Towards Judea

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth my Lord!” I said enthusiastically as I walked side by side with my Lord.

My Lord beckoned me to take a walk with Him during the earlier. Walking during the fresh morning would be nice. I’ve been at the library for too long anyways.

I’ve been researching furiously during the past few days about His followers. They have traveled to different lands to tell about the Great Story. Some have suffered much, even to the point of death yet they still preached about the love of the Lord. Nothing can move them in their faith. I believe that, with His anointing, I could tell the Story with the same vigor and love as my fellow followers.

“Lord, send me too” I said, “I want to tell more about Your story!”

My Lord looked towards me and smiled. He is still the shining figure that revealed His Self to me that faithful day. However, it seems that the people that I met cannot recognize Him. All they see is a young scribe walking with an old broken beggar. Ah, if they could only see what I see.

“Preach in Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the Earth” he said as we continued our walk.

“Thank you!” I said joyfully as my mind raced for plans on how to follow His command.

There was just one problem.

“My Lord” I said cautiously, “Where is Judea?”

He stopped walking. I was puzzled. Was it something I said? I looked at Him again but I found Him staring at a distance. I looked towards the area He was looking at and found that we were back at the library grounds.

Nothing has changed since the last few minutes that we were away. However, I noticed that the denizens near the library have awoken and are now going about their daily business. Almost all of them are familiar faces in the library - fellow scribes, beggars, workers, and sages. They still looked normal but I sensed emptiness inside them, a void that persisted in me some time ago. I felt that I needed to be here to teach them how the One can fill the void inside. It is not yet the time to go to the ends of the earth.

“Lord, am I in Judea?” I asked.

He nodded.

He moved away towards the people at the foot of the library. He turned around towards me and beckoned me to come.

“Come, follow Me,” He said as He continued moving towards the crowd.

Reluctant Storyteller

A stranger approached me as I sat at the foot of the steps of the library one day. The weird man slowly stumbled his way towards me, every step bringing muffled groans of agony. His disfigured face was unrecognizable and his tattered peasant cloak smells like something salvaged from a dead criminal. This unfamiliar person seems to be out of place in this marbled place of learning.

He looked at me for a while and, sensing my disinterest, sat a meter away from me.
We just sat there in silence, I was really tired from reading and I did not want to move from my spot - as long as he keeps his distance.

I was beginning to doze up when he began to shift move. The man dusted off his cloak and produced a bundle of yellowed paper. They seem to be more like thin slices of weathered wood. He gently tapped the package, causing a battered pen slipped out. The black pen looked more like a spike rather than a writing instrument. The tools looked beyond repair but they piqued my curiosity.

“Sir, are you a writer?” I asked.

He turned to me and smiled “Yes I am”

“Would you write my story then?” I asked, hoping to get some entertainment out of this stranger.

“Yes, but you have to tell mine first.”

“Fair enough” I said as I fished for my own writing set.

Well it is not what I wanted but some literary exercise won’t hurt.

“Okay tell me who you are” I said after I finished my preparation.

I readied my pen and turned my ear towards him, partly, because I need to listen to him carefully and partly because he’s hideous to look at.

“I am the Beginning and the End” he said

“Stories begin and end with the subject” I said as I recorded his words “What else?”

“I created the heavens and the earth”

“Writers do create their own worlds. But few live in them” I said with a smile. “But I’m interrupting, Go on”

“I am the Author and Finisher of your faith”

I put my pen down.

“And just who are you?” I said as I turned my head towards my quite imaginative friend.

I believe he have just crossed the line between creativity and civility.

However, I saw someone else.

In place of the ragged stranger sat a glowing figure clothed in the purest of white. His eyes glowed like fire yet I felt forgiveness and grace flow from them. I looked at His lap and found a new set of scrolls. A detailed script was written in them. The letters were carefully penned with blood dripping from His hands. It was a story – my story. Though beautifully crafted, the pages are still far from complete.

“Lord, finish it. Finish my story” I said.

I was unable to move, I wouldn’t want to. I don’t know how to react, no feelings seems to suffice. I just sat there, looking at Him.

He stood up and moved closer. He slowly put His nail-pierced hand at my back and leaned close to me.

“It’s not yet time for that, My son.” He whispered. “Now is the time for you to tell My story.”