The Ends of the Earth

I look up at the stars. I listen to their voices. They sing of the things that have been and the things to come. I see my sisters dancing there. I watch the crescent moon shine down on me as she sings the world to sleep. I listen to her song.

She sings of a girl and I see her in my mind. She asks the question, “If my father is always with me, where is my father?”

“Right here,” comes the reply.

She looks up to see him standing there. He holds out his hand and she takes it. Without looking behind her she follows him.

The path below leads her straight. It takes her through the stars and across the galaxies. She looks down as they travel over the constellations and enter the realms of other worlds. The dust rises to meet her. It welcomes her. For centuries the dust has gathered on this narrow path. It  has gathered in anticipation for the one who was to come, and now he is here. He leads her by the hand, with her always, even to the ends of the earth.

“The ends of the earth,” she asks, “Where is that? Is it the place farthest from home?”

“No,” her father replies, “No, the ends of the earth is the end of your time on earth. It is the day I call you and we stand on the edge of your life looking down into the abyss.”

And then they were there.

She held his hand and lifted her head as if one more inch would allow her to see the bottom.

“What’s down there?” A shudder ran through her. “Do I really have to jump off this? Do I really have to go down there?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve been there before.”

*

It was a long Wednesday.

Monday was the day of creation. Tuesday was the day of the fall. Wednesday was a day of waiting. It was the day of the prophets, the day of the judges, the day of long days and longer nights dragging out the centuries.

It was a hopeful Thursday. The King returned for one moment. He walked the earth and gathered followers. He healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, lifted the paralyzed from their mats. It was a glimpse of the future, a look into what would be. But no one wanted it to end. The King knew it must end, but his followers wished him to stay. They wanted him to be with them always. They wanted Eden. This was a taste of that Eden, and it was better than the waiting of yesterday.

It was a dark Friday. Friday filled with death—death of God, death of Love, death of Hope. Friday was the day the world broke. Friday was the day the world felt the pain of healing. It was the day the world felt the pain of a set limb, the pain of a sliver pulled from the depths, the pain of fixing what had been broken.

“Why must we feel this pain?" the world asked. "Why must this be the truth of our existence?" But the world didn't know. They didn't know that on Tuesday, they set the stage for Friday. On Tuesday they broke the world and created the need for the pain of Friday.  On Tuesday the world fell into a coma. On Tuesday the world pinched each nerve so tightly it could no longer feel. On Tuesday the world went into a deep dark paralysis without hope. But Friday brought life.

Friday brought the cure. Friday brought the pain of thawing. Friday brought clean air, a second chance, a drop of rain.

And that brings us to Saturday. Saturday the waiting day. The day the world awaits the return of the King. The day the world holds her breath and gazes at the sky. The day filled with darkness, filled with this….

Darkness that goes on. Darkness that lingers. Darkness that continues and the world is left to imagine the details. Saturday is the day the world wakes up and climbs out of bed when she has no reason to. Saturday is the day the world feeds herself and clothes herself though the light has faded. Saturday is the day the world realizes she should have been dead long ago, but she is still breathing. She has long since past the point where she thought, "I would die if that happened to me," but she is still here. Still breathing, still eating, still conversing about the weather. What else is there to talk about? The darkness goes on.

*

But somewhere in that darkness of Friday, the girl’s father passed from life to death. He passed the ends of the world. He plunged into the abyss without looking back and wandered on the other side.

“Don’t worry, I've been there before.”

The King came for these two words, “Me too.”

Me too, I've died. Me too, I've been abandoned. Me too, I know what it’s like when the world caves in and you read John 11 repeatedly. Me too, I wish my brother had not died. Me too, I cried when I heard. Me too, I hate this broken world. Me too, I want you to be healed. Me too, relationships are difficult. Me too.

“Don’t worry, I've been there before.”

The girl stands on the ends of the earth and looks out. She sees the things she has never seen before. She sees the things her King saw when he was absent from the earth for those eternal 24 hours. She holds her father’s hand and peers over the edge, watching the images of Him gone before, watching him conquer her fear for this very moment.

And then she jumps.

She came to the end of the earth for this. She came to jump. But if she was made to jump, why didn't she do it before? Why didn't she jump on the first day of her life? Why didn't she jump before she came from the womb?

Because perhaps life is a process. Because maybe the point of life is not the end, the jumping, but the path she took to get there. Maybe the things in her path created her into the person who would jump. Maybe those obstacles she jumped over and ran around brought the desire to jump, the desire to be with her King, forever in that wide abyss of stars.

Maybe the gift of life is beautiful because it is a chance to make mistakes. It is a chance to taste and see what is better and a chance to see what is worse. It is a chance to walk down the buffet of life and say, “I don’t care for that food. In fact, there is no food here I care for. I will eat the food my father gives me.” Maybe the girl’s father wanted her to realize just how far she would go for him. Maybe he wanted her to know that no matter how bad things got she would never leave him. Maybe he wanted her to know that even when her dreams solidify her waking thoughts and show her running away, she will never leave. Maybe he wanted her to know that even when she stood in the pain, tears coursing down her face, she would lift her voice and sing because He is worthy. Maybe he wanted her to know she would never leave, so he gave her the chance.

Maybe the King gave the world the chance to be evil that she might choose to be good. Maybe the King pushed her far enough to be evil just so she knew she would never do that. She would never fall and destroy as others had. How does she know? She was pushed that far. Maybe the King wanted the earth to experience a life of evil and grace so she may share her experiences with others. Maybe the girl will find other creatures in the abyss and she will tell them, “Look how good the father is.” And they will tell her the same. Creatures separated by dimensions and time will look into each other’s eyes and hear about their common father as they had never imagined.

But what was the point of me telling you this? What was the point of sharing the song of the stars? What was the point of taking you on the path of the girl and her father? Because one day every person will stand at the ends of the earth and must jump. And on that day, if the King is beside you, you may hear him whisper in your ear, “Don’t worry, I've been there before.”