Apocalypse of Jude

In his trance, Jude reflects on the ferryman’s words. There comes to him in that moment, knowledge of the grace that Christ’s blood satisfaction is secure in him, and that he stands before God, a new creation, whole through Christ’s righteousness. As this knowledge envelops him, he is aware he is no longer priest of the rite, but one truly penitent to Christ. And as this awareness flows through him, the river before him is transformed—a river wending its way to the left, over the margin grasses, its waters no longer foul, but pure, yet nevertheless, still running darkly deep. Around him, the scene is no longer a wasteland, but a plain profusely variegated with the clothing of spring. And on the far bank, there is an old woman culling flowers in her solitary way, as one protected in an oasis amidst the desert.

Jude stares amazed at her, humility crowning her with a glory not seen in the other world. She appears not to see him, wandering leftwards up the opposite bank continuing to choose flowers for a growing bouquet. Jude simply follows awhile, then calls out with reverence.

“May I know who you are?”

The old woman looks up, smiling at him a smile that burns through Jude, causing him to stutter.

“This river…this place…”

“Do you not recognise them?” Her hands gesture in surprise.

“This river, these mountain slopes from under whose canopied trees you can spy its peaks? Have a look. Know you not those peaks?”

His eyes now opened, see clearly the lone mountain of the town rising heavenwards, and upon its peaks a gateway free up beyond into the universal air of the primal sphere.
She looks directly at him as his astonished eyes turn towards her.

“Yes, it was always like this.”

He says nothing, looking cast down at the dark running river.

“You should know that this river that lies between us, is the river that takes away the memory of man’s sin. And to enter the upward stair you see beyond, you must need cross it—crossing it in full penitence of your sin.”

The old woman turns away, singing suddenly. “Blessed are those whose sins are covered over”

She moves up along the river. Jude keeps abreast on the opposite bank, perplexed as to her meaning before an overwhelming luminescence brightens unbearably the wood; a music so beautifully effervescent emanating from within it, describable only as the notation of eternal joy. From among the tract of trees a candelabrum of seven blazing lamps appears, led by a multitude in raiment of whitest linen. Before the procession, Jude’s knees are melted and sustain his body no longer. The brilliance of the scene causes the river to reflect the sheen of a mirror in which alone Jude is able to view the pageant. The full sphere of a rainbow encircles the procession, and within the sphere behind the lamps, twenty-four figures move garlanded with crowns of gold upon their heads. Beyond them, fly four eye-filled creatures of six wings each, grotesque and magnificent, the shapes of ox, lion, eagle and man transfixing them. And then, in the reflection of the river’s mirror, comes among the creatures four, a chariot with one dressed as a son of man, his legs the colour of burnished bronze, his face the cause of all brilliance consuming the forest. In the sound of rushing waters, the deep, shocking crack of thunder splitting the sky is heard in his voice with lightening coming as if from his eyes.

“Behold, the mystery of the seven lamps of the seven churches.”

Then from the divine chariot is issued forth the form of the annunciation dove, light in splintered halo enclosing its form as it alights towards Jude, wondrously transforming to a Lady before him, wisdom’s enthralling beauty emanating from her, the colour of living flame burning around her, leaving Jude trembling on his knees before her, his spirit being pierced through with the remembrance that once in boyhood he believed by the presence of this Spirit, in the vision of being faithful to Christ until He came for His bride. Now he is ashamedly aware how long it has been since he was in the presence of the Spirit, his shame in the presence of the woman’s penetrating beauty turning his heart to grief.
The Lady, austere now with dread bearing, looks down upon Jude.

“By what right do you dare enter this garden upon the Mount? Do you not know man lives here in bliss, reconciled to God?”

Jude’s eyes fall upon the mirroring river causing him to see himself wretched, and he casts eyes away.

“You were once like them, and I sustained you in this native, unfallen soil. But when you passed from adolescence to manhood, you chose a wilder and unweeded garden to plant your seed. You turned your eyes away to follow another yearning, and made out of Christ, a false image in his bride. You gave to the Church what was due Christ, and your feet wandered this way till the falsity of the image could redeem the promises of God no longer. Only, you had fallen so low in the way of sin, that my only way of showing you the state of your soul was to hand you over to a man of perdition. But in the compassion of my wisdom, I gained the portal of one searching, that he might lead you through a purgatory of the sacraments you valued so dear.”

She pauses for a moment, her magnanimous bearing unbearable to Jude.

“And what have the sacraments proved? That none of them are sufficient to save life from death. And yet now that you are purged of them, you still find yourself no more dead than alive than when you held on to them. Church or no Church, you’d still not reach God.”

Jude’s head is bowed now, lowered to his ground-sunken knees.

“Then how does one reach Him? How does one cross this river?”

As he asks the questions, the light in his darkness-purged soul shines with freedom into his heart, causing in his mind, the crucifix of Christ to arise such that it pierces his guilt for such cruelty to the core of his heart.

The woman brooks no sympathy in her gaze severe. “Surely the fiat of God would be broken if you were to pass through these depths without deep repentance for such a murder?”

Jude’s spirit cries out at the pain her words draw from him, an anguish emanating from a deep severed place inside his being.

“Speak then! Is your guilt true? Your soul is purged of the once clamouring darkness that hid my countenance from you, but these waters have not yet cleansed your sin unconfessed.”

Though the desire to seal his lips and refuse admission of guilt presses itself hard against him, yet he shapes with great effort and bitter sigh, the welling understanding of his sin within, and gives birth upon his lips to true, wept confession.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned against You. I’ve blasphemed Your Son and made the Church my salvation. I have grieved the Holy Spirit and need Your grace to restore my soul. I’ve tried to shore up the sacraments against my spiritual ruin. But without Your life, they are but the fragments of my ruin. Forgive me, O sovereign Lord. In Jesus Christ’s name, Amen.”

Now the old woman is kneeling alongside of his prone body. She holds his arm as one trying to raise a person fallen to the ground.

“Come.”

Jude regains his feet and lets her guide him into the river, its surface still a mirror into which he must look to see the glorious scene beyond. Then with her arms upon his head, and with surprising supple strength, the old woman plunges Jude beneath the crystal gaze of the river, allowing its gentle current to wash completely over him, before drawing him back to the surface.

What vision of beauty now he sees fails rendering, save that his eyes fall upon the Lady of wisdom at rest at the burnished feet of the son of Man.

Guiding him forth from the water, the old woman smiles at his astonished delight. She allows him to gaze for a time, then with her hand upon his chin, draws his eyes away.

“Too intense a gaze will blind you from your work at hand.”

She turns him now full away from the enthroned vision to back across the waters of his passage.

“A handmaiden I have been to the Spirit’s call. Now you know my true worth, neither elevating me beyond to salvic purpose, nor rejecting my authority to guide. But your prayer was to sing as Samson in the temple of Dagon. So now your vision will be again transformed, and you will see this world as it truly is, at once both Hades down below and Eden upon Purgatory’s peak.”

Wasteland Mix: Fragment 115