Suffer The Street?

Outside the theatre there was a little stand covered with posters and t-shirts advertising the magnificent musical being performed within. Coffee mugs and flags depicted the sad face of the orphan daubed in the colours of France, the orphan who was one of the lead character’s in Hugo’s story now set to music. The stall was being run by a couple of men who loudly proclaimed the wonder of the performance and encouraged passers by to purchase from them, not just their merchandise but matinee tickets as well. All the while over some small tinny speakers the glorious music of the play wafting out in bold triumphant tones or sad soul-tearing melancholy. Occasionally the CD player skipped and had to be nudged by one of the men.

I watched as many in the rainy London evening crowd walked by without more than a glance at the colourful cart. Few even looked at the magnificent front of the theatre itself with its cherubs and golden windows and grand pillars.

Some people did came forward to handle the merchandise and asked questions about plot and character, but satisfied with mere description, then moved on taking with them nothing but a bemused smile. Strangest of all was a man who bought a t-shirt and a mug and stood by the cart listening for a long time to the music and the patois of the salesmen, but when offered tickets to actually go in to see the play – politely declined. I went up to him and asked: “Did you refuse the tickets because you have already seen the play?”

He replied that he had no interest in the play itself but liked the music and the idea of it. He’d once read a condensed version of the story and so he felt he had no need to see the performance.

I however, had a ticket and went within. The playhouse was warm, dry and luxurious unlike the cold wet street. I sat down in the comfortable seat, relaxing my street weary legs. The play started and the music was rich and expressive and deep, quite unlike the cheap stereo blearing on the cart outside and competing with the traffic. The story of the play moved me to joy and tears and back to joy in swelling surges of emotion that left me breathless, quite unlike the boredom of the ever-shifting crowd outside. The story was long but at its end I wanted more. Unlike the man who purchased his goods and walked away as if satisfied, I never wanted to leave.

Now dear reader consider: this world – this life we live - is the street. Why is there suffering and hardship in life? Why degradation and the gradual loss of paradise? Why the hint of joy but never a perfect unending joy? Why all the cold and the wet and the loneliness and indifference?

God in his mercy has made this fallen world thus so that we would not cling to it like the man to his merchandise. God has given us sufficient revelation to know that there is something so much better within Heaven. Will you ever be satisfied with merely a mug and a t-shirt and a CD of the music but never go in to see the actual grand show?

Heaven swells for all eternity with ever increasing glory and joy and as it expands, for those God has loved, their capacity to enjoy it utterly expands with it. Forever.

Are you just collecting the merchandise but missing the ticket?

Are you in love with the street?

Do you think you know the story well enough to miss the play?

Are you satisfied with the tinny speaker competeing with the sound of buses?

Next time a Christian tells you about Jesus - listen to the salesman!