Parable of the last Hour of an Apostle

Elias Lancaster, once a titan in the NAR, stood trembling before the blinding light. Gone were the cavernous megachurches, the roar of praise music, the throngs chanting his name as a prophet. Here, silence reigned, broken only by the soft hum of judgment.

His life on Earth had been a whirlwind. From humble beginnings, Elias rose through the ranks of the New Apostolic Reformation, his charisma and pronouncements electrifying audiences. He prophesied economic booms, healings, and the imminent return of Christ. Each fulfilled prophecy, or one interpreted as such, fueled his fame and fortune. Private jets, sprawling estates, a lifestyle dripping in gold – it was all his, a testament to God's favor, or so he'd convinced himself.

But the truth, like a shroud, began to constrict him. Prophecies fizzled, healings proved temporary, the economic booms were mere market fluctuations. Yet, the machine Elias had built kept churning, fueled by fear and the promise of miracles. He silenced doubts, dismissed critics as agents of darkness, and continued to reap the rewards.

Now, stripped bare, his justifications crumbled. The accusing light revealed a tapestry woven with lies, his prophecies mere educated guesses, his healings psychosomatic tricks. The wealth he flaunted felt like blood money, the adulation a cruel mockery. Shame washed over him, a tide threatening to drown him.

A voice, calm yet all-encompassing, resonated: "Elias Lancaster, your deeds stand before you."

He stammered, a desperate plea forming on his lips, "But Lord, I spread your word, built churches, brought hope to the lost."

The voice boomed, "Hope built on falsehood is a house of sand. You used my name for power and gain, leading others astray."

Elias crumpled, the weight of his transgressions crushing him. He understood. The power, the wealth, the adulation – it had all been a seductive mirage. He had strayed from the path, blinded by his own ambition.

Then, a flicker of warmth. A memory surfaced: a young Elias, kneeling in prayer, a genuine desire to serve God burning in his heart. Was that spark enough?

"Forgive me," he rasped, the words raw with remorse. "I sought your favor, not your will. Let me atone."

Silence stretched, an eternity filled with anticipation. Finally, the voice spoke, "Depart from me, I never knew you."