Werewolves, Marxists and other Monsters (Acts 20.17-38)

    While in Miletus, Paul summoned all the presbyopic presbyters and the elders of the church in Ephesus to come visit him so that he could give them a farewell speech. He dispatched a messenger to bring them (three days there, three days back). He sent for them. He couldn’t go to them as he was still wary of the conflict he’d faced in Ephesus, both among the Jews and the Gentiles of that city of sorrow and trials.

    “You know how I’ve lived and what I’ve done,” he said to them “You know there were many against me. Hardships, extraordinary pressures beyond the powers of human endurance – so that we nearly gave up hope of even living from day to day, carrying the sentence of biological death in our bodies – imprisoned, flogged, severely flogged, and exposed to death like an unwanted child. I fought beasts, human and otherwise; I fought monsters of every kind. And you know the truth of it.”

    “I’ve done everything I could for you,” he continued. “Preaching and teaching – in public spaces and private homes. If I thought it would be helpful or beneficial to you, I did it. And would do it again. For Jews and Gentiles – everyone – urging them to look for God and to look to our Lord.”

    “Now I’m on my way to Jerusalem, my final run, I think. There’s still much that I would like to accomplish, but I think this is going to be the end. I’m going to Jerusalem a captive of the Spirit. The wind blows where it will blow; you can hear the sound, but you can’t tell where it comes from. And the spirit goes where it will go and you won’t know why. I don’t know what’s going to happen. The future is uncertain. But, everything that I’ve seen on the road so far, from every town and every city, from every burg and every village, it’s clear that two things are waiting for me there: Imprisonment and persecution. The road to glory always travels through those dark regions.”

    He said this and he was true. The road to glory always travels through dark regions. Always. Except in America. There they seem to think that the road to glory begins in glory and only gets brighter from there. But that is neither here nor there.

    “You won’t see me again, I think,” he said with great finality and wiped his palms on his pants.

    “Soon – not long after I’m gone – you will face wolves attacking from without – and werewolves from within,” he warned. “White collar managerial monsters. Irresponsible men and respectable creatures with filthy appetites. Beggars and rascals. Spiritual panhandlers and theologian thieves, sermon grifters with AI generated homilies and platinum card expense accounts. They are saints of death with bile breath. They are perversions made flesh. They are walking distortions without mercy. They are little g gods preaching a Christ who has no church, and a church without a spirit. Empty of everything. The only thing they have is a travesty of the truth, a tapestry of lies.”

    He shook his head before continuing. “You’ve known me. You’ve seen me. You know how I’ve worked – and paid my own way, and that I’ve paid for all my companions and fellow travelers. By any means necessary, I have supported others. And this is the truth of it: we must exert ourselves. We must work so that we can support others. We must support the weak and the powerless; this is our duty. As our Lord told us, ‘There’s more joy in the giving than in the receiving…’”

    An American Evangelical with a time machine burst into the room at that point and began snarling “No. No. No Jesus never said anything like that. Show me in the gospels,” he growled. “Show me in that red-letter bible that you claim to love so much, where he said anything of the kind. Cite the chapter and verse for me. But you can’t. You can’t because he didn’t. He didn’t say it. He didn’t say anything like it. You can’t turn him into one of your Marxist icons!”

    “Read Sirach,” I told him after pulling him aside so as to let Paul continue his farewell address. “’Do not let your hand be stretched out to receive and closed when it is time to give’. Or read Clement, who said, ‘And ye were all humble, boasting of nothing, submitting yourselves rather than subjecting others, more gladly giving than receiving, content with the…’”

    “Nope. No and never,” the American Evangelical interrupted me. “You can’t trust the Church fathers, and you know that the apocrypha doesn’t count.”

    “Give, and there will be gifts,” I began. “Full measure for full measure…”

    “No.”

    “But that one comes from the Gospel of …”

    “No. I don’t care what you say, Jesus was no Marxist,” he shouted at me, red-faced and sweaty.

    “I never said that he was. That would be a gross anachronism,” I said winking to the reader. “He might have been some sort of socialist but, you’re right, he was no Marxist.”

    “Well,” the Evangelical said with a smug satisfaction, “I think I’ve made my point.”

    “If you say so, boss,” I said. “Now where was I? You’ve made me lose my place in the story.”

    The American Evangelical thumped his Bible on the table, and with a flash of his teeth and a haughty superiority, got back into his time machine and disappeared. I went quietly back into the other room where Paul was finishing with his farewell. The brothers and sisters gathered there hugged him around the neck and kissed him upon the face for they were overcome with sadness knowing that they would never see him again in this life.

Acts 20:17-38

The Fall and Rise of Eutychus

     We were, one night, the last night we were there, gathered together in the upper story of the house, the great room with many small windows. It was late and we’d been working all day but Paul was going on and on, preaching as he did. It was a conversational sermon, Q-and-A, give and take, rap session concerning the glories and hardships of living in the kingdom. And he went on and on and on. It was very late. We lit many torches to light the room. Midnight and many lamps.

    And one of the boys, Eutychus, Little Lucky we sometimes called him, was sitting on the window ledge for the breeze. The room was stuffy with the hot and oily air. Claustrophobic and close. Eutychus sat in the window for a breeze but still he grew drowsy – his eyes moving slowly, his muscles relaxing – brainwaves diminishing - and was soon overcome by sleep. His head bobbed down and up and down and then he fell from the window. Three stories down, he fell and smashed upon the pavement below.

    I’m a one-time sleepwalker, myself. I was fifteen or sixteen, away from home for the weekend at a youth retreat. I woke up in the middle of the night, very early in the morning, on the floor of the cabin bathroom. I assumed that the other guys in the cabin had dragged me there as a joke or a prank on the spindly kid with glasses and braces who preferred Dungeons and Dragons over football. I woke up, cold and confused on the floor, in the dark with no idea where I was. It took several long, almost panicky moments to figure out where I’d awoken. Realizing that I was in the bathroom didn’t alleviate my confusion. I went back to my bunk and back to sleep. I expected that the other boys would tease me in the morning. But they didn’t. No one said anything about it. I realized that I must have been sleepwalking. I had no sleepwalking episodes before that. And I’ve had no sleepwalking episodes since. My younger brother, however, used to sleepwalk all the time. He’d walk out of the house and urinate on the front porch when he was a small child. I don’t know if he still does that.

    But brother Eutychus wasn’t a sleepwalker. He was a sleep faller. And his was a sort of autodefenestration, if you will.

    What is sleep, anyway? No one really knows. Even the neurologists who study sleep don’t really understand it. Neurotransmitters acting on groups of neurons in the brain. It is death and it isn’t. The body may be stilled (somewhat) but the brain is living and active. Sleep is a sort of death. Sleep is a strange country.

    For Little Lucky, the euphemism of sleep became the reality of death. We raced down the stairs and found him, smashed upon the pavement and picked him up dead.

    But Paul in prophetic reenactment clasped the body of the boy to himself and said, “There’s no reason to fear,” he said, “There’s life in him yet.” Yet he was dead. In the strictest and severest sense of the word. We know death. We’ve seen death and we know death. A broken neck is death but Paul said, “There’s life in him yet.”

    We were still there with tears forming in our eyes when, without warning, Paul stood up and went back upstairs to break the bread with the brothers and to continue his preaching until daybreak.

    A few moments later, Little Lucky – Eutychus – coughed once and spasmed twice and began breathing again. I leaned over him and felt for a pulse. It was strong and true. “Speak to me, son,” I said. “Recite your numbers.”

    The boy stood, folded his hands and recited his lessons: “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Jack. Queen. King.”

    We were not a little comforted. There he was, our Little Lucky.

This Week Only: The High Lord Exorcist, Sceva and His Seven Sons

    “Come one, come all” shouted the carnival style barker with a pencil thin mustache and a straw boater hat, “Roll up! Roll up for the magical, mystical exorcism show starring the High Lord Exorcist known throughout the Levant and all points east as the Chief Priest, Sceva and his Seven Sons! This week only! See them today because they won’t be here long! Lay down a fin and see the show. Lay down a sawbuck and we’ll let you participate in the show.” Crowds thronged in the narrow Ephesian streets to see the world-famous exorcists. They clamored and shouted, screaming out the name “Sceva! Sceva! Sceva!” over and over again in their enthusiasm and excitement.

    Careful investigation may have revealed that Sceva was not actually related to the priest Zadok, or a member of any of the priestly families and that he had never actually presided over any sacrifice. He may have claimed high rank as a priest of God, but he’d never served in the Temple in Jerusalem. That the seven young men who assisted him in the exorcisms were his sons was also a dubious proposition. They probably weren’t even brothers.

    But the throngs of people screaming out the name “Sceva!” couldn’t care less. They were thrilled by his supernatural performances in the market square and wanted more of them. They came every day to see Sceva and his sons drive out all demons and astral spirits, all the kosmokratores of the heavenly spheres who were responsible for ailments, afflictions and physical maladies of every kind.

    “The magical, mystical exorcism revue is about to begin!” the street-corner barker called out to the passing crowds. The citizens of Ephesus put down their coin, cash on the barrel, to see the show. They came to feel the exhilaration of being in the presence of Kuru demons – the demons responsible for cannibalistic brain disease. They came for the thrill of seeing Astatine spirits, rare and radioactive, spirits who do not want to exist and are usually vaporized by their own heat, a half-life measured in hours. And yet, in that time, they can do significant damage.

    “Step up to witness superhuman marvels beyond belief!” the barker called, and the crowds came to see the show.

    The Lord once, in the primordial past when waters still covered the entirety of the earth, split the sea and smashed the heads of dragons in the waters, those extraordinary, uncanny beasts from the deep, dragons of no taxonomy, no classification, no order, no kingdom except the kingdom of darkness. But the Jews of Ephesus plunked down their coins to watch the itinerant exorcist Sceva and his seven spangled and sequined sons as they displaced demons with a colorful display of vomited gall.

    The Sons of Sceva called for a volunteer from the audience, someone troubled by a demonic presence. And a bandy-legged old man raised his hand. “I am possessed by an unclean spirit,” he said. Then, waving their mystagogic amulets – amulets containing secret inscriptions and sealed with wax – the seven sons of Sceva began the exorcism ritual as their nominal father looked on.

    They spoke in turns, invoking the sacred phrases:

    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Uriel, the power of light, regent of the sun.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Raphael, the power of health, and binder of desert demons.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Raguel, bringer of fire and harmony.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Samael, angel of venom and poison.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Michael, the great prince of heaven.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Gabriel, the power of strength and player of cool jazz.”
    “I adjure you by the name of the angel Phanuel, the face of God, sustainer of hope and health.”

    And then all held their amulets aloft and, with a choreographed little dance shouted in unison, “Gathered together the forces of heaven, numbering seven, archangels forever. Amen!” And the audience cheered.

    Then, after quieting the crowd again, the old man Sceva himself spoke in a ventriloquist voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once:

    “Great is the ineffable name of the Lord, by the God of the Hebrews, by the unerring knowledge of all that exists. I adjure you by the maker of heaven and earth, to smite you with a mighty blow, to destroy you by the angel of his fierce wrath. I cast out every incubus of natural disease. I cast out all anguipede inversions of the sacred name – even if they be embodied as a man with a rooster’s head and snakes for legs. I cast out ravaging angels, Lilith demons, and bastard spirits. Owls and weaving spiders come not here. I cast out polluted blood, corrupted bile - be it yellow or be it black - and all congested phlegm. Your horns are horns of dust. Your stones are soft. Your eyes are weak. The light that shines from the sun will not find you. To condemn you to lowest Hades, to lie in darkness.”

    The seven sons formed a circle around the bandy-legged old man and began their chant.

    “By the name of Jesus of Nazareth and the name of his servant Paul…”

    But this is as far as they got before the demon within the man interrupted in a voice that rattled shingles from the roofs of nearby buildings. “Jesus I recognize, yes. Yes. Jesus I recognize, and Paul I know. Yes. Yes. Paul I know. But you? Who the hell are you lot?”

    The spindly little man leapt to his feet and slashed out with his untrimmed nails – gashing their faces and gouging their eyes. He grabbed the nearest one while swiftly ramming his knee into his groin. He bashed his elbow into the nose of one of the boys. Blood sprayed.

    The sons of Sceva fled the scene screaming, following after their father who’d begun running as soon as the demon began to speak. “I don’t know you!” the demonized man shouted in a voice louder and deeper than possible with human vocal cords. “I don’t know you!” He laughed after them as they ran away with their matching outfits in tatters. “I don’t know you!”

Prophecy Club Minutes - 06.16.26

 

Prophecy Club

06.16.26
7:34 pm
First Bethel Baptist Church Basement

ATTENDANCE

Present Members: Brothers Haggai, Joel, Daniel, Jonah, Ezekiel, Micah (arrived late) and Agabus
Guests Present: “Brother Abel”
There was a quorum present

ORDERS OF BUSINESS

The meeting opened with our standard invocation: “Open our eyes that we may see wonderful things in your law.” Open our eyes now, Lord. Amen.

The minutes of the previous meeting were read and entered into the record.

Unfinished Business

Brother Joel presented a report from the UAP Committee (Formerly UFO Committee) concerning the Committee’s letterhead and business cards. The business cards were received in order, but the letterhead had to be returned due to a misspelling.

New Business

Brother Jonah reported that he’d heard from a friend, who had been told by his doctor that the hospital’s pharmaceutical sales rep had mentioned that they are encouraged to get their “5 by 50” – that is getting people on five different medications by the age of fifty. Brother Jonah wondered if the group thought this something worth considering and investigating. Brother Joel suggested that this sounds like it might be an urban legend. And, in any case, the information reported was little more than hearsay.

Brother Ezekiel of the Man of Perdition Committee reported that online search results indicate that the following individuals should be considered as possible candidates for the Antichrist: Donald J. Trump, Elon Musk, King Charles III, and Emmanuel Macron. Brother Ezekiel indicated that the committee would investigate King Charles III and Macron but did not believe that either Trump or Musk warranted an investigation. Brother Agabus commented that this was “myopic.”

Brother Daniel motioned that Brother Agabus be issued a Waterless Cloud Warning Card. The motion was seconded by Brother Joel. Per the Prophecy Club bylaws, a Waterless Cloud Warning Card censure must be passed unanimously. No abstentions are permitted. Vote was called. Brother Haggai voted No. The censure failed to pass.

Brother Joel of the UAP Committee was asked about the blue clouds that appeared recently over the Midwest. Brother Joel reported that the Chinese Landspace Zhuque 2E Y5 rocket – launched from the Dongfeng commercial space innovation pilot zone in northwest China – carrying a 2.8 ton payload into a 900 km polar orbit, had dumped methalox (a methane and liquid oxygen fuel mixture). That was the cause of the bright blue clouds. Further questions were raised concerning the timing of this event, occurring as it did during Trump’s visit to China. Several members wondered if this were coincidence or something more nefarious. Brother Joel promised to investigate.

Special Guest “Brother Abel” reported that during a recent trip to Oklahoma he’d had a dream in which he was preaching on the role of the United States of America in Biblical prophecy. In the middle of the sermon, a severe weather alert was broadcast on the radio. There were storms, and fiery tornadoes, and the multicolored sun appeared to dance a zigzag across the sky. “Brother Abel” asked for the Prophecy Club to help him consider the implications of this dream. Lengthy discussion followed.

Brother Micah asked whether the group should consider a service project for the poor or the immigrants who have been moving into the neighborhood around First Bethel Baptist. Discussion was tabled for lack of time.

CLOSING

Brother Joel led us in the closing prayer: Lord, You are our refuge and fortress. Guard our hearts and minds. Protect us from demonic attack, physical harm, and emotional wounds. Keep us safe in the shadow of Your wings. Amen.

We will hold the next board meeting on 07.16.26 at 7:34pm. The meeting will be a top-secret Strategy Briefing. The password will be: a vision from their own heart, not the mouth of Jehovah. Do not share with nonmembers.

The meeting ended at 11:34pm
[Signatures of minute taker and board president]

Previous Minutes: 
05.16.26
Topics for Discussion

Can’t Consecrate Your Church without a Relic, Sir

    I met the relic merchant Jacob Spatharios in Ephesus. He had a little shop there then. He’s had to relocate several times since then – always ready to pick up and head on down the road a ways to set up a new shop in a new location, under a new name. But at the time he had quite an assortment of relics and other religious oddments for sale at his little shop in Ephesus. And all of them were, according to the hand lettered sign in the window, “Guaranteed thaumaturgically effective or your money back.”

    He had on display the foot and comb of the cock that crowed before Peter’s denial of the Christ. He had Pontius Pilate’s pinky decoder ring – used to decode and translate secret communiques and dispatches from Rome. He had the beak of Phillip’s pet cuttlefish, Saint Helveticas’ earlobe, Saint Albedo’s reflection, and Zerubbabel’s trowel and plumb-bob. He even showed me a bottle of Noah’s wine – once considered a very fine vintage. He declined to offer me a taste saying that it had long since turned to vinegar. ¹

    “Can’t consecrate your church without a relic, sir,” he told me, “not since the second council of Nicaea in the year 787.” He told me this as he offered a bicuspid from Hugh of Lincoln for my inspection. Hugh of Lincoln had once himself bitten the ulna bone of Mary Magdalene. He also showed me a chunk of stone which had been scored with teeth marks. “Count Fulk of Anjou went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem some years ago. In the holy sepulcher he knelt at the tomb of Christ and bit off a piece of the stone with his own teeth. He carried this bit of stone away and now, after a circuitous route and many exciting exploits that are too strange to be believed, sir, it has come to me and I offer to you. And at a significant discount. I’m practically giving it to you. It would make a fine cornerstone for the construction of any new church, sir.” But I waved it aside.

    “What’s this,” I asked as I picked up a plank of wood, “a board from Noah’s ark?”

    “No sir,” he said smiling, “everyone’s got a bit of Noah’s ark these days, just like everyone has a piece of the 'True Cross.' You’re right to be a little suspicious as there are many devious salesmen who would take your money and sell you the purported foreskin of Jesus, which would prove to be nothing more than a bit of dried bit of bacon. But you can trust me, sir. I wouldn’t lie to you. That there, sir, is an actual timber used in the scaffolding during the construction of the Tower of Babel.”

    I looked at him in disbelief.

    “It’s true, sir. I stole it myself.”

    “You stole it?”

    “Yes, sir. Noble trade it is, our relic thieving. Furta Sacra, if you like. The hero of the trade is a monk named Felix who once carried off the remains of Saints Agapitus, Cecilia, Columbana and several others. Me own da’, who was never quite so renowned as that lucky monk, once stole a pair of Fatima’s earrings from the basilica in Tyre.”

    “Fatima’s earrings,” I wondered aloud. “I thought these were Christian artifacts.”

    “They are sir, finest in the region. Did I say Fatima? I’m sorry, sir. It must have been mislabeled by the novices in Tyre. Them there were Joan of Arc’s earrings. Simple mistake, sir. But no harm done, right? No harm done. You know what they say, sir. The relics of the saints that the Lord has provided for us gush with fragrant oil.”

    He whisked the earrings out of sight into one of the many hidden pockets of his voluminous robe and, in the same motion, drew out a sachet bag. “What?” I asked. “And what is that?”

    “Is it unbelievable, good sir, that if God poured water out of a rock in the desert and for thirsty Samson in the desert, provided water from the jawbone of an ass, is it unbelievable that fragrant oil should pour out from the relics of the saints?”

    He paused and smiled, then with a flourish displayed the sachet bag to me. “This, my friend, is what remains of Saint Polycarp. After his death by fire, my great-grandfather Nicetes who was captain of the guard, pleaded with the magistrates to allow him gather up the ashes and bones that remained and to take them to a suitable place where they could be venerated by the faithful. But, truth be told,” he said as he glanced out the window, scanning the street in both directions, “I don’t actually have a license to deal in the holy artifacts. There was a slight… mistake with the paperwork. But for you I will make a special deal.”

    “I don’t see any oil,” I told him. He frowned and removed the sachet bag from view.

    Jacob Spatharios had many other relics and wonders in his shop but the objects that fascinated me that morning as I stood among the clutter of curios were a carefully folded handkerchief (stained with sweat) and an apron which were once owned and used by the apostle Paul. Jacob claimed that touching them to the sick and infirm would cure them of their illnesses and expel their demons. I might have purchased one or two of them for myself but I was skeptical of Spatharios’ thaumaturgical guarantee -and more than a little leery of his lack of licensure. The netherworld of the shadowy relic and antiquities market recognizes no borders and flouts all legalities and rules, ignores academics and scientific researchers. I don’t trust them.

    “What’ll it be, then?” Jacob asked ready for a sale. “The handkerchief? The apron? Something from the back room, perhaps. Something reserved for discerning customers such as yourself, sir?” he said with a disturbing leer.

    But I declined to purchase anything from his shop. His collection of curious was certainly curious, but however charged those items might have once been with the uncanny charisma and supernatural power when I saw them in Spatharios’ display cabinets they were old and inert – mere physical objects from the past, reminders of what could be, dead remainders of what the living God can do.

1Jacob Spatharios also had an extensive collection of documents and papers of religious import – ancient texts in a cardboard box pressed between recent pages of the daily newspaper - including the one hundred sixteen pages lost from the original Book of Mormon, the first draft of the so-called “Salamander Letter” and the “Satanic verses” purged from the words of the prophet (peace be upon him). These were all very suspect and I did not look long at them.

 Acts 19. 11-12

Dream Police and Rêv Conditioning

    “What am I going to do? I’ll be marked for Rêv Conditioning for sure. It’s illicit dreaming. A 0180 infraction with repeat modifiers.”

    “What are you talking about, Jeff?”

    “I’ve been dreaming about Shay – a woman that I work with.”

    “Multiple occasions?”

    “Three times now. The first time I dreamt that she pulled open her blouse to show me her new bra, but I recognized it as one of my ex-wife’s brassieres.”

    “That is strange. And the second?”

    “We – Shay and I – were at a museum together when her husband showed up to accuse me of having an affair with her. In the dream she defended me, saying that it wasn’t true – even though she knew, in the dream, I did in fact want to have an affair with her.”

    “And the third?”

    “The third was just the opposite. She was cold me, refused to speak to me or to look at me. And when I asked if I’d offended her in some way she said ‘Nothing.’”

    “She wouldn’t answer you?”

    “No. I asked if I’d offended her and she answered only with the word ‘Nothing.’”

    “It sounds as if you’re right to be concerned about the Dream Police.”

    Agents of the Imperial Dream Police smear a thin layer of ectoplasm over their naked bodies which acts as both an aphrodisiac gel and as an infiltration serum. This, along with the nictitating membranes that cover their eyes, allows them to slip into the unconscious sights and sounds of your sleep and dreams. And the sodium thiopental they secrete from their pores allows them to see through the absurdities of the dream and to know the truth of your reveries. They are weird figures dressed in white suits and dark-faced transparent helmets, communicating in grunts, clicks, and whistles.

    Dreams are great magicians, conjuring up fully formed and vanishing locomotives on their way to purgatory, poisoned uteruses, and piles of eggs stacked in the corner of the room.

    It all seems rather obvious in the light of the new morning, I suppose. Hardly even worth writing about. But if we accept the interpretive principle that we are each individual within our dreams, these rather commonplace dreams might become somewhat more revelatory. I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know if I want to think about that. There’s too much bleeding in the Red Zone City to worry about a nightmare of knives and ex-wives.

    There will be no telephone apologies, only bad dreams. And I cannot worry about the Dream Police right now. Politicians may be able to get away with that sort of lack of concern – and not just in dreams, in waking life too. But me? Not so much. The Dream Police don’t care what the dreams mean. Symbols are arbitrary. Signifier and signified are both fluid- there’s no enduring link between the two. Meaning is irrelevant to their procedures. There’s too much else going on.

    And the Dream Police are jealous of their magic.

What This is This? (Acts 4: 1-12)

    Some of you – those of you who see my Facebook posts, or who have read my books perhaps, may have figured out that I have strong opinions. And that I am not afraid or ashamed to put them out to the public. I am somewhat outside the political mainstream. Not a Republican. Not a Democrat. But something other. I’m not much of a patriot. I’m a pacifist. Radical? Maybe. Troublemaker? Not intentionally. I’m not afraid of conflict, but conflict is not my goal but it’s often there.

    This distinction, however, has been lost sometimes. I was kicked out of seminary after the Principal decided he needed to break me of my ‘rebellious spirit.’ And after having been restored and ordained, I spent twenty years at odds with the administration of my denomination. Consistently under review and frequently on probation. I was scrutinized. I was mentored and monitored.

    So – I chuckle a bit when I’m trusted with today’s pericope, with its theological and political uproar. Peter and John causing a public disturbance. Confrontation with the political and religious authorities – it sounds like my life.

    We’re continuing the story that began with the healing Pastor Mark discussed last week, when Peter and John at the Beautiful Gate saw the man born lame – “Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have I give unto thee – in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk.” I must have memorized that verse as a boy; I still hear it in the King James Version.

    And that man went walking and leaping and praising God into the Temple.

    Following the miraculous healing of the man born lame, Peter and John launched into an extemporaneous sermon about crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus – which had occurred in the most recent days, and how faith in this risen Jesus is what restored the crippled man to health, and how “it was for you in the first place that God raised up his servant Jesus and sent him to bless you as every one of you turns from his wicked ways.”

    And then comes the repression. Then comes the suppression. The priests and the captain of the guard and members of the Sadducees were annoyed by Peter and John’s teaching - specifically about the resurrection of the dead – and arrested Peter and John and put them in prison overnight.

    What reason? What charges? Pffffffft. We don’t need reason. We don’t need charges.

    The next day Peter and John were hauled before the court to explain themselves. “By what power and by whose name have you done this?” There are no charges listed. There are no offenses. But Peter and John are called upon to justify their actions. By what power and by whose name have you done this, the leaders asked.

    So here’s the question. What this is this?

    “Are we being arrested for this act of kindness?” Peter asked “Are you asking us about an act of kindness to a crippled man and asking us how he was healed?” Are we being detained because we acted with kindness and compassion to someone in need?

    And this sounds like a bit of the hyperbole of the absurd. Surely you wouldn’t arrest us and put us in the cells overnight because of an act of kindness. That’s absurd. Right? In what world would that make sense?

    But in our world today it’s less an absurd notion than maybe we’d like to think; when public figures are deriding kindness and empathy as the curse and ruination of Western Civilization. “I can’t stand the word empathy” said one such figure. “I think empathy is a made up, new-age term that does a lot of damage.” (Charlie Kirk)

    Kindness will not be tolerated in much of the world these days – especially in places where it is needed most. Consider the fact that over 400 humanitarian workers have been killed in Gaza since the outbreak of that war – that genocide. Doctors and rescue workers have been targeted by snipers and bombed by airstrikes, even when they’ve been traveling in clearly marked ambulances or UN vehicles. Food and medical supplies are denied to the population within the war zone. Kindness will not be tolerated there.

    So, no. It’s no longer the hyperbole of the absurd to ask if we’re being arrested for an act of kindness.

    Perhaps Peter and John were arrested for a difference of theological doctrine?

    To understand here we need to recognize that there were a number of divisions within the Judaism of that day (as there are today, and as there are divisions within Christianity as well). There were the Pharisees -with whom Jesus and his followers frequently clashed (and with whom Jesus and his followers actually shared many similarities) and there were the Sadducees – who were generally from the aristocratic class. There were also the Essenes and later, the Zealots, and other shades and varieties. The faith was not monolithic.

    The Sadducees believed only the five books of Moses to be morally authoritative scripture while the Pharisees gave equal weight to the psalms and the prophets. The Sadducees disbelieved in angels and spiritual beings; the Pharisees saw them everywhere. But the big difference between the Pharisees and the Sadducees was on the doctrine of the resurrection. The Pharisees believed in the resurrection of the dead, while the Sadducees dismissed it as a relatively new theological innovation.

    Were Peter and John arrested because of their proclamation of the promise of resurrection in the person of Jesus of Nazareth? It’s very likely that it figured into the Sadducees decision to have them arrested. They may not have liked the proclamation of a doctrine they considered repugnant, but the Sadducees were typically tolerant of the other branches of Judaism.

    Peter and John were warned off from making further public disturbances – though the author of Acts records no real disturbance here. There were no shouting crowds. No mobs. No violence. If the Sadducees were worried about pushback from the Roman imperialist forces – which was a valid political concern in those troubled days – there doesn’t seem to be any reason for that concern here. If there was a disturbance or an uproar, it was of the Sadducees’ own making.

    What reason? What charges? Pfffft.

    We do not seek trouble. We do not seek conflict. But when mercy is done in the name of Jesus, and when Jesus is proclaimed as risen Lord, trouble may come looking for the church. When acts of mercy and kindness are viewed as dangerous and even criminal, the Church will be in trouble.

    We are not looking for trouble – but we will do the good works. We will act with kindness and charity. We will give of ourselves to others. We will live with empathy for those in need.

    We are not looking for trouble – but we will speak the truth of our convictions – sharing the inclusive love and redemptive life of the risen Christ Jesus with those around us. We will show the world the love of Christ for one and all.

    We are not looking for trouble – but this will probably cause a disturbance.

For a different - comedic - take on this same story: Allegedly

Dear Johnny Pentecost

 

    Dear Johnny Pentecost,

    I am a dedicated rapture watcher for many years now, patiently waiting for the flashes of light that will signal war and the next war and the next rumor of war. I’ve been waiting all summer for the next unannounced system failure – halt and catch fire. Should we soon be hearing the drums and drones of war.

    And what of the coming revival? An illegal sequence before the rapture, no?

    Signed - Anxious in Anticipation

    Dear Anxious,

    Your patience will soon be rewarded. Self-proclaimed prophets will come with unintended instructions, but do not despair. Keep an eye on the skies and keep to the program.

    ***

    Dear Johnny Pentecost,

    I am at my end of my rope. My mother-in-law does not regard the Biblical roles assigned to her. She is not a buzzing, but a roll of thunder in my soul. She opens my mail, personal letters, bills, and account statements alike. She has accused me of adultery fifty times if she has done it once. I have reminded her of her place, but she insists and will not submit. And in all of this, my wife says nothing. Please help.

    Signed – Bitter not Better

    Dear Bitter

    Disrespect begins in the head before it moves into the body. But in this case it has gone beyond and has given birth to the contempt of the unbeliever. It may already be too late for her or for you. You must take her by the arm and afterward by the shoulder and shake once or twice (but not more than thrice.) This will be her correction. In the end, unbelievers like her will receive the necessary correction and discipline. Till then you must instruct her in such things as are true, noble, just, pure, lovely and good report. Do not let her speak.

    ***

    Dear Johnny Pentecost,

    My aunt says that Minneapolis is preparing the way for the Antichrist. Is she wrong or is she just crazy?

    Signed – Confused in Saint Paul

    Dear Confused,

    Your aunt may be closer to the truth than you realize. Minnesota, the land of ten thousand lakes and taxes is a leftist, liberal, communist haven and Minneapolis is Moscow on the Mississippi. Minneapolis’ open embrace of the LGBTQI alphabet army is suggestive prophetically.

    In Daniel we read that “he will show no regard for the gods of his fathers or for the desire of women…” Meaning the Antichrist will not only reject his Christian heritage, he will refuse to submit to a Biblical understanding of sexuality.

    It is not prudent to take Biblical instruction from any woman, even a woman as wise and intelligent as your aunt however, in this case she may not be wrong.

The Pentecost Machine

from Doctor Luke’s Personal Notes (Ananias and Sapphira)

    Though I was not present to witness the deaths of Ananias (“Yahweh is gracious”) or Sapphira (“Beautiful”) and neither did I perform an autopsy on their bodies following, I have been asked by members of the community to address as a doctor and member of the Royal College of Surgeons the peculiarities of their sudden demise and to, if possible, describe the cause (other than the supernatural obvious). The community wants to retain a record of these events, as discreditable as it may be, so that Ananias and Sapphira and their legacy will not be forgotten.

    Ananias: 42-year-old, male with no previous history of heart disease or cardiovascular difficulties and his wife, Sapphira: 30-year-old female with sparkling blue eyes and a clean health history were both suddenly and inexplicably struck dead on the same day, within a few hours of each other.

    The couple had voluntarily sold a piece of property and brought the cash to the apostles as part of the voluntary communalism being put into practice by the Followers of the Way. Ananias reportedly told Peter that the amount he brought in was the full amount of the sale. But when challenged on this, Ananias began to sweat profusely. The apostle Peter described this as a lie not to men, but a lie to the Holy Spirit and asked him, “Wasn’t the property yours to use as you wished? And once sold, wasn’t the money yours to give as you desired? What put this scheme into your head? Your philargyry will not save you. Keep your money. Keep your mammon. Keep your mummery.”

    And with that Ananias fell down dead; he ‘breathed out his soul,’ as one witness described it. A group of young men wrapped the body in a sheet and took it out for burial.

    A few hours later Sapphira came too and was challenged in the same way by Peter. “Listen! You can hear the footsteps of the men who just finished burying your husband returning. They’ll carry you out next.” Immediately she fell down dead like her husband. The group of young men who had just buried her husband, wrapped her in a sheet and buried her body next to that of her husband.

    There are a variety of physical conditions that could have resulted in this sort of sudden death. The sudden onset of excessive sweating could be indicative of a Heart Attack. This “cold sweat” would probably have been accompanied by other symptoms including chest pains and a racing or skipping heartbeat. If their deaths were caused by a Stroke they would have felt a numbness or a prickling sensation in various parts of their body, along with a headache and blurred vision. This is not an uncommon occurrence; deaths caused by strokes are fairly common. Emperor Valentinian died as the result of a stroke precipitated by yelling angrily at a group of foreign envoys. I might have suspected a Pulmonary Embolism but there is no indication that either of them were coughing or that they experienced a bloody or frothy mucus with the coughing. Shigellosis (a bacterial intestinal infection) might be considered except there was not an accompanying diarrhea, fever, abdominal pain, or bloody stool. Neither does an Aortic Rupture seem likely as this would have been accompanied by a sudden loss of blood pressure and a blue tinge to the skin. It may have been a case of Exhaustion as the result of diseased blood vessels in the lungs – but this seems unlikely. There was no trace of either Strychnine, or Prussic Acid, or Opium.

    More exotic diagnoses have been suggested including: Being Struck by Lightning – I read an article in one of the Latin medical journals about an entire football team from The Democratic Republic of the Congo that was simultaneously killed by a bolt of lightning. The old adage, “Lightning never strikes the same place twice” is veritably untrue. It is possible that the couple in question were both killed in the same place by separate lightning strikes. This is strange, but not outside of the realm of fortean possibilities. Or they could have been killed by other articles falling from the sky. A villager in Sulaymaniyah, Iraq was killed by a falling Meteorite, and the Greek playwright Aeschylus was killed by Tortoise dropped by an eagle flying overhead which mistook the author’s bald head for a stone on which to drop and break the tortoise’s shell. It’s true that none of the witnesses mention lightening, meteorites, or tortoises, but these possibilities cannot be completely discounted.

    My sometimes traveling companion, Paul, has often suggested that members of the church who violate the standards and expectations of the community should be Turned Over to Satan for the “destruction of the flesh.” I am not sure what he means by that but it sounds like death to me.

    Psychosomatic or Psychogenic Death (sometimes referred to as “Voodoo Death,” is a parasympathetic backlash of the mind against the strong emotions of fear and terror that is powerful enough to shut down the body. It is possible that the couple were, quite literally, scared to death.

    A skillful physician could, from the color and cast of the skin, make an inferential diagnosis of an illness, but it is impossible at this far removal in both space and time to make any authoritative diagnosis, but it would seem that something incredible and fearful happened here. More than that I would not hazard to say.

Allegedly

What follows is a transcript of the emergency meeting of the Jerusalem Sanhedrin, Tammuz 15, in the Year of the Consulship of Ocella and Sulla, otherwise counted as 786 Ab Urbe Condita¹ from a recording made on an Uher 5000 reel to reel tape recorder.² Those present were the rulers, elders, scribes in the presence of Annas, the High Priest as well as Jonathan, his son, and Alexander Unknown - all members of high priestly families and respectable men.

Elder 1: (Speaking to the detainees – by name Peter and John, and including the formerly crippled man) By what power and what name have you done this?

Peter: Rulers of th…

Elder 2: I’m sorry to interrupt…

Elder 1: Yes? Yes?

Elder 2: But what is the question under discussion here this morning?

Elder 1: What?

Elder 2: Is it the question of the healing of the crippled man…

Scribe 1: Alleged healing…

Elder 2: Yes. Alleged healing. Or is it the question of their heretical doctrine, namely the resurrection of the dead?

Scribe 2: Alleged resurrection.

Elder 2: Yes. Alleged Resurrection.

Elder 1: What?

Peter: Rulers of th…

Elder 1: The detainee will keep silent until he has been addressed. Now, what is the question?

Elder 2: Exactly.

Elder 1: What?

Elder 2: What is the question to be addressed here this morning? Is it the healing… alleged healing, or is the question of the questionable doctrine of the alleged resurrection?

Elder 1: What does it matter? We’re not here for questions; we’re here for answers. Now (to the detainees again) Why haven’t you answered my question?

Peter: Rulers of th…

Scribe 2: Could we have the question repeated for the record?

Scribe 1: I believe it was, “By what power and what name have you done this?”

Elder 1: Yes. Yes. That was it. By what power and by what name? And we are still waiting for an answer.

Peter: Rulers of th…

Scribe 2: Could you speak up? So we can hear your words and record your answer.

Elder 2: Yes. Do speak up.

Peter: Rulers of the people and elders! If you are questioning us about an act of kindness…

Scribe 1: Alleged act of kindness.

Peter: If you are questioning us about an act of kindness to a crippled old man, if you’re asking us how he was healed, then you all should know, that it was in the name and authority of Jesus of Nazareth – whom you crucified …

Scribe 2: Allegedly

Peter: …. and whom God raised from the dead, that this man stands on his own two feet before you today. Of all the given names in this world given to men, there is none other by which we can be saved.

The detainees were excused for the moment, sent back to the holding cells still bearing their fetters.

Elder 1: Your excellencies, what are we to do with these men? They are uneducated to be sure, but they are aweless and unafraid.

Ruler 1: Perhaps it is because they are uneducated that they are so audacious; they have not learned the proper respect for our position, or for theirs.

Elder 1: That may be so. We know them to be associates of the criminal Jesus, who was, like them, untrained and uncredentialed.

Elder 2: However that may be, the man has been healed.

Scribe 2: Allegedly.

Elder 2: Oh, lay off. We all know he was. We’ve all seen him in the court of beggars. We’ve seen him lying there for years. And now we’ve seen him standing in front of our eyes. And what is more, it’s obvious to everyone in the city that he’s been healed. These men are exciting the casual inhabitants of the city – the dockworkers, porters, hawkers, costermongers and the like. If we don’t silence them now, then all the bookbinders, clock-winders, and tailors in the city will be talking about this miracle.

Scribe 2: Alleged miracle.

Elder 2: Shut it, you old fool! You just saw him yourself.

Annas: Gentlemen, please. We are losing ourselves here.

Jonathan: Yes, father. You are quite right. Quite right.

Annas: What we want is stop this report from spreading any further.

Elder 2: And again, I am sorry, my lord, but which report is that?

Annas: What?

Elder 2: Are we trying to stop the report of the healing or the report of Jesus’ resurrection.

Scribe 2: Alleged resurrection.

Annas: Oh, for heaven’s sake. Call the detainees back in and warn them in the sternest terms possible not to speak of this or in this name to anyone ever again.

Jonathan: Yes, father. You are quite right. Again, quite right.

The detainees were called in before the members of the Sanhedrin once more and their shackles were removed from their wrists and ankles.

Elder 1: Gentlemen, you are hereby and forthwith ordered to stop all promulgation and proclamation in, of, about, or concerning the name of one Jesus of Nazareth, who was recently hung upon the executioner’s tree in this very city. You will, pursuant to the orders given by this governing body as incorporated under the authority of the emperor in Rome, Tiberius Caesar Augustus, cease and desist from all reckless speech and discourse, both here in the city of Jerusalem, and in the land of Israel and all her territories.

Elder 2: Now, what say you?

Peter: You are the judges, and you will judge what is right and proper. But we have seen what we have seen, and we know what we know. Is it right and proper for us to listen and to obey you, or to obey the voice of our Lord God?

John: We cannot and will not stop proclaiming what we know to be true.

Elder 1: I warn you again, I warn you most sternly: say no more to anyone about this or you will not fail to face the consequences. The next scream you hear may be your own.

John: And what, good sire, would those consequences be? What punishment is proper for the healing of cripples and restoring them to health?

Elder 1: …

Scribe 1: (Whispering) My lord, we have no chastisement we can give for this. I’m not even sure, my lord, if this can be described as a criminal action.

Elder: (to the detainees) Depart. And go with this warning.

The detainees, including the formerly crippled man, were escorted from the building.

Scribe 1: My lord, I forgot to ask earlier, but it’s important for the records: how old was the man who has been miraculously cured?

Scribe 2: Allegedly cured…

1July 2, 33CE 

2By a strange twist of asynchronicity it was the exact same Uher 5000 reel to reel tape recorder used by President Richard Milhous Nixon as part of his White House taping system. It slipped through time and space and wound up in the possession of the High Priest. It's presence in first century Jerusalem remains unexplained.

If and Even If – Some Random Arguments

    Here I am, just cleaning out the mental junk drawer. 

    If, as the King James Only crowd will argue, the words of God are pure and uncorrupted, pure words, as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times and God has kept them, preserved them from this generation forever (Psalm 12: 6-7), then why was the King James translation necessary? Shouldn’t the Tyndale translation, which preceded the KJV, have been sufficient? Or if the Tyndale was corrupted, shouldn’t the Latin Vulgate translation have been preserved uncorrupted? Or again, why did the Jews in Alexandria in the 3^rd and 2^nd centuries BCE feel the need translate the scriptures into Greek? Shouldn’t the Hebrew originals have been preserved uncorrupted?

    And never mind the fact that the KJV translators themselves rejected the idea that their work was perfect. They explicitly denied it in 1611 in their preface to the completed work.

    Even if we were to accept the historicity of Noah’s ark and the worldwide flood (and that’s a big if…), God’s promise to never again flood the earth (Genesis 9:11) cannot be used as an argument against global warming. God may have promised not to flood the world, but that is not the same as a guarantee of protection from our own climate-changing acts of self-destruction. God’s covenant of mercy does not absolve us of our ecological stewardship.

The Hidden Ranks - A Darling and Mio story

    Darling, traveled under her nom de guerre, wearing the occasional disguise – wigs and glasses. Lifted shoes and invented limps. She was both investigating and investigated. Though not yet defenestrated, the threat was always there. Persistent pursuit. It was adrenaline action without rush. Always professional. Always the cause.

    She carried memos where digital traffic was routinely intercepted. Whispered secrets where phone calls could be overheard. Passed notes in the back of class, backstage, and dead drops out front. They’d given her an implanted electrolarynx to disguise her voice and quiet thumbnail cameras. They’d given her passwords and encryption authentications. But she could not do it alone.

    Milo too, serving in an army without a gun, within the hidden ranks. Constantly pushing back with ink and film and precision knives against despotic force. Unlawful, maybe. But they would not be brought under the power. They would not be enslaved by chaos or corruption. They would not be held in bondage by fascist atrocities or soldiers in the church.

    There were cops on the street and in the air to maintain the deregulated status quo – twenty-four seven drone surveillance. Masked blacked out forces operating with impunity. Between the streetlights, between the taboo, the dangerous, the risky and the public square. Everywhere. There were dead friends too. Murdered and long dead men and women with names unspoken unlisted, dirtied with painful memories. Teenage boys stabbed in jail. Women beaten to death by sidewalk police. Broken down, despised and ostracized by political forces forever beyond their reach.

    But not without a fight. They’d sworn true faith and allegiance to justice, and to love if not to law.

    She saw reflections in the mirror, in the pupils of strangers’ eyes. Reflections in late-night television. The weight and cruelty of the everwatching eye. Flickering screens and shifting positions. Emotion laid low, beneath layers of self-control. Passion suspect beneath purpose.

    House and home. Children. What could not be protected had to be put aside. He had plans. She had opportunities. None of it mattered. Their marriage now, their only safeguard. They’d sacrificed everything but one another.

The Darling and Milo stories: 
1 - Everything’s Back to Normal
2 - One Life and One More
3 - Milo Remembers
4 - Milo Wonders