Once there was a famous painter and he had a son. They would paint together and laugh together and they were truly eachother’s inspiration. But then the Great War came and the son was drafted, fought in the war, and was killed. When the father received the news, he was totally devastated and his heart was torn into a thousand pieces. From then on, he grew old and basically limped through life.
One day, there was a knock at his door. It was a young soldier standing on the doorstep and he addressed the old painter saying — “Sir,” as he broke down in tears, “I’m the reason your son is dead.” The old painter answered, “What do you mean you’re the reason?” The young solider replied, “Well, at one point during combat I found myself in front of an enemy rifleman and the gun went off, and your son…your son…, he thew himself in front of me and took the bullet and died. I’m so sorry but I want you to know that I esteemed your son above all things, above all people. Look, Sir, while we were in our fox-holes for those many months, I’ve always wanted to learn to draw, but I can’t draw very well, but your son tutored me. He even taught me to paint. I know that you’re a famous painter, and I know that I can hardly draw, but I painted this picture of your son. It would mean so much to me if you would just take it.”
The old painter stood in the doorway somewhat touched by this soldier’s plea and replied, “Well, of course.” So he took it, went inside, opened it up, and it was a rather crude painting yet he framed it in one of the most exquisite frames he could find. He moved back all of his other famous paintings and placed it straight in the center of his massive gallery so that he could look upon it every day.
Well, the famous old painter died. And Sotheby’s and all the great auction houses of the world came to his house and opened it up. Art dealers from every country came and all were ready and excited and all were thinking of their wealth and the paintings to be obtained. The auctioneer finally arrived to the stand, threw down the gavel, and said, “The auction shall begin. The auction shall begin, and it shall begin with this piece.” The piece was brought up to the stage and revealed and it was the painting of the soldier, the crude painting of the son. Everyone laughed and scoffed and said, “We didn’t come across the ocean to have jokes played on us! We didn’t come here to bid on this nonsense. So please! Get this out of the way and let the real auction begin!”
From the back of the auction room a frail voice could be heard. “Sir,” it beckoned. It was the voice of the young soldier. He said, “Sir…, I only have soldiers wages, but that painting means more to me than anything on the face of the planet, because…because that was his son, and he…, he died for me!” The young soldier came to tears and was barely able to get out the following sentence. “…Sir, all I have is, like 8 pounds and 4 pence but please, please!, don’t throw the painting away! Give it to me! I’ll work for it, I’ll do anything!”
The auctioneer suddenly belted out “Sold! Sold for 8 pounds and 4 pence.”
Everyone in the room sighed with relief and said, “Finally! Now we can get on with the real auction!”
And then the auctioneer slammed down the gavel one more time declaring, “The auction is over!”
Everyone suddenly went into enormous riot and in disgust yelling “What!?!? How can it be over?!?” The auctioneer finally regained control of the room, and as he made it back to the platform he stated, “I shall now read the last Will and Testament of the father.”
And he opened it up, he read, “The one who takes my son, gets it all.”
Dear reader — to hell with your gates of pearl and your streets of gold and all the friends or loved ones you hope to see in heaven if they mean more to you than the one who sits on the throne, the lamb of God who was slain. Who was slain for you!
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GREATER DEPTHS 