Behind it all
was a choice. A deliberate decision. An informed move. He didn't
have to do it. But he chose to. He knew the price. He saw the
implications. He was aware of the consequences.
We don't know when he decided to do
it. We can't know. Not just because we weren't there. Because
time was not there. When did not exist. Nor did tomorrow
or yesterday or next time. For there was
no time.
We don't know when he thought
about making the choice. But we do know that he made it. He
didn't have to do it. He chose to.
He chose to create.
"In the beginning God created
. . ."
With one decision, history began.
Existence became measurable.
Out of nothing came light.
Out of light came day.
Then came sky . . . and earth.
And on this earth? A mighty hand
went to work.
Canyons were carved. Oceans were
dug. Mountains erupted out of flatlands. Stars were flung. A
universe sparkled.
Our sun became just one of
millions. Our galaxy became just one of thousands. Planets
invisibly tethered to suns roared through space at breakneck
speeds. Stars blazed with heat that could melt our planet in
seconds.
The hand behind it was mighty. He
is mighty.
And with this might, he created. As
naturally as a bird sings and a fish swims, he created. Just as
an artist can't not paint and a runner can't not run, he couldn't
not create. He was the Creator. Through and through, he was the
Creator. A tireless dreamer and designer.
From the pallet of the Ageless
Artist came inimitable splendors. Before there was a person to
see it, his creation was pregnant with wonder. Flowers didn't
just grow; they blossomed. Chicks weren't just born; they
hatched. Salmons didn't just swim; they leaped.
Mundaneness found no home in his
universe.
He must have loved it. Creators
relish creating. I'm sure his commands were delightful!
"Hippo, you won't walk . . . you'll waddle!"
"Hyena, a bark is too plain. Let me show you how to
laugh!" "Look, raccoon, I've made you a mask!"
"Come here, giraffe, let's stretch that neck a bit."
And on and on he went. Giving the clouds their puff. Giving the
oceans their blue. Giving the trees their sway. Giving the frogs
their leap and croak. The mighty wed with the creative, and
creation was born.
He was mighty. He was creative.
And he was love. Even greater than
his might and deeper than his creativity was one all-consuming
characteristic:
Love.
Water must be wet. A fire must be
hot. You can't take the wet out of water and still have water.
You can't take the heat our of fire and still have fire.
In the same way, you can't take the
love out of this One who lived before time and still have him
exist. For he was . . . and is . . . Love.
Probe deep within him. Explore
every corner. Search every angle. Love is all you find. Go to the
beginning of every decision he has made and you'll find it. Go to
the end of every story he has told and you'll see it.
Love.
No bitterness. No evil. No cruelty.
Just love. Flawless love. Passionate love. Vast and pure love. He
is love.
As a result, an elephant has a
trunk with which to drink. A kitten has a mother from which to
nurse. A bird has a nest in which to sleep. The same God who was
mighty enough to carve out the canyon is tender enough to put
hair on the legs of the Matterhorn Fly to keep it warm. The same
force that provides symmetry to the planets guides the baby
kangaroo to its mother's pouch before the mother knows it is
born.
And because of who he was, he did
what he did.
He created a paradise. A sinless
sanctuary. A haven before fear. A home before there was human
dweller. No time. No death. No hurt. A gift built by God for his
ultimate creation. And when he was through, he knew "it was
very good."
But it wasn't enough.
His greatest work hadn't been
completed. One final masterpiece was needed before he would stop.
Look to the canyons to see the
Creator's splendor. Touch the flowers and see his delicacy.
Listen to the thunder and hear his power. But gaze on this--the
zenith--and witness all three . . . and more.
Imagine with me what may have taken
place on that day.
He placed one
scoop of clay upon another until a form lay lifeless on the
ground.
All of the Garden's inhabitants
paused to witness the event. Hawks hovered. Giraffes stretched.
Trees bowed. Butterflies paused on petals and watched.
"You will love me,
nature," God said. "I made you that way. You will obey
me, universe. For you were designed to do so. You will reflect my
glory, skies, for that is how you were created. But this one will
be like me. This one will be able to choose."
All were silent as the Creator
reached into himself and removed something yet unseen. A seed.
"It's called 'choice.' The seed of choice."
Creation stood in silence and gazed
upon the lifeless form.
An angel spoke, "But what if
he . . ."
"What if he chooses no to
love?" the Creator finished. "Come, I will show
you."
Unbound by today, God and the angel
walked into the realm of tomorrow.
"There, see the fruit of the
seed of choice, both the sweet and the bitter."
The angel gasped at what he saw.
Spontaneous love. Voluntary devotion. Chosen tenderness. Never
had he seen anything like these. He felt the love of the Adams.
He heard the joy of Eve and her daughters. He saw the food and
the burdens shared. He absorbed the kindness and marveled at the
warmth.
"Heaven has never seen such
beauty, my Lord. Truly, this is your greatest creation."
"Ah, but you've only seen the
sweet. Now witness the bitter."
A stench enveloped the pair. The
angel turned in horror and proclaimed, "What is this?"
The Creator spoke only one word:
"Selfishness."
The angel stood speechless as they
passed through centuries of repugnance. Never had he seen such
filth. Rotten hearts. Ruptured promises. Forgotten loyalties.
Children of the creation wandering blindly in lonely labyrinths.
"This is the result of
choice?" the angel asked.
"Yes."
"They will forget you?"
"Yes."
"They will reject you?"
"Yes."
"They will never come
back?"
"Some will. Most won't."
"What will it take to make
them listen?"
The Creator walked on in time,
further and further into the future, until he stood by a tree. A
tree that would be fashioned into a cradle. Even then he could
smell the hay that would surround him.
With another step into the future,
he paused before another tree. It stood alone, a stubborn ruler
of a bald hill. The trunk was thick, and the wood was strong.
Soon it would be cut. Soon it would be trimmed. Soon it would be
mounted on the stony brow of another hill. And soon he would be
hung on it.
He felt the wood rub against a back
he did not yet wear.
"Will you go down there?"
the angel asked.
"I will."
"Is there no other way?"
"There is not."
"Wouldn't it be easier to not
plant the seed? Wouldn't it be easier to not give the
choice?"
"It would," the Creator
spoke slowly. "But to remove the choice is to remove the
love."
He looked around the hill and
foresaw a scene. Three figures hung on three crosses. Arms
spread. Heads fallen forward. They moaned with the wind.
Men clad in soldiers' garb sat on
the ground near the trio. They played games in the dirt and
laughed.
Men clad in religion stood off to
one side. They smiled. Arrogant, cocky. They had protected God,
they thought, by killing this false one.
Women clad in sorrow huddled at the
foot of the hill. Speechless. Faces tear streaked. Eyes downward.
One put her arm around another and tried to lead her away. She
wouldn't leave. "I will stay," she said softly. "I
will stay."
All heaven stood to fight. All
nature rose to rescue. All eternity poised to protect. But the
Creator gave no command.
"It must be done . . . ,"
he said, and withdrew.
But as he stepped back in time, he
heard the cry that he would someday scream: "My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?" He wrenched at tomorrow's agony.
The angel spoke again. "It
would be less painful . . ."
The Creator interrupted softly.
"But it wouldn't be love."
They stepped into the Garden again.
The Maker looked earnestly at the clay creation. A monsoon of
love swelled up within him. He had died for the creation before
he had made him. God's form been over the sculptured face and
breathed. Dust stirred on the lips of the new one. The chest
rose, cracking the red mud. The cheeks fleshened. A finger moved.
And an eye opened.
But more incredible than the moving
of the flesh was the stirring of the spirit. Those who could see
the unseen gasped.
Perhaps it was the wind who said it
first. Perhaps what the star saw that moment is what has made it
blink ever since. Maybe it was left to an angel to whisper it:
"It looks like . . . it
appears so much like . . . it is him!"
The angel wasn't speaking of the
face, the features, or the body. He was looking inside--at the
soul.
"It's eternal!" gasped
another.
Within the man, God had placed a
divine seed. A seed of his self. The God of might had created
earth's mightiest. The Creator had created, not a creature, but
another creator. And the One who had chosen to love had created
one who could love in return.
Now it's our choice.
Excerpt from In the Eye of the Storm by Max Lucado, Word Publishing 1991, p. 237-243