January 10, 2010

• The Promise

  Know this first of all, that in the last days mockers will come with their mocking, following after their own lusts, and saying, "Where is the promise of His coming? For ever since the fathers fell asleep, all continues just as it was from the beginning of creation."
  For when they maintain this, it escapes their notice that by the word of God the heavens existed long ago and the earth was formed out of water and by water, through which the world at that time was destroyed, being flooded with water. But by His word the present heavens and earth are being reserved for fire, kept for the day of judgment and destruction of ungodly men.
  But do not let this one fact escape your notice, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day. The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.
  But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, in which the heavens will pass away with a roar and the elements will be destroyed with intense heat, and the earth and its works will be burned up. Since all these things are to be destroyed in this way, what sort of people ought you to be in holy conduct and godliness, looking for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be destroyed by burning, and the elements will melt with intense heat! But according to His promise we are looking for new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells.   2 Peter 3:3-13

   

  ---

   

  
  Once there was a man who wrote a script for a play.  He had spent many hours planning out the plot and how the play should be directed for the best effect.  Finally he finished writing the script.  It was an amazing masterpiece... full of subtle genius and haunting beauty.  He decided to direct the play himself.

  Now it so happened that the director had some unique abilities that most other directors don't have.  For one thing, he could see the future.  For another, he was omnipotent - he had the power to do anything he wanted to do.

  So the director began to make the sets.  He sculpted vast breathtaking sets that filled not only the stage, but encircled the whole auditorium.  The lights were set up, and the microphone system was put together.  He composed and orchestrated all the music. Video cameras were put in place to record the drama for later viewing.

  Before he could work on the costumes, he had to get the actors.  But how to get precisely the right actors and actresses for each subtly nuanced part?

  He decided to make them... each one perfectly created for his or her part in the masterwork.

  How would the actors learn all their lines?  And how would they rehearse such a vast play with so many subplots?  The director decided to try something novel - since he could see the future, he would introduce each of the actors at the right times and in the right places so that they would accurately fulfil their lines without ever needing to read them.  That way it would be not only the playwright's work, but also in a real sense, the spontaneous choices of the actors themselves that moved the play along.

  The director decided that he would remain behind the curtain throughout most of the play, though he would step on stage at a few key points.  Since he could see the future, he knew that some parts of the play would be extremely dark and painful, not only to watch, but even to him personally... and physically.

  The day came - everything was ready.  The director took a slow, deep breath, turned on the video cameras, turned off the house lights, and began creating the actors...

  The play began in stunning beauty.  The director walked out to center stage to talk with two of the first group of actors about the play, and the theme of the play.  The theme of the play was Love.  The two actors were excited about the project, and thanked the director effusively for the privilege of being given such an important starring role.

  But things almost immediately went awry.  One of the other actors talked the two center stage actors into rejecting the director's directions.  He convinced the two that they should instead try to "be their own directors".

  Things got really bad.  Before long, the actors were ripping apart the sets, screaming at each other in rage, maiming and killing each other.

  The director knew this would happen.  After all, he had written the play.  He whispered something to a small group of actors on the side, then waited by the controls of the curtain, looking at his watch.  The few actors he had spoken to ran into center stage, trying to make their voices heard above the din.

  The time had come.  The curtain fell.  The play was finished.

  But no - the group of actors he had spoken to were standing in front of the curtain, and they were still talking.

  ---

   
  The fire crackled healthily in the fireplace.  The two middle-aged couples around the table bantered energetically over the remnants of a small meal.  But hardness lurked beneath their words.

  The old actor quietly listening by the fireplace slowly reached up to a shelf and pulled a yellowed scroll into his lap.  His son spoke from the table.

  "The king has been spending too much time in the wine cellar," he chuckled.  "I'd like to hale him up to the wall personally to look at the seige.  He's not the one who will have to drink..." he winked.

  The other man at the table scowled.  "The king has his priorities right," he retorted.  "And you know what he predicted," jerking his eyebrow toward the old man.  Everyone was quiet for a moment.

  One of the women turned to look at her father-in-law by the hearth.  "Where is Messiah?" she asked simply.  It sounded like a rhetorical question.  All five of them knew that she considered belief in the director (that is, the belief that the mythical director of the old stories was actually real) to be preposterous.

  The old man had never personally met the director.  But he spoke as if he knew him.  "He will come," he replied.  "No doubt about it.  He will come someday."

  He heaved a slow, trembling sigh.  "But we will not be ready for him.  He will be despised and rejected when he comes."

  The fire crackled.  The director, listening and watching intently from offstage, heard every word. He knew the script by heart.

  ---

   

  Five vultures circled silently overhead.

  The director hung gasping on a pole, bloody and naked, in the center of the stage.  Thousands of sweaty actors pressed around him, yelling and jeering and spitting.

  "Check out the guy who called himself 'the Director'!  Let's see him direct his way down from there!"

  The dying man's thoughts raced.  "Why am I here again?  Why did I cast myself in this role?  Why did I ever step onto the stage?"

  He knew why.  He wished he could explain to the mob around him.  But he knew they wouldn't listen.

  He thought backwards and forwards about the thousands of years involved in the great drama.  He knew that the scene he was in was the most important part; the turning point of the plot.  Without his role, the actors could only look forward to pain, death, and destruction.  He knew that he was the only actor that could fulfil the role - the Redeemer.  Only he could bring them life.

  His mind returned and lingered on his favorite part of the play - the ending.  In his mind's eye he saw the greater drama to follow - after this dark Act had finished, after the great wedding, after he lead his loyal actors to safety from the great war and the subsequent auditorium fire.  In that glorious day, the final act of his play would begin... the one that would never end.

  He closed his eyes.  The fragrance of his dying love, unheeded by the screaming mob, quietly infused the whole theatre.

   

  ---

   
  Billions of actors roamed the vast sets.  Only a few still laughed or smiled.  Smoke filled the air.  Explosions and screams rang out repeatedly.  The auditorium trembled as a great fire began to erupt on all sides. The great drama neared the finale of its fearfully magnificent first Act.

  One actor sat bleary-eyed at her computer.  She had heard the story of the director's masterpiece countless times.  Yet she knew that it was only a narrative, and all narratives can be countered by other narratives.  She knew that one sage had written "in the last days mockers will come", while another had written "Which is more likely-that a man rose from the dead, or that this testimony is mistaken in some way?"

  Her mind was filled with the conflicting opinions of others.  But she knew that she herself had to choose.  If the director was real, she needed to start following his lead in her role.  If he was a myth, she could follow her own wishes for the rest of her life.

  The director (very much alive again) watched the girl as she struggled to decide.  He knew what was coming.  His joy knew no bounds.  He glanced at his watch.  Five seconds until his last sheep joined his flock.

  The girl decided that the evidence really did point to a real director, regardless of how odious that conclusion was to her.  She had to follow the evidence... the truth was more important than her pride.

  With tears of joy the director strode over to her and gave her a hug.  The trumpets sounded.  The stage shook.  The amazing first Act was finished.

  Yet the story had just begun.

   

   

  (originally written March 2007)

  • 6:53 pm
  • 10 Comments