Sermons @ MindSay 
jesus
-Dashboard
So last night was a little rocky. I suppose that just means we're human. I used to be the person who would spill everything about a relationship into her blog, but I'm not doing that anymore. There were hurt feelings all around, but we'll be okay.
Soooo. I really felt like last night sermon was directed at me. I know it wasn't, but a lot of the subject matter related back to my past. And if you know anything about my past, which I highly doubt, you know it isn't as pristine or orthodox as it could have been. It's laced with a lot of confusion and depression.
There's just a lot of stuff I'm not proud of. Some of it wasn't my fault, and I know that. Other things I just wish never happened. I spent a lot of time just sitting in closets and dark rooms when I was younger.
But that's all over now. It still sucks to think about it, but I couldn't be happier with my new life.
I have the most amazing boyfriend I could ask for. It's true.
PS. My scalp got sunburned a couple days ago... and now it's peeling :o( It hurts.
oh and PPS. I went through orientation yesterday at Taco Mac. It went well and my first day on the job is Monday. I work a double. Oh my.
I do not know where to begin. I am in complete shock listening to some of Jeremiah Wright's sermons. This is Barack Obama's pastor, for those of you who might not be informed. I do not go to church often. As a matter of fact, aside from funerals, I haven't been in about 10 years. It does not matter in the sense that I am virtually guaranteed to never hear such a level of hate in any Church around these parts, including Black churches in this area. I could probably write a college thesis length paper about how wrong this man is for his religious followers and the black community. All he does is pass the buck for al Black problems to white people. Slavery did exist; so did segregation. I have been alive for 25 years. I have never encountered either of those two things.
Wright blames white men, and the government for the use of drugs in the black community. He blames those same groups for black people having aids and HIV. He blames white people for every problem that a black man ever had. Does he have a point? Only in that slavery did exist. After that he is garbage. He is a garbage human being, a garbage activist, and a garbage pastor. You know what he did? Potentially cost Barack Obama a chance to be the first black president of the United States. White people did not do that, Jeremiah Wright did. All he does is hurt his people by spewing this venom, against the USKKKA, as he calls it. Accountability is the only way people can better themselves. Bill Cosby gets blasted by some black leaders when he tells the truth. He wants fathers to take care of their children, he wants young blacks to stop dressing like thugs, and he wants black people to get educated to better themselves. Screw you Bill Cosby, says Jeremiah Wright; hate white people; that will solve all of your problems.
Obama's approval rating is getting lower day by day as more people see Jeremiah Wright's hatred. It's sinking like a brick. His wife has spewed similar venom in recent weeks, saying for the first time in her life she is proud to be an American because there is finally a viable black presidential candidate, and that America I just a mean cruel country. She resent that she got into an Ivy League college. She feels they were forced to let her in not on merit but on affirmative action standards. She made over $1.3 million last year. That's his bigot wife, who goes to listen to a bigot pastor. I'm glad she is finally proud to be an American; she clearly had no opportunity for advancement.
So just to be straight here, Barack Obama had a healthy lead in the Democratic race, and the country is harboring a fairly sizeable anti-republican sentiment right now. A betting man would have put their money on Obama a few weeks ago. When Wright kills Obama's campaign and ruins his presidential run, was it the government or white men who had him fill his sermons with hate, bigotry, lack of accountability and ignorance?
If you want to watch this filth, here's a youtube video of the great Jeremiah Wright:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=jc2FCJ7zWEQ
Well, here’s the scoop on my Internet woes. After much hurrah and bitching and wrangling with idiots, I FINALLY got someone out here to deal with my Internet connection who had brains in his head instead of mush (like the morons that sent him out here). The sad diagnosis: Sometime during the past year or two, workmen went down the cable line and turned down the signal to meet new regulations. Wonderful I suppose, if you live within a stone’s throw from the road. Not so grand if you’re a hillbilly, folks whom normally build their houses a goodly distance from the road for the love of privacy. If I keep the modem and the router in the front living room of the other end of this unusually long house, it works grand. But when in the opposite end (MY end), by the time the signal reaches the splitter, the signal is already at 12, sometimes 13 – maximum reading should never be any higher than 12, according the intelligent technician). By the time it goes through the router, the signal is knocked down to around 9 – hence it rarely works right, if at all.
My dilemma is that now, to use the Internet, I must sit in an uncomfortable chair in the midst of the rest of my family, whom circumstances should prove I dearly LOVE, it’s just that my sanity cannot tolerate only so much time around them before I turn utterly mad like the rest of them.
Blogging and browsing blogs was once a very relaxing pastime, something I did when I first get up while drinking coffee, something I did before retiring – it helped me gear up or unwind, whatever the need of the moment. Since I can no longer do that in a comfortable atmosphere, it has lost its appeal, at least temporarily.
As for blogging, or even taking “surf” breaks at my desk on occasion, that’s out these days. What few moments allow for momentary breaks, all any of us want to do is get AWAY from those computers. Another massive layoff stripped us of our desperately needed manpower and we are once again floundering with not enough people to get the job done, which equals overtime, which, though financially helpful, cuts into the overwhelming responsibilities that await OUTSIDE the office WHAT? We have LIVES to live OUTSIDE of the office?! Imagine that! The illustrious Corporate American monster makes no allowances for the reality that its slaves are mere mortal humans.
As if that weren’t enough, employees in our department, in addition to being expected to do the same amount of work with 2 less people, are also expected to learn the effective use of new web software – a need we all sorely recognize, it’s just that some of us are having trouble figuring out where to fit it IN to schedules already bloated with too many responsibilities at home, and even MORE demands upon time and energy at work. Our trainer suggests we use every spare moment to learn, including lunch breaks. Granted, I don’t need food, but due to the newest demands upon our time, one must take every spare moment to do things normally done at home…sit down and pay bills, revise budgets, get groceries, blah blah blah. If you’re single, you could likely manage. But most of us aren’t single. And of those of us who aren’t, all of those (except ME) have spouses at home to help with household responsibilities. All I have at home is an elderly, disabled parent and a grandson to raise, with social and behavioral problems (that I didn’t create, but that I’m expected to somehow repair…with NO ASSISTANCE from anywhere, financial or otherwise). Suggestions anyone?! I’m open for ideas!!!! Oh, lest I forget, a farm and old house to somehow keep up (and keep REPAIRED), with no time to fix my own problems nor money to pay someone else to fix them. A 3’ wide oak is still lying across a portion of the pasture fence. Fortunately, due to the massive size of both the trunk and its branches, the horses can’t get out, which is a good thing, since I have no means to do anything about it. Another tree needs to be cut before it falls on the barn. One of the 2 toilets is leaking if we try to use it. The washer has lost a bearing and the spin dry cycle no longer works. The living room walls have desperately needed spackling and painting for over 3 years, the floor, refinishing, but alas, that requires time and money too. The basement doorknob is off – the door is barricaded from would-be intruders with furniture. I don’t know how much longer the back door is going to hold up. We need a new floor in the kitchen, and the cabinets need to be painted, doors repaired. I can no longer afford to take medication to make all these ‘issues’ seem less important, legal or otherwise. I could get rid of the horses, which would get rid of SOME concerns and ease the financial demands, but brushing them, petting them, grazing them, and the weekend trail rides in the woods are of the few things left in my life that brings my tattered psyche any comfort or relief from the stresses and demands that offer nothing in return but more stress and demands. At least the horses GIVE BACK for the sacrifices made to own them. That’s far more than can be said for most anything else that requires my time and dwindling energies. My horses, my pets, my cameras and my art – without them (even though no one wants to BUY the art), I’d surely be a babbling idiot by now. My mother would be suffering abuses in a nursing home and my grandson would be in foster care or a homeless shelter, if not in the penal system already.
With a new technologically wonderful setup that I cannot yet afford to purchase and install, I will be able to sit comfortably in my own end of the house, and once again surf the web in freedom and bliss. But that’s approximately $150 from now, and here of late, I’m struggling financially beyond description, for many legitimate reasons that no one really cares to hear. Suffice it to say that I do not see a clear $150 anywhere in my near future, regardless of how deeply I peer into my crystal ball, hence my appearances here in beloved Mindsay land will be rare indeed. I can only hope that there will be a few die-hard friends and fans to welcome me back, should I by some miracle find a resolution to this problem sometime within the next year.
To sum it all up, being the ‘alpha mare’ is not anything anyone would want to aspire to be. Nonetheless, I would not have had such overwhelming responsibilities thrust upon me if I were not equal to the challenge. (Who made THAT decision, anyway??!!!!). Now that I have effectively spewed out the indigestible foulness besetting my troubled soul, I feel a small sense of relief, though I have surely not brightened the life of anyone reading this (hey, you were warned!).
I will now get up, go to the other end of the house so I can post this on my abandoned blog. Hopefully, readers will stroke my pitiful self and say “poor you” (which of course is the sole reason for any pity party) and tell me I am completely justified in my whinings and self-pity. I will then feel guilty for having attempted such a base draw of energy from my beloved friends, and realize this is not the person I want to be and this is not the life I want my life to be. I will clean myself up, go outside, saddle the horses and escape to the great outdoors, where I will renew my soul and draw energy from the abundant life around me. I will return, eat a good meal of leftovers, retreat to my end of the house and count my many BLESSINGS instead of curses (and surely, EVERYone’s lives consist of an ample supply of BOTH) and find some way within myself to find a new perspective, a new way of looking at my circumstances that makes it all seem more acceptable and bearable. I will determine to look on the bright side and not the dark side. I may work on a painting while contemplating these things. And somehow, by the end of this day, will realize that life isn’t really so bad, is in fact, actually quite good, in spite of its many imperfections. And that I am truly greatly blessed. And my family is greatly blessed. With life, health (generally speaking), shelter (however imperfect and unattractive), food and more than one healthy means of emotional escape (the kind that does not defile the body or mind). Which is far more than many others have. In fact, when I change the course of my thinking, I really am OVERWHELMED with things to be grateful for.
Dang, would you look at that! I started out wallowing in a cloud of self-pity, and ended up resolving to recognize the fact that it really is not so bad. Is that what the Bible referred to as “encouraging thyself?” This is today…let us all rejoice and be glad in it. No matter how beset any of us may be with problems and seemingly insurmountable troubles, SOMEthing good can be found it all, if we look hard enough. And it is the good and the beauty we must focus on, if we are to survive the more unpleasant aspects of life…if we have any hope of CHANGING the more unpleasant aspects of life.
(Now that all that is said and done, check out my latest photo gallery from my first 'official' professional photography gig at a horse show in Clemson last weekend.)
I've never heard of mindsay before. Interesting place though. Not a single person from my town here. I feel like I'm lost in a big City..LOL
I wrote this a few semesters back for class. It needs major reworking... I understand that. But let me know what you think about it and where it needs reworking in your opinion.
“The Broad Walls of Babylon”
Jeremiah stared out the window at the yellow cornfields as the van bumped and bounced along the dilapidated highway. His worn leather-bound King James Bible was lying in his lap, jogging according with the potholes in the road.
“Do you think the spirit is leading you to preach today Jeremiah?”
Somewhat startled, Jeremiah looked at his father. He knew the question had to have come sometime. It had every time the street team went out to minister the Gospel to the public since Jeremiah turned sixteen two years ago. It wasn’t that Jeremiah was ashamed to preach on the street, but he was uncomfortable doing it. He supposed it was something akin to stage fright. He barely managed to get out “Yes sir” before his father interjected.
“Well the Lord is proud of you son. I know that it’s not easy preaching on the campus. But you did very well last week at the farmer’s market.”
Jeremiah knew he wasn’t ready to preach. He had the words to say, but not the guts to say them anymore. Why did he have to mention the farmer’s market? Jeremiah didn’t want to think about the farmer’s market. Seeing his father pelted with vegetables wasn’t the type of memory that inspired him to stand up and raise up his voice proclaiming the Gospel. The incident still burned at him. He wasn’t sure whether he was ashamed or whether he was just angry. He didn’t like to think about it.
Jeremiah stared out the window as the cornfields began to disappear into woodland, trying to push the incident at the farmer’s market out of his mind. The van was relatively quiet except for the sound of the road. Brother Jed and Brother Will were in the back seat presumably reading the Scriptures. Brother Charlie was reviewing a tract in the middle seat along with Brother Wayne who was looking over a sermon. This was almost as quiet as it ever got for Jeremiah. In a small house with four little brothers and two little sisters, there was never much peace and quiet. The only other peace he had was when he would steal away into the woods behind his house. That was tranquility. That was when he felt closest to God.
As the van careened on into town, Jeremiah caught the view of a billboard advertising some television show. He’d seen the billboard before and had always wondered what the show was about. He knew that television was evil and designed to corrupt men’s minds, but he still wanted to know if only for knowledge’s sake. But he knew that he’d never see it. He remembered that day ten years ago, when his father came home with the man he’d come to know as Brother Wayne. He recalled watching secretly, his parents at the dinner table with Brother Wayne. Talking about being reborn and following Jesus and ridding themselves of all the evil things. Television was the first to go. His father took it to the Goodwill that afternoon. Jeremiah had learned not to miss television so much. But now passing the billboard, he tried to remember what it was like.
His father took the downtown exit. Jeremiah watched as the city swallowed their van. The dull grays made him feel cold. The city felt dead and decaying. He saw a disheveled black man toting a brown paper sack out of the Discount Tobacco and Liquor. Jeremiah was disgusted. It was only nine-o’clock and this sinner was ready to get drunk on the devil’s brew. Jeremiah wanted to stop and tell him that God hated alcohol and drunkards and that he needed to turn away from the bottle and towards Jesus if he wanted to save his soul from Hell. He knew the man wouldn’t turn away from the bottle though. Now they had passed him, and Jeremiah thought that any hope that the man had to hear the salvation message was gone. Jeremiah imagined Judgment Day, and he imagined seeing that very man being tossed into the burning lake of fire by a couple of angels. He standing back in a white robe watching it all happen. He remembered his father’s sermon one morning saying that they’d be laughing and rejoicing when all the sinners were thrown into Hell. He didn’t know how he would be laughing then. But he hoped that he would.
The dead urban grays succumbed to the deep green of oak trees as they approached the university campus. As they stopped at a traffic light Jeremiah watched three girls in miniskirts walk the crosswalk in front of them. He thought they were beautiful, impossibly beautiful. He looked away trying not to think impure thoughts, too late. His father criticized their appearance to the company in the van. Jeremiah was too ashamed to listen. He’d stumbled; something regenerates just don’t do. He looked down at his Bible and clutched it hard. He thought about those girls and how beautiful they were. He knew he’d never marry anyone like that. Even though he wasn’t courting anyone yet, he already guessed who he’d have to marry: Ruth, Brother Wayne’s fourteen-year-old daughter. She was quite the homely girl even at her age, and Jeremiah didn’t find her attractive in the least. But he wasn’t allowed to associate with anyone outside the congregation. He guessed it had already been arranged. He was almost sure of it.
They pulled into the visitor parking lot and got out of the van. Brother Jed opened the back and handed a small cardboard box to Jeremiah.
“New Bible tracts?”
Brother Jed smiled, “Yes sir! The Bible and Booze just came in yesterday. We almost thought that it wouldn’t come in for today, but as you can see the Lord does provide.”
“And we have it in Spanish as well!” Said Brother Will as he pulled out a large plywood sandwich sign which in large red letters read:
GOD HATES YOU!
Drunkards, Sodomites, Fornicators, Liars, Thieves,
Adulterers, Blasphemers, Mormons, and Catholics!
He handed it to Jeremiah’s father and he put it on. Brother Will went back to the van and pulled out an aluminum-telescoping pole and handed it to Brother Charlie as he unfolded a laminated banner with a similar slogan and fastened it to the pole.
“Is that everything?”
“I think so. Got your Bibles brothers?”
Everyone seemed to. Jeremiah’s laid atop his load. Then his father spread out his arms and bowed his head.
“Let us pray—”
The prayer was short, but Jeremiah hadn’t listened to it. He felt the guilt move up his throat like bile. He wasn’t a sinner. He was a saint. He shouldn’t be acting so irreverently. His father would never know, nor would the Brothers, but God knew. Yet Jeremiah didn’t feel guilt towards God, but towards the others.
They walked together toward the student union. Jeremiah watched the faces of the sinners as they passed. Some looked at them with utter contempt. They looked disgusted to see them, preachers of the Lord. Jeremiah recognized some of their faces from previous excursions… missions. He remembered most of them yelling profanities or yelling something at them before. Now they were just silent. That would change, he though. There were other faces too, faces that just stared at them like they were some anomalous objects, like they weren’t human. He didn’t recall any of those faces from past visits… missions. But familiar faces or not, Jeremiah noted that no one looked happy to see them. The Gospel was already at work. He was sure.
He nudged his father, “You can smell the sin in this place.” His father looked at him, raised his eyebrows and nodded agreement.
They made their way to the front of the student union where there was a congregation of concrete benches shaded by an oak.
“Do you want to break the ice son?”
Jeremiah still didn’t want to get up in front of everyone. His father knew it, he thought. Jeremiah knew he had no choice but to get up and preach. It was the expectation of the group, of his family, of his church. He knew starting was the easiest because the sinners weren’t really riled up yet. But that was little consolation to him. He wanted a way out of it, but there wasn’t one. He wished that he could have sprouted wings like an angel and floated away to the clouds. Or that Christ would come and rapture him away from all of this. He knew the hope was vain. He’d have to preach now and he’d have to preach in the future, till death or the rapture. He’d just have to get used to it. Jeremiah set down the box of tracts and stood on one of the benches. He took his worn black leather King James and beat it with the palm of his hand. His hand stung with each thud.
“Repent from your sins—”
He cried out with his loudest voice, trying his best to sound bold and proud. He sweat in the cool weather and he felt as though numb. His eyes didn’t focus on anything, all he saw was blurred. A crowd was silently gathering around the benches. All he could hear was his own words, coming from his own voice…and it cracked. Laughter erupted from some of the crowd. Others mocked him now. Heat out from the depths of his being flowed—poured to his face and the small of his back. He continued with his words till the mocking became unbearable for him. He tried to focus his eyes in the cold air. He tried to look for his father to relieve him. But he was in a discussion with a student already. He looked at the Brothers, standing there, proudly displaying their banner in protest of the sinners and passing out anti-alcohol tracts. He tried to catch their eyes and convey his desperation. He remembered the farmer’s market and he waited for an over-ripe eggplant to catch him in the face. Brother Jed saw him after the agonizing moment and got up beside him on the bench. He started asking the crowd of sinners questions. Jeremiah stepped down. His mouth was dry and his stomach churned, and he felt sick. He thought he might vomit. He wanted to get away from the makeshift pulpit. He wanted to get away from all of them, the sinners and the Brothers.
The shouting back and forth between Brother Jed and the sinners seemed to crescendo as he took a seat on a bench further from the action. Elbows on knees, face in hands, he breathed deeply. Why couldn’t he preach? Why wasn’t the spirit guiding him? Why didn’t his father and the Brothers understand that he couldn’t do it?
His mouth was still dry. He looked up to ask his father’s permission to go into the union for drink from a water fountain. But now his father was pointing his finger at a priest walking by, calling for he and the rest of the Roman Catholics present to repent or be sent to Hell. He didn’t want to break his father’s rhythm. So he snuck off without a word toward the union. As he climbed the steps to the front glass doors, he looked back and saw the mass of sinners that had been drawn to hear the word preached. He turned away and walked into the union.
Jeremiah looked around the atrium lobby. Here it was peaceful; peaceful, but not quiet. It was almost like the woods back at home, but instead of the rustle of leaves, there were voices. But he reminded himself that he was in an evil place for sinners. He looked around to find a water fountain. He walked fast, knowing that his father would have disapproved of his coming inside, especially by himself. He saw the water fountain across the lobby by an assembly of couches and lounge chairs. As he walked towards it, he worried his father would see him. He knew if he were caught he’d get in trouble with the Brothers as well. They’d probably interrogate him and make sure he hadn’t stumbled and jeopardized his salvation. He kept walking. His shoulders were burdened with their disapproval, even if they never did find out. Jeremiah drank from the fountain and began to feel better. It cooled his stomach and he forgot about his father and the Brothers outside preaching. He looked up at the high glass ceiling of the atrium and felt the weight of their guilt melt away. Jeremiah walked around the union with his newfound boldness for a minute until he remembered where he was supposed to be. He feared being noticed absent by his father. He didn’t know what sort of punishment he’d face if he was caught, but he knew that it wouldn’t be pleasant.
He nervously hustled out the front doors and down the steps. He’d only been gone a few minutes but his father had seemed to have drawn the crowd around him. They seemed more riled up than ever. There was yelling and screaming from everyone. Jeremiah watched nervously to see what would happen. He hoped it wouldn’t turn into another farmer’s market incident. He watched for a few more minutes and the tenseness seemed to pass. Jeremiah went to the box of tracts and grabbed a handful of them and started to hand them out to all the sinners who were passing near the benches.
As he approached some, they would completely ignore him and continue to walk on. Some ignored him as they took the tract from his hand. Many of those people threw the tract in the garbage can after a couple of steps. Then there was one middle-aged woman who stopped. She spoke softly, but she sounded agitated.
“Why are you here?”
Jeremiah knew the answer to say, it was the same thing that he was taught to say every time he was asked, “To proclaim the Gospel. To show Jesus’ love for us.”
“You honestly believe you’re showing Jesus’ love? Look son, I’m a Christian, and you guys are an embarrassment.”
Embarrassment? Jeremiah thought. He didn’t understand, or rather he didn’t want to. He wanted to say something in defense… anything—something that his father would have said to such a comment.
“You all are a separatist cult trying to find new people to brainwash into following your rules.”
Jeremiah gazed at her wide-eyed—shocked. He wanted to defend himself, his father, the Brothers. But he just stood there, watching the woman walk away. Jeremiah considered what she had said, but he denied it to himself. What did she know anyway? She was just another sinner.
Demoralized, Jeremiah continued to pass out the tracts. He saw a young man approaching; he was pierced, dressed all in black. Jeremiah was determined to give him a tract. Maybe this evildoer would read it and believe. Jeremiah put himself right where he hoped the path of the pierced man led and he handed him a tract as he passed. The man’s look was so cold, as if to say, “You and I have nothing in common, and never will.” Jeremiah had returned the look.
He watched the man slink away reading the tract. Jeremiah hoped. He continued to watch the man as he sat on a bench near the preaching. As he pointed and showed another man like him something in the little pamphlet. He looked eager, Jeremiah thought. Jeremiah felt a weight begin to ease as he handed out more tracts.
“Hey,” said a voice along with the tapping of his shoulder. Jeremiah turned around. It was the man. His friend was behind him but kept a distance. “I want to commit my life to Jesus. Will you pray with me?”
Jeremiah suppressed a smile of jubilation. No sinner had ever come to him to pray before. He’d never actually seen anyone come to the Lord on campus either. But it was this man, this loathsome looking creature to be the first in his experience.
“Of course! What’s your name? Are you ready to confess that you are a sinner to God and repent of your sins?”
“Yes. I’m Cyrus.”
“Okay, then I’m going to pray with you and I’ll tell you what to say to God to receive salvation. But you have to mean it in your heart.”
“I understand. It’ll be like this prayer printed on the last page of this little thingy huh?” He indicated the page of the pamphlet.
“Yes, really close to that. Let’s pray.”
Jeremiah stood close to the man and bowed his head and closed his eyes. His father would be so pleased with him. The Brothers would congratulate him for saving a soul. He’d probably be recognized in front of the congregation on Wednesday service.
“Dear Father God, today one has come out of the darkness and into the light because you have shown your love to him through the blood of your Son, Jesus. Father God, Cyrus comes before you asking for your forgiveness and for the free gift of your salvation through Jesus’ blood.”
Jeremiah suddenly felt the cool wind blow on him and he felt cold all over. He heard a chuckle. He picked his head up and opened his eyes and saw Cyrus and his friend tongue kissing right in front of him. A dull pain ran through his chest and he felt like a brick dropped into his stomach. He felt sick to see two men kiss, and even sicker to know how he’d been tricked. Heartless s. God would have His judgment. But that wasn’t much consolation to him now. They pointed and laughed as Jeremiah slowly walked towards a group of benches that were away and out of sight of the crowd.
He hung his head and stared at the concrete between his knees. Tears welled up behind his eyes. He tried to hold them in; he wasn’t ready to break yet. He closed his eyes and rested his face in his hands. In the darkness behind his eyelids, his mind wandered. He swam the deep searching for God. Could He really be here in all of this chaos? Jeremiah could still hear the yelling and shouting from his father, the Brothers, and the crowd. He couldn’t make any distinction between the voices; just one unified roar coming from around the bend. Then he heard a voice, clearer, calmer, nearer. It felt soothing, like a mother’s voice, but masculine.
“Are you alright son?”
Jeremiah opened his eyes and looked up. When he saw the white collar and the black shirt and he almost recoiled. The middle-aged priest was standing in front of him, giving him an empathetic look. Pity. Jeremiah didn’t want this sinner’s pity not any sinner’s; but especially not this sinner’s—a Catholic. Jeremiah didn’t speak. The priest sat down beside him.
“I saw what happened with the students. I wanted to see if you were okay. Ministering the Word of God isn’t an easy calling.” He paused a moment, Jeremiah stared at the ground to avoid looking at the priest. He didn’t want to listen to him. But he heard the words. This man really wanted to talk to him, but why? He had to have known that he hated Catholics. He was even berated by his father by just passing by the union. He didn’t want to be comforted by the worst of sinners.
“Why are you talking to me? You know—”
Jeremiah stopped. He looked at the priest and back at the ground. The tears were coming back again. He tried to hold them back, but this time he failed. He needed to talk to someone about his life. His hatred for the priest was overwhelmed by sheer raging emotion. He had a question. Through tears he looked at the priest and asked it.
“Where is God?”
Jeremiah looked hard at the priest. Where was God in all of this? Where had God been in his life? He couldn’t only be hidden in the woods behind Jeremiah’s house.
“Ask Him.”
Jeremiah cried more freely after the priest’s words sunk in. He hadn’t asked God. What a fool he was. He hesitated what to do next, what to say to the priest.
“Will you pray with me?”
The two sat on the bench and bowed and sat in silence. They sat in peace amidst the sounds of chaos around the bend.
Jeremiah broke their silence, “Why haven’t I known God?”
“That’s something that you need to ask yourself, and God. I can’t answer it for you. I’m very familiar with your congregation and their ministry son and I can’t say I always see God in it. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. You’re in a cult.”
He looked at the priest with a hard cold glare of defiance. A cult? No, that wasn’t true. That was a lie. Just like the woman, he didn’t understand. He wasn’t allowed to do the things that his father commanded him not to for his own good. His very salvation rested upon that obedience. Jeremiah didn’t want to be sucked up into the evil of the world. This was just another Catholic lie.
“We’re not to be of the world,” he said in cold defense.
“No, but we’re still to be in the world. We have to shine as beacons of light to the darkness so that others may see.”
“What do you think we’re doing here preaching the Word?”
“Son, you’re using the light to blind those in the dark.”
Jeremiah looked at the ground again. Was that what they were doing? Blinding people to the Gospel? No, they wanted to save souls. Didn’t they?
“Jeremiah!”
He turned and saw his father walking toward him and the priest. When he came up he gave the priest a sidelong stare and spoke to Jeremiah.
“Jeremiah, where’ve you been? Come on, we’re going to talk about this on the way home.”
“Yes sir.”
He got up and started with his father to make their way toward the van. He looked back at the priest and tried to give some sort of farewell, but he just stared at him as he was led away. He turned away and walked behind his father. They walked to the van in silence. When they arrived there the Brothers did not look at all pleased with him.
“What were you doing talking to that priest?”
“I—” he didn’t know what to say. The truth would not please them he was sure. “We were looking at the Scriptures.”
“Which ones?” they asked skeptically.
“Jeremiah fifty-one,” said the priest walking up to the group. “Jeremiah, you forgot your Bible.”
He handed it to Jeremiah. He was glad to see him then. He didn’t want to have faced the Brothers and his father like that.
“Thank you.”
The priest smiled at Jeremiah, “Grace and peace sirs,” and with that, he walked away.
On the ride home Jeremiah thought about what the priest had said about being in a cult. He watched out the window at the passing world, all of what God had made. He looked over the yellow fields of corn and the clouds high in the air. He wanted to go run over those fields. But he knew he was trapped inside of the van and he always would be. He remembered the Scripture the priest had mentioned in the parking lot, Jeremiah fifty-one. Jeremiah took his Bible and opened it to the chapter. A business card fell out into his lap. On the front was a coat of arms bearing a cross with a pelican and over it a scroll with a key and some Roman numerals.
Episcopal Diocese of St. Jerome Parish
Nicea University Chapel
Father Eric Bellard: Rector
(504) 555-3290 Office (504) 555-3428 Pager
He turned the card over and on the back was written, Home: (504) 234-3922 call for anything. Jeremiah quickly pocketed the card so that no one would see. If his father or the Brothers found that card, he’d surely be in trouble.
When he got home the door slammed behind him as he walked in, “Jeremiah, where did you go? We go to campus to preach to the sinners, not to associate with them. And there you were sitting and praying with a Catholic… a priest!” Jeremiah cringed as his father shouted at him. He wanted to tell him the priest wasn’t Catholic that it was okay to have prayed with him, but it didn’t matter to Jeremiah, he knew it wasn’t the point. “And your preaching—what’s wrong with you? Don’t you know that your salvation depends on your proclaiming of the Gospel? Don’t you have the Holy Spirit? Aren’t you regenerate? You’re not acting like it! You aren’t following God Jeremiah. You’re acting like a sinner.”
Then his father took off his tanned leather belt, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”
He wasn’t a child, but his father beat him like one—seven licks. Jeremiah felt wronged. He understood scolding, he could take scolding; but this was different—unjust. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Tomorrow morning you’re going before the leaders, and we’ll decide an appropriate punishment for you.”
Jeremiah thought about what the woman had said about him being in a cult. He thought that word was only reserved for Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses. But he was beginning to believe it applied to his situation as well. He thought about Father Bellard’s words to him on the bench. Jeremiah couldn’t see God here either.
Jeremiah went to his room and closed the door. He lied down on the top bunk and stared at Father Bellard’s business card. He looked out the window. The sun was beginning to go down. He needed to talk to God. He needed to ask Him, but not here. He wasn’t here.
Jeremiah cracked his door open. He heard his sisters reading and his mother cooking in the kitchen. But he saw no one in the hall. He made his way out the back door, on the porch his little brothers were playing with a frog. They didn’t seem to notice him. Jeremiah saw the woods down at the end of the sloping grassy hill. He felt like the eyes of his father were watching him from a window. He ran towards the trees. He didn’t stop until he was well within their shade and protection. He felt the wind blow on his face. It was cool and smelled of pine. He looked upward through the boughs of the trees at the purple sky. Jeremiah felt free here, not like when he was with his father or the Brothers or the rest of the congregation where he felt caged. He fell backward onto the mulch and pine needles. Tears rolled down his face. God was with him here.
Jeremiah still held the business card in his hand. He stared at the coat-of-arms: the pelican, the scroll, the key, and the cross. He stared at the phone numbers and Father Bellard’s note: Call for anything. But Jeremiah didn’t want to call for anything. He wanted to call for everything. He wanted to be with God, but He wasn’t with his father, or the Brothers, or the cult at all.
He laid there until the first stars began to appear in the sky and he heard his father calling for him to come inside. Jeremiah got up and shook the leaves and needles off of his flannel shirt. He looked toward the house. There was no phone there. He knew if he walked a few miles in the opposite direction he’d come to the highway and a gas station where there’d be a payphone. He looked down at the little white card and back toward the house. He didn’t know where he was going to go, but wherever he was to be, he wanted it to be with God. He turned and started toward the highway.
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