Independence Road |
| Posted by Mark (mark) on Apr 10 2008 at 3:16 PM |
A young believer was struggling to ascertain the cross. After many classes and much discussion she still felt there was more. Agitated after hours of fruitless meditation one morning, she drifted into sleep. While she slept she entered a vivid dream.
She found herself on a dusty road under a grey sky. It was strewn left and right with moaning bodies that were completing the transition to corpse. The ditches were white with skeletons. It was horrifying and the young believer was succumbing to her overwhelming fear when she noticed a figure approaching in the distance. Unbelievably it was none other than her favorite scholar of generations past. He was a historical giant and luminary. He was her favorite theologian.
Suddenly crestfallen she wondered what on earth (or heaven) he was doing on this road. Had he come to rescue her? That didn’t make sense, she knew Jesus as savior, not a man. But then was she saved? She struggled to understand the complexities of the cross. And here she was, traveling the road of the damned, or at least of the dead.
Drawing near now the great theologian finally stopped and squinted at her. She drew several deep breaths nervously and shied away from his gaze sheepishly.
“What are you doing here, my dear?” came a deep smooth voice.
“I don’t even know where here is,” her reply softly floating through the morbid air.
“You didn’t pass the sign a ways back?”
“What sign?”
“It marks the road about a mile back. Ugly, hulking black thing.”
“Well what does it say?” her eyes widening with curiosity.
“Independence Road. All it says is Independence Road.”
“It’s more like death row if you ask me,” chirped the believer.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” The theologian squinted again.
“No, I said death row.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” he was looking at her curiously now, “Independence Road.”
This circular conversation went on for a few minutes until the young believer realized it would go nowhere. Changing the subject she asked, “Are you the great theologian from generations past?”
“Indeed I am, how kind of you to notice.”
“Could I ask you a question then? I’m not sure I understand the cross.”
“Ah, so it’s a theological answer you seek.”
“Yes, and I’ve been seeking it night and day, but can’t seem to find it.”
“Therein lies your problem, my dear,” his voice was silky smooth.
“What?”
“You can’t understand and behold the wonder of the cross via theology. You must grasp it via intimacy.”
“What are you saying? You were a great theologian. You wrote much on the cross. Though I can’t say I understand much of it,” her voice cracked with uncertainty.
“I suppose that makes two of us,” he said with a sad smile.
“Sir, I really don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either, but I’ve had much time to ponder while walking this seemingly endless road. Could I make a suggestion?”
“Anything,” she belted out in desperation.
“Don’t pursue a deeply developed theology. That’s the wrong goal. Instead pursue a deeply developed relationship with Him. The two are not one in the same. And while a deeply developed relationship may give birth to deep theology, it isn’t a requisite to know Him. In fact, in some cases it may even become an impediment. On the other hand a deeply developed theology doesn’t give birth to relationship, faith does.
“Therein lies the problem: you can have deep theology with out deep relationship. And the deep theology gives the appearance of relationship, often fooling the holder of the theology.”
“What are you saying sir?”
“I’m saying we often put the cart before the horse. I’m saying you can have intricate theology without intimate relationship. And the cross, the thing you’re trying to understand, was always about restoring intimate relationship. It wasn’t about intricate theology. In fact, the more complicated we make it, the more difficult it is for people to enter into its resurrection power.”
“And why are you here on this road?” she asked.
“I’m following His footsteps,” said the theologian, pointing to the dirt.
She hadn’t noticed them before, but mixed in among the groaning bodies were a clear set of footprints indelibly marked in the dirt - somehow. “Whose footprints are those?”
“His.”
“He walked this road?”
“You really don’t understand the cross do you?” chuckled the theologian.
“I guess not,” the young believer lamented.
“Have you ever read the parable of the of the ninety-nine sheep and the one that is missing?”
“Yes.”
“This is that parable. The cross is that parable. He came to find us on death row. He endured the path of death to find those who were lost.”
“Did you just say death row?”
“No, I said Independence road. Are you hard of hearing my dear?”
“I don’t think so.”
“In any case, I must continue my journey. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”
“What journey is that?”
“I told you, I’m following his footprints,” then muttering beneath his breath “Forgive me Lord, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s daft.”
“But he’s not here anymore. I don’t believe you’ll find him here, anymore than you would in the tomb which he once lay.”
Standing straight up he looked at her cockeyed. “Yes but I believe, if I follow them far enough I will make my way to Him. Why else would they be here if not a trail to follow? And why else would we be here, if not to make our way to him?” his voiced trailed off momentarily but then resumed, “I must warn you though, it is an arduous journey. I’ve been traveling for generations and have been feeling a bit weak of late. I keep passing signs identical to the one back that way. It seems someone wanted us to clearly know which road we’re on. In any case, I would welcome the new company, it would do my aching soul some good.”
“I think he made his way to us, not the other way around. Are you sure you understand the cross?”
“Your questioning my understanding?” he said incredulously, “The one asking for my help about the cross, then questions the help.”
He leaned in closer to her now and for the first time she saw his face in great detail. His skin was eerily grey like the sky and flaking away; he was obviously decaying. Startled she jumped back and sheepishly blurted out, “I’m sorry, I think you’ll have to go on alone.”
Staring at her for a moment with surprise and lament he stood rigidly. Then resigning himself to solitude once more he continued. “Yes, I suppose it is a narrow gate, isn’t it Lord?” he mumbled to himself as he passed by.
Suddenly the dream changed and the young believer was taken up to an eagle’s view of the road. To her shock it was a large circle, and there was only one sign marking it. Waking with a start from the dream, she wondered whether the theologian was simply following his own footprints in the sand, like many before him.
