Echoes of Eden

I had only intended a brisk walk in the forest that summer day, when I tripped and fell. The fall seemed innocuous, but the way I landed wasn’t.  I sliced my inner thigh on a broken branch, gashing an artery.

Managing some sort of groggy composure, I sat up. Due to the initial shock and the blood loss, awareness began closing down – to darkness.

The next thing I was aware of was someone saying, “Can you tell us your name and your date of birth?” What strange questions … who wants to know, where am I? Was I conscious or is this what happens before all consciousness fades – you try to remember your name and your age? How bizarrely disappointing; no rewind of my life, no sense of accomplishment, no regrets crowding in, no ultimate loss of all those that mattered.  

Was I dead? I couldn’t have been as I’d answered the questions. Slowly my eyes opened. There was a face was looking at me, at a strange angle, in a bright room. Odd. “We are glad to see you are still with us sir. You lost a lot of blood, we feared too much, and you had a cardiac arrest.” Another voice - “We have stabilized you and are giving you a transfusion. You’ll live my friend.”

This was encouraging as it was the first I’d heard that I nearly died. I was terrified and relieved, at the same time. Had I dodged a bullet with my name on it?

As I became more aware of my surroundings - an ER - and less overwhelmed – not by much it’s to be admitted – I was told what had happened to me. They told me I was a very lucky person. Another walker came across me, finding me unconscious and bleeding. They called for immediate help and due to the good fortune of adequate phone coverage, and there being a gap in the terrain, a helicopter, close by and on route elsewhere, was able to land and load me within minutes. If one of those three ‘lucky’ factors were missing, you would not be reading this; I certainly wouldn’t be writing it. But here we are!

To add mystery to good fortune nobody knows who it was that rang the emergency services. To this day, despite every effort, who saved my life remains an unresolved mystery. Some have suggested, it was an angel. I have no idea. Maybe it was, although it wasn’t the sort that wanders up and down ladders, neither did the paramedics see a creature in dazzling white. Maybe it was an angel as people have unknowingly entertained them. Angel or no angel – I survived, despite the unlikely odds.

“We are going to monitor you and do further tests. People don’t always have cardiac events with blood loss.” Hopefully and somewhat naively, I asked if I would be going home soon. They couldn’t be sure, each day at a time.

For the next few days various tests were done. I began to hope that maybe all that was needed was rest and recuperation. Not so. When they considered me stable enough, I was wheeled into a catheter lab and prepped for insertion, through the wrist. After ten or so minutes I heard mumbling and whispers before one of the Drs’ appeared around the side of a screen they had been observing. ‘Well, it appears you are luckier to be alive than we thought. Your fall may have been strangely providential.”

Providential? In whose books is near death the work of providence?  In theirs it would seem; it is in mine now too.  

“You will need open heart surgery – you have a number of blocked arteries. If the fall hadn’t alerted us, you may have suffered an extreme cardiac event and not made it.” How many arteries? “Four.” When? “Today!” Why today? “You may not be here tomorrow.” They don’t do classes in subtle.

And that is when my story really begins.

After being prepped, for surgery, I lost count at 7.

The next thing I was aware of, acutely aware of, were alarms and panic, in the middle of which I disengaged from my mortal coil and floated through the ceiling of the operation theater. Did I feel anything – not initially. But I was less panicked than the people in the room that was disappearing below me. The world I knew was fading. Strangely, it seemed see-through-ish, insubstantial, even colours seemed bleached.  People talk about out of the body experiences with some confidence. I’m not sure it is as straight forward as they say – aside from I couldn’t tell whether I was out of my body or in a vivid dream like state. Whether in the body or out? I cannot tell.

Neither did I ascend through atmospheres towards unapproachable light. On the contrary, I found myself in a garden, as lush as Eden - the Eden we might imagine. But it wasn’t just Eden, as Edenic. It felt like home – a home we had lost or were destined for. Lost, how? Destined for, how? I had no idea then and no idea now. Perhaps we just live with inexplicable and faint echoes of Eden?

I wandered taking in, breathing in, delighting in the sights. It was full of a life, a pulse, that hummed with vibrancy. There were insects, animals, birds, and beasts. Not one of them took much notice of me; clearly, I wasn’t on the menu. How long I wandered, I have no idea, as time itself seemed of a different quality than the 24 hours, seven days measurements we are used to – bound by. More than this is impossible to express.

Nor was there any fear or anxiety that I was trespassing – it seemed normal to look, to wander, to be captivated.  I couldn’t help but feel the place was for me, not me alone, for everyone, so being there wasn’t so foreign.

A lot of what I experienced was conveyed by feelings. Senses may be a better word, as sense isn’t strictly about tangible feelings, situationally mediated feelings. Sense is spiritual and spatially unfettered. It feels its way past the immediate, the earth bound, the time bound. Maybe it is what the prophets were endowed with that enabled them to see today in perspective and ahead with perspicuity, al-be-it obliquely.

It wasn’t until the advent of Jesus Christ that what they said became obvious, no longer opaque. His life, death, resurrection and enthronement resolved the pictures painted by the prophets.  He fulfilled and clarified the prophets, and the law. Paul said life and immortality came to light by him.

The garden was vast, and I wandered long in it. No matter how much I walked I couldn’t see the end, but I guessed some far distant peaks were the limits of the garden. Why, I’m not sure?

I never felt tired, hungry, bored, nor, for that matter, lonely. Everything was about delight – flowers didn’t just bloom, they emitted light - the most beautiful of colours; their fragrances would have been the envy of Paris. Trees were stately, majestic. Vines adored like a crown the heads of kings and queens. The animals, some of them, were dangerous looking but didn’t threaten me. Some were playful; some looked intelligent, in ways no animal I have ever seen has. The sky was filled with flashes of luminesce, which I took a while to realize were flocks of iridescent birds diving, soaring, winging through the air. Surely, they had to be having … fun?

Grasses made pathways. Water, always a background bubbling – relaxing and refreshing - white noise to the soul.   

What was missing (from what I got to see – maybe I just didn’t notice) were the sea, the night and serpents. Other animals that I’d consider dangerous (like Aslan was dangerous) were there, but no snakes, and no nights. Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing a sun in the sky either. The light was like that of the dawn – forever new. But no sun to speak of.

A zephyr was blowing. Eventually it caused me no small consternation as I was sure I heard a voice on the breeze whispering to me, or the breeze was a voice. Was that what Elijah heard? It, the wind, told me of things to come - by impression more than by word. It was hard to recall whether what I was sensing/hearing was about the near future or the far distant future. I do remember (sensed) that it was a mixture of anticipation and unnerving uncertainty.

When I look back it was clear to me that God doesn’t merely chat. He isn’t a casual banterer, a fount of fascinating facts (even though he could eternally fascinate us with knowledge). It reminded me of the way some speak, as if God constantly talks to them, which no doubt impresses their hearers. But casual chatter is not how his Spirit communicates with us. Hearing God in your head all day has implications.  

Love is more pertinent when describing God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Knowing him in his forever fullness is the goal of the Spirit, not knowing things – no matter how wonderful or mind-expanding they may be. What God has done, marvellous though it is, is akin to paddling in shallow waters.  Who he is, is swimming in the depths, a bottomless ocean. Creation is the outline he fills in by his love and presence.

And that was what I was constantly aware of – his presence. Even though I never saw him I was constantly aware of him. My senses were alive to his presence. Maybe that is when the sum of our senses are at their most productive, insightful, creative – so that, our senses only acquire their fullness in God’s presence. Outside of this they are a pale version of the purpose they were woven into our lives for.

When his presence was with me, fear, anxiety, dread, loss, and pain didn’t exist. I had plenty of time for that later. We all do.

As I walked, as I gazed and pondered, a sense of wellbeing filled me – all of me. It was as though everything was in tune; everything was in right relation with the world I was in. Nothing intruded to displace his presence and all that it brought with it. I felt invulnerable. It didn’t last.  

His presence taught me about myself. Some of this was deeply unnerving, and remains so, as seeing ourselves for who we are is to know the vast gap between God and ourselves. This gap is filled with reasons for repentance and the prayer that cries deliver us from evil. I wasn’t left to wallow in this because, and at the same time, a consciousness of who I was in him transported me into the heavenly realms where I was seated with Christ. We live with both.

And God’s glorious presence spoke of the future, of what was to be done.  I could sense tomorrow, even though nobody had said anything to me – not in as any words, not even in words. I knew what it was that I was to do. Frustratingly nothing more was explained, revealed.  No specific plans, no dates, times and places. I wanted to know more. I wanted things to be explained, to be shown sequence.

No reply, no sense – simply nothing. This was about to morph into disappointed me, until I realized that our entire lives are premised on faith in God and love towards people. That is the point; the just shall live by their faith.  Knowing everything would hamstring the trust we are to have in God and the growth and strength this brings.

And knowing would lead to atrophy of the soul. We would become lazy, we’d fail to take steps and develop Christlikeness, in action and word. We wouldn’t get to where God wants us to go as it requires participation, not observation. The life God leads us into isn’t clearly marked out (unless we are referring to moral imperatives). It is a life that risks, acts without understanding everything, believes, and makes mistakes – a fully orbed human life.

As these thoughts came to me, I realized I had long been vaguely aware of them. They seemed new and yet, not completely.

I didn’t see God in the garden; I didn’t see angelic beings, nor anyone else for that matter. I didn’t bump into departed relatives, or saints from of old. God was with me – his presence filled the Garden. It was enough. That presence teaches more than words can describe. I thought I would have many questions if God or any other beings appeared, but I discovered answers are not what we long for – it is to be loved, and to know the, ‘I am with you, till the end of the age.’ Why doesn’t hold a candle to who.

Like a light going on in my head I realized that the access to God’s presence is most keenly felt when God’s people worship. It isn’t something relegated to Garden experiences or revelations of the Pauline variety. God speaks to his people in worship, where his presence is revealed, and his presence is not inert – it is alive with word, Jesus Christ.

And still I wandered.

After time, indeterminate, I began sensing - there it goes again – that time in the garden of God was coming to an end. This filled me with a profound longing and a sorrow that hasn’t ever left me. I feel more like a pilgrim, a sojourner than I ever had – on the way somehow to somewhere out of this world.

As abruptly as it started it ended.

I was descending through the roof of the theater and having shock paddles applied to my chest. Even though I was aware of what was going on, I still didn’t feel anything. The garden was gone, lights were flashing, people were moving around me, urgently. I was back in my body.

And then, nothing.

Until, ever so slowly, I began to hear people talking and an awareness of growing pain. The crisis averted and the operation over, I was in recovery. Drugs that made me unconscious were being slowly withdrawn – not a nice experience, but one that proved to the doctors and nurses that I was alive.

I wish I could say that recovery was swift, and I was on my way to a normal life. None of this was true. Days after the operation I had a serious relapse that required more surgery, pain that lingered, and a longer process of recovery. The journey back to health was nine months - many months more than normal.

Ever since I have walked with an internal limp and ache of soul. Echoes of Eden stalk my days – longing for his presence urges my soul forward, but there are some days when it feels all like a divine tease, as if nothing I saw/experienced was real.

 The things Gods presence spoke to me of have come to pass, wonderfully I might add – but never as I’d imagined they would. Many things were only remembered after they had transpired, and the journey required to get there wasn’t spoken of in the promise. God knows we would bail if we saw everything beforehand. We would not live by faith. We would not count the cost required to fulfill his word if we saw that cost up front.  It is better faced on the path, as we grow in Christ, as it is only then that we will have the reserves to face cost and trial. You don’t have strength and resilience at the start of the pilgrimage – the journey equips you, as much as walking up a hill conditions you to walk up a hill. Promise inspires us in ways that future facts can’t/wouldn’t. Would Abraham have ever left his father’s house in Haran if he knew God would ask him for his son?  His faith was not yet of the maturity required to face such a world defining test. Even then it was a shocking ask of God, from where Abraham stood. We only see the future sparingly – through a glass darkly. It would be ruinous if we saw everything – nothing would get done.  Obedience would be too difficult; fear and prevarication would prevail.  

It is for good reason we don’t see everything. But this isn’t always a comfort when we are confused and think knowing would alleviate our anxiety.

I did learn (ever so slowly) we need to know less that we think or want. Knowing God, by the Holy Spirit, is more than knowing everything there is to be known. Faith isn’t based on how much I know. It comes from responding to what God has said, and I discovered God speaks sparingly. One word from him, from his presence, has in it the seed of eternity. One day we will all know as we are known, but until then we walk by faith and trust until a new heavens and earth is revealed – Eden for all.