The Shack

by William Paul Young

  “This is what we were talking about at breakfast,” she responded. “Let me begin by asking you a question. When something happens to you, how do you determine whether it is good or evil?”

  Mack thought for a moment before answering. “Well, I haven’t really thought about that. I guess I would say that something is good when I like it—when it makes me feel good or gives me a sense of security. Conversely, I’d call evil something that causes me pain or costs me something I want.”

  “So it is pretty subjective then?”

  “I guess it is.”

  “And how confident are you in your ability to discern what indeed is good for you, or what is evil?”

  “To be honest,” said Mack, “I tend to sound justifiably angry when somebody is threatening my ‘good,’ you know, what I think I deserve. But I’m not really sure I have any logical ground for deciding what is actually good or evil, except how something or someone affects me.” He paused to rest and catch his breath a moment. “All this sounds quite self-serving and self-centered, I suppose. And my track record isn’t very encouraging either. Some things I initially thought were good turned out to be horribly destructive, and some things that I thought were evil, well, they turned out—”

  Sarayu interrupted. “Then it is you who determines good and evil. You become the judge. And to make things more confusing, that which you determine to be good will change over time and circumstance. And then, beyond that and even worse, there are billions of you, each determining what is good and what is evil. So when your good and evil clash with your neighbor’s, fights and arguments ensue and even wars break out.”

  The colors moving within Sarayu were darkening as she spoke, blacks and grays merging and shadowing the rainbow hues. “And if there is no reality of good that is absolute, then you have lost any basis for judging. It is just language, and one might as well exchange the word good for the word evil.”

  “I can see where that might be a problem,” Mack agreed.

  “A problem?” Sarayu almost snapped as she stood up and faced him. She was disturbed, but he knew that it was not directed at him. “Indeed! The choice to eat of that tree tore the universe apart, divorcing the spiritual from the physical. They died, expelling in the breath of their choice the very breath of God. I would say that is a problem!”

  In the intensity of her speaking, Sarayu had risen slowly off the ground, but now as she settled back, her voice came quiet but distinct. “That was a great sorrow day.”

  Neither of them spoke for almost ten minutes while they worked. As he continued digging up roots and throwing them into the pile, Mack busily worked in his mind to untangle the implications of what she had said. Finally he broke the silence.

  “I can see now,” confessed Mack, “that I spend most of my time and energy trying to acquire what I have determined to be good, whether it’s financial security or health or retirement or whatever. And I spend a huge amount of energy and worry fearing what I’ve determined to be evil.” Mack sighed deeply.

  “Such truth in that,” said Sarayu gently. “Remember this. It allows you to play God in your independence. That’s why a part of you prefers not to see me. And you don’t need me at all to create your list of good and evil. But you do need me if you have any desire to stop such an insane lust for independence.”

  “So there is a way to fix it?” asked Mack.

  “You must give up your right to decide what is good and evil on your own terms. That is a hard pill to swallow—choosing to live only in me. To do that, you must know me enough to trust me and learn to rest in my inherent goodness.”

  Sarayu turned toward Mack; at least that was his impression. “Mackenzie, evil is a word we use to describe the absence of good, just as we use the word darkness to describe the absence of light or death to describe the absence of life. Both evil and darkness can be understood only in relation to light and good; they do not have any actual existence. I am light and I am good. I am love and there is no darkness in me. Light and Good actually exist. So, removing yourself from me will plunge you into darkness. Declaring independence will result in evil because apart from me, you can draw only upon yourself. That is death because you have separated yourself from me: Life.”

  “Wow!” Mack exclaimed, sitting back for a moment. “That really helps. But I can also see that giving up my independent right is not going to be an easy process. It could mean that—”

  Sarayu interrupted his sentence again. “That in one instance, the good may be the presence of cancer or the loss of income—or even a life.”

  “Yeah, but tell that to the person with cancer or the father whose daughter is dead,” Mack said, a little more sarcastically than he had intended.

  “Oh, Mackenzie,” reassured Sarayu. “Don’t you think we have them in mind as well? Each of them was the center of another story that is untold.”

  “But—” Mack could feel his control getting away as he drove his shovel in hard—“Didn’t Missy have a right to be protected?”

  “No, Mack. A child is protected because she is loved, not because she has a right to be protected.”

  That stopped him. Somehow, what Sarayu had just been saying seemed to turn the whole world upside down, and he was struggling to find some footing. Surely there were some rights that he could legitimately hold on to.

  “But what about—”

  “Rights are where survivors go, so that they won’t have to work out relationships,” she cut in.

  “But if I gave up—”

  “Then you would begin to know the wonder and adventure of living in me,” she said, interrupting him again.

  Mack was getting frustrated. He spoke louder, “But don’t I have the right to—”

  “To complete a sentence without being interrupted? No, you don’t. Not in reality. But as long as you think you do, you will surely get ticked off when someone cuts you off, even if it is God.”

  He was stunned and stood up, staring at her, not knowing whether to rage or laugh. Sarayu smiled at him. “Mackenzie, Jesus didn’t hold on to any rights. He willingly became a servant and lives out of his relationship to Papa. He gave up everything, so that by his dependent life he opened a door that would allow you to live free enough to give up your rights.”

  At that moment, Papa emerged down the walkway carrying two paper sacks. She was smiling as she approached.

  “Well, you two are having a good conversation, I assume?” She winked at Mack.

  “The best!” exclaimed Sarayu. “And guess what? He called our garden a mess—isn’t that perfect?”

  They both beamed broadly at Mack, who still wasn’t absolutely sure he wasn’t being played with. His anger was subsiding, but he could still feel the burning in his cheeks. The other two seemed to take no notice.

  Sarayu reached up and kissed Papa on the cheek. “As always, your timing is perfect. Everything that I needed Mackenzie to do here is finished.” She turned to him. “Mackenzie, you are such a delight! Thank you for all your hard work!”

  “I didn’t do that much, really,” he said apologetically. “I mean, look at this mess.” His gaze moved over the garden that surrounded them. “But it really is beautiful, and full of you, Sarayu. Even though it seems like lots of work still needs to be done, I feel strangely at home and comfortable here.”

  The two looked at each other and grinned.

  Sarayu stepped toward him until she had invaded his personal space. “And well you should, Mackenzie, because this garden is your soul. This mess is you! Together, you and I, we have been working with a purpose in your heart. And it is wild and beautiful and perfectly in process. To you it seems like a mess, but I see a perfect pattern emerging and growing and alive—a living fractal.”

  The impact of her words almost crumbled all of Mack’s reserve. He looked again at their garden—his garden—and it really was a mess, but incredible and wonderful at the same time. And beyond that, Papa was here and Sarayu loved the mess. It was almost too much to comprehe
nd, and once again his carefully guarded emotions threatened to spill over.

  “Mackenzie, Jesus would like to take you for a walk, if you want to go. I packed you a picnic lunch in case you get a little hungry. It’ll tide you over till teatime.”

  As Mack turned to accept the lunch bags, he felt Sarayu slip by, kissing his cheek as she passed, but he didn’t see her go. As with the wind he thought he could see her path, the plants bending in turn as if in worship. When he turned back, Papa was also gone, so he headed toward the workshop to see if he could find Jesus. It seemed they had an appointment.

  10

  WADE IN THE WATER

  New world—big horizon Open your eyes and see it’s true New world—across the frightening Waves of blue

  —David Wilcox

  Jesus finished sanding the last corner of what looked like a casket sitting on a table in the workshop. He ran his fingers along the smooth edge, nodded with satisfaction, and put the sandpaper down. He walked out the door, brushing the powder off his jeans and shirt as Mack approached.

  “Hey there, Mack! I was just putting some finishing touches on my project for tomorrow. Would you like to go for a walk?”

  Mack thought about their time last night under the stars. “If you’re going, I’m more than willing,” he responded. “Why do you all keep talking about tomorrow?”

  “It’s a big day for you, one of the reasons you are here. Let’s go. There’s a special place I want to show you on the other side of the lake, and the panorama is beyond description. You can even see some of the higher peaks from over there.”

  “Sounds great!” responded Mack enthusiastically.

  “It looks like you have our lunches, so we’re ready to go.”

  Instead of angling off to one side of the lake or the other, where Mack suspected a trail might be, Jesus headed straight for the dock. The day was bright and beautiful. The sun was warm to the skin but not too much so, and a fresh-scented breeze softly and lovingly caressed their faces.

  Mack next assumed that they would be taking one of the canoes nestled against the dock pylons, and he was surprised when Jesus didn’t hesitate as he passed the third and last of them, heading directly for the end of the pier. Reaching the end of the dock, he turned to Mack and grinned.

  “After you,” he said with a mock flourish and bow.

  “You’re kidding, right?” sputtered Mack. “I thought we were going for a walk, not a swim.”

  “We are. I just thought going across the lake would take less time than going around it.”

  “I’m not that great a swimmer, and besides, the water looks pretty damn cold,” complained Mack. He suddenly realized what he had said and felt his face flush. “Uh, I mean darn, pretty darn cold.” He looked up at Jesus with a frozen grimace on his face, but the other man seemed to be actually enjoying Mack’s discomfort.

  “Now,” said Jesus, folding his arms, “we both know that you are a very capable swimmer, once a lifeguard if I remember right. And the water is cold. And it’s deep. But I’m not talking about swimming. I want to walk across with you.”

  What Jesus had been suggesting, Mack finally allowed into his consciousness. He was talking about walking on the water. Jesus, anticipating his hesitation, asserted, “C’mon, Mack. If Peter can do it…”

  Mack laughed, more out of nerves than anything. To be sure, he asked one more time, “You want me to walk on the water to the other side—that is what you are saying, right?”

  “You’re a quick one, Mack. Nobody’s gonna slide anything past you, that’s for sure. C’mon, it’s fun!” He laughed.

  Mack walked to the edge of the dock and looked down. The water lapped only about a foot below where he stood, but it might as well have been a hundred feet. The distance looked enormous. To dive in would have been easy, he had done that a thousand times—but how do you step off a dock onto water? Do you jump as if you are landing on concrete, or do you step over the edge as if you are getting out of a boat? He looked back at Jesus, who was still chuckling.

  “Peter had the same problem: how to get out of the boat. It’s just like stepping off a one-foot-high stair. Nothing to it.”

  “Will my feet get wet?” queried Mack.

  “Of course, water is still wet.”

  Again Mack looked down at the water and back at Jesus. “Then why is this so hard for me?”

  “Tell me what you are afraid of, Mack.”

  “Well, let me see. What am I afraid of?” began Mack. “Well, I am afraid of looking like an idiot. I am afraid that you are making fun of me and that I will sink like a rock. I imagine that—”

  “Exactly,” Jesus interrupted. “You imagine. Such a powerful ability, the imagination! That power alone makes you so like us. But without wisdom, imagination is a cruel taskmaster. If I may prove my case, do you think humans were designed to live in the present or the past or the future?”

  “Well,” said Mack, hesitating, “I think the most obvious answer is that we were designed to live in the present. Is that wrong?”

  Jesus chuckled. “Relax, Mack. This is not a test, it’s a conversation. You are exactly correct, by the way. But now tell me, where do you spend most of your time in your mind, in your imagination: in the present, in the past, or in the future?”

  Mack thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose I would have to say that I spend very little time in the present. I spend a big piece in the past, but most of the rest of the time, I am trying to figure out the future.”

  “Not unlike most people. When I dwell with you, I do so in the present—I live in the present. Not the past, although much can be remembered and learned by looking back, but only for a visit, not an extended stay. And for sure, I do not dwell in the future you visualize or imagine. Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictures me there with you?”

  Again Mack stopped and thought. It was true. He spent a lot of time fretting and worrying about the future, and in his imagination it was usually pretty gloomy and depressing, if not outright horrible. And Jesus was also correct in saying that in Mack’s thoughts of the future, God was always absent.

  “Why do I do that?” asked Mack.

  “It is your desperate attempt to get some control over something you can’t. It is impossible for you to take power over the future because it isn’t even real, nor will it ever be real. You try to play God, imagining the evil that you fear becoming reality, and then you try to make plans and contingencies to avoid what you fear.”

  “Yeah, that’s basically what Sarayu was saying,” responded Mack. “So why do I have so much fear in my life?”

  “Because you don’t believe. You don’t know that we love you. The person who lives by his fears will not find freedom in my love. I am not talking about rational fears regarding legitimate dangers, but imagined fears, and especially the projection of those into the future. To the degree that those fears have a place in your life, you neither believe I am good nor know deep in your heart that I love you. You sing about it, you talk about it, but you don’t know it.”

  Mack looked down once more at the water and breathed a huge sigh of the soul. “I have so far to go.”

  “Only about a foot, it looks to me.” Jesus laughed, placing his hand on Mack’s shoulder. It was all he needed and Mack stepped off the dock. In order to try to see the water as solid and not be deterred by its motion, he looked up at the far shore and held the lunch bags high just in case.

  The landing was softer than he had thought it would be. His shoes were instantly wet, but the water did not come up even to his ankles. The lake was still moving all around him, and he almost lost his balance because of it. It was strange. When he looked down, it seemed that his feet were on something solid but invisible. He turned to find Jesus standing next to him, holding his own shoes and socks in one hand and smiling.

  He laughed. “We always take off our shoes and socks before we do this
.”

  Mack shook his head, laughing as he sat back on the edge of the dock. “I think I will anyway.” He took them off, wrung out his socks, and then rolled up his pant legs, just to be sure.

  They started off with footwear and lunch bags in hand and walked toward the opposite shore, about a half mile distant. The water felt cool and refreshing and sent chills up his spine. Walking on the water with Jesus seemed like the most natural way to cross a lake, and Mack was grinning ear to ear just thinking about what he was doing. He would occasionally look down to see if he could see any lake trout.

  “This is utterly ridiculous and impossible, you know!” he finally exclaimed.

  “Of course,” assented Jesus, grinning back at him.

  They rapidly reached the far shore and Mack could hear the sound of rushing water growing louder, but he couldn’t see its source. Twenty yards from the shore he stopped. To their left and behind a high rock ridge he could see it, a beautiful waterfall spilling over a cliff’s edge and dropping at least a hundred feet into a pool at the canyon floor. There it became a large creek that probably joined the lake beyond where Mack could see. Between them and the waterfall was an expanse of mountain meadow, filled with blooming wildflowers haphazardly strewn and seeded by the wind. It was all stunning, and Mack stood for a moment breathing it in. An image of Missy flashed in his mind but didn’t settle.

  A pebbled beach awaited their approach, and behind it a backdrop of rich and dense forest rose up to the base of a mountain, crested by the whiteness of freshly fallen snow. Slightly to their left, at the end of a small clearing and just to the other side of a small babbling brook, a trail disappeared quickly into the wooded darkness. Mack stepped off the water and onto the small rocks, gingerly making his way toward a log that had fallen. There he sat down and again wrung out his socks, placing them and his shoes to dry in the near-noon sun.

  Only then did he look up and across the lake. The beauty was staggering. He could make out the shack, where smoke leisurely rose from the redbrick chimney as it nestled against the greens of the orchard and forest. But dwarfing it all was a massive range of mountains that hovered above and behind, like sentinels standing guard. Mack simply sat, Jesus next to him, and inhaled the visual symphony.