The Land of Bricks
There once was a country called Brickland. It resembled our own country very much, except the people had a very curious custom: everyone went around carrying bricks in their arms all the time.
These bricks determined a person’s status in society. If you were able to carry a lot of bricks, you were obviously a superior person. If, on the other hand, you could only carry a few, you were clearly of an inferior calibre. So parents would start their kids off early, giving them small bricks to carry, and gradually increasing their loads as they got older and were able to carry more. This was done for their own good, of course, to help them be successful by building them up to be able to carry many bricks.
There were, however, some casualties within this system. Old people, as they grew weak, found they were not able to carry as many bricks as before. Their bricks would be taken away and replaced with smaller ones, but in the process they were often pitied and even treated like children. Mentally handicapped people, who just were not able to “get” why it was so important to carry bricks, were often looked down upon, sometimes with arrogant pity, and sometimes with scorn. (The same applied in many ways to the mentally ill.) And sometimes there were just people who tried to hard to carry too many bricks, and they were crushed under the weight of them, or who were too poor or weak to carry many if at all. These people saw themselves as failures, and often others saw them the same way.
One day the residents of Brickland heard that a King was going to come for a visit. They were very excited. They wanted to see how he would look, and how many servants and soldiers he would have in his retinue who did his bidding. Most of all, though, they wanted to see how many bricks he would be carrying. After all, if he was a King, they must be piled high! Everyone was very expectant to see an impressive display.
When the King arrived, though, they were a bit disappointed. First of all, he was very ordinary looking, and apparently had grown up in very ordinary circumstances, even working in construction (a carpenter, they said) before assuming his royal office. Next, they noticed he did not have any servants waiting on his every bidding, nor did he have soldiers with whom to force his will upon others. But finally, and strangest of all, he wasn’t carrying any bricks. Not one. “What kind of King is this?” some snorted. “He’s not every carrying any bricks.”
The situation grew serious, however, when the King began to visit the country. First, he was drawn to those like himself, the outcasts without bricks and those too weak to carry them, and they were in turn drawn to him, wondering how a man so lowly (not having any bricks) could be a King at the same time. More serious, however, he began to make some very challenging (some said heretical) speeches. He pointed out the obvious to people: they were carry bricks! And there was no point to carrying them, except because others demanded it! Even more, he pointed out how carrying bricks meant that people’s freedom was impaired. Having those bricks in your hands made it harder to show love to others, for example…how do you hug someone if your hands are full of bricks?
The strange King made people an offer: become my follower, not because soldiers force you to but because I invite you to, and I will take your bricks from you and you will be free. At first people hesitated, but a few brave souls took the King up on his offer, giving him their bricks. Once their arms were free of their loads, and they felt the freedom and lightness of a brick-less existence, tremendous joy arose in their hearts. They went about the countryside, inviting people to do the same, and bit by bit more and more people came to visit the King and hear what he had to say, and even give him their bricks. These bricks he threw away in a large pile, eventually building up a huge mound of rubble.
At first the King’s followers were seen as crackpots, and it was pointed out that the people following him were obviously drawn from the lowest classes of society - the failures, the weak, the sick, and so on. But as the movement of people to the King grew, he was seen more and more as a threat, especially by the strong of the society. While many reasons were given for their hatred - “How dare he challenge the venerable traditions of our ancestors!” - the bottom line was these people cherished their bricks and the status that came from being able to carry so many of them. So what if the end result would be more love…what place would they have in a brick-less society? So they plotted against him, seized him, and just to make sure everybody got the message, they nailed him to a cross placed at the top of the (now quite large) mound of bricks. And the message was clear: this mound of bricks is not a mound of triumph, it is a mound of failure, for the King is dead - and woe to anyone who chooses to follow in his footsteps.
The Kings followers were pretty depressed by this turn of events. After three days they decided to return to the mound and look at those bricks, possibly even pick them up again, however reluctantly. When they did, however, they saw that the mound of bricks was transformed: the bricks had now been rearranged, built into an impregnable castle! Amazed, they entered the castle, and at its centre they saw the King. HE WAS ALIVE! The King explained that, by offering Him their sources of suffering - the bricks they had carried - they had in fact given him the raw material for the castle. His own death had also been necessary, as it had unleashed the power to build the castle. This castle was now to be the home of his followers, where they could gather as one Ekklesia, a word which in English means “assembly”, or if you prefer, “church”. When they were hungry, they could be fed. When they were sick, they could receive strength. When they were mourning the passing of a loved one, they could gather for a final farewell for the deceased. And when they were happy, such as when someone was getting married, it was a place where they could party!
There was one condition of entry into the castle, however: you had to leave your bricks at the door.
How does this story end? It isn’t even finished being written yet. The years that followed had a bit of a mixed record, with people at the start excitedly going out and inviting their friends and family to come to the castle and join the Ekklesia and be free. Many people came to know tremendous joy, but sometimes somebody snuck in with bricks, though, and they didn’t ever really feel that freedom. Sometimes these people even became leaders of the Ekklesia, and misguidedly tried to re-impose the old regime of brick-carrying on the freed people, and times of renewal then became necessary. And the society in the outside world continued its tradition of carrying bricks, sometimes living in harmony with the people of the Ekklesia (even if they didn’t understand them and thought them strange), and sometimes inflicting harsh persecutions upon them, still seeing them as a threat to the greater good of society. But some things never changed. The castle was as solid as ever, and would never be torn down (in fact, as more and more bricks came to it and were added, it began to expand in the world). The King continued to live in the castle (he had promised he would be with them always, until the end of time). And the people of the Ekklesia continue to meet and support one another, always inviting others to not only visit the castle but to come and meet the King, so that they could taste the freedom that came with being his follower too.
And as for us, the question remains: what stupid bricks are we carrying, and don’t want to let go of? Bricks of guilt, of isolation, of image and self-image, and of cultural expectations. “I need these bricks! I can’t let them go…what kind of person will be I be without them?” We must learn to trust in the King, and give him our burdens, rather than keep trying to stoically (and uselessly) carry them. Only then will be find true freedom - the freedom that comes from following, from following the King.
