The Shack

15 A FESTIVAL OF FRIENDS

When Mack opened his eyes he had to immediately shield them from a blinding light that overwhelmed him. Then he heard something.

“You will find it very difficult to look at me directly,” spoke the voice of Sarayu, “or at Papa. But as your mind becomes accustomed to the changes, it will be easier.”

He was standing right where he had closed his eyes, but the shack was gone as well as the dock and shop. Instead he was outside, perched on the top of a small hill under a brilliant but moonless night sky. He could see that the stars were in motion, not hurriedly but smoothly and with precision, as if there were grand celestial conductors coordinating their movements.

Occasionally, as if on cue, comets and meteor showers would tumble through the starry ranks, adding variation to the flowing dance. Then Mack saw some of the stars grow and change color as if they were turning nova or white dwarf. It was as if time itself had become dynamic and volatile, adding to the seeming chaotic but precisely managed heavenly display.

He turned back to Sarayu, who still stood next to him. Although she was still difficult to look at directly, he could now make out symmetry and colors embedded within patterns, as if miniature diamonds, rubies, and sapphires of all colors had been sewn into a garment of light, which moved first in waves and then scattered as particulate.

“It is all so incredibly beautiful,” he whispered, surrounded as he was by such a holy and majestic sight.

“Truly,” came the voice of Sarayu from out of the light. “Now, Mackenzie, look around.”

He did, and gasped. Even in the darkness of the night everything had clarity and shone with halos of light in various hues and shades of color. The forest was itself afire with light and color, yet each tree was distinctly visible, each branch, each leaf. Birds and bats created a trail of colored fire as they flew or chased each other. He could even see that in the distance an army of Creation was in attendance: deer, bear, mountain sheep, and majestic elk near the edges of the forest, and otter and beaver in the lake, each shining in its own colors and blaze. Myriads of little creatures scampered and darted everywhere, each alive within its own glory.

In a rush of peach and plum and currant flames, an osprey dove toward the surface of the lake, but pulled up at the last instant to skim across its surface, sparks from its wings falling like snow into the waters as it passed. Behind it, a large rainbow-clothed lake trout burst through the surface as if to taunt a passing hunter and then dropped back in a midst of a splash of colors.

Mack felt larger than life, as if he were able to be present wherever he looked. Two bear cubs playing near the feet of their mother caught his eye, ochre, mint, and hazel tumbling as they rolled and laughed in their native tongue. From where he stood, Mack felt that he could reach out and touch them, and without thought stretched out his arm. He drew it back, startled, as he realized that he too was ablaze. He looked at his hands, wonderfully crafted, and clearly visible inside the cascading colors of light that seemed to glove them. He examined the rest of his body to find that light and color robed him completely; a clothing of purity that allowed him both freedom and propriety.

Mack realized also that he felt no pain, not even in his usually aching joints. In fact, he had never felt this well, this whole. His head was clear and he breathed deeply the scents and aromas of the night and of the sleeping flowers in the garden, many of which had begun to awaken to this celebration.

Delirious and delicious joy welled up inside of him and he jumped, floating slowly up into the air; then returned gently to the ground. “So similar,” he thought, “to dream flying.”

And then Mack saw the lights. Single moving points emerging from the forest, converging upon the meadow below where he and Sarayu stood. He could see them now high up on the surrounding mountains, appearing and disappearing as they made their way toward them, down unseen paths and trails.

They broke into the meadow, an army of children. There were no candles-they themselves were lights. And within their own radiance, each was dressed in distinctive garbs that Mack imagined represented every tribe and tongue. Although he could only identify a few, it didn’t matter. These were the children of the earth, Papa’s children. They entered with quiet dignity and grace, faces full of contentment and peace, young ones holding the hands of even younger ones.

For a moment Mack wondered if Missy might be there, and although he looked for a minute, he gave up. He settled within himself that if she were, and if she wanted to run to him, she would. The children had now formed a huge circle within the meadow, with a path left open from near where Mack stood into the very center. Little bursts of fire and light, like a stadium of slow-popping flashbulbs, ignited when the children would giggle or whisper. Even though Mack had no idea what was going on, they obviously did, and the anticipation was almost too much for them.

Emerging into the clearing behind them and forming another circle of larger lights stood those whom Mack presumed were adults like himself, colorfully brilliant and yet subdued.

Suddenly, Mack’s attention was caught by an unusual motion. It appeared that one of the light beings in the outer circle was having some difficulty. Flashes and spears of violet and ivory would arch briefly into the night in their direction. As these retreated they were replaced by orchid, gold, and flaming vermillion, burning and brilliant sprays of radiance that burst out again toward them, flaming against the immediate darkness, only to subside and return to their source.

Sarayu chuckled.

“What’s going on?” Mack whispered.

“There is a man here who is having some difficulty keeping in what he is feeling.”

Whoever was struggling could not contain himself and was agitating some of the others nearby. The ripple effect was clearly visible as the flashing light extended into the surrounding ring of children. Those closest to the instigator seemed to be responding as color and light flowed from them toward him. The combinations that emerged from each were unique and seemed to Mack to contain a distinctive response to the one causing the commotion.

“I still don’t understand,” Mack whispered again.

“Mackenzie, the pattern of color and light is unique to each person; no two are alike and no pattern is ever the same twice. Here, we are able to see each other truly, and part of seeing means that individual personality and emotion is visible in color and light.”

“This is incredible!” Mack exclaimed. “Then why are the children’s colors mostly white?”

“As you near them you will see that they have many individual colors that have merged into white, which contains all. As they mature and grow to become who they really are, the colors they exhibit will become more distinctive, and unique hues and shades will emerge.”

“Incredible!” was all Mack could think to say, and he looked more intently. He now noticed that behind the circle of adults, others had emerged, spaced equally around the entire perimeter. They were taller flames, seeming to blow with the wind currents, and were a similar sapphire and aqua blue, with unique bits of other colors embedded in each one.

“Angels,” answered Sarayu before Mack could ask. “Servants and watchers.”

“Incredible!” Mack said a third time.

“There is more, Mackenzie, and this will help you understand the problem this particular one is having.” She pointed in the direction of the ongoing commotion.

Even to Mack, it was obvious that the man, whomever he was, continued to have difficulty. Sudden and abrupt spears of light and color at times shot out even farther toward them.

“We are not only able to see the uniqueness of one another in color and light, but we are able to respond through the same medium. But this response is very difficult to control, and it is usually not intended to be restrained as this one is attempting. It is most natural to let its expression just be.”

“I don’t understand,” Mack hesitated. “Are you saying that we can respond to one another in colors?”

“Yes,” Sarayu nodded, or at least that’s what Mack thought she did. “Each relationship between two persons is absolutely unique. That is why you cannot love two people the same. It simply is not possible. You love each person differently because of who they are and the uniqueness that they draw out of you. And the more you know another, the richer the colors of that relationship.”

Mack was listening but still watching the display before them. Sarayu continued, “Perhaps the best way you can understand is for me to give you a quick illustration. Suppose, Mack, that you are hanging out with a friend at your local coffee shop. You are focused on your companion and if you had eyes to see, the two of you would be enveloped in an array of colors and light, which mark not only your uniqueness as individuals but also the uniqueness of the relationship between you and the emotions you’d be experiencing in that moment.”

“But,” Mack began to ask, only to be cut off.

“But suppose,” Sarayu went on, “that another person whom you love enters the coffee shop, and although you are wrapped in the conversation with your first friend, you notice this other’s entry. Again, if you had eyes to see the greater reality, here is what you would witness: As you continued your current conversation, a unique combination of color and light would leave you and wrap itself around the one who had just entered, representing you in another form of loving and greeting that one. And one more thing, Mackenzie, it is not only visual but sensual as well; you can feel, smell, and even taste that uniqueness.”

“I love that!” Mack exclaimed. “But, except for that one over there,” he pointed in the direction of the agitated lights among the adults, “how are they all so calm? I would think there would be color everywhere; don’t they know each other?”

“They know one another very well, most of them, but they are here for a celebration that is not about them, nor about their relationships with one another, at least not directly,” Sarayu explained. “They are waiting.”

“For what?” Mack asked.

“You will see very soon,” replied Sarayu, and it was obvious that she was not about to say any more on the matter.

“So then why,” Mack’s attention had returned to the troublemaker, “why is that one having so much difficulty and why does he seem focused on us?”

“Mackenzie,” Sarayu said gently, “he is not focused on us, he is focused on you.”

“What?” Mack was dumbfounded.

“The one having so much trouble containing himself- that one-is your father.”

A wave of emotions, a mixture of angers and longings, washed over Mack and as if on cue his father’s colors burst from across the meadow and enveloped him. He was lost in a wash of ruby and vermillion, magenta and violet, as the light and color whirled around and embraced him. And somehow, in the middle of the exploding storm, he found himself running across the meadow to find his father, running toward the source of the colors and emotions. He was a little boy wanting his daddy, and for the first time he was not afraid. He was running, not caring for anything but the object of his heart, and he found him. His father was on his knees awash in light, tears sparkling like a waterfall of diamonds and jewels into the hands that covered his face.

“Daddy!” yelled Mack, and threw himself onto the man who could not even look at his son. In the howl of wind and flame, Mack took his father’s face in his two hands, forcing his dad to look him in the face so he could stammer the words he had always wanted to say: “Daddy, I’m so sorry! Daddy, I love you!” The light of his words seemed to blast darkness out of his father’s colors, turning them blood red. They exchanged sobbing words of confession and forgiveness, as a love greater than either one healed them.

Finally, they were able to stand together, a father holding his son as he had never been able to before. It was then that Mack noticed the swell of a song that washed over them both, as it penetrated the holy place where he stood with his father. With arms around each other they listened, unable to speak through the tears, to the song of reconciliation that lit the night sky. An arching fountain of brilliant color began among the children, especially those who had suffered the greatest, and then rippled as if passed from one to the next by the wind, until the entire field was flooded with light and song.

Mack somehow knew that this was not a time for conversation and that his time with his father was quickly passing. He sensed that by some mystery this was as much for his dad as it was for him. As for Mack, the new lightness he felt was euphoric. Kissing his father on the lips, he turned and made his way back to the small hill where Sarayu stood waiting for him. As he passed through the ranks of children, he could feel their touches and colors quickly embrace him and fall away. Somehow, he was already known and loved here.

When he reached Sarayu, she embraced him as well and he let her just hold him as he continued to cry. When he had regained some semblance of coherence, he turned to look back at the meadow, the lake, and night sky. A hush descended. The anticipation was palpable. Suddenly to their right, from out of the darkness emerged Jesus, and pandemonium broke out. He was dressed in a simple brilliant white garment and wore on his head a simple gold crown, but he was every inch the king of the universe.

He walked the path that opened before him into the center-the center of all Creation, the man who is God and the God who is man. Light and color danced and wove a tapestry of love for him to step on. Some were crying out words of love, while others simply stood with hands lifted up. Many of those whose colors were the richest and deepest were lying flat on their faces. Everything that had a breath sang out a song of unending love and thankfulness. Tonight the universe was as it was intended.

As Jesus reached the center he paused to look around. His gaze stopped on Mack standing on the small hill at the outer edge and he heard Jesus whisper in his ear, “Mack, I am especially fond of you.” That was all Mack could bear as he slumped to the ground, dissolving into a wash of joyful tears. He couldn’t move, gripped as he was in Jesus’ embrace of love and tenderness.

He then heard Jesus say clearly and loudly, but oh so gently and invitingly: “Come!” And they did, the children first and then the adults, each in turn for as long as they needed; to laugh and talk and embrace and sing with their Jesus. Time seemed to have completely stopped as the celestial dance and display continued. And each in turn then left, until none remained except the burning blue sentinels and the animals. Even these Jesus walked among, calling each by name until they and their young turned to make their way back to dens and nests and bedding pastures.

Mack stood motionless trying to absorb this experience that was beyond his ability to capture. “I had no idea…,” he whispered shaking his head and gazing into the distance. “Unbelievable!”

Sarayu laughed a shower of colors. “Just imagine, Mackenzie, if I had touched not only your eyes, but also your tongue and nose and ears.”

Finally, they were alone once more. The wild, haunting cry of a loon echoing across the lake seemed to signal the end of the celebration, and the sentinels vanished in unison. The only sounds remaining were a chorus of crickets and frogs resuming their own songs of worship from out of the water’s edge and surrounding meadows. Without a word, the three turned and walked back toward the shack that had again become visible to Mack. Like a curtain being drawn across his eyes, he was suddenly blind again; his vision returning to normal. He felt a loss and a longing, and even a little sad, until Jesus came alongside and took his hand, squeezing it to let Mack know that everything was as it should be.