At the Outskirts of Glory
At some such time which is upon us soon, at which the birth of a new City shall be witnessed, a man finds himself contemplating the beauty that is before him.
The man, who during his earthly life had been for considerable time a beggar, and who had lived with those of little means outside the city, in a dwelling place of tents, had nevertheless been a quite cheerful man in his heart. He was well known among the inhabitants and comrades who shared his misfortune. He was particularly beloved among the children who took great joy to play about him and the portion of the grove where he made his camp. There, they would frequently fashion new games and mischiefs in which to partake. They spun fantastical, chaotic fables, unhampered by the confines of their portion of forest, living as explorers and venturing outside their timely and spatial bounds. Often, they made the man a character in the plots which they devised; sometimes as their villain—a troll or ogre, or other such fearful creature—but just as often as their valiant knight or general, at their lead and service. The man, being quite like a child himself, was always a willing character. With ease, he fell into their parallel world which so many others failed or simply did not dare to see.
He had been a man with no particular lucrative talent which a society such as the one in which he was born might have found to be admirable—though this never seemed to be of any consequence to the children, as he was readily a beholder of the world of wonder they inhabited, in a time and place which most would have considered dreary and devoid of spirit. He, like the children, was a seeker of the beauty which was imbued around him.
In this encampment by the grove, he had often cared for neighbor and stranger alike, at times giving his dwelling as a shelter, at other times attending to the sick with food, water, and his good cheer. The gifts which he received from travelers and neighbors did not remain with him long, nor did any of his possessions. Having been given a blanket, at one point, of notable quality and craftsmanship by a kind woman to whom it had belonged—a sojourning woman who had lived the life of a wealthy woman with her husband, and when bearing the weight of his loss had given up her life of luxury, and was then distributing what was desirable among their possessions to the community of the needy—from such a woman he had received a blanket fashioned from an animal fur, which had proven resilient in maintaining warmth against the harsh winters which besieged the country and were wont to last through the better part of the year.
The man, having been like a pilgrim in this country, had himself acted as beneficiary to another: a mother and her child, who had been dispossessed following upheaval in a neighboring land and found themselves living in the encampment at the close of fall. He, knowing the bitter cold that awaited and himself having been a wanderer earlier in his life, made a gift of this his most prized possession, the fur blanket which had granted him the luxury of comfort in many a lonesome night, to the mother and her child. Having accepted no payment for this, not even one of gratitude—for he had counted himself among the unworthy—he had returned to his tent, to a peculiar warmth which had filled him and had remained with him in the night. Yet, the weathered wrinkles of his face had been formed into a smile in the dark of night and remained that way for the duration of that harsh season. For the man, it had been as though still summer, for this permeating warmth had stayed with him and could not be shaken even in the whipping winds and the cutting snow; the winds were as a gentle breeze, and the snow as a misty dew to him.
It had not been more than a year after that incident, at which time this man had succumbed to illness at the encampment and then found himself in a place, not unlike his prior dwelling, at the outskirts of a great settlement. However, this place which at the time he was assessing had a sort of mystical peculiarity. He noted a gentle beckoning ease about the landscape, with supple hillsides rolling over the great expanse. The birds of the air seemed to fly with levity, lacking strife or urgency, and even the pulsing buzz of the bees and locusts seemed void of the typical rancorous notes, but felt quite serene. No longer did he feel the looming threat of winter there. No, not even a hint of cold, but rather a gentle warmth: a breathing warmth. This abounding warmth he felt, which seemed to radiate from the very depths of the strange City, was much like the warmth he had felt in the midst of that frosty eve, which had sheltered him from the cold and had kept him through the final winter he was to experience. He was not alone there, at that place where he stood appreciating the beauty laid out before him, but another one like a man was standing next to him. He had hardly noticed this form next to him, as he was awe stricken and lost in contemplation.
"What great city is this?" he asked, turning to face the one which stood by him.
He found this one looking at him, as though he had been studying him with an amicable curiosity. This stranger, pausing to look at the City, then back at the man, responded with calm demeanor and a mild tone, saying "It is good that you should know it, for this is your dwelling now."
"They would never let me in there", he remarked. Contemplating, and with lowered gaze, he went on to say, "I am of little means, and have no place in such a city. This could only be the place of a great king or emperor, and I am not fit to be in the court of greatness."
"You have spoken rightly", replied the other, "indeed, this is the great palace of our King. But there is hardly one more fit to dwell therein than you who have helped to build it."
The man, having been puzzled by this expression, paused and thought for a time in silence. After another moment, he had turned to the one which was next to him, and saw at that moment the face of one most radiant: the face of one shining forth with glory. Stricken by this sight, he felt that he was looking into the face of an angel, but all the same could see the face of that child to whom he had given the blanket, and likewise the face of his mother, and of many a sick neighbor, and of many a weary traveler, and of all the children.
"Who are you?" he staggered to say, "I feel that I have known you."
"You have known me, and noticed me more than most," the one with him went on to say, "I have been with you for a long time. I have been watching you for a long time. Many times, you were kind to me when I looked to you. Rare was the occasion that I was in your midst and you did not notice me." Then, stepping forward away from the hollow and toward the City, he motioned to the man, saying "Walk with me."
The one by him turned his gaze and set off toward the City, along a narrow path from the outskirts. The man followed closely by his side, and the two approached together. The closer they came to it, the more details became apparent to the man. It was quite beautiful, yet in every place that he looked it was different. It had marvelous walls, smooth and spanning wide, made of very large stones and ornate bricks. He at once noticed its great size, but also its great intricacy. As they came closer, the man became more uneasy.
They came to stand by one of the large gates, but the man would walk no further. Standing there with the other, at a short distance from the City, he began to weep, saying "I cannot go in there."
"Surely, you can come in," said the other, "as the King has asked for you."
At this point, there were many tears streaming down the man's face, and looking down at his hands, with a voice which quivered, he asked "How can this be? For I do not even possess the clothing to enter let alone to see a king."
But, with a gentle motion, the one who was with him wiped away his tears. At this point, that one removed his own tunic, which the man was now seeing was a fine work of embroidery and delicate stitching, with a fabric woven tightly though feeling light to the touch. It seemed to him, with clear eyes, that it had been woven with strands of gold which captured the radiant light, and seemed to opalesce at the fringes.
Marveling, he took the garment which the other held out toward him saying "Wear this."
"You cannot expect me to take this from you", said the man, "I have not done anything to deserve such a beautiful cloak."
"But it is your garment," said the other, "which you yourself had made and given to me, when I was as a young boy in the cold."
The man began to smile, cherishing a fond memory, and the tears again began to well up in his eyes—only this time, the one with him did not wipe them away, for they were not tears of sorrow but of gladness. The one with him helped him to put on the garment, and fastened the buttons, and also the belt around his waist, so that he might go see the King.
Turning to face the gate, and having looked back one last time to the familiar face which was with him, he wondered aloud, "Could I really have built this, as you have said? For I am no craftsman, and could hardly string up a tent I dwelt in."
But the one with him answered, "You, and many others like you have built this place, for every stone that is laid before you was placed by your breath. The walls, the courts, the very foundation: all these came from your lips, and the others like you. With every breath with which you blessed another, these became the bricks which you see in these walls. And with every breath with which you blessed the King, these also became the stones which are the foundation of this place. Being built like so, it will stand as you see it for a thousand times a thousand years and many more to come, for you have been great builders."
The one with him began to open the gate that he might enter. Having looked at him one more time, and having no more tears to offer, the man thanked him and turned toward the gate. He suddenly felt that he knew his way.
Finally, after taking a moment to gather his courage, he turned in—at first with a gasp, but knowing then that he was no longer a sojourner, for he had come to his rest.
—A