Untimely Visitor

by J.M.Mac Leod

Perhaps if I write it down while it is still fresh in my mind, it'll begin to make sense. I've never been so challenged or confounded, or so benefitted as when-- No, I doubt I'll ever understand it any better. But, at least if I write it down I'll have a record of these unnerving events that I can refer to in time to come, if for nothing else, to keep straight the order of incidents.

It was snowing, not an accumulating snow-- more a nuisance snow, that night walking home from my evening class on 'Integrating Old Testament Prophets with Twentieth Century Literature'. The wet weather helped dampen the dusty haze on my mind caused by the dreary lecture. Alice had winked at me half-way through class, mouthing "Do we need this?" Alice is a trip! A good friend, but-- that's all.

Any way, I first saw him from two blocks away. I mistook him for one of the myriad of homeless derelicts that proliferate during hard times. He was acting drunk, or drugged, slowly circling, staring up at the street light, clothed in what could easily be mistaken for bed clothes with only sandals on his feet. It was his unwintry attire that drew me in for a closer inspection. He obviously didn't belong to the street, but was out of his element. He was exhibiting classic psychotic behavior patterns according to my sketchy recall of Psych. 101. This man needed help, and I, as a Pastor in training was obligated.

Stopping within twenty feet to observe and consider the best course of remedy, I tried to remember if his symptoms were associated with mere anti-social or hostile behavior. He glanced momentarily at me, but immediately resumed his investigation of the lightpole with the intense scrutiny of an aborigine finding a working escalator in the outback. He rapped his knuckles on the hollow metal, pressed his fingers to the molded edges, always looking up at the light as if ascertaining what effect, if any, his taps had had on the illumination.

"Aren't you cold?" I ventured, trying to engage him in conversation without triggering a major reaction.

He paused and observed me as if for the first time. "I'm sorry, did you address me?"

Surprised at the lucid response, I replied, "Uhh, yes. I asked if you weren't cold." Best to keep to simple subjects, for all I knew, psychotics could be lucid and deranged at the same time.

"Cold. Yes, now that you mention it, I am cold. Quite cold."

"If you care to come with me, I'll get you some warm clothing." What had I said? Had I gone mad as well? Nobody-- not even Pastors in training-- invited full fledged lunatics home with them!

"That is very gracious of you. I believe I will accept your offer."

Could this really be happening to me? Now I was obligated. If I didn't follow through, he might become enraged. Roughly my size, though at least twenty years older, his body was lean, but wiry. His balding pate gave him a harmless enough appearance, but I'd heard about the supernatural strength psychotics could summon, so I decided to humor him, especialy since the two of us were alone on the street at that hour. It was unlikely any of my dorm-mates would be back from Christmas break yet either, since no other profs were holding classes yet. Only good old Prof. Smidley had the angst to make sure our education wasn't short-changed and held class the day after New Year's. Naturally, I was the only one in my dorm taking his class.

I started to walk away, hoping he'd forget about me and resume his reverie of the light pole, but he didn't. He fell into step beside me and asked "Are they molded from iron? And how is it that they can glow so brightly without flickering?"

"What? The street lights?"

"Street lights," he intoned as if he'd never heard the words used in conjunction before. "And are these 'street lights' used on all roads and streets?"

"Umm, yes, pretty much so." My answer seemed to disturb him. "Well, mostly in the cities," I qualified.

"Cities? Do you mean there are more than one?"

"Well, yes, of course! Every nation has many cities, and most of them--"

"Nations!" he stopped abruptly and stroked his chin-line beard. "Then... I'm not... This is still the world?"

I wasn't sure how to answer.

Grabbing the lapel of my ski jacket, he demanded "Tell me, is this still the world? Am I still in life?"

"Yes, this is the world, and you are still alive!" I blurted, bracing for the attack.

But he released his grip and mused, "Well, that at least explains why I feel cold."

"Yes, I suppose that would," I humored, wondering what delusions he must have been having.

"Well come along then, man, lets be going. I could get frostbite in this weather. If you have some warm, dry clothes to give to me, hadn't you better get on with it?"

"Uh, sure, of course. This way." I started off again, and as before, he fell into step.

After a short way he asked, "They are molded from iron then?"

I looked blankly at him.

"The street lights," he answered my quizzical look.

Ahh, understanding dawned. Psychotics often develop obsessions. Apparently, his was street lights. "Yes, they are manufactured in mills I guess."

"And how do they put the glow at the top?"

Was he kidding? The earnest look n his eyes said he wasn't, nor did they reveal dementia. I shifted into a higher state of alert; something weird was going on. I decided to give him answer that any second grader could grasp. "Wires carry the electrical current to the light bulb, making it glow."

It was his turn to stare blankly.

"You don't understand, do you?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Your use of unfamiliar words has me quite at a loss."

"Which words?"

"'Wires', is one, 'ekklekial(?)' is another."

"Electrical?"

"That's it. Elec--"

"Trical."

"Elec--trical. What does it mean?"

"Surely you know about electricity! Even Third World nations use electricty, after all, this is Nineteen-Ninety."

I might as well have slapped him, for his reaction was no less profound. "As in the year Nineteen-Ninety?"

"That's right. In ten years, it will be the year Two-Thousand."

"Two Thous---!" He paused in mid-stride and closed his eyes for a moment. Then opening his eyes, he looked directly at me and repeated, "Two Thousand! The year Two-Thousand! Still here after Two-Thousand years! You have so much to learn from me, and so little time to learn it in."

It was my turn to act slapped.

"Come, come man, don't look so dumbfounded," he urged, tugging my sleeve to get me walking again. "Don't be afraid, I understand now. At least as to my being here."

I was glad one of us did. I was beginning to wonder just who was leading whom.

"Do you still use names? I ask, because you haven't asked mine, which would be customary thing to do upon first meeting someone er, from where I come."

"Names?" I stupidly parroted, caught off-guard by the sudden swing of the conversation to the normal and mundane.

"Names, that by which we are known to others. Of course, if you are all numbered instead...."

"Yes, I know what names are! I'm Michael, but everyone calls me Mikey, because I resemble the kid on the cereal box."

He had that uncomprehending look again, but asked, "Do you not use your names very much?"

"We use them all the time. Uh, look, I was caught off guard for a moment."

"Michael, er Mikey, be honest with me, are you slow witted?"

"Am I slow witted?"

"I mean if you are,that's allright, I understand. But, if you are, I'm not so sure that you are the one I must needs instruct."

"Must needs instruct! You don't even know what electricity is, and you 'must needs instruct' me?"

"That is correct."

"Just who do you think you are?" His quiet demeanor and insinuations were beginning to bug me.

"In your familiar terms, I suppose I would be called 'Pauly.'"

"Pauly?"

"Yes, and I am from... but maybe you've never heard of my nation."

"Look Pauly, I don't know who or what you are, or where you're from, but I'm the one who saw you acting bizarre on the street, and thought I could help you. Your condescending attitude is making me lose my patience with your faraway looks and obtuse behavior. If either of us 'must needs be instructed' it isn't likely to be me!"

"Oh, but it is you, Brother Mikey. I have arrived here for your sake, coming by most unusual paths, to help you warn your generation of the great danger it faces, for it seems you have all fallen asleep."

"All right! This has gone far enough! Who put you up to this? Alice? Did Tim and Phil come back early just to pull pranks on me?" I turned and shouted to the empty street "You can come out now, I'm on to you. Come on, you've had your fun."

"I assure you Brother Mikey, I am involved in no prank on you. Indeed, that was my first thought too, upon first encountering your marvelous street lights. I thought I had gone home, but if so, it was far different from what I'd been led to expect. Yet I had no other explanation. When you found me, I was trying to expose the trickery by which the lamp stayed lit."

"Who are you?"

"As I said earlier, I am called Paul, and am an apostle of our Lord Jesus Christ, recently come from Antioch."

My hand went automatically to my forehead as I remonstrated with myself for questioning my original diagnosis. Delusions of Grandeur could now be added, which, I supposed, meant he had a touch of schizophrenia as well. Continue humoring him. "Oh well, that explains it all then, doesn't it? So you're the apostle Paul! How do you do? I've always wanted to meet you."

"You have? You know of me?"

"Know of you! The man who wrote so much of the New Testament? Who wouldn't want to meet you?" I didn't know if I wasn't helping or hindering the poor man, but at the moment, it was the best I could do.

"Oh, but, that is not good. Why should anyone beyond my own time care to know me? It is Him you must know, not me!" He truly seemed grieved that his assumed personality had achieved some notoriety. That was odd, for everything I knew about personality identification disorders dictated that such individuals gloried in the achievements of their borrowed character. This man had really figured out Paul's character: self-effacement that Christ might be glorified.

But, I thought I still might catch him off guard so as to learn his true identity and then notify his family who must have been quite concerned that 'Uncle Ned' or 'Cousin Harry' was not in his padded room. The man evidenced breeding and culture despite his activities of late, and was obviously intelligent: all indicative that he must be loved and missed by someone. "Here we are, Paul, this is my dorm. My roommate, Phillip, is away home with his family, so we're here alone." Now, why had I said that? Of all the dumb things to tell active psychotics, that had to be at the top of the list!

"Ooooh! It's so warm! But, where is your fire? Keeping such a large building so warm must use considerable wood."

I smiled. He was consistant, down to minutiae that most people would take for granted. Take for instance his interest in the action of the doorknob. Only an exquisite actor, or a man who truly believed his delusion could pull off such rapt fascination.

"Yes, well, the building is heated by the same source that keeps the street lights lit."

"Indeed! What a wondrous age this must be?"

"It is that!" I shut the door and ushered him up the stairs to my room. Phillip Osgood and I lived a Spartan existence as we studied in our final year of preparation for the ministry. We had decided on no radio, TV, or stereo, so we could concentrate undistractedly on our studies. Our denomination had no strict rules regarding those forms of entertainment, but Phil and I had dedicated ourselves to the pursuit of excellence which required as few distractions as possible, hence Alice MacAdams being just a friend. Two beds, two desks with chairs, two bureaus, and a mutual bookshelf comprised all our furnishings besides Phil's floor lamp and my desk lamp. Paul, upon entering, approached our sparse accomodations with all the eager anticipation of a child at Christmas. He fiddled with the pull chain on the floor lamp, pulling it on and off, copying my action upon entering the room. He caught me amusedly watching him and evidenced self-conscious feelings, but asked if he might continue to investigate. I gave him permission, pulling a sweatshirt and jeans out of my drawer to give him. He was so authentic, asking carefully about the zipper and how to pull them on. It all had him intrigued.

"Paul," I asked as I went to the bathroom to prepare my shower, interrupting his study of the sweep of the second hand on my alarm clock, "before you became who you are, weren't you somebody else, with a family and friends, and place to live, and a job?"

He looked up at me quizzically, then said simply "Yes."

Ah-hah! I was getting somewhere. Maybe I should shift my major. "And who might you have been before you became the apostle Paul?"

" I was Saul, a tentmaker of Tarsus." He picked up Phil's digital alarm and asked, "This isn't Arabia is it?"

I fell into that one! Forget shifting my major. "This is America. Why do you ask?"

"These numerals have a decidely Arabian style to them. I suppose it too works on the same principle as the street lights and building heat?"

He didn't miss a trick. I'd heard that mental illness was just a snap away from genius, now I could see why. I turned on the shower and regulated the water temperature. The hiss of the steaming water caught his attention and he came to investigate. Wide-eyed he stared at the shower stall, sink, toilet and mirror. It was only then,in the improved lighting, that I noticed the huge bruise on the right side of his head. "Paul, you've been injured. Were you mugged? Do you have other injuries?"

"Oh, they're slight, nothing serious."

"Well, this could be serious," I said, gingerly touching his swollen temple. "I should call for an ambulance to get your skull X-rayed. Who did this, muggers?" Perhaps this severe bump was the source of his disorientation.

"What are muggers?"

"Hooligans, roughnecks. People who beat you up and steal your money."

"Ah, Sons of Belial! Yes, I suppose you could say they were muggers. We had just---"

"We! Someone was with you?" Perhaps his companion was still laying in an alley somewhere, bleeding, in danger of losing his life. "Think carefully, Paul. Where were you, and who was with you?"

"Barnabus, er I suppose in your familiarity, Barnaby, was with me. They left him alone and were intent on stoning just me. When I saw this one coming," he indicated his swollen temple, "I thought I was surely going home. Indeed, that is the last thing I remember from my own time. When I opened my eyes, I saw the glow of your street lights and was surprised at how different heaven was from what I'd expected."

Had the mugging triggered the delusion or had the delusion altered his perception of the mugging? "Let me call an ambulance so you can be properly examined. I'm sure your family has coverage. They must be worried sick about you, and the hospital can contact them and let them know you are in good hands."

"I have no family other than the brothers and sisters of the Lord. Nor do I care to go anywhere else. You have brought me to your abode, and here is where I'll stay until my task is done, which is the command of our Lord. You have shown yourself worthy by taking me in, and will receive your reward."

This guy was good! Probably a minister who'd had a rough time of it and went over the edge. He knew the precepts of the First Century Church to a tee. I doubted he was dangerous, at least to me. In fact, his whole demeanor was gentle and harmless. Yet, there was a quiet air of authority about him.

"I've heard of heated baths in Rome and Laodicea like this, with hot water flowing from the spouts. May I?"

"Of course. I'll leave you in privacy. The towels are in that little closet there." I closed the door behind me and went through the room out to the hallway to the pay phone opposite my door. I dialed the posted police number and a sleepy-sounding sergant took my information, promising to get back to me after checking the city's mental wards for missing patients. Re-entering my room, I saw my Bible saying open on my desk where I had left it that morning, still open to Acts 14. I began reading. Verse nineteen especially arrested my attention. I sat down and rubbed eyes. This was too weird! I should never have watched 'Twilight Zone' as a kid. Was I beginning to think about accepting the unacceptable? Paul was too lucid to be insane, too authentic to be an actor, yet the alternative to those choices was unthinkable. Maybe I was the ministerial student going over the edge!

The bathroom door opened and Paul emerged, dressed in my jeans and sweatshirt, smiling and apologizing, "I'm sorry, but I don't know how to stop the flow."

"That's allright. I'll jump right in. You just relax. You can rest on that bed. Phillip won't mind." As I turned to go into the bathroom, scenes from 'Psycho' rose unbidden to my mind. This would have to be one of the quickest showers of my life.

Several seconds later, emerging from the bathroom, I saw Paul seated at Phil's desk, looking out the window. In the distance the highway was visible with its usual hustle of traffic.

"How is it those torches are able to run so fast over there?"

"Enough is enough. You must know what cars are? You've ridden in them, probably even driven them. You surely remember cars?" The 'Straight-Forward Approach' was good for at least one attempt.

"No, I am sure I never have. You say you ride in them? So swiftly?"

If not for him, the shower had returned some of my sense of reality. "Yes, they are swift vehicles." I decided to close that category and try a new tack. "You speak English very well. I'd have thought we'd need to converse in Aramaic, or Hebrew or something."

His lips parted, his nostrils flared and his eyes widened for a moment. Was reality crashing in on him? Was the amnesiac delusion being driven out? I desperately hoped so.

"We aren't speaking Greek, are we?" His face showed some surprise. "Have you any written material?"

I handed him my Bible. He received it with genuine wonder, eyeing it curiously, turning it over and over, inspecting the binding, finally, gently opening the pages. He seemed delighted to find that the pages would not fall out. Then he held it very close to his eyes, squinting as he tried to decipher the upside-down words on the page before him. I reached over and righted the book, turning his place as I did so, from Concordance to I Corintihians. "You'll recognize this, I'm sure." I hoped the sudden logic wouldn't throw him into despair, but something had to soon be done to spare my own sense of reality.

He pursed his lips, pronouncing under his breath some of the consonants, but finally gave up saying, "It's no use. They are unfamiliar characters to me. Whoever scribed them however, is very, very good at his work though. Is this the writing of the language in which we are conversing?"

Before I could respond the pay phone in the hallway jangled, and my guest reacted with alarm. He followed me as far as the doorway as I went to answer.

"Is this Michael Anderson?"

"Yes."

"This is Sergeant Love of the Fourth Precinct."

"Oh, yes Sergeant. What did you find out?"

"Well, County has one psycho unaccounted for, but they think he's in the building somewhere. Likes to impersonate good, helpful people. Usually doctors."

"Ahh, well, I think he's promoted himself."

"You think you have him?"

"Probably."

"Six-foot-four, about 230 pounds, in his sixties?"

I sized up my guest. "Subtract about a foot, 100 pounds, and ten to twenty years."

"Can you talk freely?"

"Not really."

"Got a Christmas Fruitcake on your hands, eh?"

"Sort of, well, I'm not so sure." I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece so only the sergeant could hear and whispered, "I'm beginning to think it's some kind of practical joke."

"Izzat right? College hijinks eh? Just the same, you want I should send a black and white to check him out?"

"I'll get back to you."

"Okay, but be careful."

I hung up. Paul was suspiciously eyeing me. "A communication device?"

"You don't remember phones?" I challenged, re-entering my room.

"You don't really believe me, do you? I guess I can see your point of view. If you were to show up suddenly in my age, talking about street lights and buildings that stay warm in winter, lightning-quick chariots and ringing talk things, I'd think you were possessed, which is what you must think of me."

"Don't take it personal, but you do have some rather acute symptoms of mental illness."

"Mental illness? Ahh, I know what you mean. Possession. I assure you I am not possessed. Though they often try, I do not allow evil spirits to drive me mad."

"No, of course not!" Whew, touchy subject! "We have learned that what was once thought of as evil spirits is really body chemistry out of order. Science has taught us to cure all manner of diseases, and now we are applying the same principles to mental illnesses. People with symptoms such as yours can resume normal lifestyles within a few days if they receive the proper care."

A fire was in Paul's eyes, but he remained in control. Had I leveled with him too much?

"I have no doubt that your medical arts have accomplished much, and I bear witness in my spirit that I have little knowledge of such things; but this much I do know, even though your medicines may control people's minds and help them maintain a normal life, there are evil spirits abounding in this age, causing more physical and mental problems than your science is aware." He arose and paced back and forth before resuming. "Deception abounds greater than I had realized! The saints have truly fallen asleep if they have even forgotten to war against evil spirits. Why, if allowed to run unchecked, Satan's minions will cause all manner of lasciviousness, lewdness and perversion to creep out of the shadows into broad daylight! Diseases will run rampant, and the Church-- The Church will become fragmented into useless pieces, quarrelling over foolishness and competing with one another, even denying the True Faith which was once and for all given to the Saints. Tell me, how bad is it?"

What could I say? Wanting to disagree, I found his analysis painfully accurate. "That could all be caused by not recognizing the activity of evil spirits?" I asked lamely.

"That and more."

"But couldn't it just be stress and the age we live in?"

"You doubt the existance of such malignant, spirit beings! Have you an account of the life of our Lord?"

"Yes," I mumbled, wondering how I had lost control of the conversation, and how he was making so much sense.

"Does it tell of the Demoniac of the Gadarenes?"

"Yes."

"And would your physicians diagnose him as merely mentally ill?"

"Probably." I sensed I was going to lose this point.

"Then consider, if mental illness is not connected to evil spirits, what was it that entered into the swine and made them run madly to their own destruction when our Lord cast them out of the man? Or does your copy not render it faithfully as to include the full account?"

"Oh, it tells it from your point of view allright." I had to acknowledge his challenge. Could it be that the source of so many of our 'modern' problems could be traced to demonic activity? But, but this was all too absurd! Here I was arguing that mental illness wasn't demon possession with a man who claimed to be Saint Paul!

"Do you not see the damage caused by putting the word of science above God's testimony of His Son?"

"Look Paul, or whoever you are, I can see where this is leading, but you have to understand that you can't really be Paul, you are someone who thinks he is Paul, thus making you insane. I happen to know time travel is impossible!"

"I understand how you feel. I don't fully comprehend it myself, but I know that nothing is impossible with God! Barnabus and I had just managed to dissuade the crowd from sacrificing to us when troublemakers-- uh, muggers-- arrived from Iconium. They whipped the heathen masses into a renewed and angry frenzy. Barnabus barely had time to escape, but I was seized and rushed out of the city. A circle formed around me and stones fell like hail. From the corner of my eye I saw a large rock coming at my head and only had time to utter my Savior's name. Instantly I found myself beneath the street light where you found me."

I had vainly searched his face for some sure, incontrovertible evidence of insanity while he related the story of his stoning. But other than claiming to be (and acting like) the apostle Paul, there was none.

"Mikey, it is imperative that you and I trust each other, for I sense that your days are even more perilous than my own. It is quite possible I was being killed when that rock struck me, and before I enter my rest, Our Lord briefly placed me here to commission you to begin the work that will return the Church to the Truth."

"I need to think," I stalled.

"And pray. I discern the Spirit of God about you lad, but you don't seek Him enough. Ask Him to show you who I am. Speaking of prayer, is there somewhere I might resort to pray, alone?

"Uh, sure. I'm going out for a walk, so you can stay here and pray. I don't expect to be gone too long, but if you feel like sleeping, use that bed."

"Thank you. I'd like that very much."

Once outside, I snugged the jacket zipper closer about my throat. The temperature had dropped several degrees, and it had stopped snowing. The slush was freezing hard on the sidewalks and roadways, making travel treacherous. I prayed earnestly-- not to believe the unbelievable-- but for wisdom on how to handle the situation. Absent-mindedly I retraced my steps to where I had found Paul, under the street light. I paused there, praying and wondering how a nice guy like me had gotten into this dilemma. The slush beneath my feet had hardened, so my return to the scene hadn't made any tracks. Looking up the street I recognized my previous footprints as I had approached Paul. There were no other footprints leading in! The only other marks were Paul's, as he twice circled the lamp post, along with a depression in the frozen slush which suggested the form of a reclining body. He had probably been sleeping there prior to the snow and slush, and thus, would have left no incoming trail, yet, it coincided with his story of suddenly appearing in this century. A glint caught my eye from the middle of the depression. I discovered it was a coin and pried it loose. It was heavy, and even the bluish street light gleamed off it with a yellowish caste. I scrutinized the quarter-sized coin and was shocked to see Greek writing. I bit it, as I'd seen done in countless cowboy movies, and sure enough, my teeth made a slight indentation. If cowboy movies were any authority on the subject, what I held in my hand was a genuine gold coin. A visage of some ruler named Phillip scowled at me from one side, and on the other was a date showing that the coin was minted in the thirty-seventh year of his reign. The striking was clear, and of excellent quality. This couldn't be an ancient artifact, it was too new, too unused. Even the best museum pieces showed some aging, but who would fake a coin using real gold? Prof. Smidley was a knowledgable collector of such artifacts, and lived on campus, not far from where I stood. If I hurried, I might catch him still up, so he could give me an opinion.

An hour later I stood outside my own door, afraid to enter. According to Prof. Smidley's books, the coin was genuine, and unexplainable. Finally I mustered enough courage to enter and face my guest. As I entered I saw he had fallen asleep across Phil's bed, still on his knees. I draped a coverlet over him. Who was this man who had interrupted my life, bringing such confusion? I sprawled on my own bed wondering; could this really be the apostle Paul, straight from the First Century? I went to my bookshelf and pulled out a Bible Dictionary. Looking up 'Paul' I found a mountain of data, including a time line of his life. The stoning in Lystra happened in A.D. 46, when the apostle was forty-one years old. Though this wouldn't prove who he was, it might be useful in disproving his claims. Too many unexplainables were piling up and I needed to soon expose the fraud for my own peace of mind. In the morning I'd challenge him. If he answered wrong or stalled, or evaded the question, I'd be able to keep my sanity. If he answered right, I'd be no worse off. Finding that coin had thrown me, but I had a new game plan.

"Come Brother Mikey, the sun rises, and so must we."

I opened my eyes and saw the pleasant, cheerful face of my guest. I had struggled through dreams the night long, and didn't feel at all rested. "What time is it?"

"Sunrise, the first hour."

I looked at my alarm and moaned. No wonder I wasn't refreshed.

"Let's be off to the market for breakfast. I should like to see this age of yours. I suppose you still have gold and silver currency? I will provide for the meal." He held a leather pouch by the drawstrings.

I was instantly awake, remembering Prof. Smidley's reaction to the coin I had shown him. "May I see your money?"

"See my money? Of course." He withdrew several coins of varying colors and sizes from the pouch. "This was given to us, Barnabus and myself, by the saints at Iconium to meet our needs as we journeyed."

I inspected the coins, museum pieces all. Mostly Roman, I guessed, though one looked Arabic, and a couple Greek. The metals were bronze and silver predominantly, with a couple gold; all in excellent condition.

"You begin to believe me, I think. Good! I prayed that your eyes might be opened."

"Now just wait a minute!" The room seemed to be going out of kilter. "Just because you have a pouchful of these coins, and left no tracks in the snow, and seem well, genuine, doesn't mean that I buy it-- yet."

Had I heard myself right? Was my resistance beginning to cave in? The time had come to play my trump card. His response now was more important than ever. "Tell me how old you are, and what year you left to come to this century."

"I don't see what good that will do."

Hedging? "It's important to me."

"Very well, I am forty-one years of age, and, as we followers of the Way reckon time, it is, or was, fifty years since the birth of our Lord."

A right and a wrong answer was unexpected. My perplexity persisted. Then a previously insignificant tidbit of information stored away in my brain came to the fore. There was some dispute about the actual date of Christ's birth, most experts agreeing that Christ had been born about 4 B.C., which would make 46 A.D. the fiftieth year! I needed to sit down.

"Mikey, are you allright? All the blood has drained from your face."

"It can't be. It just can't be."

"But it is, your face has gone white."

"No, I mean you can't be. It's impossible."

"Other than that I don't belong in your time, have you any proof I'm not who I say?"

Inspiration hit me. "Yeah! As a matter of fact I do!" I was angry, not at Paul, but at myself, and my inability to crack the deception. I was also afraid that if I didn't soon crack the deception, I'd have no alternative but to believe him. "I have a whole New Testament of proof!"

"New testament? What is that?"

"A Bible. Scriptures."

"Scriptures! In writing I can understand?"

I pulled my Greek New Testament from the bookshelf. Why hadn't I thought of this before? If amnesia made him forget how to read English, he would surely have forgotten any Greek he might have learned.

He received it with wonder, cautiously opening to a portion of Matthew. His eyes watered as he squinted, holding it close. Tears dripped onto his cheeks, and he gave a small gasp. "Yes, yes, oh thank you, Lord. It has been faithfully preserved." Then to me, "Some of the characters are different, but I can understand them. You have here a marvelous documentation of Our Lord's ministry and words." He sat on Phillip's bed and continued leafing through the book.

"Y-you really understand it?"

"Oh yes!" He continued reading through Matthew, openly weeping for joy."What a great treasure you have here! I'd heard that some manuscripts existed, but never myself saw one. How blessed is your generation to have such a complete record."

"We have four such records of His life in that book."

"Indeed! Four!"

"Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Then there are the Acts of the ap--." I stopped short because I suddenly realized that if he was who he claimed, his future lay on the printed pages in his hands.

"Mark? Marcus? John Marcus?" He hadn't noticed my hesitation.

"Uh, that's right."

"I doubt that very much," he was uncharacteristically indignant. "That young man will need to make some major changes in his life before he can be used in the work of the Gospel. He lacks committment."

"Keep looking," I urged, declining comment on John Mark.

"John ben Zebedee? He wrote an account as well? Blessed be the Holy Name!" He leafed rapidly through John to the book of Acts. "A record of the beginnings of the church is included? How marvelous!" His finger hurriedly traced down the lines, his agile mind having quickly assimilated the modernized Greek letters that were unfamiliar to him, expertly reading, albeit hunched over, eyes mere inches from the page. Minutes later he stopped reading and looked at me. "You know of Stephen's stoning?"

I nodded.

"Do you know I was there?"

"Keep reading."

He bent back to the book, dabbing the tears from his eyes, carefully reading Stephen's defense. I had rather expected some reaction when he read about his own part in the stoning, but saw none. I then realized that I had been persuaded-- he was indeed the Apostle Paul, somehow brought to my Twentieth Century dorm room! This Giant of the Faith had invaded my life, and I was terrified of him. Why me? Why now?

He scanned pages in rapid succession, absorbing information- remembering -- till half-way through the fourteenth chapter when he abrubtly sat upright and closed the book. "The Spirit will allow me to read no further."

Just like that! But, surely he must have been curious. "Don't you want to see how it turns out?"

"Tempt me not! Nor speak to me of these things."

"How much do you know?"

"That I'm to return to my own time. I understand it now. Just as the rock touched me which would have dashed out my brains, He temporarily removed me to this time and place so as to preserve my life; as well as bring you instruction and encouragement. The rest of those stones landed on nothing but a pile of stones, for I was translated instantly. I shall, no doubt, go back when my mission here is done. I wonder if I shall remember any of what happens in your time."

"Paul, I believe you."

"Yes, I can see that you do. I prayed that you would be blessed with a gift of faith, for I knew the impossibility of what you had to believe. No amount of evidence would have truly convinced you, it had to be by faith, in your heart. There is much I need to know about your age-- but be careful what you tell me. Too much knowledge could bring harm."

"Where shall I begin?"

"The Church. Does she still present the picture of a bride, chaste and pure, waiting anxiously for her consummation and union with her husband?"

I thought of all the movements from within and without that attacked the Church, causing her to seek refuge in the low ground of compromise; how she had become defiled by leaving the moorings of Holy Writ, and was asea with every new doctrine, philosophy, or theory the world offered. She was far from being a chaste, virgin-bride, adorned and anticipating her Lover-Husband. She was more like a harlot who had forgotten she was betrothed to One Who had provided for her needs, and had instead become enmeshed in earning her own living by the ways and means of self-preservation; fractured into denominations, with exposure and embarrassment of well-known ministries, loss of influence for righteousness, obsession with superficial religious entertainment and personality worship, unspiritual and immature leadership, and lack of dedication among parishoners; all of which contributed to her bland, impotent existence. There were exceptions, of course, but how did I relate to Paul what much of the Church-seed he had planted so long ago had now become?

"Why do you delay so long in answering?" His penetrting, perceptive eyes read the thoughts behind my silence. "I see."

"I never thought about how different we were from First Century Christians until now. I'm afraid there's not much you'll recognize. I assumed, like everyone else, that as the world changed, so the Church needed to adapt as well. Somehow, sitting here, in this absurd course of events, talking with you, those adaptations seem to have been ill-conceived. The Church is competitive, and creative, but her credibility suffers."

"It is not too late."

"Oh Paul, you mean well, but you have no idea how entrenched the deviations from the standard have become."

"And you don't know the power of the Holy Spirit to effect change in the lives of those who love truth. Now, tell me of the Church."

So I told him, in a rambling, almost incoherent way, the history of the Church from the Second Century to present. He paid rapt attention, missing no significance. When I finished, he sat contemplating for several moments.

"Esais, son of Amoz, toward the beginning of his oracle, prophesied that seven women would grasp at one man, saying they would not need him to provide their food or clothing, but nonetheless they wanted the dignity of having his name lest they be reproached for their arrogant independence. Now I understand. He saw the Church of this age-- fractured into many parts, feeding themselves with philosophies of vanity, clothing themselves with other than His righteousness, but wanting to bear the name of Christ so they won't be scorned as false. I must see this for myself. When can we go?"

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Paul."

"Why not? I feel no restraint in my spirit."

"Well for one thing, you are certain to draw unflattering attention to yourself. There are many inventions outside these walls that will make you gawk like a, a...."

"...Man from another time and place? That's what I am. Besides, I have already observed some of the marvels of this age. If you prepare me for what I will see, I think I will not be too conspicuous."

Well, today is Saturday, and tomorrow there will be services. We have till then to catch you up. I know! Somebody on the next floor, Tom I think, has a television. That will be the quickest way to get you up to speed on our science and culture. Come on."

Paul rose and followed me. "Television? A curious combination of words."

I smiled, leading the way to Tom's room where he had left his small TV. I gave a brief explanation about electricity again, adding radio wave theory and modern technology, and then turned on the set. He sat silently as I switched channels, explaining cartoons, sports, newscasts, Rock'n'Roll, movies, sitcoms and advertisements. The ads proved most helpful in preparing Paul for the Twentieth Century: cars, toothpaste, beer, airplanes, real estate, toys, magazines, foods, loans, perfumes, insurances, charities, fuels, clothing, utilities-- all provided a crash course in modern lifestyle. After an hour, his questions began, intelligently relating segments of our society together, showing he had already formed a perception of our era.

He was most fascinated with the all news channel. The non-stop flood of information was eagerly soaked up by my highly capable guest. Feeling the pangs of hunger, I decided to leave him alone for a few minutes to get us some pizza. It was midday already, and breakfast had been forgotten in all the excitement of introducing Paul to the Twentieth Century. I was amazed by his ability to absorb so much completely foreign information in one gulp. "Paul," I intruded. "I'm going to get us lunch, er, food. I won't be long. You'll be okay?"

He smiled and nodded, and returned his attention to President Bush's speech on the shaky agreements being pioneered with the Soviet Union. I walked down the hallway stairs, hearing the echoes of Bush's comments, "...we are on the brink of forging a New World Order, one where mankind's hopes and dreams can at last be fulfilled, and peace will rule our planet." I wondered what Paul's reaction to that would be!

Nearly half an hour later, my hands nice and toasty underneath a large mushroom, anchovy, extra-cheese pizza, with two carbonated beverages balanced atop, I approached the door to my dormitory. The inner door was wide open, although I was certain I had snugged it tight when I had left. I climbed the stairs and was relieved to hear the sounds of the television. "Hey Paul, wait'll you sink your First Century teeth into Mama Malone's Twentieth Century pizza! I'll bet you've never had it so good. Paul? Paul!" No one was there. I set the pizza and sodas on Tom's desk and raced downstairs to my own room. Yes, he had been there and collected a few items, but now was gone. On my desk were some coins and some Greek letters in pencil on my memo pad. How long had he been gone? Which direction had he gone? Might he have passed the pizza shop while I was still inside, or had he gone the other way? This modern sin-city was no place for a First Century apostle, alone and friendless. I had to find him. I took off jogging, hoping to overtake him, praying as I ran that he would be so overwhelmed with some aspect of modern life that he would be compelled to stop and study it. He shouldn't be too hard to spot if I kept my wits about me and my eyes open.

Several minutes later, lungs aching from the rapid intake of cold air, I paused to rethink my options. I was in center city, and the Saturday traffic was fast and furious. I hoped he hadn't tried to cross any streets. Why had I left him alone? I should have known better. I looked around in frustration, but it was useless. Dressed in my jeans and sweatshirt, he would look like anyone else. Should I report his disappearance to the police? And just what would I say? "Officer, the Apostle Paul is loose in our city, naive and vulnerable to our evil ways. By the way, he's wearing my jeans and sweatshirt!" They'd lock us both up. What about the hospitals? Unless he were in a serious accident, he wouldn't be found there.

A sudden shift of the wind brought snatches of a voice strained with emotion, crying out, "Citizens of America, upon your generation has fallen...little time left to repent... are even now plotting the enslavement of the entire world...."

Across the busy street, perched on a lightpole base, stood Paul, preaching and gesturing with one hand, maintaining his balance with the other by gripping the pole. Most people passed him by, totally ignoring him. A few stopped to listen for a moment or two, shook their heads and continued on their way. The only ones who stayed were some heckling teens. I ran to the crosswalk, but there was a prolonged green. From across the thoroughfare I tried keeping tabs on him, but he dissappeared before I could cross. I arrived at the lamp where he had been, and stood, wondering what to do next. People grumpily shuffled past, making matters worse. I started jogging again, searching as I went, but with no success. Four hours later, exhausted, I limped back to my room. It had been months since I'd jogged, and both feet complained about the sudden workload demanded of them. I sank into my chair and resorted to my last option-- which should have been my first. I prayed more earnestly than I ever had, struggling to break through layers of guilt, time no longer a distraction. The urgency of Paul's need compelling me to pray till I was answered. Eventually, a strong, commanding peace settled on me, and I knew things had never been out of control. I had been overwrought by taking on more responsibility than I had been delegated. I relaxed, and was content that what He had started, He would finish, in His own way and time. When something was required of me, I would be informed. Those thoughts comforting me, I fell soundlessly, dreamlessly asleep.

The insistant ringing of the phone in the hall awakened me. rising to answer it I noted how dark it had become outside. The whole day had passed. where was Paul? Anxiety waited to control me again, but a greater peace overruled.

"Hello," I mumbled into the receiver.

"Sergeant Love of the Fourth Precinct. Is Mike Anderson there?"

"Speaking."

"I'm calling to check on your ahh, complaint, from yesterday?"

"Uh, oh yes."

"Well, I'm wondering, has your er, problem been resolved?"

"Uhh, yes it has sergeant. It was a visit from a guy I knew only by his letters, but had never met."

"Penpal huh? And you're sure everything's allright?"

"Yessir."

"Your visitor was about five-foot-four, 130 pounds, in his fifties, and acting a little unusual, as I recall."

"Well, that's a pretty general description, but--"

"Mr. Anderson, is your friend there at the moment?"

Uh-oh! "He, uh, he stepped out for a bit."

"So he isn't with you. Do you know where he is?"

"Not exactly."

"How long has he been gone?"

"Sergeant, is there something I should know?"

"We've had some complaints about someone fitting that description, making a bit of a nuisance of himself. I noted the similarities and thought I'd get in touch with you."

"Might I inquire as to what this nuisance was wearing?"

"Suppose you tell me."

"Uhh, was he wearing a dark suit, pin-stripes, red tie?"

"Suit you say? And tie? No, not at all. I guess maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree. Oh well, it was just a hunch. The fella we're looking for was wearing jeans, sweatshirt and sandals. Sorry to have bothered you."

"That's allright Sergeant." Now what had Paul been up to? I just couldn't help but smile. First Century or Twentieth, Paul still stirred things up. I passed a sleepless, but restful night, waiting for Paul, and praying about my own spiritual condition. Sunrise caught me still on my knees, dozing. Still no Paul. Where could he be all this time? Did he need help? I hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday-- since meeting Paul-- yet I wasn't hungry. It was a fast of the Lord. The pizza I'd bought still lay upstairs in its box on Tom's desk, preserved by the coolness of the unused room. When I called, the Sunday School Superintendant lined up a substitute for me, so I had no responsibilities but to wait for Paul, which I did with my Bible on my lap. I wanted to understand just who this enigmatic man was who had so abruptly entered my life, so I started reading in Romans and progressed through all the Pauline epistles, not to learn doctrine, nor even for devotion, but to see what kind of person the Holy Spirit had chosen to write so much of the New Testament. I wanted to taste his character in the light of having met him in person, to see how he thought, expressed himself, disciplined himself. There was so much more of Paul revealed in his writings than I had ever seen before: his fatherly love and concern, his personal involvement in the lives of those he was accountable for, his dedication to the truth regardless of the cost, and his desire to be full of the Person and Presence of Jesus! All of this was the humble man who now shared my room, but I had to struggle to recognize it! Now I could see plainly, but only after having taken the time to look. I wept and prayed, and re-read, passing the whole Sunday morning.

It was well into the afternoon when the door to my room opened, and Paul entered as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Paul, where have you been?" I was on my feet, struggling between joy at his safe return, and the outrage that he'd left me in a pool of guilt over my irresponsibility. The latter quickly faded, and the joy remained.

"Mikey, I've had much to learn, and even more to do. We have not much time left, you and I, so let's be about our business. First, what is there to eat? My strength lags, after all, I haven't eaten for nearly two thousand years!"

I caught the twinkle in his eye and laughed. "There is pizza, but its a day old now. I'm afraid that's all there is on hand. If you like, we could go out--"

"Day old pisa(?) will be fine. We must not waste any time. I have much to relate."

I led up to Tom's room and served the pizza, after he pronounced it blessed for the use of saints. As we sat on the floor, he began his narrative.

"As you took leave of me yesterday, I heard your television people saying things that the Lord had previously shown me in a vision. But these things were no visions, they are coming to pass in your generation! I was about to call out to you, when an angel of the Most High stood before me."

"An angel?"

"He was a fierce being, strong and capable, and full of fire. I knew he had been sent by Our Lord, yet I felt compelled to ask his name."

"And?"

"He told me, 'My name is Avenger of the Broken Covenant', and I went weak before him. 'Come, I must show you the harvest of the seed you planted'. He led me outdoors, where I saw you walking in the distance. I wanted to call out to you, but the angel silenced me, saying, ' You will instruct him after I've instructed you'. I followed him to several large buildings, and he told me they were meeting places of the saints. He commanded me to return to each one of them and do as the Spirit of the Living God showed me, which I did this morning."

"You- you visited several churches this morning? What happened?"

"In due time. First, let me tell you what the angel showed me yesterday. He took me into the buildings-- without opening any doors-- and showed me their books and styles of worship, their supposedly holy vestments and machines of comfort and pleasure. Then he asked me 'What is the price of all this?' I answered that I had no idea. 'Come,' he said, 'I will show you.' Again we went outside to a high commerce area, where many people passed by. The angel instructed me to climb up on a street light's base and warn the people of impending judgment on this nation. I protested, telling him this nation would not hear a simple man such as myself. He again commanded me to to address the passersby. I complied, calling out to them in the Lord's name, but none responded. Only sons of Belial, muggers, who would have caused me no small amount of injury, being led by evil spirits as they were, had not the angel been with me. I told the angel this people's heart had grown cold to the eternal truth of love and redemption. 'Only a small part of the price paid for adopting the lifestyle and pleasures of this nation,' he replied. 'They build monuments to themselves, deceiving themselves that they do the Lord's work. This nation's heart will not warm to truth until they see a people of faith, humble and obedient to their God. Those who claim to have the light have lost the knowledge of that light, and the godless shut their ears, for the Church can offer them nothing they don't already have. Come, there is more.'"

I sat aghast, listening as Paul matter-of-factly related his experiences.

"The angel touched my eyes, saying, 'be opened, and see,' and then took me to a part of the city where there was much entertainment. I was-- and still am-- amazed that this nation of yours has so much time for leisure pursuits. He took me inside buildings where audiences indulged lusts which were not so openly displayed even in Babylon, Greece or Rome! But, I was most apalled by recognizing those who had come to our Lord for cleansing, now defiling themselves by what they allowed to re-enter their hearts and minds. I saw acts displayed on a great screen too carnal to mention. I had to try to thwart the immorality taking over, so I climbed on a platform, blocking the obscene images, and began appealing, 'Citizens of America, you have been deceived, led astray to slaughter by your own lusts! Can you not see that God's wrath will certainly come upon any nation that indulges such evil concupiscence?' And with other words I implored them to repent and be cleansed by the blood of Calvary, before their own blood was required of them."

"You didn't!"

"I did! And I find it incredible that you-- and others like you-- know of such goings on, but say nothing! I would have said more, but two uniformed guards were summoned to quell the riot breaking out.

"The angel whisked me to another building where books were being sold. At first I thought it was a scripture market, and was glad. I did not know that other books were made like your scriptures. Then I saw that these books were flimsy, and were filled with pictures of Sodomites and harlots. I was horrified. Again I was given to recognize those who had given their lives to the Lord doing commerce, even purchasing such defiled literature. I seized one rack of books and threw it through the front window, weeping and bewailing such sinfulness, entreating everyone to repent in the name of the Lord, and to flee from such filthy idolatry. Angry men reached out to hold me, but the angel smote them and removed me.

"I found myself in a hall of justice, empty but for the angel and myself. He explained how freedoms in this country have been perverted and used to harrass law-abiding citizens while allowing the lawless to inflict hurt through their larceny and wickedness, with more innocent victims falling prey to aroused lusts, destroying morality and family life in this upside-down society. The laws of the land protect the evil and punish the upright, and the Church is to blame."

"The Church! Wait a minute Paul, sure our generation is an evil one, but to blame the church for all that--"

"Hush. I have more to tell, and not much time."

"What do you mean 'not much time?'"

"The angel said I would have only about an hour with you before I was to be removed from this age of impending wrath. So interrupt me not unless it is absolutely necessary."

"I'm sorry."

"Very well. Then I was shown another market building. I could see evil spirits lurking in the very air around the place. The angel bid me enter, and as I obeyed, the evil spirits saw and regognized me. They frantically started communicating to the proprietor, but the angel pointed at them, invoking the Lord's name, commanding them not to speak. Immediately they fell silent and backed away. All around me, on shelves, floor displays, countertops, and tables were charms, spells of magic, witchcraft and sorcery: all evil devices of Satan to ensnare the foolish. The man, having lost contact with his familiars, seemed confused, startled. I went straight to the man, ignoring his customers, each with his own familiar spirit lurking in and upon them. I said to the man, 'You have but this moment to repent and renounce all traffic with your spirit guides, and be washed in the blood of Jesus.' He looked pleadingly at me and begged to know, 'Isn't it too late for me?' I assured him it wasn't, that even he could be saved. He fell to his knees right there and prayed for mercy. His customers were outraged at me and dragged me out of the store, but I called back to him, telling to leave his business and seek the truth. He tearfully replied he would. The angel forbade the mob to hurt me, but they pushed me back and forth among themselves, saying evil things to me. As a self-propelled chariot arrived with more uniformed men, the angel grasped my hand.

"Instantly I was in a larger building with many small shops in it. Many young people were gathered here, and I was given to know that music repeating devices were being sold. The music was strange, but it was the words that alarmed me most. Don't you know, can you be unaware that this music is putting a spell on your young people, leading them to reckless abandon, rebellion, idolatry and worship of themselves, and worse? Why have parents not met this challenge and kept such a menace away from their children? With the angel again encouraging me, I raised my arms and shouted, 'Children, return to your parents, and repent of your rebellion, and you shall find grace. Desist from the sorcery in this music which entices you into bondage. Your singers mock and lead you into destruction, even as you adore them.' They laughed at me and turned back to their wanton music. The store owner approached, demanding I leave, shouting something about my having violated his customer's civil rights, that there would be no censorship in his store. Two men, callling themsleves Mall Security drew me out to the lighted cavern with many markets lining each side. There I saw that despite all this nation's marvelous inventions, wealth and imaginations, you haven't been delivered from the deceptions that blinded men's minds in my own day. The hearts of those in your generation are as devoid of wisdom as the hearts of my generation. The angel spoke to the men to release me, and one turned to the other and said, 'Look, I've got a date tonight, and if we have to fill out a report and wait for the police to come and collect this guy, I'll never make it on time. What say we let him go?' And with a word of warning, they released me."

"Did they see the angel?"

"I think not. Do you see him?"

Tingles ran down my spine, and I suddenly found it hard to swallow. "You mean, he's...he's...."

"Right beside you."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood erect.

"He's assigned to you. I was with him temporarily, so as to instruct you about your ministry. He's been with you since your youth, when you first responded to the word of grace."

I resisted the impulse to look around the room. "My ministry?"

"I'm coming to that. When the men released me, I was shown many more things about this age by the angel: how the Church has lost its saltiness and light, becoming shallow, even imitating the world instead of confronting it."

"Like...?"

"Particulars are far too numerous to go into. Suffice it to say that the Church must return to her God-given basic principles and traditions to avoid further contamination. Some of the purest reminders of the Lord Himself, which He specifically directed His apostles to teach the churches, have been put aside in favor of man-made traditions. In our customs, when a man betrothed a bride to himself, but had to leave for a time, he gave her keepsakes to keep alive his memory while he was away. A faithful bride would review her articles daily, keeping her longing for his return fresh and alive, whereas a faithless bride would soon lose interest in her keepsakes, and would begin casting her eyes upon other men and their things, soon forgetting her lover."

"But, surely those traditions you refer to are just legalistic relics of ancient customs, leftovers from now irrelevant cultural practices?"

"Nothing the Spirit of God took pains to inspire and preserve is legalistic or irrelevant! I do not know what writings of myself or others have survived to this generation, but if our Sovereign God caused such teachings to survive to the present, you can be sure it is His will they be observed. I myself despise the insidious legalism I find creeping into churches, masquerading as tenets of the Faith. But bear in mind that legalism is adding to what God has decreed, not keeping what He has commaded. Indeed, proof of love for Him is to keep His commands! But neither do keeping the traditions and commands He has given save us. Our salvation is not supported or aided by such traditions; it is solely in the blood of our Savior. But the commands and traditions given the apostles to give to the Church do not purport to add to our salvation, or keep our standing before our Lord; nonetheless, it is to our benefit to keep them, for they have a great effect on the Church's remembrance of Him, keeping her yearning for Him alive. And not only that, but presenting a picture to the godless, lost world surrounding her, showing what her Lover is really like-- all through those little keepsake traditions He has given."

"I never thought of it like that."

"I visited several places of worship this morning and observed how lifeless and stilted some were, while others, though full of excitement, lacked depth or insight to sustain deeper spiritual growth. Few of the traditions held dear to my generation were in evidcence except in some vestigial form, and correspondingly, I sensed no longing for the Lord's return, or witness to His presence! Your generation has dismissed the very keepsakes intended to keep desire for His return fresh. The Bride's love has grown cold, and the evidence is seen by her lack of influence in this present evil society.

"Can't you see how the abominations of the world have been welcomed into the Church? All while the traditions and ordinances of the Holy Spirit have been expelled-- labled as 'legalism'! Indeed, your generation seems to lable everything it doesn't want to obey as legalism! I tell you that not legalism, but lawlessness is this generation's plague! It would seem grace has been misunderstood to only mean God's unmeritted favor, but grace is much more than that. It is the available power of God in each believer's life to obey Him!

"This is a time of unspeakable peril, for men pursue wickedness while at the same time try to ease their alarmed consciences with a sterile form of religion. Satan has succeeded in invading and neutralizing and defeating much of the Church, causing her to committ spiritual adultery, all while her ministers expound on how enlightened these times are! Abomination! I tell you these are not enlightened times, but the darkest hours ever to face the human race!"

There was no denying the truth in his condemnation of our age, and the pitiful role the Church, by far and large, has played. A curtain had been pulled away from my eyes. "But, what can be done now? The damage is very widespread."

Despite the dire condition he had exposed, his eyes were still full of joy and hope as he replied, "First, you must know that whatever God calls you to do, He will also supply the strength to finish. Ask the Holy Spirit to open your understanding of the traditions and ordinances contained in your Scripture; how they reveal a likeness of our Blessed Lord to the observant, and that they are to be obeyed in their original context instead of explained away or performed feebly by rote. Rather than limiting worship, you will find that obedience to these will rejuvenate a church's appreciation of her Lord; and in the renewal of that love, she will find a rekindled love for lost mankind and will again minister in truth with real help, not compromises. Any church that tries to meet sin's predations with man-made methods is deceived indeed. The Church must again become a beacon of truth and righteousness, holding forth a gospel of forgiveness and new life in Jesus Christ. This she wiil only be able to do if she returns to her first love and does the things she did at the first: even in such humble things as returning to the keepsakes given her."

"What has all this to do with me?"

Paul laid his hands upon my shoulders and began to pray. I remember almost nothing of that prayer, but I'll never forget the event, for rising up within me was a surge of love for Jesus like I'd never known, and an intense committment to obey Him no matter what the personal cost. God was ordaining me to do His will in my generation. But how?

When he had finished, he said, "I have had the privilege of being thrown out of many meetings this morning. I suppose they had already thrown me out a long time ago, anyway. Nevertheless, the Spirit allowed me a brief moment in each place to speak my heart. Those who were of God heard me, for I saw conviction fall upon them. As many as love God will be led across your path so you may open their eyes as the Spirit rewards your study of Scripture. The Lord has chosen to give you the strength of a horse to carry out this work, for the burden of it is heavy. Were you in my apostolic party, I would re-name you Archippus-- 'horse ruler'."

"Why me? What have I ever done to be so singled out?"

"Who can say? Why was I chosen in my time? Indeed, why was I chosen to come to your time, and not a more worthy like Cephas or John? He chooses whom He will."

"There are so many things I need to know about you, and things written by you that--"

"No! Knowledge of me will not fulfill the Lord's purpose. It is a dark age you have inherited, Mikey, even darker than my own. You need only know Him, via the Spirit He has immersed you in; and the gifts of service he has begun bringing forth in you. You face powerful spiritual enemies both from within and without the Church, so knowledge and words will not be enough. The Lord has made available powerful gifts of His Spirit to counter the attacks the enemy will unleash upon you. Learn them, and develop in your use of them. Without them you'll not be established; with them, you must take great care to observe all the protocol in your Holy Writ guiding the proper use of these powerful weapons. If you don't use them as instructed, your enemy will turn your words against you even as he did to Eve. The Spirit did not bring such instructions down through the centuries lightly. Trust Him, for He loves you and will only lead you in Jesus' will. Make not the mistake of the Pharisees who had the water of the teaching, but not the blood of the life."

Shuffling footsteps outside the door interrupted us, followed by several loud knocks and a voice demanding "This is Sgt. Love. Open up."

Paul squeezed my shoulder saying, "Don't worry, my time has come. Give me my original clothes, you do still have them?"

"Downstairs in my room."

"Anderson, you in there?"

"Coming Sergeant." I opened the door and saw the policeman's eyes widen as he spied Paul.

"You been holding out on me?"

"Are you Mall Security?" asked Paul. "I'm ready to go with you. May I just collect some of my things?"

"They're down in my room, sir," I ventured. "He just wants some clothes and a pouch, is all."

Two burly officers flanked the Sergeant, which is probably why he said, "I don't see the harm in that." As Paul went with the two patrolmen, Sgt. Love took me aside. "Look, you guys are supposed to be religious-- you know, bein' good and all that. Now what did he wanna go stirrin' things up like he did yesterday and today for? You religious college people got a reputation for quietly minding your own business; he had no call to interfere with church services like he did-- and you had no business covering for him!"

"Yessir. How, if I may ask, did you conclude it was my friend?"

"One of our black and whites spotted him in this neighborhood an hour ago. I read the report and thought I'd come personally to check it out. Our phone down at precinct has been ringing off the hook-- all churches complaining about being disrupted by some hippie in a sweatshirt, jeans and sandals. Now I hope this is the end of matter. The law takes a dim view of college pranks- even religious colleges like this. I'd better not hear your name in connection with any more pranks either or I'll haul you in too. I'll be watching."

"Well sir, I would hope not."

He did a double take. "You bein' smart with me, boy?"

Before I could answer, we were interrupted by the two patrolmen rushing back to us in an alarmed state. "He escaped, Sarge. Clean escaped!"

"What?"

"We let him go into the john to change, after we checked it out to make sure there was no exit. A second after the door was shut, we heard a strange noise and immediately opened the door to check on him. He was gone!"

"You fools, he hid in the air vent, or the linen closet, or there's a trick wall or something. People just don't vanish into thin air. Come on."

"Sometimes they do Sergeant," I interjected. "Happened a lot in the Bible."

He ignored me and went to examine the room for himself.

Well, that's how it happened, written while it's still fresh in my mind. Already doubts have tried to make me question my sanity, but I know the source of those doubts, and how to deal with them. Also, I have recently met people from all different parts of the city, different churches and backgrounds, all with a desire to return to the simple teachings of the Bible-- nothing added, nothing subtracted; but taken indeed as it is, the very inspiration of the Sovereign God, given to His holy people until He comes again.