The Key

Once there was an old man who would walk through the neighborhood with a mysterious small drawstring bag attached to his belt. These were hard times and a lot of people were out of work. Like clockwork, he would come in to town early in the morning knocking on doors looking for odd jobs and in return be paid with food.
Rumor had it that he lived by the railroad tracks underneath a bridge with the other homeless people whom he would share some of his days ‘wages’ with.
Everyday he would walk the streets of our small town scavenging through the garbage occasionally finding treasures, even if they were only that in his own eyes.
He was an odd man. Humped over, his clothing and shoes always larger than his frame could hold. He had a scuffle when he walked that was slow, never in a hurry, never seemingly going anywhere in particular. He bore the signs of age, his face and hands hardened through years of hard labor and weather. Yet there was a kindness that showed through in his almost toothless smile and the gentleness with which he would pat a child’s head as he walked by. The only name we ever knew him by was George.

Over the years, he became a fixture within our little bedroom community.
I remember the time a fire started in a neighbor’s house and George was one of the first people there. He certainly couldn’t help put out the fire but his words of encouragement and hope were perfect to squelch the fear in our neighbors.

At the other end of town stood an old Victorian mansion. My mother told us of stories her mother told them about how it was the showcase of the town when she had been a young girl. Its beauty and elegance would have made the mansions of today pale by comparison. Inside the ornate trim, marble flooring imported from Italy and woven tapestries from around the world hung in the grand hall and were breathtaking. The sounds of laughter and music from the conservatory filled the air like an enchanting melody. Beautifully manicured gardens were the envy of the towns’ people. To receive an invitation for afternoon tea was the highlight of the year for anyone. The family who lived there had died a long time ago and the grandeur of the mansion had been lost due to neglect.

One cold wintry day we noticed George didn’t come into town. Although it seemed out of character we didn’t think anything more about it. Two more days passed and George was no where to be found. Finally the third day came and still no George. My dad and a couple of other men from our street thought maybe something had happened to George and decided to go down to the bridge to look for him.

No one and nothing was in sight except for a lonely box wrapped with old strips of plastic tarp to help shield against the cold wind and snow. It seemed the people who had lived there during the year had gone for shelter elsewhere now that winter was upon us. There were signs around the box that showed someone had recently been there.

When they removed the plastic tarp and opened the box their hearts were saddened to discover the lifeless body inside was George. The cause of his death was exposure to the elements—George froze to death. Attached to his belt was the small bag that had been his constant companion and inside the small bag was a key.
It took weeks of investigation to realize the key found on George’s body was for the old Victorian mansion. Much to everyone’s surprise, George was the adopted son of the mansions owners. Upon his father’s death, the mansion had been given to George as an inheritance but he never claimed his inheritance. He used to tell us that he had a grand inheritance waiting for him but we always thought he was just imagining it. When asked why he didn’t claim it he would say he didn’t want to lose the ‘lifestyle’ he had chosen…thought he would lose his freedom. Of course as much as we liked George we all thought he was making it up. Why would someone choose a life of poverty when they could have such wealth? All those years of living so close but never assuming rightful ownership, it just didn’t make sense.

Reading the above story, it is easy to think how foolish of George to choose poverty over wealth and protection had he only accepted and received his inheritance.
Some of our choices, like George’s don’t make sense either. We have been given citizenship in a Kingdom that is beyond any description we know. A Kingdom where safety, peace, restoration and rest are the norm and yet by accepting the “Key” to that Kingdom we think our ‘lifestyle and freedom’ will be infringed upon. We did nothing to earn or deserve this Kingdom. Yet it was purchased for us by the giving of the owner’s Sons life. Like George we too are an adopted heir to this Kingdom.  The Key to entering this Kingdom:
     For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.  Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going—I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. Signed….Jesus
(John 3:16;14:1-7)