In Loving Memory of Rosalie
An Easter Story
Years ago I was a mid level clerk with the accounts receivable department in the office of taxation and finance. I can understand that no one likes a tax collector and I’ve never been much to look at, so it’s not an exaggeration to say that I was near the bottom of the popularity list in our small city.
The liberals of the community would always yell at me for not taxing the rich enough, or complain that the government wasn’t doing enough to solve pressing social problems. The conservatives complained about my sending their money out to support a bloated bureaucracy, but although my job nothing to do with any of these concerns, and I said so repeatedly, it didn’t seem to matter.
After years of taking the stresses of my work, I really began to get depressed. Don’t get me wrong, I had a beautiful, loving wife, three wonderful children, a decent house and a modest nest egg for our golden years. We were helpful to our neighbors and I always kept a little cash on hand for the panhandlers and street performers, so I always knew I had a lot to be thankful for. Yet I still couldn’t help feeling that something was missing, and in my most quiet moments I felt alone.
Inevitably when these feelings come on, people start flocking to you and telling you about God. You start getting the “Blessed are this.” and “Cursed are that.” and “Thou shalt not.” until you’re ready to scream. It gets to the point where everywhere you look, some scripture thumpin’ yahoo is in your face claiming to have a direct communication with the Almighty, and for a small contribution he’ll put in a good word for you.
One day, my wife told me about some popular minister who was coming to our city to do a series of lectures. Her friends were all abuzz about the guy and she wanted to hear his sermon. I balked at the prospect of attending a boring lecture after working all the next day, but she gave me that smile of hers and said if I could get off a little early, she would have our dinner ready when I got home, She also said that she would be wearing a certain outfit I liked if I went with her. So it wasn’t long before she talked me into it.
I guess it was fate that I had to hear this preacher, because the next morning when I got to work, my boss let it be known that he was leaving early because his wife was “dragging him to church” that evening, and if he didn’t have front row seats for the “event” there’d be hell to pay. When the boss didn’t return from lunch, I finished out the day’s business and closed up the office. My home was about a mile away, so I decided to walk through the park to save time and maybe pick some flowers for the dinner table along the way. My wife always liked it when I did silly stuff like that.
When I got to the park there was a big commotion. Apparently this preacher had just arrived and folks were gathering around to welcome him. My first concern was that I was eager to get home, and the crowd directly blocked my path. I was too far away to hear him, but as he and the townspeople moved toward me, on some impulse I climbed a tree so that I could see what the fuss was all about. I got up to a branch that was about seven feet off the ground, and turned to steady myself. As he approached, the crowd began to grow politely quiet and the minister began to speak.
“Blessed are blah blah…Cursed are blah blah,” and I thought, “Oh great, another one of these guys.” As I began planning my descent. All the while the preacher was moving in my direction along with a sizable part of the town’s population. Just then, from about twenty or so feet away the preacher looked me right in the eyes with a gaze that nearly knocked me out of the tree. Even at that distance I could see the deep blue of his eyes when he said,
“Zack…?” The crowd went silent. There wasn’t even a rustle in the leaves of the tree I was sitting in, with three hundred pairs of eyes looking up at the dorky tax collector out on a limb, as usual.
“Zack,” he said again, “I’ve come all this way to have dinner with you and your family, and your sitting in a tree.” As all the people were looking at me for some kind of answer, I noticed the preacher glancing at the them while they weren’t looking, and back at me in my discomfort.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Zack.” He said in a voice that was both kind and earnest. “Come down or we’ll be late.” He paused. “It’ll be a nice surprise for your wife.” Then he shot me a mischievous look. “She thinks you’re bringing the boss home for supper.”
I didn’t know this man from anywhere. I’d not heard of him even two days before. Yet he called my name as if I’d invited him to dinner before the dawn of time, and spoke of my wife as if he’d crossed the heavens just to keep this appointment. Without realizing it, I was climbing down from my perch and soon, as I was turning to face the preacher the hushed, amazed crowd parted to create a path about ten feet wide between me and my tormentor.
It’s hard to describe my feelings at that moment. I didn’t look directly at him at first. All I could see were the faces of almost everyone I knew in town, and more than a few strangers. He must have sensed my apprehension because he turned to the people and said.
“Who among you has been helped by the generosity of this man and his wife?” As if such a question would make would make me feel any better. An elderly neighbor of mine spoke into the silence that surrounded me.
“My husband died early this year, and that nice man went around and took up a collection that supplied my needs for over a month. His wife comes to visit and we go to weekly services together. You see, I don’t walk so well and I need help to get that far.” Then one of the panhandlers I often see near my office raised his hand.
“In this town I am considered low class. Sometimes I beg for my daily bread and many who have come to hear your famed words today laugh at me, and even spit on me, not knowing how life in this world can crush a good man. The Lord has brought me low, and with his own hand he has smitten my soul to the point where I am powerless to lift myself up.” Now the crowd began to feel uncomfortable. I could tell from their murmuring that the beggar was embarrassing them in front of an honored guest.
“But Zack there,” he said, pointing at me, “he smiles every time he sees me. He never hesitates to reach into his pocket, and he’s never at a loss for a kind word of encouragement. He looked at the preacher. “They don’t like him much, but folks around here could learn a thing or two from that tax collector.”
Stunned by all that was going on, I found myself speaking without knowing it. “Sir, please wait.” I said to the preacher. Every eye in the crowd was on me, and I felt awful. “If the Lord had been as good to you as he has been to me, you would find that giving a little kindness now and then to be a small thing. Public discussion of a private kindness makes me very uncomfortable. That’s just between me and God.”
The blue eyed preacher smiled a knowing smile, walked slowly through the cleared pathway to me and gently put his hand on my shoulder. Then he looked up and spoke to the crowd.
“Everyone here should remember this: If you would be a friend of the Lord, then you should give as much as you can, as often as you can, without counting the cost.” He then looked into my eyes and said, “Zack, I’m just a weary traveler whose come to light the way, and soon I will be returning to my Father’s house. I’d be honored if you would lead the way to your home, so that I may dine with friends of the Lord.”
I saw in his eyes a deep abiding peace, mingled with the most profound sadness. Suddenly, my head was filled with a brilliant light, and in the blink of an eye I was shown the Name of God. I was crushed by the sheer weight of the love I felt, and my mind screamed. Just as quickly the feeling stopped and I had to struggle to catch my breath. I looked up at the preacher again and he smiled, but I found myself wondering how so much love could ever be so sad. Speechless and dazed, with the preacher’s hand on my shoulder, somehow holding me up, we started to move back through the crowd toward my home. After a few steps he turned to them and said.
“I have traveled a long way today, and if you would allow me to rest and have dinner, I will return and speak to all who would hear my words. Until then, my assistants will be happy to answer any questions you may have.” Then he turned to the beggar and said, “Be of good cheer, friend, for on this day your soul is restored to you.” And we continued on our way.
Just then a large fisherman began to speak. His voice faded from my ears as we walked. I kept feeling as I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find words for what was going on in my mind. All around me the whole world was new and alive. The air was filled with an unimagined sweetness, and with each breath I took an increasingly deep rumbling pulsed from the center of my being. Waves of love poured from the preacher and rolled over me, around me and through me. Without saying a word, he showed me my eternal self as we walked, and although my feet were touching the ground, I had been cast into an ocean of unbearable, infinite love.
This feeling slowly subsided as we neared the gate of my home. My wife saw us through the window and came to the door. When she opened it, our two older children ran out to meet us. The boy took my hand and the girl, to my surprise leapt right up into the preachers’ arms and hugged him as if he were her grandfather. I tried to admonish her, but she just giggled as she turned to me and said.
“It’s alright, Papa. This is The God Man.”
The preacher blushed as he put the child down and asked,
“Are you helping your mom with dinner?” She answered.
“Yes, and we made Papa’s favorite.” Calling to her brother, they ran playfully toward the house. I couldn’t help noticing my wife’s beaming smile as we reached the door.
“I see Sara has a new friend.” She said, extending her hand. There was an odd pause when she looked to me for an introduction, and I realized I didn’t know the preacher’s name.
“Honey,” I stumbled, “uh, this is The God Man. He came to town on his way to his Father’s house, and I’ve brought him home for dinner.” The preacher shook his head as he smiled and took my wife’s hand.
“Is he always like this?” He asked her.
“Oh, he’s impossible sometimes.” She said with a charming laugh. “But he’s the only man in the neighborhood who brings me flowers from the park. That’s why I fell in love with him.” She looked toward my hands. “Oh, these are so beautiful.”
As she said that, she took a small bouquet of flowers from my grasp and raised them to her nose. I had not picked them, nor had I ever seen flowers like them before. They seemed to change color in the light and smelled of the sweetness I experienced as I walked home with the preacher, who was now trying to appear totally innocent of the deed.
“You must be the preacher from Nazareth.” She said, gently.
“I Am.” He replied. “You have a lovely home and a beautiful family. You must be proud.”
Before either of us could answer, our new baby began to cry in the next room. My wife suggested that I make our guest comfortable while she tended to the little one. As we sat down, the other children came in. The boy sat on the floor and my daughter jumped onto the preacher’s lap. His eyes lit up and he laughed out loud when her head fell into his chest as if he were a soft pillow. Then suddenly she sat up and looked at him.
“So, what does a God Man do?” She asked, and he laughed again, totally captivated by her candor.
“Would you like to see?” He asked, and my son jumped up to sit next to him.
I was enjoying the obvious pleasure he was taking in all of this, as he reached over to the boy’s foot and pulled a small lump of clay from his shoe. Then he put the clay in his right hand, touched a finger of his left to his tongue and put a drop of saliva on the clay. Lastly, he closed his left hand over the right and said.
“The God Man comes to help people be as beautiful inside as you are. Now take a deep breath and say a silent prayer.”
He closed his eyes and we all prayed together. Then he opened his hand and released a beautiful, living butterfly that was quite large and as blue as his eyes. He laughed again as the children squealed with delight. Then he turned to me and whispered. “My Father has brought life from clay, so that he could hear the laughter of children.”
About then my wife brought our new baby daughter into the room, and saw the other two watching in amazement, as the clay and saliva brought to life fluttered above their heads. The preacher stood up, raised his hands longingly and my wife placed the tiny girl in his arms. After a moment, a tear fell from his eyes as he looked at the baby and then at us.
“My Father’s work requires, that in this life I will not know the joys of home and hearth and children. But one day, He will let me gather his children from the homes of his friends, and I will lead them all to a place where only children may enter.” When he said this, I knew he meant the place he showed me as we walked from the park. So I said.
“I’m not a child. Does this mean that I won’t enter the place you showed me?” The preacher looked at me as if I should have known the answer and said,
“All friends of the Lord are reborn.” Part of me didn’t understand his words, but as I was about to speak my wife said.
“Zack, if you’d help me with dinner, perhaps our guest would like to visit with the children for a while.”
The preacher looked at her as if he had been handed a sack of gold. Then he nodded his head in appreciation as my wife took my hand and we left the room. Soon the table was set and we all gathered around for dinner. When the preacher stood up, my wife passed him the bread and we all bowed our heads to pray. The preacher spoke.
“Father, thank you for this beautiful day. Thank you for the kindness of these, your friends, the love and laughter of their children, and thank you for this, the Bread of Eternal Life.” We all said “Amen.” And he looked down and broke the bread he had blessed.
The bread in the preacher’s hands began to glow, and at once we were all in a different place, yet still in our home. It is almost impossible to describe in words. There was no time, no space, and no matter, but the essences of these things are there.
In the world as we know it, when you look at a tree, you can watch how it grows over time. You can see its branches reach for the sky and watch its leaves change with the seasons. Yet you can’t see the living essence of the tree, that which makes it alive, or its eternal being, of which its life as a tree in this world is only a small part.
As we sat at that table, The God Man passed the bread and we began our dinner in the place where All Life Is. Our home was a palace, built not of wood or stone, but of the love of our marriage. The walls and the floor looked like precious stones, and the ceiling had become a skylight that looked out on what I can only describe as a kingdom of love. I turned to my wife, who was radiant and timeless in her beauty, and I remembered the life we share throughout the ages and beyond.
Then we were shown the secret Name, and The God Man said to us all,
“You and all friends of the Lord are honored citizens here. When your hearts are filled with love and kindness, just speak this Name and you may enter here whenever you wish.”
We stayed in that place for what seemed like a long time. Speaking without words, breathing the Breath of Life, and drinking Living Water. The butterfly that the God Man brought to us danced above us at our table. Its wings were trimmed in brilliant light, and the center of its wings looked like a mirror to another place even more beautiful than where we were, if such a thing was possible. As I gave thought to what I saw, The God Man said.
“What you see around you is the place of the inner Soul of Life, which cannot be seen with eyes of flesh. What you see in the wings of the butterfly is the place of the Spirit, which is my Father’s house. When humankind brings peace to the world, it will be given the keys to this place, and they will begin a new journey toward the home of my Father. When that day nears, Zack, you will take up a pen and write of the new dawn.”
At that point, the feelings began to change. Again I felt a great sadness welling up in the God Man’s heart. When I gave thought to this, the preacher in him looked up as if I had caught him off guard. Then he sighed in a way that shook the foundation of everything that is, and he said.
“It will be a while before men learn, Zack, and public discussion of a private kindness makes me uncomfortable also.” Then he smiled at all of us and said. “I have a rough road ahead of me, and I want to thank you for opening your home to a weary stranger.” Again I was shot with a mischievous glance. “But now I have to go and do the ‘Blessed are Blah Blah…’ for the people in town. I would be pleased if you would remain here, in this celestial palace which your love has built, for the rest of the day.”
A thought. A question I had to ask.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just show them this?” The preacher laughed a little and said.
“I’ll be sure to ask my Father about that the next time I see Him. But this day was for you, my friends. Thank you again, and farewell.” Then he disappeared.
Many a story teller has said that this life is a dream from which we will one day awaken. I have seen this to be true. For we sat in our mansion in the midst of the God Man’s heaven, and soon we fell into a deep sleep, but we awoke in our home, in our city with “eyes of flesh.”
It was late at night and we had missed the preacher’s sermon, but we got his message, and it comforted us to know that we were counted among his friends. We tucked our children in their beds and that butterfly, again with blue wings, stood guard in their window.
I’m sorry to say that not long afterward, that preacher was dragged from his prayers by a mob of scripture thumpin’ yahoos, and murdered outside their capitol city on the eve of a holy day. I guess having someone around who actually knew what he was talking about must have scared the hell out of them. But when my wife and I found out about it, we cried for a long time.
I tried to go back to work the day after we found out, but I just couldn’t walk in the door. I didn’t even want to look at the place again. I turned around and never looked back. When I reached the gate of my home, my wife was standing in the doorway, smiling proudly. We took our savings and bought an inn for weary travelers. When we retired, we sold the place to the beggar, whom The God Man restored.
As for that butterfly it turns out that my wife, the children and I were the only ones who could see it, so we got a gentle lesson on the public discussion of private kindness. It disappeared in a twinkle of light the night before the birth of our first grandson…
It seems like so long ago, but I recall it like it was yesterday. These days it seems as if I’ve become an entirely different person, and over time I’ve forgotten how to enter that place he showed me all those years ago. But there are times, in my most quiet moments when I know I’m not alone, I can feel it there, just beyond my reach, from the deepest recesses of my being, it calls to me. If I could only remember…