A Moment in God’s Presence

“It’s not just what you think, you know. Everyone thinks it is all fear and trembling. And some days it was. Especially in my early years. But I will tell you the truth. The memory that keeps my heart strong and my head clear is the thought of days when my heart was pure before Him. When I had spent time reading the Sacred Texts, preparing myself beforehand, had sung His praises, asked for forgiveness of my sins, I would enter the temple and suddenly be engulfed in His presence …”

At that moment he jerked his head back and stared into the ceiling as if he were seeing some opening into heaven itself. He made a small keening cry, like that of a newborn child. Then he looked down and his gaze was turned so inward he seemed to have forgotten we were even present. Several more tears fell from his cheeks onto the table. Finally he looked up again, not quite back to the ceiling but just over our heads, as if meeting our gaze would have simply been too much at that moment.

“G-d really does have a presence, do you know?” He asked it almost petulantly, as though his proximity to tears was due to some skepticism on our part. “My whole being would throb with this awareness of His person. I thought I could feel His heart. And at such times I was glad everyone else kept their distance, because often I would dance and laugh and weep and sing and shout all at the same time because my chest felt like it would truly, truly burst if I did not. I felt — I felt … well, have you ever seen a young child greet a beloved father after a long absence? The little arms pumping, the little legs churning, the leap into his arms, the tears in the father’s eyes? I felt like that. A child so overcome with joy at His return that all I wanted to do in this world was to leap as high into His bosom as I could. And I could feel His tears, too. That’s the wonder of it, don’t you see? I could feel His Spirit being fed, His heart gladdened, His pain — yes, His pain — being healed somehow.”

He halted his speech and looked down into his lap somberly. Then he said very quietly, almost a whisper, “I could feel G-d’s pain. In fact, I thought of it on my journey here whenever I looked out at the eternity of the desert. Go-d’s pain because of sin and evil and heartbreak was vast and endless and searing. I can still feel its weight up on my soul.”

He looked at me with a glance that had suddenly grown edgy and piercing. Then he shook his head, obviously disappointed. “That’s only a tiny part of it, don’t you know?”

He threw up his hands in a gesture that spoke of futility and allowed them to fall back limply onto his lap. “I also felt struck by lightning. I tingled with a knowledge that I stood in the presence of the Being who created the universe, who created me. And that anything could happen. I could be ushered into glories unspeakable. I could be granted the kingship of Israel. I could be struck dead. Who knows? When you are in the presence of the King of Kings, destiny — not just your own, but the world’s — can change in the twinkling of an eye.”

“I always believed,” Jacob continued, “that the catalyst for these times of blissful closeness to Him was that I had focuses my attention on Him, not on myself. Not on the fact that the Master of the Universe, may His name be blessed, stood in my presence, and I in His at that moment. I could not even think of such a thing, although I suppose it was true. No, like that little child, I was completely enraptured by His arrival and His presence, and my own part in the matter was completely forgotten. Then, of course, as He surrounded me and wrapped me like an infant in those Abba arms, it became even more impossible to turn a thought unto myself. What caused His joy was not my puny righteousness — my holiness, which would have been like filthy rags to Him had He chosen to examine it. In that moment His charity — His favor — was far too great to scrutinize my fault. Again, it was not about me. Not about me at all. What caused His joy was seeing my rapture at His presence and the communion that it sparked. That is what gladdened His heart. Often I have to remind myself that the example of parenthood is not accidental. His is our Father. He is many other things, too, of course. But He is every bit as much a Father, and more, than any man whose heart has ever ached at being separated from his little ones.”

Jacob took one last gulp of stew and leaned back on the bench, wiping his pathetic beard with an edge of his filthy tunic. “I never forget those moments with the King of Kings, not ever. Today, I suppose I am the most expendable person you could imagine. An old, infirm man. One good whack of a bandit’s sword would do me in. Yet I remember, without vanity I hope, that I have stood in the presence and found favor with Him. And no one can ever take the joy, the knowledge, the certainty of that away.”

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This is an excerpt from Hadassah: One Night With the King, a novel by Tommy Tenney with Mark Andrew Olsen (Bethany House, 2004). The speaking character, Jacob, is an elderly priest who has visited Mordecai and Hadassah for the night. He has traveled from Jerusalem to Susa in order to collect offering for the newly restored temple. Hadassah, still a young girl at the time of Jacob’s visit, would later grow to have one night with a different king and, as a result, become Queen Esther.