vituperation

You know, it’s probably not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I still enjoy it.

Holy Roller

© 2003-2005 vituperation.com. All rights reserved.

“Hallelujah!” the Reverend James Alexander cried, raising his hands toward heaven. The sleeves of his pastel blue shirt were rolled up, revealing pallid arms covered with downy blonde hair. The face of his watch glittered in the lights. “The Lord is my shepherd, and I shall not want!”

Alexander was the pastor of the Holy Church of the Living God in Landsburg, Kentucky, a pisswater burg near the Tennessee border. The building was currently filled with parishioners in their Sunday finest, and the morning service was in full swing. The pianist played “I’ll Fly Away”, hammering out the tune in a manner you’d be more likely to hear at a rock concert than in a house of the Lord. Most of the congregation danced, arms flying akimbo, and several people writhed in religious ecstasy in the floor below the pulpit.

Brenda Alexander stood near the back, watching her husband’s antics with thinly veiled contempt. She had been his wife for going on twelve years now, and had given him four children. Three danced beside her now, oblivious, lost in the Spirit of the Lord. Jeffery, their fourth and easily James’ favorite—he doted on the boy—died in his crib two years ago.

The coroner ruled it a SIDS death, but James was convinced it was God’s doing, retribution for a lack of faith on his part. Fearing God might take one of the older children, James embraced the more fundamental side of his faith in order to be found blameless before the Lord. He spent his days thumbing through his worn Bible and his nights praying until all hours. Six months ago, he quit his six-figure job at a software company in Nashville to become a holy-rolling preacher in the Kentucky hills.

His conversion took a toll on their marriage. Obsession with his faith drove a huge wedge between them, and they no longer shared the same bed. No one knew this of course, because appearances had to be kept up; Landsburg was, after all, a small town, and small towns have their ways. Brenda was only still with him for the sake of the children.

Her life was unbearable.

She didn’t know what a divorce would do to James, but she knew without a doubt it would mean the end of his days as pastor of the church. The elders in the congregation would see to that. A divorced minister was a pariah, removed swiftly from leading the ranks of the righteous.

He’ll just have to find another church, she thought grimly, God knows I’ve put up with this for too long as it is.

“Just a few more weary days and then I’ll fly away,” James sang, reaching into the large podium and removing a picnic basket, “To my home where joy shall never end! I’ll fly away! Praise Jesus, the Lord is good!”

He set the basket on the floor and signaled the pianist with one hand. She improvised a rousing finale to the song, ending it with a flourish.

“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “can I have an amen?”

The crowd gave him one.

“Our Lord is a risen Lord!” he shouted. “And he’s made us a promise. He’s promised to raise up the faithful to live with him in heaven, in new and wonderful bodies!” The pianist banged a short riff on the keyboard, and the audience cheered wildly.

“Because the faithful in Christ will never die!” Another riff, more cheers.

“Satan is stalking right now, brethren, like a lion looking for something to devour, but he can’t touch us! We are redeemed, and we shall live forever in the Lord! Let us pray.”

He stepped from behind the podium, knelt, and prayed loudly, thanking God for His grace. He was thankful for promising eternal life the elect, for sending his one and only Son to die on the cross, and for the powers God imbued in his believers through His Spirit. The brethren were in full agreement.

“The Bible tells us in Mark chapter sixteen, brothers and sisters,” he said when he finished, “that those who believe can work miracles. They can drink poison and not be hurt, they can bind demons in the Lord’s name and cast them out, and they can lift up deadly serpents and not be bitten!”

He opened the picnic basket he had removed from behind the podium and reached into it. “Praise the Lord, I’m a believer,” he said, and lifted out a timber rattlesnake. Angered by the disturbance, the snake struck the air near Alexander’s face, its tail rattling a menacing tattoo. Alexander closed his eyes, his face tilted up.

“Protect me, Jesus,” he said. He draped the snake over his thin shoulders and let go. It fell limp, hanging as though dead.
The crowd erupted.

“Amen, brethren,” James shouted, and broke into spontaneous dance. The pianist played a rousing verse of “Safe with the Lord” while he danced feverishly on the stage, the snake motionless on his neck. When the song ended he lifted the snake and it jerked to life in his hands, rattling and striking. He returned it to the picnic basket.

“The God who raised his Son from the dead after three days in the tomb is a God who keeps his promises! He promised the serpent wouldn’t hurt a believer, and His word is truth! This same God promises us everlasting life if we trust in him. Won’t you come now and put your trust in the Lord?”

The pianist began “Trust and Obey”. Reverend Alexander stood with his arms extended in invitation, waiting for anyone who would accept the Lord’s offer of salvation. No one did, and he ended the service with a prayer.

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