FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

By

Chijioke Victor Uche

07030668300

      When they gathered at the police station after her daughter died, she couldn’t help but admit that she had been foolish. She had seen all the signs, encountered all the facts and stumbled on undeniable evidence but still refused to believe that her husband had betrayed her. As he sat shamefaced on the cold cement floor before the policemen with only his boxer shorts on, she felt a bout of revulsion towards him. They had given him a severe beating. Yet she couldn’t understand how he could do that to her daughter – their daughter. She earnestly wanted to unleash her wrath on him, but to what end? Lucy was gone…gone forever by the same hands that had vowed to protect her. She was just twelve years old. So fair…so cold…like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter’s chill. What happens when the only person that can wipe away your tears brings tears to your own very eyes? If only she had been more careful, more watchful, more vigilant. But how could she know that a man could be so callous? Amaechi could never hurt a fly. Where did he summon the strength to send his daughter to the great beyond before her feet could be firmly planted on the fountain of adolescence?

      “Daddy has always been doing it to me since I was twelve,” was Mercy’s tearful confession after her sister died. Ifunanya was thunderstruck! She couldn’t believe my ears. It couldn’t be possible. Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen! She counted with her fingers. Four years. Four damn years! Under one roof! How was I so blind? she wondered. So much had happened under her nose. How come Mercy never told her?

      “He threatened to beat me if I tell you,” her teenage daughter tearfully said. “He said that you won’t even believe me, if I suggested it.” And she was right. Even a circus lion learns to sit on a chair due to fear of the whip. When her daughter wanted to ask her questions about sex, she had made no attempts to answer. So the nightmare continued. It’s painful to know after tragedy has struck that one had the power to have averted it, if only closer attention had been paid.  

      She remembered the night she heard a cry from the girls’ room. That was four years ago. When she got there, she saw her husband, their father with them. He was sweating heavily. When his wife asked him what had happened, he said that he had heard Mercy scream when he was doing his last rounds to ensure that everywhere was well secured. When Mercy wanted to talk, he hushed her and told her to go to bed; then assured his wife that all was well. Ifunanya could see the fear in her daughter’s eyes. It was more than could be inflicted by a nightmare. She could see her daughter’s desire to hug her and unveil her heart to her mother. But that night, when Mercy needed her most, she turned her back on her first daughter. That night, she lost her daughter’s attention! Mercy never trusted her mother again. The one who could have shielded her in her moment of dire need had turned her back on her on the night of her violation. When she had made an attempt to seek her mother’s refuge, she had delivered the death stroke. In Mercy’s young heart, her mother was her father’s accomplice. If only she knew the story of Julius Caesar, she would have asked her mum: Et tu, Mummy?

      Ifunanya didn’t see the blood-stained bed sheets. Her eyes were shut to the torn underwear hidden under the pillow. Her trained nostrils failed to pick up the smell of semen smeared on her daughter’s body. Her ears acted as though they didn’t hear the sound of the WC as the used condom was flushed down the toilet. She didn’t want to act paranoid. Alas, she was mistaken.

      What one sister had survived could not be borne by the other. That was the mistake Amaechi made. While Mercy was strong, Lucy was weak. While Mercy was bold, Lucy was shy. They were exact opposites, but loved each other dearly…until Lucy turned twelve. Their mother noticed that the level of affection between them had dropped. Mercy always helped her younger sister until she approached her teenage years. Then Mercy stopped helping her with her assignments. Refused to assist her with her share of household chores. And suddenly started acting cold towards her father.

      When Lucy started approaching puberty, her father started lavishing her with gifts. That was the same way he had started with Mercy, her elder sister. Now that the attention of the father was shifting from the elder to the younger, the elder one was not finding it funny. As usual, their mother was stupid enough not to notice. Every day when he arrived from work, he always bought Lucy gifts and feminine wears. Ifunanya was concerned but threw it to the wind. After all he was her father. He was just playing his fatherly role. Thus she let the abomination continued.

      But Lucy’s shyness didn’t mean that she was daft. She wasn’t one who would die in silence. She wondered and questioned this lavish show of attention. Many times she asked her mother why dad bought gifts for her only and left her sister out. She didn’t like the seething hostility of her sister toward her neither did she want it to seem as though they were striving for their father’s attention.

      One day she asked her father one night as the family sat at dinner, “Daddy, Do you love me?”

      “Yes,” he replied.

      “Do you love my sister?”

      “Yes, I do. Why do you ask, dear?”

      “Why then do you buy gifts for me alone and buy none for her? You give me the impression that you love me more than her or that you don’t even love her at all. You have created an enmity between me and my sister. I don’t like it.”

      There was an unusual silence when she was through. Mercy didn’t know what to do or say. She felt like hugging her younger sister. But Lucy was not through yet.

      Standing from her seat, she went towards her father and knelt down before him and said, “Daddy, I know you love me but please if the gifts you buy for me will make my sister my enemy, please don’t buy them again for me. I beg you!”

      Then getting up from her knees with tears in her eyes, she ran into the room she shared with her elder sister. Dinner had ended unceremoniously. Mercy’s heart had been won by her sister. Their mother as usual, left the girls to fix themselves.

      After that night, they became closer than before. A little while after that, Ifunanya got a job as a nurse in a prestigious hospital. It was not necessary for her to get a job. Her husband was adequately taking care of her and the family. No matter how much Lucy persuaded her mother to turn down the job, Ifunanya totally refused. This was the season of Women Empowerment. She wasn’t going to be left behind. All her friends were making waves in their respective careers and professions. And her husband did not have any objection about the job. As a matter of fact, he supported her.

      But Lucy saw it coming…she had the feeling that things will go wrong if mummy started work. No matter how much she pleaded with her mum, Ifunanya’s heart was as strong as stone. Nothing was going to change her mind. There was no turning back!

      As Ifunanya sat on the stool in the DPO’s office, she now saw how she had traded her daughter’s love and life for a job. A job that looked vain now.

      When Amaechi was asked why he did what he did, he didn’t say it was the devil. He told the truth. He said that he was attracted to their slender bodies whenever he saw them wear towels after they had their bath. He said the wetness of their hair, the moisture of their skin and the rise and fall of their breasts when they shivered with cold set his blood on fire.

      Ifunanya could not believe her ears. So there was an ulterior motive in carrying their daughters on his lap and stroking their hair. There was a vain intention in desiring to help dress them for school. So there was more than a fatherly attention attached to the goodbye kiss every morning. As the memories came swimming into her mind, she felt like she would faint.

      Then she remembered the day she came back from work to meet her first daughter, Mercy and her dad in a shouting match. Lucy was behind Mercy as though she was shielding her from a threat. No matter how much she pressed the parties involved to let her know what was wrong, no one was ready to tell her. How could Lucy explain that her daddy was caressing her as she lay asleep on the couch? How would Mercy explain to her mummy that Daddy wanted to do to Lucy what he had been doing to her for five years now? Did she expect Amaechi, her husband to confess that he was trying to defile his younger daughter? No, it wasn’t possible. So, the abomination continued.

      She was brought back from memory lane with the sound of a cracking slap on her husband’s face effectively delivered by a policeman.

      “How did it happen?” the policeman asked him.

     

      Before he could answer the question, Ifunanya launched into memory lane. She knew how it happened. It was the faithful day that she made the greatest mistake of her life. She made a decision that took away the shepherd and left the prey unprotected before the predator. It was the day that she decided to go for a night vigil with her first daughter, Mercy. She had never gone for the church’s night vigil alone or with her daughter. The family always went together for the vigil. So when her husband said he was too tired to go, she made the worst decision of her life. She told Mercy to get ready. No matter the antics that Mercy deployed to make her mother change her mind, Ifunanya still insisted. So Mercy got ready.

      When they were about to leave the house, Lucy ran to her mummy, held her flair skirt and asked her a question that would always break her heart as long as she lived, “Mummy, why are you leaving me? I want to come with you. Let me come with you.”

      “Stay with your daddy. He will take care of you,” the impatient mother replied.

      “Mummy, please let me come with you. I beg you! Please! Don’t leave me behind. Stay with me. Mummy, please!”  Ifunanya ignored her and walked away.

      As she walked away, Lucy called after, “Mummy, I love you!”

      “And I love you too,” Ifunanya said carelessly and walked away. If only she knew that was the last time she would hear her daughter’s voice, she wouldn’t have left her.

      Three hours later, she got a call from a hospital. Lucy was bleeding severely. How? When she got there, she saw her husband sitting on a chair with his head in his hands.

      She ran past him into the doctor’s office and asked for an update on her daughter. It was too late. She had died of severe bleeding from her private part and accumulated psychological issues. The doctor had found sperm deposits in her private part and was sure this was a case of violation. He had already called the police. They would be here soon. She was so frail. The doctor told Ifunanya Lucy’s last words:

Tell daddy I forgive him. Tell Mercy I love her.

      There was no word for mummy.

      Who would have done this to her. She had no house help; neither did she have any male relative living with her nor a driver. There was only one suspect: Her husband! How was that possible? It couldn’t be, she thought. But there was no other suspect.

      “I’m so sorry,” Amaechi said when she came out of the doctor’s office. The look on her face immediately told her that he was the culprit. She didn’t know which offence he was sorry for. Was he sorry for committing incest or for the death of his daughter by his hands?

      When the police came to arrest him, Amaechi didn’t even resist.

      Madam! Madam! Madam!!

      The shout of the DPO pulled her out of the past.

      “Please go home. We will communicate with you. We will make sure that justice runs its full course. We have substantial evidence to nail him.”

      As she left the police station by 12pm on that painful Saturday, she wished she had listened to her motherly instincts.

      A call came to her phone. It was her boss. He wanted to know where she was. She was late for work. She knew that the punishment was severe. A 15% deduction in her monthly salary.

      “Sir, I am no more interested in the work. My family is more important to me than this job,” she replied and ended the call. She was going to make up for her mistakes. She called Mercy.

When she came to her, Ifunanya hugged her and said, “I am sorry for the mistakes I made. Please forgive me”

      Mercy nodded as both of them wept.

      But will things ever remain the same again?

While He Prayed...

       All was dark in the dinky room. The rickety standing fan, silhouetted
against the moonlight filtering in through the louvres, created an
illusory apparition that could drive a toddler out of his wits. The
room had an impressive alcove improvised as a make-shift wardrobe.
Outside, crickets shrieked love calls to one another just as the moon
illuminated the environment and landscape in an alabaster-white
colour, pacifying for the power outage. The room was bare except for
few essentials scattered around. It was the first room by the right in
a bungalow of ten rooms. The compound had a low fence because the
inhabitants of the building were confident that only miserable thieves
would attempt to break in. The room was fitted with everything a
bachelor could have to make life a bit comfortable in an economy where
most of its citizens lived below the poverty line.
       Everywhere was quiet save for moans and groans. Sprawled on the
carpet was the figure of a man in his early forties. Amidst the cold,
as a result of the rain that had tempered down to a drizzle, he was
drenched in sweat. His eyes were filled with tears and phlegm cascaded
down his nostrils like Niagara Falls. The prayer he intended to make
for a good night rest had escalated to holy travailing lasting from
the last three hours of a day to the first four hours of a new day. On
the carpet he wept. This was his act. This was his ministry in the
kingdom.
       “Oh Lord,” he wept, “redeem the desolation of our land and generation.”
       His tears were torrential; his heart was the semblance of an
over-inflated balloon. He interceded with holy boldness, but not
arrogance. He prayed hard and long with intensity and passion. The
Lord’s burden on his soul beclouded the yearnings of his flesh. He had
prayed in the spirit for long hours that his mind had ceased to know
what was been sought for and had fallen silent. Then like the sound of
many waters, the Holy Spirit spoke within him. He was accustomed to
that voice, had felt His tremendous power and had vowed to obey him,
no matter the consequences.
       “Pray for Humphrey Williams,” the Spirit instructed. “And if you must
wrestle for his salvation and that of his son, you must pray like
you’ve never done.”
       At that instruction, holy passion filled his spirit setting him
afire. He let out a bone-chilling cry as only a battle casualty could.
His intercession penetrated his entire being – spirit, soul and soul –
as never before. Right now, he started groaning intensely for there
was no language in the tongues of men nor angels to convey how he felt
to God his body contorted and relaxed in quick successions as his
cries were incoherent. He knew that he had to sow in tears in order to
reap in joy. He knew that his deepest satisfaction came after he had
seen the rewards of his long travails.
       While he prayed, the wind blew as his accuser came. His prayers had
had nosedived whenever his accuser came reminding him of his past sins
and how God would never forgive him. At the moment of securing an
answer to his prayer, these accusations ruptured his faith and made
waste to night long battles in prayer. So that night, two angels stood
unglorified in his room, ready for battle.


       From a corner Chemosh appeared. He was a hideous creature with
leathery wings, foul-smelling skin and stinking sulphuric breath. He
moved across the skin with outstanding cat-like grace. His presence
covered every trace of light, colour or sound in thick darkness, as
his savage yellow eyes sought his prey. Earlier on, he had wondered
why one of his minions had not been sent, instead of him, on an
assignment he deemed degrading. When he was intimated with the degree
of opposition the praying man had caused on his knees, he volunteered
eagerly for the job. Three fingers in each hand were embellished with
rings of different precious stones. Onyx, quicksilver, and jasper.
Discernible on the little finger of his left hand was his master,
Shishak’s ring. A prize he treasured more than his own very existence.
Various medals hung from his neck. They were awards from his various
masters for various victories. Masters! How he hated them! How he
despised them! But as he dove down towards that familiar street, with
wings and limbs that were obvious accessories in his movement because
he moved forward without their aid, his mind was firmly set on his
target.



       Chemosh landed with a thud oblivious to mortal ears. He drew his
weapon and made quickly towards his target, seeking his prey. What a
perfect night to wreck evil, he said in his heart. He kissed the
signet ring, blessing his luck and believing that the coast was clear.
As usual he melted through the padlocked Iron Gate as though it never
existed. Approaching the door to the corridor, he slowed down,
assuring himself that there was no need to hurry. After all, he had
two full hours before daybreak. He paused, looked at the moon and his
immediate surrounding and felt very uneasy. There was something
strange about that night. He had a premonition that that night would
be his last. Nevertheless, he debunked the idea.
       As he set foot on the doorstep, he sensed looming adversity. He
turned abruptly. Right before his eyes, his premonition became real.
       WHOOSH!!!
       In the air few metres from where he stood on the wet sandy soil were
a pair of flaming eyes filled with holy indignation, set in a
well-sculptured face of a muscular body that had a head overflowing
with long jet black hair, borne on immaculate wings. It was a warrior
angel. It suddenly occurred to Chemosh that he was under attack. He
lifted up his sword to defend himself.
       “I won’t go down alone,” he cried.
       “We shall see!” his attacker thundered in a loud voice as he struck
the weapon from Chemosh, the demon’s hand in one neat swipe. Chemosh
lunged at the angel with bared talons. The angel ducked and as the
demon went past him, threw a clenched fist at the demon’s spine,
sending him reeling to the floor.  Chemosh made for the nearest tree
in a desperate attempt to escape. However, the angel anticipating such
tricky move sent the demon back to the floor with a stunning blow to
the chest.
       The demon lay helpless on the ground on the ground as the angel
advanced towards him. The angel’s long jet black hair totally covered
his face as he said, “Ancient Romans had a saying: “De inimico non
loquaris sed cogites.”
       Feeling stupid, Chemosh asked, “What the hell does it mean?”
       “It means, ‘don’t wish ill for your enemy; plan it.’ That’s what I
did to you. You will trouble praying men no more.”
       Chemosh, sensing his demise, made for his weapon in order to make
good his threat or at least draw some blood. The angel desiring a
flawless victory went after his foe and with one smooth swipe of his
sword beheaded the demon. The demon’s hands were only millimeters from
his weapon. The last sight Chemosh had as he disintegrated into the
abyss in puffs of smoke was a pair of sapphire eyes that he had
avoided for many centuries. Before he vanished totally he whispered to
the angel, “So you finally caught up with me, Andronicus.”
       The fight was over even before it began

The Resurrection inThe Eyes Of an Angel.

      I was there when it all began. From the ageless past to the count of time. I was there. From the fall of Lucifer – he even almost convinced me – to the creation of the first Adam. From the fall of God’s vice regent on earth to the coming of the second Adam. I saw it all. Though I sit not among the twenty-four elders nor stand with the cherubs or the seraphs, I still knew. Sometimes, too late, sometimes we were told a forehand. But we were always aware. When Adam fell, the grief in heaven could not be described. But as usual, the Holy One was unperturbed. In His infinite wisdom, He still had a plan. What it was, we really didn’t know. Time would tell. When the sins of men in the days of Noah had reached its peak, I was among those who opened the gates of the deep in the destruction of the earth in Noah’s time. It grieved God’s heart but it was necessary. Lest the earth be filled with the corrupt seed of fallen angels. So much happened–and still happens – in the realms unseen to man…more than is permitted to say now.

In the fullness of time, he came. The Lamb of God – whose blood had ensured victory over Lucifer – had put on flesh and was coming to earth. He was coming to take away the sins of the world. The express image of the father. Filled with grace and truth. Our joy couldn’t be contained the night he was born. How could he be hundred percent God and also hundred percent man? It was amazing. But God is God all by himself. We watched him grow. In infancy, we ensured his protection and his provision. We were at his command. He just had to whisper a wish and we would do it. But most times, when we believed he was in dire need of aid, he said nothing. Like on that night at Gethsemane.

We would never forget that night. It would stay with us for all eternity. The darkness and the evil and the wickedness and the malevolence. It was choking. I remembered seeing Satan in the skies far above the temple as the Sanhedrin conversed in secret. His handsome looks had not faded a bit. Only tainted by centuries of planning and executing evil. He had a sly smile on his face. Like when he stole the keys of the earth realm from Adam, the son of God. He was so sure of victory. Would he prevail again this night? was one of the many questions in our hearts as we watched from the heavens. But once again, time would tell. It was a difficult night.

That night, my captain, Olyrus, came to me. He had a worried look. He said to me in a solemn voice, “Be alert. I know we have instructions not to interfere with the proceedings of his death but if he but whispers for aid, never ever hesitate.”

I just nodded.  It wasn’t easy for me to stand aside and watch as my master was assaulted by one far lesser than he. By someone he had created. The unrepentant rebel leader.

After a while in Gethsemane, it seemed as though he was about to die due to the vision of the cup he was to drink. Then, an archangel came and strengthened him. I am not permitted to say his name. The pain of the scourging and the nails driving through his hands was enough to kill him but that grace sustained him. The father had willed that he was to die on the cross. And nothing could stop that fact. Not even his physical frailty. He had to die on that cross.

Before the Gethsemane experience, I watched the devil enter Judas just as Jesus gave him the bread he had dipped in wine. That was after Peter had persuaded John to ask Jesus who was it that would betray him. Jesus simply and softly said, “To him that I would give this bread dipped in wine, the same would betray me.” Even as he left, the other disciples thought that he had been sent on an errand by Jesus. Only John and Peter knew. That was just before the Holy Communion was shared. But Judas was an important part of the plan. Neither the affectionate love of John nor the protective love of Peter was enough to bring the Christ to the cross. Alas, he needed the cold kiss of a calloused heart! And Judas provided that.

Then the battle at Gethsemane began. He had to accept the will of the father to die for the sins of men long dead, then for the hypocritical Jews and the self-seeking gentiles. So much to atone for.

While he prayed, the apostles slept. The more he wrestled in prayer, the deeper they plunged into slumber. We knew they didn’t understanding the battles going on in the spiritual realm. But we didn’t despise them for their ignorance. They were men after all. But their ignorance didn’t stop the roar of laughter that came from the camp of darkness as the apostles ran off when Jesus was taken. The pain in our hearts could not be imagined.

 They were all there. The principalities. The powers. The princes of the darkness of this world. Even the wicked spiritual forces in the heavenly places. They had convened in Jerusalem from every part of the world. This was the show-down, the crescendo. They looked so foul. So evil. So cruel. So mean. Only a few among them like Pride and Lust still had faces that looked human. Others had disgusting looks. We, the host of heaven, had also gathered in our numbers. But unlike our adversaries, we had a difficult order: DO NOT INTERFERE UNLESS…ONLY UNLESS HE CHANGED HIS MIND. But would he? Once again, only time would tell. And that time wasn’t far away. Immediately we saw the glory on his face after he had finished communing with the Father, we knew he had accepted God’s will. There was no going back!

Amongst us, we whispered, “Lord, just one word. Just breathe a command.” But it never came. And yet we waited in vain. We had to watch helplessly as they took him away.

      The anguish in Judas’ heart over the betrayal of his teacher was so much. The combined spirits of suicide, murder and death hovered above and around him. They didn’t give him a second to repent. To Judas, it was better to be dead than alive. The sorrow was much.

As they interrogated Jesus, Satan’s lieutenants stood among the Sanhedrin, instilling thoughts into their minds. Our master did not answer any question but kept mute. The accusations were inconsistent and baseless. The hosts of darkness were agitated. They needed something. The council desperately needed something concrete to present to the Roman governor as our master’s crime.

Then the High Priest asked him, “Are you the son of God?”

Yet Jesus answered nothing.

Then a demonic principality whispered something in the ears of a priest. Immediately the demon was through, the man stood up and started walking in the direction of the High Priest. We paid no heed to him until he whispered in the ears of the High priest, “Adjure him by God. But him under oath by the Living God.” To the ears of mortal men, it was a whisper. To us, it was though someone just spoke plainly.

When he was through with the suggestion, many angels amongst us drew their swords. They wanted to strike the demon and the man he had used. Then came the sharp look from Jesus and every one of them sheathed their swords and looked apologetic. The demon just gave a throaty laugh. I wondered what was amusing him.

Clearing his throat, the Chief Priest declared, “I adjure you by the Most High, are you the son of God?”

Immediately there was absolute silence in the air. Everyone held their breath. Angels. Demons. Men. This was the climax.

As I stood there, Zenas, a fellow angelic warrior sorrowfully asked our captain, “Will he reply?”

Without waiting for the Captain to respond, I replied, “Yes. He has been adjured by God, the only one whose authority he truly submits to.”

Then in a clear voice our maker said, “You have said it already,” then looking up at the hosts of darkness, he continued, “yet I say to you, you yourself will see the Son of man sitting at the right hand of God’s power, coming on the clouds of heaven.”

He wasn’t addressing the council only. He was speaking to the host of darkness also. To human ears, his voice sounded like a song. To angels and demons alike, it was like the roar of thunder, like the sound of many waters.

Olyrus, our captain whispered, “Lord, let it come quickly. I can hardly wait.”

The High Priest tore his garment and cried, “Blasphemy! What other evidence do we need?”

The ranks of demons cheered him for his hypocrisy and religiosity.

Then he was delivered to Pilate and the governor took him aside and asked him if he was a king. After a short pause he said, “My Kingdom is not of this word,” then he looked at us and continued, “If it were of this world, my subjects won’t stand and watch you treat me this way.”

When he was through with Pilate and the final sentence had been given, with Barabbas released, the lamb of God gave the one and only command of the day: WITHDRAW TO YOUR REALM! YOUR PART IN THIS IS OVER FOR NOW.

With heavy hearts, we obeyed.

Then came the crucifixion. And the pain. And the jeers from hostile faces. All these were all he had to bear. Just as He was about to die, He was approached by Death and as Death boasted, Jesus was silent.

When he was through, Jesus said, “Death you have boasted rightly. But let me ask you a question. Can you kill me if I have no sin?”

Now, Death fell quiet.

Jesus continued, “Death, you were not there in the beginning. You only came into existence as a result of sin. So much happened long before you were brought forth as a result of man’s fall.”

Now Death wasn’t so sure of himself.

Yet the revealed word continued, “Death, you are just a shadow…a form. Even you will be cast into the lake of fire. I am Life. But although you may not know, I also am the true death. He that is rejected by me is rejected forever.”

When he was through, the savior of mankind drank the cup and became sin. He didn’t sin, he took on the very nature of sin and became sin itself. Then, and only then could death wrap its tentacles around him. That was after he had judged everyone and everything that needed to be judged and had swallowed them up. It’s a mystery that would be revealed in its own time. After that, he descended into hell and the wait continued. Even the earth, the oceans and the sky could not bear. The sun in fear hid its face for three hours. The mountains quaked and grumbled as he gave up the ghost.

We rejoiced that the second Adam, the quickening spirit had humbled himself unto death and had won the first part battle in the war for man’s redemption. Now it was the Father’s own turn to keep His part of the agreement. Would he? Once again, time would tell.

The first day ended.

Then the second day came…and passed.

On the morning of the third day, there was a great turmoil. It shook the heavens and the earth. As we wondered what the problem was, someone approached us. His countenance was awesome. He was more brilliant in countenance than we were. It must be the Son of God in his glory. We hid ourselves. So the Son of God had prevailed.

But something was wrong. The newcomer was making inquiries. He was asking questions. What was the problem? Did the agony of his death deprive the Son of God of his mind?

The only thing the stranger could remember was been hung on a cross alongside a strange man who assured him that he was going to be in paradise with him. He was looking for that man. We were also confused. If he was not the son of man, then who was he? Even dead saints of old had not entered into this realm. As we wondered what to do, he kept muttering: the book…the book.

      I asked him what book? He said that the man on the cross had promised him that his name was recorded in a kind of book. Something he called the book of Life. At last, we remembered. That book had never been open for as long as we could remember. We rushed back to where it was. Something was wrong. The book was open and the seal had been broken. Who dared do that? When we got there something had been written. It was a name. It was written in red ink…no, not red ink, it was blood. We wondered whose name was that.

      Then the man (whom we later recognized to be the same that had been crucified with Jesus) exclaimed, “That’s my name! My sins have been forgiven and washed away. Hallelujah, praise God.”

      He was the first among God’s new creation. The Holy ones. The church that had been pulled out of Christ’s side signified by the piercing with the spear which caused water and blood to gush out. That was another mystery. Just as Eve was Adam’s bride, so were these ones the bride of Christ.

      We were jubilant. The enemy had lost once again. If only he knew…if only he knew the wisdom of God’s plan. So, Christ had risen! Not only had the Son of God prevailed, he had also led captivity captive.

      With joy in our hearts, we rushed towards Jerusalem. We could not wait any longer. Our joy knew no bounds. But before befo, I turned to the sanctified and justified one and said, “Welcome home, brother”

A dying man's last song

Give me some sunshine
Give me some rain
Give me another chance
I wanna grow up once again.