Such a clever way for the son to remind the writers of what they already knew: everything has a time, a time to be seen. But “see” they would. And see they did as they followed the son on his journey. A journey that established a new perimeter for LOVE. The Author had said that it would be bigger, but the writers had clearly underestimated the scope of the project. The son established just how far they must go, stopping and placing his hands and feet in his father’s ink all along the way. As he walked out the L, the O, the V, and the E, many began to follow. Some left their pens behind. Some carried their pens along. Some tried to write as they walked but quickly gave it up. Others followed with swords to guard against the other writers.
And quietly, stealthy as it is, the darkness crept closer. It whispered to those who would listen. It questioned the motives of the son. The voice of darkness made many believe that the son would take all of the credit. To others, the darkness whispered that the son was deceiving them. Some writers believed that they should sharpen their pens. They believed that the sword was mightier than the pen. And though God had said to write, they chose the fight.
With the whispering of darkness, many chose to stay back and not follow the son. They were convinced that this man could not be the Author’s son. Many did not like that he was writing without a pen. Many did not like that the son wanted to change the rules, to nearly eliminate the rules! “Live LOVE,” he said, “for my father and each other.” It could not be that simple! So, with pens sharpened, the writers corralled the son. As they did, many who had followed the son fled the scene.
The writers struck the son with all of their disbelief. “This man is a liar! He claims to be from the Author, yet he has no pen! Moreover, he writes with his hands! None of us can do that, why should he?” What they were saying was true. The son had no pen. He did write with his hands. But was that cause for death? The writers continued to accuse, “You know the rules! Anyone who claims the Author as the father must die!” This was true, also. Almost. The rule stated that anyone who falsely claimed the Author as their father must die. The writers decided that the son must die because they did not believe he was the Author’s son. He was not to be allowed to work on the project any longer. He would die for their disbelief.
The Author watched all of this. Though it made him sad, he knew it must happen. And it did. Pierced by transgressions – not his, but theirs – the son’s blood began to flow. Run through by the writers, the son bled. With shouts of, “The sword is mightier than the pen!” writers struck him. Those who had followed the son had no swords, save for one. But the son told that writer to put his sword away. Many of the son’s followers dropped their pens and fled. They huddled in the corners, trapped between the swords of the writers and the darkness of Lucifer’s ink. Many watched in horror as the writers dragged the son’s body toward the darkness, to be deposited out of LOVE.
As the body was dragged away, a curious thing happened. What was true of the son in life was also true in death: every place or person he touched was changed. There was separation, and restoration, as God’s ink was set free from the Lucifer ink. The writers questions were being answered, whether they realized it or not.
It was in his DNA.
Before the son had come to the canvas, he had placed his hands and his feet in his father’s tears. The Author, as Light, always repelled darkness. The Author’s DNA was on the son and in the son. Lucifer’s ink, existing only in darkness, could not remain where the son had touched. And now, within the plan of the Author, his son’s blood spilled so that his DNA could free the writers to use his ink once again.
As the son’s body was dragged beyond LOVE and into darkness, the writers heard a voice. It was the same voice that had whispered to them. It was the same voice that whispered from the darkness to the first writers. But this was not a whisper. This was a blood-curdling scream from the darkness. A scream of victory. The darkness now held the very thing that could defeat darkness – the DNA of the Author.
Questions to consider
*where do you see yourself in this part of the story? Who do you identify with?
*What does this line mean to you, Many watched in horror as the writers dragged the son’s body toward the darkness, to be deposited out of LOVE. ?