Dew of Hermon

Inexplicably, a man and a woman find themselves wandering a street in a large city. But for the two, the streets are devoid of all life. No one else walks the sidewalks, no cars patrol the streets, no dogs wander here and there looking for either mates or morsels of food in garbage cans.

A winter chill rides on the back of brisk winds blowing through the paved canyons between  buildings lining the streets. As the winds surge through, they propel in their wake rolling, leaping tumbleweeds of discarded, crumpled newspapers. Except for the rushing wind, no sound is heard but the solitary clang and tinkle of an empty tin-can, rolling along the concrete. On the street, the metropolis is deserted, ghost-like. 

The sun, hiding behind the cement-gray sky, descends toward the western horizon and nightfall is imminent. The frantic couple paces along the sidewalk, from building to building, searching for someone, anyone. Narrow, three-story brownstones glower down upon this neighborhood, their entryways topping single-flight stoops. This time, the woman waits below as the man heads up the next flight of stairs alone, toward the front door. 

As he reaches the door he pauses three seconds, holds his breath before he grips the tarnished bronze door-knocker, and then raps the door with three sharp knocks. He waits many seconds for a response, and receiving none he raps again, this time with urgency. He waits again, desperately, for a precious few seconds more. Only silence greets his expectation. The man hurries down the steps to the woman, who waits for him at the street. 

For the two, this process seems interminable. They cannot remember how this all started, and they no longer know exactly for what, or for whom, they search. All they know is that desolation surrounds them, they are alone, and no one cares that they flail about on these deserted streets, or even that they exist. But continue they must, to seek that which they know not. 

The man wraps his arm around the woman and pulls her closer, trying to keep her warm and, more than that, to encourage her in the vacant face of this forsaken city. They have only each other, there is no one else, or at least there is no one else who cares. At this stage, even their concern for each other may not be enough to keep them going. All is cold, silent, and progressively getting darker. Will no one invite them in, or even open the door to them? How long can they keep on going like this? 

At the next home, both man and woman ascend the steps together, to yet another closed door. He reassures the woman that perhaps her feminine touch in knocking on this door might provide the necessary tone of invitation. She takes heart and follows his lead.

Knock-knock-knock...
wait...
knock-knock-knock...
wait.

Either no one resides there to answer, or they cannot be bothered by these two. On to the next door... 

The darkness now creeps upon them in a vicious earnest, and they continue their desperate search to find someone to take them in. The cold creeps in between their clothes and skin, and this cold holds more than a state of low physical temperature. This cold they feel seeping into their bones is a symptom of the absence of human warmth– a loss of the heat and balmy glow of human attachment. When people are deprived of this most important of thermal conditions, they will ultimately perish from social hypothermia– exposure, some would call it. 

Hand in hand, with night upon them, and with a naked will to try a single, final time, they steel themselves and trudge up one last flight. Near the top of the stoop, they hear something inside the old building before them. It is the sound of commotion– maybe chaos. Voices are raised, even extreme. After the unending silence of the streets behind them, the turmoil within fairly frightens them. Though fear possesses a powerful force, it bows to the strength of the desire for human belonging. The man draws near the door, magnetically attracted to the gathering of people just beyond it, though he remains uncertain of the implications. He lifts his fist to knock on the door, but stops before his knuckles touch wood. 

Wait...is that laughter? Yes, many people shrieking in laughter together. And music– singing!– emanates from within. Perhaps what at first resembled the sound of a mob, now reveals itself as something else. His spirits lift and he completes the three knocks in rapid succession. Again, they wait in the cold. They wait longer than usual, and then prepare to knock again. This time they knock together, pounding upon the heavy door, which rattles in its frame. Another period of waiting drags on. At long last they have located other people, who are apparently enjoying themselves heartily, but perhaps they will still not escape the isolation of the streets. 

They wonder aloud whether they should hammer again on the door, and as they raise their four fists, they hear the mechanical click of the door's knob being turned and the latch releasing. With the door pivoting open, they can now begin to hear the full sound of the tumult inside. A raucous celebration roars from within. A piano pounds out a joyous melody while several sing along with gusto. The laughter they imagined they had heard earlier booms out in a full spectrum of hilarity– from the staccato twitter of a soprano to a roaring baritone guffaw. As the door swings to fully open, a very young man, perhaps yet a boy, stands on the other side of the doorway but faces away from them, his attention still occupied by the party within. 

"Okay, okay! I will!..." he yells back into the confusion of conversation behind him. He turns toward the couple, revealing his young face, radiant with merriment. As he catches sight of the couple's faces, he shouts to them: "Wait just a minute!" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he turns and runs back into the crowded party inside. Still waiting on the stoop outside, the man and woman can now see through the open doorway into the home, brightly lit and jammed with people engaged in celebration beyond anything they have ever witnessed. They stand there, waiting for something more, but have no idea what to expect. 

Finally, another figure leaves the party and heads toward the front of the home. Behind him, some other revelers leave their partying and follow the first man to the open doorway. Will the man and woman be told to leave and not disturb the celebration any longer? Will they be informed the police have been called to run them off? 

As the man in the lead reaches the door, he speaks with animation to the couple–  

"We were wondering when you'd arrive– it seems we've been waiting for you two forever! Don't just stand there with your mouths agape, please come in!"

He shouts back to the celebrants inside– "Everybody!– Look who finally arrived! Now the party can really begin!" Whoops and hollers erupt from the group in the warm little house and music strikes up again from the piano. 

As the man and woman enter the home, the door closes on the frozen and windy street behind them. Some in the party slap the two warmly on their backs, hands are grasped, and embraces are long and sincere. Though the couple recognizes not a face in the crowd, every individual seems to know them by name, as long and treasured friends. They melt into the crowd and are swept up in the indescribable expression of love, joy, and celebration without limit. The depth of feelings and emotions overwhelm the two... 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

With my heart still pounding from the splendor of true human kindness and love, the party begins to recede, the voices, laughter and music dim, and I gradually awaken from the dream. The salty wetness of tears, tears of joy unspeakable, drench my face and soak my pillow. I cannot speak. I have just received a gift beyond value– a glimpse of the explicit and singular beauty of the family of God, the Body of Christ. Surely, the Psalmist who penned these words knew the same truth:

"Behold, how good and how pleasant it is
For brothers to dwell together in unity!
It is like the precious oil upon the head,
Coming down upon the beard,
Even Aaron's beard,
Coming down upon the edge of his robes.
It is like the dew of Hermon
Coming down upon the mountains of Zion;
For there the LORD commanded the blessing– life forever."

                                                                          –Psalm 133 (NASB)

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>>> Except for quotations, all text and image are Copyright, Bill Brockmeier, 2015.  All rights reserved.