The Keys

Not only had Jesus’s compassion for mankind resulted in the painful personal experience of death, but He was now about to experience the cold bitterness and decay of hell.

In front of Him lay a vast stretch of what can only be described as darkness—no skies, no stars, no moon, just a dark and misty gloom. Behind Him lay another vast stretch of darkness, and to His right and to His left lay complete nothingness.

The bleakness that surrounded Him almost made Him wonder how He had gotten there. There was no path visible, no semblance of activity or movement in sight. But He did know where He was, and He knew exactly how He had gotten there.

As He stood there with both hands and feet in chains, wondering whether to pray to His Father before remembering that He would have to proceed on His own over the next several hours, He heard a loud and harsh squawk above Him.

He looked up to see a large black-and-white bird—about six or seven feet long, with long, fierce-looking claws. There was nothing about it suggesting even the tiniest hint of friendliness. It squawked again, this time with its fiery red eyes fixed directly on Jesus. It then motioned its head to the expanse in front of them before flying ahead a little, seemingly directing Jesus to follow it. As Jesus began to follow, He heard another loud squawk behind Him—not above Him, but directly behind Him. He turned His head to see another bird with the exact same features as the one in front of Him. As He turned around and continued walking, the bird behind Him let off what could only be described as a deafening growl, as though angry that Jesus had stopped looking at it.

It was another long and lonely walk. But this time, for the time being at least, there was no wall of abusive onlookers on either side of Him—just two black-and-white birds with disdainful eyes and no tolerance for delay.

After a long while, the bird in front let off another long squawk, even louder than before. This particular squawk went on for a good few seconds. All of a sudden, a cacophony could be heard in the distance: the sound of a creaky gate opening, accompanied by the sound of explosions and cheers of triumph. The noise could best be described as one of chaos—pain, fear, torture, suffering, and jubilation all at the same time. Whilst many of the noises seemed like the voices of despondent souls tormented by hell’s dark pit, other voices—specifically the fallen angels—were jubilating over what they believed was a great victory over good—a great victory over God.

Here was the Son of the God who had thrown them out of heaven, the God who demanded complete worship and adoration, the One who refused to share His glory—the One who claimed to be omniscient and omnipotent. Here was His Son—battered, bruised, defeated, and dead. Victory was theirs, and how sweet it tasted.

The sound of jubilation increased as Jesus and the birds approached the gates. Jesus remained humble, maintaining His posture of defeat. He was well prepared for this. Indeed, this very scene was something He had visualised time and time again.

That third of angels who had fallen so mightily from heaven had found what they had been looking for. They had found a place in which they could be masters—bowed to and worshipped, even if only by force. And here they were, leering at the Son of their former Master.

Once Jesus walked through the gates, He found Himself in the middle of a huge gallery, with about twenty rows of thrones and seats from top to bottom. Seated on the thrones and seats were the fallen angels and their minions. They gave out a loud and triumphant roar, their fists clenched and raised above their heads. This was the day they had been waiting for. Victory was theirs. They had snared the Son of God, and mankind was forever doomed to failure and hell.

After a few more steps, the bird above Jesus descended to the ground and squawked, motioning Jesus to stop. As soon as He stopped, there was a long silence, after which another gallery began to move downward right in front of Him. This gallery was a little different—only one row with nine thrones. The throne in the middle seemed a little bigger and statelier than the other eight. The other fallen angels stood up as the gallery descended.

Seated on the thrones were eight of the nine leaders of the fallen angels: Belial, Zonera, Balix, Loltar, Zealdar, Eniazar, Baaltashar, and Beelzebub. Evil and bitterness seemed to pervade them even more thoroughly than it did the other fallen angels. But the throne in the middle was empty; Lucifer, that evil genius of deception and confusion, was nowhere to be seen.

Once the gallery was in place, there was another long silence. It was almost as if each second of silence was designed to torture Jesus—to magnify His defeat.

Finally Zealdar spoke.

“And you are?”

Jesus remained silent.

“Your name—what is your name?”

Jesus still remained silent.

“Are you the Son of the one who is called Yahweh?”

After another long pause, Jesus finally answered. “Yes, I am.”

“And yet here you are. Where is your Yahweh now?” asked Zealdar mockingly.

More silence. Zealdar stood up to address the rabble; his disgust and bile toward Jesus clear for all to see.

“My fellow fallen angels, the last time we gathered like this was after this man and His Father threw us out of heaven. That was a desolate day—a day on which we despaired about our past and wondered about our future; a day on which we felt lost, confused, and forever beaten. How could we have been defeated so easily? Was there any way back to our former glory? What would become of us? How could we exact our revenge? Can you remember? I said, ‘Can you remember?’”

The other fallen angels nodded in silence, shuddering at the thought of that moment.

“We were despondent, angry, bitter, and ashamed—”

Zealdar paused, remaining silent for a few moments to allow the terrifying memory to fully rekindle itself in the minds of the others. If the others had felt even half as angry and hateful as he had on that fateful day, it wouldn’t be too difficult to stir up their emotions once more. Then he continued.

“But then our master, Lucifer, got up to speak. What he said on that fateful day resonated with every single one of us, because he basically spoke our minds. Yes, we had fallen from heaven. But there was no need for despair. For by falling we had been given another chance to triumph over God. We had an opportunity to destroy God’s favourite creation once and for all. We had an opportunity to move and dwell amongst mankind—to cause confusion, engineer hate, drive sin, and manifest evil in order to effect a permanent disconnection between humanity and God. And not only have we been able to cause men and women to hate and fight one another—not only have we put humanity in such confusion that it is now a slave to sin and self-destruction—but we now also have the Son of our former Master. We have Him in chains—right in front of us!”

The fallen angels roared in agreement and delight, but Jesus remained silent, looking down at His feet. He had known this day would come. He had to stick to the plan, no matter what. He maintained a posture of humility in defeat.

Zealdar continued. “This sweet victory is the result of our Master’s magnificent plan to cause enmity between God and His favourite creation, to promote bitterness and hate as opposed to forgiveness and love. You—” he looked at Jesus. Jesus looked up.

“Yes, you. You are no ordinary prisoner. And you will be treated as you deserve. We will torture your very soul on a daily basis. Why? The answer to that is very simple. We hate you, Jesus. We despise you and everything you stand for.”

The fallen angels rose to their feet to give voice to their hate for Jesus, their anger and bile as evident in their roar as their delight in their apparent victory. Zealdar began to chant: “Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer.” The other fallen angels joined him. The volume increased to a deafening din. But Lucifer did not yet appear.

Once the jubilation was over, Jesus was led to His cell. It was dark, small, and squalid, with a wooden bench in the middle of it; nothing else inside. There were other cells to His left and to His right, as well as opposite Him. Every now and then, the inmates in the other cells were let out and led somewhere, only to return a few hours later looking even more burned, battered, and bruised than they had before. But no one came for Jesus; nobody came to lead Him anywhere.

Occasionally a few fallen angels and various other miscreants would gather in front of His cell to gawp at the fallen King of Kings and to hurl insults and abuse at Him. “Where is your never-ending kingdom now? Still got that crown? Only you don’t seem to be wearing it these days. But hey, hail to the King of Kings!”

Jesus just sat through everything, hour after hour, head bowed, staring at the floor—almost as though He was trying to keep a low profile. His solitary silence was eventually interrupted by a couple of guards entering His cell to place another wooden bench directly opposite His.

Jesus stared at the bench opposite Him for a few moments before resuming His usual position—head bowed, staring at the ground. More lonely hours passed by in silence and darkness. Then a calm, crafty-sounding voice broke the stillness.

“Maybe if you stare for long enough it will open up and swallow you. Then this nightmare will be over.”

Jesus looked up to see a figure in a hooded cloak at the entrance of His cell. The figure was looking directly at Jesus. But try as He might, Jesus couldn’t see his face—just a hollow darkness.

The cloaked figure entered the cell and sat on the bench opposite Jesus. A long silence followed. Jesus continued to look into the hollow darkness under the hood. Although he still couldn’t see a face, He knew exactly who it was.

Finally, the cloaked figure removed his hood, revealing a handsome face with long black hair and jet-black eyes. Despite his beautiful features, the ugliness inside him seeped through. The air around him was thick and heavy with the stench of evil.

The two continued to stare at each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity, as though each was trying to gauge the other’s mind. But after a while, the temptation to gloat was too much for Lucifer.

“You seem a little, er, how shall I put it…a little dejected. Any reason why?” he asked.

Jesus didn’t answer. He continued to look at Lucifer, showing no anger and no fear—just gentleness and composure.

“You know, I really couldn’t believe my luck when you refused to talk during your trial. I couldn’t believe how timid you were—how you simply allowed them to have their way with you. I kept thinking that you would do something any second to put a stop to it. But you didn’t. You just allowed them to beat you up and then murder you. Why? Surely that wasn’t the plan?”

Jesus continued to look into Lucifer’s eyes. “What happened to you, Lucifer?” asked Jesus gently.

“What? What do you mean what happened to me?” asked a rather startled Lucifer.

“You were first amongst all the angels—the morning star. You had everything. What more could my Father have given you? How could you turn so?” asked Jesus, slowly, gently, and almost sympathetically. Lucifer’s anger and hate seemed to wax stronger with each poignant question.

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” he replied, his voice rising in tandem with his rage. “I was the first amongst all the angels, and yet you had all the adoration and glory. Where was my own glory? Where was my adoration? Exactly! You had it all!”

Lucifer’s jet-black eyes turned a burning orange and red. Despite his guile and schemes, his anger and hate were forever bubbling just beneath the surface. He paused for a few moments to recover his composure.

“Can you remember our chat on that mountain? I offered you everything—the whole earth at your beck and call. All you had to do was bow down to me, just once—just once to share some of that glory and adoration. But you couldn’t even do that, could you? As always, you wanted it all for yourself.”

Jesus looked at Lucifer, now rather sympathetically, wondering how this fallen archangel sitting opposite Him could be so foolish as to actually believe he had won.

“Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss my exit from heaven. I came to discuss your own exit from heaven. So how does it feel?”

“How does what feel?” replied Jesus.

“How does it feel to be away from the comforts of heaven—to be trapped forever in this vile dungeon, cut off from your Father for good?”

“Before answering your question, I want to ask you one,” replied Jesus.

“I’m all ears,” replied Lucifer, his confidence so high that he failed to notice the glint in Jesus’s eyes.

“Can you remember the names of my Father?”

“Yes, of course I can. And so what? I hardly think His names will do you much good here. You’re in hell, Jesus. Your Father can’t help you here.”

Jesus let a few seconds pass in silence before continuing. “In that case, I’m sure you remember that one of His names is ‘I am.’ I assume you know what that means?”

“As I said, those names have no bearing here,” replied Lucifer.

“The reason He’s called ‘I am’ is because he lives in the past, the present, and the future. It is for this reason that He is described as omniscient.”

An uncomfortable silence seized the cell for a few seconds. Jesus continued: “In other words, there is nothing that can happen without His knowing, Lucifer. Surely you should know this.”

Lucifer was no longer feeling so sure of himself, no longer feeling so triumphant, as it slowly began to dawn on him that Jesus coming to hell may actually have been part of an elaborate master plan.

Jesus allowed another moment of silence to run its full course, giving Lucifer time to realise that Jesus was, in fact, still fully in control of events.

“I’m glad you have the keys on you, Lucifer. For that is the reason I came.”

Lucifer was stunned into shock and silence. He literally couldn’t respond. It was becoming clear to him that mankind—which, through sin, had given away its authority over the earth and its rights over life and death—had just, through Jesus, seized it back.

“The keys, Lucifer,” commanded Jesus, now on His feet.

Lucifer handed the keys of hell to Jesus. He was now kneeling. Although his hate for Jesus was as strong as ever, the nature of Jesus could still force his knees to tremble and bow.

“But…but why? Why die?” quavered a distraught Lucifer.

“Because mankind is not capable of attaining the necessary righteousness for salvation on its own, Lucifer. The only way to ensure its permanent reconciliation with my Father was for me to die for all of mankind’s sins.”

As Jesus left the cell, He turned once more to Lucifer and said sympathetically, “If only you hadn’t given in to your pride, Lucifer.”

He walked out of His cell and proceeded to the gates of hell, no longer as one battered and beaten but walking in the full authority of the power vested in Him—a power and authority over all things above and below. As He opened the gates, all hell shuddered in trepidation at the realisation that its prisoner was never a prisoner at all.

Lucifer remained on his knees in the cell for a good few hours, burning with anger and bitterness. He was remembering the last time he had felt such despair—that fateful day on which he and his comrades had first known there was no way back.

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