“All I want is some peace of mind, but it’s like . . . I don’t know . . . It just seems like You’re the Judge and Jury and I’m constantly in some kind of perpetual courtroom and always found guilty!” As the words pour from Paul’s mouth, his eyes widen and his heart races. He has officially crossed the line of no return. He looks at God for the first time in these three days with a true sense of fear, and waits.
God just smiles. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Wait . . . What? What do you mean we’re getting somewhere?”
“Paul, I know that the Psalms are your go-to in Bible reading, but have you ever really paid attention to how brutally honest David got with me?”
“Well, yes, I have. But he’s David, for crying out loud! You know, the king, the man after your own heart and all?”
“Yes, but why do you think I would make sure all those struggles and questions were included in My Word? Not just the pretty and encouraging words but the gut-level cries of the soul as well?”
Paul pauses to consider that truth. “I think part of the reason I like to read those chapters is You and David always worked it out somehow, but it doesn’t really seem like You and I are getting anywhere.”
“And there’s your problem, Paul.”
“I’m sorry. What exactly is my problem now?”
“You’ve made salvation into a burden. To you, a relationship with Me is a have-to, not a get-to. Like you’re trying to prove every day that you deserve to receive something that has already been given to you . . . Paul, that has to be exhausting.”
“No, I have not!” As soon as the statement rolls off his tongue, a touch of reality and truth slip through. He quickly adds, “Well, okay . . . maybe some.”
“Paul, salvation is a gift . . . from Me to You. It is personal.”
“Well, that’s not exactly how I remember it being presented to me as a kid in Sunday school class.”
“Well then, please allow Me to clear it up for you now.”
Paul slumps back on the bench, ready for some enlightenment to replace his exhaustion. “Great! Please do.”
“As I have said previously, you are one of My children. As a child, your parents had rules, right?”
Paul plays along, relating quite well to the feelings of a rebellious adolescent in the moment. “Of course, yes.”
“As you grew up, what happened?”
“You mean with my parents?”
“Yes, how did things change for you . . . with your parents?”
“Well, as I got older and showed responsibility and obedience, over time there were fewer rules. Is that what You mean?”
“Yes, exactly. And more freedom too, correct?”
So far, Paul is tracking with God and nods. “Sure.”
“Then do you see the truth here?”
The signal suddenly drops to no-bars as Paul shakes his head. “I’m sorry. No. I don’t . . . Are we still talking about salvation?”
“Okay, let me put it in biblical context.”
Having studied plenty of theology in his university years, Paul is hopeful. “Yeah, okay.”
“In the early days, just as the Torah makes clear, men were wicked.”
“Yes, and that didn’t work out too well for any of them.”
“No, it didn’t for many. And salvation seemed impossible or unattainable at that point. So I gave another opportunity. A new set of rules.”
“You mean what You gave Moses?”
“Yes, that’s right. While the Law was short and simple, still the path to Me was difficult to reach . . . But then everything changed . . . on that night in Bethlehem. The good news arrived. ‘To all people.’ The beginning of a new covenant, a new way. Brought forth and delivered by My Spirit in and through a Person.”
“Yes, but—”
“For example, Moses gave the Ten Commandments,” God continues, “but later as recorded in the New Testament, Jesus only mentions six.”
Calling on his education, Paul says, “Yes, I’m very familiar with the controversy, the debate there.”
God is determined that Paul hears the truth today. “When a young ruler, honestly very much like yourself, asked how a man can inherit eternal life, Jesus said, ‘You know the commandments: You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother.’”
“Yes, I know. I’m familiar.”
“Jesus didn’t recite all ten.”
Paul nods. “Agreed. Again, I know this.”
“The four that deal with man’s relationship to Me? What does that tell you? What should that tell you?”
Maintaining his attitude, Paul jokes, “I’ll assume it’s not a typo or some oversight.”
God smiles. “No, none of that. Think about it, Paul. What’s more likely? That Jesus just forgot four of the Ten Commandments in that setting—or could only recall six in the moment? . . . Or could it be that Jesus knew the world was changing with His coming, that He was changing it, making all things new. He no longer needed to remind My children, His followers, that there is only one true God, and that He is holy.”
“Well, was He right?”
“About what?” God asks.
“About You! Was Jesus right?”
Circling back to Paul’s language test at the beginning of the interview to make the point, God says, “Io sono l’unico vero Dio.” He points to Paul’s list again. “So you can cross that question off your list as well.”
Paul looks down at the pad and reads silently. His demeanor softens, his attitude changes. Quietly, almost as if to himself, he says, “Are You the one true God?”
“And one more thing in that story, Paul, that I want you to see. It goes on to say, ‘Jesus looked at him and loved him.’ The last thing he said to the young man was, ‘Then come, follow me.’ Jesus saw him, He loved him, spoke to him, and invited him to follow.”
Paul nervously rubs his legs, offering a slight smile. “This is all very interesting, but I still don’t see me in everything You’ve said.”
For emphasis, God lifts both hands toward Paul. “Okay, how’s this for a headline: Your life is not an audition for eternity. And if you can stop worrying about that, then you just might have more time for other things . . . like loving one another and living your life with some measure of joy.”
Paul leans forward with his elbows resting on his legs, his expression becoming somber as he looks at the floor. “Yeah. However long that is . . .”
“Paul, I am giving you a great gift.” God speaks sincerely, almost pleading. “A new justification. A new responsibility. But it’s up to you to receive My gift . . . before it is too late.”
Paul’s head snaps up, a look of suspicion covering every inch of his face. The attitude returns as he points an accusing finger at God. “See, right there. You say You’re here to help me, talk about gifts and love, but that kinda sounds like a veiled threat.”
“I prefer the word warning, Paul, but why can’t it be both at the same time? For thousands of years I’ve helped people just like you find your way to Me. Does everyone accept the offer? Well, ask Noah. In fact, ask any of My prophets and disciples. But there is never a real threat, as you call it, without real consequences.”
“So is that it? Are You just here to threaten me? Force me into this gift?”
God shakes His head sadly. “Is that really what you think I’m doing? After all this discussion, you still think that?”
“Well, regardless, I’m hoping for a better outcome than in Noah’s day.”
“Me too, Paul. But back then it took a flood. That was, and still is, my exact point of sending the good news. Now the debt of sin has been paid. The barriers are gone. Now it’s just you and Me . . . in this room.”
Paul realizes his mouth is totally dry and his words seem to be sticking to his tongue. He reaches into his open messenger bag for his water bottle. He turns it up to drink but pulls
it away, looking confused. God stands, reaches over, and pulls the pop-top up for him. Paul’s expression attempts to disguise his embarrassment as he takes a drink.
As God sits back down on the bench, He adds, “Not exactly what comes to mind when you think about divine intervention, is it? But sometimes it really is that simple.”
Paul pauses, thinking. Then with an uncomfortable smile, he changes the subject. “You know, my editor is worried about me. That I might be in danger here.”
God’s face takes on a deeply troubled expression. “Well, I agree with him. I’ve had the same concern.”
“No, he meant danger from You. So . . . am I in danger?”
“Paul, what have we been talking about for the last three days?”
Paul shakes his head in disbelief. “Stop! Please stop!” He stands and starts to pace in a small circle, his anger now starting to boil over.
“I can see you’re upset,” God offers.
“Yes, I’m upset! It’s been three days! What did You think my reaction would be? But You knew that, didn’t You? . . . Didn’t You?”
“Yes, Paul, I did.”
“So You admit it!” he accuses.
Turning the tables yet again, God says, “Honestly, I’m amazed that you lasted this long.”
Paul sighs heavily, shakes his head with a grieved smile, and turns away. He feels like he is literally coming unraveled. All he can say is, “Are You kidding me right now?”
“Paul, you thought you had an interview with the Almighty. Who would believe that story these days? And yet, here you are. Three straight days. Showing up, at the time, at the place, with your questions. Ready to go. And don’t give Me the I-just-thought-it-would-make-a-good-story line. Please.”
“Well, the story was the point.” Paul reaches down and grabs his phone, then turns off the recording app, done with the interview and ready to walk out.
“You’re clearly in the midst of a personal crisis. A first-year psych major could diagnose you. I come along and offer you an interview with God and that’s all it took to get you to agree to this. Really? What does that tell you about yourself?”
“Hey, that is not fair,” Paul protests. “I—”
“Believe Me, I’ve been doing you a favor these past three days,” God interrupts. “I gave you something to think about other than your own life.”
“So this has all been just . . . what? Some elaborate con? You’re playing me? I don’t believe this. Who would do something like this? You told me You were God.”
“That’s right, I did, Paul. But if you didn’t want it to be true, we wouldn’t be here right now, would we?”
Paul is now out of control and fresh out of words. Just then, his phone chimes with an incoming text message, jolting him back to his senses. The moment now broken, he grabs his belongings and throws them in his messenger bag.
“So you’re walking out? You’re going to leave it here?”
Paul gives God a disgusted look while biting his tongue. Then he turns and storms away much as he did from the theatre but with a much shorter walk today. Paul hits the door with his good hand, the one with no cut and bandage. The door flies open and slams into the wall, making a point of a dramatic exit. A little bigger and bolder than the one he displayed yesterday. The door to the room slowly comes back to its resting place.
As Paul storms down the hallway, he remembers the text message. Maybe it’s from Sarah? He stops, taking a moment to gather himself. Then he glances at his phone screen. It’s from Matt. The screen reads: “Dude, am I being punked?”
Paul has no idea what Matt means. He taps the question mark three times and hits send.
Matt responds immediately: “This guy?” A photo pops up—the photo Paul took of God.
Paul types: “Yeah and?”
He’s not at all ready for Matt’s next message: “File says he was an officer who died in Afghanistan twelve years ago.”
Immediately assuming there is some obvious mistake, Paul types: “Don’t understand. U sure?”
Matt responds: “Positive. This a joke, man? Took a real risk to get this intel for you.”
Paul stares at the words on the screen, paralyzed in disbelief. Died in Afghanistan? Twelve years go? There’s no way. How? . . . Why? . . . Then who have I been interviewing?
In a flash of clarity, Paul recalls that he’s only a few steps away from Room 22—where whoever this guy calling himself God is. He didn’t see him come out, so he must still be in the room. “Call u later,” he texts back, then starts into almost a run back to where the interview took place.
20 . . . 21 . . . End of the hall. Room 22. Here it is. Same doors.
Suddenly, Paul hears someone. A woman, mid-twenties, obviously some kind of employee in this mysterious building, is headed toward him with her arms full of files, but her cell phone is out, ready to call security. A mix of concern and fear flashes from the eyes locked on him.
Paul’s racing mind goes into a higher gear. Before she can address him, he smiles, hoping to disarm her. “Hey there.”
“What do you need?” she fires back. “Are you looking for someone?”
He isn’t about to answer that question. Not at all certain what this place is could mean that a truly honest answer might not end well for him. “Hi. Yes, thanks. I am. I was just in this room a few minutes ago at a meeting and left something in there. Hopefully the man I met with hasn’t left yet.”
“You were just in Room 22? Someone was in there? Are you sure it was that room?”
“Uh, yeah, it was in here . . . where the benches and columns and the large windows overlook the city?”
“Ummm, no. I believe this is just a storage room. No one goes in there much.” To prove her point, still clutching the armload of files with her left hand, the lady puts away her phone and pushes on the door. “See? It’s locked up tight. Like I said, no one in there.” Deciding that Paul is cute and harmless, albeit confused, she excuses herself and heads back down the hall.
Paul watches her walk out of sight, then trusting his journalistic tenacity and curiosity, tries the door himself. It opens just as easily for him as the first time. As he steps inside, for only a split second there’s a bright flash of light that quickly dissipates. He stops, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the room. It’s exactly as when he left. But God is standing at the large windows, peering out at the mass of humanity below. To Paul, He’s seemingly unaware of his return, but God has been waiting on him to come back.
Paul breaks the silence. “Who are You?”
God slowly turns around and smiles. “Have a seat, Paul. Let’s talk about it.”
“No. First, You tell me who You are. Who You really are!”
“I really think you should sit down, Paul. You might need to sit down.”
“No! Who . . . are . . . you?”
“Paul, you know who I Am.”
Working to rule out that He is actually God, Paul scans his theological training for other options, and then speculates. “The Prince of Lies? Is that it?”
Looking up with a knowing smile, God answers, “Ah yes, Prince of Lies. Beelzebub. Jesus got that accusation too when the religious leaders didn’t understand who He was . . . and when they didn’t like what He said or did.”
Paul stands in brooding silence.
God tries to reason with him. “Paul, think back over the last three days. Have I told you one single lie? Has anything not felt like the truth to you? Your mind has been spinning with doubts and questions, thinking that so many things were just coincidence, but your heart . . . what did your heart tell you about Me?”
Paul is once again pacing and constantly running his hands through his hair. “That it was true . . . But how? No . . . Oh, I don’t know!”
“Well, son, which is it? Yes, no, or still a not sure?”
“Everything You said could have just been a lie!”
“No, Paul. Every word was true . . . and deep down you know it.”
“Just becaus
e You told me You were God!”
“Yes.”
“The God?” Paul hammers the emphasis.
“That’s right.”
Deciding its time for a showdown, Paul takes his phone out and shows God the texts from Matt. “Well, bad news. According to my friend at the NSA, You are dead!”
“I understand, but sometimes, Paul, like I told you before, that’s just how it looks. How things appear to be. As you said yourself—the cloud, fire, burning bush. Or, in your case, a serviceman lost in battle years ago. I appear and speak in forms my children can relate to. I promise you, this is very much Me and I am very much alive.”
Paul keeps pacing in an ever-smaller circle, trying to reconcile everything he’s hearing. A case of classic human denial seems the right choice. “I never should’ve agreed to this interview. Never!”
Once again, as He has multiple times, God reminds Paul why this is happening at all. “Then why did you even reach out to Me? You contacted Me, remember?”
“What? No! No, I didn’t!”
Calmly, gently, God reminds him, “But you did.”
“What are You talking about? You contacted me! Three days. Three interviews. Three locations of your choosing!”
“Yes, Paul, correct. But how . . . how did I do that? How did you know?”
“What? What are you asking me?”
“How did I contact you? Did I call you? Text? A letter? Was it an email? Post? Direct message? . . . Snapchat? How? Think about it.”
Paul suddenly stops pacing. His mind is scanning through the past several days. “It was . . . You sent me . . . No, I remember. I got a . . .” The realization starts to sink in. The truth sweeps over him.
“The choice was yours, Paul. All yours. Think about it. The park where you went with your father as a child? The theatre where your mom worked? And now, on the final day, a place where we’re completely alone. Just you and Me. No one knows where we are . . . You prayed. I spoke to you and You heard My voice. Every time.”
“No. This isn’t possible,” Paul whispers to himself. “It’s not real. This can’t possibly be happening.”
“But it is, Paul. This is very real. So why don’t you sit down and let’s keep talking? I’m here to help you.”
An Interview with God Page 10
