Heretic or True Believer?

 Julia settled on the cushions beside Uncle Montanus and tucked her sandaled feet under her robe. A scowl marred her uncle's face. Of late, it seemed more present than the smiles he used to give her when she was a child. She sighed and picked at lint upon her clothing.

She had been very young when he was once the priest of the pagan cult of Cybele. She didn't remember much, but she did remember the anger. When he was saved by Christ their entire household was saved, and he zealously followed the teachings of Christ. 

Julia's mother swept into the room, a bright blue sash wrapped around her cream tunic and bangles tinkled upon her wrists. The scent of lavender drifting into the room with her. "Montanus, please do not brood so." Julia's mother settled on the cushions on the other side of her brother. "The village of Pepuza is safe, as is Arclabau. You are here to ensure it is so."

"All of Phrygia rolls with the false doctrines." He groused, yet took his sister's hand and patted it, warm affection apparent in his eyes. "Those who seek to grip our church in false doctrines, in lies…" he slashed his hand in front of him, "Cannot my people see that to believe these is to condemn one to eternal death?"

A servant girl came in carrying a tray of grapes and olives. She set it before Uncle Montanus, nodded and backed out of the room. Julia sighed again. "Uncle, can we thank the Lord for our food and eat. I am starved."

He scowled at her, though the corner of his mouth tilted up. "Let us pray then." He took her hand and Mother's then began, "Oh Gracious Heavenly Father, Lord Jesus Christ, and Holy Spirit all one, thank you for providing our needs, for saving our souls, and for giving us life. May we serve You as faithfully as You have protected and provided for us. In Your Son's Holy Name we ask this."

He picked up the tray and handed it first to Mother and then to Julia before helping himself to a cluster of grapes.

"How can I impress upon my people the need to have faith for salvation. They'd rather have the act of baptism. Why can they not see that only by grace are we saved, through faith, as the Apostle Paul taught us? Why do they add to it by saying one must be baptized to be saved?" He tossed a grape into his mouth, chewed, swallowed and tossed the rest of the cluster on the tray. "I speak and say thus, then someone who deems himself greater than I, who has somehow fooled the people into believing he has the authority of God even as an apostle, contradicts me, and poof! The person is condemned to damnation."

"Really, Uncle. Do you think that is true? Do you really think that of Flavius Justinus," Julia paused, her mind running over the men she'd seen her uncle argue with. "And what of Hermas? Is he really teaching false doctrines?"

Uncle Montanus whipped around at her, his face as red as a fireball. "Justin Martyr demands baptism for the washing away of sin. Nothing but the blood of Christ can do this." He tilted his head, then patted her hand as though to apologize for his anger. "Flavius travels in a philosopher's robe, not in robes of righteousness. He thinks of Christianity only in terms of philosophy, not in terms of a personal relationship with our Lord God. How can he even be taken seriously when he has no faith, just philosophy? How can saving faith come from the work of baptism he promotes? It is a ritual, not a surrendering of all to our Lord and Savior."

Julia frowned. She did understand this. Did not the Apostle Paul warn of this in his letter to the Colossians? Did he not say, "Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ."? 

Mother shook her head. "Montanus, I'm not sure that Flavius believes a person is only saved by baptism."

Uncle jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Mother. "That is what he wishes you to think, to doubt." 

Julia stood as well, but she didn't know why, just felt the stress of the moment, the fear of the anger of her uncle. She never wanted to see him upset. But he was so passionate, so quick to insist on truth.

"And even if you choose not these men to confront," Uncle Montanus began to pace, "Even the apostle John warned of antichrists amongst us. There are those that present God as unreachable, and Christ as an emanated being. Don't get me started on those that believe that evil must be overcome by indulging it! What foolishness!"

He stopped and his cheek twitched. "Ritualism." He spat the word out as though it were a poor tasting fruit. "Not to mention these men who believe only certain chosen ones can teach. That is not at all what the Scriptures say. And it feels at times that the Holy Spirit has left us, there is such a great lack of...of..." he shook his finger in the air, "Spirituality." He growled and then moaned as though he were mourning a great loss. "I choose to be a mortal enemy to philosophy and religion. Only in Christ, do I stand."

Mother reached for Uncle's robe. "Calm down, Brother. We do not have the power to change the hearts of men. That is the work of the Holy Spirit." She tugged on his robe, and he turned to her. "Please, come sit. We'll pray. Yes, there are many enemies of the true Gospel. But let's not become as them in our behavior. Please." She patted the cushion beside her. "Come sit again. We will call on those who believe as we do to pray and fast and spread the truth through the preaching of the true Gospel."

Julia took a deep breath. Her uncle nodded to the gentle urgings of Mother. He'd settle, but he was much burdened.

The Apostle Paul warned, that was true, but it was up to them, to the church, to hold to the truth. "Yes, Uncle. Send out messengers, and let's bring our church together for prayer and fasting. I am sure Maximilia and Priscilla will help." The two prominent women were great supports of Uncle. "You have already begun a great work, and the Holy Spirit has brought you great success."

He shook his head. "It is the least of what I can do. I must do more." He pulled Mother and Julia to their feet. "Come, we'll call the believers together and fast and pray." He paused, as though deep in thought. Then with a thrust of his fist in the air, he said, "We must fast and pray or we'll lose this battle. God be with us. Oh, Holy Spirit, lead us." He waved his hands and marched to the door. "Come! Come! We must hurry."

---

Montanus was a leader of a group of believers in Asia Minor who resisted the teachings of many who drifted from the original teachings of the Apostles. He was and continues to be reproached as a heretic, even though he fought for baptism only by immersion, purity of communion, holiness of life, church discipline, trinitarian theology, the complete Word of God, and premillennial eschatology. Charges have been brought against him by those who claim Catholic, Anglican, or Lutheran views on early church history. According to some historians, these charges cannot be proved.

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Bibliography:

Hammett, Doug. The History of Baptists. Emmaus, Pa, Challenge Press, 2004.

Jarrel, W.A. Baptist Church Perpetuity. Dallas, Texas, The Baptist Standard Bearer Inc., 1894.

Tertullian and Montanus, a Scene of Thoughts

 Tertullian leaned against the half wall at the entrance of his house. The days had grown longer as summer moved into the area. He cocked the corner of his lips, remembering how much his wife had loved the summer, and turned to move into the shade of the walls within his house. 

How good God was to have given him a wife who knew the Gospel. It was her faith, and it became his, gripping a hold of him, thrusting him into a new life, changing him to the very core of who he was.

But the world was changing. Christians were changing--could he call them Christians, those that moved down roads of theology he was unwilling to go? He ran his hand down his face and felt squeezed by the thought.

Then again, he was in part culpable for these shifts in what men believed was truth. Had he not explored dogmatic thoughts on how to live a Christian life, perhaps some of these thoughts would not be deemed by some to be sacred and therefore a must to adhere to had he not mentioned them. If superstition had not dogged his every thought, perhaps rituals would not have replaced reason...was this not an influence of a pagan parentage?

He sighed and ran his hand along the cold wall then shuffled to the cushions and blankets placed for him in the corner of the great hall.

He would not apologize for his writings on baptism. Perhaps, though, perhaps he could have been more thorough in his original work. Perhaps he should have relied more heavily on Paul's letter to the Corinthians where Paul himself confessed he did not baptize others. Surely that was evidence that baptism was not necessary for a person to be a Christian. Or did that simply confuse the matter?

He ran his wrinkled hand through his now white hair and lowered himself to the brightly colored cushions, his bones and muscles complaining in the movement and sighing in the relief.

Tertullian had insisted on re-examining and rebaptizing anyone who'd come to his Carthage church. The Christian community here had grown too fast. They did not know truth. They rushed into faith without understanding and in order to help them, the leaders of their faith gave them traditions. 

Was that not the issue Christ had with the Pharisees? The traditions of men, not of God.

One could not join his church without being properly baptized. But not all agreed, leaving Tertullian no other choice but to leave. "That was the right decision, was it not Dear Lord?"

There were many others, beside himself that withdrew from the churches that had become corrupt. It was necessary for the purity of communion. They had to resort to worshiping God as circumstances allowed, privately or publicly. 

He'd watched the change, even as it now continued. Every sacred appointment--polluted. Could they not see? He shifted a bit on the cushions so he could get a glimpse of the sky from the window.

How relieved he was when he met Montanus, a man saved from the cult of Cybele by Christ. Montanus was a brave man. Tertullian could respect that. Perhaps it was part of what piqued his interest when he met the man. Montanus was a humble man as well. He did not strive for attention as most men did.

Tertullian laid back and pulled the brightly colored blanket over him. He agreed with Montanus that Christianity was simple in nature. As the Apostle Paul had written in his first epistle to the Corinthians:

"Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand; by which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures; and that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day according to the scriptures". (I Corinthians 15:1-3)

A sigh relaxed Tertullian's mind and a smile played upon his lips. No need for complicated philosopic notions or customs. The Gospel, plain and simple. Yes, he did agree with Montanus on this very point.

Ritualism had no place in the church. Had not the Apostle Paul argued against it in his letter to the Galatians? Had he not said, "Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?" (Galatians 3:3)

And then there were some of those men who thought themselves above the average Christian...the rise of a clergy class. The Apostle Peter had said we were all priests, all capable of going before God. And was there not that passage in the prophets that spoke of the Holy Spirit giving everyone understanding? No, the so-called clergy were not needed, not as a superior being. Christ Himself, had humbled Himself to the cross, but would those clergy do likewise? Tertullian snorted. Of course they would not.

His heart beat faster in his chest and the pain there intensified once more. "Oh Heavenly Father, You have called for us to know You. To truly and fully know You! and yet we have chosen instead to use systems of thought and actions to make us feel as though we know You, when all we've done is replaced true fellowship with Your Holy Spirit with ritual and emotion. Forgive us, Oh God!"

The Apostle Paul would not have tolerated it. He did not in the church of Corinth; he would not in the church of Carthage. Oh but if only the so called clergy would actually seek God and read the letters of the apostle with the guidance of the Holy Spirit. If only...

"Spiritualists." That's what these clergy were calling Montanus' followers, claiming Montanus (who declared it himself) was an enemy to philosophy and religion. Well. Perhaps he was, and so was, therefore Tertullian.

No. From this day forward, Tertullian would align himself with Montanus. He would work beside Montanus to practice the purity of communion, to baptize only by immersion, and to the holiness of life. 

His eyelids began to weigh heavy over his eyes. "I'll stand by Montanus' desire for church discipline, and to defend the Trinitarian Theology. I will defend the complete Word of God, both Old and New Testaments."

A yawn forced his hand to cover his mouth and he let his spirit wing its way into the presence of God. "And I will look for the return of Christ to set up his millennial kingdom on earth as the Apostle John wrote in his Revelation of Jesus Christ."

He felt the warmth of God's presence, God's comforting hand, the Holy Spirit, and he drifted off to sleep.

Short Story: Arnoldo

 Arnoldo

“They gain their wealth at the hands of the poor!” the bald man dressed in a monk’s habit shouted from a wooden crate in the main street of Brescia. “The Romish Church has no right to own property.”

With one voice, the crowd revealed their reverence of him, but Theresa stood by the door of her father’s blacksmith shop pondering his sanity. Did not this man realize he was inciting his own death?

Her fist tightened around the scroll handed to her by the monk’s disciple. She was playing the fool now. Would she be killed for bearing a message?

“He studied in France,” a passerby whispered as he bumped Theresa’s shoulder.

She draped her scarf over her head and across her face.

“He claims the Church does not have the right to rule as a kingdom,” another whispered in return.

Theresa ducked under a farmer’s canopy and slipped past another.

“The sacraments the Church practices are not as written in Scripture!” The man, lifted a book in his hand. “Convert and be baptized again!”

“Arnoldo!” Theresa hissed as she drew up behind him. “I have a message.”

The monk stepped down from the crate and pulled on his beard. “What is it?”

“A message.” Theresa pressed the scroll into his hand. “You must leave. The count-bishop is preparing his coaches. He plans to take you to the Pope.”

The clop-clop of prancing hooves on cobblestone and the anxious neighing of high-strung horses rose above the crowd’s murmurs. Arnoldo looked across the market. “I see you are right. That is his impressive vehicle now, is it not?”

“Yes. Please, come with me.” Theresa turned and lifted her skirts. “I know a way to the Alps where he will not dare follow . . . not in a coach.”

“But to run . . .”

“To run is to save your life and perhaps give you opportunity to share the truth with many more.”

Her words seemed to convince him for he grabbed her elbow and waved her on. They weaved through the merchant canopies that lined the street. These hovered over her as a net sent by Satan to capture them. She pressed her hand against her throbbing chest and ducked under another tent.

“There he runs!” The count-bishop barked.

“Down here.” Theresa gestured to a stairwell.

“Follow them!” Pounding boots drew close. The monk breathed heavily at her side as he maneuvered the crumbling steps.

“We’ve not far.” She gripped his elbow and led him down a dark corridor. For years her family had used this passage to escape the attacks of the Lombards on their city. Now, Lord willing, it would provide a way of escape for Arnoldo.

Footsteps echoed against the stone walls, riding on the cool of the passage. Theresa shivered and urged the monk forward to what appeared to be a dead end.

“We’ve nowhere to go.” He panted.

She ran her hand along the wall until she felt the familiar star-shaped stone and pressed it. A quiet creaking announced the slow movement of the wall. Earthy air slipped through and surrounded them. She pushed the monk into the black corridor and glanced back before following him.

The bishop’s men had not yet reached the head of the corridor. She tugged on a heavy cord and the wall moved back into place. If God be with them, the men would not see the wall move.

“It’s so dark.”

“Ssh.” She grabbed the monk’s hand and lifted her other hand to the cold wall beside her. Sliding her foot to the edge of the wall, she inched along it.

For a hundred feet she shuffled, holding Arnoldo’s hand with her left and running her right along the wall. Around a turn and a light the size of a pinhead shone at the end. “You’ll need to get on your hands and knees. The ceiling lowers before we reach the exit.”

A whiff of onion and body odor floated by as the rough wool of the monk’s garb rubbed against her hand. She bent down beside him. “Grab my foot, and I’ll guide you.”

They crawled one after the other for several feet while the light grew until blue sky could be seen through a hole the size of a bear’s waist.

The monk’s heavy breathing echoed through the narrow passageway.

Theresa clenched her teeth and glanced back. Lord willing, he would make it.

The grit of the floor pressed into Theresa’s hands, and her knees bled against her skirt. She held her breath as she peered out through the hole. If the things went as planned, her brother, Joseph, would be waiting with horses.

“Pst!”

She turned and saw her brother holding two bays. “The bishop’s men have come through the city gates. We must hurry.”

Theresa pointed to the scroll in the monk’s hand. “That is a letter of introduction. My father has a friend in Zurich with whom you will stay. My brother will take you as far as the Liechenstein. There you will be given further directions.”

“God be with you.” The monk bowed his head to her.

“And you.”

Shouts rode upon the wind.

“The guards are coming.” Joseph helped the monk onto the smaller bay. “Theresa, go back.”

She dove into the hole and held her breath as she listened to the thunder of horses’ hooves fade. God of mercy, help them. Keep them safe.

The sun began to set before Theresa made her way back down the dark tunnel. By the time she left the corridors, darkness had engulfed the town of Brescia. She stepped out into the street, pulling her hood over her head and around her face.

“Theresa!” a man hissed.

She rushed to the voice. “Father.”

He took her hands and pulled her into a dark building. “Did he get away? Did Joseph make it?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and looked across the alley. “He was Brescia’s hope, you know.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Heaven beheld Italia’s tears and sent us Arnoldo. God be praised.”

“Jacob.”

Theresa slipped behind her father. She didn’t recognize the voice. Who could it be?

“Eugenius, what is the word?” Her father drew his arm around her and placed her beside him. “This is my daughter. She led Arnoldo to Joseph.”

The tall man with dark robes and a hood that hid his face nodded to her. “My pigeon brought word they made it to Liechenstein.” He rested a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “They’re safe and Joseph will return in the morrow.”

Theresa felt her father’s arm relax, though her own body trembled with fatigue.

“God be praised,” her father replied and led her to a chair.

Tears rolled down her face as she sat. God had spared them. By God’s grace, Arnoldo would continue to speak of the freedom found in Christ. Perhaps she had not been such a fool to help him after all.
_________________________

Arnoldo continued to preach the True Gospel of the free gift of salvation. He later returned to Rome, convincing many of their freedom, but when he retired to Tuscany, he was seized. Taken to Rome, he was condemned by the Pope who had him crucified and burned, and his ashes thrown into the Tiber.

While it may appear as though the clergy won, Arnoldo’s followers continued his message of preaching the True Gospel of Christ. Unlike those clergy who did not believe that one is saved by faith in the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Christ, Arnoldo now finds his rest in Heaven, with other martyrs of the faith.
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Food for Thought

1. How does one get saved? Read Romans 10:9-13.
2. Does the Bible warn us of those who teach false doctrine? Read Paul's epistle to the Galatians; I Timothy 4:1-5; II Timothy 3:1-9; II Peter 2.
3. If you lived in a time and a place where you could be killed for sharing God's true Gospel, would you have the courage to do so? Read Philippians 1.