The Last Disciple (59 page)

Authors: Sigmund Brouwer

BOOK: The Last Disciple

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Wind tugged at the loose edges of the sails, still furled. He was still wearing the tunic with a hood, but here, where no one could see him, he’d pushed the hood back. The wind plucked at his hair, though he couldn’t feel it against the skin of his face. The swollen marks of the beating were too fresh.

His pain, however, was much more than physical.

What would become of Sophia? of their unborn child? of Sabinus, the son of Maglorius whom Vitas had sworn to protect? Would Helius keep his word and spare them?

Every fiber of Vitas’s being told him to jump off the ship. To find a way back to Sophia.

Yet it would be suicide. Literally.

He, like most soldiers and sailors, could not swim.

So he stood on the deck, trying to squeeze his emotions into a tight ball that he could hide deep inside. He vowed he would survive whatever was ahead, survive to return to Rome.

Yet the pain and grief refused to be set aside.

Taunting him further, clouds slipped away from the moon, and a silver light bathed the hills. He could almost see the fold of the ridge that overlooked his mansion, the mansion taken from him by Nero.

Nero! Vitas was convinced that no man in history could match Nero for pure evil. He vowed to return some day and find revenge. Would he find the power to do it in the strange promise about a Senate vote lost in the archives, marked by the number 666? And the letter he carried, given him by that stranger. What was written on it? And why was the letter so important?

That was one more frustration adding to all his others. It was so dark he had no chance of reading the letter until morning. And by then, Rome would be far behind.

He stared so hard at the city that his eyes began to fill with tears. The water of the Tiber slapped against the hull. Then the outline of the hills blurred against the darkness as clouds covered the moon again.

Still, Vitas did not move. He gripped the edge of the railing so hard that it felt as if his knuckles would split open.

Was there truly a God who loved His children as Sophia claimed? If so, how could this God allow a man the burden of such an injustice, the memories of love taken away, the fears of what might happen to those left behind?

In his pain, Vitas wondered if he should fall to his knees.

If he should pray as Sophia had tried to teach him to pray.

If he should let go of his determination to control his own life and place his soul in the hands of a greater power.

But did he really have a soul? Was there one true God who would hear his prayers?

Vitas groaned in his anguish. He wanted the peace that he knew Sophia had. He wanted to believe. But could not. He’d never been emptier, never been filled with so much despair.

Clouds slipped away from the moon again. He looked for the hills of Rome, but the ship had traveled too far.

That’s when Vitas noticed he was being watched. Instinctively, he slipped his hood over his head. His face was too easily remembered; if anyone connected his bruised face with the man who was going to die in the arena for him, Nero might discover that Vitas was still alive.

From within the shadow of his hood, Vitas looked closer. At the front of the deck, the moonlight clearly showed the silhouette of a man seated on coils of thick rope, the shadow of a motionless figure.

Vitas hardly cared. He was a bruised mixture of hope and hopelessness, of resolve and helplessness, of anger and fear.

“I heard you cry out,” the man said.

“Whatever you heard,” Vitas said, “it is my business. Not yours.” Roman men—especially Roman soldiers—did not share their pain. His lips cracked open as he spoke, and Vitas tasted blood.

“Of course,” the man said from the coil of rope.

Vitas stared past the man, hoping for one last glimpse of the hills of the city.

“It seems we are on the same journey,” the man said. “Perhaps you can tell me the ship’s destination.”

“If you knew how and why I was on this ship, you’d know that you are asking the wrong person.” Vitas licked away the blood from his lips, trying unsuccessfully to moisten them. He could not escape the stirrings of curiosity. “And unless you were put on this ship as a captive, you’re a fool if you didn’t bother to find out before it sailed.”

“I’ve been called a fool before,” the man said, his face in shadow. “But in this case, at least, it is a false accusation.” He raised his hands to show they were bound and that the rope was tied to the railing.

The man
was
a captive.

Because the man didn’t ask for help, Vitas decided to move closer. “Who are you?” he asked. “Why are you here?”

“I’m on this ship,” the man answered, “apparently because a friend believed I would be safer here than in Rome.”

Vitas asked the natural question. “Why would you be in danger?”

“All of us marked by the Lamb are hated by those marked by the Beast.”

Marked?

In the moon’s light, Vitas looked more closely at the man. He saw no slave brand on the man’s right hand or forehead. Yet there was something familiar about him. The man’s gray hair . . .

“You’re not a slave,” Vitas said. Where had he seen this man?

“I would guess that if you want to know what I mean, enough time together lies ahead of us. Because if you are on this ship, perhaps you, too, are fleeing the Beast.”

Vitas began to untie the rope from the man’s wrists. “Who are you?” he asked again.

The man spoke with such certainty, it was uncanny. “I remember your voice. You’ve been sent to me again.”

“Sent?” Vitas struggled to comprehend.

“With my God,” the man said, still laughing as if appreciative of an irony, “there are no coincidences.”

It came to Vitas. Where he’d seen the man before. “I know who you are!” Vitas said. “That night. When the earthquake struck. You were among the four who faced the beast . . .”

Clouds covered the moon again. Vitas heard the reply come out of near total darkness.

“Yes,” the man answered. “I was one of the captives you set free. I am John, son of Zebedee.”

Afterword

The Last Disciple
presents an alternative to the Left Behind understanding of end-times events based on a
methodology
called
Exegetical Eschatology (E2)
. I coined the phrase
Exegetical Eschatology
to underscore the fact that above all else I am deeply committed to a proper
method
of biblical interpretation rather than to any particular
model
of eschatology. Put another way, the plain and proper reading of a biblical passage must always take precedence over a particular eschatological presupposition or paradigm.

For example, the pretribulational rapture model featured in the Left Behind series interprets Revelation 13 in a strictly literal fashion. Thus, Antichrist dies and resurrects himself physically in order to vindicate his claim to be god. The following passage from
The Indwelling
, volume 7 of the Left Behind series, communicates the point:

Carpathia catapulted himself to a standing position in the narrow end of his own coffin. He turned triumphantly to face the crowd, and David noticed makeup, putty, surgical staples, and stitches in the box where Nicolae’s head had lain.

Standing there before now deathly silence, Nicolae looked as if he had just stepped out of his closet where a valet had helped him into a crisp suit. Shoes gleaming, laces taut, socks smooth, suit unwrinkled, tie hanging just so, he stood broad-shouldered, fresh-faced, shaven, hair in place, no pallor. Fortunato and the seven were on their knees, hiding their faces, sobbing aloud.

Nicolae raised his hands to shoulder height and said loudly enough for everyone to hear, without aid of a microphone, “Peace. Be still.” With that the clouds ascended and vanished, and the sun reappeared in all its brilliance and heat. People squinted and covered their eyes.

“Peace be unto you,” he said. “My peace I give you. Please stand.” He paused while everyone rose, eyes still locked on him, bodies rigid with fear. “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in me.”

Murmuring began. David heard people marveling that he was not using a microphone, but neither was he raising his voice. And yet everyone could hear.

It was as if Carpathia read their minds. “You marvel that I speak directly to your hearts without amplification, yet you saw me raise myself from the dead. Who but the most high god has power over death? Who but god controls the earth and sky?” (
The Indwelling
, 366–67).

In sharp contrast, The Last Disciple series exegetes Revelation 13 in light of the whole of Scripture. Thus, Satan can
parody
the work of Christ through “all kinds of counterfeit miracles, signs and wonders” (2 Thessalonians 2:9), but he cannot literally do what Christ did—namely, raise himself from the dead.

What is at stake here is nothing less than the deity and resurrection of Christ. In a Christian worldview, only God has the power to raise the dead. If Antichrist could “raise [himself] from the dead” and control “the earth and sky,” Christianity would lose the basis for believing that Christ’s resurrection vindicates His claim to deity. Further, if Satan possesses the creative power of God, this would subvert the post-resurrection appearances of Christ in that Satan could have masqueraded as the resurrected Christ. Moreover, the notion that Satan can perform acts that are indistinguishable from genuine miracles suggests a dualistic worldview in which God and Satan are equal powers competing for dominance.

The point here is not to call into question the orthodoxy of the Left Behind authors. We are committed to the same goals: reading the Bible for all its worth and inspiring hope in the Second Coming of Christ. Collegial debate in the interest of truth, however, is essential to the health of the church, while we adhere to the Christian maxim: “In essentials, unity; in nonessentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” We must debate this issue, but we need not divide over it. The point is to demonstrate the dangers inherent in the interpretive method they and other dispensationalists employ.

Such dangers are not solely theological. Placing the Beast in the twenty-first instead of the first century poses historical difficulties as well. For example, the apostle John tells his first-century audience that with “wisdom” and “insight” they can “calculate the number of the Beast, for it is man’s number. His number is 666” (Revelation 13:18). No amount of wisdom and insight would have given them the ability to figure out the number of a Nicolae Carpathia character in the twenty-first century.

Furthermore, while Daniel was instructed to seal up prophecy because the time of fulfillment was in the far future (Daniel 8:26; 12:4, 9; cf. 9:24), John was told not to seal up his prophecy because its fulfillment was fore future (Revelation 22:10). John’s repeated use of such words and phrases as
soon
and
the time is near
demonstrate conclusively that John could not have had the twenty-first century in mind.

Finally, the horror of the Great Tribulation included not only the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple but the persecution of the apostles and prophets who penned the Scriptures and formed the foundation of the Christian church of which Christ Himself was the chief cornerstone. Thus, the Great Tribulation instigated by Nero is the antitype for every type and tribulation that follows before we experience the reality of our own resurrection at the Second Coming of Christ.

For these and a host of other reasons The Last Disciple series places the Great Tribulation precisely where it belongs, in a first-century milieu in which “the last disciple” comforts believers in the throes of the mother of all persecutions.

Discussion Questions

What was your understanding of Revelation before reading this novel? How has that changed?

Many characters face severe persecution. What are their various reactions? What does persecution look like in the world today, and how should Christians respond to it?

What is most important to Vitas? How does he maintain his integrity amid so much depravity and corruption?

What’s your impression of the religious and political leaders of Jerusalem in this novel? Do these two interests ever come into conflict? Discuss the difficulties or the benefits of individuals who hold both leadership roles at the same time.

Sophia and Vitas don’t share the same faith. What’s your impression of their decision to marry despite their differences?

What is it about the Christians that makes Nero feel threatened?

Would you describe Damian as a person of integrity? Why or why not?

How does our culture compare to life in ancient Rome? Do you see any similarities? What are the differences? How should Christians engage with the societies in which they live?