THE COVERING
The great marble hall stood silent, though filled to overflowing. Each, save the one whose attire shone more resplendent than the rest, coming in response to a personal invitation, affecting the entire realm. His bearing, alone, carried a hint of satisfaction absent in the others assembled here.
All eyes locked on the throne centered at the front of the chamber. But it was the Presence enveloping it drawing attention. Pain marred the glory of His face. The pain’s tangible heartbeat brought tears constricting their own throats.
Yet no such emotion filled the uninvited presence. Instead, the obvious sorrow of the King wrung from him a discordant note of delight, quite out of place in this somber gathering.
However, it was noted only by the One on whom all eyes were fastened, and by the Son, sitting quietly by His King’s side. Both pair of eyes unwaveringly sought out this unwelcome attendee’s jubilant expression, showing the merest flicker of recognition.
Then, turning towards the others, the King’s sorrow-filled eyes sought each one, lingering in shared pain, until finally they came to fully rest on his Son, sitting beside Him with a quiet knowing. For immeasurable moments they shared a look, holding an understanding others present couldn’t ascertain.
For the merest moment the smirk faltered on the features of the intruder, his heart skipping a beat, before confidence again replaced the confusion that had passed like a shadow across his countenance. He had them. And they knew it. And the gloating of his pride, now a living thing, could no longer be contained.
“You lose!”
His sneer shattering the stillness, all present gasped, the collective echo nearly drowning out the challenge the interloper flung disparagingly at the King.
Though at this moment a trespasser, he was no stranger to these courts. These hallowed chambers had been his domain, and he was known by all present. Appointed first closest friend and confidant, his own prideful discontent had birthed a rivalry in his heart that had only grown in his absence from these chambers. Until his latest actions now drew him back before the king.
The multitude parted before his arrogant stride till he stood, unrepentant, before the King.
“I said, ‘You lose!’”
With deliberation he turned his head, until his penetrating stare locked with the Son’s. But the Son’s fixed gaze never wavered, and the intruder, unaccountably, found his own gaze shifting, momentarily. Then a hardened look filling his eyes, he turned back to the King.
“They’re mine! All this…mine!”
Gesturing triumphantly to the heavens above and the earth below, his jeering words echoed in the great chamber’s unnatural stillness.
But as he spoke something shifted in the atmosphere of the hall. Subtle, but a shift he noted with growing confusion.
His confident postulating returned as, looking about the room, he noted all eyes cast down. And he began to laugh a celebratory laugh. But it did not grow in volume, its reverberation filling the chambers, as it should. Rather his jubilation was absorbed, swallowed up before it could be given full voice.
Swinging his gaze back towards the king, fully expecting to see dejection draped there upon the throne, his eyes met, instead, an indescribable stare, rooting him to the spot. His confidence wavering, this one-time friend looked around the hall.
Then it struck him. Their eyes weren’t cast down in despair; rather they were drawn down, in awe. Again, throwing a look back toward the King and His Son, he was riveted by a knowing he didn’t comprehend, yet clearly visible on both their faces.
Almost against his will, his own eyes were drawn downward. Unexpectedly, it was not a chamber floor that met his gaze. Instead, it was a garden he knew well filling his vision. A garden he’d roamed, had staked claim to as his own. And a man, and woman.
A chuckle, beginning when he saw them, quickly slipped away. When he had left their side, leafy-garments made a feeble attempt to cover their nakedness. But that shameful covering was gone. In their place new bloodied garments of skin . . .grace-woven garments.
Puzzlement began to replace the confident sneer he’d worn into heaven’s chambers just heartbeats before. A puzzlement quickly growing to agitation as the scene now shifted before his eyes.
The verdant garden gave way to a rock-strewn hill, sprouting a bloodied cross.
At the sight, laughter’s deep voice began building again in his chest when, suddenly, the scene altered one last time, to another hillside. And a tomb, now empty, the death stone forever rolled away.
A sound continued to gather deep inside him. Lifting his eyes a final time to the throne, they fell upon hands. Hands outstretched. Nail-pierced and bloodied.
Sounds gathering in his chest at last tore free, a feral roar filling heaven’s court . . . echoing through the ages.
© DeAnna L. Brooks
10 January 2005
All eyes locked on the throne centered at the front of the chamber. But it was the Presence enveloping it drawing attention. Pain marred the glory of His face. The pain’s tangible heartbeat brought tears constricting their own throats.
Yet no such emotion filled the uninvited presence. Instead, the obvious sorrow of the King wrung from him a discordant note of delight, quite out of place in this somber gathering.
However, it was noted only by the One on whom all eyes were fastened, and by the Son, sitting quietly by His King’s side. Both pair of eyes unwaveringly sought out this unwelcome attendee’s jubilant expression, showing the merest flicker of recognition.
Then, turning towards the others, the King’s sorrow-filled eyes sought each one, lingering in shared pain, until finally they came to fully rest on his Son, sitting beside Him with a quiet knowing. For immeasurable moments they shared a look, holding an understanding others present couldn’t ascertain.
For the merest moment the smirk faltered on the features of the intruder, his heart skipping a beat, before confidence again replaced the confusion that had passed like a shadow across his countenance. He had them. And they knew it. And the gloating of his pride, now a living thing, could no longer be contained.
“You lose!”
His sneer shattering the stillness, all present gasped, the collective echo nearly drowning out the challenge the interloper flung disparagingly at the King.
Though at this moment a trespasser, he was no stranger to these courts. These hallowed chambers had been his domain, and he was known by all present. Appointed first closest friend and confidant, his own prideful discontent had birthed a rivalry in his heart that had only grown in his absence from these chambers. Until his latest actions now drew him back before the king.
The multitude parted before his arrogant stride till he stood, unrepentant, before the King.
“I said, ‘You lose!’”
With deliberation he turned his head, until his penetrating stare locked with the Son’s. But the Son’s fixed gaze never wavered, and the intruder, unaccountably, found his own gaze shifting, momentarily. Then a hardened look filling his eyes, he turned back to the King.
“They’re mine! All this…mine!”
Gesturing triumphantly to the heavens above and the earth below, his jeering words echoed in the great chamber’s unnatural stillness.
But as he spoke something shifted in the atmosphere of the hall. Subtle, but a shift he noted with growing confusion.
His confident postulating returned as, looking about the room, he noted all eyes cast down. And he began to laugh a celebratory laugh. But it did not grow in volume, its reverberation filling the chambers, as it should. Rather his jubilation was absorbed, swallowed up before it could be given full voice.
Swinging his gaze back towards the king, fully expecting to see dejection draped there upon the throne, his eyes met, instead, an indescribable stare, rooting him to the spot. His confidence wavering, this one-time friend looked around the hall.
Then it struck him. Their eyes weren’t cast down in despair; rather they were drawn down, in awe. Again, throwing a look back toward the King and His Son, he was riveted by a knowing he didn’t comprehend, yet clearly visible on both their faces.
Almost against his will, his own eyes were drawn downward. Unexpectedly, it was not a chamber floor that met his gaze. Instead, it was a garden he knew well filling his vision. A garden he’d roamed, had staked claim to as his own. And a man, and woman.
A chuckle, beginning when he saw them, quickly slipped away. When he had left their side, leafy-garments made a feeble attempt to cover their nakedness. But that shameful covering was gone. In their place new bloodied garments of skin . . .grace-woven garments.
Puzzlement began to replace the confident sneer he’d worn into heaven’s chambers just heartbeats before. A puzzlement quickly growing to agitation as the scene now shifted before his eyes.
The verdant garden gave way to a rock-strewn hill, sprouting a bloodied cross.
At the sight, laughter’s deep voice began building again in his chest when, suddenly, the scene altered one last time, to another hillside. And a tomb, now empty, the death stone forever rolled away.
A sound continued to gather deep inside him. Lifting his eyes a final time to the throne, they fell upon hands. Hands outstretched. Nail-pierced and bloodied.
Sounds gathering in his chest at last tore free, a feral roar filling heaven’s court . . . echoing through the ages.
© DeAnna L. Brooks
10 January 2005
posted by brooklet | 10:11 PM
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