With a rod of iron a par.., p.62
With a Rod of Iron: A Parable, page 62
Joan blinked, a startled look on her face. Then she half-mumbled. “Well, yes—of course. I’ve never met Jesus. How could I?” She looked up at Leah. “I’ve never been to Jerusalem, and I’m sure I don’t rate—”
“Everyone has to meet Jesus.”
Joan blinked, then shook her head. “I don’t see what you’re driving at. You’ve got some point, I can tell, but I don’t see what it is.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m so stupid.”
“You need to have a personal, intimate relationship with Jesus.”
“Why?”
Leah took a deep breath. “Because you need to get forgiveness for your screw ups,” she said. “Jesus died on the cross for the sins of the world. Sin’s not an issue with God anymore; all that matters is a relationship with God. You need to recognize that without Jesus there’s no hope for you getting to heaven or living with God forever—so you throw yourself on his mercy, and beg him to take care of you.”
“I still don’t see what you’re trying to say.”
Leah felt frustration; her tongue kept wanting to tie itself in knots. The poor woman was miserable, and if only she could be introduced to Jesus, then she’d understand and she’d be able to relax in her new home.
“You’re a useless, miserable blemish on the face of humanity, right?”
Joan just stared; tears welled up in her eyes, and her head bobbed up and down.
“So you understand the reality of what you are.”
Tears began running down her cheeks.
“Do you want to change that?”
“There’s nothing I can do,” she moaned. “What’s done is done, and it can’t be undone...and I’ll never be able to do anything right.”
“So what’s the solution?”
“I need to die.”
“Precisely.”
The look of shock on Joan’s face was complete. The tears flowed harder, but she made no sound.
“So tell Jesus that you give up.”
“What?” Her question was merely the movement of her mouth, without sound behind it.
“Tell Jesus that you don’t want to live anymore; tell him that you can’t do it, and that everything is hopeless.”
“What good will that do?”
“Just try it.”
With a remarkably strong voice, Joan clenched her fists and closed her eyes, then belted out, “I’m sick of it! I can’t take it another second. I can’t live this life anymore!”
There was the merest hint of a shimmer, then the familiar figure of the Man from Jerusalem appeared beside her. When she finally noticed him, her eyes got big.
“Hi, Joan,” said Jesus.
“Hi.” she mouthed back.
“You’re ready to give me your life?”
“You wouldn’t want it...” she responded.
“You’re ready to die?”
“Oh, yes...please.”
“That’s what I meant.” Jesus smiled.
Joan stared back, clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Jesus sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “There are phrases in the Bible which express the concept you need to understand, but they become meaningless jargon in the mouths of most people who talk about them; so hardly anyone understands it. ‘I have come that you might have life, and that you might have it more abundantly.’”
“Sounds nice—”
“But do you comprehend it? Could you explain it?”
Joan had to shake her head.
“How about you?” He turned to Leah.
Leah thought a moment, then tried to put her thoughts into words. “You want to...” she paused, stumbling in her mind as a thought suddenly struck her, with such force that it was almost palpable. “It’s like you want to be our business manager,” she said. “We can’t handle our own finances, so you come in and pay off all our bills for us and then you take over paying our new bills and you give us an allowance from then on, because we can’t manage our own affairs. You know it and we know it, and so we let you...we let you run our lives.”
Jesus nodded.
Joan was staring at Leah. “That’s what I need!” she said, almost enthusiastically. “I need someone to run my life for me. I’ve been doing such a hideous job—”
“That’s why I came,” said Jesus. “Human beings can’t run their own lives; you’ve finally found it out. Sooner or later everyone does—everyone realizes that in the final analysis, their lives are really out of control. It’s like the author of Ecclesiastes said, ‘there’s a time to be born, and a time to die’—and his list of things that there are times for goes on and on. But what’s through his entire essay, is the realization that, as he put it, ‘time and chance happen to all.’ You can’t choose such matters yourself. However, it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m willing and able to run your life, if you’ll have me. ‘My yoke is easy and my burden is light.’”
“You’re God, and you love us—certainly more than we love ourselves,” said Joan, almost enthusiastically. “So I can trust you.”
Jesus smiled. “You’ve got to be careful who you pick for your business manager. Most people start with themselves, until they find out how untrustworthy they really are.”
“You’ll take care of me?”
“Gladly.”
For the first time since Leah had arrived, Joan’s mouth drew itself up into a smile.
“She wasn’t a believer,” Leah murmured to herself. “I thought everyone—”
“Everyone knows I exist,” said Jesus. “Some people reject me completely, but mostly, people just don’t understand.”
Leah glanced at Joan, whose eyes were closed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but they were not tears of anguish.
“They always find out sooner or later.” Jesus was firm. “I’m not going to lose any more, except those whose choice has been determined already.”
Leah gave Christ a confused glance.
“The Devil will have his harvest.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Patient he says. He’s worried about crops, but the translocator can wait. Doesn’t he see the danger? Have we forgotten that we’re involved in spiritual warfare and that that’s just as real and probably an even bigger threat?” Cassandra’s eyes glowed.
The four women huddled in her kitchen were nodding their heads in agreement.
“So far, the translocator’s been quiet...but I don’t trust it.”
“I had a dream about it,” said Jocasta.
“Dream?” Cassandra asked.
Jocasta got a serious look on her face. “Yeah. At least I hope it was a dream. It was dark out, I remember that, but the sky looked different, like boiling smoke. I was lying down, but suddenly I walked from my home—like I wasn’t entirely under my own power—more like I was watching myself do these things rather than actually doing them myself.
“All at once, I was standing in front of the translocator itself, and it wasn’t like it is now—it was huge, ten times its present size, and it seemed to me like it was about to swallow us all. I screamed, but nothing came out of my mouth.
“From the center of the translocator a hole—a dark, deep, black hole—spread outward, engulfing the world. I saw demons with long black fingers and black scaly skin hopping and dancing around like fleas; they swarmed across our new world. I saw them plunging their fingers into the hearts of everyone, and everyone fell down and lay on the ground like they were dead. After a certain time, they stood up again, but they were different; they weren’t themselves any longer. It was like they had been taken away, and something else put inside them in their place.” Jocasta shuddered, her eyes darting fitfully from face to face. “I know it was just a dream, but...don’t you see, it means something...it’s a warning!”
“But no one will listen to us.” Mabel nodded her head. “Have you noticed that? It’s like the enemy already has a subtle hold on most everyone; he’s made them complacent; they think, ‘yeah, but not now, not to worry.’”
“I think people are afraid to really trust God,” said Sally. She was blonde, with blue eyes; Cassandra thought she was rather plain, but some of the men had been eying her, even so. Men had little taste. “They want the safety line—so that they can go back if things don’t work out here.”
“So what can we do?” It was Jocasta.
“We can take matters into our own hands,” said Cassandra.
“I’ve been thinking about that. We have a right to defend our children, our homes, and our lives; we can’t afford to wait any longer.”
“But how to destroy it?”
“Destroy the control mechanism, first. That should be easy. Just take a shovel or something and start hitting at it. It’ll break. It’s just plastic and metal—real thin metal.”
“But the translocator will still be here,” protested Cassandra.
“At least it won’t work. The demons can’t come through if it doesn’t work.”
“What about the demons inside it—you know, that give it its power?”
“We can cast them out in Jesus, name,” said Mabel. “And then we can push the whole arch over. It shouldn’t be hard with all of us working together—and maybe once we start, we’ll get more help.”
“Yeah, we’ll attract attention,” said Jocasta.
“So what are we waiting for?” asked Cassandra.
“I’ve got a shovel!” Sally shook her fist over her head.
Rising from their huddle around the table, they rushed outside into the morning air. The sun was already half way up the sky; thin clouds on the eastern horizon spoke of an approaching storm.
They tromped past row upon row of houses; men and women struggled around them, busy about a score of things. No one paid them any attention, though Cassandra felt like all eyes were on them, accusing, mysterious, demanding of them an answer for what they were about. They stopped so Sally could get her shovel. Cassandra found a crow bar.
The translocator sat in isolated splendor, its graceful frame rising twenty feet into the air; it stood at the end of what was called Main Street.
Sally walked directly to the control panel, set at about waist height. She lifted her shovel and lunged forward in an angry stab. The plastic cover buckled and split apart; delicate electronics and wires sprayed out. She stabbed at it again and again, careful to smash and break, not just disassemble. “No one must be able to repair it!” shouted Mabel, encouraging her. Cassandra joined in, gleefully swinging her crow bar.
Then Cassandra grabbed at bits of circuit boards and stomped on them; she picked them up and tried to bend them or break them in half. She looked up: the arch seemed a lot larger now than it had back in the kitchen. She suddenly had doubts about pushing it over.
“We need a rope!” shouted Mabel.
“A rope?” The question came from several of them, as Sally continued her smashing.
“I know where there’s a rope.” Jocasta’s eyes lighted, and she sprinted off; dressed in pants, she had nothing to slow her down.
When she returned, she came bearing an orange line of nylon nearly a hundred feet long, still wrapped in cardboard with details about the brand and length clearly emblazoned.
“Now, we toss a line over the top of this thing!” Mabel pointed upward at the cross beam. Jocasta nodded, and pulled the rope out of the cardboard, ripping it free in one easy motion. Still coiled, she unrolled it part way. Holding onto the free end, she heaved; it barely sailed five feet over her head before plunging back to earth, where it sprawled and partially unrolled in the grass.
“Here, let me try,” said Mabel. “I’ve got a stronger arm.”
Mabel took the rope, unwinding it further; then, with a smaller bundle, she stood beneath the arch—directly beneath it, and heaved with all she was worth.
The loop of rope sailed up, then plunged straight back down, hitting the earth with a thud. The rope still had not looped around the arch.
Mabel’s mouth made itself ready to curse, but nothing came out. Instead, she stepped forward, grabbed the rope, and then took several steps backward. With a yelp, she ran forward, releasing the rope in a mighty heave. It arched upward, and this time uncoiled itself over the top of the arch, trailing an end back down to the ground.
“Got it!” shouted Mabel. “Now comes the easy part.”
“Easy part?”
“Pulling it over.” She paused. “Sally, that’s enough. Come over here.”
Sally looked up from her pounding, saw that she was alone and that the control mechanism had been thoroughly sliced and diced; she set the shovel down, leaned against it, and partially sagged.
“Tired?” asked Cassandra.
Sally nodded.
“Come on over here.” Mabel was passing out the rope to the women, dividing the two ends evenly between them. Sally joined Cassandra on her end, while Mabel and Jocasta were forced to work together.
“All we have to do is back up and pull,” said Mabel. As she spoke, she began walking backward, dragging Jocasta along with her.
The rope began to tighten in Cassandra’s hands, and she tensed, gripping more firmly.
The rope came taut, and then the struggle really began. The translocator flexed at the top, but seemed unwilling to tumble over. The base was considerably wider than the top; it was designed to withstand severe windstorms. Obviously, pulling was not an easy way to make it fall.
“It’s not working!” complained Cassandra.
“It’s got to work,” said Mabel. She threw herself more fiercely into the rope, letting the weight of her body pull on it. But the translocator remained firmly anchored.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Sally brightly and unexpectedly. “Stop a minute.” She released her pull on the rope unexpectedly, making Cassandra lurch backward. She ran to the shovel and began attacking the ground at the base of the arch.
“What do you think you’re doing?” asked Mabel at last.
“Destabilizing the base,” she said, dirt flying around her head. “See, I’ll dig under the footing—dig a big hole. Then, when we pull, it’ll tumble right over...if I dig too far under and make it too unstable, it might fall on its own.”
Right on top of them.
Cassandra looked nervously up at the arch, but it seemed just as firm an affront to God as ever. Of course, Sally wasn’t making much headway.
“You know,” she panted, “We might get this done quicker if you guys helped. I’ll bet there are some other shovels around you could use.”
A quick scurry uncovered them; New Jerusalem was nothing if not well-equipped; the government agency putting them there had not shorted them—if anything, they were oversupplied.
The ground was soft; virgin land with several inches—maybe even several feet—of topsoil came up easily under Cassandra’s shovel. Nevertheless, she found herself panting and struggling in no time. The thinner atmosphere, even with the lighter gravity, still made heavy exercise something of a strain; either that, or she was just out of shape.
The base of the translocator was quite large, and so they were digging for nearly a half hour before there was any significant indication of progress. That indication came suddenly, when the translocator suddenly shifted, and a pile of dirt slid into the ever deepening hole.
Cassandra yelped and leaped away, terrified; she was followed closely by her peers.
“Maybe we can pull it over now,” suggested Sally.
“Maybe,” agreed Mabel.
They aligned themselves along the ropes again and began tugging. At first, it looked like they would have to return to digging, but all at once, the ground beneath the broad feet of the translocator shifted. It was as if the translocator had never resisted them at all; with a soft pop, the ground gave way completely, and with a dull thud, it crashed to the ground.
The few about on the nearby streets looked at them in surprise, but no one came running; people stared, took note of the situation, and returned to their labors.
Cassandra, panting, smiled happily at her companions. Sally let out a whoop of pleasure.
“We did it!” she gushed, hopping up and down. Cassandra dropped her end of the rope and approached the fallen translocator. She kicked at it, then shrugged. “It’s still in one piece. I want to see it smashed into little tiny bits...”
“It doesn’t work,” said Mabel. “And it can never work again. And now it doesn’t rise over our heads like an obscene gesture. It is smashed to the earth, like the idol Dagon that fell before the Ark of the Lord.”
“What about the demons inside it?” asked Jocasta.
“I don’t feel any demons,” suggested Sally.
“Me neither,” agreed Cassandra, which was odd. Until today, she’d always felt an eerie sort of malevolence, not strong, not oppressive—just inherent, as if they were hiding deep inside. But now there was nothing. And she was normally sensitive to these things...
“The demons already fled—back to Earth. They saw they were licked. When holy women of God go to battle, the demons tremble.”
“Amen!”
* * *
“What happened to the translocator?” The look on Ovid’s face was nearly panicked. Cassandra couldn’t understand it.
She looked up from the pot of stew and told him.
“No!”
His reaction was a non-sequitur.
“You heard me. We fought the Lord’s battle today and we won. It’s destroyed, so we won’t be distracted any longer.”
“That was our life line...our safety net—”
“No.” Cassandra was firm. “God’s our life line; in him we will trust.”
“You idiot!” he roared. “Do you know what you’ve done? We’re marooned here forever! There’s no going back unless—” His chest heaved. “Maybe they’ll send another ship out with another translocator, but—” He shook his head. “That’d take another ten years even at fifty-percent light speed.” He now looked on the verge of tears.
“The Lord doesn’t want us going back to Egypt,” she said piously, nonplused by his lack of faith. For the man of God that he was, he could be surprisingly shallow sometimes. “God will supply all our needs. Or don’t you believe in God anymore? Did God take us here or didn’t he? Is this really the New Jerusalem, or is that just a meaningless platitude to you? We have come out and now we are separate, the way God always intended us to be. We have a New Earth, a New Jerusalem, and the Devil is trapped on Earth and can never harm us here. We are free, we are safe, the battle is won, and you’re worried about a stupid translocator?!”
