Through a Glass Darkly
Wednesday, July 3,2019 – Sahiwai, Pakistan
A dark figure moved quickly along the dry river bed, checking each low-lying area for any sign of water. If he did not find it soon, death would surely overtake him as it had all the others. Up ahead, a tree, still green despite the brown that surrounded it, gave shade to the end of his search: a small pool of water. It was there; he knew it was. He could smell it. Running to it, he put his face down to the water and drank until he was satisfied. He would stay here until the water was gone or hunger drove him on. It was possible that the water might draw some small animal he could eat, but he couldn't wait for food to come to him. He would have to scout out the area and hope for the best.
It was shortly after dawn but the sun already beat down on the dry plain as he emerged from the river bed and peered cautiously through the dry thicket. A motionless form lay about thirty yards away. The week without food and the days without water had dulled his senses or he surely would have noticed it earlier, so close to him. He paused only a moment to examine the area for danger; he was too hungry to expend much caution. As he approached, it became apparent that it was dead. There were two more smaller ones lying nearby.
In the distance, he heard a roar that sounded like a large herd of hoofed animals. It was a long way away but it seemed to be coming toward him. Fear grew as the sound drew near more swiftly than he could imagine possible. Quickly he grabbed one of the legs and tried to drag his meal to the river bed, but his strength was not up to the task. With insane determination born of unbearable hunger he decided to make his stand. Soon the sound was almost upon him and it became clear that it was coming, not from a herd of any sort, but from a single huge bird like none he had ever seen before.
Overhead, the Secretary-General's helicopter slowly approached the famine relief camp, as those on board got a close look at the surrounding conditions. The drought had been devastating. For twenty miles the helicopter had followed a dry river bed, but they saw no more than a few pools of water. Just below, about two miles from the relief camp near one of the pools, they spotted a lone emaciated wild dog looking up at them. It stood over the carcass of a young woman who had died of starvation or thirst before reaching the camp. Nearby lay the bodies of her two small children.
The stark evidence of famine and drought which the Secretary-General's party saw first hand in Pakistan was mirrored by similar devastation in northern India, where wheat rust had severely reduced the annual harvest. In southern India, tropical storms during the monsoon season had driven seawater into many of the already flooded areas to form brackish water, making the land salty and unarable. The latter was a fairly common occurrence in India and all that could be done was to try to grow whatever they could and wait for subsequent monsoons to leach the salt from the land over the next few years.
The helicopter landed in an open area outside the camp, creating a huge dust cloud that blew in the faces of those waiting. Along with the twenty or so cameramen and reporters, the relief camp's director, Dr. Fred Bloomer, waited for the blades to stop before approaching to welcome the Secretary-General and his party. Christopher, the only one on board who knew Dr. Bloomer, made the introductions. "I'm anxious to get started," Hansen said as he shook Bloomer's hand.
"I fear you'll find conditions worse than you imagined, Mr. Secretary-General," Dr. Bloomer said. "We've had nearly a thousand new arrivals in the last four days. We're just not set up to handle this many people. We've had to severely reduce rations." To feed the people in the camp, the kitchen operated with a full contingent on a fourteen hour shift throughout the daylight hours. During the night, a skeleton crew was on hand for any who had just reached the camp – a single hour in some cases could make the difference between life and death. Dr. Bloomer's goal was to provide two meals a day for everyone in the camp.
The official purpose of the visit was 'fact finding,' but what Hansen really hoped to accomplish was to build support for the distribution of agricultural resources. He had specific reasons for inviting each of those who accompanied him on this trip. Ambassador Khalid Haider from Pakistan was there because it was his country. The Indian ambassador had been invited because of similar problems in his country and because of the concern that the refugees from Pakistan might begin to spill over into India.
The other members from North America and Europe had been asked to come along because it was their regions that Hansen's plan would ask to give the most for the food distribution effort. Ambassador Howell of Canada, who represented North America on the Security Council, had been ill for several months and was expected to resign soon. In his place was Ambassador Walter Bishop from the United States, the Alternate from North America who hoped to replace the Canadian Ambassador as Primary. Aware of this likelihood, Hansen wanted to take the opportunity to get to know the American better and win his support for the plan. Ambassador Heineman from Germany, who represented Europe on the Security Council, really didn't need to be convinced about the need for food redistribution, but the people of his region did. At Decker's recommendation Hansen had invited Heineman to ensure coverage of the trip by the European press. It was an effective way of making sure that the people of Europe learned of the urgency and magnitude of the need.
The team started with a tour of the camp and what was left of the surrounding villages. In the afternoon Christopher briefed the ambassadors on the findings from a study by the Food and Agriculture Organization on projections for future years. Later in the afternoon, in what was mainly a photo opportunity, the team members worked in the serving line for the evening meal. The team spent the night at the camp under nearly the same conditions as the camp's inhabitants.
The next morning the Secretary-General and the ambassadors planned to fly by helicopter back to Lahore, Pakistan, near the Indian border, while Decker and Christopher remained at the camp to represent Hansen to a second team from the U.N. who would be arriving in the late afternoon.
July 4, 2019 – Tel Aviv, Israel
Rabbi Saul Cohen finished his morning prayers and rose to his feet to answer the knock at the door of his study. Benjamin Cohen, the rabbi's seventeen-year-old son and only living relative since the Disaster took his four older children and wife, stood outside, nervously shifting from side to side. Benjamin Cohen knew not to disturb his father's prayer time without good cause, and he did not relish comparing his own evaluation of what constituted a 'good cause' with that of his father's. Nevertheless, he relished even less the possibility of angering the man who waited in the sitting room.
The man – 'guest' hardly seemed like the right word – had arrived without appointment. Benjamin had opened the front door to let him in but then backed away, sensing instinctively that there was something very unusual about this visit, if not about the man himself. As the man closed the door behind him, it seemed to Benjamin that the sitting room had grown strangely crowded. He was only too glad to leave the room to retrieve his father, and was halfway to his father's office before he realized he had not asked the man his name. Like it or not, he would have to go back and ask.
Peering around the comer of the doorway, Benjamin's eyes met those of the visitor. He wanted to look away, but he saw something there which held him. He could see clearly now what so unsettled him about this man. Benjamin had been trained to discern wisdom in a man's face. He had been taught that wisdom came with age, but the wisdom in this man's eyes was unnatural for a man no older than this. Benjamin discerned a depth of wisdom that would be unnatural for a man of any age. He asked the man his name. The answer only added to Benjamin's disquiet, but he felt it unadvisable to probe further.
Ordinarily Saul Cohen's morning prayers lasted at least an hour, but for some reason this morning he stopped after only thirty minutes. When he heard the knock on his study door at that very moment, it seemed to him a confirmation. He did not know what news Benjamin brought, but he was sure it was important or the boy would not have interrupted him. Cohen opened the door.
"What is it?" he asked, with no sign of the consternation Benjamin had expected.
"There's a man here to see you, Father."
Cohen waited for more information but Benjamin was not forthcoming. "So what is this man's name?" Cohen asked finally.
"He didn't say," Benjamin responded, in a muffled voice.
"Well, did you ask him?"
"Yes, Father."
"And, what did he say?"
Benjamin wasn't sure how this was going to sound. It seemed very authoritative when the man in the sitting room said it, but coming from his own lips, Benjamin thought it might sound a little dumb. Still, he had to say something: his father was waiting. "He said to tell you that he is 'he who has heard the voices of the seven thunders.'"
Cohen did not respond but the look on his face registered recognition. Finally he managed a nod and Benjamin went back to the sitting room to retrieve the man.
Saul Cohen closed the door and mechanically began to straighten his desk. A few seconds later, he heard footsteps coming down the hall and watched as the doorknob began to rotate. Suddenly it seemed as though he had forgotten how to breathe. Benjamin pushed the door open, and Cohen, remembering his manners, managed to move around from behind his desk to meet the man. If this man was, indeed, who he claimed to be, then Cohen had no desire to insult him with bad etiquette. For a moment, the man stood in the doorway just looking at Cohen as if savoring the moment, and then finally he entered.
Cohen didn't know how it could be possible for this man to be who he claimed, but in Cohen's vocation he had learned that nothing was impossible. He had known since the Disaster that there was to be a prophet who would someday come. But could this man really be who he claimed to be? It was almost more than Cohen could accept.
"Hello, Rabbi," the man said, cordially, as he extended his hand. He was not at all what Cohen expected. He didn't appear to be a day over sixty. Most disconcerting of all was the way he was dressed – in a modern, dark gray business suit with a red tie. Somehow, as silly as it seemed, Cohen expected that the man would be wearing sandals and a long robe, tied at the waist with a rope. Yet, despite his appearance and the impossibility of his claim, there was something about the man that made Cohen believe he was exactly who he said he was.
"I'm the one you've been waiting for," the man said, still extending his hand. "But believe me, I've been waiting for you for a lot longer than you've been waiting for me." Cohen was silent, still unsure of what to say. "And you are Saul Cohen," the man continued, "of the lineage of Jonadab, son of Recab about whom Jeremiah prophesied."
Cohen's mouth dropped open. "That secret has not passed outside of my family for nearly twelve hundred years," he said.
"It is the only explanation for why you were not taken in the… um, 'Disaster'," the man explained. "And when you have completed your work, your son will take your place in the Lord's service, as was promised through Jeremiah."
Cohen grew pensive.
"Why don't we just sit down," the man suggested. "We have a lot to talk about." Cohen complied silently. "As our meeting indicates, the time is at hand for the end of this age." Without pausing to allow Cohen to consider the full impact of this statement, the man continued. "I've observed you for a number of years and I am now certain that you are the other witness. The fact that you recognize me confirms that belief."
"You were not sure before?" Cohen asked.
"I was not told who the other would be. I now see that I was led to you, but confirmation was left to the discernment and wisdom God has granted me. I had no special revelation on the matter."
This discovery caught Cohen off guard. "But… I don't understand. How could you not know?"
"Well, as the Apostle Paul wrote, 'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. ' I can assure you that as long as you and I remain on this side of life, that will never change – not even if you were to live to be two thousand years old."
"Rabbi," Cohen said, not knowing how else to address this man whom he considered to be hundreds of times his spiritual senior.
"Please," the man interrupted, "call me John."
This had gone on long enough. Cohen had to be sure he understood what was happening. "You are John?"
The man nodded.
"Yochanan bar Zebadee." Cohen said, using the Hebrew form of the man's name.
"I am," he answered.
"The Apostle of the Lord? You were there, at the foot of the cross?"
"I was there," he answered with an expression that showed he still felt the pain of that event nearly two thousand years earlier.
"But how? Have you returned from the dead?"
The man smiled. "In many ways I would have preferred that. But, no, I've been here, alive on this decaying world, waiting for this moment for almost 2000 years."
Cohen didn't repeat his question but his eyes still asked 'how?'
"Do you not recall what our Lord told Peter about me on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias?"
Cohen knew the words but he had never thought their meaning to be literal. After his resurrection, Jesus told the Apostle Peter how he (Peter) would die. Peter then asked what would happen to John. "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you?" Jesus replied.
"But you also wrote that what Jesus said didn't mean you'd never die, just that you might not die until after his return. " As soon as the words left his mouth, Cohen realized that he did not need an answer; both he and John were fully aware of the fate that soon awaited them – and that fate matched Jesus' words perfectly.
"The Lord told my brother James and me that, like him, we would both die a martyr's death. James was the first of the Lord's apostles to die,… and I shall be the last. I suppose in this way at least, my mother's request to Jesus will be granted: James and I will sit at the Lord's right and left hands in his kingdom."
Cohen still struggled.
"In the Book of Revelation," the man continued, "I said that an angel gave me a scroll and I was told to eat it. I wrote:
I took the little scroll from the angel's hand and ate it. It tasted sweet as honey in my mouth, but when I had eaten it, my stomach turned sour. Then I was told, "You must prophesy again about many peoples, nations, languages, and kings."
Cohen nodded recognition. "The words of the scroll were sweet," the man explained, "because in that moment I came to know that I would live longer than even Methuselah. But the scroll became sour in my stomach as I came to understand that I would have to wait longer than any other man to see the Lord again. Then I was told the reason that my life must continue: I have remained on this earth to prophesy again, this time with you, about many peoples, nations, languages, and kings."
Knitting his brow, Cohen lapsed into an introspective state. He believed but, then again, it was almost too much to believe. "I suppose it should have been expected," he said finally, "after you survived being immersed in boiling oil. And it explains the prophesies of Yeshua concerning the end of the age, when he told the disciples '… some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God come with power.' If you are John, then indeed that generation has not passed away. Still, what of Polycarp?" Cohen asked, referring to the late first and early second-century bishop of Smyrna who, according to his student Irenaeus, said John died during the reign of the Roman emperor Trajan.
"Have you not read Harnack?" the man responded, referring to the German theologian who propounded that Polycarp was referring not to John the Apostle but to another man, a church elder, also named John.
It occurred to Cohen that this might also explain one of the mysteries of the Bible that had always puzzled him. "And is this the reason for the apparent later additions to the original text of your gospel?" he asked for confirmation.
The man nodded. "I regret the confusion that has caused. From time to time I'd tell someone about something Jesus did or said that I had left out of my Gospel and they'd urge me to include it. It never even occurred to me that, by adding a few things I had left out of the earlier versions, I would cause so much confusion later on. Saul, I understand your reason for questioning, and yet I know that at the same time, the Spirit gives witness to you that I am who I claim to be."
"But where have you been?" Cohen asked. "How could you have kept your identity concealed?"
"It's easier than you might imagine," John answered. "I must admit, however, I've not always been as successful as I would like. There was a period of a few hundred years that no matter where I went – from China, to India, to Ethiopia – the stories would follow me."
A thought occurred to Cohen. "Prester John?" he asked, referring to the mysterious figure mentioned in dozens of legends and by a few more reliable sources such as Marco Polo, over a span of several hundred years and in widespread locations.
John nodded. "Though how I ever got tied in with the legends of King Arthur, I can only guess was the result of speculation that I had the Holy Grail.
"Since then, I've been a lot more careful about concealing my identity. To avoid questions I've had to move frequently – never more than ten or fifteen years in one place. And I have always tried to find work in the Lord's service that would not draw attention. I've pastored a hundred small churches in every corner of the world. But is it so surprising that I could have gone unnoticed in a world of hundreds of millions? After all, God himself became a man and lived on the earth and went unnoticed by the world for thirty years until the time was right for him to begin his ministry. Now the time is right for me; and for you as well, my friend."
Sahiwai, Pakistan
Decker tried to maintain an encouraging smile as he walked among several small groups of people who were sitting on logs or squatting on the ground eating their rations. It was just after six o'clock and the day's second meal – one could hardly call it dinner – was being served. It had been nearly two hours since Secretary-General Hansen's helicopter had left, four hours late, with the rest of the U.N. contingent. Decker and Christopher remained to await the second team of ambassadors who were coming to the camp to survey the conditions. Christopher had gone to his tent to take a nap shortly after Hansen left.
"Christopher, wake up; it's time for supper," Decker called as he approached the team's small stand of greenish-gray tents. "Come on, Christopher, rise and shine," he said a little louder, but there was no answer. "Christopher, are you in there?" Decker stuck his head between the two tent flaps and past the mosquito netting. Inside, Christopher sat unmoving on the floor of the tent. Sweat dripped from his face and body and a pained stare filled every feature of his face.
"Are you all right?" Decker asked, though it was obvious that he was not.
"Something is wrong," Christopher said, finally.
"Are you sick?" Decker asked, but as soon as he said it, he realized that Christopher had never been sick; he probably wasn't capable of it.
"Something is terribly wrong." Christopher answered.
Decker ducked inside the tent and closed the flaps behind him. "What is it?" he asked.
"Death and life," Christopher replied slowly. Each word seemed as if it tore an agonizing track from his lungs to his lips.
"Whose life and death?" Decker asked in the more traditional order in which those words are used.
"The death of one who sought to avoid death's grip; the life of another who sought to accept death's release."
"Who has died?" Decker asked, wanting to cover one item at a time and seeing the second reference as both less pressing and more obscure.
"Jon Hansen," he replied.
Decker never got around to asking about the second reference.