Abstract:  a few notes on the nature of the class

The Teacher stood in front of the class, fatigued, looking 
and listening to this year's offerings of students.
He was waiting for them to quiet down after the bell rang.

They didn't.

"Class, we are going to go over the test that will be given 
you.  I am going to give you the answers to the test by 
putting them on the blackboard and then we are going to go 
over them one by one, so ALL of you can pass with flying 
colors.  No one need flunk their admittance test."

The teacher proceeded to put the questions on the blackboard 
and then went over each issue involved in the questions in 
order.  Hardly anyone participated.

The class was typical, most were inattentive, some kept 
talking, some were downright hostile, some listened, some 
drew and doodled...  All in all, no reason to be anything 
but discouraged with the rank and file.  But he held out 
hope for some, the silent ones.  The silent lambs.  They 
were the most dangerous, they could go either way...

The teacher ended his talks and asked if any of the class 
had any questions.

One girl raised her hand and asked, "when was recess?"  The 
class tittered.

One boy then asked, "if the class was over, could they now 
go out and play?".

The Teacher looked at the class for a long time, or what 
seemed like a long time to the students, and then said,

"The test will be given to all of you.  Please prepare 
yourself."

And then he added:
"and fair warning, there are a lot of people out there on 
the other side who haven't passed the test, and don't want 
you to pass either.

But we have gone over all the issues and for now you know 
the answers to most of the questions.

How privileged you are to get the answers to the test when 
others didn't.  Consider then, your opportunity for higher 
grades and how much more is expected of you..."  

Then turning with back to class, chalk in the right hand, 
and an eraser in the left, the teacher sternly announced in 
a loud voice, "This Class is dismissed."

The children fled out of the class as if it were on fire.  
The teacher, old and tired, prepared then, for the next 
class, expecting nothing.

It was a thankless job, wave after wave of children.  Only 
those who, at their last judgment, and members of the 
organization that stayed and that lived the answers to the 
questions, and could show the Father the organizational 
wounds:  The scrourge marks on the back from the lashing, 
the wounds from the nails in the arms and feet, the wound 
from the Roman sword, would pass the test, and go to the 
Father.

The Father knows who His Son was, who His Son is, and who 
His Son will be.  The rest remain behind and are sent to 
inherit the land that their conduct or deportment demanded 
according to God's 4th dimensional Theoretically Perfect 
Justice.

The meek inherit the earth.  The Justified Son inherits 
Heaven.  "No one goes to the Father, except thru Me..."

The Teacher wished the children would pay some..., any..., 
attention to the class, especially to the very short prayers 
that he humorously taught by diagraming them on the 
blackboard for them:
  "Father of Fathers, remove all evil from around me."
 And
  "Father of Fathers, remove all evil from within me."

But for the two thousand years that he had been on the job, 
he observed that most didn't.  Hopefully, some of the 
privileged might remember in their old age what cherished 
gifts and pearls of great price were given them as youths.
His failure shouldn't be theirs, was his eternal prayer.