“Not what.” She paused and moved to the side of the desk. “Who.”
His discomfort was growing in leaps and bounds, and sitting in an oversized regal chair didn’t help. What right did he have to judge anyone? Sure, in some measure he probably was guilty of judging almost everyone he had met and many that he had not. Mack knew he was thoroughly guilty for being self-centered. How dare he judge anyone else? All his judgments had been superficial, based on appearance and actions, things easily interpreted by whatever state of mind or prejudice that supported the need to exalt himself, or to feel safe, or to belong. He also knew that he was starting to panic.
“Your imagination,” she interrupted his train of thought, “is not serving you well at this moment.”
“No kidding, Sherlock,” is what he thought, but all that came out of his mouth was a weak, “I really can’t do this.”
“Whether you can or cannot is yet to be determined,” she said with a smile. “And my name is not Sherlock.”
Mack was grateful for the darkened room that hid his embarrassment. The silence that followed seemed to hold him captive for much longer than the few seconds it actually took to find his voice and finally ask the question:
“So, who is it that I am supposed to judge?”
“God,” she paused, “and the human race.” She said it as if it was of no particular consequence. It simply rolled off her tongue, as if this were a daily occurrence.
Mack was dumbfounded. “You have got to be kidding!” he exclaimed.
“Why not? Surely there are many people in your world you think deserve judgment. There must be at least a few who are to blame for so much of the pain and suffering? What about the greedy who feed off the poor of the world? What about the ones who sacrifice their young children to war? What about the men who beat their wives, Mackenzie? What about the fathers who beat their sons for no reason but to assuage their own suffering? Don’t they deserve judgment, Mackenzie?”
Mack could sense the depths of his unresolved anger rising like a flood of fury. He sank back into the chair trying to maintain his balance against an onslaught of images, but he could feel his control ebbing away. His stomach knotted as he clenched his fists, his breathing coming short and quick. “And what about the man who preys on innocent little girls? What about him, Mackenzie? Is that man guilty? Should he be judged?”
“Yes!” screamed Mack. “Damn him to hell!”
“Is he to blame for your loss?”
“Yes!”
“What about his father, the man who twisted his son into a terror, what about him?”
“Yes, him too!”
“How far do we go back, Mackenzie? This legacy of brokenness goes all the way back to Adam, what about him? But why stop there? What about God? God started this whole thing. Is God to blame?”
Mack was reeling. He didn’t feel like a judge at all, but rather the one on trial.
The woman was unrelenting. “Isn’t this where you are stuck, Mackenzie? Isn’t this what fuels The Great Sadness? That God cannot be trusted? Surely, a father like you can judge the Father!”
Again his anger rose like a towering flame. He wanted to lash out, but she was right and there was no point in denying it.
She continued, “Isn’t that your just complaint, Mackenzie? That God has failed you, that he failed Missy? That before the Creation, God knew that one day your Missy would be brutalized, and still he created? And then he allowed that twisted soul to snatch her from your loving arms when he had the power to stop him. Isn’t God to blame, Mackenzie?”
Mack was looking at the floor, a flurry of images pulling his emotions in every direction. Finally, he said it, louder than he intended, and pointed his finger right at her.
“Yes! God is to blame!” The accusation hung in the room as the gavel fell in his heart.
“Then,” she said with finality, “if you are able to judge God so easily, then you certainly can judge the world.” Again she spoke without emotion. “You must choose two of your children to spend eternity in God’s new heavens and new earth, but only two.”
“What?” he erupted, turning to her in disbelief.
“And you must choose three of your children to spend eternity in hell.”
Mack couldn’t believe what he was hearing and started to panic.
“Mackenzie.” Her voice now came as calm and wonderful as first he heard it. “I am only asking you to do something that you believe God does. He knows every person ever conceived, and he knows them so much deeper and clearer than you will ever know your own children. He loves each one according to his knowledge of the being of that son or daughter. You believe he will condemn most to an eternity of torment, away from His presence and apart from His love. Is that not true?”
“I suppose I do. I’ve just never thought about it like this.” He was stumbling over his words in his shock. “I just assumed that somehow God could do that. Talking about hell was always sort of an abstract conversation, not about anyone that I truly…” Mack hesitated, realizing that what he was about to say would sound ugly, “not about anyone that I truly cared about.”
“So you suppose, then, that God does this easily, but you cannot? Come now, Mackenzie. Which three of your five children will you sentence to hell? Katie is struggling with you the most right now. She treats you badly and has said hurtful things to you. Perhaps she is the first and most logical choice. What about her? You are the judge, Mackenzie and you must choose.”
“I don’t want to be the judge,” he said, standing up. Mack’s mind was racing. This couldn’t be real. How could God ask him to choose among his own children? There was no way he could sentence Katie, or any of his other children, to an eternity in hell just because she had sinned against him. Even if Katie or Josh or Jon or Tyler committed some heinous crime, he still wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t! For him, it wasn’t about their performance; it was about his love for them.
“I can’t do this,” he said softly.
“You must,” she replied.
“I can’t do this,” he said louder and more vehemently.
“You must,” she said again, her voice softer.
“I… will… not… do… this!” Mack yelled, his blood boiling hot inside him.
“You must,” she whispered.
“I can’t. I can’t. I won’t!” he screamed, and now the words and emotions came tumbling out. The woman just stood watching and waiting. Finally he looked at her, pleading with his eyes. “Could I go instead? If you need someone to torture for eternity, I’ll go in their place. Would that work? Could I do that?” He fell at her feet, crying and begging now. “Please let me go for my children, please, I would be happy to… Please, I am begging you. Please… Please…”
“Mackenzie, Mackenzie,” she whispered, and her words came like a splash of cool water on a brutally hot day. Her hands gently touched his cheeks as she lifted him to his feet. Looking at her through blurring tears, he could see that her smile was radiant. “Now you sound like Jesus. You have judged well, Mackenzie. I am so proud of you!”
“But I haven’t judged anything,” Mack offered in confusion.
“Oh, but you have. You have judged them worthy of love, even if it cost you everything. That is how Jesus loves.” When he heard the words he thought of his new friend waiting by the lake. “And now you know Papa’s heart,” she added, “who loves all his children perfectly.”
Immediately Missy’s image flashed in his mind and he found himself bristling. Without thinking he lifted himself back onto the chair.
“What just happened, Mackenzie?” she asked.
He saw no use trying to hide it. “I understand Jesus’ love, but God is another story. I don’t find them to be alike at all.”
“You haven’t enjoyed your time with Papa?” she asked surprised.