John the Presbyter

He is more watchful, more eager than any of us.

Our master, John the Presbyter, does well to be proud of him.

He is the best man in our class.

While they were talking, the door opened and Hermas stepped out.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Blue Flower by Henry Van Dyke The Lost Word Part 2 Section 4 The break with the old life was as clean as if it had been cut with a knife.

Some faint image of a hermit's cell, a bare lodging in the back street of Antioch, a classroom full of earnest students, remained in Hermas' memory.

Some dull echo of the voice of John the Presbyter, and the measured sound of chanting, and the murmur of great congregations, still lingered in his ears.

But it was like something that had happened to another person, something that he had read long ago, but of which he had lost the meaning.

Mark Goodacre has recently revived the identification of the beloved disciple with John, the son of Zebedee, even though, if I understand him correctly, he himself doesn't think that the historical apostle John personally wrote the gospel.

And then, of course, Richard Bauckham thinks John the Elder, a different John, wrote the fourth gospel, but he still claims that this author was an eyewitness and a disciple of Christ, and an eyewitness of the events he's describing.

Furthermore, it is not at all certain or established that the traditional view of authorship is wrong.

This is still being debated today.

Okay, so what's John's Gospel all about? Well, it was written by a man called John.

We know him as John the Apostle or John the Elder, and we traditionally understand him to be the disciple that Jesus loved.

He was one of the twelve.

He was a fisherman, and along with his brother James, he was nicknamed the Sons of Thunder by Jesus.

He is more watchful, more eager than any of us.

Our master, John the Presbyter, does well to be proud of him.

He is the best man in our class.

While they were talking the door opened and Hermas stepped out.

The break with the old life was as clean as if it had been cut with a knife.

Some faint image of a hermit's cell, a bare lodging in the back street of Antioch, a classroom full of earnest students, remained in Hermas' memory.

Some dull echo of the voice of John the Presbyter, and the measured sound of chanting, and the murmur of great congregations, still lingered in his ears.

But it was like something that had happened to another person, something that he had read long ago, but of which he had lost the meaning.

Mom, we could take a poll at Everyday Star Programmer and ask them their views on marriage and remarriage and divorce and remarriage if you want.

We asked you to come back in here so you could hear from John.

Yeah.

As to what...

I love Susie.

I love my grandkids.

Yes, I've been frustrated, like John said.

I've said things.