When the Earth shall be set free from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God
In the summer of 1968 I received a clear vision from the Lord. It was brief but penetrating in its significance. Over the years I have often considered the necessity of presenting this vision, but on each occasion it was shown to be untimely. However, in 1980 the time was right, and we presented it in story form in Book Two of a seven-fold series entitled “Except the Lord Build the House.” Rather than just present the vision as it was given, I felt the necessity to write it in story form, whereby the clear message of the vision could better be understood. Here it is in its apocalyptic setting.
First of all, let Isaiah set the scene. (Isa.32:1-8) “Behold a King shall reign in righteousness and princes will rule justly. Each will be like a refuge from the wind, and a shelter from the storm, like streams of water in a dry land, like the shade of a mighty rock in a parched land. Then the eyes of those who see will not be blinded, and the ears of those who hear will listen, and the mind of the hasty will discern the truth, and the tongue of the fearful man will hasten to speak clearly.
No longer will the fool be called noble, or the rogue be spoken of as generous. For a fool speaks nonsense, and his heart inclines towards wickedness, to practice ungodliness, to speak error against the Lord, to keep the hungry person unsatisfied, and to withhold drink from the thirsty. As for the rogue, his weapons are evil; he devises wicked schemes, to destroy the afflicted with slander, even though the needy one speaks right.
But the noble man devises noble plans, and by noble deeds he will stand.”
Dakru had grown up in the Valley. He knew all about its problems. No one had to explain to him the nature of his environment, polluted and foul. Like all the young men and women who were his contemporaries, he had his weekly quota of cleaning and clearing in the ‘Disposal Squads’. It was a wretched task, but one that was deemed necessary by the Dikasters, whose job it was to decide policy and enforce legislation.
Dakru was a thinker. He never found it easy to mix with the crowds. He often wondered why his parents chose that name for him. He knew that Dakru was Greek for tears. Perhaps that was why he so often felt like crying, not with visible tears, but as though they welled up from the pit of his stomach as he observed the nature of the day in which he lived. It was not that he despised people, but he had learned through experience that the mind-of-a-crowd is the lowest-common-denominator mind. Dakru was an individualist, and sought the company of others of like mind. Sometimes he would be seen sitting on the doorstep of an aged man’s dwelling, learning about the past and relating it to the present. Or he would be found walking by the side of Dayas, the most senior of the Dikastate, seeking further understanding of Valley problems.
“Mark my words,” the old man would say to him, “the flow has increased greatly in my lifetime, and the more so recently. And it never used to be so foul as it is these days.”
“Surely there must be some limit?” protested Dakru.
“Aye, but we shall all be consumed before then unless there is a sudden miraculous intervention. Why, even now we barely have the resources to cope with the situation.”
Dakru went silent and pensive.
“Why can’t we tackle the problem at its source?” he asked Dayas one day. Now Dayas was a very tolerant man, and his wisdom was such that he never derided the inexperience of young men. Because of this he was well respected in the Valley.
“It has been tried already, young Dakru, but it proved fatal to the assault party. Look at it up there. How many of us could build a sewer pipe like that? The Upper People are so much stronger than us physically and mentally. Mark you, it is monstrous that they should be polluting us in this way. It is so unjust, so cowardly, but humanly speaking we are powerless to do anything about it.”
“What method was used by the assault party?” asked Dakru, previously unaware that an attempt had been made.
“I suppose I should not be telling you this, my son, but since it will not be long before I propose you for membership of the Dikastate, I am taking the risk. I trust you, Dakru. You are an intelligent and thoughtful young man, and we shall need the likes of you to run the Valley in days to come, long after I am gone.”
Dakru was suitably impressed by these words, but had no intention of sacrificing his mind to the illogicalities of the Dikastate. He held his peace.
Dayas continued. “Yes, they were brave men, and they used the most sophisticated weapons of our modern armoury. Mark you, the climb itself was more than half the battle, but eventually they made it to the pipe entrance. We heard them over the radio link as they entered the pipe. They described it to us. Do you know, it is even larger than appears from here? It must be all of a hundred yards in diameter, and made from a material about which we know absolutely nothing. It has the appearance of transparent stainless steel.”
The old man paused, wondering whether he ought to go on. The information was supposed to be secret. The Dikastate had firmly decided to withhold the information from the general public in case of an outcry. But the look in Dakru’s eyes allayed his fear.
“The nuclear device was attached to a simple transporter that was assembled in situ. The idea was to send the device a good way along the pipe tunnel on the transporter, and then trigger the detonation from a time switch on the bomb. Our goal was to destroy the pipe and prevent the effluent from ever spilling into the Valley again.” The old man sighed as he finished telling his tale thus far. Dakru could see that the mission had failed. After all, the effluent was still pouring into the Valley.
“What went wrong, Dayas?”
“In point of fact, we are not at all sure. They set the transporter in motion, and watched it move off into the tunnel, and although theoretically they should then have started their downward descent, no further communications were received. However, we were not unduly worried about that, because we had asked them to use the radio link sparingly. The device exploded though little was seen or heard in the Valley. But the assault party never returned.”
“This took place fifteen months ago?”
“How did you know?” quizzed the old man as he looked intently into Dakru’s eyes.
“It was the day when we awoke to the awful mess that nearly flooded the town. We feared the end had come, and had it not been for the complete absence of effluent for seven days afterwards, it is doubtful whether we could have cleared it all away.”
“Yes, you are perceptive, Dakru. In fact it was during that week that hopes were high for the success of the mission. But I cautioned the Dikastate to remain silent until the assault party returned. We waited two weeks, and then as you know, the effluent began to flow again. After two more weeks it was back to its normal flow.”
“What was the next move?”
“We sent out a search party. They eventually found the bodies, decaying and unrecognisable, but there was enough evidence for positive identification. They must have been ejected from the mouth of the pipe like bullets from a gun to be so far away from the mouth when we found them. We cold only assume that fumes had overcome them before they could make their exit. We also had to assume thatour conventional weapons are powerless against the materials empoyed by the Upper People.”
“And what has transpired subsequently?” asked Dakru.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. As I told you, we came to a united decision not to reveal the matter to the Valley people for fear of hostile reaction. You see, we have two problems in our Valley. One is internal and the other is external. Internally we have to combat the effects of our own inherent weaknesses as human beings, governed as we are by greed, selfishness, and the folly of ignorance. Externally, we are plagued continually by the evil designs of the Upper People, spewing into our Valley everything from sewage to those mischievous devices designed for us to hurt each other. Given a fair chance, without any intrusion, we might well be able to overcome some of our internal problems, but under the circumstances we are now doomed to failure. We are swimming against an ever increasing current. For every three yards we swim forwards these days, I reckon we are carried back four. Unless someone discovers a solution, we have but a short time left before our complete extinction.” Once again the old man paused, as though to contemplate the immensity of the problem.
“There is an added problem,” he said, continuing his narrative. “I believe we have angered the Upper People by our attempt. There are clear signs of an accelerated increase in the volume of effluent since then, plus the enormous increase in those subtle and dangerous ‘toys’ they float down. You see how they have us cornered? If we were found to be preparing for another attempt, the people of the Valley would be up in arms against us now. They are beginning to enjoy the ‘toys’, without realising the insidious dangers to which they are exposed. We are being told it is worth while putting up with the sewage for the sake of the other things, which they say ‘have so benefited mankind.’ None of us woulddare to try again now, Dakru. I am an old man, and the end of my days is near. I am full of sorrow these days and acquainted with much grief, not for myself, but for all of you. After I have gone things will become almost unbearable. Would you believe it if I told you that some members of the Dikastate are being taken in by these pernicious ‘toys’. It is amazing to think that within my own lifetime things should change so dramatically. In my earlier years, if we had planned an operation, the whole Valley would have been behind us, but to do so now would result in the forcible resignation of the whole Dikastate.”
“He who stirs up a hornets’ nest must expect to be stung,” said Dakru after a few moments of reflection. “The trouble is that others get stung as well, and they are the ones to get angry. But you deserve no recrimination. You did the best you could. Have no fear. I shall reveal the story to no one.”
“How would you deal with a hornets’ nest, Dakru?” Asked Dayas with a twinkle in his eye.
“Maybe by becoming a hornet first!” replied the young man, and they both laughed. It released the tension. Dayas thought no more about it, but the concept sank deeply into Dakru’s subconscious.
A whole year went by. Dakru became thirty years of age. Dayas was about to retire from the Dikastate, and true to his word, he had nominated Dakru for a position on the Ancient Council. He was summoned before them, and asked for his response. They were most surprised to hear the young man turn down the offer, firmly but politely, after thanking them for their very kind consideration. There was much perplexity in the Council Hall. Many would have given their right arm for such a position. Some derided him for his obstinacy, whilst others accused him of arrogance, but the majority complained of his small regard for the needs of his fellow men.
Dakru preferred to live with this misunderstanding rather then declare the hidden reasons for his refusal. It was rather obvious how the tone of the Dikastate had changed during the last year. Through contact with Dayas he knew that a majority of Members were now in favour of the ‘toys’ rather than seeing them as evil.
“You must be mad!” raged his mother when she learned of his decision. “If you had joined them you could have swayed them in due course. As it is, you have jettisoned the greatest opportunity ever likely to come your way. You make me feel ashamed of you instead of proud.”
Dakru refrained from argument. Nothing positive could be gained by it. The man who finally stepped into the position he had been offered was more akin to the rest of the Dikastate. Dayas’s prediction, made a year before, had become remarkably correct. One of the most obvious trends could be seen in the “Collection Squads” which now replaced the former “Disposal Squads”. How could evil become good? To Dakru everything emanating from that awful pipe was evil, no matter how attractively it was wrapped in tinsel.
Another year slipped by, and conditions grew progressively worse. People were less worried about the pipe then ever before. In fact many people now welcomed its presence, speaking of its ‘benefits’. The sewage was now being used as fertiliser, so that everything that had formerly been ‘black’ was now ‘white.’ However, the food that had been grown using this ‘fertiliser’ was tasteless, and produced a variety of stomach conditions which seemed strangely obstinate to any form of medicine. However, nobody seemed to care about this, in fact it was strange that so few saw the correlation.
Dakru then paid Dayas a visit. He was made welcome. They sat and talked, mainly small talk, each reticent to mention the big issues, knowing how it would only increase heartache. Finally Dakru bade the old man farewell.
“I may never see you again, my dear friend and mentor. Tomorrow I start on a long journey, beginning at first light.”
“It is suicide, my son. What can you hope to achieve alone?”
Dakru paused for a moment, and remembered a former conversation, two years gone by. “Let us say that I shall become a hornet for a season!”
The old man shook his head. He knew Dakru well enough to realise that he was a man of resolve, having made up his mind over an extended period of time, and was therefore not likely to change it now. He admired the young man’s spirit, and yearned for him, sensing that it would indeed be the last time they would see each other.
“God be with you, my son. May He grant you the protection you need, and success in your venture. I also pray for your safe return.” Tears trickled down the old man’s face as he gave Dakru a strong hug. All of a sudden he felt very tired, old, and lonely in the Valley.
And so it was that, unknown to the rest of the Valley, Dakru began to climb. The old man watched him through his binoculars for the first day, but after that he lost sight of him altogether. Days went by, and turned into weeks, and weeks into months, until a whole year went by with nothing apparently happening. Dayas watched and prayed, committing his young friend to the Lord daily. After such a long time he began to wonder whether Dakru was lost, that some disaster had overtaken him.
Then it happened. And it was some time after Dayas had stopped looking. One day at dawn there was a hue and cry in the street, which caused the old man to dress hurriedly and go outside. People were standing in the street and pointing upwards. Many of them were jumping for joy. “Another pipe!” yelled one man above the uproar. Dayas looked, saw, and inwardly groaned. Returning indoors, and shutting out the noise, he fell to his knees. “O Lord, it is too much. Take me away. I cannot bear any more. Poor Dakru. Have mercy on him, Lord. He tried. He did what he could for the benefit of us all, but now theyare taking vengeance on us once again.” He recalled the words of old Jacob, who said, “I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.”
Although the townsfolk had seen two pipes, side by side, only the original one was working. The other, newer one, was just sitting there. It was therefore a matter of some conjecture amongst the people what would issue from the new pipe. Whatever it was, they thought, it could only be an increase in ‘benefit.’ Ithad to be useful. So they waited and watched.
A week passed by, and Dayas was suddenly awakened by another hue and cry outside his bedroom window. When eventually he emerged from his front door he found an angry crowd gesticulating in an ugly mood. At first he couldn’t make out just why because of their noise, but taking his binoculars he looked away to the plateau, and there was a sight that made his heart beat faster. The two pipes had been joined together by a great U-shaped section overnight. It took several moments for the significance of this to sink in to Dayas’s brain. The effluent was being sent back on itself!
The old man returned to his house, for fear that the crowds would see his pleasure and want to lynch him. Again he fell to his knees, hardly able to form a sentence of prayer for mixed thankfulness and excitement. Had Dakru won the day? Had the ‘hornet’ done his work? Had subtlety succeeded where power had failed?
Then another thought began to formulate in his mind. “What of the fate of Dakru now? What would the Upper People do to him now that they had learned of his subtle plans? Would they destroy him? What then would be the fate of the Valley people?” All these unspoken thoughts were transmitted upwards to the heavenly regions, but all that he found was a growing sense of peace in his heart, as though a great victory had been achieved, and there was nothing to fear. Dayas was a true man of prayer, and he interpreted these feelings as the Lord’s response to his anxiety. Dayas relaxed.
No one quite knew how Dakru engineered his plan, though Dayas became convinced that it must have been a divine plan vouchsafed only to Dakru. This in no way lessened the debt owed to him for his persistence and courage in expediting the vision granted him. In due course the Upper People became disenchanted with their own environment, and were persuaded by Dakru to descend and live in the Valley. Gradually black returned to being black, and white became white again, though it was a nasty wrench for the Valley People who had grown used to evil, and enjoyed all its ‘benefits’. Conditions in the Valley changed dramatically over a period of time, but that is quite a different story. Perhaps you will one day tell it to your children! Dakru never returned. He became the pioneer of a new age.