We journeyed the rest of that day, and all the next through the towns of Gadara, then down the green slopes to Philadelphia.

As we turned southwest toward Bethabara, we could not help but note once again the dramatic change of terrain. The lush green of Peraea became thinner as we descended into the Jordan valley until there was no green at all. Just brown, desert hills. I have never seen the beauty that others say they see in the desert. It is all so denuded, bare of life and freshness. We continued through rocks and gorges until at length, we crossed the river and reached the city situated on the western bank a few miles north of the Dead Sea.

Despite the heat, Jesus busied himself teaching as we made our way through Bethabara, Jericho and up to Jerusalem. Walking and teaching. Teaching and walking. Sweat wetting his clothes. The journey from Jericho to Jerusalem is steep, hot and exhausting. Sweat stinging our eyes, dripping down our necks, soaking our robes. How could he keep up this pace? At times my legs became so sore I could hardly throw one leg in front of another and fall on it. During one of these sweat-drenched teaching sessions, a follower asked him, "Lord, are only a few people going to heaven?" Perhaps as the man felt the raging, burning of the desert heat through the soles of his sandals, the suffocating oppression of the super-heated air about him, his question seemed reasonable.

It is said that Aristotle taught in this peripatetic manner, although he had no experience with the Jericho desert. In any case, people were comfortable asking questions of Jesus. Sometimes the questions had a malevolent motive. These he anticipated and was never caught off-guard. He allowed persons with different points of view to express themselves. In fact, as he began a teaching or a story, he often started (or ended) with the question, "What do you think of this?" For someone with his power and authority, Jesus was remarkably benign and approachable. There was a compelling reason. He simply loved every genuine seeker of truth.

"There are two answers to your question," he responded, "First, it is true that many who assume they have the credentials to enter heaven will try to do so, but will not succeed. Once the owner of a house closes the door after the invited guests arrive, he is not receptive to those who stand outside knocking and yelling, 'Open the door! You owe us!' He answers instead, 'I don't know you or where you come from.' Then they will say, 'How can you say that? We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.' But he will reply, 'I don't know you. Away from me, all of you are seekers and doers of evil!' Indeed, they will see Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but they themselves will not be granted entrance. So yes, there are many who think they should be admitted, but will not.

"But there is another answer to your question. Other people will also come from the east, west, north and south. Far beyond the borders of Israel and far beyond this time, they will come; from every corner of the earth they will come and will take their places at a feast in the kingdom of God. The feast will be in celebration of the marriage of the Son to his Bride. None of these will be turned away because each of them has been invited.

There will, however, be some who think they will be the last and least of those who enter, but will in fact, be first. And of those invited, there will be those who think they will be first and greatest, but who will instead, be last and least. God's criteria for who will be honored is vastly different from the criteria or the expectations of those invited."

On hearing these words, I didn't know whether to be comforted or to be afraid. I felt deeply that I had been invited to this feast, and that I had accepted the invitation. But I dared not consider that I would be accorded a place of honor. As I thought about it, I realized that it doesn't matter. I would be satisfied with a place in the corner of a closet. Just to be there and be accepted among the beloved would be more than enough. Given the depth of evil in my character, it would be far more than I deserve. Moreover, it is not mine to decide.

I know of many men and women I consider far more deserving of places of honor than me. Are there any who deserve it less than me? I do not see how that could be. Whatever murder and mayhem has been caused by others in this world has also played itself out in my own heart. Am I writing these words just so God can see how humble I am? I do not know. How many of us truly know the shadows in our own souls? I can only pray that I am not. Any hope of heaven at all that I hold for myself is based on the infinite love and grace of the Father. I can say this: I do not know how any man can be more ashamed of his sin and weakness than I feel about mine. Is that a thing of merit for God to consider? I cannot say. My hope is in his promise. How far can the grace of the living God reach? I am satisfied that despite my opprobrium, it can reach me.