Journey From Heaven

by Joe Derkacht

  #

  I took my place upon Fair Ranar’s throne and waited for the Mah. Flanking me on either side were hundreds of angels, chief among them Leanhar and those who had assisted me throughout our centuries of labors in making this a cathedral world. Their ranks grew with every passing moment. Someone had spread the news: today was Ranar’s Day of Days. Looking skyward, I could see constant flashes in the starry heavens, signaling the arrival of more and more visitors through our closest interstellar portals. If the Mah were to look, with their limited vision, even they might see them, though whether they would interpret them as portents or as anomalies peculiar to Ranar’s star system, I didn’t know.

  Leanhar was on my immediate right. Standing nearest him were the giant Bo’el and his assistants. To my left stood a gate guardian, the very same giant who met Leanhar and me in the wood between worlds, or perhaps more properly, the Wood Between Epochs.

  I had long since learned his name—Tios’il-ak’el, which in one of the angelic tongues means “fierce eagle of God.” The meaning is somewhat akin to Leanhar’s extended name, which is yet another angelic tongue. Tios, as I privately thought of him, seemed to have a calming influence on Bo’el, whose patience had worn thin as the day progressed— What did I, as Steward of Ranar, plan to do? Had the M’hah (he had not yet condescended to calling them Mah) met my expectations, or were they to return to P’nar as unenlightened as when they had begun over 5,000 years ago? Had he, Bo’el, failed in his guardianship? What would YHWH think of him? What did I think of him?

  He had not actually asked any of those questions aloud. Instead, everything about him had said them for him—his stance, the nervous flutter of his wings, the pleading look in his eyes.

  Tios’ sudden appearance at my side changed all of that. Without a word between the two of them, Bo’el settled down. Glances between angels, and subtle movements of their wings and the consequent music of their feathers, can speak volumes, if they desire. But nothing of that passed between them. It seemed the gate guardian’s presence and obvious familiarity were all that Bo’el needed for reassurance; if he approved of me, then I must be okay.

  New arrivals, especially of the Redeemed, put in their appearance every few moments. Many were intimately familiar to me, men and women I’d known from the old life, along with those I knew from the Pergamum Branch of Overcomers: hosts of others I would come to know in due time, as the eternal ages unrolled. Sam Draper, along with a handful of Overcomers from the Philadelphia Branch, represented the Holy Names. Even Shen Li, Associate Chief Historian of the Overcomers, a member of Smyrna Branch, was in attendance. At their presence, the mountaintop scintillated like an open treasure chest of diamonds under bright sunlight. Soon, the growing numbers of angelic spirits and glorified men and women required multitudes of them to stand above the mountain in serried ranks.

  Only the presence of the One would have added to the glory of that august assemblage. I looked for Him, hoping to see Him, even while His indwelling presence shone through every eye turned in my direction.

  As I watched and waited, something darted through the trees, momentarily startling me. An orange bundle of fur launched itself toward me and landed in my lap. Fortunately, his claws could no longer harm me.

  “Ferd!” I cried. “What are you doing here?” I glanced at Leanhar for answer, and was rewarded with his amused smile. Every eye turned toward Ferd, and every eye reflected the same amusement, as he nuzzled my shoulder and purred contentedly.

  Ferd didn’t answer my question directly, for which I was grateful: though I know some people have taught their pets rudimentary speech, I never liked the idea of an animal forever declaring to me, “I love you I love you I love you I love you!”—inevitably followed by, “Feed me feed me feed me!” Somehow, it would not have fit my idea of the heavenly realm.

  His sudden appearance here reminded me of the summons delivered to the Mah by Cielo. Dispersed across Ranar in their survey of the planet, the disparate groups of the Mah had received a summons to the mountain, all right. But Cielo, my Cielo, that is, hadn’t known anything about it, and certainly could not converse in M’hah. He spoke barely a thousand words in English. As with Cielo, Ferd’s presence must be part of the plan being worked out by the Spirit. As for the unfolding of that plan, I would have to wait like everyone else.

  Perhaps two minutes later, the first of the Mah appeared through the trees. Kaniik the Impetuous. It was a title that would stay with him forever. No sooner had he seen the throne than he threw up one arm over his eyes. Undoubtedly the strong sunlight, flashing from the green gemstone and the surrounding streams of rock gold, did blind him momentarily. As for the glory of the assembled Redeemed and of the angels, as well as the glory of this place, itself, he was ignorant, even if stray beams should seep through his subconscious; as yet, I had not deemed it proper to unveil ourselves.

  Eleven others followed, handpicked by myself and their own angelic escort, Wuanta among them, chief of their Uruff-fas, which is like saying “prince of princes.” Nuor and Orda, who had led the way to the mountain that first time, timidly brought up the rear. They, least of all, seemed to know what to expect, yet at the same time feared what they expected.

  The Twelve Mah linked arms. No one watched them more keenly than I, unless it was Bo’el, who kept on casting sidelong glances at me as the Mah advanced. Studiously avoiding the cherub’s path of beauteous stone, they advanced in my direction. Less than a hundred yards separated them from the throne.

  Tears ran down some of their faces. Others sang out melodies. All of them smiled and burbled with laughter; as in the Heavenly City, they were experiencing the cascading joy of the presence of the Redeemed. Peals of laughter and rejoicing broke from the ranks of the surrounding assembly of the unseen. Because of their near proximity to those who had drunk uninterruptedly from the Fountain of Life and Joy since Resurrection Day, the Mah were more intoxicated than they would have been from strong drink.

  An hour passed. Though the way was steep, even the Mah should have negotiated the rising terrain in a few short minutes. Instead, they had come little more than halfway. Considering all their weaving and stumbling about, advanced might be a misnomer.

  The pavement narrowed dramatically as it approached Ranar’s throne. Still, for them to stand directly before me, they would have to once again set foot on the path they seemed intent on avoiding. Here, whether to Mah eyes or to the eyes of the Redeemed, the pavement was dazzlingly bright, surpassed only by the brightness of the throne to which it led.

  Mumbling among themselves in an impromptu th-th-rak-rakim, they teetered, both from intoxication and from indecision, at its edge for several minutes. Did they dare? Was this where the beasts and avians had run, somehow mysteriously vanishing once they reached it? They saw no other road, no way past, unless one were an avian. How could their mounts and their fellow creatures have returned to the world below without being seen? Had they been annihilated? Although an unfathomable concept to them, faced with what they saw here, there didn’t seem to be any other explanation.

  How little they knew of the mountain. How little they knew of Ranar and my creatures. Did they think they had learned everything in the few short months of their sojourn? They had seen and smelled its trees and flowers, eaten of the abundant produce, drunk from and swum its rivers and lakes, and ridden to the peak of Mt. Fe—mere scratches of the surface, little better than the survey photographs they’d taken from space before landing. What, I wondered, would they think, when finally allowed to see what lay hidden behind the mountain’s twin waterfalls?

  Even less could they understand of the Redeemed or the Redeemer, whose throne I sat upon.

  “Wait until they see the Lion of the Tribe of Judah!” Someone shouted, drawing ripples of laughter from the great, unseen assembly.

  The Mah were squinting their eyes at the throne through splayed fingers. This time, as they pointed in agitation
, it wasn’t at the throne; it was at Ferd who sat beside me, purring contentedly.

  Teetering no more, they stumbled onto the pavement and fell to their knees. Ferd had helped them to make their decision. Ferd or creatures like him, it seemed, were familiar to them. Having fallen before the throne, they looked up dazedly and cried out with one single voice—before fainting dead away.

  As I stared at these poor creatures of flesh who, except for their state of innocence, were not terribly far removed from what I had once been, the heavens above us flashed brightly. A Door opened and the skies filled with strong music, music as heady as the finest vintage of Heaven’s wines, presaging the arrival of Heaven’s Lord and Master, Jesus, King of All Universes. Angels preceded Him, then a vast throng of the Redeemed (most of them from the Philadelphia Branch of Overcomers), two mighty cherubs, and then Jesus Himself, followed by an equal throng of Heavenly citizens.

  Before I could rise and prostrate myself before Him, He stood on the pavement, in the very midst of the Mah. The display of His glory was as great as any I’d ever seen in the courts of Heaven. The very air changed texture, with waves of electricity crackling around Him. I felt as dumbstruck as I’d ever felt on old earth.

  He glanced down at the Mah with a smile, and then at me.

  “Treat them with kindness, Steward John Raventhorst, Vice-Regent of Ranar, for it is my face you show to them.”

  I was too stunned to respond. In the next instant, He sat down in the throne beside me and placed a scepter in my hand. I had seen many like it over the years—clear as glass but made of iron—the symbol of rule and authority most often given to the Sardis Branch of Overcomers. He held up my scepter hand and extended my arm toward one of the attending cherubs, the same gesture Moses had used in parting the Red Sea.

  The cherub took out a scroll from his robes, unrolled it, and read from its contents to the assembled multitude. His voice shook the heavens like the seven thunders. To this day I recall no more than the gist of his words, which shook me as much as his voice ever could. I, John Raventhorst, Ranar’s steward, was now Vice-Regent John Raventhorst, with Ranar itself declared capital of the Sombrero Galaxy and a sub-capital of the universe. Here, like on earth, would dwell the Master’s glory more than any other place in the galaxy. Here, the galaxy’s far flung peoples would have their greatest revelation of the face of God made known to them. Here, those who were worthy would come to learn more of Him. And from here, some of them would one day journey on to visit the New Earth and see the New Jerusalem.

  Like a dream, the moment passed and I found myself sitting alone on Ranar’s throne. Could it be? Or was it all a dream, a fantastic hallucination? In my hand was the iron scepter. It flashed with the brightness of lightning. I glanced up, saw the assembled multitude, fell to my knees on the pavement, raised my hands to the heavens, and shouted praises. All around me, the others knelt, too, angels as well as redeemed men and women, and sang and shouted until the mountain rang like church bells.