When the blinding light receded, I found myself alone in a garden.  It was still, peaceful.  I looked around, hoping to see Him, or Mara.

            “Is anyone there?” I asked.  I heard no answer.  I rose to my feet and let them wander as they willed, past flowers and trees, streams and springs and fountains.  I soon saw a robed figure resting under a bush, grey-bearded and stocky.

            “Are you God?” I asked, but as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew the answer. 

            The figure opened his eyes and sat up.  A bright nimbus of light illuminated his face.  He chuckled.

            “Not quite, my friend, but thanks for the compliment.  I only work for him.  I took credit for one of His accomplishments once, and I’ve learned my lesson.”

            “Sorry to disturb you.” I said politely.  “You can return to your nap.”

            “Don’t mind if I do.  But if you keep on the way you’re going, you’ll come to Him in a bit.”

            “Thank you, Moses.”  I smiled, and continued on.

            I walked further, and kept running into people.  Joshua and Abraham greeted me like an old friend, but told me to keep going.  Jacob dared me to wrestle with him, but I had to tell him “Maybe later.”  Paul set me on a road along a river, telling me a blind man couldn’t get lost on the way.  I laughed and thanked him.

            I came to a tree in the centre of the garden, and felt a deep humbling awe.  It had faint silver bark, and golden leaves, and seemed so delicate as to be made of glass.  It seemed a stiff breeze could knock it over, yet it stood strong and lovely.  A kindly old man with a white beard stood beneath it.  He smiled and beckoned for me to come closer.

            “Are you..?” I asked.

            Suddenly the garden shimmered, extended.  The leaves on the tree glowed brighter and brighter, exploding outward as stars.  I seemed to float in the cosmos, watching galaxies spin.  The old man spread his arms outwards and burst into an enormous figure wreathed in light, with fiery wings and a crown.  He blazed so magnificently that I felt my breath taken away.  For a moment, I was sure I was looking at the face of God.  But then I knew.

            “Who are you?” I asked, certain that this was not the one I sought.

            “Behold the Metatron, voice of the one true God.  I am His herald, set above the angels and princes to rule Heaven in His name.”  The voice rumbled throughout the universe.

            “Oh, like in Kevin Smith’s movie, Dogma.”  I said, nonchalant.

            “Yes, actually.  Wicked film.”  Metatron smiled, and again he was an old man and we were in the garden.

            “Nice to meet you, Metatron.” I grinned as we shook hands.

            “My friends call me Enoch.” He smiled back.  “And, as the voice of God, He’s asked me to give you a message.”

            “What is it?”

            “The first part is this:  The day you faced Azazel was Resurrection Sunday, in the year of our Lord 2029.  He was trying to prevent you from taking action until that day passed, but you saw through him.”

            “Why?  What’s so important about that day, that year?”

            “Why, it’s the two thousandth year since Jesus was resurrected!”

            “Wouldn’t that be 2033?  He was thirty-three when He died.”

            “Ah, but that’s not all the data to compute the problem.  Yes, Jesus was thirty-three, but that doesn’t mean He died and resurrected in 33 A.D.  He was only a baby in year one.”

            “So He would have been one year old in year two, and died in 34 A.D.”

            “True.  But, the Gregorian monk who worked out His birthday and the calendar messed up the Roman numerals.  Jesus was born five years before 1 A.D.  He was born during the reign of Herod the Great, who died in 4 B.C.”

            I nodded, remembering having read something about this before.  Scholars had endlessly speculated on the true birthday of Jesus Christ.  I found this angelic man’s theory easily believable, but I guess being in Heaven influenced that opinion.

            “So thirty-four subtract five is twenty-nine.” I said, “So Jesus made His Second Coming two thousand years after His resurrection, and Azazel was trying to prevent me from opening the Gates of Hell for Him.”

            “Exactly.  Excellent summation.”

            “What’s the second part of God’s message?”

            Enoch smiled.  “Let there be light!”

<<Previous   Next>>

Advertisements