When Heaven Weeps by Ted Dekker Page B

scarf, Ivena .”
    A chuckle ran through the crowd.
    â€œBut do you think that Ivena’s mind is on the scarf?” A run of giggles. “No, I think not. Ivena’s mind is on her groom, waiting breathlessly in the next room. The man whom she will wed in sweet union. Yes?”
    â€œI don’t recall seeing a cross at the last wedding,” Ivena had said.
    â€œNo, not at our weddings. But death is like a wedding.” The crowd hushed. “And the crucifixion of Christ was a grand wedding announcement. This world we now live in may indeed be a beautiful gift from God, but do not forget that we wait with breathless anticipation for our union with him beyond this life.” He let the truth finger its way through their minds for a moment. “And how do you suppose we arrive at the wedding?”
    Nadia answered. “We die.”
    He looked down into her smiling blue eyes. “Yes, child. We die.”
    â€œThen why shouldn’t we just die now?” Nadia asked.
    â€œHeaven forbid, child! What bride do you know who would take her own life before the wedding? No one who understands how beautiful the bride is could possibly take her life before the wedding! It is perhaps the ugliest thing of all. We will all cross the threshold when the groom calls. Until then, we wait with breathless anticipation.”
    One of the women had sighed with approval.
    Somehow, looking at the large concrete cross now did not engender any such mirth. He looked down at the child and felt as though a shaft had been run through his heart.
    Nadia, oh, my dear Nadia, what are you doing? I love you so, young child. I love you as though you were my own. And you are my own. You know that, don’t you, Nadia?
    She looked at him with deep blue eyes. I love you, Father. Her eyes were speaking to him, as clearly as any words. And he wept.
    â€œDon’t kill my priest. If you have to kill someone, then kill me instead,” a voice said.
    He heard the words like a distant echo . . . words! She had actually said that? Don’t be foolish, Nadia!
    A flash of light sputtered to life about him. The white field again!
    The music flooded his mind and he suddenly wanted to laugh with it. It felt so . . . consequential here, and the silly little game back in the courtyard so . . . petty. Like a game of marbles with all the neighborhood children gathered, sporting stern faces as if the outcome might very well determine the fate of the world. If they only knew that their little game felt so small here, in this immense white landscape that rippled with laughter. Ha! If they only knew! Kill us! Kill us all! Put an end to this silly game of marbles and let us get on with life, with laughing and music in the white field.
    The white world blinked off. But now the commander had the gun pushed against Nadia’s forehead. “Renounce your faith, Priest, and I will let this little one live! Renounce your dead Christ and I will leave you all.”
    It took a moment for him to switch worlds—for the words to present their meaning to him.
    And then they did, with the force of a sledge to his head.
    Renounce Christ?
    Never! He could never renounce Christ!
    Then Nadia will die.
    This realization cut through his bones like a dagger. She would die because of him! His face throbbed with pain; the muscles there had gone taut like bowstrings. But never! Never could he renounce his love for Christ!
    Father Michael had never before felt the torment that descended upon him in that moment. It was as if some molten hand had reached into his chest and grabbed hold, searing frayed nerves so that he could not draw breath. His throat pulled for air to no avail.
    Nadia! Nadia! I can’t!
    â€œSpeak, Priest! Renounce Christ!”
    She was crying. Oh, the dear girl was crying! The courtyard waited.
    The music filled his mind.
    Fresh air flooded his lungs. Relief, such sweet relief! The white field ran to the horizon; the children laughed