What
I felt most was shame and horror. How could I, qualified only for a
brief visit on the most extreme outskirts of Heaven, have the
unmitigated gall to ask an audience of the King!
On-planet
I had thoroughly studied the passages in Scripture where man met God,
and in every instance - every instance - man was undone.
John
fell down as if dead at a mere vision of His Lord.
Daniel's
vitality was instantly drained, as if he were a balloon being emptied
of air.
Peter
cowered in the bow of the very boat he captained.
Isaiah
fell down in abject shame at the sight of the LORD high and lifted
up.
Moses
had to be hidden in the cleft of a rock to protect himself from the
glory of God as He condescended to reveal to him the afterglow of His
glory.
These
mighty men of faith, heroes, warriors, prophets, priests, lawgiver,
and holy apostles, all rightly knew their utter unworthiness when
confronted with He who inhabits eternity.
And
here was me, Dead Man, boldly asking to be in His presence. No, more
than that; shouting out my presumption in self-immolating
desperation. I was clearly insane.
"What
have you just done?" my companion asked me, much more gently
than I would have expected.
I
could not look up from staring at the rich marble floor of the
Balcony, let alone lift my face to see my questioner. I did not think
I would be able to hold up my head again. Ever.
"What
have you done, Dead Man?" he repeated when I did not answer. I
could not speak in my shame to tell him I could not speak.
"I
have sinned against God," I finally managed to croak. My voice
was dust and ashes.
"What
have you done?" he asked for the third time.
"I
have forgotten my place," I whispered, tears of humiliation now
streaming down my face. I was shaking as if in the aftermath of some
horrible accident that I had barely survived, certain of impending
destruction.
He
was silent then for a timeless time. That he was not upbraiding me,
or cursing me, or decrying my arrogance filled me with ever greater
anxiety. And still, I could not face him.
The
next instant my knees gave out and I dropped like a meteor. One
moment I was upright and trembling, the next I was nanoseconds away
from collapsing in a boneless heap.
That
is when he caught me in arms rippling with understated strength, like
cushioned steel. And he lowered me to the floor, gently,
compassionately. I felt like a little child rescued from a
precipitous fall.
"No,"
he said, as he cradled me to the smooth, lustrous floor. "You
have not forgotten your place," he said quietly. "You have
voiced the deepest cry of your old, world-weary heart, and by so
doing, you have remembered your place."
Those
words unleashed within me a flood of relief and gratitude like I have
never known before, and I sobbed uncontrollably in his arms. He
simply held me without condition, or the slightest hint of
recrimination. It was the very definition of safe.
"He
purchased you forever with His blood; lovingly, willingly,
asking nothing but your faith and love in return. He died on that
Cross in your place precisely, emphatically, exclusively, so
you could be in His Presence for all eternity. You are His child. His
beloved. His inheritance. His priceless treasure.
"Do
not think for even a blink of an eye, do not even let it enter into
your head, that He does not want you near Him. That is why He
suffered the penalty you rightly deserved. He sacrificed Himself for
you!
"He
loves you with an everlasting love. Don't you see? Don't you
understand?
"This
place, this magnificent Balcony He prepared just for you, just as He
has prepared a place for you when you return to remain forevermore,
so that where He is, there you will be also."
All
this was said to me so gently, so quietly, almost in a whisper. He
spoke as if I were a child overwhelmed by longing and grief. He spoke
as a father comforting a broken-hearted toddler brought to the utter
end of himself by thoughts and emotions beyond his ability to bear.
"Our
Lord, our King, our Sovereign God, longs for your company, my
son," he said. "If you have the slightest doubt, look to
the Cross!"
© Bill Lilley 2011, 2013
