| Biographical Non-Fiction posted May 26, 2020 |
  |
More than he bargained for
Confession
by Elizabeth Emerald
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.
This is yet another offering from my ‘’Spiritual Torments’’ collection. I raised false flags for language and sexual content in the hope of pre-screening those who would likely take offense at this theme. Since you’ve entered the gate regardless—given that you wouldn’t see the footnote until it after the reading, I’ve put this caveat up front to urge you to take a pass on this if you are a Christian: You are certain to be appalled by the blasphemy herein.
As I approach the door, I spot Bob already there, just about to leave. He sees me, smiles, nods.
Pause.
Pregnant pause: as in "expecting." Expecting what? For me to produce the usual pleasantries, perhaps.
Which I do. And which he -- as expected -- boomerangs right back at me.
Stalemate.
Bob's move. He either says a cheery "See you next Sunday" and heads out, leaving me a week's reprieve to formulate my next move, or...
...or he repeats what he said to me last Sunday, and the Sunday before.
And that, in fact, is what Bob does. He tells me once again how I am to be "commended" -- especially considering I am not even Catholic! -- for so faithfully attending church.
Check.
I have to tell him. No putting it off any longer. Just come out with it. Bob will likely be so shocked, so repelled by what I must say, as to avoid me forevermore.
So be it.
I had indeed already told Bob twice point-blank that I attend church for no other reason than to accompany Chuck. I'd insisted that I did not have -- nor ever had -- any religion whatsoever myself. Bob had apparently passed off all prior protestations at said "commendation" by way of my modesty averting its eyes at the bold face of effusion.
So now, as Bob ladles on yet another helping, lauds my "dedication, determination to seek the divine presence of God," I know I have no choice but to come clean.
So I do. Force myself to look Bob square in his smiling face, the pleasant countenance of which will morph grotesquely as he hears these words:
"I am not here to find God, much less to worship Him. Indeed, I flee from Him in horror," I tell him, "because He is utterly, monstrously, beyond-all-imagining Evil."
Check.
To his credit, Bob, certainly stunned, has, after an instant, recovered sufficiently to "respectfully disagree" with my position. He graciously assures me that "God is Love" and that he would pray for me to find it.
I acknowledge -- with great relief -- Bob's generosity. I allow how I am well aware that nary a soul on earth -- nor, presumably, in Heaven -- remotely understands -- much less agrees with -- my unique conception of Divine-as-D(evil). I concede up front that, indeed, in all my many years, everyone I've ever encountered is in complete accord with Bob's contention that "God is Love."
I express apologies for my bluntness, for having blasted him with such blasphemous words. I explain that I had felt compelled to speak out because l have too much respect for him -- for the truth -- to subject him unwittingly, week-to-week, to my shocking sacrilege.
Checkmate?
We shall see. Will Bob, having had all week to contemplate, to fully absorb, the anathema of my beyond-the-pale declaration ever deign to speak to me again?
Tune in next Sunday, same time, same place, i.e. circa 7pm, after closing hymn, 6 o'clock Mass, St. Patrick's church, Stoneham MA.
This is yet another offering from my ‘’Spiritual Torments’’ collection. I raised false flags for language and sexual content in the hope of pre-screening those who would likely take offense at this theme. Since you’ve entered the gate regardless—given that you wouldn’t see the footnote until it after the reading, I’ve put this caveat up front to urge you to take a pass on this if you are a Christian: You are certain to be appalled by the blasphemy herein.
As I approach the door, I spot Bob already there, just about to leave. He sees me, smiles, nods.
Pause.
Pregnant pause: as in "expecting." Expecting what? For me to produce the usual pleasantries, perhaps.
Which I do. And which he -- as expected -- boomerangs right back at me.
Stalemate.
Bob's move. He either says a cheery "See you next Sunday" and heads out, leaving me a week's reprieve to formulate my next move, or...
...or he repeats what he said to me last Sunday, and the Sunday before.
And that, in fact, is what Bob does. He tells me once again how I am to be "commended" -- especially considering I am not even Catholic! -- for so faithfully attending church.
Check.
I have to tell him. No putting it off any longer. Just come out with it. Bob will likely be so shocked, so repelled by what I must say, as to avoid me forevermore.
So be it.
I had indeed already told Bob twice point-blank that I attend church for no other reason than to accompany Chuck. I'd insisted that I did not have -- nor ever had -- any religion whatsoever myself. Bob had apparently passed off all prior protestations at said "commendation" by way of my modesty averting its eyes at the bold face of effusion.
So now, as Bob ladles on yet another helping, lauds my "dedication, determination to seek the divine presence of God," I know I have no choice but to come clean.
So I do. Force myself to look Bob square in his smiling face, the pleasant countenance of which will morph grotesquely as he hears these words:
"I am not here to find God, much less to worship Him. Indeed, I flee from Him in horror," I tell him, "because He is utterly, monstrously, beyond-all-imagining Evil."
Check.
To his credit, Bob, certainly stunned, has, after an instant, recovered sufficiently to "respectfully disagree" with my position. He graciously assures me that "God is Love" and that he would pray for me to find it.
I acknowledge -- with great relief -- Bob's generosity. I allow how I am well aware that nary a soul on earth -- nor, presumably, in Heaven -- remotely understands -- much less agrees with -- my unique conception of Divine-as-D(evil). I concede up front that, indeed, in all my many years, everyone I've ever encountered is in complete accord with Bob's contention that "God is Love."
I express apologies for my bluntness, for having blasted him with such blasphemous words. I explain that I had felt compelled to speak out because l have too much respect for him -- for the truth -- to subject him unwittingly, week-to-week, to my shocking sacrilege.
Checkmate?
We shall see. Will Bob, having had all week to contemplate, to fully absorb, the anathema of my beyond-the-pale declaration ever deign to speak to me again?
Tune in next Sunday, same time, same place, i.e. circa 7pm, after closing hymn, 6 o'clock Mass, St. Patrick's church, Stoneham MA.
As I approach the door, I spot Bob already there, just about to leave. He sees me, smiles, nods.
Pause.
Pregnant pause: as in "expecting." Expecting what? For me to produce the usual pleasantries, perhaps.
Which I do. And which he -- as expected -- boomerangs right back at me.
Stalemate.
Bob's move. He either says a cheery "See you next Sunday" and heads out, leaving me a week's reprieve to formulate my next move, or...
...or he repeats what he said to me last Sunday, and the Sunday before.
And that, in fact, is what Bob does. He tells me once again how I am to be "commended" -- especially considering I am not even Catholic! -- for so faithfully attending church.
Check.
I have to tell him. No putting it off any longer. Just come out with it. Bob will likely be so shocked, so repelled by what I must say, as to avoid me forevermore.
So be it.
I had indeed already told Bob twice point-blank that I attend church for no other reason than to accompany Chuck. I'd insisted that I did not have -- nor ever had -- any religion whatsoever myself. Bob had apparently passed off all prior protestations at said "commendation" by way of my modesty averting its eyes at the bold face of effusion.
So now, as Bob ladles on yet another helping, lauds my "dedication, determination to seek the divine presence of God," I know I have no choice but to come clean.
So I do. Force myself to look Bob square in his smiling face, the pleasant countenance of which will morph grotesquely as he hears these words:
"I am not here to find God, much less to worship Him. Indeed, I flee from Him in horror," I tell him, "because He is utterly, monstrously, beyond-all-imagining Evil."
Check.
To his credit, Bob, certainly stunned, has, after an instant, recovered sufficiently to "respectfully disagree" with my position. He graciously assures me that "God is Love" and that he would pray for me to find it.
I acknowledge -- with great relief -- Bob's generosity. I allow how I am well aware that nary a soul on earth -- nor, presumably, in Heaven -- remotely understands -- much less agrees with -- my unique conception of Divine-as-D(evil). I concede up front that, indeed, in all my many years, everyone I've ever encountered is in complete accord with Bob's contention that "God is Love."
I express apologies for my bluntness, for having blasted him with such blasphemous words. I explain that I had felt compelled to speak out because l have too much respect for him -- for the truth -- to subject him unwittingly, week-to-week, to my shocking sacrilege.
Checkmate?
We shall see. Will Bob, having had all week to contemplate, to fully absorb, the anathema of my beyond-the-pale declaration ever deign to speak to me again?
Tune in next Sunday, same time, same place, i.e. circa 7pm, after closing hymn, 6 o'clock Mass, St. Patrick's church, Stoneham MA.
Thanks to MoonWillow for artwork: Helza Blaze
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