The Parable of The Wall Of Fire

As with all things the beginning is confused, blurry and without form.  The girl only knew this: that she had awoken in the middle of a corn field and anything before that moment was lost. Next to her, an owl watched her in silence from the branches of a twisted olive tree with scorched branches.

Getting to her feet, the girl looked out across the swaying heads of corn. In the distance she could see a great wall of fire.  Turning around she saw that the fire encircled her horizon and burned without smoke for above it the sky was crystal clear like water. Growing afraid she tried to move forward, but her legs refused to move as if she was rooted to the ground like the ancient olive tree.  

She stayed like that for so long, that she forgot that anything had ever been different. And she grew tired of her life, with only the tree and the owl for company. And each day the circle of fire moved inwards towards her, and the sense of impending doom rose and her hands trembled as the noose tightened.

One day the girl imagined she could see a woman within the fire. The woman was on her knees with her hands outstretched and her mouth open wide in anguish. And she felt great pity and love for the woman and longed that the woman might escape and join her so that she would not have to be alone in this land anymore.

And it was so.

The woman walked out of the fire with flames flickering around her ankles. In her hands she carried a great spear and a shield. And her armour shone brightly like the morning sun.  

For two days the girl watched the woman draw ever closer. And for two days the girl did not drink or eat such was the joy of anticipation of meeting the approaching stranger.  On the third day the owl lifted up out of the tree and flew towards the woman: its great wings casting a shadow over the land.

Later that day, in the cool of the evening, the woman finally arrived at the olive tree.  But the girl was so thirsty and weak that she had collapsed and lay asleep on the soil. Kneeling down, the woman breathed life back into her through her nostrils and gave her some water in a bowl to sip.  Afterwards the girl slept and dreamt of running through the field with her mother with flowers dancing in the air above them.

In the morning she awoke to find lilies threaded into her hair. And inside the girl her heart burned with questions.  As she gave voice to them the woman smiled and handed her some figs and unleavened bread for breakfast.

“Where did you get these?” said the girl as she tore off a chunk of bread.

“I made them when you were sleeping,” said the woman. 

“And,” said the girl as she stuffed the fresh bread into her mouth and pointed to the horizon, “What the hell is that?!”

“The wall of fire,” said the woman, “marks the end of this story.  As you move towards it the number of your days decreases.”

“Why does it then,” asked the girl, “appear to be moving towards me? I have not moved from this spot since I first arrived.”

“You are in time now,” said the woman, “the clock runs, and the world moves forwards even if you do not.”

“And when it reaches me?” said the girl.

“You will die,” said the woman.

The girl looked down at the ground. Reaching out the woman gently placed her hand under the girl’s chin and lifted her head so their eyes met.  

“You do not need be afraid,” said the woman. “For I am with you.”

“Why?” said the girl. “Why is this happening?”

“Because I am making you to live forever and ever,” replied the woman.

“I don’t understand,” said the girl.

“No,” said the woman, “I do not ask you to understand - only to know that I am with you.”

The girl shook her head and began opening and closing her fists.  The owl appeared with a field mouse in its talons and settled down next to them.

“If it helps,” said the woman, “I have faced death myself.”

“That is why you were in the fire?” asked the girl.

“Yes and my path, once I had passed through, was towards you,” said the woman.

“Did it hurt in the flames?” asked the girl.

“Yes, little one,” said the woman. “It hurt. It hurt a lot.”

“I have so many more questions,” said the girl.

“The things that are important,” said the woman, “are hidden inside here.” And she placed her hand over the child’s heart.  “Many try to explain everything and take comfort in thinking they know all things about me.  But to do that is to extinguish the light from the windows into my heart within the stories.  They brick up the mysteries and seek to explain them as if my life is an offense to them without knowing the purpose.  But those that live without simple answers, that believe with childlike faith, will come to have great joy.”

“How can I know what is within my heart?” said the girl.

“I walked into the flames so I can show you,” said the woman.

“You went into the fire, for me?”

“Yes,” said the woman smiling. “We are special together because of our friendship. Although you would have forgotten that.  All will know me, but none know me like you and so we are special.”

“I like that,” said the girl and hugged the woman.

“I like that to,” said the woman squeezing her tight.

“Will you be my mother?” said the girl. “I have lost my mother.”

“Yes child,” said the woman.

“I will live forever and ever with you?” said the girl.

“Yes, immortality is found in kinship with wisdom,” said the woman.

“And you are wisdom?”

“Yes,” replied the woman placing a garland of flowers around the girl’s shoulders. “I walk the earth as fire, I am in the air as lightning, and in the sky as the sun.”

“You are here and you are also the wall of fire out there?” asked the girl.

“Yes.”

“Yes? What does that mean!?” asked the girl. “You consumed yourself?”

The woman paused for a moment and looked out at the wall of flames. “Yes and in that I should have been trapped forever. Nothing can escape my fire, not even me.”

“Then,” said the girl. “How is it that you stand before me now?”

 “It was your love, little one” replied the woman, “that allowed me to escape.”

“Mine? I’m just a child.”

“Indeed,” said the woman. “And so you have found the most important thing in your heart. There is great joy in finding it isn’t there.”

“You risked everything for me?!” said the girl. “If I didn’t love you would have spent eternity trapped within the flames. You took that risk?”

 “Yes,” said the woman. Then laughing she said, “It was worth it though, don’t you think!”

“Can I walk now?” said the girl taking the woman’s hand.

“Child,” laughed the woman, “you can run like the wind!”

And they ran together through the corn.

Above them the owl flew, and there was no shadow on the land.

And on the girl’s eightieth year, after a lifetime of adventures, they stood facing the wall of flames.

“So this is it,” said the girl as the fire flickered around her from all sides.

“This is it,” said the woman.

“I have loved this life with you,” said the girl and began crying.

“Thank you,” said the woman.

“For what?” said the girl.           

“For being an amazing daughter,” said the woman and smiled one last time at her.

And then together they stepped through.

Behind them the wheat burned and the olive tree that had stood for hundreds of years became a burning beacon to guide others. And on its branches the owl tucked its head into its feathers and waited to rise again.

The Parable of The Three Wise Women

When the star-child was born the three white-robed women travelled from afar.  Under a canopy of cherry tree blossom they found him wrapped in linen at the base of one of the trees.  When his mother saw the three women she was greatly pleased for the woman were wise and knew all things.  But in her heart she also felt a great dread for she knew they had come to set her child’s destiny.

The three women greeted the star-child’s mother and seemed to know her, although she could never remember meeting them face to face before. And the star-child’s mother looked at them in awe for their faces were like glowing bronze. Sitting themselves down on the orchard floor they gave thanks to God for the star-child and began.

The first woman took her staff and spindle and began spinning a golden thread to symbolise the kingship on Earth of the star-child.

The second woman took her measuring rod dipped in frankincense and measured the length of the thread. And when his mother saw how short her son’s life was to be, she began to cry.  

Reaching out her hand, the third woman placed some myrrh on the star-child’s forehead to symbolise death and suffering and then taking her shears, cut the golden thread.   And again the mother cried and felt a great pain burn inside her heart.

But the punishment that the three women assigned to each new soul that entered the world they withheld, for the star-child was without sin.

“Are you the ones God told me would come?” said the mother to the three women as she looked down on her child.

Comforting the mother, the first woman replied, “Your child is the author of us and forged us at the beginning of all things. To some we are known as three, to others the one, but yes we are Destiny.”

“Why,” said the mother, “why was the thread so short?”

The second woman took the mother’s hands and peered into her eyes, “It is not the length of life that matters, but how you live it out.”

“We must all die,” said the third woman. “But it is how we fulfil our destiny within that time that brings glory.  For your son the glory he will bring is not for himself, but for all others.”

“I wish I could shield him from the storm that is coming,” said the mother. “I wish I could hide him away and save him from the pain.” 

“I’m afraid no-one gets to live their lives like that,” said the first woman. “We all suffer and experience pain. Even us. And your son will have to endure great pain at the end of his days. God will not simply remove that from him as if he was some magician doing parlour tricks.”

“I will pray and sing and make sacrifices to win God’s favour and change his mind,” said the star-child’s mother, “so that my son will not have to experience the pain of his death.”

“You already have God’s favour,” said the second woman.

“We must warn you,” said the third woman, “not to walk that path. God will not shield him from the pain of death, nor does he shield anyone from such pain, either at their death bed or in their waking lives.” 

“I cannot believe that God would orchestrate a theatre of pain for my son,” said the mother.

“And in that you are very wise,” said the three women as they became one and stood before her as a single personification of Destiny.

“Those that came before him,” said Destiny, “assigned both good and evil to God. Your son is the start of the true way.  There is no evil within the heart of God and your son will proclaim that both in his words and by his life and death.”

“I don’t understand,” said the mother. “If God is not the source of evil, then why pray to him to gain favour, to change his mind, to withhold his hand from striking me?”

“Indeed,” said Destiny, “there is no point at all.”

The mother fell silent for a moment and looked into the eyes of her child. For a moment she was lost there as if there was no end to the wonder spiralling away into their depths. Sighing she pulled herself away and asked, “What kind of pain will he have to endure?”

“I cannot give you false hope,” said Destiny. “His sweat will be like drops of blood falling to the ground.”

The mother’s lower lip began to tremble. She open and closed her fists.    

“Many will tempt your son to offer up signs,” continued Destiny. “And many will not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns and will be a stumbling block to him.  Others will use him as propaganda for their healing cults.  But the star-child will not be like the cult of Asklepios.  The healing he will bring will be spiritual, neither he nor his father will supernaturally take away the pain of physical suffering.”

“Why!” sobbed the mother. “Why won’t he? Can he not tear down the forces of evil that curse this Earth?”

“He can at the right time,” said Destiny, “at the end of all things. Believe me Mary, your son is the start of that.  He is the dawn of a new Eden.  But he and all the people that walk this Earth, or will ever walk this Earth, will have to endure great suffering first. It is his and their destiny.”

“Asklepios offers me a different way,” said Mary.  

“Askelopis offers you healings using dreams, dogs, geese and snakes,” said Destiny. “He offers up dreams of serpents to make woman who cannot conceive pregnant. Is that how you came to be with child?”

Mary shook her head.

“You know in your heart that what I say is true,” said Destiny.

“It’s just so hard,” said Mary.

“I know,” said Destiny, “and we feel your pain as we do our own. Many will be tempted to tell your son’s story in a way to combat the cult of Askelopis.  Even those that follow him will embellish his life with great miracles of physical healing to try and establish his credibility.  But our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Trust God that your son will not be destroyed as he does so.”

Mary nodded and picking up her child, she held him tight within her embrace.  Then holding him up towards the stars she said, “I trust in you, Lord. And I trust my son with you. Please help me bear the pain that will come into my heart.”

And as she turned to thank Destiny, she saw only the orchard stretching out before her, the sound of the birds, the murmur of the stream and the cry of the star-child.