The Invitation

The Bride was sitting, as usual, in the darkened sanctuary that smelled of books, dusty curtains and tradition.  She was alone, seated on the steps to the altar at the front of the large room.  Despite the grand size of the space, she had managed to build something of a small nest for herself to help her feel cozy and comforted.  A little wall of belongings surrounded her--books, food, needlework, piles of neatly folded clothes, musical instruments, and various other objects.

The Bride was normally surrounded by people at this time of the day.  She spent most of her time listening to the Teachers--an assortment of men and women who came into the sanctuary to talk.  Never to eat, or rest or listen.  Always to talk.  They talked over each other, their voices getting louder and louder until a constant roar of sound had built and no words were intelligible in the chaos.  The Bride often tried to listen, but she found that she was always relieved when the Teachers left.  They usually didn't direct their words at one another.  Their words were normally directed at her, and the Teachers seemed to feed off of her attention.  She would often begin to cry when she couldn't understand what they were saying.  She was afraid of not understanding, but mostly she was afraid of offending the Teachers by not understanding.  Over time she had mastered the art of pretending to understand.

The Bride had a busy schedule.  Every day began with moving the pews.  Despite her frail build, she alone would set out every morning to shove the heavy, oak pews a little closer to the altar.  She pushed and strained and groaned against the pews, and on good days she might gain an inch.

Once she was exhausted with moving the pews, the Bride sat down to read.  She read the books that the Teachers gave her.  She tried to always read a little out of each one.  Many were stained with her frustrated tears when she found that she could not understand.

She often laid down to sleep when the books became too exasperating, but the persistent voices of the Teachers woke her, so she would sit up and listen as they gathered around and began to talk.

Inevitably, the Teachers would say something to make her feel guilty over being weary and frustrated, and she would set about trying to work up some enthusiasm.  She would eat and eat, gorging herself on rich foods, slapping her own face and stomping her feet as she struggled to shock herself into feeling...something...something besides her weariness.

She would put on sparkling plastic shoes, fishnet stockings and gigantic headdresses made from millions of loudly colored feathers.  She would play her instruments with all the strength and passion in her body.  She danced and ran and fell down again and again in her uncomfortable shoes and heavy headdress.  But the Teachers told her to get back up and keep trying.  Keep trying.  Keep trying.

This would continue late into the night until finally the Bride collapsed in tears and the Teachers went home, each with a disapproving shake of the head.

Today was a little different.  The Bride had moved the pews and read her books, but the Teachers hadn't come.  She felt guilty for being grateful for these moments of peace.

A fierce storm howled outside.  Maybe that is why the Teachers didn't come.  A few candles burned dimly along the edges of the room.  She began to doze as she listened to the relentless wash of rain on the church roof.

A heavy knock at the door startled her.  The Teachers never knocked--they just pushed the door open.  A little afraid, she hesitated, remembering the repeated warnings from the Teachers about guarding the door to the sanctuary.  Beasts of prey sometimes attacked the church, but of course they never knocked.  No one had ever knocked.

Another firm knock, and she timidly got up and walked down the long isle to the door.

She pulled against the iron handle and found that the door was too heavy--even heavier than a pew.  A strong hand from the other side was suddenly pushing, though, and the door swung inward along with a gust of rain and warm-smelling wind.  A robed Man stepped past her into the sanctuary.  In the dull light of the candles she saw that He wore a long, dark robe that was gathered at the waist by a belt, and a wide sword hung from the belt.  He had wet, tousled hair and water dripped from His beard.  She thought He must have walked a great distance in the storm.

He turned to look at her, and His direct gaze was unnerving.  After a long moment He quietly asked, "Can I have something to eat?" She swallowed her discomfort, and remembered that she had often been taught to feed the hungry, though she was never given the opportunity.  She nodded with a polite smile and led the Stranger to a store of cakes and pastries that she kept among her other possessions.  He walked by her side.  She stole a closer glance at Him as they walked up the long isle, and saw that His face and posture were fierce and His eyes were penetrating.  He had a sinewy body that seemed ready to spring into action--like a loaded mousetrap.  She was surprised by how quietly He walked, though, and the gentle tone of His voice.  

She was still afraid, but was compelled by her duty to feed the hungry.  Arriving at her nest by the altar, she selected two pastries and presented them to the Stranger.  He accepted them silently and sat down on the steps to the altar beside the Bride's possessions.  He ate the pastries in a very natural and unapologetic way, as though He were accustomed to asking for and eating food belonging to strangers.

The Bride stood silently and awkwardly a few steps away.  Finally the Stranger finished the pastries and wiped His mouth on His sleeve.  He looked up at the Bride and examined her face intently.  She blushed and looked away, but then forced herself to meet His stare.  He smiled a little and said, "You don't know who I am, do you?"

She shook her head rapidly, intrigued and still afraid.

"I am the Bridegroom.  Have you never heard of Me?"

She blushed even more deeply and shifted her feet, nodding nervously.  She had heard of Him.  The Teachers often mentioned His splendid acts of kindness and astounding grace.  She had heard stories of Him coming to build things for wormy people long, long ago.  He came to build a Bridge for wormy people to cross at the right time and go to a perfect land, and to be with Him.  She was to cross that Bridge one day.  And she would marry the Bridegroom after she crossed the Bridge.  Until then, she must move the pews, read books, listen to the Teachers, and never run out of enthusiasm.

But what was He doing here now?

 Of course she had looked forward to her wedding day, but mostly because it would signal an end to her frustrating life in the church.  She hadn't anticipated meeting the Bridegroom before the wedding!

"I am here because I love you.  I want to help you.  I want to know you, and I want you to know Me."

His voice was strong and quiet.

The Bride had a sudden thought that filled her with hope.  "Are You here to help me move the pews?  Will You help me understand the Teacher's wisdom?"  She knelt eagerly at His knee, searching His face with a pleading expression.  Surely He could easily move the pews.  Surely He understood the Teachers and could ease her frustration.

"No, My Bride.  I am here to ask if you will come with Me and do My Father's work at My side."

She sat back and her face fell.  She felt wronged and disappointed.  It seemed like her Bridegroom should come to help her.  It seemed like He should be more concerned with how difficult her life was, and that He should try to make it easier.  He was so wrapped up in His own agenda, or His Father's, that He wasn't even thinking about how miserable His Bride was.

Her eyes welled up with hot tears and she turned to go sit in one of the pews.  He followed her and sat beside her.

After a moment He said, "I am asking if you will leave this sanctuary to come and be with Me.  I am asking you to lay down your toil and come to work at My side.  My work is not burdensome.  My yoke is light."

She sprang up and hissed, "You can't be the Bridegroom!  The Bridegroom would never ask me to leave my work behind.  My Teachers have told me since I was a child that these are the things I must do.  They told me these are things that pleased You!"  She turned away and sobbed angrily.

He answered quietly but firmly.  "They don't know Me.  The Teachers who heap these burdens on you only know their own wisdom.  They think they understand My heart, but they only know an image of Me.  Those who really teach my words receive them from Me because they know Me.  They come to you still smelling of the gardens that we walk in together."

The thought made her freeze.  Could the Teachers possibly be wrong?  About so much?

"I--I--I can't bear it!  The Teachers would be so upset and disappointed if they knew I was listening to You say these things!"

"I know.  That is because they are more interested in being right than in teaching My words.  If they really loved Me, if they really knew Me they would gladly put aside their wisdom to gain Mine.  Even if it meant looking like a fool."

She sat down, a little further away from the Bridegroom, and put her head in her hands.  She sobbed.

"You don't know how much this will cost me!" She cried.  "You are asking me to lay down everything and relearn it all over again!"

"Yes."  He said.  "But if you know the truth, will you still grasp a lie only because it had been your companion these many years?"

How could she trust this?  She could not imagine anything more frightening than placing her life in the hands of this Stranger.  What if He messed up?  What if He lied?

Then she realized that the Teachers themselves had called Him perfect.  Perfect in wisdom and strength and goodness.  Could she put her trust in what the Teachers said about Him, but not believe Him at His own word?  Could she believe the Teachers when they say that the Bridegroom does all things well, but not believe the Bridegroom?

She stopped crying and sat quietly.  Though she was utterly exhausted and her heart bled, she knew what she had to do.  There was no option but to go with the Bridegroom.

"I know I must go with You, but I am afraid of what You may ask me to do, what You might ask me to let go of."

"I am asking you to let go of all things, and hold to nothing but Me.  I am asking you to be willing to do  anything the Father asks, whether hard or easy, whether pleasant or painful.  I am asking you to go where I go, to stay where I stay, and to love Me as I am."

She was not surprised.  She knew it must be this way.  She remembered that the Teachers had described the Bridegroom as an absolute person.  A person who asked for everything or nothing.

A strange thrill began at the core of her stomach.  Amid the torment there was the promise of adventure, and in a strange way she found herself loving this Bridegroom.  In a strange way she wanted to go with Him.  In a strange way she found the scandal of it all rolling away and leaving an entirely new life in its train.

"My burden is light, but the cost is great.  My work is never too much, but it requires an entire life.  I will never ask for more than what you have, but I will never ask for less than all of you."

He reached out a strong, sure hand.  She placed her small, trembling fingers inside it.  It was a transaction.  The deal was struck.

She looked straight ahead of her and studied the empty space at the altar.  What was the use of pressing the pews closer to the altar, if the Bridegroom was standing somewhere else?  She felt ashamed.  She looked at her nest of treasures, and felt an urge to at least salvage a little of her past life.  She got up and began rummaging through the piles of objects.  She selected a few books and carried them back to where the Bridegroom still sat at the pew.  "Will You at least let me take a few of these books with me?"

He sighed and said, "My Bride, you may have need of books, but only the ones that come from My hand.  You cannot bring a half-life into full life and expect full life to be any fuller because of it.  Giving a warm blanket to the sun doesn't make the sun any hotter.  It just burns up the blanket."

A little downcast, she carried the books back to her nest.  She saw the heavy headdress and nudged it with her foot.  A little sheepishly she asked, "Didn't it make You happy when I danced and made myself excited?  Can I take my headdress?"

"My Bride, your efforts to impress Me are unfortunately wasted.  I already know what is in your heart, and you cannot try to convince Me that you love Me when you do not.  I am pleased when you come to Me as you are, and let Me put new things in your heart.  I am pleased when you stop trying, and let Me be your love, your life, your passion and your peace."

She knew it must be this way.

"Then here I am.  What do You want me to do?  Anything?  Nothing?"

He smiled, clearly amused by her first baby steps, and also thrilled by her and in love with her.  "Come with Me.  I will give you rest.  I will give you work.  I will give you Myself.  Be My Bride, and no one else's.  Fight My battles with Me, eat the food I give to you.  Be a stranger in this world where I am a stranger.  Place your hand in My hand, and walk with Me until we cross the Bridge and are Home."

He stood up and walked toward her.  "I love you.  Will you be My Bride?"

She was frightened and entranced.  She knew that a step away from Him in any direction would be a step away from life--life in all its pale terror and splendid romance, all its glory and choice and tenderness and pain.  She knew she must either have all of Him or none of Him.  She took His outstretched hand and accepted the invitation.

There is no one else for me.  None but Jesus.