At the Gates of the Celestial City

'People who are born even-tempered, placid and untroubled - secure from violent passions or temptations to evil - those who have never needed to struggle all night with the angel to emerge lame but victorious at dawn, never become great saints.' - Eva Le Gallienne

'I will have mercy, and not sacrifice...' - Matthew 12:7


The man stood before the alabaster gates, which iridesced like mother-of-pearl against the incredibly cerulean sky. He gazed up expectantly.

It had been a long, hard journey, fraught with bitterness and frustration, but fueled by hope. He had wasted the first years of the quest in fruitless meandering, the second part in stubborn misreading of the map, and the last leg in dogged struggle up a seemingly endless slope - only to discover at the summit that a much easier path, well-marked, had been carved on the other side of the mountain. Now, as he caught his breath and drank the last sips from his water bottle, filled at the spring a few miles down the slope, he felt a sense of self-congratulation and contempt for those who had come up the easy way.

'Only those who struggle have truly earned the prize,' he thought, as the gates opened, flooding the summit of the mountain with an impossible light. A figure gradually became visible, backlit against the splendour within, a man in a long, white robe, aged but ageless, with kind, blue eyes and a long, white beard. He walked slowly to the new arrival, his hand raised in universal greeting.

'Welcome, friend,' he said, his voice as deep and calm as a sunlit lake. 'From your appearance, your journey has been a long one.'

The man smiled broadly at this recognition of his effort. He had dreamed of this day all his life, and this made it perfect. 'Yes, sir,' he said, and launched into a thorough description of his travels: the clues he had so cleverly deciphered, the setbacks along the way that he had borne with fortitude, the faith in his goal that he had never abandoned. He left out no detail, particularly stressing the courage and ambition that had marked his quest for the Celestial City. The stranger from within the gates, nodding encouragement, sat down with him on a bench by the gate - placed there perhaps for the purpose - and listened with patient attention until the man was finished. Then he smiled, rather sadly, the man thought.

'I am afraid you are going to be sorely let down,' the sage said. 'After all that excitement, this isn't going to be very interesting.'

The man was astounded. 'How could you say that?' he stammered. 'Is the Celestial City not as beautiful as they say?'

"Oh, yes, indeed. As beautiful, and more.'

'Is the City not at peace, and full of delights?'

'Oh, yes. More pleasures than you can imagine, and all at peace.'

'Are not the best people there, the very finest and kindest?'

'The people are indeed kind, and good, and clever.'

The man almost shouted. 'Then how could you say I would not love it here? This is what I have sought all my life.'

The sage patted the man's knee, and spoke kindly. 'The Celestial City is full of beautiful palaces. But you are used to dingy taverns, where your presence makes the place seem brighter. The City is at peace. But you are accustomed to struggle and war. The people are kind, and good - they take this for granted. Your goodness will not be noticed there. They will expect...more.'

His eyes twinkled, though his voice was solemn. 'This is not a sad, troubled world, where the light of a single candle pierces the darkness. This is a bright city. We have no challenges to offer you, such as you are accustomed to. We have no stage on which you can shine alone. It troubles me to think that you have come so far, only to be disappointed. Are you sure that you can live in a place where your hard-won achievements will be found unremarkable? Please think before you answer.' The sage clapped hands upon his thighs, and stood, and made his way back into the City. The gates closed.

The man hesitated. He thought a long time. As the sun sank low behind the mountain in glorious crimson, he was still thinking. As the stars began to peek through the velvet night - the most beautiful he had ever seen - he was still thinking.

The sage sent out servants with dinner, and a warm blanket, for he was kind at heart.