I always considered life too short and spiritual reality too important to bother with fiction. To my astonishment, I have discovered that the shortness of life and the importance of spiritual reality are the very reasons why I must write fiction.

The parables of the greatest ever Spiritual Teacher are so powerful and so packed with eternal truth that we rarely stop to consider that many of Jesus’ parables are actually a type of fiction. For the Son of God, truth was too important not to craft stories. The Old Testament also unashamedly uses fiction to make truth more real and harder hitting. Consider the prophet Nathan’s fictitious story designed to highlight to King David the gravity of his sin with Bathsheba (2 Samuel 12:1-14).

I want to teach deep truths so painlessly that it feels like mindless entertainment to the learner. I want to stretch minds beyond the realms of current human knowledge, so that when we leave speculation and return to hard reality, spiritual certainties will affect us more profoundly than ever before. It is in achieving these goals that fiction becomes the perfect medium.

For my writing to be gripping, it should seem convincing. My commitment to truth, however, makes me disturbed when readers keep wondering whether I have had some of the experiences described. I emphasize that, unlike many people, I have had no dream or vision or angelic encounter. My purpose is not to relay personal experiences but to deepen your own walk with God.

Although written in the first person, the views expressed do not always reflect my own attitudes.

Every cell in my brain and body seemed to be straining for maximum output, readying me for whatever threat or challenge the next few seconds might bring. And yet, as extreme as my nervous tension was, my racing brain could not avoid the awareness that whatever this place was, it seemed to sparkle. It made the brightest sun-soaked, blue-skied day seem drab and the crispest of mornings feel flat. The atmosphere seemed charged with something I can find no name for, and so clear it seemed as if I could see a thousand miles in any direction. It was as if my eyes were suddenly opened to the fact that everything I had ever seen before had been caked with a layer of grime. It was like seeing something so white that you suddenly realize that what you had previously thought was brilliant white is a dirty cream.

The floor was fascinating but I was too on edge to study it. The sky was too bizarre to even think about.

A noise startled me. My eyes darted in that direction. Two people were approaching. I panicked. There was nowhere I could hide. I threw myself on the floor. Where did they come from? I wondered. Even though my 360-degree scan just moments before had been at panic speed, how could I have missed them? A second look at those approaching exposed my error. ‘People’ was not the right word. Shock tore through my body. Though humanoid in appearance, they were giants. I flattened my body still more, while thinking myself rather stupid for getting into a position from which it was most difficult to either flee or fight. But then again, what my eyes were now telling me indicated that if things turned nasty, neither means of survival was likely. It was far more than size that set them apart. These life forms looked vastly superior to anyone I had ever seen.

Trying to hide on an open floor is ridiculous! I might as well stand and face my fate like a man. I staggered to my feet, but as they drew closer this seemed a serious mistake.

One of the life forms heading toward me towered at least half a body length higher than any person I had ever seen, and was massively built. The other was even bigger. In their most literal meaning, words like stunning and breathtaking would almost seem adequate to describe the fearsome majesty of their appearance and mannerisms. But we cripple these words; squandering them on less emotionally shattering experiences than the one that was overwhelming me. The aliens were not exactly terrifying – overawed would seem a better description of my reaction – and yet I felt strength draining from me like I would expect to feel if I were staring at a vicious animal poised to pounce and tear me apart. It seemed more than an emotional reaction. It was as if these beings radiated some sort of energy that threatened to sap the very life from me. It was like trying to stand waist-deep in the ferocious torrent of a river that could drown me any second.

I panicked. In the split second before I knew I would black out, I instinctively looked to God, like one would flinch when about to be punched. I uttered no word – not even in my thoughts – nor did I consciously change my posture. No time. No need. I knew that God knew I was serious. Nothing else mattered. Anytime, anywhere, he is there.

As a frightened child clings to its mother, and a drowning man clings to a lifebuoy, I clung to God, my only hope. Instantly, I felt as if supernatural energy were pumping into me. The desperate, life-giving exchange transcends explanation, but like a battery being charged, I was somehow drawing strength from the Infinite One. Before long I felt I could survive in the presence of these beings, but still I longed to find somewhere to hide from them. To my relief, so far they were acting as if I didn’t exist.

‘O Chebon,’ said the shorter one, ‘it’s been thirty earth-years and the sight of that empty throne still breaks my heart.’

I needed to drink in their every word. It was surely my best chance of discovering where I was and what was happening. But distractions were everywhere. Everything hitting my senses – even the air – was different from anything I had ever before experienced. I was captivated by their skin. I can only describe it as golden and glowing and yet it was real skin, nothing like flesh covered with stage paint. And rather than reflecting light, the glow somehow seemed to come from within these beings. Both had hair that was long and whitish and seemed too fluffy to be hair. When I dared glance at their eyes, I concluded that ‘fiery’ was the only way to describe Chebon’s. The other had violet eyes that might seem almost peaceful if they were not so alien.

‘The pain sears through each of us, Zyra,’ replied Chebon.

‘Chebon’ . . . ‘Zyra’ . . . ‘earth-years’ . . . What is going on . . . ? My mind raced but the conversation continued.

‘I didn’t think this whole dimension could be so . . .’ the one who must have been called Zyra seemed to be struggling for the right word. ‘ . . . empty,’ he finally blurted. ‘I know we have so much to delight in, but his absence . . .’

As he spoke something peculiar began to arouse my curiosity.

‘We must be strong, Zyra.’

There was something peculiar about their lip movements. In my effort to pick up their every word, I was trying – as much as I dare even look at these beings – to focus on their lips, but it was not helping my comprehension.

‘Earth! What’s so special about that tiny speck . . .’ There seemed hurt and the slightest tinge of disgust in Zyra’s voice.

‘Come, now Zyra, you –’

Suddenly there was a commotion. I looked round and hundreds, then thousands, of beings came pouring in. Where they come from, I have no idea. The place had no walls and seemed to stretch for infinity in every direction. It did not even have a ceiling. These life forms were not present a moment ago and there was nowhere for them to be hidden.

If these aliens were angels, I’m not too comfortable with the word. For ease of communication I guess I should stick with the term, but our familiarity with the word belies how extraordinary these beings were. ‘Luminaries’ is a word that seems to fit a little more snugly. Each looked not just otherworldly, but terrifyingly superior. The new arrivals were all of different appearances and sizes and yet each in his unique way looked stunningly majestic. (Should I be assigning them the male gender? They were certainly flat chested, yet something about them makes me uncomfortable about using the male pronoun. I couldn’t identify it precisely. There was sort of a softness – a slight aura of femininity – and physical beauty about them, and yet in many ways they seemed masculine. They seemed to epitomize the best of both sexes and yet in another sense they seemed sexless. If calling one of these beings ‘he’ does not feel quite right, to refer to such a regal being as ‘it’ would be even further off track.)

As they came flooding in, my eyes absorbed so many never-before-encountered sights that to attempt an adequate description would take far too many pages. I will curtail myself rather than risk boring you in a vain effort to force words to do what only sight could achieve.

Everything about these beings was fascinating. As individuals they were amazing, but as a group they were even more intriguing. For instance, they all had what could be called white hair and yet there were slight differences in color such that I never noticed two with identical hair color. The hair of one had a slight pinkish tinge, another was slightly bluish, another slightly golden, and so on. And although I noticed dozens with, for example, a bluish tinge to their white hair, each was a slightly different shade of blue. I think it was the subtlety of the variation that particularly struck me. There was nothing gaudy. Every aspect of their appearance had an aura of sophistication as to make everything human seem crude.

They seemed to radiate light. I cannot entirely dismiss the possibility that it was simply light bouncing off their shiny skin, but it seemed to come from within them. Whatever the cause, they were so dazzling that despite my natural inclination to stare wide-eyed in astonishment, I found myself snatching hasty glimpses of them and then looking elsewhere.

‘It’s happened!’ shouted several of the newcomers, as they burst into this world from nowhere. There must have been hundreds of thousands by now and more continued to pour in.

In my attempt to see where they were all coming from I again tried to comprehend my surroundings. The entire sky – I guess that’s what I should call it – was indescribable. It would be oversimplification to say that from horizon to horizon it seemed to be one gigantic rainbow. It was constantly moving and changing in intriguing ways. The floor was so magnificent that I felt I could spend eternity exploring it and keep finding new treasures. ‘Yeeaaaaah!’ shouted Zyra.

‘Glory!’ said Chebon, jumping high in the air. Everyone seemed to be clapping, cheering, jumping, dancing, or emitting a peculiar noise.

I’m bursting to tell you about their astonishingly otherworldly clothing, but I dare not. It enhanced their beauty and dignity. Frankly, I’m scared to say more. I’ll risk revealing more later. Then you’ll understand my reticence.

‘At last! After thirty long earth-years!’ shouted a jubilant angel.

The more I looked at each speaker’s lips the more puzzled I became.

It’s a new era!’ proclaimed another.

At that, the entire throng burst into a thunderous roar that seemed many times louder than anything I have ever heard and yet, instead of hurting my ears, the sound ripped through my body, suggesting that much of the angelic roar was at a very low pitch, perhaps even below my audible range. Whatever the explanation, as it thundered through my body, the effect was remarkable. It was as though there was so much energy in the sound that it energized my entire physical being. But beyond that, it generated within me an excitement unlike anything I have ever experienced.

When finally the roar subsided, another gigantic being spoke a few words, but instead of concentrating, my mind was like a bull terrier with a bone, refusing to let go of a much less significant puzzle. The words I was hearing did not correspond to the movements of the speakers’ lips. Was I somehow listening to a translation? But each voice was unique and sounded as if it were coming from the direction of each person speaking. I began listening intently while each spoke, wondering if I could hear any foreign language in the background. I could detect nothing but English. My mind whirled with countless questions.

‘What an achievement!’ declared the first angel, his lips continuing for two or three syllables after the sound had ceased. Stupidly, I touched my ears to check whether earphones had somehow appeared over my ears. Of course, they had not. I wondered if I were in some sort of sound shell. Come on! I chided myself, Concentrate on what they are saying! Surely their conversation would give me more clues than my idle speculations.

‘Thirty sinless years on that sin-infested planet as a baby, a boy, a youth –’

‘Without even the Spirit’s anointing!’ added another of the angels, amidst all the rejoicing.

Whatever are they talking about? I wondered. Then in a flash of panic I asked myself, I am in the twenty-first century, aren’t I?

After a while, Chebon raised his voice, ‘Could I have a little quiet please?’ The throng, which by now had grown so vast as to seem endless, began to quieten. I could find no vantage point high enough to see an end to the throng. For all I knew there could have been billions there. ‘I have an announcement. To mark this unique occasion, Gabriel has been chosen to distill into words the feelings of all of us.’ Everyone cheered again. I looked on, mystified.

A magnificent being came forward. Even among these beings, he looked dignified. His voice boomed with authority. ‘Earth-born observers who think they know Jesus of Nazareth are about to receive the shock of their lives.’ The others murmured in agreement.

‘They imagine he is one of them.’ Some of the throng smiled. Some shook their heads, as if in disbelief.

‘Earth has no conception of his humiliation these thirty years.’ The rest murmured. Some nodded in what seemed to be sad agreement.

‘But Heaven knows and we will not fail to celebrate his empowering this day.’ The throng went wild.

‘At last our Lord is endowed with the power future Christians will enjoy!’

Locked in that statement were truths so profound as to keep my mind reeling for ages. Even as I write, the implications are buzzing around my head. I wonder if I’ll ever plumb their depths, much less actually live them. I was glad that another celestial roar gave me a little while to ponder that profound mystery.

‘Our Lord’s baptism in the Spirit,’ he continued, ‘is one step closer to the restoration of the glory which rightly belongs to the only Son of God, through whom, and for whom, all things in every universe exist. His rightful role is to reign in unlimited splendor over every inhabitant of every world forever and ever.’ All of heaven seemed to explode in almost thunderous cheers, applause, and a peculiar noise that I had now heard several times before. Eventually they began to quieten and Gabriel continued.

‘For thirty earth-years the eternal Lord has been abased. Only now, at the completion of the Spirit-baptism, is his power equal to the potential of his future followers. But now, supercharged with the Spirit, pulsating with holy power, he is primed to explode into earth-stunning ministry. That planet will never be the same again.’ Again the throng erupted into cheers and that peculiar noise.

‘Jesus of Nazareth, ablaze with the Spirit, is a beacon so bright he’ll be seen by every succeeding generation of earth-dwellers, century after century until the termination of planet earth.’ The angels went wild. That peculiar sound some emitted continued to puzzle me. Perhaps it was some sort of angelic equivalent of whistling.

Chebon stepped up to Gabriel and raised his straightened arm. It was angled forward at about forty-five degrees, palm vertical. Gabriel, facing Chebon, did the same. Their hands almost touching, they stood rigidly in silence for a few seconds. Then, military-style, Gabriel about-turned and strode off.

‘Arch-angel Uriel from the music corps has been commissioned to compose a song for this great occasion.’ announced Chebon. Everyone clapped and cheered. ‘Let’s see how quickly we can learn this sparkling new song.’ More cheers followed. I had never before thought of angels getting so excited.

Then commenced what I can only call music, but the use of an earth term devalues what I heard. It seemed to caress my ears and then permeate my entire being. My spirit seemed to soar to realms I had never known. I was captivated. I longed for it to continue forever. Then, in an other-worldly voice, so pure, so noble, Uriel began to sing.

Son of Man, how you’ve longed for this hour.
Now you’re anointed, empowered from on high.
Now is your love matched by infinite power;
You’ll raise the dead and bring heaven nigh.

He ended his verse. The music continued. Then he began again, this time the pitch was a little higher. All the others joined him. They were harmonizing, but producing no words. What shocked me, however, was the vocal range of the voices, with some being lower and some higher than any human voice I’ve ever heard. Their sound was vaguely like humming. Only Uriel was singing words. Somehow there was such power in his performance that even today each word seems indelibly etched on my brain. I’m sure I’ll never forget a syllable.

Spirit of God, for redemption you’ve come;
For all earth’s people you pour out your love.
Power Divine upon God’s only Son,
You have come like a heavenly dove.

Chebon, looking at Uriel, said, ‘Magnificent!’ He looked towards the other angels, ‘Isn’t it?’ They clapped and cheered. Some gave little jumps on the spot. Some made those peculiar sounds.

Turning towards Uriel again, Chebon said, ‘We’ve picked up the tune now. Have you got the words for us?’

Uriel did something with his hand and from nowhere three dimensional squiggles appeared, each looking as solid as gold, and suspended on nothing.

As Chebon studied the squiggles he emitted a strange sound, but quite different to the angelic ‘whistle,’ ‘Teeeeeoool! This is good!’ he gasped, ‘Let’s get all heaven singing!’

Uriel turned to the throng. As his body rhythmically twisted in ways that no human would imitate, the seemingly endless throng responded as if he were conducting them with his entire body. On cue, they began to sing.

Son and Dove, now you’re blended in time.
You are united, all-powerful and wise.
Perfect love binds this union divine,
Filling the love in the Father’s eyes.

Yet our joy is tempered with awe
As we dare ponder your mission of pain;
Trial upon trial as your agonies soar,
You’ll shed your blood as mankind you reclaim.

Father God, your heart feels this pain;
Your Son surrounded by hardship and foe.
He’ll be abused in body and name,
As he redeems those who hate him so.

You have no doubt known the frustration of longing to convey to a friend the beauty of a song and all you could do is e-mail the lyrics. It seems so hollow compared with what you experienced. Obviously, that frustration is what I am feeling now, though magnified many times over, because the music was beyond anything you can even imagine. My dilemma, however, is that I feel this way about almost every word I write concerning any aspect of what I saw or heard or felt in this world.

I wanted the song to go on and on and on. I felt I could hear it continuously for a hundred years and it would still be as fresh and captivating as ever. To my acute disappointment it suddenly stopped, and every creature in sight bowed in reverent worship. Feeling totally out of place, as the only one standing, I, too, decided to bow. The floor was surprisingly comfortable but after what seemed an exceedingly long time, I grew increasingly fidgety. The angels continued, seeming to draw immense satisfaction out of this humiliating posture. I guess I should call what they did ‘adoration’ but although I had previous considered I knew the meaning of the word, they had obviously tapped into depths of adoration that were quite foreign to me. In my boredom I gazed at the tiny section of floor beneath my eyes. Set just below the smooth surface of this particular part of the floor were what looked like magnified, exquisitely colored snow crystals. The tiny segment of floor before my eyes was fascinating, but not enough to keep me entertained for all time that the angels were devoting to their worship. I recalled other parts of the floor that I had noticed earlier. One part had looked like petrified fire. Another looked as if it contained miniaturized galaxies of stars. Other parts contained jewels. I longed to explore the vast floor, absorbing its beauty, but I knew the angels were engaged in something far more profound. I tried not to profane that sacred moment anymore than I was already doing.

After I thought I was beginning to understand the meaning of eternity, Chebon finally announced, ‘Let the celebrations commence!’

I was totally unprepared for the next split second. In an instant these stunningly otherworldly beings exploded from reverent stillness to extravagant celebration. Do angels ever know how to party! Their unrestrained exuberance made excited children look as somber as mourners. I have never seen anyone have so much fun. Even now, when I feel down I recall the sheer delight on their faces and the memory lifts me.

I have no idea how to adequately describe their acrobatics, but I can explain it quite simply: the performers were not human. They leapt four or five times higher than any human could reach and they spun several times faster in their aerial somersaults. Sometimes they gyrated so fast that they were just a blur and when they approached top speed they actually changed color. They could bend backwards as fully and easily as forwards. All of them were simultaneously diving into the air, twisting and twirling and somersaulting, each with individual characteristics. The throng had spread out, but I was still amazed there were no mid-air collisions. Whenever two got close, something like lightning flashed between them. The brilliant colors varied according to which angels the spark flashed between.

As they began to somersault, their clothing changed. Some were now bare-chested, exposing their golden, shiny skin, which made them look even more stunning. There was something alien about their flat chests besides their unique skin. I puzzled over what it was until it hit me: they had no nipples. Like the dimmest of memories, something triggered within me causing this feature of their anatomy to somehow seem fitting, but too much was happening to explore the thought. Although it was harder to be certain, I also think they had no navels. Their joy was too infectious, however, for me to get caught up in physiology.

If they were a cross between butterflies and shooting stars, I was a beached whale. And yet their sheer exuberance pulsated through me. It was like someone’s laughter that sets you giggling and ends up rocking your entire body. Lumbering earthling or not, I found myself doing a little jig, like music can sometimes set your foot tapping without you realizing it.

Then it happened. It was obviously part of the celebrations, but I have no idea what to call them. They seemed to erupt as powerful explosions but instead of bangs they made the most amazing sounds, and instead of the stench of explosives, each emitted an exquisite and different aroma, and even a taste. The force of some almost knocked me over, yet some were as gentle as mist. The colors were so unlike anything I have ever seen that I wondered if I had somehow gained the ability to see a wider spectrum of colors than is normally possible for human eyes. Or was it the different atmosphere? Like so much else, I was at a loss to explain it, and I was too emotionally swept off my feet to really care. Each eruption was a different color. They seemed like harmless sparklers, but whenever one touched me, I would tingle in the most thrilling way, and each time it was a totally different sensation.

I felt as if I would explode with ecstasy. I couldn’t contain the pleasure of the first and there were so many more to follow. It reminded me of when as a child I was held down and tickled and tickled and tickled. Part of me was screaming for this heavenly extravaganza to stop. It seemed beyond endurance. And yet another part of me wanted it to go on and on forever.

‘God, help me!’ I cried, almost in terror. I recalled hearing of men of God granted such powerful spiritual experiences that they cried out to God for it to cease, literally thinking it would kill them. Afterwards they regretted their move, and instead wished they had prayed for a greater capacity to contain the blessing. ‘Help me bear this!’ I shouted to the God I desperately needed.

My voice was drowned in the holy commotion. The angels continued their wild gymnastics as though I did not exist, but I somehow knew my cry had reached heaven’s throne. Soon strength was flowing into me. Gradually I gained the capacity to handle the torrent of pleasures cascading through me, but with every moment I seemed stretched to new limits.

I had not thought it possible, but the angels twirled and corkscrewed with ever-increasing complexity. Another celestial ‘sparkler’ hit me. I suddenly doubled over as if punched in the stomach. Then my legs began to buckle. An observer might suppose I was in pain, but my whole body was crumpling under the weight of intolerable pleasure. No wonder the angels were diving into the air. I longed to turn cartwheels in sheer delight but in the midst of such sensory overload my human body was unable even to stagger.

Using earthly language to describe the ethereal fireworks exploding within me is like being forced to call an ocean a big bath. Nevertheless, if you will bear with my madness I will attempt to describe the indescribable. You could think of the sensations induced by one ‘sparkler’ as like the most invigorating mountain spa, sending what seemed like a billion microscopic bubbles spiraling inside of me. As that was finally beginning to subside, another hit. The impact bore similarities to satin on bare skin, but a thousand times more rapturous. I shuddered in delight. The best I can do in describing the next is to say it felt outrageously soapy and unimaginably soothing. Whenever I was sure I could contain no more, yet another ‘sparkler’ would hit. The feelings were so intense it was as if I were experiencing reality for the first time.

I felt as out of place as the most repulsively ugly, filthy person being draped with exquisite jewels and million dollar clothes. ‘I don’t deserve this!’ I screamed in horror. In the perfection of these sensations I sensed a presence so devastatingly holy that it was like the most powerful searchlight exposing in the dark corners of my life repulsive filth I had never known was there. I had never before felt such shame. I wanted to flee. For me to be enjoying such otherworldly pleasures felt as wrong as a sadistic torturer being honored above Mother Teresa; the most disgusting coward being ticker-taped as a hero; the laziest fool being rewarded with endless success; the stingiest, most selfish man being treated as the greatest of benefactors.

Somehow words were fired into my brain: It isn’t right to take what is holy and give it to dogs! Suddenly, it felt as if those words encapsulated a fundamental law of the universe; a basic principle upon which the entire fabric of creation was built. It seemed as if the breaking of this law would threaten the continued existence of everything. It seemed as though the holy and the profane were such opposites that if at any point in the universe they were to touch, it would ignite a chain reaction so explosive that everything in every world would disintegrate. But for me to be delirious with pleasure made it seem worth the gravest of risks.

I was a stray mongrel, a flea-infested mutt, muddying the snow-white carpet of heaven. I knew I should slink away in utter humiliation. Instead, I mustered all my strength and determined to gorge myself in pleasures I didn’t deserve. ‘God, have mercy,’ I screamed. Another celestial ‘sparkler’ hit me. This one was vaguely reminiscent of luxuriating in the best warm shower you could ever imagine, only it made me tingle with joy in ways I have never known. Then followed one that reminded me of snowflakes, but left all earthly comparison far behind. Another hit, this one more like the softest feathers but doing things to me that a million feathers could never do.

Satan’s vomit has as much right to be in the holy of holies as I had to be here. I somehow had to get the focus off me or, like a desert ant burnt to a puff of smoke under a magnifying glass, I would die of shame. Remembering my spiritual union with Christ, I cried in desperation, ‘Jesus is worthy! Jesus is worthy!’ The next ‘sparkler’ was like an exquisite massage.

I was the vilest trespasser. I knew I should flee. Instead, desperately trying to prolong my stay, I cried, ‘On the cross, Jesus and I swapped destinies!’ The next sent pleasure rumbling through me like thunder, reaching depths within me I never knew existed. Is it possible for one’s internal organs to dance?

I was a maggot-infested wound in the body of the Christ. I made all heaven impure. I ruined everything. ‘Jesus makes me worthy! Jesus makes me worthy!’ I screamed in desperation. Another ‘sparkler’ caused me to sort of sneeze repeatedly and with each sneeze the most thrilling sensations raged through me.

I shouldn’t be experiencing such heavenly treats. I was stealing the rewards of the holy and pure. I drew a deep breath, ‘Jesus and I are one. I claim the privileges of the holy Son of God.’ Oh, the audacity of it! A sadistic rapist passing himself off as the purest virgin would be less outrageous. ‘My enormous debt to justice has been paid in full! I don’t care how beyond belief it seems, Jesus was punished for me!’ I cried, recklessly determined to hold on to that claim, even if it killed me.

A ‘sparkler’ brushed my head and suddenly my hair came to life. That part of me that on earth had been so devoid of feeling that it could even be cut without the slightest discomfort was now pulsating with matchless feelings. My body wanted me to squeal with delight like a little child, abandoning myself to an otherworldly euphoria. Yet my mind was clouded with the gravest of matters. Each new pleasure intensified the agony, like a starving man savoring the aromas and sights of a banquet he is forbidden on pain of death to taste; like a moth drawn to the fire that will kill it.

Nothing in me is Christlike, came the thought. I must back off immediately or I’ll fry like a one volt motor on a ten thousand volt power line. ‘Jesus is in me!’ I cried.

The angels continued to celebrate. Another ‘sparkler’ felt unbelievably exhilarating. I nearly lost consciousness. Every circuit in my body was ready to blow. I’ll die!

No! flashed the thought. Why should I die? Jesus died for me! The next ‘sparkler’ was like a beautiful, lazy drowsiness.

I have no right to this. I’m being plain stubborn and selfish by not scurrying from heavenly pleasures like a cockroach into a hole. This time I had no comeback. It was so horribly true. Here I was trying to get away with stubbornness and selfishness in the very heart of – whatever this place was.

Pleasure-wise, I presume the ‘sparklers’ made heroin seem like water, but I had been so anxious to get my fill that I wanted it even if by getting my wish I threatened the existence of the entire universe! I was so unspeakably selfish that my exquisite pleasure had meant more to me than the survival of every creature in the universe. What an appalling self-discovery! I, who had prided myself in being a cut above the average do-gooder, made Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot and Idi Amin look angelic. Jesus Christ not only relinquished all this pleasure, he embraced humiliation and torture to bless someone as evil as me. And here I was, the antithesis of everything good, clawing after the highest sensations; so pleasure-crazed that my own enjoyment meant more to me than the very survival of the universe. I had theoretically believed that without Christ every human is depraved. Now it was no longer a theory; it was devastating reality. Morally, I was a slug needing to be stepped on and my splattered remains ground into the dirt.

I was finally forced to give up and banish myself to hell, my rightful home forever.

Sinful ‘pleasures’ I thought I had enjoyed streaked through my mind in naked shame. Each seemed as repulsive as if I were forced to keep eating delicious chocolate despite the fact that I was already vomiting up chocolate. Oh, how vile my sins! I loathed myself. How could I have been so stupid, so wicked, so perverse. I was so loathsome that without Jesus trading places with me I couldn’t face the truth about me and still live with myself. I’d been living in denial all my life. Surely hell needs only one accurate mirror for the torment to be unbearable. ‘Help me, Lord Jesus!’ I cried in agony.

In my mind’s eye I saw myself charging into a burning building to rescue someone I loved more than life itself. Every movement began to slow down. Shielding her body, I suffer horrific burns to carry her to safety, where I collapse, writhing in agony. But it is worth every throb of pain because the love of my life is completely untouched by the fire. All that matters is that she’s unharmed. Seeing my wounds she says, ‘I don’t deserve such love!’ I look on in horror as she then runs back into the fire and kills herself; breaking my heart by her death and rendering all my suffering an utter waste.

I had been on the brink of treating my heroic Savior like that. How dare I let Jesus’ agony be wasted! If I beat myself, Jesus was beaten for nothing. He suffered horrifically to give me the right of access to all God’s riches. For his sake, I must refuse to throw aside such a costly sacrifice. For some reason – sheer love I guess – he considered me worth it. I won’t let him down. My feelings are of no consequence. I’ll seize the maximum for his sake. ‘FOR HIS SAKE!’ I yelled. At last I found peace. ‘Yes, for Jesus’ sake!’ I shouted in joyous relief, ‘For the sake of the One who died for me!’

By thinking of myself as unworthy, I was seeing myself as I truly would be had Jesus never hung upon the cross for me. But he was crucified. He was tortured to death to swap my sin for his sinlessness. He took my guilt and gave me his innocence. And here I was on the brink of throwing it all away and reducing to a senseless waste his agonizing death for me.

The next ‘sparkler’ was like a burst of love. Another seemed almost intoxicating. Some stirred emotions I had never known on earth. ‘Immense satisfaction,’ is my best attempt to describe one such emotion, but those words seem so inferior to what I felt that it hardly seems worth the effort of groping for words. Another was a little like awe and wonder but went far beyond the boundaries of those words. Another was too exotic to find the slightest comparison.

The only way to bear the ecstasy was to forget myself and enjoy every blessing for Jesus’ sake, delighting him by reveling in all that his torment had purchased for me. Anything from him is a priceless gift I dare not push away because it had cost him everything to make me worthy to receive it.

Each ‘sparkler’ seemed to put something in the air that I could actually taste with each breath. One was a little like honey, another more like apples, the next totally incomparable with anything on earth. The variety seemed endless.

No earthly experience could compete with the smallest of these pleasures. It was suddenly obvious that for a Christian, there is no such thing as sacrifice. Exchanging the greatest of earthly pleasures for this, is no sacrifice. A lifetime of agony would be a small price to pay for a few moments of these celebrations. Then from deep within me boomed a voice, Even now you have no conception of the ecstasies of those counted worthy to gaze upon the face of Almighty God. These are mere trinkets. You have only caught the reflected glory of mere angels. Basking in the glory of the presence of the King of kings outclasses what you are presently experiencing, as the midday summer sun outshines the stars when seen from the planet of your birth.

I gasped. The thought of anything more rapturous was beyond comprehension. Another ‘sparkler’ hit.