The Least of These (A Parable)

Mark Twain has been quoted as saying, "reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." I feel like I should be saying this about my presence here on this blog/website. The last year has been one of life changes. A new job has mostly caused me to be absent, but I also took an intentional break from writing. I needed space to get refocused and excited about writing again.

So without further ado, I present a new short story entitled, "The Least of These - A Parable". I didn't write this piece to make any huge definitive theological statements. The story mode of the parable is one that allows me to ask questions, reconstruct realities and perceptions. It is an ancient form of literature, most prominently featured in the Christian Bible. Jesus used parables to "speak in mysteries" and encourage people to take the time to really unpack behaviors and beliefs that they held.

Hopefully this parable of mine will open some new channels of thought and question for you.

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The Least of These - A Parable

The world ended as it should: the Prince of Peace triumphant, the Beast drowned in a lake of fire, and the Righteous marching joyfully into the forever kingdom. Glory shone before them as they sang. Redeemed feet marched in time with the tune.

“We’re marching to Zion,

Beautiful, beautiful Zion,

We’re marching upward to Zion,

The beautiful city of God.”

The Lion led them, his flowing hair catching the golden glow of the city, walking upright; a man, a beast, a prophet, a legend. His, the only footprints on the soft earth of the ethereal road.

As the throng approached the bejeweled gates, he moved to one side, welcoming each traveler who passed into his life-giving realm. Smiles, tears of joy, laughter, and dance erupted from the weary who, nearing his presence, found new, abundant life. Transfixed by the glory before them, a reward greater than the imagination could hold, they stepped across the threshold into the otherness that was the mystery. None looked back.

In a land with no time, it took no time at all for the multitude to enter. Colors, races, abilities, the collection of redeemed humanity, flowed like a river past the Giver of Life. Soon and immediately, the last of the pilgrims approached. The river slowed to a stream, a rivulet, a trickle, a drop. The last of the sojourners stepped forward.

This saint approached slowly, eyes mesmerized by both the city and the Bright Morning Star who stood before it. Recognizing this lost sheep, the Chief Shepherd moved forward as a Lamb.

“Welcome, friend,” came his soft voice.

The man stopped as the crowd before him disappeared, dispersing into the city.

“Welcome,” the gentle voice continued. “I know you well. Come take your inheritance, prepared for you since the creation of the world.”

Peals of laughter echoed over the city walls and bounced through the corridor of the gate. Inside, a celebration began as the clinking of knife and fork on plate sounded the beginning of the feast. Hearty hails and greetings passed between those long lost, found old friends, loved mates, or cherished family members.

Not lost to the ears and heart of the man, this cacophony of joy fell as a bittersweet promise.

His resilient eyes met those of the Just One.

“I cannot enter,” the man said. ....keep reading...