The Disciple

The Writing of the First Gospel

Way

• Publisher: Wipf and Stock
• Year: 2016
• eBook ISBN: 9781498273862
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

As strange as it might seem to moderns, God is present, Jesus did walk amongst us, and miracles still occur. If you have ever wondered what it was like to live at the time of Jesus, prepare yourself, you are about to live it through the eyes of someone who was there.On a hot California afternoon, Ronald Way was struck by a blinding light. In that light, Jesus appeared and asked if he would give up everything and move away to write a story about a memory that would be awakened from within. That journey sent him halfway around the world to the Holy City of Jerusalem and then to the banks of the Nile. There he was confronted by a vision that sent him tumbling back 2,000 years to the time of Jesus of Galilee. Then, in the body of the old man named Asher ben Ammi, he was to sit on the roof of his home looking down on the Temple to pen the first gospel ever written about the man he considered to be his friend and the Messiah, Jeshua ben Joseph - Jesus.For two thousand years the contents of that manuscript have remained hidden--until now. Here then is the story of Asher ben Ammi--The Disciple. Join the author on a journey back in time as he shares his remembrances of a life long gone, but never forgotten.

The Awakening

As he was nearing Damascus on this mission, suddenly a brilliant light from heaven spotted down upon him! He fell to the ground and heard a voice…

Acts 9:3-4

Bright, billowy clouds arched their way above the ocean while the sun splayed shafts of light across the sky. As we walked along San Clemente beach, the shimmering heat reflecting from the sand warmed our faces and bodies. A pair of dogs barked and snapped at the foaming waves crashing on the sand. Children laughed, danced, and sang in the surf on this beautiful July day. I glanced with warm affection at my family and friends who had come to visit for the weekend. Little did I know that this was the last day of my life—the Disciple was coming.

I was a young architect in my mid-thirties and totally engrossed in running my practice. My wife and I owned a 32-foot vacation trailer, which we parked for part of the summer at the San Clemente public campground midway between Los Angeles and San Diego. On this July 4th weekend several of our friends had come to spend the holiday weekend with us.

We left the trailer high on the bluff about 10 o’clock on Sunday morning and walked down to the beach. Spreading our towels, we decided to take a long walk along the sand. We walked perhaps a half-mile south along the base of the brooding cliffs, and then returned again along the surf. As we talked and laughed we left our footprints among the others in the moist sand on the edge of forever.

I remember thinking how all record of our passing would soon be wiped from existence when once again the earth turned and the tides cleansed the planet.

The beauty of the Southern California day was complete, or so we all thought. Little did I know that the peacefulness of the moment was soon to be shattered.

Suddenly, far down the beach I saw a fast-moving, brilliant point of light. It was blinding, like the sun flashing off of a windshield. It was accelerating; growing larger and larger, boring down on me like a comet. I was directly in its path. There was no getting away!

The light hit me with such force that I staggered unsteadily on my feet. Unconscious of my surroundings, my mind reeled from the stunning blow as the light engulfed me in its radiance. Everything turned white, and my world fell silent—absolutely silent—as out of the shimmering, white glow, a figure formed. It was a man not tall, nor handsome, in a coarsely woven white robe with dark hair, olive skin and eyes that penetrated my soul.

There could be no mistake. I knew him. The figure who appeared in my path was my Master of old, the one I had sought with such earnestness throughout my life, since my earliest memory as a child. Before me was Yeshua ben Joseph—Jesus of Galilee. He had finally come. On this very public beach my heart leapt in spellbound, breathless wonder.

I followed his gaze as he slowly looked down without saying a word. Between us stood a low wooden table. My architect’s eye caught the subtlety of its construction. It was made of three hand-hewn planks pegged one to another. On the table there was a dull silver goblet, the hammer marks of the craftsman visible on its sides. He motioned with his arm for me to take a seat, the long sleeve of his robe glowing in the remnants of the now diminished radiance. He sat down cross-legged with an easy, youthful grace. I lowered myself on bended knees. My attention fixed on this man whom I knew I had known from the past.

Wordlessly, he reached out, took the goblet, and swirled the contents lightly, staring into the wine for a long time. Then, as if finishing a silent prayer, he lifted the chalice, extended it to me, and asked me to share the Mystery with him as I had done before, long, long ago.

I took the chalice and drank.

At that moment, the memories of another time lay just below the surface of my consciousness, struggling to burst full-born into my being. It was as if some long-past experiences were there for me to grasp, so near that I could almost touch them, but I did not hold the key to them as yet and thus the images remained just out of my reach, a whisper of thought in the corner of my mind; calling me, urging me forward to a future I did not know.

The author, Ron Way, in ecstasy with Jesus after being struck by the “light.” A friend who witnessed the event in 1982 took the picture as it was occurring.

I sipped the wine again and handed back the cup. In a wonderfully deep, resonant voice that exploded in my mind, Jesus told me that I had the ability to share with all his people a part of him that was locked within me—if I was ready to give up much. He told me I could give his people the new life he had breathed into the world, a life that had slowly dimmed over the past two thousand years.

Continuing, he said, “To do this, you must follow my words and write the story about your past with me.”

In my mind, I answered fervently, “Yes, yes, my Lord,” even though at that time I knew not what he meant.

There, at a simple wooden table, somewhere between the surf and eternity and totally oblivious to anything beyond what I was experiencing, Jesus began to impart to me what I had to do before I could commit to this awesome task.

“If you will share the memories I promise to awaken within you,” he said, “you must be willing to let go of everything you know—everything—and trust in me.”

“Everything?” I wondered, was this true? And, as inane as it sounds, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Even my Porsche?” Would I truly have to give up all the things I held close and dear to follow this man who now sat silently before me, watching and waiting for my answer? Even in a state of ecstasy the mind tends to thrash about unfocused, afraid to dwell too long on what it doesn’t know or understand.

I sensed somewhere deep inside me that my life was about to change dramatically I didn’t know how or when, but I knew with nothing further said between us, save that same penetrating look in his eyes, that in order for me to tell this story as he wished, I would be required to live totally on faith. I would have to give up everything in pursuit of this goal. But I tell you the truth: I didn’t have the faintest idea how long it would take, or how desperate I would become in trying to fulfill his command.

All I can tell you is that at that moment my commitment was complete. In that split second of total acceptance my world began its inexorable shift. My life would never be the same again.

Without warning, my senses yanked me back into the real world. It wasn’t as if Jesus faded into the mist as he had come; rather, I felt myself being jolted back and forth from vision to “reality.” One instant I was sitting at the wooden table, then the next, the ocean waves were coming at me. Suddenly a terrible burning sensation filled my mouth and nose. I felt my body tumbling about and I became aware that the tide had surged in.

Conscious now of my surroundings, coughing and sputtering from the saltwater in my nose and throat, not knowing what had happened to me, I staggered toward dry sand.

There in front of me was my wife, my youngest daughter, and the friends who had come to visit, all of them staring at me, as were a number of other onlookers. I knew I was the only one there on the edge of eternity; and like Saul of Tarsus before me, the only one who had seen the blinding light.

Realizing that whatever had happened was now at an end, and observing that I could not stand on my own, my friends grabbed me and helped me to where we had spread our towels on the sand. I collapsed in a daze.

I lay there quietly for some time, and then began to sob. No one spoke or asked me anything, but I could feel their unspoken questions bombarding me. I knew I couldn’t handle them yet.

With the bitter saltwater still stinging my nose and the sound of the surf pounding unbearably in my ears, I lay on the towel and buried my head in my arms. I wanted to be alone to cry. I had been so deeply touched by this man of my vision that I couldn’t speak of it to anyone—not yet.

I got up, not saying a word to anyone, and hurried back along the path that led up the cliff and back to the safety of the trailer. There, away from the people and noise, I cried wondering what had happened to me. Trudy (one of our weekend guests) and my wife followed me a short time later back to the trailer, but my wife soon left, having no patience or understanding of what I had just gone through, leaving Trudy silently waiting until I could control myself; and it was to her that I explained what had happened.

“It was the goblet! I refused it last night. He had to ask again.” I gasped. In an instant the memory of the evening before flooded me.

It was near midnight. I had been asleep in the family trailer parked high on the bluff above the beach when suddenly I heard someone speaking my name, “Ronald.” It had been clear as a bell. I bolted straight up, wide awake, and stared into a darkened and silent interior.

My ears strained to hear who had called my name. Then in the darkness I heard the scratching of a pen on paper from where Trudy, had been sleeping.

“Trudy, did you call my name?” I whispered softly so as not to wake the rest of the inhabitants.

“No,” she whispered back.

I slipped out of bed and moved back to the dining area. There, still with the lights out, I felt an overwhelming urge to meditate. Without saying another word, I sank to the floor of the kitchen, leaning up against the refrigerator, closed my eyes.

Instantly I was being hurled across an ocean of rainbow colored lights. On and on I went, faster and faster. Fear came up in waves, and each time as it rose, I forced myself to relax into the experience, surfing the glorious colors.

When I stopped my flight across this rainbow sea, Trudy was there ahead of me. She was standing in front of a man.

The man wore a robe. As I approached, he turned to me and extended his hands, which held a hammered silver goblet. He was asking me to do something that terrified me at that moment, but I didn’t know consciously what it was. All I knew was that I was terrified of some task that he had asked of me.

Trudy was looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to drink, or answer, or both, but I couldn’t. I panicked. Fear rose in me like bile, and I was immediately jerked back over the waves of color and back into my body so fast that it took my breath away.

My eyes flew open, and in the darkness of the trailer I whispered in a ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• The Question
• Part 1: The Awakening
• Part 2: The Story of the Disciple Begins
• Part 3: The First Gospel and The Messiah