Daniel 7:9-14
Revelation 1:1-8
John 18:33-37
Psalm 93
Once upon at time, long before we wore time on our wrists or hung it from a church steeple, back when time followed the sun and the moon and the stars, there lived a great king.
His splendid, mountaintop palace was sky-blue crystal with spires reaching into heaven itself. Never, before or after, has there been a palace of such radiant beauty. The huge, sapphire throne was set with rubies and gold that flashed and sparkled like tongues of flame. The walls of the palace were adorned with jewels and all twelve doors were mother of pearl.
From his mountaintop crystal-blue palace, the king ruled his people by sending his messengers far and wide throughout his kingdom in the fertile valley. And yet, even though the crystal-blue palace was full of obedient servants and wonderful creatures, the great king was lonely. For the king was as radiantly beautiful as his palace, and his face shone brighter than the noonday sun, so that none of his people dared to look at him for fear of being struck blind.
So the king sat alone on his huge, fiery sapphire throne, surrounded by his twelve pet lions, . . . and he wept.
Meanwhile, down in the valley, a little girl, about the age of our Ch'aska, was leaning over the riverbank, reaching for a pebble that sparkled like gold, when suddenly, WHOOSH ... she was standing among the twelve golden lions at the foot of the huge, fiery sapphire throne.
Now it seems that no one had bothered to tell the little girl that she must not look at the king. And she, having eyes to see, looked right up at him. Seeing the tears, she tried to cheer him up, saying politely, "Your house, Sir, is very pretty."
The king was so astonished that all he could say was, "Thank you." The twelve golden lions began to purr at the little girl, and the king, in his great loneliness, remembered his manners and added, "You are most welcome here, my child." And then asked hopefully, "Would you like to stay?"
The little girl, petting the purring golden lions, replied, "It is very pretty here, and you are very kind, but at home I have a little sister who is as beautiful as the dawn; and my brothers are both strong and kind. I would like to go home, please Sir."
And, indeed, immediately she was walking by the river next to her own home. (In that time beyond time, these things do happen.) And the king sat sadly on the huge, fiery sapphire throne and wondered how any child could be more beautiful or stronger or kinder than the little girl who had dared to look at him.
The king began to pace up and down in the crystal-blue palace, pondering the marvel of having a large family like the little girl had, and considering how he might get one for himself.
When suddenly, in among the seven golden lampstands in the library, there appeared a very old woman. She was ninety-three to be exact. For the last seven of her ninety-three years, the old woman had been blind. So it didn't bother her at all to stand before the radiantly beautiful king and to turn her face toward the face that shone brighter than the noonday sun.
The king, deep in thought, nearly tripped over the old woman. This time, however, the king recovered rather more quickly from the shock of discovering a visitor in the crystal-blue palace. "Welcome, friend," the king said. "There is a great feast prepared, will you join me?" (The king was a bit nervous about asking, because in the past his people had often refused his invitations, and that tended to leave him feeling hurt and angry, which is a very dangerous thing in a king.)
But the old woman smiled up at the king, and said, "Ah! I remember a great feast .... Oh, the stories I could tell you!" The king's heart leapt, as he said to the old woman, "Come then, for I have ears to hear."
The king and the old woman sat side by side, telling stories. And there was evening and there was morning. The first day.
The sun set and rose again for five more days, as the old woman told stories to the king. Stories of travels in the fertile valley, stories of romance and battle, of flood and pharaohs and famine, stories of betrayal and friendship, of miracles and mistakes and foolishness, stories of dim-lit roadside taverns and lush vineyards. The stories of a lifetime.
The king's eyes grew wide as he listened. What a marvelous and treacherous place his kingdom was! And yet the king had only seen it through the blind eyes of the old woman. The king laughed and cried at the stories, and he sang along with the songs of the old woman.
And on the seventh day, they rested -- sleeping in the sun in the garden, or sitting side by side on the fiery sapphire throne, with the twelve golden lions curled up around their feet.
Meanwhile, down in the valley . . . (You know these time-beyond-time visits always come in sets of three. So, meanwhile, down in the valley . . . ) An angry young man in his sixteenth year had got hold of his father's best wine. Staggering out the front door, he shouted at his mother, "Life sucks! I'm outta here!" He slammed the door behind him so hard that way up on the mountain the king and the old woman both jumped in their sleep.
The angry young man seized his father's fine, new bay mare and galloped off down the road. And suddenly, CRASH ...
There he was, standing among the twelve golden lions, in a light so bright that he couldn't bear to open his eyes. Squinting through his fingers, he caught sight of the edge of the fiery sapphire throne. And he knew it was the king.
In a panic, he shouted, "Oh Sh ..." (Well, I can't exactly repeat what he said. But it wasn't very polite.) The king and the old woman were wide awake now. They looked at the angry young man, standing there with his hands clamped over his eyes, still sputtering obscenities. Wordlessly the king and the old woman grinned at each other.
And they listened as the young man babbled on. (I admit, I cleaned up his language a bit.) "I know what you kings do. You have all the power and all the good stuff. You sit up here and enjoy yourselves. While people like me take all the crap. We have all the pain and suffering and hard work, and then when we screw up, you punish us and treat us like dirt. So what are you waiting for? I know I blew it. I'm scum of the earth and a first-class jerk and I don't care. Why don't you just blast me to hell right now?"
In the dark behind his clasped hands, the angry young man could hear the lions roaring, but there was only silence from the king. The young man's heart raced. Every muscle grew tense as the he waited for the thunderbolt that would blast him away.
Nothing.
The young man risked a little peek through his fingers. "HOLY SH...." (OK. You know what he said.) Brighter than the noonday sun, the king's face was right in front of his own.
And now the king was speaking. The young man began to tremble all over. His heart felt as if it might burst.
The king said, "My son, uhh, mmmm . . . Might I borrow that leather jacket of yours, please?"
The young man was so astonished that he dropped his hands and opened his eyes..... And he saw that it was good. That everything was very good indeed. And that the king looked totally awesome in leather.
So the young man and the old woman disguised the king. They wrapped the radiant beauty of the king in old stories and a Harley Davidson jacket. It was a great make over, so that the king might go down into the valley and live among his people as one of them. So the king might never again be lonely. So the king might have sisters as beautiful as the dawn and brothers who are both strong and kind. So the king might live the stories of friendship and betrayal; and visit the dim-lit roadside taverns and lush vineyards. So the king might taste the fruit and the wine and the pain of ordinary life.
And if occasionally someone should pause and say about this stranger, "We never met anyone like this." Or "What kind of person is this?" Or if perhaps someone should recognize radiant beauty of the great king, and ask, "Are you the king?" The king would say, "Shhhhh! Don't tell anyone. I'm not the kind of king you think I am. Listen. I came to tell you a story. . . ."
And you know, it is said that the great king still walks among his people today. There are those who have seen him and can tell the story. You will know the king's storytellers because they, too, have a bit of a glow about them. And if you should ask them, "The great king – what does he look like? How will I know him?" They're not going to say "You'll know him by his Harley Davidson jacket." (Though "Davidson" is said to be his family name.)
If you meet one of the king's storytellers, and ask what the great king looks like, they will look deep in your eyes, as if to see into your heart, and they will say to you, "King Jesus? I believe he looks a bit like you."
Story Copyright © 2000 Patricia A. Gillespie
All rights reserved.
Story may be freely distributed with permission and inclusion of copyright.