The Last Temple by Sigmund Brouwer, Hank Hanegraaff Read Free Book Online Page A

empire will face death throes and then survive?”
    “You risk your life—if I am to believe you—to meet with me just to ask me that?”
    “Will Jerusalem fall?” Ben-Matthias asked.
    Vitas felt a degree of impatience. “Unlikely. No, impossible. To any casual observer of politics, yes, it’s obvious that the Jews are a constant thorn in Rome’s side, and yes, anyone could have easily predicted that eventually there would be rebellion. But one of the reasons the Jews have come to the point of rebellion is their unshakable belief that God will always protect Jerusalem and their sacred Temple.” Vitas snorted. “But anyone in the world can tell you they don’t need God’s protection. Its heights and walls are impregnable; it has a ten-year food supply, unlimited water, and an entire populace willing to die to save the Temple. You said your time is short. Why waste time on the obvious? What do you want from me enough to bribe a guard and risk your life?”
    Vitas had decided that might be his only leverage. He badly wanted the knowledge it seemed this man had. The source of the letter that had sent him to Caesarea. Indeed, perhaps even the reasons for the letter and the identities of the men who had rescued him from Nero and put him on the ship. Once he understood what the man in the shroud wanted, Vitas would negotiate.
    “Once,” Ben-Matthias said, “I too believed Jerusalem would not fall until the promised Messiah arrived. Now I’m not so sure. Perhaps this Jesus of Nazareth truly was the Messiah. The Christos. If so, the Temple will fall within this generation as he prophesied.”
    Normally, Vitas would have pressed forward with this direction of conversation. He’d experienced events that bordered on the supernatural, that had brought him to the point of uttering a belief in the Christos himself, but was still unsure whether it was something to make the foundation of his life. Romans, after all—especially Romans with his family background and former wealth—were more pragmatic than that. It was simple. The Temple would not fall or be destroyed.
    But in this moment, with the urgency first expressed by the man who called himself Ben-Matthias, and especially with the sense that finally, here were answers to the mystery, Vitas did not want to be distracted from what was important. So he held back from speaking and waited.
    “Here is the irony,” Ben-Matthias said.
    Irony?
Vitas wanted to reach forward and grab the man’s throat and shake answers out of him.
    “You would think I should have been convinced by the man’s miracles. Instead it’s the prophecy. If Jerusalem falls, then I will be convinced the Nazarene was who he said he was. And . . .” Ben-Matthias paused gravely. “. . . Although all around me disagree, I foresee that Jerusalem will fall.”
    “You said time was short,” Vitas again pointed out.
    “Do you want to understand why you are in Caesarea?” It was a rebuke.
    Vitas accepted the rebuke in silence. He wanted few things more than this knowledge. Only to hold Sophia. But that was impossible. His mind clear of poppy tears and undistracted by the agony of crucifixion, he knew he’d been hallucinating on the cross when he’d dreamed of seeing her face among the passersby.
    Ben-Matthias continued. “The Nazarene was the first to foresee that Jerusalem and the Temple would be destroyed, the first to understand how the arrogance and greed of its religious rulers would finally bring them at odds with Rome and, in so doing, bring the full force of the empire against it. While I see it now, few others do.”
    He took a breath, for he was speaking with passion. “The worst thing that could have happened to my people was victory. First in Jerusalem during the riots and then against Cestius, chasing the governor all the way to Syria. They believe God has begun to deliver them, preserving the Temple until the promised Messiah arrives. Except it is a messianic fever that history