, “O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.”

John felt great waves of pity for his friend, but as he sat there with his brother and Peter, he dozed yet again. Here he had only so recently pledged his loyalty unto death, yet he could not even stay awake as Jesus had asked. He roused when Jesus returned and spoke harshly to Peter: “What! Could you not watch with Me one hour? Watch and pray, lest you enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

Again He went away and prayed. “O My Father, if this cup cannot pass away from Me unless I drink it, Your will be done.”

When He returned, John was yet again humiliated to find that he had drifted off. Jesus said, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going. See, My betrayer is at hand.”

Some sixty years later John found himself unwilling to allow what happened next to pass his mind’s eye. It remained the most painful night of his life. “Lord, forgive me,” he prayed, ashamed anew that he dozed then and now. “Some things are not learned in a lifetime. But I feel compelled to clarify Your teaching, to set straight the heretics. Yet my time is limited. How can this be done? Make it plain to me.”

Unable to stand the pain and cramping in his legs, John climbed again atop his cot. But as he lay back with his hands behind his head, he heard excited voices from the courtyard. He could not make out individual words, but he recognized the enthusiastic tone and heard Polycarp and Ignatius in the middle of it. He crept out of bed and stopped halfway down the stairs. No one noticed him, but he could hear and understand now.

Ignatius was speaking to a dozen or so, about a third of them women. “But I understand that your bishop and his aide have made clear that you are not to go near that man, let alone listen to him.”

A woman responded, “Begging your pardon Rabbi Ignatius, but we, my husband and I, found Cerinthus most humble. And his story of having been counseled by spiritual muses—”

“Angels,” her husband said.

“Yes, angels. Why is this necessarily untrue?”

Others chimed in, nodding. “What reason would he have for misleading?”

“He might be a tool of the evil one,” Ignatius said. “And the reason we know what he said is untrue? Because we have the witness of a friend of Jesus, the disciple He loved.”

“But John is an old man! How can we trust his memory? Has he been taught by angels?”

“How can you ask that?” Ignatius said. “He was taught by Christ Himself! How quickly you forget!”

John began to make his way down the steps, but his legs gave out and he had to grab the wall to catch himself. Polycarp cried out, “Teacher!” and ran to him, grabbing him as he sat heavily on the stairs.

But as the young man tried to help him up and steer him back to his room, John said, “Indulge me, Polycarp. Allow me to address them.”