The man in green and the man in grey looked up into heaven from the foot of a great ladder. It reached all the way to the clouds and beyond. “Have you come to climb?” said the man in green to the other. The man in grey was slow to speak. “I have heard that to ascend this ladder is to find the face of God. And I have longed to meet my Maker. But now that I see its terrible height I wonder that any could make the climb, myself least of all.” The man in green spoke quickly. “People would remember the name of the one who made such a climb. Surely the top of this ladder is in the heavens. I too would see the face of the Maker. And this ladder is the only way to Him I can see.”

Just then, the man in grey turned aside, for something caught his eye: another ladder, leaning against the wall of a great pit. The cold air of the pit brushed the grey man’s face as he peered over the edge. He wondered. “The choice is clear, is it not, grey friend? I would sooner climb to the sun and the clouds than descend to the dark and the dust.” “As would I,” the grey man replied. “But I begin to wonder if the way up is really down, as strange as that sounds.” “You’ve heard the story of the Maker’s descent, the King leaving his throne in pursuit of His fallen subjects,” said the man in green, without looking away from his ladder. “I have. It is said the foundations of that kingdom were laid at the bottom of a great pit.” But the man in green waved his hand, “A dream for those afraid to fall. There’s no glory in the descent, grey friend.”

Both were silent before the man in green spoke again. “The Maker rules on high and beckons worthy ones to climb. I will work my way up the great ladder. The conditions about me are just right.” “And I will trust myself to the pit,” said the man in grey, resigned. “The conditions within me do deter me; they turn me from your lofty way.” With these words, the men who had traveled together parted.

The man in grey peered over the top of his ladder into the dark pit and trembled. Slowly, he maneuvered himself onto the ladder. Then he tried it. The first step. It was as if all the gravity in the world was working against him. He felt heavier than himself by five. But this was no ordinary weight. For instead of weighing him down, it was pulling him up, as if by a rope tied around his chest. It seemed impossible to move his foot from the rung upon which it rested. But he closed his eyes and remembered the story of the King who left his throne. He urged his foot from its place, and, to his surprise, it lowered.

After this dreadful first step, a change occurred. Each new step was easier than the one before. Soon, the man was steadily lowering himself into the pit, and the lower he got, the lighter he felt. Gravity seemed to be correcting itself. He climbed for what might have been a long time, the man in grey could not be sure. He continued until he heard a singing voice. When he looked down, he could see in the glow of a charcoal fire a great tree in the middle of the bottom of the pit.

Without looking back, the man in green leaped onto his ladder. He raced up the rungs with speed and ease. Each new step seemed to him a triumph. He imagined the Maker marking down each one as he climbed. This would be a climb for stories and songs. But after the first two dozen steps, a change occurred. A heaviness came over the man in green, and he met some strange resistance. It was as if a chain were tied around his legs, pulling from below. The lightness with which he began had turned into a weight upon his shoulders. Each new step increased the load upon him until he slowed almost to a stop. It was then that the man in green looked up, and fear seized his heart. Above him: only sky, and his ladder reaching on, endlessly on. He was alone. And all was silent. All he had were his two dozen steps and above him a number impossible to count.

The man in grey was startled when his foot touched the ground. He had reached the bottom of the pit. It was then that he noticed words on the sides of his ladder. They were so deep in the wood it looked as if they had grown with the grain. On the left side, he read the words: “And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” He then turned to the right side, where he read: “Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name.” Again, the man in grey wondered. But he was interrupted. There was no sound. No change. But the grey man knew: he was not alone at the bottom of the pit.

“Welcome,” spoke the voice that had sung. The man in grey slowly turned until he saw the Welcomer. He wore a cloak of purple and a sash of deep red. There was wildness and welcome together in his eyes, a strange combination to be sure. The man in grey had never known these two to go together. Now he had seen it. And he could not look away.

“Why have you come here?” the Welcomer asked. “I set out to find the face of my Maker, although I knew not where I was going. I met with another, and we traveled together for a time. But when we came upon the great ladder, my confidence failed, and I turned aside to this pit.” The man in purple gave a gentle smile. “Sir,” the grey man began, “who are you, and why are you in this place?” “I am who you hope I am,” the Welcomer replied, “and if I were not here, who would welcome weary travelers after the long descent?” “Do you live here?” the grey man inquired. “I died here,” was the response. The man in grey noticed again the great tree in the middle of the pit, which was dimly lit by the charcoal fire between the two men. “And… must I die here as well?” “You may,” was the reply. “And will I live again?” “As you have never done before,” answered the Welcomer, his eyes shining in the glow of the fire.

This being said, the Welcomer approached the tree and, with an outstretched hand, invited the man in grey to join him. Feather-light as he now was, the grey man walked freely and peacefully around the fire and stood before the great tree with the Welcomer, then hesitated. “Sir. My companion. He chose the upward climb. Might I have reached you by that way also?” The Welcomer spoke from memory and pain. “The ascent has been attempted many times and only accomplished once. The descent is less chosen, and yet all who attempt it find their way to the bottom, humbled, but unharmed. Are you humbled?” “I am, sir.” “Are you unharmed?” “Sir, I feel as though I may be beyond either harm or health. There is something deeper at work in this place. What lies ahead of me?”

“Do you wish to see the face of your Maker?” “I do, sir, more than anything.” “Place your hand here on this tree,” there was an adventure of a lifetime in the Welcomer’s eyes. “Sir, will it hurt?” At this question, tears formed in the adventurous eyes. “There has been much hurt. And this is a tree of great pain. But I have seen to it that the hurt and the pain fell all at once, and once for all.” The man in grey knew not how, but he knew this Welcomer was a King. He lifted his hand and, with a strange confidence, pressed it against the bark of the great tree.

Fire and light. The pit was ablaze. It was as if the sun itself had fallen in and broken open. All about the Grey Man was transformed. The King was unmistakable now. His face was joy, and his eyes were life. The light in the pit was coming from the King himself. Then they were rising. Up, up, up they went. The Grey Man knew not how. Soon, the pit was shrinking below him until he could see it no longer. Then he saw the world spread out beneath him, an indecipherable collection of wonders. Ocean and mountains. The ponderous spectacle of things granted to be. The sweeping abundance. He looked down upon lofty mountain grandeur, then myriads of birds intrigued by his ascent. He saw the sun, moon, and stars. All nature was singing, all round him ringing the music of the spheres. Finally, all was still.

The man in grey was standing in a great hall of such colour and light he questioned if he had seen either before. “Would you like to sit down with me?” the King asked. The man was no longer in grey, but white. And he made his way to the table to sit down opposite the King. “Not there. Would you like to sit here, in my seat? It is wide enough.” The man in white sat down, amazed at everything around him, the King most of all.

It was a simple table of an ancient wood, the grain of which the man in white thought he had seen before. In the middle of the table, there was a plate and a cup. From the plate, the King took bread, which he broke and gave to the man in white. After this, he gave him the cup also, filled with a dark wine that tasted old and new, of age and youth. “The pit is behind us both now. But you must never forget it. Least of all the tree at its center. Will you remember?” “As often as I eat this bread and drink this cup,” promised the man in White. “I will be with you when you do,” promised the King. “Am I not to stay here with you?” “Your life will be here, hidden with me. But you have much to do in the world below before I call you by name.” “I am to go on living.” “My son. You are to begin.”

The man in white and his King walked the hall together after supper. The walls were decorated with pictures of people from every tribe and language and people and nation. “Who are all these, Lord?” “My family and your family.” “Have they also been here with you?” “Many have, and many are still to come to me. But they will come when I call them.” “I will tell everyone I have met you.” “I know you will.” “I desire not to depart from you, but I am ready to do your will.” “Are you really?” Inquired the King. The man in white hesitated and wondered what mistake he had made. “You came a long way to see the face of your Maker. Now, look!” And the King lifted up his countenance and made His face shine upon the man in white. Every happiness he had ever known, and every joy he had ever longed for, appeared in the strong and kind face of the King. He marveled at the face of his Maker. He knew only in part what he beheld, but he himself was fully known. He knew it. And he was at peace.

The next thing the man knew, he was looking up into heaven at the foot of a great ladder. A cool breeze was gentle on his face, and it drew his attention to a great pit nearby. He passed on ahead and returned to the road. Other travellers paid little attention to him, and some had seen him in these parts before. To their eyes, he was unchanged. Except, of course, for the white he wore, which shone in the light of the sun as he continued on his way.