The Council of Minds: A Theological Novel
Chapter 16: The Shaking of the Earth
The hall trembled.
The great table cracked down its centre, not in division, but in revelation.
One side showed light—clouds, trumpets, thrones.
The other darkness—fire, gates, weeping.
Between them hovered a scroll, unopened, marked only with a single word:
“Eschaton.”
Edwards was the first to speak, his voice sharp with certainty:
“Hell is real. Eternal. Deserved. The wicked are cast out—forever—because the justice of God is as holy as His love.”
Augustine nodded gravely:
“The two cities are divided not just in time, but in destiny. The elect rejoice eternally; the damned suffer eternally, justly.”
Aquinas added:
“In heaven, we shall see God—beatific vision. In hell, the soul is deprived of its final end. That loss is agony without end.”
Then came Calvin, measured and absolute:
“The decree stands. God glorifies Himself in salvation—and in damnation.”
But from the other end of the hall, Barth stood. His voice thundered with tension and hope:
“Christ bore the rejection of all. He descended into hell—not symbolically, but truly. In Him, all are elect. Can love fail?”
Bonhoeffer, from his suffering soul:
“Hell is not only there—it is here, in this world, in Auschwitz, in silence. And yet, so is God.”
Wesley intervened:
“Let no man preach hell without weeping. And let none shut the door on the penitent. Love leaves the door ajar.”
Lewis, mournful:
“Hell is locked from the inside. The damned choose it. They gnaw on their own pride. God does not drag them there—they walk.”
Zwingli, firm:
“There is judgment. But the children of the covenant are secure. The rest? God is just.”
Cyprian raised a chalice:
“Without the Church, there is no ark. And outside the ark, there is only flood.”
Athanasius, appearing now like a flash of Nicene lightning, declared:
“The Word became man that man might become god. Resurrection, not ruin, is the final word!”
Chapter 17: The Visions of Heaven
Suddenly, the ceiling opened.
A great light flooded the chamber.
Angels sang without melody, yet with music.
The city of God descended—golden, unmeasured, adorned with saints from every tongue.
Aquinas fell silent. His tomes faded. “All I have written is straw,” he whispered.
Augustine, tears in his eyes:
“This is the City we longed for, not made by Rome, nor by councils, but by grace.”
Wesley, overwhelmed:
“Holiness becomes joy. Perfection is not burden—but beauty.”
Calvin, no longer calculating:
“Providence leads home.”
Barth, heart swelling:
“The Word has returned to the Father, and all history finds its Amen.”
Lewis, joyful:
“It’s not the end—it’s the beginning of the Great Story, every chapter better than the one before.”
Edwards, now gentle:
“The saints shall delight in God forever. The glory is infinite, and the soul is ever-expanding.”
Bonhoeffer, calm and alive:
“Death is not the end. It is the last servant of Christ.”
Chapter 18: A Final Judgment
The centre of the hall became a throne—not occupied by any theologian.
From it came neither wrath nor leniency.
Only light.
And a pierced hand.
Books were opened—not Systematic Theologies, but the Book of Life.
None argued.
None quoted Scripture.
All waited.
Then the Word spoke:
“You knew Me in part. You debated rightly. You fought passionately. But the least of these, the broken, the silent—knew Me by name.”
One by one, the theologians laid their writings down.
Luther placed his German Bible.
Aquinas, his Summa.
Augustine, his Confessions.
Barth, his Dogmatics.
Lewis, a single copy of Mere Christianity, slightly worn.
They knelt.
Not as victors.
Not as judges.
But as saints.
Final Epilogue: The Council Concluded
The hall faded into light.
The table was gone.
Only the Lamb remained.
And the Lamb was the Word.
No more theology.
Only truth.
No more questions.
Only face-to-face.
And yet…
somewhere, in a university library,
or a village church,
or a whispered prayer beneath a tree,
a reader picks up their words—
and hears echoes of the Council.