The Whirlwind

The Whirlwind

David Manker’s conscience did not bother him about not attending church today. He deserved a Sunday off. He felt burned out from the same old religious ritual. Relax and fish—that’s what he needed. How could a day be any better than going fishing? If Deacon David could catch enough delicious Sunday trout, he’d invite the preacher to dinner. David chuckled at the thought of watching the preacher eat Sunday-caught fish.

Unfortunately, Deacon David didn’t yet understand that what may seem boring is a gift of life and that life is a vapor. Vapors can melt away.

Each Sunday, the ritual of church services was the same, and the results were the same: boring. But today the church gossip would find a new subject. Deacon David Manker would not be there to shout amen as the preacher strummed through his sermon. Deacon David had not missed a Sunday Service for ten years. David’s loving wife would report that he was sick and was sorry for his absence. She would also do all she could to fill in for her husband by shouting amen several times during the service. She said she looked forward to shouting amen.

The sounds of old church bells drifted through the air. The bells annoyed David as he repositioned his fly-fishing lure. Fishing was his choice today, not church. Besides, God made fish to be caught and eaten. His fishing boat, “The Holy Cross,” gently rocked from the casting motion as the fly lure settled on the clear, motionless waters in Trent Creek. He hoped a trout would find his beautiful lure irresistible.

David settled into a quasi-napping position, picturing in his mind the people who would attend church services. First, Deacon Eddie had already opened the church doors and rung the bells. Next, Flora Mae would come through the church door and compliment Deacon Eddie on his punctuality and dedication to his duties for the Lord. Then she would scamper off to her

Sunday School room to prepare the lesson for the children’s Sunday School. Finally, the pastor would enter through the back door and present himself after finishing his morning prayers.

***

David felt a tug on the fishing line. He sat up to resist the tug and snag the fishhook deep into the fish’s jaw. But to his surprise, no fighting fish or lure was there. Instead, bubbles came to the surface, moving in a circular motion, then the fly reel whined as the fishing line was pulled out faster and faster.

The swirl increased into a deepening hole and grew wider. Could a fish have pulled the lure down that far and that fast? A slight mist rose from the swirling vortex, and David laughed aloud, assuming a dust devil was forming over the water. He had never seen anything like this. Could it be a waterspout instead? He needed to start his engine to escape from the growing waterspout, but he didn’t want to let go of the fishing rod.

The mist widened into a thick fog of water all around him. His fly reel ran out of fishing line, and the fly rod and reel were snatched from his hands by the ever-increasing force that sucked it into the swirling vortex below him. “My rod!” David cried.

The Holy Cross began circling in the vortex, and he immediately forgot the rod when he realized he was in trouble.

The swirl rotated still faster. The spinning wind of the waterspout increased and blew hard against The Holy Cross, causing waves to splash over the boat’s sides. Panic gripped David. He grabbed both sides of the boat to prevent himself from falling overboard. The boat was now whirling completely inside vortex’s funnel. He shouted for help in the unlikely possibility someone might hear him. All he could see was the deepening walls of water. Panic-stricken, he let out a throat-ripping scream.

Then the boat turned sideways and threw David into the swirling water. He flapped his arms in effort to stay upright and keep from getting sucked under. By some force that he had never experienced, his position turned upright as he desired. The experience felt like a merry-go-round without seats or horses to sit on. It might have been delightful if it weren’t so scary.

Then came a strange shift of motion. The whirlwind began sucking him upward, out of the descending whirlpool. The wind pulled him higher. The vortex of swirling white wind and water expanded as it pulled him higher still.

As he spun, he could see what looked like the other side, or the outside, of the swirling white water wall. Around him was the creek and it’s banks. Below him his boat circled in the same counterclockwise direction as he did. Then it disappeared. Maybe it got sucked under; maybe tossed out. But why wasn’t he sucked under or tossed out? And why was he traveling upright—and upward—without effort? David’s fear slightly subsided, and he began to enjoy this weird phenomenon.

And not just him—fish, turtles, frogs, shrimp, even a seagull, spun with him in the now-large waterspout swirl. Perhaps the old stories of frogs raining from the sky were true.

Then it happened. Fear and trembling resounded inside David.

***

At first, David thought he had seen something red emerging from the other side of the white-water wall, but he wasn’t sure. What was sure was that the swirling waterspout cleared and opened inside.

Suddenly, a fiery flaming horse’s head and neck poked through the mist.

David yelled, “God help me” He wanted to shut his eyes, but something would not allow him to close his eyes. Everything happened in a strange slow-motion feeling.

The horse whinnied so loudly it tingled David’s ears, and hair stood on the back of his neck as the sound echoed in long, wavy sounds that seemed to bounce around the vortex. It was like trumpets sounding the arrival of a mounted calvary of horses.

The flaming horse’s mane fluttered fire red as the horse galloped and blew smoke and fire from his nostrils as it struggled to pull its body through the white-water wall of the waterspout.

A thundering voice boomed, “Alastor, pull harder.” Alastor strained his massive, flaming muscles. His eyes were like fireballs, and smoke came from his nostrils. He slowly drew a two-wheeled chariot of fire into the open whirlwind.

The charioteer looked like a man David would have imagined in the Bible—large stature, black beard and long curly black hair flowing in the wind, black eyes with a fire-flaming whip in one hand and a scroll of some kind in the other. The man wore a waistcoat and a breastplate strapped to his chest. His leather boots extended to just below his knees. Perhaps he was a warrior from some legendary story.

With a crack of the fire whip, the flaming horse and chariot pulled slowly beside the frightened David suspended inside the spinning white-water wall.

“Get in!” the man commanded.

David surprised himself by not being afraid, and he stepped into the chariot.

The strange pilot of the chariot said, “Alastor, up!”

The flaming red horse turned to face straight-up toward the blue sky. David looked down from the chariot and saw his boat, The Holy Cross, safely sitting in the Trent Creek, and beyond it rose the steeple of the old church.

“You won’t need an earthly vessel where you are going.”

“Huh?” David looked wide-eyed at the man.

They emerged from the top of the whirlwind with a thundering boom that sounded like an airplane breaking the sound barrier. The sky changed from a partly cloudy sky to a bright, sunny sky, yet David saw no sun. As the chariot departed from the whirlwind’s funnel top, it leveled out, and an expanse of beautiful green grass and trees appeared, quite different from the bush-and-tree lined creek bank. The chariot slowed and came to rest on the grass as if landing on a pillow.

The man took David by his arm, and they step out of the fire chariot onto a solid, luscious, earthly garden. The garden was full of green fruit trees, nut trees, and fields of colorful vegetables, apparently nourished by a clear river that flowed amid the garden. The smell of the vegetable fields and assorted trees was heavenly to David.

With a whistle from the old man, Alastor and the flaming chariot rose and flew out of sight.

David stared.

The man stood quietly, letting David be dumbfounded.

David shook his head and yawned, now feeling the exhaustion of the experience combined with a lack of sleep the previous night.

“Are you tired?”

“I think so. Not enough sleep.”

The stranger laughed. “Humans.”

“Don’t you need sleep?”

“No. People in my world don’t need sleep.”

David assumed the older man might have been a bit senile or suffered from dementia. Yet he looked quite coherent. Well, everything happening now was strange. But appreciation was still in order. “Thank you for saving me from the waterspout. I would have perished if you had not rescued me.”

The gentleman nodded, sat on a tree stump, and invited David to sit on the green grass before him. “You’re welcome. But what is a waterspout?”

Ah! A chance to teach the older man about atmospheric developments. David launched into a professional dissertation on the formation of waterspouts, dirt devils, and hurricanes. He wore himself out explaining everything he knew about different kinds of storms.

The man slapped his knees, stood up, and laughed. “That was the best storytelling I’ve heard in eons.”

David wagged his finger at the old man. “It is a sin to make fun of other people.”

“Not when they’re being funny.” The older man sat back down on the stump. In a soft, fatherly tone he said, “You may need to get serious.”

David gave him a strange look.

“When you experience a whirlwind and a flaming chariot of fire, don’t you suppose you should do some thinking about that?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning what it all means. And what it represents.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

The man stroked his beard. “And why I rescued you.” He paused. “I rescued you because you called for God to help you. . . . You need to thank him.”

“Ah.” David looked up. “Thank you, God.” He smiled. “Umm. . . I’m getting hungry. Do you have a fast-food restaurant nearby?”

“Thousands of years, and people are still the same.”

“Fast food hasn’t been around that long.”

“Follow me.”

They walked to a small brook. On a little sign on the bank was written “Cherith.” The man reached his hands into the shallow water and removed the biggest trout David had ever seen.

“How could you catch that fish with your hands?”

“Practice. My friend Peter taught me how to catch fish.”

David decided to hunt for firewood, and the man agreed he would prepare the fish to eat. As he walked away, a bolt of lightning, out of the clear sky, hit very near the older man. David ran to him. The man stood there, holding a silver serving tray. On it the fish was cleaned, cooked, and ready to eat. David was mesmerized.

“How did you do that?”

“A bolt of lightning fell from Heaven,” he said matter-of-factly. “And a miracle happened.”

Things were making less sense to David all the time.

“Many eons ago I had fire from Heaven to cook meat on a woodpile I soaked in water.

David looked suspiciously at the old man. “You think I tell stories.” He left it at that and sat down to enjoy the fish. After he had eaten, he grew very sleepy. The old man simply watched him.

***

David dreamed he saw Deacon Eddie pulling the ropes and ringing the heavy bells at the old church. David had never thought much about how frail Deacon Eddie appeared. After years of faithful service, Deacon Eddie struggled to pull the ropes attached to the heavy church bells. David realized that he could have helped Elder Eddie by ringing the bells.

Much later David woke from sleep because something wet and rough was licking his face. Its hot breath stank. He opened his eyes to a log-wide gray tongue slobbering from his chin, across his lips and nose, up to his hairline. He screeched and jumped to his feet. He ran smack into the elderly man’s belly, and bounced off him like a ball.

The man laughed so hard he lost his breath.

After recovering from his scare, David pointed at a lion sitting beside a lamb amid a flock of sheep. “It’s going to eat the lamb!”

“No, David,” the older man declared. “The lion is one of Daniel’s tamed lions. Elmo the lion wouldn’t hurt a lamb. All animals are peaceful in this place.”

“How did you know my name?”

The man shrugged. “I was told.”

“Told? Hmm . . . Okay. How long did I sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a watch? You know, to tell time.”

“We don’t have watches or tell anything to the time. We don’t need to sleep in this place. And we don’t need a sundial to find the sun. We don’t get our light from the sun.”

David pinched his arm to make sure he was not dead. “Then tell me where this daylight comes from.”

“From the Son of Man.” And he walked away.

As strange as this whole experience was, parts of it seemed oddly familiar to David.

He followed the man, and they walked together through a beautiful countryside dotted with green fields of different types of vegetable crops and beyond them vast mansions of various sizes, shapes, and designs. David wondered why the roads were all colored yellow, like gold. But he had a more important question. “What is this place?” Then he lost his nerve and wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. He didn’t get one. Just as well.

As they walked silently together, David finally asked, “Could you take me back to my boat, The Holy Cross?”

“Nope. Sorry. I can rescue people when I’m sent, but I cannot return them. Just be grateful you’re alive.”

Fear crawled slowly back into David’s mind, and he began to panic. “My wife expects me to be home by suppertime, and it must be close to that time now because my stomach is growling like a lion.”

The elder man smiled. “A man does not live by bread alone.”

“What else does he live by?”

Suddenly, David saw a vision of Mrs. Flora Mae quickly dressing her children for Sunday school then gathering her Sunday school material to teach the Primary Children Class. He only now realized that Mrs. Flore Mae had forsaken time with her own children to teach his children as well. He was conscience-stricken. He needed to get to church and do his part—both for them and for Jesus. If he could return to church, he promised himself he would not complain about the boring preacher.

David pleaded with the old man to take him back to his boat. His wife and children would be worried sick about him.

The old man drew close to David and placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “Heaven was breached with sin when you came, and you must die before you can return to Earth.

“Who or what will kill me?”

The old man pulled a two-edged sword from its sheath and raised it above his head.

“Please! I beg you, don’t kill me.”

The man’s eyes turned fire-red as his hands and sword raised straight up.

“Who are you?” asked David.

“Elijah.”

The sword fell like a streak of red lightning.

For a moment, there was only darkness and silence.

Then David woke up from—whatever it was that had happened to him.

In front of him in the boat was a cooler full of fish. And next to it his fishing rod. He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes before Sunday worship starts.”

David started the boat motor and steered The Holy Cross toward the old church.

- End -