See, I'm standing at the door

*Knock knock knock*

Qoftael lifts his eyes from his sad little bowl of soup.

‘’Surely it’s nothing, he says while hugging his frightened cat.’’

*Knock knock knock*

This time, Qoftael’s heart starts racing, he stares intensely at the door, but his cat runs straight towards it.

“Mishnoush, get away…” Qoftael murmurs, worry creeping into his voice, as he grabs a pan to use as both weapon and shield. ‘’ It is late, nobody I know would came at this hour without letting me know before, he tells himself. ‘’

*Knock knock knock*

His hands clutch the pan even tighter, while Mishnoush rubs against the door and meows.

‘’Are you picking up a scent, my kitty-cat...? Alright, he exhales. Lord, give me courage!’’

Qoftael reached out a trembling hand to the doorknob, inhaled, exhaled, then slowly twisted the handle. He opened the door and discovered a smiling man.

‘’He doesn’t look dangerous, thought Qoftael.’’

The man was indeed elderly, simply dressed, and hunched by the weight of years.

“Hello?”

“Hello, my son. I’m glad you opened the door,” the old man smiled.

“Well... You did knock, after all...” Qoftael mumbled, lowering his hand.

“Very few open to me.”

The man looked at his lowered hand.

“A pan? Not sure how effective that is,” chuckled the old man.

Qoftael laughed nervously.

“Relax, young man. May I borrow a bit of your time and kindness, and sit with you?” asked the mysterious man, pointing to the empty chair across from Qoftael.

“Uh... Yes, come in.”

He closed the door and glanced at Mishnoush, shrugging:

“I can’t say no to an old man, can I?” he whispered to the animal.

Mishnoush meowed and rubbed against the stranger’s legs. The man smiled and turned to Qoftael, who joined him.

“This is a beautiful home you have here. My father and our messenger could do a wonderful work here.”

“Your father is still alive?” asked Qoftael, feeling awkward for misjudging the man’s age.

“Hmmm... I really like this house.”

“Sir, I’m not sure what makes you say that... It’s so small, and not even very tidy.”

“That’s how I love them best. They shine even more afterward.”

“Forgive my mess,” Qoftael blushed, starting to tidy up.

“Leave it, my boy. There’s a time to clean, and a time to eat,” he said, pointing to the steaming meal.

“Oh, of course. Please sit, I’ll serve you some soup. It’s not great — I’m not much of a cook...”

“Whom did you set the table for? Is someone else here?”

The old man smiled — he knew there was no one else but Qoftael and the cat.

“I always leave an empty place at the table. I set the plate and cutlery for God, and in case a poor man asks for food.”

“Perhaps you're just lucky. Or perhaps it’s because you were ready that I came to visit you, Qoftael.”

“Maybe it means I can finally help. Maybe I can finally do something good,” Qoftael admitted, bowing his head as he served the old man some soup. “What’s your name, sir?”

“I’ve been given many names,” he chuckled. Qoftael wasn’t sure how to respond — was that a joke or not? “Call me Emmanuel. That one fits well.”

“All right, Mr. Emmanuel.”

Qoftael returned to his seat and slurped his soup awkwardly, embarrassed by the silence and the calm radiating from Emmanuel. Mishnoush climbed onto the old man’s knees. He drank slowly — one sip, then he gazed tenderly at Qoftael, who seemed uncomfortable. Another sip. Another gazed.

“How do you know my name?! I never told you.”

The man smiled.

“Took you long enough,” Emmanuel chuckled.

“Must be written on the door... right?”

“Yes.”

Qoftael relaxed a bit.

“But I didn’t need to read it to know your name.”

Qoftael straightened.

“Have we met before?”

“I’ve known you for a very long time. Before the foundation of the world, I already knew and loved you.”

Tears welled up in Qoftael’s eyes, though he didn’t understand where the ache in his heart came from.

“So we’ve met before? Forgive me for not remembering, sir…”

“I’ve always seen you. But you are blind. You want to see me, but you keep your eyes closed. That’s why I came to visit you.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Emmanuel. I wish I did...”

“I know. Your heart cries it to me. That’s why you feel so empty. That ache — it’s your soul calling for me.”

“You can hear … my heart?” Qoftael laughed nervously, surprised by his own laughter at such a serious moment.

“This house really is beautiful.”

Qoftael looked around in confusion.

“Sir, are you the friend of my father, the one who paid for my studies — whom I never thanked or repaid? Or are you the old homeless man I once saw lying on the ground, the one I wanted to help but passed by, pretending not to see? We locked eyes…”

“Yes.”

“Yes, which one? Or maybe you’re the elderly neighbor of my friend, who just wanted company, and I made fun of him to look cool? Although honestly, you look more like the grumpy old cashier at the grocery store I always give attitude to...”

“Them too.”

“I don’t understand who you are… But if you’re one of those people, please know I’ve felt guilty for so long. I cry every day over my cowardice and my failure to help. I’m sorry for anything I may have done to you, truly. Please tell me what my fault is against you.”

“Oh, you have done much wrong to us than you may think. You’ve caused us great sorrow — because we love you. I am all of these people, Qoftael. But lift up your head, my child. I am also the little boy whose ball you picked up, the lost woman you helped with her GPS, the mother whose door you held open when her hands were full with children and bags. Whatever you’ve done to the least of my children, whether good or bad — you have done it to me.”

Qoftael’s eyes widened with every word the old man spoke. Tears unlocked the gates of his eyes. He stood up, stepped in front of the old man who turned toward him — and fell at his feet.

“Lord, now I see you. My heart burns with love even as it bleeds with sorrow. The blood spills onto my hands, they are full of it. I have done so much wrong, and whatever good I may have done, I know it doesn’t heal the wounds I’ve caused. Forgive me, Lord. I’ve felt so empty and useless for so long, I forgot who you are.”

“Lift your head, my son. Don’t you see that the blood on your hands — your faults — I carried them for you, so you could be free?”

Qoftael wiped his tears and lifted his head. He froze, overwhelmed with emotion as he saw before him the Son of Man — covered in blood, marked by the whip, bruised and spat on, wrists and feet pierced.

“This was not for nothing. Why do you let your sins weigh your heart down and chain you until you are paralyzed and miserable? You are poisoned by sorrow, enslaved by guilt, because you refuse to believe I’ve already forgiven you. Now remove your chains,” he said as he rose.

Emmanuel extended his hand to Qoftael, who grasped it. And in that moment, he came back to life. He breathed as if emerging from the waters where he had been drowning — the waters of guilt, loneliness, and emptiness. He felt alive again, renewed, ready to love with all his heart and to serve with all his might.

Emmanuel opened the door and turned back to Qoftael and Mishnoush:

“Truly, this house is beautiful. Since you opened to me, we will come and make our home here.”

Revelation 3:20: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.”

John 14:23: “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.”