John's Story Read online

  “I have heard the same,” Polycarp said.

  Ignatius smiled. “Does this game have no rules?” he said. “Am I to be attacked by more than one at once?” As John wiped dry Ignatius’s feet, the Antiochan added, “At least let the youngster fetch my drink so I am required to answer to only one inquisitor at a time.”

  “With pleasure,” Polycarp said, and as he headed for the water he threw back over his shoulder, “Youngster indeed.”

  “Verily,” John said, allowing Ignatius to help him up so he could sit next to him, “may I exhort you as an elder, if you don’t consider me too much an old fool by now?”

  “Don’t even whisper such a thing,” Ignatius said. “I yearn for your wisdom as always.”

  Polycarp returned with the cup and asked if he could sit at the men’s feet.

  Ignatius grabbed the young man’s wrist and tugged him down. “As long as I see open ears and a closed mouth. From what John tells me, by the end of my visit I will have learned more from you than you from me.”

  As the visiting bishop seemed to ponder his reply to the charge that he elevated martyrdom over a life of service, John had to smile. He was encouraged that Ignatius had learned not to answer immediately, as he used to, and as Polycarp often did. John remembered his own impetuousness as a young man. Not much older than Polycarp, John twice humiliated himself before the Master Himself, who responded with such grace that John was even more humbled.

  First, he and his brother James went to Jesus and said, “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask.”

  John felt his face flush even remembering the incident. Why had he not been able to detect from Jesus’ amused look the gaffe they had committed? Jesus said, “What do you want Me to do for you?”

  John said, “Grant us that we may sit, one on Your right hand and the other on Your left, in Your glory.”

  Jesus’ look had turned to sadness. “You do not know what you ask. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?”

  John had said, “We are able.”

  Jesus motioned to them to sit, and he joined them on the ground. He shook his head slowly and spoke softly. “You will indeed drink the cup that I drink, and with the baptism I am baptized with you will be baptized; but to sit on My right hand and on My left is not Mine to give, but it is for those for whom it is prepared.”

  The other disciples soon became aware of what John and James had asked, and they cast glares at the brothers and rebuked them. But Jesus called them all together and said, “You know that those who are considered rulers over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. Yet it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you shall be your servant. And whoever of you desires to be first shall be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.”

  It had not been the first, nor would it be the last time Jesus had taught with paradoxes. Sadly, neither was that the last time John had humiliated himself before Jesus. Not long after, he said, “Master, we saw someone casting out demons in Your name, and we forbade him because he does not follow with us.”

  But Jesus said, “Do not forbid him, for he who is not against us is on our side.”

  Later, while they were steadily on their way to Jerusalem, a village of the Samaritans did not receive Him. James and John said, “Lord, do You want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them, just as Elijah did?”

  But He rebuked them. “You do not know what manner of spirit you are of. For the Son of Man did not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.”

  John had borne that shame for days, and yet he learned. Perhaps if he was kind and not contentious with Ignatius, this brother would learn too, even from a mild rebuke.

  “It is one thing to be willing to die for Christ, Ignatius, and yes, the martyrdom of so many of our beloved brethren crowned their lives. But should we not desire even more to present ourselves as living servants?”

  “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.”

  THAT 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.

  THREE

  Can 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 s
tipend 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.”

  FOUR

  You’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 Joh
n 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!