The Final Frontier

Joe lay on the grass like that for a time, but he knew he couldn’t stay in this wonderful place forever, so he got up and got ready to go. It didn’t take long because he had no gear to pack, but he did grab an apple for the trip, and he found some little carrots growing down by the bank. He took one last drink from the brook and climbed back up to the path. There was no door at the other end of the garden, and so with one last look at his little Eden, Joe set out again.

The way continued downward. A mile or so past the garden, the path ended at a door. The Bible verse on this door read: “John 12:24-25 “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’” The eternal life part sounded appealing, but that falling to the ground part was a little too close to reality. At any rate Joe opened the door and stepped through.

He was back in a tunnel. There were a few of the glowing rocks inside, but the way was dark and he felt he had to be careful. He walked slowly along for maybe a half an hour when he saw a light up ahead. He quickened his pace. As he got closer he saw an opening to his right and light was coming through that. He came up to the opening and looked in, and there sitting in a big overstuffed chair was Philo. He was reading Car and Driver magazine and drinking coffee. Next to the chair was a retro-looking floor lamp. There was a small fire in a fireplace off to Joe’s left. To his right was a wall full of bookshelves, which were all crammed with books. And these weren’t the kind of books that you see in a lawyer’s office that were all uniform. These looked like the kind of books that were collected with love over a lifetime. But it wasn’t just books. He saw a collection of pop-up books, and a stack of Iron Man comics. Joe noticed little pieces of paper sticking out of many of the books. He presumed they were bookmarks. There was a heavy wooden table between the bookshelves and the chair. On the table was a bowl of fruit, a coffee pot, a plate of cookies, and a package of chocolates. Right by the door was a coat tree made out of a weathered wooden post with railroad spikes driven into it. It was littered with coats, sweaters, hats, & umbrellas. There was a rather eclectic assortment of artwork on the walls. On one wall was an Escher print, on another a Van Gogh. Over the table was a print of some people in a coffee shop. There were several smaller pictures of ships on the sea. Over the fireplace was a crude painting of a road winding through a pass in the mountains.

The old man saw Joe looking at the mountain painting, “I painted that one,” he said.

“What’s it mean?” Joe asked.

“Nothing really, I just love mountain roads. Actually I love driving mountain roads. You know, top down, cool tunes, the woman you love in the seat next to you, and “no particular place to go.” There’s something special about that. Hey, why don’t you pull up a chair and sit down? If you want coffee or fruit, or anything, help yourself.” Joe did take a cup of coffee, and as he did so, he realized for the second time today, that he had not needed to save any food. Here was fruit and cookies, and even chocolate. He had already eaten the carrots, but he felt ashamed about the apple in his pocket. He grabbed a chair from the table and sat across from the old man. They sat in silence for maybe five minutes. Finally, Philo said: “So, Joey boy, what brings you here?”

“What do you mean? Don’t you know?”

“I’m not God, Joey; there are lots of things I don’t know.”

“Okay, then, let’s start there,” Joe said. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said back there. Here is where I’ve arrived in my thinking.”

“That’s what I meant by my first question. Where are you in your thinking? You wouldn’t be here if you had not already arrived at some conclusion in your mind.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s true. Well, I believe there is a God. I believe there is something called Truth, and I think I would say it is absolute. I think there is more to reality than the physical world. Beyond that is a big question mark for me. Actually a lot of question marks.”

“Such as?” Philo ventured.

“Well, everything you’ve said to me so far has made a ton of sense. But before we met I was really in the dark, Philo. How could I have been so blind?”

“Yeah, that’s a tough question, Joe, but let me offer this: I think the first lie you tell is to yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we humans have the rather annoying ability to convince ourselves of anything. A recovering alcoholic, for example, will lie to himself by saying ‘Oh, one drink won’t hurt. I can handle it.’ Or we lie to ourselves about some pain we don’t want to deal with. Eventually we spread the lie to others. The spreading of the lie just reinforces our blindness.”

Joe thought about that, and then said, “You’re right. As I look back I can see that there were truths presented to me that I just didn’t see.”

“Didn’t or wouldn’t see. Jesus put it this way: your eye is the lamp of your body. If your eye is good you will be filled with light, but if your eye is bad you will be filled with darkness. So it isn’t so much what you see as how you see.”

“That’s hard stuff.”

“Well, hang in there partner. It can only get better. What other questions did you have?”

“Well, you just mentioned Jesus. How does he fit into all this?”

“Let me tell you what I think, Joe. That will have to be enough for right now. Jesus is God in human form. He came to die for our sins.”

“I kind of thought you were going to say that. I’m not sure I see it. Anyway, I have another question. This is all kind of random but, if God is a loving God, why is there so much suffering in the world? Also, what happens to people who never get a chance to hear about God? Is there a heaven and hell? Stuff like that.”

“Those are big questions, Joe. Some of the biggest in fact. But you have found answers to some of the ultimate questions. Believe me that is a great start to answering the others. In other words, if God is an all-powerful, loving God we have to answer those questions in light of who he is. So let me ask you yet another question: “What about you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Joe responded.

“I mean, you have accepted certain truths, and that is good, but how do those truths affect you as a person? If there is a God, do you think he might want you to know him, not just know about him?”

“Like everything else, I never thought about it that way.”

“That’s the deal, Joe. That’s the main event.”

“You make it sound like a boxing match.”

“Well, Jacob in the Bible wrestled with God. I guess that metaphor has some value.”

“Oh, by the way,” Joe said, “What did you mean about the Seven Truths? You said nothing was more important than finding those.”

The old man thought for a second and said, “Some of them you already know about, you just aren’t aware of it. Others are yet to come. That’s all I can say for now. You have some business to take care of first.”

There was another long pause in the conversation. Philo just sat and looked at his hands. It became apparent that he was done talking. So Joe got up. Philo looked up at him. Joe said, “I need to be going. Do you pray or anything like that?”

“Yeah, I pray, Joe.”

“Could you think about me once in a while when you pray?”

“Have been and will do, Joe,” the old man said as he stood and shook Joe’s hand.

With that Joe turned and left the room. To the left led back outside the way he came, so Joe turned right and made his way along the path. The farther he went, the darker it got. The way went consistently down. The next two hours were probably the hardest two hours of his life. Because it was so dark he hugged the wall to his right to make sure he didn’t step where he shouldn’t step. He knew there was a wall on his left also; he just needed the reassurance of something solid all the time. But by crowding the wall he also bumped into rocks projecting in his way. After a time, he had a bump on his forehead and a nice bruise on his right shoulder.

Joe noticed the floor was wet. At first that didn’t bother him, but then it got slippery. Twice he fell, once really hard. Now his butt hurt along with his shoulder and head. Almost as soon as the floor dried up, the tunnel began to narrow down. Soon he could touch both walls, then he had to turn and shuffle sideways, and finally he came to a place where the opening was too short for him to stand up. It was too narrow to crawl, so Joe had to lie on his side and pull himself along with his hands. He couldn’t even bend his legs enough to push with his feet. He could just get a little purchase from time to time with his toes. That was frustrating and scary all at once. He came out of there scraped up and exhausted. He hoped Philo was praying.

Eventually the way grew wider and taller and he was able to walk upright again. It was pitch black, but he was happy just to be able to stand up. He was making his way along at a fairly good pace when his worst nightmare happened: he stepped off into nothing. It happened so suddenly that Joe could not stop himself from falling. He spun around and was able to catch himself with his arms, but that hurt his elbows, and he slipped down until he was only hanging by his hands. He screamed in pain and frustration, but his voice just echoed off the stone. He tried to pull himself up, but he was out of strength. He tried to find a foothold, but there were none. So he hung there in the dark. He was really mad. Why would God do this after everything else? When he was hanging outside yesterday, he could at least have a sense of how far he had to drop, but here, it was impossible. His thoughts of oozing brain matter didn’t help either. He thought he should let go, but his anger kept him glued to the edge. Tears came to his eyes. He whispered, “Why this, God? Why now? You’re asking too much. I can’t do it.” After a couple of minutes when it seemed like he just couldn’t hold on any longer, he released his grip, and his fingers slipped from the edge. He dropped six inches.

Now Joe was mad at himself. He had hung there in space mad at God, but the danger was all in his mind. He thought that the fool says in his heart there is no God, but the fool is also one who acts as if there is no God even when he believes in him. Worry is just another form of atheism, Joe thought. He sat down in the dark. He was done. Done with trying to control everything in his life. Done holding on to his pride and self-sufficiency. “Before this trip,” Joe said to himself, “it was all about me. But I wasn’t doing a very good job of managing my life. Now, since I began this journey, God has shown me that he is, that he cares for me, and that he will provide for me and protect me. That means he loves me, and that’s enough.”

He got up and felt his way around. He was again in a tunnel. He could only go one way, and so that’s what he did. Even though he was in total darkness, he could tell he was descending more rapidly than before. At some point he noticed that the ground underneath his feet had turned from hard stone to a mix of sand and gravel. Then he heard water running. Shortly after that he came to an underground stream. He put his hand into the water. It was cold. The stream was running from his right to his left. It seemed likely that would lead him outside. So he turned and walked in the direction the stream was flowing. It was slow going because there wasn’t always a place to walk. Often he had to wade down the middle of the stream. Occasionally something would swim past his legs. He hoped it was friendly.

Joe walked this way for most of an hour, but he knew he had not covered a lot of ground. As he walked, though, the sound of the stream got louder. Suddenly Joe met a wall right in front of him. If he hadn’t been groping about in the dark he would have run right into it. Joe realized that it was here that the stream exited the mountain. What now? He searched for an opening. He ran his fingers over the walls of the tunnel hoping with each new depression that it was an exit. But he found no exit. He crossed the stream and tried the other side, with the same results. He tried climbing the walls but that was unsuccessful also. Maybe this wasn’t the way outside. Maybe the stream was descending further into the mountain. How could he know? Ultimately Joe gave up. In fact, he was really tired. He decided to try to sleep. Maybe he could think better if he had some rest. He explored around until he found a little sandy spot above the streambed. His main concern was that it was dry. He also thought that if he rolled off into the stream he would get wet, but little more. Even so, he made a berm in the sand and an indentation to sleep in. He settled in, again using his sweatshirt for a pillow, and soon drifted off.

He woke several hours later. When he opened his eyes it took a few moments to realize he could see. There was light coming from somewhere. He stood up and found that light was coming from under the water. He had come to the end. There was a pool, and at the bottom he could see daylight. He hadn’t seen it earlier because it had apparently been nighttime when he arrived here. But could he get out? What if he dove down and the hole was too small and he got stuck under the water? Then he remembered that whole thing about worry and put those thoughts aside.

He stood at the edge of the pool. He was going to have to go headfirst, so he kneeled in the water, ducked his head in, and pushed off. The exit hole was about five feet below the surface of the pool. He didn’t hesitate. He swam through the opening. He stroked once, twice and on the third stroke he was outside and heading for the surface. He stood up in the water and walked to the bank. He shook himself off like a dog. He was free of the mountain, and he was never going back.

Joe looked around. He was in a little close valley. The walls of the valley rose sharply on both sides of the stream. He could tell that he was still rather high up because he could see lower lands off in the distance. He began to follow the stream as he had done inside the mountain. Soon it began to drop off and at one point he was sliding more than he was walking. The stream leveled off for a hundred yards or so, and then flowed into a vertical drop. Joe stood at the top of the waterfall and looked out on the valley. Yes, this was the same valley he had seen when he emerged from the mountain the first time. And this stream became the river he had seen flow through that valley. How fitting that the river that first inspired him would become his salvation. For a moment Joe thought something wasn’t right with the valley, it looked different, and then he realized that even though it was mid-morning, and the sun was behind him, there was no shadow across the land. How did that happen?

That thought made Joe wonder if he could see the porch where he had come out of the mountain. He looked back up the mountain, but he could not see any sign of the path he had taken, or the porch. Perhaps that was just as well. Looking back was little different than going back. Oh, but he had come so far! That much he knew. But he didn’t have to look back to know that. He turned to look out again on the valley below and that’s when he saw it. On a tree next to the stream just before it dropped over the side was another plaque. It read: “Luke 9:62 ‘Jesus replied, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’” “Okay,” Joe thought, “I get the part about not looking back. But what am I supposed to do about Jesus?” With that he turned and started looking for a way down to the valley.

Joe didn’t have to look far. Just a few feet beyond the tree was a path set off by a couple of boulders. There was no arrow pointing the way, but Joe could tell the path led off the mountain through the valley. It turned out to be a well-maintained path that zigzagged down the face of the cliff. At every other switchback he would get a spectacular view of the waterfall. Once or twice he was close enough to feel the mist on his face, and in this way he was refreshed on his journey.

It took Joe an hour or so to get to the bottom of the cliff. There the trail cut sharply left and behind the waterfall to the other side of the river. There was a shallow cave behind the waterfall, and in the wall of the cave was an old wooden door. Without thinking Joe opened the door and stepped in, but instead of a floor there was a stairway leading down. He lost his balance and fell down the steps into the darkness. Thankfully he only fell about five feet, but when he tried to stand he felt a sharp pain in his left knee and he slumped to the ground. He sat for a few minutes assessing his situation. His knee throbbed, and the pain just made him angry. What was he thinking? Hadn’t he just determined he was never looking back? He thought that no one in the history of stupidity could possibly be this stupid. He felt doomed. He would never find the Seven Truths now. He yelled in frustration and banged his fist on the ground, but he hurt his hand on the rocks and yelled again. What a dope! Finally he lay down and wallowed in his misery. He’d just gotten out of the mountain, and now here he was: lying on his back in the dark. His hand was bleeding and his knee hurt.

After a few minutes Joe sat up. He looked around. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and there was some light coming in through the door above him. He was a in a room about the size of a garage. There were three tunnels leading from the room. Joe immediately dismissed the tunnels. He saw no value in following them as they all led back into the mountain. In fact, it appeared that these tunnels led here. Well, that settled it. He was not going to spend any more time in the mountain no matter how bad his knee hurt. He pushed himself over to the bottom step and sat on it. Then he braced himself with his hands and stood up on his good leg. He turned around and faced the stair. By using his hands and good leg he kind of crawled up the stair. When he got to the top he grabbed the door for support. In doing so he noticed a plaque on the back of the door. It read:

The Lord’s Prayer

Our Father in heaven,

Hallowed be your name,

Your kingdom come,

Your will be done

On earth as it is in heaven.

Give us today our daily bread.

Forgive us our debts,

As we also have forgiven our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from the evil one.

For yours is the kingdom

And the power

And the glory forever. Amen.

Joe read the plaque, and then he read it again. He was kind of familiar with the words, but for some reason that he couldn’t explain, they made him feel sad. Why would the Lord’s Prayer make him feel sad? It didn’t make sense. He made his way outside and began to hobble down the trail.

He thought about God. He thought about his father in heaven who had taken care of his every need so far in his journey. But something was wrong. Why was he so sad? He sat down on a dead tree and let his mind drift. Then finally it occurred to him why he was sad. He had spent most of his time thinking about God or things associated with following him, but there was something he had almost forced himself not to think about: his parents, and specifically his father. The phrase “our Father” had made Joe sad because it had made him think about his own father. But he didn’t want to think about his father! He got up and moved on. The going was slow and Joe realized he needed to give his knee a rest. It was, by now late afternoon. He’d find a spot and spend the night. He could continue in the morning. Twenty minutes later he came upon a little clearing next to the trail. There were some huckleberry bushes there and so it seemed like a good spot to stop. He got a drink from the stream and then spent the next hour getting berries. By then he was tired. He sat down and thought about his life.

Joe’s parents had separated when he was eight. He lived with his mother for half a year in a dingy studio apartment. Then his parents reconciled, but the second honeymoon was very short. Their fights were loud and long. Joe could still remember putting himself to bed many nights while his mom and dad yelled at each other. Two painful years later they called it quits for good. Joe stayed with his mom and his dad moved to another state. Even though life was more peaceful, his mother was overworked trying to keep up, and it seemed at times that Joe was just a burden. She drank herself to sleep most nights. At times he thought that living with his dad would be better, but dad never called or visited. He never sent anything for Christmas and Joe finally realized that his dad had pretty much turned his back on that whole part of his life.

Eight years and Joe finished school. After graduation he went to a local community college. During his freshman year his mom had a stroke. She was eventually moved into a nursing home. Joe tried to visit but they had never been close so the visits got more and more infrequent. Eventually the house went to the state for her expenses and Joe had to move out. He couch hopped for a few months with no real plan or purpose. That summer with a dead end job and no commitments, Joe decided he would go see his father. He found his mother’s address book in a box and wrote down the last entry for his dad. With fifty dollars in his wallet he hitchhiked the three hundred miles to the place where he hoped his dad lived. As he walked down the street he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of fear. Joe would never forget this day as long as he lived. He found the address. The name on the mailbox was right, but when he knocked at the door nobody answered. It was about three in the afternoon so he decided to wait until someone came home. He sat on the porch step and looked around. It was a nice middle class neighborhood. He imagined himself living there. He wondered if there were any cute girls on this block. An hour later a Ford Taurus pulled up in the driveway. A woman was driving. Joe stood up as she got out of the car. There were two boys in the back seat.

“May I help you?” She asked.

“Ma’am,” Joe said as he walked up to her, “My name is Joe. I’m Jerry’s son.”

There was a long uncomfortable pause as she looked at Joe. It took her a bit to realize what he’d just said, “he’ll be home soon. You can talk to him then. Come on boys, I gotta start dinner.” She turned and walked into the house. The boys followed her and the door shut. Joe was left standing there by the driveway not knowing what to do. That wasn’t exactly the welcome he’d expected. He walked out to the curb and sat down. Fifteen minutes later a blue pickup pulled in next to the Taurus. Joe’s dad got out and looked over at him.

Joe stood and walked up to him. “Dad, it’s Joe.” He noticed his dad’s shoulders shrug slightly, but he said “Hi, Joe.” They shook hands and engaged in small talk for a few minutes. Then Joe filled him in on what had transpired over the last eight years, including the stroke. His dad seemed to take it all in, but he didn’t react to anything Joe said. His dad was a manager at a tire store in town. The wife, Sally, drove a school bus. They were doing okay. After that their conversation ran out of gas. They both stood on the lawn dreading what came next. Then his dad said, “Look Joe, dinner’s almost ready…I need to get inside.” That said everything. His dad turned to go, and Joe was going to let him, but then something snapped inside. He grabbed his dad’s arm and spun him around, “Wait a minute,” he said. “Is that all? You brought me into the world, left mom and I-twice!-and all you can say is ‘dinner is ready? You owe me more than that! I’m your son! I’m your flesh and blood!”

His dad got right in his face and spoke in a low voice: “Listen, Joe. You were a mistake. Do you get that? Your mother and I had to get married. Do you understand what that means? I never wanted you and I never loved your mother. I haven’t given you two thoughts since the day I left, and I won’t think about you after today. I don’t hate you, Joe. I just don’t have any room for you in any part of my life. Way I see it, I don’t owe you anything. Do for yourself, man. Grow up. Get on with it, but leave me out of your plans.” He turned and went into the house. Joe never saw him again. It would have been easier to take if he and his dad had gotten into a shouting match, or even if his dad had punched him, or ran him off. But apparently he didn’t even matter enough to his dad for a fight. Joe walked away from that house and that neighborhood and that town, but he never really walked away from his dad. In his mind he was still standing there in the yard waiting.

In the ensuing years Joe made a point to return his dad the favor and not think about him that much. For the most part he was successful with this approach. Occasionally one of his friends would mention their dad and Joe would experience a twinge of regret, but his feelings for or against his father didn’t factor into his life in any conscious way. Now, however, Joe realized that he’d just pushed those feelings to the back of the closet. Since he’d started down the mountain he’d dealt with a few issues in his life, but now he had to deal with this, this…insignificance. He could never be very useful for God until he dealt with it. But what did he personally have to deal with? He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was his mother and father’s issue. Wasn’t it? If that were true why was he so sad? Why did he care? But that was it, wasn’t it? He did care. The thing was, he wanted them to care too. But his mom had checked out and his dad…his father…it hit him like a freight train. His father did not love him. He’d known that, of course, but chose not to think about it. He said it out loud, “my father does not love me,” and tears came to his eyes. The worst thing was he didn’t matter to his dad at all. Joe mattered less than the dog. Even though he had never admitted it, that was the most damaging wound of all. Then deep, deep sorrow, unlike anything he had ever experienced, rose up from within. He began to sob. Wave after wave of pain swept over him. The sobs shook his body. He was totally out of control. He would just begin to calm down and another wave would overcome him and he would wail at the top of his lungs. He was an eight-year-old boy lying in his bed wanting someone to come and tell him it was going to be alright. But it was not alright! The pain was so intense he finally cried out, “Oh, God help me!” He felt like he was going to die. He felt like this would never end. But, of course the weeping finally did come to an end. Joe was exhausted and couldn’t move. He lay on the ground feeling miserable until he fell asleep.

Joe woke up in the night, cold and depressed and hoarse from crying. He looked out at the stars. It made him think of the Lord’s Prayer again: “Our Father in heaven…” What exactly did that mean? Fatherhood was a confused issue to Joe. His dad had been a bad father, so he had no point of comparison. But then he thought that if he could say his father was “bad” he had to have some point from which he made that judgment. A good father would love and accept you. A good father would provide for you and protect you. A good father would teach you how to live. His father hadn’t done any of those things. But then it came back to him again: “Our Father in heaven…” Hadn’t God provided and protected him on the mountain? Hadn’t he guided him down? Hadn’t he instructed him through Philo and little “messages” placed appropriately throughout his life? Of course he had. It was obvious now that he thought of it this way. He had a Father in heaven who loved him beyond imagination. With that thought he fell back asleep.

When Joe woke at dawn he noticed two things. First of all he wasn’t depressed, and secondly, he’d been healed. He was almost afraid to think it, but his hand didn’t hurt at all and his knee was noticeably better. It was tender, no doubt about that, but he could put weight on it, and more importantly, he could walk. Was this a miracle? Was it a sign from God? Well, until he had more to go on, he was going to believe it was. He looked down over the valley. It was going to be a good day today.
Questions:

1. How does John 12:24-25 relate to the title of this chapter?

2. What is unusual about the old man’s study other than it was inside Joe’s “mountain”?

3. How does the old man take Joe’s concept of truth to a different level?

4. What business did Joe have to take care of? How was that illustrated in the next part of his journey?

5. In what way was Joe “done” after his drop in the dark?

6. Through this story light plays a significant role. What is light symbolic of here at the end at he exits the mountain?

7. What is the reason why there was no shadow of the mountain across the valley after Joe exited the mountain?

8. What is the point about not looking back? How does it relate to Joe’s journey?

9. What is the final frontier?

10. In what way is Part One: The Journey Down a tribute to God the Father?