The Oracle

by Jonathan Cahn

  He was quiet after that, as was I, until I finally broke the silence.

  “So is this the final piece of the puzzle?”

  He paused before responding.

  “There is one more,” he said.

  “And which piece is that?”

  “The piece around which every other revolves and falls into its place.”

  “Which piece?”

  “The last piece,” he said, “the mystery of the age.”

  “And what was it?”

  “It was that which all the Jubilees were leading up to . . . the mystery of the end.”

  “And how was it shown to you?”

  “Through a vision in which all the other visions came home.”

  Chapter 60

  THE LAST PIECE

  I RETURNED TO the Oracle’s tent at midday. He was sitting on an ornately decorated cushion of gold and azure. He motioned for me to join him. So I did, taking my seat on a cushion of gold and crimson. He turned to his left to retrieve a small stool-like table of sand-colored stone. On its surface was a large assortment of colored glass pieces.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “A puzzle.”

  “Of what?”

  “Put it together,” he said, “and you’ll see.”

  It took me most of an hour to put it all together. I expected that it would have the feel of a stained-glass window, but it more closely resembled an ancient mosaic.

  “What do you see?” asked the Oracle.

  “A sandal . . . as in the visions.”

  “And so it is.”

  “The last time we were together, you spoke of a missing piece around which all the other pieces revolve. Is it one of these pieces?”

  “No,” he replied. “The missing piece is the puzzle itself . . . a puzzle of mysteries within mysteries.”

  “The missing piece around which everything centers is a sandal?”

  “What is it that the mystery centers on?”

  “Return.”

  “And what is the return based on?”

  “On the departure, the loss.”

  “And what does the departure center on?”

  “On the land of Israel,” I replied, “and Jerusalem.”

  “And when did the departure begin?”

  “Two thousand years ago.”

  “Yes, the departure of the Jewish people from the land and the city in AD 70. But that followed an earlier departure, that of the disciples, and the going out of the faith from the same land and city. Could there have been another?”

  “Another departure?”

  “Yes, before all the others, a departure from which all the other departures proceed and around which they all revolve. Could all the departures have begun with one? And if so, where would it have taken place?”

  “From Jerusalem?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it would have to have been a departure from Jerusalem. But it would have had to have taken place before that of the Jewish people and that of the disciples.”

  “That’s what the sandal represents . . . that departure.”

  “Yes.”

  “The sandal belonged to whom?”

  “The Messiah.”

  “The missing piece is the sandal of the Messiah?”

  “The missing piece is the Messiah. He’s the missing piece of everything . . . and the centerpiece. Everything revolves around him . . . the world, history, the counting of years, and the marking of every human event . . . The entire age revolves around the Messiah . . . and his departure.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “At the end of the gospel account, after the resurrection, he stands on the Mount of Olives with his disciples. After charging them to go forth to the world as his witnesses, he’s taken away . . . taken up into the heavenlies. The event will be known as the ascension.

  “It was the first departure, that from which all the others begin. And what was it that He departed from? The land of Israel and the city of Jerusalem. Everything else will follow. If Messiah departs from Jerusalem . . . ”

  “Then everything will depart from Jerusalem . . . the disciples, the faith, the church . . . ”

  “And the Jewish people, the nation of Israel. Messiah is the King of Israel, and a nation must follow its king.”

  “Even if it doesn’t follow its king?”

  “It still follows. If the king departs, so too must the kingdom, so too must his people. The age begins with the departure of the King from Jerusalem . . . and then his people.”

  “But what’s the connection between Messiah’s departure and the Jubilee?”

  “The Jubilee involves the separation of what?”

  “The ancestral possession from the one to whom it belongs.”

  “And to whom does the land of Israel belong?”

  “To the nation of Israel.”

  “Ultimately to the King of Israel, the Messiah. And to whom does the city of Jerusalem belong?”

  “To the Messiah?”

  “Yes, to the King. Jerusalem is the city of his throne. The Jubilean mysteries begin with separation. So the first separation of the age, and that from which the others come, is the separation of the King from the kingdom, from his land and his royal city.”

  “And from his people?”

  “Yes, his people. The Jewish people are his first possession. And Messiah is first the possession of the Jewish people. The one belongs to the other. But for two thousand years the one has been separated from the other, Messiah from his people, and the Jewish people from their Messiah.”

  “The sandal,” I said, “as his feet leave the land, so the feet of his people must leave the same land.”

  “Yes, and so begin the days of separation, for the Jewish people and for the Messiah. It was all there in the Hebrew Scriptures. The prophets foretold that the Messiah would be cut off from his people, and yet he would become a light to the nations.” 1

  “So it’s the mother of all departures and all separations.”

  “Of the age, yes. Messiah departs Jerusalem, and so does everything else . . . each to the ends of the earth. And through each of these departures a stream of countless repercussions have poured into the world. In this way alone the Jubilean mysteries have determined the history of the world.”

  “But there’s still a missing piece,” I said, “without which they aren’t the Jubilean mysteries.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “The return,” I replied. “Each shall return to his own possession. Therefore the Messiah has to return to his own possession. If he left the nation of Israel, then he has to return to the nation of Israel. And if he departed from Jerusalem, then he has to return there.”

  “Yes,” said the Oracle, “and it was all foretold from the beginning, on the Mount of Olives, in the midst of his departure:

  And while they looked steadfastly toward heaven as He went up, behold, two men stood by them in white apparel, who also said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will so come in like manner as you saw Him go into heaven.” 2

  “And so too was it foretold in the Hebrew Scriptures:

  And in that day His feet will stand on the Mount of Olives . . . 3

  “In all of world history there was only one who departed from the Mount of Olives. And thus only one can return there.”

  “The two sandals I saw on the mountain, one in each vision . . . they were had to do with the two comings of Messiah.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the second one was of gold because the second time He comes as King. The first sandal was of the departure, and the second, of the return.”

  “Yes,” said the Oracle, “it is from the one departure that come all other departures. And it is to the one return that all the other returns proceed. To that return all the other returns are heading.”

  “So then all the Jubilean mysteries, all the Jubilean years and events that led to the return
of Israel, they’re all ultimately leading up to the ultimate return . . . the return of Messiah.”

  “Yes, the return of the Jewish people, the return of Israel, the return of Jerusalem, the return of the church, of Rome, of Masada, of the Israeli farmers, of the Israeli soldiers, of the Jewish disciples, and all the other returns . . . all of them are leading up to the ultimate return.

  “It is the ultimate reversal of the Jubilee. He left the land, so then did the Jewish people. But in the reverse the Jewish people return to the land that he might likewise return. The King must be restored to the kingdom, and the kingdom to the King . . . the mystery of the age.”

  “And that’s why I saw them all coming, the people of Israel and the people from the visions all gathering together up to the mountain. It was the final homecoming.”

  “The return of all things,” said the Oracle.

  “Does ‘all things’ include more than what you just shared?”

  “He departed not only from the city but from the world itself. It’s the world that is the ultimate possession . . . of him to whom it belongs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “To whom does the world, the creation, belong?”

  “To God?”

  “And in that is the ultimate mystery and the ultimate Jubilee . . . the mystery that begins with the separation of God and the creation. It is from that separation that come all the other separations, before and beyond that of Israel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is from the separation between the Creator and the creation. From that separation comes all loss, all sorrows, all other separations, all pains, all evils, all darkness. But . . . in the Jubilee all is restored. And so God will return to the world, and the world to God. Thus at the very end of the Bible it is written, ‘The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Messiah . . . ’” 4

  “It’s the final transference,” I said, “the final transference of ownership.”

  “And ‘the Lord shall reign over all the earth.’ 5 And ‘they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.’ 6 And the lion shall lay down with the calf. And peace will cover the earth. And all things will be as they were meant to be from the beginning . . . as in the Jubilee. All things will return to their own possession.”

  The Oracle then lifted the stone table and the puzzle of colored glass and returned it to the place from which he had earlier retrieved it. He was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke.

  “And yet . . . there is still more.”

  “I don’t understand. How could there be anything more after the end?”

  “But there is,” he said, “just as there’s more of Heaven above the clouds. You have yet to uncover the Jubilee’s final mystery.”

  “Is that . . . ?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it is that which lies behind the seventh door.”

  “I don’t understand either. If he showed you the end, what could possibly come after that?”

  “Only that which comes after the end.”

  “But if it comes after the end, then the end isn’t the end.”

  “I know. It’s a paradox. But behind the seventh door was the mystery that went beyond everything else, beyond every border, beyond the limits of the mystery . . . and to the Jubilee beyond the Jubilee.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That which transcends the Jubilee . . . and yet fulfills it . . . the last Jubilee . . . the most cosmic and yet the most personal . . . and the meaning of it all.”

  “So the seventh door opened to . . . ”

  “The ultimate mystery.”

  THE SEVENTH DOOR

  Chapter 61

  THE SEVENTH DOOR

  I WAS STANDING in front of the seventh door. I was more apprehensive about opening that door than all the others that had preceded it. I couldn’t imagine what was waiting on the other side or what more there could possibly be that hadn’t already been revealed. I turned the key and opened it. What I saw upon opening it surprised me more than anything I had seen upon opening the other six. There was no mountain, no wilderness, and no landscape. I found myself in a room. It was night. There was a crib against the wall, and a baby in the crib.”

  “Why did that surprise you more than anything else?”

  “Because it was my room.”

  “Your room?”

  “The room of my first home, my first room. And the baby in the crib, it was me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. And the baby was crying. And then I saw the ram, a ram of pure white, standing not far from the crib and gazing at the baby. Around the ram’s neck was a chain, from which hung a pendant of pure white. On the pendant, as with all the other pendants, was a symbol that matched that which was on the seventh door. The ram turned its gaze toward me, then walked out the doorway. I followed it. Suddenly I found myself standing in a field on a warm summer day. I saw a little boy lying on the grass, looking up at the clouds. It was again me, now as a little boy.”

  “Do you remember ever doing that, lying there, and what you were thinking?”

  “I do. I remember wondering if there was a Heaven and what it was like. And then I saw the ram on the grass in the distance. It turned its gaze in my direction, then walked out the opening in the fence. I followed it. Suddenly I was standing in a playground on a cold, windy day. There was a boy by himself, leaning against the fence with his eyes closed.”

  “And it was you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember it?”

  “Yes. I was praying to God at that moment, asking Him, ‘Why?’ Then I saw the ram walking through the playground and heading to the gate in the fence. I followed it out. The ram was leading me through varied scenes and moments of my childhood, and then of my teenage years, and of my adulthood, and of my life.”

  “What was the connection? What was it that connected all the scenes and moments together?”

  “In every scene I was seeking or asking . . . or crying out or questioning . . . or searching . . . or wondering . . . or longing . . . That was the thread running through all of them. I followed the ram through each scene and moment until I found myself back in the wilderness.”

  “In the vision?”

  “Yes, still in the vision, but as if it were reality, as if I were in the present moment. The ram was now in front of me, looking directly into my eyes. Then it turned away but didn’t move. It knew it was waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “For me to get on its back. So I did. It took me through the wilderness. And then the city on the mountain appeared in the distance.”

  “Jerusalem.”

  “Yes, just as in my other visions. We ascended the mountain, approached the city walls, and entered through its gate. But that’s where things took a different path.

  “As we moved through the streets, I felt a strange sensation, as if the road had been pulled away from under me. I looked down. We were flying. And the ram was now radiant, otherworldly, and winged. The streets receded beneath us and then its buildings as we kept ascending higher and higher and higher and finally into a cloud.

  “It was when we emerged from the cloud that I saw it . . . a city of dazzling radiant light. I had never seen or imagined anything so majestic or beautiful. The ram took me through the gate, through the streets, and to a river of water unlike any water I had ever seen. I dismounted and just stood there taking it all in.

  “Everything was saturated in radiance and permeated with an overwhelming and tangible presence of peace, love, and awe. I couldn’t describe what I was seeing or hearing or feeling except that I knew it was the presence of God and that I had never experienced anything like it.

  “It was then that I noticed some sort of being standing to my right. The light around me was so bright that I couldn’t tell anything beyond the fact that it was a being, that it
was standing to my right, and that its brightness matched the intensity of the surroundings. And then it spoke in a voice that was something like that of a man.

  “‘Do you know where you are?’ he asked.

  “‘No.’

  “‘You are in the place where the mystery ends . . . and begins . . . and always is.’

  “‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

  “‘It is here,’ he said, ‘that each returns to his own possession.’”

  Chapter 62

  THE FINAL MYSTERY

  IT WAS THE first time the boy came so early to wake me up, a long time before the dawn.”

  “How did he wake you?”

  “He whistled. He just kept whistling outside my tent until I woke up. I quickly put on some clothes and followed him. I didn’t recognize the way, but I couldn’t tell if it was because it was actually unfamiliar or because I could barely see it. But the darkness had little effect on the boy, who kept up a brisk pace with no hint of any hesitation. He knew exactly where he was going. We journeyed for some time until we came to a high mountain, higher than any of the mountains I had ascended during my time in the wilderness. He led me up one of its steep trails. We walked partway and climbed the rest.”

  “Still in the dark?”

  “Yes. And beyond how dark it was, there was a cloud just below the mountain’s pinnacle. So as we ascended the mountain heights, we found ourselves inside a mist that made it nearly impossible to see anything that wasn’t immediately in front of us. Still, the boy seemed unfazed by it all. I stayed as close to him as I could.

  “It was only after we emerged from the cloud that I saw the first traces of twilight. We approached the mountain’s summit. And that’s when I saw him.”

  “The Oracle.”

  “Yes, sitting on a rock. It was much the same as when I saw him for the first time, except the mountain now was higher, and below us was a cloud. And as in the beginning he motioned for me to sit on a rock opposite that on which he was sitting. So I did.”