looked forward to getting to get her with him and with Ignatius again before bedtime.
John had been told that some had asked for him the evening before, so he was not surprised when a small boy was dispatched to seek him out again now. “Oh, please tell them that I appreciate their kind invitation but that I am in the middle of a complex project and must beg their pardon. Perhaps one evening later this week I will feel up to joining them.”
John lit another small lamp on the desk and reviewed Polycarp’s careful handwriting. He reminded himself to encourage the young man. The script was clear and legible, and as John read it over he was again transported to Galilee and the most remarkable season of his life. And he knew what story must come next, one that only he was privy to, and thus one that had not appeared on papyrus before. Fortunately, John believed he remembered every detail, and short of that, he trusted the Holy Spirit to remind him.
Hearing no music from below, John realized that Ignatius and Polycarp had eschewed the singing that evening in the interest of immediately digging in to the text of one of Paul’s epistles. The old man was grateful for Ignatius and his willingness to devote this time to John’s own flock. Ignatius had come to faith and to a calling to serve God from a place almost as unusual as that of the missionary Paul. He had not been religiously devout, however, as Paul had. That zealousness had led to Paul—then known as Saul—persecuting and even killing Christians. Ignatius had been thoroughly pagan, but he too had been a reviler of believers.
That he had come to faith in Christ from such a background, and the obvious change in his behavior, allowed John to trust him implicitly to render Paul’s writings understandable for the believers. If only the three of them—John, Ignatius, and Polycarp—could make the Ephesian saints as interested in shunning the heresies of Cerinthus!
J OHN NODDED OFF and roused two hours later when sounds reached him of people chatting and milling about on their way out of the house. Many still had questions for the leaders, and John was pleased to hear both Ignatius and Polycarp promise to get to those another night. Soon their welcome footsteps mounted the stairs.
“Ah, Ignatius,” John said, as the bishop set a plate of fruit and cheese on his table and laid a small knife beside it, “you always seem to anticipate my needs.”
Polycarp smiled and Ignatius said, “Truth be told, I am merely the bearer of the vittles. The idea was the redhead’s here.”
“My thanks to you then, Polycarp,” John said. “Please, gentlemen, sit. I want to tell you a story neither of you has heard before. Indeed, I do not believe I have shared it with anyone but my brother so many years ago. Are you up to it?”
“Up to it?” Ignatius said. “Teacher, after what Polycarp has related to me already, I feel as if I will burst if I cannot sit here whilst you dictate some of this. Please. My ears are yours until you have run out of things to say.”
“Or until I collapse onto my bed.”
“Shall I record this?” Polycarp said.
“Oh, I don’t know. My intention was to simply tell you both what happened, and then we can cover it tomorrow. Let me begin without having to slow for the quill, and you tell me whether it’s worth recording.”
Ignatius sat at the desk, slicing the fruit and cheese, eating some and handing pieces to the other two. Polycarp sat on John’s bed. The old man, as was his custom, paced as he spoke, sometimes with a chunk of food tucked in his cheek.
“Often Jesus would ask one or more of us to stay with Him for an evening when He had to be out after dark. More than once He hinted that the night would come when He would be taken from us, but we did not want to hear that and told ourselves—at least James and I did—that He was speaking symbolically, trying to tell us something about the coming kingdom that we did not
John had been told that some had asked for him the evening before, so he was not surprised when a small boy was dispatched to seek him out again now. “Oh, please tell them that I appreciate their kind invitation but that I am in the middle of a complex project and must beg their pardon. Perhaps one evening later this week I will feel up to joining them.”
John lit another small lamp on the desk and reviewed Polycarp’s careful handwriting. He reminded himself to encourage the young man. The script was clear and legible, and as John read it over he was again transported to Galilee and the most remarkable season of his life. And he knew what story must come next, one that only he was privy to, and thus one that had not appeared on papyrus before. Fortunately, John believed he remembered every detail, and short of that, he trusted the Holy Spirit to remind him.
Hearing no music from below, John realized that Ignatius and Polycarp had eschewed the singing that evening in the interest of immediately digging in to the text of one of Paul’s epistles. The old man was grateful for Ignatius and his willingness to devote this time to John’s own flock. Ignatius had come to faith and to a calling to serve God from a place almost as unusual as that of the missionary Paul. He had not been religiously devout, however, as Paul had. That zealousness had led to Paul—then known as Saul—persecuting and even killing Christians. Ignatius had been thoroughly pagan, but he too had been a reviler of believers.
That he had come to faith in Christ from such a background, and the obvious change in his behavior, allowed John to trust him implicitly to render Paul’s writings understandable for the believers. If only the three of them—John, Ignatius, and Polycarp—could make the Ephesian saints as interested in shunning the heresies of Cerinthus!
J OHN NODDED OFF and roused two hours later when sounds reached him of people chatting and milling about on their way out of the house. Many still had questions for the leaders, and John was pleased to hear both Ignatius and Polycarp promise to get to those another night. Soon their welcome footsteps mounted the stairs.
“Ah, Ignatius,” John said, as the bishop set a plate of fruit and cheese on his table and laid a small knife beside it, “you always seem to anticipate my needs.”
Polycarp smiled and Ignatius said, “Truth be told, I am merely the bearer of the vittles. The idea was the redhead’s here.”
“My thanks to you then, Polycarp,” John said. “Please, gentlemen, sit. I want to tell you a story neither of you has heard before. Indeed, I do not believe I have shared it with anyone but my brother so many years ago. Are you up to it?”
“Up to it?” Ignatius said. “Teacher, after what Polycarp has related to me already, I feel as if I will burst if I cannot sit here whilst you dictate some of this. Please. My ears are yours until you have run out of things to say.”
“Or until I collapse onto my bed.”
“Shall I record this?” Polycarp said.
“Oh, I don’t know. My intention was to simply tell you both what happened, and then we can cover it tomorrow. Let me begin without having to slow for the quill, and you tell me whether it’s worth recording.”
Ignatius sat at the desk, slicing the fruit and cheese, eating some and handing pieces to the other two. Polycarp sat on John’s bed. The old man, as was his custom, paced as he spoke, sometimes with a chunk of food tucked in his cheek.
“Often Jesus would ask one or more of us to stay with Him for an evening when He had to be out after dark. More than once He hinted that the night would come when He would be taken from us, but we did not want to hear that and told ourselves—at least James and I did—that He was speaking symbolically, trying to tell us something about the coming kingdom that we did not
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