Jesus Loves You

“Jesus loves you!” I lied at the top of my voice.

The congregation reacted as one might expect. Beatific smiles lit many of their faces. At least six people were crying. A lady in the front row was actually sobbing, tears and snot running down her face as she clasped her hands and nodded vigorously.

She was disgusting.

They were all disgusting. Disgusting, hateful, stupid, malleable - and lucrative.

“He loves you and he wants you to be happy and prosperous!” I enthused into the mic. The crowd roared approvingly. “He wants you to have everything you deserve. This is his Gospel. We must live in the fullness of our unrecognized potential. To do anything less is to insult him! Would you flout the will of the Lord your God?”

“No!” They cried.

“Forgive me!” Cried the hysterical loony in the front row. Jeez. The least she could do was wipe her nose.

“God is all love.” I hold my hand over my heart and close my eyes, just for a moment. “He is all forgiveness. All he asks from us in return, his only desire from his Creation - is that we are obedient to his teachings. That we hold fast to his commandments in a world that demands we abandon them. Will we abandon them? Will we abandon God?”

The noise reverberated through the hotel ballroom.

“Never!” Shouted a kid in the back. He couldn’t be more than 20. He was pumping his fist in the air, baring his teeth like he was making a war cry.

He kind of was.

“And so, my friends. My beloved brothers and sisters in Christ,” I lowered my voice and the assembly hushed with me. Even the crazy lady quieted her sniveling. “And so. I ask you; what would you do for God? What would you sacrifice? What would you risk on the strength and fortitude of your savior? What would you do to save yourself from the fire of the Pit?”

Just a sprinkle of brimstone. This was not the crowd for a guilt spiel. Most of these people had spent 99% of their lives in climate controlled rooms absolutely no warmer than 65 degrees Fahrenheit. Their version of deprivation was only having time for 9 holes instead of 18. I hated Florida. But sharks go where the chum is. This room is my blood in the water.

“What would you do?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper, “If you knew that the life God intends for you, the life you want, is within your grasp.” I leaned forward, meeting as many glistening eyes as I could. “Would you sit back, complacent and satisfied - or would you reach out,” I extended my hand toward their stupid open faces, “and TAKE it?” I raised my voice and closed my hand into a fist as the room exploded into noise before me.

——-

I was expelled from Catholic school when I was 16. Our Lady of Sorrows (yes, really) Catholic Academy had not reacted favorably to my removal of the large wooden crucifix from the chapel. They reacted still worse to its artfully inverted placement at the 50 yard line of our football field the morning of our spring pep rally.

“Why, Faith? Do you hate God?” My mother had asked with a choked voice as she drove me home.

“Of course not. You may as well ask if I hate Darth Vader, or Barney the Dinosaur,” I answered, glaring out the car window. “Grown ups don’t hate fictional characters.”

My mom had sighed with all the sorrow one might expect from a parent whose child had died in a tragic accident. Perhaps that would have caused her less pain in the long run.

——

“Thank you,” Sobbing Lady said, sniffling delicately. “You truly have a gift.”

“Bless you for saying so. I do what little I can. Who should I make it out to?” My sharpie hovered over the page expectantly. She was holding up the line.

“Nancy Williams. Oh, but of course you can just put Nancy,” she tittered.

I finished autographing the fly leaf with a flourish and shut the cover, barely glancing down at my own face grinning up at me. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your support,” I said, handing the book back to her. “The Lord will favor you for your devotion, I can feel the spirit around you.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, allowing a slight smile to turn up the corner of my lips. “Yes. You are truly one of the chosen few.” I opened my eyes and saw Nancy’s satisfyingly awed expression.

She took the book back and held it to her chest for a moment before setting it back on the table. As if I didn’t have 15 more people waiting for their autograph behind her. She reached for my hands. I took them, mentally recoiling when I thought of how she had smeared mucus over her face with them not 20 minutes ago. “You make a difference in the world, Faith. Truly. You give strength to so many people.” Her eyes were the color of mud, and she fixed me with a watery gaze as she squeezed my hands. “May God grant you everything you deserve.”

“And you, Nancy. Thank you.” As soon as her back was turned I reached for my Purell.

——

My mother died when I was 22. I was in my senior year of college and I flew home for the funeral. She had insisted on an open casket, apparently. I looked down at her body, shrunken in her best clothes. They had done a good job on her but she was still entirely wrong. Her complexion was too rosy and of course she was far, far too still. She was dead. Her vessel is dead, is what she would have said. She would have been partially right.

When no one was looking I took an emerald ring off her right ring finger. It was going to go into the ground if I didn’t, and what would be the point of that? I sat in the pew next to my sister and held her hand as she sobbed. I watched them lower my mother into the ground. I sold her ring the next day.

—-

I let my face and body relax as the door shut behind the last few stragglers. I rolled my stiff neck and reached into my bag for my water bottle. I had a particular blend of lemon, turmeric, and apple cider vinegar that I found soothing after I had spoken for too long, preaching and/or selling. I had been drinking a lot of it these days.

A hotel employee stuck his head in the door. “We good to clean up?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered. I stood from the table and stretched. “I’ll just get my shit out of your way.” My shit consisted mostly of the banners that stood on either side of the podium, emblazoned with the cover of my book, and therefore my own airbrushed face. I took them down from their stands and was rolling them up as the hotel guy, Richie according to his name tag, approached me.

“You’re a writer?” he asked.

“Of a kind,” I answered, glancing down at the single book left on the table. Nearly a sell-out crowd tonight. I would have to order another print run.

Richie picked up the book. “Jesus Loves You: How to Take What God has Offered You,” He read from the cover. “Huh. That why it sounded like a exorcism in here earlier?”

I snorted. “Sorry. My readers can get a little…enthusiastic.”

“Doesn’t bother me. So you’re religious?”

I blinked. “A bit. You?”

“Not really,” he said, turning the book around to read the back. But I’ve got nothing against folks that are. Just live and let live, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll buy a book though. So long as you sign it.”

“What?” I asked, surprised. “Why would you want a book about God if you aren’t religious?”

“Never know. Maybe you’ll hit it big some day and this’ll be worth something.”

“You’re saying I haven’t hit it big yet?”

“I’m saying you’re doing combination worship sessions and book signings in a Hilton ballroom in Jacksonville Florida. Do you think you’ve hit it big?”

A wide smile spread across my face. “Candor is an admirable quality Richie. Maybe you’ll hit it big some day. Give me that, I’ll sign it.”

“Don’t make it out to me, it’ll be worth more if it’s generic,” he said, handing the book over.

“You got it.”

I signed the book and he took it back with a nod of thanks. “I appreciate you not trying to convert me.”

“In my experience the quickest way to make an atheist is to force them into religion. I imagine you’ve heard of God and I doubt I’m going to be the thing that finally seals the deal for you.”

Richie nodded. “What do I owe you for the book?”

“Don’t worry about it.” I shouldered my bag and tucked the banners under my arm. “Have a good night.”

“You too. And best of luck to you.” We shook hands and I headed toward the exit, already fantasizing about the sushi I would shortly Doordash to my hotel room. I had probably even earned a glass of halfway decent wine at the hotel bar. As I reached the door though, something made me pause. I considered for an instant, then turned back.

“Richie,” I called.

He looked up from the chairs he had been stacking. “Yeah?”

“Don’t read it, the book.” I said. “It isn’t good.” I turned and left the room without waiting for his response.