It’s hard to say just how long the game had been going on when your eyes opened and you were aware for the first time that right in front of you a battle was raging. There were two sides; that much was clear. One white, one black.
You sat beside the table and observed each move. In time you began to understand . . . or you began to think you understood what was going on. But there was still such profound mystery to the game. Sometimes game pieces would fall in clear defeat; that was hard to watch. And to add to the unfolding drama the game was both fast moving and at the same time, painfully slow .
At some point, imperceptibly at first, you changed from an innocent observer and turned into an adjunct player. And you found you had taken a side. Then you would change sides. Then back again. And so forth. You were like a chameleon, changing colors and hues.
You began to protest being part of the game at all. “Why,” you said, “am I even in this game? I certainly didn’t choose to be!” Yet, there you were.
Eventually, it dawned on you that the least powerful white piece on the board was standing one move away from being crowned, given enormous power, and thus bringing the contest to a close. But you watched as move after move that piece waited, and waited, and waited. Other pieces moved strategically, trying to defeat their opponent, but the final death blow that could be dealt by that one single piece seemed delayed. Again, in frustration you asked, “Why?”
You began to ponder this game, and you concluded it seemed so silly. You were coming to know the pieces on the board; they had faces, names, lives they led, families, etc. They were in this game whether they wanted to be or not. You wondered why the two opposing players even created this game. Or were they just pawns themselves? So many unanswered questions.
Finally, it occurred to you that if you had your own way you could create a game that would make more sense than this one. You noticed that the black team’s most powerful piece had a face unlike the others; sometimes you could make out the head of a serpent with its forked tongue licking the air. But the white team’s most powerful piece was not visible. And you could not clearly see the face of the one with the crown on his head.
You felt you were trapped in a serious game of someone else’s making. And you did not approve. “I will make my own game,” you said. And you set out to do so. But . . . you had no materials with which to work, nothing from which you could create your own game. Nevertheless, you had reasoned it all out. You had concluded that in your game everyone would win; there would be no losers. “Every piece should be free to move about in whatever way it chooses,” you said. No more black and white, no more good guys and bad guys, no more confining boundaries, only freedom for all. And acceptance by all.
“What a great game this would be,” you thought!
But . . . you still had no materials. You even asked the two main players for help with that, but you got no response from the white team player, and even though the black team player said, “yes,” no materials were ever given to you.
Ultimately, you realized you were going to have to make life work for yourself in this game, the one you didn’t pick; you would never get a chance to create your own game. This made you very angry.
At some point . . . years into your life . . . you started to see that although the black team offered freedom for everyone and made many beautiful promises, game pieces you had grown to love and do life with fell into despair, and some were defeated and died. The white team offered freedom and beautiful promises as well, but by contrast it delivered over and over again on its promises, and its adherents (the pawns and other pieces on the board) seemed fulfilled, and even embraced death with hopefulness.
Still . . . you watched the pawn that stood one move away from being crowned, one move away from ultimately defeating the black team, and you considered this odd strategy (if indeed it was a strategy). It appeared, at times, to just be a forgotten piece; lost to memory, old as the game, but powerless even in its perfect position. Impotent.
A counter movement away from the game increased in popularity. And you noticed that others (just like you) had become disillusioned with this silly contest and considered it folderol of the silliest kind. “What sense does it make to have a contest between a snake and a faceless king,” they asked? And you chimed in, too. Along with them you turned your face away from the game, and looked elsewhere.
But . . . something made you keep looking back. Sometimes just over your shoulder. Other times, square on, in a full stare. You kept watching that humble little piece at the edge of the board; that powerless, ancient, archaic piece that seemed impotent to conclude the game. It intrigued you. In truth, you were enthralled. It was as if you suspected at any moment it would move.
Soon the disillusioned group (which was growing daily) pretended to have its own game on its own game board. They completely ignored the initial board game; they even ridiculed it openly, deriding its creator(s) and discrediting its remaining adherents. Unfortunately, they had to play their new game in their minds, since they had no materials of their own with which to make a real game.
All the while that single pawn at the board’s edge remained inert, although at times you thought you perceived it quivering, trembling with a volcanic power held in check by some unseen force. But that was obviously your mind playing tricks on you.
And then . . . one day . . . in a flash . . . it happened. You heard what sounded like a trumpet, and then a voice shouting, “Checkmate!”
Almost at once you understood. This game was not about you. This battle predated you and everyone you knew. It predated everyone who had ever taken a breath on this earth. This was not your game to play, nor your battle to win. Instantly, you were caught up in an unparalleled celebration the likes of which could never be equaled.
Suddenly, you found yourself seated at a banquet table and there in clear view was the humble pawn you had watched for so long, the one who had stood motionless near the edge of the opponent’s game board, now crowned in glorious splendor; potent indeed, and very much alive. And seated to his side was the faceless King. But now you could see the detailed contours of his face, the gracious smile, the piercing eyes colored with an indescribable hue.
Involuntarily, you joined a chorus without number, and you sang together, “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!“
As if waking from a dream . . . you find yourself back beside that game table again, watching move after move. You note how others become impatient, disillusioned, but you are not one of them. You watch patiently, intently . . . keeping your eyes on that one solitary pawn resting near the edge of the opponent’s side of the board. The inert one. The seemingly impotent one.
And you listen for a trumpet. And you watch for a flash. Patiently.
The God Story 
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