What Do You Call Rapture?

Saturday night before Easter, my family went to see a cantata, Behold the Lamb, at a local high school. It was a very fine production, but as the message of invitation was given and the salvation prayer was made, I slipped into that zone where You and I meet. That place that is so precious to me, my Lord. In this image-prayer of my own, I saw myself approach that fountain of blood (the pastor who hosted the production just read us the lyrics of the hymn, There Is a Fountain Filled with Blood.) But the blood was not like most blood. It was more like a precious gem glittering like a liquid garnet in a lighted basin. I put my feet over the side of that fountain and sat on its edge, then quietly slid down into the red waters. I lay there with my arms stretched along the edges, the concrete still holding the warmth of a summer's day, though it was night, the waters gurgling all around me like a caress. And I rested. I so needed rest.

Then, I stood and walked to the splashing center. I stood in the flow like it was a shower, letting it drench and cleanse me. I danced through the flow like it was a ribbon in my hands as I engaged in worship dance. Then hearing the echo filter through the soft splashing: the inside of the cup needed cleansing as well, I opened my mouth and let the sweet quenching flow run down my throat. Suddenly, I heard Your voice, and it held a chuckle under the words.

"Putting your feet in would have been sufficient," You said.

I threw the wet hair out of my face, running my hand back from my forehead over my head and down to clasp my neck, shaking my head to clear my eyes to see You better, opening my mouth wide to catch a fresh breath. I saw You there. It is always so lovely when You come near. And I caught the reference You made: the foot washing of Your disciples.

I thought of the image-flash You gave me once: the bloody footprint in deep, dry dust. I thought of the scripture reference I saw recently, the one that prophesies that priests who walk in iniquity carry such a bloody footstep across the ground, and I knew why You chose that particular act of servanthood for Your disciples...not just as servant but as prophet You washed their feet--that they might be better priests for Your kingdom in the days after You ascended. How perfect are Your ways, O God. How deep are Your thoughts, even more than You feel compelled to reveal, but it is enough that You know what You are about. How is it that we forget that You know Your Word better than we do?

So I smiled. "You know my heart, my Love," I said. "Why should I not submerge myself completely...I know what You are saying...only my feet need to be clean, but I am not in the waters of Your blood just for that, I am here because every part of me wants Your love....."

And the prayer--both mine and the audience's came to a close...and the glorious scene in Your heavenly throne room began.