Where the View is Clear

He wonders. He wants to see, but he can’t. And then he sees a way. He puts his body in full motion as he runs toward the tree with the excitement of an adventurous child. As he curls the fingers of each smooth, tax collecting hand around the limbs he has chosen, places a foot on the side of the sturdy trunk and pushes off the ground with the other foot within him grows the confidence that from up there he will be able to see for himself. Up there, above the crowd and the noise in his own marked out space he will see. He will see what he came to see. He will see Who he came to see. And so the curious one makes the journey, climbing, hands and feet alternating in the rhythm of a well charted course.

I wonder. I want to see. How can I get above the crowd of worldliness and the noise of religion to see for myself? I think I see a way. But it is not up, it is down. Down where the ceiling is the floor and I am on hands and knees washing feet instead of making a name for myself. Do I dare embrace this charted course of suffering and servanthood to get a clear view?

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