For those of you unsure of exactly the kind of experience that I'm talking about, I've asked Susan to include and example in the bulletin today. This type of figure is called a Pictographic Ambiguity. While the figure is unitive, it can be interpreted as either the profile of an American Indian or the back of an Eskimo peering into a dark place.

In this week's reading from the Letter to the Hebrews, the author, or the "preacher" as he is often called, presents us with something of an optical illusion about the presence of God.

For weeks he has been giving his readers a little pep-talk about the life of faith. Like many preachers still do, he has been using the metaphor of faith as a journey more than a destination and urging his people on to run the race with courage and dignity. Today, however, he seems move his rhetoric of the journey to its logical conclusion - the destination. But this is no ordinary description of the finish-line to the race of faith. No, rather than drawing us a simple picture, the preacher presents us with an optical illusion.

At first glance, the description seems to be of the Old Testament Mt. Sinai - the holy habitation of God from the time of Moses. This is the mountain of fire and smoke where God sits enthroned dispensing laws and judging his chosen people, Israel. It is a place of awe and wonder where even animals fear to tread lest they be killed by the awesome glory of God. This is a scary place, where the voice of God is like thunder - so loud that people want to run away. It's kind of like a train wreck, so scary that you want to turn your back, but so intriguing that you just can't look away.

But wait a minute. When we look again, we see an image of Mt. Zion appearing. We have been transported to the holy city of Jerusalem and are treated to a display of angels and saints worshiping and praising God in an endless dance. God is still there, sitting enthroned as the judge of the nations, but his words are joy and salvation. People are streaming toward this holy place, but not in a mob. They come from east and west, north and south through a narrow gate so that they enter individually as if being welcomed home.

These two mountains are at the same time indistinguishable and incompatible. Yet their remains only one mountain. If we look again at the descriptions we see that both views of the scene contain almost exactly the same elements. God is there. The mountain is there. There are great sounds and multitudes assembled. There is even judgment in both places. These are not images of heaven and hell. They are, arguably, both images of heaven but they are skewed from one another. And like a good optical illusion, the images keep switching back and forth. It is difficult to tell exactly what is going on.

There is a wonderful scene at the end of C.S. Lewis' Narinia collection where the entirety of the fantasy world of Narnia is gathered to Aslan's Country through, of all things, the door of a stable. The vast majority of the people who pass through the door are surprised to see the inside of the stable transformed into a wide-open country side of surpassing tranquility and beauty. However, there are a small number of creatures (dwarves, I think) that come through the door and sit down, complaining about how crowded and smelly the inside of the stable is. Curious, you might think, how someone might mistake heaven for a stable. That is until you realize that these are the characters in the story that have been skeptic about the existence of God from the very beginning. Therefore, they seem doomed to spend eternity in a stable, not as punishment for their misdeeds, but simply because they refuse to see the beauty of heaven that is all around them.

And so it becomes clearer. The bifurcation of the image of an encounter with God presented in Hebrews is, perhaps, a matter of perception. It represents two radically different ways that one might experience the goal of the journey of faith.

But now that we see how this little vision tests works, the mind immediately jumps to questions like, "I wonder what life in the presence of God will look like for me?" Or, if we are to be 100% honest with ourselves, it's probably more like. "Zion looks like more fun. How do I make sure that I end up in Zion rather than Sinai?"

Well, at first glace it seems to be the case that if this is all really just an optical illusion, then the real difference between the two mountains is all in our mind. All we need to do to end up in Zion is to adopt a Zion state of mind. Kind of like closing your eyes and thinking "Eskimo, Eskimo, Eskimo," then looking at the picture in the bulletin. Chances are you'll see the Eskimo.

I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, however. Try as we might to fix the way that we see these images, the alternative slowly creeps in. Sure, you might see the Eskimo first, but ultimately the Indian will show up and then the image will begin to shift back and forth once more.

Well, if the answer is not inside us and something that we can control ourselves, then maybe there is some external, or better yet, spiritual, solution. Maybe God already knows what the image for each of us will be when we get there. Maybe God bestows on each believer the image that he thinks is best for him or her at the time. So, maybe if we pray really hard and show God all the reasons that we deserve to see Zion he'll make Sinai go away.

I'm afraid it doesn't work quite like that either. I don't really think God sees the difference here. From his point of view there is only one mountain, one place for his Holy habitation, one place for our final encounter with him. The distinction lies within us and the problem of our perception is ours to resolve.

Tom Long, an extraordinary preacher and teacher of preachers, has an unique view on our problem of the two mountains. While he acknowledges, in his commentary on Hebrews, that these images are meant to draw the attention of the reader to his/her inevitable encounter with God, he warns that the contemporary reader should not become transfixed on the future. These images are meant for our use in the here and now. They are a signpost at a fork in the pathway of faith.

As you may recall from our reading last week, the Preacher has been using these last few chapters to cheer on his congregation as they continue forward on their Christian journey. He has told them of their spiritual heritage and called them accept the discipline of God as a necessary phase in their training. But here, just as his flock is about to set out, the preacher calls their attention to one last thing.

The two images that he presents represent two paths toward the same goal. They both go toward the Holy habitation of God and the reward that is promised to all who keep faith in him, but there is a difference - you're choice of companion.

On one path, we travel alone. On the other, we travel with Jesus.

On one path we are self-confident and even a little bit proud of our accomplishments. On the other, we are still longing for the continued support of our teacher.

On one path we are, perhaps a little unsure about God's intentions for us. On the other we are confident that God is not only good, but good to us.

On one path, God is abstract, far off, and infinitely ahead of us. On the other, God is know, in Jesus to be personal, and intimate companion and friend.

On one path we end up in Sinai a place of judgment and fear trepidation. We approach God on our own merit and as we do so we are forced to come to terms with the doubt that has been nagging us all the way. We have been faithful, yes. We have made it this far and we can see our eternal reward, but have we been good enough? Have we been strong enough? Have we tried hard enough? On this path we have no one to comfort us, no one to guide us, no one to re assure us. On this path we have come to our great reward and we find it to be cold comfort for sure.

On the other path we end up in Zion, a place of joy and praise and song. Traveling with Jesus has, perhaps, not been easy, but it has been a journey that has brought us to peace. As we enter the city, through the narrow door, there is fear or trepidation. We enter on the merits of Christ and receive the welcome set aside for the sons and daughters of God. There is no good enough here, there is no trying hard enough. Since we have known Christ as companion and traveled with his we have become like Christ, we have become as Christ to God. We follow him joyfully through the gates and it is as if, in the words of Tom Long, Jesus shouts to the Father "'I'm home, and I've brought the children with me!" With Christ we have come to our great reward and it is a reward indeed.

Beloved in the Lord, I know your works. I know your faith and the degree to which you gladly accept the discipline of the Lord. You are on your way to meet God and to receive your eternal reward. The only question that remains is "how will you get there?" Will you go it alone and follow the path to Mt. Sinai? Or will you ask Christ to be your companion and let him lead you to the gates of Holy Zion, the dwelling place of our God?

My brothers and sisters Go with Christ. And Go home to Zion.

Amen.

Amen.