The Letter

Somebody falls through space and crash lands in the middle of an open field.

There, a group of hundreds—no, thousands—are wearing black tunics and most of them are in a line, following a man dressed in white. He leads them in single-file as he hops over logs, spins around rocks, and waves his arms in various ways. Almost everyone copies his moves…

Though his motions seem absurd, the man in white seems sure of himself. So, Somebody approaches.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?”

"Well, you’re asking the right questions, for starters,” the man in white answers. “What are thousands of people doing in this random, open field? And what are we supposed to do now?”

“And…what are the answers?” Somebody asks.

“That’s easy. The same thing is required of all men everywhere. We must hop over every log, spin around every rock, and wave our arms whenever the wind blows.” With that announcement, the man continues to lead his line through the field.

Somebody, however, has more questions.

“Why?”

“Because those are the rules for the field. That’s what the property owner established. Understand?”

“But, hopping over logs and spinning around rocks is….crazy!” Somebody says.

“Not only that. It’s impossible,” says the man, matter-of-fact. “Nobody can hop over every, single log. Let alone spin around every, single rock. And, already, the wind has blown twice since you got here—and you didn’t even wiggle your fingers.”

“If it’s impossible, then what’s the point? There’s no reason to do it at all!” Somebody says, narrowly avoiding being struck by the arm of a woman in black, flapping wildly as a leaf stirred nearby.

“Oh there’s a VERY good reason,” the man in white says gravely. “That reason is: log-hopping and rock-spinning and arm-waving is how we get out of here alive. It’s why you have been brought here. Plus, if you don’t, you’re breaking the rules. There are consequences for that, you know.”

“Let me guess. If you break the rules, you have to stand on your head every time you spot a cloud?”

“Mock if you want,” the man says. “In fact, you may even join the others who’ve given up. They’re sitting over there.” The man points to a row of benches, where a group of people in black tunics is observing, unimpressed. “But, I’m warning you, they’re going to be killed.” The man in white starts walking again.

“Wait, wait, wait. Killed? Who is going to kill them?”

“Well, you might say they’re killing themselves right now, wouldn’t you? Since they’ve chosen to take a seat rather than follow the rules.”

The wind blows…and Somebody feels a small urge to wave his arms along with the rest of the line. Instead, he asks:

“Where in the world did you get your information?”

“I read it in the Letter!” the man exclaims, glad finally to be getting to the bottom of the issue. “The Letter was written by the first line-leaders, who met the field owner personally. It outlines the rules exactly as he meant them to be applied.”

The man withdraws a bundle of dirty parchment paper, tied with a cord and creased from years of use.

“Uh…that thing looks pretty old,” Somebody says. "How long has it been since the field owner left that letter?”

“Over 2000 years,” answers the man, and he leads the line to a log. A short person in the middle snags his toe and trips, causing a small chain reaction involving 15 or 20 of the others. The man in white watches sadly. “If only they understood...the OTHER way,” he says quietly to himself.

“So, let me get this straight,” Somebody says. "You’re hopping and skipping and waving around in a field because some 2,000-year-old piece of parchment tells you to?”

“No, actually. I'm not obligated to perform this circus act anymore. I’m hopping and skipping and waving because I want to please the field owner. He’s the one who lets me wear white, you know.”

“But, how do you know the field owner wants this?”

“I already told you,” the man says, in exasperation. “It says so in the Letter.” And then a huge smile spreads across his face. “Would you like to read it?”

Somebody notices a rock to his left and has a difficult time passing it by without spinning.

“That’s ridiculous,” Somebody says. “You don't know it was written by the one responsible for my arrival here. Why should I read it if I don't believe it? Anyway, I know it says to hop and spin. And I'm not too sure I like that part.”

The man’s face falls. “I had hoped you’d be different. Thought perhaps you’d want to know what it said first-hand…. Well, you might as well get in line, then,” he says sadly.

“What do you mean?" Somebody asks. You think I should hop and spin anyway? Even though I don’t believe there are any consequences?”

“It’s your only choice, really. Unless you want to sit on the bench…” the man says. “But, most people don’t go that route. It’s very hard to sit over there and pretend nothing is happening, especially when something inside makes people want to hop and wave. So, most people choose to get in line and do what they know is expected, even when they don’t know the reason.”

“So…these people haven’t read the Letter, either?”

The man shakes his head. “When they accept what’s in the Letter, they will be given white, too. That’s when a person becomes a line leader.” He pauses to help up a woman, who waved her arms so hard she fell over. “But, these people are just imitators. They imitate me and imitate each other—copying only pieces of the Letter and never discovering the best parts for themselves. They don’t even realize that hopping and skipping aren’t REALLY why we’re here. And, worst of all, they don’t know they’re going to die like those on the bench.”

“They’re going to die, too?!” Somebody asks in horror. “What kind of place is this? And why should I subscribe to the insanity?!”

“It’s all in the Letter,” the man states.

“You’re awfully obsessed with that letter,” Somebody accuses, a little frightened by all the death-talk, but mostly angry at the situation in which he has found himself. (He never asked to be dumped in a field, with absolutely no instructions.) “You expect me to believe some farmer, centuries ago, put this field here and wrote a letter telling everyone who crash-landed all about the ‘rules’—which, by the way, are impossible to follow? And, if that’s not enough, those who have given up entirely and those trying their best to follow the supposed rules are ALL going to die in the end?”

“You have understood my words well,” says the man. “In fact, that’s one of the best summaries I’ve heard in a long time…but, don’t forget, there is more to the Letter. The ending is the best part, in fact! Here, take it and read!”

“No, thanks,” Somebody says, jumping into the back of the line. (After all, Somebody feels that hopping and waving are good things and wants to be a good person. But, there's no reason to buy the letter business.)

“I simply don’t believe it’s true...”

And, a few minutes later, the wind blows…

This is just a teaser before my post on biblical apologetics (“How to Know the Bible is God’s Word.”) I probably will refer back to this story as an example, when giving reasons to believe the Field Owner, first of all, would have left a letter of instruction, AND that the Bible is it. The Letter is historically accurate, scientifically sound, internally consistent, and a host of other things a reliable, un-forged letter should be…

But, it's difficult to defend a piece of parchment which nobody has read in the first place... Will we be people who continue hopping logs and waving our arms because it feels right? Or will we test the word of the line-leaders by reading the Letter with which they are so obsessed?