Roger couldn't remember exactly when God had started talking to him. It seemed to him that the conversation had been constant ever since he could remember. He would lie on his back in the grass and look up at the clouds as if they were the eyes of the Old Man himself. At five, in his youthful naiveté, he would believe that white and dark clouds were God and the Devil, arguing it out over something or other. Roger would root for God's little white clouds the way baseball fans rooted for their home team.
By age eight, Roger was instructing his peers in religious matters. Since his parents were not church-going people themselves, he held Sunday school classes in his backyard until the other kids in the neighborhood grew tired of his proselytizing and went home to watch cartoons.
Eloise couldn't tell you exactly when God sought her out, either. At first, it was a little nudge of conscience. A quiet, albeit annoying, little nag. "Yeah yeah, ok," Eloise would mutter and shuffle off out of temptation's way, whether it be a dollar lying on a table or a nasty comment she was dying to make to someone.
Then the talking became louder and more frequent--as if God were lonely. As if God wanted her opinion on things. She once had a teacher who said that God loved to argue, as evidenced by Abraham's defense of Sodom and Gomorra. "Well," Abe would begin, "what if there are only 20 good people. Will you destroy those 20 because of everyone else?" and God would respond "Ok, if you find 20 good people, I will spare them all." Then Abraham would up the ante. "What if there are only 10?" God would sigh and say "Ok, then I will spare those 10". And then Abraham would say "What if there are only 5?" And so on.
Well, Eloise could certainly attest to that. Oh boy, did the Big Guy love to argue! Anything at all. Politics. Ethics. Football. Sex.
Sex was a particular bone of contention for Eloise. In her younger days, His fanatical insistence on chastity had ruined more than a few of her dates. Eloise and God would start arguing about sex, and she'd go stomping down the street, her jaw clenched, hands made into fists, arms swinging, taking large, purposeful strides, telling God how full of shit He was.
Yes, God's chattering at Eloise had become so strong and so constant that she couldn't focus on anything else. She remembered quotes from the Bible saying "I am a jealous God" and boy, they weren't kidding! God talked so loud she could no longer hear her boss, her coworkers, her husband, or her children.
Eventually, Eloise lost her job. The constant chattering coming from behind her cubicle was too distracting to her coworkers. Not to mention her utter lack of productivity. And she kept accidentally typing God's name on all her memos and letters, which her boss was constantly having to explain away. Her family put her in a hospital for a while, but eventually, funds ran out and the doctors had to admit that they were no match for the heavenly harangue, and so they sent her home.
Even with noise in her head, Eloise could see the effect this was having on her family. So eventually she left. She left behind a note that He'd helped her to write. It had all of the old standards. "You'll be better off, without seeing me like this everyday, your crazy old Mom fighting with God all the time." The truth may set you free, but it was no day at the beach. She made sure He knew that, too. She was none too pleased with this turn that her life was taking. But, there was not much she could do about it. He kept reassuring her. "Take up your cross and follow me," He would say.
That bugged the crap out of her. It seemed to her that He was always quoting out of the Bible. At least, as well as she could remember it. It had been a while. She kept admonishing Him to "get some fresher material, will ya? I've heard that one already." Geesh! It was like a comedian who kept telling the same joke over and over again.
All Roger had ever wanted, from the time he was a small child, was to do God's work. He would feel envious when he read the story of God's dove descending on the young man Jesus, declaring "This is my son, in whom I am well pleased." Roger wanted that kind of public acknowledgment.
As Roger grew up, he read every book he could get his hands on about religion. He set up a reading schedule for getting through the whole Bible--which he had done twice by the time he was 14. His path was clear.
Years later, though, something started to change. Roger went to the seminary and had been at the top of his class. His knowledge of scripture and his ability to make sense of things was keen. He had become a minister and he and his wife and children were the proverbial pillars of their small community.
But the voice grew louder and more demanding. Roger was too comfortable. He was preaching to the converted--or those who were as converted as they were going to get. It seemed as if God were asking Roger, "What have you done for me lately?"
Roger was angry. He had devoted his entire life to God. What should he do differently? For the first time ever, he questioned God and his own path. In doubt and frustration, he opened his Bible, almost daring God to tell him what to do. And on the page he turned to, there was the answer. "Take up your cross and follow me."
Roger struggled to understand this message. He thought he had already taken up the cross, but the voice seemed to deny him. The nagging continued. Day and night. Through dinner, through Roger's sermons, delivered to the well-meaning members of his congregation, the fidgety children and the adults who would check their watches to remind him when he had gone on a little too long. The voice became louder and more insistent than ever. TAKE UP YOUR CROSS, ROGER, AND FOLLOW ME.
And so it happened that Roger decided to take a short sabbatical from his church. He packed a small suitcase, and went to the city to preach the Good News in the streets. At first he was afraid. He had always lived in small towns, and had heard horror stories about big cities. Would it be obvious that he didn't belong there? Would anyone listen? Worse yet, would he be arrested, mugged, beaten up? What if he couldn't think of anything to say? Street preachers were hardly encouraged in this day and age. It wasn't exactly taught in his seminary. He had never been prepared for anything like this. Roger looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. "This was your idea." He set down his briefcase, pulled out his Bible, and started to read out loud.
Today's discussion had become quite contentious, with Eloise shouting "So, you're telling me that I should cut off my hand rather than masturbate? I thought my body was supposed to be a temple!" "What're you lookin' at?" she demanded of disconcerted passersby. "I'm trying to have a discussion with God here. YOU MIND?"
At a nearby corner, Eloise heard a horrendous din. Some man was standing on a corner, shouting. She couldn't make out what it was, so loud was her own internal conversation. In fact, she couldn't make out anything at all, just a bunch of screaming inside and outside of her head. She felt the tension building, the blood coming up into her face as she stormed up to the corner where the man was standing, put her hands over her ears, looked up to the sky and screamed, "EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP."
And then it was quiet.
Eloise looked up into Roger's face. "What are you going on about over here?"
"Preaching God's word, like He told me to, Ma'am."
Eloise shook her head. "Where does He find the time? I guess He really is everywhere." She peered back up at Roger. "Hope you got some fresher material."
"Only material there is, Ma'am. The Bible."
"Bah." Eloise threw her hand behind her and walked away.
"God bless you, Sister," Roger called out after her. Roger smiled and went back to his sermon.
As time went on, Eloise and Roger frequently crossed paths. Some days Eloise would stop to argue with Roger, as it seemed to her that the two of them were getting some conflicting messages into their respective crania. Some days, the sound of his voice, clashing with the cacophony in her head, would fill her with such anxiety that she would have to hurry off down some other street to get away.
Roger felt surprisingly good. None of his worst fears had been borne out. Most people were pretty friendly to him and a few people even stopped to chat from time to time. And there was crazy Eloise to keep things lively. She, too, was one of God's children, a very special one, it seemed to Roger, even if she did have some pretty odd ideas. On occasion, he even bought her lunch so they could continue their conversations. Of course, her end was always dotted with a side conversation, including bits like "Do you mind? I'm trying to talk here." She would frequently complain that God finished all her sentences. She seemed an unlikely Bride of Christ, but who was Roger to judge? Their lunches gave the Salvation Army folks a welcome break. Eloise usually spent her time in line at the soup kitchen correcting some Captain or Major on the finer points of God's word.
Roger returned to his church, but continued to drive into the city everyday for a few hours. And every night he brought home fascinating stories for his family about life in the city, and particularly about Eloise. His sermons were crisper now and more colorful as he led his congregation into worlds that they did not normally visit, worlds where God spoke quite a different language and certainly moved in ways stranger than they were accustomed to.
Friday was one more day like that for Roger. He walked up to the corner, as he had done every day, set his briefcase down, and pulled out his Bible, shouting to the people who were all rushing to get to work on time.
"The love of money is the root of all evil" he called out in a loud, clear voice. "Slow down and get your lives straight. The last days are here. Take time out to listen to God's voice. The Lord is calling on you to take up the cross and follow Him."
Eloise, too, was out this morning, as she was every day, bright and early. She would rather sleep in, of course, but God and the homeless shelter kept slightly earlier hours, a fact which she continually took up with both, but which neither were willing to give in on. This particular morning, God was noisier than he'd ever been. Not only was He chatting with Eloise, but he was having some side conversation with his angels, like someone who was yelling at their kids while they were on the phone with someone else.
Even the city seemed particularly noisy to Eloise today. More cars honking honking and people pushing her forward down the sidewalks, tall men in suits striding, it seemed, right over her, as if they would just step on her if she did not duck and the exhaust from the buses filling up her lungs and people with pierced tongues and black lipstick frowning at her as she made her way through the city's thicket and the whole time God yelling at His kids and chattering in the background.
As the crowd moved Eloise involuntarily forward, she heard a familiar voice, loud above the million other assaults on her neurotransmitters. The blood rushed into Eloise's head, pounding her eardrums, her heart beating faster and faster and finally she broke from the crowd and saw Roger standing in front of her, but Eloise did not recognize Roger as her friend and theological debate partner. All she noticed was the noise coming from his corner as he belted out his daily sermon. In one swift movement she picked up a large rock and lunged.
It all happened so fast Roger didn't know how to respond. "Eloise. Stop!" He screamed as the rock hit against his head over and over. This small woman was much stronger than he had realized. "Eloise, Eloise, don't!" he repeated. "EVERYONE. . ." Eloise gasped as she pounded on Roger with the large stone in her hand "SHUT . . . THE . . HELL . . .UP!"
And then it was quiet.
A small circle formed around them. A few people had pulled Eloise off of Roger, as he lay on the sidewalk, his head bloody and bruised. Eloise broke away from her captors and looked down at Roger. He was breathing shallowly. The ambulance sirens could already be heard, getting louder and closer.
Eloise looked shaken for a moment. Then Roger began to stir and it seemed that he was ok. "Bah." Eloise said as bystanders attended to Roger. She brushed her hand behind her and shuffled off into the crowd, looking up and muttering, "See what you made me do?"
By age eight, Roger was instructing his peers in religious matters. Since his parents were not church-going people themselves, he held Sunday school classes in his backyard until the other kids in the neighborhood grew tired of his proselytizing and went home to watch cartoons.
Eloise couldn't tell you exactly when God sought her out, either. At first, it was a little nudge of conscience. A quiet, albeit annoying, little nag. "Yeah yeah, ok," Eloise would mutter and shuffle off out of temptation's way, whether it be a dollar lying on a table or a nasty comment she was dying to make to someone.
Then the talking became louder and more frequent--as if God were lonely. As if God wanted her opinion on things. She once had a teacher who said that God loved to argue, as evidenced by Abraham's defense of Sodom and Gomorra. "Well," Abe would begin, "what if there are only 20 good people. Will you destroy those 20 because of everyone else?" and God would respond "Ok, if you find 20 good people, I will spare them all." Then Abraham would up the ante. "What if there are only 10?" God would sigh and say "Ok, then I will spare those 10". And then Abraham would say "What if there are only 5?" And so on.
Well, Eloise could certainly attest to that. Oh boy, did the Big Guy love to argue! Anything at all. Politics. Ethics. Football. Sex.
Sex was a particular bone of contention for Eloise. In her younger days, His fanatical insistence on chastity had ruined more than a few of her dates. Eloise and God would start arguing about sex, and she'd go stomping down the street, her jaw clenched, hands made into fists, arms swinging, taking large, purposeful strides, telling God how full of shit He was.
Yes, God's chattering at Eloise had become so strong and so constant that she couldn't focus on anything else. She remembered quotes from the Bible saying "I am a jealous God" and boy, they weren't kidding! God talked so loud she could no longer hear her boss, her coworkers, her husband, or her children.
Eventually, Eloise lost her job. The constant chattering coming from behind her cubicle was too distracting to her coworkers. Not to mention her utter lack of productivity. And she kept accidentally typing God's name on all her memos and letters, which her boss was constantly having to explain away. Her family put her in a hospital for a while, but eventually, funds ran out and the doctors had to admit that they were no match for the heavenly harangue, and so they sent her home.
Even with noise in her head, Eloise could see the effect this was having on her family. So eventually she left. She left behind a note that He'd helped her to write. It had all of the old standards. "You'll be better off, without seeing me like this everyday, your crazy old Mom fighting with God all the time." The truth may set you free, but it was no day at the beach. She made sure He knew that, too. She was none too pleased with this turn that her life was taking. But, there was not much she could do about it. He kept reassuring her. "Take up your cross and follow me," He would say.
That bugged the crap out of her. It seemed to her that He was always quoting out of the Bible. At least, as well as she could remember it. It had been a while. She kept admonishing Him to "get some fresher material, will ya? I've heard that one already." Geesh! It was like a comedian who kept telling the same joke over and over again.
All Roger had ever wanted, from the time he was a small child, was to do God's work. He would feel envious when he read the story of God's dove descending on the young man Jesus, declaring "This is my son, in whom I am well pleased." Roger wanted that kind of public acknowledgment.
As Roger grew up, he read every book he could get his hands on about religion. He set up a reading schedule for getting through the whole Bible--which he had done twice by the time he was 14. His path was clear.
Years later, though, something started to change. Roger went to the seminary and had been at the top of his class. His knowledge of scripture and his ability to make sense of things was keen. He had become a minister and he and his wife and children were the proverbial pillars of their small community.
But the voice grew louder and more demanding. Roger was too comfortable. He was preaching to the converted--or those who were as converted as they were going to get. It seemed as if God were asking Roger, "What have you done for me lately?"
Roger was angry. He had devoted his entire life to God. What should he do differently? For the first time ever, he questioned God and his own path. In doubt and frustration, he opened his Bible, almost daring God to tell him what to do. And on the page he turned to, there was the answer. "Take up your cross and follow me."
Roger struggled to understand this message. He thought he had already taken up the cross, but the voice seemed to deny him. The nagging continued. Day and night. Through dinner, through Roger's sermons, delivered to the well-meaning members of his congregation, the fidgety children and the adults who would check their watches to remind him when he had gone on a little too long. The voice became louder and more insistent than ever. TAKE UP YOUR CROSS, ROGER, AND FOLLOW ME.
And so it happened that Roger decided to take a short sabbatical from his church. He packed a small suitcase, and went to the city to preach the Good News in the streets. At first he was afraid. He had always lived in small towns, and had heard horror stories about big cities. Would it be obvious that he didn't belong there? Would anyone listen? Worse yet, would he be arrested, mugged, beaten up? What if he couldn't think of anything to say? Street preachers were hardly encouraged in this day and age. It wasn't exactly taught in his seminary. He had never been prepared for anything like this. Roger looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. "This was your idea." He set down his briefcase, pulled out his Bible, and started to read out loud.
Today's discussion had become quite contentious, with Eloise shouting "So, you're telling me that I should cut off my hand rather than masturbate? I thought my body was supposed to be a temple!" "What're you lookin' at?" she demanded of disconcerted passersby. "I'm trying to have a discussion with God here. YOU MIND?"
At a nearby corner, Eloise heard a horrendous din. Some man was standing on a corner, shouting. She couldn't make out what it was, so loud was her own internal conversation. In fact, she couldn't make out anything at all, just a bunch of screaming inside and outside of her head. She felt the tension building, the blood coming up into her face as she stormed up to the corner where the man was standing, put her hands over her ears, looked up to the sky and screamed, "EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP."
And then it was quiet.
Eloise looked up into Roger's face. "What are you going on about over here?"
"Preaching God's word, like He told me to, Ma'am."
Eloise shook her head. "Where does He find the time? I guess He really is everywhere." She peered back up at Roger. "Hope you got some fresher material."
"Only material there is, Ma'am. The Bible."
"Bah." Eloise threw her hand behind her and walked away.
"God bless you, Sister," Roger called out after her. Roger smiled and went back to his sermon.
As time went on, Eloise and Roger frequently crossed paths. Some days Eloise would stop to argue with Roger, as it seemed to her that the two of them were getting some conflicting messages into their respective crania. Some days, the sound of his voice, clashing with the cacophony in her head, would fill her with such anxiety that she would have to hurry off down some other street to get away.
Roger felt surprisingly good. None of his worst fears had been borne out. Most people were pretty friendly to him and a few people even stopped to chat from time to time. And there was crazy Eloise to keep things lively. She, too, was one of God's children, a very special one, it seemed to Roger, even if she did have some pretty odd ideas. On occasion, he even bought her lunch so they could continue their conversations. Of course, her end was always dotted with a side conversation, including bits like "Do you mind? I'm trying to talk here." She would frequently complain that God finished all her sentences. She seemed an unlikely Bride of Christ, but who was Roger to judge? Their lunches gave the Salvation Army folks a welcome break. Eloise usually spent her time in line at the soup kitchen correcting some Captain or Major on the finer points of God's word.
Roger returned to his church, but continued to drive into the city everyday for a few hours. And every night he brought home fascinating stories for his family about life in the city, and particularly about Eloise. His sermons were crisper now and more colorful as he led his congregation into worlds that they did not normally visit, worlds where God spoke quite a different language and certainly moved in ways stranger than they were accustomed to.
Friday was one more day like that for Roger. He walked up to the corner, as he had done every day, set his briefcase down, and pulled out his Bible, shouting to the people who were all rushing to get to work on time.
"The love of money is the root of all evil" he called out in a loud, clear voice. "Slow down and get your lives straight. The last days are here. Take time out to listen to God's voice. The Lord is calling on you to take up the cross and follow Him."
Eloise, too, was out this morning, as she was every day, bright and early. She would rather sleep in, of course, but God and the homeless shelter kept slightly earlier hours, a fact which she continually took up with both, but which neither were willing to give in on. This particular morning, God was noisier than he'd ever been. Not only was He chatting with Eloise, but he was having some side conversation with his angels, like someone who was yelling at their kids while they were on the phone with someone else.
Even the city seemed particularly noisy to Eloise today. More cars honking honking and people pushing her forward down the sidewalks, tall men in suits striding, it seemed, right over her, as if they would just step on her if she did not duck and the exhaust from the buses filling up her lungs and people with pierced tongues and black lipstick frowning at her as she made her way through the city's thicket and the whole time God yelling at His kids and chattering in the background.
As the crowd moved Eloise involuntarily forward, she heard a familiar voice, loud above the million other assaults on her neurotransmitters. The blood rushed into Eloise's head, pounding her eardrums, her heart beating faster and faster and finally she broke from the crowd and saw Roger standing in front of her, but Eloise did not recognize Roger as her friend and theological debate partner. All she noticed was the noise coming from his corner as he belted out his daily sermon. In one swift movement she picked up a large rock and lunged.
It all happened so fast Roger didn't know how to respond. "Eloise. Stop!" He screamed as the rock hit against his head over and over. This small woman was much stronger than he had realized. "Eloise, Eloise, don't!" he repeated. "EVERYONE. . ." Eloise gasped as she pounded on Roger with the large stone in her hand "SHUT . . . THE . . HELL . . .UP!"
And then it was quiet.
A small circle formed around them. A few people had pulled Eloise off of Roger, as he lay on the sidewalk, his head bloody and bruised. Eloise broke away from her captors and looked down at Roger. He was breathing shallowly. The ambulance sirens could already be heard, getting louder and closer.
Eloise looked shaken for a moment. Then Roger began to stir and it seemed that he was ok. "Bah." Eloise said as bystanders attended to Roger. She brushed her hand behind her and shuffled off into the crowd, looking up and muttering, "See what you made me do?"
