On the bookshelf of human history, sandwiched somewhere between a pyramid and a wild-haired plastic troll, sat a single dusty cross.
Ages passed and still it remained, until one day an apocalypse of darkness and blood shook the people’s little self-made shrine and sent their trinkets crashing down. Then that single dusty cross started to grow.
Its reach soon extended past every idea of men, until at last it covered the Earth, overflowed the seas, and ruled the heavens with justice. It spoke then, and called out in a loud voice.
Every soul heard and answered the call. Taking up the icons of their humanity, they came to stand before the One Mighty Cross, and there they were judged.
Many were found who did not know the One Mighty Cross, and who in turn were not known. Among these were those who bore the symbol of the crescent moon. Some clutched the eye of Ra. Many brought no emblem at all, which was a sign in itself. Finally those came who, with backs straight, proudly carried the Word of God, but even these remained unnamed.
The Cross cried out in anguish, “Are there none who know me?”
Then a child was brought before the Throne. In one hand she tenderly held the picture of an orphan. “Sir,” she said, “I would like to enter your kingdom, but please accept my friend too.” She reached out and presented the photograph to the One Mighty Cross.
In the silence they looked into each other’s eyes.
And smiled.
Jesus once said that not everyone who called him Lord would enter the kingdom of heaven. You can read about it in the Bible- Matthew chapter 7.
