Short Story - "What It's All About"

What It’s All About

(Or, A Profound Meditation along the Billy Goat Trail)

By Joseph Gill

October 17, 2010

            “What is it all about, anyway?” I fiddled upon the rock that served as my seat, gazing out across the canyon. “I mean, really. All this effort, all this beauty, all this…all of this, what is it for? In a few short eons, it will all be gone. In a few short decades, we will be gone. What about it all?”

            John didn’t respond, as usual. Lost in his own thoughts, or perhaps formulating a response, I didn’t know which. Such a holy enigma, he was.

            “Ya know what I’m saying? I remember learning in philosophy class that some famous dead guy said that you can’t step into the same river twice, because the second time it’d be different. Then the next famous dead guy came along and said that we can’t even step into the same river once, because all is just constant change.”

            How apropos to reference a river, I thought, as I stared off across the crystal blue stream of the Potomac, flowing swiftly on this stunning autumn day. Always flowing, always carving a deeper path through the rocky canyon in which we sat.

            John at last said something, at least acknowledging that I had spoken. “I don’t know,” he said, in characteristic simplicity, before returning to his silent watch of the passing earth.

            I didn’t know what else to say, how else to put into words the transience that I felt that day, surrounded by a beauty that was as fleeting as it was stunning. My breath was taken away by the steep rock walls that formed a cocoon around us, rising high to the azure sky.

            I rubbed my forearms, still sore from the tremendous effort it took to descend the steep rock face. It was worth it, though, to discover this tiny refuge of flat stone on the banks of the river. Even the sun was obscured from our view in the shadows of this canyon – I could see the shimmering outline of where the sun would be peeking its way around the rock face in but a minute or two.

            Glancing at John, I noticed him staring at me with his eyes, as blue as the sky and the river. I turned away, not worthy to look into a soul so pure. Briefly I felt dirty, an impure wretch beside a living tabernacle, even though nothing on my conscience convicted me of sin. I simply knew that my love for God would never be able to match the union that John enjoyed, even at such a young age.

            “The glory of God is truly in this place,” I said, but it was forced piety; the words sounded awkward in my mouth. I recalled what Tertuillian had said centuries before: The glory of God is man fully alive. And how alive I felt this day! My senses were more alert than ever before, trying to take in more beauty than could possibly be consumed by my own limited mind.

            I looked over to John again, trying to discern on his face what he was thinking. He gave off an air of being uncomplicated, as he gazed long at the other side of the canyon wall, himself trying to soak in the surroundings. It was a safe bet to say that he agreed with my former assertion that this day was the splendor of God on display for man to enjoy, or ignore. And he was enjoying it, allowing it to draw him ever closer to the Beloved of his heart.

            Again trying to discern the mysteries of the universe, I picked up my prior theme. “I feel so insignificant out here. As if God could really care about the lives of three souls who found themselves on the banks of the Potomac river today. It seems sometimes like the great cosmos of life is just too large for us to make any difference at all.”

            I noticed John absent-mindedly pick up a pebble and toss it into the water, staring intently at the spot where the elements collided. Perhaps he was just distracted; or perhaps he meant it as a parable. With John, I was never sure.

            My attention was diverted to a hawk flying overhead. Such a majestic creature, soaring on weightless wings. I wondered if I could ever take God up on His promise, that those who trusted in Him would rise up on wings like the eagle, to soar above the petty problems of this earth-bound mass of humanity.

            “Crud! How do you get down from here?”

            I looked up to see Patrick standing on a narrow ledge, as he tried to follow our path of descent to the valley floor.

            John chuckled to see him, the most boastful of our crew, abandoned with a thirty-foot drop beneath him. “You can do it!” John called out, encouragingly.

            “Yeah, but how?” He wasn’t genuinely worried, just frustrated. And probably a little embarrassed, considering how he was the one who cockily told us that this would be an easy climb.

            I stood up and pointed out the way to him, following a faint path down the solid granite that stood between him and the resting place beside the river.

            Deftly, like a hind that was longing for the peace and rest of this flowing stream, he agilely made his way down. Finally standing on flat ground once again, he beheld the view. “Oh, wow.”

            It was indeed becoming ever more beautiful, if that were even possible. The sun had begun to peek its face around the cliffs that surrounded us, its rays playing with the autumn leaves, dappling them in vibrant colors.

            My mind was blown. There must be a Love that created this, just for us. I looked up to the top of the cliff where the path led, and saw people distractedly eating lunch or talking on their cell phones, completely missing the canvas that the Master Artist was painting right before our very eyes.

            And yet, how do I fit into this great work of art, I in my weakness and frailty? I am but a man, created as wondrous as this glory yet so often corroded by my own humanity. I looked down to the greatest example of a holy soul that I knew, who sat before me looking at the professional rock climbers scrambling up the other side of the canyon. John had nothing to say, as usual, but what was happening in his soul?

            “What do you think of all this, John?” I asked, trying to glimpse into the hidden realms.

            He smiled, and looked at me briefly before returning his eyes to the scene before him. “It’s really beautiful. Thanks for inviting me to come hiking with you.”

            That’s it? That’s all that is going on in his soul? This living incarnation of Christ’s injunction to possess the heart of a child…and he can only express it in the simplest of terms. Perhaps that is what made him so holy, that he is able to love God with uncomplicatedness. I suppose that when one embraces the God who is Pure Light Himself, there is nothing more to say.

            “I think this is pretty beast,” Patrick offered, smiling broadly in his impish, worldly-wise way. He looked back from whence he came, and slapped the rock. “I totally poned that climb. And the view ain’t half-bad, either.”

            I snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. I can’t think of a place I’d rather be than here.”

            He laughed. “Oh, I can think of several. Maybe back in bed!”

            I had to laugh at his response – it was true that we certainly did get an early start on the day, to beat the crowds out to this solitary spot – but, is it really better to be asleep than alive? I suppose transcendence is lost on the carnal.

            I breathed in and breathed out, lost for words. For the first time in a long time, I saw that same look of satisfaction on Patrick’s face that I had been enjoying. He was taking it in, too, drinking in the living water pouring from beauty.

            I turned back around, not wanting to stare in wonder at what the Great Spirit could do through His masterpiece.

            Breaking the moment’s silence, I spoke aloud. “I remember reading in a book that God draws people to Him in one of three ways: through truth, beauty, or goodness. What do you think yours is?”

            Patrick smirked. “Why do you always have to be so super-religious?”

            “Seriously, Patrick. Just answer the question.”

            But he didn’t, and I don’t know if he also couldn’t. For those who know not God, the spiritual is nothing but folly. I tried hard not to judge him, but I also knew him. I knew that he had been wrestling with even the most basic intellectual consent to the existence of God. My question might have been too deep for him at this point.

Yet I could see on his face that he was not remaining neutral to God’s art. I believe that it is impossible to be in the sacred presence of God in nature without it affecting us deeply, deeper even than our rational thought. Beauty needs no argument for its existence. It is enough to experience it. And if God is Beauty Itself…

            “John, what about you?” I pressed, wanting a glimpse into a beauty even greater than all of creation: the splendor of a soul in the state of grace.

            He thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Goodness, I guess.”

            “Why?”

            “I guess it just fits me.”

            I withdrew my queries. A mystery such as a soul in love with God is perhaps a veil that is not meant to be penetrated.

            So, instead, I shared my own thoughts. “I think I’m drawn by truth. I’ve always wanted to stake my life on something rock-solid, like this cliff behind us. This rock has been here for millions of years, and it’s not about to go anywhere anytime soon. I need Christ to be the solid rock on which I build my life.”

            “I don’t know if we can really separate the three,” John said, for the first time adding an unprovoked comment. “I mean, God is good because goodness is beautiful and true, right? It’s all one, because it’s all one God.”

            Good ol’ John. The quietest waters run the deepest, just like the Potomac before us. He was right.

            And of course, Patrick had to rub it in. “Ooh, fail. Look how he poned you! C’mon, what you got now?”

            I just smiled. “Well, he’s right, you know.”

            He laughed, but had no more to say. He went back to tracing with his hand the outline of a quartz vein lodged within the granite.

            “That’s true, I suppose,” I said to John, re-settling myself onto the rock that served as my seat. “God uses every avenue possible to draw us to Him, and when we experience Him, we experience all of Him – the love, the beauty, the truth, the goodness. All of it, all at once. Wow.”

            John, while he listened, was intently watching a school of minnows swimming around in the shallow water right below our feet.

            And they swam, in concert, for the greater glory of God. That phrase that we so glibly throw around – the glory of God – what was it? I recalled my theology classes, how my erudite (or perhaps perfectly obscure) professor said that it was “ordered causal relationships.” I had never been able to understand what he meant by that. On the contrary, the glory of God was something that was perhaps easier to identify than to define. I knew it when I saw it, and here, with the way that every micro-ecosystem formed a vital link in the great chain of the world, the glory of God was present. Everything was working with everything else, all converging in this moment to put on a show for us: the drama that we so easily call creation. But creation is nothing less than the fingerprints of God, a thing that we should not take so lightly.

            Perhaps that’s what my professor meant…

            Presently I noticed Patrick digging into my backpack, which I had strewn on the ground behind me. He pulled out a package of beef jerky and then looked at me expectantly, begging for some.

            “Go ahead,” I granted. “Just toss me some when you’re done with it.”

            He obliged, gnawing down on the tough rawhide and passing a piece to me.

            We had to squint as we continued gazing at the marvel before us, as the sun rose higher in the sky, casting its rays upon us and showering everything in its love.

            What a symbol for life, I thought. Here was this glowing orb which gave life to the earth as it burned itself out. By its own destruction, it gave a chance for us to exist as we did. And thus did the Son do as well…

            “I think I got it!” I exclaimed. I think I startled John a little bit by my outburst, but I couldn’t help myself. “That’s what it’s all about!”

            “What the heck are you talking about?” Patrick shot at me, his mouth full of jerky.

            “What it’s all about. Creation is so transient that it is meaningless without redemption. And redemption is meaningless without sanctification. It’s the Trinity! They all work together to help us figure it all out! This is awesome! And stop eating all of my jerky.”

            “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled through his stuffed mouth. “But I still don’t get it.”

            “I’m not sure that I do, entirely, either. But so often it seems like life is meaningless, you know? Like we’re just here one day, and then we’re gone the next. Even this beauty, while nice, won’t last past today. But we’re not condemned to bear this burden of emptiness because Jesus has redeemed us. We’re not destined just to pass away like the water of this river. We’re meant to exist eternally in love, to become lost in the God of the universe Who has been reaching out to us in every way possible, through beauty, truth, and goodness, all of which are embodied in Jesus Christ. And He has sent the Spirit to start that transformation in us, the transformation that is our growth into a God-like soul – that’s truly the glory of God!”

            “Thank you, Pope Joe,” Patrick remarked sarcastically.

            But John’s face was glowing with an unearthly glow I had never seen. It was more than just the sun on his face – he was positively radiating the Spirit with a grin that looked as if it was about to jump off of his face.

            Perhaps I finally understood something that he had known for years; it was hard to read such radiance. In any case, my mind had been enlightened as well.

            John stood up and looked back up to the top of the rock cliff. “Well, I guess it’s about time for us to climb back up. You guys ready?” Without waiting for a response, which he knew would be in the affirmative, he started his way up the wall.

            I could only marvel as I waited my turn, after he and Patrick had started the difficult ascent. Had he been willing to wait there until I had understood the meaning of it all? Did I just discover the secret to the depths of his spirituality?

            Stealing one last glance at the river, I silently thanked God that He had shown me what it’s all about.

THE  END