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Ethan Ferris

The Bladed Angel

I made my covenant with Him when I saw the bladed angel.


For you to understand how He humbled me, you have to first understand who I was before Him. I was ambitious. I fueled myself with dreams. The present be damned - I wanted the future. Whenever I achieved something, my mind was already ten goals further down the path. 'More' was the credo of my life. I wanted to see it all, do it all, conquer it all. My father told me that God had given me dominion, and I wanted to take that dominion. I wanted to hold creation in the palm of my hand, and I was completely convinced that I could have it if I just fought hard enough for it.


But I tell you, the life of an ambitious young man is a life of circular hopelessness. Every minute of my life was a reminder of the chasm between the vision I idolized in my mind, and the reality of my life. I dreamed of sailing the seas while carrying water home from a dirty well. I planned how to establish my kingdom while my mother berated me for my untidy room. I counted the wealth of my future while tossing an empty purse from hand to hand. I split myself down the middle. I was infatuated with what could be, and so I hated what was. I was hateful, my friend. Hateful towards everyone around me, upon whom I laid responsibility for my lowliness.


My father, meek and humble; I once cursed him for holding me back because of his 'pride' and 'fear'. My mother who nursed me; I hated her gentle touch that told me not to risk what I had been given for what I wanted to take. Each man, woman, and child I saw was a visage of pathetic, dead surrender. I saw their contentment with life as a whipped submission to an unjust yoke, and I hated them for letting it squeeze the 'greatness' out of them. Moreover, I hated them for failing to build the world I wanted to live in. Every piece of wisdom offered to me was a knife in the back of my ambition, every question of 'how' or 'why' was another chain on my arms.


So, do you see the magnitude of my pride? Why, in my pained, hazy madness I even thought that it was the will of God for me to escape the mediocrity that he had sent me to and instead to soar up to His level. To meet Him, match Him, in my own divinity.


I wanted to find the gates of His heavenly palace, break the lock with my own hands, and enter triumphantly as the son He always hoped for but mankind was too incipient and pathetic to provide. My father told me stories of a garden, and from the day I heard them I wanted to see that garden myself. I wanted to take back what had been lost. I wanted to conquer the very edicts of my creator and - though I can't now imagine how I thought this - somehow earn his adulation through my unceasing rebellion.


That dream, that fool dream, chaffed most at my soul. Each day, the wellspring of rage within me boiled a little hotter, and in my mind's eye, I saw that triumphal entry to what I thought I had been made for but denied because of the failure of my predecessors and peers.


Might I add too, and never forget, that the one I hated most of all was myself. Each day that went by without achieving what I desired, I blamed myself most of all. For inaction, for inability, for my fear and impotent self-worship. I hated every thought that went through my head, and that only strengthened my obsession. My ambition fed upon my anger, and my anger upon my ambition.


As with all who nurse anger and ambition, eventually, I had to either give it up or go after it.

Now imagine that young man I have described, coming face to face with the immeasurable, inexorable, disintegrating glory and power of the omnipotent Creator. All the majesty of Elohim spread out before him - no, against him, standing in his path to stop him where he stood and let him go no further.


It doesn't matter how I got there - mountains and storms, hunger and thirst, weariness and shame, God opened the way through these lesser lessons so I could arrive at the most important moment of my life.


My defeat.


He wanted me to see the gates of the garden, and what He had placed there to guard them against men like me. Men like those He had cast out in the first place.


I could see the tops of the trees above the walls - green in a way that I doubt any plant could be outside that garden, branches heavy with fruit. Just the hint of bounty I could see would be enough to feed an army after battle. It would have been tantalizing - taunting, even - were it not for the obvious impossibility of reaching it.


No, it wasn't the wall that was unassailable. Hewn bricks of stone, finely crafted beyond what any man could do, but it was no less scalable than the walls of Sodom. It was the garden's guardians, resplendent with such power as I cannot fathom, yet still so limited compared to the One who sent them.


It may sound strange, but the first sentinel was a sword. It moved on its own - not alive, but animated with the will of its creator. I hear these prideful swordsmen speak of how the blade is an extension of themselves - this was the truth of their boasts. It was unbound by any law, just as He Himself is. No matter where I looked, my eyes flashing here and there with overwhelmed awe, it insisted on remaining at the center of my vision. It moved faster than I could blink. I could not look away, not for its hypnotism, but because it was faster than my glance, and by a great deal at that. It was guarding not only against my physical trespass but preventing even my sight from entering that garden.


And it was burning. The blade, I mean; a precisely controlled inferno, burning like the swirl of an over-stoked forge, but not one flame dared waver outside that strict shape of a cutting edge. You know, you've seen - that even fire, that unbound and untouchable beast, kneels before Him like so much cut grass.


This was not sufficient though, for before the gate was an angel. Have you seen an angel? You will, my friend, I am sure of it. There were many of them there, in truth, but I focused on this one that approached me. It did not fly but rested upon wings that moved so slightly as to be almost imperceptible. It was stillness. It was a bastion of peace. It was a being I would tremble to witness striding into battle. Every feather of its wings was a sharp, gleaming sword, sliding against each other as it moved to create a song of metal that quietly filled the senses. It's body - a majesty of creation, to have so many seemingly disparate parts yet to seem completely whole. It was a lion, an eagle, a bull... more. Yet instead of seeming like a mad combination of these, it made them each seem like only a part of this greater whole. I look at the lion now, and I remember the angel, and I think the lion to be a dull, smudged shard of the original visage.


What response is a man to have but to fall on his knees and weep? I, with all my pride and boastfulness, made a blubbering fool of myself before a rank-and-file soldier in God's army. I cried and the angel was obscured by my tears but the sword remained clear. I wept not for the loss of my dream, but for the wasted effort of ever chasing it. To come to this, and realize that every ounce of anger and hatred I had cultivated was like so much dust to the God I thought I was pleasing... I had no strength left to hold aloft any part of my pride. It all crumbled down. God took one distasteful look at my palace of pride and the stones knelt.


I grieved there, for how long God only knows. Probably that angel too. Oh, but that pride came right back up after a little time to gather its bitterness and sauntered right into God's next snare. I looked up at that angel through aching eyes and asked it why. "Why can't I enter? Why aren't I worthy?"


"You have transgressed." The angel loomed over me, casting a shadow across me like a mountain. It was immense, yet not intimidating because of its size. Its voice was the source of my terror; like rolling stones coming out of my ear rather than going in. Like how you hear your own voice from within as much as without, that was how it spoke. Every word sounded like the words of a general before a battle - demandingly truthful, an empathetic but no less stern goad to action.


"How?" I wailed. I was indignant now. I wanted to at least get a few hits in. "What crime have I committed?"


"You have partaken of the same transgression that shut this gate, that built this wall, and called me here."


This confused my mind enough to silence my heart for a moment. My father had told me of the garden, and he had told me of why we did not, and would never, know it.


Because someone foolish had decided they knew better than God and had gone where He had asked them not to.


The only difference between them and I was that God let them reach the fullness of their disobedience before He stepped in.


That was when I first thought that this might be more mercy than defeat.


The angel continued and laid bare my sin. His words left scars in my heart, and I remember what he said so clearly because of them. "You are devoid of righteousness - you seek to wear it but you remain empty of it. You do not understand, you do not seek. You come here to plunder God's Kingdom rather than to enrich it. You turn aside from instruction and scorn wisdom. You are unprofitable - a tree that refuses to bear fruit despite its good soil and tender care. You do no good. You are not just dead - you are a tomb, pulling others into your grave. You are deceitful; so much so that you have veiled even your own eyes. You are like the exiled, and you are like the one who deceived them. He is your father, and you bear his image. You curse God even now and show forth only bitterness to the Almighty. Could you, you would be swift to spill my blood.


"Most of all, you are without peace. You do not fear the LORD. You seek entrance to the Kingdom, but you refuse to acknowledge the King.


"You ask, 'What crime have I committed?' I say it is not what you have committed, but what you have filled yourself with. Your storehouse is stocked with poison and rot. Should you go and give of what you have, it would not wipe away your iniquity, for all you have to give is corrupt. Should a man come before you as you are and ask to enter your house, would you open the door?"


The way these words penetrated me was mysterious. It was as though being shaken awake when I wanted desperately to roll over and ignore the rising sun. My pride, my soul, rejected these words out of hand. But for the first time in my life, another man stirred within me. He responded to the truth and awoke from a sleep so long and deep that I had not known he was present. He's the man you now know, rather than the man I have described. My spirit. The man God created. And he chose to get out from under my soul and push, with this angel, against that dead, sinful thing that had pretended to be me for all my life. The war within was won because a man inside the fortress let down the gates and the besieging army of God was able to enter.


Bitterly, slowly, by a process of tears and retching groans, my soul gave way. My flesh surrendered. My spirit took the reigns of my tongue to lift the banner of surrender above my life.


"You are right."


Those words were my death knell. I collapsed. I tell you, my body ceased. It was as though I had plunged a sword into my own heart. No strength was in me. I could not have risen from the earth if I had desired to. The only life that remained in me was in my tongue, and it began to pour out words that my spirit had swallowed for decades.


"You are right. He is right. I should be cast out, cast down. I've built such an ugly temple. Hideous. Hideous! Hideous! A hideous god I've worshiped in my hideous temple! What God would accept me, tolerate me in His courts? I would not! I would not! I would not. I would not have even allowed myself to come this far. I would have struck myself down years ago just to quiet the moaning that I sent crawling up to heaven."


"Rise."


I was weeping wretchedly, my body convulsing with deadness. I heard, but I did not comprehend.


"Rise, son of man."


The name was a recognition of what I had confessed, but within it was also a mystery - a sense of compassion I could not believe. My body which had given up a moment ago came back to life with curious hunger. Where once my pride would have batted the invitation away, my humbled spirit was glad to grasp at any scrap I was offered. I rose to my knees, my body beginning to burn.


I tried to look upon the angel, but all I saw was the sword of fire, consuming my vision and attention, burning so bright that all else was darkened.


"How do you find God's judgment?" the angel asked me from behind the sword.


I trembled. "True."


The blade flashed, and its point was coming towards me. Before fear could even come alive in my heart, the edge found my eyes and I was washed in an impossible inferno. A whirlwind of fire blew upon my face, and it felt as though something was peeling off of me. It was painful, but it did not cause me to recoil. I felt porous, like a dry sponge, and as much as the fire passed over me, so too was some of it taken inside of me.


The inferno passed quickly, and I was grateful for the relief as much as I yearned for more. I saw clearly, the sword no longer sealed to my eyes but now held itself aloft at the side of the angel. The angel gestured to the sky above the garden. The heavens had dimmed as though the lights of creation were being snuffed out in reverence, so all focus could be brought to one point. Streaks of many colors danced across the expanse, moving in streams between the stars and guiding my eyes. All the heavens seemed now like only window-dressing meant to glorify and draw the eye to one all-consuming masterpiece:


A great tree, immense and out of space as the sword had been, stood over the garden. Upon it, hung a man. He was bleeding. He was dying. His blood ran down the branches like sap. He was nothing more than human, yet nothing short of perfection. He was immense in presence yet lowly in stature. Thorny vines wrapped around his brow; a branch pierced his side.


My voice was a whisper of reverence. "That is my place."


"I will go in your stead." This voice was not like the angel. It was quiet. So quiet as to be easily missed were it not for the utter hush that had fallen over the world. It was the voice of a village elder who spoke softly rather than loudly, so the listener must quiet himself to hear. It spoke with authority beyond authority which had no need of volume or bravado. It was full of the absolute, self-sufficient kind of power that does not need to be heard.


I laughed. "You will go in my place? No." I laughed again. "No! I am to die here in the dirt. That is just. I am to be denied this garden. That is just! You have said it!"


"I am justice. I will judge whom I judge. I am mercy. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy. Who are you to deny yourself to me?"


"You would die like a man - like I wretched little man made of dirt - just so I could step past this threshold that I scorned? You would be soiled and despoiled to pay for my wrongs when you were the victim of my pride? You! You were the one I sinned against! You bore the insult! And you would die for the one who mocked you? No. You can't! No matter what punishment you bear, you'll never know the real torment. You are You, but I am apart from You. That is my punishment; not just mortification. I am denied the source of my very life."


"I will bear it for you."


Then, I saw the tears that streamed from the eyes of the man on the tree.


I could not deny Him any longer.


"From the beginning, I have made this choice."


Thereupon that tree was everything that I had wanted to be. But He was in a position I never would have accepted.


"Make me like You," I prayed. "Whatever it takes, God. Make me like You."


"I will remake you. You have recognized My righteousness, so I name you Melchizedek. You have submitted to my judgment, so I name you King of Salem.


"From this day on, you are without father, without mother, and without ancestry. You have neither beginning of days, nor end of life. I will answer your prayer. I will make you like My Son. And you shall be a priest continually.


"You shall know my ways, becoming the seed of a priesthood yet to come, unto Me and from Me. My covenant you shall know.


"This will be not by the works of your flesh or the fulfillment of a law, but according to the power of My endless life.


"This office you shall hold only for a moment, but in your place will come the eternal King and Priest over all creation. I will exalt Him above all, and as his precursor and a shadow of things to come, you shall receive honor in his name for all time. For so similar shall I make you to Him, that you will bear those titles which I have reserved for Him."


 

All around Abram and Melchizedek, men and women danced, ate, and celebrated with raucous abandon. Victory was the refrain of the evening, and the celebration had made the night seem bright. But all the while, since they arrived back in Sodom, Abram had been unable to ignore the feeling of nervous anticipation he should have felt, but didn’t, when he marched out from the great trees with only three-hundred and eighteen men. 


On that march, he had enjoyed peace. Faith had settled his soul as he rode out, as he divided his army, and as the battle began beneath the dark sky. He knew his enemy, he knew his purpose, and he knew his God. What was there to fear?


But now, the anticipation normally reserved for battle was upon him. He felt a reservation in his soul, preventing him from celebrating with his family, his men, and these people from Sodom. He had watched, his mind far removed from the festivities, as Bera gave a long-winded speech to congratulate Abram on his victory. He had smiled mirthlessly as the celebrations began and Lot thanked him again and again, each time more and more sincerely.


Then, a king from another city entirely - one not involved in this conflict at all - had arrived on the scene and sought him out. And to do what? To sit in the dirt by a fire and tell a fantastical tale about angels, gardens, and the Voice of God.


Abram could see his God’s penmanship in this story. His soul was awake, vigilant. Where was this night taking him? The victory against Kedorlaumer was not the part of this adventure he would remember. No, something yet to come would mark him. Weight rested upon him. So much weight, but wh-


“Abram.”


He came to attention promptly and returned his attention to Melchizedek. “Yes, my lord?”


The king of Salem smiled easily, his eyes filled with genuine concern. “What is troubling you?”


Abram took a moment to temper his words, reminding himself that he was seated with a king, no matter how informal Melchizedek had chosen to be. “My lord, I am very grateful to have heard your story. You have strengthened my soul and revealed to me more of the God we both worship. I am filled with thoughts of what is to come, and what I should do about what you have told me.” Hastily, Abram added, “If it pleases you, my lord.”


Melchizedek leaned forward, his countenance stern like a brother who has decided not to tolerate his younger sibling’s foolishness any longer. “Abram, I did not come here tonight to be honored, and I have not told you this story to heighten your opinion of me. God sent me to speak with you. You have something to give me, and I you, but neither of us shall receive what He intends for us if you will not be honest with me.”


Like Egypt, Abram thought, gently chastising himself. With effort, he forced out a good-natured chuckle. “Sorry, Melchizedek. I am not a man under a king myself, but I am careful when dealing with kings.”


“Wise, but what authority do I wield here? This is Bera’s party.” Melchizedek gestured across the sea of tents and dancing bodies to where Bera, king of Sodom, sat upon a raised chair and bellowed laughter, lifting his cup towards the favored comedian of the moment.


Abram nodded and leaned towards Melchizedek. “So, friend, what are you trying to tell me?”

Melchizedek leaned back and shrugged while shaking his head wildly in an undignified expression of wordlessness quite unbecoming of a king. When Abram’s confusion did not flee his face, Melchizedek leaned forward to elaborate on the gesture. “I have said what God intended me to say to you. The question is, what is He trying to tell you? I cannot know what my story means for your life. That is between you and Him, and for that, we must pray.”


Abram nodded and began to draw his knees under him into a posture of prayer, but stopped as Melchizedek raised a finger and swiftly stood, stepping away into the press of celebrants.

Abram had little time for confusion, as the apparent target of Melchizedek’s search was in abundant supply - a hunk of bread, and a pitcher of wine.


“What is this?”


Melchizedek resumed his seat across from Abram and held the elements reverently. “This is something God showed me. It reminds me of His promises.” Melchizedek tore the bread in half and handed one of the pieces to Abram. 


“Promises?”


“Hold out your cup.” Abram obeyed. After Melchizedek had filled his cup, and another for himself, he answered. “What has God promised you, Abram son of Terah?


“Oh, well. I… nothing like what He said to-”


“Abram, I just told you that God would honor my name for all time and give me eternal life. And I expect you to believe me. I trust you. Please, trust me. I suspect that you are greater than I in this area, and I would be blessed if that were so.”


Melchizedek’s words cleared the anxious thoughts from Abram’s mind, and he felt the well-remembered words God had spoken to him stepping from his mind towards his tongue. He closed his eyes, holding the bread and wine.


“‘I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse; and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.’”


The sound of the revelries around them could not penetrate the silence between the king and the patriarch.


“Blessed be Abram by God Most High, Creator of heaven and earth. And praise be to God Most High, who delivered your enemies in your hand.”


They ate, and they drank. The silence lingered and dissipated in its time.


“Thank you, Melchizedek.”


The king of Salem grasped Abram’s shoulder, nearly in tears.


“Melchizedek, how did you become the king of Salem?”


The king’s answer came without pause for thought. “God said I would be, so I am.”


Abram turned once again to Bera, upon his raised throne. “You have known him. How did he become king of Sodom?”


Here, Melchizedek did pause, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. “He desired it, so he took it.”


Abram watched Bera for a moment. Watched his face. He was smiling, but there was no life in his eyes. And for a moment, Abram felt sure he knew where Bera’s path led. He mourned, and he feared.


“Melchizedek, this victory has been more costly than I realized.”


“What do you mean?”


“I am a rich man already, and this victory has made me even more so.” Abram turned his gaze, eyes sharp with conviction, towards Melchizedek. “The spoils of Kedorlaumer’s kingdom are great, but I am looking to build on a better foundation than his. A foundation that you have provided a brick for. It is right that I should compensate you for your gift with a gift of my own.”


Melchizedek nodded, patiently comprehending Abram’s words.


“I will give you a tenth. Of everything.”


Melchizedek smiled, wide and knowing. “You know, my kingdom is not poor.”


“It’s not about that,” Abram waved a hand as if to shoo off the notion. “You have blessed me, and now I will bless you.”


Melchizedek spread his arms toward heaven and laughed. “And so the word of God is fulfilled!”


“Indeed!” The deep, half-conscious voice of Bera was loud and abrasive upon the tender moment. “The God of Abram is true to His word today.”


Abram rose swiftly and offered a bow to King Bera. Melchizedek followed suit.


“My lord, what can I do for you?”


“Abram!” Bera’s words stretched long and were rough around their edges. The king of Sodom dropped one of his arms unceremoniously onto Abram’s shoulder. “You have done me a great service. You and your God! So let me solidify this partnership and repay you handsomely for your efforts. Give me the people and keep the goods for yourself! My citizens are mine, but my stolen goods are now yours!”


The test was obvious. It was not a test from Bera - the drunk king had no idea the significance of his offer. But Abram did. Melchizedek did.


Though even with the test being clear, and a brother in faith standing with him, Abram still felt his heart pulled towards the temptation of greater riches. The spoils of a kingdom could build for Abram a kingdom of his own. He could establish the promised nation with this wealth, and from there, conquer all the land that was given to him. Was this an open door to the destiny God had spoken? Could this be the turning moment he had awaited? 


“Lift your eyes now and look from the place where you are — northward, southward, eastward, and westward; for all the land which you see I give to you and your descendants forever. And I will make your descendants as the dust of the earth; so that if a man could number the dust of the earth, then your descendants also could be numbered. Arise, walk in the land through its length and its width, for I give it to you.”


The words of the LORD echoed in Abram’s heart. Was this a fulfillment? Abram had no descendants, and riches would not earn him any. And conquest? What fool conquers in his own strength that which he has already been given? 


Conviction gripped Abram. He had not sworn to conquer this land; his oath before God had been to receive that which God was giving at the expense of all else the world offered. All else. Not to take for the glory of God, but to receive for the honor of God.


“My Lord Bera, King of Sodom, I have raised my hand to the Lord, God Most High, the Possessor of heaven and earth, that I will take nothing, from a thread to a sandal strap, and that I will not take anything that is yours, lest you should say, ‘I have made Abram rich’— except only what the young men have eaten, and the portion of the men who went with me: Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre; let them take their portion.”


Bera laughed, heartily and at great length. Abram waited through it, conviction holding his heart in a firm grip.


“To think, such a fool laid Kedorlaomer low! How I and my allies wrestled with him and could find no leverage. Yet a rich vagabond comes along and puts him to shame. Glory to God indeed! Whoever your god is, Abram, he is clearly very skilled at his craft; to use such humble tools for such mighty works.”


Abram breathed a sigh of relief, his heart reassured by the vision of God he was portraying in Bera’s eyes. “Yes, my Lord. Such is the way He shows His might.”


“Just wait, my Lord!” Melchizedek chimed in jovially from behind Abram. “Greater works than these we shall see in Abram!”


“Perhaps we shall, but I’ll give you this warning Abram.” Bera’s face took on a facsimile of seriousness, warped by drink but filled with severe self-confidence. “The great skill of fools is to squander what they are given. Wisen up, my friend, and learn to take what you can get. Gods are fickle. Drink deeply of your blessings while they last, or else you will spend your whole life hungering yet never eating. And I promise you this - destruction comes, and no matter what we dream, those dreams can never meet with reality. Partake of every desire Abram, and then let it fade away after you’re gone. Time is faithful to clean up our messes, so I say, get dirty!”


 

Abram slept restlessly that night. He yearned for the comfort of his wife. Bera’s final words replayed in his mind. Repulsive as Bera might be, he was the king over a nation. His words carried the weight of his position and Abram struggled to shake them. No descendant. No nation. And an aging body. What did this equation add up to?


But God did not leave him to wrestle these doubts alone. Abram closed his eyes to a vision, and the LORD said to him, “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward.”


Abram questioned God with honesty. “Lord God, what will You give me, seeing I go childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus? Look, You have given me no offspring; indeed one born in my house is my heir!”


God approached Abram, growing closer in the tranquil waves of the vision. “This one shall not be your heir, but one who will come from your own body shall be your heir.”


God beckoned, and Abram rose. He exited the tent, following God into the cold, quiet night air. “Look now toward heaven, and count the stars if you are able to number them.”


Abram raised his eyes and began to count. He lost count. Again. And again. The stars seemed to be multiplying before his eyes. The sky became so full of them that blackness fled from the heavens and a covering of light was over the earth.


“So shall your descendants be.”


Comfort washed Abram clean of his doubts. He felt light and secure. He wept easily, tears flowing without strife. The burdens of the night lifted, and he was grateful to know that his answer to Bera had been right.


“I believe You, God.”

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