by Jay Williams

Published Summer 2001, The Armchair Aesthete

The pews rocked from the sound of his voice, helped slightly by the state-of-the-art Dolby Sound System. Reaching out for their souls and hearts, Gene Stallings brought tears to the eyes of his beloved flock, even the thousands stationed obediently in front of their TVs. The televangelist then clasped his hands together and looked heavenward. As the divine message became clear to him, he looked soulfully at his followers, and in a sobbing voice explained the message he had just received from his master. An older woman in the second row fainted and two of his trained disciples gently carried her out of the lavish sanctuary to the back office, where they paid her the preset wage.

"Hallelujah," he screamed to heaven.

"Hallelujah," his flock yelled back.

He quickly scanned the script on the podium and after another joyous chorus of hallelujah's, fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He implored his devotees to follow the true way. They all chanted "Amen" with quite a few stout men joining the blessed reverend with tears of their own.

After an hour more of his impassioned oratory, his flock slowly filtered out of the sanctuary and countless TV sets went dark. Another glorious Sunday, he assured himself. As he gathered his notes he noticed that one of his beloved had remained behind. He smiled to himself and easily remember the speech.

"Brother, I'm exhausted from serving the Lord. Can you come back next week? Or if not, stop by and see Deacon Hammond in the back office. He can also help you with your troubles."

The small, wiry man stood up and looked around him at the empty hall. He smiled broadly at the famous televangelist. "Oh, Gene, that's a pretty tired ploy, don't you think?"

Taken aback a little by this, Gene quickly regained his composure. After all, he'd been at this for 10 years now. "I'm sorry, my friend, I didn't realize the depth of your hurt."

The stranger readjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and laughed slightly. "No, no, that line won't work either, Gene."

Reverend Stallings tried to think back to that revival in North Carolina a few years ago. The one with the crazed tobacco farmer.

"Nope. That wouldn't work either," the man said, beating him to the line.

Gene furrowed his brows and stepped back slightly. "What the"

"Devil?" the stranger finished. "Now, Gene, you shouldn't be using language like that."

"Who are you?" Gene finally asked.

"Why, I'm a messenger from God," the man in the sharp suit answered calmly. He held up his hand quickly. "Uh, uh, uh. Don't try to say that you are a messenger of God. You know what I mean."

Gene put a manicured hand up to his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose to see if this would clear his thoughts. It didn't. His mind raced to figure out the situation. To come up with a tried and true response. Was this guy crazy or just some IRS jerk trying to goad him into some sort of admission?

"Nah, neither of those. Just a messenger from God," the youngish looking man repeated. "And no, I'm not a reporter trying to dig up dirt, an ex of a former girlfriend looking for revenge, nor am I a weird dream brought on by the elation of another successful proselytizing to the throng. I'm just a simple messenger from God."

Gene unbuttoned his suit jacket and reached for a handkerchief from the inside pocket.

"Oh, and by the way. That Armani suit is entirely inappropriate for someone who says he works for the Lord."

"What?"

"Sorry. Just a personal thought. Not what I'm here for."

The televangelist didn't like the sound of this. Why, this suit was a necessary accouterment of his job.

The messenger rolled his eyes. "Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask? Ask what?"

"You know. What exactly am I here for?"

Gene sarcastically hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh, of course! What exactly are you here for?"

The man changed his expression from a smile to a sneer and leaned forward. "Retribution!"

"Retribution? You mean you've come to kill me?"

The man smiled, changed to a more calming expression, and shook his head. "Oh, no. Nothing that drastic. At least, not yet. No, I'm just here to confront you, to show you your errors, to help you change your ways. The retribution will be paid by your conscience."

Gene felt a little better. At least this person, whether lunatic or godsend, wasn't violent. However, he suddenly noticed that the sanctuary had disappeared. In fact, the two were now completely surrounded by nothingness. Not smoke like a person sees in a TV sitcom dream sequence, but in something more like a white void. Nothingness.

"This isn't going to be a Christmas Carol-type thing is it?" Gene asked.

"Nope. Those were ghosts. I'm something more. I'm from God, and nowhere near as ominous looking-or so my friends say."

"Okay, okay. I finally believe you," Gene said, glancing around the void. "It's obvious you're a messenger from God. But why me? Why are you showing up now? And more importantly, why me? Why not someone like Jerry or Oral?"

The strange man pulled a note card out of his jacket, scanned it quickly then put it back. Gene wasn't sure, but he swore it took all less than a half second. Time suddenly held no meaning.

"Didn't you get our first note? The one on God's letterhead? Or the second? The vision?"

"Oh, that was you guys?" The first I assumed a prank. The vision I just chalked up to hot chili and cold beer."

"Yeah, right," the man said, rolling his eyes. "As far as your second point, or was it the first? Well, we think you are salvageable."

"But don't you think I'm working for God? Can't you see that I'm trying to serve Him?"

"Working for God? Come on, Gene. Get real. Where is God in your service? You mention Him for a minute, then launch into a commercial for holy lawn chairs or something!"

Gene looked sadly down at what he thought might be the ground. "Oh, you saw that."

"We see everything. Hey! And what's all this gathering of wealth? Don't you know about the camel and heaven analogy?"

Gene became a little emboldened. "Listen, I'm just trying to reflect the American Constituency who sell their grandmothers into slavery for a few dollars or a tax cut," he said forcefully.

"Pah-leeese, don't give me that line."

"It's true, it's true!" Gene stressed. "The American masses aren't like your everyday group."

"People are constant. God made man in many different stripes, but deep down, they're all just human."

Gene shook his head sadly and looked at this odd man in his best "you hopeless fool" expression. "You guys just haven't been watching America very closely, have you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just look at the American presidency. We had Jimmy Carter, one of the most moral, thoughtful and caring men ever to inhabit office. And what does the American public think? Weakling. Voted out of office just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "Then next we have Reagan. A B-grade movie actor who sold his soul to American corporations and fueled a decade of greed and the pursuit of self-gratification. Shoot, the man even continued it after office by asking for millions for a speech. He consulted with astrologers while in office. He invaded small, helpless countries at a moments notice. And do you know how Americans viewed him?"

"A godless, temple money-changing sycophant?"

"Nooo! A strong, God-fearing hero!"

"Go figure."

"Exactly!"

The messenger grimaced, put his hands behind his back and began to pace back and forth in front of the televangelist. He stopped and raised a finger to comment.

"Okay. So what you're saying is that America is a greedy, selfish, and violent group of people, who only recognize power when it reflects their avarices and vices, and so to reach them you have mimicked their contemptible behavior?"

"Precisely! This is the country that wants to cut off food supplements to single mothers with four kids, but will eagerly give tax cuts to multimillionaire CEO's of corporations. They invade countries with different political philosophies, but give money to right-wing, murdering dictators who are friends to American business. It's a God-fearing country that has no concept of Godliness!"

"A paradoxically challenged populace!"

"Bingo!" Gene exclaimed, reverting back to his televangelist mode.

"Man! I don't think we ever suspected this!"

Gene nodded. "You see? I have to wear these $1,000 Armani suits. I have to own a house that cost half a million dollars. I have to give prayers before a military invasion."

"Otherwise the people won't respect you. Won't listen to your message."

"Now you understand," Gene said, jabbing a finger into the man's chest. Oddly, although he was sure it made contact, it didn't feel like it touched anything. "I don't like living in all this splendor. I detest these fancy clothes. My fleet of Mercedes. I absolutely abhor having to spend my vacations on my yacht in the Caribbean. But I have to do it. For God's sake!"

The man folded his arms across his chest and slowly nodded his head. "Okay, we obviously have been watching the Middle East thing too much lately and haven't paid enough attention over here. We need to reevaluate your situation."

"Thank you."

"So here's the deal. Keep the cars. Keep the various mansions. Keep the yacht."

"Yes, sir."

"The gold pinky ring with the diamond cross has to go."

"You got it."

"Hey! And no more linking anything Christian to any war effort. God is really getting annoyed by that."

"Right. No more modern day Crusades. Us versus Them."

"Good. And remember. We'll be watching you."

"God bless you."

"Shut up, Gene."

"Yes, sir!"

With that, the mysterious man disappeared and Gene stood alone in his gigantic, ornate sanctuary. He glanced around the humongous auditorium and was relieved to see he was completely alone. He looked down and fingered the pinky ring.

"Okay, I'll sell it and give the money to the Christian Coalition."

A sharp, searing electrical shock rocked his body. Emanating from the ring.

"All right, all right! Habitat for Humanity!"

He looked to the left. He looked to the right. Still alone and no pain. He looked heavenward.

"I think I get it," he said to God.

With that, he walked out to the waiting limo, which took him to his private jet, which rushed him off to his retreat in Fiji.