Journey From Heaven

by Joe Derkacht

  Episode Fourteen

  A planet is never finished. I can say that because Ranar is not the first I have had the privilege of helping to transform from bare bones or wild jungle. Like the restoration of a rambling old house, something always remains to be done, added or taken away, improved or rethought. The Creator Himself pronounced His creation good and then placed the first Adam in the Garden to see what improvements he would make. From experience, I know that the never-changing God still does the same, and as one of His sons, I strive to emulate Him.

  Originally, before Sam Draper’s visit I thought my work on Ranar could be completed within a decade, though I suspected a hundred years was more likely. The passing of that hundred years, with work still to be done, came as no real surprise, either, and my joy in the work, though the prospect of finishing was joy in itself, could not be diminished. Until I should be called to some other planet or was told in my visits Home that my work was done, my labors upon Ranar would continue.

  I was again upon the same lofty mountain where Sam Draper had delivered his summons from YHWH the Almighty. Standing beside me, his wings outstretched in a breeze, the broad shouldered Leanhar looked with stern satisfaction upon Ranar’s vast panorama of hills, forests, and lakes. As for me, I sat on a seat of naturally formed granite, contemplating my next move as if I were matching wits against a great chess master—which is very much what transforming a wild planet is like. While the first moves are colossally important, with everything to follow building upon them, the final moves can determine failure or perfection. As anyone knows, crowning touches must be considered carefully.

  This went on for days. As he had done in my former life (then it had been invisibly and completely without my knowledge), faithful Leanhar came and went, his keen, deep eyes surveying my countenance for commands or questions. The birds flew overhead, whistling their majestic choruses, sometimes landing beside me in great flocks, with Cielo and his mate in attendance, venturing upon a new work dedicated to the Great Father of us all, or perhaps instead leading a serenade to me, Steward and Master of Ranar. Cielo, who had learned some English in order to occasionally sing words to the praises he fluted, was teaching more and more of his charges his newfound communication skills.

  Among Ranar’s other beasts, many of my visitors were from the centii and millii, whose multitude of feet enabled them to “out-mountain” any of earth’s mountain goats, no matter how sheer the cliffs. These often hosted birds upon their lengthy backs and thumped the ground with their paws or clapped them like we clap our hands, drumming out the beat to any song or even creating a complicated, musical beat of their own strangely as satisfying as most any musical composition. Alone, the centii or millii could shake a mountain by their tramping; I still often made use of the skill of their paws in breaking rock from Ranar’s quarries for my building projects.

  But building was not now upon my mind. Finishing was. For that, I decided I needed the advice of an old friend. I turned to Leanhar, who was, as always, in the right place at the right time. He looked into my eyes with the attentiveness angels are famous for.

  “Leanhar, I just wish—” I didn’t complete those words—not yet. A star had appeared over the horizon, startling me into speechlessness: as though a door had opened in space and was pouring forth light from the New Jerusalem, it traveled straight for us instead of rising higher in the sky with Ranar’s rotation. Leanhar gaped as well at the sight. It reminded me of another star, a star which had once announced the birth of the Redeemer and led the Magi on their journey to the Holy Family. This one, like that star of long ago, was neither mere star nor planet nor wandering comet. Both Leanhar and I recognized him as one of those who attended Heaven’s throne in eternal vigilance.

  Ranar was to be graced by the presence of a cherub, one of the Four Living Beasts, as John had called them in Revelation. While it had been a rare occasion for a member of one of the Holy Names Branch to appear outside of the holiest precincts of the New Jerusalem, as Sam Draper had once done in visiting Ranar, it was rarer still to see a cherub apart from the manifest presence of God. Even knowing God’s manifest presence is ever enthroned in Jerusalem, upon recognizing the distinctive glory of a cherub, we naturally looked to see if another, greater Presence was to follow.

  Instead, as the cherub hovered over Ranar like a second sun, several of his lesser angelic attendants flew to meet us. I had risen to my feet in my astonishment, and continued standing to exchange greetings. Two of the angels were like Leanhar, closely resembling men but for their greater height and their mighty pinions; two resembled birds, one an eagle and another an owl, though both were a brilliant snow-white with eyes of molten gold; and three resembled the race of old earth’s dragon flies, not terribly different from Ranar’s own insect life and metallically colored like many of her birds.

  Per usual, they addressed Leanhar first, and he turned to me with their greetings and their request. Was I, Steward John Raventhorst of Fair Ranar, willing to meet with the cherub here upon this mountain? Though I wondered privately at the import of his visit, my ecstatic reply sent them winging skyward without delay.

  Leanhar and I exchanged glances, my own deep sense of wonderment, of appreciation, of sublimely felt honor, reflected in his eyes. I think I had never seen him smile more broadly or effulgently.

  Seconds later, the cherub came down, the noise of his descent, the beating of his wings, like that of thundering rocket engines. Beside him came his attendants, their glory like mere fireflies circling a bonfire. His feet straddled the mountain peak, as he looked down upon us from his great height. As any citizen of Jerusalem knows, it is not the cherub’s six wings that impress one, though they are more impressive than any angel’s. It is not their four, perfect faces—one a cherub or ox, one a man, one an eagle, one a lion. It is not their countless eyes, intensely intelligent and searching, every one of them visible through the glorious, transluminescent wings and body. It is not their mighty legs and hoofed feet. Especially, it is not their great height that is so impressive, though they are easily taller than any ten or fifteen of old earth’s antediluvian giants. Nor is it that one sometimes spies what Ezekiel called “the whirling wheels” in attendance upon them, which stand eighteen feet above the head of the tallest man. It is their chabod that makes them impressive, the gravity of their presence, more massive than the mountain upon which we stood.

  How could it be otherwise? The Four Living Creatures are imbued with holiness and glory from standing in the presence of the Almighty since before the foundations of the first universe. Moses’ face, shining with God’s glory from a mere forty days spent upon Mt. Sinai in the Presence, had struck men with fear.

  If I were a mere man, I certainly would have fallen before the cherub in helpless prostration. But as a blood-washed, transfigured son of man, I too have the privilege of standing before the very throne of Yahweh, and of bowing at His feet in worship, and the privilege of sitting enthroned with the Eternal Son.

  To see this one here, though, on Ranar, one of the Four Living Creatures—! He certainly noticed my astonishment. How could he not? Among created beings, none see further and deeper and more searchingly and with greater comprehension than the cherubim, among whom the fallen, nameless prince himself was once numbered.

  Mightier than thunder, more powerful than Niagara, his voice shook the mountain to its roots. Mortal flesh would have been flayed from the skeleton by the sheer energy behind his words; indeed, instinctively fearing for their safety, my wards, from birds to centii and millii, had wisely fled the heights at his approach, as if some terrifying force of nature was about to fall upon them.

  Cherubim are much, much more, than a force of nature, though to the undiscerning eye they might even appear as an onrushing tornado. No mortal could endure speech with a cherub, much less comprehend his words. One might as well attempt to parse thunder or the roar of a cataract.

  Even most immortals have not
had the privilege of conversing with cherubim, something I was keenly aware of, since this was in fact the first time for me. When he spoke, the thunderous voice was accompanied by a vision of what he meant to do.

  In astonishment, joy, and exultation, Leanhar and I fell away from both mountain and planet, as though catapulted from the cherub’s presence, until we breached Ranar’s upper atmosphere. I heard the stars singing in concert with a glad chorus of angels who, unbeknownst to me, had gathered from throughout the galaxy as witnesses to what God wished accomplished upon the planet, and hung beyond us like bright clouds in their attendance.

  Below, on Ranar, clouds like I had never seen since the days of old earth swirled from every corner of the globe, advancing like nightfall, filled and punctuated with starbursts of lightning. Dark, impenetrable heap piled upon dark, impenetrable heap atop Ranar’s highest mountain and the cherub who presided over her.

  Visions passed through my mind of my centii and millii, of Cielo and Ciela and their children, of my innumerable flocks and herds, avian and terrestrial, of Brontonella and her kind, and my beloved trees. What was to become of them? Was Ranar to be unmade by the cherub? Were all to perish in a total refashioning? Was my work, more than five thousand years’ effort, to be wiped out to satisfy the Divine whim? Had I erred, failed, fallen short, sinned against Heaven?

  Like all unworthy thoughts, these too faded even more quickly than they had flashed through my mind. Sin no longer intrudes upon God’s clean universe or in the hearts of His children, less so among those redeemed by the blood of the Lamb—nor can it ever do so again. Neither is anything wrought by a cherub or any angel conceivably evil. Once, though the memory comes with difficulty, some claimed to be destroyers of worlds, even arrogating the title, Destroyer of Worlds, to themselves. But the destroyers are themselves destroyed, suffering eternal destruction outside the New Heavens and New Earth. Why spiritual powers prided themselves in destruction is incomprehensible to me; as someone wrote long ago in the old world, the spoiled brat, flaming matchstick in hand, cannot compare to the builder of bright mansions. How had those who once dwelt in light sunk into the dark quagmire of evil and depravity, preferring lies to truth, choosing sly murderer over Lifegiver? I, of course, like all the redeemed, know or am aware of the story and their reasons. Finding them comprehensible, though, mercifully remains outside of my grasp. Those cast from heaven are not missed, and if they were once mourned, mourning over them ceased long prior to my arrival upon the shores of light.

  Upon Fair Ranar, far from the Milky Way and its capital, the cherub did his work. At last, pinpricks of light appeared, followed quickly by great fountains shooting skyward from the mountain, scattering the cover of darkness, with clouds receding, boiling away to nothingness. To cherub, like to God, the darkness is not dark, but as light. My mountains, my trees, my lakes, rivers, and falls began to reappear, the entire planet rejoicing under Ranar’s star and more importantly with the Shekinah of the Presence. As the beloved brother Paul wrote, glory differs from star to star, and it’s no different among the planets. While no planet will ever possess the glory of the Earth (crowned as it is by the Enthroned Presence), it seemed as though Ranar was now in a class little removed from it.

  Leanhar and I dove toward the mountain, where the cherub awaited us. A semi-circle of tall trees, I saw, were behind my granite chair, except the granite chair was no longer dark stone, nor was it merely a chair. Fittingly, it had been transformed into a throne, an emerald throne clearer than glass, shining as if from the rays of the morning sun. On the slopes below the throne (slopes now equally transformed from granite to stone that looked like jade gleaming with gold) fell living waters reminiscent of the waters that flow from the throne of God in Heaven.

  The cherub’s thousand eyes searched me.

  I asked, though I am not sure if it was by the Spirit or in words, “Is He coming here?” I meant the Savior, Elder Brother, the only begotten Son who Himself is sometimes called Eternal Father. Was He to now visit Ranar? Surely this throne, so like Heaven’s throne, was fit for Him, King of Kings, Lord of Lords.

  The cherub’s eyes, his full attention, seemed already elsewhere, as though he was no longer aware of my presence or perhaps even of Ranar. One of the attending angels answered for him.

  “Well done, Steward John. The Father is pleased with your faithful service.”

  “But will He—?” I asked, seeing Him seated upon Ranar’s throne, His eyes gazing upon the work of my hands. But I had momentarily forgotten. His eyes are everywhere, just as He is. He was watching us even now. That is why from the instant of the new birth I have never been alone, though in the Old World I seldom felt like it.

  “He will take this seat in due time,” the eagle and the owl patiently spoke in unison. “But you do remember the promise, don’t you?”

  The three jewel-like dragonflies hovered in their midst, their beauty glittering doubly in the light of their companions.

  “The promise?” I asked.

  Instead of the attendants replying, the cherub glanced in my direction. In that moment, with his singularly peculiar attention on me, the memory of being enthroned with Christ in Jerusalem that first time was communicated to me. Now I saw it from the cherub’s perspective: I was one who shared the Son’s glory, the glory of the inimitably peerless, and Fair Ranar’s throne was a reiteration of that.

  To him who overcomes I will grant that he may sit with me in my throne, even as I sat in my Father’s throne.

  I would also share this throne in the heavenlies, on Fair Ranar of the Sombrero Galaxy, with Him. The steward of Ranar was her master, servant to The Master and glad co-inheritor of all the Son owned.

  Joy radiated from the cherub. Mission accomplished, his wings stroked the air, lifting him instantly above the mountain. Rising with the same thunderous, world-shaking noise as in his descent, he rocketed into space, his attendants following in his train. I saw again, as it were, a door opening and then closing, the brilliance of his glory disappearing from my sight in the blink of an eye, as he bypassed the intergalactic corridors back to the Milky Way, desiring instead to reach the throne room of God in Jerusalem without delay.

  “It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.”

  “What?” I guffawed. I swung toward the throne, where Zell sat, glee shining from her eyes. Leanhar gave her a welcoming grin.

  “How did you—?” I began, wondering at her sudden appearance, as if out of thin air, just like an old magic trick.

  “I came by Express,” she said.

  “Express?”

  “You know,” she said, laughing at my consternation and gesturing toward the sky. “The tall fellow.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed with another guffaw. “The cherub! But you— but I didn’t—” I fumbled for words. Then she was out of the throne and embracing me in a big hug.

  She released me just as impetuously as she had thrown her arms around me. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed upon the vista from this, the greatest of Ranar’s mountains, Mt. Fe, named for the word faith in Spanish.

  “So this is what you’ve been doing!”

  “Where were you? How did you know?”

  She winked conspiratorially at Leanhar. “I thought you told me he got over that stammer of his a long time ago.”

  “He was fine just a minute ago,” Leanhar quipped.

  “All right, all right,” I said, shaking my head. They could go on for hours, if I allowed it. “Enough already. I still want to know how you did it.”

  “It was easy. I hid behind him, behind one of his legs. You weren’t exactly looking for anyone else.”

  True, I thought, though I had seen his other attendants. Then again they hadn’t been standing behind him, trying to be inconspicuous.

  “But what about when he was—was doing whatever he was doing here on the mountain?” I asked wonderingly, finding it difficult to imagine enduring the creative outburst we had witnesse
d from space—the noise, more than anything else, and the explosions of light—even if she couldn’t actually be harmed, since our immortal bodies aren’t subject to permanent damage or pain.

  “It was very much like being at the heart of a lightning storm,” she said, exulting in the memory, obviously seeing it all again. In a flash, she communicated her experience by the Spirit: the cherub shielding her with one wing, as he released vast energies through hands and eyes, transmuting both the granite face of the mountain and the throne itself, while imbuing the air of this world with that which imbued himself—a sense of the Presence now more tangible, as is apropos to a temple.

  I could see, hear, feel, smell, even taste for myself what she had witnessed.

  She stamped her foot once. “You built solidly,” she said. “At first I wasn’t sure the mountain could stand under his tread. And then I realized he meant to establish it even more firmly than you had been able to do when you lifted it here yourself.”

  I nodded, seeing it all clearly. On earth, very few people had ever taken the Savior’s words literally, when He said we could move mountains by our faith. In the eternal now, it was something I literally had done many times in the transformation of this world. With his tramping hooves, the cherub meant to doubly communicate the imprimatur of God upon my work. No world, no star, no star system or galaxy can be shaken so as to be destroyed, since all is established by God and His word—which we all know. The First Universe, the heavens and the earth, were shaken and became no more, until they were replaced by that which cannot be shaken. But God still sets His seal of approval upon that which we ever do to glorify Him, even as He had done so through the cherub.

  Zell sat again in the throne and grinned up at me, smiling like a canary-swallowing cat.

  “Can’t do so much as offer a chair to an old lady?” She asked.

  “He hasn’t even sat in it himself, yet,” Leanhar said.

  Enjoying the cherub’s handiwork, I shook my head and began my descent of the mountain. They knew I wasn’t worried about being first to sit on Ranar’s throne. As co-inheritor, she was as welcome to it as I. But she and Leanhar weren’t above pulling my leg, or even both legs at the same time.

  “Are you coming?” I shouted back at them. “I’m sure you think some improvements are needed, though I fail to see what further work can be done, now that the cherub has approved of everything.”

  Flocks of birds winged skyward, heading in my direction, as I let myself soar from the mountaintop toward the ground miles below. Behind me, the peak glowed with the sun on its begemmed surface, and the throne gleamed invitingly.

  “Leanhar told me you wanted help,” she said, sailing past me, her dark hair and white robe flying in the wind. She headed straight into a bright cloud of birds, as if eager to see whether she could converse with them. All an act, I was sure; she was doubtlessly more than eager to see what enhancements she could make on my handiwork. In the old life, she had taught me all I knew about gardening. In Jerusalem and the New Earth, which she preferred to anywhere else in the universe, her expertise was much in demand.

  I wondered when Leanhar had found opportunity to let her know of my wish for her help. Evidently, he’d anticipated my request long before the cherub’s arrival, because I knew I hadn’t actually verbalized one. He’d certainly had plenty of opportunities these last few days, as I pondered my final steps in making Fair Ranar fairer. Having attended me at different times over the long ages, he might simply have read my face, knowing my desire for help and knowing Zell and I sometimes worked together on projects, affording him time to travel to Jerusalem and back as many times as he might wish. Or as is often the case, the Spirit might simply have told the Father, and the Father told the cherub to bring her along to Ranar: “Before a word is on your tongue, I will answer you.”

  As unlikely as it might seem, after my years of work upon Ranar and the cherub’s message of God’s approval, even more could be done. For my part, I was eager to see what enhancements Zell had in mind. I am like a master builder: she is like a fine interior decorator. The broad, sweeping plans I executed upon Ranar’s face, as beautiful as they were, would come into sharper focus, revealing the planet’s inner beauty, much like the depth of character revealed in every redeemed soul through resurrection.