The Shack (13 page)

“Don’t forget, the story didn’t end in his sense of forsakenness. He found his way through it to put himself completely into my hands. Oh, what a moment that was!”

Mack leaned against the counter somewhat bewildered. His emotions and thoughts were all jumbled. Part of him wanted to believe everything Papa was saying. That would be nice! But another part was objecting rather loudly, “This can’t possibly be true!”

Papa reached for the kitchen timer, gave it a little twist, and placed it on the table in front of them. “I’m not who you think I am, Mackenzie.” Her words weren’t angry or defensive.

Mack looked her, looked at the timer, and sighed. “I feel totally lost.”

“Then let’s see if we can find you in this mess.”

Almost as if on cue, a blue jay landed on the kitchen windowsill and began strutting back and forth. Papa reached into a tin on the counter and, sliding the window open, offered Mr. Jay a mixture of grains that she must have kept just for that purpose. Without any hesitation, and with a seeming air of humility and thankfulness, the bird walked straight to her hand and began feeding.

“Consider our little friend here,” she began. “Most birds were created to fly. Being grounded for them is a limitation
within
their ability to fly, not the other way around.” She paused to let Mack think about her statement. “You, on the other hand, were created to be loved. So for you to live as if you were unloved is a limitation, not the other way around.”

Mack nodded his head, not so much in full agreement, but more as a signal that at least he understood and was tracking. That seemed simple enough.

“Living unloved is like clipping a bird’s wings and removing its ability to fly. Not something I want for you.”

There’s the rub. He didn’t
feel
particularly
loved
at the moment.

“Mack, pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly.” She waited a moment, allowing her words to settle. “And if left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place.”

Mack was silent. Strangely, the silence was not that uncomfortable. Mack looked at the little bird. The bird looked back at Mack. He wondered if it was possible for birds to smile. At least Mr. Jay looked like he was, perhaps if only sympathetically.

“I’m not like you, Mack.”

It wasn’t a put down; it was a simple statement of fact. But to Mack it felt like a splash of cold water.

“I am God. I am who I am. And unlike you, my wings can’t be clipped.”

“Well that’s wonderful for you, but where exactly does that leave me?” Mack blurted out, sounding more irritated than he would have liked.

Papa began stroking the little bird, brought him up close to her face, and said, “Smack dab in the center of my love!” as the two cuddled nose to beak.

“I’m thinking that bird probably understands that better than I do,” was the best Mack could offer.

“I know, honey. That’s why we’re here. Why do you think I said, ‘I’m not like you?’“

“Well, I really have no idea. I mean, you’re God and I’m not.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but she ignored it completely.

“Yes, but not exactly. At least not in the way you’re thinking. Mackenzie, I am what some would say ‘holy, and wholly other than you.’ The problem is that many folks try to grasp some sense of who I am by taking the best version of themselves, projecting that to the nth degree, factoring in all the goodness they can perceive, which often isn’t much, and then call
that
God. And while it may seem like a noble effort, the truth is that it falls pitifully short of who I really am. I’m not merely the best version of you that you can think of. I am far more than that, above and beyond all that you can ask or think.”

“I’m sorry, but those are just words to me. They don’t make much sense.” Mack shrugged.

“Even though you can’t finally grasp me, guess what? I still want to be known.”

“You’re talking about Jesus, right? Is this going to be a let’s-try-to-understand-the-Trinity sort of thing?”

She chuckled. “Sort of, but this isn’t Sunday School. This is a flying lesson. Mackenzie, as you might imagine, there are some advantages to being God. By nature I am completely unlimited, without bounds. I have always known fullness. I live in a state of perpetual satisfaction as my normal state of existence,” she said, quite pleased. “Just one of the perks of Me being Me.”

That made Mack smile. This lady was fully enjoying herself, all by herself, and there wasn’t an ounce of arrogance to spoil it.

“We created you to share in that. But then Adam chose to go it on his own, as we knew he would, and everything got messed up. But instead of scrapping the whole Creation we rolled up our sleeves and entered into the middle of the mess—that’s what we have done in Jesus.”

Mack was hanging in there, trying his best to follow her train of thought.

“When we three spoke ourself into human existence as the Son of God, we became fully human. We also chose to embrace all the limitations that this entailed. Even though we have always been present in this created universe, we now became flesh and blood. It would be like this bird, whose nature it is to fly, choosing only to walk and remain grounded. He doesn’t stop being the bird, but it does alter his experience of life significantly.”

She paused to make sure Mack was still tracking. While there was a definite cramp forming in his brain, he voiced an “Okay . . . ?” inviting her to continue.

“Although by nature he is fully God, Jesus is fully human and lives as such. While never losing the innate ability to fly, he chooses moment-by-moment to remain grounded. That is why his name is Immanuel, God with us, or God with you, to be more precise.”

“But what about all the miracles? The healings? Raising people from the dead? Doesn’t that prove that Jesus was God—you know, more than human?”

“No, it proves that Jesus is truly human.”

“What?”

“Mackenzie, I can fly, but humans can’t. Jesus is fully human. Although he is also fully God, he has
never
drawn upon his nature as God to do anything. He has only lived out of his relationship with me, living in the very same manner that I desire to be in relationship with every human being. He is just the first to do it to the uttermost—the first to absolutely trust my life within him, the first to believe in my love and my goodness without regard for appearance or consequence.”

“So, when he healed the blind?”

“He did so as a dependent, limited human being trusting in my life and power to be at work within him and through him. Jesus, as a human being, had no power within himself to heal anyone.”

That came as a shock to Mack’s religious system.

“Only as he rested in his relationship with me, and in our communion—our co-union—could he express my heart and will into any given circumstance. So, when you look at Jesus and it appears that he’s flying, he really is . . . flying. But what you are actually seeing is me; my life in him. That’s how he lives and acts as a true human, how every human is designed to live—out of my life.

“A bird’s not defined by being grounded but by his ability to fly. Remember this, humans are not defined by their limitations, but by the intentions that I have for them; not by what they seem to be, but by everything it means to be created in my image.”

Mack felt the onset of information overload. So he pulled up a chair and just sat down. This would take some time to comprehend. “So does this mean that you were limited when Jesus was on earth? I mean, did you limit yourself only to Jesus?”

“Not at all! Although I have only been limited in Jesus, I have never been limited in myself.”

“There’s that whole Trinity thing, which is where I kind of get lost.”

Papa laughed a long rich belly laugh that made Mack want to join in. She set the little bird down on the table next to Mack, turned to open the oven, and gave the pie that was baking a quick little look. Satisfied that everything was fine, Papa then pulled up a chair alongside them. Mack looked at the little bird who, amazingly, was content to just sit there with them. The absurdity of it all gave Mack a chuckle.

“To begin with, that you can’t grasp the wonder of my nature is rather a good thing. Who wants to worship a God who can be fully comprehended, eh? Not much mystery in that.”

“But what difference does it make that there are three of you, and you are all one God. Did I say that right?”

“Right enough.” She grinned. “Mackenzie, it makes all the difference in the world!” She seemed to be enjoying this. “We are not three gods, and we are not talking about one god with three attitudes, like a man who is a husband, father, and worker. I am one God and I am three persons, and each of the three is fully and entirely the one.”

The “huh?” Mack had been suppressing finally surfaced in all its glory.

“Never mind that,” she continued. “What’s important is this: If I were simply One God and only One Person, then you would find yourself in this Creation without something wonderful, without something essential even. And I would be utterly other than I am.”

“And we would be without . . . ?” Mack didn’t even know how to finish the question.

“Love and relationship. All love and relationship is possible for you
only
because it already exists within Me, within God myself. Love is
not
the limitation; love is the flying. I
am
love.”

As if in response to her declaration the timer dinged and the little bird took off and flew out the window. Watching the Jay in flight took on a whole new level of delight. He turned back to Papa, and just stared at her in wonder. She was so beautiful and astonishing, and even though he was feeling a little lost and even though
The Great Sadness
still attended him, he felt himself settling down somewhat into the safety of being close to her.

“You do understand,” she continued, “that unless I had an object to love—or, more accurately, a someone to love—if I did not have such a relationship within myself, then I would not be capable of love at all? You would have a god who could not love. Or maybe worse, you would have a god who, when he chose, could only love as a limitation of his nature. That kind of god could possibly act without love, and that would be a disaster. And that, is surely
not
me.”

With that, Papa stood up, went to the oven door, pulled out the freshly baked pie, set it on the counter and, turning around as if to present herself, said, “The God who is—the I am who I am—cannot act apart from love!”

Mack knew that what he was hearing, as hard as it was to understand, was something amazing and incredible. It was as if her words were wrapping themselves around him, embracing him and speaking to him in ways beyond just what he could hear. Not that he actually believed any of it. If only it were true. His experience told him otherwise.

“This weekend is about relationship and love. Now, I know you have a lot you want to talk to me about, but right now you’d better go wash up. The other two are on their way in for supper.” She began to walk away, but paused and turned back.

“Mackenzie, I know that your heart is full of pain and anger and a lot of confusion. Together, you and I, we’ll get around to some of that while you’re here. But I also want you to know that there is more going on than you could imagine or understand, even if I told you. As much as you are able, rest in what trust you have in me, no matter how small, okay?”

Mack had lowered his head and was looking at the floor. “She knows,” he thought. Small? His “little” must be barely to the right of none. Nodding agreement, he looked up and noticed again the scars on her wrists.

“Papa?” Mack finally said in a way that felt very awkward, but he was trying.

“Yes, honey?”

Mack struggled for the words to tell her what was in his heart. “I’m so sorry that you, that Jesus, had to die.”

She walked around the table and gave Mack another big hug. “I know you are, and thank you. But you need to know that we aren’t sorry at all. It was worth it. Isn’t that right, son?”

She turned to ask her question of Jesus, who had just entered the cabin. “Absolutely!” He paused and then looked at Mack. “And I would have done it even if it were
only
for you, but it wasn’t!” he said with an inviting grin.

Mack excused himself and found the bathroom, where he washed his hands and his face and tried to collect himself.

7

G
OD ON THE
D
OCK

Let’s pray that the human race never escapes Earth to spread its iniquity elsewhere.

—C. S. Lewis

M
ack stood in the bathroom, looking into the mirror while wiping his face dry with a towel. He was searching for some sign of insanity in those eyes staring back at him. Was this real? Of course not, it was impossible. But then . . . He reached out his hand and slowly touched the mirror. Maybe this was a hallucination being brought on by all his grief and despair. Maybe it was a dream, and he was asleep somewhere, maybe in the shack freezing to death? Maybe . . . Suddenly, a terrible crash broke into his reverie. It came from the direction of the kitchen, and Mack froze. For a moment there was dead silence, and then unexpectedly, he heard uproarious laughter. Curious, he exited the bathroom and poked his head through the doorway of the kitchen. Mack was shocked at the scene in front of him. It appeared that Jesus had dropped a large bowl of some sort of batter or sauce on the floor, and it was everywhere. It must have landed close to Papa because the lower portion of her skirt and bare feet were covered in the gooey mess. All three were laughing so hard that Mack didn’t think they were breathing. Sarayu said something about humans being clumsy and all three started roaring again. Finally, Jesus brushed past Mack and returned a minute later with a large basin of water and towels. Sarayu had already started wiping the goop from the floor and cupboards, but Jesus went straight to Papa and, kneeling at her feet, began to wipe off the front of her clothes. He worked down to her feet and gently lifted one foot at a time, which he directed into the basin where he cleaned and massaged it.