Williams Niall - John

And after, some believed because Lazarus was again in life. And others went to the Pharisees, and the chief priests gathered the Sanhedrin to ask, 'What do we? For this man does many miracles. If we let him thus alone, all men will believe in him and the Romans will come and take away both our place and our nation.'

And from that day they planned to put you to death.

We went from there after into the wilderness. And to the city called Ephraim. It was the time near Passover. And many asked if you would come up to Jerusalem for the feast.

The high priests had issued commandment that if any knew where you were, they must show. That they might come and take you.

So there was no more the peace as was before Lazarus.

All was changed. For this I wept. To accept what must be.

The time that was coming. The time was coming when you would be gone.

The end begun.

There is the sound of trumpets. Shrill blasts flourish above the noise of the crowd. And again they sound. Do they come out of the dazzling sunlight, out of the white heat above? Does the sky open its folds to revelation? There flows a wave of murmur then hush as the trumpeting approaches. Three notes, then three more herald arrival. The fanfare makes stop the square entire. It comes not from the sky but the eastern corner, and there is a parting of people then as first a tall insignia is borne forward. It is a symbol O, a great silvered circle on a high pole, carried by one with shaven head and garment of pale blue. Behind him come a pair likewise attired and bareheaded carrying placards aloft on which are written 'The Divine' and 'The One.' Following these are the trumpeters. They blast again, make clear of birds the upper ledges. Into the brilliance of the light, with a manner no different from the approach of a Roman column, come more of these figures, beardless, head erect, in palest blue. Their clothing uniform, their identities are masked at first. They come in file with fixed expression. There are a dozen of them, then more. The crowds part for them as they cut across the square to its centre. The trumpets ring out. Men, women, children push forward to see what is arrived amongst them.

There are further banners, insignia obscure painted in red, then two figures bearing drums. Behind these comes Diotrophes, august, chin-tight, upon his chest a silver O. Then other drummers follow. At what signal is unclear, but now they quicken the beat. Hands flash and the sound thunders. The trumpeters enjoin in a music of urgent annunciation. All the crowds in the square are arrested, all other claims made deaf. Then enters, at last, Matthias.

The blue-robed disciples in front have formed a large O in the square. It is into its centre Matthias now walks. He, too, has shaven head and eyebrows, is moon-faced serene, seems not to see those who press forward to see him. The tempo of the drumbeat quickens to match his ingress, stops to silence when he stands in mid-circle.

It is high theatre, and the crowd responds. From other holy men, teachers, those who were listening move away to catch this instead.

'Children of God,' Matthias shouts, 'bow your heads!'

And as one the entire circle of disciples about him does. Some in the crowd do likewise, momentarily unsure if something blinding is about to descend. Soon enough they are eye-cocked back, peering in at the performance.

'Children of God, bow your heads and give thanks. We are come to bring you the good news. The good news of the One. Who made you. Whose children you are. The One from whom all goodness flows.' Matthias raises his hands skywards, and as the sleeves of the robe fall back, the arms and fingers are whiter than flesh, as if he has reached previously into immaculate light. He calls out, 'O Divine, who has chosen me for thy message, give me power to bring it to these your children!'

He shuts his eyes, lowers his head to his chest, then, as though the power he asks is granted, he raises it quickly and proclaims, 'The Divine One is the Father. We are all his children. This is the message he instructs me to bring to you.' Matthias turns his eyes about him — one blind, one seeing — discovers the Apostle and his disciples not far distant by the steps. 'Do not believe you are sinners. Why should you be called sinners? The children of the Divine are not sinners. Would God make sinners? Would the Creator make imperfect children? If so, then he would not be the One who made heaven and earth, who made all things, and gave to all things a perfect soul. No, heed not those who speak to you of sin. Heed not talk of imperfection. You who hear my word are children of the One and can through following the Father's ways return at death to his side. This he has told me. This is the truth and the way. We are things of light. We are the essence he created. Be not afraid of your own perfection. Your own light. Come and follow us. This way is heaven. The Divine has said. Has come to me even on an island, where I prayed for him to enlighten me, to show me what was truth. He brought me light and power, power to heal, to bring to him the elect, those of his children who will sit at the front rank in heaven.

'Children of God,' Matthias cries, 'we are made for his glory. Come and follow. Heed not those who preach to you of men, of the Baptist, of Lazarus, of Jesus; these are but lesser teachers, prophets, yea even holy men, whose message was misunderstood and is now proclaimed for advantage by the unscrupulous. follow not them. They are dealers in mistruth. Darkness apt awaits them.'

'You lie!'

The voice of dissent is heard in Matthias's pause for breath.

Papias has left the others and come closer without meaning to. He has been drawn by a potent conflux of anger, fascination, and shame. He knows he should walk away. He knows the Apostle will not wish him to speak out, but the words are from him before he can stop them. Heads in the crowd turn his way.

'Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, is the Son of God,' he shouts. 'You are Matthias, one of us, who lived among us on the island of Patmos, who believed in our Lord Jesus Christ.'

Matthias's eye finds him, the familiar head between the shoulders of the others.

'Behold one whom I brought back from death!' he cries out. 'Was it not so?' He turns to the circle, wherein now Papias sees Auster, Linus, Baltsaros, Phineas.

Cadmus steps forward. 'I was witness to this miracle,' he says.

'And I,' calls Auster.

'I, too!'

The voices chorus, and the crowd murmurs their approval. 'From death,' one says. 'Verily, a miracle,' another calls.

'You are Papias the Ingrate,' Matthias says, 'who lives in darkness. Who comes to block the way to light. A follower of Jesus, a man who you call God. No man is God. Am I God? No. Are any of you? Who here is man and God? Raise your hand, step forth.'

The crowd cowers, shakes its head.

'Jesus was come from God,' Papias shouts, 'was the Son of God! He came down from heaven.'

'Indeed? Came down how? In a golden chariot? With phalanx of angels? Where came down? In Ephesus? In Rome? In what great city? And God had one son only? Why one only? Why not many? Surely if God could have one son, he could have many, being almighty? Only one son, truly? And God's son, what, was a lowly carpenter? Was not even a good carpenter! Have you God's chairs and tables?'

There is soft laughter. There is mild concord. How outlandish this young objector, Papias the Ingrate, seems. The mind of the crowd like a tide is turned against him.

'No, you twist the words,' Papias shouts.

'It is blasphemy to call Jesus the only Son of God!' Matthias roars out. 'It is outrage against the true Divine! You will be damned to perpetual darkness for it!'

'No, no, you are the. .'

The hand of Danil grasps Papias back. Further words die in the young disciple's throat. He looks into the face of the other, anguished. But Danil says nothing, only beckons backwards his head. When Papias doesn't move, Danil reaches and draws him by the hand. They move back through the crowd while Matthias speaks on, his voice swollen with triumph. 'Light will come to light, and darkness be expelled,' he calls. 'All who are of light, who would be children of the Divine, come to us. We will show you the way.'