The Road of Life

Beloved, you have often heard that God allows the form and experience of death, sins and devil to remain in us so that sins gnaw at me, grab me in the conscience and want to drown me in doubt. For instance, the law of God frightens me so that death also grips me and wants to shake me and the devil puts his foot on my throat and wants to drown me. For God allows the outer sinful appearance to remain and takes nothing away. This mask must remain. And here, under these masks, lies life, innocence and lordship over death, sins and the devil as He Himself says. ‘Upon this rock I will build My church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.’

—Martin Luther

I. Romans 6:1–7

The road was getting darker and colder, the sun a smudge in the sky. The concrete city walls closed in at times as if trying to choke my path. But there was only one way to go, and so I trudged. Maddening. In fact, I could feel the frustration welling up into anger as I passed another of the endless alleys.

I heard a throat clear in the shadows. My shoulders slumped. It was no use running. I wanted to scream. One by one, they stepped out of the darkness, a circle around me.“Adam,” I said to the leader.“You’re looking old as ever.”

A shove from behind sent me almost to my knees. “You may call me Adam the First,” he sneered. “All you ever do is walk down this stinking road. But no matter how far you go, you never get anywhere. How far back did you leave us? And yet, suddenly you get angry and here we are again.” His posse snickered, then there was silence. I was in for a beating. “Well, let’s get this over with,” I said. There were always wages to be paid.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” Adam cooed. “You used to run with us. It was fun. We had a good time. But it’s not like that anymore. You got washed, and now we only meet like this.” His voice turned persuasive. “Tell you what. Why don’t you join up with us again and head back down the alley? Then we can avoid all the unpleasantness.”

It was tempting, but I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t do that anymore. It’s against the Law.”

“The Law,” Adam repeated. He looked annoyed, talking to the child who never listened. “Don’t you know that your beloved Law spurs us on? It’s what makes us so fun! If we weren’t illegal, we couldn’t hurt you the way we do.” He shrugged. “Have it your way.” His eyes glanced behind me, and he nodded. It came, quick and sharp and blinding. It was only one blow, but enough to send me to the ground, gasping for air. I’d felt it before, but it still hurt.

“Man, oh, man.” Adam was standing over me, his boot on my back to make sure I couldn’t rise. “You should know better. You’ve got your faith in some promise that you’ve been delivered, but I’m betting my boot feels a lot more real. We’re still more powerful than you. We own you, man.”

“You don’t own me anymore,” I whispered, my forehead in dust and gravel. “You can still harass me, but a thug in the alley isn’t the same as a king. You’re not my lord anymore.”

He spat in disgust. “Fool.You know where this road is going.” His followers started to slip back into the alley shadows. With a mock bow, he disappeared. “Farewell. Until next time.”

And then I was alone.

II. Revelation 20:1–2 and I Peter 5:8

I was up and walking again, nursing the bruise on my back. In the past, I’d felt such blows for weeks, and I was thankful that it had been no worse this time. But it left another mark. Walking unevenly and preoccupied, I stumbled and thought about resting. From time to time, the living dead looked out their windows before returning to their lifelessness.

It was then that I saw her, stopped in my tracks. She was striking and young, huddled against a wall in a vacant lot, an object of desire with flowing dress and cascading hair. She instantly made me ashamed of my shambling walk, her beauty a welcome change from the grit of the city. I wondered why she lay there, and I was soon answered. In the gathering dusk, I could see that someone had fashioned a heavy iron collar around her graceful neck and chained her to the wall. I wanted to weep. I wanted to run over immediately and try to set her free. But she was off the road.

She stirred, opened her eyes and met mine. There was a spark, a flash of animation in her face. She pushed herself off the ground, struggled to her feet. She held the heavy chain with both hands, as if its weight alone would pull her back to the ground. She spoke. “Please come here. Please help me.” A plea. A bruised siren’s voice, and in confusion and desire my feet started to move.

But she was off the road.

“Please,” she appealed again. I shut my eyes and clenched my jaw, forcing myself away from what I saw to what I had heard in the past. A moment ticked by slowly, but with all my resolve I could only manage a weak, “No. I’d better go.”

“Help me,” she begged, her voice rising. “How can you not?”

With my hand, I drew the sign on myself, forehead to stomach and shoulder to shoulder. Afraid of my own voice, I turned and started back along the road. She cried out again behind me, but the cry had changed to something feral. Sound exploded behind me, and I heard the chain clatter as paws and talons burst toward me. I spun to find that the woman was no more, only a beast with red eyes charging, smells of sulfur and the damned. It was arrowing straight for me at an astonishing speed, and I had no chance to react. The beast bounded once more and pounced, jaws hungry for my throat.

But the chain stopped it short in midair at road’s edge, whip-sawing its body in a half-circle and onto the ground. It gathered its feet underneath, panting angrily, then turned to stare through me once more. “I’ll get you again,” it hissed.

“You’re chained,” I said dully, biting my lip. I should just walk away.

“I’m chained, but you’ll come to me. It’s only a matter of time. I’m far more powerful than you.”

“I don’t doubt that at all,” I replied. “But you are not my master, and my Master is far greater than you. It is He who put that chain around your neck.”

The thing shuddered, shot hatred from its eyes. “Believe that if you want. But you know what lies ahead. You know where the road goes.”

“I know,” I said, and my weary walk began again.

III. I Corinthians 15:20–26

So would the journey go, the sky always darkening and the temperature dropping. Adam and his gang would stalk me from alley to alley, and I’d take a beating no matter how hard I tried to resist. The beast would invent new disguises to lure me off the road; and with such enemies close by, it seemed I was getting nowhere.

But finally, the road ended.

It ended in a hole—a dank, musty hole that roared with silence and swallowed light. It was far more terrifying than Old Adam and his ilk had ever been; in fact, they stood behind me, goading me. The beast was seated at the edge of the road, chain stretched taut, its eyes fastened on me. “There is no going back,” it snarled. “It’s your only choice, and it is no choice at all. Even if you do not believe Old Adam and me to be your lords, you must bow to this one. There is no other way. Back to dust you go.”

“Dust,” murmured Old Adam and his gang.

Though I’d always known it was coming, I had not expected it to be this way. Panic welled and adrenalin raced, even as my breathing grew shallower. But then, by a grace outside of me, I spoke one last time. “That pit is my enemy, but it is not my lord. My Lord has conquered it too. He will use it for my good, and He will destroy it in His time.”

I slumped and toppled into the hole.

The shrieks and taunts of foes faded.

I fell and fell and fell asleep.

And awoke to hear my Lord command,“I say to you, Arise.”

Pastor Tim Pauls is the associate pastor of Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Boise, Idaho, and the editor of Higher Things Magazine. His e-mail address is pauls@higherthings.org.