Arms and legs attached by strings which are pulled by another.  Our first father signed a deal, and we’ve all been marionettes ever since.  The deal wasn’t what he thought it was.  He didn’t get what he thought he was getting.

He thought he’d be immortal.  He thought he’d be invincible.  Instead he became more mortal than ever; more breakable than ever.  That deal is what strung him up… strung us all up.  Above us, the great booms that these strings hung from, manipulating us – pulling us this way and that.

Some fight their whole lives to resist these little influences.  To no avail.  Even their fighting is the result of the tightening and slackening of different strings attached to their various members, all hanging down from the branches of the tree of death – as we came to call it.

Far away, farther than the length of the puppet strings would let us roam, stood the tree of life.  Legend is that we once lived under its branches, rather than dying here.  But we lost that opportunity in the deal.  It really wasn’t a very good deal.

I remember the day that He arrived.  He walked among us from the direction of the tree of life.  He had no strings.  He couldn’t be manipulated by the tree of death, as we all were.  After a time among us, He walked past us and took a good long look at us all.  I’m sure he could see the tree of life through the tree of death, though it obscured his vision.  But the way to the one is through the other – and so he climbed.

When he arrived at the booms that jutted out from the trunk, he reached his arms along either of them.  The strings that had so long bound us all released us.  They snaked their way along the booms and attached themselves to Him.  He became the embodiment of its puppeteering, its manipulating, and set us all free.

But the story doesn’t end there: He couldn’t be held!  In a way that none of us had ever dreamed possible, He used the strings, not to be controlled by – but to control, the tree with its great booms.  It bowed before Him, and death – the puppeteer – became the puppet.  He was released from the tendrils of the tree.

He spoke with a voice like thunder, and invited us all to follow Him to the tree of life.  Some did not heed his invitation – they had known only the enslavement to death, to which they returned and were gladly received back.  They practically fastened its manipulative strings back to their limbs.

Others followed after Him, but when any obstacle arose in their path, they turned back – preferring the familiar guidance of the old puppeteer to the purposed hike through swamp and over rock, of the saviour.  Others followed for a time, chased by the searching strings we’d left behind.  Whether through complicity, exhaustion, or even unwillingly, these were caught again, tied to and manipulated by death.

For those of us who followed Him to our destination, however, the situation was similar – pursued by the cords of death that had been cast off of us.  Yet when we were taken ahold of, we would cry out to our leader and guide for help, and He was sure to rescue us again and again.