Hope Fulfilled.

A New Commentary on the Lord's Prayer (Part Three).

Looking back now, I didn’t know what to expect. The ground wasn’t covered in clouds. St. Peter wasn’t at his desk thumbing through a book for names. There was no line to wait in, no golden harps playing, and no robed choirs singing Kumbaya. It was just a solid white wall and a wide open gate.

I was excited to see the gate in the distance. But, I have to admit that when I arrived I was disappointed. There was no celebration planned for my arrival. No one was holding up a colorful banner with my name. I looked up over the gate and saw a placard engraved with the Hebrew word יהודה (Judah)  Underneath it was another phrase in that same tongue: יְהוָה שָׁמָּה (The Lord is There) This wasn’t the welcome I’d expected. This wasn’t the welcome I expected. I was an American of the late 20th and early 21st century. My family tree went back to barbarian tribes who tore down the walls of the Roman Empire. Everything seemed so strange; so unfamiliar. How could I possibly fit in? I was consumed by the thought of what would happen to me if I walked through the open gate. But when I stepped across the threshold none of that mattered anymore.

I found myself in a beautiful courtyard; beautiful yet simple. The architecture and landscaping worked seamlessly together.  The colors and the textures flowed together perfectly under a blue, blue sky. I realized that I, too, had become simpler. My body, soul, and spirit were working happily together. I belonged here. I didn’t have to defend myself. I didn’t have to care for myself. I didn’t have to assert myself. “I” was no longer my concern. Everything was as it was supposed to be. It had always been that way here. And I was part of this world forever.

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“Around the trunk of the tree nearest me were Palestinians and Israelis. There had been such a long and deep conflict between them in my day. But here they were making tea by adding the leaves of that tree to the water heating over the open fire.”

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I walked until I reached the far boundary of the courtyard. From that vantage point, I saw a city, just down a hill, that stretched into the horizon. At the center of that bustling city was a tree-lined river. I just had to explore that thoroughfare.

So without thinking I ran down the grassy hill between the courtyard and the city. Once I was halfway down I realized that I wasn’t even breathing hard. I accelerated my run and I still wasn’t tired. But then my speed was greater than my coordination. I tripped over myself and began to fall. Out of habit, having fallen many times before, I tensed up, curled into a ball, and hit the ground rolling. But incredibly I felt no pain. I decided to relax and enjoy the ride. Childhood memories of rolling and laughing with friends flooded into my mind. Then I reached the bottom of the hill, stopped rolling, and waited for the inevitable nausea to kick in. It never came. 

I got up to continue my adventure, but a stream blocked my way. I hadn’t noticed it from the courtyard, but a smaller tributary branched off from the tree-lined river and cut a line between the hill and the city. I looked to the left and to the right for a ferry or for a bridge to cross. There was nothing. But I noticed a stack of freshly folded clothes on the other bank. I realized that I would have to swim across. 

I hesitated for a moment; out of an abundance of caution. The water was narrow and clear. But it was also deep. Deeper than I was tall. I peered into the waters and saw fish of all kinds swimming around. Then I began to search for piranhas, alligators, or the fresh water sharks I had heard about in Nicaragua. Seeing none, I took a deep breath and dove into the water.  

The stream was cool but not too cold. I could feel the dust from my journey to the gate washing away. Grass that had clung to me after my playful rolling was now drifting past me down the stream. For a few moments, I floated, motionless.  I had never felt so clean. 

I pushed off from the riverbed and resurfaced, swimming a relaxed breaststroke until I arrived at the other side. I was just about to climb out of the stream when I realized that I was naked. Out of habit, I ducked under the water in shame. But then I realized that I didn’t feel afraid. I got out of the water, lay down in the long grass, and dozed off as the sun heated the droplets of water on my skin until they evaporated. After a few minutes I woke up drank deeply from the stream. A breeze rushed down the hill from the courtyard. With fingers outstretched it ran through the river and past the trees. I raised my head instinctively and received its caress. I was being invited to put on the fresh clothes and continue my journey to the city.

I headed directly for the tree-lined river. As I got closer I saw small groups of people under each tree. It looked as though they were cooking something. Around the trunk of the tree nearest me were Palestinians and Israelis. There had been such a long and deep conflict between them in my day. But here they were gathered together around a tree, adding its leaves to boiling water and making tea. The kettle whistled and after removing it from the open fire they bowed their heads and prayed. It was one of the most profound prayers I had ever heard. After a solemn “Amen,” they drank their healing tonic in unison. Then laughter broke out as they began to share stories with one another. I felt a tear slide down my cheek. It was gently wiped away.   

I looked to the tree on the other side of the river and saw a similar ritual taking place. Under every tree as far as my eye could see there were people laughing together: Hutus and Tutsis, Manchu and Taiping, Ukranians and Russians, Turks and Kurds. I even saw some trees surrounded by families who had been hopelessly divided for generations, but here they were united once again.

I was beginning to understand how things worked here. It was some kind of great organic system of interlinking parts. The belly laughs flowed from the leaves. The leaves grew on the trees. The trees drank from the river. The river flowed through the center of the city. But I was missing something. All of this joy came from somewhere. To complete the picture I had to find the source.

I had to walk upstream for miles before I saw it. In the distance, I could see that there was something set across the river. The water that gave life to everything emerged from under it, whatever it was. It wasn’t a Temple. It wasn’t a church. It wasn’t a synagogue. It wasn’t a building at all. It was something sitting in the open air.

I could see that someone was sitting on a large, finely decorated chair. I couldn’t really make out who was on the throne because everything was so bright. It was like the person on the throne was wrapped in the sun. Once, very quickly, I did get a glimpse. But I don’t really know how to describe what I saw. All designations of race or gender seemed way too limiting. This person was the source of all of human designations. My quick glimpse though, did give me a greater appreciation for a description by the biblical Daniel:

“As I looked, thrones were set in place, and the Ancient of Days took his seat. His clothing was as white as snow; the hair of his head was white like wool. His throne was flaming with fire, and its wheels were all ablaze.

The Ancient of Days. That is the name of the One who is sitting on the throne.

When I raised my hand to shade my eyes I could make out a second person who looked different from the Ancient of days and yet was, somehow, the same. They were both so real, so palpable. You couldn’t escape them. No one here would want to.

For a split second, I thought about people who had chosen not to go through the open gate. I looked at everyone around me. They all wanted to be here. I realized that it was only those who had sought out this particular experience in their lifetime, who would want to celebrate the Ancient of Days in this place.

We don’t worry about daily bread here. We don’t fret over debts or debtors. We don’t struggle with temptation or evil. All of this has fallen away. In its place, we express our joy in every conceivable way. There are cheers. There’s applause. There are ululations. Again and again our voices join together as we sing.

“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
    to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength
    and honor and glory and praise!”

To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
    be praise and honor and glory and power,
forever and ever!

Then our joy overflows into the acts of love and service that animate the city. The care, guidance, and deep relationship I had only tasted outside of the gate are a constant here. 

After my first experience of worship that day in the city, I could smell brewing coffee. It was coming from a building nearby. I walked up its steps and was greeted with the aromas of fine food and drink. Through the door, I could see a huge banquet table and laden with meats, grains, vegetables of every kind. There were fresh croissants and baguettes. The finest butter, honey, and jams. Drinks of every description in decanters, dark green glass bottles, and pitchers of silver and gold. Everything was ready and people were beginning to take their places. That’s when I saw her.

My wife was seated at that banquet table with an open chair beside her. She motioned excitedly for me to come and sit next to her. As I walked toward her I recognized other family members at the table. Suddenly, I was taken aback by a group of people seated at the banquet who had hurt me quite deeply. They were intermingled on the seating chart with others whom I had depended on at key times in my life but had let me down. As I looked at them, I saw no reason for anger. Resentment made absolutely no sense in this place. It wasn’t an option for me anymore.

I took my wife’s hand as I sat next to her at the table. We bowed our heads for grace and I thought about how different this place was from what I’d expected. My new home was not what I thought it would be. Yet it was a complete and total answer to the prayer I had been taught to pray since childhood:  

Our Father, who art in heaven, 

Hallowed be thy Name. 

Thy Kingdom come. 

Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. 

Give us this day our daily bread. 

And forgive us our debts

As we forgive our debtors. 

And lead us not into temptation

But deliver us from evil. 

For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory, 

Forever and ever. 

Amen.