The office was empty and had been for many hours as I tried to think of a story that was profound enough to last centuries. I wanted to be an author, and I wanted to tell a story to end all stories. Truth- any success as a writer was welcomed. However, my pen remained stationary.
Nobody was at the church, and it was past 12:00 am, but I was locked in my study on the second floor of the administrative building at the church. Although there was no need to lock my office door, it seemed to add a necessary comfort.
As you must already know from the last writing, my true love is not God, as my career deemed it, but instead, writing. I was a preacher, and over the years the job offered sorrow and tears as it fortified suspicions that God was not the answer to my problems. To be honest, I wasn't sure what the solution to my problem was. My work provided nothing but mountains of swirling pain caged in a broken heart. I was an indentured servant. In fact, I did not choose this line of work, but instead, my family insisted that I follow this path. I hated them for it. It was a career in which I picked the pockets of the poor and told the wealthy that God would bless them if they contributed to the Lords greater good.
I believed very little of what I preached. For example, I stood at the pulpit while screaming that fire and flames would consume homosexuals and that being gay was a descent down a wicked path that would land that person in hell. I believed this no more than I believed the world was flat. In fact, I am a homosexual who had once found solace in the arms of a loving, sweet man. However, whether I thought it was wrong or right didn't matter- you do what sales. If the audience wanted to hear you bash homosexuals left and right- well- then you did exactly that. My eyes wandered as I sighed deeply and the thought of a particular man surfaced in my head. I left him for God. I left him for the church... I guess we all made mistakes and I would never forget the image of his sky blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and contagious smile. He was heaven. To be honest, my heart hadn't beat the same since we separated for my greater good- God. What a sad revelation.
I stood up and unlocked my office door. I walked down a long hall and exited the building where the cool breeze made my thin hair dance. Although I was only in my late 40’s, I felt like I had lived for centuries. I lit up the joint and inhaled. It was some potent stuff that I got from a teenager in my church. I coughed perpetually as I exhaled and looked at the main building of the church in the distance as I took another hit. Millions of dollars were spent on this church to enlighten people about the truth of life. A Cross with Jesus brutally nailed to it towered into the sky. The cross alone cost half a million. The sad thing was… the truth that I falsely perpetuated— it was a mirage. The entire process was a conspiracy. We turned peoples heads away from their pocketbooks while we fished out their hard-earned cash. I was not sure which was worse, being the robber or being the mindless fool that we robbed. These thoughts fold, one atop another as I smoked the entire joint and retired to my office, lock the door, and peck away the following:
Bobby entered my office at 2:00 pm just as I had finished the final draft of my Wednesday sermon. The church hired him under the terms of “Assistant Minister, ” but that was a flamboyant deception.
“Charles, your last sermon was good, but I have some notes,” Bobby said as he enters my office.
“Ya know, I really should keep my door shut. It seems by leaving it open- people think I want them to enter. Even further, people create this the idea that I care. If I could, I would bolt that door, and keep it locked all the time,” I say as I twirl my eyes towards to the ceiling and then back his way.
“The revenues for last Sunday could be better,” Bobby says in a nervous stutter as he attempted to ignore my colorful remarks. I place my hands behind my head as I lean back in my chair. I couldn’t stand Bobby. He was a short, stout man, that was always caring a pen or pencil with multiple notebooks as if he were in 8th grade- heading to his locker, and he was frequently toying with his glasses. However, since his hiring, our revenues had doubled. The administration was happy with him and as I told you earlier- you do what sales.
“You need to shorten your shows by at least 2:00 - 3:00 minutes. Remember the audience wants you to get to a point and I need you to be a little more sensational. The last sermon you did was a vast improvement, but we need even more provocative sermons. I have some suggestions for future sermons. For example, talk about hell and that without repentance people’s souls will burn in agony. Our statistics show that your most profitable Sermons revolve around this subject. I don’t know the literature— you’re the preacher but create an uprise, create fear, create-”
“Bobby, I get the point. Our revenues are up 20% in just the last two months. I think I am doing my job.” I say as I interrupted Bobby. He was about to say something else when I cut him short once more and said, “Leave your report on my desk, and I will read it.” His reports stacked, one atop the other on my desk. Bobby's booklets of statistics on how to further acquire assets from the congregation piled so high on my desk that they began to lean.
“I don't think you are reading my statistical findings," Bobby says as he fiddles with his glasses.
"Ya think?" I said with a daunting smile, but he was starting to annoy me. "What gave you that impression? The fact that I am always trying to get rid of you, the unopened reports that pile upon my desk- unopened, or that I really don't care? I could continue with more examples?"
"But there are some things I need to discuss. I have time to meet after the show.“ Bobby said incessantly
“Okay,” I say with a sigh. I had no intentions of really meeting with him at first.
"Last time you said you would come and you didn't. I waited for two hours," Bobby says as he adjusts his glasses.
"Fine. I will be there this time. Now get out of my room. The Wednesday night show starts in ten minutes, and I must go to it. I will meet with you briefly,” I say with annoyance vibrating in my voice like the plucked of a harp cord. Closing his report, he placed it on a stack of previous ones he had given me. He plays with his glasses silently as he looks at me before awkwardly leaving my office. The lens in his glasses made him appear bug-eyed. After he went, I chuckled out loud as I pictured him fooling meticulously with his spectacles for two hours before realizing I wasn't showing.
I picked up my notes and walked out of the front office, gave a pleasant nod to my secretary and headed down a long hallway that led outdoors. I walked down several steps of stairs and to the back entrance that I usually took as I entered the church. I could hear them shout, “The Light of my life is you lord-” I had listened to that song a million times, and each time I listened to the course to the song, it annoyed me a little more. I fumbled for my pack of cigarettes, and I lit the light of my life. I stood in the shadows while I took one deep drag after the other until the music stopped. I put the cigarette out with the heel of my shoe and entered as the last song completed. People were beginning to take their seats, and I walked to the pulpit. I took the microphone with ease. They didn't come to hear the word of God. They came to see my performance.
“God is great- is he not!? Can I get an Amen?” I shouted. The crowd roared Amen, and I said, “I couldn’t hear you! God is great, isn’t he!? Can I get an Amen?” The crowd was even louder as they shouted back.
The one good thing about me is that I am good at improvising. “I was visited by Reverend Bobby before this service. He said to me- he said, ‘Reverend Charles- God has been good to us!’” My voice fluctuated in and out as I implemented a tactic that Bobby had stressed I use to retain attention spans. Bobby wasn't completely useless. “He said to me- God has allowed this church to thrive! We have outdone our wildest expectations, and we are flourishing! The money that you- that is right- the money you have given- each and every one of you have provided as not only part of this church but a part of God’s family has allowed for more mission trips, outreach programs, and has given money to shelters. Reverend Bobby informed me that this church's outreach has been greater than ever and we are helping lost souls and spreading God's glorious word." I stop and bend my head as if I am contemplating my own words. I wasn't. Showmanship. I raise my head slowly and then erupt, "Your tithing is a result to our thriving! But- we want to reach every one of those suffering souls out there- so- you know what?” I pause and look at the audience. I was nodding my head and biting my lip, “We have to do even better. We have to reach every soul that needs to hear the word of God. We have to! We have to do God's will,” I pause briefly, “And you know what?” My voice dramatically drifted from somber to enthusiasm. “Do you know what?" I said even louder with even more enthusiasm.
“What!” An audience member screams and I look in their direction as a smile erupts onto my face, and I say, “With your help, we can do even better! By continuing to contribute money, even if it is a nickel, we will be able to reach more people. I know we can do it! God has answered our prayers. Can I get an Amen?” The congregation roared Amen, and I walk to the pulpit. "Let us begin with a prayer," I say to the lost heard. As I said before- you do what sales.
After the show was over, I stood by the doors leading out to the parking lot as I shook the hands of the members of the ticket holders. They were ticket holders to the kingdom of God, or at least that is what they hoped. As the crowd thinned out, I headed back to the administrative building to have the meeting with Bobby. I say thank you to the band as I pass them, and I enter the far back door to avoid people. I hate people. I walked into the administrative building and find Bobby in the meeting room writing notes.
“I loved what you did with the beginning of that sermon.”
“Well just call me a slave to humanity,” I say dryly with sarcasm, but I do not crack a smile. I pull out a cigarette from the pack of camels and bring a flame to the cancer stick as I inhale.
“Do you mind?” Bobby asked as the smoke fluttered into the room. “Second-hand smoke kills,” he says as he uses his hand to combat the smoke away from his face.
“That’s why you got Jesus,” I say, and once more, my dry, sarcastic wit is accompanied by a stone cold face. I lean back in my chair and prop the heals of my shoes on the table. I take one more puff from the cigarette and put it to its misery as Bobby begins to talk.
“This meeting shouldn’t take long.”
“Pfft… Bobby, your definition of short is the same as the last five minutes of a football game. Neither are short," I say as I eyed the donuts in the back of the room. I stride across the room and pick up a pastry as I eye it suspiciously. Bobby was giving me a look of contempt as I turned around. I ignore it and say, “How many times do I got to tell them to keep fruit in this room. I would take a good 'ol apple over these donuts any days. You know these donuts go straight to my thighs. But the donuts are delicious. I can't help myself," and this time I smile.
“Charles, you're lucky the attendants love you. If only they knew what a prick you are.” I was taken back by Bobby's bold comment, and I smile.
“Oh Bobby, don’t talk to a man of God like that... So what do you have to talk about?” I said as I tried to progress the meeting. Honestly, I could have cared less. I remained standing and took a second donut from the box. I discovered it had some mysterious jelly in it as my teeth dug in.
“Okay, so profits are up 20%. We all know that. However, I think we can do a lot better. Statistics show that people who feel guilty are likely to give more money. I want you to engrain this aspect in people. Statistics show attendants give more money when they feel they must amend their souls.”
“Oh that is so good,” I said.
“Yes, I have some very clever tactics," Bobby says with what he felt was an earned amount of smugness.
“I am talking about the donut." I proceeded to lick each finger loudly while Bobby stares up at me and toys with his glasses awkwardly. I finish licking my fingers and wipe my hands on Bobby's coat. “That was an excellent meeting Bobby. We got to do this more often,” and I got a glass of water from the tap before leaving the room. The secret to my success is my attendants- my congregation. As long as they love me- nobody else has to. You do what sales.
As I reread my uneventful day, I wondered if I genuinely had talent as a writer? My day wasn't that exciting, and it offered no ideas for stories. I placed my pen down and sighed. I had always said my life, and its misfortunes would make a great television series, but reading my writing left me in a daze of uncertainty. Would I ever come up with a plan that will lead me out of these shackles and into a career that focused on literature? As I sat in my seat, thumping my pencil on the desk, my eyes glimpse the Bible, and I had an epiphany. Although I thought this job had nothing to offer, I realized the best selling book ever to hit the shelves was smack dab in front of me. True- I had yet to establish a writing career, published ground-breaking literature, made millions of dollars, but I have studied the greatest story ever to exist. In a way, I was already telling stories. I picked up the bible and thumbed through it. I feel a feeling that I had not felt in a long time. I felt satisfaction, and I would use my studies of the bible to inspire me with writings of my own.
For the next six months, I would write into the hours of the night, as I constructed a story with the help of the knowledge I have gained from the Bible. It would turn out to be a piece of literature that put made me on the map as a known writer. I continued to preach- if for no other reason- because it was the greatest story ever told.