Once there was a young boy who never had a father. Many times (usually after a great feast with leftovers spread all about his silver plate) he would ask his mother, uncles, and aunts to describe his father to him.
"Oh," they would say. "He is like 'such and such' and loves 'such and such' and looks like 'such and such.'" They were very positive in their descriptions of the boys father. And when he tucked himself into bed each night he would often imagine what it would be like to meet the father of the 'such and such.'
The boy grew into a man. He rode horses, he herded sheep. He dealt with the villagers in great adventures of commerce. He sailed seas. Later in life he married, had a family, and taught his children all about his father who was like 'such and such' and loved 'such and such' and looked like 'such and such.' They too, when they nestled in their beds, often imagined what it would be like to meet the father of the 'such and such.'
One day, when he was quite ill but not quite ready to ascend to heaven, there came a knock at the door. Standing there in the early evening fog was a delightfully older gentleman with rosy cheeks and warmth in his face. He was kindly invited to hang his scarf on the hook and sit in a great wooden rocker before the crackling fire in the stone fireplace. They spend hours there, sitting across from one another. They drank tea, they laughed, and listened to each-other intently and shared things hey had never before shared with anyone else in the world. It all happened there, as the flickering flames of the fire reflected across their wide-eyed faces.
Before long the delightfully older gentleman rose to his feet, wrapped his scarf about his neck, and headed for the door. They shook hands and nodded heads before parting. As the delightfully older gentleman disappeared into the back fog the owner of the house - still quite ill and now ready to ascend to heaven - came to realize a magical strength had returned to his feeble frame. He felt stronger, healthier, and mysteriously peaceful as a result of the visit - yet he knew not why.
"What was it about that man?" he wondered as he slid into his bed. "He was unlike anyone I've ever met. He was familiar to me, yet I know I have never laid eyes upon him and doubt I shall ever see him again."
He reached for the lamp and dimmed the sanctuary twilight. Later, and still pondering who the visitor was - his spirit rose and passed the Great River, where he found himself standing aside the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd cared for him, moistened his wounds in balm, and raised him to his shoulders where he saw all things, and knew all things, there in peace and safety. He remained there, snugged around the neck of the Good Shepherd, for a very long time.
One particular day he pushed himself close to the Good Shepherd's ear. "Tell me, my Father, you are such a Good Shepherd. Why do you only choose to share yourself with those on this side of the Great River? I am certain others would flock to you if you were to do otherwise."
"Oh, but I have been known," spoke the Good Shepherd. "My love, my affection, my healing and guidance is mingled throughout both worlds - here and on the other side. I have even been with you - remember, that foggy night, when we laughed and listened and drank tea?"
At once the old man (who was now a young man again) became silent. He was saddened and lamented that he had not recognized his father, though he had spend an entire evening with him.
"Why hadn't he recognized him? Why hadn't he known such wondrous laughter and such loving mannerisms to be at the heart of his father?" (I dare not tell you how long these questions haunted the once old man, who was now a young man again, riding high atop the shoulders of the Great Shepherd. But it was a very long time.)
Then one day it came to him:
You see, the whole of his life he had been told by his mother, his uncles and his aunts that his father was like 'such and such' and that he loved 'such and such' and that he looked like 'such and such' and, thus, he had expected him to be like 'such and such,' to love 'such and such' and to look like 'such and such.' Thus, his father (howbeit quite innocently, I might add) became the image of somebody else's 'such and such.'
That's why, when the delightfully older gentleman with rosy cheeks and warmth in his face appeared at his door and listened and loved him as any fine person would do with great personality and wisdom that night when the flickering flames danced across their wide-eyed faces; he couldn't help himself.
For, although the gentleman sitting before him was the manner of a man he yearned for as a father, he himself thought, "This cannot my father. For he has little to do with the description of my 'such and such.'"
And, thus, he was unable to recognize his father as he truly was.
"Oh," they would say. "He is like 'such and such' and loves 'such and such' and looks like 'such and such.'" They were very positive in their descriptions of the boys father. And when he tucked himself into bed each night he would often imagine what it would be like to meet the father of the 'such and such.'
The boy grew into a man. He rode horses, he herded sheep. He dealt with the villagers in great adventures of commerce. He sailed seas. Later in life he married, had a family, and taught his children all about his father who was like 'such and such' and loved 'such and such' and looked like 'such and such.' They too, when they nestled in their beds, often imagined what it would be like to meet the father of the 'such and such.'
One day, when he was quite ill but not quite ready to ascend to heaven, there came a knock at the door. Standing there in the early evening fog was a delightfully older gentleman with rosy cheeks and warmth in his face. He was kindly invited to hang his scarf on the hook and sit in a great wooden rocker before the crackling fire in the stone fireplace. They spend hours there, sitting across from one another. They drank tea, they laughed, and listened to each-other intently and shared things hey had never before shared with anyone else in the world. It all happened there, as the flickering flames of the fire reflected across their wide-eyed faces.
Before long the delightfully older gentleman rose to his feet, wrapped his scarf about his neck, and headed for the door. They shook hands and nodded heads before parting. As the delightfully older gentleman disappeared into the back fog the owner of the house - still quite ill and now ready to ascend to heaven - came to realize a magical strength had returned to his feeble frame. He felt stronger, healthier, and mysteriously peaceful as a result of the visit - yet he knew not why.
"What was it about that man?" he wondered as he slid into his bed. "He was unlike anyone I've ever met. He was familiar to me, yet I know I have never laid eyes upon him and doubt I shall ever see him again."
He reached for the lamp and dimmed the sanctuary twilight. Later, and still pondering who the visitor was - his spirit rose and passed the Great River, where he found himself standing aside the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd cared for him, moistened his wounds in balm, and raised him to his shoulders where he saw all things, and knew all things, there in peace and safety. He remained there, snugged around the neck of the Good Shepherd, for a very long time.
One particular day he pushed himself close to the Good Shepherd's ear. "Tell me, my Father, you are such a Good Shepherd. Why do you only choose to share yourself with those on this side of the Great River? I am certain others would flock to you if you were to do otherwise."
"Oh, but I have been known," spoke the Good Shepherd. "My love, my affection, my healing and guidance is mingled throughout both worlds - here and on the other side. I have even been with you - remember, that foggy night, when we laughed and listened and drank tea?"
At once the old man (who was now a young man again) became silent. He was saddened and lamented that he had not recognized his father, though he had spend an entire evening with him.
"Why hadn't he recognized him? Why hadn't he known such wondrous laughter and such loving mannerisms to be at the heart of his father?" (I dare not tell you how long these questions haunted the once old man, who was now a young man again, riding high atop the shoulders of the Great Shepherd. But it was a very long time.)
Then one day it came to him:
You see, the whole of his life he had been told by his mother, his uncles and his aunts that his father was like 'such and such' and that he loved 'such and such' and that he looked like 'such and such' and, thus, he had expected him to be like 'such and such,' to love 'such and such' and to look like 'such and such.' Thus, his father (howbeit quite innocently, I might add) became the image of somebody else's 'such and such.'
That's why, when the delightfully older gentleman with rosy cheeks and warmth in his face appeared at his door and listened and loved him as any fine person would do with great personality and wisdom that night when the flickering flames danced across their wide-eyed faces; he couldn't help himself.
For, although the gentleman sitting before him was the manner of a man he yearned for as a father, he himself thought, "This cannot my father. For he has little to do with the description of my 'such and such.'"
And, thus, he was unable to recognize his father as he truly was.
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