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Who doesn’t know the story of the Tower of Babel? It’s easy to read it from the comfort of our couch and quietly smile at what seems like the foolishness of those ancient people. And yet, if we’re honest, the same patterns live in every human heart. Pride has a way of growing unnoticed while we remain convinced that we are doing quite well, much like the man who prayed, “God, I thank You that I am not like other men.”

But grace often begins where that illusion ends.

Let me introduce you to Ebenezer Slywinkle, who, just like all of us, had a few things to learn.

Nothing in My Hands I Bring

By J.K. Stenger

Ebenezer Slywinkel had added yet another rung to his ever-growing ladder. Magnificent; another rung.

How high was the ladder now? Surely more than three hundred feet.

In fact, he knew of no one whose ladder stretched as high as his.

A few of his friends were building ladders, but compared to his ladder, theirs barely seemed to scratch the brilliant blue sky.

The view became more beautiful by the day.

Far away lay the great ocean; the waves, crowned with their salty foam now clearly visible from his lofty perch. Behind him rose the Grey Mountains, while below stretched rolling green hills dotted with sheep and cattle and sparkling streams that wound through the countryside. From up here he could even see the Dreaded Forest, distant and half hidden beneath the low-hanging clouds.

And yet, there was one place that was slightly disconcerting. Very far to the left, almost out of sight, he spotted a small hill. It seemed there was a cross perched on it. Not very clear. More like a silhouette with dancing little lights that set it in a strange glow.

A mirage? He didn’t know. In any case, it was far away and not relevant. He preferred not to look at it and kept focused on the important work ahead.

Higher. Every day a few feet higher.

How far did he still have to go he could not tell. Neither did his friends.

Some said no one could really know where the ladder ended, but that didn’t matter. He simply had to keep building.

And he was good at what he did. Very good. Every good deed in his orderly, well-managed life provided excellent building materials for yet another rung.

The large, visible deeds of goodness yielded the best materials:

The generous donations he gladly gave to the church.

His volunteer work at the shelter.

The lectures he delivered for free about the meaning of life.

Those were the best.

Still, the smaller deeds helped too:

The kind corrections he offered to those who did not see things quite as clearly as he did.

The times he chose not to shout at his wife when she got on his nerves.

The gracious smile he gave the mailman from some God-forsaken country filled with unpleasant people.

Every act helped him to collect new material and made him climb just a little higher on his heavenly ladder toward ultimate happiness.

And so he build on, there at the top of his ladder where the wind ruffled his unruly hair. He would carefully place the new building materials of that day on top of the older ones, making yet another rung to his construction. The tools he used for the purpose had been ingeniously crafted by himself for this very purpose.

Oh, what a joy to live such a glorious life.

Here a good deed, there a pleasant word,
Soon Ebenezer would be overlord.
Every day one step closer to the goal,
Who could be better suited for the role?

His faithful work had earned him a good reputation too. Attendance at his lectures continued to grow. His fame increased almost as rapidly as his ladder. Quite satisfying indeed.

And every night, when he heard the chimes of the church from his position on high, he knew it was time to stop. His workday was over. He then carefully descended to enjoy a well-earned night’s rest in his polished home.

Lately though, on his way down, his ladder had begun to sway rather violently.

It had never done that before. Started a few days ago.

Quite unsettling.

He shook off his concerns. There was no need to worry. Everything would work out in the end. Providence was on his side. Fate, destiny… whatever it was. His good would not remain unseen. He was safe, as long as he kept on building and he collected good building material.

And so, every evening he climbed into bed with a contented heart, completely satisfied.

Completely?

No, not quite. Deep down he was often troubled by a few things. Insignificant, no doubt, but still a little unnerving. Sometimes he thought of that weird hill with the cross. Was it really there? And if so, what was that shimmering light he beheld? His friends told him, there was no such thing.

And then there were the problems with his wife. She seemed more distant as the days grew by. Months ago, she had stopped asking how his work on the ladder was progressing. She just didn’t seem to get it.

Neither did his son. He never seemed interested in his progress. In fact, he had stopped talking to him altogether and acted as if he didn’t exist. So weird.

Worse still were the times he dreamed of his mother’s grave.

It happened regularly.

In his dream he saw the black hole in the ground again, as they lowered her casket into it. So lonely and empty. Deeper than any depth he could imagine. He’d invariably hear the dirt being shoveled onto the shiny wood, just before he woke up sweating. Thankfully, he could escape that fate with his wonderful project.

But the recent shaking of his ladder… that was becoming a serious problem. Even his stomach seemed to protest as the swaying made him queasy.

On the bright side, it probably meant he was very close to his goal now. Didn’t they say that the closer you got to the finish line, the harder it seemed?

Soon he would reach the goal in the clouds.

He imagined smiling angels who would fly toward him, pat him on the back, set his feet on solid ground, and guide him into the mysteries beyond understanding.

Yet, his worries grew.

He could not shake them off, and one fateful morning everything began to unravel. He awoke with a splitting headache.

Pain killers should help.

But even after swallowing several pills, the pain only worsened. He almost preferred to climb back in bed, but that wouldn’t bring him any closer to the goal.

He was so close now…

He forced himself into his good-deed work boots and set out to gather more material.

On his way to the ladder he spotted an elderly woman who seemed to be struggling to cross the street. Excellent.

It wouldn’t amount to much, but every little bit helped. Unfortunately, the headache had made him impatient and irritable.

He forced himself onward towards the old woman.

Without asking what the woman actually wanted, he grabbed her arm and hurried her across the street. To his surprise, she was furious. She glared at him. “Take your hands off me!” she snapped. “I was waiting for my daughter. Now I have to go back!”

Barely suppressing a curse, Ebenezer dragged her back across the street. She threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave this instant. Ebenezer snapped that she understood nothing about life and stormed away, only to discover that he had gained absolutely no useful material for his ladder.

It was a horrible day, filled with nothing but misunderstandings and people who seemed unwilling to share with him in the glories of goodness.

When the sun finally began to set, Ebenezer examined the fruits of his labor.

The results were pitiful; a few rusty nails, a worthless scrap of wood and a thumbtack that even pricked his finger.

Still, even the little things would help and so, although with a heavy heart, he climbed his ladder once more.

Up, up, up. Higher and higher.

Hopefully the view would calm him. He loved the peaceful satisfaction he found at the top.

But it was not to be. This day, the sky was gray and heavy. Dark storm clouds rolled in from the sea. The wind strengthened. His ladder began swaying from side to side. Then, as if it weren’t enough, it started to rain.

What a miserable day.

Perhaps he should simply climb down. Those rusty nails and that stupid thumbtack were hardly worth the effort. The wind now tore at the structure. The wood groaned. The ladder bent dangerously backward. Ebenezer clung desperately to the rungs to avoid sharing the fate of the nails and thumbtack that had already fallen. In the distance, he could see that strange hill with the shimmering light. That weird cross was still there.

Then the wind shifted.

The ladder lurched violently the other way. Cold sweat broke out across his brow.

“Help!” he shouted into the empty sky. A useless thing to do. Ebenezer knew there was nobody there to help him. All his life he had solved every problem alone by working harder, climbing higher, building more. But now there was nothing he could do to save himself. There was no one here.

No one?

Suddenly a mighty voice thundered from heaven. It was deafening. Not harsh like the harsh, grating voice of Bruno Kessler, the local chief of police whom Ebenezer disliked so much. This voice was authoritative, but not filled with accusation and contempt like Kessler’s. In fact, it was full of understanding and truth.

There was no escaping it. The words were few, but they pierced his heart like a knife and opened a world he had never seen before.

“All your righteous acts are like filthy rags.” *

That was all. The message was unmistakable: his righteousness was like filthy rags.

B-but what did it mean?

He had little time to reflect as a fresh gust of wind bent the ladder backward again.

The wood cracked. The nails loosened. Rungs snapped.

Ebenezer’s heart pounded like a machine gun. This was the end.

A sinking feeling washed over him. He had climbed high but not high enough. That voice came from far beyond his reach. Even if he kept building a million years longer, he would no more reach it than an ant could crawl from South Africa to the Arctic. It was hopeless.

Then, with a tremendous crack, the ladder split in two. Ebenezer screamed as he plummeted through the cold air. Moments later he struck the dusty ground.

Confused, he rubbed his bruised limbs and looked around.

How was he still alive?

To his astonishment he found himself lying in the shadow of a great wooden cross. The sun was sinking into the distant sea; its final rays illuminated the rough timber with indescribable beauty.

Ebenezer stared in wonder. So unbelievably beautiful.

A profound silence surrounded the cross, a silence so deep it was almost deafening.

Then the voice spoke again. This time it was warm and gentle, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket:

“You were trying to climb up to Me,
but I came down to you.”

He could not explain how, but somehow Ebenezer Slywinkel understood.

Every good deed he had ever done seemed to shrink to nothing. Every rung he’d made flashed through his mind.

The donations.

Every lecture about the meaning of life.

His goodness.

He saw the old woman again. He had not even asked her what she needed…

He saw his wife.

His son.

He never asked them anything either. He just did.

Tears streamed down Ebenezer’s face. He struggled to his feet and despite his aching body, crawled to the cross and embraced it.

Barely able to speak, for the shaking of his shoulders and his sobbing, he managed to whisper a sentence,

“Lord, nothing in my hands I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling.”

_____

* Isaiah 64:6

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