Unto the Uttermost

By Andrew Duncan

A science fiction novel, full of action and adventure within a spiritual context. For older teens/ adults.

Synopsis: Myles Carver. theology student is troubled by a recurring dream in which he sees a crashed aircraft with passengers and crew scrambling out. He is convinced the dream carries a supernatural message.
He makes a startling discovery that the plane had mysteriously vanished linked to an awesome mystery kept hidden in secret government files; and to the disappearance of a team of scientists secretly testing a device capable of reaching the stars. Could his destiny be somehow entwined with theirs?
Perplexed, Carver probes further. Believing that with God anything is possible he begins by faith a seemingly impossible mission....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716980756

Andrew Duncan

Andrew Duncan is a celebrated historian and expert on London. He has walked and guided popular tours in the capital for many years, always combining a love of places with a professional interest in their history. Andrew received his training as a historian at Oxford, and graduated with a doctorate in history. He is the author of several best-selling London guide books.

Book preview

UNTO

THE

UTTERMOST

A Novel

MARCH 26 2020

ANDREW B DUNCAN

COPYRIGHT © 2019 BY ANDREW DUNCAN

UKCCS COPYRIGHT 284730661 2019

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS, ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL INCLUDING PHOTOCOPY, RECORDING OR ANY INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER.

FOR MORE INFORMATION CONTACT: [e-mail]

THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES AND INCIDENTS ARE PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHORS IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL EVENTS OR PERSONS ARE ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

ISBN 978-1-716-98075-6

SCRIPTURE QUOTATIONS ARE TAKEN FROM THE AUTHORISED

KING JAMES VERSION.

TO

MY WONDERFUL WIFE AND SONS

ALL A PRECIOUS GIFT OF GOD

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Teresa, my Wife, for her unwavering support and encouragement.

My Son, Nathan and friend Kathy for reading and commenting on the manuscript, anticipating each chapter as it was written.

Thanks to my colleagues Laura and Heidi, my brother John and friend Karl for reading and feedback on individual chapters

Pastors Stuart, Paul, Alan and Mark for their encouragement

My friend Simon for encouraging me in this venture

The lovely Sally for formatting and her computer expertise. She was extremely patient turning my mountain into her molehill

My beautiful talented Daughter-in-law Natasha for her creativity and design with the cover illustrations

MY FATHER GOD FOR THE GIFT OF CREATIVITY AND IMAGINATION

The Dream

Carver sat bolt upright in his bed, jolted from the depths of sleep by that dream. Early dawn light streamed through the windows, his clock read 04:30. He checked his room, a bit dingy but functional, sparsely furnished with worn carpets, scattered papers and a pile of clean laundry, but no sign of any other disturbance that otherwise could have woken him at this hour. He laid back slowly, trying to relax and sink back to sleep, but it was hopeless. This was results day at Hope House, the Bible College where he was a student about to graduate. He sighed and flung off the duvet, put the kettle on the little gas hob in the corner, and dressed. He washed at the little sink and checked himself in the mirror. Black collar length hair brushed back, wispy beard, intense deep-set brown eyes, chiselled jaw and rugged skin of dark complexion. Presentable, he mused to himself at his reflection. Picking up his mug of tea, he went over to the table, picked a roll of paper from a shelf, and a set of pencils from a rickety drawer. He then unrolled the paper on the table, revealing a half-completed picture sketch, of a scene.

He paused, closing his eyes in deep thought: Draw the dream, it’s the only way I can describe and communicate it; and then someone may be able to tell me what it means.

The dream kept coming, disturbing his sleep. This was no ordinary dream; it delivered a message, but its meaning remained hidden.

Carver began to add further detail to the picture. Each night, when he had the dream, he saw new details. Each time he woke up, troubled and agitated. The dream would recur every second or third night; intruding into his consciousness, demanding his attention. The pencils scratched, the table creaked as he fervently drew, lifting his eyes occasionally, only to check the time. Sunbeams slowly crept across the room as the sun rose, its warming rays heating the air. Traffic noise began to rumble faintly as the city around him awakened to a new day; the window panes in his room rattled as traffic built up in the street outside.

He sighed loudly, and sat back to survey his picture, finished at last. Yes, that was it. The dream featured a scene; a large passenger aircraft, broken and twisted after a crash-landing onto a plain of long grass and scattered copses of strange trees. All the people were scrambling out, in an organised evacuation. They seemed shocked and dazed, but otherwise unharmed. Huddled together in groups, they surveyed the scene. Their attire was odd; it resembled the fashions of the nineteen sixties; men wearing tweeds and safari suits with hats, women with long, straight hair in colourful flowing, hippy style outfits. No fire: the aircraft was largely intact, but severely damaged. On the horizon was a huge red sunset, or sunrise, Carver couldn’t tell which. The nose of the plane, under the cockpit, carried the name Magellan. The tail also bore a registration number. In the dream, he could hear the wind rushing through the trees, and a voice that seemed to come from right next to him, although he couldn’t see anyone there. The voice repeated over and over, softly:

They are sheep without a shepherd; sheep without a shepherd; sheep without a shepherd….

He saw that the time was now 08:00 am; it had taken about 3 hours to complete the picture. Carver felt relieved now that he had finished; the dream carried and impressed on him a burden, with an insistent compulsion to act, but he had no idea just what course of action he should take. Staff and students at Hope House College he attended and now nearly completed his final year, frequently organised relief for charities helping people affected by natural disasters, putting their faith into practice and translating their beliefs as disciples of Christ into practical social action. But as far as he knew, this didn’t include air disasters.

Carver switched on his laptop as he ate a hurried breakfast, scouring the internet for news of any plane crash. His small television in the corner of the room showed a morning news programme. Neither revealed any details of an airliner crash, caused by terrorists, storms, or otherwise. Pulling on his jacket and pushing the rolled-up picture into the inside pocket, then shutting the laptop and flicking off the telly, Carver slammed the door behind him and rushed downstairs. In the dim hallway he met the landlady, a quiet, homely widow, Mrs Duffin, who supplemented her pension by letting rooms to theology students from Hope House.

Hope it all goes well, Myles. she said cheerfully, trying to comfort and support the obviously tense young man heading for the front door. You’ve obviously worked hard. God will surely award you the grade you need!

Thanks. They will be posted up by 09:00 so I’ll soon know! He replied, disappearing through the door.

It was a short walk to Hope House; a bible college that occupied a redundant church building. Carver cut through dusty backstreets in the cool morning air, ground soaked with droplets of dew under a now leaden sky heavy with featureless grey cloud. Walking the familiar cracked pavements, he picked his way, squeezing past harried looking mothers, anxiously herding their excited children on the daily school run. The kerb, equally cracked and uneven, was, as usual, crammed with cars parked bumper to bumper.

The preliminary results email that he had received a few days before now weighed heavily on his mind. Surely it was in error, he told himself. The email read a 3rd class degree. That can’t be true. Or could it? If so, it was disappointing. All that work he had put in. And the prayer. And the fasting, social action and sacrifice that he had worn himself out doing. His destination, the big, grey building on the street corner, now came into view. Carver readied himself, clearing his mind, steeling his nerves for whatever news he was about to hear.

He stood opposite the college, a stark stone edifice, great dressed stones forming sheer walls with gothic stained-glass windows, their faint images caked with years of dust. Carver wondered why churches, built to proclaim the God of love, should appear so forbidding and uninviting. Soot blackened walls, with weeds sprouting from its many cracks, cast long shadows. It towered over its neighbours, as if to assert its superiority status of piety and righteousness. The huge wooden doors stood open; lights streamed from inside. In and around the doorway stood groups of students, engaged in quiet, furtive talk, or lolling nonchalantly against the walls, waiting, like Carver, for their results.

He hurried across the road through a space in the traffic, and was greeted by Robbie, who also lodged at Mrs Duffin’s.

Hey Carver, you comin’ to the party? He asked genially, grinning broadly and slapping Carver’s shoulder. Robbie was a loud, outgoing West Indian who was impossible not to like.

Yeah of course! Carver replied with equal enthusiasm, masking his inner turmoil, surely, he felt, as were the other students. They all filed in to the quiet, hushed interior that only old churches seemed to have; the atmosphere gradually quietening the chat. Down the entrance hall, and along a dimly lit corridor to a complex of offices and seminar rooms they went, finally gathering in a refectory with the familiar smells of coffee and biscuits.

Who wants a coffee? Boomed Robbie, trying to lighten the mood, and picking up a full jug of fresh, hot steaming coffee. Some students smiled politely, others ignored, or hadn’t heard.

Me! yelled Carver. Milk, no sugar!

Robbie handed him one in a paper cup. Carver tried not to slurp loudly in the near silence as they waited, but the inevitable chuckles soon started as he, as usual, failed epically.

At that moment, the Principal’s office door flew open, and the tall, balding figure of Dr John Davis, the Principal, appeared, striding purposefully toward the noticeboard, with a large sheet of paper on which the results were printed. This was fixed to the noticeboard promptly, then he turned toward the tense group of students, and, smiling broadly, announced:

Well done all of you. All passes! Gasps of relief followed, then the scrum around the notice as everyone crowded around, peering to find names, then grades. Whoops and squeals followed as everyone could see they had achieved first or second-class degrees. The tense scene now changed to exuberance; guys punching the air, girls hugging each other. Robbie high fived with Carver, shouting:

A first! Carver pushed his way to the noticeboard, his eyes scanning the list of names for his own. He found it, then his heart, and face, fell as the mark was confirmed: a third. Worse, the only third on the board, amongst firsts, upper and lower seconds. Numbed by disappointment, Carver shuffled away, picked up his coffee and sat heavily in a chair as the others filed out, chattering excitedly. The room became quiet again, but Carver was not alone. Small groups of girls sat talking excitedly at scattered tables. Principal Davis reappeared, came over to sit opposite him at the small table. Beaming, he extended his hand:

Well done! You’ve passed! Davis was normally a reserved, formal man, a stoic evangelical always in a dark, pressed suit and rarely showing excitement or emotion. This day’s celebrations called for more exuberance.

Yes replied Carver with a forced smile. But I was hoping for more, like an upper second. Davis frowned for a moment, then said:

Your dissertation let you down. A very important issue, and a laudable, courageous attempt to tackle it. But it’s too broad, not enough published literature is available. You let your heart run away with your head, losing vital objectivity. He paused, and went on with a gentle tone, I did try to warn you some time back!

True. Agreed Carver reluctantly. Davis continued:

Your reflections on the eighteenth and nineteenth century missionaries were excellent, but it’s not relevant to calls to mission today. God has moved on and it’s different now. People don’t just say they have a call then get up and go. They are first approved, trained, and then sent by supporting organisations.

Ok Carver responded. But they still are in some parts of the world!

Maybe said Davis, But it’s still not well documented, and…. Davis paused for effect, This isn’t the underground church in faraway places! He added this with a wry smile. Davis stood up and, as he left, he added an afterthought:

Myles, I suggest you look back to where you started: this points you to where you are destined to go!

Davis returned to his office, leaving Carver staring after him, prompted to deep thought by the Principal’s words. Settling back in his chair, Carver closed his eyes and went back, seeing in his mind’s eye the pivotal moment, the catalyst that had set the course of his life, bringing him to his present predicament.

Unto the uttermost! The preacher bellowed. Unto the uttermost! he exclaimed again, gesticulating wildly toward the text, Acts1:8, painted on the wall above the pulpit, as if to emphasize the point. Carver, then a twelve-year-old boy brought to church regularly by his Aunt, was actually enjoying the service, much to his surprise. He sat in the front row, with the other children as both the Sunday school and youth service were cancelled due to a no-show by the persons supposed to lead them. Carver secretly hoped the animated preacher, waving his arms wildly as he spoke, might accidentally knock the flower stand over, which was perilously close, just behind him to the right.

Carver’s concentration wandered that Sunday morning, sunlight streamed in through high windows as he looked around the wood panelled walls and fidgeted on the smooth, hard wooden seat. The little church was nearly full. Carver’s attention was brought back again to the preacher, who, becoming impatient with the usual murmurs of Amen! from the congregation, began to point and ask direct, awkward questions. The congregation fidgeted uneasily as the preacher jabbed his finger at individuals, asking pointed questions:

And when Sir, was the last time you shared your faith? and, pointing to another hapless man or woman in the captive audience:

When did you last give sacrificially to mission? He gesticulated again to the text above him. That is how far God would go to save a soul! No-one is beyond the reach of God’s love!  Neither ocean, nor continents is a barrier, so what have you done to support mission?  He said, now pointing at the man sitting just behind Carver.  There was no reply, only an uneasy silence. Carver was now smugly enjoying seeing all these grownups being put on the spot, their hypocrisy exposed.

So, when did you last give to charity Madam?  He said pointing to a middle-aged lady sitting to Carver’s left. Again, no reply; just a stoical silence, broken only by a nose being blown loudly somewhere at the back, as the rest of the congregation tried to maintain an uneasy, though quiet dignity. Carver was enjoying this preacher putting people on the spot. He pointed again at the scripture reference above the pulpit, then announced:

Stand up! Anyone here who will go unto the uttermost for God’s call to save souls! He shouted.

Carver chuckled with mirth, and, elbowing the boy sitting next to him for attention, shot to his feet in response. He looked around to find that only he was standing, with the rest of the church, dumbfounded, staring at him, with gasps breaking the silence. To his amazement, he wasn’t ordered to sit down, or glared at by his Aunt. In an instant the entire congregation burst into loud applause; everyone, including his Aunt, was clapping and cheering loudly, as if this one boy’s response somehow let them all off the hook. The preacher, now speechless with surprise, peered down to look directly at Carver, a boy in the front row with the other children. He smiled up at the preacher, who smiled back, and, with a twinkle in his eye, said quietly:

You know, young man, you will indeed go further than anyone else to reach lost souls!

This brought more murmurs of approval from the congregation. Carver was relieved to be allowed to sit back down, pleased for once to be the centre of attention. But his own attention was taken, as he felt a living flame suddenly appear and leap up from somewhere deep down inside him. It seemed that not only had the church and the preacher at last noticed and acknowledged him, but perhaps God Himself had too. That flame continued to burn, setting on fire the course of his life from then on, to discover Gods plan for him, a quiet, insignificant orphaned boy named Myles Carver.

He was aroused from his reverie by a hand clapped on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Dr Lewis, a lecturer in Biblical studies, stood next to him.

Aaah, Carver, we must have a chat! he said.  Lewis was Carver’s tutor and mentor; Carver and the other students had great respect for this man.  He was a deeply spiritual leader; formerly a research scientist before he went into the church. 

Come through to my office! He said. Carver was relieved to see him, as he always gave valuable spiritual advice to students seeking direction in their lives.

They went into Lewis’s office. It was an interesting place, full of books and memorabilia from travelling all over the world.  There were African shields, spears, masks and American Indian regalia.  The smell of coffee pervaded the room, whilst Lewis’s wife, also formerly a scientist, stood to greet him.

Coffee? she asked.

Yes, thank you said Carver, despite having just finished one, as he sat in a chair opposite Lewis’s desk.

Congratulations on passing! said Lewis, sitting down heavily. Lewis was an amiable, likeable character who was easy to confide in, and seemed to have advice, and answers for just about everything. He looked the classical mad scientist, half-moon glasses, beaked nose, receding grey wiry hair, and tweed jacket with shiny leather elbow patches. It gave him the look of great knowledge and wisdom and was amiably called the ‘Oracle’ by many of the students.

Thanks said Carver but I was expecting more than a third!

Well, the breadth of your dissertation let you down.  I know you are passionate about the unreached peoples, but you overstretched yourself.  But you still passed, so well done. What openings do you have? Lewis asked. What are your plans?

I want to work with unreached people groups. said Carver, but nothing has been forthcoming. No church or mission placements are available. I just haven’t convinced anyone to employ me!

Unreached peoples is a broad issue. stated Lewis. It means anything from lost tribes in the Amazon to supporting people living under politically repressed regimes. It includes people living in nearby sink estates and, finally, your own neighbours. So which ones did you mean?

Carver shuffled uneasily. It was very hard to pin down exactly what he thought God wanted him to do.  Lewis could see his unease and went on:

OK, so let’s look at how you got on practically.  What impact did you have on projects you are involved with?  Let’s see, you regularly lead youth groups, church services and helped raise funds for some missionary organisations.  You were enthusiastic, successful, but never outstanding.  Churches today and missionary organisations are looking for the outstanding. Especially skills of inspirational leadership, good motivators, good financial, communication (including foreign languages!) and organisational skills.  Do you think you have these, or any other gifts?

Sadly, no. replied Carver ruefully, with a shrug. He grinned and added: I have almost attained instructor grade at unarmed combat and kick boxing!

Lewis digested this for a moment, then went on: Good; it shows perseverance, self- discipline and control. You were very successful in one instance, weren’t you?  The time you went to Ebenezer Gospel Hall as a youth leader you even started a revival!  But it didn’t last, did it? said Lewis, now looking at him over his glasses with a serious expression.

No. Carver replied. There was a misunderstanding!

Carver remembered that fateful evening, as he was preparing the meeting. Rebecca, the pastor’s teenage daughter, ran into the hall, rushing toward him, her long, curly hair trailing behind, saying excitedly that her friends are all coming. As she ran up to him, she accidentally tripped and fell into his arms, sending both of them sprawling onto the settee.  Just then her father the pastor walked in and saw both of them sprawled in what looked like a tryst and was shocked at the scene.

What is the meaning of this!? He bellowed in anger as Carver and Rebecca extricated themselves from each other, both shamefaced and embarrassed.

Carver, you know the rules! No relationships when you are on placements! You are clearly too keen on my daughter!

Rebecca protested it was an accident. She pleaded but without effect; and was then ordered back to her house, leaving Carver to take the rebuke. The youth meeting still went ahead, thanks to Carvers’ skills at persuasion. It was a success, but the contract of Ebenezer with Hope House was ended, and the youth revival led by Carver at Ebenezer ended with it.

Carver’s cheeks flushed hot and red as he sat, now squirming under Lewis’ silent scrutiny.

It was a misunderstanding! He protested again, Lewis’ stern expression and granite features gave way to a mirthful smile, as he chuckled:

Or so we were led to believe! Misunderstanding or no, for you it spoilt an otherwise successful break! Lewis continued. We weren’t able to re-negotiate a contract with Ebenezer. Sadly, due to this misdemeanour, they were the only church not to engage with us in renewal! Lewis stated flatly, eyebrows raised, pausing a few seconds for his words to sink in.

I did whatever I could to restore trust! protested Carver.

Yes, you did, to your credit. replied Lewis, leaning back in his chair. But this is the real world, mistakes and misunderstandings happen, even to the greatest of saints. he mused, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, fingertips together. Several seconds of silence followed, broken only by the tick-tock of Lewis’ large Vienna clock, hanging on the wall.

C’mon, pick yourself up, brush yourself off, and keep going! Suggested Lewis with a reassuring smile. So, no other job offers?

To be honest, I don’t seem to have much to offer! replied Carver, sadly. Most of the other students at Hope House were already in full time roles in churches and other organisations. Carver was not.  He was hoping for an opening or a doorway to the mission field of some kind.  This now seemed unlikely, especially with his third-class degree.

Although…. Lewis added pensively, …. God does have a plan for you, I am sure!

Meanwhile, Mrs. Lewis, also with a doctorate in theology, had sat nearby listening as she tapped on her computer keyboard. She turned to Carver, and agreed:

Yes, He does have a plan for you.  Something will open up. Stand firm, don’t be discouraged. She said, wagging her finger.

Thanks for your support but I still don’t know. I feel very inadequate.

But that’s the best place to be! She replied reassuringly and turned her attention back to her keyboard.

Having exhausted the subject of the present conversation, Carver thought of his dream and asked the question that was burning inside him.

Dr Lewis, do you think God still speaks to us through dreams?

The Picture

Lewis pondered the question before answering.

Yes, definitely! Why?

I am having a recurring dream; most nights for two weeks now. I was wondering if you thought it could have spiritual meaning?

Tell me about it. said Lewis, leaning forward, resting his arms on the desk.

Carver briefly described his dream. The Lewis’s listened with gathering interest, and, opening his case, Carver produced a roll of paper. He placed it on Lewis’s desk, unrolling it to show a detailed picture of the scene.

This is the dream. said Carver. It keeps coming. I’m sure it has meaning but I don’t know what. Can you help me?

Both Dr Lewis’s poured over the picture. Mrs. Lewis had formerly been a plant scientist. Producing a small magnifying glass, she peered closely at the detail of Carver’s artwork, then looked up at him quizzically, and asked:

The plants are very detailed. Are they exactly what you saw? she demanded in a tone that left no doubt that she was not in the mood for pranks or timewasting. 

Yes. He replied. I drew it as closely as I could.

You always were a good artist. she went on, reflectively. Mrs. Lewis continued to peer closely, as Carver described details of his dream; the crashed aircraft and its occupants, the strange vista dominated by a huge sun on the horizon.  She looked up at him, returning her lens to her desk drawer.

I have worked in the Congo and the Amazon but have not seen anything like this! She exclaimed, eyeing him with interest.

I don’t know where it’s supposed to be. It looks like a tropical jungle. said Carver. I have checked the news and the internet, but I have not yet found anything about an airliner crash!

Dr Lewis frowned thoughtfully as he scrutinised the picture.

It’s certainly an airliner of some kind. Looks old fashioned; could be operated by a third world airline. And you have heard nothing on the news?

No said Carver. Nothing.

Well, said Lewis, "If this dream is from God, it must lead somewhere. You need to do further investigations. Try and find out about the plane; I see you have drawn a name on the nose cone…. Magellan, is it? And its registration by the tail. If it’s a real plane, this will lead to details if something has actually happened somewhere. If not…it’s just a dream. Lewis trailed off, his eyes meeting Carver’s. So, get to praying and seeking further information. We will worry about what to do after we have found out more. Incidentally, is that a sunset or a sunrise? He asked, pointing to the big sun drawn low on the horizon. That gives a clue as to what time it might have happened. I have an idea: I will get Jenny Brightman, our press officer, to see if she can find anything."

Thanks Replied Carver, hopefully, as Lewis picked up his phone and punched a number into the keyboard, then waited a moment for an answer. A voice squawked on the other end of the phone.

Hi Jen. Can you check out recent aircraft crashes and, Lewis read out the number, "with the name Magellan?"

OK Carver could hear Jenny reply. Lewis put the phone down.

We’ll see if she comes up with anything. Sorry Myles but we had better get on now. Nice to talk to you! said Lewis rising from his chair to see Carver out. If God is in this, it will become clear, so don’t worry!

Thanks he replied, standing up and rolling up the paper.

God calls, God equips! stated Lewis smiling, as Carver left.

Lewis shut the door, and, looking at his wife, said

Well, what d’you make of that?

Strange she responded. That’s a very detailed scene, and Carver is not one for fantasies or wild ideas. The plants are nothing like anything I have seen; either he is deluded, or…

"……. Or the dream really is prophetic." finished